#really heavy shit coming up in the tags so everyone log off and let me traumapost

[frostedfaves]

Repercussions (15)

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!Natasha Romanoff x dark!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha and Wanda search for their printsessa with the help of Tony.

Warnings: dark themes, gun use, blood mention, serious injury

A/N: am I devastated that this is the final part of one of my favorite things I’ve ever written? absolutely! but I’m also really happy with myself for being able to turn the images in my head for this ending into coherent words. I’ve been holding onto this idea for weeks and I’m ecstatic to see everyone’s response to it. I’ll be letting you know later on this week what’s coming next! 👀

Previous part

-

With Clint’s assistance, Natasha and Wanda were able to quickly create a plan and make their way to the last base, using the fear and anger of their girlfriend’s disappearance to barrel through anyone that stood in the way of intel collection. They wasted no time in waking everyone up when they returned to the safe house.

“Is there a security breach?” Steve questioned as the group gathered, and Natasha tossed the hard drive at him.

“We got everything, and we need to get back--”

“Oh, I get it,” Sam cut in with an eye roll. “They rushed through the mission to get back to their girlfriend so they can cuddle and all that cute shit--”

“She’s missing!” Wanda growled as her eyes began to glow, causing Sam to step back a few feet with wide eyes.

Everyone aside from Clint started asking questions all at once, and Natasha shut them all down with a stern command to be ready to fly out in ten minutes. Bags were packed and bodies were dressed as the team rushed to get to the jet, afraid of what might happen if they delayed the two women any longer.

“While we’re checking out the house, I need someone looking into Wesley L/N,” Natasha ordered, nodding as Tony volunteered and sending him all the information she had.

“Who is this, her brother?”

“Her cousin, if that’s even true--”

“It is, we checked the family history,” Wanda insisted, grabbing Natasha’s hand with a shaky breath. “They’re really close, he wouldn’t hurt her.”

“We don’t know that! Anyone can do something terrible if they’re pushed far enough--”

“Stop! Just fucking stop!” Wanda cried out as she covered her face with her hands, and Natasha moved to wrap her arms around her as she sat in the seat beside her.

“I’m sorry, Wan. I’m just worried and my brain is wired to go to the worst case scenario instantly.”

Wanda simply sniffled as tears started spilling down her cheeks again, leaning her head against Natasha’s shoulder as she accepted the comforting embrace. After a few minutes of silence between the pair, Wanda dropped her hands into her lap as she glanced at green eyes already absentmindedly staring at her, lowering her voice as she spoke.

“I want to ruin his mind before we kill him.”

-

The house felt empty and colder without your presence, every step on the carpeted floor of the front room seemed to echo around the building. Tears threatened to build in Wanda’s eyes again but she held them back, intent on believing that they will find you and bring you back where you belong. Only they could take care of what you needed.

A heavy feeling washed over their hearts when they entered your solo room and discovered some of your clothes and shoes were missing, along with the travel bag you’d first arrived with. The guest room Wesley resided in was also void of his presence, and anything that could clue them into where he’d taken you. 

“Tash, look.”

Natasha followed her gaze to the security room, cursing loudly in Russian when she noticed the door left wide open. She stormed inside, clenching her fist in anger when she noticed the tiny plastic baggie holding the miniscule tracker that was supposed to be in your leg right now.

“He’s a psychiatrist, not a fucking surgeon!” she fumed as she showed the object to Wanda. “How did he get this out?!”

Wanda walked around her to get to one of the computers, logging in as fast as her fingers would allow her to type and bringing up the security footage from the last several days. For the most part, the two of you acted normally, doing all the things you’d told them about like playing games and watching TV, but the sight of the two of you emerging from the TV room in the basement and entering the game room brought something to her attention.

“Did you see that?” She backed up the footage and switched over to slow motion. “She’s limping.”

“Isn’t that the day she hurt her leg in the backyard?”

“Yes, but…” The backyard footage is brought up next and skipped through until the moment of your ‘injury’. “This happened almost two hours later, meaning--”

“It was a cover for the tracker removal.” Natasha cursed once more as she released a frustrated sigh. “She’s getting locked in her room as soon as she gets back here.”

A notification similar to a phone ringing went off on one of the monitors, and the two women scurried over to answer the incoming call from Tony.

“Everything you had on this Wesley kid checks out, no criminal history or secret ties to any Hydra related groups, or anything else you have to worry about. However, I tried tracking and hacking into his phone and it seems to be wiped clean. So I got into his phone records with his cell company and his last call was made to an unsaved number connected to someone named Kendall, last known address in Nebraska.”

“Send it to us, please.”

They were on their feet as soon as the call ended, grabbing the mission bags abandoned in the doorway and heading off to their respective rooms to repack for the trip.

In nearly the same moment, you were in your safe house in Nebraska, rounding the corner to enter Wesley’s room. He knew something was wrong by the way your eyes watered and your shaky hand held onto the bugging device.

“They found us.” There was no questioning tone in his voice, but you answered with a nod anyway.

“Pack everything you brought and get out of here, drive toward the west coast until you run out of gas and hide wherever you stop.”

“What?! I can’t leave you here! They’ll just take you back and it’ll be worse than before.”

“I’ll be fine, Wes,” you assured him with a gentle squeeze of your hand over his. “I planned for this too, and if I know them as well as I think, I’ll be free to come find you.”

-

Wesley was packed and gone within the next hour, and you worked quickly to transform the space, make it seem as if you’d been the only one to reside in the home. Once that was set, you changed clothes and positioned yourself in an armchair against the wall in the front room, a gun resting in your lap. You didn’t move when a knock was heard on the front door that night, simply waited until the visitors got impatient and picked the lock to force their way in.

“You worried us, printsessa, disappearing like that,” Natasha addressed you in a chilling tone as the two of them stopped a few feet away from you. “And we’ll deal with that later, after you tell Wesley to come out so we can punish him first.”

“He’s not here,” you told her calmly. “His only job was to bring me here--”

“And take the tracker out of your leg, which we will be putting back,” Wanda interjected with a stern expression. “Now, you can either come with us to the car willingly or we’ll drag you.”

“I won’t be doing either of those things.” You stood slowly, lifting the gun to your temple as you went. “Your only choices are to leave me here and go back to the way your lives were before I came in, or you can let me die. If you take me again, I’ll just fight you every day until you wish you’d killed me yourself. No matter how you manipulate my mind, my true self will never love someone who wants to control me. I’ll tell you how much I hate you for ruining my life every second I’m able, and I’ll kill myself the moment I get the chance to do so.”

You noticed the glassy look in their eyes as they faced each other, and you knew they were having a silent conversation in their minds. Seconds felt like minutes as they seemed to discuss their options, eventually turning back to face you. Wanda was fully crying now, and Natasha seemed to be physically holding back her own emotional break.

“We always thought we’d be able to love and care for you until our dying days.” Her shaky voice filled the quiet room. “But we understand if you don’t want that, and we’re sorry that you’ll never be able to love anyone else.”

Before you had time to react, Natasha was pulling a gun out and aiming it at your heart, the sound of the shot echoing and triggering Wanda’s instant sobbing. Natasha was quick to pull her into her arms, facing her away from you as you tumbled to the ground, your own weapon sliding away as your free hand weakly pressed against the oversized sweatshirt that covered your wound.

The two women hurried out of the house as you began to choke and cough up blood, not able to stomach hearing or seeing anymore, and the sound of a car speeding off echoed throughout the neighborhood. Waiting another minute or two to be sure they left, you got up to walk off to the bathroom, wiping the fake blood off your palm the best you could. After slipping the bulletproof vest off your torso and washing your hands, you quickly rinsed your mouth and brushed your teeth to get rid of the red stains, lifting your head to look in the mirror with a smile when you were done.

You looked pretty good for a dead woman.

-

Tags: @littlegasps @nat-km-mh @natasha-danvers @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @imnotasuperhero @creepingwolfberry @emilyprentisswife @cherrieloco @bebe404 @seventeen0 @buckmesidewaysandcallmesteve @its-a-long-way-to-ba-sing-se @fayhar @becka107 @wannabe-fic-reader @beforeoursecrets @cosmicbrownies7 @messuhp @mjaudrey @sxphiaswitch @trikruismybitch @muted-stoneheart @multi-images @just-a-normalpersons @want-to-watch-it-burn @stop-drop-and-drumroll @stickystudentlightmug @pianogirl2121 @welcometothepeanutgallery @witchxaf @natashadeservedmore @sakurat123 @darkangelxoxo @haiiiloeee2

#natasha romanoff #dark!natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff imagine #dark!wandanat x reader #wandanat x reader #natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x fem! reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #avengers #the avengers #avengers x reader #avengers x fem!reader #avengers x you #avengers imagine #avengers fanfic #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine

[sapphire-innit]

Saddest Beach Party Ever :(

Watch out for this one folks, it gets a bit dark -- mind the tags (though nothing outside of what you'd expect for.. this episode)

VOD: Tommy Is Left ALONE at his Exile Party with Dream (Start - 35:30)

(rp) I have Absolutely been putting off watching this one because I WILL cry and I am scared

I can't imagine what it was like to watch live and see NO ONE on the beach

He's keeping up a good face, adding more chairs... I'm not looking forward to it setting in.

like fuck man, fuck Dream for chasing of Ghostbur for MULTIPLE reasons but also because no one else even KNEW about the party :(

He's so excited about maybe seeing Tubbo I hate it Thanks

and now he's putting things down for Quackity and adding more things he's still so happy and excited (though you can occasionally see the mask break - there's a lot of nervous energy here)

"Where... no, well go place this" "why did Fundy leave the game" THANKS I HATE IT

Lazer and Fundy have been some of the people who have visited toooo :(

Tommy's face when no one is on the nether path.............. ouch

.............................................................................................

log off right now green demon

log off RIGHT NOW

just stewing in silence ..... painful....

cc!Tommy really is one of the best actors on the server, this hurts quite a bit

............

I know that's Dream joining the call and I hate it

fuck

"I'm running a little late, sorry :)" >:|

fuck, Tommy apologized and tossed his armor immediately INCLUDING HIS GIFT SHOES AND AXE, Dream didn't even ask

Dream of course taking the chance to be '''''''benevolent''''.... probably as a reward for Tommy doing it immediately and without prompting >:|

and ofc Dream just straight up lies about the invites to rub salt into the wound. Cant have Tommy thinking people CARE ABOUT HIM OR ANYTHING.

Even mentioned Tubbo SPECIFICALLY YOU BASTARD "in L'manburg" was that truly necessary bastard

the sun setting... a symbol of hope... the symbol of their friendship.... disappearing into the ocean... I hate it :(

Dream pushing him into eating the cake.. "I've lost my appetite"

just digging in that Tubbo For Sure got the Invite Definitely and no one came except Dream.

"I didn't mind being a little bit late because I thought everyone else would be here" why did he keep pointing out he was late, kept hammering that point home. Like even Dreams attention is not important to Dream? like it has to be earned maybe ..?

"No one cares about me anymore" "that's not true" *BREAKS CAKE* "None of them care about me anymore"

IS HE BREAKING THE PATH OHNOOO ;-;

"No one cares... other than You(Derogatory)"

"Maybe they had something more important" I hate how Dream hides his digs behind sounding consoling it fucking SUCKS

I hate how depressed he sounds, how resigned

....threw away the chicken, and he isn't eating or healing. I knew to watch out for it but its never been this pronounced before. He's down to three hearts ;-;

"I'm pretty sure he burned it, or lost it" I do not believe that for a SECOND Dream, or at least its not as clear cut as it seems. Tubbo CARES ABOUT TOMMY, I *JUST SAW* a clip of him holding the compass aaaaa

ohno

"at least SOMEONE on this entire 30 person server got an invite" "He said he was going to give it to at least 13 people, and at least one person I saw give it in person"

ohno

ohnooooooooooo

he really is gonna toss the compass isn't he nooooooooo

...............

staring into the lava again. "he burned it. On purpose"

Dream quibbling ... but doubling down i hate it

.......its just... so clear he's not only thinking about the compass in lava

Dream shooting at the Ghast,,, telling Tommy to sleep on it, coaxing him back from the edge "almost fell off, careful Tommy" I hate it here

"I don't sleep anymore Dream" "I just want to go home" "Please can I go home" he sounds so broken ;A;

"why can't I stay" :( :( :(

"It's not like they want you anyway Tommy. No one showed up to your party and everyone was invited" And THIS is why Dream tanked the party on purpose. Because if Tommy thinks no one even wants him, he won't even try to get back, and will just stay under Dreams control. There's such a mental and emotional difference and toll from "Outside forces (Dream) are keeping me from going home and maybe I can subvert or change them" and "Home doesn't want me and they're better off without me"

It truly is creepy how Dream is trying to coax him with the Christmas tree, like he's trying to pull this balancing act because he can tell Tommy is on the edge of really giving up and I hate it so much

He still hasn't eaten

"c'monn you want to see the Christmas tree :)" overwriting his feelings as well ugh

"I'm sure if you asked them, they'd say they care about you" I see you invalidating any future concern someone might show him

ALSO TOMMY CALLING EXILE HOME IS SURE SOMETHING

.....him asking Dream to defend him is... painful. Especially having just watched the latest stream where he asked the same of Tubbo right after being triggered as hell ugh. He really has gotten used to being made helpless and depending on Dream, even on the one day he didn't get his armor and weapons taken away from him. He sounds so resigned :(

(( LOL OK THE DNF JOKE WAS PRETTY FUNNY THO))

he's bribing him with the trident and I hate it. Though at least hes enjoying it??? Mixed feelings on that. He ate too and I hate that Dreams honeymoon stage is w o r k i n g )

that is the most sincere I have ever heard Tommy say Dream cares about him and it FUCKING SUCKS

I know we never could have had "Happy Party AU" because Dream never would have allowed people to come and validate Tommy but man Trident tricks w everyone would have been nice

...lol someone pointed out the red looks like blood. the fake girlfriend bits are so Weird

Dream what do you GET out of this, why are you so OBSESSED. He spends so much time here

"I wont bring it up with them because that would be awkward" oof and I bet he won't believe it if anyone says they didn't get the invite will he oof

.. He pulls out the Axe but lets dream actually kill the skeleton, he already put it away before Dream even got on screen how many times do i have to say THANKS I HATE IT HERE before it becomes meaningless

So this was around the point (or maybe a little bit later, but talking about this point) during dsmp where I started seeing it cross my dash without any context and saw a lot of takes about "oh but they didn't get the invite" and I had NO IDEA why Tommy was so upset about what was clearly a misunderstanding or why he was making it such a big deal.... well I get it now

Tommy really really isn't in a place where he can believe someone when they say they didn't get an invite. And it Really Truly WAS a big deal and actually I'm 100% on Tommy's side on this issue now (though I also don't blame the other characters for this: See Big Green Bastard Man who is truly at fault) I can understand completely why he throws it in their face later though

He's doubting if he wants to go back now.. that was exactly the point of it all :(

"Thanks for letting me keep my armor today btw" I hate how sincere Tommy is about this. I hate how Dream has so effectively done this, where Tommy sees it as a FAVOR that Dream doesn't come and blow up all of his things and hard work and THANKS him for it.

People much smarter than me have pointed out how 1:1 this is to real abusive relationships and how well its portrayed. I don't have anything clever or insightful to say here I guess, just that its exhausting and heavy to watch (but also really powerful as well, because we DON'T see shit like this played this realistically, or in this much accurate detail)

I just want Tommy to be out of here safely and realize what is being done to him is WRONG and not his fault and be given a chance to actually heal. I know the likelihood of that in the future, considering whats to come, is also. complicated to say the least.

#dream smp #dream smp liveblog #dsmp exile arc #tommyinnit #c!dream critical #dreamwastaken #abuse tw #gaslighting tw #suicide tw #depression tw

[nat-20s]

what’s poppin everyone please have this fun lil writing warmup/short story inspired by me thinking “Dancing in the Moonlight” was definitely 100% about werewolves

~*~

“So, this your first transformation?”

The counselor? Leader? Tour guide? Asked this with a perfectly jovial tone, as if the typical social mores surrounding, ugh, lycanthropy, didn’t apply to her. They didn’t know what exact title to call her, and her name tag just said “Luna”, which, reflecting on it, either was a joke on her part or a reflection of her parents’ sense of humor.

Picking at the scabs from last month, they cringed and replied, “No. Uh. Second.”

Luna lets out a low whistle. “Oof. That sucks. Guessing you got bitten rather than inherited the ol’ wolfman gene?”

“That’s...kind of personal?”

Unlocking the front door of the log cabin that served as King Harvest’s Headquarters, Luna shrugs and says, “Shit, sorry. Forgot the whole weird stigma around your source of the once monthly nightmare, as if it fuckin matters. Also, I know, I know, ass out of you and me. Hey, you got any dietary restrictions? Gluten, peanut allergies, the like?”

Voice flat, they tell her, “I’m vegetarian,” and waits for the obvious response.

As they wander through the cabin towards the kitchen, Luna flipping on the light switches, generic club music starts to filter in. Instead of the obvious response, Luna asks, “You like veggie burgers? Or maybe pasta? I’d offer salad, but that’s really not gonna cut it for tonight.”

“I ate before I came.”

With a snort, she tells them, “Oh yeah? Did you have about 4000 calories?”

“No? Why would I have?”

Sweeping out her arm, she gestures at the food laying out on the counter and tells them, “Then eat up! 4000 is really a minimum for the night if you don’t want to feel like someone physically beat out all of your energy in the morning. 6000 is more the target area, but we got, hmm, about 15 minutes before things get uncomfortable, and half an hour max before things get dire.”

They glance down to the food, and, admittedly, the broccoli alfredo does look pretty appealing. Still, they have to ask, “Is this a cult?”

Luna lets out a bark of a laugh that has nothing to do with her (maybe) being a werewolf. “Okay, first of all, what kind of cult is like ‘fuck yeah, we’re a cult’? Secondly, despite the first thing, I can say that we’re not a cult. I know how “King Harvest: Center for Movement Therapy” sounds, both clinical and vague enough to be suspicious as hell, but I didn’t come up with the title, blame my long deceased dad for that one. Plus, ‘King Harvest: Bitchin’ Wolf Dance House’ probably wouldn’t look good on the grant applications.”

“Grants?”

“Oh yeah. This bad boy’s been publicly funded since its opening in 1972. Hence no membership fees.”

“Is that why animal control is giving out your business card? Are they one of your sponsors?”

“Nah, that’s just Jack. Me ‘n’ him go way back, hell, to his park ranger days.  I mean, yeah, I think he’ll campaign for us, but mostly I think he just hates capturing a wolf in the night only to have a naked, trembling human in the morning, and he knows that our program significantly reduces the odds of that happening, at least in this neck of the woods.”

They let out a hum, then glance back down to the food. As appealing as it down look, they’re still about..30% convinced this is an elaborate organ harvesting operation. Or sketchy sex thing.

Apparently sensing their hesitation, Luna says, “You got a favorite chip?”

“Salt and vinegar.”

Grabbing a sealed family sized bag from the overhead cabinets, Luna tosses it to them. “If you come back next full moon, either eat enough in advance or have a real meal here. That being said, excuse the turn of phrase, you should wolf that down. It’s sure as hell better than nothing.”

They catch it, and the bag opens with a puff of air that speaks to a reassuring lack of tampering. As they toss a chip into their mouth, Luna grabs a water bottle from the fridge and places it down next to them. “So? Any questions for me? We’ve still got about ten minutes before we have to go out there.”

Rolling their eyes, they tell her, “No. None at all.”

“Great! Soon as you’re done eating we’ll get you started.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Yeah, no shit, smart-ass. Seriously, what are your, we haven’t got much time.”

“I don’t know? The whole..thing? I mean, how is it supposed to..work? Like? At all?”

“You ever see Amok Time?”

“Is that relevant?”

“It’s a yes or no question babe.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then the explanation is going to be a lot more technical and take a lot longer, ultimately to likely make less sense.”

“...I’ve seen it.”

“Great! So, Pon Farr is basically this chemical blood imbalance that results in fuck or die disorder, yeah? But then Spock neither fucks nor dies, and eventually the vulcans get their shit together and find out that an intense fight can serve the same function, and the blood fever chills out. Lycanthropy operates on a similar enough basis for comparison. You’re compelled to act out on energetically heavy base instincts, returning to the ways of the wolf or whatever. Traditionally, that’s done through running and hunting, which has, historically, been a crapshoot at best. Theoretically, sex can also get the job done, but I’m sure you can imagine how that gets extremely dicey extremely quickly. Either restraints or isolation has been implemented for a while, but, c’mon, they’re bandaid solutions, and they’re far from foolproof. Luckily for us all, my grandmother decided to connect back with her ancestors, and there was a handful of stories having huge festivals to deal with ‘moon violence’. She tried it out, and, yeah, dancing works.”

“That sounds…”

They don’t know how that sounds. Made up, mostly.

“Like a bunch of hippie bullshit? Yeah, it kind of is, Grandma Josephine was a huge hippie, but it’s hippie bullshit that works. In fact, let’s go see the others, it almost always makes things clearer.”

Figuring that whatever they’re about to see can’t be worse than their transformation last month. They head through the sliding glass door out the back, the thump of the music suddenly loud enough to be felt in their chest. The sight that awaits them makes them drop their chips and let out a gasp. Barely able to speak, they exhale out, “None of them...they’re not wolves. How..how??”

Indeed, the roughly forty people jumping to the pulse of whatever they’re listening to (some to the in house DJ, some, apparently, to what’s playing over the large headphones they have adorned), resemble the image of a wolfman much more accurately. They bare claws, fangs, elongated snouts, upright ears, and  serious amounts of hair, but they’re on two legs, and moving like humans. Some of them are even singing along to the lyrics, which really shouldn’t be possible.

Luna grins, making it obvious that she’s used to this level of shell shocks. “Ultimately, you do have to give into some damn rigorous instincts. But dancing is a human instinct, not a canine one, so you end up, well, humanoid. Pretty nifty, huh?”

“And they all..they all keep their minds? I didn’t...they don’t blackout?”

“Not since we banned alcohol in the 90s! Here, watch this.”

Luna nods her head at the DJ, and the DJ, obligingly, turns down the music for a moment. The members of the crowd not listening to their own music pause, then look towards the door. She cries out, “Hey gang! HOW WE ALL DOIN’ TONIGHT?”, and gets a mix between a howl and “WOO!” cried back. The DJ then turns the music back up, and the general movement of the crowd resumes.

They should be more skeptical. They want to be more skeptical, they were just minutes before, but it’s hard to disagree with something right in front of you. “This will work for me? I just..have to dance?”

“Well, it’s not guaranteed. Few things are. But we have yet to have someone turn violent on us. If you start to fell yourself slipping from consciousness, though, I do ask that you start heading further into the woods, as to not hurt other guest. If you find yourself just getting tired, there’s beds inside, and a fair amount of pillows around the edge of the quote unquote dance floor, if you end up in more of a nesting mood. Also, I recommend taking off your shoes before you start.”

“What? Why?”

Luna gives a pointed glance at the dancers’ feet, which, ah. They’re about twice as large as normal and at least twice as sharp. The converse on their feet would be no match. “Ah.”

“Ready?”

They shove off their shoes and place the remainder of their chips aside. “As I’ll ever be.”

Good thing, too, as they’re starting to feel an uncomfortable pressure in their chest that was the prelude to disaster last month.

Luna strides to the center of the dance floor, which is really a plush lawn surrounded by forest. The crowd naturally moves around her, and she yells out, “Aiyana! Play my song!”

Aiyana gives a nod, and the opening notes of “Dancing in the Moonlight” start to sound out. “Seriously?”

Luna shrugs, grinning like a fool, and says, “It’s a classic!”

“It’s cliché at best.”

Luna shrugs, and then begins dancing. She’s hardly elegant, but she is dazzlingly joyful in her uncoordinated movements. As the song reaches the first chorus, she gives a twirl, and in the split second it takes, she’s transformed. They blink in shock, not knowing you could transform that seamlessly, that quickly, that painlessly. Luna in half wolf form is just as expressive as the human Luna, and she gives a nod over her shoulder as if to say Come on.

Feeling somewhat foolish, they start to bop their head to the tune. Luna lets out a huff and grabs their hands, spinning them around and forcing them to get moving. At first, it’s them indulging Luna, but as they let themselves get lost in rhythm, they feel a stretching sensation in their face and limbs. It’s not unpleasant, more like when you wake up and work out the tension in your spine. They open their eyes and look down at their hands, now covered in fur in and made for slashing. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt, and they’re still themselves, and they had no idea that full moons could be like this, maybe for the rest of their lives.

They turn their head to the night sky, and their body can’t help but continue to dance. Despite all their fear, all their dread, “movement therapy” worked, and they can admit, at least to themselves, that they feel warm and bright.

#my writing #nats journey into writing short stories based on 70s songs continues lmao

[organabanana]

Leaves of three, let it be [1/?] || harlivy

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom: DCU (Comics)DCUHarley Quinn (Comics)Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel

Characters: Pamela Isley, Harleen Quinzel, Selina Kyle

Additional Tags: Mentions of alcohol, mentions of batman fucking bats, most of this is straight up idiocy tbh, i just finished watching the cartoon so everyone swears like a sailor i'm sorry, rated for (ahem) happenings later on, ivy/harley/catwoman frenemies

Series: Part 1 of the Cliché a Week 2021 series

Summary:

Aided by a terrible hangover and a severe lack of impulse control, Harley accidentally drinks an unknown substance at Ivy's apartment and suddenly remembers why Ivy goes by Poison Ivy in her professional life. Luckily for Harley, she's immune to Ivy's toxins. Unluckily for Harley, she may not be immune to her love pheromones, and turning into a human-plant hybrid is not her idea of a good time.

Telling Ivy so she can give her an antidote may seem like the obvious course of action, but there are very few things Harley hates more than disappointing Ivy with her poor decision-making skills. Besides, like Selina said, if she'd drunk pheromones she'd be in love with Ivy by now, right?

And Harley Quinn is absolutely not in love with her best friend.

Notes:

This was (loosely) inspired by Prompt #1104 by @promptsforthestrugglingauthor: “Hey, do you know if potions expire?” “I think it depends on the potion. Why?” “Well, I was really hungover this morning and grabbed the wrong glass and I feel super weird right now.” And "Everyone knows they’re dating except them” from the Cliché A Week Challenge by @montocalypse. The plan is for this to be 4-5 chapters at most BUT I'm not ready to commit to a number just yet so we'll see how that goes!

[ao3 link]

Harley wakes up with a pounding headache that makes her wonder if someone stole her bat and tried to crack her skull with it last night. 

"Ughhh..." she groans, squeezing her eyes shut. Her mouth feels like sandpaper. Her throat feels like... like sandpaper. Listen: she's not in any kind of mood for elaborate, imaginative similes right now. Everything is pain and/or sandpaper. Deal with it.

"Fuck me." It comes out in a whiny, pathetic little voice, and Harley is almost more pissed off about that than about the hangover itself. Where is she, anyway? She forces herself to sort of... perceive  the world around her without moving a muscle or opening her eyes, which may not be the best approach but it works anyway because she totally knows Ive's apartment by smell.

As friends do.

Once that's settled, and she knows she's in fact safe (how could she not be? She's at Ivy's!) Harley moves her right hand and feels around for the bedside table, but apparently she didn't climb into her usual side of the bed (friends have sides of their friends' beds, obviously) because what she feels on her right side is soft and warm and definitely not a bedside table.

"Sorry." She mumbles, affectionately patting Ivy's ass before turning over to the other side and trying again. She does find a table this time, and she nearly cries in relief when she finds a little water bottle waiting for her parched lips to drink.

Score.

It's only when she's downed the whole thing that she realizes two things:

One, that did not  taste like water.

And two, there is a reason Pam goes professionally by Poison  Ivy.

"Shit," Harley stage-whispers, blue eyes now wide open as she stares at the empty bottle in her hand, "shit, shit, shit."

Harley knows she's not dying. She knows she's immune to toxins, and she's cuddled the fuck out of Ivy (as friends do) on enough occasions to know she doesn't break out in hives at Ivy's touch. But the thing about Ivy is, she's kind of an overachiever. There aren't just toxins to worry about. Harley could be about to turn into a fern or something, and nobody could do anything to prevent it.

Well, except Pam.

But you know what? Considering the kind of mood Ivy gets in when Harley makes a less than stellar choice, she's gonna risk turning into a plant rather than waking her up.

"Morning, sunshine." Selina walks -- nay, prances  -- into the bedroom looking flawless as always, which is pretty fucking unfair considering her presence at Ivy's can only mean she was there for whatever hangover-causing shenanigans they all happened to get into last night. But of course, Selina Kyle is above looking like shit while hungover. 

" Selina ," Harley all but hisses (which is fitting, considering Selina's... you know), showing her the empty bottle, "I fucked up."

"When do you not  fuck up, Harley?" It comes off as both smug and somehow charming, which is, again, pretty fucking unfair. "What did you do this time?"

Harley shows her the empty bottle once again, shaking it slightly like she cannot  believe Selina isn't getting the gravity of the situation right away.

"What? I don't get it-- ohh ." Selina lets out a quiet chuckle that sounds almost like a purr. "Yeah, you fucked up."

"Dammit, Selina! What if I turn into a fucking succulent?"

"Oh come on, don't be dramatic. What color was it?"

Harley stares at her. "Don't you think I'd have known not to drink it if I'd looked at it?"

"I mean, I tend to assume people look at things  before putting them in their mouth. But you did  fuck Joker, so..."

"Hurtful." A beat. "Fair, yes, but still. Hurtful."

As if on cue, Ivy rolls over in her sleep, draping her arm across Harley's lap. Harley smiles, momentarily forgetting the bottle and its contents and the potential result of her having drunk them, because Ivy is just such a good friend. Protecting her from Selina's... well. Selina-ness even in her sleep.

"You guys need some privacy?"

Harley doesn't stop gently tracing the vines on the back of Ivy's hand, but she does look away from soft green skin to shoot Selina a teasing look. "Aw, does someone need scritches? Here, pussy pussy..."

Selina rolls her eyes. "Fine. Turn into a fucking sequoia for all I care. At least you'll be good for climbing."

The soft movements of Harley's fingers stop as Selina's words fully sink in. "Wh- what?" Harley's voice sounds a bit deflated, like one of those sad clown balloons after a sad balloon fart.

"I'm just saying. Pheromones and chill forever as a human-tree abomination? Kind of her signature move."

Harley just stares at Selina, horrified at the prospect of spending the rest of her life as a brain-dead tree and trying (and failing) to come up with a plausible reason why there is no way Ivy's pheromones were in that bottle.

"Anyway!" Selina sighs, stretching her arms up over her head. "I should get going. I have cats to feed."

"Wait. Wait!" Harley stage-whispers, and she's suddenly extremely thankful for Ivy sleeping like a log.

Heh. Like a log .

"You can't leave me, Selina! What if you're right?"

"Oh, come on, kitten," Selina says over her shoulder, already on the way to the door, "if it was pheromones you'd be in love with her by now."

The sound of the door slamming shut behind Selina is enough to finally wake Ivy, and Harley feels her best friend's arms tighten around her as Ivy stretches awake.

"Mmmhey, Harls." Ivy mumbles, voice rough and heavy with sleep as she moves even closer to Harley. 

Normally, Harley would've just sunk back into the most comfortable bed ever (there's a reason she rarely sleeps in her own!) and gone in for a round of lazy morning cuddles. She'd have basked in the smell of Ivy in the morning (freshly cut grass sparkling with dew drops) which is so different from the floral notes of Ivy at any other time of the day. She'd have pressed a kiss or two to Ivy's warm skin, felt her lips tingle with the sweet taste of a poison she's very much immune to, and maybe even fallen back to sleep listening to Ivy's heartbeat and the soft rhythm of her breaths.

You know. As friends do.

But today, thanks to Selina (the fact that nobody forced Harley to drink that stupid bottle is irrelevant, of course), Harley can't relax. She stiffens, even, becoming virtually un-snuggable and making Ivy fully open her eyes to give her a questioning look.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course, Ive!" The enthusiasm is as fake as her smile, and the way Ivy's eyes narrow tells her it's been very much noticed. "Bit hungover, that's all."

It takes a couple of seconds for Ivy to speak. Like she's pondering whether to mention there's never been a hangover bad enough to keep Harley from getting her cuddle on or to just let it go for now. Harley's delighted to see the second option win in the end.

"Want me to give you something for the headache?"

"Nope!" Harley's on her feet in two seconds flat, practically jumping away from Ivy's warm body and her warm eyes and the warm offer of some nice natural drugs. "Thanks, though. You're sweet as pie, butter...fly."

"Butterfly." Ivy deadpans from the bed, looking more and more like she's mere seconds away from researching actual mental health facilities in Gotham (Arkham does not  count).

"Buttercup doesn't rhyme with pie. Listen, I should go. I have so much to do. There are-- well, you know! Havoc won't wreak itself, right? Gotham needs me."

"To... wreak havoc."

" Pre cisely. Gonna wreak it real good. You know me! Won't settle for a half-wroken havoc." 

"Wro... ken?"

"Oh, for sure, for sure!" What is she even saying? Harley grabs her bat and swings it a little like she's holding a purse and not a weapon, but thankfully she doesn't break anything in Ivy's room, which is great. "Text ya later, yeah?"

Ivy looks like she's struggling to even begin to process everything that's happened in the five minutes she's been awake. And honestly, Harley's grateful for it. She hasn't noticed the missing bottle, and she's not forcing Harley to stay and answer questions, so it's a win/win/win situation if you ask her. You know... other than the potential mutant tree issue.

"Okay!" Harley grins. "Good talk. Bye, Red. Love ya!"

Shit . 

Harley freezes for a moment. She's told Ivy she loves her before. Of course she has! She loves Ive, and Ivy loves her. They're pretty vocal about that. But today isn't just any other day. She always loves Ivy as a friend, of course. As her best friend she adores and would absolutely kill and die for. The most important person in her life. The one person who's ever made Harley feel safe and loved and appreciated unconditionally. She loves Ivy in a way that makes her feel like her heart is a bit too big for her ribcage and sometimes it gets so crowded in there she's afraid she may pop a rib out of its socket or something, but then Ivy holds her and everything settles again.

You know. A friendly kind of love.

But does she love  Ivy? Harley looks at her hands like she's expecting a few leaves to have sprouted there already. 

"Harley. Seriously, are you okay?"

Ivy's voice snaps her out of her funk, and Harley knows she needs to get out before she's forced into a whole conversation about this thing. 

"Peachy keen, Pam-a-lamb." Harley forces herself to walk towards the door without looking back, just in case. Just in case suddenly Ivy's surrounded by a pink fog of love, or whatever the fuck people see when they look at her while under the influence of her pheromones. I mean, she can't look even more  beautiful than she does normally, right? That's not even possible. So it must be like... a heart emoji filter or something. She really  doesn't want to find out. "Talk later!"

***

Harley looks at the melting cheese on her third egg sandwich like she's expecting it to hold the meaning of life. Or, at the very least, an answer to today's big conundrum. Is she or is she not turning into a tree?

And sure. Sure! She could ask Pam. This would be solved immediately, she knows. She could just ask Pam what was in the bottle and confess she's drunk it and just... put up with her mood for a while. No big deal! Except she really fucking hates disappointing Ivy, you know? When she gets all... cold and detached, and feels more like lettuce than lush tropical foliage. 

Listen, trust her, okay? Sad salad buffet lettuce Ivy is just the fucking worst.

So she takes a bite of her sandwich and tells herself whatever she drank can't have been anything too dangerous. It's been a couple hours now, so she should've felt some kind of effect, right? She should be feeling a bit plant-y, at the very least. Maybe a bit nauseous or something. But she feels fine. 

Well-- not fine , fine. She's still kinda rattled, but that's Selina's fault.

She's fine.

***

"Are you sure you're up for this?"

Ivy lets Selina handle the entry point (you'd think Gotham millionaires would've given up on skylights by now) and looks at Harley with a mixture of concern and distrust in her eyes. She clearly hasn't forgotten about their conversation in the morning.

"I'm fine!" Harley swings her bat around just to loosen up her bat-swinging muscles. She's fine. Not a plant, not in a love fog, not in any way dying. Totally fine. And , most importantly, not dealing with limp lettuce Ive. "It was just a hangover."

Ivy's eyes narrow just enough to make it crystal clear how little she trusts Harley right now, but for once Selina Kyle makes Harley's life easier instead of harder when she speaks.

"Ladies. This is a truly riveting conversation, but I have shit to do.”

“Like fucking a bat-fucking bat?” It may be a cheap shot, but it makes Ivy stiffle a laugh, and Harley kinda thinks that makes it the best joke ever.

But Selina simply cocks an eyebrow at Harley. “Are you sure you want to discuss regrettable sexual partners?”

Ouch. “Fair enough,” Harley concedes, already jumping through the hole Selina’s cut in the glass, “come on, we have an oil tycoon to kill.”

“Not an oil tycoon, Harls.” Ivy glides down on a vine, looking all majestic like some kind of forest nymph, and Harley simply has to stare and smile because how can she not? Look at her friend! “He’s been using an experimental fuel that causes—“

“Does it matter?” Selina sighs like even interrupting Ivy is exhausting, plucking a shiny gold ornament from a nearby table and making Harley wonder (honestly, not for the first time) if she just keeps shiny trinkets hidden in her catsuit like a magician to make it seem like she’s finding them everywhere. “Guy’s loaded.”

“It matters to me, Selina. Not all of us have the moral compass of a magpie.”

Harley giggles at Ivy’s joke. You know what? It may not even have been a real joke, because Ivy’s sense of humor is not exactly her best quality. But it was funny anyway.

“And if it matters to Ive, it matters to moi .” Harley points at herself with her bat and winks at her best friend, and honestly, who the hell cares what this guy does, exactly? Maybe he’s single-handedly destroying the Amazon, or maybe he just happens to walk through the grass instead of using the little paths when making his way across the park. Whatever it is, it’s important to Ivy. And if it’s important to Ivy, it’s important to Harley. And if it’s important to Ivy in a way that makes her smile like she does when Harley winks at her? Well, then this is absolutely Harley’s top fucking priority.

Things get interesting as soon as they turn a corner and step onto the plush carpet of the experimental fuel (hey, she actually listens when Ivy speaks) tycoon's private wing. And you know what? Harley's delighted to hear the alarms go off and a bunch of goons crawl out from their hidey holes like buff armed cockroaches. She knows Ivy and Selina prefer the whole... well, you know. In and out, clean and easy kind of approach to murder and robbery, respectively. But Harley's an action gal. She has the energy to burn and a bat to swing, and most of all, she has shit to not think about.

So she's delighted when this guy's goons happen to be relatively okayish at fighting, which is much more than can be said for most men she fights in this city. 

"I'll go deal with him before he can escape," Ivy says, already walking towards the door to his office. "You guys all right out here?" 

"We're great ." Selina says in that tone she has where she pretends she's annoyed but you can tell she's having a blast. 

Honestly. Who wouldn't  be having a blast? It's like whack-a-goon!

"So," Selina says as soon as Ivy's out of earshot, which Harley can appreciate as an act of friendship, "no pheromones, I take it?"

"Nope!" Harley punctuates the word by slamming her bat into some guy's face. "None at all."

"Huh."

"What?" She's distracted enough by Selina's reply that she actually takes a punch to the face, which only manages to piss her off. She turns to look at the guy who delivered the blow just so he can see the look in her eyes before she completely obliterates his face. "Holy shit, dude. Can't you see we're having a fucking CONVERSATION !?"

For the next few minutes, Harley focuses on getting rid of the last few men around them so they can finish talking. Sure, beating up idiots is fun, but that little 'huh' was just mysterious enough to grab Harley's interest. What could possibly be so huh-worthy about her being fine? 

By the time they're done, there are a number of unconscious goons scattered all over the place. Harley pants, using her hand to wipe blood (mostly not hers) and sweat (mostly hers) off her face as she catches her breath.

"Whew. That was fun, right?"

Selina, as usual, manages to look spotless even if Harley saw her deal with several men with her own two eyes. Is Selina Kyle secretly magic? 

Could be.

"I've had better." Selina uses one of her claws to unlock an ornate little box and gather the jewels inside. Can she smell  expensive stuff? "Come on, let's go get Ivy."

"No, no, wait." Harley lowers her voice like she's scared Ivy may hear them somehow. "What did you mean earlier?"

"What do you mean, what did I mean?"

"You know," Harley motions in the general direction of the spot where Selina was when they were talking before, "with the huh."

"The what ." 

"The huh, Selina! The huh!" Dark olive eyes narrow in confusion (and annoyance), and Harley groans because she can't believe Selina Kyle is being this thick. "I said no pheromones. And you said huh."

"Oh, that." Selina uses a polished silver platter as a mirror to reapply a lipstick Harley is frankly not sure where one would even carry in a skin-tight leather jumpsuit. The more time she spends with Selina, the more convinced she is she just doesn't abide by the laws of physics. 

And the more time she waits for Selina to elaborate, the more Harley realizes she just... isn't going to, apparently.

"Uughhh!" Harley groans and uses her bat to smash a nearby sculpture. "You're killing me, Selina! What the fuck did you mean!?"

Selina cocks one perfectly manicured eyebrow (Harley can tell it's happening under the mask) and gives Harley a look like she can't believe she'd have the audacity to speak to her in that tone. 

"I meant," Selina's tone is a warning, like she wants to make it clear she could have made Harley suffer more if she wanted, but she's choosing not to, "I found it surprising. You looked a bit loved up to me."

"What? Pffft." Harley lets out a chuckle and nudges one of the pieces of the sculpture with her foot. "Cut back on the catnip, Selina."

Loved up. Ridiculous. Does she love Ivy? Of course. Is she loved up? Of course not . There's no heart emoji fog. None at all.

"If you say so." Selina gives her A Look. The kind of look says she doesn't believe Harley, and she wants Harley to know that even if she won't engage in an argument about it right now. Selina Kyle can say a lot with one look. 

For a moment, Harley considers pushing the issue. She could insist. She could give her a list of reasons why she's absolutely not loved up at all whatsoever. She could tell Selina how what she shares with Ivy is actually true friendship, and Selina would know if she was capable of bonding with anything other than cats and jewelry. She could tell her how there's nothing even remotely mind-foggy about her feelings for Ive (she could bring up she's seen that mind fog in action the many times Ive's put Batman under her spell, even). Harley could tell Selina how her brain always feels a bit foggy in a vague kind of way -- just foggy enough to keep Harleen quiet and let Harley take the wheel -- but being with Ivy makes her feel more lucid, more real , than anything else in the world. How when Ive says she loves her Harley feels it right in her bones, in the very marrow of them, in the deepest, darkest, longest-forgotten parts of her brain where no other feeling can ever reach.

She could tell her how wildly different all that is from a silly potion-induced love fog. But she doesn't think Selina would understand their friendship even if Harley actually spelled it out. So she doesn't.

Instead, she silently follows Selina towards the office where Pam's been doing her thing. Where Pam's still doing her thing, actually, and Harley can't help but smile and lean against the doorframe to watch her best friend doing what she loves most (after Harley) in the world: eco-conscious murder.

"I fucking swear ," Ivy hasn't realized they're there, so she must be talking to what Harley can only assume is the tycoon himself even though only one of his legs can be seen outside the enormous mouth of a very happy-looking carnivorous plant, "how hard is it to not print out e-mails? Look at all this shit. Do you know how many trees had to be killed so you could print out your shitty... whatever the fuck this is?" 

Ivy groans like she's frustrated she can't use her powers to just will all the papers scattered everywhere to turn back into trees. There are vines everywhere -- like nature reclaiming the furniture and the walls and the floors and really every surface of his office. There's a strange beauty to it, Harley thinks. Haunting, like those pictures of abandoned buildings covered in grass and moss and weeds. Even when she's angry -- and oh, she's angry  right now -- Ivy really can't help but make the world a more beautiful place, can she?

Even when she was on the other side of the reinforced glass, wearing her glasses and her white coat, Harley never fully understood why Poison Ivy was lumped in with the rest of the psychos in Gotham.

Harley doesn't know how long she stays there. Selina's happily working on the safe next to the carnivorous plant, and Harley's more than content to just watch Ivy in her element for a while.

And then, it happens. 

Ivy's going on a rant about a bunch of single-use coffee cups she's found in the trashcan by the desk when she suddenly stops in her tracks. Harley can't see what she's looking at until Ivy turns around with a small flower pot in her hand, a sad-looking, mostly dry plant limply hanging off its side.

"Fuck him."

Ivy touches the plant and her brow furrows, and Harley knows she's feeling the thirst and the pain in the little plant as if it was her own. "You're okay now," Ivy says as the plant starts to recover, and her voice is so soft -- so full of love for a dry, nearly dead plant -- that Harley swears she feels her heart grow at least a couple sizes. She watches her best friend breathe life into a little plant, watches it turn from brown to green, brighter and taller, watches it sprout new leaves that make it look like it's stretching after a long sleep. And then she watches a bright yellow flower bloom, and when Harley finally manages to tear her eyes away from the flower to look at Ivy instead, she swears she feels her heart stop dead in its tracks.

Ive's always beautiful. Always, without fail, no matter what time of day or night, lounging at home or brooding in an Arkham cell. Pam is beautiful always. But Harley doesn't think she's ever seen her look more beautiful than she does right now, with her hair slightly disheveled after a fight and some blood (not at all hers) splattered on her face and clothes. It's the way she's smiling at that little plant. The way her smile grows and softens when she notices Harley looking at her. Harley's so enthralled by Ivy that she doesn't realize what she's thinking until it's been running through her mind for a while.

God , Harley's in love with her.

And that's when she realizes. That's when she hears the proverbial record scratch in her brain and her eyes widen in horror because there it is. There's the pink fog before the botanical mutation, right? I mean she can't exactly see a literal pink fog, but she may as well. She can feel her heartbeat all over the place. The butterflies in her stomach. The nearly all-consuming need to grab Ivy and kiss her until neither of them can breathe. 

"Shit. Shit, Red, shit, shitshit shit ."

Ivy's no longer smiling. At all.

"Oh God, Pammy. I fucked up." Harley feels her eyes well up with tears as she rushes towards her best friend because this is no longer a hypothetical: this is happening. She did  drink something dangerous. And suddenly keeping Ivy from finding out and getting mad at her feels less important than fucking surviving. "I fucked up, Ive, I drank a potion and now I'm turning into a fucking plant, please  tell me you have an antidote."

"Harley. Harl, look at me." Ivy looks so genuinely concerned Harley's sure the ridiculous amount of love she can see in green eyes must be part of the potion's effects. She's hallucinating, isn't she? "What potion? You're immune, Harley, you know that. Calm down."

"No, no! Not poison, I mean--" Harley shakes her head but has to stop when Ivy places her hands on Harley's cheeks to hold her head steady and look into her eyes like she's wondering if Harley's on drugs or something. "I mean a love potion, Ive! Shit, I thought it was water and I just drank the whole thing and I thought maybe it was nothing because I felt fine but now I know for sure  I fucked up because I'm so in love with you like-- just feel this!" Harley grabs one of Ivy's hands and moves it from her cheek down to her chest, pressing it right where her heart is still skipping all over itself. "Right?"

"I-- I don't-- Harl, what potion ? You're immune to all of my--"

"The pheromones! I don't know what it was! God I'm such a fucking fuck-up and now I'm just-- shit I hope I at least turn into a rhododendron bush or something because I don't want to be a succulent, Ive. Don't let me turn into a succulent." Harley's really crying now, black mascara running down her cheeks and staining Pam's hand as she struggles to breathe through her words. "I know I should've told you but I didn't want you to be disappointed and now I'm in love and it's just-- Selina, you tell her!"

"Selina?" Ivy turns around like she's just realized Selina is still in the mansion, let alone in the room with them. "What's going on?"

Harley was expecting Selina to tell Ivy exactly what happened that morning. She was expecting Selina to tell Ivy all about Harley being an idiot who drinks things without looking first, about the pheromones and chill, about Harley's refusal to tell Ivy right away. Instead, Selina looks... almost like she's the one who's been caught in a lie.

"Selina, what the fuck did you do?" Ivy's voice sounds like she's mere seconds away from feeding Selina to the plant, too. Harley can feel the anger like tingles where Ivy's hands are still pressed against her skin. "What did you give her?"

Selina lets out a sigh. "Margarita mix."

"What?" Harley feels a lightbulb go off inside her brain. That  was the weird taste when she drank whatever was in that bottle. Fucking margarita mix. But just.. "Why? What the fuck, Selina? Why would you let me think it was pheromones? I know Batman doesn't actually fuck bats, probably. Come on, it was a joke! Mostly!" 

"Will you relax?" Selina sounds like she can't believe Harley may be a bit agitated after spending a whole day thinking she's going to die and/or mutate into a plant. "I'm sick of watching you two idiots pretend that ," she points in the general direction of Harley and Ivy, "is just a couple of gals being pals. Figured I'd help you out."

"Help!?" Harley could just-- God , she could just smash Selina's face in with her bat. But she suddenly realizes there's a much more pressing issue to handle before revenge can even begin to be considered. "Shit, Red," Harley takes one step back to look at Ivy, and for the first time ever she's surprised to see she can't read the look in her eyes, "I didn't mean-- you know I didn't mean any of it, right?" For a split second Harley swears something like pain flashes behind green eyes, but it's gone as quickly as it appeared. "I was just worried and I-- I got in my head about it. But you know I didn't mean it. You know , right? Pammy?"

It takes Ivy a few seconds to answer, and when she does she sounds... different. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

For some reason, it doesn't sound as reassuring as Harley though it would.

"Come on, Ive--" Selina tries to keep talking, but Ivy cuts her off.

"Listen, we're done here. So I'm just gonna..." Ivy shakes her head like she's trying to physically clear it of thoughts and feelings and general clutter, "I'm just gonna go home."

Harley feels like she's stuck to the floor. She just stands there, silent and frozen in place as she watches Ivy leave. She knows this isn't right. She knows something  just happened -- something she can't quite wrap her brain around right now. All she knows is Ivy's leaving, and she wants her to stay but she doesn't know how to make her body move or make any noises until her gaze drops to the desk and she sees the little plant right there.

"Ive!" Harley grabs the pot and runs out just in time to see Ivy's vines lifting her up through the same skyline they used to get in. "Ivy, you forgot the plant!"

But Ivy doesn't come back.

#harlivy #harley x ivy #fic #harley quinn/poison ivy #cliche a week 2021 #this is my first chaptered fic i can't guarantee it won't be a hot mess #comics #dcu #poison ivy

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Definitely do *not* write a drabble about Chris being triggered into thinking Jake is sending him back, with Jake having to comfort him. Do not do it, Ash. I demand it.

While I couldn't quite bring myself to hit the request exactly, I did think of something that might actually give Chris a very similar reaction... sorry I sat on this so long, I couldn’t make the words do for a while, but here they FINALLY are

CW: Referenced beating/injuries, emeto mentions, bruising, pressing on a bruised rib, trauma response, some discussion of PTSD/conditioned responses, discussion of noncon touching, noncon in memories + discussion (warning: Jake speaks very plainly about what it was, so cw for use of the word r*pe, I know that can be difficult), referenced violent reaction to stimming

TIMELINE: Immediately post-Safehouse Raid/Interrogation series

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @stxckfxck, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions, @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump

Dr. Masood’s touch is gentle, and light, and Jake can see why the rescues like him so much. The safehouse’s doctor - a man who could lose his license to practice if anyone finds out that he provides healthcare to illegal runaway pets on nights and weekends - hums to himself, cheerfully, as his thumbs and fingers graze along the edge of Jake’s black eye, take in the bruising on his face, the swollen lower lip. 

His touch is so deft around the dark purple-black bruise on Jake’s head that he barely winces at the pressure, quick, barely-there and then gone, as Dr. Masood checks the spot where that asshole Everly bashed Jake’s head into the table again and again.

“My apologies,” Dr. Masood says gently, his accent warming his voice, making every word slightly musical. “You have quite a few bruises, some surface lacerations, but I’m not seeing anything that won’t heal with a little rest and regular at-home care. How are you sleeping?”

Jake swallows, feeling himself tense a little. He hasn’t slept, not really, in the three days since he’d come back from the police station. That first day after his return he had passed out, had laid on the bed with Chris beside him, safe in his arms, and slept like a log for nearly twelve hours, woken to eat, and then gone right back to sleep until the next day all over again. 

Ever since then... he can’t. He can doze, off and on, as long as Chris is inside the house where he can see him or by him. But he can’t-... he can’t stay asleep, he wakes at every noise, heart pounding, ready to hide Chris again, get Antoni and Leila back down to the basement. Has to be ready to open the front door himself this time, not let Nat take hits herself just to buy them time.

The deep bruising on Nat’s face, the cut across her cheekbone, the way that she moves with care and grits her teeth every time she has to stand up, the way she keeps describing herself as doing fine and powering through and making it through the day, her dry Midwestern drawl when she says she’s livin’ the dream, Jake, that’s all... it’s new wounds, layered under his skin instead of over it. It should have been him to answer the door, put up the fight, make himself the more important target.

Next time, Jake has to be the one to open the door to weapons in his face and spitting hate for his decision to protect the people who need protecting, he has to... he has to be ready.

He can’t be ready if he’s sleeping.

“I’m not,” He answers, finally. “Not much.”

Dr. Masood’s lips thin, just slightly, but he nods, looking over Jake’s torso now. Speckled with bruising, and Jake hisses in a harsh breath when Dr. Masood presses on his bruised rib, only to pull back quickly with a low apology. “I could give you something to help you sleep, Jake.”

“I wouldn’t... I wouldn’t take it,” Jake says. He could lie, but what’s the point?

“I see.” The doctor pauses. “Jake-”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jake says gruffly. “Every time I sleep, I-”

see myself begging for it to stop saying I’ll do anything give up anyone they want just let me sleep just give me something to eat just one small thing anything I’ll do anything

Jesus, how little it took to get him saying please and thank you - who knew how much it would have taken for him to give away even more?

I wanted to contract you, but I was overruled.

He shudders, then winces as the motion sends pain out in a nauseating wave from his ribcage, lifting a hand to put a bit of pressure there. 

How long was Chris held, before he gave them whatever they wanted, gave them whoever he used to be, just to get a little sleep?

“You are having nightmares,” Dr. Masood finishes for him. They’re sitting in the den, a small room behind the living room, where they have their one-on-ones with the therapist, where they have an occasional group meeting. Jake nods, leaning over despite the new throb of pain, and closes his eyes, rubbing his hand over his mouth, over the stubble he hasn’t shaved. Nearly a week of growth, between interrogation and the first few days back home.

“Bet your ass I am,” Jake muttered. The scratch of the hair on his jaw against his thumb and fingers was another reminder of how fucked up the past week of his life had been. 

“About being arrested?” Dr. Masood handed Jake his shirt - a button-up, Jake was struggling to pull shirts on over his head when it meant lifting his arms and pulling on bruised muscles and aching bones. 

“Not really. That’s I’m not the one who gets hauled off this time.”

“You are seeing Chris in your place.” It’s not a question.

Jake blinks up at the doctor and then just laughs, shaking his head, ignoring the pulse of ache at the motion. It’s not like he doesn’t just hurt all of the time no matter what he does, what’s the point of pretending otherwise? “Yeah. Or... back there in that place.”

Now he’s seen Chris - or who he was before he was Chris or even the rescue wrapped in his blanket in the rain. Now he’s seen the hunched-over shoulders, the attempts to rock and tap and do the things he did to keep himself calm met with implacable, awful violence. 

He understands the way Chris never moved at first, would just stay in one spot for hours in perfect silence, so much better now.

He dreams of Chris there again, the dull terror in wide green eyes. 

Worse, he dreams he’s the one who put him there. Sees himself in the shitty fucking uniforms those assholes wear, shoving Chris ahead of him down the hallway while he begs and pleads for Jake to remember himself, to save him, but Jake can’t save him from them because Jake is them...

Sees himself making the same sick jokes Everly made to him, touching Chris’s face, treating him like an object, like a fucking toy to be used, to be-

Jake’s stomach heaves and he leans over as saliva floods his mouth, breathing carefully, waiting for the nausea, the need to throw up the bit of tea and toast he had for breakfast, to pass. 

Dr. Masood watches him with care in those dark eyes, his hands folded in front of him. “You have undergone a trauma, Jake. It’s common to have nightmares afterward as your mind attempts to process that trauma-”

“I haven’t gone through shit,” Jake spits with sudden anger. “I got roughed up, that’s all. That’s not-... that isn’t shit compared to-”

“How old are you, trainee?” The handler asks the question heavy with loaded double-meanings, obvious enough Jake can read them. Give the right answer or get hurt.

“Eighteen,” Chris whispers, with wide scared eyes. Everyone in the room seems satisfied with the blatant, obvious lie.

“Good. And is that the legal consenting age?”

“… yes.”

“Good boy.” The handler pets heavily through Chris’s hair, and the boy shudders in disgust - Jake has never seen him react to touch like that, not from anyone. Just one more sign of a person that’s been totally erased.

“Pl-please, please don’t, please don’t-don’t, don’t touch me-”

“That’s not an option available to you any longer.”

“-compared to what they’ve all lived through,” Jake finishes, trying to close his eyes against the thoughts but he can see it in his mind, now, the way the person who wasn’t yet Chris had shuddered and tried to turn away from touch only to have it forced on him again and again and again.

He feels the nausea again, and this time it takes everything in him not to throw up all over the floor. They hurt Chris, in that place. The touch he seeks out from Jake comes from being forced to accept touch until he wanted it, until he doesn’t know any other way to be. Doesn’t it?

Doesn’t that make needing to hold Chris in the night to know he’s safe, carrying him around, the hugs he’s offered so freely... doesn’t that make all of that no different than assault?

Jake has always thought he was helping, by giving open and easy affection. But... what if he’s only reinforcing what Chris shouldn’t want? Maybe doesn’t, deep down? Chris is an open book but even open books can have things hidden in the margins.

It’s not like Chris could ever tell him if he didn’t want to be touched, is it? They can’t say no, can’t even begin to process the word without fear of punishment. Jake knows that as well as anyone, it’s why he’s so careful with the rescues, but they need touch so badly. All of them, even Antoni, lean heavily into physical reassurance and affection, seem to recover faster and more easily if they can seek it out when they need it, but... 

Jesus, what if Chris is shuddering and shaking and disgusted and only pretending that it feels nice to be hugged? What if-

What if Jake really isn’t any better than Grant Everly, anyway?

Pull yourself together. This doesn’t make sense. But his brain won’t stop spitting the certainty back at him. The image of that asshole - whoever it was, Chris’s fucking actual handler, that stupid fucking word they use instead of abuser, instead of abductor, instead of son of a bitch who deserves to die-

“Jake, trauma doesn’t work that way,” Dr. Masood says quietly. “There is no trauma Olympics. There is no competition to see whose is worse and caused by what. You were subjected to sleep deprivation, purposeful withholding of food and water, physical assault... Natalie tells me you were forced to watch some of the trauma young Chris was put through as well, and understand, what you are feeling is normal and nothing to be ashamed of-”

“It’s not shit, it’s nothing, I’m supposed to be able to take it, it’s not like I haven’t had the shit kicked out of me before and I was a lot younger then,” Jake snaps, pushing himself to his feet. The woozy burst of pain behind his eyes and in his ribs nearly stops him, but not quite. “This isn’t anything. Fucking black eye and a bruised rib and I turn into a little kid scared of the fucking dark.”

“That’s not what this is,” Dr. Masood says quietly. “Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is common even in situations in which outright danger to your physical self is not present. You kept Chris hidden.” He puts his hand on Jake’s shoulder, squeezes lightly, in support. “There is something to have pride in, there. You put your body between Chris and danger, Jake. You are a stalwart certainty in his life, when he very much needs one. I’ve known you since you first came here to work for Natalie, and I am-” Dr. Masood pauses, clears his throat. “I am always amazed by your dedication to doing what is best for them all. And I think Chris would still be... quieter... if it weren’t for you specifically.”

Jake can hear the words but they don’t settle, they don’t mean anything. Just buzzing bees trying to distract him from the realization that he can’t protect Chris, because doing that means protecting Chris from himself.

“I can’t-... I can’t do this.”

“Jake?” Dr. Masood’s voice is quiet. “We can end the appointment now, if you wish, but I hope you will at least take the medication I brought with me to help manage your pain-”

“I can’t do this,” Jake groans, hot angry tears building behind closed eyes. “I can’t be this, I can’t do this, I can’t live like this. I can’t keep being around him if this is what it means, you know? I can’t keep spending time with Chris, or keeping him near me, or-... I can’t touch him. I don’t want to touch him if this is... if this is the result. I don’t want to be anywhere near him, if...”

He trails off, trying to imagine how to say if being near him means i’m only hurting him, slowing his recovery, making him dependent on me where he used to be dependent on that motherfucking pervert son of a bitch who raped him, who paid for him to be trained to be raped and pretend it was something else, if this isn’t helping him I’d rather die than make someone like him hurt any worse...

He can’t figure out how to phrase it, how to even begin. It feels good just to say it, just to let it out, and maybe... maybe it isn’t what he thinks it is, really. Maybe he’s not so bad, though, because the rescues do need solid, positive touch, they do, they just-

But how can you fucking tell? How can he tell if what he provides Chris is helping or hurting him?

“Jake, you need to speak with Dr. Berger. These thoughts suggest to me that your trauma is internalizing because you lack an external outlet. You are not-”

“I don’t want to fucking be around him if this is what happens!”

Jake means if I only hurt him worse, but the sound of sudden footsteps, nearly silent, breaks in before he can clarify, before he even realizes he should have.

Jake’s heart drops to his knees. He knows those footsteps, he knows them deep within himself with perfect muscle-memory born of every night Chris has moved nearly-silent to his bedside and whispered, Jake, Jake, can I-I, can, can I sleep with you?

All at once, Jake knows that what he said out loud and what he thought were two different things, and Chris only heard the one.

“Oh, fuck,” He says out loud.

No, no, no no no-

It hurts but Jake puts the pain aside - he’s done it before, after all, washing dishes after dinner with bruises all over his chest and back where they hide easily under his school clothes and his father’s glare burning holes in his back while his mother puts ice on her own bruises upstairs - and moves, with uncommon speed for a man of his size and his injuries.

It doesn’t matter.

Chris is already gone, the back door in the kitchen smacking shut even as Jake moves through the living room. Antoni, in the middle of chopping vegetables for dinner, has frozen and looked up, his eyes meeting Jake’s. Antoni doesn’t ask - only drops the knife and moves for the door, the two of them calling Chris’s name nearly simultaneously. 

He’s not in the backyard, not in the shed or the little planter-garden, not shimmying up a tree, not sitting on the back fence, not here.

There’s no redhead anywhere to be seen. Even when they move to the front yard and look back and forth, he’s nowhere to be seen.

“What happened?” Antoni asks, softly, as the two of them stare at the space where Chris should be, and isn’t.

“I fucked up,” Jake says, heavily.

What else is fucking new?

“... what do we do?” Antoni rakes a hand back through thick dark hair. “Where did he go?”

Jake closes his eyes, tries to think over the pounding guilt and fury, aimed now entirely at himself.

“I don’t know.”

#whump #whumped caretaker #angry caretaker #caretaker whumpee #bruising tw #bruised rib #jake the shelter guy #survivor guilt #ptsd tw #referenced noncon #use of the word rape #referenced torture #caretaking #heavy angst #runaway whumpee #box boy #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #emeto mention #pain #conditioning #trauma response #intrusive thoughts tw #trauma induced rage #self-loathing tw

[daintykeith]

RUN KID RUN

Title: Run Kid Run

Summary: Dutch and Hosea are trying to teach John how to read but he runs off after they got frustrated and Arthur goes deep into the woods looking for John.

Word count: 2298

Notes: mild cursing | brief scene despicting an almost hanging | feedback is appreciated!!!

Tags: @onlytherocksliveforever

Happy late Christmas and Happy new year! I’m sorry I’m so late, this took me forever; I’ve been giving it a long thought and decided to comply to your second item in your wish list!

2) i love DUMB ASS John Marston and his better looking brother Arthur; give me a slice of life with the two of them pre-canon, or a story about them helping the other thru a tough time.

I’ve decided to combine both ideas and so this story came to be.

When Arthur was twenty-three, he saw a boy—dirty, savage and with a look in his eyes that had given up on living. This boy was with a rope in his neck, ready to be hanged. Dark gray with no reflection but death itself; no tears, no regret. Dead Eyes that held onto dear life with a fierceness reflected in his fists.

Next to the boy, an unnamed man spoke words of dead wisdom and nonsense which to the eyes of Arthur was meaningless.

“We have come to see the of law enacted. We will not sit idly by as people take the law into their own hands!”

Heavy kind of bullshit that Arthur didn’t enjoy a bit.

The crowd of the town roared loudly in excitement and agreement. For them, it was only entertainment, a show that made Arthur’s gut churn with anger. He tilted his hat lower and turned around, ready to move on. However, Dutch’s hand landed on his shoulder and stopped him.

“He looks like you did, a while ago,” Dutch said with a smirk before the gun in his hip shot the rope on the boy’s neck.

“He doesn’t.”

The boy’s shine returned in a glimpse that Arthur caught with both his eyes and heart. A will to fight and survive, to get the hell out of the mess that was about to start.

“What the hell Dutch?!”

“He was not meant to. Not yet.”

A sense of relief in his chest appeared with a long deep breath. He was glad for the boy that had gotten a chance to live, what was Dutch and Hosea thinking when they brought him into camp?

Arthur got wounded in the dirty fight they had in town for freeing the boy and he was resting in his tent, with Susan on his side cleaning his injuries. When Dutch and Hosea walked in, he asked: “What took ya’ so long?” with a warm grin that quickly faded into disbelief.

The boy stood between the two men, pouting his lips, frowning and crossing his arms as means to make himself more intimidating. The way Dutch smiled, looked and treated him with his gentle gestures and Hosea had given his jacket to protect him from the chilling breeze of that night was so familiar to Arthur; he had been in that place after all. What was that boy doing in camp? Similar to himself in the past, why did they needed to bring someone as intense and dumb as him? Wasn’t one dumb enough? He wondered.

“What’s your name, kid?” Arthur asked after he noticed Dutch’s gaze on him.

The boy stood silent.

“Come on boy, tell him.” Dutch crouched to his side and whispered words to him that Arthur wasn’t able to hear.

He remained silent.

When Arthur was twenty-four, he met the boy. A month had passed from his rescue and Arthur’s birthday quickly arrived with the cold and mean air of winter. There was no snow landscape yet, the skies had become dark and gray like the boy’s eyes and the fallen leaves

“John Marston,” the boy said with a mean streak that left Arthur with a bad taste in his tongue.

“Arthur Morgan.” He extended his hand to greet but John had already abandoned and left him with the words unsaid in his lips.

Arthur sighed and placed his hands on his gun belt; he could see John’s silhouette far away, hiding somewhere where he thought no one could see him, and grinned. A part of him still refused to acknowledge John, prouder than a bull and wilder than a cougar in a midnight sky, and another part of him found itself in that boy who slept with a knife under his pillow.

“John, come here!” Dutch called the next morning.

Arthur was laying in comfortably in his bed, with his worn-out leather hat covering his eyes, thinking about what to draw in his journal. A bird? A flower? An herb? His imagination was as dull as dishwater and his brain couldn’t tell skunks from house cats. Boredom was partly guilty of the dullness, too.

“John, come on.” From his closed tent, Arthur saw how Hosea’s figure grabbed John’s arm and took him somewhere beyond the reach of their shadow. A loud growl, from the boy, echoed through the whole camp that Arthur scoff. The boy was that stubborn?

The blue-eyed man closed his journal, stood up from his bed and walked out of his tent to do the chores of the day. As he chopped wood, he could see Dutch and Hosea, with John between them, sitting together in one of the round tables near the food station with a book in hand. This was going to be fun to see, Arthur thought.

“Okay, let’s try this again,” Dutch said firmly. “Read this part here.”

“No,” John scowled.

“Why not? It’s not that hard if you try. Here. The king in his…” Hosea slowly talked

John went silent.

“Boy,” Dutch lowly growled.

Arthur swung his axe over the log and splat it in half. When he was putting the wood aside, he peeked at John. The boy had his arms crossed, frowning and giving the book in the table a deadly gaze. Did he hate reading that much? Arthur laughed to himself and got caught by Hosea who looked at him with disapproval. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. He tried to slowly walk away, feigning ignorance, but the older man approached quicker than he predicted and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Arthur.” Hosea squeezed hard the shoulder blade and grinned in a way that created grimace in Arthur’s expression, “wanna’ join us? I thought I could show you the new book I got!”

Arthur grunted.

Just great. He knew Hosea’s way of scolding Arthur and thinking about it annoyed him, however, he didn’t expect to see Dutch vexed, red-faced and squeezing the book with both his hands, yelling to John.

On the other hand, Hosea was perplexed. He dragged his hands over his now tired face and sighed.

“He wasn’t this troublesome!” Dutch said to Hosea, referring obviously to Arthur.

Something in that statement made Arthur chest puff in pride. Oh boy, he really liked that. Even if he refused to acknowledge this feeling to everyone else, he liked it when Dutch or Hosea praised him.

Arthur remembered the days when Dutch and Hosea were teaching him to read. Hot summer days, mosquitoes everywhere and that smell he couldn’t forget, berries and lemon, which brought his mind ten years back, when he was a thin, small and young boy. He grinned to the loveable thought and looked at Dutch fighting with John.

“Dutch, what’re ya doin’!? Don’t ya’ grab him like that and rub his head!”

“I know he can do it, but he’s not even trying!”

Something Arthur knew is that Dutch would take as “true” whatever he assumed; and hardly took back his words—standing for what he believed, a true blessing for the wise and a curse for the ignorant. Later on, Arthur didn’t know which of those Dutch was. A true mystery until the very end.

“Dutch, calm down, you’re gonna scare ‘im…”

“But I know he can—"

“Shut up, you pair of dimwits!” Susan yelled from afar as she sewed one of Arthur’s shirt.

And before any of them could say any further word, John slammed his hands against the table and ran away into the woods that surrounded the camp.

“Get back here, boy!”

What a mess. When Arthur saw no signs of Dutch calming down or Hosea backing down, he decided to look out for the now goner.

“John! Where are ya’!?” Arthur yelled as he stomped over some broken sticks. Definitively John.

“Ya’ damn bastard, dontchu’ ever get tired?” he whispered to himself, wondering as he furrowed his brows and rushed his pace.

As he walked deeper into the woods, the stars that normally would be faded under sunlight, had come out without any shame, telling Arthur to hurry. The breeze got colder and the sky darker and even if he found clues of where he could have gone to, the boy sure knew how to keep out of sight. He was going nuts; what the hell was the kid running from?! He had nothing to run from and nowhere to go, what was he thinking?

“John!” He called once more before he heard a gasp to his side.

The moment he turned his head, he saw a terrified boy who had fallen into the ground. Unlike the first time he saw him, fierceness shone in his eyes despite of the fear that his thin body could not hide—however, that didn’t mean it wasn’t agile. He quickly got up into his feet and started running towards the glowing moon.

“Oh no, you ain’t!”

He could hear John’s broken breathing and how he gasped for the air he didn’t have; it broke Arthur’s heart.

“Watchu’ running from, kid?!”

Arthur got closer with every step he took and grabbed without any restrains John’s wrist to stop him, quite brusque for his liking but there was nothing he could do. Those iron eyes gazed at him with the loathe and anger he deserved which left a sour flavor in his mouth. John struggled to free himself from Arthur’s grip but it only got stronger.

“Lemme ask you again, kid. Watchu’ running from?”

John struggled again and Arthur grabbed his other wrist. He took a deep breathe and closed his eyes for a moment. Was it this hard for everyone else to deal with him? Being a kid in the streets wasn’t easy, it roughens you up in a way that shatters what you truly are, breaking and eventually rotting every corner in your mind. But he was no kid in the streets no more, he could finally begin living and not just survive.

“He wanted to kill me,” John replied in a quick low whisper.

Arthur raised a brow. “Dutch was shootin’ his mouth off and by now Hosea and Susan must have given ‘im a black eye for that.” He tried to sound reassuring.

“Let go!” John fought with all his strengths to free himself; Arthur tightened his grip.

“Listen to me, kid. You got nothing to run from; here you got a bed, food and people who want ya’—”

“Dead…” John interrupted.

“Let me finish! Goddamit—as I was saying. None of ‘em want ya’ to be a goner.”

“How can I trust you? They all said I was an idiot, useless. They all hate me and they’ll kill me. It’s better if I’m gone.”

“We’re family.” Arthur meant it. He had found a part of himself in the little black-haired boy that wanted to keep running; running to never look back, from all the things he didn’t deserve.

“We ain’t.”

“Listen to me you little piece of…! You became part of us the very moment Dutch cut that rope on your neck and brought you into the camp.”

“Still; that doesn’t mean I can trust you guys. You’re outlaws.”

John wasn’t buying a single bit of what Arthur was saying. Shit. At this rate he was gonna run off by himself and God knows what would happen to him.

“They took me in when I was your age.” John’s eyes widened in curiosity; “I… well, my momma died when I was real young and my daddy… let’s say I wish he did too. They taught me how to read and Hosea taught me how to draw.”

Despite of the nervousness inside him, Arthur took the journal out of his satchel and gave it to John without letting go of one of his wrists. He eagerly flipped through the pages and stopped to look at some of the drawings it contained; some of the graphite stuck into his fingers, but it didn’t stop him from eyeing with detail each illustration.

“Why didn’t ya’ read? Back then, when Dutch and Hosea asked you to.”

There was a long pregnant pause. “I did—read it, I mean. I, uh, wasn’t sure to er, say it out loud.”

“Really?” Arthur smiled from ear to ear. “See? You’re smart, John! Ya’ ain’t that bad, there’s potential.”

John blushed at Arthur’s praise and kept looking at the drawings until he reached the last one, that page that had remained blank for the whole day.

“They are family to me. Family is everything; I’d die for it.” His voice didn’t shake even once.

John closed the journal and gave Arthur a gaze full of admiration that Arthur wasn’t worthy of. He could be one nasty son-of-a-bitch, rash to anger and emotions; unfamiliar to giving inspirational speeches like Dutch would do or smooth-talking like Hosea the Conman.

“And I will…” he stuttered, “I, uh…”

“You what.”

“I won’t let them kill ya’; just in case.”

A mischievous grin appeared in John’s face. “That won’t stop me tho.”

Arthur had let his guard down. John escaped from his grip and started to run the fastest he could. Where the hell was he going to and, most importantly, where the heck had he gotten all that damn energy from?

“Cuz’ I’ll kill ya’ myself, you little piece of shit!”

“Thank you, brother” John screamed in the distance.

“You ain’t got the right to be my brother!” Yet, he wanted to say but kept it to himself.

That day, when Arthur was twenty-four, his family grew by one member. Even if mocked him every now and then and behaved like assholes, it was the most important thing to Arthur. It was everything he had—not like money or gold; those two could go straight to hell unless Dutch and Hosea gave the word.

#rdr secret santa 2020 #john marston #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #pre-canon #fanfic #gift #secret santa #gifts #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #Hosea Matthews #dutch van der linde

[shakespeareanwannabe]

Protective Instincts

Santiago Pope Garcia x F!OC

Summary: After everything he’s done, Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia can’t fathom the idea of bringing a child into the world. But sometimes, life doesn’t work out exactly as you’ve planned. *Based off of some wonderful headcanons written by @darksideofclarke*

Warnings: Pregnancy fic (so if you’re not into that, please don’t read), swearing, reference to smut (but it’s only like one line), references to blood, death (of adults and children), and PTSD

A/N: Hi everyone! So this is my first fanfic post on Tumblr (I have an active account on ff.net, and if anyone is interested in reading that, I can send you my account name). I really enjoyed writing for Pope, it was really nice to spread my wings outside of the Supernatural fandom, so please let me know if you enjoyed this, because I’ve got so many ideas for how to turn it into a series. Hope you enjoy! And let me know if you want to be tagged in any future chapters that come out.

15 steps to the left.

Stop.

Turn.

15 steps to the left.

Stop.

Turn.

Repeat until the worries of the mind and the heaviness of the heart disappears.

“Hey, baby, I’m home!” Pope’s voice calls out, causing Rebecca’s steady steps to stumble.

“How can I face him? How can I tell him?” her mind anguished.

She found herself stopped in front of their large bay window, staring out into the street as her wonderful, loving boyfriend walked up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her, not noticing how she flinched as he hands come to rest on top of her still soft stomach and planted a gentle kiss on her neck.

“How was your day?” he questioned, seemingly content with the picture of domestic bliss that they undoubtedly made, as he nuzzled his nose in between her shoulder blades.

“It was fine,” she murmured quietly, folding her arms around her chest.

Pope shifted, his nose gently brushing her ear as he twisted to look at her profile.

“What happened?”

What had happened? How could she answer that when every molecule in her body was seemingly at war with each other? When her heart was rejoicing but the tiniest voice in the back of her mind was throwing up red flags because they had never talked about this before and she had no clue how he was going to react? When every instinct inside of her was screaming ‘protect’ and every emotion was yelling ‘share’?

“I…I think we should sit.”

Pope felt his heart stutter but nodded as he gently led her to the couch. Was this the moment he had been dreading? Was this when karma kicked in and took away the best thing that had ever happened to him?

“Bex, please…” he kept his hand on her thigh as they settled next to each other on the leather couch. “Are you okay?” Hesitantly, she nodded, and Pope sighed with relief. “What’s going on, baby?”

She shifted slightly, pulling away from his hand and playing with her fingers in her lap. “Umm…you know how I haven’t been feeling great the past week or so?”

He nodded, leaning forward. “Yeah, did you go to the doctor today like I asked?”

He had had to beg her to go. She had insisted that it was just the flu, probably coupled with her oncoming period in the next couple of days. She usually felt like shit when that time of the month rolled around, but the constant vomiting had been new, so he had pleaded with her daily for the last four days to go to the doctor. In hindsight, she had been resistant because she had a sneaking suspicion, but, again, her instincts had been at war with each other.

“Yeah, I went…” It wasn’t until her breathing hitched and Santiago lifted his hand to brush away a tear that she even realized she was crying.

“Baby…” Rebecca looked up and met Santi’s dark eyes. She could read the fear reflected in them and it only made her feel worse. Her sweet, burdened man had fought a war, lost friends, and here she was, scaring him in the comfort of his own home.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted, wanting to see that worry washed away from his expression.

Instead, she saw the walls slam up in his eyes.

*******************************************************************************************

Pope had the unfortunate experience of being too close to an explosive as it detonated. He’d felt the shrapnel dig itself into his body, felt the heat burn his skin, but, for Pope, the worst part was the ringing in his ears. When the dull sound of tinnitus overtook everything. He’d had men, friends, best friends, screaming in his face but had been unable to hear them. The roar of the fire and the scream of bullets flying sounded like he was hearing them from deep underwater, Catfish could be hollering in his ear that they had to move, but he couldn’t make out the words.

“I’m pregnant…” Rebecca blurted, hesitantly glancing back and forth between his face and her lap.

Now, he was sure that she kept talking. Hell, he could see her lips moving. But the words…they weren’t reaching him. Everything was white noise, he was moving through water, the scar on the back of his neck started to burn.

One thing the military had taught Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia was how to listen to his instincts. He was a damn good leader, he had a loyal crew of men who depended on him and had his back, and that was partially because his instincts were usually pretty spot on. If that feeling in his gut told him to stop, they stopped. If it told him to run, he was dragging his team alongside him at a dead sprint. If it told him to shoot, he shot.

Now, his fight or flight was telling him one thing.

Pope rose from the couch, his eyes just skating past Rebecca’s panicked expression, his brain not really absorbing any new information, like how her lips were moving in a repetitive pattern.

“Santi…Pope…Santiago…Please…Santi…Pope…Santiago…Please…”

His ears were ringing, but his eyes knew her lips well enough to understand, even if that information wasn’t making it to his brain.

Wordlessly, emotionlessly, almost lifelessly, Pope paced to the front door, shrugged on his leather jacket, donned his sunglasses, pulled his keys out of his pocket.

Open the door. One step over the doorframe.

Turn.

Close the door. Lock it.

Five stairs. Fifteen paces.

Unlock car. Get in. Key in ignition. Seatbelt on.

Start car. Shift gears. Peddle on the right.

Drive.

Santiago had no destination in mind, no plan. For once, the man with a plan had no plan.

“I’m pregnant…”

He felt the whizz of a bullet flying by his cheek.

“I’m pregnant…”

The blood of a civilian spurted through his fingers as he tried to put pressure on the wound.

“I’m pregnant…”

The bodies of kids lined up outside of a village that had just been bombed, that they hadn’t gotten there in time to save.

“I’m pregnant…”

“I’m pregnant…”

“I’m pregnant…”

Every echo of Bex’s voice brought a new memory.

Car bombs exploding in Afghanistan.

The numerous deaths of innocent civilians in Iraq.

The countless executions of sicarios in Colombia by the police force.

Tom and the complete fuck up that he had led his friends into.

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

Pope looked down for a split second and saw Rebecca’s photo lighting up his screen.

It was a photo they had taken on the Fourth of July. He had taken her out to Will’s cabin out in the middle of the woods, deep enough that none of the seasoned veterans would be able to hear the fireworks exploding overhead. She had spider-monkeyed her way around him as he sat on a log next to the campfire, arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs around his waist, and chest pressed tightly up against his back, and when Benny had seen the way he had smiled at her over his shoulder, he had snapped the photo with his phone.

For a split second, Pope was torn. Did he cave to the guilt that was starting to gnaw at his gut and answer the phone? Did he shut his phone off so he wouldn’t have to hear the rattling sound in his cupholder? In the end, he did neither.

His instincts were driving him to continue down the road, and his heart wouldn’t let him shut off his phone, so he ignored it. He knew she would begin to panic if his phone sent her straight to voicemail but leaving it on allowed her the peace of mind to know that he would answer…eventually. When he was ready.

Pope didn’t pay any attention to his dashboard clock, nor did he pay any mind to the sun that was slowly crawling its way across the sky. He knew hours had passed, he knew that Bex was calling him every ten minutes or so, and he knew that the emptiness of the road and the repetitive hum of the tires below him was soothing his mind.

When his truck dinged, alerting him to the news that his truck had about ten miles left before it ran out of gas, he pulled over, stopped, and refilled the tank with what was left in his gas can before continuing.

He paid attention to the traffic and to the periodic buzzing of his phone, that was it.

Hours passed, his phone buzzing every ten minutes like clockwork until the sun hung low in the sky. Until his phone stopped buzzing.

At the first ten minute mark when his phone didn’t buzz and his and Bex’s smiling faces didn’t appear on his screen, approximately six hours into his drive and approximately around the time when Pope realized he had been driving in circles for at least the last four, he glanced down to make sure that his phone hadn’t died.

Ten minutes after that, he pulled onto a farm road, slowing to a stop on the side of the dirt road. His heart was racing as though he had been running for the past six hours, and he couldn’t understand why.

13 minutes after that, his phone came to life again, a pixelated likeness of Catfish’s face appearing in the dimming light of the sunset. Bex was in that photo too, Frankie pressing a kiss to her cheek while winking at Pope behind the camera.

Pope sighed and cleared his throat, hoping to convey a lightheartedness when he greeted, “Hey Fish, what’s goin’ on?”

Pope heard a screen door slam shut as Frankie growled, “Estúpido hijo de puta.”

Pope pulled the phone away from his ear, making sure it was actually Catfish calling and not some crank call. “Frankie?”

“Santi, do you want to tell me why I’m here with your hysterical girlfriend and you’re not?”

Pope felt his heart sink in his chest. “Fish, I—”

“Bex nearly gave me a goddamn heart attack when she called,” Frankie talked over him. “Sobbing so hard she couldn’t get the words out. I gunned it over to your place thinking you had been kidnapped or something, man. Had an SOS text ready to send to Benny and Will, only to find out that you had just left and you weren’t answering her calls. What the fuck, Pope?”

Pope stepped out of his truck and leaned back against the door, staring out at the reds and purples and golds of the sunset.

“…she’s pregnant, man.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And?” Pope wrenched himself away from the truck and began pacing up and down the abandoned stretch of road. “And I don’t know how the fuck to be a father! I don’t know how to raise a kid to be a benefit to society and not a colossal fuck up! After all the shit I’ve done, all the blood on my hands?” Pope took a shaky, shuddery breath, pressing the phone up to his forehead as he wished he could keep it together. He shouldn’t be saying anything. He should bury all the shit so deep down it never sees the light of day. He should, but it was also Frankie Morales he was talking to. His ride or die since day one. The guy who, no matter what was happening, always gave it to him straight. The brain behind Pope’s brawn.

“What gives me the right, Frankie?” Pope mumbled as he brought the phone back to his ear. “I’ve killed people…I’ve gotten people killed…I’ve let people die…That kid is gonna come into the world all innocent, take one look at me, and see a killer. H—How am I supposed to raise a kid when I can barely keep my own shit together half the time?”

The line was silent for a long time, and Pope helplessly dashed at the water that had pooled in his eyes.

“No sé cómo hacer esto, hermano,” he whispered.

Finally, he heard the telltale rasp of Frankie running his hand over his face. “Chill the fuck out, bro,” Frankie told him in a voice that somehow managed to be both soothing and commanding. “Holding that kid will be the best thing you ever do in your life. The only thing that makes all of the shit worth it.”

“But—”

“No buts, Pope. You wanna know how you’re gonna raise that kid? You’re not,” he said simply. “You and Bex are gonna raise that kid together. You’re gonna make mistakes, and screw up, and so will she, but as long as you’re there, and you love that kid hard, and you actually give a shit, then you’re gonna be leaps and bounds above half the dickheads out there that call themselves dads.” Pope squeezed his eyes shut to stop the tears that were threatening to roll down his cheeks. He didn’t know if Frankie knew that his partner and friend was tearing up in the middle of nowhere, but he also knew that Frankie (and Bex) were probably the only two people on the planet who wouldn’t give him shit for it.

He just couldn’t help it. Six hours ago, his world had exploded, and now Frankie was helping him put it together piece by painful piece. Worst of all was how badly Pope wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe that the kid would make all the bullshit he had gone through worth it, but he didn’t dare imagine it. It was too good to be true. He was too broken, too beaten down to make a good father.

“Listen man,” Frankie grunted, and Pope’s keen ears picked up a shuffle in the background that told him Frankie had sat down somewhere. “I’ve got the same blood and shit on my hands that you do. Worse, even, if you consider that mess I got myself into without you. Does that make me a bad dad?”

Pope was already shaking his head. After the mess in Colombia, after Yovanna had decided that he wasn’t worth her time, Pope had come home and settled a few blocks over from where Frankie and his fiancée at the time (now his wife), Charlotte, had settled down. Pope had seen Frankie with his son, Mateo, more times than he could count.

“Frankie—”

“Exactly. And considering where my head was at when Charlie told me she had a bun in the oven, I shoulda been. I could’ve messed that kid up bad…I thought I would, but I didn’t.” Frankie sighed again, and Pope could visualize him scratching at his facial hair. “Santi, bringing that kid into the world is the only thing that’ll make up for all of the shit. Believe me.”

Because it was Frankie, his right-hand man, his best friend, Pope allowed himself to hope. He allowed himself to close his eyes and imagine it. A little baby nestled in his arms, curling up against his chest like he hadn’t killed countless people. Dark eyes looking up at him the way their mother looked at him, with love and kindness, like he didn’t have blood on his hands. A chance to do some good in the world, to bring some light into his life. A chance to raise a kid who could be better than he ever was. Who wouldn’t tear the world down in a storm of bullets and bombs, but maybe, just maybe, build it back up with smiles and love.

Pope choked back a sob. “Frankie, I fucked up.”

“Nah, hermano,” Frankie chuckled. “Your girl loves you. The only way you can fuck up now is if you don’t come home. Then, I’m morally obligated to hunt you down and castrate you.”

Pope chuckled a watery laugh as he climbed back into the cab of his truck. “I’m on my way now.”

“Good, my ass is getting cold from sitting on your front steps,” Frankie laughed.

Pope laughed again, a real laugh this time. “Go home, cabrón.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who has some major ass kissing to do, jackass.”

Pope waited as he could hear Frankie getting into his car. “Seriously, man. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, bro,” Pope heard Frankie’s car start in the background. “Just fix it.”

“I will.”

“Oh, and I call godfather!”

Pope laughed as he hung up and sped down the road. If he kept on this road and obeyed the speed limit, he could make it home in half an hour. He was determined to make it home in twenty.

*******************************************************************************************

It may have been the worst parking job Pope had ever done, with half the car parked on the grass, half on the asphalt, the back end blocking most of the sidewalk, and a few inches between his rear, driver’s side tire and the back end of Rebecca’s car, but he didn’t care. The jovial spirit that had overtaken him at the tail-end of his chat with Frankie had vanished as he got closer and closer to home. He needed to see his girl. He needed to make things right.

He waved as the lights on Frankie’s minivan flashed twice before pulling away from the curb across the street, grateful that his friend had stayed until he had gotten home, and jogged up to the front door, quietly unlocking it and stepping into the silent house.

The lights in the living room were off. As Pope stumbled over the jumble of shoes at the front door, he caught sight of the pile of tissues sitting on the coffee table and felt his heart sink and those tears he had been choking back fight their way up his throat again.

A dull light shone from behind the kitchen door, and Pope tentatively approached it, pressing gently at the swinging door to take a peek inside.

When he caught sight of her, his heart shattered inside his chest.

He’d always thought Rebecca was beautiful, from the second he had caught sight of her at the physiotherapy clinic. Drenched in sweat and red-faced, that had been his first impression of her, but her smile and the playful glint in her eyes had bewitched him in an instant.

He’d seen her dressed to the nines, looking like she’d stepped out of one of those fashion magazines that she kept in her bedside table. He’d seen her in sweats after a day of cleaning house. He’d seen her naked as the day she was born, whimpering and moaning as he painted her chest with his cum. She’d always been beautiful. Stunning, gorgeous.

Even now, Pope had to acknowledge the melancholic beauty that surrounded her. The remnants of tears that clung to her eyelashes, the blotchy red patches that stained her skin, the weariness that tugged her whole body down until she was slumped in her seat at the kitchen table, feet propped up in his seat, her phone just barely visible from where he stood, propped up against her bent legs, one elbow laid across her knees while the other arm was bearing the weight of her head, hand cushioned in the sleeve of her oversized white sweater.

“Baby…” he murmured, pushing his way into the kitchen and standing in the low light cast by the lamp in the center of the table.

It took her a moment, but she finally looked up, tears welling back up in her red-rimmed eyes as she gasped out a sob at the very sight of him.

Whatever had been holding Pope up until that point – call it stubbornness, call it pride, call it resolution – dissolved at that sob.

One step.

Two steps.

His knees hit the hardwood floor as he choked out a sob, tears finally spilling down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he cried as he buried his face into Rebecca’s thighs. “I’m so, so sorry…”

He didn’t know how long he knelt there, tears turning her pale blue jeans dark, pain radiating from his knees, up to his neck and throughout his limbs, voice growing hoarse as he repeated the words again and again and again.

Finally, finally, Pope felt that touch of grace as she slowly, gingerly raised her hand and began to carefully card it through his thick salt-and-pepper curls. Her touch of kindness only served to make him cry harder as he raised his head and gazed upon her tear-stained face.

“I’m so sorry, mi alma,” he rasped, shuffling forward until his forehead was pressed into her lower belly, where the life they had created together was just beginning to grow. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into the small band of skin that was revealed where her sweater had ridden up.

After what felt like hours, Pope stirred, slowly peeling himself off the floor to stand in front of her. With a hopeful look in his eyes, he extended his hand to her and prayed to a god he wasn’t sure he believed in that she would take it.

*******************************************************************************************

Rebecca eyed his extended hand suspiciously. Part of her wanted to slap it away, scream at him for the anguish he had put her through the past few hours, and make him sleep on the couch until the baby was born. But the other part of her, the part that could see the tremor in his arms and legs as he stood there and the pleading look in his eyes and the deep lines that were etched in his forehead, that part of her coaxed her into gently unfolding from her curled up position and taking his hand.

Gently, Santiago helped her to her feet and led her out of the kitchen, down the hall and into their bedroom. She stood there in the doorway as he moved around the room, dropping his black t-shirt and dark jeans into the hamper, placing his watch on his nightstand, and plugging his phone into the charger, until he stopped by her side of the bed, tugging the covers down and looking at her with that same pleading gaze.

Slowly, hesitantly, she followed his lead, stripping down to her bra and panties and sliding under the covers that he was holding up for her. In a flash, Santiago slid into his side of the bed and pulled her tightly to him, her back to his chest with one of his hands gently cradling her still flat belly.

As he pressed a gentle kiss to her bare shoulder, she couldn’t help the shuddery, teary gasp of that one word that had been at the forefront of her mind since he had shut the door in her face and locked it behind him: “Why?”

Rebecca heard him sigh, a long, weary breath out that spoke of exhaustion and trauma.

“When you told me…everything just kind of shut down. All I could think of was to protect.��

“Protect who?”

She felt him shrug. “Protect myself. Protect you from me and all my bullshit. Protect the baby from the fuck up they have as a father.”

“Santi…” she whispered mournfully. “You know I don’t—”

“I know,” he interjected before clearing his throat. “It’s just…I’ve done some really bad things in my life, Bex. I’m not a good person,” he continued in a whisper. “You know some of the stuff that I’ve done, but most of it is so classified I doubt I’ll ever be allowed to talk about it. And I don’t want to. I don’t want you to ever hear about it. So, when you told me we were having a baby, my mind just kind of shut down. All I could think of was how many people I’ve killed; how much blood is on my hands.”

He trailed off as a dark silence loomed over the room.

“You scared me…” she finally whispered.

He chuckled darkly as he rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “I scared myself,” he admitted. “I just…I couldn’t imagine how any good could come out of this. I…” he paused, and Rebecca rolled over to face him, watching his Adam’s apple work in his throat. “I don’t deserve to be a dad, Bex.”

She nodded, tears springing to her eyes again at his admittance. She wished he could see what she saw. He was good with kids. So good with them. Watching him with Frankie’s son Mateo was one of the most adorable sights she had ever seen. He would be such a good father. But…she couldn’t force it on him. She knew he had baggage, knew it when she met him, but things had been so good between them that she had hoped they would be okay.

“I…uh, I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do, Santi,” she murmured, desperately trying to keep the tears out of her voice. “You can be as involved or—”

“Oh baby, no. No, no, shh…” he pulled her into his chest, banding his arms tightly around her back until her head was nestled into his shoulder and his face was buried in her hair. “I’m gonna be better, okay? I swear to god, I’m gonna be better for you and this kid. I called Will on the drive home, and he’s gonna help me find a group to talk to about all this. I can’t promise it won’t happen again but I’m gonna fight as hard as I can to be there for you one hundred percent.” He peeled his face away from her neck and angled himself to look directly into her eyes, their noses almost touching. “I’ll read all the parenting books and go to any and all classes you sign us up for. I’m gonna be there for every appointment. I’ll learn how to give massages if you need me to rub your feet or your back, and I’ll go out for any cravings you might have, even if I have to drive all the way across town at 3 o’clock in the morning.” Tears began pooling in her eyes again, except this time there was a small smile on her face. “When the baby comes, I’ll do whatever you want me to do. You can break my hand if you need to during labor. If you want it to just be us, it’ll just be us. If you want a whole damn camera crew there to document the whole thing, I’ll make it happen.” He pulled her closer and cupped her face in his hands. “I’m gonna get a good job, baby. No more side jobs, no more private sector. I’ll take whatever 9 to 5 I can find to help take care of us. Hell, I’ll take two jobs if you want to be a stay at home mom. Or, if you want, I’ll stay at home with the kid. Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it.”

Finally, Rebecca laughed as happy tears streamed down her face. “You’re rambling, babe.”

Pope laughed too, a happy, relieved sound as he pressed his lips to hers for the first time that evening. “I know, I know,” he whispered, wiping her tears away with his fingertips. “I just need you to know that I’m all in. Whatever you want, whatever you need. Whatever this kid needs. I’m here. I’m gonna be a dick sometimes, and I’m gonna make mistakes, and I’m gonna be so far out of my league between you and this kid, but I’m gonna be here. I swear to god.”

Rebecca giggled, pulling her hand from his chest to play with the grey baby curls at the back of his neck. “That’s all we need,” she whispered as she pulled him closer to plant a sweet, loving kiss on his lips. She pulled back and ran a fond hand over his cheek. “Just promise me, next time this happens, you let me know. Just a word or a gesture or something?”

Pope nodded, ashamed of his actions. He was always the first to go in, guns blazing, no thought to his own safety if it meant protecting his team. But the second he found out about the baby, he had left his most important teammate behind to fend for herself.

“I promise, baby. And I’m so sorry…” he nuzzled into her cheek and pressed a gentle kiss to her dimple.

She smiled at him as she rolled over and rested her head on his bicep. “We’re gonna be okay, babe,” she yawned, her eyes drifting closed after the emotional day she had had.

Pope nestled in behind her, not leaving an inch of space between them. Lying there, happy with the woman he loved in his arms, Pope took a deep breath and allowed himself to drift off, her words echoing in his mind. They would be okay. He’d make sure of it.  

*******************************************************************************************

Tags List: @darksideofclarke, @writefightandflightclub, @eternallyvenus, @rae-rae-patcha

#santiago pope garcia x oc #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #oscar issac #fanfic

[diegolabhont]

The beginning

Book: Queen B - Choices (Universe) 

Pairing: Zoey Wade x Trans!Male MC (Beck Hughes) & Poppy Mid-Sinclair  x Trans!Male MC  (Beck Hughes)

(Keep reading please, I have an explanation)

Genre: None (in this post, al least)

Rating: Anyone can read it, really.

Tags: @nevermindme-justreading

SO... here´s the thing:

This is me trying to write by and for the Trans community, specially FTM community, meaning, trans guys, but I actually took the liberty to use They/them pronouns for everyone out there who´s interested (Also, the name Beck was the most neutral one I could find, trying to use the cannon Bea Hughes) Beck is a trans latin guy, but you´ll see about that as the story takes off. This is just the presentation for the MC. Sorry

Now, about the PAIRING... I, as a writter, didn´t want to loose the opportunity to writte for my Queen Zoey and my other Queen Fic!Poppy (I SWEAR THAT´S NOT BECAUSE SHE´S ASIAN) so I will be using the same character to both, kinda like choices style, kinda. If you have any comment, PLEASE BE RESPECTFULL and patient with me. This is also my first english fanfic and english is not my mother language, so... i´m sorry fo the grammar errors. Also, I don´t live in the US so sorry if it´s a little bit weird.

CHAPTERS

Chapter one 

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

Belvoire University. That´s where they were. During all of those years of hard work and hidden passion for music after heavy and demanding tasks back in the family farm, the last thing Beck Hughes thought would happen to them were getting a full scholarship for a music and composition major in one of the most prestigious institutions all over New York and they were truly, truly grateful. If you ask them, the view in here was too flashy for their simple taste, but they couldn´t complain, after all, they did have one of the best music programs at their disposition.

In the meantime, they were walking through campus feeling oh so in home. The gazes of the students around fixed on them as if Beck was some kind of alien in this glamorous and wealthy world. Beck didn´t care honestly. Too long ago they got used to teasing, to comments behind Beck´s back, to be judged for banal and superficial things. At least nobody was being dangerous. That´s why they walked with confidence and upright posture, feeling the strap of their guitar case dangle across their shoulder through his leather jacket. Maybe that bored and unimpressed expression they put up to pretend was the one to blame for the ruckus, especially when they clearly didn´t belong there, or maybe it was Beck´s second hand clothes, they didn´t know, but all that stopped mattering when their fear to be inside of a school drama came true the moment in which a noisy blonde bumped into their way.

At first they didn´t understand the magnitude of the problem, why was a simple coffee such a big deal? All the blonde girl had to do was move her lazy ass and ask for another one to herself instead of yelling to this poor girl just like a Karen. Yes, it was naïve of Beck to believe that they could interfere to peace the waters; the only thing he got was to bring all the fury from the banshee imitator right at them. Well, at least the first victim looked a bit more relaxed.          

“Who the fuck do you think you are to talk to me like that?!” She yelled “Do you have any idea of who am I?”

No, who cares?

“I´m…”

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to worry about who she is. But you should worry about who I am”

Beck heard a voice talking right next to them, but again… Who. Cares? People was staring still; can we all just forget everything or doing a raincheck? Beck snorted with annoyance while turn around to face the new combat player logging in.

“Come on, tag along, shall we? Let’s acknowledge everybody’s name! The guy in the back, who are you? Who are everyone? I totally care!”, he thought for a split second, but their brain stopped working completely to the sight of a stunning and beautiful strawberry blonde standing right in front of them. He didn’t even notice how everyone was deadly quiet.

“Shit, she´s gorgeous…”

“And I’m about to become your first and last memory of Belvoire University”

Aaaand… she ruined it. Beck let out a chuckle, a challenging, mocking smile on his face.

“Is that a threat?”

Please, there was no possible way she could do anything to make them back down. Nothing. It took two steps from Beck to close the distance between them and the strawberry blonde, leaning gracefully to poke fun at the noticeable height difference. The girl didn´t back down neither, accepting the challenge with a murderous, threating look.

“You won’t last a day here”

Oh, that how it´s going to be, I see…

“I'm a trans person in a conservative, religious town… Try me”

Blonde´s face was a poem. The surprise so clearly drawn on her face that they could see exactly how her brain stopped, looking up and down Beck, astonish, processing the information, … “Ow, I broke her” They thought, amused. People were completely eating all up the show, Beck could feel every eye on the interaction, what was going on in this school? Fuck, where did they got into?

“Look, I gotta go. If you find something clever to say, just text me, a ‘right?” Said Beck, very willing to leave.

“Rude!”

Squawked Young Karen.

“Oh, snap. New Dude´s not backing down!” said someone.

They didn´t even care, Beck kept walking without looking back and they would be considerably far if not to a hand clawing back their free shoulder.

“How you dare—!“

“Hey, Beck! Look at the time, we gotta go!”

A girl shows up from nowhere, took his arm and pulled them out of the commotion, running away as if a bear were behind them. Seriously, what the hell? The girl, that finally looked like the danger was gone, stopped right in front of a large and fancy door and slammed her keycard against some kind of sensor.

“Wish the circumstances were different, but welcome to de Winfrey dorm complex, AKA your new home!

She was agitated, naturally, but was until that moment that Beck had the chance to look at her with more detail… Gosh, are really all the ladies here that pretty? What´s in the water? Her hair, her eyes, those lips... She was completely flawless, a breath taking beauty.

Feeling confused and intrigued, Beck stumbled inside looking around in awe. Just a fraction of that room looked even more expensive than their own home!

“So… you are my… counselor or something?” they asked, the gorgeous girl looking too young to be one, though. She then cracked up a smile and a little chuckle.

“Beautiful”

“Starting with the wrong foot here and there, don´t you?” She grinned back to they and all the things Beck could feel was embarrassment and a beating heart making heat on their face. “You got out of that one alive. Barely.” She said, looking concerned once again, the laughing disappeared from those cute eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Honestly… You´re gorgeous” A slight blush appeared on her cheeks, alarming Beck.

“Did I just…”

“…Is what I was thinking, but did I just say it out loud?” I hate me, I hate me, I hate me…

“You did, and you´re absolutely, positively right. I´m Zoey Wade, your roomie…”

Oh, so she has a name… wait a minute…

“You´re my roomie?” Beck asked taken aback, what does this means? They felt restless, kind of anxious. It´s this even allowed or the school was acting based on...

Zoey seemed to understand the internal fight in their mind because she immediately clarified.

“You don´t have to worry, this kind of dorms tend to be mixed so it´s kinda normal. Besides I check your info on The T and I saw you were LGBT+ so I´m not feeling…”

“My what?” That´s where she realized.

“Oh! Right… Ok, I´ll make it simple. Here there is a whole system here based on reputation.” Zoey took her phone and showed Beck a long numbered list.  Number one and on the top were the same girl they encounter earlier: Poppy Min-Sinclair was there, showing a radiant and flashy perfect smile, next was the banshee named Chloe St James, people, people, people, and low, low into the very bottom, was Beck Hughes… Or we most say “Newbie” Hughes. 

“Y´see... you are the new addition and The T´s been all over you. Specially because… well…” She looked reluctant to say it, but it wasn´t actually bad to Beck. They were used to.

“I don´t belong. Got it”

Beck let the guitar case on the floor, right next to the couch, walking around to see their new place, feeling Zoey´s eyes on them all the time.

“I don’t really care, I came here to have a good time and enjoying my music” and to save my life, basically. “So… mind if you show me some fun?” Said Beck, a little flirty. They were a little insecure, taking their chances… New town, new life, right? The seductive smirk they got back relaxed them a little bit more.

“Oh, Beck… I think we will be getting along just fine.”

#choices #queen b zoey #zoey wade #trans #ftm #zoey x mc #MaleMC #bea hughes #Beck Hughes

[pastel-galaxy]

  Piece of a Puzzle (NCT DREAM OT7)

Tags: Angst; Apocalypse AU; Character death; I cried while writing this; gunshots; mentions of blood

The sky above loomed an eery grey, as if one big cloud hung over the entire planet at one time. The sun peeked through just enough for it not to be midnight-dark, but there was more suspenseful color in the air than there was on a normal day.

 Back when normal days were a thing, of course.

 Jaemin had barely looked up in the past two hours as he sat on a log, hands covered in the blood of the large rabbit he was busy skinning. Jisung had caught it early that morning, while he and Jeno were out on a hunt. The look of excitement on the youngers face as he proudly held the dead animal up like a trophy warmed Jaemin’s heart. There was no way he could’ve said no to taking care of the dirty work for the younger, even if it was his day off.

 Just a few feet away, emerging from the tents were Renjun and Haechan, seemingly to be in the middle of a childish argument over God knows what. Atleast they were awake now, Jaemin thought as he peered over at a grumpy Mark, who had failed to say even a single word to him that morning. And now, even as they began to approach mid-afternoon, and the two hunters tried to initiate conversation with him, the elder still refused to even spare a glance at anything except the piece of wood he was chipping with his pocket knife to look like some kind of animal. 

 Of course everyone just brushed it off as Mark being in one of his moods. That tends to happen when you practically mother a group full of boys who still had yet to fully mature in the middle of a worldwide apocolypse, but Jaemin couldn’t recall the last time it was this serious. He was so focused on the aggressive silence of the elder, that he didn’t even notice when Chenle had sat down beside him until his name was being called.

 “Jaemin-ah? Hyung?” Said boys head snapped towards the direction of the voice, eyes meeting Chenle’s concerned ones. How long had he been staring at Mark?

 “What’s wrong?” The younger asked, taking the mauled rabbit and knife from Jaemin’s hands to finish skinning it himself. Jaemin let him, deciding his fingers had been sliced enough from being so distracted. He hesitated to say anything, not wanting to cause a scene or make Chenle and the others worry over something that would probably turn out to be Jaemin’s imagination. 

 “Don’t say anything,” He started, watching as the look on Chenle’s face turned from that of confusion to curiosity.

 “but have you noticed Mark looking a little...off..today?” 

 Chenle looked over at the boy mentioned, scanning his eyes over his hunched figure, how he was still ignoring the boys on either side of him, now joined by Jeno and Jisung on Renjun’s side. His cheeks looked to be even more defined than usual, and when Chenle finally caught a glimpse at the once round, gleaming eyes of his friend, he noticed circles the size of golfballs clinging to the skin under his now gloomy, foggy orbs. 

 Chenle visibly cringed, wondering how in the hell he hasn’t noticed until now. Mark looked like shit, to put it lightly. Sickly. And the boys didn’t like it at all. They were so used to the happy Mark, the one who openly smiled and offered encouraging words to bring light to a situation. The one who was constantly working on something, some kind of plan to accomplish some stupid task that wasn’t even all that important. The one who would always be the first to step up when one of the younger ones were sick or upset. Always the one to break up a fight. To make sure they all kept their heads on their shoulders, seeing as it wasn’t that easy to do in a world like this one. 

 In short, Mark was not acting like Mark. And Mark, NEVER didn’t act like Mark. Jaemin knew he had to do something. 

 “Hey guys,” Jaemin called to the four boys sitting on either side of his gloomy friend. They all turned their head to look at him, attention finally straying from their deep conversation, to which Mark was probably grateful. 

 “Can you four go refill our water bottles? We’re sort of running low on clean water.” Jaemin nodded over to the pile of empty plastic bottles sitting in one of the open tents. The group didn’t bother to question the sudden request, not when it was given by Jaemin. Word on the street is that he can get a little scary when mad...atleast that’s what Jisung said. Grabbing their respected items of defense, with Renjun carrying the bag of empty bottles, the crew set off into the trees in hopes to finish before the sun begins to set.

 That left just the three of them. Jaemin, Chenle, and Mark.

 Silence stretched over the three of them. For how long, Jaemin couldn’t tell. He just knew his chest ached every time his heart slammed itself against his ribs like a wrecking ball. He was so nervous, but he didn’t even know why. He was sure Mark was going to be fine. Wasn’t he? Eventually, he broke the silence, knowing they were on a time limit with the other boys being gone. 

 “Mark..” He began, startling even at his own voice. The older looked up at mention of his name, face tired and unammused. Uninterested. He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement, but offered nothing more as a response. Jaemin could see that this wasn’t going to be easy. Not with the way it felt like Mark could pounce at any moment. Chenle must have felt it too, being as he seemed visibly tensed, eyes trained on the boy sitting across from them with intensity. Jaemin took a deep breath, turning his words over and over in his head.

"Mark you've been acting a little..different lately. Me and Chenle have been kind of worri-"

"I'm bit."  Mark spits, his eyes somehow growing even darker than they already were.

The two younger males were taken aback by the sudden confession. Chenle hears Jaemin gasp from beside him, but it's almost like his own body has frozen despite himself. He's not sure how to react, or if he even should. It's obvious what this meant. They would have to kill Mark, or else he would turn. And judging by the fact that Mark has been acting this way for over a day now, they didn't have much time left. The real question is, do they do it while the rest of the crew were gone, or wait for them to come back and say their goodbyes?

In the midst of the silence, Jaemin speaks up.

"I'm sorry." He mutters, an obvious waver in his voice as tears threatened to spill from his eyes. Both Chenle and Mark hear their hearts break at that, their own eyes becoming rimmed with red, irises glossy.

"Can we see it?" Chenle asks, not knowing anything else to say. That and, well, maybe a small part of him wanted this to all be a trick, a misunderstanding. He hoped that maybe it was just a large snake bite, or skin infection. Which weren't necessarily good things, but they were better than the idea of one of his best friends being bit.

But as Mark slowly lifted the left leg of his baggy cargo's, all hope vanished from within Chenle's chest. The bite..it was there. Unmistakable. And it was nasty. Scabbed, ragged skin surrounded the area of the bite. An unmistakable imprint of an almost-full set of teeth set in a perfect circle. Bits of skin were missing from Mark's calf, scratches from the creatures hands pulling hungrily at his flesh, indents where it's long, dirty nails having dug so deeply into the limb. Chenle had to struggle to quickly swallow down the remenants of his lunch that threatened to come back up.

In that moment, the atmosphere seemed to get that much more sullen. It feels as if the sky is hanging merely inches above their heads, pressing in on them as their lungs slowly squeeze in on themselves. It felt as if the youngest's heart had gone from a stable position to now swinging helplessly back and fourth on an unraveling string. As for Jaemin...it didn't feel like his heart was beating at all anymore. Like something had taken ahold of it, strangled it to stillness. This couldn't be happening. Not to Mark. Not to one of their friends. They look out for each other. Things like this didn't happen to their group. Atleast, not until now they didn't.

"What are we going to do?" Jaemin mutters, but he already knew what they had to do. It had been too long since the incident for amputation to be of any help. There was no way to stop it. It was only a matter of time before the infection reached Mark's brain and he would turn. The only way around that, was to kill Mark before the infection did.

They had to kill their best friend.

The three of them sat in a heavy silence for who knows how long. Their thoughts were everywhere, hearts sulking in theirs chests. Mark continued quietly carving the morsel of wood in his hands, which now, Chenle could see, was a resemblance of the piece of a puzzle. The rabbit from earlier was long forgotten, its pelt lying on the ground by Chenle's feet and the rest of its skinless body lying limply on the log beside the hand he leaned on.

Before they knew it, it was almost dark outside, and the rest of the boys had returned. The bottles that Renjun layed out onto the ground (Haechan must've made him carry the bag on their way back) were mostly full. The water in them was still a little cloudy, but nothing really harmful. Mark could physically feel his heart break as he watched them smile and joke around with each other. They amazed him everyday, with how they managed to stay so bright and youthful in this shithole of a world. What shattered him, though, was that he was probably going to be the one to ruin that happiness and carelessness within the next few minutes.

Mark was the first one to call out to them, voice absent from any enthusiasm, but still accented with the adoration he had for the rest of them.

"Guys." One word was all it took to get four heads to snap towards the eldest of the group.

"Can you come here for a second. We need to have a talk.." He looked down, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his arms hang between them, his head dipping lower than before. Jisung and Jeno shared a look, worry creasing their brows as they approached the rest of their friends, sitting down together on an empty log. Once everyone was situated and at attention, Mark breathed in deeply through his nose. His eyes focused on the fire in front of them all, not having the guts to look up and meet his friends..his brothers eyes.

"So yesterday..or was it the day before?" Mark wondered aloud, not remembering what day he ventured off on. It didn't matter, he eventually decided, shaking his head.

"When I was out looking for supplies, I got mobbed." He explained, listening to the rustle of clothes as one of the boys shifted uncomfortably. Probably Haechan. He didn't like when things got serious like this.

Mark continued, keeping his eyes trained on the wild blaze beating heat towards his face.

"I tried to fight them off, get out of there. But there were too many. There was no way in hell I could have fought them all off. So I ran. And tripped." He scoffed, replaying the memory like a movie in his head. From the corner of his eye, he could see Renjun lift his hand to cover his mouth as he gasped to himself.

"One of those nasty fuckers grabbed onto my leg. I kicked and kicked and kicked..but it had already sunken it rotten jaws into me. Deep..." He quieted down, feeling like his chest was being crushed by an invisible weight. Once again, he slowly rolled up the leg of his pants, revealing the gory monstrosity overtaking his leg.

"Mark.." Came a whimper. One look up easily revealed the culprit: Teary eyed, red faced, obviously distraught, youngest Jisung. That was the last thing Mark needed to see in order to feel the last pieces of his heart to shatter and fall. He felt his own eyes getting teary, and he had to bite his lip to keep it from quivering. He felt rage bubble up inside him towards himself and his clumsiness.

"I'm sorry.." He whispers, not caring about the pathetic crack in his voice.

"You have to kill me."

"No.." Haechan whispers.

"No, please no.." Mark couldn't control his tears anymore, his hand reaching up to aggressively run through his hair. When he looked up, Jeno was gone. Probably angry. At Mark, at himself, at the world. Chenle got up to go after him, make sure he didn't do anything stupid and get himself put in the same position as Mark.

He felt so horrible. He knew these kids looked up to him, depended on him. And he failed them. Not long from now, he won't be there to protect them anymore. And it was all his fault. Mark hated himself. They all sat with their heads down, trying their best to thoroughly absorb the horrid situation. There was no way to fix it, no way to stop it from happening, no way to keep Mark alive and human at the same time. Killing him was the only available route.

Renjun took a deep breath, reaching behind him to pull his gun from the holster on his belt. He studied it in his hands, pulling the chamber out to check the number of bullets he had before pushing it back in. He could feel everyone else's eyes on him, feel how stale the atmosphere had gotten one they saw the steel object. However no one spoke up a protest, all of them beyond the point of naive denial. If they had to murder their best friend, their leader, they might as well make it as quick and as painless as possible. His sad eyes lifted to meet the eldests, who nods, lips pursed, gaze filled with devastation.

They both stand up, everyone else looking up helplessly. Jisung audibly whimpered, more tears streaking his burning face. Haechan was crying now too, his hair a mess from his hands tugging at it repeatedly. Mark looked at them with a sad smile, opening up his arms for a hug. Jisung quickly stood up, walking speedily into his brothers arms and holding him as close as humanly possible. He sobbed into Mark's shoulder, tears and snot soaking into the thin material of his shirt. His hands gripped the back of it in his fists, knuckles turning white with the sheer strength of it. He shook with multiple emotions, his heart stinging at Mark's whispered words.

"Be good for me, maknae."

After Jisung finally was able to step away, it was Haechan's turn to have his last embrace with Mark. His puffy eyes squeezed shut as he wrapped his arms around Mark's shoulders, a few broken sobs echoing through the trees as Mark places his hand on the back of Haechan's head, petting his hair and affectionately squeezing the back of his neck. Haechan mumbled incoherent pleads and apologies into his friend's neck, legs wobbling as his body began to lose strength.

Mark stepped back first, taking Haechan by the shoulders. He had always been just a smidge closer with Haechan than the others, a stronger, unexplainable connection bounding them by the hip. It broke Mark's heart to see his closest friend this broken. Gently, he reached down into his pocket and pulled out the wooden puzzle piece from his pocket, placing it in the palm of Haechan's hand with a soft smile. Haechan looked up at him with big, teary eyes, before closing his hand around the charm and holding it to his chest.

The only one left, besides Renjun, was Jaemin. He had remained quiet this whole time, refusing to look up and keeping his face void of emotion. Mark sighed, walking over to take a seat beside the boy, throwing his arm around his shoulder to pull the boy towards himself. Jaemin rested his head on Mark's arm, blinking back the tears and trying to ignore the sheer heaviness in his chest. Mark placed his chin on the youngers head, using his hand to pet the side of his growing hair.

"It's gonna be fine. You guys are going to be fine. You're some of the strongest boys I've ever known. Just keep your heads up. I need you to be strong for me; I'm putting you in charge of taking my place. You gotta look after these kids now, okay? Can I trust you?" Mark pulled back to meet Jaemin's eyes, watching as he nodded with determination.

"Good. Keep them in line. And all of you, behave." Mark smiled at the others, standing back up and walking to where Renjun was solemnly standing. Together, they began walking out towards the line of the woods, still clutching knives, as the sky was now dark and the biters would probably soon be out for blood.

They were just about to enter the trees when someone yelled out at them from behind. Both of them turned around, beholding the returned figures of Jeno and Chenle jogging over to them. Mark smiled, taking a few steps to meet them halfway. He opened his arms again and took them both at once, hands on the back of their heads as they buried their faces in his shoulders. His chest ached with the knowledge that this will be the last time he sees his group, last time he will feel their embrace. He just wished things could be different...

A few seconds later, all too short, they pulled away from each other. Everyone was sniffling, trying hard to be strong until Mark left. They were already feeling the newfound emptiness within the group as soon as Renjun and Mark disappeared into the sea of trees, only one of them bound to return. As soon as Mark was out of sight, all of them sat in silence, thinking. The only sound that could be heard was the croaking of midnight frogs and the distant groaning of dead people within the forest.

Elsewhere, Mark and Renjun walked as deep as they could into the darkness, chatting softly about everything and nothing. Mark knew Renjun was trying to be strong for him, for the others, and he was mighty grateful for that. Their eyes trained on the dim light the dying flashlight provided for them, weaving their way through the taller grass and tricky potholes until they decided they were a safe distance from the camp. Wordlessly, Mark walked over to a larger tree and sat down in front of it. He took off his jacket and held it out on front of him.

"Here, I won't need it anymore." He chuckles sadly, watching as Renjun wrapped nimble fingers around the material and wrapped it around his waist.

"Thanks. I'll give it to Jisung, or Haechan. They'll probably appreciate it the most." Renjun whispers, giving Mark his best smile. A little crooked, a little fake, but a smile nonetheless. Mark nods, taking a deep inhale as his eyes train on the gun rested in Renjun's holster. This was it. He's about to take his last breath.

Mark looks down, reaching over and rubbing the material of his pants that layed over the bite, wincing when it catches and pulling away. His whole body had begun feeling sickly since this morning, and he knew it wasn't going to get better. His eyes scanned around the forest around him, admired the stars in the sky and the moon that illuminated slivers of the ground where it slipped through the branches and leaves above. A cock of a gun brought his attention back to Renjun, who now held the gun in both hands, pointing it at the ground for now.

"We're gonna miss you, y'know." Renjun says, voice slightly quivering. Mark nods, another sad smile lifting his prominant cheek bones just a bit higher.

"Just don't forget me." He chuckles, pulling a bit of grass out of the ground and tearing it apart with his fingers. Renjun scoffs, kicking some dirt towards the others face with a smirk.

"Wouldn't happen. Not with the way you annoyed us on a daily basis." He remarks, laughing as Mark looks up at him dejectedly.

"You loved me." He defends, throwing his grass at Renjun, only for it to fall to the ground just before him. They both laugh for a second, before it dies down until they were both surrounded by silence again.

"This is it. You ready?" The younger asks, twisting the pistol in his hands. Mark nods, a soft 'yeah' barely being audible even with the deafening silence draped over them.

"I love you, Mark Lee." Renjun says, his hands now aiming the barrel of the gun in the direction of his friend.

"I love you too, Huang Renjun. Get back safe, okay?" Mark advises nodding over to the direction of their camp. Renjun nods, his finger drifting up until it rests on the trigger.

"Yes sir. You too." He tears up with those last words, knowing they'll be the last Mark ever hears. He takes a deep breath, watching as Mark lowers his gaze over to the small patch of yellow flowers lingering a few feet away. Finally, as the first tear rolls his cheek, Renjun pulls the trigger, cringing as the sound rings through the air. He staggers back, dropping the gun to the ground below, eyes settling on the now lifeless body of his friend.

His lifeless eyes still lingered on the flowers, blood beginning to the trail down the bridge of his nose. His hair covered the area that the bullet entered, thankfully. His hands rested on the ground by his sides, legs straight out in front of him and his head rested against the back of the tree's trunk. Renjun bites back a sob, stumbling over to Mark's body and slowly drifting his hand over his eyelids, closing his eyes oh so gently.

In the near distance, the boy heard a sinister groan, and he knew he had to get out of there before he got ambushed. Quickly, he ran his thumb against Mark's cold cheek for the last time before replacing his gun onto his waist and rushing back on the trail that they came from. He resisted the urge to look back at his friend, focusing on getting back to the people who probably really needed him right now. Especially after inevitably hearing the gunshot that ended it once and for all.

Just as expected, upon entering the camp he was met with four pairs of watery eyes annd one absent Haechan. He must've gone into his tent, Renjun thinks, and decides he might join him later. He approaches the group huddled by their pathetic fire and pets each of their heads reassuringly.

"He's better now. And he wants us to survive." Is all he says before trudging over to the tent with Haechan's shadow and goes to crawl inside with him.

"Feel free to join us at any time." He calls out behind him, zipping the enter hatch right after and ushering a distraught Haechan into his embrace.

That night, some did join him. Others opted not to go with them but to stick together in their own tent instead. That night, they all mourned over the loss of their dear brother, and found more comfort than ever within each other.

#nct #kpop #nct dream #lee jeno #park jisung #na jaemin #mark lee #lee donghyuck #haechan #huang renjun #zhong chenle #imagine #apocalypse AU #fanfic #fanfiction #angst #character death #OT7

[yeet-man]

One’s Rebirth (Christmas Special)

A/N: Ayo, I know this is kinda weird to upload since it ain’t Christmas but some parts are canon and etc so uh ye. Reblog asking what’s canon and anything else ya wanna know and I’ll be sure to answer it. Hope y’all enjoy this chapter!

As Christmas neared and school let out for the holidays, all the students, at least in class 1-A including Mei, were going to J'me's house since dorms didn't exist yet. It would be their first holiday together, and they planned to make it memorable.

Everyone went directly to J'me's house on Christmas Eve. He opened the door to let everyone in, he was nervous, to say the least. The house was decorated as best he could do by himself, his mother went out for the night so they could have the house for themselves. Everyone from class 1-A would be there including Mei. The only person that was absent would be Kairo.

Ryan would walk in and look around at the decorations before walking over to J'me. "So.. everyone's here right?" He had a relaxed smile resting on his face as he asked this.

"Yeah, though I don't see Kairo. Who cares, man can go fuck himself for all we know." He said jokingly and simply shrugged at Kairo not being there. "How have you and Mina been? Seems like you got a crush on her."

"Uhh... Well, we're good friends." He'd kinda lean in a little so that he was at J'me's level. "Also how'd you know that?"

J'me just looked at Ryan and chuckled slightly. "It's not that difficult to tell plus didn't you say you had a crush on Mina in the real world?" He said with a small smug face.

Ryan would shrug a small bit. "You're right...I did...I was hoping I could use this party to ask her out."

"Nice, I planned on asking Mei out during our 'secret santa' stuff. Though we all know I rigged it so you got everyone and I got Mei."

Before Ryan could respond a huge box and then a small box came crashing through the window. It broke the window and landed on the floor, the boxes had a tag that read 'To the dumb fucks that are my friends.' Kairo was, of course, talking about J'me and Ryan. The gift for Ryan was a red and black scythe, Kairo didn't care what Ryan thought about it, he just hoped he wouldn't be questioned about it. J'me's gift was in the small box, it was sharingan contacts with the tag reading 'fucking weaboo'.

Hearing the crash, J'me immediately opened the door to see no one in the snow. He let out a sigh and had an annoyed look on his face. "I swear to god Kairo..." He turned to look at Momo, she noticed the broken window and simply nodded. She made a new windowpane, J'me smashed the old one and replaced it with the new one. "Ryan, can you pick up the glass while I put the presents under the tree?"

A rock came through the new fucking windowpane because Kairo was being a bitch.

He'd nod a little as his tendrils picked up the shards and dense purple flames shot towards the rock and glass, causing the glass to melt back to its normal shape.

"I hope Kai-" J'me made a clone to go after Kairo. He put the presents under the tree. "It's fucking Christmas, why does Kairo have to pull his dumb pranks?"

He'd shrugged a little as he looked around, seeing the small Mineta walking around looking at the girls. "Hmm.."

Mineta would try to flirt with the girls before Iida smacked him and waved his arms in multiple directions at once. "Mineta! It's Christmas, this isn't a time to flirt with girls!" 

J'me chuckled and looked at Ryan. "By the way man, enjoy yourself... Just don't pull a Kairo."

He would smile a little before walking towards Mina. "Sure thing mate."

Mina would turn to look at Ryan. "Oh hey Ryan! How are you enjoying the party? I'm surprised J'me had a house this big, it looks so pretty!" She looked around in excitement before looking back at Ryan with a smile.

He'd let out a small chuckle as she said that, and looked around. "Yeah, his house is pretty nice... Also, the party seems alright so far. Are ya having fun?"

"Who wouldn't be having fun! Well except for Kairo since he broke J'me's window..." If Kairo was in the room, let's just say he would be dead.

"Yeah." He'd smile a little, "Kairos being a little rude is all." He'd then glance back towards Mineta as he saw him start walking in their direction.

"Agreed..." 

Mineta would walk up to both of them not caring if they were trying to have a conversation. "Hey acid girl, how about we go somewhere else?" Mineta would have a small smug expression on his face. He would also be staring at Mina's boobs.

Ryan's gaze would change as he looked at Mineta. His expression would change to that of annoyance and aggravation. His expression made him seem like a real life demon. "Mineta… stop," he'd deliver a swift kick to Mineta, which would send him flying.

Mineta would fly into the wall, that's when J'me looked at Ryan. "What did I say about pulling a Kairo? Next time kick his ass into the ground." Mineta would be out for the next few minutes.

He'd glance at the wall, which had no damage. "I didn't pull a Kairo, J'me." 

Ryan would then turn back towards Mina with a smile. "So… how about we move to somewhere else... maybe a place that Mineta won't find us."

J'me just rolled his eyes and walked over to Mei.

Mina would start to blush after she heard the question. "What do you mean by that Ryan?"

Ryan would think about his words for a second before a slight blush went over his face. "Uhh... what do you want me to mean?"

"Something that isn't inappropriate you pervert." She was playing of course...or was she?

Mineta woke up with a confused look. He was wondering what he got kicked for asking a question.

He'd smile a little more as he grabbed her hand and slightly pulled her away from the group "It doesn't have to be inappropriate…" Ryan would then pause for a second as his blush deepened in color a bit and mumbled quietly, "unless you want it to be..."

J'me would notice Ryan dragging Mina and got a basic idea of what was gonna happen. "Ryan, there's a mini log house in the back for reasons ya know!"

He'd glance back with a large smile on his face as his face got even redder. "Uhh.. yeah, thanks J'me."

J'me just smirked seeing Ryan turn red. He knew they weren't gonna do it but just in case. Who knows what the hell Ryan would do. "No problem man." He started hanging with Mei, that was till Mineta walked over. 

"Hey momma, how about we get our own room?" 

J'me's eye twitched just hearing that question. He picked up Mineta by his shirt. "Who the fuck said you could come over here you little shit?" Before Mineta had time to respond J'me already slammed him into the ground.

Ryan could be heard from somewhere in the house. "You pulled a fuckin Kairo."

The ground wouldn't be damaged, just the fuck boy knocked out. "Naw chief just knocked his ass out for a while."

Even though he wasn't seen he'd nod before pulling Mina into a room "Sure mate."

An hour or two would pass before J'me would call everyone to the living room. "Alright, it's time to exchange gifts, I swear to god if anyone else pulls a Kairo you will be kicked out of this house."

A few minutes later Ryan and Mina would come back to the living room, both with slight smiles. They seemed to be holding hands.

J'me would look over at Ryan. "Man, could you not wait till it was time to exchange gifts to give Mina's hers?"

He smirked a bit, "I guess I couldn't." He'd pause as he took a wooden box out of his jacket and tossed it to J'me. "And this is your gift mate."

J'me would catch it as if it was nothing. "Hm..." He would open it to see the special kunai in it.

Ryan used his quirk to make a kunai out of dense flames that looked similar to the one in the box. "It's a special kunai that has some of my dense flames fused in with it. Also, it has your 'special' formula on it because Mei helped with it."

He would look at Mei, then Ryan. "This is really nice...I'm just mad that yo dumbass couldn't figure it out by yourself."

He'd yeet his flame kunai at J'me. "No problem mate."

J'me would catch it. "Hey hey now, let's wait till the next battle to fight man."

Ryan would let out a small sigh as the kunai he threw vanished. "Bet... so, did we miss anything while we were gone?" He'd motion to him and Mina.

He looked around for the kunai and then looked at Ryan. "Wait y'all were gone?" He said jokingly, "so why are parts of your clothes melted?"

He would glance down at where some of Mina's acid had accidentally hit and blush a little. "Uhh... She accidentally got some of her acid on me."

"Oh? How did that happen? Y'all weren't fucking were y'all?"

Ryan's face would turn to a deeper red out of embarrassment, "No…"

Mina would quickly protest. "We wouldn't do anything like that!" She exclaimed with a heavy blush on her face.

Ryan would quickly nod in agreement.

"Hm...Alright...." He motioned everyone to sit down so they could exchange presents.

Ryan would sit down as his blush faded and motioned for Mina to sit next to him, instead though she plopped right onto his lap. "Ok... uhh who gets the first present?" The red had faded now, mostly gone except for a slight pink tint.

"Shit uh...I guess let the biggest pervert get his present first."

Ryan would smile a bit as he used his foot to slide a present to Mineta "This is for you mate." 

Mineta would catch the present, which seemed to be twice as big as him and started to slowly unwrap it. "Is this what I think it is?!" Mineta would see Mt. Ladys head and tore off the rest of the wrapping paper with glee, his present was a Mt. Lady body pillow, and Mineta loved it. He had a little drool dripping out of his mouth and a slight nosebleed as he looked at it "Ahhh... Mount Lady... big boobs... big thighs..." He continued to mumble stuff like that as he played next to the pillow.

"Now that you have your present, shut the hell up and go to the corner." Mineta followed his instructions since he was very excited.

Ryan would look down before sliding a present over to Mei. "It's from J'me," he lied about that. It was from him but wanted J'me to get the credit, so she'd think more of him. It was the newest, most expensive wrench set available. Along with some brand new power tools.

As Mei was opening it, J'me looked at Ryan. 'What the fuck…' He mouthed to the boy who was taller than him.

He'd shrug with a slight smile. "What do you mean? You're the one who got it, remember?"

Mei looked at the wrench set and power tools. She then hugged J'me tightly. "Thank you so much J'me!"

He would look at Ryan and simply nodded. "Yeah, no problem Mei."

Ryan would give a slight nod before grabbing a smaller box and handing it to Mina. "This is for you."

Mina would smile lightly as she opened the box with excitement and saw the gift, a golden necklace with her name on it. The name was made of shaped gold with a single diamond where the dot for the I is. She'd see this and smile even more as she spun on Ryan's lap and hugged him while wrapping her legs around him. "THANK YOU RYAN!!" She'd give him a slight kiss before putting it on.

J'me would get a smug face on his face as he watched Mina and Ryan.

Ryan would smile a little as Mina did her thing before glancing at J'me with a smirk.

J'me stood up and helped Mei up as well. "It's time for the actual present I was going to give you." He grabbed her hand and guided her outside.

Ryan would stay where he was and smile as he started hugging Mina and tossed a gift to Midoriya. "Mate, here." 

Deku would open it nervously and see a note that read "Shoot your shot already man." Deku knew what he was talking about and continued into the gift. He soon found a new costume. It was similar to his normal design but more like All Might's "Wh--WHATTTT!! Thank you so much!!" He'd grab it and run to the back before coming back out with it on.

Bakugo would stare at him with a slight grin before muttering, "Idiot," and looked towards Ryan. "Love bird, Where's my gift?"

Ryan would laugh a little as he picked up a small box and tossed it to him, "It's right there." 

Bakugo would open it and stare at it for a second. They were a new set of drum sticks "What are these for?" He'd look to where Ryan was pointing and smile a bit. A new drum set was sitting behind the tree with an orange bow on it. "Thanks."

Once J'me and Mei were outside, they started to walk away from the house. The scenery was stunning, snow falling down on everything. It truly looked like a winter wonderland. 

J'me had a special place where he wanted to ask Mei out. As they were walking towards the place, it was clear they were cold. Their bodies shaking uncontrollably, even with the coats that were on them.

Mei reached her hand out to touch J'me's hand, but she hesitated. The girl was afraid that he wouldn't like it and think she was weird. After a few seconds she gathered up the courage and grabbed J'me's hand, blushing in the process.

J'me turned to see Mei blush as she grabbed his hand. "Mei, why are you holding my hand…?" He questioned with a gentle tone in his voice. Every time he spoke, small breaths of air could be seen in the snow.

"I'm...I'm taking measurements for your hand!" She tried to keep her energetic attitude even if the girl was extremely nervous. 

"Oh really? If you were taking measurements, why are you blushing?" He said with a slight smirk on his face. 

Mei wouldn't be able to say anything in order to counter J'me's question. She blushed even more and looked away, still holding on to his hand.

J'me smiled and kept on walking to the special place. He still held her hand because he secretly liked it.

A few minutes would pass in silent before they reached the place. It was a park with a small lake around 10 meters from it.

"Here we are…" He guided Mei to the middle of the park and turned to look at her.

She looked at the scenery before turning her attention to J'me. "This...this is really beautiful J'me…" Mei would have a light pink blush on her face.

"Thanks!" He looked around for a couple seconds, J'me had no clue how to start this off. All he knew was the feelings he had for Mei and that he wanted to express them somehow. He grabbed both of her hands and held them tightly. "Mei...I don't know how to express this but...I…" He was hesitant to say it, J'me was afraid Mei would reject him for some reason. "I like you...I don't mean as a friend either…" J'me could already fill the blush appearing on his face. 

Mei's face would be filled with a huge blush as she looked away and out to the lake. She felt the same way about him, but did she really want to date him? She bit her lip and thought about it for a couple seconds. "Some people say that love doesn't exist...but here I am liking you as well J'me." She had a soothing yet caring voice as she spoke.

The blush on J'me's face would only get bigger by the second. "R-really? W-would you be my girlfriend…?" He felt extremely embarrassed to ask, but he wanted Mei to be his girlfriend. He looked into her creamy coffee eyes and hoped she would say yes.

The girl finally turned her direction to the boy after the question. Mei looked J'me in his dark wooden eyes before she spoke. "Y-yes, I'll be your girlfriend J'me Falcon." She smiled after her response even with the blush Mei had on.

J'me smiled like a huge idiot but he couldn't help himself. He was truly happy for one in his depressing life. He pulled Mei into a hug and softly placed a kiss on her forehead.

Mei hugged J'me back and only blushed more as he placed a kiss on her forehead. She stuffed her head to his chest since it was very comfortable.

With the hug in front of the lake, the scene looked like it came out of a movie. It was truly beautiful and for once J'me had a reason to look forward to Christmas.

After a few minutes J'me pulled away from the hug and smiled. "Mei, I promise I'll always do my best for you."

"That's sweet J'me but just having you by my side is good enough." Mei smiled hugely as she spoke to him.

He blushed softly before grabbing her hand and taking the girl back to the house.

They held hands through the walk home which helped them stay warm somewhat. It did stop their uncontrollable shaking. 

Once they got back and J'me opened the door, everyone turned to look at the new couple. Most of them smiled for how cute the sight was, unlike Bakugo's bitch ass. 

They sat down as if nothing happened or well pretended like nothing happened.

Ryan would smile and whisper to Mina, "looks like we're not the only ones who got together." He'd give her a light kiss before pulling her closer and holding a thumbs up to J'me. 

J'me just chuckled at Ryan's thumb up. He looked to see some others that got their present. "You actually gave Bakugo a present?"

Bakugo's eye would twitch slightly as he stood up and walked over to J'me. "Is there a problem you fucking pipsqueak?!" 

J'me let go of Mei's hand and stood up as well. "Yeah there is a problem…" The boy sent a right jab straight at Bakugo's jaw. "The problem is you, you fucking bitch."

Before Bakugo could react Mari jumped in between the two boys. "J'me it's Christmas, try to be a bit nicer today okay?" The immortal then turned to face Bakugo. "Let's try our best to not cause problems Suki," she teased lightly. 

"You're right Mari, it's Christmas. I should be acting a bit nicer. My bad Bakugo, you know how I can get mad at you quickly. I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry." J'me sat back down and held Mei's hand.

"Yeah whatever you pipsqueak…" He walked back to his spot and sat down, an angry expression on his face.

Mari let out a small sigh of relief and sat down herself.

Ryan would smile and as the conversation went on. He pulled a blanket over him and Mina while continuing to cuddle with her.

"Hold up partner, the party ain't over so y'all can't cuddle 'Mr. I'm gonna buy everyone a present'." He said holding Mei's hand tightly.

Ryan would flip him off jokingly and point towards the presents, "You hand out the rest."

"Bruh don't you have a demon or some shit inside? Make that fool hand the rest out."

He'd let out a sigh as all his gifts started sliding towards their recipient's.

As each person opened their gifts, they'd all thank him since they all either helped with their quirk or was about something they liked. Ururaka got a note similar to Deku's too.

J'me looked to see if there were anymore presents under the tree. It looks like they forgot about Kairos gift. He got up and tossed Ryan's present to him. "We forgot about Kairos gift he gave us...oof."

His gift seemed to unwrap itself since he was still cuddling with Mina, "a scythe? Nice."

J'me unwrapped his gift as well. "Hell yeah, sharingan contacts. I'm bouta pull an Itachi." He said in a joking manner.

For the people who don't know, Itachi is a character in the famous Naruto series. He was basically forced to kill his entire clan to prevent a war between the clan and village.

The scythe would lift into the air and float almost like something was guarding Ryan and Mina, "bet mate."

J'me would just laugh a little before sitting back down next to Mei.

Mina would pull a small gift from her pocket. It was a box wrapped up, inside the box was a watch that had Ryan's initials on the side of it. She then gave it to Ryan, "I'm sorry it's not much but that's the best I could do."

Ryan would look at the watch then back at her, "It's perfect Mina." He'd give her another kiss before putting it on, "thank you."

Jesus Christ Ryan, the two of yall just got together. You really need to stop being a damn man thot tryna get hella kisses and shit.

Mei would smile a little as she pulled out a small box of her own and gave it to J'me, "Here, I made this for you." She'd have a slight blush on her face as she gave it to him. It was a bracelet that had a button on it. 

J'me would open the gift and hugged Mei. "It's amazing, thank you so much Mei." He put the bracelet on and touched the button to see what it would do.

The bracelet would instantly shoot out around his arm, creating a gauntlet that could shift into a shield.

J'me's eyes widened in excitement as he hugged Mei again. "This is really amazing! I can't wait to use this in battle!"

She hugged him back and blushed a bit more. "Y-you're welcome J'me…"

Ryan would glance down at Mina and see that she was now asleep, still sitting on his lap with her legs wrapped around him, and leaning on his chest with her arms around him. "So... we're staying here for the night right?"

"Yeah I guess so...except Mineta is not staying." 

Mineta looked sad for a second, "why not?!!"

Ryan would smile a bit before motioning to Mineta's pillow, "I think he'll be fine."

J'me looked at the pillow and rolled his eyes. "He does one thing and he's out in the snow for the rest of the night." 

Iida stood up and started waving his arms around. "Alright guys! Time to get into our pajamas and into the sleeping bags!"

Ryan would smile as he looked down at Mina again and saw she was already in pjs. "Umm... I'm ready."

Before J'me changed he called out to Ryan, "Yo Ryan can I talk to you outside before we had to bed?"

He'd nod and slightly/gently moved mina off of him, "Sure." He'd stand up and start walking to the door.

He pressed the button on the bracelet so it wouldn't cover his arm anymore. He grabbed his coat and tossed Ryan's to him. "Put that on dipshit." He said putting his coat on and walking outside.

He'd laugh a little before catching it and slipping it on. "Ok mate," He'd then walk out after him.

He made sure the door was closed before speaking. "So, what are we gonna do about All Might? Since I have all these powers I wanna heal him but I don't wanna fuck up the timeline."

He'd shrug as he thought about it, "I could heal him too... but I don't think we should mess up the timeline."

"I mean we already fucking up the timeline just from being here...hell even Kirishima knows I'm not originally from here."

He'd nod slightly "Same with Mina...."

"Hold up wait a fucking minute Ryan. How the fuck did that happen?" 

"It's a long story to say the least J'me."

"I don't give a damn, you better tell me."

"Well it all started at the hero vs villain part..." He'd go on to explain how they worked together and she realized that he knew the place, and so he explained to her what happened.

"I see...well shit not everyone needs to know we aren't from here."

"I know...Mina said she'll keep quiet as well."

"So did Kirishima," He would let out a small sigh. "How much of the timeline do you think is affected just from us being here?"

He'd start scratching his head a little before he responded. "Uh.. probably all of it.. considering there's that other girl.. Mari I think.."

"I don't think she's really affecting the timeline, considering it's like she's been here her entire life."

He'd nod, "Yeah...wait. What if she's the first thing that's wrong with this timeline...all because we came here."

"Ryan what the fuck are you trying to hint at?"

"Maybe she's here because we're here..."

"That could be possible but how could that even happen?"

He'd make a dense spike and start drawing in the snow, "This is their timeline." He'd draw a straight line off of their timeline "This is the timeline now, since we appeared here..." He'd then draw a line from the front of the main timeline to the tip of their timeline, "But there's always a possibility that these two timelines separated at the start of the first one because we were destined to be here.." He hoped J'me was keeping up.

"Why were the four of us destined to be here then? What use do we have here..." He then realized why. "What if we are here because of overhaul? We know they had trouble fighting him."

He shrugged a little, "Or maybe we're here for a different threat." As he said this Mina would come out and with a tired voice saying, "You left me on the couch baby."

J'me would simply nod, Mei came out with Mina as well. "J'me come on it's getting lateeeee." J'me chuckled and started walking inside, "come on Ryan."

He'd laugh some as he put his coat on Mina and picked her up, "C'mon let's go in." He'd then walk in and sit back down on the couch with Mina, who was already asleep and had her legs and arms wrapped around him, and pulled her closer before pulling a blanket over them.

J'me would grab Mei's hand and guide her to his room. "Goodnight guys!" He called out before leaving the living room.

Everyone fell asleep rather quickly, it was a quiet night. The only one who didn't get sleep that night was Iida. That was because he kept hearing weird noises in J'me's spare bedroom which beforehand, he saw Ryan and Mina go in there in the middle of the night.

Once the sun started to rise, J'me woke up and decided to make a big breakfast for everyone.

He quietly made his way into the kitchen without waking anyone up and started to cook.

After a few hours passed, the food was finally done and everyone was awake. "If you make a mess, clean it up please." Once he said that he let everyone eat. While they were eating, he went into the living room to sit down and relax. 

That's when Mari came into the living room as well. "Hey, J'me right?" She said slightly messing up his name.

"Yeah that's me, what do you want Mari?" He had a confused look on his face, normally she never even talked to J'me.

"Um...I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for throwing the party and making us breakfast, I know you didn't have to do that…" The immortal spoke with a warm tone in her voice.

"Oh, it's not a problem. I just wanted our first Christmas to be special, that's all really. Merry Christmas by the way." He said with a smile on his face. 

Mari simply smiled at the reasoning, "Merry Christmas J'me." She then walked into the kitchen.

Everyone ate breakfast and shortly left after. Of course they thanked J'me beforehand for the party and food.

Thus the end of One's Rebirth, the Christmas special. Merry Christmas everyone!

#one's rebirth

[moveslikebuckywrites]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Slow Show - mia_ugly Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Erasmus/William (Warlock - Slow Show) Characters: William (Warlock - Slow Show), Erasmus (Warlock - Slow Show), Joshua (Warlock), Julia Chattox, Harry the Rabbit (Warlock) Additional Tags: fireside contemplations, introspective, gratuitous thoughts about stitching, idk what else to tag this with, Warlock (TV), mia_ugly's Slow Show Universe

It’s real angst hours in here today my friends.  Have y’all noticed that Harry the Rabbit is the same color and pattern as the tunic Erasmus wears in season 1 (but randomly changes to a green one in season 2)? Because I DID.

Here be sad about a stuffed rabbit.

mandatory @averyfell tag

Deep in the woods, under cover of the snowy pines, William and Joshua rest with Arthur near a crackling fire. The cold is seeping into their bones and the lack of food is starting to weigh heavy on William’s mind.

That, and other things.

Splitting up had been the right thing to do, but that hadn’t made it any easier.  Not for the first few days where all Joshua could do was cry for Erasmus or Julia, but mainly for Erasmus.  It’s hard for a small child to understand; sometimes hard things must be done, sometimes people have to leave for a while.

William has never been good with children, and he’d been against this decision from the get-go.  But Erasmus had the experience and Julia’s spells would be needed while they searched for the other half of the prophecy, so it fell to him to look after the child.

William loved Joshua, of course, that went without saying.  He just had no experience when it came to entertaining children; even after so long on the run with Joshua he never seemed to connect.

At least the boy had Harry.  He loved that silly little rabbit, almost as much as he loved Erasmus.

William feels a shiver run up his spine and pulls his robes tighter around himself.  They’ll need to find real shelter soon. It’s still the early days of winter, but the dark depths of it are coming at them faster than can be ignored.  He looks over at the boy, curled up and sleeping in the fur of that Godsend of a dog, clutching his little toy rabbit close.

William doesn’t often get a good look at the little thing.  It’s very nice, though, surprisingly so, a soft burgundy twill with linen for the lining in the ears.  Joshua rarely lets it out of his sight. The only times he does, he’ll take it to Erasmus and shove little ‘Harry’ towards him.  “Watch rabbit,” is all the small boy says. He never gives the toy to anyone else.

Erasmus had been the one to give it to him, showing up in camp one day with the stuffed toy.  Tossing it to the boy like it was nothing.  

When William had asked, Erasmus had said he’d stolen it from a shop in town.  The priest had wanted to berate him for it but couldn’t bring himself to when he saw how quickly Joshua was taken with it.

He is staring at Joshua and the dog now, musing his thoughts, when the boy shifts in his sleep.  The boy’s grip loosens and little Harry falls into the dirt.

William shakes his head and stoops to pick up the toy.  He pauses, turning the bunny over in his hands. It’s hard to tell in the firelight, but he could swear the deep burgundy material is diamond twill…

…

“Keep up, priest, come on then!” Erasmus yelled over his shoulder, “Haven’t you ever climbed a hill before?”

William didn’t know how they moved so fast.  Julia was far ahead at this point and the priest was sure carrying Joshua was the only thing slowing Erasmus down at all.  Sometimes he still had a twinge of doubt about this whole thing.

When Julia had arrived at his parish begging sanctuary, he hadn’t hesitated.  When Erasmus had, reluctantly, joined up with them, he had been apprehensive. Erasmus never truly seemed to care; more of a mercenary type.  If the conman didn’t owe them a debt of gratitude for saving him, William didn’t think he’d stick around at all. When they had come to the conclusion that the village was no longer safe for them, he’d begun to doubt.  He’d grown quite attached to the small boy, and knew this prophecy was bigger than any one of them could tackle on their own. But leaving his village, leaving home. That was difficult.

His faith was in flux.  Not his faith in the Lord, of course, that he was steadfast in.  But the Church there was the rub of it.

And he doubted himself.  Would he really be of any use?  What if it came to blows? What could a soft old priest hope to accomplish against armored inquisitorial guards?  Erasmus’ teasing only served to remind him if they were to be captured, it would ultimately be his fault.

He opened his mouth to tell Erasmus such but was stopped by a loud yelp.

Joshua had gotten fussy and decided he’d rather be with Julia, and in his attempt to clamber off Erasmus’ shoulders he’d knocked them both tumbling down the hill.  Julia saw to Joshua as William helped Erasmus to his feet.

“Are you alright, dear boy?” William asked as Erasmus grumbled.

“Damn urchin knocked me over,” Erasmus shouted, picking twigs and leaves out of his long red hair, “no bloody respect around here!”

“He’s two, what’s he supposed to know about respect?” Julia asked while seeing to Joshua’s very minor wounds.

“Well still, ought not to climb around so much.” The mercenary stalked off, shouting behind him, “Gonna get someone hurt one of these days!”

Julia shot William an exasperated look.  The priest just shrugged and made to follow Erasmus.  He caught up quickly, finding him pacing in a circle and cursing.

“You know,” William said softly, not wanting to spook the man, “Joshua could’ve been hurt a lot worse.  If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone did their best to make sure they took the brunt of the fall instead of the wee fellow.”

Erasmus shot him a glare, which was met with a knowing smile.

“Don’t get any ideas, priest,” Erasmus said, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I’m out for one person and one person alone.  Me. Myself. Just the one, end of discussion. I’ll not have a bloody man of the goddamned cloth tarnishing my hard-won reputation.”

William raised his hands in a gesture of deference, willing to let the man believe whatever he felt like.  However, William prided himself as a judge of character, not one to be put off by brazen displays of aloofness.  No, Erasmus most definitely was a soft touch at heart. William was sure he deeply cared for the boy. Nothing Erasmus could say would convince him otherwise.

“Ah SHIT , stupid little gremlin!” Erasmus shouted, breaking William from his thoughts.

“You hear me back there!” Erasmus shouted towards the witch and the boy, “You’re done for!  Do you even know how expensive diamond twill is? How hard I had to work for something as nice as this!”

His deep burgundy tunic had been ripped almost completely, ruined as it were.  William rewrote his inner thoughts a bit; maybe he was off. Maybe Erasmus was just what he said he was.

Erasmus went to stalk off again but stopped noticing the look on William’s face.

“What are you looking at, priest?” he hissed in William’s face, “I’ll be back, I just need to go be pissed off for a minute.”

“Understandable, it was a very nice tunic.” William said dryly, not bothering to hide the edge in his voice.  He watched Erasmus stalk off further into the woods.

…

William had been wrong to jump to that snap judgement, of course, as he knows now.  But that can’t possibly be the same burgundy diamond twill of Erasmus’ old tunic, he must be mistaken.

But there it is, this pattern and this fabric.  From the tunic that had been ruined two years ago.

This is silly.  Ridiculous. Absolute nonsense.  He has to be going mad if he’s getting this distracted about the origins of a stuffed rabbit.  His paramount duty is to protect the boy, not get caught up in a bunch of what-if nonsense that doesn’t really matter.  And that’s the crux, isn’t it? Why does this matter? Why can’t he shake it?

He doesn’t put the rabbit down, just keeps turning it over in his hands.  It’s soft and worn from being well loved.

The stitching on the ears makes him stop; an odd looping thing.  As he runs a finger over it William is sure he’s seen that before as well…

…

They had made camp near a river, about four months after leaving the village.  They wouldn’t stay long; they never did. Just enough to sleep, maybe to eat a bit.  William had proven to himself that he could be useful and managed to catch a couple of trout (don’t say he never learned anything from his father, not that he ever tried to teach him much).

The smell of the fish roasting over the campfire was drifting through the air and everyone was in good spirits.  Julia was playing with Joshua, keeping him distracted and away from the fire. The two-year-old had developed a habit of grabbing anything within arm’s reach, and it wouldn’t do for him to go grabbing hot fish and burning himself.  Erasmus had wandered off some time ago.

“Julia, my dear, will you keep an eye on the fish for me?” William said, standing and wiping his hands off on his knees, “It’s almost ready, I’m just going to pop off for a bit and find where Erasmus ran off to.”

He followed the river, retracing the steps he saw Erasmus take earlier.  It didn’t take long to find him. He was sitting on a log on the riverside, tunic (a new one, in a deep forest green) draped over a branch1.  He was fiddling with the hem of a spare linen undershirt.

“Are you sewing?” William said, slightly surprised.

“Yea, gotta keep things in order somehow,” Erasmus said as he laid stitches along the hem. “These things wear out, can’t really go around getting new ones.”

“No, I suppose not,” William said as he watched Erasmus’ hands, deftly moving the needle to and fro, in and out.  

It was obviously a well-practiced skill.  William remembered the nuns, when he was still learning the priesthood, taking the time to darn socks that were wearing out rather than replacing them.  Vows of poverty and all that. They would work so quickly you almost couldn’t keep up if you watched. It was soothing. Sister Loquacious tried to teach him once.  It hadn’t gone well.

Erasmus’ needle moved with precision, even if the stitch looked rather odd.  There was the usual straight stitch he was used to seeing, but then he would pass the needle through loops he made at the edge.  Very odd, compared to anything in William’s small knowledge of sewing.

“Where did you learn to do that?” William asked, voice soft and almost a whisper.  One might mistake it for reverent if one were listening.

“Don’t really wanna talk about it, if it’s all the same,” Erasmus said as he finished his stitch.

“Right, of course,” William watched as Erasmus took his tunic down from the branch. “Dinner is almost ready, thought I’d come find you.  You know how Julia is, we’ll be lucky to have any left when we get back.”

“Ha,” Erasmus scoffed, “Right, because she’s the one who goes through our stores.  Don’t think I haven’t seen you sneaking around at night through the rucksacks, priest.”

They both caught the scent of fire-cooked fish wafting towards them.  Erasmus sauntered in the direction of camp with William following close behind.

A few weeks later, Erasmus had shown up in their camp and tossed a burgundy rabbit at Joshua, who immediately named it Harry.

…

That loop stitching is familiar.  It adorns so many things of his and Julia’s now, where Erasmus has volunteered to fix them.  And here it is, unmistakable, along the ears of this rabbit.

William feels something warm bloom in his heart.  His feelings, this infatuation for Erasmus has been bubbling for a while, no matter how hard he tries to stomp them back down.  His justification has always been that Erasmus is not in this for them, in the long run. The man had told him straight out. Erasmus does things for himself and no one else, no matter how false the priest knew that to be in his heart.

But this was unmistakable.  Sewing a toy rabbit for a scared child.  Sewing it out of his own ruined clothes. How long had Erasmus held onto that ruined tunic?  How long did it take him to make it?

William feels tears start to prickle at the corners of his eyes and holds back a sob.  It feels like something is cracking open inside of him, and when whatever it is spills out, he’ll never be able to put it back.

He misses Erasmus.

He’s alone in the woods with only a small boy and a dog, doing his best to keep them all safe, and he misses Erasmus so much that it physically hurts him.  This is a new feeling to William; attachments like this weren’t allowed in the priesthood.

He remembers the dream he had, almost a year ago now (though not a day goes by that it doesn’t haunt him).  The soft brush of lips on his, that euphoric feeling of being home ripped away so suddenly by the coming of daybreak.

William sits by a campfire, holding a small burgundy rabbit in his hands.

William sits by a campfire and heaves a sigh, hugging said rabbit the same way a small child would.  The same way a small child does almost every day.

William is in love.

He’s in love with Erasmus, and he’s finally admitting this to himself.

And there’s no going back now.

---

1 - He stole it, of course.  Can't expect a conman to go around paying for nice tunics.

#fic #slow show #warlock (tv) #erasmus #William of neath #razzywill

[mamabearcat]

Into the Woods - Part One

Yes, as usual, it started as a one shot and then.... maaaaybe three parts to this? Not sure what to rate this one - it’s sorta dark but no more graphic than the original manga I guess, where people get ripped apart on the daily. For the moment, I’m gonna say T. Listened to The Cure’s Lullaby while writing this one...

On candy stripe legs the Spiderman comes Softly through the shadow of the evening sun Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead Looking for the victim shivering in bed Searching out fear in the gathering gloom and Suddenly A movement in the corner of the room And there is nothing I can do When I realize with fright That the Spiderman is having me for dinner tonight

Tagging everyone who asked to be @clearwillow @keichanz @redflamesofpassion @xxracheyxx You know what to do if you wanna join the tag train.

Kagome’s heart thudded in her ears as she careered out of the doorway, half fastened boots slipping on the gravelled path. The plastic toggle on the drawstring of her oversized red hoodie whipped into her cheek as she skidded around the corner of the house. The chilled mountain air felt harsh, catching in her throat as she gasped for breath, the oxygen in her lungs stolen by the horrifying images just left behind.

A vision of her loving grandfather’s face, his features twisted almost beyond recognition into a mask of lust and violence swam before her eyes and she pushed it away, madly dashing towards the crumbling steps leading downwards towards the moss-covered Torii gate, uncaring of the high possibility of falling and snapping her neck in her eagerness to get away.

“There’s no point running little girl. I seeee yooouu.”

Kagome smothered a sound midway between a terrified shriek and a sob behind her shaking hand. A childhood memory of hide and seek with her grandfather tore at her, made her gasp, tears threatening to spill. It was still her grandfather’s voice, but she knew. She knew it wasn’t him.

She began running down the eroded stone steps, her loose boots almost tripping her up. The worn dirt path stretched out ahead of her, a clear escape route all the way to the main road. But wouldn’t he expect her to use the path? The road was a forty-minute hike away, and it was doubtful that any cars would be travelling towards the isolated shrine at dusk. And what if he caught up to her? He’d already proven that even though he looked like her grandfather, his strength and speed wasn’t that of a frail man in his late seventies.

Her thoughts leaped towards the only other person she’d seen in the forest today – the grumpy woodcutter who’d warned her to stay on the path, the inu youkai with silver hair and ears and piercing amber eyes. Could she find him in the dwindling light? He’d told her he lived in the forest, but she had no idea where.

The only thing she could do was run. Mama was far away in Tokyo. No one else apart from the woodcutter even knew she was here. No one would be coming to save her. Choking back another sob she plunged into the increasing gloom of the forest next to the path and ran, heedless of the sharp twigs tearing bloodied scratches into her pale skin.

---

 “Are you sure you have everything you need honey?”

Kagome smiled at her mother as she shrugged her yellow backpack onto her shoulder, heavy with a week’s worth of clothes and her mother’s gifts of food for her grandfather.

“Yup, I’m all set.” She knew the tightness around her mother’s eyes and mouth were due to more than the early morning start to make it to the station on time; she was really worried about Grandpa. Kagome was glad that she could ease her mother’s burden by travelling to the isolated mountain shrine to check up on him.

“You know I’ll be there by Sunday, right?” The slightly shaky tone of her mother’s voice confirmed Kagome’s theory. “I’m so sorry I can’t come straight away, but there’s no one available to take over the project at work, and with Souta having his high school entrance exams this week… Grandpa sounded so frail and frightened on the phone, not like himself at all, and I just…”

“Mama, calm down! It’s not like I’m a little kid anymore - we’ve been over this.” She stroked her mother’s arm, trying to reassure her. “I’m happy that I can go check on Grandpa. It’s just lucky that I have time before my next semester begins at university.” She smiled at her mother, watching her take a deep calming breath. “And besides, I haven’t visited the shrine yet since he moved there. It’ll be nice to have time to visit with him and breathe a little fresh mountain air.”

“You remember which bus to catch from the station right?” fussed her mother in a worried tone. “And you’ve got the map? Make sure you get there before it’s dark, the forest trails can be slippery if it rains or gets foggy. And make sure you stay on the path – I don’t want to get a call to tell me you’ve broken your leg getting your foot stuck in a fox hole or something.”

“Mama, you worry too much!” Kagome grinned, leaning forward to embrace the slightly shorter woman in a swift hug. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see; Grandpa probably just has a bad cold, and after I pamper him for a few days with all the food you’ve packed he’ll be feeling much better, chewing my ear off with one of those old youkai folktales he used to tell me at bedtime. You might not even have to come at the end of the week – I promise I’ll call tonight and let you know how things are.”

Her mother returned her hug tightly, pressing her cheek against Kagome’s and rocking her slightly from side to side. “I know, honey, I know, I’m probably worrying over nothing, but just humour your mother okay? I just have a feeling that somethings not right. Please, please be careful.”

The whooshing sound of the Shinkansen approaching the station cut short their conversation. Kagome lined up behind the number painted on the platform that corresponded to her assigned carriage. She blew her mother a final kiss as the door slid open and stepped onto the train.

 ---

Kagome swung her backpack down to the ground, and pushed her hands into the small of her back glad to be able to stretch after sitting on public transport all day. She had been walking up the steep mountain trail for about twenty minutes, and guessed she was about halfway to the shrine. Time for a little break and she definitely deserved a snack. She sat down on a moss-covered log next to the path, sipping water and munching appreciatively on the pale pink mochi bought at the little family run stall near the bus stop at the base of the mountain trail. It was well past her usual lunch time, and the sakura mochi sweetened with red bean paste was just what she’d needed.

Her mind pondered the weird interaction with the stall owner as she swallowed the last mouthful. She’d been chatting happily to the smiling old lady after she made her choice and handed over her coins, and it had been a total surprise when the woman had gasped in horror when she’d explained where she was travelling. The tiny woman had shuffled away into a back room, pushing aside the sun faded noren that hung in the doorway and returning moments later with a small object clutched in her arthritic hand. She had thrust it into Kagome’s palm – a yakuyoke omamori.

“For protection against evil”, she’d whispered, looking around suspiciously as if they might be overheard by someone, folding Kagome’s fingers over the small yellow brocade talisman and squeezing them tight. “Stay on the path – I warned your Grandfather, but he refused to listen.” Before Kagome could thank her, she’d disappeared behind the fabric divider again. The conversation was obviously over.

Kagome pulled the small rectangular amulet out of the pocket of her cut off denim shorts and held it in her palm again. She held it up by the looped string, watched it twisting in the sunlight filtering down through the green canopy above, the gold brocade glinting. She smiled indulgently at the old woman’s superstition. Her Grandfather was the same; he’d been brought up in a Shinto shrine and still followed the old ways.

He had spent many hours telling her traditional stories about youkai and miko, and his childhood growing up in a shrine. She’d even considered taking on a part-time position as a miko at a nearby shrine while she completed her university degree as a way to earn a little extra, seeing she was already familiar with many of the duties. But then she’d found a job at her local café that fit her lecture timetable and nursing placement at the hospital, so she hadn’t pursued it, even though she was sure it would have made her Grandfather very proud.

Mama had been a little worried about Grandpa moving back to the mountain shrine traditionally run by his family, but Kagome had understood. He’d moved from Kumamoto prefecture to Tokyo to help look after them when Papa had died, but he’d never really been happy there. Now that his older brother had passed away, he was the last person left to take over as caretaker, unless her or Souta decided to move here.

She breathed in the clean crisp air, enjoying the novelty of solitude. A gentle breeze rushed through the branches above, reminding her of the sound of the sea. Small birds chirped nearby, and black and white butterflies flittered through the soft beams of afternoon sunlight dappling the dirt path in front of her. She took another deep breath. All was quiet and tranquil, so different from the constant bustle of Tokyo. There probably wasn’t another soul around for miles.

“You know, that little scrap a cloth ain’t gonna do shit for ya.”

Kagome shrieked, jumping up from her seat on the fallen log and away from the deep voice that had whispered directly into her ear.  She twisted, almost losing her balance and tripping over as she turned abruptly to see who had broken the silence.

A man was standing there behind the log. Lean, but broad shouldered and a whole head taller than her, a teasing grin on his face. No wait – fangs? Along with claws, short silver hair and… were those dog ears? A youkai then? Kagome wasn’t frightened; she had a few friends at university who were youkai. Shippou was one of her best friends, and Jinenji wouldn’t hurt a fly. She frowned at the grinning male, taking in his black and red checked jacket, dusty jeans and axe resting on his shoulder as she tried to calm her rapidly beating heart.

“You scared me you jerk! What are you, some kind of wood cutter?”

“That’s exactly what I am”, he smirked. “And I take it you are lost.”

Kagome bristled slightly at the insinuation. Obviously, he was under the impression that the weak little woman needed saving. “No, I’m not lost! I know exactly where I’m going. I’m walking that way”, she said, pointing up the mountain path.

“Then you’re headin’ in the wrong direction woman. The main road’s back behind you.”

Kagome hmphed, crossing her arms. “Well, not that it’s any of your business, but I’m not headed to the main road. I’m walking up to the shrine.”

The tall man’s eyebrows lowered, and he frowned at her, shrugging the wooden axe handle from his shoulder to drop the heavy metal blade on the forest floor with a dull thud. “Why would ya wanna go up there? It’s just a long dusty walk with not much to look at. Nothin’ interesting, no pretty stalls to buy trinkets at, no food, not even a vending machine. You’re wastin’ ya time. You’d better head on back to the road before the last bus comes.”

“Shows how much you know. My Grandpa lives there, he moved there about three months ago. I’m going to visit him.”

The man’s amber eyes widened in surprise. “So, you’re jiji’s granddaughter huh? He’s a stubborn old coot.”

Kagome frowned at him. “You just told me that no-one lived there!”

He smirked, leaning forward a little. “No, if you’d been listening woman, you’d know that I said there was nothing of interest up there – that’s not a lie.”

“Hey, don’t be rude!”

He sighed, scratching his chin with a clawed forefinger and looking upwards to the tree line above as if the conversation was already boring him. “Well, since you’re related to him, and he is kinda my neighbour, I suppose I should introduce myself. Name’s Inuyasha.” He nodded his head in what Kagome supposed could be called an approximation of a bow.

Kagome sighed, clasping her fingers together on her thighs and leaning forward. Just because he was an overly macho grump didn’t mean she couldn’t be polite. “My name is Higurashi Kagome. It’s a pleasure to meet you Inuyasha-san.”

He grinned at her again, one white fang poking over his bottom lip. “It ain’t nice to lie to people Higurashi – no one’s ever been pleased to meet me my whole life, and I doubt you’re gonna be the first.”

Kagome narrowed her eyes at him as she straightened up. “My apologies Inuyasha-san”, she huffed. “My Grandpa is expecting me.” She swung her heavy backpack up onto her shoulders and turned to continue up the mountain path. A grumbling growl followed her.

“Hey, Higurashi Kagome.” She paused. “If you are gonna waste your time goin’ up there, keep your wits about you. You’ve got a couple a hours before sunset, make sure you get there before it gets dark. And stay on the path.”

Kagome turned to face him again, her eyebrow twitching. “You’re the third person to say that to me today. I didn’t think there were any bears left in Kyushu!”

“It ain’t bears ya gotta worry about around here”, he said with a growl. “Just stay on the path Higurashi. And trust your gut!” With that he shouldered his axe and turned to head off into the trees.

“Hey, what about you?!” Kagome yelled behind him as he disappeared in amongst the trees, only the occasional flash of white or red showing his whereabouts, his progress through the heavily wooded forest almost silent.

“Doesn’t apply to me woman; I live here! And I ain’t a weak human like you are. Stay on the path!”

“Jerk!” Grumbling, Kagome hitched her backpack more comfortably on her shoulders and shoved the tiny talisman back in her pocket. If she never saw that grump again, it would be too soon for her.

 ___

 “Grandpa, are you here? It’s me Kagome!” She tapped on the door of the little house behind the shrine. The shrine building and grounds had been still and empty, the bell silent, no incense burning in the large holder, and twigs and leaves littering the gravel around it. Maybe Grandpa wasn’t feeling well enough to sweep them away? The little house seemed silent also, and a small shard of disquiet lodged in Kagome’s chest. What if Mama was right, and there was something really wrong with Grandpa? She tried the front door, but it was locked firmly.

The windows at the front were covered by blinds, so Kagome headed around the side of the house. A small window near the back of the house was uncovered, and she cupped her hands around her face, trying to peer in. The late afternoon sunshine lit up the small kitchen and the scene inside increased her worry. The sink was filled with more than a day’s worth of dirty dishes, and broken glass and spilled rice littered the floor. The door to the refrigerator was wide open.

Kagome ran to the rear of the house, knocking frantically on the back door. “Grandpa! Grandpa, can you hear me? Are you okay? Please open the door!” She twisted the doorknob, and sighed in relief when she found it unlocked. She dropped her backpack and loosened the tops of her hiking boots, toeing them off next to her Grandfather’s neatly arranged shoes.

“Grandpa? Grandpa, where are you?” Kagome ran into the kitchen, stepping carefully around the broken glass on the wooden floor to avoid cutting her sock clad feet. The small tatami room off to one side was empty save for a low table and seating cushions.  The short hallway ended in a bathroom; an open bottle of pain medication left on the sink.

Kagome slid open the door to the next room – her Grandfather’s sleeping futon was still laid out on the tatami mats, the quilt messily turned aside. Kagome was beginning to panic now. She had never known her Grandfather to leave his futon out after sleeping. She glanced unhappily around the room for clues to his whereabouts, her hands clenching and unclenching, but there was nothing except for dust motes drifting through bright beams of sunlight filtering through the paper shoji screens.

She walked back to the kitchen unsure of what to do. Should she call Mama straight away? She pulled her phone out of her pocket, noticing that her battery was nearly dead – she’d been reading and listening to music on the train and bus for hours, so she wasn’t surprised. But calling Mama without knowing where Grandpa was would just frighten her. What should she do? She turned to close the door of the refrigerator and was startled by a sudden tap on her shoulder.

“Grandpa!” She dropped her phone in her surprise, flinging her arms around the old man and bending down to hug him close. “Where were you, I was so worried!” She pulled back to look at his face. His eyes looked bloodshot and his eyelashes were wet, and it looked like there were traces of tears on his pale cheeks. Had he been crying? And the way he was looking at her was like he didn’t recognise her at all!

“Grandpa?” she said uncertainly. “Are you okay? It’s me, Kagome.”

His eyes blinked, and then a wide smile curved his lips. “Ah, Kagome my child, it’s good to see you. Your mother said you would be visiting during your semester break. How are your studies progressing?”

“Never mind that Grandpa! What happened?” She pointed towards the broken glass and spilled rice on the floor.

The old man shrugged and walked towards the broom resting against the refrigerator. “Nothing to worry about. I’ve had a slight cold this week. I was making lunch and had a bit of a dizzy spell. I decided to go sit in the open air outside the shrine and clear my head a little before I cleaned up.”

Kagome bit her lip, trying to push back the pure panic that had been rushing through her only moments before. “But why didn’t I see you? I looked everywhere for you Grandpa!”

Kagome blinked. For a moment, she had thought she saw a look of extreme anger on her Grandfather’s face, but she must have been mistaken. Her Grandfather reached up and patted her shoulder.

“We must have just missed each other dear girl. Go sit down and I’ll make some tea.”

“No, no, I’ll do it. You haven’t been well, and that’s why I’m visiting after all. Please let me look after you Grandpa.” He smiled at her indulgently.

“Very well, if you insist. I’ll go sit down.” She watched him walk out of the kitchen, his steps a little uncertain, like he was still dizzy. She was concerned, but thankful. Things weren’t as bad as she had feared. She would look after him for a few days, and he would be back to his normal blustery self.

 ---

 Kagome bustled around the little kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove and emptying her backpack of the treats her mother had made to bring, twisted azuki bread, tiny matcha butter cookies and a selection of her Grandfather’s favourite tea. She put a plate of treats and a cup of tea on a tray for him, trying to make it look as beautifully presented as Mama would have, and carried it into the tatami room where he was seated on a cushion, gazing at nothing with a vacant expression on his face.

He turned his head towards her at her as she entered the room. She noticed his eyes still looked a little bloodshot; even his iris looked different, the usual dark brown looking almost dark red. He blinked at her, taking a moment to respond to her presence as if he had been deep in thought. Maybe he had a headache? He tilted his head to look at the tray.

“Thank you, child, this looks lovely.”

Smiling happily, Kagome placed the tray down in front of him. “It’s no problem at all Grandpa. I’m just going to go clean up in the kitchen, and then start on dinner okay? Drink your tea before it gets cold.” She watched him reach for the cup, tremors shaking fingers as he reached for his tea. He was definitely ill, but knowing him, he was probably hiding exactly how ill he was from her. She almost chuckled, thinking of what that rude woodcutter she’d met on the trail had said to her earlier - he really was a stubborn old coot wasn’t he.

Kagome plugged in her phone to charge, then finished the washing up, leaving it on the side of the sink to dry, ready to put away later. She used the broom to sweep the spilled rice and broken glass into a little heap near the bin, but couldn’t find a dustpan and brush. Rather than disturb her grandfather, she picked up the biggest pieces with her fingers. A jagged piece sliced across her palm and she dropped the collected glass with a yelp.

“Is everything alright granddaughter?”

“Don’t worry Grandpa, just a little cut, everything’s okay”, she called back. Holding her other hand under her dripping palm she walked over to the now empty sink, wondering where her grandfather might keep his first aid kit. She didn’t think the cut was deep enough to need stitching, but it was stinging quite badly. She must have nicked a blood vessel, because it seemed to be bleeding a lot. She turned on the tap, ready to run it under the water, when her grandfather’s hand shot out from behind her and grabbed hold of her wrist.

“Show me your hand.” Kagome flinched. How did he get into the kitchen so fast, when he had looked so dizzy before? And his voice sounded… odd. Not caring like it usually would if she had injured herself. She turned to look at him as he inspected her palm carefully, the bright red blood pooling in her cupped hand.

“Grandpa, please, it’s gonna drip everywhere and make a mess. Let me… ow, you’re hurting me!’

His grip on her wrist was suddenly fierce, and she whimpered trying to tug her arm back. When did her frail Grandfather suddenly get this strong? His slightly long fingernails were almost piercing her skin and it felt like the bones in her wrist were close to cracking. “Grandpa, please stop!” She tried to look into his eyes to catch his attention, but he seemed to be almost mesmerised by the warm blood that was now beginning to run down her wrist and over his fingers.

“It smells so sweet”, he muttered to himself, ignoring Kagome’s whimpers and efforts to pull back her hand entirely. “I can sense the power of it. Who would have thought such a prize would come to me willingly? I had thought to wait until the mother arrived, but it would be a shame to waste this.” He suddenly jammed the forefinger of his other hand into the open wound and Kagome shrieked, watching him with horror as he pulled back his finger and placed it into his mouth, tasting her blood. He moaned softly, almost like a lover would, then bent his head to slurp and lick the blood out of her palm, pulling at the cut with his other hand to encourage the blood flow.

Kagome tugged backwards frantically trying to get away, her sock covered feet slipping on the wooden floor. This made absolutely no sense. Had her Grandfather gone insane? Had the isolation of the shrine made him crazy? This couldn’t be real! She moaned in horror and he looked up at her, his lips, teeth and chin coated in her blood. His irises were pure red, full of rage and lust and a horrible stench reached her nose, like rotten meat. He grinned at her; his once kindly face unrecognisable.

“No need to prepare dinner Kagome-chan”, he grinned malevolently. “I already have plans.” Purplish black miasma began to leak out of his eyes and mouth and Kagome felt her stomach turn. She reached behind her frantically with her other hand, feeling for anything that might aid her escape. Her fist closed around a heavy cast iron fry pan and she swung it at her Grandfather’s head with all her might, connecting with the side of his skull. There was a flash of bright pink light and she heard a wet cracking sound. The crushing grip on her arm loosened.

Kagome tore her arm away and bolted towards the doorway, shoving her feet haphazardly in her boots. She couldn’t look behind her. She felt like she needed to vomit, but she held it in, retching as she slid open the door, ignoring the beauty of the sunset highlighting the sea of green stretched out below as far as the eye could see. She had hit him. What if she’d killed him? What if she’d killed her own grandfather?

“Kagomeee-chaan…”

Kagome put down her head and ran, shuddering with horror. Whoever it was in that kitchen, it wasn’t her Grandfather.

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Into the Woods - Part 2

#Into the Woods #inuyasha fanfic #inukag fanfic #inukag #inuyasha x kagome #Bearpluscat fanfics

[msjr0119]

What took you so long?

Part 8- Discharged

Liam had been assassinated, Drake had left Cordonia before this. He had heard from Savannah about his friend- he felt guilty not returning. Someone had blackmailed him to not return, with only his sister knowing the truth. Leo had taken over the throne in place of his brother due to there being no heir....

*CHARACTERS BELONG TO PIXELBERRY*

{Drake x Riley}

Tags: @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @bbrandy2002 @kingliam2019 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @yukinagato2012

******

Between Drake and the others they had tried to comfort Riley over the last few days. She was still confused with what was reality and what wasn’t. Maxwell tried to trigger her memory by showing her different social media sites - pictures of them all together. With no avail, the staff had warned everyone to be patient and eventually her memory could return. When there was no visitors- Riley emotions that she had held in burst.

Riley was due to be discharged, the friends not knowing where was best for her to stay in her state- had come to an undecided decision. The press were still camping outside the palace and Valtoria. If she wasn’t there, the press would automically go to Ramsford as she was an honorary Beaumont. The last option- Drakes cabin.

“She won’t want to go to my cabin. She’s still confused. At times I feel like she doesn’t know what she wants between us. Yes she has been saying ‘love you’ to me, but is that because we’ve all drilled into her confused mind that we were an item? Maybe she’s just saying it because she feels she hasn’t got a choice.”

“When we get to the hospital I’ll talk with her. After all, I’ve been through a lot with her. I flew back to New York with her that time.”

“That is probably a good idea Drake, let Liv try and talk to her.”

Drake nodded silently at Liam and Olivia. He still regretted not being there that night when she was shot. She had already been through enough shit, and he wasn’t there to protect her. And now all the pain she was feeling, not feeling herself - he wished he could take it all away.

The friends all gathered outside the palace- ready to visit Riley. All ready to support her with anything that she needed.

****

Riley impatiently tried to get out of bed on her own. She was due to have physio, but her stubbornness wanted to prove she could do it on her own. Swinging her legs over, she managed to stand up. Taking one step forward she was pleased with herself. Suddenly feeling slightly dizzy, she held onto the bed for dear life. The room was spinning- until two strong arms supported her. Relieved that someone was there for her- she turned around, her jaw become agape.

“What are you doing here?”

The man softly smiled at her- admiring what a beautiful young woman she had grown up to be.

“You are my granddaughter Riley. Of course I’m going to be here. I’m the only family you have left.”

“You Sir, will never be my family. You left my Gran and father. All for what? To become mayor. To mess about. Abandoning your family. I’d like it if you left me alone please, I’m doing just fine.”

“You are still my blood. We all make mistakes Ri. I’m here now, to help. The Queen Mother informed me. Why you would reject a kings proposal is beyond me. You could have been Queen!”

“I’m not power hungry like you are!”

Before Riley’s grandfather could respond her physio turned up- saved by the bell.

The physio held onto her and suggested that her grandfather supported her other side much to Riley’s annoyance. Walking through the corridor, she heard familiar voices in front of them. Her friends exchanged confused faces towards the mystery man- all wondering why he had returned.

“Guys this is my arsehole grandfather. Liam can you please inform Regina to not invite parasites to my bedside in future.”

“Er.... Riley.... we knew he was here. He was here when you was .... you know... asleep.... Drake told him to leave but he wouldn’t. Then he and Regina got talking about how you and Liam should have been married...” Maxwell couldn’t lie to his sister. Knowing that look she provided he knew they were all going to be picked out one by one and buried.

“Great another thing that I dreamt up... I must have overheard that conversation subconsciously. Where’s Drake?”

“I’m so sorry Riley. And he’s just gone to the shop. He will be here soon. Let’s sit you back down.” Olivia said softly, whilst giving Riley’s grandfather dirty looks.

*****

The friends all sat in an awkward silence- they had heard prior about Riley’s relationship with her grandfather. They were all annoyed at the man who could abandon his family. They heard the knock on the door, knowing it was Drake and decided to give them a bit of alone time.

“Hey Brooks.”

“Hey.” She sounded defeated.

“What’s up?”

“Oh you know, I’ve imagined half my life. My grandfather has rocked up. I just wish I didn’t come here in the first place.”

“I knew you’d be pissed seeing him- I told him to leave. But at the time the others didn’t want me to cause trouble whilst you was asleep. I’m so sorry. I’m glad you came- I know I was a jerk about it at first but I was happy to meet someone who finally understood me and loved me back.”

“How could you love me? My life is just one big fuck up. I aborted the heir of this country.”

“How can I not love you. We all love you. I wanted you to keep the baby. I know it wasn’t mine, but between us all it would have been loved. Liam wouldn’t have taken it off you because we were together.” Riley remained silent, as tears formed in her eyes. She hated the woman she had become, she was now unrecognisable.

“I love you Riley, I’m going to look after you. You mean the world to me and I’m not going to let anyone hurt you again.”

*****

The SUV pulled up outside a log cabin. Drakes log cabin. Riley wondered why they were there instead of the palace. Olivia had wanted to be the one to talk about sleeping arrangements with her but she never got the chance to.

“We all agreed, for you to stay here. The press are still stalking the palace and Valtoria. They don’t know about this place. I’ve set your room up.”

Riley nodded and remained silent again. Taking a deep breath as he opened the opened the door, he hoped she would be okay.

“It’s just how I imagined. In my dream we came here- I placed Liam Jr on the couch, you wrapped him up in blankets. You looked after him for me, he called you uncle grumpy. We had sex on the table. Funny really isn’t it.”

Drake held her tight, when she found out she was pregnant he had made a crib in the spare room. He didn’t want to show her as he was unsure what her intentions were regarding the pregnancy.

“Funny? I wouldn’t say that. Erm when you was pregnant I made a crib as a present to you and King Liam. It’s still here. It’ll stay there until someone has a baby- that craftsmanship won’t go to waste. Shit. Sorry I shouldn’t have told you. I just didn’t want you walking in and seeing it without an explanation.”

“Can I see it?”

Drake looked at her confused. He gulped, and led her into the spare room. She ran her fingers along it, admiring all the detail and work he had put into it.

“It’s amazing Drake. You really are talented.”

“Heh... with things like this I am. Your room is next door. I’ll let you get settled in. You’re probably tired.”

“Where are you staying?”

“On the couch.”

“Why? Why not just stay with me?”

“Riley. You need time to adjust. You’ve been in hospital.”

“Please Drake. Stay with me. If we were together I want you with me. I need to feel loved.”

“You are loved beyond words.”

“Take me to bed then.”

Drake crashed his lips on to hers, not wanting to rush things but she was too damn irresistible. She worked at his trousers which were tightening at every touch, he needed to resist her. Seeing the scar from the shot wound he kissed it tenderly, hoping to take any pain away. Falling into the bed, he laid beside her, holding her tight.

“Drake... I want you.”

“I can’t Brooks, no matter how much I love you, I can’t have sex with you.”

“Why the fuck not?”

Shit she’s angry.

“Because, I haven’t got any protection.”

“If you loved me, we wouldn’t need to use it.”

“Riley, NO! I can’t promise that I’d pull out in time- whenever I’m close to you I lose myself in you. And I’m not risking it. Not in your state of mind.”

“Fine. Night.” She rolled over, her body became tense.

“Riley please. Don’t be mad with me.” Trying to hug her, she brushed him away. Turning to face the other way, he was hoping her attitude would become more positive in the morning.

Riley thought back to the first time they had slept together in Vegas. She was sure they didn’t use protection then, but then again they were all intoxicated. Her eyes felt heavy and she eventually fell asleep.

***

Waking up the next morning, Drake wasn’t next to her. Shooting out of bed she wondered if he had left her in a strop. She didn’t want to argue with him. Walking into the kitchen, she saw him stood at the table in just his boxers. Smelling the pancake aroma that was spreading throughout the kitchen - I should have known.

“Morning beautiful.”

She ran upto him catching him off guard, kissing him.

“I’m sorry for last night. I was a bitch.”

“Heh, it’s fine. Here have some proper American food. I went to the shop before- there’s something in the bag.”

Riley opened the bag- condoms. Laughing at how he wanted to please her.

“How about neglecting the breakfast for now Walker?”

*****

Four weeks had gone by. The friends had visited Riley and Drake every so often. Even Riley’s grandfather visited, Riley updated him on her life and he did the same. She didn’t want him to leave without clearing the air. He was her only biological family that was left. Liam had made a statement regarding the attacks at the homecoming ball- the press had finally backed off. And Anton remained behind bars.

Riley had a check up appointment at the hospital. Drake was waiting for her outside, lost in thought.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Nothing. Are you ready?” Drake held her hands contently. He had stuck to his promise about looking after her.

“Of course.” Riley kissed him on the lips, before sitting in the passenger seat.

*****

At the hospital, the doctor checked out Riley’s scar and was pleased with the healing.

“There’s something I would also like to discuss with you before you leave. When you were discharged, we had completed a blood test. After reviewing the results, it showed that you are pregnant Duchess Riley.”

“What?”

“We would like to do a scan. Just to confirm that these results are accurate.”

“I can’t be pregnant. I was shot. I was asleep. I’ve only slept with Drake and he went to the shop to buy condoms. We’ve been careful.”

“Ri... erm...” Drake’s mind finally clicked on, he didn’t know how to tell her? How she would react?

“What Drake?” She snapped, before apologising to the Doctor for her sudden outburst.

“The night you got shot. We snuck off to your room and.... we had unprotected sex... I walked you back to the ballroom, leaving you with Liam and Maxwell. Then I went back to my room to get something...”

#theroyalromance #choices trr #riley brooks #drakewalker #maxwell beaumont #hanalee #olivia nevrakis #bertrand beaumont #liam rhys #riley x drake #trr whattookyousolong

[txladyj-blog]

Chapter 2 - This Time Around

a Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx​

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 15/?

Shane tossed Daryl a pair of gloves and pointed to the back of the pickup, laden with logs and pieces of wood he’d gathered to make a shelter over the food preparation area. Daryl, more than Merle, tended to be a little more inclined to help around camp as opposed to only lending a hand if it benefited him directly. However, Daryl’s relationship with both Shane and Rick was strained at best. They were cops and both Dixons’ had always hated cops. But Daryl was smart and had already realized that if he was going to get by in this camp, or if he and Merle were going to get any closer to their end goal, he would have to play ball and make nice with the law enforcement.

Shane hopped up onto the truck and bent his legs, hooking his hands under a heavy log on the top of the pile. Sweat glittered on his forehead as he centered himself and lifted. The end of the log tilted towards Daryl and he took hold of it, bearing the weight and slowly easing it down towards him.

“Saw you sat with Jess up on the RV last night. You guys buddies now?” Shane asked through gritted teeth, the veins in his neck bulging as he continued to lift the wood.

“Just invited her damn self up there.” Daryl rasped. The log hit the ground with a thunk and Daryl rolled it to one side, coming back to the truck and sliding the smaller pieces of wood from the top. Shane climbed back down and began doing the same.

“Somethin’ about her. Always the quiet ones you gotta watch.” He pointed out.

Daryl's back pricked with irritation. Typical cops, always finding something where there was nothing. His impression of Jess had been that she was a bookish nerd who was as socially awkward and outcast as him. His judgement of character hadn’t let him down in the past and when he looked at the groups newest addition, he saw nothing untoward or untrustworthy in the least.

“They teach ya that in the academy?” He quipped.

Shane huffed at him and paused his task, resting one gloved hand on the remaining pile of wood.

“Maybe I should be watching you too.” He suggested.

“Ya ain’t already? You a rookie or somethin’?” Daryl challenged.

Shane steppes closer to him, lowering his head and voice as he spoke to avoid anyone nearby overhearing.

“Why are you and your brother here? I know your kind. You two can survive just fine on your own. It doesn’t make sense.”

Daryl's jaw tightened and his chest puffed as he fought to control the urge to punch Shane in the face. Who did he think he was? The world was over, there’s no more laws and cops had no authority, yet there this guy was, still trying to make his life difficult.

“Safety in numbers.” He managed to shrug noncommittally.

Shane’s gaze was locked on Daryl's casual and nonchalant face as if trying to catch him in a lie. But Daryl stood strong and gave nothing away.

“You better not be lying to me” warned Shane.

“What ya gonna do about it? You can’t prove nothin’.” Daryl sneered, his face twisting into a mocking smile.

“You do anything to put these people in danger and I’ll make you disappear.” Shame continued to scold, stepping closer and prodding Daryl in the chest with his gloved index finger.

“Looks like we all above the law now, huh?” Daryl smirked. “Ain’t so bright, are ya? Pissin’ off the person that provides the camp with food. You don’t back off, I’ll make sure ya starve.”

Shane looked down his nose at the angry Redneck in front of him before curling his lip and turning his attention back to the task in hand.

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From the top of the RV. Dale laughed to himself and sighed, placing a hand on his head and securing his hat. Jess pressed her lips into a line and gave him an awkward look as he shook his head. From what she could tell Dale was in his 60’s with a weathered face and a white beard. He was logical and wise, full of opinions at the wrong moment, unafraid to offer ideas and seeing all of the commotion that presented itself among a group of individuals that didn’t really know one another, all living together in close proximity. Dale took up the majority of watch shifts, being the owner of the Winnebago meant he wanted to be the one sat on top most of the time.

Jess found that on the odd occasion she had climbed the ladder and settled next to him, he had shared his musings with her at best, but required little in the way of a response from her, which suited her just fine. Able to exist next to each other in peace, she realized she’d found the place where she felt most at ease. A high vantage point where she could see everything and everyone approach. No surprises and a sense of control were what she found most helpful from being so high above the rest of the group. Maybe Dale felt the same in some way, or even Daryl when he sat there of a night. She couldn’t be sure, but there was a possibility she’d find out, if she made the effort to do so.

“There’s a little too much testosterone going on around here. We need to be careful we don’t lose sight of why we’re all here and why we need each other.” Dale expressed to an intrigued Jess. Her face was still displaying a look of uneasy amusement at the exchange between Daryl and Shane.

“It doesn’t look like those two would get along anyway.” She pointed out.

“No, aside from the fact that Daryl and Merle have probably had a few brushes with the law in their time. He and Shane are both hot headed. No doubt they’ll clash again at some point and we’ll just stay up here, out of the way.” He nodded as if confirming his plan to himself and rubbing at his beard.

You got that right. Jess thought.

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Merle shoved Daryl forwards over the dry, cracked ground. The younger brother whirled around; his face stony with vexation as he pulled the shoulder of his vest back into place. It was a common occurrence when the two of them were hunting. Merle would become impatient and annoyed with Daryl's methodical and careful approach to tracking. He walked at a slower pace, took longer to think and was generally a better hunter because of it.

Daryl carried on through the woods, picking his way over fallen trees and branches across his path while remembering his confrontation with Shane earlier in the day.

“Shane’s onto us.” He told Merle who grumbled something inaudible from behind him and lit a cigarette. The click of his lighter rang through the trees and Daryl realized there and then that he wasn’t going to catch anything with Merles careless attitude that afternoon.

“I said, we gonna have to do this thing. We’re off like a herd of turtles right now.” Merle repeated after getting no response.  

Daryl stopped in his tracks and turned, dropping his crossbow to his side. Merle, exhaling a plume of smoke, raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“We really gotta do this?” Daryl asked.

“Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Maybe we should just stay here. It’s safe enough.”

“You pussyin’ out, little brother?” Merle challenged.

Daryl sighed loudly and glanced at his surroundings in the woods. He’d always felt at home there, even as a child when he’d amble in and out of the trees, a place that was much preferred to his own home at the time. He couldn’t say the idea of staying and hunting every day sounded like a bad one. Going off with Merle again would mean more confrontations, more fights and trying to make Merle see past his own nose. Life had undoubtedly been easier since their arrival at the camp and he couldn’t find a reason why they should throw that away.

“Naw, just think it makes more sense to stay instead of makin’ a ton of enemies.” He offered.

Merle’s body language changed instantly, becoming defensive and confrontational. He squared his shoulders and stepped closer to Daryl, looking down at him.

“Right. ‘Cause you ain’t been doin’ that, have ya? I saw ya, flarin’ up Shane’s temper.”

Daryl instinctively switched to argumentative mode and opted not to let his big brother win this one. Nearly all of his decisions had been a detriment to both of them and he wasn’t about to let him get away with thinking he had it all under control, when the truth was far from that.

“At least I ain’t been brawlin’ with black guys in the middle of camp.” Daryl snapped.

“Ahh he’s slicker’n owl shit.” Merle chuckled to himself. “Was just a little right hook”

“You wanted to do this! This was your dumb idea!” Daryl began to yell with now little to no regard about the potential food he was scaring away or the Walkers he could attract. His hand flew up in exasperation and he pointed with intent to Merle’s head. “You said we had to keep a low profile, but you don’t even know what that means!” He stalked off, quietly seething before turning back to Merle who was taking a long, slow drag of his smoke. “We got what we need here. I’m stayin’ a while and I ain’t robbin’ these people.”

With that, he stomped away with a half hope of resuming tracking at some point.

“What about me?” Merle called out.

“Do what ya want!” Daryl raged without even looking back.

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Finding herself more comfortable sitting on watch over the sleeping camp, darkness wrapped around her like a comfort blanket and a soundless watchman by her side, Jess figured she was likely to be spending many more nights on her perch next to Daryl. She quickly gathered that he really didn’t sleep and if he did it wasn’t for long and rarely when everyone else was in their blissful slumbers. How a person functioned on so little rest was a mystery to Jess, but then again so were a lot of other things about the archer of the group.

Most of her time in his presence was spent desperately trying not to ask half a million questions, her curiosity only becoming stronger with each moment spent around him. Maybe it was the now clear difference between him and his brother, maybe it was their matching reluctance to get too involved with anyone or maybe it was something else, but Jess felt more relaxed and social with Daryl than anyone else in the group.

Her fingertips flitted over the cover of her journal, the subtly mottled surface bumping under her skin as she counted the stars above them. Leaned back in her chair, her hands finally rested over the leather object on her lap.

“How old are you?” she asked, internally scolding herself for not being able to hold back the question. From the corner of her eye, she saw him slowly turn his head to her.

“Why ya wanna know that?” He responded bluntly.

“Curious.” She shrugged. “I’m 26.”

“Good for you. 26 trips around the sun.” He snapped back.

Feeling a little put out by the baffled look on his face and his dismissal of her interest with a shake of his head, she began to nervously drum her fingers on her journal.

Daryl tried his best to ignore the noise but soon found himself unable to concentrate on anything else. Feeling a slight sting of embarrassment for coldly throwing her attempt at conversation back in her face, he tried to think up a less offensive thing to say.

Jess shifted in her spot and took a sip of water from a crumpled bottle she kept by her chair leg. She knew he was watching her when he thought she wouldn’t catch him.

“Older than you” she heard him mutter when he looked back out at the crowded camp.

She studied the side of his face as numbers raced through her mind and she tried to guess how much older Merle was than him. She also wondered what he was doing with his life before everything went bad. Sensing her looking at him, he side glanced over at her.

“You wanna see some I.D officer?” He questioned.

The tuneful melody of her giggle was surprising to him. He fought against it, hiding a smile until it occurred to him that she was laughing because she found him funny. It was a new and interesting experience, having anyone think him humorous, let alone a female.

Reaching down to pick up her bottle of water, she offered it out to him.

“You want some water?”

He waved it off, rarely accepting anything from anyone else. Sometimes it was guilt, sometimes it was selflessness and sometimes it was him being plan pig-headed.

Jess withdrew the bottle, putting it back in its place and started to tap her sneaker against the edge of the RV in a nervous drumming until Daryl looked over at her in irritation. She immediately stopped.

“Sorry.” She mumbled.

What followed next was one of the longest half an hours in Daryl’s life, Jess read her graphic novel while intermittently lifting her gaze to him. In an attempt to ignore her, he found the motivation to unsheathe his knife and carve some bolts from the small pile of wood he’d brought up with him.  

Whispering and chuckling  in the distance meant that both Daryl and Jess squinted into the distant dark in time to see Sarah and Jodie emerge on a late night walk around the camp. Jess was sure they only did it to taunt her and make her feel uneasy, or was she being arrogant enough to assume it was for her benefit when it wasn’t? They made everything questionable, drew in paranoia and riddled Jess with an anxiety she really could have done without.

The two girls were talking amongst themselves when they saw Daryl and Jess sat together on the Winnebago. When he sat back in his seat, Daryl noticed Jess’s body language change straight away, becoming still and wary. His eyes moved between her troubled expression and their disdainful glimpses back at her.

“The blonde one is fuckin’ my brother.” He mentioned.

As if he’d flicked a switch, she completely changed. Her eyes widened and a satisfied smile swept across her face.

“What was that?!” she exclaimed.

“Shh. Keep ya damn voice down” He scolded, unable to stifle a smirk

She cleared her throat and leaned towards him, encouraging him to elaborate.

“That is some serious gossip, Daryl.” She whispered.

“Yeah. Caught ‘em at it in the woods. Merle said it’s been goin’ on since we got here.” He explained.

She couldn’t help it, a laugh escaped her and she clamped a hand over her mouth. Being completely unaware just how humorous she would find the situation and in turn how funny he would find it once it had been said out loud; he hung his head and released a chuckle of his own.

“You got more than you bargained for when you were hunting that day.” She snorted as her body juddered with giggles.

“That shit can’t be unseen.” He confirmed with a nod.

“Well, thank you for that golden piece of information.” She offered.

“I know ya ain’t gonna sing.”

“What?”

“Ya ain’t gonna tell nobody.”

“Oh, right. No. Of course not.”

The atmosphere between them had vastly improved and Jess clicked on her torch and opened her journal. Sometimes, she thought of her mind like a sponge, absorbent of information but it was like it sometimes got overloaded and would become weighed down. Memories were important to her and her journal had become a roadmap of all the important events in her life, people she’d met along the way and of the small things that she knew not to take for granted. Small things like sitting on a roof and laughing together with Daryl.  

‘I’m sitting with Daryl right now, he’s just given me the best piece of gossip and I even got a smile and a laugh out of…’

The ink from the pen faded before running out completely and she frantically scribbled on the page, furrowing her brow before throwing the pen in her bag and growling under her breath.

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With the ability to write now taken away from her, the morning light saw Jess meandering along the outskirts of the camp alone. Her hands were shoved in her jeans and her shoulder length, black hair was braided at the back. A lot of the group had left early for a supply run, resulting in there being a tense feeling around the camp.

Taking herself away from it with her own thoughts had seemed like the best idea at the time and before long, she was so consumed by the sound of the leaves fluttering in the trees that she had reached the makeshift border in the woods. Rope with tin cans hung from it to create as much noise as possible should anything collide with it or try to pass through. The path seemed clear and she couldn’t hear any evidence of threats.

Not too far. She told herself.

It was a hot day and she wished she’d brought water with her before she embarked on her little trip. She shrugged to herself and swung a leg over the rope, taking extra care to hold onto the cans so as not to alert any of the others. When she was clear of the border, she continued to amble through the trees, dragging her sneakers on the ground and humming a tune to herself.

In a split second she plummeted to the floor, her hands hitting the mud and her shoulder stinging with pain. Her toes throbbed and she quickly scrambled to her feet to discover that she’d tripped over a Walker. It was immobile and sported a small, bloody hole on its forehead. She swallowed hard. It was the first time she’d seen one so close without being chased. The dead man on the ground looked to have been turned quite some time ago due to it’s sallow and gaunt face, the normal color of it’s skin now gone forever and replaced by a grey hue.

She listened to the others in the group more than she spoke to them, which meant she was a gatherer of information. She had once heard Rick telling Glenn to make sure he checked the pockets of as many Walkers as he could after putting them down. The likelihood of them carrying useful items too good to pass up in such desperate times. Standing over the monstrous sight of what once was someone’s brother or husband, she concluded it wasn’t such a bad idea.

She crouched beside the body, having to shield her nose from the unbelievable smell with the back of her wrist. Her free hand hovered over the clothing and she moved with trepidation, having to tell herself it wasn’t going to come alive and bite her.

Something barreling out of the bushes in front of her sent panic spiking through her veins and she jumped back, her ass colliding with the dirt.

Daryl, coated in sweat and with brown smears all over his exposed arms, swung his crossbow at his side and rolled his eyes at Jess sat on the floor of the woods and trying to catch her breath.

“Jesus.” She panted “you scared the shit out of me.”

“The hell you doin this far out? You got a death wish or somethin’?! Here” he offered her his hand and for a brief moment she toyed with the idea of completely refusing, afraid to embarrass herself when he felt the weight of her. Instead, she trusted him and took hold of his hand. The first thing she noticed when he effortlessly helped her get back on her feet, was his strength and how tight his grip was. With minimal effort from herself, she was soon brushing her clothes down and giving him an awkward look.

“I was just walking; thought it’d be okay if I didn’t go that far. Was going to search his pockets but…” She stopped talking, not wanting to disclose the fact that she was actually quite petrified of the dead man at their feet.

“But what?” he asked.

She blinked at him.

He knows I’m terrified anyway. Who am I trying to kid, here?

“…I kept thinking it was just going to shoot up and bite me.” She admitted.

He huffed and kicked at the Walker with his boot, stirring up the smell and making it even more putrid. Jess hoped that one day she would get used to it, if she survived that long.

“Naw. S’dead. I shot it earlier.” He told her.

She nodded and backed up away from the odor, unable to take anymore of it’s sting in his nostrils. doesn’t know what else to say.

“You all the way out here with no weapon?” He wanted to know.

She passed the weapons table on her way out of the camp but arming herself hadn’t crossed her mind. She was simply embarking on an early morning walk and at the time had no plans to leave the compound. That was until curiosity got the better of her.

“Yes. I am.” She sighed.

Daryl gave her a lingering look of disapproval before bending down and rummaging in the dead man’s pockets, pulling out a silver hip flask that still had some weight in it.

“Bingo.” He unscrewed the cap and sniffed it, screwing his face up in disgust “God damn. That’s strong shit.” He threw it to her, catching her off guard but she still caught it, albeit at a strange angle in the crook of her elbow and with a twisted expression on her face. She held it out to him.

“Finders keepers.” She smiled.

“Naw.” He declined, waving her off.  “Can’t let Merle see that shit.”

“Why?”

“He’s a mean drunk. You keep it.”

She turned the hip flask over in her hand, examining the initials engraved on the front before shoving it in the back pocket of her jeans.

Daryl swung his crossbow over his shoulder and started towards her, twigs crackled under his boots and she followed him with her eyes as she walked past.

“C’mon, I’ll walk ya back to camp.” He muttered.

“I’m fine” She quickly stated, noting him stop and huff. “I can go by myself. Really. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Ya think ya got a choice? I’m walkin’ ya back. Can’t have ya out here without a weapon. Now, c’mon.”

It was a point she couldn’t argue with; she was out in the open, past the safety of camp with nothing but a hip flask to defend herself with. Admittedly, her morning plan was probably one of the dumbest she’d had in a while. She raced off after Daryl, noticing he’d slowed down to let her catch up.

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After a day of unexpectedly being dragged into digging over a patch of ground with the intention to plant crops, Jess wished they had the use of a mechanical digger instead of shovels and bucket loads of sweat. Nevertheless, she had mucked in and done her part, which is more than she could say for the likes of Sarah and Jodie, who sat filing their nails and screeching with laughter for the majority of the day.

When evening rolled in the supply run team hadn’t returned, the mood around the campfire was somber and Jess wanted to be there even less than usual. She sat in the entrance of her tent, with her legs sprawled out in front of her and her book on her lap. Reading by the light of her torch, she looked up when she heard footsteps passing by some distance away. Daryl was heading to the RV after a full day of hunting and playing chaperone to an inquisitive yet thoughtless Jess. She flashed him a wide smile and he nudged his head up in acknowledgement to her before climbing the ladder to the RV and switching watch shifts with Dale.

She got to her feet and followed him, ignoring his mildly irritated look when she reached the top of the ladder. Taking up her usual seat, she fished around in her pocket and pulled out a candy bar. Snapping it in half in the packet, she opened the foil and offered it to him.  

“Naw.” He refused after taking a small peek at it and resuming his watch over the two people that sat beside the fire.

“Take it. I bet it’s been a while since you’ve had candy. Think of it as a thank you for walking me back to camp.”

He dropped his gaze, leaning forwards and bracing his elbows on his knees. Jess was convinced she wasn’t going to get an answer until he turned his head and stared at her.

“What are you doin?” He rasped.

“Sharing my candy with you. I have it on good authority that this is the last one around here.” She chirped, shoving away the suspicious nature of his question.

His eyes moved from her rounded and bright face to the candy bar in her grasp. He wanted to take it. She was right, the taste of confectionary was something he’d not indulged in for as far back as he could now remember. He took his half of the candy and messily chomps down on it while Jess happily chewed her own half.

“How did you end up here? At this camp?” She enquired with a new sense of confidence that seemed to come from nowhere.

I will never know unless I ask.

Daryl's back prickled and he blinked down at his boots. Jess waited in ignorant bliss while he tried to figure out a way to avoid the question. Coming up with nothing, he resigned himself to the fact that he would have to provide her with an answer..

“Was just makin’ our way through the woods” He grumbled, tossing the candy wrapper over his shoulder.

“And you just decided to stay?” She continued.

It was so far removed from the real reason they’d ended up at the camp, but Daryl wasn’t about to confess that they had designs on robbing as much as they could and setting off into the night. It was all about waiting for the right moment, biding their time and making sure there were minimal people around at the time to stop them. It meant Rick and Shane were both absent, which wasn’t a regular occurrence. When one was out, the other usually stayed behind to keep an eye on the camp. But it wasn’t impossible and patience was a virtue in such a situation. Daryl and Merle has always been together, two outcasts that had managed to survive on their own before the world went awry and as a result, they still believed that any more than two was a crowd. But Daryl had his reservations and was beginning to wonder why they would ever make the decision to move away from what was a rare situation of stability that had given them the chance to take a breather and utilize the fact that the sheer number of people around them would help to keep them safer

“Safety in numbers.” Daryl eventually replied.

“You seem like you can handle yourself, even if you were on your own.” She expressed.

It was a compliment he hadn’t been expecting and one that made his pride swell, as much as he tried to ignore it.

“Maybe.” He grunted.

“At least you wouldn’t starve.” She pointed out with a smile as she hinted at his much-admired hunting skills. “Take it you’re from Georgia?”

He studied her face and she knew he was trying to figure her out. She was apparently as much of a mystery to him as he was to her. She couldn’t tell if he was about to snap at her, answer her question or ignore her entirely. So, she waited patiently for the few seconds it took for him to reply.

“You ask a lot of questions for a shy girl.” He commented.

OK, I wasn’t expecting that.

“I’m not shy per se. I’m introverted. There’s a difference.” She explained.

“Whatever.” He grumbled, picking at a hole in his jeans. She quietened and tried to force away the urge to ask what she wanted to know again. Obviously irritated by her curious nature, she didn’t want to push him so much that he asked her to leave or lost his temper. She waited in silence, spotting him take a peek at her for a moment.  “Didn’t live far from here. In the mountains.” He eventually admitted.

“So that’s why you’re such a good hunter.” She smiled. His face softened slightly as he looked at her, finding her need for information both baffling and fascinating. He had never seen her probe anyone else like this before and was well aware that it was only him that she seemed to want to chat with. Which was strange, considering Daryl didn’t see himself as a conversationalist at all. 

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Despite her tendency to keep herself to herself, bury her head in her journal and books and stay away from any drama, Jess was always polite around everyone and spoke when she was spoken to. However, she was still somewhat withdrawn. What she wasn’t expecting from talking to Daryl, was how they seemed to have struck an unsaid balance. He was curt in his replies and obviously not well versed in the art of politeness whenever she engaged him in conversation, but Jess was strangely comfortable in his presence and after almost ten days, Daryl was sure he was the only one who could see the appealingly funny and smart side to her. Unsettled only by her rambling episodes, during which he worried that she’d somehow run out of oxygen before her brain ran out of words to say, he noticed she had eventually ventured out of her shell with him and shocked him with her propensity for banter and light, playful mockery. Each afternoon became a routine, she would bring the food and he would offer his usual stunted answers to all of her questions as they used the tree line or the top of the RV as a solace away from the energy draining dynamics of the rest of the group. On the odd occasion, Daryl found that sometimes she wouldn’t speak at all, simply being content to eat in silence, read or scribble in her journal, trying to get her pen to work next to him for upwards of an hour before she would retire to her tent.

Her every move was still ridiculed by Sarah and Jodie, neither one of them seemingly less heartless and selfish than the other. It was something Jess could never understand, the need to make another person feel terrible just to feed one’s own ego. She sensed part of their hatred for her came from a fear of the unknown or something they didn’t understand about her.

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Daryl busied himself checking his crossbow before heading out into the woods for the day on what had become his day job; keeping everyone fed. Sat by the extinguished campfire, he listened to the others quietly milling around and discussing the tasks that needed completing for the day. Everything from laundry, cooking, building more shelter and reinforcing the borders in the woods. The supply run group had finally returned in the small hours and were catching some rest, which meant that Daryl had some peace and quiet before he left.

He didn’t even look up when Jess sat next to him and passed him a bowl of berries.

“Eat. If you pass out in the woods and turn into a Walker we’ll all have to rely on Merle for food and that’ll be bad. Very bad.” She shoved the bowl closer to him, giving him little choice to refuse.

“Hm. He don’t bring back as much.”

“It’s not that. More that none of us want to rely on Merle for anything.” She remarked. “He would just love that.”

He looked sideways at her and mirrored her smirk, thinking her statement to be both true and understandable. He took the bowl from her hand and threw handfuls of berries into his mouth, chewing noisily and following Shane with his eyes as he passed, glaring down at him sat next to Jess. He slowed his chewing until Shane was out of sight, and Jess opted not to mention the volatility between them . She noted his leather vest with angel wings sewn onto the back that were now greying and boasting more dirt than the woodland ground.  

“If you let me wash that vest, maybe the deer won’t smell you a mile away.” Jess joked in an attempt to keep the mood light hearted.

“No one touches the vest.” He grumbled as he wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist.

“Right. The magic vest. Holds your powers. It’s where you keep all your energy for your angry glaring.” Her nonchalant tone made her mockery of him all the more effective and he finished up the last berries in the bowl and handed it back to her.

“Ain't ya got some superhero shirts to wash?” He asked.

Jess laughed quietly to herself at his ability to seem both entirely disinterested in her, yet still able to dish out ridicule as well as taking it.

“Make fun all you want. My shirts are vintage. Some are collectibles.” She wagged a finger at him which only earned her a confused expression from before he placed a boot in the stirrup of his crossbow, slid a bolt into the flight groove and pulled the drawstring back, readying the weapon for hunting. Jess averted her eyes.

Too many muscles. Too many shiny muscles.

“Ain't much good in the apocalypse.” He pointed out.

Struggling not to become overwhelmed with bashfulness and desperately trying to ignore the butterflies he seemed to provoke in her stomach, she got to her feet.

“They’ll be good enough quality to strangle you with when I can’t stand the smell from that vest any longer.” She shot back with a wide grin.

Daryl squinted up at her stood with her back to the sun. Chewing on his bottom lip, he partially closed one eye and managed to catch her peering down at him.

“Thanks for the food.” He said, possibly in the most sincere way she had ever heard him say anything before.

“Sure thing, Stinky.”

She turned and started back to the food preparation area, keeping his focus until she disappeared from view and he hauled himself up from his seat and set off into the woods. 

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After a morning helping Carol out with the laundry and avoiding Sarah And Jodie like the plague, Jess found herself resting in the sun on a rock and using her backpack full of books and comics as a pillow. She closed her eyes and listened to the pleasant and relaxing lapping of the small waves on the shore of the quarry. She didn’t like to dwell too much on what once was, finding it all too depressing when her heart longed to see her family again. Her pushy, demanding family that drove her crazy but who she still loved without question.

She also avoided re-living too many memories of her friends. Nights spent gaming and eating four different types of pizza with four of her close friends. Meet ups in the local Diner. Months of meticulous designing and creating of cosplays for comic cons. All gone. All of them. She was the only one left.

She was grateful for the saving grace of getting changed out of her renaissance dress before she left the fair. Running through the woods for her life wearing such a huge dress would have no doubt got her caught up in a bush somewhere and snacked on by a fellow renaissance fair fan. Either that, or weighed down by all the fabric and having to strip, mid run. She shivered at the thought. Somehow, turning up at the camp partially dressed was a much more chilling prospect than being eaten by another human being.

Someone sat next to her and stirred her from her almost slumber. She opened one eye to find Carl perched on the rock beside her. She sat up and drew her legs in, crossing them and getting comfortable again.

“Hey Carl.” She yawned.

“Hey” He mumbled sadly.

Jess had gotten to know both Sophia and Carl quite well since being at the camp. All in all, she found them a lot less taxing to talk to than the adults. Things were simpler with the innocence of youth and she enjoyed taking part in conversations about TV shows they liked and playing ball games with them down at the quarry in the late evenings before she would eat, return to her tent to read and then join Daryl on top of the RV.

“Something wrong?” She enquired.

Carl scratched at the side of his face under his father’s huge sheriffs’ hat that had quickly changed ownership and become his.

“I heard mom and dad talking.” As he spoke, he drew patterns on the rock between them with a pebble he’d picked up from the ground. White shapes of spirals and stars. Jess watched his absent-minded artwork come to life on the surface. “They say more of those things are turning up at the fences.”

“Yeah, I think there are. You’re safe though. Your mom and dad won’t let anything bad happen to you.” She assured him.

He slowly looked up at her face, his freckled nose and clear skin glowing in the sun.

“Do you get scared?” he whispered.

Jess’s heart ached. She could only hope that there were other pockets of survivors around the world that housed and protected children from the horrors of what lay outside their groups. But the reality of it was that a lot of very young lives had been lost and those that were left were now even more precious than ever.

“Yeah. I get scared. But I think we’re going to be OK. We’re fighting them. Like Superheroes.” She told him. “There is a superhero in all of us, we just need the courage to put on the cape. Do you know who said that?”

Carl grinned at her, a wide, genuine smile that filled her with a sense of achievement.

“Superman.” He replied.

“That’s right. Superman. He wouldn’t back down from this. So, neither are we. Right?”

“Right” Carl nodded. “What Superhero do you think would be able to make all this go away?”

Jess took a deep breath. It was a good question and a very debatable one. The kind of question she’d spend hours discussing on the floor of a comic con over some corn dogs and a slurpee. The kid was speaking to her soul with this one.

“Hmm…” She hummed, catching sight of Rick at the top of the quarry, his hand at his forehead and shielding his eyes from the sun. Once he saw Carl sat with her, he turned and wandered back to the camp. “How about Vision? His powers practically make him immortal and he can heal himself. He could rid us of a lot of Walkers and Ultron created him, he’s an android instead of human so he can’t be turned.”

Carl thought for a moment, resuming his drawing on the rock between them. The scraping noise was a lot less irritating than jess would have thought. In fact, it was soothing and a nice distraction.

“True. He’s pretty awesome. Maybe a Hulk would be handy.” Carl mused.

“Noooo. Too noisy. Huge bull in a very fragile china shop. Plus, he’s big and green part of the time but he’s still human.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

She lifted her vision again to the sky and clouds above them, she didn’t know how much she had needed this pointless and casual conversation with a kid that just wanted to be told by someone other than his parents that everything would be OK.

“Dr. Strange.” She eventually said. “He could just go back in time and stop whatever caused this.”

Carl nodded and paused his drawing, throwing the pebble between both of his hands as he contemplated her suggestion.

“Yeah, that’s a good one. Dr. Strange could solve this.”

“He sure could. But until he shows up, we’re on our own and I think we’re going to be OK ``she beamed at him. She didn’t believe it herself but felt she was convincing enough to him and that was all that mattered. She took the pebble from Carl's hand, shuffled over to create some space and began to draw her own image on the rock. A circle with four curved lines inside it. The Symbol of Dr. Strange.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

‘I think maybe we all need a little something to hold onto sometimes. When we're scared or uncertain of the future or if we'll even survive long enough to see the world rot or flourish again. I sat with Carl today and did my best to reassure and distract him from his own fear. What I didn't realize is how strong my own is. I'm terrified. I don't want to die. But I'm not sure if I'm right for this world the way it is now. Daryl, he seems to just get on with things, like nothing is all that different to before for him. But for me...I'm sure I should be dead ten times over. I still have this strong sense to just figure all this out on my own. Maybe Jodie and Sarah are right in the things I hear them say about me. Maybe I'm just a drain on the resources here. An extra, bigger mouth to feed. Not that they're any better. I should get some sleep, my head gets too noisy when I'm tired and I can't see Daryl on the RV tonight. Looks like I'll have to drown out my own thoughts this time. I wish I had a damn pen so I could write all of this down instead of just laying here, thinking it.‘

NEXT CHAPTER

#daryl dixon #daryl x oc #daryl fanfiction #twd fanfiction #twd #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead fanfiction

[whitewolfbumble]

To Be Alone with You

A Bucky x Reader Fluffy One Shot

Summary: Combine an Avenger’s midnight snowball fight, some mulled wine, a misunderstanding with the man that supposedly hated you, and it was one unique winter tradition to remember.

Prompt: “We’ve never really gotten along but you just threw a snowball at the back of my head and it’s fucking ON”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Two competitive snowflakes melting into fluff! Some language because it’s me writing so.

Word Count: About 3k

A/N: Written for @buckychrist Holiday Writing Challenge! Thanks so much for hosting this one Hayley! This story evolved a few times so I’m in just under the wire here lol (please excuse any typos!). Hope you enjoy this darling!!

MY MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

_______

“This is the worst Avenger winter tradition, I swear to god,” you muttered, struggling to close your thermos of deliciously hot mulled wine.

“Listen, no arguments here,” Clint said, mirroring your crouching position several feet away behind a tree. His look betrayed him though, clearly loving every minute of this.

Clint’s eagle eye’s were scanning the playing field, watching for the opposing team with an undeniable gleam. Meanwhile you rolled yours, huffing and trying to keep the snow around you from crunching too loudly as you shifted, trying to take a look out into the snowy woods that surrounded the compound.

“And why at night of all times?” you whispered.

Clint sighed, his head lulling down for a moment before looking up with a raised brow and pursed lips.

“Because we’re a merry band of sharp shooters, enhanced individuals, super spies, and so on, who spend their time hunting down bad guys. You expect us to do this is broad daylight?”

Alright, you had to give him that one.

“I hate snowball fights,” you muttered, a weak comeback at best.

Although to be honest about it, you could admit that you did want to completely pelt one person in particular: Bucky Barnes.

You hadn’t been on the team long, and although for the first few months you thought you were getting along with him- even friends, and maybe the closest you had for a time- he decided to change that arrangement and decided not to even have the common courtesy to tell you why.

It had been after a mission that had gone badly. Almost as bad as it could get actually.

You had done the valiant but stupid thing to save a team member- the same one crouching near you in the snow now- and in doing so left you shredded. Maybe it saved his life, but it went against orders to pull back. As a prize for your actions, you came back to homebase ripped apart, unconscious, and barely hanging on to your life.

Left in critical condition you were precariously close to death, but after a lengthy healing process that didn’t change the no-holds-barred conversation from Steve and Tony (and a proud smile from both after, because let’s face it, you had in fact been a fucking hero that day). So you had recovered and maybe the leaders of the group forgave you, but apparently not everyone got over it. Specifically Bucky.

He probably thought you were an idiot after pulling a move like you had. Or maybe he thought he couldn’t trust you, one of the closest friends either of you had, to not jeopardize missions.

So he had been distant, wanting nothing to do with you, you figured. He made comments. Kept you at arm’s length. Doubted your ability to face the tough situations repeatedly. Barely even spoke to you outside of what was absolutely required, particularly when you tried to get him to explain himself.

Sometimes though you thought the old him was back, with kind smiles and soft looks, but those were fleeting and shut down fast. It fucking stung because for a brief moment it reminded you of how you used to be.

So, since he wouldn’t tell you the reason behind why he suddenly hated your guts, you could at least pelt his ass with snow.

“Movement, south-west,” Clint whispered into his comm. Your eyes narrowed at the spot he was looking to before you clicked your thermos of heavenly mulled wine closed and shoved it in your coat, zipping it up.

“I’ll flank west,” you said hushed. Silently you moved behind one tree than the next, your entirely white outfit blending seamlessly into the dim winter setting around you. “Tony, are you still in quadrant seven?”

“Affirmative, kids.” buzzed in Tony.

“Clint, ideas?” you whispered, stopping behind a large tree a distance from his now invisible location, poking your head around the trunk ever so slightly.

Nothing but silence followed.

The low creaks of the snow-ladden trees edged out. The wind softly whistling of the wind picking up snowflakes and brushing passed your ears.

But no Clint on the comms.

That was not good.

Shit!

In a split second- noise be damned- you were off racing away from Clint’s position, ducking and weaving. You crunched down hard and snapped branches hidden under the snow under your feet as you sprinted out, overtaken by the feeling of someone on your tail. Maybe you couldn’t see them well in the darkness but you just knew it.

“It’s Bucky, he was right behind you!” whispered Clint on the comm finally, maybe sounding like he was running after someone too, though you could barely hear over your breathing and footfalls. “Head south and meet up with Cap, you’ll need-”

Thwack!

You heard a heavy mound of snow hit the tree an inch from your shoulder as you zigged passed it. Anything else Clint had to said was beyond your hearing now, focused on the steps of the invisible snow monster of a man pursuing you.

Get on higher ground!, you thought to yourself. Find cover to get the upperhand!

It took some endless minutes with sudden bursts of snow whizzing through the air around you when you found the right spot to turn the tables.

You swerved to a steep incline, praying you’d find your footing and not trip under unknown logs and branches underfoot. But you propelled yourself to the top, launching yourself to hide low under a thick cover of bushes.

Instantly you stopped and waited, the sudden silence deafening.

Bucky had stopped his pursuit once you got the high ground, going on the defensive now. He must have.

You had the advantage of looking down to where you had just come from, able now to make out two footprints in the snow: yours and his.

But where yours lead you to your position now, his seemed to disappear.

Damn snow leopard.

You quieted yourself and scanned the dark blue, dim white, and pitch black surroundings, determined to take Bucky down.

But you heard it, body reacting in trained muscle memory before you mentally could. You turned and ducked down just as the former Winter Soldier lobbed a hard pack snowball, hitting you right in the side of the face.

Standing shocked you felt both freezing from the snow and burning from the impact, a big red mark already starting to show as you stood upright and turned slowly around to face the man. 

Bucky was standing there, several feet away, clad like a shadow and just as silent. He had taken a few steps forward, unable to stop the snow ball once it was free of his hand but knowing where it would land once you sensed him.

“Y/N!” he said, the snow sniper looking convincing apologetic, blue eyes bright and concerned with hand outstretched towards you. “God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean too-”

“Barnes just pelted me in the head,” you snapped into the comm, eyes burning hot enough to melt snow, though he just stood motionless, lips parted in a wordless apology.

“Immediate disqualification!” Tony all but yelled, followed quickly by curses under his breath as he was probably getting walloped himself by snow.

“Fat chance...” you said, shaking the snow out of your coat with a sneer, wiping the wet droplets that remained on your face. Your tone turned determined and low, body shifting in a second from exasperated and loose to frustrated and ready to pounce: “Barnes is mine!”

You threw down your comm in the snow before moving to swing the ball of snow in your hand to the spot where he was.

But the place he once stood was empty, the snow flying right through the spot he was just in.

“Coward!” you yelled, not letting him get away from you this time and taking off like a bat out of hell.

Running fast through the crunching snow, you jumped over fallen trees and whipped through brushes and around trees, trying to catch a glimpse of the once Winter Soldier. Clearly he had an upper hand considering the terrain of his “upbringing” but it was fucking on and you refused to let him best you.

A flash of white was hurdling towards you and you slid along the snow, foot first, hopping up in one swift motion, barely any speed lost and a mound of snow now in your hand.

A shadow to your left running in tandem with you quickly became your target and you launched. You guess you missed, a moment later another snowball heading your way. Another quick dodge and another, You and Bucky began weaving and dodging, snowballs flying out in the dead of night like bullets.

Now an untold distance away from the game boundaries, you and he were truly alone here, determination and competition driving you both to an area of the dark woods neither of you had been before.

Somehow you and he had ended up in a rather large valley, rocks and cliffs dead ahead, leaving escape only the way you came from. And you weren’t about to run from this. You were going to destroy him.

Huffing from running, you sought to get some distance away from him before striking again.

“I’ve got you pinned, Barnes,” you called out, voice echoing in the valley, keeping him from knowing exactly where you were.

“Don’t think so, Y/N, not this time,” he said, velvet voice sounding like it was coming from all around you. “We’re not getting out of this cold and back to the compound ‘til I’ve got you beat.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled with half an eye roll. “Rather be at the compound hating me, than here, hating me in the snow.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, catching your words though you weren’t fully sure you were try to hide them. He carried on, his tone sounding obvious. “I don’t hate you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, you do Bucky,” you said, continuing to roll the snow in your hand, hardening the once soft snowball. “And for the record, you don’t play a very subtle game at it either.”

“It’s not a game, Y/N,” he called out, voice still echoing, but coming from a different location now. Your head snapped left, but you couldn’t pinpoint where he was.

“You’re right, you don’t just hate me for the fun of it,” you said back, bitterly. “Guess you must really mean it.”

“Stop, you know I don’t hate you,” his voice rung out, sounding serious and maybe a little closer?

You paused trying to hear anything but damn him if he didn’t have the upperhand here in the snow. How someone his size could move so silently you’d never know.

“How could I hate you?” he asked, making your eyes flash wide and panicked, whipping around at the suddenly close voice.

He was right behind you, hand at his side, face pulled into a confused look.

You threw your hands up in frustration at him sneaking up on your for the third time that night, which was definitely a mistake, because Bucky didn’t take it as an innocent (if not exasperated) gesture. Immediately his reflexes kicked in, hitting you again with a snowball, this time directly at your chest.

Gasping, you looked at him shocked, his face falling fast and hard.

Oh god though, you felt he broke your fucking sternum, pain overriding just about any other thought. But realization dawned on you as you felt the telltale feeling of warm liquid spread across your chest.

In a quick motion you zipped off your coat, the material (and thermos under it) falling away. It revealed dark red liquid spreading across your white shirt.

Bucky’s face went from deep regret to an even deeper and all-encompassing terror. You took half a step back as you looked down to your chest, but slipped on an unseen ice-covered rock, collapsing back into the snow and knocking the air out of you as your back hit the stony ground.

Of course this was how the night had to go.

But suddenly the dark appearance of Bucky was practically on top of you. His hands were on you, a flash of confusion and shock hitting you as hard as the ground had.

Bucky quickly was trying to rip the layer of clothes off of you, exposing thin fabric and flesh to the winter as he tore open your sweater and tank top underneath. You could only sputter, hands clutching onto his wrist uselessly until ice cold air finally entered your lungs again, bitter and stabbing.

Coughing, you tried to sit up but Bucky’s hands pushed you down.

“What’re- Bucky!- What’re you doing?!” you eventually forced out hoarsely.

You were now able to see a frantic panic and biting heartbreak in his eyes, staring down at you. As he caught the look in your own eyes, his movements suddenly stilled as fast as they had started.

He looked down at the small amount of ripped fabric covering your body, pressing his fingers into the red stain that drenched it before pulling away and rubbing his fingers together.

“This is not...What is this?” he whispered, confused.

“It’s my mulled wine,” you said, a mix of amused, exasperated, and pained. Clearly you hadn’t shut the thermos as well as you should have, Bucky’s close range and powerful throw enough to break the lid open and spill the warm liquid all over your chest.

“So it’s... not blood,” he said a sounding a bit dazed, his face as pale as the snow.

“No,” you said back, because with a look like that even you couldn’t help pitying your once friend, what with his crushed face that was only slowly coming to realize you were relatively fine. “The cap must’ve--”

He cut you off before you could explain more, his sudden movements freezing you still in the mound of snow you had fallen into. Because a heat in equal measure to the cold against your back erupted over you as Bucky moved flush to you, his lips sealing in blinding speed against your own. You lay there shocked momentarily as man who hated you suddenly was kissing you, pushing you deeper into in the ground.

But it only took a moment of bewilderment as his lips moved against yours, tinged a little desperate and urgent, before you began to truly feel the heat underneath that kiss.

You could have sworn you heard the crackling of a burning fire, tasted the smokey heat on your tongue, saw the red flickering flames behind your eyelids. That kiss seared you in the icy snow, stealing your breath and thought and burning it all to ash where you lay.

A deep sigh escaped from his soul as he pulled away, quick breathing returned to him for a different reason this time. He stayed clinging to you, face a breadth away from yours.

“But you…” you whispered, your turn to be dazed and confused. “You hate me? You have for so long?”

His eyes closed, half cringing against you as the ends of that long chestnut hair brushed your face. He hated those words, you could see it at this close distance, like hearing that hurt him.

“I don’t… hate you, Y/N,” he repeated, breathing the quiet words into the tiny space between your lips and his.

He struggled with what to say next, leaving you with breath held while you waited for the blow.

“I… I just…” he stumbled softly. “I almost watched you die in front of me and it was easier to push away… I mean it’s easier to not show… It was too hard to…”

Oh.

You thought you breathed the word and his eyes snapped open, only to look down as the warmth in his cheeks turned a tinge of red.

“Please don’t make me say it,” he continued in a whisper, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not good at saying it.”

Oh.

Okay, there it was.

The puzzle pieces clicked in place and you saw the whole picture now.

“Quite the opposite, I guess?” you said softly back, sounding a lot more breathless than you realized you were. Because if that kiss didn’t steal the air right out of your body, his unspoken words would.

“I mean,” he said, looking back up to you. “That is not why I ripped off your clothes, just to be clear.”

You could practically feel the heat radiating off of his face, embarrassed but also not drawing back. At least not this time, like he had before and for all those months.

And if he had the courage to just come out and kiss you, you could have the courage to not let him go back on it. You decided in that moment you wouldn’t let him. Maybe you had been too self-conscious and given up too easily when he all but removed himself from your life. You wouldn’t make that same mistake again.

Because you understood it. It’s easier to push someone away that you liked then let the pain of possibly losing someone in instead. You had almost died after all. And it’s easier for you to believe you’re not worthy of someone’s time- and maybe even love- rather than view yourself as too valuable to lose.

“And you’re okay?” he asked, vulnerabie and searching. “With me? With this?”

You took an extra moment in the frigid night and cold snow, still needing to even the score a little here (despite the frostbite a minute from sinking in).

“I guess I’m really conflicted here,” you said slowly, Bucky’s face contorting into one of pain in a second flat. “I mean, my chest is burning from the wine and my back is freezing from the snow.”

He wasn’t sure if he was going to throttle you or laugh, but he landed on smiling.

“I meant us and you know it, Y/N,” he said with that crooked grin you had missed so much over these last months.

You reciprocated with a grin of your own, knowing full well he wasn’t talking about the cold.

“I mean, yeah, I guess we would make a great team if we worked together, you and I,” you said cheekily.

You almost didn’t catch his eye roll as he stood up, taking you right along with him and carrying you close in his arms.

“Okay, just don’t almost die on me again, either for real or not,” he said as you shifted down to press yourself as close to the furnace of a man as possible.

“Well Barnes, why don’t I just stay this close you from now on?” you mumbled rather contently into his coat.

“Yeah doll, I think that’d be best,” Bucky said, bright grin lighting up the dark woods. You would be lying if you didn’t admit it lit your heart up too.

“Take me home?” you said up to him instead, sure your eyes told him the whole story anyways.

“Sure, doll,” Bucky smiled softly, hand brushing your cheek where earlier a snowball had hit.

He planted a small kiss on the top of your head, binding you in closer to his chest and carrying you back to the compound through the snow.

You might have sprinted out here “hating” each other, but you were walking back- maybe even a little slower than strictly necessary- feeling quite different. Sure, it was cold out here in the snow but your soul felt warmer than it had in a long time.

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A/N: The story in which Bucky can’t say his feelings and you almost get hypothermia because of it lol. A classic tale. Please let me know what you thought!

Permanent Tags: @dontpanc, @smodvocate, @bunsterjonez, @buckybonky, @marveloustrashpanda, @hangirl93, @captainrogerrsbeard, @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen, @thisgirllikeme, @jjsoccer11, @innerpandablizzard-blog, @fanatic-fanfic, @mdgrdians, @christinky, @universal-death-of-a-fangirl, @cauraphernelia, @ailynalonso15, @cassiopeia-barrow, @1elboomdemsechevarria, @cameronskywalker, @rogrsnbarnes, @verygraphicink, @onlyanothersocialcasualty, @lisalisa007

Bucky Barnes Tags: @bexboo616, @kaaatniss, @lost-in-translating, @emabookcookie, @crazybutconfidentaf, @jitterbuck

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes x reader #hayleysholidaywc #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #avengers #avengers fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #bucky fluff #fluff #winter soldier #it's 11:30pm here so I just barely got this in on time lol #to be alone with you

[ofstagdreams]

flicker of the heart [5/?]

an not sure how much more of this there will be, I have a rough plan in my head for maybe another fivish chapters? But we shall see. Also tagging @myfavmarvel who asked to be tagged in all future parts. Previous parts can be found in the flickeroftheheartfic hashtag or on AO3.

AO3

The rain continues outside, cold wind blowing and making the whole cabin shake with the strength of it, but you feel nothing but warmth. Arthur’s lips are on yours, hands sliding down from your face to your hips pulling you flush against him.

It had taken you a second to react, but soon your hands were tangled in his hair and you’re pushing yourself up against him. You feel his tongue, begging for entry and you gladly give it to him. It was foreign almost, your kisses with George had been chaste, something of a gentle spark between you.

But Arthur, Arthur kisses like fire, like he is the flame itself burning so brightly in the middle of the darkness – and if Arthur is the fire, you want to be consumed by it.

Eventually, you have to come up for air and all you can do is stare at each other – the sinking weight of what just happened settling in. His arms are still encircling your waist and your hands are still tangled in his hair. You want to feel good because after all this time something had finally happened, but all you could feel was a pang of sinking guilt because this wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be when you were both free, when you could give yourselves to each other completely, but now, the whole thing was complicated, and you had no idea what to do about it.

Arthur opens his mouth and looks like he was about to say something when you hear a crash coming from the other room and the two of you jump apart as if you’d been burned.

John comes tumbling through the doorway, his form barely visible in the dying light from the fire, half asleep and grumbling as he flops down on the bench by the fireplace, throwing a log onto it, casting light into the room once more.

“I’m sleeping here, the Calander boys won’t shut their mouths for five goddamn minutes to let me fall asleep.” You and Arthur both stand still, seemingly still in shock from the events that had passed between you two within the past several minutes.

You nod at John feeling stiff and awkward, “yeah, okay then.” You shuffle towards your bed, barely sparing a glance at Arthur as you lay down on your cot and, after a moment you hear him do the same.

The whole room is silent, save for the soft snores coming from John.

You barely sleep, tossing and turning all night as you try to process everything. On the one hand, you were happy, so happy that it felt like the joy could burst right out of your chest if you thought about it too much. But then thoughts of George would creep in and guilt would weigh you down, heavy like a stone as you thought of the look of betrayal on his face if he ever found out.

Your mind went in circles all night and a few times you turned your head to look at Arthur.

He was always looking back.

You honestly have no idea what you want him to say, too afraid that he just got his emotions confused, too afraid that he’ll write it off as nothing. At least for tonight, if you don’t talk to him, you can pretend it was something.

The dawn breaks and you wake to sunshine creeping in through the breaks in the wooden slats. Arthur and John have already disappeared, probably off to find something to eat.

The day is surprisingly warm for one so soon after a storm, you stretch aching limbs and being the tedious task of packing everything up – knowing that Dutch will want to be moving on sooner rather than later.

You nod a greeting at Mac and Davey as you walk outside to where Bessie loads goods onto the wagon with Annabelle’s help. You started helping immediately, thinking that you have enough snacks in your saddlebag to get you through the afternoon without having to scrounge up something for breakfast.

“Morning,” you greet them, picking up a box to be moved onto the wagon, “all the men up and disappeared and left us to do the dirty work?”

Annabelle’s laughs lightly at that, “Hosea caught a lead when he was in town today, and you know how that man gets when he finds an easy con – they’re all cooking up some plan. Were gonna wait on you for it – but you were sound asleep.”

You laugh a little at yourself at that – only feeling a little let down at the fact that you were being left out of a job, but perhaps it was for the better – you had a lot of things that you had to think through.

The men appear eventually, and you know its something exciting when he’s got that spring in his step and that smile on his face. You all gather around him automatically, Dutch always being able to pull all of you into his orbit.

“Right,” he says, clasping his hands together with excitement, “Hosea has lined us up something real good – should bring in a lot of money if we do this right. Annabelle, my dear, if you wouldn’t mind coming with me and John into town today to check a few things?”

Annabelle nods diligently, but you can tell how excited she is already. Dutch would most likely treat her in some way, a new gown or a piece of jewellery – something that made her feel special and wanted. It was sweet, in its own way you supposed but apart of you was waiting for the other shoe to drop, Dutch always tired of his conquests, eventually.

“The rest of you are going to go and set up our new camp, Hosea knows the way. It’s not too far away from here but far enough that we’ll be out of range from this town. We’ll regroup tomorrow evening and plan from there.”

As always, you all nod along with Dutch’s plan. At the mention of a new town, your mind momentarily drifted to George – you would have to speak to him and try sort it what it is you wanted and he was still close enough for that to be possible. Yet perhaps more pressing than that was a conversation with Arthur to work out what the hell happened last night.

You help load the final things into the wagon and Arthur barely spares a glance at you the entire time. You have no idea what to make of it, last night he had done nothing but stare and now he wouldn’t glance in your direction.

The best way to do this, you think, is to face this head on and so you decide to grab him quickly before everyone sets off.

“Arthur,” you say as you approach, and he turns around looking like a startled deer. He looks how you feel, confused and left out in the cold. Perhaps he doesn’t know what to make of last night any more than you do. “When we get to the new camp, we should talk.”

His only response was a grunt and a nod, knowing Arthur that was about as good as you were going to get.

With that, you get on your horse and begin the journey to the new camp. The day was hot, and you had to remove your hat several times to wipe sweat from your brow. The whole thing went a lot slower than it had to because Uncle couldn’t ride very fast, kept on blaming it on lumbago and keeping a steady pace on his horse – you just thought he wanted to go slow so he could ride and drink at the same time.

What was supposed to be a ride that took little over an hour, took almost two because of it. So, it was almost dark by the time everyone got to the new camp location, you still wanted to speak with Arthur, but everything still had to be set up and some sort of stew still had to be made for dinner. You were exhausted from the ride, but knew it wasn’t fair to sit back and let everyone else do the work when you’d all done the same amount of riding that day.

By the time you get a moment by yourself, it’s well after dark and most of the gang have crawled into bed, with you half a mind to follow their lead. But you thought you saw Arthur still hanging around and you really wanted to speak to him.

You were nervous about it, terrified that he really would chalk it up to heightened emotions or something and leave it at that, but you had to be brave. Besides, if he does crush all your hopes you reason that perhaps you’ll finally be able to put your feelings for him to bed once and for all.

He’s standing at the edge of camp when you approach, looking lost in thought about something. You take a moment and admire him, wondering at what a handsome man he really was, it was such a shame that he didn’t see it.

“Hey,” you say as you approach, and he turns around and gives you the softest smile you’ve ever seen. He takes a step towards you and stops himself, looking a little unsure before opening his mouth to speak, “I was hoping you and me would get a chance to talk today.”

Your heart leaps a little at that, but you will yourself to calm down – just because he wanted to talk to you didn’t mean that it would be a good outcome.

You consider what to say for a moment, before finally settling on, “you kissed me, Arthur.”

He looks almost startled at your straightforwardness and a hand comes up to rub the back of his neck as his eyes sweep over your form, “you ain’t playing around today, are you?”

You say nothing in response and instead cock an eyebrow, he takes another step towards you and reaches for your hand, taking it in his own and giving it a small squeeze.

“Listen, I know it was unexpected – hell, I wasn’t expecting it myself – but I’ve been thinking a lot about this and I know you have that other feller. But well, shit, I ain’t doing this right,” he mumbles, and you give his hand a small squeeze to encourage him to continue – it sounded like it might be going somewhere good but you were still too afraid to get your hopes up.

“The point I’m trying to make is – “he’s interrupted by loud footsteps and you turn to see John barrelling towards camp at lightning speed. You honestly could have killed him then, for interrupting such an important moment – but he gets closer and you can read fear written across his face.

“There was a run in with Colm,” he pants, and you now notice he looks like he’s had a bad beating, “he’s killed her, Arthur. Annabelle is dead.”

In the sky above, the clouds cover the stars – blocking their light from view.

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