#i love her and she could be worse. and we’ll go through a rocky patch but hey. done that before. shes fucked me up irreparably and we’re
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i don’t mind being a they these days. it’s kinda cute. old friend of mine they/themmed me yesterday and it fell off her tongue so fluidly it seemed natural and all the girls around her were doing it. i think that would’ve made me mad, a little, a couple months ago, and it almost did now but i felt like i didn’t emotionally mind it very much. i suppose that enforcing pronouns, for me personally and not for anyone else, to me feels beside the point. i want people to gender me correctly without having to tell them more than maybe one little side comment, i don’t want to have to fight them for acceptance. so she called me a they and i thought does this bother me enough that i want to change it? if she’s seeing me as a ‘they’ fluidly and easily, isn’t that sort of a huge step forward from the ‘she- sorry he’ business of earlier? and there aren’t really many nonbinary people these days, not in my circles. at one point there were a few they/themmers but they’ve all gone back to she/hers at this point; bejng called a they no longer feels like i’m being put into the box they were part of, the way it used to back then; no longer feels like i’m being forcibly degendered and sanitised, the way i felt when i HAD to be a they— a they/them, that parts very important, not someone who used they but A They— because i knew i’d lose everything if i was a he. now i’ve been a he for a year, just a little over a year, and the they feels ok. if anything i cracked a tiny smile. & my mother they/themmed me today in the car when talking about me in the third person; she’s a little transphobic, or not really a little i suppose, in the british, left-wing, generally-queer-supporting-but-undeniably-cishet, victim complex bc she’s been victimised and therefore inability to see women like her as anything other than the ultimate victim, squeamish about surgeries and hormones and change and prone to fear mongering and full of i think partially diagnosed anxiety, transphobe way. i suppose that way isn’t especially normal, but it feels like it is. you know—the logical kind of transphobia! the type where, yeah, of course you support anyone’s right to do whatever, but when it’s Your Kid, and they’re possibly making Irreversible Changes, well that’s just—
anyway; she’s a little transphobic, and she refers to me as her gender-experimenting child, and she mostly uses what she thinks is my chosen name, and still sort of she/hers me, but this time after she she/hers me in the third person she goes ‘oh sorry!’ and stumbles over her words for a second before she starts to they/them. and it feels good; really good.
i suppose the sort of good it feels is- different, though. it’s the good that comes in the absence of distress when you’re so used to distress; not necessarily the good that comes at actual euphoria.
anyway. this is my way of saying that my pronouns aren’t he/they, because people will take that as me being less of a man; which i am not. but theys sort of cute, sometimes; and i like how it pays homage to my quirkier side.
#oliver talks#oliver talks on gender#honestly… this makes my mother sound better than she is on The Trans Thing.#i truly cannot stress enough how anti me starting on T she will be when i do that in 18 months lol#and how susceptible she is to like mumsnet terf shit (she HAD a terf era… i think shes still unwilling to believe jkr is shitty)#and also the fact that she just like literally cannot comprehend trans people; she doesn’t understand gender as separate from sex and can’t#comprehend it; she says there’s no such thing as seeing anyone ‘as a man’ or whatever she just Knows etc; told me shell never see me as a#boy because sorry but it doesn’t work like that for her and she knows im a giyk#that’s what a girl is to her#so sorry but that’s just how it is#<- am quoting#but. like#i love her and she could be worse. and we’ll go through a rocky patch but hey. done that before. shes fucked me up irreparably and we’re#still close so.#transitioning can be a good elephant in the room.#writing#?#sorta?
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Dreadful Black
The Bad Batch angst
Prompt from the Discord! (@icedcoffee101, @twitchstoleyourbagel, @dragon-pups, @in-the-crosshairs, @angstkings)
Masterlist
TW: being shot, blood, falling, breaking of bones (I swear it's not as bad as it sounds)
Word count: 1,565
Prompt/Inspo: Challenge is you have 30 minutes to kill one batcher [it took me hours to outline it and actually wrote it the next day, sorry y'all ): ]
--
“You said the engines would hold until we got there!” Hunter yelled from his seat behind Echo. The ship lurched side to side, barely keeping it together. If the ship broke up in hyperspace... they didn’t want to think about it.
“I didn’t calculate one of them blowing up!” Tech yelled back, scrambling over the controls.
“One of them always blows up!”
“Would you like to try getting us to a safe planet while coming out of hyperspace?”
“Just get us out of here, Tech!” Echo shouted over the bickering. He had his own jobs of trying to keep the wings stabilized while keeping the ship balanced. All in all, not easy to do on your own.
Tech pushed up the hyperspace lever and the ship lurched forward, almost throwing everyone out of their seats. The tunnel disappeared and they were plunging to an orange and grey planet surface.
“We’re going too fast, Tech!” Echo shouted over the breaking ship.
“Then slow us down, Echo!”
“Then help me!”
Tech’s hands immediately flew to the yoke and gently pulled it back in time with Echo as they flew through the atmosphere, a trail of black smoke in the ship's wake.
“A fucking ocean! We’re gonna land in a fucking ocean!” Echo panicked.
“Calm down, there’s land over there!” Tech pointed left towards the land in the corner of Echo’s eyesight.
“I knew that!”
They swerved violently towards the orange land. It went on for miles, nothing but a rocky orange landscape. No vegetation, no life they could see. They narrowly crashed into the cliff where the land met the black ocean, but thankfully Tech pulled down the wings and lifted the ship just enough to get them over the side of the cliff.
The crew fell forward in their seats on impact, the ship dragged across the sand, every large rock making even more of a hack job of the hull. Hunter covered his ears at the sound of sand against metal and the rest braced themselves.
Everything went quiet. The ship was on solid ground, and they were surprisingly alive.
Tech took out his datapad. “Ephilia 78. Uninhabited. The troposphere is atrocious and there’s about 8 times more carbon dioxide than Kamino,” he looked up to everyone. “I’m surprised we haven’t died already. We need respirators.”
Hunter grabbed the respirators from storage and handed them out. Omega’s face was almost consumed by hers, making Echo have to stifle a laugh.
“Apparently there’s a pretty vicious rainy season-”
“Not like we haven’t dealt with a bit of rain,” Wrecker smiled.
“The ocean out there literally moves from basin to basin; this isn’t Kamino.”
Wrecker stayed silent, a look of concern on his face.
“Don’t worry, we’re 17-24 rotations away from it starting, we’ll be relatively safe.”
“Is it imperial occupied?” Hunter cut in.
“I don’t think the Empire even knows it exists, the information I found is written in Huttese.”
“Great, we’ll lay low here for a few rotations and get back to Pantora,” Hunter instructed, everyone nodding in agreement.
--
“Why is it so cold here? Aren’t deserts supposed to be hot?” Omega piped up, pulling the parka closer.
“The ocean lowers the temperature about 13 degrees,” Tech answered, his head and shoulders completely immersed in the engine. “The carbon traps what little heat there is. We’re lucky we didn’t crash someplace worse.”
“Oh, so the ocean is as cold as Kamino?” She pressed on.
“Somewhat. Though since the orbit of this planet isn’t similar...”
Tech and Omega went on and on about the conditions of the planet for some time, almost boring Echo to death.
Thankfully, Tech and Hunter delegated jobs after Tech assessed the engine. Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega went on a perimeter check and Echo was sent to do an internal diagnostic to see what was damaged in their recon mission for Rex.
He couldn’t help but think he’d been to Ephilia 78, the black waves of the vast ocean and the orange sandstone cliffs a stark contrast gave him major déjà vu. He searched his blurry memories of before Skako as he gathered an internal diagnostic from the Havoc.
He didn’t think he was stationed on any planets this far out from the core worlds. Maybe his brothers showed him photos? Maybe a General sent a holo from the planet? Maybe he really was stationed on the planet, but then again, the information about it was in Huttese. The Republic wouldn’t want to risk a terf quarrel in the middle of a galactic war. Maybe... oh. He’d seen the planet before. He’d fed the Separatists information on it for possible base locations. His shoulders sagged and the concentrated face was replaced with a grim look. His spirits dampened significantly.
He looked through the hyperdrive systems. They wouldn’t need urgent attention. The life support systems. They’d need those professionally fixed, but Tech could patch it up enough to get to Pantora. The cloaking device-
The cloaking device. It was fried, shot to hell. Their ship was completely exposed for tracking. Shit.
He ran to the doorway and slide down the ramp.
“Tech, we have a prob-”
A bright red bolt came from above, hitting the respirator at the perfect angle to knock it off his face. Only one person could make that shot.
“Echo, what-” Tech froze at the sight of an Imperial dropship landing close to them, the cargo doors open and a familiar sniper stepped out.
Echo gasped for breath, his throat freezing and cracking like an ice burg from the toxins he was desperately trying to inhale in exchange for oxygen. He clawed at his throat like ripping it out would solve the problem, black slithered through veins in his face, the whites of his eyes swimming with blood.
Crosshair advanced faster and Echo stumbled to the side, trying to stay standing while heaving in gulps of carbon and whatever lethal toxins were waiting for victims to breathe in.
“You know,” Cross’s cold and raspy voice was much closer. “There’s just enough oxygen in the air to keep you alive for 5 minutes, but the trick is not poisoning yourself while trying to breathe.”
Echo kept backing away, tripping over every pebble he could when he felt the first of a thick liquid hitting his cheeks. His shaking hands whipped it away to see pure obsidian sap smeared on the back of them.
“The maitotoxin is quite graceful. Your blood thickens and discolours, releasing from the tear ducks in the first 2 minutes. Your organs start failing in the next 7,” Crosshair shouldered his rifle as he spoke.
Echo tried whipping away the blood more rapidly as it flowed like sap from a tree. It was as if the fates wanted to watch him dance in his own blood bath.
As Cross neared closer and closer, Echo glimpsed the sea and the dangerous cliff edge he was backing into in the menacing green visor. He started hacking the obsidian sap up from his lungs, the blood blocking his airway made him panic even more.
He felt, for a few seconds, a free fall. His foot backed off the edge, the rocks under his boots fell to the black waves. Cross caught his arm before he fell to Echo’s surprise, but Cross’s grip on his forearm was his only salvation.
“Do you remember?” Cross asked coldly, any semblance of a person gone.
“What- what?” Echo painfully asked.
“When you were on Skako Minor.” Cross’s grip on Echo’s armour loosened.
Echo didn’t have any kind of leverage on the ground, he had to be pulled back by some ounce of Cross’s mercy.
“Some-” he tasted the blood running from his eyes into the corners of his mouth, frightening him and almost plummeting into the black, quite literally. He could feel the cold seeping in from the light spray of the ocean on his back. He’d known the cold like it was an old friend, and he would know it even more closely.
“Some of it.”
The green visor tilted to the hand holding Echo’s life.
“You’re a liability to the empire,” he smoothly said, like he spoke those words too many times, like he was programmed to. Like Echo was programmed to give up the Republic.
After a second of hesitation, CT-9904 released Echo’s arm.
His face was a light blue from lack of oxygen, his cheeks were smeared with pure obsidian blood, creating a mess of black tear tracks.
He fell, he dropped, he didn’t make a sound. He was unconscious before he hit the water, a peaceful death if you will. It shattered his spine and limbs immediately, the frigid water swirling over him, sucking Echo to the depths of the sea to be eaten by small fishes and a rather large squid-like fish.
The others had found a hiding spot behind an orange sandstone ridge and watched as the life was sucked out of Echo, then let go by their brother. Omega’s head was pushed below the ridge so she couldn’t watch, the others so desperately tried to hold back sobs, trying to keep quiet.
Cross searched the Batch’s ship quickly and speedily left back on the one he came in. Only when the Imperial shadow of a dropship darted through the thick, grey clouds did the Batch let their sobs go for Echo.
--
A/N: OMFG, that took forever!!! My outline for this is 613 words, I knew exactly how I wanted this to turn out, and I very much like it! I think Imperial Darkness will always be my favourite, or the one I'm writing with Ahsoka, Rex, and Maul, but this one turned out pretty cool!
ANYWAYS, I hope y'all liked it! I hated the process, but I love the final product! Go drink some water right now and go get a snack, you deserve it so much bestie 💓💓
#the bad batch#tbb#star wars#the clone wars#tcw#sw#echo#hunter#crosshair#omega#tech#wrecker#writeblr#starwars#writing this gave me a headache#i really need to drink some water right now for this headache#but i only have diet coke near me#after i post this ill get water#GO DRINK SOME WATER NOW#YOU HEARD ME#DRINK SOME WATER OR IT'S ON SIGHT 🔫🔫
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Lay Your Head Down (5859 words) by Pameluke
Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Rating: Explicit | Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova
Additional Tags: Team Bonding, Post-Merrick, Recovery, Domestic Downtime, Rimming, Shaving, Background Andy, Background Nile, Italy, Domestic Fluff, References to Temporary Character Dead, Porn with Feelings
Summary:
The team takes time to recover after Merrick and finds refuge in the hills of Tuscany. They find a new equilibrium, and Joe and Nicky take time to indulge in one another.
Read on AO3 or below the cut.
They bunker down somewhere in the middle of nowhere in the Maremma Toscana, in a remote house in the hills, surrounded by fields, olive orchards and patches of forest. The closest village is 20 minutes away by car on a dusty rocky road up the hillside, and the closest houses are abandoned farmhouses, big, sprawling ruins that only house birds and mice now.
For a week they mostly sleep, eat and recover. Andy isn’t used to being in pain for a sustained period of time, so she’s cranky and quiet. She disappears to the roof for hours on end, staring at the wide-open skies spanning the rolling hills, her necklace held tight in her fist. But she sticks around, and that’s what matters. Nile still misses her family, going back and forth between bouts of energy in which she swims in the pool, cleans the kitchen or trains until the sweat is running down her back; or no energy at all, in which she stays on her bed or stares into her coffee for hours at a time. She joins Andy on the roof sometimes, but they don’t speak.
Booker’s betrayal isn’t mentioned by anyone, but his absence is felt all the more in the quiet and empty spaces.
Joe keeps touching the back of Nicky’s head as if to make sure he has indeed healed. Nicky keeps grinding his teeth, the callous words of dr. Kozak ringing through his head. “The Nobel Prize.” He tries yoga and meditation, but nothing frees him from the memories. It’s not so much the violence and death, he can usually shrug that off. It's the being captured and the threat of being tortured indefinitely – what if Nicky would have to have watched Joe in pain for decades, for centuries, what if they’d taken Joe away, what if Nicky would never have known if he was dead or captured somewhere, what if they’d found a way to kill him – while being faced with Andy’s new mortality.
They all have nightmares. Some old. Some new.
When the bone-deep exhaustion starts to fade, they slowly start to drift towards one another. Joe draws: the views, Nicky, some dark and violent abstracts that make Nicky kiss his temple and coax him to bed. Nicky cooks, throwing himself on old recipes that require focus and time, making sure to serve Andy some of her favorite dishes, and learning Nile’s taste in food in an attempt to cheer her up.
He doesn’t bake croissants.
Andy, always bad at doing nothing for a long time, lures Nile into sparring with her by pretending to need help with her recovery. Nile mostly agrees in an attempt to make sure Andy doesn’t put too much strain on her injuries. Soon they’re all involved and taking turns, getting used to Nile’s fighting style and presence at their backs while coming to terms with the fact that Andy is no longer unbreakable.
Nile is enthusiastic and hungry to learn, eager to battle away her demons and frustrations, and her determination to take at least one of them down makes sparring almost feel fun again. They roast and jest and mock each other goodheartedly and it doesn’t take long for it all to end up in a bet. For a moment the quiet following Nicky’s dare is deafening because they all expect Booker to throw down the gauntlet and some cash, but Nile breaks the silence and they power through it.
Nicky and Joe team up against Andy and Nile, hand to hand, no broken bones, their honor and the dishes at stake.
After almost a thousand years of fighting together, Nicky and Joe are two sides of the same blade, half a look enough to coordinate their attacks and defensive maneuvers. Andy, however, is a force of nature all on her own. Even with her still-healing injuries, she hits like a hammer. What’s worse, she knows Nicky and Joe almost as well as they know each other, so she seems able to predict every move they make. If not for Nile, the three of them would probably have ended up in an hour-long stalemate, grappling and dodging each other deep into the night. It’s Nile who serves as the tie-breaker, her moves unexpected, and her team work with Andy surprisingly smooth considering their short acquaintance.
“It’s because she tried to kill me,” Andy jokes from her position on Nicky’s back, his arm and leg in a tight hold he can only get out of if he dislocates an arm. Which he can and would do, but per the standing game rules, dislocations fall under broken bones, even if self-inflicted. So he’s well and truly stuck.
It takes Nicky a second to recognize the splashing sound in the background as Joe falling in the pool. No help is coming.
“You actually killed me!” Nile protests, indignant and breathless. Her shirt’s ripped, but she’s laughing as she holds out a hand for Andy to high five, her face alight with glee.
“Can’t argue with that kind of connection,” Joe says, spitting out pool water and wiping wet hair from his eyes. He winks at Nicky, mirth obvious in his eyes even though he looks somewhat like a wet poodle.
Andy gets off of him, patting him on the back in apology. Nicky just grins and perches his chin on his hands, staying on the terrace floor a little longer. His gaze lingers on Joe as he rises from the pool, following the water rivulets down his body and drinking in the way his wet shirt clings to his chest. He’s all smooth steps and languid stretches as he dries his hair and a familiar warmth pools in Nicky’s belly. A really attractive wet poodle, Nicky thinks.
Between a new mortal Andy and a new immortal Nile, and with the absence of Booker, they’ve both been too tired and sad, too focused on finding a new equilibrium, to do more than seek comfort and closeness. But now the warmth keeps spreading through Nicky’s body with the way every stretch puts Joe’s body on display.
Soon, Nicky thinks, licking the corner of his mouth, turning on his side to better be able to admire Joe. He gets a wet shirt in his face for his trouble.
“Later,” Joe says, grinning at him, chest bared, droplets still clinging to his chest hair. “Food first, and then the dishes.”
Nicky pretends to grumble while he gets up and they make their way back into the house, but mostly he admires Joe’s naked back while he enjoys the simmer of anticipation.
They’re paying their debt and doing the dishes when Andy joins them in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a cup of tea. “Me and Nile are going to do some sight-seeing for the next couple of days.”
Nicky’s first reaction is a deep sense of discomfort and the urge to vehemently object. Andy is mortal now, he wants to be there to watch her back. Joe’s hand creeps under the hem of his shirt, fingers pressing into his lower back, and Nicky leans into the touch, centering himself. Andy juts her chin forward as if she can read Nicky’s thoughts and disagrees on principle. “I don’t like being cooped up this long, Nile has never been to Italy before, and you two could use a little time on your own.”
It’s all true, but that doesn’t make Nicky feel any more comfortable with the situation. He’s never worried about Andy being on her own before, and it’s not like she’s lost the centuries of skills she’s gathered. It’s just that he’s supposed to have her back. He loves her. She’s family.
He’s already lost Quynh and now Booker is lost in a way as well. He can’t lose Andy too.
He doesn’t say anything, though, just sighs.
“Where will you go?” Joe asks, diffusing the tension. Internally, he’s probably making a shortlist of restaurant recommendations of the wider area, taking into account their culinary reputation as much as available exit strategies, as if Andy needs any help in that regard.
Andy shrugs. “We’ll stay in the area. Pienza, Asciano, definitely a couple of days in Siena.” Her eyes get a little glint in them, and Nicky shakes his head at her. She wouldn’t. “We’ll probably make a stop at the abbey at Monte Oliveto, to admire the frescoes.”
She would.
Next to him, Joe bursts out laughing, and Nicky groans, bumping his head against Joe’s shoulder. “Don’t,” he objects, although he knows it’s of no use.
“Don’t worry, Nile won’t recognize you,” Joe consoles him, patting his butt very deliberately. Wicked, wicked man. They both know she won’t need to recognize him, Andy will be more than happy to point him out.
“At least it’s flattering,” Andy shrugs, sealing his fate.
In the morning, Nicky makes everybody breakfast and makes Andy and Nile lunch to go. They agreed that Andy and Nile would only stay away one week, and they’ll both check-in through phone in three days.
Still, nobody can blame him if he holds Andy a little longer than he normally would. He hugs Nile too and is thanked with a softly whispered, “don’t worry, I’ll watch her back, I’ve got this.” It makes him smile with surprise at how she already knows parts of his heart.
He watches the car drive up the hill, Joe next to him until the dust on the road has settled. “They’ll be fine,” Joe says. He presses a kiss to Nicky’s cheek, then bumps their shoulders together. “At least the Palio isn’t for another couple of months, so she can’t get killed in the horse races,” Joe jokes. “Again.”
Nicky laughs, and for the next couple of hours, they reminisce about old adventures, lazing in the dappled shadow of the oak trees, soaking up the warmth and peace of Tuscan spring. In the evening, Joe reads to Nicky, Nicky’s head resting in his lap, letting Joe’s impassioned annotations and commentary wash over him.
Neither of them makes a move to turn the evening into something more. Sometimes it’s enough to be close, to take the time to be at peace together.
In the morning Nicky wakes up when Joe’s knees bump into him when he gets up, but Nicky just pats his butt and burrows back into the blankets. After two weeks in the Tuscan countryside, he feels safe enough to linger in bed alone.
When he finally gets out of bed, Joe gives him a kiss with his coffee, hands curving around Nicky’s jaw, scraping gently over his scruff. Warmth pools low in Nicky’s belly and he lets his own hand roam over Joe’s back, balancing his coffee precariously with his other hand.
“Morning,” Joe mumbles against his lips. He tastes like coffee and smells like soap and man, and his skin is still cool from his morning shower because Joe is a madman who prefers cold showers. After all, it’s the only way to wake him up right away. Nicky often argues that it’s the only thing that wakes Joe up, but that always ends up in morning blowjobs and Nicky has other ideas for today. He wants to take his time.
Nicky wants, but breakfast and coffee first.
Joe stays close, regaling him with a rundown of Nile’s texts, who’s blown away by the beauty of Pienza. Nicky likes seeing the city through her eyes when his own view of the are is colored by memories mostly, not all of them pleasant.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he tells Joe, once his coffee is finished. He can tell Joe wouldn’t be opposed to joining him, but he doesn’t press an invitation and simply lets Nicky go with a caress down his arm.
Nicky will always appreciate the luxury of a hot shower, but he doesn’t linger. Looking at himself in the steamed up mirror, his wet hair a little too long and his scruff of over a week becoming unruly, Nicky’s vague thoughts and desires become more firm. The warmth in his belly turns to heat in anticipation.
Dressed only in his briefs, he grabs his shaving kit – his straight razor is one of the few personal items he tries to keep with him when traveling – and makes his way back to the terrace, where Joe is drawing in the late morning sun.
“Beloved,” Nicky says softly, holding up the leather envelope. “Would you do me the pleasure?”
Joe smiles, eyes warm and immediately turning a little heated, and he puts away his pencils immediately. “Always,” he says softly. He hands Nicky his cup of coffee, then disappears inside with a fleeting caress to Nicky’s back.
Joe returns dressed only in briefs as well, with a towel slung over his shoulder. He carries over cushions, a bowl with warm water, more towels, and toiletries, including a brush and a collection of small bottles. When he’s gathered all the necessities – Nicky never takes this much care of himself, but Joe likes to spoil him – Joe sits down on the table, feet on the bench, knees spread with the cushions between his thighs.
“Come here, carino,” Joe invites him, voice soft and husky. Nicky slides between his legs, hands grabbing Joe’s thighs, forgetting about the shave for a moment, but filled with a need to kiss Joe that feels suddenly overwhelming. It’s languid and slow, deep kisses and soft kisses, mingled breaths and the taste of Joe on his lips.
“You know I rather like you with the beard, right,” Joe says when they part, as if Nicky still needs to be reassured of his attraction after almost a millennium. “I know,” Nicky says, diving in for another kiss. It takes a while for him to resurface and he has to catch his breath to be able to whisper, “I want to feel you against my skin.”
It’s all the explanation Joe needs, and he motions at Nicky to turn around and settle down upon the bench in front of the table. The moment Nicky is sitting down, Joe’s hands are on him, carding through his hair with his fingers, stroking down his neck and shoulders. He presses a kiss to the back of Nicky’s head, breathing him in for a moment. Nicky knows he’s thinking about the headshot at Merrick’s again, so he closes his eyes and enjoys the closeness while Joe reminds himself Nicky’s alive and well.
After a couple of breaths, Joe trails his fingers over the shell of Nicky’s ear, making Nicky shiver. Anticipation is rising with every single one of Joe’s touches, and he has to force himself to relax and not turn around and climb in Joe’s lap to devour him and be consumed in return. Blessings upon the patient and devout, and Nicky has both in spades when it comes to Joe.
Most of the time.
Gentle as always, Joe cradles Nicky’s head in his hands and guides him down, until he’s settled back with his head upon the cushions, one hand loosely wrapped around Joe’s ankle, stroking the bone. Joe strokes his cheekbones with his thumbs, and Nicky takes a couple of deep breaths, relaxing under his lover's hands. He’s safe and loved, and this moment belongs just to them.
Slowly, Joe trails his fingers over Nicky’s face, mapping the curve of his brows, the always present faint circles under his eyes. He draws the edges of Nicky’s beard, scratches softly under his jaw and circles the mole on Nicky’s cheek with a careful reverence until Nicky feels like he might drown in Joe’s effortless affection. With a soft sigh, he turns his head to press a kiss to Joe’s fingers and smush his whole face against the palm of his hand.
Above him, Joe hums and cards through Nicky’s hair with his other hand, stroking it back out of his face. It takes Nicky a couple of moments to recognize the cadence and tone, but once he does he can’t suppress his smile. “… your heart, the joy of the world,” Nicky finishes the stanza in Arabic, looking up at Joe.
“Still true,” Joe says. “I wrote it 300 years ago, and I still mean every verse.”
“327,” Nicky says with a grin. He reaches up to touch Joe’s lips, traces the corner of his smile. “You had ink stains on your fingers, and a little spot right here, and all I wanted to do was kiss it, until you started speaking and your words froze me on the spot.”
Joe’s cheeks darken slightly, and it never ceases to amaze Nicky how his beloved can have a heart filled with love and a soul filled with beauty, and can still be thrown by something as simple as Nicky’s appreciation. It’s one of the many and myriad facets Nicky loves about him, so he lets Joe distract him by lifting Nicky’s hand and kissing his fingers, and doesn’t comment further.
“Let me take care of you,” Joe says, and Nicky closes his eyes again, nodding. It’s easy to relax, the gentle sounds of Joe humming his poetry mixing with the clattering of water as Joe wets the towel. The warmth of the towel on his face only makes Nicky relax more, and for a couple of moments, he just drifts, safely sheltered by Joe’s body.
It’s a form of love, he thinks, giving himself over to his lover's capable hands.
When Joe takes away the towel, Nicky is hit with the scent of eucalyptus, and his stomach swoops at the familiar scent. “I love you,” Nicky mumbles, and almost gets a mouth full with lather for his sentiments.
Joe tsks at him and thoroughly covers Nicky’s face with soap, the brush gentle against his skin. It’s Proraso, Nicky’s favorite shaving soap for the past 50 years. Joe must have gotten it for him on his grocery run earlier in the week. The menthol prickles a little on his skin, the coolness of it contrasting with the warmth of the air and Nicky’s skin. It wakes him up, and the gentle strokes of the brush somehow make him tingle all over.
Affection and anticipation, Nicky thinks to himself, truly the most powerful of aphrodisiacs.
He’s pulled from his wandering thoughts by Joe dapping the brush against his nose, making Nicky curse and swipe at his nose, slapping Joe’s thigh with his other hand. “You know I hate that,” Nicky sputters, but Joe’s laughter is infectious as always and melts Nicky's brief annoyance away.
Nicky closes his eyes again. The familiar sounds of Joe stropping the razor fill the air, making a shiver run down his spine, the warm anticipation back once more. Joe gently tilts his face, presses the blade against his cheek, and carefully slides the blade over his skin, in short, even strokes, working his way from under his ear over his entire left cheek. Joe’s holding Nicky’s chin between his fingers, keeping his head steady, humming and vocalizing while he works. It’s a gentle hold, careful but steady, and it’s that hold that makes the very last remnants of unease leave his body. Nicky is cradled. Nicky is held. Nicky is safe.
Once his left cheek is done, Joe tilts up Nicky’s chin, pulling the skin of his neck taut. He’s even more careful here, taking the time for every stroke, gently angling Nicky’s face to give him better access. After every stroke of the blade, Joe trails a finger over the now naked skin, as if to check if he’s missed a spot. With every touch of his finger, Nicky’s skin comes alive, until his toes are tensing up with every slide of the blade, only to relax when Joe touches him skin on skin, his whole body thrumming with sensation.
When Nicky’s throat is bared completely, Joe doesn’t move to turn his face and shave his other cheek. Instead, his fingers linger on Nicky’s skin, and soon he can feel the dull side of the blade slide over his throat, following a familiar path.
There is no scar.
Nothing has left a permanent mark on his skin since the first time they killed each other. They’ve never needed the reminder, however. Nicky has lost count of how many times he’s died, but he still remembers everywhere he’d struck Joe in those first violent confrontations. Every cut and wound is imprinted on his eyelids, and he’s spent many hours kissing every memory off of Joe’s skin.
Joe’s thumb ends up at his pulse point, Nicky’s heart beating against his skin.
“I watched you bleed out,” Joe says on a whisper. It’s unclear if he means the first time he slit Nicky’s throat, or Nicky bleeding out after Keane’s headshot.
Nicky opens his eyes, grabs Joe’s fingers to kiss them, spreading shaving cream everywhere over his hand. “Beloved…” He doesn’t have any other words of comfort. Isn’t sure comfort is what Joe needs. All the violence, the hatred, the fury and rage… All the damage and violence they’ve endured. Everything they’ve put each other through when they were still righteous and sure of their respective place in the world… It all blends together. It’s all washed away by time and their shared history. Only the love between them remains, now.
Only love shall remain.
Joe is surely capable to read everything Nicky feels in his eyes, because he breathes out heavily, then curves his hand around Nicky’s throat again, even more gently than before. “Since you still trust me with your throat, I better finish the job.”
“I trust you with my heart, beloved.”
Joe just presses his thumb against Nicky’s pulse point and smiles softly at him, until Nicky closes his eyes again. Joe reapplies the soap on his face, and then the blade is pressed against Nicky’s skin. Nicky’s heart skips a beat, and it has nothing to do with fear or trust or danger. One slow stroke after another, Joe bares the rest of Nicky’s face, until Nicky can feel the breeze against his cheeks.
Joe tilts his head to the side again, until the top of Nicky’s head is resting against his thigh, and Nicky’s head is held perfectly still, between his leg and his forearm. Then, Joe pulls the skin next to his mouth taut, and carefully shaves around his mole, his upper lip and his chin.
“There, all done,” Joe murmurs. He uses the towel to wipe off the remnants of soap and hairs from Nicky’s face. Then he carefully applies some aftershave, smoothing it into Nicky’s skin with his fingers.
Nicky doesn’t open his eyes, not yet, but he can picture Joe perfectly. The little furrow in his brow he gets when he’s focused. The warmth in his eyes. The way the sun behind him will backlight him and paint a halo around his curly hair from Nicky’s vantage point.
“Are you sure you didn’t miss a spot,” Nicky asks, keeping his eyes closed.
Joe clucks his teeth at him. “Very sure,” he says, sliding his fingers over Nicky’s face, ending at his bottom lip, pressing his thumb against it. “It’s not the first time I wield a razor, you know.”
“I know,” Nicky murmurs. Joe must have shaved him hundreds of times over the centuries. “Just wanted to make sure…” He looks up at Joe, locking eyes with him. “I’m going to rub my face all over you, and I don’t want you to get beard burn.”
He can feel Joe’s thighs tense around him, can hear the faint catch of Joe’s breath. Neither of them blinks, both frozen in place.
Then, the anticipation that’s been simmering under Nicky’s skin since he woke up, crashes over him like a wave, and just like that, his whole body comes alive with arousal.
He’s not sure which of them moves first. Nicky twisting and kneeling on the bench, or Joe grabbing his arms and hauling him up, but they’re moving and touching and finally, finally they’re kissing. Joe’s breath is hot against his lips, his tongue thrusting into Nicky’s mouth while he leans back on the table, pulling Nicky with him. Joe’s beard is slightly prickly but mostly soft against his face and his lips are even softer and the catch in his breath is barely audible but it all heightens Nicky’s arousal. It feels like their first touch, their first kiss, the first time Nicky felt Joe against his skin without blood being shed.
He puts a knee on the table, slides a hand around Joe’s neck to deepen the kiss and somehow he ends up on top of Joe, straddling his thighs. Joe feels warm and steady under his hands, every curve of him familiar. With every kiss, Nicky’s desire rises, until he’s thrusting his cock against Joe’s, both of them hard and hot in their briefs.
Joe’s hand slips down under Nicky’s waistband and while that feels great and Joe should touch him everywhere, it’s not what Nicky wants right now. He tears himself away from Joe’s mouth with difficulty, panting while he tries to gain enough presence of mind to be able to form words again.
He curves his hand around Joe’s neck and lets the other slide down his chest. “I want to feel you against my face,” he says and presses Joe down against the table. Joe goes willingly, letting himself fall back and crossing his arms under his head, looking up at Nicky with a gleeful smile filled with expectation.
Anticipation.
Nicky ducks down to kiss Joe on the lips first, taking his time to properly explore all the nuances of his mouth. He cradles Joe’s face in his hands, burying his fingers in Joe’s beard until he’s sure Joe won’t move and let Nicky have his way with him. Then, with a final kiss to Joe’s lips, he moves down, nosing against Joe’s throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses everywhere. He likes the feeling of Joe’s beard against his lips, likes the feeling of it against his still sensitive and bare skin even more, and before he’s made the conscious decision, he’s rubbing himself against Joe’s cheeks and throat, until Joe lets out a sound halfway between a moan and a chuckle.
“Just let me,” Nicky murmurs. He doesn’t plead, even though his voice has turned soft and breathy, but it’s a close thing. Joe just nods and doesn’t move, except that he tilts up his chin, making himself more available for anything Nicky might want to do to him.
Nicky wants. The desire that’s been simmering on and off since he watched Joe rise from the pool yesterday has become almost overwhelming now, and seeing Joe spread out like this underneath him, all his to touch and please, is only stirring him on more.
With a soft curse, he leans down again, burying his face against Joe’s throat, kissing and mouthing his way over Joe’s skin, until he’s reached the spot under Joe’s ear that always makes him shiver. Joe doesn’t disappoint, sighing softly, and while he keeps his hands securely under his head, he wraps one leg around Nicky’s hips, pulling him closer.
Nicky answers by rolling his hips and pressing their cocks together, until Joe is pressing his cock up against him, his leg trembling where it’s wrapped around him. He grabs Joe’s thigh and shifts them both so neither of them is in danger of tumbling off the table, then he returns his attention to Joe’s throat. He follows the edge of his beard, shivering himself now when he can feel it against his cheek and eventually moves down to his collarbone.
He spends some time sucking bruises onto Joe’s skin. He likes the heat under his tongue when he sucks them to the surface, likes the way he can feel Joe’s heartbeat against his lips. He likes to see them disappear and know bone-deep that Joe is healing and alive.
He moves down further — he has plans, and while he’s taking the scenic route over Joe’s body, he’s not losing track of his goal — and rubs his face against Joe’s chest hair.
In comparison to Joe’s beard, the density is much lighter and the hair is softer too, so it almost tickles against his skin. A frisson runs down his spine, and Nicky feels like his cock might burst out of his briefs any second now. He licks at Joe’s sternum, then moves to his nipple, sucking it into his mouth until Joe is squirming and panting. When Nicky looks up, he’s satisfied to see Joe’s hands are no longer pressed under Joe’s head, but he’s grasping his own wrists, pressing them against the table above his head.
The sight of Joe, all flushed and breathless, holding himself back so Nicky can take his time, almost makes Nicky moan, his cock leaking precome, a wet stain growing in his briefs.
“Fuck,” Nicky curses, and twists Joe’s nipple, just to see him arch against his hold on himself. Their eyes meet, and Nicky knows what the heated look Joe throws him means.
If Joe reaches for him, Nicky wins.
Nicky does moan then, and his desire turns urgent. He moves back, until he’s kneeling on the bench, rather than on the table, sliding his hands over Joe’s chest and belly until he can grab Joe’s briefs and pull them off. Joe’s cock springs free, thick and dark with arousal, and Nicky’s mouth waters at the sight.
Still, he can’t resist building up both of their anticipation even more, so for now he ignores Joe’s cock. Instead, he buries his head in Joe’s groin for a moment, breathing in his scent, feeling the heat of him against his face. Joe’s pubes feel different against his skin too, not as thick as his beard, longer than his chest hair. Joe’s skin feels hot and a little sweaty, and the head of his cock is leaving wet smears against Nicky’s chin and throat.
He kisses and rubs himself all over Joe’s hips and groin, until Joe is squirming beneath him and his pants have turned into pleading moans. Joe is a man of words, but sometimes arousal turns him quiet. Nicky doesn’t mind, he has long ago learned the language of Joe’s body, the vocabulary of his movements, the meaning behind his breaths and moans.
Only when he can’t hold back anymore, he moves to Joe’s cock. He kisses the head, then slides his nose down the shaft, so he can press his face against Joe’s balls and suck them gently into his mouth. He grabs Joe’s thighs and pushes them up, spreading them open so he has better access.
Joe bumps his foot against Nicky’s back to spur him on, making Nicky grin. “Patience, habibi, patience.” He doesn’t let Joe wait much longer though, and eagerly takes him into his mouth, bobbing his head until his mouth is filled with the taste of Joe’s precome. He gets lost in it for a moment: the trembling of Joe’s muscles under his hands, the way Joe’s cock fills his mouth, the soft moans that keep spilling from Joe’s lips.
When he can hear Joe mumble something unintelligible, Nicky lets go of Joe’s cock. He doesn’t want him to come yet. He kisses Joe’s cock in apology, which makes Joe curse.
Nicky grins. Victory is close, he can tell.
He slides his hands under Joe’s ass, kneading his cheeks and pulling him closer and spreading his cheeks. He doesn’t waste time and licks over Joe’s hole, shivering when he can feel Joe’s skin and the soft hairs of his butt against his face. He starts with slow licks, making Joe nice and wet. When he pushes his tongue in, Joe’s thighs tense around his shoulders, and suddenly there’s a hand digging into his hair. Joe pulls at his hair and pushes him down simultaneously, and the feeling of it goes straight to Nicky’s cock.
Victory.
Victory is the heat of Joe against his tongue, the feeling of his fingers clutching at Nicky’s hair, and the desperate sounds that are filling his ears.
Nicky feasts. He licks and sucks and thrusts his tongue into Joe, pulling sound after sound from his lips, until Joe is cursing out his name in at least four languages, and his thighs are a vice around Nicky’s shoulders.
He thought he’d lick Joe open, get him hot and bothered and relaxed, stretch him on his fingers and tongue until Nicky could fuck him hard and slow and deep. But Joe is pulling at his hair and pleading, his hole fluttering against Nicky’s lips and Nicky knows Joe is close.
Nicky can be benevolent in victory.
He bites at the inside of Joe’s thigh, hard this time, enough for a bruise to bloom and melt away while Joe’s back arches off the table. Nicky licks at his hand, spreads Joe’s precome down his cock to make him even wetter, and then ducks between Joe’s legs again. He tries to time the thrusts of his tongue with the rhythm of his hand, and it only takes a couple for Joe to come, his whole body jerking with it.
Nicky can feel the wet heat of Joe’s fluttering hole against the bare skin of his face and when Joe lets out a satisfied little groan, the last remnants of Nicky’s restraint break. He climbs on top of Joe, on leg still on the bench, the other on the table. Joe clutches at him, welcoming him with open arms, but Nicky doesn’t have any coordination left. Joe’s come has spilled all over his lower belly, and it feels hot and wet against Nicky’s cock. Overcome at the feeling, Nicky hides his face in Joe’s armpit, breathing him in while he mindlessly ruts on top of Joe.
Joe pulls at his hair and it’s enough to pull Nicky over the threshold, his orgasm a sudden rush of pleasure, leaving him boneless on top of Joe.
Nicky drifts for a couple of moments, happy and dazed, completely sated and relaxed. It’s only when Joe starts to hum again, that Nicky finally lifts his head from Joe’s armpit.
Joe looks like a vision, flushed and a little sweaty, his whole face crinkly with satisfaction, like it only gets after a good bout of sex or after he’s finished a painting. He wipes Nicky’s hair out of his face with lazy affection, then trails a finger down to Nicky’s chin.
“I did fine work,” Joe says, his voice hoarse and a little self-satisfied.
Nicky splutters out a laugh. “I’m pretty sure I did all the work, since I just made you come on my tongue.”
“True,” Joe concedes, but the glint in his eyes says something else. “But the lack of beard burn is all me.”
Nicky laughs and ducks down to kiss Joe’s teasing mouth.
“Maybe we should move to somewhere softer,” Nicky suggests when they part. He strokes his fingers through Joe's beard and presses their groins a little closer, ignores the wet mess between them. “I think I would like to receive some beard burn of my own.”
#the old guard#otp: he is all and he is more#yusuf al-kaysani#nicolo di genova#nickyjoe#oldguardfic#jan by jan#jan writes fic#jan uses her own vacation pictures as covers now#look#this fic is filled with self-indulgent italy references and i'm not sorry#the next one will probably be worse#anyway#this started out as a kink meme prompt#and ended up with team recovery bonding first#also joe rises from a pool at some point#nicky likes it#joe hums poetry at him#nicky loves it#joe shaves nicky's face with a straight razor#nicky REALLY loves that#it's very much babies first fic in a fresh fandom#but i had fun#next up ANGST WITH SMUT#i kid i kid#smut with feelings is where i live
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Wildflower// Apocalyptic World
My legs burned and ached as I ran , my arms bleed as I passed through the thick branches of the pine trees, my heart was about to exploded on how fast it was beating against my chest but I pushed myself to run faster as I got a glimpse on the left of me to the reason on why I was running
The adrenaline was pumping my veins making every inch of my body forget how my feet were aching. The feeling of fear was in the back of my head getting louder and louder but I couldn't let that take over me
"Aria!" my head whipped to where I had been called seeing an exact copy of myself slightly behind me
Her panicked eyes looking at me as I nodded trying to calm her down -that we we're going to be fine
"come on where almost there!" I yelled my voice coming out horsed as I tried to turn to her direction but the trees only let me run forward , I started to recognize where I was in a few feet we'd be close to a rocky wall where I knew was safe; As we reached it I helped her up before getting myself up , clinging on the wall as I made it up getting help to pull me up the top as I looked down to the pile of moans and decaying bodies trying to get us as they stared up at us with milky dead eyes
The flesh from their faces slowly rubbing off leaving me to see their bones , some barely had anything. The limbs hanging by thread just dragging along or other who were just a piece of meat crawling down towards the commotion
"God that went better than I thought" my sister laughed laying down on the half dead grass around us before taking her long brown hair from the pony tail it was in , my hands went in her bag she dumped beside her digging in until I found a can of beans
Risking our lives for a few cans of beans was what what we did everyday -Normal for us
sometimes it can be fun
"thank God cause I didn't even think it would work" she gave me wide eyed stare before laughing as I popped the lid of the can with my knife holding it to her -she did most of the work on stealing them while I just ran around being the carrot on the stick for the corpses
"honestly it was a bit cool"
See fun. Distracting a bunch of corpses that's what I did everyday to survive
" cool? The end of the world isn't cool Aria" it's been a few months since the world came to shit , a virus plagued the living like we were nothing causing millions to fall dead in matter of weeks before we could even defend ourselves or find a cure the dead came back eating what was left of us.
To be honest I only thought the zombie type of shit happened in movies, series and books but I was proven wrong when one day my parents got infected and tried to eat me and my twin sister.Fist time killing a creep as well and wasn't the last.
Anna was always the smartest even in a crises making us pack what we needed and leave our childhood home and bolt from the city to the country side , we hided out for a few months in an old farm house but not only did we have to worry about being killed by those corpses but other humans. The one's you hear in the news. The one's that will try everything to get their hands on
They were worse than the undead
But we survived. We learned how to survive, now everyday we learn how to fight for ourselves. To fed ourselves, to clean ourselves.
We only had each other -we we're going to survive this together; right?
"it's not the fun cool but it's cool cool" she rolled her honey eyes at me again as she handed me the unfinished can. We were identical twins the only difference separating us was a scar on my nose from when I let a bookshelf land on my face when I was six other than that we had the same brown hair and pale skin and honey eyes making our mom's job of keeping track who was who very hard
But we all knew she was the better then me in every single way
"you are so weird" I gave her a full mouthed smile making her turn away in disgust ,she was on her feet now pacing back and forth on the small clif as she looked around with that old map we found a while ago "we still have a lot to go but it's gonna be night fall in a few hours"
"we can stay here , were high enough they can't reach us or be above us" I looked around us we had a small patch of rock grass thing , if we were quiet enough during the night the dead would think we left and just wonder off leaving a few for us to kill
"I hate this"
She looked down before cringing and stepping back , she had a slight fear of heights but she'd rather be here then down there. I took the small blankets from our bags setting it down so we could be more comfortable during our time here
And finally get some sleep after 13 days without a proper night
"how long until we get to Ohio again?" I asked playing with knife as I stabbed the soft patch of grass next to me , the last time I checked we were at the boarder of West Virginia well I still hoped we were since we left our state of Virginia like months ago
Virginia. It was hard to leave our state but there wasn't anything left for us anymore, the radio at the time was planning to destroy the whole city and we didn't want to stay to see it go down
" I don't know maybe a few months to my calculations" Ohio was one of the cities that didn't evacuated during the spread since the Tv crew keep saying it was a safe zone , we didn't hear anything about it after since our radio doesn't work anymore and that was 6 months ago
We tried to change the battery but it seemed like nobody on the other end was alive to warn us if we should continue or not -we we're headed to eventual death or good people who survived like us
"sometimes I wonder if they were alive they could do what we do" she whispered in a sad tone causing me to hold my laugh in knowing exactly how they would react, I remembered their reaction when they found out about the infection
"we are going to die" I laughed at my mother as my father mumbled if he needed to go to work or not making my mom yell at him for not thinking about the bigger picture
"hell no ....well dad would cause he'd be down for literally anything" she laughed lowly agreeing , that dude ate a spider cause his brother dared him to the apocalypse would be easy for him "mom on the other half would die in 5 second just by seeing us eat that dog food" we were low on food so we ended up finding a supply of dog food that lasted us a month , not good times to remember
"it tasted like dirt , she can't even jump properly imagine killing those things"bless my mom's soul but honestly she'd be a goner in this world now " I miss them"
"I do too" I reached over to her grabbing her hand as we just laid in silence hearing the cracking and moaning from the corpses below us
The moaning drowing the squeaks of the bats flying around and the commotion of the crickets not letting me forget they would be there when I woke up
it's never a dream
---
"if we continue rout 250 we'll be there by tomorrow" she looked down the map reading it as I looked at it trying to figure out where I should look at
I never really did good in geography and she loved it so she was responsible for us not getting lost again; since last time we ended up going in a loop since she keep forgetting were we where all the time
"lead the way captain" I saluted her as she just pushed me forwarded , we walked in silence so we didn't attract many dead beats but I still killed the ones that crawled towards me
The silence was intoxicating, for a lot of reasons. I missed that loud noise of crowds even if I didn't like it I missed the sound of people, I missed people -The feeling of being alone in this world scare me but I knew people survived ;some people trained for these moments for all their lives maybe we should have taught like them
"we should give theses dead beats a name" I couldn't help it , it was too damn quiet and I was bored out of my mind and it was only 2 hours in our walk
Probably my sense of time was bad but the sun wasn't in the middle of the sky anymore.
"they are called zombie like in the movies" she rolled her eyes adjusting her bag
Zombies? We rarely did call them, freaks or creeps were most used between us and also asshole from her side when one spilled it's gut all over her shirt
"yeah I know , but come on we're are literally apart of a movie if you haven't noticed -we need a cool name for them like T-800 and walkers" I whined remembering how I keep joking that would never happen in real life, and boy how I was wrong
How wrong everyone was for not taking it seriously and staying home like they asked -everything just turned over night without much of a small warning
"okay let me think you baby" I shut my mouth smiling at her waiting for her to think of something , I did call them dead beats but that wasn't like cool enough "cannibals? I don't know"
"we are not naming them Hannibal Lector" I laughed pushing her slightly making her roll her eyes at me
"who cares Aria , their the jaws of our life now we are in their waters now we just have to be careful not to get bitten" I let out a laugh of excitement before shaking her bag as she pushed me off confused
"jaw biters dude , you're a genius" she barked up a laughing on looking how stupid I was acting but I didn't care I was having fun -and even if the name was stupid
it was very stupid but you had to pass the time with stupid shit like this didn't you
"you are so stupid A" Anna yet again rolled her eyes at me turning to look at me with a mocking face as I looked forward smiling a bit seeing a small crowd of creeps coming our way
We'd try to make a break for it in the forest if it were larger but but it was only four of them which could be taken care of
"yeah but now I get to say there are two jaw biters coming our way"
I pulled my knife out as she did too running quickly to them grabbing their full attention as they snapped their jaw at us growling, as I got close to two from our right I kicked their legs so it would break letting me plung the knife in their skulls feeling the knife crack it's way in until it reached their brains. Pushing them forwards slipping my knife out of it's head seeing them slump down to the ground with their milky eyes roll back into their head
That's when they actually die; pulling limb by limb will never kill them its always the brain that finishes whatever keep them alive
"do I have blood on my face?" I asked as she turned to me with splatters of black blood across her face , it masked well with the rest of the dried blood in her hair and clothes since we haven't showed in the last three months or so
The smell of death was reeking off more from us them the actual corpses
"nah it goes great with the rest of the blood" she joked as I gave her a thumbs up before whipping the knife clean on my old jean which were covered in guts and that were a little loose on me, I had to tie it with a shoe lace so it wouldn't fall
I was getting more thin everyday my skin was sticking to my muscles showing it much than it should be and I couldn't do anything about it since food was getting more scarse for us
"shut up and walk" I breathed out before following her up the road putting the knife back where I took it as I felt it dig a bit in my heel since the only place it would hold was in my boots.
The road covered in bloodly feet from injured or dead people who use to pass by here , the destroyed cars were a memory of the people who tried to escape but didn't make it seeing them bang their dead hands agaisnt the window of the cars
Burned police cars evidence that their helped never helped, their bodies burned with the patrol cars -some were still alive but glued to the car as we passed ignoring their moans and growls
Mother nature destroyed the human race but the animals propered out of it , as I saw deer in the middle of the trees grazing peacfully making my stomach growl in protest on the hunger strike the world was giving me
"I can't believe we didn't run into a gas station by now" Ana complained again for the 5th time the past half hour as she cursed the map she was reading like it would talk to her back
If she started to speak it to it , we'd have a problem I would know how to help my sister if she went crazy. She was already annoying and bossy in a good state of mind I dont know what she would turn into crazy
"relax, we might be near don't pysch out just yet" the joke didn't really tickle her funny bone as she just gave me a death glare making me shut up as I listened to her mumbled under her breath
My head was driving me crazy as I raked my nails down on it trying to get that feeling of itching out of my system but only made it worse -I probably got flees from that dog kennel we slept three nights ago
"oh god I am going to kill you if you don't stop that" I stopped clicking my tongue as she hit my shoulder rubbing before looking at something that catched my eye
It was heaven. It was art. It was a shell gas station in all it's glory and beauty
"kill me later cause I can smell the pringles from here" I pushed her aside as I took off running towards the gas stations that had only a few creeps walking around , Ana stopped right behind me taking out her knife as I picked up a broom stick from the ground breaking it in half with my knee
Ouch. Never as cool as in the movies
"avengers assemble" she sighed at my joked before charging at the creeps as I followed plunging the sharp end of the stick in one's eyes and the other's chests keeping them very far away from me, I had two on the end of my stick as I kicked them off before cracking their skulls open with my combat boots soaking the blood in blood once again
I turned around to smack the stick agaisnt a guy's head making him drop but still growling as blood poured out of his mouth , scrunching my nose in disgust I stabbed him in between his eyes
"I bet this one had like 50 cats" Ana joked kicking a creep all in cat shit towards me as I finished it off laughing a little too much , I looked to see only three coming our way which I could handle on my own as I turned to see only two pacing around the covinience store
"get inside clear out call me if you need me , I'll take care of them" she nodded heading inside as I turned to the rest who were heading staright towards me growling as I dodged it grabby hands feeling it limp at the end of my stick as I took care of the rest
I breathed heavily taking my foot out of it's head holding the bile that rose to my throat since the woman seemed to had died in feces or something that I really don't want to know
"yo! Is it clear?" I whipped the blood off my face with my shirt as I looked around so see that the place was almost raided out , Anna was in the corner with her back towards me making me pause for a second before calling her again.The fear made the hair in the back of my hair stand up as I looked at her but then she slowly turned to me looking up with me with a guilty look in her eyes and a can of pringles in her hands
"you son of a bitch, you better hope that is not the last can " I threatened as she gulped audibly since she was eating MY favorite flavor, I almost killed her for eating the last pringle can and for scarying me to death
Just picturing my sister dying I-; she's not gonna die. We we're going to survive this together
"hey, look at this" she told me with a mouth full of doritos as I didn't give her a glance making her sigh loudly rolling her eyes at me with a tired groan
"stop being a pouty baby and look"
"what" I turned about glare before immediately frowned to see a few maps on the floor behind the counter. I kneeled beside her as I looked at the map seeing a few states with crosses out with a big red cross as other with green, yellow or orange , the writing was faded out making it hard to read
"are these places they've been?"
There was so much information on it like the person was in a hurry to write them seeing the writing faded out or it was in possible to read the handwritting. Not to mention the bloody spots all over the brown map
"maybe the red were they have been to? Since looks like it's the majority or" but she looked like even she questioned it but that wasn't the only thing that made a chill run down my spine
That fear came back as the crunch in my stomach began.
"Ana I don't think it's were they've been but where they avoided" I cleaned a part of the dusty map were there was a red cross to the side with big bold letters 'keep out' , she didn't even have time to talk already on her feet running around the store finding things for us to eat stuffing them in her bag as I stuffed the maps in mine
If she was thinking like me we needed to get out of here fast and now before we get into something we can't fight out of
"we should head to West Virginia we to close to Ohio , whatever they were running from might be close to us" I nodded grabbing a few chips and shoving it in the bag as well , before slamming against her back as I tried to follow her out the door
"Anna?" that's when I heard it , the moaning and the slow and uneven footsteps multiple footsteps.
The feeling of death was normal for me to feel everyday. To see death and consume it was normal. To see your body finally catch up with reality and slows down your body letting the feeling of being a cold ice bath run throw your veins
The aches you've ignore are now pouding in your head , the bitter taste in your mouth as you tried to take that dry feeling inside it
Death...
"Run" she breathed out looking at a sea of jaw biters heading to us
...it was much closer than I thought
I hope you enjoyed my story, I am on wattpad at daddy_kins if you want to read the rest of the chapters I am currently posting. Thank you for reading!
#zombie#end of world#apocalypse#post apocalypse#romance#lgbti#female lead#wattpad#zombie apocalypse#aventure
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Crossing Bridges
Alternate title: Operation Orokeet (which as almost the actual title, until I saw how long it is, and decided it needed a serious title)
“Remind me again what we’re doing here?” Theron’s boot slipped as he asked and he had to slap a hand down against the rock to keep from falling.
“Resources,” Jaaide called back from a few feet above him, almost spread-eagle between two rocks as she climbed higher still.
“Resources,” Theron echoed under his breath before pitching louder. “Don’t you have better things to do than scrounge for resources, Commander?”
“Yes,” Jaaide said plainly, grinning down at him over her shoulder. The wind picked up, ruffling her hair into a golden halo he found it hard to look away from.
“So this is more running away from Lana and the never-ending, super important to do list?”
“Yes.” It was just as unabashed as the first. “I need a break, Theron. At least from the galaxy altering, life-or-death, commander decisions.”
“That’s fair,” he nodded, scanning for another handhold as she widened the gap between them. “But I do have to wonder what sort of resources you’re expecting to find here. On Balmorra. Next to this lovely toxic lake.”
She laughed, letting go with one hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Abandoned supply caches, mostly. This seems like the type of terrain where the resistance would hide things.” With a last burst of effort and “ha” of triumph, she pulled herself on top of the rocks. She vanished briefly before reappearing and extending a hand toward him. “Come on. I’ll give you a boost.”
Theron chuckled and pushed himself high enough to accept the offered hand. “Thanks.”
Between her pulling and him finding footholds, soon they were both atop the rocks. Which actually turned out to be edging a rather pretty plateau. There were two nests tucked along the rim that obviously belonged to something big-ish, but otherwise, there were no signs of life.
“You know Lana’s going to give your grief for running off like this,” he felt obligated to point out, even as he enjoyed the view.
“Probably even more for dragging you with me. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Come on, let’s see if we can find anything.” Jaaide pulled a pair of scanners from her pack and handed one to him. “Take your time.”
“Yes ma’am, Commander ma’am,” Theron teased, mock-saluting with his free hand, and she whacked his arm playfully before they set to work. After half an hour of companionable but unfruitful silence, Jaaide finally signaled they could give up.
“They wouldn’t hide things that well.” she explained. “We can... probably... go...” Her attention drifted to something behind him, and she was moving even as her sentence trailed off.
“Jaaide?” Theron pivoted on the heel of one boot and followed her path with his eyes. “Oh.”
The half-eaten and bloody carcass of something feathered lay scattered across the rocks on the far side of one nest. Upon closer examination as he trailed after Jaaide, Theron could see two of the three eggs had been smashed to goo. The third was untouched. And Jaaide was in the process of shifting things around in her pack to best cradle the fragile orb.
“Um, Jaaide, do you think that’s a good idea?” He reached her and crouched on the rocky ledge by the nest. “What if it’s something predatory and mean?”
“We can cross that bridge when we get back to the ship,” she said, laughing slightly at his phrasing. “For now, help me get down from here without breaking it.”
That proved to be significantly easier said than done, but they did manage to get all the way back to Jaaide’s ship without breaking the egg. As soon as she’d secured their new cargo and Theron had gotten them through atmosphere and into hyperspace, the two spies flopped down together on one of the bench seats, datapads in hand.
“Ten credits say I find it first,” Theron challenged, shifting slightly so her shoulder wasn’t digging into his arm.
“Deal,” Jaaide retorted, changing position entirely so her spine pressed against his shoulder and her legs dangled off the side of the seat. “Twenty say not only do I find it first, it’s docile rather than mean.”
“Deal,” he agreed, and silence fell over the ship. It only took a minute and twenty three seconds for him to regret their wager.
“Ha!” Jaaide crowed turning around and shoving her datapad in his face. “Read it and weep.”
“Very mature,” he deadpanned as he scanned the screen. “You win. I’ll pay you when we get back to Odessen.”
“Alright. I think I can trust you for that.” Jaaide smirked. “And if I can’t, there are other ways to exact my payment.” She tugged on the collar of his jacket until he was close enough she could kiss him on the cheek, then resumed her former position to continue scanning the compiled information about their unhatched passenger. “Orobirds; orokeets when they’re young. Native to... well, several planets, including Balmorra. Flightless. Stars, they get big.... Oh, Theron, look how cute the babies are.”
Theron sighed, schooling back a wince as he turned to look at the datapad once more being extended in his direction. He knew that tone. “You want to hatch it, don’t you?”
“Little bit, yeah,” Jaaide giggled at the look he gave her. “Alright, rather badly.”
“How would we even do that? The species doesn’t live on Odessen--okay, they are cute--and the Alliance doesn’t exactly have large bird incubators lying around.”
“Oh, we don’t?” she mock-pouted. “What a shock.”
“No, they didn’t rank highly enough on the equipment priority list,” Theron deadpanned.
Jaaide rolled her eyes. “Well, then, I’ll have to come up with something else, won’t I?”
He smiled and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
That bought several minutes of silence as Jaaide thought furiously to come up with an alternate solution. Theron used the time to start checking the reports coming in from Alliance agents on some of the more far-flung worlds they were monitoring. After about five minutes of deep thought--complete with the hair twirling and lip biting her found entirely too adorable--Jaaide straightened abruptly.
“Tatooine,” she blurted, almost dropping her datapad as she spun around to kneel on the bench seat facing him. “A lot of the buildings in and around the Dune Sea use solar panels for at least part of their power. Some of the older models it gets warm enough underneath to serve as a makeshift incubator. And it shouldn’t take long’ I think the egg is pretty close to hatching.”
Theron leaned his head back and fought the urge to groan. “First, I feel compelled to lodge the obligatory protest of ‘Ugh Tatooine’. Second, with how big they get, are you sure this is a good idea? Where are we gonna keep this thing once it gets bigger?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Jaaide said, grinning as she leaned closer to whisper, “Please,” right by his ear in that breathy voice she knew he couldn’t resist.
“I’ll go change course,” Theron sighed, stealing a kiss as he pushed to his feet. “You fight dirty, woman.”
Jaaide winked. “It’s part of my charm.”
Theron rolled his eyes because she was right and headed for the cockpit to punch in Tatooine as their new destination.
<O> <O> <O>
Jaaide’s plan worked like a charm. Unfortunately, the only building they found that still used the old solar panels necessary for it to succeed was a former Czerka base, overrun with Exchange thugs. Which meant sneaking their way in and Theron standing guard while Jaaide sat in the small crawlspace with the egg. Theron could feel the heat against his back even standing a foot or two away.
“You’re going to drink all our water hen you get out of there, aren’t you?” he asked, fingers twitching against his blaster.
“Most likely, yes,” Jaaide confirmed, sounding slightly breathless. “But we’re going right back to the ship after this, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
They both fell silent again, hoping that tucked back in a corner they would escape notice. For the most part they were lucky. One burly thug with a vibroblade wandered close enough to get suspicious, and Theron’s attempt to silence him without drawing attention worked, but cost him a shallow, ragged cut across one bicep.
“You alright out there?” Jaaide called not-quite-loudly, having heard the scuffle.
“Just fine,” Theron promised, dragging the thug out of sight. “That egg hatch yet?”
In answer, there was a cracking sound, Jaaide letting out the most adorable coo of excitement ever heard from a human being, and a second coo that was definitely not human. A few seconds later, Jaaide emerged from the crawlspace, hair sticking to her face and neck, cheeks flush from the heat, and cradling a slightly slimy green-feathered orokeet in one arm.
“That thing’s gonna take one look at you and think you’re its mom,” Theron pointed out, amused, as he hauled her to her feet, playfully tugging her sleeve.
“And that’s fine with me,” Jaaide retorted, raking her bangs back from her face. “Let’s go.”
She was so focused on the freshly-hatched orokeet she didn’t even notice his arm until they had made it to the hanger, a level of distraction Theron felt obligated to needle her about as they made their way up the ramp to the ship. She just smiled and pointed him toward the medbay as she headed for the cargo hold to settle her new pet somewhere comfortable. By the time she joined him, Theron had pulled off his jacket and was glaring at the hole in the sleeve.
“Good to see your priorities are in order,” she teased, reaching for the case of bacta patches.
“This is nothing,” Theron said grouchily, nodding toward the gash in his arm. “I’ve had way worse, and I know you’re a damn good patcher-upper.”
“The word you’re looking for is medic, darling, and you’ve given me ample opportunity to practice.”
“You were plenty good when we first met,” he contradicted. “My point is, I know I’ll be fine.”
“Much as I appreciate your faith in me, I’m sure there’s someone on Odessen who knows how to sew,” Jaaide said fondly, cleaning the blood off his arm and peeling open a bacta patch. “In the meantime, however, I somewhat enjoy you in just a tank top...”
Theron chuckled, holding still long enough for her to apply the patch before pulling her closer and settling his arms around her waist. “Only somewhat, huh? I must be slipping.”
“Allow me to rephrase,” she murmured, resting her hands on his shoulders and leaning in closer still. “I very much enjoy it.”
“That’s more like it,” he teased in an undertone and Jaaide was smirking as her fingers dug in to his shirt and pulled him the final inch into a kiss. “Mm... Good to see our sacrifice wasn’t in vain,” he ribbed, freeing one arm to poke two fingers out through the hole and wiggle them.
Jaaide giggled, forehead still resting against his. “Yes, Keke and I appreciate your valiant guardianship and sacrifice.”
“Keke?” Theron drawled. “As in orokeet?”
“I’m good with plans, not names,” she laughed defensively, flashing a sheepish smile. “I fear for my future children.”
It took a second, but both of them froze when her words sank in. Breath catching sharply in the same moment, Jaaide’s hands flexed against Theron’s chest and his tightened briefly around her waist.
Finally she managed to mumble, “Theron, I-”
“Shh.” He stole a quick kiss. “I know what you meant. And while kids is a discussion I’m open to having once things are more... settled, that’s quite a ways down the road. We’ll-”
“Cross that bridge when we come to it,” Jaaide finished with him, smiling softly. “Deal. For now, we can stick to raising a bird not known for its intelligence and see how that goes.”
Theron chuckled as he nodded. “Deal. And you’re doing a good job with the Alliance, so this should be a piece of cake.”
Jaaide laughed. “Famous last words, darling.”
Theron shrugged--”We’ll see”--and pulled her in for another kiss.
#queens fic#otp: straight up truth#jaaide arien#theron shan#swtor#swtor fic#i think jaaide's trying to tell me something with all this fluff guys#that something is i ignored her for too long
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Junkrat/Roadhog:: Voyages Ch 1
Buckle up, guys and gals and nonbinary pals, because I’m finally following up Origins with a sequel. If you haven’t read Origins, I really really recommend that you do -- this first chapter is kind of a prologue with some refresher details, setting us up for the bulk of this story, but there is defs the occasional reference that kind of requires an understanding of the first fic to fully get it. I know it’s a bit of a slow start, but I hope you’ll stick with it, and thank you so much for reading! (This can also be read on AO3 but I guess Tumblr hides posts if you put links in them so??)
Title: Voyages
Characters: Junkrat, Roadhog
Rating: R
Summary: After a rocky start and some ups and downs, Junkrat and Roadhog are officially partners, even if things haven’t progressed quite as far as Junkrat would like. With his treasure at the heart of their grandiose plans, they take their adventures overseas and leave their mark on the world, for better or worse. (Mostly for worse. They’re criminals.) Sequel to “Origins.”
---
Junkrat had been the one to suggest that they go international. After the Hyde Global incident, he was more than happy to bid Australia adieu and travel overseas. His flitting notion of going legit had evaporated entirely at the suit’s betrayal, and he wanted to go back to what he did best: good, honest, straightforward crime.
“Gotta say, I’m a bit disappointed that we didn’t end up scrapping any bots after all,” Junkrat said that night, once they’d fled the city and set up camp in an abandoned warehouse further down the coast. “Drones ain’t the same.” He toyed with his RIP-tire, running his finger around its rim. After learning of Junkrat’s treasure, Roadhog had done his best to dissuade him from storing it inside his tire once more, but he had been unable to provide him with a more secure storage space that Junkrat approved of. Back in the tire it went. “Listen, ‘Hog, I’ve been thinkin’...” He dropped his hand and shifted to sit on the tire instead.
Roadhog snorted and put the cap back on his canteen. “There’s a surprise.”
Junkrat kicked at him, his boot striking empty air. “I’ve been thinkin’,” he repeated, raising his voice in exaggeration, “that maybe it’s time to test out my little treasure I got here.” He patted the tire and raised his brows at Roadhog, as if to say how ‘bout it?
“To unleash the god program,” Roadhog clarified.
“That’s the ticket!” Junkrat grinned at him. “Imagine...” He gazed dreamily up at the ceiling of the warehouse. “Takin’ over the omnics. I could make them walk right into my traps, blow themselves up! How lovely.” He sighed, a noise of utter contentment.
Roadhog chuckled. “I’m in. Where?”
Junkrat craned his neck to look at him. “Where what?”
“Anubis took over Cairo. Probably would have spread through all of Egypt if it weren't for Helix.”
“So, where do I want to be god?” He considered it. “Somewhere with lots of bots, yeah? Maybe not here, you and yer mates thinned us out with the whole omnium explosion thing. 'Course, still too many of the bastards for my liking, but at least it's not like Numbani. Place’s crawlin’ with the tinheads.” He paused. “Say, that wouldn't be a bad spot! Sure, it'd be ambitious, but y’know me, I like to dream big.”
“No job too big…”
“...No score too small!” It had become their mantra as of late, and Junkrat jumped at the opportunity to finish Roadhog's sentence every time. He relished the verbal affirmation of their partnership. “But hey, why stop there? We could hit up Tokyo, London--” He interrupted his current train of thought with a gasp. “Korea! Can you imagine takin’ down that huge fucker in their ocean?”
“We'd be heroes.”
They both burst into raucous laughter at the thought of anyone considering them heroes. Junkrat wiped a tear from his eye. “But seriously, mate. We oughta go international. I'm sick of this place. I wanna travel!”
So they traveled. Matters were complicated by the fact that they couldn't go on holiday like normal people. It wasn't like two highly notorious criminals could just saunter onto a plane, particularly two who looked as distinctive as they did.
They resorted to convoluted schemes in an attempt to evade the law, aided and abetted by their ethically dubious associates. With a raid of a scuba diving facility near Sydney and Rosa’s assistance, they were able to engineer a rebreather for Junkrat and an apparatus for Roadhog’s gas mask that served as a carbon dioxide scrubber. Having a computer scientist on their side proved invaluable, as she helped with the electronic bits of the rebreather.
“You sure this is gonna work?” Ava asked, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.
“You’ve done crazier things,” Junkrat pointed out. He climbed into the motorcycle’s sidecar, feet propped up and head lolling back. “Sliced open me head in yer kitchen--”
“--blew up the omnium--” Roadhog added.
“--busted us outta prison. What’re ya worried for?”
Ava dropped her hand and laughed. “Got me there! Yeah, you’ll be fine.” She pulled Junkrat out of the sidecar so she could slap the two of them on the back good-naturedly.
Rosa kissed them both on the cheek. “Be safe, all right?”
Junkrat grinned. “Can’t promise nothin’!”
“We’ll try,” Roadhog assured her. Junkrat snorted. Empty words. Roadhog might have been more sensible than he was (not that it took much), but they were both reckless by nature, and it was rare for Roadhog to object to any of their wilder ventures.
“I suppose that’s as good as I’m going to get,” Rosa said with a laugh.
There was a momentary lull as everyone absorbed the fact that they didn’t know when they would next see each other, or if they ever would again. Although it was empty except for the massive crate containing their motorcycle, the cargo container they were all standing in felt claustrophobic under the weight of saying goodbye.
Rosa broke the silence. “Oh, but before you go, I have a little going away present for you both...”
Junkrat’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?” he said, unable to hide the incredulity in his voice. People never gave him presents. Junkers weren’t keen on handouts, and he had never had someone in his life who liked him enough to give him a gift without expecting something in return.
Rosa handed each of them two soft, knitted bundles. “What’s this?” Junkrat asked, confused. He unfolded it and shook it out to find that it was a jumper made out of thick, black wool, with his trademark bright yellow, x’d out smiley face stitched on the front. A giggle bubbled out of him, and he bounced as he hugged it to his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he wore a shirt, a proper shirt -- there was an army green vest that he had worn over his bare chest as a kid, but he didn’t know if that counted.
“I figured you both might need something warm on your travels -- I hear other countries get a lot colder than Oz in November.” Rosa’s eyes twinkled. “And I knew you would probably have a hard time finding ones that fit.”
Junkrat laughed, elbowing Roadhog. “Yeah, can’t be too easy finding duds in yer size, eh, big guy?” He remembered the way Roadhog’s prison undershirt had constantly ridden up his belly, exposing a slice of his tattoo. There was something to be said for this whole “clothes” thing. Somehow, seeing the way the fabric clung to Roadhog, muscles straining against the too-tight sleeves, felt way more indecent than when he was shirtless.
Roadhog ignored his comment; there was no point in saying anything to the contrary. “Thanks, Rosa,” he said, turning the jumper around so that Junkrat could see it. It was the polar opposite of his, light cream instead of pitch black, a giant pink pig’s head instead of a demented smiley face. It should have been all wrong, given that Roadhog was without a doubt an aggressive, spiked up killer -- or, at the very least, ironic in nature. But it wasn’t. The tooth-rottingly sweet jumper just suited him.
“Yeah!” Junkrat enthused. “Thanks, mate.” He spread out the jumper on a nearby package so that he could admire it. He was itching to pull it on right now, just for the novelty of it, but the humid heat of the cargo container made him reconsider.
He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Junkrat wasn’t used to people being affectionate with him, asides from Roadhog, and even that was still a relatively recent turn of events. It wasn’t for lack of trying -- he’d certainly tried to be chummy with the other Junkers before he’d been forced to go on the lam, but there was something about him that others tended to find off-putting.
So it was nice to have someone else instigate a friendly hug: Rosa’s soft and warm, just like her, Ava’s a tight, one-armed squeeze.
“Thanks heaps for all the help, mate,” he said gratefully as Ava pulled away.
“No worries, you'll just owe me one.” Ava winked at him. “Take it easy, alright? Don't forget about the rest of us down under! And be safe. You lose another limb or get shot, and Dr. Bones ain't around to patch ya up. And I don't really think Dr. Boom is up to the task.”
Junkrat snickered. “Ahh, probably not,” he admitted. He was good at a lot of things, most of which had to do with destroying property or hurting people: healing was not one of these things.
He let Roadhog say his goodbyes in private -- Ava and Rosa were his friends first and foremost, after all -- and crawled back into the sidecar, sloppily folding the jumper and using it as a pillow. If he peeked over the top of the crate, he could see Roadhog’s forehead pressed against Ava’s. Sexual incompatibility aside, there was a certain kind of bond formed between two people who had committed an act of terrorism together. Junkrat had gotten into some serious trouble with Roadhog before, but they had yet to do anything that quite matched the scale of blowing up an omnium.
He hoped to change that. He reached over his shoulder and fondly patted his tire.
There was just enough room for Roadhog to squeeze into the crate before it was sealed.
“Good thing yer not claustrophobic, eh?”
“Speak for yourself,” Roadhog grunted. He handed Junkrat his rebreather.
Outside the crate, they could hear the sounds of Ava and Rosa filling the rest of the cargo container with junk to be mailed. The more large packages to cover up the motorcycle crate, the lower the chances of anyone bothering to pop theirs open for a visual inspection.
The general gist of their plan amounted to the two of them crossing the ocean as stowaways on a cargo ship. Ava and Rosa were their enablers, posing as women ostensibly shipping their belongings overseas for a fresh start. Between bribes, the cost of engineering the rebreathers, and shipping and handling fees, it was turning out to be their most expensive heist yet. Neither of them particularly cared; they needed to burn through their considerable earnings regardless. Australian dollars would be virtually useless to them the minute they set foot in Japan, given that they had no intention of waltzing into a bank -- at least, not with the express purpose of civilly exchanging currency.
The most challenging hurdle would be overcoming the carbon dioxide detectors used to expose stowaways. With any luck, the rebreathers would take care of that, absorbing and recycling the carbon dioxide in every exhale.
It was a long, tense stretch of time as they waited for some signal that they’d escaped undetected. It was only made worse by the fact that they couldn’t speak.
Junkrat wasn’t claustrophobic so much as he was restless. The crate they were in was huge, large enough to accommodate both their bike and sidecar, but with two overgrown men in it, it got cramped very quickly. He could only sit still for so long before he got fidgety.
He didn’t realise he was acting twitchy until Roadhog pinned his hands to his lap. He startled, head jerking up to look at Roadhog. It didn't do him much good, though -- he couldn't read whatever expression Roadhog was giving him beneath his gas mask, and they were currently incapable of using words to communicate.
He sat there, silently staring down at his lap and Roadhog's hand covering the both of his. He had nice hands, Junkrat decided. Strong and sturdy like the rest of him. Nail polish needed a touch-up, though. Still, not as bad as Junkrat's. He had an unfortunate habit of picking at his nails when there was nothing else to keep his hands busy. It was a reflex from back before he'd lost his arm. He might not have had nails on his mechanical hand to properly chip away at the polish, but he could still cause it to flake off with enough persistence.
Maybe it was a good thing Roadhog was restraining his hands, then. A sudden, unbidden image popped in his head of Roadhog’s hands restraining him in other ways. He quickly shook off the thought, as pleasant a vision as it was, by flexing his fingers.
Roadhog squeezed warningly, a silent reprimand to stop moving, there's already not enough space in here. A burst of laughter bubbled up in Junkrat's chest. Holding it in was quite possibly the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life, with the possible exception of learning how to build a peg leg that supported his body and retraining himself to walk.
He really needed to get out of this box.
They both lurched on the spot as the crate pitched forward. Junkrat didn't know what was happening: if they were just being processed, if they were being loaded onto the ship, if someone had found them out and they were being forcibly ejected from the premises. He wormed his hand out from underneath Roadhog's so that he could lace their fingers together. He just hoped that the bribe would be enough to get them through the initial inspection process, and that the rebreather would carry them home.
They'd found the most vulnerable worker to exploit, with Ava as their proxy, and he seemed grateful enough to hold up his end of the bargain. Ten years from now, some child would be going to university courtesy of the country's biggest criminals. It was kind of touching to think about, Junkrat later said, the two of them acting as sponsors to the unwitting less fortunate, even if it was done solely to further their nefarious plans.
After what felt like an eternity, they heard the unmistakable sounds of the ship's engines roaring to life, followed by the gentle rocking of the waves as they pulled away from the port. Junkrat let go of Roadhog's hand and sat up so quickly that he banged his head on the lid of the crate.
Roadhog detached his rebreathing apparatus for the express purpose of laughing at him, or so Junkrat was convinced. He rubbed his head ruefully and struggled to remove his own rebreather while Roadhog shouldered open the lid of the crate.
Junkrat unfolded his body and climbed out of their hiding space onto the metal shipping container that was wedged behind their box. “Next time, I say we just steal the fuckin' boat,” was the first thing Junkrat said after emerging. He cracked every joint in his neck with a satisfying series of pops and stretched out his back. His head was sore -- that was going to leave a bump -- but the relief he felt at pulling off the first leg of their venture surpassed any physical discomfort.
“Good a plan as any.”
“This whole ‘bein’ careful’ thing is a roight pain in the arse, I tell ya,” Junkrat continued. They were no strangers to convoluted plans, but they weren't used to being cautious. It just wasn't their style. They were loud and obnoxious and stuck out like a sore thumb, and if Junkrat was going for an elaborate scheme, it was going to be a bold one. After spending more time in the slammer than either of them would have liked, however, they decided it was time for a change of tack. Actively attempting to evade capture, as opposed to doing whatever they wanted and running when they were inevitably caught in the act, couldn’t hurt. “Tokyo better be worth all this bullshit.”
He glanced around the cargo hold. They were on the far end of the ship, near the loading ramp, surrounded by packages that ranged the gamut of sizes. There was hardly any floor space to navigate. He envisioned crawling around on top of boxes to get from one side of the hold to another.
Entirely out of nowhere, his thoughts from inside the crate popped into his mind. “Yer nails are chipped!” he blurted out and pointed at Roadhog triumphantly, thoroughly pleased that his memory hadn’t failed him for once.
To his credit, Roadhog took the abrupt change of subject in stride. He looked down at his hands and grunted in agreement. “Yeah. So are yours.” He pulled their dwindling supply of nail polish out of his pocket and sat down, Junkrat scrambling to sit next to him.
Junkrat held out his hand expectantly. He hadn't been very good at applying nail polish when he had two arms made out of flesh and bone. Now that one of them was mechanical, he was even worse, thanks to the fact that it was nigh impossible for him to hold the small brush in his right hand. Built out of scrap metal and a prayer, his prosthetic naturally lacked the epidermal ridges that would help secure his grip, so the brush just rolled out from between his metal fingers.
Thankfully, he had Roadhog. Roadhog, who always painted Junkrat’s nails first before painting his own. “A proper gentleman,” Junkrat had once called him before bursting into a fit of giggles, although Roadhog had maintained that it was because he couldn’t paint someone else’s nails while his own were still wet.
It was one of the few times when he was capable of sitting perfectly still, his fingertips poised on Roadhog’s palm. The spell was broken as soon as Roadhog declared the touchup complete, and it was back to fidgeting as he waited for his nails to dry. He’d gotten impatient in the past and started touching things before they had set, and it always led to smudged nails, so he had quickly learned his lesson.
It didn’t mean he had to be happy about it, though. He groaned dramatically, waving his hand in the air, while Roadhog studiously ignored him and concentrated on applying polish to his own nails. The wait was made worse by the fact that he was intensely curious about his surroundings and wanted nothing more than to poke around and see what other people were shipping overseas.
The moment his nails were dry enough for him to handle objects, he bounded to his feet and set off to explore. The cargo hold was filled with countless packages, and it was sensory overload as his eyes darted here and there, trying to figure out what he wanted to pry open first. He climbed over boxes, peeking at shipping labels and attempting guess which of them contained interesting loot.
He drew up short when he saw a large parcel with a logo on the side that identified it as a gourmet gift basket company. It took him a solid five minutes to figure out how to break into the crate, until he found a piece of metal that served as a crowbar. He wrenched it open to discover an enormous, cellophane-wrapped basket stuffed with fancy Australian cheeses, biscuits, macadamia nuts, and--
Junkrat threw his hands up in the air. “Jackpot!” he crowed.
“What did you find?” Roadhog called out.
Junkrat brandished two bottles. “We got wine, mate! And food too,” he added as an afterthought. “But the grog’s the important bit.”
He snatched up a lump of gouda to bring back with the bottles of wine, so that they could pretend to be the snobby fine dining assholes that they so often mocked. Junkrat put on his poshest accent.
“Wine and cheese for the good sir!” He bit into the hunk of cheese and passed it to Roadhog along with one of the bottles of wine. He plopped down beside him, the second bottle in his lap, and unscrewed his index finger to expose one of the screwdrivers that were part of his mechanical arm’s infrastructure.
Junkrat took care of the cork by stabbing it with the small screwdriver. He raised his bottle in Roadhog’s direction. “I propose a toast!” he declared. “To new adventures!”
“To new adventures,” Roadhog echoed. “And old friends.”
Junkrat was touched, but he tried not to let on just how much the sentiment affected him. Still, he couldn’t hold back the smile that stretched across his face. “Cheers, mate!” he said, clinking bottles with Roadhog and taking a hearty swig. He was fairly certain wine wasn’t meant to be chugged, but he’d be damned if he let that stop him.
Unlike hard liquor, which made him rowdier than ever, wine turned Junkrat into a sleepy drunk. A bottle or so later, he yawned and inched closer to Roadhog, seeking out creature comforts.
“S’good shit,” he mumbled. “Only ever got pissed off plonk before, y’know, whenever one of the Junkers got their hands on a wine cask or two.” He didn’t know that the good stuff tasted so much better. Wine would likely never be his drink of choice, but it wasn’t all that bad.
“Good old chateau cardboard,” Roadhog rumbled.
Even in his groggy state, Junkrat found the term inexplicably hilarious. He laughed uproariously and pressed an affectionate kiss to Roadhog’s arm.
For once, he didn’t have much to say; he just wanted to be close to his partner and enjoy a moment of silent, drunken bliss. They didn’t get quiet moments together very often. Roadhog was absorbed in sewing a new patch onto his harness, and Junkrat pulled out his detonator to give his own hands something to do. He rested against Roadhog’s leg, his entire body heavy and lethargic and warm as the waves of drowsiness washed over him.
Roadhog placed a hand on his head and ruffled his hair, and Junkrat barely suppressed a purr of contentment. It was a small gesture, but one that he loved. It was affectionate in a way that he had never experienced before Roadhog came into his life. It spoke of familiarity. It made him feel like he was home. He leaned into Roadhog’s touch and fiddled with his detonator, wrapping tape around it. It was cozy in the cargo hold like this, tucked up against Roadhog’s side, and he gradually drifted off to sleep, detonator falling to the wayside.
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Singularity: a Voltron Fanfic
AU where instead of landing in the trash nebula, Pidge finds herself on the same planet as a certain Galra prison camp.
(Holt family reunion fic; no romantic relationships)
Read it on Ao3
Read it on FFN
Part I: Constellations
Chapter 1: Zephyr
Everything had gone wrong.
Coran, what’s happening?
Just when things were starting to look up—the shields around Zarkon’s command went down, the princess opened a wormhole––
The integrity of the wormhole has been compromised. It’s breaking down!
But something went wrong—because something always had to go wrong.
What does that mean?
And success was pulled away from under their feet, leaving them all in free fall.
It means we have no control over where we’re headed!
Spat out of the wormhole one by one, to destinations they couldn’t decide, to the farthest reaches of space.
Pidge found herself blasted out into unfamiliar space, spinning out of control, spiraling downwards, caught in the gravity of a nearby planet.
“No, no, no,” she muttered, pulling frantically at her joysticks. “Come on, girl, stay with me.” The lion responded weakly, trying desperately to pull up, to level out. Her thrusters sputtered.
“No, no, we’ve entered atmo.” They were hurtling towards the surface of the planet, the ground rushing up at her rapidly. Pidge deflated. “Oh, quiznak.”
Then there was a crash, and she was in darkness.
There was a gentle nudging in her mind, slowly bringing her back to consciousness.
She let out a groan as the cabin slowly came into focus around her. “Oh jeez. That was quite a crash.”
Her lion continued kneading at her mind, washing over her senses, asking silent wordless questions.
Pidge stretched experimentally, wincing as all her aches came to her at once. A deep throbbing beat at her chest, and she lightly massaged it. “Yeah,” she muttered. “I’m fine. Just a bit sore.” She slowly flexed her right ankle, rotating it gently. “You okay, girl?”
She was answered by a soft rumbling, a series of images running through her head.
Pidge sighed. “Alright. Could be worse. I guess. Definitely could be better, though.”
The cabin was dark. The indicator lights on her armor illuminated the room slightly, casting a faint cyan glow over the cockpit. Pidge fumbled at the side of her helmet before locating the switch to activate the headlamp.
The console was a mess; a few control panels had been knocked out of place, leaving bare sparking wires. Pidge tried pulling at the handles, pushing some buttons. The screens in front of her flickered weakly, then went out again.
Going off what her lion had told her, she made a mental checklist. Mouth beam and tail beam were inoperable, as was the jaw blade. The particle barrier crystals had been knocked out of alignment. The metal plating on the side of the lion was dented. Only half the thrusters were functioning. Not to mention the busted console.
She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t put up her shields. She could barely fly. At this point, she was a sitting duck.
Pidge groaned. “Okay, girl,” she said. “Looks like we’re stuck here for a bit.”
Her lion growled in assent.
“Well,” Pidge announced, standing up and stretching. “Let’s see what repairs I can get started on. How do I realign the barrier crystals?”
A few hours later, she found herself half-through a panel in the wall under the console, fiddling with the wires and circuits around her. “This one here, tighten this, readjust that….” She fitted a patch of circuitry back into place. “Alright, try now!”
The Green Lion rumbled, and slowly flickered back to life.
“Alright!” Pidge whooped, pulling herself out into the cabin. “That’s more like it!” She started to screw the metal panel back into the wall. “So, what’ve we got? Particle barrier, cloaking, main power…?” She nodded, content. “Awesome. How’re you doing on the bigger repairs?”
A flush of images and feelings ran through her head.
Progress was slow-going, but constant. The lion had decided to focus on the engines and thrusters first; the sooner they were operational, the sooner they’d be able to take off and find everyone else. But as for the weapons systems….
“We’re not going to be able to do everything on our own,” Pidge translated. “We’ll need to get you back to the castle for a full repair.”
A rumble of confirmation.
Pidge sighed, settling back into her chair and pulling off her helmet. “Okay. So flight capabilities. When will those be back online?”
Several quintants, was the response.
“Great,” Pidge muttered. “And comms?”
Still dead.
“This just keeps getting better.”
Green let out a low warning growl, gently admonishing her paladin.
Pidge sighed. “I know, I know, you’re doing the best you can.” She gazed down at her helmet, wishing she could just activate the comms and contact the rest of her team. “Well,” she mused, “if we’re going to be stuck here for a few days, we should probably know what ‘here’ is.” She stood up, a little too forcefully, and barely made it a step before her right ankle gave out beneath her. With a yelp, she crashed to the floor, her helmet rolling across the cockpit.
A spike of worry rolled through her head as she fell, her lion mentally pacing anxiously.
Pidge sighed, rubbing at her ankle. “I’m fine,” she assured her lion. “Just…maybe less fine than I originally thought.” She gingerly pulled herself back up to a standing position. “I may have sprained my ankle,” she admitted. “Do you have a medbay on here?”
Her lion guided her out of the cockpit towards a smaller room in the back. There was a metal cabinet against one wall, and upon opening it, Pidge found a array of food rations and first aid supplies. She sighed in relief. “Thanks, girl.”
There was a small mirror on the inside of the cabinet. As she caught sight of her reflection, she noticed there was a small cut on her cheek. And considering how sore her chest was, she was probably riddled with bruises, maybe worse.
Not only was Green pretty banged up, but she was as well.
“Magic Altean painkillers,” she mumbled, taking a bottle from the cabinet and glancing skeptically at the unreadable label. “Let’s hope these work on humans.”
She opened the bottle and shook a few of the translucent blue pills into her hand, swallowing one dry.
Instantly, a wave of calm passed through her, relieving her of all the tension and aches that she’d been dealing with for hours. She didn’t realize how bad the pain had been until it was gone.
“Oh jeez,” she murmured, taking a deep breath. “Wow. I’m gonna need to stock up on these.” She placed the bottle back in the cabinet and started to make her way back to the cabin. “Why didn’t you tell me about these before?” she teased.
Back in the cockpit, Pidge settled comfortably back in her seat. “First step,” she told herself. “Find out where we are.” She booted up the display screens. Green’s “eyes” opened, allowing Pidge her first glance at what lay outside of the lion. “Sand,” she noted. “And…a large rock? Oh, boy, this is exciting.” She pulled up one of the smaller displays and pushed a few buttons, activating the star map and universal locator.
A error message flashed in red.
Pidge groaned. “Great. So not only are we on an unknown planet, but we have no clue where in the universe we are.”
That was worrisome. Who knew what hostile forces could be out here? Were they in Galra-controlled space? Or perhaps this planet was inhabited by savage beasts.
And without operational weapons….
“We’re gonna have to stay hidden,” Pidge said, opening a few more display screens to run some other diagnostic scans.
As much as she’d love to leave Green cloaked over these next few days while they were stuck, stranded, on this planet, or have the particle barrier up the whole time, or even both––that would just be using up energy that they didn’t have to spare.
“Yeah, you just focus on repairing yourself,” Pidge assured her lion, patting the console comfortingly. “The sooner you’re up and running, the better.”
Her lion asked a question, focusing on what they could see of the planet outside.
Pidge frowned. “You want me to check it out?”
Green responded in the affirmative, already opening the hatch on the ceiling.
“You sure you’ll be fine on your own?”
The lion’s reply was almost indignant, and Pidge laughed. Even without a functional weapons system, Green was as feisty as ever.
“Alright, alright,” Pidge said, standing and grabbing her helmet off the floor. “Then I’ll go ahead and take a look around.”
She exited the cabin through the door on the roof, climbing atop her lion to look around.
The planet was dusty, covered in sand and rocks. As far as she could see ahead of her, there was desert. They had crashed in the foothills of a mountain range, leaving imposing mountains rising on one side of her, and the equally imposing desert stretching out as far as she could see on the other side. “We seem to have landed in the middle of nowhere,” she reported. “We’re pretty shielded, with the mountains. But we can’t be blending in too well.”
Everything was awash in gold, the sun bathing the desert sands in its warm light. If it weren’t for the orange tinge to the sky, the wispy clouds sparkling like strokes of golden paint, she could almost believe she was back on Earth.
She pushed that thought out her head, firmly focusing herself on the issue at hand.
“Okay, let’s see if there’s anything else on this planet besides sand.” Pidge dropped back into the lion, heading down to where her green-and-white podship was docked. “Let me out, girl. I’ll see what I can find.”
The bay doors on the lion’s chest slowly opened, and Pidge went racing out.
She navigated her speeder amongst the rocks, flying down the hill until she hit the open and exposed desert floor. Not wanting to abandon her cover entirely, she kept close to the mountains. If anything were to spot her, Pidge was confident she’d be able to use the mountains to her advantage.
She tore through the rocky terrain, keeping an eye out for any abnormalities. It was a while before she spotted anything other than just the cliffside.
There were two figures, vaguely humanoid, up ahead. Pidge narrowed her eyes, trying to get a better view before she got too close and they saw her. Her helmet’s visor zoomed in for her, focusing on the figures. They were silvery gray, with purple accents, unmistakably—
Galra.
She yelped, yanking hard on the controls, taking a sharp turn to hide behind an outcropping of rock.
Two Galra sentries. Thankfully only the robots, no officers. But if there were sentries here, then there must be more Galra nearby. An outpost, maybe? Or was this another planet that they’d enslaved and colonized?
Green was concerned. Pidge felt the lion’s worry passing through her, mirroring her own heightened heart rate, but she only tightened her grip on the controls of her pod. “I’m going to check it out.”
Despite the protests of her lion, Pidge climbed out of the pod and carefully crept around the outcropping she’d hidden behind.
She glanced over at the sentries, which thankfully hadn’t seemed to notice her. Good, she thought. Let’s keep it that way.
Using her jetpack, she made her way higher up the mountain, keeping an eye on the oblivious sentries below.
Once she was directly above them, she started pushing experimentally at a boulder, inching it towards the edge of the cliff. “Come on,” she groused. “Move.”
With a final heave, the sandstone rock went tumbling down the mountain, smashing into the sentries below.
“Yes!” Pidge cheered. “Now let’s see what you’re guarding here.” She hopped down the cliff, using her jetpack to slow her fall.
Once at the ledge where the sentries had stood, she cautiously peered around the corner of rock, spotting something on the terrain below.
It was a large compound, with several squat metal buildings half-buried in the sands. A wall surrounded the yard, interspersed with watchtowers, leaving no doubt in Pidge’s mind as to what she saw.
It was a prison camp.
Groups of people milled about, wearing the dark purple-gray of Galra prisoners. While some looked rather humanoid, others were unlike anything she’d ever seen. Amongst them, she spotted figures with brightly colored skin, with antennae, with horns, with feathers, with too many limbs. Squadrons of sentries stood guard around the perimeter of the compound.
There was one prisoner who caught her attention almost right away. Pale tan skin, and a mop of messy caramel-colored hair.
Her eyebrows furrowed as she took him in, her helmet automatically zooming in. He looked…like he could be human.
Then the figure turned around, and Pidge gasped as she got a clear look at his face.
“Matt?”
#Voltron Legendary Defender#Voltron: Legendary Defender#Voltron#vld#Voltron fanfic#voltron fanfiction#vld fanfiction#fanfiction#Pidge Gunderson#Matt Holt#The rest of the team is there too but it def centers on Pidge#mine#I'm a writer#Happy birthday Pidge!!!!!!#Singularity#my writing
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But No One Came.
A/N: Guess who got into Undertale? And of course the first thing I write about it is an angsty Sans piece. So! This takes place in the early part of a genocide run. Enjoy!
"undyne...we've got a problem."
Sans frowned a bit as he spoke into the phone. He stared up into the trees as he told her about the human...or what looked like one. Because, clearly that thing wasn't human. It wasn't a monster, either, though, which was the unsettling part. It was...nothing. Empty. It sent a shiver down his spine when he'd first seen it. But the woman behind the door had called it human, so he'd supposed... But then they were so cold, and silent. The look in their eyes...
"yeah...yeah, we'll try. don't worry about paps," he half smiled, the looming purple door appearing at the end of the path, "I'll make sure he's not in the way of the fight. he's busy setting up a puzzle before waterfall, and they'll never get that far." He nodded. "yeah, you watch yourself too, 'dyne. i'll see ya when i see ya."
He hung up and glanced up at the door. He could really use some cheering up...a joke or two never hurt anyone, and he could warn the old girl to take care of herself. He knocked a couple of times on the door.
Nothing.
Sans frowned again. That...never happened. She was always here. Maybe she'd gone to do something? He knocked again, harder this time. Again, there was no response.
"lady? you there?"
Nothing. Something felt heavy behind his ribs. Something was wrong.
It was then that he spotted a track in the snow.
It looked as if the snow had been pushed aside by the door opening...but...it was always locked. He'd tried again and again, but...
He tried it now...the handle turned. The door was heavy, but he could move it. This didn't feel right.
"hello?"
It was dark in here...silent.
He walked for a long time, down a hall that looked darker and darker with every step, until he came to a doorway to a small room, with nothing in it but a patch of dying grass. The door on the other side was still open.
He took a few cautious steps closer. It smelled a bit like...butterscotch? Or maybe cinnamon. The feeling he’d had when the door opened was getting worse with every step he took. "lady?"
But then he saw something that made his bones go cold.
A pile of dust lay in the middle of the room, with a footprint in the center of it. That thing...
Was in Snowdin. Was heading for his brother.
He was running before he knew what he was doing. He passed through a doorway and suddenly he wasn't in the dark place anymore, but in Snowdin.
"PAPYRUS!"
There was no one around. No one, not a single monster. Even Monster Kid, the stupid child that he was, had finally wandered away. It was too quiet in his town, except for the unusually loud and frantic echo of his own voice. He didn’t know if he’d ever yelled like this, ever had every fiber of his being on as high alert as it was now.
"DAMMIT, PAPS, WHERE ARE YOU?! ANSWER ME! PAPYRUS!"
He wrenched open their front door and raced up the stairs, shoving Papyrus' door aside with a BANG. But he wasn't there.
No, no, no, no, no...
He turned and ran out the door, but instead of appearing on the landing, he was running down the path out of town. Papyrus had been working on something near Waterfall. Maybe he'd taken refuge. Maybe he'd found Undyne. Maybe...maybe...
He skidded to a stop.
A red scarf had been kicked to the side of the road. There was scattered piles and smears of dust, not even enough for a proper burial.
For a long moment he couldn't move. He couldn't make a sound. It couldn't be real, there was no way, he couldn't be...he wasn't...he wasn't...
He was screaming, and there was beam after beam of power and light bombarding the ground, the trees, the sky, the rocky walls of the Waterfall entrance. The ground was shaking and he was screaming and everything was on fire.
He came to his sense after a while, and the screaming cut out suddenly, turning into heavy breathing. And the heavy breathing became sobbing as he crumpled to the ground, clutching the scarf.
He stopped himself eventually. Stood slowly. Shakily stuffed the scarf into one of his pockets, resting his hand on top of it. He stared around him at the carnage he'd wrought.
Stupid, goody-two-shoes, stickler-for-the-rules, spaghetti-loving, pun-hating...wonderful Papyrus. The poor guy had tried to make friends with even this thing. He probably hadn’t even put up a fight at all. He’d probably spent his last breath believing that he could change them, make them good again...
No. No more of that.
There was only one thing in the world that was worth his energy now.
No more breaks. It was time to end this.
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