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littlemochabunni · 10 months

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You’re such a nice guy, a nice guy

synopsis: Toji is just being a nice guy. Helping a girl out in her time of need while you’re at home not knowing where he’s at and what he’s doing. Let him show you just how sorry he is.

pairing: Toxic!Toji x Bratty afab!Black reader

content: 18+ mdni. pwp, Toxic relationship, little angst, petty black fem reader, mean Toji, assumed cheating (Toji is an asshole but he's a loyal asshole), use of the n-word like twice, implied multiple o’s, brat taming, cunnilingus, spanking, cerv*x touching, overstim, dumbifaction, manhandling, hair pulling, full Nelson hold, backshots, c.pie (wrap it before you tap it bby) beta read. Pet names( baby, babe, sweetheart, Princess.)

Wc: 2.7k

a/n: This is my first smut ever and thanks to @peachy-dove for encouraging me and for beta reading! And shout to @rlvsmegumi for humbling my obsession for this creature of a man because insulting him was definitely a challenge before coming to her for help😭. Banner and boarders made by yours truly. Annnd on that note please enjoy 🥹💗

support & mdni

NSFW content under cut. Again minors gtfo.

It’s 2 am when your sleep is disturbed by multiple messages from your friends sending you photos of Toji and some girl around his arm leaving the club together. “What the actual fuck is this?!” You immediately sit up, feelings of anxiety and anger flooding your nervous system as you scroll through your contacts to call Toji debating if you were going to cuss him out or play dumb to figure out where the fuck he’s at. Honestly probably the latter with the amount of fury boiling in your veins.

The never-ending ringback tone plays in your ear as you’re, once again, sent to his voicemail. You opted for calling him a fourth time whilst you decide to spam his phone with text messages, but the usual blue turn green along with a reply message stating:

Msg 2110 - The customer you are trying to text is temporarily out of service.

“This fuckin—“ you let out an irritated groan, because of course this nigga’s phone service is off! And somehow he miraculously healed from the “pink eye” he supposedly had 7 hours prior when you last spoke to him too right? Since he’s out at some fucking club!

It’s going on 3 am when your rage turns into anguish as you call his phone for the nth time. You left voicemails ranging from calm, cool, collected, and concerned girlfriend to cussing him out saying, “Oh you no good community dick ass is out tryna fuck another bitch? You're fucking appalling Toji! Keep ya’ stank ass breath and dirty ass dick away from me. Go choke on a fucking Pepsi for all I care you fuckin’ dick!” You toss the covers off your body as you get up to turn the bedroom light on and began taking every article of clothing Toji has left in your apartment. Wanting to rid your life of anything of him completely, and as you're in the middle of your mental debate between throwing his shit in the dumpster or burning it, a loud banging at your door interrupts you. Reaching for the bat in your closet, you proceed towards your front door cautiously, as you stand on your tippy toes to peek through the peephole. It's covered by the person on the other side.

Attempting to use your deepest man-like voice you call out “Who is it?” “Baby open the door it’s me.” Rolling your eyes at the sound of Toji’s now sickening nickname for you, you let out an exasperated sigh. “One ‘m not your baby and two I dunno anybody named ‘me’. Get the fuck away from my door Toji.” “Y/N let me in so we can talk I just got your messages, you’re overreacting.” Gripping the bat in hand tighter as you open the door furiously.

“Oh, I’m overreacting Toji! Are you fucking serious? You get caught lying and cheating, but I’m over-fucking-reacting!?” you shout not caring about how early in the morning it is. This asshole came all the way here and the first thing he says is you’re overreacting? “Christ y/n, quit shoutin’ before you wake the whole damn neighborhood.” Toji proceed to walk inside your apartment as if it was another regular Tuesday. Grudgingly you step aside as he walks in “What happened? She kicked you out so you decided to come here?” You express as you slam the door turning toward him.

If this was a regular Tuesday, a lot less talking would have been done if he hadn’t fucked up so tremendously.

He scoffs as he continues to your living room, manspreading comfortably on the couch “I ain’t do nothin’ with her babe, I was just bein’ a good samaritan that’s it.” Your eyes hardened feeling infuriated by his words, you stomp towards him. “A good Samaritan Toji. Seriously? That's the best excuse you can come up with for lying about having pink eye, getting caught leaving the club with another girl, and having the audacity to come here like you did nothing wrong. Did you hit your head on the way outta her place or are you just that fucking stupid?” Toji rolls his neck as he sighs nonchalantly, “Look I ain’t do nothin’. I was out drinking with some friends and I got a bit wasted. After that, this girl bought me a drink, so I decided to talk to her. She was very nice and friendly but she had no place to sleep for the night. I thought giving her the key to my hotel room, I was just doing her a favor, you know? But I promise you nothing happened between us... I was just tryna be nice.”

You step in front of him, pushing the knob of your baseball bat into his broad chest, as you chuckle dryly. “You…being nice? Are you being serious right now?? You’re an idiot, you know that? You’re telling me that you were just trying to help out a complete stranger and outta the kindness of your heart. You just gave her your room? An-and for what? For her to have a place to stay for the night or so she’d end up repay you in another way? An-and what about you lyin’ to me huh? What happened to the ‘bad case of pink eye’?”

He kisses his teeth and pushes the bat away from his chest as he smirk at you leaning in closer. “Was just dry eye babe, my bad for gettin’ the two confused.” You push the bat back to his chest pushing him back against the couch, you grit through your teeth, “You're just a lying bastard. This whole time we've been together, every time you went out with your friends, I never even questioned it because I trusted you. Now, I catch you lying and you get caught red-handed by my girlfriends. And you know what's worse? You think I'm dumb enough to believe your stupid ass explanations. Well, I'm not! I deserve better than this. I deserve someone better than a lying ass, cheating piece of...”

Toji grabs the bat out of your hand standing over you feeling fed up with your bratty attitude as he speaks intermediately low, “I ain’t cheat on you, so cut that shit out or imma do it for you. Now you know better than to go around makin’ empty threats like that…” He smirks and caresses your hip teasingly, “Just lemme show you just how loyal I am baby.” Your eye slightly twitches as you look up at him and cross your arms over your chest. “Screw you Toji. You fuck up and you think sex is gonna make things alll better?”

“Yeah, I do.” Toji pulls you in by your waist as he leans down looking smirking smugly, “Are you saying no to me? Really?” Toji brings a hand to your neck caressing your chin with his thumb, “I know you don’t mean it, but if you’re a woman of your word…” He leans down and whispers in your ear. “Tell me no.” You squeeze your thighs together as you try to fight your crumbling resolve, and in a weak attempt of resisting you place your hand on his chest. He chuckles and speaks huskily, “Can you resist me? Can you do it?”

Inhaling sharply you turn your head away from his touch and grumble, “Fuck you Toji… You’re drunk.” Toji flashes a devilish grin as he pulls you in close by your neck, placing a small kiss on your jaw before sliding his hand to the nape of your neck. “An you’re cute when you’re mad. Actin’ out just to get some attention, it’s cute really.” He kisses your neck, letting his tongue glide along the side slowly before biting it. Stifling a moan you try pushing away from his large figure refusing to lose so easily.

The brat in you taking things to the deep end, you look up at him smirking smugly as you say, “If I wanted some attention I’d be out helping some random nigga find his way back to my place, and give him a place to sleep for the night. Y’know, just be a Good Samaritan like that.” Toji’s eyes darken and his grip around your waist tightens. “Still bein’ a brat huh? Well since I’m being so generous, let me help you find your way back to your place.” Your smile drops as the realization of how badly you just royally fucked up sets in and all you can utter is a small, “Oh shit.”

Toji swiftly picks you up tossing you over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes carrying you to your bedroom. You gasp at the sudden movement you pound your fist against his muscular back, “Fuck Toji put me down, I was just joking shit!” He smacks your ass at your tantrum as your only warning, but as he approaches the disarray of your bedroom with his scattering belongings on the floor he chuckles dryly. “Well with all my shit on the floor, think you were pretty serious ‘bout that ‘lil joke.” Your very well-thought-out plan of begging for mercy goes straight out the window as he tosses you onto the bed, you let out a soft whimper once to lock eyes with his and he gives you a look only predators give their prey right before they devour them. “Nothin’ smart to say now, sweetheart?” With no turning back you decide to see how far you can push him, “Oh I have plenty to say, but I don’t think a poor creature like yourself would be able to comprehend...”

The sun kisses the horizon as Toji is slurping up your juices like it’s his last meal, his tongue flexing tight persistent circles on your swollen clit, your moans growing heavier whilst he brings you closer and closer to yet another orgasm he’s so generously given you. You grip his raven hair as you practically ride and push his face away reaching your third overwhelming orgasm of the day. “Fuuck! fucking waait T~” Toji groans deeply against your dripping cunt the vibrations send shivers up your back, and he flattens his tongue as he messily licks up your sticky release. Toji kisses up your thigh leaving soft love bites as he pulls away to stand up to remove his tight boxers that are restraining his hardened cock. “I think I’ve made you wait long enough for ya punishment, yeah?” You pant heavily as your back-to-back euphoric highs fog your brain. “T ‘m sorry… I- I learned my lesson.” As he pulls his boxers down freeing his twitching cock he shows you fake sympathy, “Aww my baby is sorry now? Tsk tsk tsk that could have probably worked earlier y’know instead of you being a fuckin’ brat.”

He grabs your ankles pulling you closer to the edge of the bed and manhandles you onto your tummy, gripping your ass whilst positioning you into a deep arch putting your glistening swollen cunt on display. Tapping his fat tip against your sensitive cunt, you jerk at the sensation moaning out soft pleas “Toji… Baby ‘m sorry okay? I didn’t me—..” He bottoms you out in one go without giving time to adjust to his massive size you moan out into the sheets as he thrusts hard and deep into your tight cunt. You moan out louder looking over your shoulder to see Toji playing and squeezing your plump ass, “Toji please pleaasee I-I I didn’t mean it!” he smirks down at you as he holds down your head to keep you from running from his thick cock hitting your sweet spot over and over. “Didn’t mean what huh? When you said I was fucking appalling? Oh fuuck— or when you said you were gonna let someone else fuck what’s mine huh? Or when you said that my dick was for everybody hmm? Which is it y/n.”

You can barely comprehend what he’s saying let alone hear his deep voice over your loud moans and the increasingly loud paps filling the room, and your fourth orgasm approaching fast. “Yes! Yes! Ah, fuuuck– ah T r-right there right there pleease!” Toji’s cock kissing your sweet spot with each of his brutal thrusts comes to a halt, and he pulls out chuckling at your cries. “Brats don’t get to make demands. Don’t mistake my generosity for forgiveness.” He teases you by rubbing his tip against your throbbing cunt, and watches you wiggle your ass trying to entice him, panting and begging as tears fall from your eyes.

“Please please pleease Toji! Please please fuck me.” Watching you cry for his cock causes something to snap inside of him… He grabs your arms locking them behind your back with one hand as he aligns his hardened cock with your swollen needy cunt, screaming as he slams his thick cock deep inside your walls. Toji covers your mouth thrusting deeper than before with an animalistic-like pace, he's practically fucking you onto his cock. “Thought I already told ya’ to quit that shoutin’ shit y/n. You wanted this shit, right? So fuckin’ take it.” You begin to drool and mumble incoherently against his hand, Toji tsk as he takes his hand away wiping your drool in your hair, pulling you up by your protective style against his chest whilst he continues to bully his slick-covered cock against your creamy walls. “Hmm? What was that? Got something to say, sweetheart?” Panting heavily you speak sultrily, “T-too m-much! Mmmm, please T! I-it’s too much! S-slow d-doown~” Toji groans as your cunt tightens and flutters around him and he lets go of your arms to reach down to your puffy clit, rubbing tight circles as he brings you undeniable pleasure.

“Why should I hmm? Did you slow down to fuckin’ think about what you said?” “T!! Waaaait ‘m sorry!” You shut your eyes tightly tears running down your face as your peek builds back up again faster and faster, you reach your hand back against his lower abdomen in a weak attempt to slow down his pace, crying as you moan out strenuously “Tojiii! I-I— oh fuuck please waait wait wa—” before you can plea anymore all it takes is a few more thrusts and you’re trembling uncontrollably as your release is gushing all over his lower abdomen and down the side of your covers onto the floor. Toji groans deeply and his begins to falter as he watches you squirt all over his cock. “Shiiiit Princess you like that? Fuckin’ take this shit.” He locks his arms under yours, putting you in a full nelson hold pounding into you poor cunt unforgivably as he chases his release. All thoughts and sounds leave you speechless as your tongue kills out and you drool down your chin whilst he fucks you through another unexpected high to reach his and the lewd expression on your face only drives him insane, “Fuucking good girl— oh fuck Princess.” His brows furrow while a small ‘o’ forms on his lip as watching you fucked out on his cock sends him over the edge. He groans out as he stuffs your cunt full of his thick cum, “Oh shiit y/n, fucking take that shit.” You babble and whine out in response unable to form coherent sentences “So full T— stuffed soo stuffed.”

Once he catches his breath he slowly lays you back down on the bed and pulls out causing you to hiss and whine at the lost contact. “Tojiii, put it baack.” He chuckles as he kisses your head and smacks your ass once he pulls away, “Shh, you’re tapped out. You can get some more later if you behave.” he walks to the bathroom to grab a wet rag and a towel for the bed, he comes back to clean you up, moving you over to the other side of the bed then places the towel under the large wet spot. He climbs into the bed laying you on his broad chest. After a short comfortable silence you pout softly and mumbles, “ ‘m sorry Toji.” You hear a deep rumble in your ear and Toji gently lifts your chin as he smiles smugly. “Aw sweetheart I don't want an apology,” He gently caresses your cheek as you smile sweetly at him.

“But what I do want is for you to go clean that fuckin’ mess you made with my shit.”

Well damn.

A/n: well I’m gonna turn my notifications off now byeeeeee

#➸┈❥ℳ𝒪𝒞ℋ𝒜🖋️₊˚⊹♡#toji fushiguro smut #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji x black reader #fushiguro toji #toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk toji #fushiguro toji x reader #jjk x black reader #black reader #black fem reader #Spotify

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holylulusworld · 4 months

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Summary: Broken hearts are hard to put back together. 8 years ago, Dean lost something he didn’t even know he had in the first place. Will he get a second chance?

Pairing: AU!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, implied break-up, sadness, rejection, Mary being a bitch, sleazy John

A/N: This was an alternative idea for the first chapter of my Bucky story: Monster-in-law masterlist. I decided to use it for a story with Dean.

Live was great. The man you loved proposed to you in the most romantic way. And later, you made love in his old Chevy Impala. The only girl he loved as much as he loved you; according to Dean.

Butterflies still fluttered in your stomach whenever he looked at you.

Everything was fine, great even. Until he invited you for a family dinner to get to know the rest of his family.

You already knew his younger brother. Sam was easy to be around.

Dean never talked much about the rest of his family. All you knew was his mother came from old money, and his father was a made man.

The moment you stepped into Mary Winchester’s house, your relationship with Dean was doomed.

Not only did she ignore you for most of the day, but she always invited Dean’s first love, the girl next door. The one and only Lisa Braeden.

You knew that Dean never got over her and accepted that he had a past. Everyone has a past, right?

It felt like someone stabbed you in the back and ripped your heart out at the same time.

But you never were a quitter. Instead of sulking in a corner and watching your fiancé talk to his ex, you decided to remind him what he’s going to lose if he doesn’t get his shit together.

“No, wait. He’s my man. His mother can’t do this to me,” you cursed under your breath." Dean was your man, he even proposed to you. His family just didn’t know yet. “I’ll beat you with your own weapons, bitch.”

You walked back upstairs, entered the room you shared with Dean, and threw on your most sexy dress, killer heels, and no underwear. – To hell with the girl next door.

When you walked back down you put on a faked smile and confidently entered the living room again.

Your eyes scanned the room for you man only to watch Dean still talk to Lisa. They laughed, and she touched his arm, giggling like he said the funniest thing she ever heard.

You saw red but didn’t want to act like a jealous bitch in heat. So, you took a deep breath and brushed your concerns off.

“A nice party, huh?” Dean’s father stood a little too close for comfort. “Can’t believe my son got his hands on someone like you.”

John Winchester stank like booze and desperation. You assumed he didn’t get any from the ice queen his wife seemed to be.

“Mr. Winchester,” you excused yourself to walk toward Dean.

You stopped in your tracks and took another deep breath. Dean ignored you calling his name, even when you put your hand on his shoulder. “Dean, I’m a little tired and I got a terrible headache.”

He didn’t react, too engrossed in listening to what Lisa had to say.

“Later,” he grumbled and didn’t even spare you a glance.

You knew there and then that Dean wasn’t ready to marry you.

Maybe you only were a rebound to him. A woman he could use until Lisa came back into the picture thanks to his mother.

“I thought you have changed. Dean, I believed you moved on from sleeping around when we met. Please don’t prove all the people telling me not to marry you right,” you grabbed his hand and tried to make him face you.

“Y/N, not now,” he didn’t even hear what you said and waved you off. “Later.”

“Please…We need to talk Dean…it’s not only us any longer,” you whispered the words not daring to speak any louder.

You dropped his hand and stepped away, catching the attention of his whole family when you turned around to run upstairs.

You cried for what felt like an eternity when it was only a few minutes.

Sam came by after the scene you made in your opinion, but you didn’t open the door.

“I don’t know what to do now,” you wiped your eyes and choked out a sob. Dean changed so fast only because that woman was around. He didn’t act like the man you fell in love with that night.

It took all the strength left in you to change clothing again and pack up all your belongings. If he didn’t come to his senses tonight, maybe tomorrow when he found you gone.

You hastily wrote a few lines, and placed the piece of paper on the bed, along with your engagement ring.

Rereading the lines you choke out another sob.

One night of passion, a life-long responsibility. This is your decision. Are you in or out? I got a job offer in London and will accept it if you don’t want to be a father yet (or at all). If you are still the man you made me believe you are, call me tomorrow. If not, have a nice life…

Part 1

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #angst #au!dean winchester #au!dean winchester x reader #female reader #spn

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b4b3tte · 10 months

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Jealous Hearts

Gosling!KenXReader

꒰ ⊹ ˚ Summary — Ken gets jealous when you and Barbie start spending a lot of time together

Pairing — Gosling!Ken x Reader

Contains of — Jealousy,insecurities,doubting,confrontation and good ending

My note : IM JUST KEN ANYWHERE ELSE I’D BE TEN. sorry 💀 but anyway enjoy also this is very short im sorry but I wanted to put something out there and ALSO REQUEST MORE KEN STUFF PLEASE 💙

Ken walks into the large bright Barbie dream house, only to find you and Barbie laughing and talking. His heart stank when he saw you laugh at Barbie’s jokes, the way your eyes sparkled when looking at her, he felt jealousy,envy for the very first time

He never thought you would look at anyone else that way, he thought he was the only one who made you laugh like that,made you giggle and smile that bright and loud, it made him question your guys relationship and was it really like how he thought it was?

He tried to brush off his feelings, reminding himself that you are free to be friends with anyone you chose to be with. But as the days passed, Ken found himself struggling to hide his emotions. Every time he saw you and barbie together, it felt like a punch to his heart slowly feeling replaced day by day.

Sitting alone in the dimly lit room, Ken pondered over his feelings. He realized that his jealousy stemmed from his fear of losing you to someone else. He had always believed that he was the one who made you smile the most, and now he wondered if he was genuinely being replaced by barbie.

Unable to bear the weight of his emotions any longer, Ken decided to confront you. He found you in your bedroom, arranging your collection of accessories. Taking a deep breath, he mustered the courage to speak.

"Y/n, can we talk?" Ken's voice wavered slightly, betraying his inner turmoil.

You turned around, your eyes filled with concern. "Of course, Ken. What's on your mind?"

The way you said his name made him all fuzzy inside, he always felt at peace, at warmth with you and he was realizing that the more you talk to Barbie, the more he is getting replaced which meant he wouldn’t be able to speak to you again, he wouldn’t be able to hear you talk to him and he didn’t want that

So deep in thought ken hesitated for a moment before pouring out his feelings. He admitted his jealousy and insecurity, explaining how it hurt to see you with barbie. He confessed that he feared being replaced in your heart. you listened attentively, your expression softening with each word. When Ken finished, there was a moment of silence before you spoke.

"Ken, I understand why you feel this way, but I want you to know that you're irreplaceable to me. You've always been there for me, and our connection is special. Barbie is a friend, and nothing more. You hold a special place in my heart, and that will never change."

Ken felt a weight lifted off his shoulders as he absorbed Your words. He realized that his fears had been unfounded, and he had let jealousy cloud his judgment. He apologized for doubting your bond and thanked you dearly for understanding.

From that day forward, Ken vowed to trust your guys relationship. He learned to appreciate the friendships you formed with others and understood that it didn't diminish what you guys shared. Together you guys continued to embark on adventures, your love and bond stronger than ever before.

BarbieLand became a place of love, laughter, and understanding, where jealousy was conquered by trust, and hearts grew even closer.

Thank you for reading!!! Likes,comments,reblogs mean the world and I appreciate all of them!! I hope you enjoyed and if you want to be tagged in my next ken post, please dm or comment!! Request box is open so don’t be shy or scared I’ll write it SFW or NSFW <3

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3-2-whump · 18 days

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(Re)Living a Nightmare, part 3

Well, you made it this far, so I guess I'm not telling you anything you don't already know. Heed the tags, decide for yourself.

Basic Summary if You Decide to Skip, or if You Skipped the Previous Installments

Thanks goes out to @whumped-by-glitter my beta reader and angst advisor for helping me out when I got stuck on this one!

TW/CW: blood (lots of it), rape/noncon aftermath, hypovolemic shock, medical whump, stitches (not described in detail), emotional whump, guilty whumper, whumper grows a conscience (?)

Thomas stared at his bloodied hands, at the bloodied knife, at the mess of reopened scars on Khaled’s bloody back below him. The air stank heavily of blood like a slaughter house, and the only audible sound was a faint yet desperate murmuring. “I didn’t kill him…I didn’t kill him…I didn’t kill him…”

What have I done?

The knife fell to the floor with a clatter as Thomas quickly untied Khaled’s hands. He rolled the boy onto his side, unsticking his front from the cooling blood that had pooled between him and the table top. The small, broken body felt unusually cold under his hands. “Boy, hey –Khaled?” He pulled the torn strip of t-shirt away from his neck and ripped off the blindfold to see glassy, unfocused, tear-reddened eyes. “Khaled, talk to me,” Thomas begged. He raised a hand to lightly slap the boy’s cheek, but lowered it when he saw his lower face painted in blood, saliva, snot, and tears. The dainty golden septum ring in his broken nose gleamed an accusatory red under the cellar lights.

“I didn’t kill him…I didn’t kill him…” Khaled murmured through a ruined throat.

“I know, I know, shh, shh, I know,” Thomas whispered. Of course, Khaled didn’t kill his squad or his brother, and neither did that kid. And he was so close to repeating history and murdering another innocent boy –Thomas thought he would be sick.

“I didn’t kill him…” Khaled whimpered.

“I know you didn’t kill him,” Thomas replied, his own voice becoming gravelly with emotion. He fumbled for his cellphone, disregarding the bloodstains he would get on his clothes by digging through his pockets. Once he found it, he scrolled to a familiar name in his contacts and pressed ‘call.’

Lenore picked up after only two rings, answering with a brusque greeting. “What?”

“Don’t ask too many questions, but do you have any openings at your clinic right now?” Thomas asked, trying to keep his composure as he talked. “It’s Khaled, I think I hurt him bad.”

A static-laced sigh, then a response. “You know the only questions I ask clients are medically related ones. Now, what are we dealing with here?”

“Um, blood loss –like, a lot of blood loss,” Thomas felt the need to clarify. He took a steadying breath before listing off the rest of the injuries. “Deep lacerations, broken nose,” –his eyes wandered down to the blood trickling out of Khaled’s hole – “nothing too obvious after that, from the looks of it.”

“How is his heart rate? His breathing?” Lenore asked, before directing, “Look at his tongue, the area under his eyes, his skin, do they look pale to you?”

Thomas took the time to check these things, ever more concerned at how limply Khaled accepted his touches. He still had that distant look in his eyes, and even though no sound came out, his pale lips still formed the words ‘I didn’t kill him’ over and over.

Thomas readdressed the doctor. “His heart rate is fast, his breathing is too, and yeah, he is very pale all over. Should I bring him to you?”

“No,” she answered. “I’m gonna call you an ambulance, it’ll be quicker.”

Thomas sighed. He cast a worried glance at the catatonic boy lying on the table. He’d rather not get any of the local hospitals involved, but Lenore said it would be quicker, which meant they were on a time sensitive crunch. Did he really hurt the kid that badly?

“Thomas!”

He was not aware she was speaking to him. “S-sorry, what?” he mumbled into the phone.

“Where are you located?” she repeated.

“At the old house, you know the one.” He listed off the address for her in case she did not. As soon as she hung up with a promise to call an ambulance, he put his phone back in his pocket and refocused his attentions on the boy. Khaled had stopped muttering, at least, and now he slumped against the table as his eyelids began to droop closed.

“Oh, baby –come here.” The boss shed his coat and draped it over the boy’s sliced-up back. It was already ruined with blood stains anyway; what were a few more? Now with his wounds covered, Thomas scooped Khaled into his arms and carried him up the stairs, far away from the T & I cellar that would spark too many unwanted questions from the EMTs.

“And you’re saying… a ‘mountain bike accident’ caused this?”

Med student Vikash Gill received a reprimanding side-eye from his supervisor, who was obviously not happy with his tone. But what Vik was unhappy about was this young man, coming in stark naked with a bloodied face and a back carved open like a Thanksgiving turkey, and this older man, who obviously looked like he had money and power and some sort of relationship with the patient.

“He crashed his bike, in the mountains,” the older man repeated, his tone clipped and concise.

The young man beside him remained silent, hardly even acknowledging his surroundings. Something was wrong with this picture… Vik lowered his skeptical gaze back to his chart again. “Well, it seems the EMTs already gave him a transfusion, reset his broken nose, and stopped the major wounds from bleeding on the way here,” he assessed, “so it looks like we’ll just have to give him some stitches. May I confer with my supervisor for a minute?”

The man waved him off, which was all the permission Vikash needed to disappear outside the examination room and discuss what he had just seen.

Dr. Helen Kimura commanded a powerful air of authority, despite only standing as high as her young student’s chest. “What was that?” she demanded, squinting up at him through her glasses. Vik had to swallow down his instant defense mechanism; he felt like he was being scolded by his mother. “You know we don’t use that kind of tone with our patients!”

“You and I also know that no ‘biking accident’ caused those injuries!” Vikash argued. “Didn’t you see those bruises? What kind of ‘biking accident’ causes bruises like those?!”

Dr. Kimura rubbed her brow as she took a breath to compose herself. “Look, you’re new to this city, Vik, so I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt that you don’t know who that man is,” she began, “but that man in there –that’s Thomas Costa. You know, of the insurance group? The guy that owns like a third of this city? Big time philanthropist, donates his massive fortune to the arts and sciences and medicine.” She paused, eyebrows raised, waiting for her young pupil to catch the drift.

Whether Vik didn’t catch it, or just didn’t care, he bullheadedly continued. “But, we have to do something,” he insisted with conviction, “we’re-”

“We are doctors, not detectives,” Kimura interrupted, an authoritative finality in her words. “You want to do something? You patch that kid up, along with all Costa’s other men, and you send them on their way, no questions asked!”

A hint of fear flickered behind his supervisor’s eyes. Vik gulped nervously, casting a glance at the examination room they just left. “How much did he donate to this hospital?” he whispered.

Kimura refused to answer.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Thomas watched the med student stitch up Khaled’s back. All this time waiting and watching left him alone with his thoughts, and his thoughts went to places he didn’t want them to go.

He lost himself back there, lost control –no, that was just an excuse. He wanted to lose himself, wanted to pin everything on that boy, but Khaled had nothing to do with it. Admittedly, it felt good to take out all that pent-up emotion, all that grief, anger, and despair, to finally channel all that toxicity and pain out from himself and dump it somewhere else –onto someone else.

He glanced at the boy he had bought nearly seven years ago. He remembered the scared child who could barely look him in the eyes. Now, nearly seven years later, the boy stared tiredly at him through tear-stained eyes. It seemed the child was right to fear him in the past, considering how close he came to killing him in the present.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas murmured. He reached over to hold Khaled’s hands in his. The rope burns brought unnecessary attention to the tattoos on his boy’s wrists, lining the black bands top to bottom with angry red chafe marks. Khaled made no effort to pull his hands away as a pair of dark eyes stared into his, uncertain and guarded behind their lashes. He cringed a little, sensing only a fraction of the damage he’d done to his key to redemption, not just this one time, but over years and years of using the boy as a punching bag and a fleshlight. “I am so, so sorry,” he repeated, a little louder.

“You’re sorry?” Khaled hollowly repeated. A rough, scratchy sound scraped out of the boy’s ruined throat. Even the act of laughing sounded painful for him. “Did you smash my head against the table harder than I’d realized? Since when do you apologize, Master?”

Over his shoulder, the med student’s eyes widened a hair as he determinedly continued his work behind them. Thomas had to regain control of the situation, spin the narrative. “I owe you a much more specific apology when we get home, I’ll admit,” he replied, hinting at the unsuspecting stranger patching up the boy’s back. “But for now, all I’ll say is that I went too far. I realize that now, and for that, I am sorry.”

Khaled gave him a skeptical frown, but remained silent. His thinking face was on, with his eyebrows drawn and his eyes slightly narrowed, chewing his lower lip subtly between his teeth. The young med student behind him had finally finished the stitches and applied the new gauze. He rattled off a list of care tips and recommendations to follow to take care of the wounds and prevent complications before hurriedly leaving the two alone. Thomas lifted Khaled off the table and helped him change into the spare clothes the hospital had on hand for emergencies. “Can I, um, get you anything?” he asked awkwardly, finally pulling the ugly secondhand sweater over Khaled’s bandaged torso.

The boy finally answered after a thoughtful moment. “…Nico…”

The gate guard? Thomas wondered. Honestly, not how he expected the boy to answer that question at all. He then felt a slight pang of guilt when he remembered Nico was the only friend his slave ever had. “You want to see your friend again?”

A small nod.

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugged, “I’m sure I could make that happen.”And even though he had no reason to lean on him of all people, Khaled leaned onto the boss’ arm, resting his head on his shoulder as Thomas led them out.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood

#whump writing #tw blood #tw rape/noncon aftermath #medical whump #tw blood loss #tw stitches #emotional whump #guilty whumper #whumper develops a conscience! more details at 11 #is it any wonder i went on a fluff writing binge after this?

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 1 year

Note

Animorphs / Yellowjackets crossover?

• The night of the 25th Reunion of the Claremont High Class of 1998, Marco is waiting on the curb when Cassie’s car pulls up. He looks the same as anyone else, tonight. Not like a movie star.

He pulls her into a firm hug. Cassie holds on hard.

And then, shoulder-to-shoulder, the only two real survivors of the 1996 Air Penn disaster push open the doors and walk into their school’s gym.

• They’re not friends, not really. But tonight they need this. Marco because of the unsubtle glances of their former classmates, Cassie because of the whispered notes of concern as people watch her walk through.

“Where’s Ronnie tonight?” Marco asks, sotto voce, as they make their way to a table near the back.

“At home with Shelly.” Cassie pulls out a chair for him, then for herself. “I know kids are invited, but she didn’t need to be here. T’Shondra?”

“Same story.” Marco gives his public smile for a classmate’s husband who’s even now pointing and whispering their way. “Out with friends.”

Before Cassie can say anything else, they both clock the woman approaching, a copy of Marco’s autobiography in hand. Marco’s smile widens another inch, edging toward feral, even as he pulls out the pen.

• See, a while back, Marco was in a movie. He got the role as a press gimmick, but he’d done pretty well with his minor part and there was talk of his getting a recurring role in an upcoming Netflix series.

• A while before that, Marco wrote a book. The most-quoted review called it “a tell-all that tells none,” which isn’t even wrong. There are plenty of anecdotes about his life before the plane crash, his life after being rescued 18 months later, and even a few isolated descriptions of their mock-prom and their pretzel-sharing system while out stranded in the mountains. He cottons to having eaten an entire bottle of Rachel’s foundation when hungry enough, but that’s as scandalous as it gets.

• A while before that, Marco did a speaking tour. It was half inspirational, half comedy show. He perfected the art of answering questions without actually answering them.

When asked the worst thing he did to survive: “Breathing in Jake Berenson’s stank eighteen months out from his last shower, hoo boy.”

When asked how Rachel died: “Uh, hello? There was a plane crash and we all spent a year and a half without real food? You’re the one who bought tickets to this event, lady, you can’t tell me you didn’t already know that.”

When asked why Cassie claimed Rachel was alive until a few months before rescue: “Dude, I wouldn’t trust anything I said after all the isolation and hunger. I went full-on Tom-Hanks-talking-to-a-volleyball out there, only my volleyball was a friggin’ rock, and let me tell you on the bad days my rock friend Mr. Balboa started talking back.”

When asked whether he’d left anything out of his book: “The shit bucket. We do not speak of the shit bucket.”

When asked how David died: “Seriously, you did buy tickets for this event on purpose, right? You are here to see guy-who-was-in-a-plane-crash voluntarily? Because if this is, like, a hostage situation, then blink three times...”

• In retrospect, the crash itself would seem so clear. Practically inevitable, as one Reddit commenter puts it. It was a crappy charter plane that they’d booked last-minute because the commercial flight had been canceled for weather. It was overloaded with luggage and equipment from the baseball team on board. It had one pilot battling a long illness, and one who still held trainee status. Rumors of a bribe to allow a too-fast inspection were never confirmed, but they were never denied. Wing, meet downdraft. Nose, meet mountain.

• For over a year, everyone assumed that was the end of the U.S.’s third-ever coed Little League team. The news outlets ran beats of the same story: Rachel Berenson showed up to tryouts alongside her cousin, knowing perfectly well this was the boys’ team. The unusually progressive coach let her at least give pitching a try. She struck out five batters in a row. She struck out a hell of a lot of other teams too, throwing a no-hitter that got her team into Playoffs and then giving them a shot at the Little League World Series.

Then the storm. Then the crash.

The other girls on the team — Cassie, Collette, Kelly and Elena — got mentioned as well. Sometimes the reporters even remembered there were boys, that Jake was their main slugger and team captain, that Aximili could clean up the bases on a hard hit and steal anything he didn’t bat in.

If you look long, you might even catch one of the broadcasts that remembers the pilots. If you’re really lucky, you might catch the one segment — just one — that mentions Gafinilan and Mertil without immediately blaming them for their own deaths.

• Melissa was almost on that plane. Nowadays she’s fond of telling people that: she missed being on that flight by a matter of sheer luck. The Yellowjackets’ shortstop, she would’ve been traveling with them except she took a hard line-drive to the face less than a week before playoffs. Concussed, barely able to see out of her left eye, she was forced to miss the rest of the season while Marco took her place.

“I was almost on that plane,” Melissa says, on the stage of their school gym, the night of the 25th Reunion. She’s looking straight at Marco over the top of the mic stand. “It was almost me.”

I was almost as famous as you get to be, it sounds a little like she’s saying.

“Never forget what we lost.” Melissa clicks the remote in her hand and that stupid Goo Goo Dolls song starts playing. Cassie feels Marco stiffen next to her as the first image of Rachel fills the projector’s 40-foot screen.

• Back then, Tobias shouldn’t have been on that plane at all. He was just the coach’s son, just the pitcher’s nephew, just the batboy. Not a Yellowjacket. And yet.

• Back then, when Rachel swam awake in the first seconds after the crash, her whole body aching, Jake was crouched directly in front of her. “Move!” he shouted in her face. “Rachel, we have to move!”

She widened her eyes, trying to clear her vision. Jake was filthy with ash and blood, blooming with red marks that would soon be bruises, and even over the ache of her whiplashed neck she couldn’t ignore the sharp pain of the seatbelt-jerk bruise across both hips.

“The plane” Jake shouted “is on fire—”

And that got her on her feet.

They moved so fast that the world would’ve blurred even without her battered brain: Cassie was the first person they ripped from a seat, then David. Collette was bent up all wrong, body folded around the seatbelt in a way that made her scream breathless as Rachel dragged her loose. They got Marco under both arms and heaved him out into the snow. Jake got as far as grabbing Kelly, and then he jerked his hand back from cold bloodless flesh. No time for discussion, with smoke thickening the air; they moved to Elena and shoved her out as well.

Tobias was the hardest of all, crouched over his father. Coach Alan was upright in his seat, but he wasn’t breathing to disturb the smoke and didn’t react when Jake jabbed him hard in the eye. Both arms around Tobias, Rachel dragged backward, holding him against her body until she was able to tip him onto the emergency slide. She turned back to the nose of the plane.

Jake met her coming the other way. He shook his head, pointing for the exit.

“Timmy!” she shouted, coughing. “Craig and, and—” Their basemen were all still up there, hidden in the opaque smoke. She tried to shove past Jake, but he blocked the aisle.

“We have to go!” He had to shout too, in order to be heard over the roar of the fire.

“Craig!” she screamed, fighting Jake, but he was shoving her backward. “Liam!”

And then they were falling, down the slide, tumbling in a heap into the snow below.

Rachel punched Jake in the face. The fuselage exploded.

• Then, the headcount over the next few hours contained more bad news than good. Jake’s older brother, their third-base coach, was dead. So was Tobias’s dad. So was their chaperone Mr. Hamee. Timmy, first base; Liam, second; Craig, third; Jesse, reserve. All had been sitting together near the front.

No sign of the emergency beacon. Collette, Pedro, and Elena all injured. Enough bags of trail mix and pretzels to get them through maybe four more days out here.

It would’ve been five, but David was bouncing around the wreckage talking a mile a minute and pouring peanuts into his face. "Do you guys see this shit?" he was shouting. "Like a movie! Like an action movie! It’s wild!"

“I think the bleeding has stopped,” James said quietly, where he and Cassie were bent over Elena. There wasn’t blood anymore, but it’d been coming out of Elena’s ear. There was no way that was good.

“We’re fucked.” Marco said it first, staring at the burst-open fuselage. “We’re totally fucking fucked.”

“They’ll find us.” Jake spoke even louder than David. “There’s a search party going as soon as any plane goes off radar, and...” He pointed to the huge swath of downed trees the plane had destroyed in its last seconds of life. “We’ll be easy enough to spot.”

Tobias had been sitting on the ground, staring into space, but at that he lifted his head. “How far were we blown off course?” he asked. “Do we have any guarantee they’re even looking in the right place?”

There was a long silence from everyone, even the injured and panicking kids. Rachel broke it when she jerked the trail mix bag out of David’s hand, which was the second time in their first day that a conflict came to blows.

• Now, Marco drives through the night, after he leaves the reunion. He didn’t have a drop of alcohol — paying for Tobias’s third and fourth trips through rehab turned him off the stuff — and his relationship with sleep has been somewhere between on the rocks and it’s complicated for the last two decades. He keeps to the speed limit, making three left turns to be sure no paparazzi are following, and he keeps his eyes on the road. Once he catches himself humming “Iris” under his breath, and in response cranks the car’s XM metal station to eardrum-damaging levels.

• Now, the sun’s coming up by the time Marco makes it to Seattle. He checks his hair twice in the rearview mirror, smoothing it back and then ruffling it into an attempt at nonchalance. The shop’s exactly where he remembers it being, the last six times he drove up here and lurked across the street without ever going in.

This time, he gets out of the car.

“Welcome to Wash World, how can I...”

The guy behind the counter trails off. He’s a big man, full beard and long hair sprinkled with gray. In the flannel shirt and fleece-lined jeans, he looks like a typical Seattle hipster. Even the California accent fits.

“Hi Jake,” Marco says. It feels like an understatement, all things considered. It’s been fifteen years since he last spoke to his ex.

“You a customer?” A small woman in a brightly-colored headscarf appears at Jake’s elbow before he can say anything.

“If you’re not a customer, you have no business here.” A different woman, albeit with the same Eastern European accent, has emerged from behind Marco. She crowds close to Marco, backing him away from Jake.

“Our Yakob has no business with anyone and you can have your shirts pressed or you can leave.” The third of the Eumenides has gone so far as to pull the front door open and gesture.

Marco holds up both hands in surrender. Cassie told him to call ahead, and apparently she wasn't kidding.

“Ms. Zivojinovic,” Jake says, to one of them. Possibly to all three. “There’s no harm. He’s my brother.”

Marco’s eyebrows go up at that, but sure. He won’t argue. It’s simpler than the truth, and more likely to go down easy with this group.

The one closest to the door sniffs loudly. “If he’s not a customer, I don’t care if he’s Jimmy Hoffa found at last. He can —”

“I prefer to think of myself as Amelia Earhart.” Marco shrugs out of his 5000-dollar leather coat, dropping it on the counter. “There, dry clean that.”

“It’ll take three to five business days,” the woman behind the counter says. “You going to stick around for three to five business days? Or are you some fly-by-night, ne’er-do-well, love-and-leave...”

“He’s my brother,” Jake protests, louder.

“I have a brother,” the one by the door mutters. “You have never met him, Yakob, and do you know why?”

Jake sighs. “He is garbage?”

“He is garbage! Would you like a receipt?”

Marco takes a second to recover from the abrupt turnaround. “Yeah, I want a receipt. How would I get my coat back without one?”

“If it comes to that,” one of the Misses Zivojinovic says ominously, “we will find you.”

• Jake extracts himself from the Eyrenies at last, promising to be back within the hour. “Come on,” he says to Marco. “There’s a café a few doors down.”

Marco follows until they’re just outside the plate-glass window, and then he stops. “Good to see you, bro.” He waggles his eyebrows at their reflections.

Turning, Jake follows the direction of Marco’s gaze. He doesn’t laugh, but he does an almost-smile. It’s obvious why Marco’s amused: Jake’s stopped growing at six-foot-three, two-fifty pounds. Between that and the beard, they’ve never resembled each other less. “I’m sorry,” Jake says. “It was just...”

Marco flaps a hand in the air, dismissing this. “Like I’ve never told someone you’re my cousin or team captain or very good friend.” He doesn’t have a dead brother, so he’d never dare to pull out the line Jake just used, but he gets it.

It’s too cold to linger on the sidewalk without a coat. Jake pulls open the door to the café, ushering them both inside. Marco pays for their coffees and Jake lets him, because neither of them talked about it when it was Jake paying for Marco’s arcade passes and cheeseburgers.

“So the beard.” Marco gestures, tilting the rim of his mocha latte. “That’s different. I had wondered how you’d managed to avoid notice all this time.”

Looking down, Jake fiddles with his paper cup of hot chocolate. “I don’t own a phone or computer. It’s as simple as that.”

“Oh, I’m sure and the Kindly Ones using the bodies of nosy journalists to compost their garden have nothing to do with it.”

Jake shrugs. “They’re good people. And they don’t watch the news.”

“Yeah,” Marco says. “Speaking of which.”

All at once, Jake’s whole body goes still. It’s the kind of tension, readiness for violence or flight, that Marco hasn’t seen since the last time he watched Jake drive a knife through the chest of a struggling rabbit. “Something came out,” he says.

Marco shakes his head. “Nothing like that. Not yet, anyway.” Lifting his butt halfway off the chair, he fishes out the scrap of paper Cassie gave him last night.

I know what you did. I won’t keep silent unless you make me. That’s all there is to the note, other than the rough symbol scrawled underneath. It looks like an odd little insect: six limbs on an elongated torso, two extra eyes on stalks, a scorpion-like tail.

• Back then, Tobias was the first one to find the symbol carved into a tree trunk. “Look,” he’d said, voice rising in excitement as he pointed up at it. “Guys, look.”

“What is it?” Rachel squinted at the symbol. “Some kind of alien centaur-thing?”

“Who cares what it is?” Tobias spun in a circle, looking for more marks. “It wasn’t carved by a moose, I can tell you that much. It’s a trail marking, or a property boundary.”

“People,” Rachel breathed.

“Exactly.”

They’d set off crashing through the woods before Jake could point out what a bad idea it was. “Hello!” Tobias had been yelling, when they’d disappeared from sight. “Hello, whoever you are!”

• Then, Cassie had watched them go, had watched Jake go chasing after. It was probably safe enough, as long as they realized they could follow their own tracks back through the mud and slush. Instead she went back to what she’d been doing: tearing their spare jerseys into strips to make bandages. There were a lot of wounded, and not a lot of clean cloths.

Rachel and Jake and Tobias weren’t back when the sun started to go down, and she did her best not to worry.

“We should eat something, right?” That was James, standing on a fallen tree to address them all. “We should each have a small snack.”

That was one of the first moments when they looked around, hoping for an adult or at least someone with some kind of seniority. One of the first moments they realized just how on their own they were.

“Yeah.” Cassie spoke up then. “We should.”

James became the one to divvy up the little bags, that first time, with Marco following as an informal enforcer. (“Two hundred calories per bag of pretzels,” Marco said, “and we can get by on seven hundred a day. We get a pretzel bag or half a trail mix apiece for three meals, and that’ll last us for five days’ worth of food.”)

“Hey,” Cassie said, sitting next to Ax. She’d seen him peering close at the back of the bag of trail mix he’d been handed, frowning at the ingredient list for the chocolate candies. “You’re vegan, right?” His family were religious, even if Tobias tended to eat meat.

He shrugged. “It’s not worth insisting on right now.”

Gently, Cassie took the trail mix out of his hands and handed him her pretzels instead. “It can still matter,” she said. “For now. We’re not giving ourselves up yet.”

Ax had smiled weakly at her, and selected a pretzel. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m not giving myself up.” She leaned back against the log, chewing slow to make the M&Ms last. “We’ll get through this. Even if we have to walk back home.”

There was no answer. Ax was looking at the plane, at the place where his brother’s body was unlikely now ever to be recovered.

“Ax...” Cassie said, feeling like a fool.

“Even if we have to walk.” Ax bit down hard on a pretzel. “We will survive.”

• Then, Tobias had come crashing back later that night, still glowing with good news, to announce the hunter’s cabin he’d found. “There’s a dead guy in the attic,” Rachel had said, as if no big deal, “but I doubt he’s using the place anymore.”

That first night in the cabin, Jake had gone up to the attic alone. It smelled rancid, it had that horrible desiccated corpse watching from the corner, but it was the only place that had privacy away from the cold.

Marco followed, because it was what Marco did; he couldn’t help it.

“I got you, man.” Marco had wrapped firm arms around Jake, had held him too tight. “I got you.”

Jake had crumpled then, but only as far as his knees. Only as far as burying his face in the juncture between Marco’s shoulder and his neck, their skin wet everywhere it intersected. Disgusting, beautiful, whatever.

• Now, Jake agrees to pack a bag and go with Marco for the next few days, even though the Weird Sisters are clearly displeased that he’s conceding to someone who knows about his past. He mumbles a greeting as they pick up Tobias outside a motel that’s really more of a flophouse, and keeps his hands in his pockets as they walk up the front steps to Cassie’s beautifully decorated front parlor.

• Now... “Hi,” Ronnie says to the others, in the kind of voice people use when they’re trying hard to sound casual. “I’m Cassie’s husband.”

It’s pretty clear Tobias has been sleeping rough; he mostly stands in the corner staring at Ronnie. Between his dad dying in the crash, what later happened to Rachel, and Ax’s disappearance, they all tend to agree that he has every right to be even more messed up than the rest of them.

More messed up is saying something — Marco knows why Jake kept the long sleeves on in the San Diego heat, he had Cassie calling him at 4AM last week claiming there were wolves in her backyard — but Tobias can’t help it. They know. It’s why Marco keeps paying for his rehab stints, why Cassie keeps offering her couch for him to sleep on.

“Jake.” Jake becomes the one to shake hands. “Thank you for having us.”

“So this... note.” Cassie gestures to the scrap on the table. “It could be nothing.”

“It could be Ax.” Tobias, of course. He has a tendency to ascribe everything from robocalls to weather patterns to Ax.

“Your relief pitcher?” Ronnie asks.

“Our friend,” Jake says, but there’s no sting to it. “We haven’t seen him since...”

• Then, it’d been six weeks since the plane crashed. Six lonely, cold, hungry weeks. Marco was walking on eggshells around David, Collette around Rachel. They’d eaten the last rabbit Tobias had shot, down to the skin, down to the marrow. Ax, of all people, had quietly suggested taking apart the taxidermied deer head on the wall to boil the skin off that as well.

Jake had floated the idea of doing their own take on Prom because... because the date would soon be right. Because they all had their formal outfits for the banquet anyway. Because it was something to do. Because they all needed a pick-up, with winter coming on. Because they were about to be out of food, again.

Rachel had seized the idea with both hands, of course. She’d gone wild with her makeup kit and the tatters of everyone’s formalwear, tying Jake’s tie and then — laughing at them, much-needed laughter — Marco’s and Ax’s and Tobias’s as well. Cassie was in jeans because she’d already sacrificed her gown to make bandages, but she looked more comfortable that way. Collette’s dye job was grown out several inches (she continued to insist she was a natural blond) but Rachel braided it so that the brown and gold wove together into a pattern.

They’d been beautiful.

• Beautiful or not, once they reached the torchlit clearing they’d stood around in silence for so long that Rachel was about to call the whole thing off.

It was James of all people who’d cleared his throat and started singing: “And I’d give up forever to touch you, ‘cause I know that you feel me somehow...”

“You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be,” Jake sang along with him, Rachel taking up the melody a second later, and by the time they were at the chorus, there were six or seven voices in the clearing.

“What?” James said, when he finished and everyone was staring at him. “I’m only a badass thrash-punk six and a half days a week.”

That got another laugh, so very needed, from the clearing. Pedro made a circling motion in the air, and James turned to look at him.

“Another?” James asked, flushing but looking pleased, and Pedro made a humming noise of agreement.

“Baby’s black balloon makes her fly,” James sang, game enough, “Almost fell into that hole in your life, and you’re not thinking ‘bout tomorrow ‘cause you were the same as me...”

Tobias held out his hand for Rachel, smooth as you please, and they became the first couple twirling across the clearing in each other’s arms, both still singing along. But James had pulled Collette into his arms, he and Elena together holding her up.

And then Marco seized Jake’s hand. Jake jerked back automatically, but Marco thrust up his chin and stared hard challenge into his eyes. The kind of look Jake could never back down from, and Marco knew it.

Jake was a terrible dancer, but that was all right; Marco was a good lead. And if anyone stared, if anyone whispered, then they were looking too hard at each other to know about it.

They’d all felt a little strange, floaty-headed and bobble-eyed. James’s words slurred a little, and none of them were quite balanced. But they were hungry. That had to be it.

Time got vague. Half of them could hear the music, even after James stopped singing.

• Then, there was a scream echoing through the clearing. Instantly Jake had a branch in hand, Ax producing the hunting knife.

It was Rachel who emerged into the clearing, dragging David behind her by a fistful of his hair. She threw him to the ground in the middle of their circle, driving a kick into his side.

“Tell them!” she shouted. “Tell them what you just said to me!”

“Jake.” David rolled to his knees, arms over his head. “Jake, help me, she’s losing it!”

“Okay.” Jake kept his voice level. Anyone else, and he might’ve believed Rachel really had snapped from the stress. But out here David had revealed a side of himself that scared Jake almost as much as the snow and the hunger. He’d started talking about no rules ten minutes after the crash, and hadn’t stopped since. “Why don’t you just tell me what happened. Rachel first, then David.”

“He was talking big.” Rachel spat. “Trying to impress me. And then he said...” She leaned close to David, snarling. “Tell them. Go ahead. Tell them.”

“David?”

“I didn’t, I didn’t, I was just, I was lying, okay?” He hadn’t dropped his arms. “I was just making it up, it was just a joke.”

“What did he say,” Jake said.

“He found the plane’s emergency beacon.” Rachel’s fists shook, but her voice was steady. “The first day. He found it — and he smashed it with a rock.”

Jake felt his whole body go cold. He’d been expecting something sexual, something pressuring and gross, but... but this...

A body slammed Jake on its way past. Marco, screaming, wild with rage. He’d taken off running at David, who’d dragged himself to his feet and sprinted into the woods. Rachel was half a step behind Marco, and Tobias keeping up with Rachel. No sign of James, or of Pedro, but there were more bodies out rushing through the trees after David. David was crashing away, and then he was screaming, and then he wasn’t.

Wait, Jake considered saying. Stop. Only he didn’t. He and Collette looked at each other, and they listened to what was happening in the clearing on the other side of the ridge.

• Now, Cassie pours them all coffees, examining each of their faces. Marco’s unreadable under the makeup and big hair. Jake looks healthier than she thought possible: full-faced, broad-bellied, laugh lines starting around his eyes. Tobias is loose-skinned and skitter-eyed, but at least the track marks she can see all look old. What do they think of her, she wonders, with broad hips and grey in her braids.

“Ronnie,” she says quietly.

He pushes to his feet. “I’ll give you the room. Nice to meet you all.”

This is a reason she loves him: that he understands there are things he’ll never understand. That there are things she can only talk about with her boys, her fellow survivors. Like how, her first hot shower after getting rescued, she orgasmed so hard it felt like a panic attack. Like how she can’t stand the sight of supermarket meat, fragments of body parts sealed in plastic, but she’ll butcher and cook any livestock who die under her care.

But then, there are things the two white boys and the Latino movie star standing in her kitchen will never understand either. Things only Ronnie can appreciate.

So Cassie’s been complete. She’s been good, all things considered.

And now this. One damn thing after another.

• Now, Tobias doesn’t care what they think about him when he says again, “It could be Ax.”

“Ax has been in a funny farm in Germany since I don’t know when,” Marco says.

“Switzerland,” Jake says, at the same time Cassie murmurs, “That’s rude.”

Marco rolls his eyes, smudged day-old eyeliner exaggerating the motion. “Fine, Mom and Dad, he’s in a mental health facility in Switzerland.”

“Why would Ax blackmail us?” Jake asks, more pragmatically.

Tobias doesn’t have an answer for that one. He looks away, out the window at Cassie’s sprawling backyard. Seems like they only went two ways after rescue: soaring to success in politics (Cassie) and media (Marco), or going to ground. Tobias self-medicates; Ax pays other people to medicate him. Ax’s way probably works better, but Tobias’s is faster.

• Then, Jake had hiked back out to the site of the plane crash six months after it went down. In case some remains of the signal beacon were there. In case there was a bag of pretzels, a single solitary gummy bear, that they had missed. In case...

Coach Alan’s body was the one he saw first. Coach Alan’s skeleton, rather. The flesh had been cut away in gouts and chunks, pulled loose from the limbs and torso to expose lengths of rib and femur.

Jake staggered back, hand coming to his mouth. Craig’s body beyond looked intact, but. He couldn’t— he couldn’t— Tom—

There was a crunch from outside, and Jake spun around, hot bile in his throat.

“Hi.” James stepped into the fuselage through its torn-off front end, expression carefully neutral. “I figured this conversation was coming sooner or later.”

“You.” Jake looked from the stripped body — Ax’s brother, Tobias’s dad — to James. “You...”

“I chose to keep my friends alive.” James shoved his hands in his pockets. “Just like Rachel did.”

“Don’t say that!” Jake snapped. “David might’ve doomed us all, and Rachel didn’t have a choice.”

“We had a choice about eating him,” James said levelly. “And we chose right, didn’t we.”

Jake shook his head, shook it again. None of them had been in their right minds that night — something in the soup, something in the air. That was a mistake, and it wouldn’t happen again.

“Jake.” James took a step toward Jake. “We have to talk about this. I know you’re hoping for rescue, and so am I. But we have to make it that far, first.”

“We?” Jake said coldly. “Where’s all this...” Again he pointed at Coach Alan. “Been going, James? Because if any of it has made the communal soup pot, most of us haven’t seen it.”

“You’re right.” James shrugged. “I’ve been coming here, harvesting, and giving it to my friends. Your little clique seemed fine with getting first crack at every rabbit Tobias brings back.”

Jake was shaking his head harder, ears ringing. “We have to live with ourselves. We have to act like human beings. Not— not sharks eating their own. If nothing else, we have to all be together on this.”

“I’m keeping my friends alive,” James said. He took another step toward Jake. The hunting knife was on his belt. “I’m doing what it takes.”

Jake didn’t move. “Listen to me!” he shouted. “Listen to me, we are not doing this. Or at minimum, we’re putting it to a vote, and we’re discussing it as a team.”

“Thanks, captain,” James said. “But no thanks.”

Jake shoved him hard in the chest. James stumbled, taking a step back. “We keep everyone alive,” Jake snapped. “We act for the good of everyone. You want to lead? Fine, lead. But just because you’re hungry, that doesn’t mean you get to be selfish. Call for a vote about what we do while we wait.”

“Hungry?” The contempt was stronger now, twisting the corner of James’s mouth. “Of course I’m hungry, you fool.” He planted both hands on Jake’s chest, not shoving back, just applying pressure.

“So are they. A vote—”

“Let’s just acknowledge the elephant in the room here, Jake.” James dropped his hands. “The good of everyone is going to end with all my friends dead, well before yours kick it.”

Jake opened his mouth. “That’s not—”

“Pedro’s my roommate. Collette’s my best friend, and Elena’s with her. I was...” James pointed to the seat to his left. “Sitting there. Pedro next to me, Collette and Kelly across the way. I’m supposed to be in the same boat as them. And you know what they all have in common?”

Of course Jake knew. Collette was paralyzed, Elena couldn’t see. They weren’t sure how the hit on the head had affected Pedro, partially because he was having trouble talking enough to explain his symptoms to them.

“If it comes to a vote, to waiting for rescue, they lose,” James said. “If we’re going to be all equal and civilized, then...” He shrugged. “My money’s on Cassie to be the last to starve. That catcher’s bulk has served her well so far. But maybe it’ll be Marco, since he’s smaller and needs less. Heck, Tobias could probably provide for himself forever if he was only catching squirrels for one.”

Jake shook his head, shook it again. “That’s not...”

“You’re trying to save your friends,” James said. “I’m trying to save mine.”

• Now, Tobias leans against Cassie’s island. “Guys,” he says, “there’s something you should know about Ax.”

He’s back stateside. He reached out to Tobias a few weeks ago. Something about a compound where a lot of people like them — damaged, not quite right — are gathering to support each other. Ax has been talking to it, he said in that call, and wouldn’t say how.

“He said he can help us settle,” Tobias tells the group. “He said he knows what it wants, and—”

“It.” Marco’s whole face twists with the force of his sneer. “It. What, the fucking mountain? Last I checked, we left that out in the Canadian Rockies where we found it.”

“Not the mountain,” Cassie says. “You know that’s not what he meant.”

“Fine!” Marco throws up both hands, drops them to his sides. “Then it doesn’t exist. The One is a fucknugget, just on the off chance it does.”

“Don’t think anyone said it wasn’t a fucknugget,” Jake says. “But might still be worth to find out what it wants.”

• Then, Ax had known what Jake hadn’t said, what Jake had found — and not found — out at the airplane.

“The wilderness provides,” Ax said, because it was the only way to make sense of it all. “The mountain has taken so much, and there’s nothing saying it won’t give something back occasionally.”

Jake stared in stunned silence, the small bundle of desiccated flesh limp in his arms. Like a man who’d braced so hard for impact he had no choice but to fall when the impact didn’t come.

“Okay,” James said. “Okay. I’ll get some water boiling.”

• Then, it’d lasted another eight months. What they’d taken from the airplane. What they’d taken from David. Tobias brought back a squirrel a week, sometimes two, sometimes even a pair of rabbits. But two rabbits among ten people stretched to less soup than would fill an eight-ounce coffee cup, and squirrels stretched less than that.

• Then, at first thaw, Marco had been the one to suggest they hike for it. A smaller team, a dash down the mountain and straight east as far as they could go. East because it was easier to keep track of, with the sun rising nearly dead-on that way now that spring had come. East, because they had to go some way. East. Until they found help, or until they couldn’t go further.

• Ax and Tobias made the first attempt. Two weeks they’d been gone. And they’d made it back to the cabin, eventually. Barely. They’d been limping, injured, so exhausted and hungry that their steps were a staggering line even as Tobias half-carried Ax to join the others.

“Fuck this,” Rachel had said, around the fire that night. “Seriously, fuck this. We’re not getting rescued, we don’t have the strength to walk out, and we don’t have anymore fresh meat. We’re all slowly starving to death.”

“So what do you suggest?” Jake said, weary and hoarse. “We sent Tobias because he can hunt, and Ax because...”

Because Ax knew more than anyone wanted to admit it was possible to know, about the whims of the thing keeping them here.

“You know.” Rachel looked at Jake, fist clenched around the knife, teeth bared. “You know.”

“We’re all still okay,” Jake said. “We’re still—”

“We’re skin and bones,” she snapped. “Our fucking teeth are falling out, Jake, and our nails are coming off. James is dying. Collette will probably go next. We need to act, now, or—”

“No.” Jake pushed to his feet, which took effort. His knees hadn’t worked right in weeks. “No. We’re not discussing this.”

“Damn right we’re not.” Rachel was on her feet as well, and she had Tobias’s gun in her hand. Now everyone was standing, all shouting, Ax trying to pry the rifle away and Marco grabbing at Rachel’s arm. She wrenched loose of them all, and raised the gun before anyone could react.

“We are not,” Jake shouted, “drawing lots!”

“Agreed.” And then Rachel swung the gun around, and she’d hooked the toe of her shoe through the trigger guard.

There was a gunshot. So loud, that none of them heard her hit the ground.

• Cassie was the first to react.

Ax was crying, Collette too. Marco was gagging like he’d throw up if he’d eaten anything at all this week. But Cassie didn’t hesitate, grabbing the knife where Rachel had dropped it on the ground.

“We do not waste this sacrifice.” She spoke loud, over everyone’s ringing ears. She was crying too, but her teeth were bared. “We do not. Now, all of you, help me.”

• Then, they’d split up a second time. James’s prediction was coming true: Cassie and Jake, Tobias and Marco and Ax, were the strongest ones left. Cassie and Jake for their fat reserves before the crash, Marco for his small stature and slow metabolism, Ax and Tobias because they knew the most about survival. They were the natural team to go down and east, down and east until they couldn’t anymore.

But Cassie stayed. To cook, to be medic as much as she could. To get the last of Rachel’s marrow where it could do some good. Jake begged her to come, but Cassie had stayed with James and the wounded ones.

• Then, they’d walked, the four boys, for another month. The tips of their toes had gone black, later to be amputated, as had the littlest fingers of both Jake’s hands. Tobias had shot until he ran out of shot, had brought back a decaying fox that writhed with maggots and had boiled the maggots into a nasty stew because the fox itself wasn’t safe to eat. Marco cried with hunger, and cried again with joy when Ax had come across the batch of fiddleheads. He didn’t care who saw.

Ax cut himself, every night when they stopped. He let blood he couldn’t afford to lose, and at some point Jake stopped trying to get him to stop.

Tobias settled for thanking the rabbits, the birds, the fox and even the maggots. He thanked the fiddleheads and dandelions, when those were what they could find.

He thanked Rachel.

• It’d happened anticlimactically: the forest ended. First on a clear-cut, then on a logging road, then on a suburban backyard.

“Who the fuck are you,” said the homeowner, when they stumbled and shuffled up to his back porch. “And what the fuck do you want.”

He had a pistol on his belt, the kind that people who didn’t know shit about guns bought just to have. He wasn’t shy about pushing his coat back to show it, but then there was the rifle slung back over Tobias’s shoulder.

“We don’t mean any harm, sir,” Jake rasped. “We were in a plane cr—”

“Get the fuck off my lawn.”

Holding up their hands, they went. Behind them, the guy made no secret about dialing 911 and loudly starting a conversation with the cops.

Good, Jake thought. That was what they needed, anyway.

• Now, they drive, Cassie at the wheel this time because no one trusts Tobias and Jake claims not to have a license. Tobias has the pair of coordinates from the text he received, and Cassie’s GPS app is wiling to take latitude and longitude as input. Marco sleeps at last, but only because Jake is there. (“Hold me,” he muttered, so soft the others can’t hear. “I don’t know what’ll happen.”) Jake does as he’s told, and so nothing much does happen.

• Cassie finds the place easy enough, because although it doesn’t have an address as such, it does have a road. Maybe Ax is up there, she thinks, looking at the gate. Maybe it is. Maybe just a bunch of hippies with soola root and too much spare time. Maybe something a hell of a lot weirder.

“We doing this?” It’s Jake, coming around the side of the car, hands stuffed in his coat pockets.

“I’m not right,” Cassie says bluntly. “You’re not either. But maybe we can figure it out, if we... I don’t know, if we listen carefully enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake says.

“About?” But she knows, and that’s why her tone is sharp even though she doesn’t mean it to be.

“That week.”

Cassie looks away. She knows what week; they’ve had this conversation before. “Let’s go, okay?”

• Then, it took a week — seven full days and nights — for the search party to find the cabin. Jake had described its location the best he could, and Tobias even drew a rough map, but it wasn’t enough to narrow down an entire mountain range all that quickly. One entire week, to find the other half of their party. This, after over a month of walking to get out.

Collette was dead, by the time they got there. James was dead, Pedro, Elena. Only Cassie left. She’d kept them going as long as she could, had stretched the meat and had resorted to boiling bark, boiling grass. Boiling Collette, when it came to that.

It wasn’t enough. She wasn’t enough.

Cassie didn’t talk about those weeks that she’d waited, or about what happened to the others. She didn’t talk much at all, those first months back. But of the survivors, she was also the only one to finish a college degree. To get into vet tech work full-time, animal welfare activism on the side.

• Now, Cassie puts both hands on the right gate, and Jake on the left. Her boots slip in the mud as she struggles for purchase, but Tobias is there shoving next to her. Marco gets a shoulder next to Jake’s end, and together they force the door.

The plan was to load back into her car and go up the hill, but there’s a figure standing on the other side, backlit by the sun. Ax. Or someone who looks like Ax. Or something who looks like him.

“You have done well, to come this far.”

#animorphs #yellowjackets #animorphs fic #long post #crossover #animorphs au #yellowjackets au #very long post #cannibalism #gore #character death #self harm #body horror #it's animorphs AND yellowjackets y'all #it gets grody #seriously long post #even by my standards #i recommend switching on auto readmores if you follow me

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akathecentimetre · 6 months

Text

I FICCED AGAIN. But this definitely requires some explanation.

Simply put, I am a huge nerd. I'm in a huge phase of a) adoring the music of Handel and b) adoring the skill of countertenor Iestyn Davies, and so a while back I wrote a thing about the sweet triad of Rodelinda (queen), Bertarido (her king/husband, incorrectly thought dead) and Unolfo (Bertarido's still-loyal counsellor). Davies has played both Unolfo - in the 2011 Met production of Rodelinda that informed that first fic - and Bertarido, as I heard him do at Carnegie Hall just last week and in several other productions.

The images above are from him playing Bertarido in an English National Opera (ENO) production from 2014. If anyone out there happens to know if a video of this show exists, I will literally kill for it. And here is a little fangirl take on the sheer awfulness that exists at the heart of this opera, regardless of its happy ending. Massive thanks, as ever, to @agarthanguide for being my best enabler.

Unolfo’s blood is drying on his palm, tacky, heavy as mercury. Bertarido closes his fist, and the tide crashes in. Gundeberto had always been the soldier of the three of them. His brother the king, The Avaricious; the crude hacker of limbs, the bloodletter. Eduige, stern and straight-backed, was more suited to politics, the game of shadows and false appearances. Bertarido had always felt himself the one left over, the reluctant ruler, the Platonic striver after moderation. Gundeberto had died as he lived, gasping and cackling through the blood in his mouth, while Bertarido had been swept away from him on the battlefield and left for lost as the corpses rotted and stank. Passive. Weak. Concerned overmuch with virtue. These epithets have followed him all his life. I shall string their guts along my gates, he thinks, and the words become fire within him as he stares at his trembling hand. Unolfo, his dearest counsellor, his only loyal friend. He had been warm to Bertarido’s touch when the wayward knife slipped between his ribs, his blood quickened, Bertarido now knows, by the excited hope of saving his sovereign. His own name, splattered across Unolfo’s shoulders, has been tainted by the dark fears that had grown around Bertarido in his prison, in the filthy, festering dungeon of his enemies’ making. They have done this. Bertarido whispers it to himself as he stalks through the palace, striding from shadow to shadow, his vision narrowing and swimming at its edges. He has spent months railing against fate, against fortuna, against unshaped forces he has until now believed ruled his destiny as it was sadly cut short. He believes that no longer. Them. Grimoaldo, the tottering, frightened, pathetic usurper. Garibaldo, the true cruelty behind the false king, shorn of principles, delighting in misery. He puts names to previously blank faces. These men, these horrors, are real. It was not Fortuna who put a knife to the throat of Bertarido’s son, who oppressed his cabinet and ignored his people. Who has done God only knows what to his wife. Bertarido nearly stumbles, his breath caught in his throat. The pain rises, choking, and he clutches at a nearby doorframe as he lets out a dry retch, wracked into immobility for a brief moment of his rampage. They must die. The words swim through him so naturally that, were he not so overwhelmed, he would chastise himself. Mercy be damned. Until this moment, sweet, melancholy daydreams of what should have been have always risen to the forefront of his thoughts. Rodelinda, resplendent, smiling gently, maternal, catching his eye in a flash of passion as Flavio, dutiful and strong, nods to him. Unolfo hovering, immaculate as ever, promising and providing stability. His mind reaches, grasps – but it is gone, the peaceful world of his past shattered. Bertarido takes in a sharp breath, and something within him mocks all his hopes; mocks the very idea that it could ever have been thus again, what with everything that has happened in between. His bare, torn feet have somehow known where to take him. He stands back at the threshold of the dungeon, staring at the cooling pool of blood where Unolfo had so recently lain. Someone else has been here since – he can see other footprints on the grimy floor – but he cares not to speculate on who it might have been. Bertarido leans down; hefts the sword that was so recently pressed with glee against his own chest, the absurd weight of it. They will pay for what they have taken from me. His God is a forgiving one, he has been told. He turns away to seek his quarry, and sets out to put his reputation to rest.

#written by Caz #fanfiction #opera #operablr #handel #rodelinda #iestyn davies #The Lad #I literally wrote this while livestreaming the Messiah at Trinity Wall Street #can you feel the nerdiness?!?

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the-fiction-witch · 4 months

Text

Five Bucks

Media Godless

Character Whitey Winn

Couple Whitey X Reader

Rating Suggestive + Cute

I sat in my rocking hair out on my porch sipping my beer watching as the hot spring sun began to set below the New Mexico horizon bringing us all a few hours of respite from the harsh heat and blistering sun,

"Evening Mary Agnes," A voice spoke up making me look down the street where I saw Kallie in her usual blue skirt and white blouse, parasol in hand to keep her from the sun that remained, she was walking on her way to the hotel clearly fresh finished with a walk,

"Evening Callie, Gone on a walk?"

"That's right, hotels empty. Not much else to do."

"Fair enough, A drink?"

"No thank you,"

"Evenin' Ladies," Another voice spoke up making us both turn our attention, and we were immediately taken back.

Stood heading down the street himself was Whitey Winn, looking rather unusual for himself. He walked the dusty LaBelle street his boots dusted and cleaned, his britches clean and pressed, his shirt crisp and white, his jumper dusted and clean, his skin a fresh clean and soft, his nails clean, his hair clean and fluffy slightly damp on the ends, his hat dusted and clean on his head, his gunbelts still on but cleaned up and polished, even the fuzz he insisted on keeping above his lip was trimmed and clean, Christ even from here we both knew he'd had a bath and as he approached more his usual scent of ripe, sour dirt and sweat replaced by the scent of lilies and lavender.

Callie and I looked at each other and I admit I questioned for a moment...

"Who are ya? and what have you done to whitey?" I asked half as a joke and yet part of me was legitimately concerned, I don't think I'd seen whitey like this in.... uhh... ever.

"Very funny Maggie," He chuckled, "You ladies have a nice night," He nodded as he tipped his hat to his and carried on his way,

Callie and I met eyes and both smiled a little,

"Five Bucks says I know where he's going."

"Alright," She nodded hopping up my porch and taking a seat on the bench beside my chair, "And your bet is?"

"I'll hear yours first."

"...I think... He's heading to the office. Trying to convince Bill he's worth a promotion? or maybe Bill's just sick of his stank." She laughed,

"A good guess, good guess. I think, He's going to Y/n's."

"He might be," she nodded,

We egarly sat and watched Whitey as he headed across the town of course young Y/n Y/l/n's house was only just across from the Sheriff's office so as he approached we both sat on the edge of our seats but he climbed Y/n's porch,

"Told Ya,"

"Alright, alright you were night Mary Agnes. Just still surprised, to see Whitey get so dressed up."

"As am I, Boy rarely takes a damn bath If I'd known all it took was Y/n flashing her ankles at him I'd have slipped her a few bucks a week just to make sure the boy has a regular bath."

"I think it's sweet,"

"Sweet?"

"Yeah," she nodded as we watched him knock on Y/n's door and she happily opened it, they greeted each other fondly with a kiss and he headed inside with her the door snapping shut behind them, "You have to admit it is kinda cute, seeing whitey so excited to please his little lady,"

"Callie... given your prior occupation you really think having a bath is all he's doing to please her?"

"I should hope he's doing much more, for y/n's sake." She chuckled, "We've all felt that sing of being utterly in love with a boy, you get him into bed and he's as much use as a silver petticoat,"

"True, I wouldn't know what to think Whitey knows..."

"Still I think it's sweet, Little Whitey all grown up and cleaned up for his date it's ever so sweet,"

"It is a little sweet seeing him all grown up," I nodded, "Another five bucks says he'll be out in forty minutes sweaty and trying to breathe,"

"thirty minutes."

"Deal," I laughed, so we each got another drink and chatted with each other until we spotted Y/n's door open and out came a very tired, sweaty Whitey only in his britches and shirt leaning on the porch for some air,

"Time?"

"Thirty-two minuets."

"Yeah!" she laughed,

"Alright alright you win," I laughed, "Good going Whitey," I raised my drink,

"Good Boy whitey," she laughed as we toasted, "Five bucks says she comes out to tug him back in?"

"I say two minutes he runs back in to her?"

"Deal," she smirked, so we did our best to watch without him knowing we were watching, as he got his breath and straightened up fixing his shirt, and rubbing his neck where a Hickie was already obvious, He stood and glanced back into Y/n's house,

"Ohhh he's thinking about it," I smirked, "Come on you know you want to Whitey,"

"No no come on Y/n we all know this ain't over after one session of thirty-two minutes,"

But we saw Y/n come out in her nightie wrap her arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss tugging him back into the house shutting the door again,

"Yes! I win!"

"Alright, it was close though,"

"It was, it was that was a close one," I nodded,

"You remember being that... Loved up for your hubby?"

"Loved up?"

"Excited. egar. desperate for one another when you first got married?"

"Yeah we were," I nodded, "it's the honeymoon phase all you wanna do is throw each other on the bed every five seconds when you first get married,"

"Even if they ain't married,"

"We all did stuff there age too."

"I know, there young let them have their fun,"

"We all know whitey'd Marry her if the preacher was here,"

"You think he would?"

"course he would," I laughed, "Damn Boy loves that girl..."

"Yeah, She loves him too. They're a very cute little couple they love each other very much." She nodded, "Plus it would be sweet as hell to have some little ones running around here again,"

"Ohh God whitey's little ones..." I chuckled, "It's a little strange,"

"How so?"

"...To think, there not kids anymore." I told her, "I remember whitey being born, I remember Y/n arriving when she was knee high, I remember then two running around the streets playing bank robbers with the other kids,"

"whitey was always the hero," She laughed, "Y/n's was always his damsel to save,"

"I guess... In my mind, they're both still kids." I explained, "Funny to see them now, all grown up, so in love, and to think the streets could be filled with their own kids,"

"It is strange, but... I suppose that's just what happens when you get old."

"I ain't old."

"Maggie, we all are." she nodded, "Bills going blind, bar keep can't pour a shot straight, dalila's lost her marbles, we have to face it. We had our time in the sun, but the sun don't shine for us anymore"

"You're right, it doesn't." I nodded,

"It shines for Trudy and for Luke, for Whitey and Y/n, and their little ones. World moves on from us all we can do is hope to hell we gave them enough to get them though it too."

"Wise words,"

"I ain't just a whore ya know Maggie,"

"I know, you've always been way more then that. And you make a good school marme."

"I think I do alright for falling into it, Another five bucks says Y/n's gonna be preggo by next month,"

"...Deal" I chuckled,

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babygirl-snugglefucks · 5 months

Note

Shit. You’re sitting at the bar, exactly where you said you would be, wearing the blue floral top that would help him identify you. The first rum & Coke that you ordered to keep yourself busy while you waited for him has now been joined by several others; you, however, are still alone. You check your messages, again.

“David: “omw “

But that was at 9:37, over an hour ago. Your follow-up texts have gone unanswered, your calls go straight to voicemail. “Shit,” you say again. This attracts the attention of the man sitting a few stools down from you. He slides his drink in your direction, almost spilling it, as he stumbles closer to you. He’s a not unattractive person, middle aged, no wedding ring. You’re about to consider talking to him when the smell - whiskey and stale cigarette smoke and the foulest B.O. that you’ve ever smelled - stop the words dead in your throat, and you visibly recoil. No wonder he’s sitting alone.

As you turn to leave, someone grabs your arm “Katie! Oh my god! I was just thinking about you!” It’s a girl about your own age, in jeans and a hoodie from the local college. Green eyes framed by long brown hair look into yours with concern. Before you can tell her that you’re not Katie, she starts guiding you away from the bar. “I’ve seen that guy before, and he’s a total fucking creeper. It’s a good thing his stank acts like an early warning system. And you look like a girl who’s been stood up.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Dammit, I was looking forward to this. He was hot, and I was hoping to get laid.”

“Girl, I hear ya! Hey, can I give you a ride? My car’s right outside.” It’s a short walk home for you, but you weren’t planning on going home alone. And she seems friendly enough. “Sure,” you say, and follow her into the parking lot. You get into her little silver Hyundai and she pulls a box of Tic-Tacs from the console. “Breath mint?” she offers, “y’know, just in case we get pulled over, haha!” She pours 3 or 4 of the little pills into your palm, then appears to pop a few into her own mouth. The mint tastes a little strange, but it’s probably not meant to mix with rum and Coke.

She pulls into the street and asks, “so, where am I taking ya? I'm Steph, by the way.” You tell her your address, but she doesn’t seem to listen. “Got it,” she says, without changing direction. “Hey, I got one little stop to make before I drop you home, okay?” ‘Can’t you drop me off first,’ is what you want to say. “Okay,” is what comes out of your mouth, with too much effort. All those rum and Cokes seem to be ganging up on you now. “Thanks… I’m really… drunk.” “Don’t worry, babe! I’m taking care of you.”

You wake up slightly when you feel the car stop. The door is opened, and a large masculine figure helps you stand up. Then he easily picks up your slight frame, and carries you towards a small house. It’s not yours. You want to protest- you’re not supposed to be here! But your voice and limbs are not cooperating. You are carried through the door, then dumped on the dirty living room carpet. You register the smells first - weed and alcohol, the stale grease of empty pizza boxes and chicken buckets. Then you realize you’re not alone. You notice five or six guys standing around you before your vision goes completely blue- someone is pulling your top over your head; another pair of hands grabs your bra and yanks the clasp apart. You struggle, but your jeans are easily slid down your legs, dragging your cotton panties with them. The pink scrap of cloth is shoved into your mouth, and you realize with shame and excitement that your pussy is soaked. You can taste your arousal in the cotton.

Your vision is still obscured by your shirt, so you have no idea what the first man to take you looks like. Powerful hands are holding your legs apart, and you feel pressure at the entrance to your vagina. A grunt, and he forces himself into you. Your scream at the sudden pain is muffled by the panties in your mouth. The invading cock withdraws, then slams back into you. Again. Again. He finally grunts and floods you with his hot seed, then pulls out, and exclaims, “You got us a virgin! Great work, Stephy!”

A belt buckle jangles, and another cock is working its way inside you. This one feels even bigger than the first. You shake your head, and the shirt covering your face slips to the side. A colossal chest of chocolate brown skin fills your vision. You look down and you realize that even though his cock is filling you entirely, he still has another 2 or 3 inches to give you. A sudden jet of warm goo landing on your face and in your eye alerts you to a third man standing above you. As you turn your head to the side to let the cum drip out of it, you see Steph leaning against the wall, one hand clutching a wad of cash, the other one busily working inside the open crotch of her jeans. The massive cock spasms inside you, and fills you again with sperm. You pass out.

Daylight filters in through your bedroom windows, waking you. The throbbing pain of the hangover, and the pain in your vagina and asshole - they took that, too! - let you know that last night wasn’t just a dream. Ignoring the traces of blood and cum and your own juices staining the sheets, you reach for the glass of water on your bedside table. Instead, you pick up your phone. There are three crisp $100 bills folded neatly under it, and a new message from David:

“Thanks for a great time last night! Let’s do it again soon. ❤️ Steph”

#dadsecrets #ask #story #thanks

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idkwhatimdoingbutslay · 1 year

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My Personal Ranking of Arcane CaitVi Moments + Poll for their Best Moment

This was harder than it should’ve been

1. Council Meeting + Oil and Water: There’s just something about the last episodes that have me in a chokehold. Them standing with each other, fighting for each other, Cassandra’s approval to go after Vi, then they break up even though they were never dating ????? My heart belongs to them. They’re just so attached to each other and it’s way more than "they have romantic feelings for each other and kinda wanna get it on," but they’re dedicated to each other. Full on respect and appreciation. Vi thinking this is her protecting the two of them and Caitlyn wanting nothing more than for Vi to stay but she makes the decision and leaves anyway, UGHHHHH

2. Everything after Oil and Water: Again, the last episodes. The one thing that finally tied the two of them together, a unique bond. They’ve been through so much together after such a short amount of time and they have to be each other’s solid rock. Jinx calling Caitlyn Vi’s girlfriend then Vi being scared Caitlyn’s head is on that platter, then Vi not being able to let Jinx kill Caitlyn even though Jinx has been her motivating force throughout her ENTIRE LIFE. Don’t even get me STARTED ON THAT FRICKING SHOWER. They’re so in love. ALSO, their final shot of Vi holding onto Caitlyn and supporting and protecting her (plus the fact that she doesn't use her gauntlet hand for it). So good.

3. Brothel Scenes + Saviour Caitlyn: One word: iconic. Vi is such a mess but Caitlyn will always be there to pick the pieces up. Their banter and them disliking each other but finally learning to trust each other is complete gold. PLUS: YOU'RE SO SWEET, LIKE A CUPCAKE!!!!

4. Bridge Scenes: THAT HUG, THAT KNEE PAT, ALL THE FACE TOUCHES, CONCERNED VI, VI RUNNING INTO THE MESS FOR CAITLYN, CAITLYN GOING IN TO PROTECT VI FROM THE SHOTS UNTIL SHE (VI) PUSHED HER (CAITLYN) AWAY SO SHE DOESNT GET HURT!!!!! No words, they’re just in love. The way these scenes just show their growing connection and need is simply so important to me.

5. Tie between Firelight Hideout Scenes and Caitlyn Releasing Vi from Prison + Everything After: Firelight Hideout scenes showed us more of their banter, Caitlyn’s amazing line, “this city needs healing,” and Vi gazing at Caitlyn like she was in love. Them in the sunlight is actually just gorgeous, but the fact that Ekko says “Vi says I can trust at you,” and Cait before that going, “It’s me you want,” just tops that. I don’t think Vi said this (Caitlyn can be trusted) because she fell for Caitlyn at that point, but because she knew that Caitlyn wasn’t on the side she was fighting against. She was practically harmless to her and, if anything, very useful. This is where I believe Vi starts appreciating Cait. Then, Caitlyn releasing Vi from prison then the wild goose chase that follows is just so fun. Vi’s new jacket and Cait’s new fit, Jericho’s food stand (they’re so annoying to each other at first, it’s amazing), it’s all so great. But… I cringe every time I hear Caitlyn go, “That place looks like it has bodies in the basement.” I know she was making a silly joke but it irks me knowing Vi’s history and reaction. Makes me scared and nervous that they wouldn't be able to move past that not so harmless joke (even though I know they do) and really shows you the differences they have to overcome.

6. Tie between Vi’s Old Home and Bedroom Scenes: Okay, so this is, like, ridiculously low. I love these scenes a ton, but their thing is that they’re the least subtle. It doesn’t feel like total yearning it just feels like a relationship (WHICH ISNT A BAD THING). Caitlyn didn't seem like she was pulling away from Vi because she was questioning how she feels for her (or her breath stank), but because Vi was out of her mind. Again, not a bad thing and these scenes are fantastic. This might be so low because I’ve read so many fics and analyses about them that they’re just there to me. UGH BUT I LOVE THEM. Them climbing into Caitlyn’s window, Cassandra and Tobias busting in, them breaking down the sign, those FACE TOUCHES. Caitlyn giving up her prized possession for this hot criminal she hardly knows???? Gosh, I can’t deal. (Should I switch this 5th and 6th 😭).

7. Mini Caitlyn and Vi being connected without them knowing: Threw this in here for fun. I love the idea of Mini CaitVi interacting, they’d be the absolute cutest. This just adds layers to their relationship. As if they were destined to be together. Like the world has been pushing them together for so long without them even knowing.

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diseasedcube · 1 year

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Cutthwoat thwows uppy

Something must have been wrong with you, accepting a meal from a stranger. But hey, when someone offers to buy you mcnuggies, do you decline? Hell no, even if said stranger looked suspiciously like a man you’ve seen on the news many times before, what crime did he commit again? Well, it didn’t matter at the time, free food is free food, even if the coins he used to pay came from what looked to be a woman’s wallet that certainly couldn’t be his, and his fingers had dark flecks of red to match those on the cash. You’d never seen a man scarf down so many nuggets in your life, but who were you to judge when he was feeding you?

You had nothing to worry about in life except the nuggets in your belly as you thanked him for the meal and turned to walk home. It shortly became apparent that you were being followed, and by who other than the white clad nuggets man himself. The wanted pictures of him started to take shape more clearly in your head as you glanced back, only to see a knife in his hand. Well, your luck for the day could only have lasted so long, hopefully it could last just long enough to outrun him though.

The holy Shinkansen had other plans for you that day though, giving your short legged figure the tallest murderer in the world to outpace. And really, for as much as you strained, the sloshing nuggets in your stomach were not giving you any strength that they appeared to grant him, for he had already caught up to you.

His speed and weight sent you both tumbling over the pavement in a roll, he ended up on top. Breathing oh so disgustingly close to your face, his teeth were surprisingly gorgeous and perfect, though his breath stank of processed meat and…was that fresh blood you smelled? Just stab me already, thank you for the meal, I guess this is my payment for trusting strangers, you thought.

But he didn’t do anything, his breathing became open mouthed and almost heaving, this was quite the pale man, but you could swear he was almost turning green under the red street lights. Beads of sweat dripped onto you, and you wished you could squirm away from the saliva that dripped from his open mouth. A drop landed on your cheek and if you hadn’t been pinned to the floor by a wanted murderer, you’d be wiping it off and maybe screaming and running by now, but you could hardly move away.

You wished he’d just do something already, kill you, release you, anything. The dry heaving was getting really concerning, more so than the predicament you already were placed in. He could at least move his face a few inches back, it was as if he was going in for a kiss but he never tried to close contact.

Then, oh god no, retching sounds. With his body pressing upon yours, you felt every convulsion he made, and you were far too close for comfort to watch his pink eyes water and roll back. You wriggled and writhed but there was no escaping your fate. The nuggets you had both enjoyed only minutes earlier were being sent on a projectile course right towards your face. An involuntary gasp at the liquid and chunks splashing your cheeks allowed some to drip in your mouth, and this only led to your gag reflex activating too. Now you felt your nuggets coming up, his vomit scented breath in your nostrils was only quickening the bile making its way up. Laying on your back was the worst position for this, as your own mcdonald’s sludge burbled like a geyser in your mouth, allowing his liquids to seep onto your tongue for your vomits to mix. You could feel yourself choking on it, unable to even turn your head to properly swallow it or spit out this abhorrent mixture of fluids, you felt consciousness fade as the mysterious mcdonalds man hovered over you and you aspirated to death.

“Rip in peace, my precious nugget darling” he whispered to you as you died.

@herdisturbedheart big mcthankies from mcspankies for the idea 🥰

#rave ramblees #akudama drive #tw vomit #long post #i didn't get to include anything about self harm in this one unfortunately 😔 I'll have to think of a new scenario for that #but I hope this is sufficiently gross and vomit filled for your liking #consider this an addition to your birthday gift

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gintrinsic-writing · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 8: Head Injury (Four)

CW: mentions of depression and dissociative identity disorder, the mislabeling of another person’s identity, panic attacks, injuries

I began outlining this idea many months ago, but after seeing the reactions to Sunset pt. 9 I decided to put it on hold out of concern for backlash. Please understand that the lack of sensitivity from certain characters does not reflect my way of thinking.

—

Sunlight bequeathed the dungeon's exit a stunning silhouette. The vines hanging from the doorway looked like golden chains fastened with flowers, and the meadow beyond was filled with tall grass that rippled like a bolt of silk in the sunlight. It looked beautiful, almost ethereal. It also looked far away.

Four clung to the bottom of Twilight's pelt as he sprinted, losing himself to the rush of adrenaline. His chest and legs burned, but the pain across his temple was worse. Dizziness flooded him in waves, threatening to pull him under entirely; more than once he stumbled, feet catching on fragments of rock and bone.

Warriors managed to reach the exit ahead of everyone else. He spun around, drawing his sword in one smooth motion. He looked fierce despite one of his eyes being swollen shut. "Hurry! Keep running!"

Behind them came a loud roar that rattled loose tiles along the floor. Silt fell from the ceiling and clouded the hallway, dimming the already meager torchlight. A long, cord-like limb with jagged scales struck out from the darkness behind them, and Wind barely ducked in time to keep from being impaled. Time hauled Wind up by the arm and shoved him ahead, but the limb twisted around, its underside striking Time across the backs of his knees. He went down with a grunt, cursing when the limb wrapped around his torso. It began dragging him into the darkness, where three red eyes and rows upon rows of sharp teeth gleamed hungrily.

Heart somewhere in his throat, Four couldn't make a sound as he watched. Everything felt at once too fast and too slow; his vision swam, and suddenly he couldn't remember ever stopping. He reached for the hilt of the Four Sword, fingers trembling, swallowing down bile. He couldn’t make himself pull it free. Horror swept through him with all the strangulating force of poison.

Time slashed at the monster ineffectively, his boots nearly brushing those large, curved teeth, when Hyrule suddenly threw out his hand. "Cover your face!" he screamed, and Time raised his arm just before a wave of white-hot flames erupted from Hyrule's outstretched fingers. The monster shrieked, two of its eyes melting from the heat of Hyrule's blast. Fire struck, again and again and again, until the hallway stank of cooked flesh.

The monster heaved a single, gurgling breath. It did not move again.

Sky and Wild ran back to help, wary of other things lurking in the dark. When they uncurled the lifeless limb from Time’s chest, blood streamed between the grooves of chainmail. “I don’t know if we should move him,” Wild said, but Legend made a disagreeing sound.

"We need to get outside,” he said, staring into the darkness, wary and a little twitchy. “We can’t assume there won’t be others, not with this smell.”

“He’s right,” Time said, taking Sky’s proffered hand. He grunted as he stood, face paling and mouth tightening. Blood began to stream down his armored leg. “Lead the way.”

Four startled when something touched his shoulder. Twilight smiled weakly and withdrew his hand. “Sorry,” Four mumbled awkwardly.

“It’s been a rough day. You alright?”

Four realized he was still clinging to Twilight’s pelt. Distantly, he marveled at the way his small hand was nearly completely hidden by thick, gray fur. “Fine,” he said, allowing himself to be led toward the exit. He hadn’t noticed how close they’d gotten. Somehow, the scene looked less fantastical than before.

Outside, Twilight stepped away to help Sky ease Time down in front of a large tree. Warriors crouched beside them and wasted no time in removing Time’s armor and chainmail, more efficient than gentle. When he finally peeled away Time’s bloody shirt, his face was perfectly blank.

“How bad?” Time asked knowingly, not bothering to look for himself. His eyes drooped like he might pass out.

“Nothing we haven’t dealt with before,” Warriors said, but Four saw him subtly gesture for Hyrule to approach. His fingers were already covered in blood from his brief inspection.

Four looked away, swallowing when his vision swam again. His skin felt tacky all over. He took a deep breath, then another, but it did nothing to alleviate his growing panic. He tried to focus on other things instead—the honeybees buzzing around the meadow, the squirrels darting through the underbrush, the many different colors of wildflowers—

No. Breathe. Breathe.

Four’s stomach rolled. He tugged at his tunic with shaky hands, unable to decide if he was hot or cold. He could feel his pulse in his temple, could feel the way his wound ached with his heartbeat. Alone, he grieved, the thought there and gone before he could help it.

“Here, drink this."

Four turned around with a start. Wild stood close by, holding out a cup full of steaming liquid. The cooking pot was set up behind him where the grass was shortest. “Potion?” Four asked. He didn’t wait for an answer before taking a sip. It tasted like weak tea.

Wild gave him an odd look. “Afraid not. I had to use the last of my monster parts back in that dungeon. I boiled what was left of my herbs. It’s not much, but it’ll take the edge off the worst of our pains until we can restock, hopefully.”

Four nodded, taking another sip. “Sure.”

“Careful. You’ll burn your tongue.”

He already had. It wasn’t a big deal. “It’s not that hot.”

“Oh, alright.” Wild eyed the steam pointedly. He didn’t argue, though. “Everything okay? Does your head hurt?”

Four’s fingers caught on the blood matting his hair. He gave it a light tug, hoping the pain would ground him. “Fine,” he answered absently, glancing back at the others just as the glow around Hyrule’s hands faded.

“I healed the worst of it. He’s stable,” Hyrule assured Twilight. He leaned back on his heels and wiped sweat from his brow. His freckles were nearly invisible underneath his tired flush. “I can do more after some rest.”

Time’s eyes were closed. He might’ve been asleep. The skin on his side was mottled with rings of blues and greens and purples, much of it stained by drying blood. Four stared at the bruises and felt like he might throw up. He drank the last of the herbal water instead, coughing a little when he swallowed too quickly. The scrapes across his forearms faded slightly. The ache in his ribs lessened. The wound at his temple itched and scabbed.

He didn’t feel any better.

An unnatural hush consumed Four, an emptiness of the mind that doused him in uncertainty. He hadn’t felt so lonely in years. Please be wrong, he thought, please be wrong.

Slowly, timidly, Four curled his fingers around the hilt of the Four Sword. The leather was soft and familiar beneath his palms. He flexed his arm, testing the weight of it, anticipating the rasp of metal sliding free. He prayed he was mistaken, that the silence in his head wasn’t real. The thought of being alone was unbearable. Shivering, covered in goosebumps and dried sweat, he squeezed his eyes shut and drew the Four Sword…

And nothing happened.

Gasping, Four stared at his weapon in disbelief. His heart thundered beneath his ribs—a prisoner caged with fear. There was no spiritual pull, no prismatic division of his mind. Nothing at all to indicate that the colors could be separated from him. He held a sword. And wasn’t that a joke? The legendary Four Sword, in the hands of a master forger—and it was just a piece of metal.

Four laughed a little. He couldn’t help it. When he realized he was still holding Wild’s cup in his other hand, he laughed some more.

The others all turned to stare at him. “Four?” Legend questioned. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he croaked. Swallowing did nothing to help his dry throat. Everything felt like too much. “Wild, could I have more of that herbal water?”

The pause before Wild answered was heavy and long. “I’m sorry, but there’s not much left, and Warriors still hasn’t had any.”

Oh. That was fair. “Right,” he said, ignoring the way his chest felt like it was getting smaller and smaller. He handed the cup back and tugged at his matted hair again. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

Sky looked him up and down, gaze finally settling on Four’s temple. “Are you injured?”

Four shuddered, imagining the colors separated by a physical wound, imagining blood filling up all the pieces that used to fit into him. He crossed his arms over his chest, still holding the Four Sword. He couldn’t bring himself to sheathe it. “No,” he answered hesitantly. “I don’t… Um, maybe. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Wind asked, gesturing with a loose twig. One of his fingers was already splinted.

“He seemed shaken in the dungeon,” Twilight quietly told the others. “I thought it was just exhaustion.”

Warriors wiped blood from his hands with a wet rag. The bowl at his feet was full of brown water. “What’s wrong?”

Four bit the inside of his cheek. The truth sat on the tip of his tongue; the longer he waited, the more it wanted to spill out. They couldn’t help him if they didn’t know what was wrong. “I’m not… me,” he began weakly. “I mean I am, but… I’m not just me. That’s the problem.”

Hyrule shifted until he was sitting cross-legged. “You can tell us. We’ll do whatever we can to help.”

The Four Sword gleamed under the midday sun. It was nearly too bright to look at. Still, Four found it easier to study its edge than look at the other heroes. Maybe his courage had left him, too. “For you to understand, there’s something I need to…” Confess? Admit? Those words made him feel wrong, like his secret was something to be ashamed of. Was that the problem? Was he ashamed? And if so, why? For being able to split? For hiding it for so long? His head throbbed as the seconds dragged on, and suddenly he realized he’d trailed off without saying anything at all. Smiling awkwardly, he knew it was time to surrender himself to trust. “I named myself for the Four Sword because—because drawing it gives me the ability to split into four separate versions of myself. Only… it’s not working now.”

Legend blinked, looking curious. “Like cloning?”

“No. They represent different parts of me. They’re my colors,” Four said with a tentative smile, plucking at his tunic with his free hand. “My sense of reason, my sentiment, my temper, my bravery. Obviously, it’s more complicated than that, but that’s the gist. And right now…” He touched the side of his head, disturbed by the dull, persisting throb. “I can’t hear them at all. I can’t split.”

“Hear them?” Sky questioned slowly. “You normally hear voices?”

Four fought to keep his smile. “It’s not like that. I get… impressions. Influences.”

“The voices influence you? How often does that happen?” Warriors asked. His voice matched the way he stood—calm, casual. It set Four’s teeth on edge immediately.

“I’m probably explaining this poorly. The voices are me. They’re normal.”

Warriors hummed noncommittally as he approached. He held up a finger and moved it slowly from side to side. “Track my finger.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” Four said wearily.

“Track it anyway. Any blurriness? Nausea?”

“Nausea,” Four admitted. “I think it’s part of the problem. I stopped hearing them after that wizzrobe hit me.”

Warriors lowered his hand after a moment. “He’s tracking fine. Pupils are the same size.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m an invalid,” Four bit out, patience thinning.

“Sorry,” Warriors said, voice genuine, just as Wild asked, “How does the sword split you?”

Four took a steadying breath. “It’s a Picori blade, powered by the goddesses—”

“Picori?” Legend asked.

“They’re also known as the Minish.” When the others stared at him blankly, he faltered. “They’re a tiny people, smaller than my thumb. Only children and those pure of heart can see them.” Silence followed his words. Four struggled not to fidget. “Have none of you seen them before?”

“I’ve heard of them,” Wind said, offering a smile that looked too tenuous to be real. “But… they’re just a story in my world.”

“They’re real,” Four said.

“Do you hear them, too?” Hyrule asked.

“Of course. They have their own language.” His gut twisted as a thought occurred to him. “Wait, why do you ask? I… I’m not making this up. They’re real people.”

“We’re on your side,” Twilight assured him. “We’re simply concerned.”

“I’m concerned, too!” Four snapped. “Nobody is taking me seriously! I can’t hear myself—my colors. Something is wrong, and I’m—I’m scared.” Warriors stepped back abruptly, palms empty and open, and Four realized belatedly that he’d been gesturing with the Four Sword. “I’m sorry. Sorry, I’m just… upset.”

Sky smiled at him. “May I see the Four Sword?”

“What? Uh, sure.” Four held out the sword hilt-first, watching closely as Sky took it and stepped away. Maybe Sky would be able to sense something.

Legend started cracking his fingers—a nervous habit he always denied. “I’ve heard of this before.”

Four nearly sighed with relief. The others looked just as surprised. “You have?”

Legend nodded slowly. “You’re… a system, right?”

“You think…” Four’s voice failed him. He licked his lips, dazed with shock and hurt. “You think I have an identity disorder?”

“I don’t think anybody is judging,” Wind quickly assured Four. “We’ve all gone through—”

“Like fuck you’re not judging!” Four shouted, voice cracking toward the end. Instinctively, he looked again for the Four Sword, and that’s when he realized Sky had placed the sword on his bedroll. Out of reach. Set aside. Four wanted to slap him. “You—You think I’m dangerous?” He laughed again, shrill and despairing, then covered his mouth with his hand.

“You’re wounded and confused,” Sky said gently. “It’s nothing to be ashamed about. We’re just trying to help.”

“I’m not ashamed! You’re just not listening!” Four lied, wondering if the colors would forgive him for this, wondering if he’d ever forgive himself. Guilt joined the fear flooding his veins. He spun toward Hyrule, desperation leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “Could you heal me? I’m sorry, I know you’re exhausted, but please. Please, could you try?”

Hyrule nodded, using his hands to push off his knees. Sweat still dampened his curls. “Of course.”

Four wanted to close his eyes as the others watched, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel any more vulnerable. He stared at his tunic as Hyrule pressed fingers to his forehead. A warm, tingling sensation raced across his skin. His headache faded away, but his thoughts remained alone. “Anything?” he whispered.

It took a while for Hyrule to answer. “I’ve healed the last of your wounds. I can’t feel anything else wrong.”

“No head trauma?” Warriors asked.

“Not that I can tell, but the brain is very complicated. It’s possible that—”

“It’s not a fucking concussion!” Four snapped, tearing his head out of Hyrule’s gentle grasp. “Why won’t you listen to me?”

“I am listening,” Warriors said flatly. “I’m listening to a comrade who suddenly, for the very first time, is confessing to hearing voices after sustaining a head injury.”

“It was a secret,” Four said miserably. He wanted to hug himself, to walk into the woods and vanish. He wanted to race through the grass, small and safe from pitying eyes. “A secret, which I know you all have, too.”

“Can you prove it?” Warriors asked.

His next breath left him too quickly, chased out by his growing panic. “The Four Sword w-was my proof,” he stammered. When Hyrule reached for him, he flinched. “F-forget it,” he whispered. “I just want to be left alone.”

“Four, we’re on your side,” Twilight murmured. “We want to help.”

Four shook his head, beginning to pant. “No, you want to assign me a label. Y-you think I’m crazy. You can’t even take me at my word.”

“Don’t use language like that,” Legend gently reprimanded. “It’s not appropriate or helpful.”

Four spluttered. “That’s not—that’s not the point.”

Wild tapped at his slate without looking, restless and worried. “I know what it’s like to feel different. I promise, I will always support—”

“Please, shut up,” Four pleaded, ignoring the twinge of guilt that followed. His fingers were beginning to curl. “Just leave me alone. I don’t want to t-talk to any of you anymore.”

Warriors held up a hand, forestalling the others. “Time your breaths. We’ll give you some privacy.”

Four would’ve screamed if he had the breath to spare. As it was, he glared at Warriors and only gasped a little when he muttered, “Don’t patronize me.” Ignoring Warriors’s conciliatory nod, he turned his back on the others and tried to pretend like he wasn’t close to falling apart. The meadow was backed by a forest, its many trees shadowed and inviting, but he was in no condition to defend himself if a monster found him out alone. Feeling trapped, he turned to the only other place that promised quiet comfort.

Time didn’t stir as Four strode through the grass and sat beside him, his expression peaceful as he slept. Four watched the steady rise and fall of his bruised chest and did his best to mimic him. Slowly, with little hiccuping shudders that left his muscles sore, he felt the worst of his panic begin to ebb; the pause after each exhalation burned less and less, until finally he was able to breathe normally. The root of his fear lingered, however—a depressing haze that wouldn’t leave his too-quiet mind.

“I believe you,” Time suddenly murmured.

Four leaned back in surprise and gaped briefly. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I drifted in and out, but I heard enough,” Time answered quietly, eyes still closed.

Four hugged his knees to his chest, trying not to feel too hopeful. He didn’t think he’d be able to recover if his trust was dashed again so soon. “I didn’t want to tell them. I was afraid to tell anyone,” he admitted in a whisper. “But it’s real, I’m real.”

“I believe you,” Time said again, and those three words—those three simple words—ripped open a wound Four never knew he’d been carrying.

“You really do?” he asked thickly, forcing himself not to cower when Time finally opened his left eye.

“Yes. I know what it’s like to be doubted, to have to fight for your identity. I won’t do you that same disservice.”

Four rested his cheek against his knees, drained and finally willing to show it. “It’s like I’m missing myself. Everything is muffled and wrong. It should hurt. Goddess, it should hurt, but instead there’s just… emptiness. I only wanted the others’ help. I need help.”

“They’re listening to their worries instead. That’s the painful side of love, you know.” Time tsked, lips curling in a smile that lasted only long enough for Four to notice it. “Give them time. They’ll try again, and it will be better.”

“How do you know?”

Time closed his eyes once more, his voice growing softer. “Because they know what it’s like to be alone, too. They’ll remember that soon enough.” A single leaf drifted down and landed on his shoulder. He didn’t appear to notice. “Now, I can’t promise I’ll be able to stay awake much longer, but I’d love to hear about these colors.”

Four gripped the Ezlo pendant on the end of his hood, nostalgically tracing the beak. “I wish I could show you instead.”

“You will. We’ll figure this out.”

Four’s next breath was shaky with relief. If nothing else, at least he had this—an offering of confidence, of faith. He gave back what he could. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Time murmured.

And so Four shared all that he was, knowing he was heard.

#linked universe #lu fic #lu four #whumptober 2022 #gintrinsic writing #big thank you to sisterdear for looking this over!

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violetcorvid · 5 months

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OPP oneshot! It’s not really cannon-compliant but there are many spoilers for the book! Beware!

Marti didn't know how he got here. He had only come to Quebec for college, and now he was trapped on a mostly deserted continent with a cute guy and the two kids he magically adopted. There had been several deaths on the way, a cult, and so much random shit that he couldn't begin to wrap his head around. So, he focused on the present. The heavy axe in his hands arced over his head and lodged itself into a log, splitting it in half.

Sweat glistened his body and stank up his armpits. Marti exhaled at the horrible reek that plagued his sensitive nose. He raised his leg to the log, kicking the halves that barely clung together by a few strings of bark. Nearby, Frankie was working on the two tents they owned, trying to set up the rods properly.

Ramon and Mango played together where the trees ended by the ditch that brought them back to the road. Sleeping on a forest floor would be easier than on open stone without protection. Being covered by the woods was a good option, within a reasonable distance from their travel point. The kids tested how far they could leap across the ditch without falling into the murky, leaf-littered waters full of frogs.

Marti and Frankie only voiced their concerns in the dead of night, tucked together in the same tent while their adopted teenagers slept. Painful glances were split between them while the children laughed and whistled at each other. Something had to be said. Marti had no idea what it was yet. He knew this would be difficult for all of them, but those two especially.

Ramon had found his parents at the refuge, but Marti knew someone from that family was missing. He had lost them once and now again- the cult and the evacuation driving them apart like water and oil. Mango had never indicated anything about their family, but the fact they didn't look for any familiar faces spoke volumes that made his heart melt into puddles of pity. What had these poor kids been witness to?

In familial fashion, Frankie and Marti promised each other that they would take care of the Unduo (their little group name, Undead Duo, that Frankie always looked upset by when it was used) and keep the burden of survival off their shoulders. Being hungry, homeless, tired, and terrified orphans was hard enough for them. Marti was glad that they were keeping each other sane with their antics. It built unwavering support that he'd never be able to provide for them as a stranger.

It was surprising that they trusted anyone at all. Marti watched the two halves of logs fall apart, then hissed out a breath when he realized he was supposed to cut them into four before breaking them apart. He bit his tongue when Mango approached, their eyes darting over the axe and chopped wood. They waved their whiteboard around.

I chop wood

"No, you don't have to," Marti urged. "You should have fun."

He resisted the urge to cringe when the slit in their throat spread open, and a massive tongue spilled out. It lifted its hefty, spiked tip into the air like an awakening viper ready to hunt. Saliva fell out of Mango's throat in clumps, slapping into the leaf litter like dog slobber. The gray matter twitched, and then it was sharp as a fishing hook. Their mutation was the most eye-catching and absolutely intimidating to witness, out of Ramon's shoulder mouth and Mara's bone spikes.

It carefully raised into the air, curving before striking down on a piece of lumber. A heavy crack filled the air, and Marti watched with a haunted expression he couldn't control as the pieces fell into four. He tried wiping the insulting reaction from his face, but the way that Mango nearly choked on their tongue when they drew it back in spoke volumes. Tears welled in their eyes, and he panicked to think of something comforting to say.

"eh rrs," they gargled out. "hh-eh-hhrs."

"You don't have to use words," Marti started. "Use your board."

splinters on my tongue

"Stick it back out," Marti sighed.

He was prepared to handle seeing it this time. When it emerged like some dreadful beast, he gently inspected its tough head, moving around it and then asking Mango to lift it. They obliged, and he could see wood pieces stuck in the underside. Suddenly thankful for his overgrown nails, Marti picked at the little pieces until Mango swallowed their tongue and nodded.

Thank you, they mouthed while wiping the board clean. Marti nodded. He hoped that they actually trusted him instead of pretending for the sake of survival. Marti wanted to be a father, not just that, but a good one. He couldn't possibly have a hard time with that. He had to validate their emotions, help them when hurt, and shape two young people into emotionally stable individuals capable of handling an unpredictable future.

Not that hard.

By the time Frankie had set up the tents, Marti had sparked some dry leaves and twigs into a warm fire. He huddled beside Frankie, watching him split the canned corn and beef rations. Whatever store foods they could eat were expired, so taking canned food away from survivors who might need it was the only option. Ramon's face contorted into discomfort as he crunched on corn.

He had admitted his autism a few weeks ago, and Marti snuck enough peeks at parenting books to understand he had sensory issues with the food. Meanwhile, Mango was scarfing down their portion of beef, tilting their head up and down while liquid from the can spilled out of their mouth. They had no tongue. Swallowing food and moving it around was difficult for them, and it pained Marti to watch them struggle with such a basic task.

"Are you kids alright?" he blurted.

"Yeah, the corn texture is bugging me, but I'll still eat it," Ramon explained.

no tongue in mouth cant eat but its ok bc gravity

Frankie looked at Marti, and he looked at Frankie while sorting canned beans between each other. Things had to be said tonight. The fire lit everyone in warm glows of orange (except Mango, who was taking breaks from their plight of eating to run away from the smoke that kept following them) as sparks flew into the sky like phoenix stars. Marti wondered how much longer he could hide the parenting manuals from the kids- teenagers, autistic kids, foster kids, traumatized children, disabled kids, stuff like that packed into a private box of his.

"Is there anything we can do for you?" Frankie pressed. "We can change the texture to make it easier to eat. For both of you."

Ramon shook his head through a mouthful of corn that obviously disgusted him, while Mango was either doing the same or trying a new technique with the beef. Marti felt as if his chest was caving in on itself- he couldn't help these kids struggle to eat food. That was the most straightforward thing on Earth, and he was stuck on it.

The bedtime hour crawled along, dragged out by the hopelessness that Marti felt for his adopted teenagers. He thought of his dad and if this horrible feeling ever haunted him. If only he could ask for advice or find a support group. If only society hadn't collapsed. If only things could be normal. Ramon and Mango retired into their tent, and Marti joined Frankie.

"Tell us if you need anything," Marti told the kids. "We'll be here."

"Okay?" Ramon accepted, his eyebrows furrowed with polite confusion.

Marti couldn't sleep. He kept staring at Frankie, who was staring at him, and they were both waiting for the teenagers to be quiet. They agreed only to talk once they could hear their snoring. Living infections had sensitive hearing, and neither wanted to risk being overheard. This worry was also their superpower, letting them know when the kids were finally asleep.

"I don't think they want to give up control to us," Frankie whispered. "Like- relying on us. Listening to what we say when we're trying to help them."

"Mango kept trying to help chop firewood. I had to pick splinters out of their tongue."

"I think we're too passive. Should we start being... more assertive?"

"We can't hit them or yell at them. I think Mango might have been abused or something," Marti confessed.

"No!" Frankie gasped. "I mean, start being more parental. Do actual parenting. Give them chores, teach them things, stuff like that."

#my writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writing #ao3 writer #ao3 #commissions #commissions open #open commissions #apocalypse #post apocalyptic #zombie apocalypse #zombies #tw body horror #tw tongue #found family

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twilightpony4 · 5 months

Text

Backwoods: 9. Are They Asleep?

Michelangelo already had his playstation up and running in the living room. The farmhouse lacked a TV before 2007 so he ‘borrowed’ one from the truck. Truthfully, Raphael helped him snag it as he wasn’t too sure about how fun or long farm life was going to be.

“You’re up early.” The commenter was Mona Lisa. She walked hunched over and drowsy. Mikey paused the game.

“It’s like noon.”

“Still.” She continued her path towards him. He scooted over on the couch for his sister to be beside him. The lizard lady sat with a huff. Her loose baby hairs floated for a moment before settling annoyingly on her face. Michelangelo used his large hand to wipe those hairs back. Her head tilted upwards and she smiled. “Ah. Waking up to the sun. Even if it is too bright.”

“Yeah, no. It’s weird.” The game was unpaused. Mona gasped in disbelief.

“What do you mean ‘It’s weird’?”

“Waking up and there’s light everywhere?! Not a fan.” Right. Those boys have lived in the sewer for the majority of their life. Some people, or mutants, grow up differently and develop different perspectives. “I need it darker. I tried to close the blinds but it wasn’t enough.”

“Put blankets up in the windows like Angel does.”

“I guess that could work.”

“Is anyone else up?”

“Not a peep from anyone.” Mona sat up. She stared at Mikey, but he wasn’t too concerned to look back at her. “I’m not expecting anyone to be up. Even Leo.”

“Are they asleep?” She asked. The orange clad terrapin was quick to nod, but Mona was quick to interject. “No, Mikey. Are.. they.. Asleep?” The turtle continued playing until the idea became more clear. The game paused.

“Shell.”

The two mutants hustled quietly to where their family were resting. By default, Venus was ok as Mona actually took the time to check on her siblings when she woke up. Understandably, the female turtle wanted to continue resting. Mikey knocked on the door and opened it. He looked around the room before giving Mona the clear to come in. She moved quickly to get to Raphael’s side.

“Yeah, you deal with his stank breath.” Mikey half-whispered as he made his way to Donatello’s bedside. He slept on the side that wasn’t hurting with pillows stuffed under his plastron. His mouth was open, making his jowls large as he breathed in his sleep. “Don don don don donnn…. Donnie….” he whispered in his ear. As soon as there was an inkling of him waking up, Mikey was quick to warn. “Don’t move. You’re hurt. It’s over here.” First, he pointed to where it hurt but then he thought that maybe his brother didn’t see him. His glasses weren’t on afterall. In an attempt to help, he thought maybe he can lightly touch the surrounding area to help him get a better sense of where it was. He didn’t want him to move too fast and hurt himself. A fractured rib sounded terrible.

“Ok don’t touch. Don’t touch.” Donatello winced. Mikey drew his hand back quickly.

“Did that hurt?”

“Reflexive,” he admitted. “Thank you.”

“Ewww…” Mikey’s whines caught him off guard. Donnie may have one of the worst visions to exist, but he can tell those two shapes were his brother and his girlfriend. Mikey’s commentary also helped fill in some context clues. “Mona’s way too pretty to get greeted like that.” He mumbled to himself as his brother continued with his morning kiss. Mikey turned his attention back to the brother he wanted to care for.“Do you wanna sit up?” Donnie shook his head.

“Not yet. Let me sit here for a sec. Can you grab my tablet for me?” He pointed off to where one of his bags was still sitting. He didn’t want to bother trying to unpack. He was in so much pain and so tired from having to sit on that car ride up here. As soon as he was given a bed, he was out for the night. His younger brother went over to retrieve it to him.

“Imma sit too.” Raphael added as he grabbed Mona’s hand to imply that she stay with him.

“If you are, can you grab my headphones too.” Donnie asked and pointed to the same bag. The young turtle found what he needed and handed the items to his brother.

“Here, man.” Donnie smiled and put on his headphones to not hear whatever those other two were gonna go on about. When it seemed ok, Mikey took the chance to go check on his last brother.

“L-l-l-l-leeeoo.. Leo..” Michelangelo used the same approach as he opened the door of his eldest brother. Unbeknownst to him, Leonardo was already up. He had been up for hours. His leg was keeping him up and he had to sleep so awkwardly to aid his leg and conform to his anatomy. Truthfully he would have rather liked to be ignored and pretend to continue sleeping, but Mikey getting closer and closer to his ear with his harsh whispers were enough to make him crack.

“Mm?” He responded. Mikey gave a big sigh and clutched his cowrie shells.

“You alive?” he smiled. He wasn’t sure for a second there since there was so much delay.

“Pretty sure.”

“Ok good. Imma lil new to the super nurse thing so.. Sorry I didn’t check on you sooner. I actually wasn’t up for too long-.”

“It’s ok.” Leonardo cut him off before the young turtle could drone on.

“You wanna get up?”

“I don’t think I want to.”

“You need anything? Hungry?”

“Not yet, thank you. Can you close the door?” It was his signal to get him out of the room. Mikey was quick to take the hint but wasn’t hurt by it. He knows broody Leo all too well.

“Yeah, yeah.” With that, the orange clad turtle fulfilled his wish and exited the room with the door closing behind him. Leonardo leaned deeper in the bed, groaning.

He wanted to get up so bad. He wanted to fight someone. He didn’t want to be here. It is yet again another instance where they play with their father’s presence in their lives and the mission to get him back was a failure. It has been years since Splinter was first on the brink of death when the Shredder and his Foot clan stormed their childhood home. Leonardo has grown since then. He briefly reflected on how he would go out of his way to find him. He thought about how he would scratch and claw to get back his father. He had to be less childish, less reckless. His sensei means everything to him, but it has been made clear that somebody in this family is required to keep them all together. If he were to be so reckless, he would not only be hurting himself. Then there were the teachings of the Ancient One.

“If it’s not your fault, then why do you treat yourself as if it is.” Just at the thought, this line did not settle well into Leo’s mind. He knows what the Ancient One is intending to say, but he couldn’t get over the guilt he was feeling. His lack of a plan failed. For once, he felt confident enough in his family’s abilities to overpower their enemies. The Foot Clan were generally fierce but as of late, they didn’t have such powerful connections. How were they able to obtain warriors such as the ones he’d seen? Not the typical Foot Soldiers. The women. That woman.

If he hadn’t underestimated her even the tiniest bit as he swears he treats every villain with the same amount of care to defeat… He was slipping. Making no plan was way too out of his character. Had he gotten so comfortable after so much ‘quiet time’? A good leader wouldn’t allow that to happen. It’s not like they never stopped training, but had his attitude changed towards their enemies? Does his team think similarly or is it just him? How do you even bring something like this up to your team? It was already too embarrassing to think that such a simple staple that Leonardo lives by to a Tee was forgotten.

Let's try to stop thinking about that. Besides, he already got the most annoying turtle out of the way. The others shouldn’t bother him too well today anyways. Especially if he continues to pretend to sleep when they come in at a bad time. Leonardo bit his lower lip and tried to redirect himself. He’s hurt and they’re hurt. Splinter is missing and it is frightening, but what can be done? He had to accept that at this point there was nothing that he could do. This fractured ankle is not doing him any favors. The doctors told him to stay off of it anyways. Therefore, he sat there trying not to think and hearing every other word of Michelangelo playing video games downstairs.

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

Idk how long this is going to last but I’ve grown very tired of constantly having to “have proof” in my scientific background and hope that I can get back to how I used to with my imagination. I’ll tell you what, it feels good to just write what I want and just have things happen and “make sense” because I said so :)

#tmntfanfiction #tmnt2014 #tmnt2016 #backwoods #venusdemilo #monalisa #raphael #donatello #leonardo

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keneestorytimelibrary · 7 months

Text

Do. Not. Follow. The. Red. Man.

The rules were simple: "Do. Not. Follow. The. Red. Man."

"Are there any other rules?" I asked the colorful clown, who held up the rules sign for all to see. He had an eerie smile plastered over his face; an array of yellows, blues, greens, purples, and oranges smeared over his skin. Oddly enough, no red. He seemed so excited to finally see participants, even if it was a handful of people. Though the amusement park had been open for a few months, I had never seen anyone go in. It was by chance that my friends and I decided to check it out one fateful spring afternoon.

The clown ignored me, as he continued to jump for joy. He kept on tapping his enlarged finger towards the sign, making sure everyone understood the one rule.

"It's not hard to remember that." my best friend said, eyeing their phone. There was barely any signal here, and they made sure to remind me every few minutes of that.

After a few minutes of tapping the Rules Sign, the clown ran towards the entrance to the questionable building, and beckoned us forward. We reached the shabby looking wooden door, that had a sign, with the following written in crayon:

"BEWARE THE RED MAN

"HE WILL LEAD YOU ASTRAY

"HE WILL CORNER YOU WITH A FRIENDLY SMILE

"AND FEAST ON YOU LIKE PREY."

"That's not creepy at all." my friend said sarcastically, while giving me the stank eye for even suggesting to come here. I knew I was not going to hear the end of this.

"Come on guys, let's just do this quickly." I suggested, wanting nothing more than to take their frustration off of me. My words seem to please the clown; its smile could not get any wider.

As he opened the door for us, a thick heavy fog overtook our vision. There was a foul stench that clung onto the air; it smelled of feces and a filled sewer on a hot day. The second I caught whiff of it, I almost made a run for it. For some reason, none of my friends seem to react; it was as if they couldn't smell anything.

"What's wrong with your face?" one of them asked me. I could only look back at them with a baffled stare.

"You guys can't smell that?" I exclaimed. "I sure as hell am not going in there!"

"What smell? I don't smell anything, other than cigarettes and stale popcorn." my best friend said. I started to get odd looks from everyone at this point.

They began walking through the entrance, leaving me behind. There was a brief moment where I asked myself if this was even worth it. 'Maybe we should've gotten food or something...'

"Are you coming or what?!" one of my friends exclaimed. I ignored the strange feeling I had, and ran inside.

Everything inside looked as if a 12-year old had designed it. There were cardboard-cutout walls shaping the maze, and cut-up drawings of the "Red Man" scattered all over the walls and floor. There was a dense fog that covered the floor, but other than that, the placed looked...silly.

My nerves seemed to ease a bit at the silly decor, and I was even able to see the exit on the far side of the opposite wall. The stench seemed to get stronger however. Though I felt a lot calmer, the growing stench played on my fear. As my friends continued talking, I turned to my left and saw a rundown shack, covered in dead leaves and dust. The door was off its hinges, laying aimlessly a few feet away from the shack. There seemed to be splashes of cartoonish blood splattered all over, with bits of fabric leading to the entrance. Nothing about that seemed to set off alarms in my head. What did concern me was the red arm sticking out from the dark entrance, beckoning me inside.

The arm was made out of muscle soaked in blood; it looked as if it was skinned, leaving this abomination behind. Its nails were broken, with sharp edges pointing at me, egging me to follow it. The sight of it made me lose my breath. I could hear my heart racing in my ears. The air around me had become considerably colder.

"Do. Not. Follow. The. Red. Man." I reminded myself. My eyes did not leave the shack as I tried to move backwards. I felt that if I turned for even a brief moment, it would come out of its hiding space and grab me.

I tried to reach for one of my friends, but I felt nothing but air. After a few seconds, I realized they weren't there. My heart began to beat harder; it was all that I could hear. The entire time, the arm had not stopped motioning me towards it. And for a split second, it felt like the space between us had disappeared. I felt like I was a few feet from it, inching towards obvious doom.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the entrance to the maze. My friends could be heard talking briefly to each other; they were somewhere deep inside. Before they left me for good, I made a run for it.

I could still hear them; they couldn't be more than a few yards away from me. They were discussing which way to turn, commenting on how the maze was a bit more difficult than imagined.

I tried to follow their voices, but whichever turn I made, I was met with a dead end. Everytime I turned to go to another direction, I would see the Red Man walking out of frame, hiding behind a different wall close behind me. It would bring out its bloody hand, and motion me towards it. My legs felt like it was about to give out.

No matter how hard I tried to follow my friends' voices, I could not get close to them. I tried to yell for them to give me directions, but they seemed to ignore me.

I felt like I was losing it, almost at the point of being hysterical. I tried to gather my breath, but every wrong turn left my head spinning and me gasping for air. And every time I turned around, I would see the same red bloody fingers motioning me towards it. This wasn't a simple attraction...this was my worst nightmare.

I leaned against the wall, unable to move another inch. "YOU GUYS, STOP PLAYING WITH ME! WHERE ARE YOU?" I screamed with what was left of my voice. It came out scratchy and hoarse.

I could hear my friend's laughter coming from somewhere close. "Ok, fine we will stop playing with you!"

I began crying; these fuckers were trying to scare me. "You bastards..." I said between sobs.

"Hey, follow our voices! We are heading towards the front! We will wait for you." One of them said. I began wiping my tears and swore that once I saw them, I was going to tear them a new one. I stumbled to my feet, and began following their voices. I didn't even notice that the Red Man was nowhere to be seen. As I continued towards the entrance, I could hear their feet running further away from me. The faster I walked, the further they seemed to get.

"You guys, wait up!" I tried screaming, but my voice was starting to give out.

A few seconds later, I found myself where we had started...only now the front door was gone. There was no door leading outside the building. 'Am I stuck here?'

A giggle broke out in the midst of the silence. I turned to the direction of the noise, and stared at the shack again. I could hear my friend's laughter coming from inside. The red bloody arm was no longer there, and the lights inside were on for some reason. Though I didn't see anyone or anything, I could feel someone's eyes on me.

"Guys? Are you guys there...?" I did a silent prayer in hopes that they weren't in there. But all I got in return were more giggles.

I turned around hoping that I would find another exit, but nothing came to view. I could go back in the maze, but I knew there was no chance of finding an exit there. The maze was far more complicated and intricate than I gave it credit for.

"Come on! The exit is this way!" one of my friends yelled from inside the shack. "Come on, we want to go home and smoke already!"

I let out a heavy sigh, and slowly made my way towards the shack. The air was much colder the closer I got; the last bit of my body heat evaporated from my mouth once I got within a few feet from the shack. I waited a few minutes in front of the opening, gathering what little courage I had left. I stood at the entrance for a few seconds before finally passing the threshold. Then I saw it...

#kenee #horror #short story #scary story #keneestorytime

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thistle-whistle-ffxiv · 1 year

Text

The Things We Do For Coin Chapter 10

With the Bazaar safe for the time being, Azami and friends return to the city. Only to be sent out immediately, this time to help the stationmaster find a wayward girl.

AO3 Link

Birds had never struck Azami as particularly stinky animals. But then, she hadn't spent much time close enough to birds to notice a smell one way or the other. Usually her contact with creatures of the avian variety was limited to watching them as they flew high overhead. So maybe all birds stank like shit stewed in sweat and broken dreams.

Shiro's advice to not breathe too deeply had been kinder than she had realized.

Azami dismounted the horrid creature next to Pink and sent it on its way. The chocobo let out a friendly 'kweh!' before running back towards the Bazaar.

"That was horrible." she said.

"You did pretty good at riding it though!" Pink said, "I was worried you were gonna fall off."

"I have excellent balance, thank you." Azami said, not having shared Pink's concerns ever at any point in her entire life.

"Rabta, don't you have something you need to do?" Shiro gently prodded Pink, who suddenly stood up very straight.

"Right! I gotta go talk to my guildmasters! I'll meet up with you guys at the Quicksand, okay? I wanna be there when we deliver Kikipu's letter! Don't do it without me!"

"We won't. Get out of here." Azami promised, giving Pink a gentle shove towards the city gates. Pink hustled up the stairs, pausing only long enough at the top to turn around and wave back down at them.

"Don't give Miss Momodi the letter without me!" she reminded them before sprinting off.

"I wonder why she's so fixated on that." Azami mumbled to herself. It seemed like an odd thing to be so fussed over. It would probably be a long and awkward process, if Momodi and Kikipu were as good of friends as they seemed. Momodi might even have an emotion about it. Azami had never been any good at handling that sort of thing. What if she cried?

"Some people enjoy sentiment." Shiro smirked at her.

"Well, feel free not to wait to deliver the letter on my account." Azami sighed, "I should probably report in to Master Hamon before he sneaks off to the tavern."

"Ah... I've heard... things about that guy."

"He's... not all bad." Azami paused, wondering for a moment if she truly meant that. He was a lech and a drunk, and had an ego that seemed too large to fit through the door to the guild, but his instruction seemed sound enough. At least as far as Azami could tell. Although inexperienced as she was it wasn't like her opinion on such matters counted for much.

"Well, I'll wait on the stairs leading up to the Quicksand for Rabta. And you, if you decide to turn up."

"If I feel like it." Azami shrugged, heading up to face her own fate. She hoped Master Hamon wouldn't be cross with her for taking so long to report in. That was probably something she should have considered before taking on so many jobs, but Master Hamon didn't seem the type to care about such things. More than likely he had gone to a tavern and forgotten about the earth sprites entirely.

"So you've given the earth sprites what for? Well done, Azami! By smiting stone and earth, you've forged unyielding weapons of your fists!" Master Hamon beamed at her. For a moment, Azami almost felt proud of herself. Being praised for her hard work wasn't the worst thing in the world. Even if it was a little embarrassing.

"You've a nigh endless fount of vigor, Azami. Aye, just like myself in my younger days."

And there it was. Master Hamon's ego couldn't let him go too long without talking about his glory days, or else he would crumble into dust. Chuchuko wandered over, clearly wanting to give Azami proper praise.

"You've been showing a lot of promise." she assured Azami, "Even if you are still a bit stage shy."

"Well, of course she's promising- she's training under Hamooooon HOLYFIST!"

Chuchuro giggled at her Master's antics. The two of them seemed awfully close. Perhaps Chuchuta had been studying under him for a long time? Most of the annoying things he said she would shrug off with a laugh and a, "That's our Master Hamon!"

As if sensing Azami's unspoken question, Master Hamon began to explain.

"Chuchuto joined the guild soon after I was made its master. She's my very first student, as a matter of fact. Well, there was one other, to be sure, but..." Master Hamon trailed off, as though whatever he had been about to say was too painful to even think about. Azami almost wanted to ask, but it wasn't any of her business. Who was she, Pink? Hanging around with her really had been affecting Azami, it seemed.

"Let's not dwell on the past, Master. It was Azami's bright future we were discussing." Chuchuto interrupted while Azami tried once more to commit her name to memory, "Which reminds me, did you collect my gil from her? My gear is rather worn down, and I do need the money for repairs..."

Azami blinked in confusion for a long moment at the question. The gil? It took a moment before she remembered her morning exercises. Before the disastrous attempt to showcase her skills, Master Hamon had sent her on a mission to hunt down small sacks of gil he had stashed around the city for her to find. He said that she had managed to find them all, but neglected to mention who it was that had leant it to him. Azami probably would have worked a little harder if she had known it was Chuchuto who had been footing that particular bill. And returned the money to Chuchuto directly.

So much had happened since then, Azami had completely forgotten about it.

"A-Ahem! Yes, Azami's future with us is bright indeed!" Master Hamon quickly changed the subject. Chuchuto did not seem fooled, but shrugged as though there was nothing to be done for it. Judging by the smell of him, Azami assumed it had gone straight into the drink. She couldn't help but feel a little bad for Chuchuto. Master Hamon smiled brightly and continued heedless of the judgmental stares of his two pupils, "If she keeps up her efforts, she may well become the next Holyfist!"

"Will I have to shout my own name at every available opportunity if I do?" Azami asked before she could think better of it. Fortunately for her, Master Hamon let out another one of his croaky laughs. It seemed as though she had not crossed into offensively disrespectful territory. Just playfully so.

"Train hard, young one, and grow strong. When the time's ripe, I'll have another little lesson for you."

Azami bid her teachers farewell and made her way back to the Quicksand. With any luck, Shiro and Pink would have dealt with delivering the letter without her. That small hope was dashed when she saw Shiro sitting on the stairs leading up to the tavern. She sighed and walked over to join him, taking a seat on a lower step.

"Pink's not here yet." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Not yet." Shiro said, "I've heard the guildmasters over at the Thaumaturgy Guild can be a little wordy, so it might be a few more minutes."

"You don't think she's in trouble for dallying do you?" Azami asked. Not that she cared. She just didn't want to have to listen to Pink whine about it if she were.

"We've still got another few minutes of daylight." Shiro said, looking up at the twilight sky, "I'm sure she made it."

They fell into a somewhat uneasy silence, watching the streets for any sign of their wayward companion. She knew the way back to the Quicksand well enough that Azami didn't think she had gotten lost. But... the streets weren't always safe. And even with her magic, Pink didn't exactly cut an imposing figure. Not to mention how oblivious she was to the world around her most of the time. Anything could have happened to her when she was all alone.

"So how did you and Rabta end up travelling together?" Shiro asked, distracting Azami from her catastrophizing.

"Oh? Uh..." Azami huffed, trying to refocus her thoughts, "See that gate over there?"

"The Gate of Nald, yes."

"Sure. Well, I walked through that gate, and Pink ran over to me and never left."

"Well, thanks for watching out for her." Shiro said.

"I didn't really have another choice."

"Sure you did. You could have gutted her with that knife you keep hidden in your boot."

Azami glanced down to the boot in question. She had thought the small kaiken she had stashed in it had been rather well hidden. It was a simple thing, a plain wooden handle and a blade no longer than her hand. A parting gift from a dear friend, just in case. So small and light and rarely used that Azami had almost forgotten she had it at all.

"How did you..."

"You'll learn to pick up on these things with more experience."

"I see."

Shiro let out a soft his, as though he were in pain. Azami turned to look at him. Had he gotten some sort of injury during the fight that he had hidden? He didn't seem to be clutching at any hidden wounds. Instead he just sat there, unmoving. It was difficult to tell with his helmet in the way, but Azami felt as though he weren't really looking at her but through her. It was an uncomfortable sensation.

And just as suddenly as it had started it stopped. Shiro seemed perfectly normal, scanning the street for any sign of his sister.

"Everything alright?" Azami ventured.

"What? Oh, yeah. Just a headache." Shiro said.

"Oh. I have some butterbur root in my bag if you-"

"No, no. It's passed. Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure? I really don't mind." Azami fished around in her pack for the roots in question. She had often gone searching for such things back home once the days work was finished. Willow bark and butterbur root. Dong quai and honeysuckle. Small things that the older folks in the village needed to ease the pains in their joints or treat fevers. It earned her a little extra money or a jar of Granny Kaede's pickled radishes if she was really lucky.

"Look, it's fine." Shiro said, even as Azami shoved the small bundle of roots into his hand.

"Just take it, alright? Carrying it around is inconvenient anyway. You're doing me a favor."

"Keep your stupid root! You're so stubborn!"

"You're one to talk. Just fucking take it or I'll sic Pink on you about it."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

They glared at each other for a long moment before Shiro finally relented. He shrugged as though he weren't especially bothered by this turn of events at all, even though he lost.

"What am I supposed to do with this anyway?" he asked.

"Usually you grind it into a powder, but I've seen some of the elders in my village chew it in a pinch."

"Well, thank you."

The silence returned, Azami shifted back to watch the street. She found herself suddenly hyper-aware of the blade she had thought well hidden pressing against her scales. It carried with it a nostalgic feeling. It missed those days in the bamboo thicket as much as she did. When her biggest concerns had been sneaking back before her father had noticed her missing and the next day's chores, not doing battle with thugs hired by people who wanted a second or third mansion and poorly hidden blades.

Was it just that Shiro was exceptionally observant, or was it that Azami wasn't half as clever as she thought she was? If she had ever noticed it, Pink had never said anything. But that was hardly a reliable indicator one way or the other. How many people had noticed it? It wasn't as though it would be strange to be armed in a place like this. Half the people who passed in and out of the Quicksand wore some sort of weapon on their belts. And more than a few probably kept one or two stashed away.

It was fine. Everything was fine. Nobody thought she was strange, because what she was doing was completely normal.

"Do you know how to use it?" Shiro asked after a long pause.

"Yeah I just told you. Do you need me to help you grind it up or something?" Azami asked. She hadn't considered that when she had foisted the roots upon him. Well, it wasn't especially difficult. Azami was sure she could find something they could use if they really needed to.

"No, I mean the knife in your boot."

"As I understand it, they aren't terribly complicated to operate."

"You know what I'm asking."

Azami sighed, "I'm no trained shinobi, but I can hold my own if it comes down to it."

"Mhig! Azami! Did you do it? Did you do it?" A blur of Pink and enthusiasm came charging over to where they had been waiting on the stairs. It seemed any further discussion would need to wait.

"No. We were waiting for you." Azami assured her, "Just as we said we would."

Pink cheered and did a little twirl before throwing herself up the steps three at a time. She bounced impatiently at the top for a single heartbeat before bounding in without them.

"I guess she wants to do it now." Shiro shrugged, pushing himself up to his feet. He held an armored hand out for Azami to take. Azami huffed. She was perfectly capable of standing on her own. Which she did. Using the railing and her own power. The helmet hid his expression, but somehow Azami thought Shiro was smirking at her.

Begrudgingly, she followed him into the tavern just in time to hear Pink's voice.

"Miss Momodi! Miss Momodi! We have a present for you!"

"What's all this, then? You got somethin' for me?" the woman in question asked from behind her bar. Shiro retrieved the letter they had been given and handed it over.

"Hm? A letter? Now who would think to- Kikipu! Haven't heard a word from that ol' gal in ages! How's the dear doin'?"

"Better now. We hope." Shiro said.

Momodi tore the letter open and began to read. Occasionally she would let out a Mmm-hmm or a small laugh. Once she finished she beamed up at the three of them, "That's Kikipu, all right. Time was I used to call in at the Silver Bazaar quite often. This was back when it was still the busiest hub in Thanalan, mind you. Ol' Kikipu and I used to stay up till dawn talkin' 'bout... well, whatever girls do."

"What do girls talk about?" Shiro asked.

"Sweets." Azami said.

"Knives." Pink nodded sagely.

"Good to know."

Momodi flashed them a good natured smile before continuing, "Kikipu's the very heart and soul of that place. Hells, even most folk here in the city still remember her name. Breaks my bloody heart to hear her and them good folk were nearly forced from their land. Dirty business, that."

"Ah. That reminds me. We apparently have a new enemy for life." Azami pointed out.

"Who, Kenrick? I'm not to the point of worryin' just yet." Momodi assured her. Azami nodded. Momodi knew the people around her better than Azami ever would. It made sense to defer to her judgement rather than panic about what might or might not be.

"I'd wager gil to goobbue poop the Silver Bazaar'll be rallyin' back to its former glory 'fore long. In any case, I thank the Twelve you were there to help them." Momodi continued, she reached under the bar to pull out a small sack of gil. She slid it over to Shiro, "Here, for you- on behalf of Kikipu and the Bazaar."

"Thank you." Shiro said. He tossed the sack to Azami who caught it with startled hands. She shoved it into her pocket. They would divide their earnings properly later. Doing it right in front of Momodi seemed like it would be bad form.

"So, what's the plan now?" Azami asked.

"I'm pretty sleepy after all the adventuring we did today. We should probably head back to the alley if we want to find a good spot to sleep." Pink suggested.

"Actually, if you aren't too tired, I have a rather urgent request that just came in." Momodi interrupted. Azami took stock of herself. She was also tired after her long day at the Bazaar, and finding a nice warm spot to huddle in the bitter cold of the desert night was a priority. But-

"If it pays I'm interested." she said.

"Go down to the Dispatch Yard and talk to a bloke named Papashan. He'll fill you in on the particulars once you get there." Momodi said. Azami frowned. She hadn't heard of the Dispatch Yard before. There hadn't seemed to be anything like that in the Western territories they had spent the day exploring. Momodi continued seeming to understand Azami's concern, "The Dispatch Yard's over in central Thanalan, just head out the door across the hall and you'll see the Gate of Nald staring right back at you. Pass through that and head east. You'll come upon it 'fore long."

"Thank you." Azami said. She turned on her heel and made to leave before Momodi's voice stopped her once more.

"There's dangers beyond the wall, though. More than I'd care ot count. Nothin' too terrible, mind you, but feisty enough to attack you if you draw near. Don't say nobody cared enough to warn you."

"I'll be careful." Azami promised.

"And we'll go too!" Pink said, latching on to Azami's arm.

"Weren't you just talking about how tired you are?" Azami sighed.

"We're always awake enough to go to the Dispatch Yard." Shiro said, clapping Azami on the back as he passed her by.

"Why? Is something exciting there?" Azami asked, dragging Pink along with her.

"Not a thing."

"I see."

Azami stepped through the Gates of Nald for the first time since she had passed through them that first day in Ul'dah. Somehow, despite it only having passed through it a short time ago, Azami felt as though the scenery was entirely new to her. Perhaps she hadn't been paying as much attention to her surroundings as she had thought back then.

In the distance, she spotted a massive tree. The trunk was easily larger than most of the houses in her village. How did it survive in the harsh desert climate? Azami pointed to it and looked at Pink.

"That's the Sultantree!" Pink supplied helpfully, "It's a really special place for the royal family! You can tell because it's named after them."

"There are all sorts of legends about it. If you're interested I can tell you some once we've finished our errands at the Dispatch yard." Shiro offered.

"That... sounds like fun." Azami hoped she sounded convincing.

Shiro led the way to the Dispatch Yard. Apparently he had been by once or twice. As they approached, they saw an elderly lalafellen man on the platform pouring over a map and looking as though the sky would fall down upon him at any moment. Clearly, this was the man they had been sent to see. Azami gave Pink a little shove towards him. Astoundingly, Pink took the hint.

"Hello!" she shouted, bounding up to the lalafell who looked like he was twelve seconds away from being flattened by the weight of his own anxiety, "My name's U'rabta! We're looking for Mister Papashan!"

"Well, you've found him." the elderly lalafell said, a bemused smile not quite making it to his eyes. It was understandable. Pink could be rather a lot. He continued, "You lot certainly look the part of adventurers, my friends. Might you be the good souls Momodi advised me to expect, hm?"

"That's us!" Pink said, "I'm U'rabta! That's my big brother U'mhig! And that's our friend Azami!"

"I am Papashan, stationmaster of this humble Dispatch Yard."

"Wow! You're in charge of the whole station yard? That's amazing! Is it fun? Is it hard? I bet it's a real hard job!"

"An empty title, I assure you. I truly am no more than a tired old lalafell passing his final years in quiet and solitude." Papashan cut in, disrupting Pink's babbling, "Twelve know there have been plenty of both these last five years since the Calamity struck. The devastation... was vast. Yet now true Ul'dahns work together, doing all in our power to rebuild what was laid to ruin. By the sweat of our brows and the love of our home, we have rebuilt Ul'dah to the grandeur and majesty that you see today. The railways which run through this Dispatch Yard, too, were born of the noble efforts of a great many souls. But there is still much work to be done. The wounds left by the Calamity run deep. Isolated areas beyond our lines of supply remain, and there are places yet wanting for relief and restoration. Ul'dah needs the aid of you and your bretheren, friend. In fact, never has our need been more dire."

"You are really trying to sell us on whatever this mystery job of yours is, huh?" Azami said. She had had more than enough long speeches about the power of togetherness for one day. For a lifetime, if she were being honest with herself. Where did these people find the time to write them? Or were they all improvised in the moment?

"My apologies. Let me get to the point, then. I do believe I may have some work suited to one of your ability." Papashan smiled at her. A more genuine smile, it seemed. Azami didn't think she had said anything particularly amusing, but if that was what it took to get the ball rolling on their mystery assignment.

"It just so happens a number of sentries have been sent to guard the area. A dispatch to the Dispatch Yard, as it were." Papashan explained, "They have long been away from the shade and featherbeds of the city. The hot days and cold nights can play hells on the mind and body out here. It isn't much, but go and give them these twilight pretzels, would you? I find comfort food always helps when I feel like killing myself."

"So you called for adventurers to help deliver snacks?" Pink asked.

"Well, they are many, and I cannot risk leaving my post long enough to do it myself. I apologize if-"

"As long as you're paying me I don't care what menial tasks you need me to complete. Whereabouts are these sentries?"

"There are three who have not yet returned from their patrols." Papashan said, gesturing towards a small map of Thanalan he had stretched out on a table. He pointed at three spots, "Their patrols are in these areas here."

"I see. Three of them, three of us. I'll take this guy." Azami said, picking one of the spots at random.

"Then I want this one!" Pink said, pointing to another.

"I guess that leaves me with him." Shiro said. Having picked their destinations, the three quickly split up.

Azami looked around her area carefully, trying not to get too distracted by the strange new greenery that she saw growing all around. Azami had been under the impression that deserts were desolate places, with very few plants. But Thanalan seemed to be mostly teeming with all sorts of strange plants. Azami wondered if any of them could be used for medicinal purposes? If they could, Azami could probably earn a little extra money gathering some for older folks like she had been able to back home. But now wasn't the time to think about such things.

Her gaze lifted skyward, and she spotted a man in a white and blue uniform that she had seen in Ul'dah at the top of a cliff. She recognized the uniform as that of the sultansworn. But what business did they have out in the desert? Azami usually saw Sultansworn guarding the palace. Perhaps some sort of noble was going to be passing through the area? It probably had something to do with that fancy party Azami had been hearing so much about.

Azami followed the edge of the cliff as it sloped gently downwards. Eventually she was able to climb up onto it herself, and began her approach. She barely got within three yalms of the man before he rounded on her sword in hand. In a loud voice he commanded her, "Halt! Madam, I'm going to have to ask you to put the basket on the ground and place your hands above your head!"

Azami shrugged and complied. While he was actively threatening her with a sword, Azami didn't think that this man was actually planning on hurting her. Instead, she thought that maybe he was just hoping she would be frightened off so he could return to whatever it was he was looking for. What a weird day she was having.

"State your name and business!"

"Azami and delivery. From Papashan. He asked me to bring you some pretzels."

"A twilight pretzels from Papashan? By the gods, forgive me! You could say this new post has my nerves in a... twist." The tension seemed to leave the man as he returned his sword to its sheath. Azami wasn't sure whether to laugh or groan at his dumb joke.

"May I put my hands down?" she asked.

"Yes... of course. I'm... I'm terribly sorry for that. Ahem, yes, well, you may rest assured that the Dispatch Yard is safe so long as I stand watch." the sultansworn said, "Please give Papashan my thanks, and tell him that I only wish I could repay the favor..."

"Well, I'm sure you'll have ample opportunity." Azami said, turning her back on the man. She headed back to the camp. As she approached she noticed Pink and Shiro had already returned. She jogged over to join them.

"You've returned- and with a deal fewer pretzels, I see!" Papashan beamed at them, his gaze full of a hope that Azami couldn't help but feel they were about to dash, "Tell me, how fare our Sultansworn sentries? Did they have anything to report, anything at all?"

"Nothing from mine." Azami admitted.

"Me either!" Pink announced. Shiro shook his head as well.

"What? Nothing? Are you sure? I... oh, oh dear." the old man was beginning to fret. He reminded Azami of a woman in her village long ago. A time that Azami would rather forget. She watched as Papashan took a breath and collected himself. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins to hand to each of them, "Take this for your troubles, then. And stay a moment- there is more I would ask of you."

Pink and Shiro shoved their coins into Azami's hands. She sighed and slipped them into the pouch Momodi had given them earlier. It seemed that somehow Azami had been made their little party's treasurer. Well, she was the one who was the most concerned with it. The job may as well fall to her.

"I have just this moment- No! No, the time for concealment is past! The truth is, even before I had you deliver the pretzels, I was privy to some most unsettling news!" Papashan said, "Which is the real reason I sent you to meet those Sultansworn. A young noblewoman from a very prestigious family has run away from home, and I have been ordered to see her safe return. The Sultansworn you met earlier are assisting with the search. Alas, it seems they have found no trace of her."

"Oh no! That sounds terrible!" Pink said.

"How long ago did she go missing?" Shiro asked, "Do you have any idea where she might be headed?"

Clearly worry had destroyed Papashan's ability to reason. Why would he trust three random adventurers with such knowledge? Any one of them could decide to use it for nefarious means. Ransoming a noble brat could earn them a lot of money. It was a terrible risk he was taking with them, but it seemed as though he had little other choice. Azami couldn't help but pity him.

"I apologize for not being frank with you from the start, but we must proceed with caution- should word of her disappearance spread, I fear others with less honorable motives may join the hunt." Papashan admitted. Well, at least he understood the position he was in.

"We know the sentries have found no sign of her," Azami said, gesturing towards the map, "Pink you try looking in this area, Shiro can you take over here? I'll look in this area. Meet back here in two bells."

"Sounds good to me." Shiro had barely finished speaking before Pink had started sprinting off towards her assigned area.

"Praise the Twelve. I knew I could count on you!" Papashan called after her. Shiro tilted his head at Azami when he noticed she hadn't also sprung right into action.

"It might be prudent to get a physical description of our missing noble before running off?" she suggested.

"That is... a fair point." Shiro said.

"Oh, yes. Of course. She's a young lalafellen woman by the name of Lady Lilira. Pink of hair, about this tall. I'm told that she borrowed clothes from one of the family servants before sneaking out."

"Well at least she isn't making herself too obvious." Shiro said, "Although that means she might be trying to hide. Do you know of any reason she might have run off? Trouble at home? Being forced into a convenient marriage that she doesn't want? That sort of thing?"

"No, no. Nothing like that." Papashan assured him.

"Can you go after Pink and tell her what Papashan told us?" Azami asked. Shiro tilted his head once more, but chose not to ask the question that clearly burned at him.

"I'll be right behind you, alright?" She promised. Shiro seemed to take that as an answer for now, but somehow Azami felt he would press the issue once this Lilira girl was safely in her mansion. Azami watched him until she was certain he was out of earshot.

"Please. Should we allow her to come to any harm, not even a hundred beheadings would be punishment enough... This cannot happen, Azami. It must not!" It was embarrassing to watch the man plead. Azami took a breath and decided to put him out of both of their misery.

"I'm about to ask a question that's going to seem a little odd." she said, "And... I'm going to need you to promise that you won't speak to anyone of this conversation. Can you swear that?"

Papashan looked at her for a long moment, considering. Wondering what it could possibly be that she was about to ask, no doubt. Finally he said, "I'm afraid that I don't understand what you mean."

"I mean that this is life or death. Not a soul can know about this conversation you and I are having right now. Can you promise me that?" Azami tried to will him to understand the importance of her request. If it weren't kept secret... How many times would Azami repeat her mistakes before she learned?

"I swear it." Papashan assured her. Azami chose to believe him. He was, after all, in as difficult a position as she was.

"Do you have an object belonging to this Lilira?" she asked, "It can be anything. A sock, hair ribbon. Anything that she considers to be hers?"

"What..." Papashan seemed to be at a loss.

"I know how it sounds, but I can use it to find her. So long as it considers itself to be hers." Azami tried her best to explain, but somehow her explanations never felt like they were enough. But she had said too much already. If she was wrong about this man...

"I don't understand, but... Will this do?" Papashan asked, holding up a small square of silk, "It is a handkerchief that she once gave to me."

Azami slipped her hand free from her glove and took the kerchief. The link was weak, but Azami thought she might be able to trace it if she focused. She shut her eyes, tried to shut out the world and focus on Lilira. She saw it, distant and hazy, but present. To the south. If she focused just a little bit harder... she could almost make out some rock formations. Lilira was heading towards that big tree. There was a desperation in her steps.

"This never happened." Azami reminded him, handkerchief still clutched in her fist as she ran off to follow the tether.

The closer she got the stronger her connection felt. It had been a long time since she had used her gift in this way. Not since... Azami shook her head. She couldn't think about that right now. Papashan needed her to find Lilira. In the distance, Azami spotted one of the rock formations she had watched Lilira stomp past. She was going in the right direction. It wouldn't be much longer before she spotted her.

Just up the hill, barely a quarter of a malm away now. Azami spotted the young woman dressed in a frumpy pink robe not unlike those she saw some of the trainees over at the Thaumaturgey Guild and a pink turban. That was the girl, Azami knew her as well as she knew her own face at this point. She slipped her hand back into her glove, and jogged after the girl. Closing the distance quickly, even as the girl turned in fright at the stranger running up to her.

"You have caused a lot of trouble, young lady." Azami scolded the girl almost out of reflex as she got closer, "Do you have any idea how worried Papashan is right now? The poor old man is beside himself."

"I-I don't... I..." the girl sputtered, clearly not used to being given the scoldings that she so richly deserves. Azami sighed, recentering herself. Perhaps she had spent too long with the tether. Some of Papashan's anxiety must have crept in while she was searching. That was probably it. "How dare you speak to me thus?"

"Oh, I think you'll find that I'm just very daring." Azami said, "Especially when it comes to spoilt little brats who leave with nary a word to those who care about them and walk off into the desert."

"Sp-spoilt?"

"Yes. Spoilt. And inconsiderate! Do you really not know how much trouble you've caused? The Sultansworn are at their wits end. And Papashan has been reduced to calling in random adventurers to come help. Most of us were hoping to get a chance to eat dinner or sleep tonight, but instead we're out here searching for your dumbass."

"I... I am sorry. I never intended to cause such trouble." the girl said, looking appropriately contrite.

"Whatever." Azami huffed, walking past the girl towards the tree, "The sooner we finish up here the sooner we can get you back."

"What?"

"You needed to go to the Sultantree, didn't you?"

"Yes, but..."

"Well, we can go do it now, or I can throw you over my shoulder and haul your ass back to Papashan like a sack of popotos, and you can sneak out and try it again tomorrow. Which is it gonna be?"

"I... Thank you. I shan't be long." the girl promised. Azami nodded and they began to head towards the tree together. There didn't seem to be anything in the immediate area that Azami was particularly concerned about. The marmots and hornets seemed to mostly be leaving them alone. But still there was an uncomfortable feeling in the air. A kind of tickle in the back of her throat.

"A word of advice?" Azami decided to try and make conversation, if only to take her mind off the odd feeling just under her skin, "If you're going to pretend to be a common person you should try not going into public wearing earrings that look like they're worth more money than a regular working family would make in an entire year."

The girl's hands reflexively went up to the gems in question. Glittering diamonds dangling from ornately carved cuffs. She quickly removed the offending jewelry, "I hadn't realized I still had them in."

"No, I imagine not." Azami said, "So what brings you out here?"

"I can't say." Lilira answered. Azami shrugged.

"It's not like they're paying me enough to care." she admitted, "Shiro's got this mad idea that you're being forced into some loveless marriage and are running away to marry your true love. Or some shit."

Lilira giggled, "And what, pray tell, was your theory?"

"Didn't really have one." Azami admitted, "Like I said. I'm not being paid enough to care."

"I see. Have you been in Ul'dah long?"

"Couple days now."

"You speak of money as if you had been born here."

"I get that a lot." Azami admitted. The sultantree grew ever larger as they approached, looming over them in a way that wasn't wholly uncomfortable. Even if something still tickled just under Azami's skin and set her teeth on edge, "So what's with the tree? Is it some sort of kami or...?"

"Kami?" the girl tilted her head at the unfamiliar word.

"Oh... right. You worship The Twelve here. Kami are... like that. But also not at all." Azami tried to explain, "I'm not really sure how to explain it."

"I'm not certain if it is a kami." Lilira said, "But... It is very important to Ul'dah. The sultanate, in particular."

"Yes, I can tell because it's named after them."

Lilira gave her a disapproving frown, but continued nonetheless, "The souls of previous sultans and sultanas are said to reside in the tree, so that they may ever watch over their beloved city."

"Is that why it has grown so large?"

"According to the legends."

"And you are here to ask for their help? For reasons you're not allowed to tell me?"

"Yes. Now, kindly go keep watch over there while I pray."

Azami nodded and stood quietly to the side, keeping her eyes out for any monsters, or any sign of her fellow searchers.

"O Sultantree..." Lilira's voice wavered. She took a breath and tried again, "O Sultantree, hallowed spirit of my line, forgive my weakness. My failings have cost us dear..."

Azami was suddenly assaulted by the feeling of unseen eyes on her. Reflexively, she moved to hide Lilira from view, placing herself between her client and whatever stranger had come. Lilira had sensed it too, and stopped her prayers. She stood and in a more commanding tone than a little brat like her had any right to use said, "Show yourself!"

"As you command, O Lilira." a hyur with white hair and strange markings on his neck stepped into view. He was clad in black, and quite a bit taller than Azami was. He more or less ignored her, keeping his attention on the young noblewoman behind her, "Forgive my selfish desire to assure your welfare."

"Friend of yours?" Azami asked, eying the man warily. He held a sword at his hip, but his movements looked incongruous with a blade that size. He seemed more similar to a shinobi than a gladiator. His apparent talent for hiding his presence didn't help matters. Azami had the feeling that she hadn't noticed him until the exact moment he had wanted to be noticed. Just how long had he been watching them?

"Hardly." Lilira scoffed. The man took a moment to look affronted.

"I think you've gone and hurt his wee little feelings." Azami said.

"You really are just a bitch to everyone you meet, huh?" Lilira asked. Now it was Azami's turn to look affronted. She clasped a hand to her chest as though Lilira's insult had struck her right in the heart.

"And now you've gone and hurt mine."

"Quiet you." Lilira hissed. She turned her attention back to the interloper. Using her spoilt little noble voice she tried to shoo him off, "I don't recall requesting an escort! Simply pretend we never met and continue on your way."

"We both know I can do no such thing. It isn't safe for you here alone."

"Hey." Azami huffed. She was standing right there.

"It isn't safe for anyone- not with this aetheric disturbance... It's as though the dead are watching us... And I'd prefer not to join them, if it's all the same to you."

Loathe as she was to admit it, he wasn't wrong. The gross feeling in the air had only been intensifying. Azami decided that this stranger probably wasn't planning on stabbing her the moment she turned back, so she turned to face Lilira, "He's right. Something is wrong. Finish quickly and let's get back."

"Fine. Just give me a moment." Lilira said, kneeling back down before the tree. Azami took her place once more, this time joined by an irritating stranger.

"Ah, you must be the one Papashan mentioned. Congratulations on finding our elusive young charge." He said. Azami mostly ignored him as he continued rambling, "You'll have to forgive Her Impetuousness. What she lacks in discipline, she makes up for in stubbornness. You should return with us. The stationmaster will be eager to thank Lady Lilira's protector in person."

"With 'us', huh." Azami said, "I don't recall inviting you along."

"You wound me, madam."

"Azami."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't know if I have that sort of authority, but I'll be sure to put in a good word for you." Azami flashed a harsh glare his way, "My name. It's Azami. Don't fucking call me madam."

"My... apologies." the stranger said, clearly uncertain how to proceed with the conversation.

He was saved from any further awkwardness by the sound of heavy wings overhead. The creature they belonged to was unlike any bird Azami had ever seen. It was humanoid, with long spindly limbs and a wickedly pointed beak. Thick black scales coated the thing's hide like armored plating. Azami wondered if she would be able to punch her way through it? Or would she simply break her hands in the attempt?

Well, no matter. She would simply figure something out.

"Alas, it seems proper introductions will have to wait." the man said, stepping forward and drawing his blade, "Dear Lilira, for my sake please stay out of harm's way. As for you, dear friend- for Lilira's sake- please stay in harm's way!"

Azami took a moment to make sure Lilira had hidden herself among the thick roots of the Sultantree before joining the fray. As she feared, her fists didn't seem to so much as bother the creature. It raked its claws in her direction. Azami jumped back, just out of its reach. Her new companion didn't seem to be faring any better, his blade bouncing harmlessly off of its armored scales.

"This isn't working." Azami huffed.

"I'll hold it's attention. Take Lilira and run back to the station." the man said.

"Sure. Just one small problem with that." Azami said, "There are more approaching from the west."

"Lovely, it brought friends!" the man growled as he ducked under a brutal swing of the creature's claws, "Leave the big one to me! You handle the rest!"

"On it!" Azami said, wondering if the smaller ones would be any easier for her to damage. She charged forwards, ramming her shoulder into the first one. It squawked as she made contact. The creature landed hard on the ground. Azami didn't think it would stay down, but she was already busy dealing with its friends, ducking under one claw and talon to drive her fist into where she assumed its vital organs might be. Azami felt the scales give under the force of her blow.

"No!" a shockingly familiar voice called out. Azami scarcely had time to turn before she heard wood shatter and Pink cry out in pain. Azami threw herself in Pink's direction, fully tackling the creature that had harmed her. She landed on top of the damned thing, holding it fast to the ground by its throat as she savagely beat it with her other fist. She didn't stop until she heard a sickening crack, and the creature fell limp beneath her.

"Rabta, are you alright?" Shiro asked. Azami noticed the other creature she had been fighting laying dead behind him. The ruined remains of the cheap wooden shield lay scattered on the ground, red blood soaking into the sand.

"I'm alright." Pink said through gritted teeth. Azami looked at the wound, and saw a white flash of bone from under her tattered flesh.

"There's more coming." She informed Shiro.

"Fine. I'll hold them off. Get Rabta somewhere safe." He said, taking a position between them and the creatures. Azami helped Pink to her feet, all but carrying the girl back towards the sultantree. She noticed that the stranger's battle with the creature seemed to be at a standstill, but he was already beginning to slow. If it went on much longer he would miss a step and...

Azami couldn't think about that just then. First she needed to treat Pink's wounds.

Once they were safely under the roots of the Sultantree, Azami set Pink down. The girl was trying her best to put on a brave face, but Azami could tell she was only barely holding back tears. Azami pulled an old shirt from her pack, using it as a makeshift bandage to try and staunch the bleeding.

"Do you have any more of those potions?" she asked. Pink shook her head. Azami scoffed, "Bet you regret wasting that one on me now."

"It wasn't a waste." Pink squeaked out. Her genuine and inexplicable affection for Azami never ceased to confuse and irritate her.

"You're so annoying." she huffed, "Lilira come hold pressure on this wound."

"What? I- I can't-" the girl looked frazzled, almost as if she had never seen a wound up close before. Perhaps she hadn't.

"Lilira look at me." Azami commanded. Once she had the girl's attention, "You can do this. Just hold the pressure."

"I can do this." The girl repeated. And for an instant, Azami almost thought she believed it. With a shaky nod, the girl placed her trembling hands where Azami showed her. Azami reached into her boot and retrieved the kaiken that she had hidden there. It wasn't much, but perhaps it would be enough to pierce through these things scales. She stood to rejoin the fight. Shiro and that annoying stranger were going to need the help.

"Hold it just like that until we get back." Azami told Lilira.

"Wait." Pink said, "I saw that creature in one of the books my guildmasters asked me to read. It's... going to keep calling more until you kill the big one."

"Right. Any idea how to do that?"

"The armor is weakest near the wings."

"Got it. Stay out of trouble until I get back."

Azami rushed back into the fray. Several of the creatures were swarming Shiro now, but he didn't seem to be terribly injured. Between his shield and his armor, their claws seemed unable to find their mark. But even that wouldn't hold out forever. Azami was going to need to finish things now. Luckily, the stranger had managed to turn the creature just so that its back was exposed to Azami. She took a running leap, grabbing onto one of its wings with one hand, Azami wrapped her legs tightly around the creature so it wouldn't throw her off as she stabbed her blade into the joint where its wing met its back.

The creature let out an unholy shriek of pain and rage and tried to swipe at her. Azami ignored the pain as its claws raked glancing blows against her legs. Nothing so bad as what Pink was enduring, Azami was certain. She grit her teeth and persisted. Pulling the blade free from its flesh only to drive it back in. Over and over. The stabs got progressively meatier sounding until with a sickening tear, the wing came free. Azami toppled to the ground with it.

She quickly scrambled to her knees, readying her knife for a go at the other wing, but the creature lay still, its harsh gurgling breaths slowing to a stop even as it tried weakly to claw at her once more. Azami's own breaths were harsh and ragged. She watched it for what felt like an eternity before she was satisfied that it wouldn't rise once more.

"Shit." She swore, turning her attention back to Shiro. He was still surrounded by the creatures. Five or six of them. Azami was far too frazzled to count. She hurled herself back into the fray, their strange new ally right at her heels. He might have made some sort of smartass comment, but all Azami could hear was the sound of her own heart pounding as she took down the closest creature.

Something burning hot shot past Azami, the heat of one of Pink's fireballs almost comforting as it slammed into another one of the creatures.

"Lay back down, you idiot!" Azami shouted back to her. Stupid girl was only going to make her wounds worse that way. But fire continued to rain down on the creatures from afar, regardless of Azami's protests.

Between the four of them the battle was ended swiftly. Once the final creature breathed its last, Shiro rushed past Azami to check on Pink. Azami wiped the viscous black fluid that seemed to be the creatures’ blood on her sleeve before tucking her kaiken back into her boot.

"Are you alright?" The stranger asked. Azami took a moment to take stock of herself. There were cuts down her shins where the big one had caught her in its flailing attempts to get her off of its back, but they were shallow. Nothing a few bandages and a good night's rest wouldn't fix. Otherwise, she seemed mostly unharmed.

"Fine." she answered.

Thanks to Pink. Something dark and terrible stabbed at Azami's heart. It was her fault. She had gotten careless and now Pink was in so much pain. It had cut her straight to the bone. Who knew what kind of damage that would do to her arm? Would she ever be able to hold a shield again? Even if the wound itself and the bleeding didn't kill her, there were still infections. They lived in a dirty alleyway. Hardly the most sanitary place to nurse a wound. What if it got gangrenous? What if Pink bled out before they could get her to a proper healer?

This was all Azami’s fault.

"Let's go check on her." the stranger said, gently guiding Azami to where she had left Lilira to tend to Pink. His smile was gentle and knowing, like he understood exactly what she was thinking. Azami didn't even have the energy to be mad at him for it. Instead she nodded and followed along.

As they passed by the corpse of the big one, something odd caught Azami's eye. A strange blue crystal was laying in the pool of black blood leaking from the creature. The faces were smooth and shining, and it certainly hadn't been there moments ago. Azami wasn't sure why, but something about it seemed familiar. Like a part of herself that she hadn't realized was missing.

Azami stopped to examine it further. The stranger kept walking without her, but Azami didn't care about him just then. She reached out to pick the crystal up.

As soon as her fingers brushed the surface she was somewhere else. In a void, similar to the one that she sometimes visited in her dreams. Beneath her feet was a strange sigil, with several empty circles surrounding her. The blue crystal in her hands flashed, and took its place in one of the empty circles. In the distance Azami could hear that familiar voice.

"Hear... feel... think..."

For once the voice deigned to show itself. A massive blue crystal floating in the distance. Somehow Azami knew that that was what was speaking. It was no stranger than anything else in the void she found herself in, she supposed.

"Crystal bearer. I am Hydaelyn. All made one." it said.

"Cool for you." Azami did not have time for this nonsense, "What the hell is going on?"

"A Light there once was that shone throughout this realm... yet it hath since grown dim. And as it hath faltered, so hath Darkness risen up in its stead, presaging an end to Life. For the sake of all, I beseech thee. Deliver us from this fate!"

"And what do you expect me to do about it? I could barely take one of those flying things just now."

"The power to banish the Darkness dwellest in the Crystals of Light. Journey forth and lay claim to them. By thy deeds, shall the crystals reveal themselves to thee. Only believe, for the Light liveth in thy heart."

"You've got the wrong girl! I'm not... Pick somebody else!"

Azami saw others, dozens of others. People floating freely around the crystal. They seemed to be having a much better time than Azami. Any one of them could have been the hero Hydaelyn wanted. Why did she think Azami would be better suited for the task? Azami was the last person who wanted to be a hero. All she wanted was to get the money she needed and go home!

"Go now, my child, and shine thy Light on all creation."

"No! I’m not a hero! You have to pick somebody else!"

But her protests fell on deaf ears.

#ffxiv #fanfic #twdfc #my writing

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