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insomanic-fanfication · 1 year

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🍃🌹The Tower XVI: Bruce Wayne x Male Reader 🌹🍃

The request:'I was wondering if you'd be intrested in a request where either Bruce or Jason fall for Joker's son. Being raised by Joker would be a terrifying childhood. Maybe they do something unexpected like save one of the batfam from an explosion by controlling the flames, a last second decision that gets them hurt instead but makes Joker mad enough to state/imply his son will be punished later?' - @xweirdo101x

CW: Child abuse, normal Gotham violence, Joker being comic Joker, drug abuse (Reader), Mention Abuse, mention of wounds and blood, Unhealthy/ toxic relationship (Bruce x Reader).

Viewers discretion is advised: this is a very heavy fanfication, only read it when you are in the right headspace too. Do not report: don't like, don't read. These type of fanfics can help some people cope with truama. Dead Dove Do Not Eat!

------Fanfic is under the cut------

You weren't actually Joker's son, you were an Asylum baby, meaning you were born in the Asylum from one of the patients. While living in Arkham Asylum, at some point after the events of Jason's torture. Harley still wanted to be a mother figure, hence why everyone calls you the son of Joker.

They made you into their little plaything, forcing you to playhouse with them. You were a god damn adult and yet here you were sitting at a table made of rotting wood with two pieces of insufferable trash. The fake blonde holding your head to her chest while, her "puddn'" tells the events of the day. The action would have been comforting, it would be, if it was a welcomed touch. It wasn't, but at this point you knew, it didn't matter what you wanted.

They had you wear a painted and chipped clown mask to hide your face, you wouldn't complain about this. it's something you can control, of who can know your Identity, your true self. At least they allowed you to paint it how you wanted.

Bandages were another staple of your body. They protected all of the cuts and bruises that were inflicted on you, along with that protection they were sobering reminders of your life. When you did something wrong, Joker would torture you similarly to how he did with Jason, each time you felt more of yourself slipping away. Leaving in it's absents, a sense of hopelessness.

Your screams echoing from the walls, that chased the sounds of bones cracking. The man, your punisher, lecturing you on how, it's your own fault for him causing pain, because you were bad. To remind you that you will always get hit, by the ones who don't get the joke. 'What joke is there?..'.

It was Nightwing that first found you during one of your benders. You were laying on the floor dazed staring at the ceiling, mistaken for dead, if it wasn't for your weak breathing. Syringes with similar greenish residue scattered around the room, a liquid version of the gaseous fear toxin? Your bandages barely wrapped anymore and many of your scabbed wounds and healed cuts visible. Some as new as yesterday and others older than years. Blood dripping on to the floor from the newer wounds, the colour showing you were alive, at least physically.

All you, yourself could register within sensory, was the illusioned world your own mind created with the help of your only true friend. The walls moving like startled bugs, while the floor was trying to swallow you whole. Your head feeling full of cotton. It's hard to feel scared, when this world was better than your own. It's so peaceful, so blissful. You felt water leaking from your eyes, slowly.

Nightwing had no idea how to handle this situation, he has dealt with drug addicts a couple of times. During his career at the Gotham Police Department, though it was always the paramedics that took care of them. The sickening dread growing in volume as his senses take in the room. After some thinking, he comm 'ed for Batman to come to his location, after he left the room, you were in, to wait in the living room of the rundown house.

He didn't want to walk too far away, but he also knew if he wanted to keep himself to together, he had to step back. He thought about talking to Jason first, but snice you were in contact with Joker. Decided against it, as it may end up with a fight or screaming match. Either way, it would make it worse not better.

When Batman arrived at the crumbling tome of the house you stayed in, Nightwing gave him the rundown. He had been looking into reports he found about odd activity around the area. When he saw you enter this building, he decided to wait to see if others would show up. No one did, so he went to investigate, only finding you in a drug altered state barely knowing what's happening outside of the drug trip.

'Have you checked for a pulse yet?', the detective masked tone didn't go unnoticed to Nightwing, 'Uh, no, I haven't. I was concerned if I did, he would attack, and I had no back up. Though, he's still breathing.', the only reply he got was a low grunt of acknowledgment. The Bat's eyes not looking away from the entrance of the room.

'Before, you go in. I feel like I should mention, it looks like he used a liquified fear toxin to get high.', he paused to let the information sink into his former mentor, 'it's odd to say the least'. A deep questioning sigh leaving the bat, himself. 'The fear toxin normally doesn't have that affect, not even to Scarecrow or Joker.'. with purpose of investigating, the older man enters the room.

As Batman's eye scanned the room, his mind was analyzing everything about the situation. The liquified fear toxin, the dried blood splatter on the floors and walls. The blood coated weapons that undoubtably would match some of the wounds on your person. The location and angle of the wounds meaning you didn't do them yourself. It made his nerves stand on end. It was a living picture of past memories.

While crouched, he made it a point to stay at a respectable distance. Gently shaking your shoulder to identify how responsive you were. Instead of an expected attack, the reaction the bat received was a flight response. A trembling man scrambling to the corner of the room. Crying out and pleading, rambles that were barely decipherable.

The only words he was able to make out, were concerning in themselves. Joker, no more, I won't be bad again. Your overall mental distress was more so. The bat dressed hero began his attempts in calming you, all the while feeling his son's eyes on him. Statically, it was unwise to bring you back to the Batcave, instead they chorused you into staying at Dick's apartment. You were still safe, Though Dick was the most feral of the Robins, he had mellowed out tremendously with his new title of Night wing.

In the beginning of your stay, your behavior very much mirrored that of a newly adopted cat. You were allowed anywhere in the apartment, though you mostly preferred to stay in the guest bedroom. Slowly, you opened up, talking more and being more comfortable in the apartment. On the other hand, staying sober wasn't as easy as it sounded, along with unlearning bad habits. Dick and Bruce, on more than one occasion finding food hidden in your room.

A lot of your habits, Bruce has helped with before, though his sons were barely teenagers. While helping you, he was able to talk to you on the same level. Bruce tried to keep an emotional distance from you, the analytical half of his personality, fully aware you couldn't develop a healthy relationship in your state. The softer side of his personality, however, didn't stop your advancements. His emotions auguring that your advancements weren't serve enough, to have you stop them.

They weren't harmful, you weren't trying to seduce him like Cat Women, or Poison Ivy. No, your advancements were more sensual, than sexual. Often being cuddled into his side, your face being buried into his neck. Why should he tell you to stop? For you to close back into yourself? After the years it took for you to become this comfortable around people. No! He doesn't want that to happen, for your progress to decline. You can learn proper boundaries, later on.

Bruce wasn't sure how-to response the first time it happened, it caught him off guard, something very few people could do. Bruce had been visiting the apartment, to log any possible progress from you. The black-haired male, wanting to begin the next steps in your rehabilitation. During a conversation between him, and his oldest son, you had been painting. Some point, within the conversation both of their attentions had been pulled away from you. Only returning, when the feeling of your weight resting on Bruce's side became present.

You had cuddled into him to take nap. The action in itself was simple, however the implications of it was weighed in gold. It meant you trusted him; you find comfort in him. His breathe hitched as his body went ridged, almost as if he was placed into an ice bath.

'He just fell asleep on you, ya know? He didn't stab you.', his son chirped with amusement. The sharp look his father gave him in return, might as well as stabbed Dick. Although, he has seen that look far too many times for it to have an effect. Dick's shit eating grin being apparent of that.

Once it was agreed you were trustworthy enough, i.e. too many of the gremlin children banded together to complain that they haven't said hello to you yet. A visit to the Wayne Manor was set up for you, unbeknownst to you it was actually a test to see if you could handle living at the manor. Snice, the sensory within the manor could possibly be too overwhelming for you. The manor would be better suited for accommodating you, especially with the needed security. That being said, it was only your choice to make and no one else.

As for what everyone thought of you, the opinions were mixed, from some seeing you as a victim, to others seeing you as a threat. Mostly, it was in-between a victim needing support, and someone that should keep distance from.

One of the fully fledged opinions, Jason was enraged just by the fact that Dick got Bruce involved in general, as he sees Bruce as being at fault for you being a victim in the first place because, Bruce let's Joker live. Damin, thinking is black and white, you have hurt quite a few of them during battles, you shouldn't come to the manor, let alone know who they all were. It doesn't matter if you were forced to in his eyes.

That was until they actually talked to you, some of the opinions changed, mostly the more negative ones. Jason couldn't even look at you though, you reminded him too much of what happened to him. The rest in their own ways gave you a chance, or to at least to hear you out.

For the most part, you were glued to Bruce's side like always, either sitting in the chair next to him or attempting to fuse to his side. Tim pointed out to the bat themed hero, that he isn't helping your recovery, if Bruce didn't teach him healthy boundaries. With that in mind, Bruce isn't known for listening to what other's voice to him.

He wouldn't say that he was obsessed with you, he was just protective of you is all. You had been hurt without him, so you need to stay with him for it to not happen again. At least, that's how you understood it, that was your thought process. You needed protection, you needed comfort; Bruce was both within your eyes, your savior.

On the black-haired male's point of view, he was conflicted to the highest degree. He felt it was his fault Joker got his hands on you, it didn't matter that he couldn't have known you existed. It was still his fault! It was another flaw, another mistake for him to stab into his memory. To torture himself, to harm himself in a way no one could stop or detect.

Those were the thoughts whirling in Bruce's mind as he held your sleeping body, his heart pounding. You had voiced how the vast expanse of coldness, that was your Manor room, made your skin crawl with anxiety. To ease your distress, he offered for you to sleep in his room with him, which you eagerly accepted.

Nuzzling yourself close to his person, the scene causing his breathe to catch in his throat. This was far from the first time he shared his bed with someone, though this instance, felt much more intense, more intimate. This trumping even his passionate moments, with that night's wayward lover.

The cold room, shrouded in darkness. Besides the soft bedding, your bodies so close together, indulging in the others warmth. The comfortable silence, only being filled with relaxed breathing. No expectation of a sexual favor, only basking in each other's presence. It was a stark difference; the brooded man wasn't ready for.

Even if he wasn't ready for it, nor saw this blooming within his future. He wouldn't change it for the better, he knew it wasn't his healthiest relationship to date. But it was fulfilling for the both of you, so why change it?

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Author's note: I am very sorry your request turned into this, if you didn't like it. I'm a huge psychological horror fan, and your request gave me feral ideas. I felt That I might never get a chance to put into words again. I'm so sorry this took so long!

Liked what you just read? Please like and Reblog! Check out my blog for similar content like this! I also reblog other Writer's works, so you can check them out too! #Crow!Found!Thing is my personal blog tag for other works I enjoyed from other blogs! #Crow!Writes is my personal blog tag for my original works.

#crow!writes #bruce wayne #batman x male reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #dc fanfic #batman fanfiction #dead dove do not eat

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tumbleweed-writes · 1 month

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Death and the Lady: Chapter Six Chibs Telford X Reader

I'm on a roll with these updates people

CHAPTER FOUR FOUND HERE

TAG LIST:

@youngadult9016 @mrsfilipchibstelford @mamawiggers1980 @ravennaortiz @liveinsteadofdreaming

Chapter Six: Hen

Y/N hated to admit that being on the back of a motorcycle really did feel as easy as…well riding a bike. She was quite sure that the old saying It’s as easy as riding a bike wasn’t exactly reserved for this kind of bike though.

She would be a big fat liar of course if she tried to claim that she didn’t feel her grip tightening around Chibs’ waist, her blunt nails digging into his stomach at the occasional turn that seemed far too sudden. She of course had noticed the slight rumble of his torso as she’d done this, hinting he’d taken notice of how startled she’d seemed and found it amusing.

She was almost tempted to slap him on the back of the head for laughing at her, but she had a distinct feeling that the helmet he wore would protect him from any significant impact.

She was also certain that smacking outlaw bikers on the back of the head usually wasn’t a bright plan. However one might argue that she’d never been known not to be the type to fully dive into less bright plans.

She could admit that being anywhere near a motorcycle still filled her gut with the tiniest hint of dread given her brother’s past. After what had happened she’d been almost certain she’d never step foot near a motorcycle ever again.

Jackson Teller had been the one to change that which had been a shock considering how volatile her interactions had been with him at times back then. He’d convinced her it was exposure therapy of sorts. Somehow back during those days even with their fucked up bond, she’d trusted him enough to allow it. She’d told herself it would be cathartic for her.

It had been therapeutic in a way; riding on the back of a Harley had felt freeing. It had been a way to face her fear and her anguish over what the act of being on a bike had done to her brother head on. It had probably been the healthiest way she’d tried to cleanse herself of her despair back then.

Though she knew her other methods exorcizing her demons during those days had not been healthy. Meaningless sex, booze, pot, and the occasional Xanax had not done her many favors.

Y/N could remember a teacher she’d had in elementary school who had told her father, during a parent-teacher conference, that Y/N, although a sweet child, tended to have a mischievous and impulsive spirit that often got her into trouble.

Y/N guessed she’d not outgrown that personality trait by the time she reached her later teens and very early twenties. She was still impulsive. Her misery over her brother had just made her all the more willing to embrace this personality fault.

Those years had been years of chaos and she had considered herself lucky to have made it out alive. Back then she’d not really cared if she lived or died. Really she’d been chasing high after high knowing that the rush of meaningless sex, the daze of booze or pot, and the rush of being in such a dangerous environment gave her a thrill. It was a distraction from her misery. In between those distractions she’d been in a horrible state.

She’d had no life path and no real sense of self. Each day was lived as though it might be her last and she’d found often she didn’t care if it was her last.

When it had all become too much, when she’d hit rock bottom, and when she could no longer run from her pain, her father had helped pick her up and gotten her the hell out of dodge. She had left without even saying goodbye.

A therapist she’d seen for a time in New York had helped her work through the choices she’d made during those years as a friend of SAMCRO.

She’d sought out the therapy having realized of course that changing her environment from California to New York had not quite changed how she felt emotionally. She’d changed the environment but not rid herself of the core of the problem. Instead of partying and engaging in casual sex, she’d begun to isolate herself and shut down any hint of social activities appropriate for a girl her age.

She’d shut down instead of jumping into danger and it was still damaging to her state of mind.

Therapy had helped, it had helped a lot. She’d realized that people tended to give therapy a bad rep. She’d been able to discuss SAMCRO of course not going into too much detail about the hint of illegal activity she’d maybe become a little aware of. She’d described them as just being the outlaw bikers who provided a space for her to disappear in.

Her therapist had helped Y/N to understand that she was so miserable and so heartbroken back then that she’d used SAMCRO’s clubhouse and the chaos that came with the men who inhabited it as a way to not confront any difficult emotions she had over her brother. She had wanted to disappear in the chaos because it was easier than the reality of her life.

She would like to believe that since then her way of dealing with her emotions was a little less damaging to both her physical and her emotional health. She still had a glass of wine on occasion. She might smoke a joint if she had the opportunity though she tended to want to stay clearheaded given the seriousness of her line of work. She wasn’t interested in hooking up with a guy anymore for the thrill of it. She was certain she only wanted a man in her bed because he deserved to be there.

She didn’t allow her vices to consume her anymore.

She liked to believe that she was able to indulge in moderation at least.

It seemed that one thing had not changed in the years of developing all those healthy coping skills; being on the back of a motorcycle still felt cathartic. Though it had been years since she’d been on the back of anyone’s Harley, she had to admit that the feeling of freedom and exaltation was still present.

Y/N really hated to admit it, but the man she was currently experiencing this ride with might be slightly contributing to the enjoyment she felt being on the back of a bike.

She hated to admit that she enjoyed the firm feel of him in front of her. His waist held a little extra heft but she could feel the tension of his abs as he shifted his body during turns. She had a feeling that even with the extra pounds that Chibs was strong and more than capable of handling himself. He seemed sturdy and dependable. She almost felt protected in the strangest way. It was a thought that she found alarming.

She hated to admit that the vibration underneath her was quite enjoyable, making her skin flush just the slightest and causing a bit of a heat to spread through her. She refused to put too much thought down this rabbit hole of course. There was no way in hell the Scot in front of her would ever know she was getting off just a tiny bit. He’d never let that one go if he knew.

She also hated to admit that she found the scent of the Scotsman in front of her kind of appealing. It was hard not to notice it. She had her face practically buried against his back after all and her arms wrapped around his midsection.

He smelled like the leather of his kutte. The scent was a familiar one that she’d not taken in in such a long time. It was a scent that gave her mixed emotions. It represented both lust, excitement, and the slightest hint of despair for her.

It was a confusing mix of feelings to have all at once.

She tried not to focus too hard on the feelings the scent of the leather kutte gave her, focusing instead on the other smells he carried. There was the scent of cigarettes of course, Marlboro brand from what she guessed. There was a hint of soap and shampoo, the scents surprisingly fresh smelling. There was an undertone of mint which she assumed came from either his soap or his hair. She spotted a hint of aftershave and old spice deodorant. She could spot a small hint of cologne as well. It was a pleasant smell; musk and bergamot.

She was pleased to find that unlike some of her past dates, Chibs seemed to understand that less was more when it came to cologne. She’d dated a few guys who wore so much cologne that it gave her the worst headache.

It seemed Chibs understood that a slight hint of the cologne was all that was needed. There was no need to bathe in the stuff. She had a distinct feeling this had to do with his age. Most young guys in her experience could overdo it when it came to things like cologne and aftershave.

She had a feeling that Chibs had been alive long enough to know that less was best where it mattered.

The realization that she actually enjoyed the way the Scotsman smelled troubled her.

She was once again taken over with that strange sense of security and comfort. It seemed like a contradiction; the outlaw biker giving her any sense of comfort.

She hated to admit that she was almost disappointed when the ride ended when they finally arrived at the diner Chibs was insisting would be well worth the ride.

Y/N reluctantly allowed Chibs to take her hand in his, giving her some stability as she dismounted the back of the bike.

She ignored the slight smirk on his lips and removed her helmet, thankful she’d been smart enough to always keep extra hair ties in her purse. She knew well enough to know that helmet hair was a pain in the ass.

The hair ties in her purse could help when she had to work at the crematorium. The cremator could put off a lot of heat and smoke. Cremation during the summer was especially hellish. She found that it was ideal to keep her hair pulled up when she was working at the crematorium both to keep her hair out of her face and to deal with the intense heat.

She pulled the hair tie from her hair running her fingers through her long hair pretending that she didn’t notice him watching her. It didn’t give her the sense that she was under a microscope the same way she’d felt when Deputy Hale had studied her so deeply. It felt more like she was being admired; like some fine piece of art or a glittering jewel.

It made those butterflies she was attempting to deny flutter all too much.

She tried not to scowl as he spoke a knowing look in his eyes. “Did ya enjoy the ride?”

“It was alright.” She replied keeping her voice nonchalant, not wanting to allow him the satisfaction of knowing just how much she enjoyed herself.

Chibs smirked at the comment, having to kind of enjoy that she was this difficult. He was once again reminded that it had been far too long since a woman had given him this much sass or required this much labor. He was enjoying the effort she was taking. It was a game that he was determined to win.

They didn’t say anything truly of significance again until they sat down and ordered. Y/N sat back in the booth studying her surroundings. The diner seemed to be a mom and pop establishment typical of most of the businesses in Charming.

It was old looking but thankfully clean. The waitresses still wore those old fashioned looking dresses that weren't entirely flattering. A jukebox sat in the corner of the diner though it wasn’t playing. There was bar seating and an old soda and malt machine in full view.

She failed to see just why Chibs had been so insistent that they take a trip this far out when there were similar diners closer to Charming’s city limit.

She held the observation in almost sure that the distance required for dinner had been purposeful by her date as a means to take a long ride with her.

Y/N took a long sip of her diet coke before finally working up the nerve to say the words breaking the silence. She already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear the admission straight from the horse’s mouth. “So, am I correct to assume that the open bags of sugar the town has been abuzz over were your doing?”

Chibs smirked amused by the euphemism she was using for the empty graves found in Charming’s cemetery. He could distinctly remember the way she’d referred to the corpses SAMCRO had borrowed from her as cups of sugar.

“Aye, though’ it migh’ help ya out. Once those cups of sugar were discovered figured ya didn’t want too many questions ‘bout how ya lost track of the sugar…figured another empty bag migh’ set ya up as an innocent.” Chibs remarked, shrugging his shoulders, almost tempted to admit that the staged grave robbery, from the body that Half-Sack didn’t dig up originally, was Chibs’ own idea.

He could still remember the words he’d said at Chapel as he tried to convince SAMCRO to allow it so soon after they’d gotten the two bodies from Y/n. The original empty grave had not yet been discovered so they still had some time to cover the tracks. “It jus ain’ bout covern’ our tracks here. The Lodi P.D. is gonna have some questions fer Y/N once they identify those bodies we got from her. Migh’ be bes’ to make it really appear as though she’s an innocent who knew nothin bout how those bodies wound up outta her care. The cops exhume the grave the Prospect didn’t dig up already, they migh’ have some questions fer Y/N bout how she didn’t notice the body was missin’ when she allegedly buried it. The cops comin’ knockin’ at her door migh’ spook her. Gotta keep our new friend feelin’ safe and untouchable. I’ll take care of it myself tonigh’ me an my Prospect. No one will be the wiser.”

Much to Chibs’ relief his insistence on taking the reins on covering up Y/N’s misdeed had appeared to his brothers as just Chibs trying to stop Y/N from getting cold feet about her new business arrangement with SAMCRO.

They’d viewed it as a protection for the club instead of an act of care for their new associate.

He’d managed to hide the fact that he wanted to cover up for her actions simply because he felt protective of her. He cared about protecting her from the consequences of her actions.

Chibs hadn’t done the digging of course. That had all been on his Prospect.

He’d sat by on a nearby tombstone smoking as he watched Half-Sack do all the work. He had at least shone a flashlight on the Prospect giving him the light he needed in the pitch black night.

Chibs had set back on that tombstone a proud sense of satisfaction washing over him an amusing thought crossing his mind: there was no better way to let a lass know you fancied her than staging a grave robbery for her.

He was just thankful that no one had spotted them. They had seemed to be the only living souls in the cemetery that night.

He could remember the scene as they finally reached their goal.

Half-Sack groaned gazing up at his Sponsor the older Scotsman nearly out of sight by now given how deep the hole had grown. They’d been at this for hours now. Why were graves even so deep? He made a silent note to himself to ask Y/N though he had a feeling that her answer would unnerve him. The chick completely unnerved him even with as attractive as she was. The fact that she could embalm him alive if she wanted to made Half-Sack’s last remaining ball want to retreat into his body. “This is so fucked up. I can’t believe I’m doing this again. It’s been less than a month and this is the second grave I’ve dug up. This is so wrong.”

“Shut up, jus’ be thankful there ain’ a body at the end of the task Prospect. Quit yer whinin’ and keep diggin’ if ya wanna earn that Top Rocker.” Chibs had remarked zero sympathy in his voice for his young protege's moral dilemma.

When the shovel had finally hit a hard surface, Chibs had helped Half Sack at least push back the concrete burial vault, prying the casket open with a tire iron giving the act all the more of an amateur look as the fine heavy wood of the casket splintered somewhat with the force of the tire iron.

Chibs chuckled as he shone the tiny flashlight he’d brought along into the casket only to spot sacks of concrete. “Clever lass.”

He gave Half-Sack a slap on the back, unable to hide the pride from his voice at the sight of what was clearly the action of a woman he’d coveted covering her actions. A full casket weighed more than an empty one. She’d known just how to make the casket feel occupied. She was bold to pull off the stunt especially with the risk the family might change their mind about that closed casket service. “Get rid of the concrete, lad. Get it outta the cemetery.”

Chibs was pulled from the memory as Y/N let out a small sigh resisting the urge to scold both Chibs and SAMCRO for leaving her high and dry to deal with the effects of the little grave robbery stunt all alone. “I would have appreciated some heads up.”

Chibs gave her a small smile not above stating the obvious. “Figured yer natural reaction to seein’ the empty bag of sugar had been discovered would be more favorable than a manufactured one.”

She let out a huff not amused to admit that he had a point. She was a decent actress but she wasn’t sure she was able to put on an Oscar worthy performance of being shocked by a grave robbery that she knew about.

She was stunned as Chibs spoke a surprising amount of concern evident in his voice. “How are ya doin’ with all this?”

She shrugged her shoulders, so tempted to mention the nightmares she’d been having, the ones where she followed Chibs himself into a cemetery or down into her embalming room only to be pulled away screaming by the ice cold unforgiving arms of the dead.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to admit that she might be mentally suffering just the slightest. She didn’t want to appear to be a weak link to SAMCRO. “I’m fine, everything is just fine.”

Chibs raised a brow not quite believing her. He shoved the desire to press her and call her out, sure he didn’t want to spend this date arguing with her.

He was certain pissing her off wasn’t going to win him any future dates.

He was determined to win future dates. He would grovel if that’s what it took. He was man enough to grovel for something he wanted this badly.

He spoke up thankfully changing the subject. “How long ya been back in town. Jax said a few months?”

She frowned, not entirely thrilled that Jackson Teller had been discussing her behind her back. She shut down the annoyance telling herself that most likely the information had come up when SAMCRO had first decided to come to her for those favors. “Officially a little over three months now.”

“How do ya like it? It changed much since ya left?” He asked taking a sip from the glass of water he’d ordered.

Y/N shrugged her shoulders almost sure she didn’t like the shift in conversation. She sighed knowing that this was what was expected on a date. “It’s fine. It honestly feels like Charming has always been in stasis compared to the outside world. I guess that’s how people like it though; small business is in and big business stays away. Taxes stay low and things feel secure. It feels like nothing changed around here in my time away…but I know that’s not true. It seems like in so many ways everything changed.”

She paused knowing her statement about changes most likely made very little sense. She was sure it wasn’t helping her appear any less mentally unbalanced.

She cleared her throat fast to speak again. “It’s quieter than New York. I enjoy that. The city was loud..too many people and too many noises. I felt like I got lost in the crowd there and work was far busier. The cost of living here is also a nice change. Rent back in the city was killing me.”

“Aye, mus’ be nice ta be back home at leas’. Ya know back in yer’ childhood home.” Chibs replied, still watching her so closely that the odd feeling she was being admired set in once again.

Y/N sighed surprised that she found herself being honest. “It is in some ways. It’s kind of lonely though to be honest. The house has always felt too big and now that it’s just me it’s more noticeable…it’s too quiet…and not just because of all the dead people who are sometimes in the basement.”

She twisted her lips, her cheeks flushing slightly as their waitress passed by the table, the woman’s eyes widening, apparently she catching the statement about dead people in the basement.

Chibs smirked, apparently having noticed it as well. It seemed that they both came to the mutual choice that it was a little too impolite to laugh at the poor woman.

He spoke nodding his head not helping but to address her coworker. “At leas’ ya got Skeeter runnin’ round durin the day righ? He seems like he’s loud nough judgin’ by yer scoldin him over the yelling.”

He paused the words leaving his lips before he could stop them. “Ya seem close. Jugin’ by the looks he was sendin’ me tonigh’ can’t say he’s happy yer goin’ out with the likes of me.”

She raised an eyebrow not spotting jealousy the way some men seemed to do upon finding out a girl they were interested in just so happened to have a male friend.

She’d had a few boyfriends in the past take issue with the few male friends she’d had back in New York. Of course those friends had been work associates. Most of her friends were work associates back home.

She’d found it annoying; the jealousy that some guys showed over their girlfriends having male friends. She didn’t understand the thought process behind the concept that a man and a woman couldn’t be friends without there being some sort of weird repressed sexual desire rumbling under the surface.

Human beings might be innately sexual beings, but that didn’t mean that mentally they weren’t able to form bonds without sex being the driving point.

When past boyfriends had presented the idea that men and women couldn’t be friends, Y/N was inclined to bring up the existence of bisexuals.

If one couldn’t be friends with a person due to some kind of hidden underlying sexual desire, then wouldn’t bisexuals be friendless? After all it would seem that bisexuals would be left with no friends if sexual desire was part of friendship in the opposite sex. Bisexuals were attracted to both men and women so sexual desire would certainly be an issue if this suggestion that friendships didn’t exist without wanting to bang someone.

Of course this observation had never changed her boyfriends’ minds. If anything the argument had just pissed them off. They’d accused her of being a smartass and trying to talk her way out of a situation she didn’t like once again. She’d of course realized that those boyfriends struggled to connect too many critical thinking points together. There was nothing less sexy than an idiot in her opinion.

She was pleased and somewhat impressed to find that Chibs didn’t seem concerned about her having an opposite sex friend.

She suddenly remembered her old roommate's observation about the difference between younger men and older men.

It seemed that perhaps in the past she’d been experiencing the reactions of boys and not the reaction of men. She was quickly reminded that perhaps Chibs was more of a man than a boy.

She shrugged her shoulders pretending that she wasn’t making this little mental observation. “Skeeter has known me since I was fifteen. He’s protective of me because of how long he’s known me. He was my father’s apprentice. He went to mortuary school down in Southern California somewhere but he wanted to come home to do his apprenticeship. He begged my father to take him under his guidance. My dad saw something in him because Skeeter was the only apprentice he ever took on…aside from me being somewhat of an unofficial apprentice.”

She paused, shaking her head a small laugh leaving her. “Skeeter actually lived in our attic for a while while he was working as an apprentice…I sometimes to this day miss the sound of him moving around up there. It was kind of a white noise when I was falling asleep at night, as odd as that sounds. In a lot of ways it felt like he was just part of the house. He was like some strange sibling we kept locked upstairs. I was a horrible teenager to be honest…mouthy and constantly pushing the limits, I used to make a game of irritating poor Skeeter…I was a pest. I’d hide in the viewing rooms and jump out and scare him as he rounded the corner. It was an asshole move honestly. It’s incredible he didn’t lock me in a casket as awful as I was. I think he kind of enjoyed the pestering to be honest. He doesn’t have much of a family.”

She paused again, her lips downturning slightly. “He was good to my father up until the very end. He adored my father honestly…I think he saw the dad he never had…which makes sense. My father had a big heart. That was his greatest asset in the business. When my dad got sick…Skeeter picked up the slack. I was too far away and my father wasn’t about to let me come home just yet. When I first saw my father’s will I almost expected Skeeter to get the business or at least be made a partner…It all went to me though…and Skeeter, surprisingly, feels no ill will about it. He wasn’t sticking around because he expected to get anything out of it. He understands the family business stays in the family.”

She let out a small bitter laugh. “I’m amazed he hasn’t moved on. He wasn’t joking around tonight. He is fully licensed, he’s been licensed longer than I have. He could very well move on and probably even start his own business instead of working under the same person who used to torment him when she was a teenager…Taking over the family business hasn’t been a walk in the park. The place has been around for as long as it has, and my dad had to maintain it. Between maintaining it and his failing health the bills piled up. You’d think they’d have been forgotten when he died, but I’m his lucky heir and his debt is my inheritance. Somehow Skeeter has stuck around even with the occasional dip in his paychecks”.

“He’s loyal to ya, no’ jus’ cause of yer da. He respects ya’. I could see it tonigh’. He considers ya’ a friend.” Chibs provided his heart twisting at the mention of her debts, an unfamiliar feeling settling in his belly; guilt.

SAMCRO had taken advantage of her desperation hadn’t they? Her inheritance of debts had been used against her as a way to get her to cooperate with the Sons' needs.

He shoved back the guilt focusing on the small smile she gave him as she nodded her head. “He’s probably my best friend…he’s actually probably my only friend, as sad as that sounds.”

“I’m sure that ain’ true.” Chibs replied a bit overtaken by the sudden realization that the girl he’d been admiring was much like him deep down inside…lonely.

She shook her head, a small bitter laugh leaving her. “It is, trust me. It’s always been that way. I never had many friends even growing up. No one wanted to have sleepovers at the corpse house.”

She paused, rolling her eyes at the memory of the cruel nickname local kids had given her house when she was growing up. She had to wonder at times if it was still called that by the local kids. “Most of the kids I grew up with thought of my home as the place they went to when their grandparent died. I was a reminder of a shit time. I had my brother at least…but he was five years older than me. So he didn’t always want me tagging along behind Jax, Opie, and him.”

Chibs frowned, thrown off by the familiar names. “Yer brother knew Jax and Opie?”

Y/N felt a lump develop in the back of her throat wondering how she’d gotten into this conversation. She guessed the subject was unavoidable now. “Daniel was in the same grade as Jackson and Opie growing up. They didn’t really hang out until middle school…to be honest I’m sure my brother was more of a third wheel given how close Jax and Opie were…never saw one without the other. My brother was…he struggled more than me I think.”

She paused hating that she was even going into this entire story. She had a feeling though that Chibs most likely would hear the story from some third source. She knew that local gossips were all too familiar with the sad tale of Y/N’s poor crazy older brother.

She took a sip from her drink as she continued. “I was never afraid of the family business. Death has always felt like an old friend in some ways. I saw it as something I wanted to understand. My father’s line of work made me curious. My brother though…death terrified him. I mean…he was older when our mom died. I was only four, so I didn’t remember it or really understand it. My brother understood it though. Our mom died suddenly, she had a heart defect…wasn’t even aware of it. She just went to sleep one night, went into cardiac arrest and never woke up…my father went to sleep with a living wife and woke up a widower.”

She paused again a heavy sigh leaving her knowing that these tales were usually reserved for a therapist.

She figured if Chibs was going to find out about her family she’d rather he hear it from her than hear rumors from the gossips of Charming. She had a feeling some of the Sons were no strangers to the stories about her family. She’d rather Chibs hear it from her than his brothers. “My father actually embalmed her body for the funeral…I think he saw it as an act of love…one last act of love. That’s what funerals are really, a last showing of love for those we’ve lost. I didn’t understand how my father could have the strength to prepare her body…until my father died and I did the same for my father’s body…uh.”

She paused, turning her gaze from Chibs far too fearful to see discomfort she was sure would wash over his features at that confession. She spoke again, a sigh leaving her as she pretended to focus on the salt and pepper shakers on the table. “I’m getting off topic…my mom dying, it really hit my brother hard…As he got older, the fear he felt just got worse... he just got angry…then he started hanging around Jackson and Opie and they took him under their wings. I think they encouraged him to be honest. I’m sure my brother might have Prospected for the SAMCRO right along with Jackson and Opie...if my dad hadn't talked him into a community college.”

Y/N felt her throat grow tight, hating how the story continued. She placed her hands down in front of her flat on the table trying to will herself to keep talking. “My brother got into Harleys while he was a teenager…Jackson and Opie’s influence. While my brother was taking classes out in Stockton, Jackson helped him get a bike of his own...My brother was a pretty decent rider most of the time. He could get pretty reckless sometimes though. He might have been afraid of death, but he wasn’t scared of teasing it. I think the Harley made him feel powerful. He wasn’t afraid on the bike. He got into a fight…an argument with my dad over the holiday break about the idea of possibly going to mortuary school. He rode off on his bike and it was nasty out…rainy. My brother was upset and with the weather…there was an accident. My brother went over the handlebars and hit his head hard, fractured his skull…It was bad enough that he landed in critical condition up at Saint Thomas….he was never the same after that. Damage to the frontal and temporal lobe…that’s what the doctors said. My brother changed…I don’t know if you know much about that area of the brain, but it controls a lot of things like judgment, emotional responses, impulse control, and even memory. The last time my brother lived at home he tried to kill me.”

Chibs felt a chill run down his spine at the final part of her statement. He’d been trying to wrap his brain around everything she’d just told him from her brother’s connection to Jax and Opie, to her mother’s death, to her father embalming her mother and Y/N embalming her father. The final statement both shocked him and made those protective tendencies he’d noticed popping up for Y/N come fully to the surface.

She was shocked by the warmth of a hand sliding along hers. She dared to look up stunned to meet Chibs’ eyes. She’d feared seeing disgust or perhaps pity. She knew those stories about her father and brother usually made people pale.

She stared into his eyes, not surprised by the stunned expression on his face. She was overtaken by how nice his hand felt over hers. His hands were as rough as she’d expected, but his touch was gentle.

She spoke knowing she had to elaborate a bit further on her last statement. “Like I said…Daniel struggles with his impulse control and emotional regulation. So when he gets mad, he lashes out and it’s full force. I made him angry. I was making breakfast for him and he didn’t like that I wasn’t making him what he wanted. I was tired and overwhelmed and I wanted to be doing something else to be honest…he got upset and it escalated. He’s much larger than me…my father and he were both big guys…The next thing I know he’s standing over me trying to strangle me and my vision is blurring. If my dad hadn’t yanked him off me…well I’m sure you can come to your own conclusion. After that my father had him institutionalized."

She sighed, shaking her head, her eyes growing damp. “I was eighteen years old…and I was scared. I loved him…He didn’t mean anything by it…He just, he doesn’t have that filter that stops him from lashing out. Every emotion is so strong. After the anger passed he was sobbing and confused. My dad knew he couldn’t live in the family home anymore…just wasn’t safe for him or us. He’s been in the state hospital out in Lodi ever since. I know it sounds awful to say it…but sometimes I wish he’d died in the accident. Dying might have been more merciful than the hell he lives in now.”

Chibs felt those protective little tendencies he felt towards her growing all the stronger easily able to picture her so young and terrified the person she adored so much attacking her.

“I don’ think it sounds awful to feel that way. Somethings are more cruel than death.” Chibs replied surprised that he found the reassurance so easily.

He took her by shock reaching across the table his fingertips wiping one of the tears she’d failed to stop.

She was surprised by the statement and the act of drying her tears, almost sure he’d be disgusted that she could say such a thing about her own brother.

He spoke, reluctantly pulling his hand from her cheek but keeping her other hand under his grasp. He decided to take a risk and bring up the observations he’d made over the course of knowing her thus far. “I’m guessin yer brother…the history there is why ya ad Jackie Boy ain’ exactly tradin’ friendship bracelets.”

She was surprised by the small laugh that left her at the thought of trading friendship bracelets with outlaw bikers though she knew it was only an expression. She sighed debating how far to go into that story. It seemed a little too heavy after already dumping so much trauma on him.

“It’s part of it…there’s more there…maybe I’ll tell you everything someday. Let’s just say after my brother…after he was institutionalized I went over to SAMCRO’s clubhouse and tried to kick Jackson in the balls.”

Chibs widened his eyes both amused and stunned by the confession. He was far too interested in the concept of an eighteen year old girl being bold enough to march into an outlaw biker clubhouse and threaten the Prince of SAMCRO.

The confession was enough of a tidbit of information that it made her seeming unwillingness to go into more details about her past with SAMCRO tolerable. “In the balls, lass?”

She sighed a small laugh leaving her. “I was extremely drunk, it should be noted…I think it was the first time I ever got drunk…probably my first drink. My father didn’t exactly lock his liquor cabinet back then. I was pissed and intoxicated…a pretty deadly combination. Jackson probably should have kicked me out…but he managed to get me outside and talk me down…He let me scream at him and maybe attempt to hit him though I couldn’t do much damage to the guy given my state I mean he was like 23, he wasn’t about to hit a barely legal teenager.”

Chibs widened his eyes trying to imagine the scenario she was describing. He was still impressed by the brass balls on her even if those balls had been clearly aided by booze.

She spoke again, shaking her head. “The rest is a very long story that I promise I’ll tell you someday.”

He furrowed his brow wanting to coax her into telling him now, but he bit his tongue though telling himself that a promise to tell him more later was a promise to have these kinds of talks beyond just this date.

He kept his hand over hers not helping but to cling onto the implication that there would be the opportunity to learn more.

He was overtaken with the thought that after hearing all he’d heard tonight, those protective tendencies he’d began to feel popping up over her were going nowhere.

He remembered his words to Clay earlier in the evening. He was interested in far more than just sex with the woman sitting across from him.

—----------------------------------------------------

Y/N had been surprised by the request to take another ride after dinner. She’d been even more surprised that she was perfectly happy to comply with the request.

She’d been relieved that the remainder of their dinner had been much less dramatic as far as conversation went.

She’d felt thankful that Chibs had found a way to make the conversation much lighter, quickly going into a story telling her about something truly dumb Half-Sack had done earlier that day.

As dinner had worn on Y/N was surprised to find that she was kind of fond of the way Chibs spoke about the prospect. It was almost sort of sweet in a strange way. He called the younger man an absolute idiot, but it was clear that he loved him.

She was surprised as the bike managed to head out to a more secluded area not far from the diner.

It was a hilly bit of land not far from some warehouses, it all seemed to be undeveloped property that was far enough off the road where no one would disturb them.

She raised an eyebrow feeling a little uncertain as he’d parked the bike helping her dismount it again.

She watched him dig though the saddlebags on the Harley. She'd found it amusing as he had gone into probably too much detail explaining to her that this particular bike was the one he reserved for runs and longer travels. He'd explained it over dinner admitting that he loved a good long ride but the bike he used in his day to day life wasn't really made for such a long trip.

She spoke not helping but to tease him as he pulled out an old looking blanket that looked as though it had seen better days as well as a small camping lantern. “I hope you didn’t have any hopes of getting lucky because you brought a blanket. I don’t really put out on the first date these days..especially in such a public place.”

“Aye nex’ date then?” He replied earning a soft swat to the side from her, the action far more playful than he’d been expecting.

He was certain that if he’d made that type of comment to her just a day ago she might have slapped him.

He spoke again wanting to make his intentions clear. “Not tryin’ to get laid, Hen…no’ tonigh’ at least.”

She watched him spread the blanket down on the ground, her cheeks flushing over both the statement and the odd petname.

She’d not imagined being referred to as a farm animal might actually feel flattering. She spoke a small huff leaving her. “Hen?”

“Scottish, lass. Jus’ what ya call a younger woman yer fond of back home…kinda like callin ya sweetheart.” He remarked a hint of a smirk crossing his lips, finding her reaction kind of adorable.

She felt her cheeks flush further. She couldn’t stop the words from leaving her surprised it felt easy to flirt with him especially after all her insistence that this was the last thing she needed. “So, you’re fond of me?”

“Oh yeah, if ya ain’ noticed it yet, I clearly need to step up my game.” Chibs was fast to respond, holding his hand out to her as he stood up.

She ignored the voice in the back of her head telling her this was an awful idea as she stepped forward letting him take his hand in hers the touch just as soft as it had been at dinner.

He spoke nodding down at the blanket. “Sit with me, Hen.”

She decided to ignore the voice in the back of her brain that told her sitting led to lying which led to all the things you could do while lying down.

She sat by his side not surprised as he reached out his hand clasping over hers again. He nodded up at the sky. “See this is wha’ I wanted ya to see.”

She stared up at the night sky surprised to see that the stars were just as clear as they’d been that night in the cemetery.

They seemed much more pleasant tonight than they’d seemed that night in the cemetery.

She spoke recalling the talk they’d had that night while she was digging a hole for those cremains. “Is it comparable to what you described back home?”

“Nah, no’ even close…Think who I’m lookin’ at it with makes it less disappointing though.” He admitted taking a chance to peek over at her relieved that she seemed as entranced by the night sky as he’d hoped.

He spoke again clearing his throat. "I use to take rides out to the countryside back home...late a nigh' would look up at the sky an' think."

"What'd you think about?" She dared to ask not pulling her eyes from the sky. She could see why it might be nice to sit and stare at the stars. There was a peace that came with it.

"Lotta shite. It wasn' a happy time in my life. It was righ' after I patched into the Belfast Sons...I had a lot shite goin on at the time...a lotta changes." Chibs responded his throat growing tight thinking of his own past.

He was certain now wasn't the time to dump it all on her. She had seemed so fragile after sharing her own past with him at dinner. He wasn't sure she could take on his baggage, not tonight at least.

He cleared his throat continuing. "Most of the time, I'd just think bout how even if things felt like shite, it didn't really matter too much no' when ya think bout how...the universe is massive. I'm just a speck in it all. There's somthin' kinda freeing ta realize yer a small chunk of a big world that's in a big universe. Makes yer problems seem kinda insignificant no matter how horrible they are."

"I guess I've never thought of it like that...I mean it's a good point. Kind of hard to think about how difficult things feel when you realize you're kind of insignificant against all of this." She replied still staring up at the sky.

He glanced over at her once again finding himself entranced by her.

He had feared she’d think he only had one thing on his mind with this stargazing plan. He’d hoped for it of course, he was a hot blooded male after all and she was a gorgeous woman.

He was sure he didn’t mind her disinterest in doing anything remotely sexual on a first date. He was surprised to find that sitting here holding her hand staring up at the night sky felt like enough; especially after all she’d shared with him tonight.

She spoke apparently remembering the trauma she’d dumped on him tonight before the food had even arrived to the table. “Sorry if I was a lot tonight. Pretty sure I made a first date feel more like a therapy session.”

He was surprised to hear the vulnerability in her voice. It was unlike the girl who had been full of nothing but sass and facts about her job. He found that the fact that she felt comfortable enough to sound so vulnerable in front of him as a reason to feel honored. He was seeing a side to her; it seemed she might not reveal to many people. “You got no reason to apologize, lass.”

She let out a small laugh shaking her head, her voice the slightest bit self deprecating. “I guess you can see why I don’t ever have many dates. Trauma and the fact that I’m pretty sure I scare most of the male population around here.”

“We all got our share of traumas, love. Luckily their loss seems ta be my gain.” Chibs replied the comment sliding from his lips with so little effort it was obvious he meant it.

He spoke again, deciding to express the sincerity behind his voice. “The men round here don’ know what they’re missin’. Yer smart, gorgeous, tough, and not fraid to give anyone shite.”

She spoke, her cheeks growing all the darker, not accustomed to the praise. “I’m also far too comfortable around dead bodies to the point that I live in a house surrounded by death…on the first floor and the basement at least. I talk about embalming techniques and decay the same way people talk about playing tennis or a new movie they just saw. I am pretty sure I’ve well earned my place as being untouchable by most of the guys in Charming.”

Chibs found the words the sincerity behind them still so apparent. “I don’ care fer tennis and I've never been ‘fraid of death. Trus’ me, Hen yer far from untouchable. All I can think bout mos’ of the time is touchin’ ya.”

She turned her gaze towards his surprised by the heat that spread through her at his words.

She found herself staring into his eyes suddenly realizing she was happy he’d thought to leave his sunglasses behind today. He really did have lovely eyes. It was a shame to hide such beautiful dark eyes behind sunglasses.

She felt any voices that told her that this was an awful idea were too far away to grasp as Chibs and she leaned closer and closer to one another.

They could feel the heat of one another’s breaths, their lips so close to colliding.

A familiar chime broke the spell before their lips had a chance to meet. They both pulled back her cheeks growing much darker from embarrassment and his from frustration.

She reached out grasping her purse pulling her cell phone from it. Chibs watched her as she answered it, her voice suddenly taking a very formal tone. “Yes, of course. I see. I am not within city limits at the moment. I will contact my associate and he will come retrieve the deceased. I will look over everything tonight and we can meet tomorrow to discuss where to go from here.”

Chibs furrowed his brow it hitting him she was most likely speaking to a bereaved family about a loved one who she would apparently be tending to tonight.

She spoke again her voice still quite professional but he did pick up on a hint of compassion that he couldn’t help but to adore as she spoke again. “Of course, I will be in touch with you soon. My condolences for your loss. My associate will be there shortly.”

She hung up her phone clearing her throat clearly noticing Chibs’ eyes on hers and clearly aware of the fact if her phone hadn't rang her lips would very much be pressed to his at the moment.

She was surprised that the thought of pressing her lips to his didn’t send her into a tailspin.

She was sure hours ago if someone had told her that she’d almost kiss the Scottish Son she’d be horrified, certain it was a sign she was sliding back into old habits.

A voice in the back of her brain told her that her old habits hadn’t ever felt this nice.

She spoke, clearing her throat. “Work calls, I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut tonight short.”

“Aye, no’ a problem.” Chibs replied a voice in the back of his head taunting him that he was being cock blocked by the deceased.

He shoved the thought back guilt clouding his mind for being selfish enough that all he could focus on was the lost chance at a kiss when someone was dead. He would find another chance to feel her lips against his.

He spoke as they stood up, Chibs beginning to gather the blanket and lantern. “I’ll get ya back home.”

She wrapped her arms around his torso as they mounted his bike, finding that for once she wasn’t entirely ready to jump right into work.

This was the first time in her life where she realized she actually much preferred the company of someone living than isolation while tending to the dead.

—--------------------------------

Y/N sighed disappointed as the bike pulled up to Y/L/N and Sons Funeral Home. She knew that she needed to get upstairs and shove on something that she’d feel comfortable wearing down in body storage.

She would need to take a look over the deceased Skeeter was currently picking up and make an assessment of what would be required and what options the family could look over tomorrow.

She was reluctant to leave Chibs' side though. It was a surprising realization.

Hours ago she’d been dreading this date and hoping she could just survive it. She’d told herself it was just one date. It was just part of the deal she’d made with him for reduced auto work. She’d wanted her strange admirer to get lost.

Now though, she didn’t want the night to end. She didn’t want Chibs to go anywhere anytime soon.

She took a chance leaning up as Chibs helped her dismount his bike and take off the helmet she’d borrowed tonight. She pressed her lips to his cheek the touch so light it almost didn’t feel real for a moment for Chibs.

He felt his heart lift a strange warm feeling washing over him at the action. She pressed her lips over one of his scarred cheeks she not seeming uncomfortable with the act. The action felt so sweet and so genuine.

He could admit no one had ever kissed his cheek, at least not after what Jimmy O' had done to him. He hadn't had a real romantic relationship with a woman since Fiona, so no opportunity to touch his cheeks had presented itself. He'd not allowed that part of his body to be touched during any of the casual romps he'd shared with the croweaters around SAMCRO's clubhouse. He'd never allowed any of the croweaters to touch his scars. The thought of someone touching such a painful reminder of his past unnerved him. It felt so personal; touching the reminder of his pain. He'd been known to swat the hands of anyone who dared to try to touch those scars away.

The feel of Y/N's lips to one of those scars didn't make him want to shrink away. He had zero desire to swat her away. He was overwhelmed with a sense of comfort as he realized that she was not inclined to shy away from touching a part of him that most people cringed at the sight of.

It was no kiss on the lips, but it was still quite enjoyable. He had to admit that the kiss to one of his scars almost felt more intimate than a kiss to the lips.

She pulled away her cheeks flushing. She knew the kiss to the cheek felt like such a juvenile act almost as though they were teens on their first date and her father should be peeking behind the curtains watching them.

She felt no fear in kissing a part of him that had intimidated her upon their first meeting. She was once again reminded of a thought she'd had when they'd first met. She had no reason to fear the scars; if anything she feared the person who must have done this to him.

She'd found that she wouldn't mind kissing his cheeks more often. Judging by the look in his eyes she guessed not many people showed him such a tender act. It hurt her heart to think that no one showed him any tenderness with as sweet as he'd been tonight.

She wanted badly to press her lips to his but she knew if she kissed him she might just let herself invite him in. If she invited him in she might just tell Skeeter to handle this job all on his lonesome.

Chibs dared to speak taking his shot sure that he’d get the response he wanted after that sweet little kiss to the cheek. He took her hand in his praying to anyone who might be listening to let him get the answer he was hoping for. “Can I see ya again?”

Y/N felt a voice bark out in the back of her mind screaming at her to say no. This was an awful idea. She couldn't agree to another date. Dating him was a surefire way to fall back into the chaos of SAMCRO. He would lead her to ruin.

She felt her heart speak up a little louder than that voice. Her heart reminded her of how he’d listened to her traumas tonight, how he’d held her hand. Her heart told her that he wasn’t afraid of death. He didn't see her as untouchable. In fact, he considered himself lucky to have a chance with her. She'd never met anyone who considered themselves lucky to be by her side.

She knew which part of her body was stronger.

She spoke nodding her head the answer seeming so effortless. “Yes.”

“Aye when, Hen?” he blurted out not having it in him to be ashamed of how desperate he sounded.

He’d always assumed he wasn’t the type to beg for the attentions nor the affections of any woman. Y/N wasn’t just any woman though.

She gave him a soft smile her answer far too cryptic. “Soon, Filip.”

She pressed her lips to his cheek again the touch far too light and far too brief before she parted from him. “Goodnight, Filip.”

“Goodnigh’, Hen. I’ll see ya soon.” Chibs replied reluctantly allowing her hand to pull from his as she headed up the long walkway to her home.

He watched her disappear behind her front door, closing it behind her. He reached up his fingertips brushing across his cheek running along the skin where her lips had pressed against.

His heart felt lighter than it had felt in so long. How could one kiss to the cheek do this to him?

He hadn’t felt this light and this hopeful in so long.

He remembered his words to Clay earlier once again. He wanted a wee bit more than getting his dick wet.

He wanted so much more with her. He wanted it all.

Y/N leaned against the closed door, it taking everything in her not to open that door, march back out there and press her lips to his.

She listened to the rumble of his bike start up, a sign he was pulling away and leaving her for the night.

She twisted the strap of her purse in her hands, it hitting her that she was absolutely screwed.

That voice in the back of her head still screamed as loud as ever that she was making a huge mistake and that she had to be out of her mind for wanting to see Chibs again. The voice screeched that this was a road that would only lead her to heartache and pain. This was an awful idea.

She found herself easily responding to that voice, the reply seeming so simple; she’d never shied away from awful ideas.

Something that felt as wonderful as being with Chibs tonight surely couldn’t be awful nor could it be ruinous.

Y/N realized that even if Chibs led her to ruin she was unwilling to save herself.

If Filip Chibs Telford was destined to be her ruin, then she embraced the road to destruction with open arms.

#tommy flanagan #chibs telford #chibs #chibs sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction #chibs telford x reader #chibs telford fanfiction #sons of anarchy #soa

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colorfulbard · 3 months

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The Great Escape Artist

Summary♡ Your very brilliant plan goes wrong after being captured by the Marines.

Pairing♡ Buggy x Reader

Warning♡ Brief descriptions of torture and blood, but nothing super graphic. Lightly suggestive NSFW

A/N♡ Ever since I saw the posts about LA!Buggy with a Harley Quinn inspired reader I haven't been able to get out of my head. This fanfic is fully based off this scene from suicide squad, "Harley's Great Escape scene". This is written with LA! Buggy in mind, but you can still read it as Anime Buggy too.

w/c♡ 3.8k

This was the first time in your life that your mind had been quiet enough to let you think for an extended period of time. Which felt depressing, so, you pushed that to the back of your mind. There were more important things at the forefront of it. Like, for example, despite having been tortured for about an hour or so, this wasn't the worst day of your life. You knew what day that was.

That horrible day had caused you to be saddled with a 25-million berry bounty. A bounty that made shitty days a common occurrence thanks to the Marines. Not a day went by where you didn't spot your bounty poster with that number, courtesy of those pesky fuckers. It felt undeserved in your opinion. The only thing you had done that day was set yourself free. It's not your fault there was collateral damage along the way.

You did, however, feel quite satisfied when you learned it was higher than Arlong's. Irregardless of that satisfying discovery, that bounty still brought nothing but trouble your way. This time trouble led to you strung up by your wrists in chains, swaying from side-to-side.

"Who sent you?" The cadet had been asking the same question over and over. You were getting sick of it.

You didn't respond, you hadn't responded since he began asking. You began to hum to yourself as a distraction. The cadet grew impatient at the sound of your humming and placed his hands over your abdomen to send waves of electricity into your body.

You grit your teeth to hold back a scream, waiting for him to finally grow tired. Who knew this branch had a cadet with devil fruit powers specifically for torture? You did now. You learned his powers were using electric shocks.

The cadet finally let up and turned away from you to seemingly take a breather. He began to fiddle with a mini transponder snail, most likely to inform the pseudo Captain of the base that no progress was made. That man was surely was going to be displeased at that. You tried not to laugh at the thought of that man throwing a temper tantrum. Typical Marine behavior.

You've never met a single Marine that was actually a good person. Not even the actual Captain was a good person despite public opinion saying otherwise. Everyone in this little town said he was the best Captain they've ever had. Hardworking, responsible, and a loving husband.

Too bad that last trait was a lie.

That was something you found out the hard way. There were rumors going around that this specific branch had maps to the grandline. Which is what your beloved Captain was desperately searching for. You couldn't blame him for your plan going sideways. He didn't even know you were here.

Your Captain had his own stupid plan, which you said was brilliant (a lie), and you came up with your own. It was full proof. You'd done stuff like this a million times before.

You had put on your best dress, your favorite; a gorgeous red dress gifted to you by your Captain. You put makeup on to cover up your most recognizable features. Then, found the Marine Captain's favorite bar. From there, it was simple, you seduced him, and allowed him to take you back to the base to get the information you needed. It was going great, but then it all went to hell when he recognized you.

He had placed a hand on your cheek and accidently wiped some of the makeup off, revealing what was underneath.

Thankfully, you found out everything you needed before you put the bullet through his skull.

Everything was still going okay, until his damn wife showed up just after you killed him. She screamed at the top of her lungs at the sight of him. That was the moment you found out the pig was actually married. You compared the teary face to the one in a picture on his desk. Sweet picture, they were gazing into each others eyes, holding hands. He was wearing a fancy tux and she, in a beautiful white dress.

Their wedding day.

You were almost jealous till you remembered he was intent on cheating had you not stopped him. They were probably living a nice, calm life. Maybe they were happy (despite attempted infidelity) and thinking about starting a little family.

You let your eyes linger on that loving photograph for too long, which is how you got caught in the first place.

You were thinking too much whilst staring at it. Until a whole squadron showed up with rifles drawn and pointed at you. They, obviously, recognized your poster thanks to the makeup being smeared.

From there, the pseudo Captain took over and ordered to have captured to get information. That damn Captain was surprisingly cruel despite not bothering to get his own hands dirty.

He ordered to have you tortured till the end of the next day. If you died before then you'd just be sent back to your Captain, in pieces. If you had put in your own two cents, which you did just before he left, you said it was unoriginal, uninspired. Nothing flashy about that, as your dear Captain would say.

You'd received your first shock of many after saying that.

You twitched at the feeling of blood dripping from your nose, reminding you of your current situation. If that cadet succeeded in contacting that Captain you were screwed. Which meant it was time for your great escape.

With the cadet turned away and distracted, you took the opportunity to lift your head from its downturn position and glare into the back of his head. You gripped the chains and used them to slowly lift yourself up. When you were high enough that your legs reached his neck you swung yourself forward to wrap your thighs around his neck. You squeezed as tight as you could and lifted yourself higher to make sure he couldn't try stomping his feet on the ground.

He was digging his fingers into your thighs, clearly trying to use his powers, but it wouldn't work. They were useless now thanks to the sea prism jewelry you had on your ankle. It was the one gift you had kept from your old life. The one thing that bastard gave you that was actually useful.

The cadet was finally losing his strength and went completely limp. That's when you finally snapped his neck and let go. His body fell to the ground and you spotted a key on his hip. You smiled and slowly tiptoed your way up his body to grip the key with your toes.

You took a deep breath and prepared yourself to rely on your upper body strength again. You bent your body forward so your feet could reach the lock on your wrists. You groaned at the pain coming from your abdomen, the pain from the shocks didn't help. You'd like to think that your Captain would be proud if he could see you. That acrobatic training paid off.

You sighed in relief when your aching wrists were finally free and let go of the chains. You dropped down on your hands and knees, and took a few deep breaths. You assessed the damage on your body when you stood. Your thighs had red marks on them and your beloved dress was ripped up the side. Your abdomen was also horrendously sore.

You growled and eyed the pistol at the cadets hip. You smirked and pointed it at his head. Even if he was dead, snapping his neck wasn't good enough for you. You shot him in the face and reveled at the blood splatter it created.

"That's for my dress, fucker," you spat as you stepped over him.

Before opening the door leading out, you grabbed a pair of boots for your bare feet (they took your shoes, pervs) and cracked your neck to alleviate the ache there.

On the other side of the door, two Marines were at attention. They appeared suspicious because of the gunshot from the other side. Especially since their "Captain" gave no such orders to do so.

It was too bad they wouldn't be able to warn anyone, but then again, the two consecutive shots that rang out would be signal enough. You grabbed another pistol off them to prepare for the eventual onslaught of Marines that were surely on their way.

You kicked open the next door that hopefully led to an exit, only to find a circular room with multiple pathways leading who knows where. You didn't even have time to think about which one to take before they all started running in, like rats who spotted the cheese. They were coming from all sides, it kept you on your toes, literally. You were twirling around the room firing shot after shot on the tips of your toes.

Even if there was a risk of death, you had to admit, it was fun. It felt like you were dancing with the way your skirt spread out around you.

When the last two cadets finally fell, your fun was over and the pistols clicked. You dropped them to the ground, deeming them useless and ran down the path with the most dead marines. You kicked open another door and found what you assumed was the armory, based on the walls full of weapons.

Fancy iron gates separated you from the mass array of weapons they had, so, you had to get creative. You headbutted one charging at you and kicked a gate closed on two others trying to open from the other side. Geez, these guys were like a damn hydra. Take one out and two more take its place. They never stopped.

The next one tried stabbing you with a knife, a nice change of pace, but useless. You looked down forlornly at your dress and, with a heavy sigh, ripped off a long piece of it. You wrapped it around the wrist of the knife wielder and maneuvered yourself around him. You were back to back with him and with all your strength, you flipped him over you onto another Marine running in. Both of them grunted and fell to the floor.

Another came charging at you and you ran to the other side of the now open iron gate to slam into the Marines face. He groaned in pain with a fierce glare and thrust his arm through the opening to attempt to stab you, big mistake. You grabbed his wrist and crushed it on the gate causing him to scream and drop the knife. He had no time to recover because you began to repeatedly strike his face into the ornate design covering the sides of the gate.

Yes, it was bloody mess and unnecessary, but it was way more fun than using a pistol.

You cheered when he fell to the ground and turned back to your possible exit to see another blocking your way. You rolled your eyes, just how many soldiers did they have wandering around?

As you stalked towards him, he flinched with a knife in hand. You hummed with a chuckle, at least someone here finally had the decency to fear you. It wouldn't save him from your wrath anyway.

Despite the fear in his eyes he lunged at you. You grabbed his wrist and bent it back into his torso in retaliation. You ears perked up at the found of footsteps right behind you and you kicked your leg back, aiming high. The first fell forward and you grabbed the knife before he fell to the ground.

The second choked and held onto his throat. "Bullseye!" You cheered at the sight. You pinned him to the gate and slit his throat.

It looked like you were down to your last one here. He was holding a knife, a popular weapon here. You dropped your own and pulled the sash taut in your hands, that was all you needed. He lunged at you and you used his own momentum against him. You wrapped the fabric around his wrist and moved yourself behind him to pin his own hand to his throat and pulled.

He slit his own throat thanks to you.

You sighed and grabbed two rifles from the ground. "How careless," you mused. You walked out of the armory and pushed open what was hopefully the last fucking door before the exit. You were now in a long hallway with double doors at the end.

Too bad a whole squadron of Marines were blocking the way, the same ones who caught you. You smirked as you watched them all begin to charge you and the captain yelling orders.

"GET HER!" He yelled.

You opened fire on all of them. They didn't even have a chance as you cackled with glee, never once letting go of the trigger. They all fell to the ground with their blood decorating the drab, white walls. And then it was down to one person. The beloved "Captain" of this Marine base. He pressed himself against a wall, gripping a small pistol in his shaking hands.

You snickered and slowly walked towards him until you were close enough to kick the pistol out of his hand. He whimpered and raised his hands up, "w-what do y-you want?" He asked, cowering under your gaze.

You knelt down to his level and raised a hand to cup his cheek. He yelped at the feeling of your cold, bloodied hand, but didn't dare push it away. He froze at the sight your eerily calm smile and clenched his eyes shut as you leaned forward. He flinched at the feeling of your cold, rough lips on his cheek. You pulled away to whisper something into his ear before leaning back and finally leaving this damn hellscape.

"Captain Buggy sends his regards."

The moment you stepped outside you breathed in the fresh air and took in your surroundings. There was still daylight outside, most likely late in the afternoon now. The brightness of the sun made it easy to spot three familiar faces sneaking around the side of the base.

Peeking around, watching the grand entrance of the base, was Mohji. He narrowed his eyes at the inactivity. "Are you sure this is it?" He asked, skeptical. He had a weird feeling about it considering it was so quiet. Not a single Marine in sight.

Cabaji, who stood next to Mohji, hummed in agreement. "He has a point, Captain. There's no one here." He pointed to the unguarded entrance.

The esteemed Captain, Buggy, rolled his eyes and pointed to the sign displaying, '149th Marine base'. "Yes, positive. It's pretty hard to fucking miss." He chocked up the missing Marines to pure luck and pulled out two knives. He took a deep breath, "Okay, get ready in three, two..."

"What are you guys doing?"

Your familiar voice appearing behind Cabaji caused him to practically jump out of his skin.

"What the-?! What the hell are you doing out here?!" He exclaimed.

Buggy ignored his outburst and blinked owlishly at the sight of you. He ran over here with Cabaji and Mohji in tow after hearing word that the Marines had finally captured 'Buggy's Beloved Harlequin'. So, to see you here, alive, was quite a confusing sight.

He glanced back at the base and then at you, he shook off the lingering confusion. "We're here to save you!" He explained, gesturing to you.

You pouted and held back tears forming. "You were gonna... Save me?" You whimpered.

Buggy groaned and scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Yes, it was a really good plan too..." He trailed off, slightly disappointed it was ruined.

You frowned, "well I could go back inside and you could still do it," you suggested.

Buggy scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, not gonna happen, angel face." He grabbed your wrist to pull you close. He wrapped a hand around your waist and held you close to his chest.

You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck. You sighed at the feeling of his warm hand on your cheek. You could tell his eyes were on your bloody nose. "You kill all the fuckers that did this to you?" He asked, voice low in a whisper. He looked back into your eyes and you could see the rage that filled them.

You smiled and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. It always warmed your heart when he cared for you like that. While he had his cowardly moments, he never backed down from a fight when it came to you. His anger was momentarily forgotten about until you pulled away.

Your eyes were still glued to his lips when you answered his question. "'Course I did. Every drop spilled was courtesy of Buggy, the genius jester.-" you pecked his lips- "even left one alive to tell the tale." You kissed him again and placed your hands on his cheeks so he couldn't pull away.

Buggy still managed to pull away despite that and chuckled. "Stop trying to distract me, angel. The hell were doing in there anyway?" He asked, rubbing comforting circles on your hip. Good thing he hadn't noticed your ruined dress yet.

You pulled away from him and grabbed his hand. "Let's talk about this on the ship. Reinforcements from the next town over are probably on their way." You laughed, "and I don't think they'll be happy to see the mess here." You tried to lead him away, only to be pulled back into his arms.

Cabaji and Mohji tried cutting in after successfully ignoring your loving reunion.

"She has a point, Captain-" began Mohji.

"Yeah, we should really-" continued Cabaji.

"Shut up!" Snapped Buggy, glaring at the two who cowered. His attention was back on you with an enamored expression. Buggy grabbed you by the waist. "Does that mean you-?"

You nodded, "uh-huh." You tried pulling away again, but were stuck in his tight grip. You furrowed your brows, but that tense expression melted away when you felt his soft lips on yours again. That was one feeling you would never get tired of.

You sucked in a sharp breath when you felt his tongue against your lips. Even though you were dying to feel more of him, you had to break the kiss to focus. You were breathless, "remember we have to go." You grabbed his hand to lead him away.

Buggy groaned and followed behind, but not before dragging you back one last time against his chest to whisper a promise in your ear. "I swear the second we get on that ship... You're mine." He nipped the shell of your ear.

You squealed and pulled away. "Then, hurry up, Captain!"

He finally allowed himself to dragged along and laughed with you. Clearly, he was ecstatic to see your gorgeous face until he spotted something peculiar. His anger rose tenfold when he finally noticed.

"What the hell happened to your dress?!"

It took time and a lot of kisses to get him to calm down about the dress when you reached the ship. You were currently sitting on his bed, fingers stroking his hair as he knelt down in front of you. He was assessing the damage. Even though the ship's doctor already had, he still wanted to check every square inch.

You shivered when his warm hands lightly trailed over the skin of your bare legs. It was easy considering you were wearing one of his shirts. You smiled at the concerned expression he had. It was easy to get him to calm down by running your hands through his beautiful hair.

All bets were off, however, when he finally saw the red marks on your thighs from where the marine gripped you.

"Who did this?" He asked softly, his eyes glued on the finger shaped marks.

The smile didn't leave your face, it only grew when you heard his tone. You could tell that he was ready to storm the base again, if only to burn it down. You trailed your hand down from his hair to his cheek.

You stroked his cheekbone with your thumb. "You don't have to worry about it now," you whispered, putting your other hand on the marks with a demented smile. "He's dead. These are a... memento..." You were still quite proud of your method of killing and you were sure Buggy would be too when you told him.

"Are you serious?" He asked after your retelling. You nodded and giggled when he stood up to push you back into the bed. He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh and crawled on top of you. "Lucky bastard, getting to die between your thighs." He pressed kisses to your neck as he spoke.

You couldn't stop laughing and let out a delighted yelp when nipped the spot under your ear. "What? Don't tell me that's your dream now?" You pulled his head away from the spot in your neck to gaze into his eyes.

"I'm just saying I'd die a happy man if that were to happen."

You shook your head, laughter dying down when you felt his thumb trail over your cheek. The look in his eyes turned sour, he could see the makeup you used to coverup was smeared off. "Are you alright?" He asked.

He didn't need to say more for you to understand what he was referring to. There wasn't a day that passed where he didn't check in with you. You did the same for him when you noticed him looking in the mirror for longer than normal.

You grabbed the hand touching your face pressed your lips to it. "I'm fine." You held his hand there.

Buggy didn't want to press the issue and nodded. He leaned away from you to lay back against the pillows and open his arms for you. You smiled and crawled into his arms to rest your head against his chest. "I love you," you sighed.

"Love you too, angel."

It used to hurt to look into a mirror, but Buggy changed that. He knew what it felt like to have people turn away in shame after being caught staring. Now, as you stood in front of his vanity, staring, you didn't break the mirror. You used to do that a lot when you first came, but he never cared about constantly needing to replace it. He just cared about comforting your raging thoughts of insecurity.

With a soft candle illuminating your face in the mirror, you raised a tentative hand to your face. You lightly touched the clean-cut mark there. It started at the edge of your lips and ended at the your cheek. There was a matching one on the other side. It was scarred permanently there years ago. You let your hand fall. You looked back at the love of your life, snoring, and snickered to yourself.

No time to think of that, you had to get back to bed before he woke up. The candle was blown out, and so were any negative thoughts brewing in your head.

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #opla buggy x reader

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riddle-me-ri · 7 months

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a/n: "The time has come," the walrus said. "To talk of many things:" mainly death…a lot of angst and denial and death…sorry continuing on with the “react to reader dying” series, here are the mad lads! I will also be doing the Pengys too no worries Anyways, enjoy the angst, not sure why but these really got to me and even made me extremely sad rip

Content Warning: death mentions, implied violence, and some blood/gore mentions, and heavy angst.

The Mad Hatters React to Reader Dying in Their Arms

Arkhamverse Mad Hatter:

Jervis shook his head repeatedly.

This…this isn’t real…

Yet, you were in his arms, faintly whispering his name.

Oh gosh, so much blood, so much blood was staining you.

This is all a dream…a-a terrible dream.

Jervis thinks he sees someone, he cries out but no answer…

He begins sobbing into your shoulder as you go limp in his arms.

Muttering you not to leave, that this has to be a dream, but it’s real.

BTAS Mad Hatter:

Jervis sees red.

Not just the red of your blood, but the rage towards the person that hurt you.

He almost lunged towards them until he heard your pained cry.

He drops everything and kneels down beside you.

Instantly checking your wounds whilst holding you as best he can.

You try to get him to stop fussing so he can listen to you.

You try to assure him what's happening is okay, it's not his fault, you love him and always will no matter what.

All Jervis can do is nod silently as tears started forming and your body went limp.

TNBA Mad Hatter:

Jervis panicked.

He shouted your name as you hit the ground.

For a moment the genius is at a loss for what to do.

Everything was happening so fast, the blood gushing, his heart racing, his brain turning…

He tries to support you and hold you the best he can, to try and provide some comfort.

Jervis continues to chant your name, begging you to hang on, you'll be okay.

Even though he knows deep down you won't be, you're dying.

And he isn't so sure he'll be okay himself.

Gotham Mad Hatter:

No, no, no!

He can’t–he WON’T lose you!

Jervis rushes to your aid in an instant.

He slid off his coat and wrapped you in it and tried to put pressure on your wound.

You're convulsing and panting in his arms and he's trying to shush you, to get you to relax.

Jervis doesn't even try to hide or force his tears down as he tries to prevent the inevitable.

He swears to you that he'll get back at the person who did this…

He'll make them lay, they'll be sorry…

But he's also sorry for not protecting you like he said he would.

Harley Quinn: TAS Mad Hatter:

Jervis is frozen in place.

Before he screeches your name.

Like other Jervi he definitely panics.

He's not entirely sure what to do.

His immediate response is to send his hench-rabbits after the assailant.

Jervis attempts to hold you and steady you while he thinks…

But despite constantly being surrounded by blood, seeing yours makes him ill.

Jervis is a distraught mess, as he comes to terms that he is losing the only person he's ever cared about.

Joker’s Asylum Mad Hatter:

Jervis is in denial.

No, no, you were fine…you-you HAD to be fine.

That-that wasn't blood pouring out of you…

It-It was just tea, right?

You got it all over you…so silly…

Oh you look so pale, your breathing is really shallow…

Oh why do you look so sad? No..no don't close your eyes.

Jervis cradled your face, the last thing you saw was his eyes going wide with tears in the ducts as he mumbled out a series of no's and please's

Secret Six Mad Hatter:

Like BTAS, his first reaction is to be angry at the person who hurt you, but you helped break through the anger.

Jervis hears your voice softly call out to him.

He snaps out of his enraged reverie and goes back to you.

He's hyperventilating as he sees your clothes stained with blood.

Jervis can't help but feel paralyzed as he helplessly holds your hand…gripping what's left of your life force.

Not even his hat can fix this…

He hugs you close to him, with your head on his shoulder as he takes in the last of your warmth…

Jervis' grief soon turns back into rage as he silently swears his revenge…and heads will roll…

#ri writes #arkhamverse mad hatter x reader #btas mad hatter x reader #tnba mad hatter x reader #ratter x reader #gotham mad hatter x reader #harley quinn the animated series mad hatter x reader #hqtas mad hatter x reader #joker's asylum mad hatter x reader #secret six mad hatter x reader

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tainoidiot · 1 year

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Rogues x Rogue!Reader headcanons

Maybe the reader was friends with them ( and also had a crush of course) when they were sane, and stuff happened and now they're a new rogue and met each other again at Arkham asylum!

I love how this took me forever to fucking post. (Also look I learned how to add color ooOoooOo)

Rogues x Rogue!reader finding eachother in Arkham.

Jervis Tetch

You used to work alongside him before he went.. mad.

You both were pretty close, friends even. Took lunches together, laughed at inside jokes, Hell it was a real Jim and Pam relationship!

Of course, you hadn't told your friend everything about your life. By day you were a secretly pining coworker of his, but as soon as you clocked out..? You turned to a life of crime.

It was thrilling! It was a revolt from society! (Because we do live in one) It was you having the time of your life. Still, you wished you could've told your friend.

When the news broke out about his crimes, you were only half shocked. The city does fucked shit to its citizens.

Time passed, you never really saw him. Besides a warning on the tv, that's about as close as you guys got... till the GCPD fucked your shit up.

Because of your latest stint, GCPD thought it'd be best to get you some help. Hoping to change your ways.. jk they sent your ass to the Arkham Asylum.

After finally getting settled in, you made your way to the common area. You were bored out of your mind, unsure how to deal with being here. Should you read? Color? Craft? Sit there and look pretty?

Last one sounds good. You took a seat, the lunch table seating wasn't too uncomfortable. It's not like you'd be here for a while anyway. Remembering this, you decided to take in the various characters of the Asylum. Killer Croc playing chess with the Riddler, Harley Quinn learning how to embroider her clothes, The Mad Hatter reading a-

Holy shit, it's him. Jervis!

"My my, look what the gcpd dragged in." You laughed, walking toward him. His eyes glance up, not recognizing you. "Please go away, I'm reading right now." He grumbled, turning a page. "Wow, I would've figured you'd be more excited to see your old coworker." You teased. Jervis placed the book down, looking at you fully now. He got up and laughed, holding you tight in his arms. "You're here! Oh my goodness.. wait how are you in here? You must tell me everything!" Jervis dragged you to sit on his lap, telling him about your adventures as gothams newest villain. With every time he looked at you, your heart grew more and more. You never wanted him to look at you any different again. Perhaps he'd like a sidekick?

Johnathan Crane

Your relationship with him was.. complicated.

University work was tough, but so were you. Him not so much. You often found him in his office squeezing the shit out of a stress ball.

Being that John was a nerd man of intelligence, you could only imagine how many migraines he got grading tests and preparing assignments for his students.

You made his life easier though, buying him lunch and talking about the students.

"I'm sorry, he asked what?" You laughed, almost spitting out your food. "He genuinely asked me why he couldn't pick up the specimen tube with TONGS. As in the utensil for grabbing salads!" His laugh was infectious, you had to admit it. You could listen to him for hours, God this crush was unbearable.

One night you were awoken to your phone buzzing, a call from Johnathan? This late? Nothing good happens after 2 am.. maybe you should leave it.

Besides, if it was so important he'd call again.. which he did.

The call consisted of breathy rambles which were kinda hot, to which you asked what was happening. "Listen. You probably won't hear from me again, I'm sorry. It's my fault. I hope we see eachother again." And then he hung up. No answers, and you were left with more questions.

You became a gotham Rogue, looking for your lost friend in any possible scenario. It wasn't till you saw a broadcast on TV about the Batman finally putting the Scarecrow in handcuffs, charting him off to Arkham. Horrible as it was, he was finally in one place. Time to get arrested!

Fairly quick, they scoop you up and shove you into a cell. That was easy, All you had to do was blow up an apartment complex. What? They're rich, they'll be fine! You take a quick look at the people around you in cells. Poison Ivy, some dude, Johnathan Crane WAIT-

Wow.. it's him. After all these years, he looks different. His hair is longer and unruly, and the dark circles under his eyes have gotten bigger. What a cutie. "Professor Crane!" You yell, hoping to get a laugh out of him. His eyes shot up, looked around, then saw you. Johnathans eyes got as wider than saucers, and you swore you saw his lip curl into a smile if only for a second. Did he miss you? Was he happy to see you? God, all you wanted was to run into him and hold him close. You'll have to wait for recreation time.

Edward Nygma

You had met him at a support group for individuals with trauma. No matter what it was, if you had to get it off your chest and couldn't afford a therapist you went there.

Was it the shit coffee? The stale donuts? The odd smell in the air you're pretty sure was from the carpets? You weren't really comfortable here.

It wasn't until you had a group activity had you actually said something to him. He was fiddling around with a pen and paper, nervously bouncing his leg.

You sat next to him, sipping your water as he wrote. Curious, you tapped his shoulder, causing him to jump. "Sorry! Looks like you were deep in that.. whatever it is you're writing." For some reason, Ed didn't snap at you. He didn't tell you to leave, or fuck off. "It's a puzzle I'm designing."

As Ed explained the ins and outs of the puzzle, you couldn't help but notice how cute it was. You had never met a man so focused.

So you kept in touch with him. A text now and then, meeting up for dinner or lunches, a shoulder to cry on. You were there, it didn't bother you.

However, things changed after he had not texted or called after an entire week has passed. You were scared, so you rushed to his place as quickly as possible.

You slammed your fist onto the door, panicking as you could almost feel the echo it gave off. "Ed? It's me.. Please open the door, I'm worried!" No answer.

"Was it something I said..?" Just like that, you noticed a green glow coming from the door. That's odd.. you grabbed the doorknob and turned, surprised at how easily it opened for you.

From the walls to the floor were papers upon papers of different symbols and mechanical equations. "What the fuck?" You whispered, going further and further into the studio. The green glow, as it turns out, was a large neon sign in the shape of a question mark.

What Ed didn't realize was long before he changed career paths, as did you. So this entire change, though surprising, wasn't beyond you.

There's no telling where he was now, so maybe that chapter of your life closed.

Except that wasn't totally true. The cops thought you were a part of this, as your fingerprints had been found in the area. Dammit, into the Asylum you go..

A few days into your stay, you hear some commotion in the common area. Yelling, no, ARGUING. "I am the smartest man in this room! You fucking idiots wouldn't know what I'm trying to get through your thick skulls!" That voice..

Oh my God it's Edward. And he's changed. Once the crowd dies down, you hop over to his side and tap his shoulder. "I'm WORKING." Ed growled, looking at you as he prepares an insult. But he doesn't. His gaze softens "Its.. you?"

"Yeah.. can we talk?"

Harleen Quinzel

You and Harleen were the best of friends.

Inseparable, and that's the way you liked it.

All you wanted to do was spend time with her. Needless to say, you had a massive crush on her.

How could you tell her about your life of crime though? Would she understand? Would she pull away? It scared you, you didn't ever want to lose her.

However, your worst fear would come true in the form of a clown.

It wasn't long till she'd stop answering your texts, which broke your heart even further.

It was late. 2 A.M to be exact. You couldn't sleep due to the sirens, but you swore there were more than usual.

Nothing good happens after 2 AM. You should just go to bed and sleep it off.. okay a peek outside the window wouldn't hurt. As you stared out the window, you realized it was much more than sirens. It was so much worse. The Joker had invaded your neighborhood, and was doing his usual shit. What an amateur, smiley faces everywhere. We get it, you're a clown.. wait a second. Under the sirens and blaring weapons, you swore you heard a familiar voice. But it couldn't be, could it? You get your gear on and decide to investigate, sneaking around behind the shadows.

It's confirmed. Harleen, now going under the name Harley, was partnered up with the Joker.

And by partnered up, He was frenching her right then and there.

You held back hot tears as you tried to run, but alas, you're a known criminal in a crime scene.

Of course you're taken into custody and eventually thrown into the local Asylum.

While everyone is supposed to be asleep, you found a way to escape your cell and roam around. God this place is dilapidated, we really need more funding.

As you walked the cold empty halls, you could hear two things. Guards playing poker and.. was that sniffling? Crying? Hm.. wouldn't hurt to see who it was. Further investigation led you to a bright blonde wailing into a pillow, occasionally snotting up her tissues. Poor thing. "Psst, hey." You whispered, the blonde stopping to wipe her eyes and look around. "Over here." You replied, waving at her.

The blonde gasps, as do you. She's covered in bruises and cuts, most looking man-made. "Oh my god.. You're here." She cried. Wait a second.. "Harley? Holy shit what happened to you?" You asked, attempting to break the lock as quietly as possible to comfort her. Harley just shrugs, not sure how to answer "Oh you know.. Puddin' got a little mad one day." She attempted to get out, but this just made her cry harder.

After successfully breaking in, you rush to her side. Holding her close and wiping tears away. "Hey its okay.. I got you now. You're safe.." you whispered into her ear.

Pamela Isley

Ah, STEM classes. The ones that tests a students will to live, with the right professor of course.

Why anyone takes this major is beyond me, but hey you didn't mind. The exams were awful, but you had a friend at least.

Pamela Isley. Pammy. Always has her nose in a flower and her head in an equation. A brilliant woman. God you adored this woman.

Pam was quiet, sure. But when she was with you she want on and on about everything.

"You know, when I'm with you.. it's like I can tell you anything." Pam told you as you both sat next to eachother in the campus rec room. You blushed, taking her hand as you smiled. "I feel the same way." You both came to an understanding. But you hadn't told her everything, like what you did after 7 pm.

After she had told you she would be meeting with a professor on who knows what, you just brushed it off as help with a certain question or maybe an upcoming assignment. But afterward, she stopped texting. Completely. You were upset, sure. But if something happened to her? You could never forgive yourself.

You were getting ready for your night on the town, when you noticed something odd growing on your windowsill. Is that.. a Lily? You gently take the petals into your hand, it reminded you of your old.. ahem.. friend.

"It's almost as beautiful as you." You heard from behind you, causing you to jump and turn in fear. The voice came from a young woman, smiling at you with admiration and a bit of fear. "Oh, what? Don't you recognize your old friend?" She cooed into your ear.

"Pam?" You whispered, taking her hand. Before she could get a reply in, GCPD bust down your door and arrest you both on the spot. Apparently just before, Pam had murdered a local businessman because of the harm his buildings construction did to the native plant life in the city.

"How long have you been in crime?" She asked you, sitting across from you in the dining hall.

"I could ask the same for you, Ivy." You teased, taking her hand.

#gotham rogues #batman #jervis tetch #edward nygma #headcanon #johnathan crane #jervis tetch x reader #johnathan crane x reader #edward nygma x reader #harley quinn #harley quinn x reader #pamela isley #poison ivy

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aprocessionofthoughts · 6 months

Text

It's cold inside

ai-less whumptober2023 day 17- you look a little pale fandom- batman TW- none Summary- Tim suffers from cuddle pollen

ao3 ailesswhumptober masterlist

Tim was so cold. He was currently lying in bed at his apartment huddled under a pile of blankets. His phone had fallen out of his blanket pile a while ago, and he hadn’t been willing to leave the small comfort of the blankets to retrieve it.

He knew, logically, that the blankets wouldn’t really make a difference.

He hated Ivy.

Everything sucked. He hadn’t even been able to catch her. She’d just made sure some of her plants sprayed him with pollen before vanishing, and leaving poor Tim to deal with the aftermath.

Seriously, why did she have to take her frustration out on him? It wasn’t his fault she had fought with Harley.

He groaned, curling into a tighter ball. He wrapped his arms around himself, hoping the self-hug would work. It didn’t.

He wanted Dick’s warm hugs, and Bruce’s head pats. He wanted Jason’s brusque worrying and Steph’s teasing.

He closed his eyes. There was no point thinking of any of them.

They were all busy.

Jason was crime bossing in Crime Alley, Dick was in Bludhaven. Bruce was at an important WE meeting. Cass was still in Hong Kong and Steph had mentioned she’d be studying for her exams today. And Time would never ask Damian. He shuddered at the mere thought of asking the little gremlin.

His shaking got worse.

He shuddered. Everything ached.

His phone range. He ignored it.

It rang again.

He was not getting out of his blanket pile to grab it.

It rang again.

Ugghh. He covered his ears and ignored it.

Three more times it rang.

What did they want!?

Tim was unavailable.

They could figure something else out.

But what if they really needed help?

Okay, if it rang one more time, Tim would answer.

He waited, praying to all the deities he’d heard about. Surely, one of them must be real. It stayed silent. Yes! Thank you unknown deity!

Then someone knocked.

On his window.

He was not going to get up! If it was a murderer they’d have to stab him through all his blanket layers.

He heard the window open. If only he had his phone so he could bet Steph on which brother it would be.

“Are you dead?”

Jason. Tim sighed, but didn’t respond. Jason would find him soon enough.

“Timberly? Is that you or did you just leave all your blankets on the bed?”

Tim grunted.

The blankets shifted, and Tim let out an involuntary whine as they were shoved off him. Above him, Jason froze. Tim curled into himself. With an actual person so close, the trembling had increased.

“Shit, Timbit, what’s wrong with you? You look a little pale.”

“Ivy.” Tim managed through chattering teeth.

“Then what the hell are you doing here? You know blankets don’t work with cuddle pollen.”

Tim ignored him.

Jason sighed. “Do you want me to call, Dick?”

“He’s busy.”

“And he’d totally drop everything to come cuddle with you.”

Tim wished Jason would hug him. He wished Jason would leave.

“Fine.” Jason said. “Mover over.” “What–”

Then Jason was shoving him to the side of the bed, and Tim didn’t have time to be annoyed because then he was laying down next to him and slinging an arm over Tim’s chest.

Time melted against him.

Tim could hear Jason on his phone, but he didn’t bother trying to figure out what he was doing. He finally felt warm.

He was just starting to fully relax when he heard his window slide open again.

“Tim!,” Dick said, coming into the room. “Jason said you got hit with cuddle pollen. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“He thought you were too busy to come.” Jason grunted.

Dick’s expression crumbled, “I’ll always come if you need me, babybird. You too, Little Wing.”

Tim closed his eyes, and Jason shifted behind him.

Then there was someone gently shoving him back into Jason, and laying down in front of him.

He opened his eyes to see Dick settling in front of him wrapping his arm around him and Jason.

The last of the cold left him, and Tim finally was able to fall asleep snuggled between two of his brothers.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptober #day 17 #you look a little pale #Tim drake #dick grayson #Jason todd #batman #batman fanfic #dc fanfic #batboys #tim drake needs a hug #good sibling jason todd #good sibling dick grayson #cuddle pollen #dc universe

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draw-you-coward · 5 months

Text

Laranthir decides to pay the ex-Marshal and Commander a visit. Just as his friends. Set post-game/out of game.

(this won't make much sense if you're not familiar with my roza series' canon but you're still welcome to read! :)

ao3

He hadn’t really been expecting the house to be so… nice.

Of course, he feels bad about thinking so a second after he does, and his guilt slips through in a reflexive wince. Even if it had been less than nice, it isn’t Trahearne and Roza’s fault that they’ve never really had a moment in their lives to reflect on the finer points of interior décor. Laranthir has been to many an ex-soldier’s abode in his time, and they tend to look rather… barren. Or when they are decorated, it’s the partner’s work, the one who stands in doorways on the precipice of being seen and watches them interact with uncertain eyes. He doesn’t know which of his friends in this pair is the one with the haunted memories—by all accounts, it should be both. And yet…

He steps past the threshold of the ‘Ghost House,’ as it has been dubbed, and finds it rather cozy, of all things. The kitchen at the entrance is tidy, if not completely free of clutter. There are pots and pans that look well looked-after hanging on hooks. There is a homely little painting of a flower on the wall. There’s even a rug.

Past the kitchen is the living room, and that is where Laranthir halts. From the corner of his eye, he catches a grey blob peeking out at him before retreating behind the stairs. The furniture doesn’t quite match, but there is furniture, and the siege weapon-turned-dining room table Roza had once told him about has been replaced by an actual table, complete with actual chairs. What truly catches his eye, however, is the large painting hanging proudly on the far wall, in full view of everyone who enters.

“I apologize for Harley. She doesn’t like strangers.” Trahearne speaks up, scratching the back of his neck. “Not that—you’re not a stranger, of course! But, ah… to her you practically are. Sorry.”

“That’s fine,” Laranthir says absently. He is still staring at the painting.

Roza, on his opposite side, puffs up his chest. “That is Cadwaladr. We liberated him.”

Laranthir slowly turns his head, keeping an eye on the giant erotic portrait of a naked sylvari looking coquettishly up at the viewer that is absolutely impossible not to notice. “‘Liberated?’”

“He is free now,” Trahearne supplies helpfully.

“Right,” Laranthir says. “That… explains nothing.”

Roza sighs and hoists himself up on the back of the sofa, apparently already tired of how long it is taking Laranthir to put things together by himself without so much of a crumb of an explanation to go by. “There was an auction some time ago to bid off the last remaining pieces of the late Confessor Caudecus’s estate. We stole Cadwaladr under cover of night, freeing him from the greedy hands of the human nobles and giving him shelter and a name to call his own. He knows he is safe here.”

“He’s a painting,” says Laranthir.

Roza slides down the sofa until only his shins hang off the back. “Then don’t go upstairs,” he says, his voice muffled. “Gods.”

Laranthir decides he doesn’t want to know what he means by that. Thankfully, Trahearne draws his attention by stepping back into the kitchen.

“Do you want tea?” he asks.

Laranthir takes a moment to reflect on how absurd it is that the first of the Firstborn is offering him of all people tea. And how additionally absurd it is that he can reply, “I would like some, but only the real stuff. None of this ‘book tea’ I’ve heard about.”

“Roza truly has been filling people’s minds with fancies,” the oldest sylvari in all of life and death’s existence complains, and pouts.

Laranthir shakes his head. It is difficult to orient himself in such an overwhelmingly domestic environment. The image—the very notion of the three of them together—invokes battle, strategies, a war map spread across the table. Roza’s face set grimly in Commander mode, an acceptance of death in his eyes and wrapped around his very soul in a way that Laranthir will never truly empathize with. Trahearne, with much the same look moments before their airship had crashed. That… had been why Laranthir had left, in a sense. Roza is right. His soul is made of too soft a stuff to be willing to grapple with such a violent life on a daily basis.

“Not chamomile, then?” Trahearne murmurs. His eyes are sharp for a moment, ancient, and he looks into Laranthir as if despite his lack of a Dream connection, he knows all that he is feeling and more.

“Um.” Laranthir blinks, kicking away the pebbles of wartime from his mind. “Do you have rooibos?”

“From… a recent trip to Elona…” Trahearne searches in a tall cabinet, arching on his feet. “Yes, we do.”

Laranthir remembers a stolen sip of mulled wine in a dark office, the clink of glass tumblers held between two fingers. He sweeps the fleeting memory with its cobwebs away, and goes to join Roza on the couch.

Roza coils into him like a cat. “Say you’ll take the house,” he purrs, continuing a conversation they’ve been having on and off these past few weeks. “Not from me, but at least with me. You are the one who forced me to buy it, and thus it is the least you can do. You can think of it as a vacation home. A winter getaway. What say you?”

Laranthir wonders if he likes being pet as well as held, and then remembers that one time he’d caught him with a collar on and quickly stops wondering. “Yes, alright,” he agrees.

Roza’s eyes shine with hope. “Really? You will?”

“Darling, do you want tea?” Trahearne calls from the kitchen. “I’m making a pot.”

“Yes, please. Thank you, love.” Roza arches his neck, looking over Laranthir’s shoulder. For a second he watches the two of them interact, cradling the care that goes into but a few simple words. Darling. Love. Of course. Whatever you need. It’s a far cry from what they were in the Pact, from Do you think he even likes me? and I don’t know. I’m not sure. I’m not sure. I want to bite into my heart and rip it out.

Laranthir feels a fierce pang of something—longing, perhaps, or grief, if they’re not both the same—and rides it out. Roza catches his gaze and smiles, just a little, which is something he would have never done ten years ago without threatening to hurl himself off the roof just to counterbalance it.

Roza touches his forearm. “Are you alright?” he asks. Even that is something he would never have done, leaning forwards just enough to be genuine. The feeling is grief, then.

“I’m just thinking about how we met,” Laranthir replies.

“Oh.” Roza pauses. “Naught… to do with the house? I haven’t alarmed you with my demands?”

“Asking me to take partial ownership of a luxury mountain lodge with no caveat is hardly a demand.” Laranthir leans back, throwing an arm around the back of the couch.

“Perhaps… in the way I speak, then.” Roza looks at him almost cautiously, though without any serious wariness. “Shall I rephrase myself to be more… humble?”

That makes Laranthir laugh. “It wouldn’t be like you at all,” he chuckles. “I don’t mind your manner, Roza. It has its charm.”

Roza looks off to the side, and Laranthir remembers a conversation they’d had not too long ago, when he had come to his house in the Grove with a piece of paper and trepidatious eyes, and had slowly read off to him what can be summarized as, Hello. I love you, but sometimes I feel like you speak to me as if you don’t love me. I am afraid to lose you. And that is a moment worth reflecting on, one Laranthir still thinks about often. He thinks he needs to, for both their sakes’. Roza isn’t the only person in the worlds who needs to be humbled from time to time.

He touches the hand that had touched him. “You haven’t upset me,” he reassures. “Don’t worry overmuch about your wording.”

Roza eyes him. “And are those all of your thoughts?” he asks.

“Mostly,” Laranthir replies. The question isn’t a dig—he apparently keeps a little more to himself, especially when in conversation with his former protégé, than he perhaps should. He tries not to anymore, not since he had discovered that Roza can catch himself on even invisible barbs.

Roza’s large eyes are beseeching. Laranthir is almost amused—he has truly perfected how to put on that look when he wants something. “It’s just you and Trahearne,” he elaborates. “You never had this when you were young. I think you should have.”

Roza nods. “You gave me a lot,” he offers, a suggestion in his eyes.

Laranthir takes it with a gentle smile. “I did the most I could. But what you really needed was security.”

Roza combs his hair behind his ear with his hand. Trahearne comes in with the tea, wedging the extra cup to his chest in a way that is just mundane enough to make it tragic to think about what he sacrificed his existence to. He smiles in a way that makes it even more tragic, full of ease and warmth.

“You like just a hint of sweetness, right? No milk,” he asks Laranthir.

He takes the cup. “That’s right. You’re very observant.”

“I made a note of it once. My memory nowadays is exceptional.”

“Once,” Laranthir muses. “Pale Mother, when did we ever even have the time for tea?”

Trahearne sits back in his armchair, crossing his legs. “We stole a few cups… in between meetings, wasn’t it? And during breaks? Not in the mornings—breakfast was too short.”

“And too early,” Roza pipes up. “I still don’t know how anyone made it down on a regular basis.”

“Coming from the dawn bloom?” Trahearne raises an eyebrow in a manner that is more teasing than provocative.

Roza waves his hand dismissively. “Come off with the bullshit, darling. You know, the only reason I ever came down was because it was the only guaranteed chance I had to gossip with you two cretins. You never let me say anything fun on the clock.”

“And yet you still said many ‘fun’ things,” Trahearne recalls. He sips at his tea, staring up at the ceiling. “Strange, that.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called a cretin before,” Laranthir reflects.

“You are both very welcome.” Roza tosses his hair. “You would have been miserable without me.”

It’s probably a little true. Laranthir knows he was miserable by himself in the Pact without the two of them, but that came after knowing them. Without knowing Roza at all? There would have only been one hole in his heart instead of two. But then there would also not be this.

Trahearne has wrapped both his hands around his mug. “Thank you both,” he says quietly, “for being my friends back then. There were few who were truly willing.”

Laranthir makes a noise in his throat. “People liked you,” he assures.

“Yes, but liking and befriending your boss are two very different things.” Trahearne’s mouth twists in a sly smile. “If not for your unique view on interpersonal relationships, Laranthir, you would have done much the same as your fellow soldiers. I greatly appreciate that you chose not to.”

His ‘unique view?’ Laranthir blinks at him, trying to decipher what that means. On his right, Roza hides a smile in a sip.

Trahearne catches his expression and offers up one that suggests he has caught himself in his own net. “You, ah… were never truly one for formalities.”

“I have them where it counts,” Laranthir says cautiously.

“In the Vigil, perhaps. But I don’t think you were ever keen on that sort of thing. You were always quite chatty when you were in a good mood, you know. Freely offering your opinion without asking for permission, and telling me about this and that. It was when you quieted down into the ‘Yes sir,’s that I knew something was off. It was very helpful in gauging your mood, actually. Roza, for one, gave me practically nothing to go by.”

“Damn straight,” Roza mutters.

Laranthir opens and closes his mouth. “I…” Was he truly like that?

Trahearne smiles at him reassuringly. “I welcomed it, even if I never said so. Thank you.”

That eases him a little, although the soreness of embarrassment is still warm. Then Roza pipes up, “You were even worse with me.”

“What?” Laranthir squeaks.

“You always spoke to me as if we weren’t working, even in front of Trahearne! He would send me off to investigate a cursed swamp or something and then you’d go, ‘Don’t forget to bring an extra change of clothes.’ Like I was a child! Honestly.” Roza huffs.

“I didn’t always do that. I sometimes did it, and it was because you needed the reminder! You were a year old, Roza.”

“If we are thinking of the same swamp,” Trahearne murmurs, “You actually did forget to bring spare clothes, darling. Apologies.”

Roza scoffs. “W—I am being ganged up on. This isn’t fair,” he declares. He crosses his legs dramatically, spilling tea over his lap and making a small noise when it hits him.

Trahearne looks at him in some concern. “Did you hu—”

“Nope,” Roza says in the tight manner of someone who just spilled a scalding hot beverage over himself.

Trahearne sets his mug down on the coffee table, getting up and reaching for Roza’s. “Let me see. Come.”

Roza hands it to him with miserable eyes. Trahearne kneels down in front of him, hissing through his teeth in sympathy when he sees the size of the spill.

“Laranthir, do you mind going upstairs and fetching a spare pair of lounge pants?” he asks. “They should be in the third drawer of the large dresser.”

“Of course.” Laranthir puts his tea down and rises. “Do you have ointment?”

“It’s in the kitchen—we’ll grab it.”

“Don’t mind the wall art,” Roza says, peering over Trahearne’s head. “And, ah—Laranthir. I really did appreciate it, back then. The way you checked in on me. Thank you.”

Laranthir smiles at him and heads for the stairs. Beady eyes watch him as he nears, before Harley mewls and patters off towards her keepers. Decorating the stairway wall are… ah. Cadwaladr’s friends, it looks like, in equal states of propriety (or lack thereof).

The bedroom is warm, lived-in, and feels overwhelmingly private. Laranthir moves with haste, half because he feels as if he is intruding, and half because there is another portrait on the wall, one that they must have commissioned this time, because its subject is currently downstairs suffering from a mild burn. It’s at least tasteful, cutting off at his hips, but while Laranthir loves Roza dearly, he absolutely doesn’t need to see him with that expression. He hurriedly locates the drawer, grabs a handful of soft grey fabric, and leaves the room before he takes in any additional details, such as what may or may not be lying on the nightstand.

He pauses on the stair landing. Harley is licking Roza’s thigh, and he is giggling at her while Trahearne is trying to gently pull her away. Laranthir feels something in him soften at the scene, and he shares a look of accord with a nearby painting of a sylvari running naked in a field before he continues down the stairs.

#roza #laranthir #trahearne #gw2 #writing #drabble #i hope people think about this little canon sometimes and smile :)#i still remember that ask i got about trahearne and his ghost house with his ghost cats... treasure it

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midnight-moth · 4 months

Text

Incoming post with gross feelings. Tw pet death

TLDR I love all of the friendships I’ve made here and you all helped me survive this hellscape of a year and I’m grateful.

It seems to be a common sentiment, that this year was the worst year for a lot of people. I don’t know if it was my worst. But it is up there. I lost my dog Harley and my rabbits Yuki and Kirby, I separated from a very long relationship and then had to sell my house and find a new place, and move, I had a friendship implode (that thanks to therapy I can accept wasn’t my fault. Maybe) that ended up severing the connection to a community I had spent years working with and advocating for.

Despite all that it was somehow also the best year. Foremost because of the people I met, and I don’t want to tag people because my brain is stupid and will forget some, and some aren’t even on tumblr. I got to see my favorite band 9 times, I drove a car in Paris and didn’t die (although maybe our souls left our bodies a few times @alwaysjustmina ), I was far more creative than I have been in a long time, and I proved that I could live by myself without disintegrating (well, for the most part).

I’ve never really been a fandom person, mostly because I find it difficult to insert myself into well established communities. But I’m glad I went all in cause I don’t know what this year would have been like without the friendship and distraction brought to me by this silly satanic band. I feel like this new year is similar to last year, in that … my mental health is trash and I am struggling a lot. But maybe like last year there will be an upswing in about a month. Unlike last year, I can say that I do actually have hope that things will get better. And that’s not nothing.

I knew I wasn’t going to talk about anyone in particular but @alwaysjustmina I hope you know how much you and your friendship mean to me. I literally don’t know what I would do without you. All I can hope to do is be as good of a friend to you as you have been to me.

Okay I’m done. Back to my new years smoothie and dog cuddling.

#I’m so drowsy from sleeping too much #maybe some of that made sense #cw pet death

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angstyandromanticwriting · 7 months

Text

Harley Quinn X FemWerewolf!Reader Angsty and Cute prompt with comfort moments as well as a hopeful ending

• Occurs after the events of the third film (The Suicide Squad - 2021) + Linked to last few prompts I posted

!TW: Weapon (Spear), implied having experience of poor/traumatic past experiences, implied suffering from depression, grieving, feeling guilty, violence, bullying/harassment, murderous intentions/urges, swearing, supernatural element, insults, hint of separation anxiety/anxiety in general, putting oneself down, self doubt, murder attempt, getting injured, sacrificing oneself for another person, near-death experience!

Harley had been surprised to find, one night, that you were gone from her side, not too long after Waller had decided to let you out of your cell, and she worried about you, immediately getting out of bed to try and find you; she didn’t want you to get caught by Waller or any of the others, knowing you’d probably be in trouble if you were. Luckily, she didn’t have a hard time trying to find you, relying on the pack bond and tether she had with you, as well as, once she’d started getting closer, the sound of you crying nearby. “Y/n-?” She spoke, feeling slightly uneasy as she drew closer to the sound, but she soon relaxed when she noticed that it was you, sheathing her spear back up, whilst she stared back at you for a moment, a pained expression on her face; you were curled up, shaking whilst you sobbed, and she wondered what had happened, wishing she could do more to make you happy, and forget about everything that had happened to you, before. “Alpha,” she continued gently, and you tensed up for a moment, not daring to look over at her; you hated crying in front of her, knowing it upset her whenever you did, “it - it’s me.” She then slowly approached you, just in case you were in a disorientated state, like you sometimes were whenever she’d found you in a similar situation, before. Once she’d gotten close enough to, she crouched down beside you, and you whimpered quietly whilst she cradled you close to her, trying to comfort you as much as she possibly could, before lifting her right hand up to the right side of your head so she could play with your hair, knowing you liked it whenever she did. “It’s okay,” she cooed, after hearing a strained, barely audible sob escaping your lips, whilst trying to ignore the ache she was feeling in her chest; she hated seeing you like this, “I’m here, Alpha; I’ve got you, e-everything’s gonna be fine, I promise.”

“I’m so sorry,” you mustered shakily, your voice close to a whisper, and she shook her head, not wanting you to feel as if you had to apologise, “I didn’t mean to wake you, I just - I - I thought I h-heard my mother out here, calling me, a-and..” You faltered, noticing the pained expression on Harley’s face. “Oh god, she - she’s gone,” you mused, “I forgot, she..” Your face then contorted; you’d begun to cry again, and she frowned, feeling bad, and not knowing what to say to make things better for you. “It’s all my fault,” you uttered, “I’m never gonna see her again, and it’s all my fault; she died because of me; if she’d not given birth to me she would-”

“It’s not your fault, Alpha,” she contradicted, a hurt look on her face, “d-don’t ever think that what happened was your fault; you had no control over it, there was nothing you could do, Y/n - please tell me you know that.”

You hesitated, a pained expression on your face, but you knew she’d be upset if you didn’t. “I.. I know,” you claimed, and she managed a weak smile down at you, and you found you couldn’t help, but smile back up at her, feeling your heart beginning to race whilst you did, and you could hear that her’s was, too, alongside your’s.

“Good,” she replied, “we should get back to the base, before Waller or anyone else finds us out here.”

“We - Aren’t allowed to be out here-?” You assumed, and she shook her head gravely, shocking you, as well as disheartening you slightly, but you were glad, at least, to be able to be out of your cell, and be with her again.

“I’m sorry, Alpha,” she expressed, “they just don’t trust us, and I don’t want you to get into trouble; Waller might separate us again if she or Flag find us out here.” You nodded, understanding. “You don’t - mind, do you?” She inquired, and you shook your head.

“I’m happy, as long as I’m with you,” you reassured, “l-let’s go.”

She nodded, smiling lovingly down at you, before she carefully lifted you off of the ground, briefly connecting her lips to your’s whilst she did, and you melted into the kiss, smiling subconsciously against her lips whilst blood rushed to your cheeks; you were blushing, you were almost certain that you were, particularly when you noticed Harley smirking; she’d seen that you were, and thought it was cute. “You’re adorable,” she remarked, flustering you as you whimpered quietly, and buried your face into her right arm, “hey, don’t hide that you’re blushing from me; I love it.”

“I’ll get you back,” you assured, and she giggled in reply, after making an attempt to look as if she were scared, prompting you to pout, “I can make you blush, Quinzels, you’ll see, I’ve done it before-”

“Try, I dare you,” she challenged, “but I assure you you can’t make me blush as much as I make you blush.”

“We’ll see about that,” you replied, grinning up at her, and she would lift her right eyebrow slightly, intrigued, and looking forward to seeing what you would do to try and make her blush.

“You gonna try now, or-?” She inquired, and you smirked, shaking your head whilst a mischievous glint began to form in your eyes.

“I’m not telling you,” you stated, surprising her, but she liked it, “it’s gonna be a surprise; you still like surprises, right?”

“Of course I do,” she reassured, “and even if I didn’t, I’m sure as hell looking forward to this one.” You smiled warmly up at her, glad, before burying your face back into her arm, and letting your eyes close; you didn’t realise, until now, just how tired you were in this moment, and Harley smiled when she noticed that you were half-asleep, and slowed down a little to avoid waking you, or disturbing you in any way, though you didn’t mind, at all, if she did, nor would you mind it if Cane did for whatever reason, since she and Harley were the closest to you out of the whole group, and the only two you really considered to be family to you. Of course, you still considered Renee, Huntress and Canary to be family to you, too, after all they’d done for you, Cane, and Harley, they just weren’t as close as they were to you.

~-~

Whilst Flag and Milton were running a training session, using you and the remaining members of the pack you’d been leading before running away from them, and had found again fighting with the group, you would be distracted whenever you heard Falcon being rude about Harley, but she was just trying to ignore him, though she occasionally got the urge to throw her spear over at him. Eventually, she did end up lugging it at him, after she’d had enough, and you would be glad that she did, even though it didn’t do anything to him; just startled him. Falcon then scowled, and stormed up to Harley, prompting you to snarl and lope to her side protectively, baring your teeth over at him. He grimaced down at you, before returning his attention to Harley, who looked unperturbed by him trying to threaten her. “You piss me off,” he spat, and she scoffed, looking perplexed, whilst she fondled your left ear with her right hand to try and provide comfort to you; you were seething beside her, wishing you could tear into him, but you knew you’d get into trouble, and probably be separated from her again if you did, so you just about managed to hold yourself back, with the help of Harley beside you, of course; you’d always lose control of yourself, if it weren’t for her.

“How? I didn’t even do anything to you,” she hissed back at him, and he guffawed, before gesticulating to her spear which was laying on the ground waiting for her to retrieve it. “Yeah, well - Before that I wasn’t even doing anything, and you decided to say all that shit about me,” she clarified, and he rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed, as well as trying to hide the embarrassment he was currently feeling from you both.

“Yes, you were,” he contradicted, his voice slightly quieter than before, and you dug your claws into the dirt, knowing you had to dig them into something to try and keep yourself even more calm and collected.

“Oh, really? What was I doing, then?” She questioned, and he would quickly think of a response, stammering a little whilst he did.

“U-Uh, well - You’re breathing, are you not? And that’s just fuckin’ annoying to me; that’s why I was complaining earlier,” he explained, and she scowled, whilst you tensed up beside her, beginning to heat up even more; you hated that you weren’t tearing him to shreds, right now, clearly.

“Is that really all you can think of as a reason? C’mon, that’s lame,” she remarked, and he grunted, frustrated; he evidently couldn’t think of anything else, for a moment, to use as an insult, and that amused both you, and her.

“Alright,” he continued, determined, “you want another one?” You winced when you noticed both Flag and Milton were watching; they’d only just noticed there was something going on, after everyone around you three had stopped fighting, and were now watching. “Hey, I heard you won an award,” he continued, and you both guessed that his coming remark would be terrible, but Harley played along, feigning intrigue.

“Oh, did I? What for?” She inquired, encouraging him to continue, and you frowned, not wanting her to have to listen to the crap he was about to come out with, as well as what he already had come out with.

“For literally being the most annoying person on this fuckin’ planet,” he answered, and that was it for you as you lunged forward, and knocked him down to the ground, whilst you snarled above him, but before you could sink your teeth into him, Harley held you back, a pained expression on her face; she didn’t like to have to do that to you, especially when you were defending her, but she was terrified of you being taken away from her again, and couldn’t let it happen.

“Enough!” Milton shouted, before Flag could, and you gradually began to calm down, letting Harley ease you away from Falcon, and hold you close to her protectively, whilst anxiously watching Flag and Milton approaching, hurriedly talking, but their voices were too quiet for any of you to hear what they were saying.

You then began to realise that you’d messed up, and your blood ran cold; you thought they were gonna lock you up again, away from Harley, and a quiet whine escaped you whilst you thought about the possibility of that happening. ‘I’m so sorry,’ you expressed, your voice briefly trembling, whilst you buried your face into her left shoulder, and she shook her head, not wanting you to apologise after Falcon had started the fight in the first place, ‘what - what if they lock me up again? I - I can’t be without you, I’m such an idiot-’

“You’re not an idiot, Y/n,” she interjected gently, a hurt look on her face, “don’t - don’t say that, and they won’t lock you up again, I promise; nothing bad is gonna happen, alright? I won’t - won’t let them ever separate us again; I can’t. I needed you before, even after I said I didn’t, l-last year, and you weren’t there, but you’re here, now, and it has to stay that way; I love you, Alpha; I always have, and I always will; I wanna be your’s, forever, please remember that.”

“I knew Waller letting you out was a bad idea,” Milton uttered, but Flag shook his head, siding with you and Harley; he knew you wouldn’t have done anything if Falcon hadn’t provoked Harley.

“Relax, Milton,” he replied, whilst you both anxiously watched them, still intermingled with one another, like you usually were, “let’s all just be in agreement that nothing happened-”

“Ridiculous,” Milton interrupted, “don’t you see? She’s dangerous, and barely has any control over herself; she could easily turn on us, don’t you get what’s going on here?”

Flag simply shrugged, playing dumb, somewhat. “Truthfully,” he began, after sighing, “I have no idea what’s going on, ever, since that first damn mission I had to oversee. Now, are we in agreement, or not, chief? The only person here who should, ideally, be punished - is Falcon, over here; he provoked the fight, and you know our Alpha here is - very protective, and he wasn’t doing any favours for himself, really.”

“Fine,” Milton mumbled, “if it’ll get you to shut up, but if she slips up again, I’m going to Waller-”

“She - She won’t,” Harley assured, and you nodded quickly in agreement, your eyes glinting whilst you did; you vowed you would try harder to control yourself, if it meant you wouldn’t be separated from Harley again, like you were, before, “see?”

“She better not,” he replied, “keep her in line; she listens to you, the most - some Alpha.”

You fought back a growl, watching as Milton walked away, and she grimaced with you; she didn’t like your authority being challenged, like he’d just done. “Don’t listen to him, little wolfy,” she cooed, “he - he knows nothing; you’re the best Alpha there is.”

You forced a smile up at her, before lowering your gaze back down to the ground, and letting the shiny smile fade; you often doubted that you were, knowing you couldn’t ever be the Alpha your mother had been; she had been amazing, you perceived, after hearing everything your aunt had told you about her, when she was still alive. ‘T-Thanks, Quinzels,’ you returned, ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

Flag then turned to Falcon, who was struggling to get to his feet, leaning heavily against the nearest fence; he was still shocked after you’d suddenly knocked him down like you had, and almost attempted to kill him. “Out of everyone here to cause trouble,” he mused, whilst slowly walking up to Falcon, who was trembling a little, “of course it’s you. Watch yourself, or I’ll make sure it’s you who’s getting the shit from Waller, got that?” Falcon nodded, and Flag smiled back at the both of you, before walking up to the others to inform them that the training session was over, for today.

“Let’s get out of here, Alpha,” Harley suggested, and you nodded, following behind her whilst she retrieved her spear, “I wanna give you something for sticking up for me back there.”

You would be surprised, but found you couldn’t refuse, smirking. ‘Intriguing,’ you responded, ‘I look forward to it.’

She grinned back at you, a mischievous glint in her stunning icy blue eyes, never failing to amaze and make you forget how to breathe for a few moments; you found everything about her magical, and perfect, and whenever you did, you wondered why she’d decided she wanted you, too, when she could find someone so much better than you. “Finally,” Winter remarked, surprising the both of you as you looked over at her at the same time, an almost identical perplexed look on both of your faces, “I brought popcorn; I assume you meant - a movie night, right?”

You both couldn’t help it as you shared a look, before bursting out laughing, and shaking your heads at the same time. “We could have a movie night later-?” Harley suggested, whilst recovering from her laughing fit, and Winter would appear elated, looking forward to it, clearly. “What do you say, Alpha?” She inquired, and you nodded, prompting both Harley and Winter to cheer, making you smile brightly.

“Sure,” you answered, “see you then, Winter, choose whatever films you want to watch later.” You and Harley then rushed into the base, before anyone else could stop you both.

~-~

“Who let you be in charge?” Harley spat; Falcon had decided to step up after Milton had been wounded by one of the hunters sent by the Government, and Omega Prime Minister, who you were all now up against.

“Uh, myself, duh,” he answered, and she grimaced over at him, “what? You think you’d do better? Please-”

You snarled, cutting him off, and Harley quickly blocked you from getting any closer to him by holding out her spear in front of you, and you faltered, wincing when you remembered yourself, and glanced up at her, to find her smiling sadly as well as reassuringly over at you. You managed a faint smile back, before walking up to her, and brushing against her side, soothing her even more. “Easy, guys,” Flag warned, “and you’re not the leader, Falcon, I am, so get back into your place, won’t you? I don’t want anymore crap from you, remember what I said about telling Waller about your behaviour recently?” Falcon grunted, before nodding gravely. “Good, now I suggest you listen, and keep your mouth shut from here on out,” he concluded, before gesticulating for Falcon to join the others at the back, which he begrudging did, after muttering something inaudible. Flag then turned to face you both, appearing disappointed; he’d heard Harley speaking first, this time. “Behave, won’t you? I don’t need anymore shit from Waller on my back right now,” he complained, and you both nodded gravely, before Harley rolled her eyes after he’d turned around, and continued walking at the front of the group, beside the makeshift stretcher Milton was being carried on.

You then both walked side-by-side behind them, Harley making sure the fingers of her right hand were tangled a little in the white fur of your left side; you were still in your wolf form. You smiled when you felt them, and shyly glanced over at her, finding her looking over at you, too, and you would immediately be flustered, quickly looking away, blood rushing to your cheeks whilst you did, but the fact that you were blushing was luckily hidden by your fur, but she still knew you had to be blushing, due to the way you were acting. She fought back a giggle, amused, but didn’t want to make you feel embarrassed. ‘You can laugh,’ you mustered, surprising her as she looked over at you, but she would be relieved, allowing herself to snort, before laughing quietly, and you grinned, before smiling lovingly up at her, and wishing you could be alone with her for longer than you both usually were able to be. ‘I love you so much,’ you expressed, and she looked back at you, her eyes glinting whilst she did, and heart racing alongside your’s, ‘to - to the point you make me - self-destructive, in some ways, but I love it, because I serve to make you happy, and to protect you; there will never be a day, Quinzels, where I won’t jump in front of a bullet, or fight billions and trillions of Omegas all alone just to save you-’

She shook her head, tears beginning to invade her eyes; she didn’t want you to think that you had to do that for her. “N-No, Alpha,” she whined, her voice briefly trembling, and Flag looked over his shoulder at the both of you, wondering what you both were talking about; he still couldn’t understand you, yet, like Harley, Cane, Renee, Huntress and Canary could, when you were communicating with them in your wolf form, “you don’t ever have to do that for me; if I lost you-”

You frowned, a pained expression on your face. ‘You - You’d be free of me,’ you stated, and she faltered, stopping in place, and you followed her, not daring to look up at her, whilst your vision began to grow blurry due to the now invading tears threatening to escape your eyes.

When Flag had noticed you’d both stopped, he hesitantly stopped, too, but decided he should give you both some form of privacy. Milton could see that this was what Flag had in mind, and he forced himself to sit up, wincing as he did, ignoring Flag’s protesting, and demands to lay back down due to him needing to rest after being recently wounded. “I can manage them,” he stated, quietly, to avoid disturbing you both, and Flag grunted, shaking his head again, “you have to be the one to manage the others, go on - You aren’t scared, are you?”

“Of course not,” he answered, “you just need to rest-”

“There’s no rest for the wicked, Sergeant,” he interjected, and Flag hesitantly nodded gravely in agreement, “take ‘em down a little further, and we’ll be with you once we’re done, here.”

“Crazy,” Flag uttered, “the one time Waller decides she wants the Birds of Prey staying in the base, and this happens.”

Milton snorted, before shaking his head. “It’s one of those days,” he replied, “now take ‘em along, and give the lovebirds some privacy.”

“Chief,” Flag concluded, before respectfully nodding his head, and gesticulating for the others to follow him away from you three.

“What if I don’t want to be free of you, Alpha?” She questioned, a hurt look on her face, and you doubted that, but tried to hide that you did, not wanting to upset her any more than you had, already. “I love you, little wolfy; you’re everything to me, a-and - It was painful enough l-losing you all those times before. L-Like - Like last time - Where were you? You could have - could have come find me; I heard your howl, after you fell, a-and you’re here now, so - Where were you?”

You bowed your head, allowing a couple of stray tears to run down your cheeks, and drop down to the ground. ‘I.. I was trying, Harley, to - to find you, and when I did, I.. I don’t know, by the time I had, I thought you’d forgotten about me; I thought you’d found someone b-better than me, and I just.. Thought it would be better if-.. If I let you go; set you free.’

She would realise, and begin to feel guilty, wishing she’d never gotten involved with the man she considered to be a walking red flag, last year. Once she felt able, she rushed over to you, and crouched down so she could throw her arms around you, burying her face into your neck whilst she began to cry, feeling awful. “I - I’m so sorry, Y/n,” she expressed shakily, and you shook your head, not wanting her to feel as if she had to apologise; you believed it to be all your fault, especially for being so reckless the day you went over the cliff whilst fighting with the Omega in another attempt to save her life, “I-.. I love you so much, and I never forgot about you; I never could, even - even when I was with that guy.. Please tell me you know that, Alpha.”

You nodded, and she expressed relief, glad to hear that you did. ‘I - I know,’ you assured, forcing a smile, and she smiled back at you, before connecting her forehead to your’s, so your eyes could lock with her’s in the best way possible.

“Hey, you haven’t said it back yet,” she pointed out, after you’d found yourself getting lost in her icy blue eyes, and you winced, realising, “do you love me?”

‘More than anything,’ you expressed, and her smile grew, prompting you to forget how to breathe for a moment, and your heart seemed to manage to start racing even faster, somehow. ‘You’re everything to me, Quinzels, you - you always have been, and always will be,’ you added, ‘I guess I was just - getting a little lost in your eyes again, in all honesty.’

“Guess what?” She chimed after affectionately booping your nose with the tip of her’s, and you would be intrigued, tilting your head partially. “I was getting a little lost in your’s, too,” she admitted, “you must have the most beautiful werewolf eyes I’ve ever seen.”

You would be surprised, not expecting that. ‘You - Really think so?’ You inquired, and she nodded quickly, certain of herself.

“I know so,” she assured, and winced when she noticed Milton was watching you both, “we can never get any privacy around here, it’s crazy.” You nodded gravely, wishing things could be different for you both, and Cane, who was still currently being kept at the base by Waller and the Birds of Prey, still insistent that it was too dangerous for her to join you both. She then sighed heavily, just wishing she could have more time alone with you, whilst you wished you could, too, with her. “I guess we should keep going,” she murmured, and you nodded again, though it was the last thing you both wanted to do, right now, “c’mon, Alpha; we should be getting some alone time later, anyway.” You dragged yourself alongside her, toward Milton, who whistled for Flag to bring the group back over, and he shortly appeared with the rest of the group around the corner, so he could, with another of the group, Winter, whom he felt he could trust a little more than the others, except for you and Harley, continue to carry the stretcher Milton was on down the path, back toward the base after they’d already been attacked not too long ago. Whilst you both were walking back with the group, you made sure to be brushing up against her side again, whilst Harley also ensured that the fingers of her right hand were tangled in the white fur of your left side; you both just liked to be somehow touching one another, and to know that you both really were there beside one another again, after you’d both been separated for yet another year. Like you’d both been hoping you would, you did get more time alone with one another, before lights out, and used it to ‘celebrate’, play games with one another and Cane, before sending her off to bed, as well as just cuddle up together, occasionally in silence, whilst you both stared into each other’s eyes, wondering what you’d both done to deserve each other, as well as thinking about how perfect things would be, once you both were given the okay to get married, i.e once the Omegas were gone, and the Omega Prime Minister defeated.

~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed! ❤️

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boygiwrites · 8 months

Text

Harley D. Dixon 5

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. This is our CDC chapter, so TW for mention of suicide in this one. It's a little graphic.

And it might be better to go in blind, but if you'd like the second TW, please check the first tag on this post.

Other than that, please enjoy reading!

Glenn exhales, "Would you look at that?"

The sun is rising.

Last night I was a dying dog and today I am Harley Dixon.

Me, Dad and Glenn are on the roof of the parked RV, watching the sky give birth to the sun, knowing that I got hundreds more sunrises waiting for me; that the worst is over, like Rick said. The morning is as fresh as peeled summer fruit, and it's all ours. I'm reminded of special breakfasts on our old porch, where my Uncle Merle and my Dad would be scooping burnt scrambled eggs into their mouths, and I'd be in Dad's lap, sipping on a box of orange juice. We had them whenever I won an award at school. I feel like I've won every award in the world.

Glenn is the one sitting next to us, now, in this new version of day-break. He fills the outline of where a ghost of a brother and an Uncle used to be. We're sharing a secret bag of old freeze-dried cherries, while everyone else sleeps. They're a small luxury, like the sun. We can make happiness out of anything.

It all feels right.

"One hundred percent mold free, this time. I swear," Glenn says, ripping the bag open and pouring me the first cherries.

"They better be," Dad jokes. "First time was free."

"Next time, you'll beat my ass?" Glenn guesses.

He looks like he's realizing his legacy is always gonna be the guy who can't make jerky.

"Damn straight."

We knock our plastic bowls together, smiling.

"To Harley."

"To me!"

"What a mess this whole thing was." Glenn shakes his head, chewing. "I know I already said it, but... I'm really sorry."

"Ain't your fault you can't cook." I giggle.

"Gee, thanks." He laughs. "I guess I deserve that."

"Just learn to salt the damn meat, China." Dad says. "Then we can talk."

"Okay, okay, okay." Glenn puts his hands up, but he's still grinning. "I suck at cooking. I get it. Are Dixons always this mean?"

Me and my Daddy answer, yes, at the same time.

"Good to know." Mumbles Glenn.

"The night I got scratched," I muse, my fingers painted with crayon-red cherry juice. "You was the first person after my Dad to reach the tent."

I remember people saying that Glenn could outrun a cheetah if there were enough supplies behind the finish line. The thought makes me laugh again. When you ain't big, you gotta find other ways to elbow your way through danger. Sometimes a good brain and better legs are all you need. Sometimes people like me and Glenn get to win, too.

"I guess so." Glenn's smiling shyly. "But only because Rick was too busy reloading. And Shane was up the back. And, well, I guess— When we first got back to camp, people were saying that you were gone. That you were missing, or dead, or— We didn't know. Your Dad, he just took off into the woods. Just, vroom, y'know? Like, gone. I thought if I was gonna be like anyone, it should be him. So, I went running, too."

Dad leans over and grips Glenn's shoulder; shakes it. A gesture that says, Man to man, I respect you. Maybe even, Brother to brother.

It takes a lot to earn my Dad's respect, if you ain't his blood.

"You all looked like you was boutta faint." I snicker, 'cause it's funny now.

"W-we all thought it was too late." Glenn tries to laugh. It's been hard, I guess, bottling up that night until now. "When we first saw the tent."

I see flashes of wet eyes, and teeth, and spiders.

"I did too," I confess.

My Dad turns me around in his lap, then, and bounces his knee a little. "But I woulda never let that happen, chicken, y'hear? And I ain't never gonna let that happen. I'd have to be dead, 'fore a walker laid his hands on you." He frowns, looking me dead in the eye.

"I hear." I nod. "It was just really scary."

"C'mere, babe."

He pulls me down to his chest — his heart — and I curl up there, where I know nothin' will ever get me.

"For the record, I was about to faint." Glenn mutters.

I throw a cherry at him and he dodges it, grinning.

"I knew it!"

We all sit like this for a long while, with the sun and the rustling wheat as our friends, snacking on our sour fruit. Then they start talking again, a notch deeper, a notch outta my league. Adult to adult. I realize they must think I'm asleep — It is the ass-crack of dawn, after all — so I don't interrupt.

"I didn't mean it like that, you know." Glenn tells my Dad. "You can protect your own. I get that."

"Don't tell me what I already know, kid."

"I just..." Glenn starts, but then there's nothing.

In this long moment, I think Glenn is going to leave down the ladder, 'cause it's what anyone else would do.

People like me and my Dad — People who hoard supermarket coupons, and talk real nasty, and get called hillbillies — don't mix well with people like Glenn. People pretend there isn't, but there's an invisible cut-off on who deserves what in life, and it ends right after people who only gotta work one job. Glenn's smart, and he prolly ain't never had to go hungry to pay his water bills, not once in his life. He prolly ain't never been to jail, or snapped a squirrel's neck, or re-used the same bottle of hand soap forty times over. He's like the rest of 'em. Rick and Lori. Shane. The kids in my old classes. Their parents on parent-night. We can work well together but anything else is askin' too much.

But we're family now, right? I think Glenn might leave, but—

"Well, for what it's worth, I couldn't do it." Is all Glenn says.

He doesn't leave. In fact, I hear him settling further into his chair. It's what Uncle Merle would have done.

My Dad pauses. "Do what?"

"Look over my shoulder all the time. Worry about someone else every time I hear a gunshot. Walk around knowing I have that much to lose." Glenn sounds lost in thought, but then he surfaces. He ends his list with a simple, "Be a parent."

My Dad sighs, debating whether or not to go along with this.

"That ain't all there is to it." He eventually says.

"No?"

"Nah. It ain't some curse." Dad says. "I hear a gunshot? Sure, first thing I'm thinkin' 'bout is Harley. But that's the way it's meant to be."

"I just don't think I'd be able to handle it." I imagine Glenn gazing out at the sky. "These past few days have been stressful enough."

"Yeah, well that's why I got a kid 'n you don't." Dad's being a bit of a smart-ass. Then, he answers seriously. "You got a kid? You gotta be ready to die for 'em. But it ain't just sittin' around, waitin' to do it. It's the opposite. Every day I wake up, and I do it for her. I do everythin' I do for her. After that baby's born, who you were, what you liked doin', any plans you had — That's over. Suddenly, yer life ain't the most important thing you got, no more."

I've never heard my Dad talk like this. I wish our lives were worth the same, but I guess it don't work that way.

"And who were you?" Glenn asks, knocking back a cherry. "Before Harley?"

"A nobody. Drunk bastard with drunk-bastard friends." Dad scoffs.

"Well... That's good, then?" Glenn's guessing. "Sounds like she changed you for the better, man."

I can't imagine my Dad being anybody other than my Dad. The day I came into the world, so did he. There's nothin' before that.

"It's hard." Dad admits, prolly for the first time ever, to Glenn. "I love 'er, but it's hard as shit. Some days I wanna pull my damn hair out."

"You must have been going crazy during... everything."

"Oh, you think?" Dad jokes. "You ain't seen me fuck up that walkie?"

Glenn bursts out laughing. "It hit the RV when you threw it out the window. Scared the shit out of Dale."

I have to try really hard not to laugh. I'm meant to be pretend-asleep!

"You got any nieces, or anythin'?" Dad asks.

"No." Glenn answers. "My sisters were either too interested in their careers to have kids, or... Too young."

Glenn's sisters aren't here. Blood does everything it can to stay together. Dad taught me that. That means his sisters are both young and dead.

"That's gotta be tough, man." Dad sighs.

"No, it's alright. Sometimes I can pretend they're out there, together. Happy." He pauses. "What about you? Nieces? Nephews?"

Dad actually laughs a little. "Fuck no. Not from my side, at least. Guy like my brother ain't meant to spread his seed around. Ain't right."

Glenn starts laughing, too. "I guess not."

"Nah, Harley's my only girl." My Dad says. I feel him start playing with the end of my ponytail.

"You know, when you first showed up in camp, I thought she was Merle's." Glenn says, then quickly, "No offence."

"No shit?" Dad scoffs.

"No shit. I thought you looked too young to have a kid."

An unspoken joke makes them both laugh all over again.

"Yeah, well, I was real busy in my teen years."

I got no idea what that means, but it must be funny. Their conversation tapers from chuckling into a warm silence, and then it's just us and the sun again. It clips over a candy-colored cloud, and I can hear car doors opening and shutting, and loud yawns from down below. We're gonna be on the road again soon. I might not need a cure anymore, but we still need water, food, and walls, and the CDC's got it all. I hear someone shouting, alright, people, time to start heading out, and then a whole bunch of shuffling. The day isn't just ours, anymore.

My Dad stretches, groaning, and I pretend to be woken up by it.

He pinches my cheek. "Look who's here."

"Hey, Harley." Glenn smiles, packing up. "You enjoy the cherries?"

"Uh-huh," I smile back. "Thank you."

"No problem." He says. "There's actually some left over, if you want it."

He holds out the bag while I dig my hand into it.

I think it's funny how me, the man who made me, and the man who almost killed me are all friends, now. I learnt in science class that the more pressure you put on a rock, the more compact the molecules get. I think we're the molecules. It's bittersweet.

"Not too many." Dad warns. "You're still sick, remember? Don't want you messin' up my truck again."

"I remember," I promise, shoving a handful of cherries into my mouth. I also remember him sayin' he don't give a damn 'bout the truck.

Someone shouts out the radio channel again.

"Time to see this thing through, then." Rallies Glenn, but he looks nervous.

We say goodbye to the sunrise.

"Dad, is that—?"

"That's the CDC, alright."

We reach it by early morning. It's a monster of a building. It's like a big, white buoy in the middle of the ocean, saying, Come here, I'll keep you afloat. We ease to a stop and then we just look at it, 'cause it's all we can do. The CDC, right before our eyes. It's really there.

"It's bigger than I thought." I think aloud.

Dad just grunts, wary. "Stay close to me."

Our new walkie chimes, and Rick speaks to everyone when he says, "This is it, people. Leave your things. We're gonna walk up."

Why does the air feel so cold?

My Dad pulls both me and his crossbow out the truck, and then the whole group — one tired, beaten, hopeful force — are slowly making our way to the building. We walk through a silent field. I wish it could speak to us; tell us what it's been through.

We pass torn bags of sand and littered bullet shells. I think there's something here that we're not seeing, not yet, like a sleeping beast at the back of a cave, and when we find it, we're gonna be sorry we ever looked. We weave through big, black piles of clothes. The clothes are full, I realize. Full of hands, and legs; all white, all dead. They're bodies. They still have their human faces; they're still them, just dead, and they're studded with the bullets that the shells came from. The story tells itself, on behalf of the ghosts. They give their blood back to mother nature, dripping into the grass. I gasp. From head to toe, I go cold. My Dad shields my face, but I've already seen 'em. They're already nightmares.

Rick leads us. He leads us past trucks and barriers and blockades. Every sign the universe gives him to turn back, he ploughs through, chin up.

Maybe he's brave. Maybe he's stupid. Maybe he was designed to be both. Maybe we're walking to our deaths.

Nobody speaks. If they do, the bodies might wake up, and the graveyard we're intruding on will realize it doesn't want us here.

A crow squawks from its post on a dead soldier's helmet. If I spoke bird, I'd hear, Turn back.

We have to do this. It's what everyone's thinking, as they manage one foot in front of the other. Just one more step, and after that, just one more step. I take in the group, 'cause they ain't dead, and it's a little less awful to look at.

Morales, rifle up. Eliza, Louis and Sophia, three baby ducklings under their Mommas' shaking wings. Dale and Shane, polar opposites but in this moment, exactly the same; with their steely gaze and steady hands. Jacqui and Andrea, holding hands; two girls in women's bodies, walking through a world that wants to eat them. I catch Carl's eye. He catches mine, over the violence spread out before us. I watch him send me a thumbs up, which does nothing but turn me colder — colder than ice, colder than I've ever been — before my view is blocked for a second time, by Glenn. I'm sandwiched in; hidden, protected. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope I'll get to open them again. My Dad leads me by the shirt over the grass. I trust him.

My shoes hit something tougher, louder — Cement. Rock? Our footsteps echo, now. Are we really in a cave?

It goes double-dark, through my eyelids. Please don't leave us, I beg the sun nicely, We need you.

I squeeze my Dad's hand. He squeezes back.

Then I hear a rumble, like thunder, and I peek out from behind my Dad. It's Rick, banging on roller shutters. We all clench closer together, a fist ready to fight. Nobody does it on purpose, but me and all the other kids are pushed toward the middle. Rumble, rumble, rumble. Rick goes from one door to another to another, until he's shook down the entire row.

Guns are raised. We step back, together.

It's like knockin' on doors on Halloween. We don't know what creature's gonna answer. Maybe nobody.

"Anybody home?" Glenn mutters.

We stretch our silence for as long as we can stand it. There is no answer.

Newly determined, or maybe offended, or scared, or maybe all three, Rick beats down all the doors again like he hates 'em.

"Hey!" He calls out. "Whoever's in there, open up!"

"Nobody's here, man!" T-Dog shakes his head, but he ain't got no proof.

"Then tell me why you think all the damn shutters are down?" Rick snarls, and it's like we're in the parking lot again, and I'm scared.

And I should be.

"Walkers incoming!" Shane shouts.

Suddenly, my Dad and Glenn are whirling the other way, facing our new enemy. I grab onto the back of Dad's belt, and when I peer out between their elbows, I see one, two, six, twelve dead bodies lumbering to their feet, all dressed in military green, and dented helmets, and layers and layers of crusty black blood and loose skin. The other kids start to cry, but not me. I can't cry, 'cause I can't breathe. I hear a slicing fwip, and then one of the dead soldiers drop to the ground like the only thing holding him up were strings. An arrow marks his second deathbed.

"We can't fuckin' stay here, Rick!" My Dad's yelling. "You led us into a death-trap!"

I'm grabbing onto the back of Glenn's shirt, now, 'cause my Dad's stomping off to confront Rick and Shane. I hide my nose in my knuckles. Death-trap, I'm panicking, Death-trap. A week ago, I'd be standing here alone, but I got Glenn now. I don't know how I know that, but I do. I got Glenn.

"Glenn, I'm scared." I whine to him, and there it is, I'm crying. I think of happier things, like cherries and the sun.

"I— I know." Glenn puffs, 'cause he's scared, too. "I know."

He lets me grab his hand. It's what Uncle Merle would have done.

"Death trap or not, we're here for a reason!" Dale's arguing. "Rick made a call! We all did!"

"You want us to phase through the fuckin' doors, old man?" Dad spits. "We're stuck out here! My daughter's stuck out here!"

"Running out of time here, guys!" Jacqui's worrying.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Are those gunshots, now? Bullets are last resorts. Last resorts are only for when you're gonna die. Are we gonna—?

"Are we gonna die, Glenn?"

"No." He hurries to answer, gripping me tighter. "N—No."

"We need to leave!" A woman — Carol? — cries.

"She's right." Lori. That's Lori. "This close to the city? It's too dangerous!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Fort Benning." Shane looks like he's 'bout ready to bolt, bouncin' from foot to foot. A trapped animal. "We can do it. It's still an option, Rick."

"Is it?" Glenn's shouting. "It's a hundred twenty-five miles away!"

"No fuel? Two sick kids?" Morales is shakin' his head, no, no, no. "It's impossible!"

What do we do? No, no, no. We can't leave, but no, no, no, we can't stay, neither.

"What do you wanna do, then?" Shane argues back. "What you wanna do?"

"That's it! We're done here!"

My Dad shuts the whole thing down with one angry shout, locking his hand around my wrist. He tugs me away, and for a moment, the group is tugging itself along behind us, back to the street and the cars. We're a unit again — in the wind, goin' anywhere; scared, flimsy. We take one step, and then two, and we make it all the way back to the grass, before—

"Wait!"

It's Rick.

He ain't budged. Brave or stupid? Is he nuts?

"The camera." He tells us, breathless. "It moved."

All three.

"You imagined it." Dale decides, 'cause he'll say anything to get Rick to move. "How could it have moved?"

It's a lost cause — a last-ditch attempt.

The arguing re-ignites. I hide myself again, 'cause I'd rather be anywhere else.

Rick's shouting that he saw it, he saw the camera move, and his voice hits the concrete and closes in on us, just like the field. Fwip. Bang. Bang. Bang. Each burst of noise is a ticking hand on a dyin' clock. The bodies are picking themselves up faster than we're dropping 'em. Glenn's got a knife out, now, and Shane's pleading with Rick, who's gone nuts, Man, listen, the place is gone, it's gone, it's gone, it's gone. Rumble, rumble, rumble. Fwip. Bang. Crying; shrieking, from me, from the other kids, from Lori, and Jacqui, and the air as it's cut in half by bullet after bullet after bullet. Please, we have two sick kids out here, someone's begging.

"You're killing us!" Rick tells the camera. "You're killing us!"

My Dad fists the back of my shirt and he's pullin' me away, stronger than before. I think he's saying, Fuck it, we can make it on our own; leave the bastard. This must really be rock bottom. We were on our own for weeks. He must be thinking that we can do it again. I can see Glenn struggling to decide whether he should stay with the group or follow his feet, which are already trying to run after me and my Dad. I see Jacqui doin' it, too, and then Andrea, and then Carol.

A body topples over in our path, arrow up its nose. This is chaos.

Cherries and sunlight. Cherries and sunlight.

Then—

Behind us.

A gentle rumble, rumble.

We all whip around.

The doors — They're opening. They really are.

Even Rick looks like he can't believe it. We watch them open, mouths agape, like a bunch of idiots — A portal, to another world.

At first, we think there's a catch. Nothing comes without a catch. Do we go in?

But then there's another bang, and we're reminded that we're as good as dead if we stay out here any longer. We're on the move again, but this time, we're walking into the big, white mouth of the big, white monster, praying, Please don't be worse than it is out here, please don't make us regret this. We stay close together as the doors roll back down, sealing us in. We can breathe again, but only slightly. Would I rather take my chances with the dead soldiers, or with the unknown? I'm not sure. Now it's really happening, I don't think any of us are.

"Electricity." Jacqui whispers in cautious wonder. Electricity is like a myth.

Rick nods toward an archway. "Let's keep moving."

We trickle into the belly of the beast — Down a hallway, and into a lobby with the tallest damn ceiling I ever saw. Papers are thrown all over the floor and the computers at the reception desk are all upturned, but it's pin-drop silent. It's like being in a museum for an old extinction event.

"Hello?" Rick calls out, and if there's a scary creature in here, I sure hope it eats him first. "Who's in here? Who opened the doors?"

The silence answers.

"I did."

I jump outta my skin. Dad gets himself in front of me, but I peek around his waist. There's a man at the top of the stairs. He looks like he's been here for a long, long time. Like those lonely boys in Lord of the Flies, where they'd been on an island for so long that they started going a little crazy. He's wearing a regular t-shirt. I wonder where his lab coat is, if he's a scientist. This is a building for scientists.

"What did you mean by 'sick'?" The lonely-crazy-man calls down to us. "You said you had two sick kids. Is anybody infected?"

The whole group hardens at this question. They all glance back at me. I can see our journey in their eyes.

Rick's smiling, and this time, it looks right.

"You don't know the half of it." He turns back around, chin up, like always. "No. Nobody's infected. Thank God."

Dad puts a hand my shoulder.

The scientist doesn't share the same enthusiasm.

"I'm not sure He's around, anymore." He muses, vaguely sad. Then, "Why are you here? What do you want?"

I've never been good at words, but Rick is, 'cause he comes up with the perfect answer. One he knows we'd all agree on.

"A chance."

And maybe some water. After all we been through, that can't be too much to ask. We must look like a pathetic, begging mess, 'cause that's what we are. I know I am. My hair's made outta knots and grease, just like Lori and Andrea's. We're covered in beatings from the road, like bruises from Jim's fists and eyebags from sleepless nights. We left our quarry for this. We left our fish, and our tyre swing, and we left Jim. This can't be for nothing.

The man, who stands high above us, a judging eye, takes us in. "That's asking an awful lot, these days."

All Rick can say is, "I know," and pray it works.

I think of wet eyes, teeth, and spiders while we wait for his decision.

"You'll submit to a blood test." The scientist tells us. "That's the price of admission."

A breath leaves us all.

"We can—" Rick's nodding. "We can manage that."

That's it? A blood test?

I find myself grinning, and I tug on my Dad's hand. We look at each other. He's smiling, too, just a little. We all are. The scientist doesn't know it, but he's just saved our lives. We're tired and we're dirty and we've been through Hell these past couple days, but a blood test — We can manage that. We can manage anything.

"I left one door open. If you have stuff to bring in, do it now." He says, from his perch. "Once these doors shut, they don't open."

We tell him we understand.

This place is like a magical castle.

After we give up our blood, the scientist takes us on a tour.

Jacqui was right. We got electricity. But apparently, we also got hot water.

If electricity's a myth, then hot water is a damn hoax. I can't wait to have a shower tonight. I used to hate showers, but that's just one of them things now that I can't believe I ever hated, like spinach. I been so hungry before that I'd dream about spinach. Glenn and Lori groan like they've bitten into a big, juicy steak when they hear 'bout the showers, and we all laugh. When I ask him, the scientist says that he isn't wearing his lab coat because he only wears it to make himself look cool. He says that now that we're here, he'll have to put it back on. It makes me giggle.

I run ahead with the other kids, and we all reach a long line of doors, where the scientist says we'll be staying.

The tour is complete!

We all pick rooms to stay in and then we unpack, like we're in a hotel, and it's exciting. None of us have been to a hotel in years.

"Hey, Harley!" Sophia pops her head out the next room over, holding a bar of soap. "Look! Soap!"

I hold out mine. "I got one, too!"

Behind Sophia, Carl pops his head out. "Me too!"

And behind him, like two little owls, Eliza and Louis appear. "Us, too!"

We dash back into our rooms. Me and my Dad's room got two double beds, and I ain't never had a double bed before, so I climb on it, and I jump up and down to test it out. It don't even squeak or nothin'. Dad watches me from where he's emptying one of our back packs.

As I try touch the ceiling, I tell him, "This place is awesome!"

"Harley, come down from there 'fore you crack yer head open." He orders, like a party-pooper.

I do what he says, 'cause I don't wanna ruin the day by getting spanked. "I'm gonna have a real-life shower."

"That's right." He shakes out the yellow shirt with the dinosaurs on it. He chucks it at my head, smirking. "Get ready, then."

I grab the brush that Sophia's letting me use first and a pair of purple pyjama pants from my Dad. I take myself into the bathroom. At first, the water's like straight lava on my skin, and I yelp. Dad asks if I'm alright, and then he comes in to fix the water for me. The lava settles back down, and I scrub and wash and sud myself up until I'm almost as red as a lobster. It's the best shower I've ever had. I was getting so sick of using baby wipes and river water to wash myself. When I step out of the real-life shower, the whole room is steamed up. I draw a smiley face into the mirror just 'cause I can, and then I brush out all my hair. I smell like strawberries. I dress in my cozy pyjamas and socks.

When I come out, my Dad re-does my buttons, 'cause apparently I did 'em all wrong. I stand between his knees while he re-orders 'em.

"He said there's a games room here." I smile.

"Maybe you can scope it out after dinner." Dad says. "You gotta be hungry by now, right?"

"Oh, I forgot 'bout dinner!" There's just too many wonders to keep track of in this place! "We gotta hurry!"

My Dad loops the last button.

"Come on, come on, come on!" I nag, pulling him off the bed and out the door.

"Damn." He chuckles. "People are gonna start thinkin' I ain't feedin' you."

"I bet there's gonna be steak!"

This is the best day ever.

We reach the CDC's little cafeteria, which is in total darkness to save energy, except for a spotlight above the biggest table. Makes it feel even more special. I hear clinking forks and plates, and I think these are the two happiest days I've ever had. Me and Dad take seats next to Carol and Sophia. As potato salad — Yes, potato salad. That's almost as good as soap — and greens and meat get passed around, I'm reminded of our fish fry. My Dad is here with me to enjoy it this time, and there are walls to protect us, instead of trees. We're clean. We're safe. We're alive.

"Just tell me when." Carol tells T-Dog as she pours him some wine, while everyone is getting settled in at the table.

Carol pours for a long time and T-Dog does not say when.

People start laughing.

T-Dog gives in and goes, "Okay, when, when, when."

"Thought I was gonna be there all night." Carol scoff-chuckles, sitting back down.

When I look around, I see one big family having dinner together, and I see people I'd almost forgotten about under all that dirt.

"Hey, after the past few days we've had, I think we deserve it." Rick's smiling, holding up his hands.

"I'll say." Lori snickers.

Dale suddenly stands, glass in hand. "How about we dedicate this meal to Harley?"

Rick puts down his napkin. "I think that's a perfect idea."

I giggle under all the attention as everyone rushes to agree, finding their glasses. I hide my face behind my Dad's arm. He peels himself away, smirking, and everyone's got something to say about my red face when I'm no longer hidden. I smack Carl when he tells me I look like a tomato, and everyone's doubled over with laughter, again. It's my favorite sound ever, I decide.

Before we can toast, my Dad butts in.

"Hang on. Old man, how's about that watch you carry around?" He asks. "It got a date on it?"

"I wish," Dale smiles, "But the battery died yesterday. Why? Is there something I'm missing?"

"I reckon it's almost July, right?" Dad looks around.

Is he gonna say what I think he's gonna say?

I start grinning.

Rick nods, "I reckon so. It's probably been about a month since everything went down."

"Harley was born in July. Twenty-second. Eight years ago. Ain't that right?" Dad ruffles my hair, and I giggle, 'cause I'm just so full of happiness that I feel like I'll never be anything else again. He raises his glass; wraps a hand around my shoulders. "Close enough, am I right?"

"Absolutely, that's close enough!" Lori shouts, clapping her hands; rushing for her glass. "My God, this is perfect!"

"We got ourselves a birthday dinner, here, people!" T-Dog whoops, raising his, too.

Rick lifts his glass above his head, and it's official. "To the birthday girl!"

"To the birthday girl!"

Clink, clink, clink.

More cheering. Two toasts in one day. I must be the luckiest girl in the whole, wide world. I bump my glass of water into Dad's glass on my right, and Sophia's on my left. After the scare with the scratches, this celebration means ten times more than a regular birthday would. There's no cake here, or number-candles, but I don't need any of that to make this moment special. I got Glenn singing an off-key Happy Birthday, and I got Jacqui giggling, God, shut that boy up, and I got Sophia hugging me, and I got another year and a whole lotta more days I get to live, with everyone at this table; with my Dad. And when Rick leans over the table, I even let him give me a high-five!

"Eight." Rick raises his eyebrows at me while he sits back down, pointing at me. "Almost double digits."

"You're almost my age!" Grins Carl.

"Good luck." Lori dramatically whispers to my Dad.

He gives me a look. "Listen to me, you ain't allowed to grow any more after this, okay?"

I can't help if I grow!

"Okay, Dad." I laugh. "I promise to be eight forever."

"Good girl." He says, gulping down more wine.

"Hold up." T-Dog sticks his palm out. "This is a birthday party. You know what that means, right? We need to hear at least one embarrassing story."

"Good idea." Jacqui gasps.

Dad makes a big show of scoffing. "Damn, which one you want? I got thousands."

What a traitor!

"I mean, we have all night, here." Shane shrugs, grinning like a little smart-ass. "I'm up for a story-time. How 'bout y'all?"

"Let's hear it," Morales gestures at my Dad.

"Alright." Dad sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. I try leaning over to cover his mouth, but he bats me away, and everyone is already laughing and the story ain't even started yet. "How 'bout— Okay. Okay. Damn, this is a good one. 'Bout when she was five, we bought Harley this skateboard—" Everybody's going, Oh God, 'cause they see where this is going. "Uh-huh. We took 'er down to the skatepark near our house, and there was a bunch of other lil' kids there — 'bout her age — and I'on know how she did it, but these kids were all convinced she was this master skater who was gonna show 'em how it's done. She was coachin' 'em, I think. Showin' off her new board. End of the day, she finally goes to show 'em a trick — 'Member, first day at this damn park — and everyone's watching and—" He claps his hands, smack. "Falls flat on 'er fuckin' face, in front of all of 'em."

Ugh, why'd he have to go and tell that story?

Rick covers his mouth 'cause he's trying not to laugh, 'cause I guess he values whatever dignity I got left but Shane, he's clappin' and trying not to spit his food out, 'cause he's actually a big smart-ass. I'm laughing behind my hands, like Sophia. Glenn's resting his forehead on the table, and he's shakin', so I guess he's laughing, too. When he sits upright, he's crying, and Jacqui's gotta beat his back 'cause he's choking a little bit.

"I'm alri—" He coughs. Then he keeps laughin', which makes it worse. "I'm alright."

"Hey, I ain't even fall that bad!" I defend myself.

He chugs Jacqui's water to save himself.

"Wait—" Lori's chuckling. "Five years old?"

"Yep," Dad goes back to eating. He's satisfied with the damage he's done.

"Pretty brave for that age." Lori tells me, putting on an I'm impressed face.

"Damn, that's pretty bad." T-Dog's shaking his head. "Sorry, girl, but I'm glad I asked, 'cause shit!"

"Leave the poor girl alone." Carol giggles, quietly.

Shane looks off into the darkness, pretending there's a crowd. "Anybody got a skateboard?"

"Oh, shut up." Andrea smiles. "Settle down, or Lori's gonna have to pull that photo out."

"May I ask a question?"

We're all so isolated in this pocket of happiness, celebrating the end of our troubles, that when the scientist speaks, I think we're all a little spooked. Smiles freeze and fade. Glasses lower. Heads turn. We're not the only people in the world, we're all realizing. We'd forgotten all about the reason we came here. That's what potato salad does to people, I guess.

The conversation dies off like a guillotine sliced it in half.

"What were you going to toast to?" The scientist asks, and his voice is like a soft, chilly breeze in a forest. I'm not even sure he was sitting there the whole time. Maybe he's supernatural, and he teleported. That makes me scared. "Before you figured out it was her birthday?"

And just like that, the dinner turns awkward.

Rick clears his throat. "Well, if I'm being completely honest, here, Harley is the reason we came out to the city in the first place. I know I told you that nobody here was infected, but there were a couple days where... we weren't sure. Harley got scratched. We left looking for a cure."

The scientist's eyes roam over to my face, but then they don't leave.

"Now we're on the subject," Shane decides to break the silence, frowning, "How about you tell us what exactly happened here, doc?"

Rick mutters, "We don't have to do this right now, Shane."

"Wait a second." Shane sighs. "You said it yourself, just now. This is why we came all the way out here, right? Figure out what happened? Put all our eggs in one basket, and uh—" He laughs a laugh that tells me nothing is funny here. "Instead we found him. We found one man, talking in riddles. Why is that, you think?"

The scientist tanks the insult. "When things got bad, people just... left, to be with their families. The rest bolted."

I remember just how shocked I was at the size of this building when I first saw it creeping up the windows. It's way too much space for one man. There must have been hundreds of scientists working in here, and now it's just a shell. A cave for a lonely monster.

"Every last one?" Shane whispers, squinting; disbelieving.

The scientist falters, for just a moment, and I can see old pains on his face. "No. Some couldn't face leaving. They... opted out."

The tables goes from quiet to silent. Opted out. I know what that means. It's another one of them things adults say to butter up the truth, and it means killing yourself. I squeak, then, like I've been kicked in the ribs. I hide behind my Dad, who cradles the back of my damp hair, but you can't hide from words once they're in your head. Suicide. Dead, but not an accident — On purpose, with pills, or a gun, or a— a— a bridge. Something snotty gets caught in my throat like a fish-hook, and I'm crying now, at my own birthday dinner. Somebody drops their fork in defeat.

"There was a rash of suicides." Mutters the scientist, immune to his own story; numb. "In a matter of days, I was alone."

"Why didn't you leave?" Asks Andrea.

Carl is crying too, now. I wish I could make him feel better, just for a moment, but I can't.

"I just kept working." Smiles the scientist, but it's not right— It's just muscles, pulling his droopy face upward. "I just wanted to do some good."

Good.

The word reaches up into the ceiling, and leaves us at the bottom, sitting in its echo.

"There is no cure here." The scientist says.

The dinner is over.

Everything comes crashing down as fast as it went flying up.

We were on top of the world just a few hours ago. We were invincible. We had the news that I wasn't going to die in our veins, and then we had hot water and soap and potato salad, and each other. We had hotel rooms and a birthday dinner. But now we just have a dead end and a long list of regrets. There is nothing here for us besides showers, lights, and ghosts. I feel like a trapped animal. I'm a hamster in a maze, going around and around and around, and I can't get out. A rash of suicides. That thing I thought was hiding somewhere, it's this, and it's out, and I'm sorry we ever looked. Please don't let it be worse than it is out here, I remember, Please don't make us regret this.

After what feels like hours, the hallways I'm running down end. I see the game room.

I run inside and corner myself under the table. A cloth hides me from the world outside, and if I pretend hard enough, I can take myself right out of here and into a nice, safe pillow fort, instead. Like the ones I used to make back home. I can be someone else. If I'm in my head, I'm not here.

But then I hear the door open, and it's just a wooden table again, and I'm in the CDC.

"Harley?" It's my Dad, 'cause of course it is. I moan into my hands, crying so hard I'm not getting enough air. "You in here?"

I don't want to be found. I want to be lost.

The cloth lifts.

"Baby, what's wrong?" My Dad asks, but I know he already knows. How could he not know?

There are lots of words that remind me of my Momma, like sunshine, and cigarettes, and the worst — Suicide.

"Get out." I tell him, using my feet to push him away. "Get out."

I should've learnt my lesson back at the quarry, on that night I hit my Dad, but I don't care. I just wanna hurt something. I'm hurting. A rash of suicides. I can't stop hearing it, and I can't stop seeing it — Over and over again, the night on the bridge. Opted out. Suicide. Killing yourself.

Pills, guns, ropes.

Bridges.

"Baby, I know." Dad's saying, grabbing my kicking feet. "I know. Come out. I don't want you thinkin' 'bout this, so come on out."

"I can't help it!" I sob, 'cause I really can't. Something that is too big for my body is happening to me, and I can't stop it.

"H— I know. Just come out." He's begging, and now he's not just holding my feet, he's pulling 'em; pulling me, out from underneath my hidey hole and into the world, even though I want to stay in here forever. He's trying so hard to bury something that's still alive; something that has teeth and jaws, and is eating me from the inside out. He don't wanna see it, and he don't wanna hear it, and he don't wanna deal with it. I wish he'd curl up in my make-believe pillow fort, and hide from the world with me. I wish he'd understand. "You don't gotta be under there. Come out, right now."

Some days I wanna pull my damn hair out.

He's getting angry again. He's holding himself back from something very nasty that lives inside him.

"No," I'm begging him back; begging him to just listen. "No, I don't wanna come out. I don't wanna—!"

I anchor myself to the table leg. We're an unstoppable force and an immovable object, colliding head on for the first time, ever, and it's a disaster. That night at the quarry was nothing.

Furious, my Dad rips the cloth off the table and boxes of puzzles go toppling over onto the floor, breaking into a million little pieces that used to be happily fused. Newly exposed, he easily ducks under and locks his hand around my wrist. I scream, and I close my eyes so I don't have to see my Daddy like this, 'cause it ain't him anymore. He pries my little fingers off the table, one by one by one, and ow, ow, ow, it really hurts. I'm yanked away, and then he's dragging me out by the ankles, shouting—

"Stop actin' like this. You ain't a baby." I hook myself onto a second leg, and he's wrestling with me all over again. "Stop! Mind yer damn father, girl!"

I'm not a baby, but I wish I was, 'cause we were happy back then.

"Stop!" I sob, kicking at him. "J— Leav— Just leave me alone!"

"I ain't leavin' you alone — You know why?" He's seething down to me. "'Cause you need a damn spanking. That's why."

I think back to an hour ago, when I thought I'd only ever be happy for the rest of my life. What a stupid thing to think.

Don't make it any worse, his voice is warning me, from all the times he's done this before.

But it can't get any worse.

In one big pull of strength, I'm forced out from underneath the table once and for all, where I felt safe and small and alone, into the light of the game room where I feel naked, again, for all to see. My face is raw and wet and hurt, and I think one of my buttons got torn off by my Daddy when he was grabbing for me, even though he was the one to fix them before dinner, and on that night in the RV, to show me he loves me. He yanks me to my feet by the armpits, 'cause I can't stand on my own no more, and he crouches to get in my face.

"This is your last fuckin' chance, and then I'm gonna have to take my belt off." He warns me.

"I miss Momma." I whimper.

His face softens, but it's gone so quick I'm sure I imagined it. "Harley," He grinds out, "Stop this."

"You killed her!" I cry, scared, but braver than I ever been at the same time. "You made Momma kill 'erself! You made 'er jump off that bridge!"

I tried so hard to be like my Daddy, but I can't. I can't hide things like he can.

I don't care if he belts me after. I just want him to know. I want him to know that I know, and that I ain't never gonna forgive him. I'd take a thousand beatings just so I could scream the same thing up at him, until my throat bleeds, until I'm nothin' but a voice, until my Momma comes back. People who kill themselves don't wanna come back, but maybe this time, if I was a good enough girl, she might want to. I'd get on my knees, and I'd beg her, and I'd say, Please Momma, I need you. Please Momma, please. Me and Daddy can't do it on our own. She didn't love my Daddy, and my Daddy hated my Momma. He never said it, but I always knew he did. I saw it when he dropped me off at her house; how he didn't wanna leave me with her. I heard people say my Momma was sick in the brain, and that she was a bad Mom, but I loved her.

My parents might be forever separated, but on my face, they are still together. I got my Daddy's flat mouth and my Momma's green eyes. I am proof that hate can create love. I don't feel so loved right now, though. I feel like I'm nothing. I feel like when my Daddy said he loved me, he was lying.

And there it is, my Daddy's hand going for his belt, 'cause I chose to say the worst thing I could think of.

I don't wanna get beat, but sometimes it don't matter what little girls want.

"I want you to think about the way you're speakin' to me." My Dad, the same one that was crying in my baby photo, shouts in my face. "I don't know why you gotta be like this, Harley. I don't know why you gotta make me do this. You were havin' such a good day."

"I'm sorry—" I'm sayin' now. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"You shoulda thought about that before you started bringing this shit back up again. After this, never again, okay?"

He pulls me down into his chest, yanking the back of my shirt up to the base of my neck. I wait for the whip, and the burning sting afterwards.

I can take it. I'll just close my eyes and wait for it to be over.

But before it can come—

"Woah! Hey!" A man's shout. "Hey, hey! Stop!"

The whip doesn't come. I can catch my breath.

Under my Dad's arm, the one that's in the air, poised to beat me, I see a man in the doorway. I almost can't make him out, but there he is — It's officer Shane. The room seems to slap him in the face, like he can't believe what he's just walked into. He's scared to step inside, in case the moment breaks and my Dad chooses to beat me, anyway. Shane's a bastard cop, and it's his job to save people. I never thought I'd be needing saved from my Dad. I still don't think I need saving. I brought this on myself. I wish he'd go away, so it could be over with.

My Dad stands up, his whole body clenched with muscle ready to punch.

"I'm gonna ask you put that down, man." This is the first time I'm hearing Shane's police-man voice. "And to step away from her, okay?"

I feel embarrassed.

I'm kneeling on the floor, grabbing onto the side of the sofa, tryna hide myself again. I don't belong here. I don't want Shane to see me like this. I wanna be the little girl he caught frogs with, not a ball of hurt and tears. Suddenly, this isn't a games room anymore. It's a wolf's den, and I got two of 'em right in front of me, circling each other, ready to bite. I scuttle further into the corner, like if I shrink myself enough, I can just disappear into the floor.

"You ain't askin' me shit, officer." Dad whispers, real nasty. "Ain't no rules, no more. Not so tough, now."

"I'm not gonna ask you again, man." Officer Shane warns, stepping very slowly into room.

He moves toward us, inch by inch, like a man inside a lion enclosure.

"You don't gotta." Dad spits. "Door's right there."

"You're hittin' on little girls, now, Daryl." Shane huffs that mean laugh again. "Sorry, buddy, but that's my business. Come on. Step away."

If Shane had his gun in his holster, his hand would be on it. But we left all our weapons in the bedrooms before dinner. He stretches his fingers; tilts his head. I realize he don't need a gun. He's gonna fist-fight my Dad if he don't do what he says. My Dad, sensing this, chucks his belt on top of the broken puzzles, and stretches out his fingers, too. They're one wrong word away from beating each other to a pulp.

I wanna beg 'em to stop, but my voice is burrowed somewhere deep inside my body, and I can't reach it.

"We don't have to do this, Daryl." Shane's half-way into the room, now. When did he get that close?

"Sure we don't." Dad snarls. "You gonna hit me? Go ahead."

Shane shakes his head. "That's not somethin' I wanna do, man. But you know I will. Step away."

A hiccup I didn't give permission to leave my mouth cuts through the room. Shane glances at me. I don't know who I'm supposed to root for.

"'Step away', huh? Step away from my own daughter?" My Dad scoffs.

Shane glances from me to my Dad, and I can see him start to realize that this angle won't work on my Dad. He holds out his hand. Something about the way he's looking at me is saying, You don't have to be afraid, but I am, and I don't wanna move. I feel like this is my fault. I watch as he flicks his fingers a little, brows raised. "How 'boutchu come over here, Harley, huh?"

Dad blocks me with his body before I can even think about it. "Hey, don't you fuckin' speak to her."

His eyes are back on my Dad. "Just tryna do what's best for everybody, here, Daryl."

My Dad cracks one of his knuckles. "Nah. Nah, I don't think you are. You got it all twisted."

"Don't think I do."

"Yeah?" Dad goads, and every second, I wait for one of them to swing. I can't stand it. "What is it you think you walked in on, then, huh?"

I think my Dad's waiting for the swing, too, 'cause he's so confident that he'll win that he wants officer Shane to try him. He wants to punish him. He wants to show him what happens when you insult a Dixon, 'cause protecting the name is more important than protecting his own body. I think about the way my Dad busted Rick's cheek; How Ronnie's Momma ain't recognise him when my Daddy was done with him.

Shane must be thinkin' the exact same thing, 'cause he starts goading my Dad right back.

"I think I walked in on you beatin' the shit outta your own kid, first of all." Shane shrugs, like it ain't his fault it's fact, and he keeps going when he notices my Dad's breathing get heavy. He's enjoying this. A smile splits his face. "I think we been worrying 'bout Jim this whole time, we been worrying 'bout the wrong man. How 'bout that? You wanted us to be so focused on him, we forget about the real monster."

"That right?" Dad side-steps Shane when he reaches the edge of the coffee-table.

"Sounds right to me, man." Shane says. "Lemme ask you this, Daryl. What is it you think I walked in on?"

I wonder where everyone else is. I wonder if at any second, one of them is gonna walk in.

"It don't matter what I think." Dad shouts, suddenly, and I shriek like I've been struck by the belt. "It's my damn business. It's my damn daughter."

"Yeah, I betchu wish it was." Shane huffs out a chuckle. "Don't want your secret gettin' out, right?"

Shane's like a wriggly little worm, needling my Dad where he don't wanna be needled.

My Dad's patience finally runs out.

He rears back to swing at Shane's head, and his fist is caught and twisted, and I hear Shane grunt in pain, and this is it, so I close my eyes—

Wait.

My eyes are open. That don't make no sense. Why is it so dark? Why can't I see?

I realize that the fight has stopped, and I feel like we've all forgotten about it and are waiting for something to happen.

There's a single murmur throughout the room.

"Was that the power?"

Author's Note.

Cliff-hanger! Mwahahha.

So, obviously, the last scene in this chapter is pretty brutal. I'd like to share why I made the decision to have Daryl act this way, because it could be a shock for some.

For starters, I think it's plausible for a number of reasons. Merle being a bad influence on Daryl, his unhealed childhood trauma and how that affects how he parents his child, and his unhealthy habit of bottling up his emotions, etc.

It's not pretty, I know, and I kind of hated writing that scene, but that brings up my second point. For the sake of the themes and arcs I want to give this story, it was necessary. This story just couldn't exist if it didn't have this scene. I've got, like, three different key subplots linked to it. Maybe you can even guess what they are, because two of them have been hinted at/set up already. They're only going to get more prominent from here on out.

So that's the explanation for anybody who wanted or needed it. You'll see all this play out in the coming chapters, anyway, but I just wanted to provide this in the mean time. :)

Rant over! Phew. Everybody take a sigh of relief.

On a more positive note, everything else in this chapter was a total joy to write! These poor guys deserve some happiness 😌

Hope you enjoyed reading, and as always, please consider sharing your thoughts! Sending love :)

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