#they still hurt. but it's not like. total fuckin agony to move.
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A testament to how fucking Awful my post-hiking soreness has been. I got out of bed & had a moment of like "Wow! That wasn't verging on agonizing to do! My muscles Must be getting better!"
Then as I walked to the bathroom, I had a moment of "... 🤨 you're still limping, though."
#speculation nation#yes the muscle soreness has been bad enough ive been limping the past two days hfkdhfjd#that and the blisters. 1 main one and 2 lil ones. all three hurt like a Bitch after my shower yesterday so i had them in bandaids#same foot. poor thing was just bandaid smattered.#but yea my legs have been Kind Of Agonizing. they were Aaaaching last night even just lying down#but ive been eating a lot of protein & theyre definitely getting better#they still hurt. but it's not like. total fuckin agony to move.#tho my left leg kept trying to give out today at work hfkshf same as yesterday#(it's my left foot that's fucked up. not directly related to the leg trying to give out but it sure isnt helping)#that kind of thing of me putting weight on my left leg in a way that makes it start to Buckle.#and then i catch myself with my right leg. why my left leg is worse than my right i couldnt tell U.#and i have worked 10 hours on these bitch ass legs already. Cringe lmao.#i have tomorrow(today) off thankfully so im hoping my legs r more recovered by my next shift.#it's kind of miserable lol#i do NOT regret it in the slightest!!!!!!! hiking was SO much fun and i would do it again in a heartbeat. frolicking and all.#just. sometimes. u have a little too much fun for 3 hours and ur body pays for it for days. rip.#at least my legs r getting even stronger bc of it lollll
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Can you do headcanons of any Riddler getting cared for and gentle kisses from reader after getting beat up? He needs some loves.
SO I MAY HAVE SUGGESTED THAT MY ULTIMATE FANTASY IS TO GIVE RIDDLER A HUG WITH BACKRUBS AS HE TELLS ME ABOUT HIS DAY AND I STAND BY THAT WHOLE-HEARTEDLY .
i freaking love this stuff so im going to do all of them mwahahah
post asswoop riddlers getting loves
Arkham riddler
He’s VERY quiet, which knowing him and his inability to stop talking, is bad news.
I paint arkham riddler as a cry baby and i stand by that. this is the hill i will die on. He’ll have dragged his sorry ass into your apartment or house , dripping blood on your floors but he wont bother calling for you. he’ll just sit at the table with his head in his hands having a lil pity party until you find him.
when you do finally get home, he’ll be looking like a kicked puppy. he’s gotten stuck in his own head, mentally beating himself up even more. he got a fright when you came in because he was so caught up he didn't even hear you at the door.
He’s literally sits there like a child with his arms up for you to come scoop him up. he’s not even sure why his first thought after getting beat up was to come here, he’s probably lead the cops here or something and that was so stupid and- you should probably give him a lil soft smooch on the head to stop him before he goes into a spiral.
he needs more emotional and mental care than physical. Talk to him while you're patching him up. any topic, it doesn't matter just keep him focused on your voice and not the one in his head calling him dumb.
he wont admit he wants to be held and coddled after something like this. get your softest blankie and 2 mugs of coco with marshmallows and just ramble at him. tell him about your day or ask him to explain something boring and complicated so he’s focusing on that rather than how upset he is. let him sit on your lap or between your legs on the sofa and watch how its made or mythbusters or something until he falls asleep. he should be ok again in the morning, he doesnt stay down for long.
Blacklight Riddler
He’s used to getting his ass kicked, either by batman, the other rogues or once he’s a PI, by unhappy clients and the people he put away. He might be tiny but he’s pretty tough.
even if he’s really hurting, his probably trying to crack jokes and tell blood and bruise related riddles. He doesn't like to see you worry so even if he’s in a lot of pain or a bit upset about things, he’s trying to make you smile.
he likes kisses on his bruises. even if he just banged his hand on the table he’ll come to you because he wants you to kiss it better.
He’s a decent fighter, unlike a lot of riddlers who couldnt fight their way out of a paper bag. He can throw punches but he lacks in defence and with his bad knee, dodging can be a little hard. even if he wins the fight he’s still likely to need you to patch him up.
He likes kids plasters. like hello kitty and spongebob. no im not joking, he ALWAYS wanted them when he was little and his parents always said no. now he’s an adult he’s going to use them whenever he damn well pleases.
if it was a particularly bad one, he’ll be ok in the moment even if he has to go to hospital. But he’s going to drop the facade at some point and let you see how upset he is. winding up in hospital after being beat was a common occurrence in childhood. even after doing it time and time again as an adult it doesn't make it any easier on him. he’ll want to stay in your bed, be close to you for few days until either he starts to heal or something snaps him out of his funk.
BTAS Riddler
he really prefers other people to do the fighting for him. well physically anyway. he can handle his own arguments...most of the time. He’s going to need you to nurse a bruised ego more than anything. he probably got dunked on my batman or crane and now he’s huffing.
i don't know if this counts as care and kisses but he clearly needs you around to keep his sorry ass alive. he hurt his side in a fight once and said he wasn't hurt. believable... until he started to act a little confused, a little dizzy. needless to say it worried you enough to take him to emergency care.
He was obviously in agony by now but he was still fighting with you the entire drive there, insulting you and insisting he was fine. its a good job you took him when he did, turns out he’d ruptured his spleen and would probably be dead if you weren’t around to act like his common sense.
he still hasnt apologised for that. or any of the other times you insisted on medical care to stop him from pushing up daisies. he just pretends like you know he’s grateful so he doenst have to admit he’s bullheaded, stubborn and worst of all, wrong.
if he has been seriously hurt, he acts more indignant about it than anything. he wants to be waited on and pampered while resting in bed. he can be a genuine pain to deal with, talking about how lucky you are to see him in such a vulnerable state and how you should be grateful he’s letting you do this for him.
He doesn't want to admit how much he actually needs you. his goons wont put up with him when he’s like this and he’s freaking paying them to do it. you do it for free and no matter how annoying he is you havent left him yet. he doesn't tell you but youve noticed he starts getting you more gifts about a week after he’s recovered. like its taken him a day or two to work out he should probably thank you for all you do.
Original Riddler
this riddler is just weird. like he gets a freaking hang nail and he pretends like he’s dying. but he could nearly lose a limb and he’ll say “tis but a scratch” and still try to hobble about like nothing is wrong.
actually he’s more like olaf “oh look i've been impaled.”. he probably tries to laugh off life threatening injuries like its nothing, taking maybe 3 steps before he collapses on his face in a blood puddle and lets out a tiny “help”
good luck moving his tall lanky ass around. better get a gurney and maybe those vets at the zoo who deal with giraffes. seriously if you want to take care of him you are going to need help or some sort of action plan and a go bag because with his limp butt this will not be easy.
he’s kinda like BTAS riddler in that he needs you to tell him the injury is serious. hes not dumb he just has a high pain threshold and genuinely doesn't realise that injuries are as bad as they are.
he can be a bit of a baby while being patched up. he doesn't like a lot of blood or gore, it makes him feel a little sicky. better give him your phone to play with like a kid at the doctors or put the tv on for him to watch while you bandage him. word of warning, he will pass out or throw up if you try to give him stitches.
i think you should focus your love and attention on him AFTER medical care. just focus on the job, be silent and as fast as possible to get it over with quickly. you should probably bring him something sweet too. no not just you, although you are sweet for looking after him. give him something sugary because he’s going to be light headed after seeing any blood. maybe you could give him a lolly for being a good patient.
Telltale riddler
this riddler is essentially a metahuman. he can REALLY take a beating and bounce back fairly quickly. just look how many times batman punched him in the face and it barely stunned him! he doesnt usually need patched up after a fight. maybe just a lil smooch and some hugs
he did really need your help after the whole pact thing. having his friends abandon him hurt like hell, more than any physical injury ever could.
after that, he clings to you. almost obsessively so; we know he’s got some serious mental illnesses but he usually has the worst of it under control, even without meds. now? it seems like he’s experiencing ptsd and is afraid to go anywhere without you, like you might up and disappear if you arent in his line of sight at all times.
i think this riddler might need the most intense care from you. hugs and gentle reassurance wont be enough. you’re going to be responsible for taking him to therapy, keeping him taking his meds and grounding him to reality. this is the kind of responsibility you took on when you got involved with him but i doubt you realised how hard it would be. i cant promise it will all be worth it but i can promise he wont ever forget your kindness.
the kind of care he needs after such a hard knocking down is just stability. im not one for romance or any mushy gushy stuff but please just pour your love into the cracks in this poor mans soul.
its hard going, but he has his moments. his gallows sense of humor is still there and hey, after him being in and out and gone for so long, it might be nice to have him around more.
Zero year riddler
INSUFFERABLE LITTLE SHIT THIS ONE. he could LITERALLY be bleeding out in your arms and he’d STILL be backseat driving on your medical skills. the temptation to just leave him there to bleed is INCREDIBLE.
he’ll drop the act eventually. he’ll ask and maybe even beg for your help. man has no shame and all the self preservation instincts of a lemming. dont get me wrong, he can be a total coward some times, only looking out for himself . but when he’s actually hurt ? not a fuckin clue. does this head wound need an ice pack or heat pack? is this spurring blood wound worthy of medical care? no idea. he was a very sheltered child who never got so much as a bruise so he has no idea what to do when he’s hurt.
he gets the everloving shit kicked out of him on a clockwork basis. like you could hear knocking on your door at 3 am and already be at the table with a first aid kit like oh its tuesday riddler must have broken his nose.
he takes entirely too much joy in making you patch him up. youre starting to wonder if he’s doing it on purpose just to see you in your little apron and latex gloves . he’s getting off on this and you know it but god help you, you just cant resist his dumb face asking for your help and would you also wear this pink nurses outfit while youre at it?
one time he lost a LOT of blood. he would be fine but he was pretty damn loopy from lightheadedness. while you were trying to get him into bed to rest he started flirting with you. can you believe the audacity? he’s lost 3 pints of blood and he’s still more focus on his libido?
he’s actually going to be both humble and grateful for your help when he finally comes round. dont get me wrong, he’s still a bit of a prick but at least he says thank you for saving him before he demands you kiss all his booboos and ouchies.
nonnie i am having a stroke. i was trying SO hard to just pick one but i COULDNT because i am WEAK for hurt and comfort.
theres a reason i have a tag that literally says “i have naughty hands and no self control”
someone needs to stage an intervention
got something you wana talk about? send me an ask or a dm! im always game to talk about our favorite curious menace 💚💜
#asks#riddler headcanons#riddler#edward nygma#edward nigma#arkham riddler#arkham knight riddler#arkham knight#blacklight riddler#blacklight au#btas riddler#btas#batman the animated series#original riddler#telltale riddler#batman telltale#zero year riddler#zero year#my stuff#my writing#my headcanons#headcanons
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PROMPT
Che “Taza” Romero x Reader
@stardust1978 asked: I wanted to request a Dialogue Prompt #5 under Angst with Taza when you are taking requests again. Thank you :)
Prompt: “My heart tells me to kiss you, my head tells me to walk away”.
Word Count: 2.6k
Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘
Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine, credits to the author.
Tag list: @starrynite7114 @chibsytelford @dazzledamazon @mara-mpou @sammskellington @gemini0410 @1-800-imagines @briana-mishell24 @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @arved 💥 (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)
Who said ‘ride or die’ for first time, surely he knew you, because ride is your life.
“Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?”
“She came from nowhere! I didn't see her!”
It wasn't true. Once your helmet is on, your motorbike and you are one. There's no difference, as if you got melted with it when you turn the engine. You know every single inch of Cali's asphalt. You know every traffic light, every signal, every road, every street, every city, every single driver. You didn't come from nowhere, but he was looking his phone when he crossed the corner's avenue. He didn't see you, that's true. But you came from Sunset Boulevard with Figeroa street. You was driving fast, as always, but respecting the limit.
You were lying on the ground, upside down, when you realized that you couldn't move your right leg. You couldn't even feel pain. As the orders of your brain reached the toes of the left foot, the right foot didn't respond. Nothing. Breathing fast, you were drowning into agonizing coughs. You're a nomad. You know every single bone of your anatomy. You know what's broken, you know what's fragmented and you know what's twisted. You're choking because of the blood filling your lungs, for a splintered rib. And only when you hear the sound of an ambulance sirens, you let yourself go.
┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
A hard headache is lashing your whole body, growling slightly whilst feeling some long fingers tangling into yours. You know their touch pretty well, you don't even need to open your eyes to confirm it. Those fingertips have traveled through your skin so many times you lost the count long time ago. They hold yours tightly, with a trembling and cracked lips kissing every one, every knuckle and the wrist. You're sleepy, coughing for a while and raising your free hand to your belly when a bitter twinge hits it. You don't need to ask where you are, 'cause you know it at the exact moment you notice your right leg immobilized hanging of the metal structure of the bed.
Feeling weak and decayed, you turn your face at him, opening your eyes so slowly. The man drags his chair a little bit closer, leaning above the hospital bed to leave some dearly kisses on your forehead while your free sleepy hands toured your stomach till reaching his nape. It's been a long time since you saw him in Santo Padre. And even if you think he betrayed you, Taza still being the most important person in your life. And he will always be.
You met him sixteen years ago in Santa Madre, when you were almost fifteen. You stole a loaf of bread. You didn't have family, nor money, nor a job. You were a child suffering the poverty of the Mexican border. And as a fallen angel from heaven, he found you. He was running away too.
He saved you and you saved him.
Taza taught you every single thing you know today. About animals, about guns, about motorbikes and mechanic, about how to be silent, about fighting. He welcomed you in his ranch, he gave you a family and he brought you back to life.
“What ha—happened?” You mutter feeling high because of the morphine.
“A guy missed a traffic light and hit you”. He says licking his lips, choosing the correct words.
“And wh—what happened to me?” His sigh is more painful that have every bone of your body broken.
“A rib pierced your left lung, but you're okay now, cariño”.
“And what abo—about my leg?”
The Mayan doesn't know how to tell you. Isn't that bad, actually. But riding is your life.
“Femur fracture”. He can't lie to you. At least, not a second time since you met.
You turn your neck and face to the opposite side, feeling awake suddenly. You know what it's means. Your eyes filled with tears and your heart racing. The sanitary machines starts to beep louder, claiming the attention of some nurses who come to try to control your pulse.
“I'm ok—okay! Fuckin' leave me!” You cry squeezing over the bed, while Taza tries to hug you.
“Sh, (Y/N). Calm down, calm down. Everything is gonna be fine. Sleep a little more...” He whispers on your eyes, watching sideway how a doctor inject a whitish liquid into the line connected to your wrist.
You let yourself go again, between Che's strong arms, making you feel as if you were at home again.
┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅
He explained you that you fell with your knee slightly curled and that was why you broke it. Luckily, in Los Angeles didn't wait for transferred you to San Diego, to make the surgery necessary. After one day unconscious, they flew you in helicopter to Santo Padre. And even if Taza told you that you could walk again and drive your motorbike, you couldn't help but feel anxious, terrified and mournful.
It was one long month in the hospital, receiving visitors every day from Stockton, Charming, Tijuana, Mexico... Even from the charters of Connecticut and Pennsylvania. You didn't used to talk a lot, mostly some words and some sentences. You were submerged on a gloomy environment, crying all the time because of the pain and the rage of being bedridden. Taza slept with you every night, before complaining all day about his back hurting with Bishop and Tranq. But he would do anything for you. Anything.
After the high medical and all the information the doctors gave you for the home life and rehabilitation, you agreed with the idea of coming back to the ranch. Actually, Taza as the stubborn man he is and Bishop as the president of your charter, forced you. They didn't give you any options. So you just ‘agreed’. Your next six month were going to be summed in the first one to rest, the next four going two times per day to the hospital and the last one trying to walk by your own. Feeling pain and agony with every step until you can make it disappear, by following the recommendations.
You used to be laid on the bed with the blinds half down, holding tightly your black leather vest against your chest, feeling that it was your only hope to wake everyday. Of course, there are things in life worse than a femur fracture, but for you it was painful in a psychologically speaking way. The doctors recommended the crew and your friends to talk you about day-life, happy situations or whatever that didn't let you think about it, so you could avoid a depression and harmful thoughts. So when Mayans came to visit you at the ranch, sitting by a side of your bed or lying next to you, they were always trying make you laugh and talk. But you couldn't. You were like a scared child believing that the sheets were shields that protected you about any hurt.
┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅
Opening your eyes, rolling over the mattress, hearing some whispers outside of your room that won't let you sleep. Your heart race, getting up on your palms, when you can't find your vest on it. You look for it on the floor, behind the blankets, behind the pillows. Nothing. With a lot of effort you move your whole and heavy body to the wheelchair next to the bed, supporting your arms on it with a growl drowned in your throat. Rolling your fingers above the wheels faster than you can think, you go towards the door opening it loud and making it crash to the wall. Following the hallway to the living room, the voices stir anxiously. Tran and Gilly are blocking your gaze to the huge table, where you used to meet al the Mayans for a lunch, a dinner or an impromptu meeting.
“Look at you! You did it by yourself!” Angel is very proud, leaning towards you before your able to kick his crotch with your good leg, making him fall to the floor between whinings and sobs.
“Hey, hey, take it easy, karate kid!” Creeper holds your shoulders, while EZ press his hands on your tights and on your left leg, to avoid the fact that you hit them too.
“Where's my kutte?! What are you doin'?!” You shout with your eyes filled with tears, stirring to loosen from the grips.
“Cariño, calm down”. Then you hear his voice, appearance behind the big guys in front of you.
“You, fuckin' traitor! You're doin' it again! I fuckin' hate you, bastard!” You want to kill him, yelling full of rage while the tears run through your cheeks soaking the shirts.
“Fuck, (Y/N)! Calm yo' fuckin' self!” Angel growls trying to getting up from the floor.
“Bishop, please! I'll ride again! I'll soon”. Your cry gets louder seeing how the man is cutting a patch of your vest, between Tranq and Gilly, above the table. “It's the only thing I have! Please, don't!”
The president doesn't say a word knowing how much you're suffering and don't giving a shit about it. Riz leans close to you, slapping him when he tries to clean your tears.
“Don't fuckin' touch me!” You scream at him totally mad, squeezing on the wheelchair and trying to get up of it.
“Jesus Christ, calm down!” He says somewhat scared.
“I earned it! I did it! Please! Don't take it away!”
You feel like the air is leaving your lungs and your mouth when Bishop holds the kutte on air having a look of it, before starting to walk towards you. And when you're able to grab it, you do it holding it tightly on your chest, raising your gaze confused. He makes a soft move with his chin, pulling a way some inches the vest to see the new patch. The “nómada” one isn't there anymore, having been changed for “Miembro de honor”. Gasping not knowing exactly what to say, you hold it close again.
“It's the only thing I have...” You mutter with trembling lips.
“We know”. Bishop says bending down to leave a kiss on your forehead with a hand placed on your nape. “No one is gonna take it away, querida. But at least, I made you go out of your room”.
“Yea', the kick was worth it”. Angel says with a hoarse voice rubbing his crotch.
You can't help but smiling for first time after long months, when Creeper and EZ let you go. Riz helps you to wear it, putting it well on. It looks good on you, better than ever and you're starting to feel blissful again.
“We decided to have a day off, here with you. And we bought you free alcohol beer, so you can drink too”. EZ says almost singing, making you chuckle. “And pops' meat for the barbecue”.
Sounds good. Really good. So you nod without doubting pulling away some hair bristles behind your ears.
┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅
You can't remember when was the last time you had so much fun with your true family. Vicki came too with some of your friends and Letti, who turned out to be better than you expected, after Coco told you so much about her. And even if you didn't want the day to end, you were waiting for it, so you could be alone with Taza and tell him that you were sorry about what you said early morning.
After all the goodbyes, and the apache bringing you back to the inside, you turn at him with some effort on the wheelchair. Placing both hands on your lap and pursing your lips, your gaze travels looking his.
“I didn't me—”.
“It doesn't matter”. He interrupts you, passing you away to let his body fall down on the nearest sofa.
Turning again, you guides yourself to him, insisting about it.
“I'm sorry, Che”.
“God, forget it, (Y/N)”. Rolling his eyes, he lies his head against the back of the sofa.
“No, 'cause I know it hurt you. And it's not fair”. You continue, getting up of the chair to jump with the other leg by his side.
He doesn't say anything when you wrap his neck with both arms, hugging him. Taza only clicks his tongue, slicing a hand between your back and the sofa to put you closer, holding you against himself. Resting your face on his chest, closing your eyes, yes, it's feels like you're at home again.
“You know what?” You say almost in a whisper.
“What?”
“My heart tells me to kiss you, but my head tells me to walk away”. It's not a secret, but sounds like. And you're not ashamed of recognizing it.
“You can't walk, idiot”.
You chuckle shaking your head, raising it to him, touching his cheek with your nose.
“Don't leave me again, please”. He sighs rubbing his forehand. “I know I fucked up things with that... chick. But I truly love you and I'm gonna regret all my life for hurting you”.
“Just... give me some time”.
“The one you need, I could wait all my life”. Pressing his lips on yours in a smooth kiss, you travel one of your hand towards a side of his neck.
The love you feel for him has never disappear, not even when you tried so hard to hate him when you became a nomad just to run away from all the sorrow he provoked you three years ago, a winter cold night when you arrived of a two weeks travel with the Stockton charter. By that time, you were going through some trouble and each one had a different way of facing it, instead of remaining together.
┅┅ ┅ ┅ ��┅
It's been almost six month since the accident and everything has changed. Taza is driving his bike, with you by his back, towards the clubhouse. You called Bishop before to meet the crew on the front yard. You didn't tell him why, having a little surprise for them. So when you finally come and the guys are waiting you there, EZ is the one who notices that you're not carrying the crutches, drawing a big smile on his face and palming his brother's chest before pointing at you.
Taking off the helmet and giving it to Taza, proud-hearted of what are you going to do, you practically jump out of the motorbike. You can see every reaction on every face. They're happy and a little shocked when you put your right foot on the floor. You're walking without help. And even if you feel a little pain yet, there's nothing that could stop you now. You're like a child giving her first steps. Limping very slightly, you open both arms.
“What's up, guys?! Cat got your tongues?!” You laugh happily going towards them.
Bishop is the first one who holds you in his arms when you're close enough, laughing too for your feat.
“You did it, querida”. He says, and you're sure the president is about to cry.
“I told you!”
“Are you gonna kick me again, if I try to touch you, mi dulce?” Angel walks somewhat closer with a funny gesture on his face, before hugging him.
“The doc' said I could ride in two weeks, but I'm gonna wait another one, just in case”. You inform them, with Angel's left arm on your shoulders. “So, where's my bike?”
“Resting too”. Taza says then, kissing your cheek. “Waiting for you”.
#mayans mc imagine#mayans x reader#mayans mc x reader#mayans mc#taza romero x reader#che taza romero x reader#taza romero imagine#taza romero
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Met You Tonight: Kauri and Jack
CW: Electroshock, referenced abusive relationship, pet whump, dehumanization, referenced conditioning/brainwashing, frank references to prostitution, very brief reference to assumed drug use
This piece is a collaboration with @spiffythespook featuring Jack/Reid! Takes place immediately after Kauri escapes, five days after he gets away from Owen Grant. This collab has multiple parts, so you’ll see Spiffy and I posting them as we get them edited!
Tagging Kauri and Jack’s crews: @im-not-rare-im-rarr, @maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @whimpers-and-whumpers, @moose-teeth, @whump-it, @lumpofwhump, @pumpkinthefangirl, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @rivertamandspike
It had been raining most of the day. It was the kind of pounding, pouring rain that hit hard enough to splatter and splash back up, collected outside sewage drains and ran like miniature rivers along the gutters.
By the time midnight came around, though, the rain had stopped, leaving the sound of water rushing through storm drains along the side of the streets and a heavy, oppressive humidity hanging in the air. The streets were shimmering wet, reflections from headlights bouncing right off the road, and streetlight circles looked more like puddles than actual illumination.
People found their way out onto the streets anyway. They came in cars and on foot, walking to bars or racing each other into clubs. They stumbled drunk or walked sober, congregated into clumps that giggled and talked and danced and laughed.
In rougher parts of town people still walked to the bars, but there were plenty who simply stood, too.
Women and men walked slowly along their chosen corners in the glow of streetlights or in the dark, hips jutted out or with a certain kind of stance that gave away what they were selling. The occasional car cut through the night, came to a stop along the curb. Sometimes the john got out - sometimes the woman or man on the corner got in - before the car drove away.
From one dark alley the sound of harsh, ugly laughter echoed from two or three voices at once. Underneath the laughter was scraping and whining, thumps and a soft pleading for them to please, just st-stop, I don't have any money, please.
Eventually, one of the three, a nondescript and muscular guy in a plain shirt and jeans who could have been anywhere from a rough 30 to a pretty good 45, stepped out, lit a cigarette, and glanced over his shoulder. "Come on, guys, that fucking tweaker doesn't have shit anyway. Look at him twitch, he probably spent his last dime on whatever shit he’s got in his system.”
The two others with him laughed, coming out into the light themselves, arguing good-naturedly over their destination before heading on foot towards the nearest bar.
Their noise drew the attention of a young man, clearly one of those who had been busy walking the streetcorner, still wet from the earlier weather. The young man stayed well out of view until they departed, eyeing the raucous group until the sound of the men’s voices had totally faded and they turned a corner.
From the alleyway came the sound of low, broken cursing. The young man blinked and headed a little closer to try and take a look and see what exactly had gotten the attention of the three men that had just left.
There was a boy curled up in the alleyway - a man but barely, and he was soaked to the skin. The expensive blue cashmere sweater he'd been wearing was ripped, torn, and bloody. Soft black pants were so wet they clung to his legs, and the flat slide-on sandals on his feet were at least two sizes too big.
Bloody and bruised, the boy began to push himself back up to standing when suddenly every muscle went rigid. He let out a cry and his back arched as he dropped with a hard crack of his knees back to the ground.
"Ow, ow, n-n-no, st-stop-... please, stop, pl-please," The boy begged no one who could hear him, clutching at a spot just below his neck on the right side, pressing hard with the flat of his palm. His other hand was flat on the alleyway ground, his black curls plastered to his forehead with a mix of sweat and rain.
He felt a throbbing pain in one eye that told him he'd be bruised by morning, but it was nothing compared with the agony racing through the nerves under his skin.
"Stop, I w-won't come h-h-home, stop it I w-won't," he pleaded, in his surprisingly deep soft voice, to no one, to someone, to anyone. "Y-you lied, you lied to me, you lied, I won’t...”
From the end of the alley, pressed into the shadow of the wall, the young man stepped out slowly and cleared his throat to draw the boy’s attention. His wet hair was pushed back, combed through messily with fingers and a couple wet strands hung in his face. If his tight, cropped shirt and jeans didn’t give away his profession, his naturally alluring posture did... but there was no desire in his expression, only concern.
“Hey, buddy. You look like you’re in pretty rough shape. Need a hand?”
Kauri flinched away from the voice, trying to scramble backwards, but his muscles were still so locked from pain that all he could manage was a foot or two before he froze again. He looked up, teeth ground together, to show wide, frightened blue eyes.
He had a circle of red around one eye beginning to darken, and the young man in the cropped shirt put his hands up, trying to show he was harmless, taking in the other man’s disheveled, sopping wet appearance.
"N-no, pl-please!” Kauri’s voice was thin and strained, and his hands kept shaking, nerve endings twitching long after the pain had ended. “I don't have any m-money. I d-don't have anything! Pl-please don’t hurt me!”
He put his left hand out in some kind of supplication, sweater sleeve riding up his arm, the hint of a barcode tattoo on the inside unmistakable. "Please! Please, j-just, just ow, fuck-... aftersh-shocks, ah-”
“Did I ask for money? I don’t want anything from you, man,” the young man said. He froze at the sight of the tattoo, biting his lip anxiously and glancing over both ends of the alley to check that no one was nearby. He crouched down a couple of feet - a good safe distance - away. With his work boots on, he couldn’t quite lay his feet flat - instead, he perched on his toes. “Hey, it’s okay. Listen, um... I used to be a box boy, too, okay? I can’t prove it, they… my owner was pretty shady. The company took off my tattoo so they wouldn’t be associated with him. Anyway, I’m not gonna hurt you. I don’t… believe in that shit.”
“B-Box…” Kauri’s voice trailed off, confused. “I d-don’t-... how do you-... Oh, fuck, the news, he told the news or something…” He moved back a couple of feet, nearly crawling on his hands and knees. “D-Did you see me on the news? Is, is that how you kn-know about me?”
“Shit, no. I don’t have cable or anything-” the young man said, almost laughing. The sound died as the boy’s muscles locked again, spine curving as his head dropped towards the ground, forehead nearly touching the dirty alley pavement.
Kauri whimpered, rocking back onto his knees, unconsciously bending forwards to move into Respect.
The young man grit his teeth and hesitated, an expression of mixed distaste and old fear on his face. Again, he moved forward - nearly on his hands and knees, too, now. “Hey. I know because I saw your tattoo. I’m not gonna turn you in, man, but I can guarantee someone’s going to notice if you’re this fucked up out here alone. Lemme help you out, I’ve got an apartment. What’s happening? Is that... electroshock?”
Kauri gasped in a breath and nodded without coming up from position, trying to calm his mind, to keep a single coherent thought through the sudden rush of pain. Just as quickly as it had come, it seemed to fade out, and his breathing changed, from shallow quick gasps to deep gulps of the humid air.
“It’s-... a n-new product, I just… here.” He pushed himself up and back, kneeling resting on his heels, slowly looking back up, searching the other man’s face for a sign that this was any worse a decision than anything else he’d done in the past five days.
All he saw was concern - genuine honest concern.
He pulled the neck of his sweater down on the right side, exposing his collarbone to nearly halfway down his chest. Along the bone ran a small line of perfectly spaced circular dots, glinting like metal in the light, glowing with a faint blue light against his skin.
“I ran away from my owner,” he said, a little hoarsely. “He’s trying to get me to come home.”
The young man’s eyes widened, brow rising at the sight of the… well, they looked like piercings, but he knew better. “Damn. That’s a fancy fuckin’ product, isn’t it?” He leaned back, sat on his heels, and sighed. “Good for you, for running and not going home. You got a place to stay?”
“W-Would I… would I look like this if I had a place to stay?” The boy flinched as soon as the sarcasm was out of his mouth, like he expected an angry reaction or even for the pain to start again.
The young man grinned, tilted his head, looking happy that the other guy had a bit of spunk in him. “...fair point. But if you didn’t want a place to stay, you’d tell me you already have one.” Kauri moved to push himself weakly to his feet, and the young man watched him closely, ready to reach out in case he stumbled.
Kauri swayed a little, pale and lightheaded, but he made it to standing, one hand on the brick wall next to him to hold himself up. Some of the aging brick crumbled around his fingers as he scratched into it. “I don’t have anywhere, I’m not… I don’t know anyone. I jumped out of, of a moving car, I just have…” He looked over his shoulder. On the ground behind him, mostly hidden in shadow, was a blue backpack. “I just have that.”
The other man nodded. “Okay. So...you want a place to crash for the night or not? In case your psycho master decides to lay it on thick again. ‘Cause, uh… lemme tell you… this district is not one you wanna be stuck in overnight unless you plan to have sex of one kind or another.”
“Psycho… Mr. Owen’s not psycho, he just-” Kauri jerked again, but it didn’t last this time and he was only rigid against the wall for a few seconds before he let out a shuddering breath and turned, scooping the backpack up by the straps. It hung with surprising weight off of him when he pulled it on over his shoulders.
Sure he’s not, the other man thought, but let it slide. The shock was bad enough without someone rubbing in how warped it was that you could have electroshock piercings… maybe they were even screwed into the bone. He made a bit of a face at that idea, feeling pain in his teeth like in response to nails on a chalkboard. The heaviness of the boy’s bag told him that the guy didn’t have nothing, but that was none of his business, either.
“Um.” Kauri shifted, a little uneasily, from foot to foot. “If you… d-don’t mind, I can st-stay? Just, just for tonight? I don’t have any money, I d-don’t have anything, I j-just…” His voice trailed off, considering. “I’m… I’m Kauri.”
“I’m Jack,” the young man responded, and then promptly grinned and quirked his head. “And I’m filthy rich tonight, so don’t worry about money. C’mon, let’s go. Wanna lean on me, or are you okay?”
“I’m... okay to walk.” Kauri’s teeth were gritted, his jaw set, and he walked with a pained stiff movement that made it clear the three in the alley had landed at least a few pretty good kicks while they were having their fun, but he stayed up.
For a second, they walked in silence, Kauri glancing sidelong at Jack, curiously.
“Hey. If you were, were really… like me… then you’re n-not rich,” Kauri said, but it was with a little bit of humor lacing his voice, a hint of resilience under everything else. “We can’t live on our own, we d-don’t know anything, it’s in all the… things they made us know, to say.”
Jack nodded, then shrugged. “Speak for yourself. I am the proud possessor of one month’s rent and enough grocery money for the next couple weeks. On a rainy day, no less,” he cocked a crooked grin. It faded after a moment or two. “I dunno, man. I think my order was really strange. I’ve got memory gaps from the drugs, but all my skills are intact… well. Except the writing, still.”
Kauri was a little slow, having to move carefully against the ache from the earlier assault. It gave him time to look at Jack and try to decide if he was just lying, if he’d just turn him in. Jack didn’t seem all that bothered by the pace. He shuffled along slow enough to stay right alongside him.
“I can’t write either. If I do, um-” He gestured at his collarbone again, the little glowing circles hidden now under the wet sweater. “These go off. But I couldn’t before… is Jack your before-name? Kauri’s my name he gave me, I d-don’t have another one anymore.”
Jack nodded in understanding. How they managed to tune an electroshock device to someone’s writing, he didn’t know. It was weird. Renford could do it if she wanted - she could do anything, as far as he could tell.
“Yeah,” he nodded, shuddering for too many reasons thinking of her face… being wet and cold was the least of them. “I had a, uh, a pet name. I don’t like it. Took me a while to remember myself, but the other guys in the district knew who I was. They helped. Sorta.” He snorted. “There’s some loyalty among whores, but us gay prostitutes have too much competition and too little market, so I still watched my back.”
Kauri stumbled to a stop all at once, turning to look at him again more clearly in the light that shone from a streetlamp above their heads.
He took in the cropped shirt and tight pants, the shoes, then slowly raised his eyes back up to the man’s face. “I-I didn’t…” His voice trailed off again, staring blatantly, but the look on his face was more like wide-eyed surprise, like a child that had never seen a dandelion before, rather than any kind of judgement.
Jack turned, surprised that Kauri had stopped. When he realized why Kauri looked so surprised, he grinned and put a hand on his hip, cocked it, and smirked. “You like what you see?” Kauri’s surprise was hilarious. But that was okay...he didn’t seem grossed out.
Kauri went red. “I, um, I just… I-I, you’re… you’re okay, I just-... you went from being a, um, a pet to being… on purpose?”
Jack blinked at the question, and then gasped in understanding and shook his head. “Oh, no. I started on the streets long before I was legal - don’t tell anybody that - and then one day they picked me up. Special order for Cori fucking Fisher. You seen him on the news? Bastard. They fixed up my looks and made me take an oath, then dumped me back here - home sweet home.”
Kauri bit down on his lower lip in thought, cocking his head to the side, trying to think. Finally, he shook it. “No, sorry. Mr. Owen doesn’t watch news, I don’t… I don’t know anything. You had a bad owner? I mean, not just to you, to other people?”
Jack snorted. “Yeah, that’s putting it lightly.”
Kauri seemed to be thinking, taking Jack in. Then he started walking again, the heavy weight inside his backpack smacking against his lower back a little as he moved. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a, a gay, um, prostitute, uh… before.” Kauri’s face flushed red, visible even in the yellow streetlights they moved under. “I mean, I don’t know if I’ve seen anything before but… I feel like this is new.”
“You probably have and just couldn’t tell.” He smirked a bit at the flush on Kauri’s face. Man, he looked cute.
“So when you s-said you were rich…”
“Oh, I said I’m rich tonight. I’m a tiny bit sore, but I’m paid up for the month.” If it was possible, Kauri’s face went even redder, and Jack’s smile wider. “Worth it. Means every night I can work for the rest of the month, I’m saving. It also means we can stop at the store for supper. You hungry?”
Kauri swallowed, eyes widening a little at the offer, looking at Jack sideways again like he wasn’t sure what he should say. There was a muffled sound from inside his backpack - a soft faint beeping - and he twisted back to look at it, jostling it a little until the beeping went quiet again. “I, um. Y-Yeah, I haven’t… it’s been a, a while since I ate. This guy bought me crackers, but… Do you… I don’t have any money. I took s-some cash from Mr. Owen but, um, some people took that like the, the first day I was out. I can maybe help you? Clean or something? I have some Domestic training…”
Jack glanced uneasily at Kauri’s backpack, but decided to leave well enough alone. “Don’t worry about it, man. Like I said, I made enough today to eat for a while. I’ll make enough after a day of recovery that I won’t even worry for next month. Anyway, I had Domestic training, too, so the apartment’s in great shape.”
There were others out - women and men, some Jack’s competition probably, Kauri thought, eyeing them in a whole new light. When he’d found his way here it’d been because he’d been kicked off a bus, he had no idea where he was. He hadn’t known he was in a bad neighborhood other than the worn-down buildings and empty storefronts.
The bars all seemed to be doing well enough, at least. And there was no shortage of cars stopping at streetcorners to pick the men and women lingering there up.
There was one woman with hair that made Kauri stare as they moved towards her, hanging most of the way down her back in shades of purple, green, and blue, nearly iridescent. She was wearing a short, tight minidress that mirrored it, the sequins almost like fish scales. “She looks like a mermaid,” Kauri breathed, but then caught himself. “I… don’t know what a mermaid is, I don’t know why I said that...”
“Uh-huh,” Jack said softly, almost under his breath, already starting to steer Kauri away.
Too late.
The woman heard them, glancing over and tossing hair over one shoulder.. “Oh thank you, honey. I worked hard to buy a wig as nice as this one.” She raised two thinly plucked eyebrows at Jack, shooting him a smile that wasn’t quite kind. “Look at you, Jack-Jack, picking up strays. Takes one to know one, I guess. Adopt don’t shop, that’s what I always say. This one’s cute.”
Jack smiled tensely back, the look a caustic and distinct leave us alone that had a mean little smile twitching onto the woman’s face in response.
Kauri shifted himself a little closer to Jack, and when the woman’s eyes went back to him, Kauri moved until he was behind the other man completely.
The woman pouted, a little, as if sad that he would hide from her. “Geez, Jackie, where’d you find him? He looks like he’s been standing out in the rain all day long.”
Kauri fought the urge to mumble two days actually, and hid himself a little more thoroughly behind Jack.
“I found him in the rain. Duh,” Jack responded, reaching back with an open hand for Kauri’s, hoping he would give it. Kauri gripped tightly onto him without hesitating, twining fingers around his and stepping as close to him as he could get. “Speaking of, I hear it’s gonna start up again pretty soon. Torrential downpour. Might wanna get you and your wig inside, Stella. See ya tomorrow.”
As they moved away from her, Stella rolled her eyes at him, shifting on her very high heels and turning back to watch the cars moving past, one hip jutted out. “Didn’t think twinks were your type, Jackie!” She called after him, and Kauri twisted around to look back at her, confused.
Jack pretended he didn’t hear her. He kept his eyes peeled for more hazards and leaned close to Kauri, voice low and cautioning. “Don’t talk to these people - you’re an outsider. They’ll eat you… and not in the fun way like I would.”
Kauri nodded solemnly, tightening his grip on Jack’s hand a little more. “Like, like the guys in the alley,” Kauri said in a half-whisper, less a question than a statement of fact. “They thought I had money, and then Mr. Owen… wanted me to miss him. That’s, that’s why he set it off, I think…”
“Yeah.”
Kauri hesitated, and then whispered, “Jack? Can, can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah, sure. What’s up?”
“Um... What’s a twink?”
Jack burst out laughing and steered Kauri down a different main street. “A twink’s a skinny, young, hot guy. They usually bottom, but not necessarily. Stella’s wrong, though - my type is ‘has a dick,’” he grinned a bit.
Bottom. Has a dick, Kauri mouthed the words in echo but didn't say them out loud, his face a little red, still embarrassed. "I, I don't… I, um. D-Do I… am I… that?" He gave up on putting together a sentence that made any sense and followed Jack in embarrassed silence after that.
The convenience store was on the corner of this block, bars on the large windows but a view of the fluorescent lights and displays inside visible in between them, and Jack led Kauri in after taking a quick look around. “Hey, Bill,” he greeted the clerk, with easy familiarity and something like real affection.
“Hi, Jack,” the clerk, a man somewhere in his forties, responded without looking up from his book.
The shop had mostly canned goods, magazines, and junk food, but Jack took a basket and went right to the freezer section to pick up some meat first. Crappy meat, but better than nothing. He got a gallon of milk, some blocks of cheese, and a couple jars of pickles.
“Anything you want in here?”
Kauri kept himself close, nearly pressed against him, eyes on the floor. As far as he knew, he'd never been in a place like this before. Owen bought groceries or had them delivered, Kauri never went anywhere with him except a coffeeshop or to the Host's, or to the, the ski cabin, where he and-
Kauri cut the memory off before it could hurt, gnawing on his lower lip nervously, trying not to look like what he was - a runaway pet, something worth money. The clerk hadn't looked up but his bloodied face and ripped-up expensive clothes weren't exactly subtle.
"I, I, um… I, I don't-... whatever you want is fine, Jack," He said seriously.
There was a soft beep from inside his backpack and a muffled, slightly mechanical female voice said, Kauri pizza appreciate all kinds. Kauri sandwich appreciate but not mayonnaise. Kauri iced coffee appreciate milk.
Kauri's eyes widened back to the fear from when he'd first seen Jack and his already pale face went white.
Jack’s brow raised and he pulled Kauri behind one of the shelves, out of Bill’s view. “Please tell me you don’t have robot parts in you, too.”
Kauri’s eyes fixed on the floor, shoulders curving in a little. As his hair dried out of the rain it was beginning to frizz up, and as he shook his head he tried to smash them back down, less distinctive, less recognizable.
“I, I don’t… um.” He looked to one side and then the other, then slid the backpack off his shoulders, holding it with one arm curved around it while the other reached for the zipper. When he unzipped it, slowly, he pushed back the fabric so Jack could see inside.
Jack stared a second at Kauri, and then warily looked into the bag, half-expecting something to jump out. Part of a circle of black metal and plastic was in there, with two softly glowing red circles on the flattened top. Jack squinted.
Keira greet, the female voice said, clearly coming from the Roomba nestled into some fabric. Designation Keira. Kauri, Owner.
Kauri swallowed, shamefaced. “I, um, I stole something when I ran away from Mr. Owen.”
“... yeah. A floor cleaner. Real bright,” Jack said, bewildered, staring at the two faintly glowing red dots that seemed to stare right back. He’d realized the kid was naive, but he didn’t realize he was a dumbass. “That’ll help you a lot more than like… clothes… water… I don’t know, a knife. Whatever, man. It’s talking, though, and that’s weird. Pizza? I’ll get pizza.” Jack muttered to himself a bit, pulling a couple boxed pizzas out of the freezer. That was reasonable - he could do that. Great. Just great. Lost one psycho, gained another.
Kauri’s eyes narrowed, the first sign of any real backbone or spine he’d shown so far. “No, I took her because he was going to get rid of her,” he snapped, zipping the bag back up and throwing it angrily back over his shoulders. “And she has GPS, she could tell me directions, but I didn’t… I don’t have anywhere to go, so she doesn’t know how to direct me. I don't know anything, and she knows everything. I can't even read, I can't… I can't tell anyone I don't know how to read."
“You just told me,” Jack responded, more to be obtuse than to actually argue.
"You used to be a pet, too!" Kauri half-hissed, half-whispered. "You should be the only one I can tell!"
There was no more beeping from the backpack. Kauri's jaw was set and angry, but even so - he never left Jack's side, shadowed him like the pet he still was, always just behind and to the side.
Jack didn’t exactly mind that, although he was starting to question Kauri’s sanity - in fact, he turned around and took a long look into Kauri’s eyes, checking for dilated or pinprick pupils. Kauri stared right back, swallowing against the way they were inches apart.
Finally, Jack sighed, seemingly satisfied with what he saw. “Okay, so she’s a computer. She could tell me the total of this stuff. If she’s right, she’ll match Bill, and then maybe I’ll believe you.” Jack listed everything off with their prices before tax and waited.
There was a brief pause.
Fifty-seven dollars and thirty-five cents pre-tax, the woman's voice spoke from inside the backpack. She might have sounded slightly smug, but that could have just been the way the mechanical, robotic edge to the voice made it seem flat. Local sales tax is 6% on food and 13% on non-food items. Total cost sixty-one dollars and fifty-nine cents.
Kauri frowned, crossing his arms in front of himself. "There, now you admit when she's right that I'm not crazy."
“I didn’t say you’re crazy,” Jack said. He hadn’t, not to Kauri’s face. He’d just been muttering that he was psycho. Which was… not different. “Okay, I did say that you’re crazy. But I don’t think she’s right.”
He took a hoodie and a pair of sweats off a hanger, and put them up on the counter. He loaded the food up. “Hey Bill, can you subtotal before these?”
Bill looked up at Jack and his company, sighed tiredly, and set down his novel before he started punching in and bagging the order. Which subtotaled, of course, to sixty-one dollars and fifty-nine cents.
“...great, thanks. Yeah, add these to the order,” he pushed the clothes. Bill added them, looked over Kauri and paused.
“Got yourself a new stray? Lookin’ kinda fancy, there,” he asked, surprised. He folded the sweats and watched Jack, who kept a straight face and tried not to look nervous. “You boys should be careful. Cops’ll be making their rounds soon. Here,” he tossed the hoodie at Kauri.
“Yeah, thanks, Bill,” Jack took out a pair of fifties and passed them to Bill, who put them in his drop box right away and counted out some change. “Have a good night, man.”
“Get some rest, Jack.” Bill paused, and the automatic doors had slid open with a sssshhhk sound when he added, "And get something over his arm."
Kauri glanced down only to realize that crossing his arms had made his sleeve ride up again, his barcode and Whumpees-R-Us product number in plain sight. He yanked the sleeve back down and cradled the hooded sweatshirt in his arms, holding it so the cloth folded over his left arm, looked perfectly natural.
“Fuck. Thanks, Bill.” Jack led Kauri back outside, looking determined and heading straight for his apartment.
"Is he… is he going to tell?" Kauri whispered once they were outside. "H-how far is it to your place? Mr. Owen might hit the button again, I don't want to, to be obvious if he… if he asks me to come back again."
“Nah. Bill’s a good guy, pretty trustworthy. And he owes me some,” Jack shrugged. He snorted softly. “Couple buildings down this way, couple minutes’ walk. You mean when he electrocutes you for fun?”
“H-He doesn’t-” Kauri cut himself off, a look of uncertain worry on his face. “It’s not for fun. I wasn’t supposed to be able to leave him. He, he just… he just misses me, he doesn’t have any other way to say it.”
“Yeah. Sure he does.”
Kauri clutched the sweatshirt closer to his chest, pressing just a little against Jack, like he was reminding himself that Jack was right there, and this was real.
Jack looked to the side at him. Man, at least Cori had never been smart enough to make Reid think he wanted him or cared about keeping him - he just took Reid off the shelf to play with and put him back.
“I was supposed to be, um… I messed up but he didn’t get rid of me, he could have sent me for refurbishment but he didn’t, just r-repair, so… so he just wants me home. I just-... I just don’t want to go home, Jack. Home... he hurts me a lot, now.”
Refurbishment had Jack’s gut twisting. There were so many phantom pains when he thought about that place and Ruby. “So do what you want. Don’t go home,” he shrugged. “I mean, he can’t be exciting to go home to if he’s hurting you when you’re not around. Can’t imagine what he does when you are.”
Actually, he could. Very vividly.
Jack stopped by a building door and bent, took a pair of keys from out of his sock - the only keys he owned. He unlocked the door to the stairwell and led Kauri up. “Make sure that closes behind you. Don’t wanna get any bums hanging around.”
Kauri looked quickly back over his shoulder, as though there might be some of those bums already ready to leap through the second their backs were turned. He pulled the door shut firmly, listened for the loud click as it closed and locked.
Then he turned back, following Jack up quickly, hissing occasionally as it jostled what he was pretty sure was a bruised rib.
"Well, I wasn't supposed to leave. He was nice, b-before I, um, was… incorrect. Aberrant pet," he muttered to himself. "Incorrect mental process. He got mean b-because I, um, he thought I was… looking at another pet."
“Well, they usually start nice. Then there’s… something… and their real self comes out.” Jack looked back over his shoulder, brow raised. “Looking at another pet? What, like you liked another guy?”
"I don’t think we count as guys,” Kauri said, a little confused. “Besides, um, pets don't feel emotional connections. The only individual a pet can develop an emotional bond with is its owner or owners-... You probably learned that, too. S-sorry, it's automatic…"
“Oh...sure. Spent a day arguing with my handler on that one just cause I could,” Jack laughed a little and shrugged. “Emotional connections aren’t... well. Haven’t had many.”
After they were up the first flight, they walked down the hallway. Jack stopped at the third door on the right, tested the knob. All good. He unlocked it and stepped in. The moment he was in, he hung up his jacket in the small closet, beside a denim jacket and a brown leather instead of the black he’d worn tonight. Then he peeled off his crop top, back littered in scars.
Kauri swallowed, watching Jack, and when he pulled his shirt off Kauri’s eyebrows rose, just a little. It’s been days, some part of him piped up, insistent. Kauri shifted uneasily. Owen had stopped caring about whether or not Kauri felt good in bed since he’d come back home from repair, and things had been mostly painful - and now he’d been gone for five days and his body wasn’t used to that any longer…
“Deadbolt the door behind you, set your bag wherever. Your Roomba can do its thing if you want. Shoes off - the floor’s clean and I don’t wanna track dirt everywhere,” he added, going to one knee to untie his work boots. Under his left foot, in the sole of the boot, he pulled out several folded-up hundreds. He stuck those in his jean short pocket. “I’m gonna go stash this and get some clothes on.”
“Uh-huh,” Kauri said, distantly, still sort of thinking about Jack without his shirt on - the absence of a mark inside his left wrist, but also the rest of him, too - as he dropped the backpack to the floor, stepped out of the too-big slides, and let Keira out to sit on the ground. “Her, uh-” His voice cracked a little and he cleared his throat. “Her wheels are broken, she doesn’t… clean much now. That’s why he wanted to get rid of her. Um… can I… is there a place I can change, or, or out here, or…?”
Jack walked to his room - the kitchen and eating area, along with a comfortable loveseat and a tv, were all one space. The bathroom and bedroom were both small, separate rooms. “Yeah, bathroom, or out there. Wherever. I see bodies all the time, man, doesn’t bug me.”
Kauri nodded, and thought that if he weren't what he was, he would want to use the bathroom, for privacy.
But he was what he was, and so he peeled the sodden, bloody, ruined blue cashmere off of himself without hesitating further, dropping it with a wet thump into the trash can.
The little circles along his collarbone still glowed faintly, a soft pulsing light. All the new red spots that would blossom into bruises couldn't quite disguise the darker, older marks already there. All his suggestions that Owen didn't hurt him all that badly became an obvious lie when he could see the evidence left since he'd come back from repair.
Kauri had been controlled, but he had proven to Owen he could no longer be trusted, and life had been… worse, since he’d come home, and he could only lie about that as long as no one saw his skin.
He swallowed, peeling his pants off, too, shivering with damp skin in the chilly air as he dug through one of the grocery bags to pull the sweatpants out.
Just as he pulled out the simple black sweatpants, fire lit along his collarbone, racing out through his nerves.
Kauri crumpled naked back to the floor, muscles rigid. He curled into a ball, jamming his hand against the little circles, whining low in his throat at the pain.
Jack had pulled on a pair of thrifted slacks when he heard a soft noise. He paused, listening, and then decided he was imagining it and reached for a shirt.
Along Kauri’s collarbone, the line of metal suddenly turned a bright and brilliant glowing sky blue. “Ow, ow, hurts, h-hurts, ow ow ow-"
On the floor a few feet away the stationary Roomba began to call out in a loud mechanical voice HELP KAURI HELP KAURI HELP KAURI.
Jack was running back at the first cry of pain. The Roomba’s noise made things feel surreal - how could a robot asking for help not be? - but he made it quickly and dropped to his knees.
Jack hesitated, hand hovering over Kauri’s shoulder, worried the current would carry.
Kauri twisted around to look up at him, blue eyes wide and focused on something far beyond him, making a constant helpless low whine in his throat. He reached out to grab Jack's wrist, his fingers shaking, but he gripped on tight.
Jack startled at the quick grasp, but he let Kauri take him.
"P-push, on, on it, h-helps-" Kauri tried to bring Jack's hand over the line of metal. His voice shook with the electrical current, forced out between gritted teeth with a jaw that would barely move, tears standing in his eyes. "Push on th-them-... Ow, I'm, I'm sorry, Oh-Owen, I'm so sorry-"
The Roomba dropped the volume of its voice, but it did not stop repeating its plea.
“Fuck, Kauri, you don’t need to apologize to him,” Jack muttered as Kauri pushed his hand gradually more and more firmly onto the line of metal, brow furrowed with worry. “Fuck this guy.”
The metal was warm to the touch, warmer than Kauri's skin, but as he pushed on it Kauri's locked muscles started slowly to relax.
The pressure did something - Kauri didn't know what - did something to make it hurt less, and Kauri kept his grip on Jack's wrist, breathing hard, still making low hnnnh, hnnnh sounds, tears running from the corners of his eyes towards the ground.
Jack stared at him, teeth set, worry evident as he watched Kauri cry and listened to his pain.
"No, j-just… just a second, he u-usually d-d-doesn't-" There was a tense moment, Kauri's back arching. He gasped as the metal under Jack's hand went suddenly hot.
Finally, Kauri collapsed back onto the floor.
"F-fuck, h-hate when it does this ah, after," he stammered, limbs twitching and jerking with aftershocks. "S-sorry, sorry, d-didn't mean to…"
“When it does what after? When it heats up?” Jack winced but kept the pressure, glad that he’d stupidly snatched food out of a hot frying pan with his fingers often enough to numb the ends a bit. “What didn’t you mean to do, man?”
"A-all of it… t-to, to go, to… " Kauri's voice shook, riding out the way his muscles tried to lock up, until finally he could relax enough to control his own limbs again. "H-he, ah, I j-just, hnnh." He had to concentrate to let go of Jack's wrist, slowly unwinding his fingers, still twitching as he rolled onto his back, grateful for Jack's cool clean floor.
Jack moved slowly when Kauri let go of his wrist, still leaning over him. He gently wiped the tears away from Kauri’s temple with his fingers, then slowly sat back, cross-legged.
Kauri leaned into the touch automatically, without a second thought. His eyes closed, breathing hard, but at least Jack didn’t hurt. "Hnnnh, it's, um… h-hate my voice like this, like th-the Facility… th-think he's going to bed, turned it up for th-th-that… s-s-saying g-goodnight…"
Jack stared, baffled, and shook his head. “Saying what? I definitely don’t like this guy.”
“I d-don’t want to either,” Kaui said, almost dryly, and opened his eyes again to try on a shaky smile. “I’m s-sorry, this… probably isn’t how you pic-pictured a naked tw-twink on your kitchen floor.” His shaky smile widened, just a little. “H-hey, I made a j-j-joke.”
Jack grinned and shook his head, laughing. “Do you hear me com-... complaining?” he almost had to force the word out. Which was fine. He’d force whatever they stopped in him, like he’d forced reading, thinking, saying what he thought. “Oh no, how do I deal with the naked twink on my kitchen floor getting electroshocked? A helpless hot guy in my kitchen, how terrible for me. Seriously, though, we should find a way to get that thing out. Carefully. Fuck him and his goodnights.”
"D-d-doesn't come out. They put it in me at the, when I got repaired. Th-there's a video… ugh." Kauri pushed himself up a little, resting weight on his elbows. The skin around the metal circles was reddened and looked almost like a halo of sunburn, but the glow had gone back to the usual soft blue light.
"S-sorry. I won't… I'll get m-moving tomorrow. Thank you f-for, um, for helping me.”
“Sure, man. You’re welcome to stay, but if you wanna leave tomorrow that’s your decision,” Jack shrugged. He was a bit disappointed, but that was his own to deal with.
Kauri blinked, surprised at the offer to keep staying, and then his eyes dropped back to Jack’s body, before going back up to his eyes. “Hey, c-can I… you said you were a Romantic but y-y-you're all marked up. Did your owner do that?"
Jack laughed awkwardly and rubbed the nape of his neck. “Uh...some of it. They weren’t allowed to shock me when they trained me. Special order bullshit. So they used drugs and pain. And then some of these are from my customers, but nothing major. I was never actually trained for Romantic besides the positions. Already knew what to do for sex. But I’m stubborn like a goat, so... she had her work cut out for her with my Domestics.”
Jack look pretty pleased about that. He was stubborn. They’d changed him, but he’d fought every bit of it… except when he hadn’t. He didn’t think about that. That was Reid, and Reid didn’t belong here.
"I used to be stubborn, too," Kauri said a little wistfully, sitting up fully as the ache finally subsided the rest of the way. "I think so, anyway. I had to be, if I ran away, right? Training's supposed to get rid of it."
Kauri glanced around, searching the floor with his hands, before he found the black sweatpants behind him. Apparently he'd been laying on them the whole time. When he went to pick them up, his fingers twitched and refused to quite close. "Just like the Facility," he muttered. "H-hey, is it okay if, if I need a second? To get dressed? My, my hands are always bad after discipline."
“Yeah, sure,” Jack reached for the pants and set them on Kauri’s lap. If he let his hand linger just a little longer than necessary, Kauri either didn’t notice or didn’t seem to mind. “Let me know if you need a hand. I’ll get the food going. What are you thinking? Pizza?”
Jack had already turned away when Kauri, looking down at the black pants in his lap and with his shoulders still twitching with the occasional mild aftershock, said softly, “Mostly I’m thinking that I’m r-really fucking lucky I met you tonight.”
#whump#electroshock#tw: electroshock implants#tw: abusive relationship#tw: referenced abuse#tw: referenced violence#escaped whumpee#box boy#box boy universe#box boy multiverse#jack#spiffythespook#pet whump#dehumanization#future kauri#erase to control#whumpee#tw: references to prostitution#tw: referenced past noncon
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A Matter of Trust
Gordon wasn’t going to make it out here by himself. He had no right arm, no weapons, and no one watching his back. If any aliens saw him, they’d eat him for lunch in seconds. The walls of the tunnel pressed in on all sides as he felt the crushing reality of his situation begin to settle on his shoulders.
He was fucked.
A narrative depiction of the post-betrayal reunion in Act 3 Part 2. Tommy is the only motherfucker in Black Mesa Gordon can trust and he has Emotions about it. 4649 words.
The paranoia was making Gordon’s skin crawl, but maybe it was just the sewer water in his suit.
Every day prior had been the worst day of Gordon’s life, but this one? This one left them all miles behind. He was beginning to feel like some vengeful god had cursed him to crawl through the guts of Black Mesa forever, stretching his last thread of sanity further and further as he faced off interdimensional aliens and haywire experiments and whatever the fuck else the facility threw at him.
Now, he could confidently say that the soundness of his mind had finally snapped, hacked off along with his right hand and fed to a trash compactor. Gordon wasn’t sure if he was lucky to wake up alive or not - he was beginning to view oblivion as a comforting relief at this point - but the feral, human instinct to survive kept him moving despite all the bullshit he’d put up with so far. What was the loss of a limb compared to sheer, unparalleled adrenaline crashing through his bloodstream?
He stumbled along the tunnels, nerves alive with fear. Who could he trust now, after everything that just happened to him? It wasn’t like he'd call any of the men he had been traveling with his friends , exactly, but you’d think surviving something as batshit insane as the Resonance Cascade together would cement at least some level of confidence in one another.
Too bad he’d made the mistake of allying himself with the craziest motherfuckers employed by Black Mesa. Too bad these crazy motherfuckers chopped off his hand and tossed him in the garbage.
Gordon wasn’t going to make it out here by himself. He had no right arm, no weapons, and no one watching his back. If any aliens saw him, they’d eat him for lunch in seconds. The walls of the tunnel pressed in on all sides as he felt the crushing reality of his situation begin to settle on his shoulders.
He was fucked.
The stump where his hand had been hurt like hell. Every jostle and jolt sent shockwaves of pain radiating up his arm, and he cradled it protectively against his side as he made his way forward step by hopeless step. He had lost a lot of blood, and he found it difficult to plan for what lay ahead in his dizziness. He could see the tunnel emptying out in a few yards and faintly picked up a sour chemical smell, but if there was something in the next room that wanted to kill him, Gordon wasn’t really in a position to stop it.
Laid low by vertigo, Gordon crawled the rest of the way to the tunnel’s opening, hoping to stay out of sight. The rusted metal cylinder yawned out to a room that glowed green and illuminated a solitary figure at its center. Gordon felt his already rabbity pulse quicken when he saw who it was.
Tommy stood there, tall and ghostly in his lab coat, chin tipped up in Gordon’s direction as if he had been waiting for him. He looked haunted, face shadowed and gaunt, backlit by the eerie glow of the sludge that ringed the room.
Delirious as he was, Gordon heard himself bark out Tommy’s name against his better judgment. He didn’t know what this man had been posted here to do, what he was capable of, whether he could be trusted. In the moments before Gordon had been sawed apart and knocked out, he remembered hearing Tommy’s voice, shrill with panic, begging his assailants to stop, but… now?
Tommy was impressionable and outnumbered by the rest of the science team. Gordon didn’t want to distrust the only person he didn't outright dislike in this whole facility, but right now his survival depended on it.
“Are you here to fuckin’ kill me?” Gordon hissed, clutching his arm close to his side.
Tommy looked positively mournful from where he gazed up at him. “No,” he answered. “They tricked me.”
‘They’ undoubtedly meant Bubby and Benrey. Gordon hung an elbow over the lip of the tunnel, examining Tommy with a haggard stare. His fathomless eyes were round and shining with… were those tears? Did those bastards make Tommy cry? “What did they do to you?” he demanded.
The man hesitated and scratched the back of his neck. He at least looked unharmed, but the vacancy in his eyes disturbed Gordon. He needed to get down to his level and out of this grimy pipe. Not that the room Tommy stood in looked much cleaner than his current location, but at least that way he could be face to face with the guy.
He almost blacked out from the effort it took to clamber down to the floor below. He stumbled and pitched forward, and was caught by a surprisingly strong grip on his upper arm. Tommy took Gordon’s weight, fingers digging into him through the suit as if to make sure he was real. It knocked the breath out of Gordon, and he found himself panting as Tommy helped him stand upright, searching his face with concern.
God, he really was crying. Tears slipped silently down the other man’s face, running clear tracks through the grime on his skin. “I ran away,” he explained, looking positively miserable. When he was sure Gordon was steady on his own two feet, he released him, giving him a brief once over. His wide eyes snagged on his gaping wound, finally seeing it for the first time. “Oh my god!” he yelped. “Your hand!”
Gordon was still gritting his teeth in pain from the fall. “I know,” he ground out. “I know.”
“How are you going to write?”
The absurdity of the question choked a laugh out of him. He thought that maybe he answered him, but the pain was fogging up his head, making it difficult to focus on anything outside of the pounding of blood in his own ears. He vaguely registered telling him about Beyblades and medical resources and hazardous waste. Then he realized belatedly that Tommy was guiding him gently by the elbow, insisting they vacated the room.
“Wait.” Gordon snapped back into clarity. “Wait.”
He jerked his arm out of the other man’s grip and winced at the shockwave it sent up to his shoulder. “Can I trust you?” He fixed Tommy with a bloodshot stare, teeth bared against the agony from his stump. “Are we good together?”
Tommy answered him without hesitation. “Yes.”
His face was lined and warweary, his lab coat flecked with blood, but truth shone bright in his eyes. This man had been through nearly everything Gordon had, pushing against an apocalypse where survival meant always moving forward. Yet he was willing to slow up for Gordon’s sake, to guide him through the facility in his handicapped state.
Gordon had to trust him. Regardless of whether Tommy played a part in his betrayal, which he was beginning to suspect was unlikely, he would surely die in here without him.
He nodded finally. “Alright. Okay. Is it three against one? Are Bubby and Benrey out there looking for us? What’s - is Dr. Coomer-”
“I don’t know, Mr. Freeman.”
“You know if Dr. Coomer finds us we’re fucked, right? Like, he will kill us both dead . And Benrey - I don’t even know what Benrey’s capable of. Maybe Bubby - Maybe we can take on Bubby-”
“I think we can make it out of here,” Tommy said, raising his voice to speak over him. His eyes were spilling over with concern as he regarded him carefully.
Gordon realized he was babbling. He closed his eyes, trying to get his dizziness under control. “You’ve still got your guns, right?” he asked, fixing Tommy with an intense stare.
“Uh, yeah,” Tommy answered, patiently indicating the rifle strap over his shoulder and the pistol at his waist.
“Okay,” Gordon said. “Okay.”
He could do this. Maybe all wasn’t totally lost. Tommy was a surprisingly excellent shot, so he felt that his chances were significantly better with him on his side. He drew in a breath to steady himself and steeled his nerves for the pain ahead.
“Let’s go.”
Slowly, Gordon allowed Tommy to lead him through Black Mesa. He was worse than dead weight: he was dead weight in an industrial hellscape, blood loss wrecking his coordination and judgment. He felt drunk in the worst kind of way, and there were many times he had to lean on Tommy for support.
The young scientist was an attentive guide, carefully carving out a path for them as they moved through the world’s worst obstacle course. Gordon could faintly hear his murmured reassurances and patient observations as he stumbled along beside him, incoherently demanding answers. He even thought he laughed a few times at Tommy’s attempts to lighten the mood, but it could have just been the delirium making him hear things.
There were a few horrifying times that he slipped into the toxic waste, and by the time they reached the edge of a pool, his head was spinning. Gordon stared at the swirling brown sludge before them and slanted a half-lidded glance at Tommy.
“This is… raw sewage?” he slurred.
Tommy was supporting most of Gordon’s weight at this point, and Gordon marveled hazily at the ability of someone so rail-thin to carry his heavy ass for this long. The scientist gave the brown water a careful look.
“I think this is clean,” he ventured.
Even in his dizziness, Gordon was skeptical. “That don’t look clean to me.”
Tommy frowned as his gaze passed over their concrete-and-steel surroundings, recognition flickering in his eyes. “Watch out, Mr. Freeman,” he cautioned. “We’re gonna have to swim through something that’s like a Beyblade, but big.”
He’d heard wilder shit come out of the guy’s mouth before, so Gordon just nodded and let himself be deposited in the water. The faster he swam through this nightmare pool, the less likely he was to get sepsis, he guessed. He floated through the cloudy water, trusting Tommy was behind him, and emerged on the other side of the spinning vent in their way.
When he broke the surface, sucking in air, the first thing he noticed was how cold it was in this room. The second thing he noticed was the press of bodies all around him, and the many pairs of eyes pointed in his direction.
Gordon screamed as he found himself surrounded by a seething crowd of men wearing Dr. Coomer’s face. They were all staring at him, grinning identical grins as if Gordon were a delightful surprise, a five dollar bill on the sidewalk, not a half dead man floating in the sewer.
Adrenaline fired off in his bloodstream and Gordon pushed off from the ledge to retreat back into the water, but he felt his body collide with Tommy, who had just surfaced behind him.
“Tommy?” he yelped, hoping the other scientist would offer any kind of reassurance.
Tommy just hauled himself out of the water and unslung his rifle from his shoulder, giving Gordon a complicated look before setting his jaw and aiming the barrel at the nearest clone.
“Do- Doctor-”
Gordon didn’t get the word out before the clones were upon them. Knobby knuckles and long fingernails reached for Gordon while he thrashed in the water, the old man’s congenial greeting of “Hello, Gordon!” battering his ears. He was helpless to stop them from hauling him out of the water, strong boxer’s fists gripping tight on his HEV suit. Gordon’s heart was galloping with fear, staring down dozens of mustachioed mouths repeating his name over and over.
“Tommy!” he called out desperately as the ring of Coomers tightened around him. He could barely see anything in a sea of white lab coats and his arm was screaming with pain as the clones jockeyed around him.
Dr. Coomer’s voice thundered in his head, cleaving it in two. Gordon’s vision went fuzzy as the old man bore down on him with grandiose proclamations of the void outside Black Mesa, of the world within his dreams. This was nuts. This wasn’t happening. Gordon was fucking losing it, and this was the breakdown that would do him in. He could barely see, barely think through the pain. He thought that maybe he cried out for Tommy again, but at this point his brain was so scrambled he wasn’t even sure Tommy was actually there anymore.
Gunfire popped around him and he felt a solid hand shove him towards a staircase. Instinct made him climb it and he ran, too fearful to look back.
The next few minutes passed in a hurricane of screaming voices and pounding feet and gunshot after gunshot after gunshot. Gordon ran blindly over the catwalk and through the halls, ducking back into the water, splashing through tunnels while the clones pursued him. Dr. Coomer was screaming inside his head and Gordon briefly wondered if he was already dead and this was his hell. He flailed through another pool, nearly gulping in a lungful of sewer water, and found himself surfacing back where it started.
It was finally, astonishingly quiet. Gordon weakly clawed at the lip of the pool, coughing and spluttering. Then he felt a pair of hands pulling him out of the water, and he struggled feebly against whatever clone had finally grabbed him.
But it was only Tommy, who lowered Gordon gently onto the slatted steel. He knelt beside him, steadying him with one hand, firmly patting his back until he stopped retching. Once he had made sure Gordon wasn’t going to black out on him, the scientist stood and began to make rounds of the room.
It was only when Gordon lifted his head to watch Tommy that he noticed the bodies littering the floor. Dozens of identical Dr. Coomers sprawled, bleeding, on the ground, riddled with holes. Tommy paused at each corpse, firing a round into each of their skulls. His face was drawn and pained.
“T-Tommy,” Gordon started as his sluggish brain caught up with reality. “What-”
“I killed them all,” Tommy answered. He raised his gaze from his task to stare at Gordon with that haunted look.
“All of them?” Gordon asked, volume climbing. “What about the real one?”
Tommy just went back to filling Coomer skulls with lead. Nausea climbed up Gordon’s throat and he ducked his head to vomit again. This was insane. He was going insane. And if he wasn’t, well, this was definitely the worst day of his life. He wiped his mouth and began launching questions at Tommy, driveling words out until he felt somewhat grounded, not even fully registering what he was asking or what Tommy’s answers were. He sank to the floor, tucking his stump of an arm in close, staring hazily into the distance as the adrenaline leaving his body rendered him boneless.
Tommy finished checking the corpses and approached Gordon, who could do little but stare in disorientation up at him. “Tommy,” he pleaded, though he wasn’t sure exactly what he needed from him. He was shivering violently. “Tommy, talk to me.”
The scientist crouched down in front of him. He was spattered with gore, his lab coat stained crimson. He looked tired and scared and a little sad.
The realization of what this man had just done for him hit Gordon in the chest like a freight train. Tommy had killed every last clone, singlehandedly, for him. Not just any clones, either. Clones of one of the most powerful men at Black Mesa. He could have died - no, he should have died - facing those odds. And Gordon should have died with him.
He frantically passed his gaze over his protector, searching for any sign of injury, but aside from looking a little rattled, Tommy seemed impossibly, miraculously unharmed.
“Um,” his companion began, awkwardly. “Do you want a soda?”
Gordon sank further onto the floor until his forehead touched cold metal. He felt indistinguishable from one of the bodies that littered the room. This brave, foolish man had hauled his useless ass for miles through Black Mesa and laid waste to countless clones. And here he was, offering Gordon a soda. Gordon didn’t deserve jack shit from Tommy. Tommy could have been killed because of him.
“Guh, I’ve lost a lot of blood,” he groaned.
He had to find out what was happening. He had to keep asking questions. The uncertainty was going to eat him alive. Gordon could sense his own lips moving, could feel the rough press of his voice through his raw throat, but the words that gasped out were meaningless as they passed through the fog of his brain. He couldn’t stop shuddering.
The only thing that broke through the haze was Tommy delicately propping Gordon into a sitting position and gathering him close. Gordon was too weak to protest, his head falling limply against the other man’s shoulder.
“Did you kill him? Did you kill him? Tommy? The one that was different?”
He was a lunatic. He was losing it. There was blood everywhere and the scent of iron was thick. Tommy encircled Gordon in his arms, hugging him tight against him as he shook uncontrollably.
“They were identical. They were clones, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy said carefully, voice close in his ear. “That’s… the definition.”
Before Gordon could open his mouth to protest, he felt light fingers in his hair, combing through locks that were wet with blood and sewer water. It was positively disgusting - they both were, slick with gore and shit and the fear-sweat of days on the run. But Tommy repeated the motion over and over until Gordon’s questions died off and his heart rate slowed to a weak flutter. Calm down, he seemed to be saying. It’s alright .
It was the first taste of comfort he’d had in days. Years, actually, if he was really thinking about it. He sagged bodily against Tommy.
“I’m gonna die out here,” he said weakly.
“No,” the scientist murmured against his temple, “I don’t think so.”
Gordon was a shivering cloud of vapor and Tommy was warm and solid and he wanted to believe him so, so badly. His eyes fluttered shut as his shaking subsided, and he could feel himself beginning to drift.
“We should probably keep moving,” Tommy said, pulling him out of his stupor. He disentangled himself from Gordon and stood, offering a hand.
Gordon stared at it. Tommy was right. He needed medical attention. He needed to live. Where bleak despair once gripped his heart, there was now desperate, clawing hope. Gordon Freeman was going to make it out of here. Tommy didn’t lay waste to all those clones for his stupid ass to die on him.
He gripped the man’s hand and let himself be hauled to his feet, once again surprised at the strength of someone so slight. His legs shook and the warehouse tilted around him, but Tommy caught him before he could collapse.
Gordon’s addled brain was running laps around him. Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, slowing up for him, risking his life for him, carrying him through hell. Tommy slung Gordon’s good arm over his shoulder and led him up the stairs while Gordon bore the pain and the tidal wave of emotion crashing through him.
The first med station they encountered was empty, which sent Gordon into a hysterical, babbling episode that Tommy helpfully ignored. They pushed onward, stepping around bodies as they went. Gordon trusted Tommy to lead him, not even bothering to question how he knew where they were going. His mind was beginning to put reality back together piece by piece, using Tommy as his anchor. As they made their way unsteadily along, Gordon was actually beginning to feel a little more normal.
That is, until a corpse sprang to its feet right in front of his eyes.
“Surprise attack, Gordon!” Dr. Coomer’s voice rang cheerily, reverberating up and down the halls and into his disbelieving skull.
Bloodstained, teeth bared, eyes feral and hungry, the old man advanced on them. Animalistic prey instinct seized Gordon and he ripped away from Tommy’s side, hurtling down the hall while gunfire cracked in his wake.
Here he was, running again, useless, a coward, fleeing the impossible. Gordon stumbled and found himself crashing into the water, and as he drifted down, he thought, maybe this is it . Maybe Coomer was the end of the line. Maybe he should kill himself before the old man could take him apart piece by piece.
But he was too weak to swim toward the industrial vent and the current washed him back to the water’s edge. It was death, spitting Gordon back out, refusing to accept him, saying, take this, I don’t want this , to an awaiting Tommy.
Tommy. Tommy! “Tommy!” Gordon yelled.
“Mister Freeman, where are you?” came the man’s distant reply. He sounded scared, but his tone was significantly calmer than Gordon’s racing thoughts.
He struggled at the edge of the pool he was in, trying desperately to reach him. “Tommy!” he cried. It was the only word left in his vocabulary that made any sense.
He felt himself being lifted once again out of the water as his unfiltered thoughts poured unbidden out of his mouth. “You gotta kill him, Tommy,” he heaved, “You can’t let him win, he can’t keep getting away with this.”
Tommy didn’t answer him as he hauled Gordon down the hallway. Gordon woozily went with him, dripping water and blood in his wake, until they came upon a body slumped against the wall with a neat bullet hole in its chest.
Gordon blinked. “Did you kill him?”
“Yes,” Tommy answered, but whatever he was about to say next was cut off by a loud, booming voice that almost shattered his eardrums.
Gordon’s knees buckled as Dr. Coomer broke open his mind.
GORDON… EVERY TIME YOU GO TO SLEEP, I CAN FEEL MY BODY TORN APART ATOM BY ATOM… IT’S AGONIZING, GORDON… I’VE SEEN OUTSIDE BLACK MESA, GORDON… THERE’S NOTHING… BUT I KNOW YOU… THERE’S A WORLD OUTSIDE HERE, GORDON… AND I NEED YOU TO TAKE ME THERE…
As quickly as the voice arrived, it evaporated, along with Dr. Coomer’s body. Gordon collapsed, hysterical giggling pouring out of him as his broken brain tried to reconcile what just happened to it. He laughed like a maniac while Tommy looked down at him with concern.
“We’re fucked,” he giggled shrilly. “We’re fucked. Is this even-” he was limp and yielding as Tommy pulled him to his feet yet again. “Is this even real?”
Tommy was silent, staring at the place the doctor had been, finger still taut on the trigger of his pistol while he supported Gordon. He needed him to say something, needed any shred of reassurance he could offer. “Tommy,” he pleaded, “Do you have any words of wisdom? From your books , or your-” A sob choked out of him, tripping and stumbling over his own laughter. “Help,” he cried pitifully.
The man pulled Gordon tight against him, letting him ride out his hysterics in the embrace while he kept a watchful eye on their surroundings. Gordon hiccupped into his shoulder, terror racing like a livewire through his spine. Tommy just held him close without judgement, running a hand up and down his back until he caught his breath.
He was just about to pull away when Tommy suddenly shoved Gordon behind him, pointing his firearm down the hall as a figure rounded the corner.
“Hello, Gordon!” hit him like a gunshot, but maybe his ears were just ringing from the round Tommy fired in Dr. Coomer’s head.
Tommy backed up, an arm flung out protectively in front of Gordon, as the old man stepped toward them. Blood was gushing from the wound in his face, but he was smiling as if he couldn’t even feel it. Gordon was sure his heart was going to give out from how hard it was hammering in his ribcage.
The three of them stood like that, staring each other down, while Tommy kept his pistol trained on Dr. Coomer. The old boxer spoke congenially to him, but Gordon barely registered his words. His fuzzy brain was thinking about the human shield in front of him, how quickly Tommy had placed himself between Gordon and the threat. He knotted a desperate hand in the fabric of his lab coat, unable to do anything but cling to him.
“How can I trust you?” he called out to Coomer, panic making his voice shrill.
“I think this one is safe,” Tommy commented, flicking Gordon a reassuring glance. “I shot him and he didn’t die.”
“That is kind of like the Coomer we know and love,” Gordon answered, managing to find an ounce of sarcasm in himself. He fixed his bloodshot stare on their assailant. “Prove it to me.”
The old scientist grinned as blood soaked slowly into his uniform. “Gordon, I’m thirsty,” he declared.
The fight went out of Gordon all at once, his legs turning to jelly as Dr. Coomer strode cheerily past him to examine the bloodbath in the other room. Gordon lurched after him, Tommy close behind.
He would have to trust this guy, whether he wanted to or not. He couldn’t let Tommy keep carrying his weight alone, no matter how willing he was to put himself in harm’s way for Gordon. He tried to explain as much to Dr. Coomer, raising his voice to what he hoped was an authoritative volume. Coomer nodded along, unfazed as the blood clotted and dried on his face. A wave of dizziness passed over Gordon and he felt himself sinking.
“Perhaps you should have a seat,” Dr. Coomer advised.
“Uh huh,” he slurred, stumbling backward into Tommy, who caught him with careful hands. Those careful hands guided him, gentle as ever, to the cold steel beneath his feet.
Across from him, Dr. Coomer was sitting down, too, smiling faintly as he passed an interested look between him and Tommy. Gordon no longer had any energy to resist the old man’s eerie presence, but as Tommy settled onto the floor beside him, he wrapped a protective arm around him and fixed Coomer with a threatening stare. Don’t you dare touch him , the man’s intense amber gaze burned. I’ll kill you again if I have to.
Blood loss and affection made him feel lightheaded. This whole fucking day was a neverending loop of Gordon shattering apart and Tommy putting the pieces back together. He wasn’t sure he deserved the hellscape he was being forced to travel through, but he was certain he didn’t deserve Tommy. He didn’t deserve the warm, solid hand at his back. He didn’t deserve the blood that was spilled to keep his pathetic ass alive.
They talked over everything that happened, slowly exchanging information and piecing together a plan. Gordon sagged against Tommy, contributing to the conversation but barely tacking together what he was saying. He was thinking ahead to the impossible future, what he was going to do once he got out, once he strangled Benrey with Dr. Coomer’s help.
How could he possibly repay Tommy for what he had done? What did someone like Tommy want? What did someone like Gordon have to give?
This moment couldn’t last forever. They had to keep moving soon, to plunge into the unknown and follow that pinpoint of hope that was always just too far away. But as Gordon slumped there, awash in the yellow glow of the industrial lights, he thought that maybe he could reach it. He let his head fall against his companion’s shoulder, breathing ragged and thin. Gordon would see the sun again one day, and when he did, he would draw its warm rays down just for Tommy.
And maybe he’d take him out. Buy him a soda. He’d probably like that.
#ink#fanfiction#graphic depictions of violence#scene rewrite#blood#guns#amputation#hlvrai#part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work
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FBI AU: Visitation
Art Lange is not in a great place to receive visitors.
Previous: Rescue / Interrogation / Awkward / Painkillers / Father / Flashback
@whumpitywhumpwhump
Did I write this because my own not-injury-related hip pain was off the fuckin charts and i thought i might as well Use It In My Art? You can’t prove a thing.
TW for: explicitly referenced noncon, aftermath of noncon, hospital/needles/drugs, body horror, mention of body dysmorphia, mention of suicide, mention of neglect/abuse, Stream Of Consciousness From An Idiot Who Isn’t Taking Prescribed Medication, Guilt.
It is. Possible. That Art has made a miscalculation.
At the beginning of the day— at what he thinks was the beginning of the day, he turned the TV in his hospital room to a channel that seemed to be having some kind of Friends marathon, because the only clock in the room is analog and he hasn’t been able to think straight enough to read analog time in— well, in a while; but he knows an average sitcom episode with commercials is thirty minutes, and he…
He’s been told, vaguely, that he must have spent a total of about four days in Micah’s fucking sex dungeoun. Minus however long it took them to kill him, in the middle. But he—he doesn’t have a good grasp of how much time it really was, because it was— dark, and he remembers only patches, an hour of Micah in front of or on top of or inside him and then three hours of nothing but cold stone against his bare ass and legs and rough wallpaper against his bare back and his arms bound above him by cold metal until he thought both would pop out of their shoulder sockets. And he remembers— seeing Tenor, thinking after the tenth or twentieth or hundredth time Micah fucked him that he’d settled into a subterranean mental place and had no more energy left to be scared but then seeing Tenor and looking at the size of him and thinking no there’s no way no he’ll tear me apart— he remembers that, remembers thinking that pain was the worst until his hip tore apart with a bright hot sear of agony that he made him scream like he had never screamed before, ever, like he didn’t think people could scream in real life. He remembers all that, but he doesn’t know where it fits in the timeline, doesn’t even know if that was before or after they killed him in front of Karim, which, for the record, he doesn’t remember well at all, except for starting cold and ending even colder.
All of— all of that to say. Friends episodes all look the fucking same but he thinks, if his math is right, that it’s been… seven hours since his last dose of painkillers. And it is possible. That his strategy. Is maybe backfiring a little bit.
His head does not. Feel particularly clear. At this moment.
The thing about hips is. He’s never really thought about them before, which is crazy, because they’re, like, central to. Walking and everything, and he hasn’t thought of his hips at all except to look in the mirror when he was locked in his bedroom in his father’s house— and he thought he was starving then, ha-ha, what an idiot, thinks one meal a day because you’re too tired to eat sometimes is what starving feels like, hilarious— and looking with disgust at how sharply his hip bones jutted out from his concave stomach, how fucking disgusting and alien he looked, like that was the thinnest he was going to get— he doesn’t know how much he weighs now but knows without checking that it’s half what he weighed then, literally just the weight of his bones. But anyway, the thing about hips is— the thing about bones is, that they’re all connected, that they’re all wrapped up with muscles you wouldn’t even think of when you think “hip,” so it isn’t just his hip that throbs like a rotten tooth, it’s his lower back on that side twisting up around his spine like a vine with thorns on it; it’s his thigh down to his knee alternating between spasms that make him shake and arch his back and numbness that scares him down to his marrow. And there are positions where it’s— where it’s almost bearable, where he can bear it, but—
But he spent fucking four days chained to a wall and he can’t stay in one position for— for even the length of one Friends episode.
He stopped being able to tell time at about ten this morning. By early afternoon he can’t tell Joey and Chandler apart. By this point he thinks— the light slanting in the windows looks like afternoon, it must be afternoon— he doesn’t think he could reliably form sentences if called upon.
He doesn’t want to die. He spent, whatever, three years, crafting more and more elaborate crime scenes in his head, planning where to locate his corpse where it would most incriminate his father, hoarding pills and blades and comparing bridges, but now he— doesn’t want to die. Feels strongly like he… can’t, promised not to, has to—
He can’t— remember what he has to do, exactly. The volume on the TV has been down all day and at this point his eyes are closed, so he can’t tell whether the voices he’s hearing are on the TV or in the room with him. It’s— they don’t sound like sitcom voices? One of them is— familiar, but wrong, like it should feel like honey on his skin but it’s raw and desperate and sad in a way he hates so much that it lets him force his eyes open.
Karim is sitting in the chair next to Art’s bed with his head in his hands, and he’s shaking.
Art exhales, and Karim’s trembling and the hospital band on his wrist and his thin and pallid hands are so entirely incorrect that Art, without thinking, reaches out to him and tries to sit up.
Everything goes red. He doesn’t hear his own scream, but he feels it scrape his throat on the way out and knows it must be loud, and it’s deeply wrong also, that will hurt Karim, Karim will be sad, but he can’t stop the whining coming from between his clenched teeth because his hip is radiating fire into his blood and it’s going to tear him apart.
He flails his hand, and someone takes it, their hand large and warm enough that he knows it must be Karim’s, and he holds onto it, tries to think of nothing else, though the pain is blinding and white-hot; he holds on to Karim’s hand and feels his muscles moving without his permission, hears Karim yelling, and—
Warmth rushes through him suddenly, like sliding into a warm bath, and he exhales, feeling the fire go out in a slow slide, and his head flops back against the pillow. He wants to wrinkle his nose, but doesn’t remember how.
“…don’t…. want that…” he mumbles, thought it’s unlikely anyone will be able to understand him. A warm hand is brushing his hair from his forehead, too fast and desperate to be soothing, but he feels like it’s the only thing holding him to the earth— so of course it’s jerked suddenly away and replaced by more immediately familiar gloved hands pushing him down, pulling his eyelids up.
“Give him back,” Art growls, forcing his eyes open. The nurse blinks at him, startled, and then looks over her shoulder and frowns, and waves Karim back into his view. Karim is crying, which is fucking terrible. He’s also lost at least thirty pounds, which is even worse.
Karim ignores the chair this time, drops immediately to his knees, mumbling a nonsense litany that filters slowly into Art’s consciousness as Art grabs greedily at his hand and pulls till Karim brings it up to his face.
“sorry I’m so sorry Art god Art I’m so sorry Art I’m sorry”
“Stupid,” Art mumbles, pressing Karim’s hand against his face— Art has been cold since they took him from Karim’s bed and Karim is blessedly warm and alive and here. “Not… your fault.” His lips are entirely numb by now but those are the important words so he makes sure to enunciate them.
“How can you fucking say that,” Karim says in a horrible broken voice. “He only took you because of me, if you’d never met me you wouldn’t be— you wouldn’t— “
“Dead,” Art says, and forces his lids back up to glare at Karim. “…’d… be dead. You saved me, rmm-m’ber?”
Karim squeezes his eyes shut, and drops his head onto the bed next to Art, which is… still wrong, but does put Art at an angle to slide his needle-studded hand into Karim’s curls; Art lets his head fall back on the pillow and closes his eyes with his fingers scratching Karim’s scalp and it’s real and Karim is real and here.
“I’m so sorry, Art,” Karim says, and Art, gathering all his frayed concentration, makes a fist in Karim’s hair and pulls as hard as he can, earning a startled gasp.
“Don’t… say that again,” Art growls, feeling his grip relax whether he wants it to or not; he can feel himself sliding away on the drugs he didn’t ask for. “Or I’ll… give you something… to cry about.”
He hears about three seconds of a woman’s hysterical laughter, and then he loses his fight to stay awake.
——
So. That doesn’t entirely answer Rona’s question about unhealthy relationship dynamics. And clearly Art Lange is some kind of terrible masochist for letting his pain get so bad it caused a fucking seizure or whatever the hell that was. It’s a mess. But clearly they are both messes, and Karim Mun’s apocalyptic distress at Art’s pain is, in her expert opinion, embarrassingly genuine.
Mun is still kneeling beside Art’s bed, now cupping Art’s bandaged face in his hand and speaking soft words to him, and it’s all very Romeo and Juliet. Or Hallmark channel, possibly.
But— she doesn’t mind admitting to this— Rona likes Art. Likes that his reaction to being beaten and violated is varying levels of incandescent rage. It’s… familiar endearing. And in a very strange way, when Karim Mun kneels beside Art’s bed and cries she can tell that he’s Farah’s son. Farah is a no-nonsense FBI Boss almost all the time, but Rona has known her to recite poetry when she’s drunk, and sigh with secondhand happiness on the one occasion a coworker has been sent flowers by their significant other. It’s enough for her to include Karim in her amused affection too, and Rona thinks, they’re going to tear these idiots apart, and Rona thinks, I’m not going to let them.
#fbi au#whump#original whump#hospital scene#seizure#pain#guilt#aftermath of noncon#broken hip#refusing medication#General Gay Idiocy
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Dragon Ball Z 272
Last time, Majin Buu turned Vegito into candy, which means there’s no one left to fight him..... except Krillin and Yamcha. See, King Kai had the same idea as King Yemma with Vegeta, and the Elder Kai had with Goku. Except all King Kai has is Krillin and Yamcha, and no magic power-up items to let them use. You’d think he would at least try to contact the Elder Kai and score some more Potara earrings.
Failing that, what is Krillin supposed to do that he didn’t already try the first time he fought Buu? That fight lasted like two seconds.
Hell, Yamcha didn’t even get to fight. He got hit with the candy beam while trying to find cover. Now that he’s dead, he just wants to chill out and train, and take a relaxing shower after his workout.
As far as he’s concerned, life on the Grand Kai Planet is better than Earth anyway, so why bother fighting Buu? His only complaint is that there’s no hot chicks on this planet, which irritates me. There’s no girl warriors who got the honor of keeping their body to train on the Grand Kai Planet? That’s not even true, because we saw a few in the crowd at the Otherworld Tournament. Maybe none of them are Yamcha’s type.
Anyway, don’t count Vegito out just yet, because Buu seems to be having a little trouble following through on his plan to eat the guy.
Yeah, turns out VEGITO CAN STILL FIGHT IN CANDY FORM. He can talk too, which is pretty messed up.
Everyone watching is like “Whaaaaa?“
Buu isn’t convinced that this is a problem. Even if Vegito has all his original power, he can still eat the guy.
Only, no, he can’t. Turns out fighting Candy Vegito is like trying to swat a fly with all the powers of Vegito. Buu can’t even catch the guy, while Vegito can zip around in any direction and slam into him like a bullet.
When Buu can’t grab hold of the thing, he can’t actually do anything to him, because Vegito’s strong enough to keep moving in spite of being in Buu’s grip. You know, he should have just lured Vegito underwater, and hoped that the sea would dissolve him. Then again, maybe that would turn Vegito into an ocean, and he’d be able to kick Buu’s ass even harder that way.
At one point, Vegito even flies straight into Buu’s mouth and shoots out the other side, shearing off his head tentacle again. So even if Buu could get the thing in his mouth, how could he possibly swallow him?
So Buu does the only sensible thing and changes Vegito back to normal. But it’s not like Vegito was any easier to beat this way.
This is the thing that always bugged me about the Candy Beam in the video games. First, it’s only temporary, which I guess is a concession to the game mechanics, but okay. But it seems to me that there should be a thing where if you use it on Vegito, he should damage the user instead. I guess the same should apply to anyone as strong or stronger than Vegito.
Anyway, Vegito does his Happy Dance, while the Elder Kai reaaaaaalllllly wishes Vegito would just hurry up and finish this fight.
Then we get this flashback to when King Yemma got Vegeta to agree to return to Earth to fight Buu. The first time I saw this scene, I was grateful, because they kept talking about it for several episodes, but it seemed kind of convenient. There’s some plot holes to some of these King Yemma scenes we’ve seen, because he probably would have been busy preparing Vegeta for this, but instead he was stressing out over all the paperwork for Buu’s victims.
Anyway, the story isn’t all that complicated, and now that I know what happened, this scene seems a bit gratuitous, but no more so than any other filler.
In a nutshell, King Yemma isn’t supposed to give shady characters like Vegeta their bodies back, but he did it this time because he needs him to go down and help fight Buu. Furthermore, he informs Vegeta that his self-destruct attack on Majin Buu failed, which means his death was meaningless, “no more than a dog’s death”.
Then we have a flashback within a flashback, which is weird, but we probably needed this, since Episode 237 was a while ago.
So this upsets Vegeta and he powers up-- I can’t tell if he’s Super Saiyan with this weird color palette-- but he wrecks the decor in Yemma’s room. Nevertheless, he agrees to cooperate, but Vegeta probably would have done that anyway, so that crack about the “dog’s death” was probably overdoing it.
So this is another plot hole. We’ve seen Yemma’s place a few times during the last thirty episodes, but this is the first time we’ve seen all this damage to the walls. Yemma hopes that King Kai will help him out with the repair bills. Wait, King Kai has money? I doubt he’d share any, since he’s homeless and all.
Back on Earth, Buu still won’t admit he’s outclassed, so Vegito starts really laying into him. Only now, Buu can’t pull himself back together as easily.
And he just keeps hitting him. That really scary music from the OST plays. Let me see if I can find it...
youtube
Okay, so turns out it’s from the Movie 11 score, which you can find on this track from the DBZ Complete BGM album, about 5:03 in.
Anyway, Buu gets totalled here, and when he puts himself back together, he insists that it didn’t hurt....
Except he failed to regenerate the hole in his stomach on the first try.
Vegito is satisfied that Buu’s regeneration powers have reached their limit. From here, even if Buu continues fighting, he’ll just get weaker and weaker until he gives out completely. So he declares that he’ll now put Buu out of his misery.
Buu objects, but Vegito shoves a Spirit Sword through his face. Oh, okay, so that’s why this is his finisher in the video games.
Vegito announces that he’ll give Buu a ten-count before killing him. That’ll give him time to pray or make peace with his demise or whatever. If he wants to die sooner, Vegito invites him to attack him one more time.
So, to follow up on a reply from @mach13elephantexplosion back in Episode 268, I went back and checked, and Buu was indeed counting to five using the “hitotsu, futatsu, mittsu“ Japanese counting system. Vegito, on the other hand, is using “ichi, ni, san...”
In particular, Vegito’s using the word “shi” for 4 and “shichi” for 7. Those were the words I learned a long time ago whenever I learned to count to ten in Japanese, and it always frustrates me whenever I hear actual Japanese speakers use “yon” and “nanna” instead. I mean, it’s their language, they can use it as they please, of course. Really, what annoys me is that wherever I learned the words for Japanese numbers neglected to consider which words are actually used in regular speech. The Japanese avoid “shi” because it’s a homonym for their word for “death”. Same deal with “shichi” for 7, because it has “shi” in it. Apparently “ku” for 9 is a similar issue, because it’s a homonym for “agony”, which I guess is how “kyu” became a thing. But ku and kyu sound similar enough that I can’t pick up the difference.
The point I’m making here is that Vegito ain’t fuckin’ around. “One! Two! Three! DEATH! Five! Six! DEATH-chi! Eight! AGONY! Ten!” This is CZW.
As Vegito counts, Buu realizes that his only chance is to absorb Vegito like he did with the others, but how can he do it without being noticed?
Then he notices the head tentacle, which Vegito lopped off a few minutes ago.
And as he mentally summons it to sneak up on Vegito, we see that this is exactly what Vegito was waiting for. I think it’s safe to say that most of Vegito’s hot-dogging in this fight was for the sole purpose of forcing Buu to use up all of his other options until he had no choice but to try this.
Even so, Vegito seems a bit nervous that his plan may not work.
But the die is cast. As Vegito reaches ten, Buu springs his trap...
And Vegito uses a ki force field to protect himself.
And that’s it. Buu merges with the piece of himself, just like every other absorption, although he never actually changes appearance, like he did with the others. But he’s so happy to be rid of Vegito that he doesn’t notice.
Mr. Satan barely understands what’s happened, while Dende is horrified. With Goku and Vegeta gone, there’s no one left to save the Earth.
An observation shared by the Supreme Kais.
Meanwhile, Buu let’s Vegito know that he’s number one.
#dragon ball#2019dbliveblog#fusion saga#vegito#majin buu#krillin#yamcha#king kai#king yemma#fortuneteller baba#kibitoshin#elder kai#dende#mr satan#vegeta#trunks
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You Are My Weakness (SPN Fanfic)
You Are My Weakness
Chapter 10
Maxwell Shard
Previously: Intro Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9
Warnings: Violence, shower smut, feels
Word Count: 3192
ENJOY!!
…Louise’s P.O.V…
Days had gone by with torture and agony. I was weak and hungry, needing food in my system soon. It felt like I was dying and I tried to look around the room, this time everything was blurry and my arms and legs soaked in blood. I didn’t even want to know how much I have lost.
Suddenly the door slammed open and he came inside, the man I feared the most.
“Hello dearie, missed me?” He said, his voice sounding so loud and my head was pounding.
“Not really” I grunted out and everything hurt like a bitch.
“Too bad, I was going to give you a choice, I guess now I’ll decide all on my own” His voice was deep and threating, like he would end me.
His hands were soon gripped harsh in my hair and pulling my head back. His dark eyes looking at me, death inside of them. His other hand stroking my cheek lightly before screaming out words in Latin. I was still new to using Latin so I had no idea what he was summoning.
Soon black smoke was making its way towards me, my eyes getting big as I realized what was actually happening. He’s putting a demon inside of me, a fuckin demon. Then everything went black, I couldn’t see a thing, all I could hear was my own voice speaking without me telling it too. Feeling my body move but I had no control over it. That was it, they will never find me.
…Sam’s P.O.V…
Dean had been locked up in his room for days on end. I started to get really worried about him and his mental health. It was long since I ever saw him this sad. I wanted to fix it but the only way possible was to find Louise, which ironically was impossible. It was like she had disappeared from the planet earth.
I hit the table with my fist in frustration and Tess looked up at me, guilt still playing on her face. This was nowhere near her fault yet she still blames herself for everything.
“I should’ve known, Sam” She said as she put her head in her hands.
“This isn’t your fault Tess, you got to stop blaming yourself for it. It was the demon who took her, that’s the one you should blame” I said and wrapped my arm around her and pulling her into my side.
“But I was there, I could’ve done something. I have never felt so useless” She cried into her hands.
“Baby, this was nowhere near your fault. It was nothing you could have done. Please stop blaming yourself” I said as I held her closer, she looked up at me tears in her eyes and I broke just seeing her like this.
“But Dean does so why shouldn’t I?” She said and looked back down in the books and papers in front of her. Her face falling into a frown as she took a piece of paper from the table. She looked long at it before looking back up at me.
She stood up quickly, her legs almost running and I hurried after her. wondering what she had found. She had stopped outside of Dean’s room, her hand hesitating before opening the door and walking inside. I followed her, still confused on her actions. She hasn’t spoken to him in days and no she runs inside his room?
He looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot and his body clad in joggers and a t-shirt. Seeing him without his flannel and jeans was weird.
“What?” He asked as she handed him the paper.
“I found a lead or I think it could be a lead. It’s the closest thing I’ve found in days” She said quickly and his lip almost curled into a smile at her action.
“And you didn’t bother telling me ‘cause?” I asked and she just hushed at me. I was stunned by her action but just fell silent as I sat down on a chair.
“Anyways, it sounds like the demon who took her. He was one of the strongest demons I have ever met and to sound of this report so is this one. The crime scene looking exactly the same as Louise’s family home did when I left, so maybe just maybe it could be him” She rambled on, Dean taking in every word she said as he scanned the paper.
“You’re right, this is a good lead” Dean spoke as he stood from his bed.
“But what if it’s not?” I asked, knowing that this was probably the stupidest question ever to leave my mouth. Both of them staring at me.
“And if it’s not we’ll continue to look you idiot” Tess said and I was shocked by her chosen words. I furrowed my brows at her before nodding.
“Yeah, sorry you’re right” I mumbled out and Dean quickly changed into his normal clothes.
All three of us walked out to the garage only to find Castiel leaning against the Impala. When he saw Dean out of his room a smile played on his lips before realizing that this meant a hunt. A hunt that maybe will help us find Louise. He sat down in the backseat next to Tess as me and Dean sat in our usual spots in the front. The car was silent the whole way towards Madison, Wisconsin. Dean’s hand gripping the steering wheel hard, his knuckles turning white and his jaw clenched hard. I looked back at Tess, her teeth biting down on her nails and Castiel looking blankly out of the window. I bit my lip as we were nearing the town and I was scared of how Dean would react. Louise is the closest thing he has to family next to us here in the car, she’s his best friend. The way he could react when his family was in danger was terrifying. But right now, we didn’t have a choice but to let that Dean loose.
After hours of driving Dean stopped the car outside a dark abandoned house. We all walked out of the car, I could feel Tess’ hand wrap around mine. I looked down at her, nervousness all over her face. My grip on her hand tightens as we walk inside. All of us prepared to fight.
…Theresa’s P.O.V…
We did indeed find a demon, just not THAT demon. Did it piss us off? Totally. I hated seeing the disappointment on Dean’s face but he didn’t give up. He took that demon back home, locking it up in one of the many cells of the bunker. He had painted every symbol in history that would keep the demon in there. He spent hours torturing and screaming at the demon, it would turn him crazy eventually.
Sam and I decided to go in there, to check on him and trying to get some food in his system.
“TELL ME WHERE THE HELL SHE IS” He screamed at the man sitting in the chair in front of him, only laughing back at him.
“You really think I will tell you? She’s ours now and we’re god damn happy about that” The demon said, his voice provocative and evil.
“You tell me or I’ll kill you” Dean said, his face only an inch from the demon and his eyes were dark.
“Dean, please take a break” I said and placed my hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” He screamed back at me and pushed me off him. His eyes almost looking demonic, his force harsh making my shoulder hurt from his grip.
I just looked at him, shocked over his actions. I had never seen anyone like this, not a single human who act like this. I felt my eyes tear up as I continued to look at him. He was devastated, desperate to get Louise back. He truly loved that woman and it hurt me. it hurt me seeing him care so much and we can’t find her. Then courage took over my body and I could sense Sam walking inside. I walked over to the demon, pushing Dean away making him look confused at me. I was now the one who was only an inch from the demon’s face.
“You tell me now, you little son of a bitch, where the hell Louise is!” I said harshly and slapped the man across the face, harsh.
“Oh, the bitch know how to fight” He laughed out and his emotionless eyes looked up at me.
“TELL ME!” I screamed, his face actually looking shocked.
“You really care about this whore so much” He laughed out, making my skin crawl as he spoke of Louise that way. I could feel both Dean and Sam’s stares at me. Their presence close to me.
“Yeah, we kind of do” I spat at him and finally he gave in.
“Fine, Louise is with Maxwell Shard, one hell of a demon. That man is truly evil straight through. He sure as hell is happy when his prophecy gets completed” The demon confessed, not that it got us any further.
“Where are they?” Sam said, finally speaking up.
“Oh, that no one knows. No one even knows where he keeps her. only that he wants to keep her alive for something” He said, his voice dark and his eyes just as dark. He didn’t take his eyes off of me, just burrowing deeper into my soul.
I felt fear taking over my body and I was no longer filled with the courage I had before. I felt empty looking at him, like his eyes sucked out every ounce of energy in my body. Even how much he scared me I couldn’t stop looking at him, like he wasn’t telling me something but I couldn’t dare myself to question him any further. I could feel Sam’s hand on my lower back and I leaned into his touch, keeping me upright as I could start to feel my legs give in. I really tried to look away, I just couldn’t. I closed my eyes and I felt dizzy.
“You son of a bitch, stop messing with her” Dean yelled out, wrapping his strong hands around his neck. You could see how strong his hold was, the demon’s veins popping out.
“If you keep doing that, you’ll kill my vessel” The demon spoke out, a smile on his lips and Dean quickly pulled away.
And just like that the days went on, trying to find new demons who had more information about where Maxwell Shard was holding Louise. It was really taking its toll on Dean, I hated seeing him like this and I hated myself for not being able to do anything about it. I mean Louise and I had grown a very close friendship the last months and I hated not knowing where she was, hell I didn’t even know if she was alive.
….
Days, weeks, months passed. Not a single step closer in getting Louise back and Dean was a mess. His eyes bloodshot red, bags under his eyes and skin pale and dehydrated. The only thing he was drinking was beer or whiskey. I have never seen a person so upset over someone else and I truly knew he loved her with everything he had. When he tells her he loves her, damn he does.
I twisted and turned on my side of the bed, trying not to wake Sam up who finally had fallen asleep. I took a big breath as I kicked the sheets off my body and slowly sitting up. Running my hands over my tired face and I sighed big in annoyance as I stood up. My body feeling the need for warm water to run over body. I walked into our sharing bathroom furthest away from the bedrooms. I just loved the big showers there and the white tiled flooring. As I walked over to the showers I quickly moved Sam’s shirt from my body, my hand moving the shower curtain to move inside. I turned the water on, patiently waiting on the water to turn warm. I moaned as the warm water ran over my body, feeling relaxed already.
I started to scrub my body with the flower scented soap, it reminding me of Louise, it was her favorite. I tried to hold back the tears that came rushing to my eyes as the thought of her ran through my brain. God I missed her, I missed my friend so damn much. It wasn’t just taking its toll on Dean, it was tearing us all apart.
I could no longer keep the tears in, letting myself to cry and my tears were now mixing with the water. My sobs and the running water blocking my hearing. I didn’t hear Sam walking in until I could feel his arms wrap around me and me jumping in surprise.
“Shh, it’s just me” He whispered in my ear and his lips kissing my cheek.
I turned in his grip, now facing his chest and I nuzzled my head into the crook of his neck. Inhaling his musky scent, that I loved so much, my hand wrapping around his thick bicep as his hands roamed the skin of my back. I continued to cry into his neck and his lips pressing comforting kisses on my head.
“Just let it out baby, you’ve been holding it in for so long” He said, his voice low and sensitive. It was a side to him that was new to me.
I looked up at him, his warm brown eyes looking down at me. They still glimmered in the dark lighting. I moved my hand up to my cheek, stroking lightly as my crying stopped and his head leaning into my touch. I leaned up on my toes to reach his lips and embracing them in a kiss. The kiss quickly turned heated as Sam’s hands roamed my body, feeling every inch of my skin and I the same to him. It had been so long since I last felt his touch this intense, so sensual. I had longed so much.
He pushed me up against the wall and the cold tile sending shivers down my spine as the warm water warmed me up. Sam’s lips moving down my neck as his hands pushing my legs up, signaling me to jump into his hold. I wrapped my legs around his waist and I could feel his hardening cock against my core. Making my whole body to turn warm and sending throbs to my aching core. It was a sensation I have longed for so long, finally being able to close the world out for just a moment. I was so soaked up in Sam’s touches and kisses I forgot what was actually happening. God, did it feel so good.
His teeth nibbling on my skin and moans left my mouth as his hands gripping onto my thighs harder. His hips bucking up against me and groans leaving his mouth and god did I love that sound. I sighed in pleasure as one of his hands moved in-between us and pressing his fingers against my clit, making me curl my hips into him. His lower lip trapped between his teeth as he watched me and his fingers working faster. I gasped loudly as he inserted a finger into me, his head now leaning against mine and his lips were pressing kisses against mine. My moans getting muffled against his lips and I could feel that familiar pool forming between my legs and that burn in my stomach. My body begging for release as his fingers were working wonders to me. His teeth biting down on my lips before he moved to my ear.
“Come for me baby” He whispered in my ear, his other hand gripping hard on the flesh of my thigh as I was clenching around his fingers, his words sending me over the edge.
Trying not to scream out as the pleasure took over my body I bit down on Sam’s shoulder making him groan back in pleasure. His fingers moving out from me and he moved his cock to replace them. His lips were quick to move against mine as he moved inside of me, stretching my walls out as he slowly pushed inside. Low grunts leaving his lips as he thrusted into me and my fingers digging into his skin. My moans mixing with his grunts as he kept fucking into me, the water running down our bodies making his muscular body shine and leaving me pleading for him more. I could feel myself getting close as his cock moved quickly inside of me, touching my g-spot every time and it left me moaning mess in his arms. His lips crashed on mine as his hips started to move sloppily, signaling me he was close too. Two thrusts more and I let go, releasing all over him and his cock twisted inside of me, filling me up with his load. A low groan leaving his lips and I was a panting mess as his lips kissed mine again.
He let go of my legs and my feet touched the tiled floor and I was shaking. My legs could barely hold me up and I could feel Sam’s arms wrap around me. A small laugh escaped his lips, a laugh I haven’t heard in weeks. I smiled to myself as he started to wash my body, his deep voice humming a tune I had never heard.
“I love you” I said as I leaned my head against his chest.
“God, I love you too” He said and I could hear the emotion in his voice, like he was scared.
“I don’t know what I would do if I lost you” I said as I turned around in his grip, his eyes looking down at me with adoration in them.
“I can’t even imagine the thought to be without you Tess, you mean the world to me” He said and he leaned his forehead against mine.
“Just please don’t get in more trouble” I joked and that adorable smile spread across his lips, showing off his dimples. I smiled up at him, caressing his cheek and he leaned into my touch. Just the move alone melted my heart.
Our little moment was cut short as the bathroom got filled with the noise of my phone ringing. I almost jumped out of the shower and wrapped my body quickly in a towel before picking the phone up, pressing it tightly against my ear.
“Theresa here” I said, my voice questioning as I heard big breaths on the other hand.
“Hey, Tess, I have something to tell you” It was Louise’s voice, I turned to Sam who was wrapping his lower body in a towel.
“Louise?” I said, still confused over this call.
“Yes, I’m coming home” Her voice sounding different, it was dark and empty. What the hell have they done to her?
#dean winchester#dean fanfiction#dean winchester fanfiction#dean x reader#dean winchester x reader#dean x reader smut#dean winchester smut#sam winchester#sam fanfiction#sam winchester fanfiction#sam x reader#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester x reader smut#spn fanfic#spnfamily#spn fandom#castiel#demons
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I admit, sometimes I just don't check my phone.
Usually when I'm not in the kitchen or bathroom, I've been writing my fiction and got pulled into my writerbrain and whoops it's five hours later, even with phone noises and alarms.
Several times a week I take walks around the neighborhood and sometimes I just don't take my phone. Sometimes I just want to walk silently around the block, because because having two dozen disabilities (including cerebral palsy, Fibromyalgia, autistic dyspraxia, hip pain, sciatic and sacroiliac pain, tendinitis, chondromalacia patella plus arthritis) means that my body wants to move and specifically walk despite being in constant agony, and this also means that I will do an ADHD hyperfocus on my environment and plus I do that autistic thing where I count all my steps, and I daydream in a lightly Maladaptive way even as my brain cleverly keeps tabs on my surroundings and foot placement because of the shaky palsy limp and the shorter lame left leg so I don't hurt myself, and sometimes that spastic ataxic hemiplegic leg knocks into my right leg and I trip over my feet but usually I catch myself, especially with my cane - unless the cane gets in the way, then it's just fuckin hilarious when I fall and crash.
(That happened last autumn, in the street near my bus stop, I cracked two ribs and bruised my arm with nerve damage and caused a traffic jam when three people ran to help me stand up and one person helped me start walking home; it took a week for me to reluctantly see the doctor. And a few months later, it happened around the corner from my townhouse on the pebbled sidewalk, where I tore up both knees, my left hand, and the side of my face, plus bruised I my left temple with bruising under my left eye along with my plastic glasses frame being broken, but that time I was carrying mail, not a cane, and I was not watching my foot placement, which is a vital thing that I need to do when I'm walking without a cane. If I don't have a cane my gait is like drunken shuffling or horse stomp. People have complained that I sound like a baby elephant because how could such a tiny person make so much noise when walk down stairs etc. Cerebral Palsy is weird. One spastic diplegic friend is more like a kangaroo rat with her hopping shuffle and another friend with spastic diplegia has a more gentle shuffle. I always made noise because I'm really short and until a few years ago I was very skinny and some of my tallest friends couldn't see me. And now I'm criticized for making noise. It's odd: my husband is six feet and due to his ninja style MMA training through his life he is cat-like and silent, and due to chronic back pains and slipped discs and spine injuries, he imagines balancing tea cups along his spine and he applies meditation techniques that Master Splinter would envy to soothe pain, heal his own wounds faster, and relieve muscle and nerve pain in ways that make me envious. He's teaching me. It's like a kind of magic as its own branch of physics, thus its own branch of biophysiology and neurophysiology Clarke's law applies since magic is a science, art, and craft).
I think my point is that almost all of my friends are online and can check my social media, which I update regularly, and I always mention when I have even a minor injury whether or not it's related to one of the two dozen plus medical conditions. Every epileptic seizure, every fall down bruise, every time I bang against a wall corner or cabinet, because I need time stamps and records since I now officially have Dysautochromia (and hey speaking of Dysautochromia, that Sci Fi show about the woman with Dysautochromia really needs to change "temporal dysplasia" to Temporal Agnosia or Time Agnosia, the layman term for Dysautochromia, because dysplasia is uhh totally not what they think it is LOL, I cannot take that show seriously) and I need to take notes on my own every day life since I no longer have an internal sense of time.
The other point is that if I don't return a call or text or email within a day it means that I've been busy and I'm still alive and despite the fact that I am not working out of the house it doesn't mean that I'm not busy. I've been writing. I've also been doing house chores poorly but I'm doing chords every day, it's how I am keeping track of time in a weird way.
My favorite franchise and biggest autistic special interest is launching its newest television iteration on Monday the 17th and I pasted a note on the wall with the date and time and channel because I know that no matter the fact that the Tumblr fandom will be yelling joyfully about it all day I will forget because ADHD plus Time Agnosia plus autistic memory glitches plus fibro fog will guarantee that I will forget and be on Cartoon Network or FFX like always, and I will need physical reminders to remember that Rise Of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles will air on Nickelodeon on Monday evening.
#tmnt 2018#executive dysfunction#canon adhd#headcanon autistic#dysautochromia#time agnosia#hi i'm weird#welp#pass the salt#i am salty#sorry for the rant#i am married to a donnie and mikey type anyway#oops i am going to torment mikey again#my fanfic
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Making Soup
the first entry for my clusterfuck au! it’s fake chop and i iterally had the idea like. 4 hours ago and never stopped writing. this is the longest thing ive written for a while
[Ao3 Link]
The day James is hurt, for the first time since they started their little… thing, is a hard day for Aleks. When james walks into the warehouse, covered in blood - a majority of it belonging to him - and barely conscious, Aleks couldn’t help the blind rage that took over him. The day had been normal for Aleks, until now, cleaning his guns and knives, going on a stake out with asher and anna near the edge of town, fucking around and messing things up for Brett with Jakob and Trevor. It’s a good day, much better than the boring days spent alone in the warehouse, or stake outs alone. He’s eager to return home, with or without James, and settle down with some strong coffee and a random show playing quietly in the background. This plan is ruined when James, in all his dramatic glory, bursts through their main door and promptly collapses to the floor.
Aleks is the first to him, having been near the kitchen at the time grabbing a beer for himself and Trevor, and instantly drops his beers, hands gentle yet desperate as they lift James up with some struggle, dragging him to the small medic station Anna works out of, working him into a bed carefully while Anna works at cutting off his shirt, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, dude, who did you piss off this time?”
James’ grin is short lived, as toothy and bloody as it was, quickly turning to a wince and a broken shout when Aleks presses his hands against his chest, ribs bruised and cracked to the point of agony with each breath he takes, “S’nothin, dude,” Aleks moves his hands away with a heavy frown, checking over the rest of his body as he continues to talk, Brett finally joining them in the little room, “jus’ a scuffle, m’pretty sure they got off worse than me.”
Aleks rolls his eyes, cursing soft and pressing his hands against the stab wound on the meaty part of his abdomen to staunch the blood, Brett leaning over carefully as he speaks for Aleks, “So they’re dead, then?” Aleks looks up as Brett waves his hands away, taking over the knife wound, before continuing to check down his body with anna.
James’ words are pained, beginning to slur as he croaked a hoarse reply, “Dunno, think i got one…” his head tips back slightly, eyes blinking slow and dazed, “maybe two…”
Aleks frowns and curses as Anna moves closer to his head, clicking her fingers in James’ face and huffing, “James, focus for me. How’s your head?” James frowns and doesn't answer, closing his eyes and wincing, flinching away slightly when Anna shines a bright light in his eyes, watching his pupils.
Aleks’ hands are shaking by the time he’s cut through the left leg of James’ ratty jeans, exposing a bullet hole that’s steadily leaking blood. It’s clean through, so aleks just focuses on wrapping it in an old towel and stopping the blood. The loud shout that James lets out, muscles tensing and body stiffening up before he collapses onto the bed weakly, rattles aleks to his bones, his breath coming out shaky as he does what he can to help.
Eventually, though, Anna kicks them both out and sends for asher. Aleks understands, considering their lack of medical knowledge, but he resents her for it; he’s desperate to help James, to be there through the pain, and the thought scares him. He hasn’t felt like this before, and it’s rattling him slightly. “C’mon,” Brett’s voice is soft, his own eyes scared and his skin slightly pale, “let’s go get cleaned up.”
Aleks can only nod.
He follows brett to the kitchen area, quietly letting Brett wash up first as he stares down at his hands, the sticky blood shining a bright crimson in the light, the areas where its pooling in the creases of his palms reflecting back his own pale face. He frowns, clenching his hands to fists and watching the blood collect before dripping to the floor, brows furrowing and body tensing. Aleks turns when brett finishes, washing his hands up before tugging off his hoodie, the sleeves stained dark with james’ blood. He scrubs roughly, cleaning thoroughly under his nails and at the creases of his knuckles, silently praying for the water to finally run clear off his skin, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping, begging-
“Hey,” Brett’s voice grounds him almost immediately, firm and commanding yet soft at the same time, “he’s gonna be fine, dude. Anna knows what she's doing.”
Aleks closes his eyes, sighing out slow and deep before shutting off the faucet, nodding weak, “you’re right.” he dries his hands off messily, the paper towels scratching slightly at his skin, before walking over to the armoury area. The armoury is split off into sections, each member having their own due to everyone’s wide range of skills; aleks’ is recently finished, weapons still shining with the fresh paint job. The only weapons with any sort of wear are a pair of golden pistols (which james had called tacky when he first saw them, the asshole), and a single hunting knife, the handle worn down slightly from years of use (the guns were a gift from Gavin, the first guns that ever belonged solely to him, that no one else ever used. The knife was given to him by Ryan, the first sign of any affection from the man when he was sixteen, a gift he still hides from gavin to this day); he picks up the pistols first, fitting them both into the waistline of his sweats easily, then grabbing the knife with its sheath and a shotgun, a gift from james that matched his own, the barrell dark grey and the handle an aged wood, shiny with laquer. He picks up the fitted body armour, hanging against the wall, before turning around and bumping straight into jakob.
The man looks slightly hesitant, his mouth a deep frown (aleks can't help but notice how unnatural it looks, too used to seeing his bright smile, and now he knows he has to do this) and his brows furrowed roughly. Eventually, he reaches a hand out, and only then does he notice the set of plastic ties in them with the small earpiece on top, he looks back up when jakob starts to talk, “make them hurt.”
Aleks frowns heavier, hesitating before taking the ties and nodding. He pats jakob’s arm, gaze firm, before slipping past him and out of the armoury, clutching the earpiece tight in his hand.
The first place he decides to go, after getting in his car, is to his own apartment. He drives there quickly, resisting the urge to run red lights and carefully parking outside his apartment building. He runs inside, skipping the elevator when he notices how many people are inside, instead taking the stairs two at a time and making it to the top floor in record time. He fumbles his key out of his pocket, fiddling with it before unlocking his door, slipping in the earpiece, “jakob?”
“Yeah, hang on.”
Aleks goes to his bedroom, abandoning his weapons on the bed with the body armour and dropping his blood-stained sweats, quickly tugging on a pair of tight jeans, gritting his teeth and struggling slightly with the belt in his rush, “you got any idea who they might be?”
There's a pause on jakob’s line, just rapid typing as aleks rips his shirt off and pulls on the body armour he carried in with him. Then he grabs a button up, the seams along the side having been let out to fit the armour under it better rather than having a slightly pleated look, and pulls it on messily, “it's not really a big crew, about twenty people, maybe twenty-five. They're spread out across the city, one base is pretty close to you, then there’s maybe two or three others, and the main place.”
“How many at the closest base?”
“Six, but there’s a couple rooms i can't see into. There's two cars, max total of eight people.”
“Unless they put people in the trunk.” aleks loops on a utility belt, sliding the two pistols into the holsters and clipping the knife on in its sheath. He carefully loops a second holster on, grabbing a box of shotgun shells from his bedside table and loading the gun.
“Would they put their own people in the trunks of their cars?”
“They were dumb enough to fuck with us,” he cranks the gun, frowning heavy, “so probably.”
There’s a snort on the other side of the earpiece, “dude, that was so fucking cringe-”
“No way, dude, that was cool! I'm so fucking badass-”
“It was too cliche-”
“Oh my god, jakob.”
After no small amount of bickering, aleks manages to finish gearing up. He takes the elevator this time, if only to draw less attention, and makes his way to his car outside. Aleks rubs at his face carefully, eyes lidded and tired as he locks the car once he's inside. He hesitates slightly, hands gripping the wheel, before entering the first address into his gps.
“You good to go?” aleks can hear the underlying question that jakob doesn't ask- can you do this alone?
“I'll be fine. Let's just get this over with.” he pulls into gear, carefully driving and following the directions on his gps. He hesitates, the leather of the steering wheel squeaking slightly as he grips it tighter, before sighing out, “is he okay?”
Jakob sighs, “i haven't heard anything yet, he’s still with anna and asher.”
Aleks nods quietly, despite jakob not being able to see, and parks up a few blocks down from the house. He psyches himself up a little, rolling his shoulders and huffing slightly, before getting out of the car.
“Four on the bottom floor; two in the kitchen, one in the living room and one in the garage. Two upstairs from what i can see, one in the bedroom and one guarding that room. Might be someone important.”
Aleks nods with a small mutter of thanks before walking up to the house; he doesn't bother with a fast and quiet approach, walking in through the back door and into the garage with his shotgun in hand. He blows the man’s brains out before he can react, watching the messy splatter and listening to the startled shouts in the kitchen.
“Two coming towards you, one has a knife, the other has a pistol.”
Aleks stands near the door, catching the first man through the door by surprise with a blast to the side, sending him to the floor in agony. The second man is luckier, only skimmed barely by a few pellets, and he manages to get a punch in on aleks. His fist glances off of aleks’ body armour, sending him stumbling slightly with the momentum, before aleks takes out a pistol and brings him close, arm looped around his neck to hold him in a tight choke hold, gun pressed to the base of his spine, his voice a low snarl “how many people are upstairs?”
“I-i don't know- two- maybe three-”
Aleks doesn't hesitate, emptying three rounds into the man before letting him fall with a dull thud to the concrete floor, head slamming against the ground with a sickly crack. He loads his shotgun as he walks through into the kitchen area, the fourth person stood in the kitchen with wide eyes, his hands shaking as he points the pistol at aleks. He frowns, eyes lidded and sharp.
“Put your gun down.”
Aleks complies slow, noticing the knife block on its side on the counter. He grips the counter tight, pulling himself up slow and exaggerated before quickly wrapping his fingers around the handle of the smallest serrated knife; he manages to throw it at the man, piercing his shoulder with a loud shout, but not before he can fire a round and hit aleks square in the chest.
The pain is… intense, for lack of a better word. Aleks stumbles back weakly, the crumpled bullet remaining in his body armour, and brings a hand up to his chest. A seemingly endless pain pulses through his chest, but the adrenaline assists aleks in picking his gun back up and making his way over to the other man, shooting him twice in the chest with his pistol. He takes a moment after that, leaning against the counter with a shaky pant, but he isn't given much peace before a bullet whistles past his head, glancing off the counter and hitting the wall. He ducks down carefully, removing the clip from his gun and checking before pressing it back in, huffing.
“Theres two people at the top of the stairs, i still can't see if there’s anyone else. Be careful.”
Aleks sighs out, nodding slow, “you think i could hit them both from here?”
“Honestly? No. unless you pull some Wanted shit you’re not gonna be able to hit them.”
Aleks laughs, nodding as he carefully moves around to a different area of the kitchen, “who’s Wesley and who’s Fox?”
“Oh my god, i can't believe you actually remember the fucking characters.”
“It was a good movie!” aleks sits up and shoots, smirking to himself, “i think i'm Fox.”
“No way, james or gavin is fuckin’ Fox. You’re Wesley.”
Aleks groans, rolling his eyes, “fine, whatever. But brett’s definitely Sloane,” aleks goes back down once he’s taken out one of the men, reloading his gun, “instead of cloth he's got a boner for his fuckin’ plants, man. You have to agree with me here.”
“I’m gonna have to watch the movie again, now. Fuck you, man. I've already got trevor on my dick about movies, now i've gotta watch your weird hitman movie.”
Aleks laughs, and it’s almost like things are normal again, like he’s back at the warehouse with trevor and jakob, and james is watching fondly but as if he could kill them at a moment’s notice. The reality of the situation hits him like a speeding train, though, and he quickly stops laughing, instead leaning up and shooting at the last man on the staircase. Once he’s down, aleks makes his way up slowly, frowning soft and checking through the rooms quietly.
He hasn't totally been expecting the woman in the last room, considering how silent the house was, but the adrenaline that’s pumping through him means that when she goes for a surprise attack, jumping out from her hiding spot behind the door, aleks manages to hear her movement and turns sharply, swinging the shotgun and clubbing her over the head with it and knocking her out cold.
“Overkill.”
“Whatever,” the previously joking tone is gone from aleks’ voice now; he leans down and uses the plastic zip ties on her arms, tying them tight before hoisting her up and over his shoulder, “you know if anyone can pick her up from the nearest safehouse?”
“I’ll see if we can spare a newbie, you gonna interrogate her?”
“Interrogation, torture, it’s all the same.”
Jakob lets out a sigh before typing, aleks can imagine the way he’s rolling his eyes, “abbie’s on her way there.” aleks nods and carries the woman down to his car, dumping her on the backseat and getting in the driver’s seat before carefully driving away. Once he’s left the woman at the safehouse, practically dropped on the floor next to the couch, he makes his way to the car.
“Next place?” his phone buzzes nearly immediately, and aleks doesn't hesitate before putting the address in.
“How’s your chest?”
“Hurts like fuck, thanks for reminding me.” aleks drives along carefully, humming soft.
“You should probably avoid getting hurt, james’ll get suspicious.”
At the reminder of james, aleks slumps down slightly in his seat, sighing tiredly, “just two more places after this, i’ll be fine. And it’s not like i'm fuckin’ bleeding out anyway. Don't worry about it.”
Jakob sighs again, “sure, whatever.”
“Sigh any more and the others are gonna fuckin run out of air, inconsiderate,” aleks smirks, parking a few blocks away again, “how many people?”
“Gimme a minute,” aleks nods and listens to the quiet clack clack of jakob’s keyboard, cleaning his guns carefully and wiping the blood off the handle of his shotgun, “one downstairs in the living room, two upstairs; one in the bath and one in the bedroom. Do this quiet and we might be able to do it pretty fast.”
Aleks nods and gets out carefully, holstering his guns in favour of his knife this time. He crouch-walks into the living room quietly, leaning up behind the back of the couch and quickly dragging his knife along the man’s throat, pressing his other hand against the man’s mouth to keep his loud gurgling muffled, blood flooding over both of aleks’ hands. Once he’s dead, eyes dull and the shine leaving his eyes, aleks makes his way upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. He goes to the bedroom first, managing to take the man out much faster with a quick stab due to the better angle. On the way to the bathroom, he wipes his knife clean and pulls out his shotgun instead.
“You gonna Kurt Cobain her?”
“Too soon,” aleks mutters, standing and leaning against the door frame before kicking the door open a single bullet glancing his arm before he shoots her in the chest, blood gushing into the bath and turning the colour to a sickly red.
“Too soon? Man, its been, like, twenty years. Move on already, emo.”
Aleks just laughs, taking the gun dangling from the woman’s hand and taking the ammo from it, “whatever, man. I grew up with that band, you’re, like, ten. Fuck off.”
“I'm twenty-”
“Same thing.”
“-and i know bad emo music when i hear it.”
“Yeah, and i'm sure you know good music when you hear it too,” aleks walks downstairs, ignoring the growing bloodstain on his shirt, “by the way, tell me when your career as a soundcloud rapper takes off so i can put in the good word with james and have you fired.”
“If ‘put in the good word’ means ‘stick your dick in him’ i'm sure you've done it enough-” aleks removes the earpiece, blushing bright red and huffing as he turns it off. He puts in the third address when it arrives, accompanied by the endearing message u lov me really ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. He doesn't bother replying, instead driving to the next base.
It’s across the city from where aleks is now, nearly a two hour drive- three, if you count the rush hour traffic- so aleks distracts himself with music. Eventually, he gets a little lost in his thoughts, ranging from how am i gonna know how many people there are to why am i doing this so desperately for him? The second thought stumps aleks, causing him to lose focus and nearly rear end some soccer-mom van. He apologises as he passes, shrinking slightly under the woman’s steely gaze, before driving away.
Has this become more than sleeping around?
Aleks chews his lip before deciding it’s a question for another day, parking near the house and quickly checking over himself. There’s a deep gash on his arm from where the bullet glanced him, and the steady throbbing under his body armour tells him more than he needs to know. Otherwise, it’s mainly scratches from plaster and the dull ache in his right foot from kicking in the door earlier.
Aleks doesn't focus too much on the injuries, quickly wrapping his arm with some spare gauze in the glovebox, before getting out of the car and walking up to the house. He scouts around carefully, peeking through windows and listening close. He works out that there’s four people, he can see two downstairs, and one went upstairs earlier with the promise to check on jackson. Aleks doesn't need any more information other than that, so he goes in quietly after picking the lock, sneaking in through the hallway.
He’s pretty successful, until his phone rings.
There’s a split second of peace between the three of them, in that moment. The two men look over with raised brows before seeing aleks and instantly frowning, aleks doesn't hesitate to leap over the island in the kitchen and hide behind it, cursing and answering his phone.
“Yes? Hello?”
“Wow, rude, i guess i wont tell you how james is.” brett’s reply is the only respite he gets in this moment, relief seemingly weighting his bones.
“No, dude, i'm sorry, i forgot to put my phone on silent and just got fuckin’ caught.” there’s a hiss of sympathy over the phone, and aleks smirks weakly before sitting up and shooting at the men over the counter.
“Sorry man, just thought you’d want an update.”
“Yeah, ‘course i do. How is he?”
“He’s a little out of it,” brett’s voice rings out over the phone, his voice tinny and distant compared to the earpiece, “he doesn't know about your little… vengeance mission, yet. We’re gonna wait until he’s recovered to tell him, or he’s just gonna hurt himself.”
Aleks nods carefully, kneeling down behind the kitchen counter for cover as he reloads his pistols, phone held to his ear against his shoulder, “yeah, okay, thats fine. Is he able to talk?” brett hums a little, and aleks listens to the quiet footsteps as he sits up and shoots at the people behind the couch. He hears a small aleks wants to talk to you, dude as the phone is moved away from brett, before shuffling echoes in his ear.
“‘Leks..?”
Aleks grins small and relieved, sighing tiredly before leaning back down behind cover, assault rifle rounds piercing the wall behind his cover and causing plaster to rain down on him. One of the bullets manages to pierce a pipe, causing water to spew out and splatter all over the floor, “hey, bud, how’re you doing?”
James huffs over the line, and aleks smiles fondly, if not a little tired, “tired, hurty… i thought you were in the warehouse today…”
Aleks curses when a bullet hits the granite counter near his head, leaning back up and shooting. One of his bullets manages to hit a man on his way down, going in and out his skull with a messy spray of viscera and blood against the wall behind him, “yeah, i was, but i'm out now.”
“What’s that sound?”
Aleks pauses a little, scouring his brain for a quick lie, “i just knocked some pans over, i'm in my kitchen.” he leans up and shoots the last man, quickly standing up and going to their bodies. He checks them over, taking spare ammo from one and a half empty pack of gum from the other (who passes up free gum? And besides, after this he’ll definitely need it).
“What’re you making?”
“Soup,” this lie comes a little easier, considering how he’d seen a can in the kitchen with the can opener still hanging off of it. He carefully makes his way up the staircase, peeking down both ends of the hall.
“Soup?”
“Yeah, buddy,” aleks quickly shoots the man in the first room, frowning and closing the door with a grimace when he notices the headphones on and the way his laptop is balanced precariously on his lap, “you like soup, right?”
James lets out a noncommittal hum, and aleks grins as he imagines him tilting his head back and closing his eyes, “yeah, s’real good. ‘Specially minestrone…”
Aleks raises a brow, opening the next door and checking around the empty space, “really? I always took you for a chicken noodle guy, maybe tomato.”
“Minestrone is basically tomato, right? Just with… bits.”
He laughs soft, going back out into the hall and checking the last room; there’s one man, in the shower in the ensuite, and he takes his time to scope the room before putting his guns away, “i guess so, man, like, croutons ‘n’ shit. Ive seen it with these weird little pasta bits in before, though.”
“Yeah, but the best one is with, like… fresh cut vegetables. Cut up celery and onion…”
Aleks hums soft and nods, opening the bathroom door slowly. The shower is empty, steam filling the room, and the punch that connects squarely with his face disorients him badly. His phone clatters to the floor as he struggles to right himself, feet slipping on the wet floor. The second punch is expected, and aleks manages to catch the fist before it collides with his throat, twisting the man’s arm and kicking him away before rushing to put james on speaker, “sorry, dude, dropped my phone, you still good?”
“Yeah, ‘leks… it sounds like that soup is getting the better of you…”
The confusion on the other man’s face gives aleks the opening he needs. He grabs him by the hair, his hand nearly slipping straight out due to how slick it is, before slamming his face into the wall, cracking his nose, “nah, don't worry about it. I’ve got it under control. You like cabbage in your minestrone?”
James makes a soft blech sound before speaking, “no, that’s gross. Do you? That’s, like, a russian thing, right? Borcsh?”
Aleks takes one of the ties from his pocket, quickly wrapping the man’s wrists. He picks up his phone on the way out, dragging the man behind him, “i mean, i guess? But that doesn't have cabbage in it. Shie does, but i don't really like cabbage.”
“What soup do you like?”
“I like Okroshka,” he dumps the man in the trunk of his car, slamming it shut after, “cold soup.”
“Did your mom make that for you? In russia?”
Aleks pauses, frowning heavy as he turns and leans his back against the car, “does your mom make you soup?” aleks is all too glad for james’ drugged-up state, eyes closing as he dodges the question.
“Hell yeah, she,” there’s a small hiss on the other side of the phone, aleks recognises it as pain, “she made me this real good soup, called it her magic soup when i was a kid, but i know it’s this, uh… its kinda like beef soup? Lots’a meat and potato, s’good with bread…”
Aleks nods slow with a sigh, eyes lidded, “get some rest, james. I want you nice and healed up so you can take my bomb-ass soup later.”
James hums quietly and passes the phone off with a quiet here, brett and aleks can hear the shuffling of bed sheets as he listens to brett walk out, “really? Soup?”
“Well, it was the first thing i saw,” aleks rolls his eyes, “but now i guess i gotta make soup when i get back.” brett hums, hanging up after telling aleks to be careful and getting a dismissive sigh in return. He just gets into the car, slipping his earpiece back in and starting up the car, “you ready to be nice now, jakob?”
“Fuck you, i bet your soup is shit.” jakob’s answer is immediate, and, despite the words, the grin echoes in his words and aleks can't help but laugh.
“Don't worry, it is, i haven’t made soup since… forever ago.” aleks drives along carefully, entering the last address.
“I'm gonna have to try the soup you bring in, ill spit it in your face if it’s bad. Your fuckin’ russian shark soup, too, what the fuck is that about?”
“Okroshka? where the fuck does shark come from?”
“Yeah, sounds gross. Distinctly slavic and sharky. What’s in it? Poison?”
Aleks laughs, rolling his eyes and rubbing his chin, “vegetables, potatoes, egg, spices, and you serve it with this beer called golden kvas as a dressing but i had a buddy that would put it in the soup-”
“So it is poison!”
“Basically, and you eat it cold during the summer with dill pickles and sour cream.” aleks grins fondly, turning onto a freeway, “you can put in meat too, and sugar.”
“Do you sing the communist anthem while you eat it?”
“I don't think that’s a thing, dude.” he checks both ways and waits for the green before driving forwards.
Things get a little hazy after that.
The first thing aleks realises when he comes to is that there’s a car headlight shining through the driver’s side window. The second thing is that his car, his new car, has just been brutally t-boned, the paint work is ruined and the body is barely salvageable. The third thing is jakob is practically screaming in his ear, but the sound is milky and muffled compared to the loud ringing in his ears; he drags himself out of the car with a broken cough, gritting his teeth and cursing before drawing his pistols, the crowd that had gathered around the accident site quickly dispersing with loud screams.
“-leks! Aleks!” jakob’s voice rings out a little clearer now, and it causes aleks to wince heavy, head throbbing dully, “holy fucking shit, aleks, oh my god, how are you not fuckin’ dead? Jesus christ, get somewhere safe, i'm sending brett-”
“Don't,” aleks croaks, standing fully and wincing at the pain in his side, leg bleeding slow, “don't worry, ive got this. But that ‘no injury’ dealio is certainly out the fuckin’ window.”
Jakob’s laugh is hoarse and shaky, “y-yeah, okay, fuck… there’s five men in the car, all of the guys from the last base. We’re running home base, man.”
“Have you ever even played baseball?” aleks smirks weak, crouching behind his now-ruined car, “you’re so lanky, you look more like a runner.”
“The fuck is a runner? I just played video games, man.”
Aleks laughs slightly, rolling his eyes before leaning up and shooting at the closest man. He goes down quickly, a clean bullet between the eyes, and aleks nods to himself. He crouches back down, shifting slightly and wincing before leaning up over his cover and shooting again. He hits the woman’s arm, but she doesn't go down, instead giving covering fire. Aleks picks up his shotgun when the third person gets close enough, the blast ruining their left leg at close range to the point of no return, sending the man crashing to the ground with a howl. Aleks puts him out of his misery with a pistol bullet to the head.
He turns back to the woman, shooting at her until she shifts too much, a bullet glancing the top of her head when she bobs up out of cover slightly. It seems to be enough, since it sends her to the ground with a loud thud.
“There’s one guy coming up on your other side, the other is hiding behind their car.”
Aleks nods, carefully moving to the other end of his car. He briefly remembers the man in his trunk and winces in sympathy before shooting at the closest man and taking him down. It’s finally one on one, and aleks can't help but be relieved. The pain is dulled slightly by the adrenaline, but its not magic, and every movement sends flares of pain up his left side. Aleks draws his knife, closing his eyes and sighing before rushing up to the other car.
The man hiding there had been expecting that, aleks realises as his knife is knocked from his hand and his body is slammed against the side of the car. Aleks’ yell of pain is cut off by the hand gripping his neck, and for once aleks is able to get a good look at one of the men he’s been killing.
Hes average height, barely taller than james, with dull grey eyes and deep acne scarring along his jaw. There’s a small smattering of stubble along his jaw, and his hair is pretty long. Aleks uses that to his advantage, leaning up and tugging at it hard enough to rip some out. The howl the man releases jars aleks slightly, ears ringing and brain rattling as he’s dropped to the floor. He sees his pistol, new scratches on the side from how it fell to the floor, and reaches for it rapidly, shooting the man faster than he can shout.
It’s silent, now, and aleks hates it. He stays laid on the floor, one hand gripping his pistol and the other on his chest, heart racing and head pounding. He can feel his pulse all throughout his body, every ache and pain amped up to a hundred.
“Aleks? You good?”
“Order postmates,” he mutters, voice hoarse, “i can't make soup right now. Minestrone.”
Jakob laughs, but agrees. Aleks stands slow and careful, wincing and picking up his scattered weapons before going over to the trunk of his car. When he opens it, regret fills his body. The man that was previously inside is… barely a man. Aleks shuts the trunk.
Aleks puts his weapons away carefully, strapping each one onto his body, before walking along slowly to the nearest street sign. There’s a wave of relief that floods his body when he realises he’s only a few blocks from the warehouse, so he decides to walk there.
“What’s the prognosis? You gonna need major work done?”
Aleks thinks about it, looking down at himself, before shaking his head, “nah, it’s not too bad. Mostly bruises, nothin’s broken. I really need a fuckin’ shower, though.”
Jakob laughs, “i'm sure we can arrange that for you.”
By the time aleks reaches the warehouse, james is still fast asleep. He’s patched up quickly by anna while jakob regails the entire story with wide eyes, gesticulating wildly with a bright smile. Aleks manages to break away from the group, scouring the kitchen before finding the can of soup and heating it up, taking the bowl to james and setting it on his bedside table, sitting down carefully next to his bed. He regrets not being able to make real soup for him, but what he doesn't know wont hurt him.
#my works#my writing#novahd#immortalhd#uberhaxornova#fake chop#cowchop#clusterfuck au#my fics#blood#gore#violence#soup? soup#alsojakob#brett hundley#oof i was proud of the comedy scenes but... action is not my forte
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((Drabble! For Hiromi!)) Death: My character’s reaction to your character dying. She'd most likely have died from a hit by the gobo family, but you've got creative freedoms!
The stag resting upon his shoulders was heavy, but he somehow managed to keep moving. Despite the total and complete weariness Wolf now felt from that tough hunt, the man was still determined to get his kill back home and take care of it properly. No half measures would be taken here.
Suddenly though, the stag landed on the ground with a thud. Instead of reaching down to pick it up, Eldricc – with his eyes wide and his mouth slightly opened – reached up to his ear and pressed a finger to the communication device that was suddenly as active as an angry beehive.
“Everybody shut the fuck up!” he snarled into the comms, pausing a moment after silence fell. “The bastard who did this – where’s he bein’ held? Her estate?” When his question had been answered, Eld immediately clicked off his earpiece, turned around, and took in a deep breath.
The cracking of bones, creaking of armor, and a deep, guttural snarl echoed throughout the forest as Eldricc made his transition into his more bestial form, growing in height, size, and weight. Canine features – sharp claws, white fur, and a long, fanged snout – overtook the hunter’s human guise, changing him entirely. Before long, a fearsome Worgen stood where Wolf had been just moments prior, and suddenly the beast dropped to all fours and took off back into the dense woods.
Torture, the hunter thought to himself as he tore through the thicket and undergrowth of the forest. That’s what’s gonna ‘ave t’happen…torture. That assassin prick’s gonna gimme everythin’ he knows, or his entire existence is gonna be sufferin’… Goddamn Copperfuse Goblins – fuck ‘em all… I’ll avenge ya, Hiromi, that much I swear.
Hours later after having made the trip up to the Petalpaw Estate on his loyal steed, Gunnvor, Eldricc stood before a beaten, bloodied, and bruised Sin’dorei chained to a wall. The hunter’s bearded face was illuminated by one of the flickering torches that graced the walls of this dark holding area, and a look of absolute rage was curled onto his scarred features.
(( Cut here because of angry Wolf doin’ some pretty bad torture. ))
“Ya answer me right now, lil’ fuckin’ elf, or you’re ne’er gonna see anyone ya care ‘bout ‘gain ‘n’ you’re gonna perish down ‘ere, with me.” After he finished speaking, Wolf jabbed the tiny, metal spike he was holding down in between one of the blood elf’s fingers and the nail that covered it, eliciting a wail of agony from the male. However, the captive still said nothing.
“D’ya think I’m lyin’ t’ya, mate?” Eld questioned a moment later, following up that statement with another spike in another finger, which drew a similar reaction from the Sin’dorei. Wolf then leaned down a little, his face right in front of the captive’s. “Or are ya just protectin’ your boss, huh? Tsk, if so, you’re dumber’n I thought when I walked in ‘ere.” At that, the elf raised his bright green eyes up to Eld’s own and, after a moment of silence, spat directly into the hunter’s face.
However, before the elf could say anything, a curled, solid fist slammed into the right side of his mandible, sending a tooth flying from his mouth and clinking onto the floor a few feet away. This was followed by a punch of equal power straight to the assassin’s groin, and then another directly onto his nose – shattering the fragile bones there.
“Ouch,” Wolf muttered, shaking his hand a little and wiping away the spit that had landed on his cheek. “Punchin’ hurts, don’tcha know? Buuuut…ya sorta evoked my wrath.” Humming softly, the hunter then crouched down slightly once more, only this time he raised a hand up and roughly grabbed onto the man’s chin in order to force the captive to look him in the eyes.
“It’s pretty pathetic, ya know, a proud Sin’dorei workin’ for a dirty, connivin’ lil’ Goblin. Seems rather atypical o’ your people, but I suppose surprises’re becomin’ more ‘n’ more common these days.” The blood elf stared the hunter down then, scowling heavily – or, well, it seemed like it at least, though the man’s face was incredibly battered by this point.
A few moments of silence passed before Eldricc gave a simple shrug, stood back to his full height, and turned around to face the table behind him. “Didn’t wanna ‘ave t’do this, but,” Wolf began, turning back around with what appeared to be a handheld vice in his clutch, “it seems ya leave me no choice. Say goodbye t’any future children ya might’ve planned on makin’.”
Before Eld could reach him again, the Sin’dorei – who now had a look of terror on his face – called out, “Wait! Just…please, wait.” Wolf, with a brow arched, did indeed wait. “Listen, I…i-if I tell you where h-he is, will you…let me go?”
A scoff left the hunter, who promptly set the vice back down and crossed his arms over his chest. “Depends on what kinda information ya give me, mate, so ya better make it real ploughin’ good.” A few hurried nods were given before the elf cleared his throat and began spilling…
As Wolf exited the room that had the prisoner kept inside of it, he was met by a few Pandaren, all of whom were scowling heavily. It seemed they wanted answers. “The bugger who ordered the hit’s from the Copperfuse family, as ya thought. However, now we know where his compound is.” He nodded once. “I’ll get my comrades t’arms, ‘n’ we’ll go bust down the door o’ that place, yeah? As for you folks…” Eld gestured over his shoulder, “the captive’s at your mercy.”
The Pandaren who had gathered in front of the door, after offering a few words of thanks to Eldricc, proceeded to flood into the room where the Sin’dorei was chained up, each with a look of determination on their faces and a fire of fury in their eyes.
Eld did not hear the screams of the blood elf inside that room after he had left it, for he was too busy communicating a plan of attack over the comms to the rest of his Collective. Now, the tired hunter was on the warpath…
Now, he could truly avenge his friend.
@clothespanda
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Clint&mystic being. Before Shield recruitment. Clint's captor gave him a wry smile “I'm not here to hurt you.” She traced the bridge of his nose with one finger. “I just couldn't not try to repay you for helping me.” “Then buy me a card or a fuckin' pizza, not whatever this is” Clint spat, some of the fog in his mind lifting. He cursed, managing a feeble twitch of his arms. The archer felt himself slipping away, her face seeming a great distance from him. “Just rest, it'll be okay."
treasures untold, mermaid!Darcy/Clint (T)
Okay, so I was totally stumped with this one, not gonna lie.
But then @paranoidwino reminded me that it’s MerMay and the plot bunnies took over (I thought this one was going to be short, and the muse just laughed and laughed). I hope you like it :D
tw: very, very brief threat of sexual assault
Now on AO3! It would mean a lot if you could leave a comment.
It was Clint’sfirst job in collections. At least,that’s what the mob boss had called it. He’d laughed uproariously at his ownjoke, and everyone else had laughed too, even though no one thought it wasfunny. Clint didn’t understand why people did that, but he went along with it.He was smart enough to know that he had to keep these people happy if he wantedto get paid. And he was so very hungry.
So he kept hishead down and didn’t ask questions. They were headed to the docks, to awarehouse owned by some weird collector guy. Clint didn’t know why they weregoing there or what they were gonna steal—his job was just to provide backup.He double, triple, and quadruple-checked his bow and arrows, just to make surethey were all there and accounted for. No one made fun of him for his weaponanymore. Not after he put an arrow through the last guy’s hand who tried to hithim.
Once they got to thewarehouse, Clint decided that he really should have asked more questions. Itwas full of the most beautiful, strange, and terrifying creatures he had everseen. And they were all alive.
The other guys spread outquickly, searching for whatever it was that their boss wanted. Clint tried hardto keep lookout and not get distracted by all the weirder animals, but some ofit was just insane. Then he heard ashout of excitement, and couldn’t help but turn and look.
It was one of the thugs, aparticularly mean one, who was leering at what appeared to be a—mermaid? Clint rubbed his eyes, surethat he must have been hallucinating. But no, when he looked again she wasstill there. The mermaid was trapped in some kind of aquarium, just big enoughto contain her contorted limbs. She looked young, around his age, and had longbrown hair. Her tail was a mixture of shimmery blues and greens, and seemed toshift colors in the light. She was…terrified. She was utterly terrified, andwithout thinking Clint moved closer.
“—that’s a pretty mouth yougot there, you little freak. I wonder, would you like to know how a mantastes?” the thug asked, pulling at his belt buckle.
Clint’s hand tightened on hisbow, and in a flash he’d knocked an arrow and pointed it at the asshole. “Leaveher alone,” he ordered, grateful that his voice didn’t shake. He definitelywouldn’t be getting paid after this. Looking at the terrified woman, hecouldn’t bring himself to regret it. She was staring at him, too, and placed apalm flat against the glass between them.
The man laughed, pullingClint’s attention back to him. “What are you gonna do about it, you littlepunk?”
“You really shouldn’t havesaid that,” Clint mocked, and released his arrow. Then, all hell broke loose.
When everything was said anddone, Clint had set part of the warehouse on fire and released all the othercreatures.
That should keep everyone busy for a while, he thought with vicious satisfaction as he made hisway back to the mermaid.
She shrunk back into thewater (as much as she could in such a confined space, anyway) as he approached,and Clint stopped several feet away from her and put his hands out in front ofhim slowly. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he reassured her. “I just want to getyou out of here. The whole place is about to go up in flames.”
“I can’t live outside thewater,” she cried in despair, but reached for him anyway. “I’m not old enough!I’ll suffocate.”
“I can get you to the docks,if you can hold on that long.” She nodded, and he scooped her out of the tankand headed for the exit as quickly as he could.
Just as he could make out thedocks through the dark, she started to fade. “Stay with me,” he said, jostling her body in his arms slightly to urge her awake. “You have to survive this, or it wasall for nothing.”
A soft chuckle escaped her atthat. “You’re so bitter for one so young,” she observed. “My name is Darcy,”she added. “What is yours?”
Clint stopped walking. He’dreached the end of the dock. “Clint,” he grunted as he slowly lowered her tothe water. “My name is Clint.”
He started to straighten up,only to hesitate as she reached up and placed her hand against his cheek.“Clint,” she murmured. He tried not to savor the way she said his name, andfailed. “You saved my life, Clint,” she said. Then she was gone.
“Yeah, yeah,” Clint grumbled,already turning to look at the devastation he’d wrought. “I just hope it wasworth it.” The place where she’d brushed her fingers across his cheek lingeredwith her warmth, and he couldn’t bring himself to be all that angry.
-:-
I knew this was a bad idea, was all Clint thought as he took a bullet to theshoulder and tumbled off the dock. After years of practice, he’d learned how tosteer clear of jobs that crossed the line. He’d developed a sense for it,knowing when a contract was likely to go bad or when he was likely to bedouble-crossed.
And damn it all if his guthadn’t been screaming at him on this one. But his stomach had been screaming,too, in hunger and starvation. So, he had taken the job against his betterjudgment, and look where it got him: shot by the assholes who gave him thecontract in the first place and left to either drown or bleed out from a bulletwound, whichever came first.
The pain in his shoulder wasexcruciating, but Clint refused to open his mouth to scream. Blood flowedfreely from his wound, muddying the water all around him. He was going todrown, down here in the dark and the cold, but all he could think about was themermaid he’d set free all those years ago. Howcould a creature so bright and fierce thrive in a place like this? hewondered hazily.
As if summoned from histhoughts, long brown hair floated into his line of sight, followed by two armsthat wrapped around him from behind. Something smooth slid along his legs, andthen he was yanked into motion. He screamed at that, swallowing bloody saltwater in agony. Everything went black
-:-
When Clint came to, he wasvomiting salt water. There was a hand at his back and a woman’s voice murmuringin his ear. Clint tried to move, but couldn’t do anything but expel the waterfrom his lungs. “That’s it, Clint. You’re going to be fine,” the voice soothed.Then a hand pressed on his uninjured shoulder, gently maneuvering him so thathe was lying on his back.
“Don’t be scared if..it’sjust a side effect….I used to treat your wound.” The words seemed to come fromfar away, fading in and out through the haze of pain. The woman leaned overhim, long hair spilling over one shoulder and onto his chest. Her grin wasfond, teasing almost. “How is it that you always manage to find yourself introuble like this, anyway?”
Clint’s eyes dartedrestlessly, trying to understand what was going on. He was in some kind ofcave, his shoulder hurt like hell, and his limbs were frighteningly heavy.Experimentally, he tried to turn his head. Hecouldn’t move. His breathing sped up, and he started to panic. Clint’scaptor—or was it rescuer? His head was so fuzzy and he couldn’t remember—gave him a wry smile. “It’s okay, Clint. I’mnot going to hurt you.”
Her smile shifted somethingin him, and he remembered. Darcy. Themermaid from the aquarium, with the gentle touch and a fiery spirit. Her namewas Darcy.
She gently traced the bridgeof his nose with one finger. Clint tried desperately to focus and not get lostin the depths of her eyes. Where was he?Why had she brought him here? His head swam, and he felt like she wascasting a spell on him. She added, “I just couldn’t not try to repay you forhelping me,” and withdrew her finger. Clint shifted forward, his bodysubconsciously chasing her touch.
As some of the fog in hismind lifted, a wave of fear swelled and crashed over him. His heart told himthat he was safe with her, but his body was fixated on its paralyzed state.After years of abuse in the circus and then life on the streets, Clint did nothave good memories of being tied up or pinned down.“Then buy me a card or afuckin’ pizza, not whatever this is,” he spat, shaking with fear. He cursed andfocused all his attention on wriggling free, but all he managed was a feebletwitch of his arms.
“Stop, you’re hurtingyourself. Clint!” she urged, concern for his well-being written all over herface. He saw it too late—understood it, and realized he had read the situationwrong. She was trying to help, hadsaved him. But a full-blown panic attack had already overtaken him, and hestarted to hyperventilate. She put both hands on either side of his face,coaxing him to breathe, but it was too late.
The archer felt himselfslipping away, trying desperately to hold on to Darcy’s face. But it keptshifting, moving a great distance from him. There was a soft brush against hisforehead, and the mermaid whispered, “Just rest, it’ll be okay.“
And then she sang him to sleep.
-:-
Clint woke to a blindingheadache. Literally blinding, as in the sun was shining directly into his eyes.He shifted his head to one side, trying to escape the ferocity of its rays,only to stick his nose and mouth directly into wet sand.
He sputtered and sat up,scrubbing at the sand on his face with a hand. A gritty hand, it turned out.“Aww, sand, no,” he whined, dropping his arm away from his face. The oceanstretched for miles in front of him, frothy and blue. Like a lightning bolt,everything came back to him.
Ignoring the sandy mess onhis face, Clint surged to his feet and scanned the waves frantically. There wasno sign of his mermaid. Worried that he’d run her off—or worse, made her thinkhe thought she was a monster—he took several rapid steps forward. The oceanlapped at his feet playfully, but he ignored it. Reaching up to shield his eyesfrom the blinding sunshine, Clint froze. A message was written on the inside ofhis forearm in feminine handwriting. Darcy.
We’re even,it read. Take care of yourself, hotshot.There was a tiny heart drawn at the end.
Clint stood there inconfusion for long minutes before he remembered the gunshot wound. He reachedup to touch the bloody mess at his shoulder and found smooth skin instead.Briefly, he considered diving back into the ocean and making her save himagain. But there was no guarantee she’d still be there, and Clint wasn’tinterested in drowning for real. He’d have to find her another way.
Months later, when Coulsonapproached him about joining SHIELD—“We could use someone with your skillset,Barton”—Clint pretended to be skeptical.
“Government agency? Soundsboring,” he taunted, daring the agent to prove him wrong. He wasn’tdisappointed.
Coulson lowered hissunglasses, staring right into Clint’s eyes. “Barton, you wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve seen.”
“Is that a promise, Agent?”
With SHIELD’s unwitting help,Clint would find his mermaid again.
-:-
(And he would find her again.Years later, and in the most unexpected place. After all, who would think tolook for a mermaid in the desert?
She took one look at thetattoo spanning his right forearm and laughed.Then she kissed him.)
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Top 9 Most Fight-Able Characters in Mystic Messenger
(ranked by the likelihood of winning from least to most likely)
9. “Mary” Vanderwood, Secret Agent Murdermonster
Result: A swift and painful death
Are you shitting me? You’ll be goddamn eviscerated on the spot. Not to mention nobody will ever find your body. This is completely fucking unadvisable. DO NOT DO THIS unless you have a DEATH WISH and want to disappear from the world completely. Vanderwood is not to be messed with. They've killed many a worthy foe, and you will not be one of them. There’s not much else to say here. I don’t care who you are, you should not challenge Vanderwood. Say your prayers, fucker
8. Unknown/Saeran Choi, Total Edgelord
Result: Utter defeat, probably followed by torture + imprisonment
I don’t think you need me to tell you that this kid is fucking off his rocker. Let’s be real, he’s probably killed a few people, and he enjoyed every minute of it. You can bet your ass he’ll likely torture you after defeating you, too. And you know, some of you sick fucks will probably enjoy the whole damn ordeal. You’re probably the only ones who’d WANT to fight him just to have him fucking step on you. Well congratu-fucking-lations, you got what you wanted. He still beats your ass. The only reason Vanderwood beats him in this ranking is because it’s possible he’d keep you alive for fun, and some of you would enjoy that, so at least it’s a fuckin victory for somebody. Fuck.
7. Jaehee Kang, Smarter than the CEO
Result: Total annihilation + jail time
Do you see this face? This is the face of someone who has been repressing violent urges for fucking years for the sake of keeping her job. If she could snap Jumin’s neck, she would in a heartbeat. You do not want to give her a justifiable reason to unleash that utter fucking rage on your sorry ass. Did you forget she has a black belt in judo? She could beat my ass. She could beat your ass. She could beat anyone’s ass. I don’t care WHO you think you are. And after the fight? She’ll report you to the proper authorities, pick up a cup of coffee, and finish her daily tasks like nothing fucking happened. What a wild bitch. I fucking love her to death, tbh. And you know what? How dare you challenge her. She deals with enough shit in her life. I hope she beats your ass with a righteous fucking fury. Have fun in jail, dipshit.
6. God 707, Meme Lord Supreme
Result: Depends on your approach, but probably a failure
Honestly Seven’s about as fucking predictable as a lunch box full of wasps. What am I even supposed to say here? He’d probably imitate that shitty ass vine meme the first time you punch him and say “I can’t believe you’ve done this”, complete with a British accent, but when you keep hitting, it’ll confuse him. The element of surprise is probably your best bet, but you also have no fucking clue what he’ll do. He might beat the shit out of you. He might scamper away on his scrawny ass legs and proceed to hack into everything you once loved or held dear. He might lay down on the ground and let you kick the shit out of him. In the end, it depends on his mood. Is that reliable at all? Absolutely fucking not. So go for it, but I literally have no idea how it’s gonna turn out for you.
5. Zen/Hyun Ryu, A God Among Men
Result: You have a good chance of winning, but at what cost?
OK BEFORE YOU LOSE YOUR MIND LISTEN THE FUCK UP. Why is Zen higher up on the list, Nani??? you ask me, pouting, clutching your Zen body pillow(s) in agony. Zen had a bad past!! He’s not easy to fight, he was such a bad boy!! v//w//v He’s so tough and strong and he’s our knight in shining armor! Hey!! Good for you! But GUESS FUCKING WHAT!! If you’re female, he’ll probably forfeit to you immediately, unlike the barbarians before him on this list, so technically he’s easier to fight! He’d probably LET you beat the shit out of him if it made you feel better. It’s not even a fucking question of who would win if a woman challenged him, so we’re gonna move on.
Now, if you’re a GUY, he’d be more willing to square up, and my advice is go for his face. Pretty boy doesn’t like messing up his pretty mug, and if you play dirty, he’ll get scared real quick. His ponytail is a disadvantage for him, so yank it real hard. You have a better chance of beating him with perseverance, but if you let him get the upper hand, you’re deceased because he’s probably a heavy hitter. Also, you will incur the wrath of all his fangirls, and probably the angels above, and you will spend the rest of your life MISERABLE AND CURSED, so proceed with caution. If you can get away with it without anyone knowing your identity, you’re golden. Good luck, but also, why? do you even want to??
4. Jumin Han, Mistah Trussfund Kid (The CEO)
Result: Instant win, but your life will be RUINED
Honestly, I think certain RFA members would actually be very glad if someone handed Jumin’s ass to him, but good fucking luck accomplishing that without having your entire life destroyed. On a purely physical level, Jumin is no competition. He may be the tallest motherfucker around, but he’s never fought anyone before in his LIFE. You’d probably only have an issue here if you were short as shit, and even then, go for the knees, amirite? He’ll fall like a fucking oak tree, and then you can rip him a new one while he’s down. Easy peasy, right? WRONG. He’s got a horde of like 50 bodyguards that you have to sneak past or defeat first or something. And if you somehow make it to Jumin first, they’ll swarm your ass after you first start swinging and have you incapacitated in a few seconds. Are those first few swings worth it? Maybe. But he’s gonna sue your ass for everything you own. The whole world will know your name. If you don’t get jail time, you’ll wish you had. It will be an easier life than trying to live in the public. Zen and Jaehee might love you forever, though, so maybe they can pull a few favors for ya. You better pray they do. Good fuckin luck out there, champ.
3. Yoosung Kim, Small Child
Result: Victory, but with a catch
Look into this child’s eyes. Look me in the eyes. Tell me that Yoosung isn’t a fucking pansy. You can’t, can you? It’s because Yoosung is a fucking pansy. This kid would be down for the count after exactly one (1) punch. He might enjoy it a little too, which’ll be awkward as shit for both of you. HOWEVER. If you trigger his Yandere side, which is bullshit but whatever, he might put up more of a fight. How do you do this, you may ask? Insult Rika. or MC. (Probably Rika tho). Something inside him will snap, and then he’ll be trickier to handle. He’ll probably play dirty when he’s like this, so expect to get shanked or bitten or something. It doesn’t change the fact that his scrawny ass can’t fight for shit, so you’ll still probably win, but not without a few injuries yourself. Hurting Yoosung is probably the moral equivalent to kicking a puppy. If you can be ok with yourself after that, then I mean, go for it.
2. Rika, the Antichrist
Result: Certain victory, but extremely dangerous
Look, maybe I should’ve put her lower on the list considering she’s got an entire cult following her every order. But, honest to God, you would be morally obligated to fight her. Please beat the shit out of her. Physically, her scrawny ass could do nothing to stop you. She’s ruined the lives of her friends, as well as countless other people, because of her deranged and, quite frankly, selfish desires. Basically, she’s a little bitch. I don’t know how you’ll do it, but god damn, you’ll be everyone’s hero. The downside to this is that she might sick Saeran on you, which is gonna be a pain in your ass, and Yoosung might hate you forever, but I think you can live with that, right? Do us all a favor. Fight Rika.
1. Jihyun Kim/V, aka Flower Angel Sunshine Man
Result: Total Victory, but you’re basically Satan
BEFORE YOU SEND ME ANON HATE, REMEMBER: this is a list based on how likely you are to win. And V? V would let anyone beat him. He probably thinks he deserves it. He might defend himself a little, but he couldn’t bring himself to hurt you. Your victory would be almost immediate. There is no catch to V. You’d just win. But you’re a fucking monster for it. And you know what? I’ll beat the shit out of you if you hurt this man. So don’t even think about it, asshole.
#mine#mysme#mystic messenger#vanderwood#saeran#saeran choi#unknown#jaehee#jaehee kang#seven#707#saeyoung choi#saeyoung#luciel#luciel choi#zen#hyun ryu#jumin#jumin han#yoosung#yoosung kim#rika#v#jihyun kim#fight them#mystic memes#AYYY GUESS WHO WAS ABLE TO UPLOAD PHOTOS
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