This morning at church i started crying during the first line of the first song in worship, so unexpectedly, and I could barely choke out the words to sing along.
He is jealous for me, loves like a hurricane, I am a tree Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy
He is jealous for me. I’ve been so elsewhere. So empty. I’ve felt so distant from God because my anxiety has made me feel so hopeless. But He is jealous for my thoughts. How I feel does not change who He is. Even when I am not thinking about Him, He is thinking about me. and He loves me so immensely. no matter what. no matter how far away I feel, no matter how much I resist His loving hands, no matter how broken I am. I cannot escape His love.
even though i’m in this weird and miserable and lonely place in my life right now, He hasn’t changed. it terrifies me that i’m at such a low point again… that i was able to get so far away after being so close. But He’s still here. He’s with me, even when I don’t see it. I’ll be okay.
What if the Oversight Sub-Committee was never investigating the Director at all?
What if Hargrove used the weight of his title and the resources he had as Charon Industries CEO to make the Director think the UNSC was coming after him, when in reality it was the Chairman’s tech-gathering crew all along?
Hargrove wasn’t interested in bringing the Director to justice.
Hargrove was interested in scaring the Director into hiding, so that he could gather up what the Director dropped on the mad dash out the door.
When Katsura remembers Shouyou, he remembers his voice – soft and slow, as though he were measuring every word. He remembers his lectures, delivered with a gentle kind of emphasis, giving every date, every name, every word equal weight. He remembers him humming absentmindedly during music lessons, as though he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
He also remembers a lack of passion in that voice, too quiet, too reserved, too measured. Too much like his grandmother’s, after she buried her children. Too much like his own.
Katsura remembers Shouyou’s voice and hears love in it, but his skin crawls at the thought of the emptiness underlying it.
In pop culture, the name “Devastator” carries certain weight—literally. Devastator was the first super-robot (gestalt
to you fans out there) in the Transformers line, formed when the Constructicons
combined. Other giant robots would come
along (I always thought Bruticus and Predaking were terrifying) and neither the
individual Constructicons nor Devastator were the brightest tools in the
shed…so you’d think familiarity would breed contempt. But Devastator’s place in our mental
mythology was secured by his appearance in The
Transformers Movie, when the hushed voice of the otherwise jaded,
I’ve-seen-it-all Kup whispers a horrified “Devastator” as the giant bot takes shape. This was soon followed up by a shot that puts
the audience in the Autobot defenders’ POV as Devastator rips open their
defenses while Megatron calls for slaughter.
From then on, Devastator’s iconic status was assured.
So if you’re going to use the name “devastator” in your
game, you better deliver. Pathfinder’s devastator does, with a CR 22/MR
8 Gargantuan war machine powered by the soul of a corrupted and imprisoned
angel being tormented for all eternity.
It’s got immunities and damage/spell resistance galore, its attacks are +5 unholy anarchic weapons that deal
every kind of damage, it has nasty spell-like abilities like implosion and an at-will blade barrier, its aura boosts demonic
allies, and the thing even absorbs good magic to gain temporary hit
It. Is. A. Nightmare.
In fact, it’s so grim and grisly it feels like something
more out of the Warhammer or even the Warhammer 40K universes rather than
Pathfinder. Even the Bestiary 5 art seems like Warhammer
art—no surprise, since Helge C. Balzer also does work for Games Workshop. And that’s perfectly appropriate for a
construct this mythic and monstrous.
When you want to shrink the hope of Good and Man down to a single
flickering candle flame…and then introduce a hurricane to snuff that flame
out…the devastator is the way to go.
One final note: Remember what I said about every cannon
golem having a name? That goes triple for devastators. (In fact, the full entry in Pathfinder Adventure Path #78: City of
Locusts outlines the three named devastators known to patrol Golarion’s
Obviously, devastators are meant to lead demonic
invasions. Since I assume you can handle
that, here are three more unusual scenarios involving devastators:
When the army of
demons and oni burst out of the Shadow Realm, their first target was
Rotaru, the jinushigami whose forest lined the slopes of the Sleeping
Mountain. After three days and nights of
fighting, the outsiders fed the exhausted elder kami into the eternal burning
furnace of a devastator prepared especially for his tree-trunk frame. Now not only do the demons have a new weapon
of war for the second phase of their invasion, but as long as the mountain
spirit is imprisoned the Sleeping Mountain will smoke, blotting out the rays of
the sun so the dark spirits can frolic.
There was a time when
demons were common in space, their ships knifing through the blackness like
horrible flaming sharks. Driven back and
sealed within the Pain Nebula, demons are no longer a threat, but their many
war machine creations are. Demon moons
not tied to any one planet or star float from system to system, their surfaces
pockmarked with scars and furnaces. Some
of these carry undead, shadows, oozes, degenerate races like morlocks, and
especially constructs. Nearly every
demon moon is patrolled by at least one devastator, and true demon worlds may
Taniyar was an angel
rescued from the metal gizzard of a devastator after a century of
torment. She spent twice that long recovering
in a celestial hospice as her body and mind were restored. Only the healing of her mind didn’t take. Now she longs to return to the only home that
makes sense to her, the excruciating cage at the heart of a devastator. Adventurers investigating either an incident
of vandalism and theft at a heavenly library or the disappearance of Taniyar
herself will eventually track her to the Junk Plane, where she has just used
the stolen plans to finish constructing a new devastator. The construct will be her agonizing home for
the next millennium as she smashes world after world.
I had meant to do this before Sam’s trolling activities resulted in this lovefest. For @st-teresa-of-avila, put your knives away you big softie. It’s SamCait fanfic so guess what? It’s fiction. You get bonus points if you know where he's at and when it happens.
Littlefoot’s training is coming along great! Now that he’s easily hooding, I’m starting to take him outside for flight training. Today was his first real creance training and he took to it like a champ! No fear about being in a new environment and was flying to the glove before I could even get 30 feet away! He did way better than I expected and is working at a higher weight that I thought he would too.
These are the longest flights I’ve seen him do so far. He flies in a very fast, darty manner and is almost twitchy in the way he moves. Can’t wait to see what his flights after game look like!
“He told me that there were big plans for that little fish.”
The fallen angel’s voice carried along with the crashing of waves as the sun
mellowed from its perch at the line where water met sky. “I never thought that
a small little grey fish could be part of such a grand plan.”
Dean didn’t really understand the weight of this
recollection but he nodded with a stern face. What he did understand was the
feel of sand tickling his toes and the weight of the hand in his. Even with the
salty breeze attacking his senses, he was still grounded to the man who had
brought him to this place.
“I remember finding you in hell. Your soul was damaged,
charred almost beyond recognition. I watched you long enough to see you torturing
others. And even as I watched as you ripped souls, God’s greatest creations, to
pieces… I remember what my brother had said. Don’t step on that fish. Big plans
for that little fish.” Castiel turned his eyes from the bubbling ends of waves
to meet the pure green that shadowed the soul inside Dean Winchester. “So I pulled
you out, as I was commanded to do. Not a day goes by that I ever think about
what life would be like if I hadn’t.”
“The shore always brings me solace. It was the start to
everything.” With a small smile Castiel turned his shoulders to face Dean and
knelt until one of his knees was pressing into damp sand. Looking up into
shocked eyes, Cas sighed. “Dean Winchester, will you do me the honor of being
Dean blinked once, twice, even thrice to make sure he wasn’t
imagining what was happening. And when he searched his heart for doubt, he
found none. All he could do was return the fallen angel’s smile and nod, too
afraid his voice would fail him.
Just as the sun melted below the sea, Castiel slipped a ring
upon Dean’s finger and kissed his salt-laced lips.
Exhausted was quite the accurate word to describe Sirius. As he settled into the couch in the common room, his limbs practically sighing with him, he couldn’t help but think that he needed a drink. The funeral for James’ grandmother the day before hadn’t exactly been the highlight of his week. It devastated him to see James so torn up, especially knowing that there was nothing he could do. Along with that, Sirius had quit using the stolen batch of dreamless sleep potion, which meant every night was either full of tossing and turning or punctuated with nightmares.
The more he thought about it, the more he wanted that drink, but before he could rise to his dorm he felt a weight settle onto the couch beside him. His first thought, and hope, was for it to be Marlene. The red hair told him otherwise. “Hey, tosser,” Sirius greeted Fabian lazily.
“Sam I’m pregnant.” Of all the things Sam was expecting you to say, that was not it. His eyes darted to your stomach and then back up. He sat down, the weight of your statement settling around both of you.
“Jesus. Is it-how-“
“Don’t you dare ask me if its Dean’s when we both know I haven’t been with anyone other than him. I’m three months along. I-I don’t think I can do this alone Sam.” You could tell by looking at Sam that he didn’t understand how frightened you were.
“Yes you-“ The panic rose in your chest a little more with each passing moment. You had thought you came to terms with the news but the more you thought about the more panicked you became. You cut Sam off in your panic, trying to make him understand.
“The doctors kept telling me I’m a high risk pregnancy. I’ll have to give myself shots of heparin everyday at least once a day. Shots Sam! I hate shots! And they expect me to give them to myself! In my belly! Shots! Plus I’ll have doctor appointment’s almost every week, Sam I just, I don’t think I can do this alone. I wasn’t supposed to do this alone.” The last part was a whispered confession. It was a thought that had crossed your mind many times today. You never thought about being a mother. Not while you were hunting and it never occurred to you that you would leave that life behind. But when you were younger and thought about being a mom you always thought the dad would be present. You weren’t naïve, you knew every family was different. Many kids are raised by a single parent. Who doesn’t think of that cookie cutter family when they think of having one of their own though? Two parents, the child, maybe a dog or a cat, that was normal right?
“Y/N you won’t be alone, I’ll go to as many doctor appointments as I can, and Cas can go to the others. I’ll help you. We’ll get you a place for just the two of you and I’ll make sure you don’t ever feel like you’re doing this alone. You can do this Y/N. We can do this.” His eyes locked on to you and he held your hand in his much larger one. You had started crying again, damn hormones. Sam didn’t mind, he only brushed your tears away before placing a gentle kiss to your temple.
“He-he wouldn’t want this baby would he?” Another thought that was plaguing your mind.
“He would, Y/N. Dean isn’t himself with the mark, you know that. Dean would love this baby and love you. But I think we need to get him back to himself before we tell him. Are you okay with that?” You only shrugged; you didn’t think Dean would care with or without the mark. He never loved you like that, not the way you loved him. He only came to you when there weren’t any other options. But that hadn’t been the case for you. Dean was all you wanted. You worried that if you did tell Dean, even after the mark was gone, that he would feel obligated to stay with you. Not stay because he wanted to but because it was his duty.
This baby was a piece of you both, a piece of the man you loved; a piece of Dean. That alone was enough to make your heart swell. Your hand rested over your tiny baby bump. Your mind was in a thousand different directions. One thing you knew for sure was that you would love this little bean with everything you had. Sam’s hand covered yours and you looked up into his warm eyes. You expected to see the same fear mirrored in his eyes or sorrow, or even anger. Instead, you found a contagious grin spreading from his mouth to his eyes.
“I’m going to be an uncle.” It was impossible not to smile back as you listened to Sam tell your baby all about himself, Cas, and Dean. You just hoped Dean would soon be the man that Sam was describing.
Two months later you sat in your living room attempting to paint your toes. A knock sounded on the door and you waddled over to answer it. Sam and Cas both wore matching grins when you opened the door. Cas wrapped you in a gentle hug while kissing your cheek. Sam skipped you and went straight for the ever growing bump.
“We get to find out what you are today little bean!” You pushed him away and moved so each of them could get inside. Sam laughed at your grumpy expression.
“Is it time for another doctor’s appointment already?” All you did was go to the doctor. It was time for your little bean to come out. You sank down in your previous spot on the couch. Sam sat next to you and Cas stood across from you by the window. Sam didn’t even hesitate before he began to paint your toes for you. It wasn’t the first time since the pregnancy that he’s helped you paint your toes. You doubted it would be the last. The first time was horrible! The two of you got so giggly that you were afraid you were going to go into labor. The skin on your toes looked red for a month afterwards. He’s gotten much better since then but you stay away from reds.
“Oh I’m so thankful for you; can you to shave my legs next? Just kidding…kind of. I can’t reach those either and no one told me that you can just kiss smooth legs away when your ego is prego. Or a social life, you guys are the only people I see anymore. You and Charlie. Well, I don’t see her but I talk to her. I miss her.” You sighed in sadness but kept your eyes closed. If Sam kept this up you would be sleeping soon, your mind was already drifting to sleep. But Sam clearing his throat interrupted that. Eyes popping open you looked between both men who were glaring at one another. They were having a silent argument and you didn’t like it one bit. Your nerves were on guard.
“What? What is it? I swear I gave myself the shot this morning. I’m not due for another one till tonight. I swear.” Sam and Cas had discovered how bad you freaked at the idea of giving yourself a shot. More than once they had to force you to do it or give it to you themselves.
“Y/N, Dean….Dean’s been asking about you.” You gave Sam a blank look.
“Okay? What’s new? You say he’s always asking if you heard from me. I still get calls and texts from him. What’s the big deal?” Despite your blank look dread filled your stomach like lead. You did everything in your power to lose all contact with Dean. You and Sam decided not to tell him about the pregnancy. Sam kept you updated about what was going on though and your heart broke every time you heard he was getting worse. You couldn’t stand the idea of Dean being so lost. Charlie was the only one to give you news now. Sam tensed up and changed the subject when you asked and Castiel was rude enough to just zap out. She told you last week he was more violent than ever but thought her and Sam might have a cure soon. You hoped they found one.
“He knows we are in contact with you.” This time it was Cas that spoke up. Your eyes widened and you looked at him with concern.
“How? Haven’t you been careful? I told you when things got bad to leave me be. Don’t risk him getting upset. Charlie told me that even little things set him off, how did he respond to that? Huh? Fuck guys.” You didn’t know what to do, the last thing you wanted was for Dean to go after Sam and Castiel because of you. He called you every now and then but the voicemails he left weren’t exactly loving and making you rush back to him. Not at all.
“He didn’t say anything, he just told us he knew and then moved on.” Oh. Okay….you’d rather him be mad. No reaction felt worse. Yeah…you definitely wanted him to show some kind of reaction.
“So what’s the big deal then? Why are ya’ll arguing over this?”
“Because I think that means we can go about things the way we have been. Castiel feels like we need to back off from you, at least till we know that Dean won’t come looking for you.” You rolled your eyes and shot a look to Cas.
“It’s clear Dean doesn’t give a shit Cas. And I’ll be damned if Sam misses the birth of my child. Dean won’t come looking for me. He won’t. He doesn’t care. He only misses his fuck toy and nothing more.” Tears leaked from your eyes despite the anger in your voice. You were both pissed off and heartbroken and that pissed you off even more. Neither man said anything about Dean again the rest of the day. Which you were thankful for that. It was hard enough doing all these things involving his unborn child without him. Which is why when the nurse told you that you and Sam were having a little girl you burst into tears.
“I’ll give you two some space.” You hiccupped and Sam thanked the nurse.
“Shhh, hey it’s a girl! You can do all those things you talked about wanting to do! Play dress up, teach her how to shoot a gun, how to fish….and of course put giant bows in her hair. Hey shhhh-“ His efforts at helping you feel better were not working. At all.
“She-she’s she’s gonna look just like him and he’ll never know her. S-s-Sam she won’t even have the chance to be a daddy’s girl. He should be here.” Not Sam, was the silent statement at the end of the sentence. But Sam didn’t flinch or run away. He helped wipe of the gel from your stomach and held you close the rest of the day.
“I’ll see you soon, okay?” You were kind of relieved that he was leaving. You wanted to sort through your emotions alone.
“Okay, hey Sam…I’m sorry about today. She’ll be lucky to have you in her life, I hope you know that.” Smiling back at you he nodded and turned to leave. You watched as his old truck turned left out of your driveway, hoping he understood why you felt the way you did.
The next few months were spent with Sam and working on the nursery. Cas coming to bring you treats and future toys for your little girl, and you trying to pick out a name. Going to doctor appointments, and distracting yourself from news of Dean. You found yourself putting the last touches in the nursery when the doorbell rang. Assuming it was Sam you waddled to your door and pulled it open. Your mouth fell open in shock when Dean stood on the other side. His eyes were as wide as yours as he took in the massive form that was your belly.
“Dean.” You hated that his name fell from your lips like an answered prayer. You hated that your heart leapt to your throat. That your eyes watered when his dazzling green ones met yours. You hated he could still have this effect on you.
“Y/N. I- can I come in?” You nodded and moved out of his way. It was clear that neither of you knew what to say. You led him to the kitchen and watched as he sat down.
“Can I get you anything?” He shook his head no, eyes still trained on you. No, not you but your stomach. You poured yourself a glass of water and hobbled over to the chair opposite of him. He jumped up to pull your chair back. But still neither of you spoke.
“How could you not tell me you were having my kid?” The anger in his voice took you off guard. You grew defensive of your actions and yourself.
“Maybe it’s not yours!” You huffed back. His eyebrow shot up in a “don’t bullshit me” manner and you regretted your childish comeback.
“Really Y/N? Is that how you want to play this?” You were fighting the overwhelming instinct to run and hide from his piercing glare.
“No, it’s not. I don’t want to play at all. But I also don’t know what to say. You made it clear I wasn’t wanted or needed. I was only a fuck buddy and I didn’t want you to stay with us out of pity or obligation.” He dragged his hand down over his face, drawing attention to how tired he looked. How ragged.
“Y/N, that’s not-I didn’t mean any of that. I swear, and you were more than a fuck buddy. I thought you knew that. I-Christ. Y/N I loved, no I love you damn it! And you don’t get to run away from me or this. I want you and I want this family. You don’t get to make that decision for me.” By now he was kneeling in front of you, large hands cupping your cheeks that were coated in tears.
“I thought-I thought it wasn’t anything serious for you. I thought-“
“You thought wrong Y/N, you were the only girl I was with. Since the moment you gave me the time of day, I knew you were what I wanted. You were the only thing I needed. Y/N, please. Please give me a shot. Please.” His forehead rested against yours as he begged you. You only nodded in response, to overwhelmed for words. He kissed your forehead, your cheek, and then kissed your belly.
“It’s a girl….” You still felt cautious around him but maybe you could give this a shot. Just maybe.
‘Hey princess, it’s your Daddy. I’m gonna spoil you rotten.” As if she was waiting for this moment all along when Dean kissed your belly for a second time your water broke.
“Shit! Dean you need to call Sam.”
“Now! My water broke!” You didn’t have time to notice the many missed calls from Sam and Castiel.
entire afternoons are laid to waste
before cyclical thoughts,
as I smoke myself senseless,
for a change of pace.
days have been dismal
as of late,
they’ve stopped asking
why he just got up
no swan song airing
of pent up grievances
to haunt us
until the end of our days,
we have past the point
of hollow rumors,
as grave-faced realists.
although our encounters
i find myself searching
for his ghost
along empty waterfronts,
and forgotten parks,
hoping to catch a glimpse
of that boy
by the weight
of an unseen world.
Could you please do an imagine where Roman and his girlfriend are working out and he is totally checking her out the entire time?? Maybe a little smut (:
“No. Hell no.”
“The outfit. That is not gym appropriate. At all.”
I look down at my midi compression shorts and sports bra. The sports bra is really more of bralette length. I personally thought I looked decent.
“What part of compression shorts and sports bra doesn’t scream appropriate?”
Joe quickly pulls me to the side by the weights. His thick brows almost join as one. “All of this,” he uses his finger to slide from the hem of the bra, down to the waistband of my shorts, “is only mine to look at. And these are way too short.” His free hand quickly skirts along the tops of my thighs, sending sweet waves of want a little north of where his fingers roam.
I smile at his territorial rant. Him wanting me all to himself, twenty-four seven is the biggest turn on yet. “Surely you didn’t think I was going to wear a sweater and sweat pants.”
I thread my fingers between his, and lift his heavy hands closer to my face. I kiss each knuckle softly wanting to ease his tension. “This is a private gym. There are a total of maybe twenty people here. It’s no big deal.”
“All of this precious skin showing is a big deal.” His hands glide down over my shoulders and stop at my thighs. “It’s mostly guys in here, baby. How about you slide my shirt on?”
My fingers automatically curl against his yummy abs. “No. Hell no.” I shake my head. “There are also women here. You shirtless is not appropriate gym attire.”
“Ooh. Touchy, touchy, aren’t we now?” His tone is playful, but it doesn’t hide his scold on me.
“Hmm.” Double standards. Completely lame of me. “I see your point. I still don’t want you shirtless.” I wrap my arms around his wide torso and squeeze him a little.
“I’ll grab one of the gym shirts. You can take my shirt.”
Joe’s fingers find their way to my hair, pulling my face up to his. His perfectly pink lips press against mine and I am reeling. Jesus, I love him. As quick as his lips came to mine, they’re gone. I groan inwardly, but comply with the exchange of shirts because we’re here to workout. Not to make out.
I hop onto a treadmill, adjust the incline and get to speed walking. Most people listen to music at the gym. But no song could ever compare to watching Joe workout. I watch him work with the weights, testing and pushing his own limits, his tattoo sleeve glistening with sweat… He watches me, ogle over him. And so a pattern develops. I move to the stair master and he moves to the treadmill right across from me. The thick veins wrapped around his arms are just begging me to reach out and grab him. The intensity in his stare does bad, bad things to my libido. I move to the weights, and of course, Joe moves to one of the back machines in my line of vision. A delightful and antagonizing view.
After a few more switches, and a lot more eye fucking, we meet in the hallway to the locker rooms to stretch.
“Did you enjoy the show?” Joe asks, his voice thick and I know it’s because he’s ready to go… the bulge in his basketball shorts is unmistakable.
“I definitely did.” I peel the lime green shirt off of my body and throw it over my shoulder. “Did you?”
He lets out a deep breath. “Delayed gratification really isn’t my thing. You should know that by now.”
Boy, do I. Patience isn’t my strong suit either. I move over to him and twirl the strings of his shorts. I make sure my fingers graze his pelvis just enough to tease him. “Then how about… we skip the shower and head straight home.”
One eyebrow shoots up. Clearly we’re both feeling frisky. “You getting impatient, baby?”
The tips of my finger cling to the waistband of his shorts and I tug him to me. He stumbles forward and my back hits the cool wall. “Very.”
“You’re giving me your hungry eyes, baby.” Joe licks my lower lip quickly, and then bites down roughly. The small sting of pain shoots straight between my hips. “I’ve got a better idea.”
He quickly leans down, grabbing the back of my thighs and wrapping them around his hips. I wrap my arms around his neck as he makes a run for it.
“What are you doing?” I squeal, bouncing against his body. And god, does it feel good.
We zip down the long hallway, past men’s locker room and into the women’s locker room.
“Joe!” I half whisper. I don’t want anyone that may be in here to catch him. “You can’t be in here. You’re going to get us both in trouble.”
In his thick voice, laced with arousal, he whispers into my neck, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
I throw my head back as his grip on my behind tightens. Fuck it. “I won’t tell.”
He continues his assault on my neck, my collarbones, my jaw and finally devouring my lips with his. It isn’t until I feel the water rain over my face that I realize he walked into one of the small shower stalls. If anyone comes in, he’d definitely be spotted over the barrier. A man over six feet is kind of hard to miss, but thankfully he chose a corner shower at the back so if anyone spots us, they have to want to see us.
“You have to be quiet, baby. Okay?” He wraps my legs around him tighter before letting my back rest against the tiled wall. He tugs my sports bra off and it lands on the floor with a splash.
“I can’t make any promises.” I’m not shy about my pleasure where he’s concerned.
“I love when you wear my clothes. You smell just like me.”
I lift his shirt over his head and let it fall. Joe sets my feet on the ground, and the squish of my sneakers in the water makes me realize our little mistake. He moves quickly to take every item of clothing off me, like a child on Christmas morning. If he doesn’t care about our clothes and sneakers, neither do I. My fingers fumble, but quickly work their magic to get his glorious body naked. And before I can grasp it, Joe picks me up and wraps me around him.
His erection presses and slides against the tiny nub between my legs and I groan a little louder than I should. Joe muffles my groan with his mouth. I hungrily bite at his lips, kissing him hard, having no mercy on him as he moans into my mouth. His hips leave mine for a split second, and then he slowly slides himself into me. I cry out a long, broken, high-pitched sob. At this moment if someone were to walk in, I really wouldn’t care.
Title: What’s in a Name? Summary: Because it meant more to her than he knew. Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. Prompt: Keepsake Rating: K+ Comments: This is very late because I’ve been falling asleep on my prompts, and I don’t know? I wish I could have ended it better. But I think to continue where I left off would have been weird. heh. enjoy!
leaned back on his heels, his eyes sharp as he watched her move through the
marketplace. Everyone else would have made the comment on her hair - the color
of finely hewn rubies, but he couldn’t stop looking at her eyes. Her
eyes were a bright shade of green, flecked with something darker, like
malachite. She was clever, attentive, precise, knowledgeable, and a whole slew
of other adjectives that came to the forefront of his thoughts. She was… different.
Perhaps a little bit plain, with the exception of her hair, but still… different.
He reached into his pocket and
fingered the piece of folded paper, and it felt strangely heavy against his
thigh, like a weight that was pressing against more than just his skin. He ran
the pad of his thumb along the edges to keep his mind focused on the task and
away from her intriguing eyes. She was, after all, just an object, meant to be
captured and sold to the person her hired him.
she carved a space within his ribs,
left her name scrawled along
hollow collarbones, traced the
constellations on his back and
admired the way his shoulders
bore the weight of the world.
he tattooed his name on
her beating heart, the monster
that lived in his chest roared
to life beneath her delicate fingers
and he wished for the stars so
she could have a piece of the cosmos
to remember him by.
because, as he knew, good things
couldn’t last that long.
Tadashi physically couldn't breathe as he leaned down and pressed one last lingering kiss to your slightly bruised mouth. Mentally, he hasn't breathed so clearly until this very moment. The way your fingers tangled deep inside of his ebony hair, and the natural warmth that built up between the two of you as the so called ‘afterglow’ began.
His bare hips pressed against yours slightly, as he didn’t put his full weight down on your smaller body. There was no need for words, he thought and watched as you dozed off slightly, trying desperately to stay awake though you weren't succeeding.
You heard him chuckle deep in his chest though, as you idly ran a circle along his right shoulder blade with a gentle finger. The pure bliss of accepting your love came like second nature to Tadashi as his forehead pressed against yours slightly, and he readjusted so you were laying on your side, his arms still around you. You merely squeaked at the sudden movement but didn’t let that deter you from your fingers running shapes on his slightly damp skin. He looked at you once again and smiled softly.
There’s no need for words because I know how much she loves me. And she knows how much I love her.
The thing about being pregnant that Sam was not warned about was the aches and pains that came with gaining so much weight in such a short period of time. Especially since Dean and Gabriel and Castiel were not willing to let him continue hunting. They even insisted on getting him to stop researching for a while. Apparently the stress of researching might be a bad thing for the baby.
Not that Sam was complaining much. At seven months along, he was happily comfortable on the couch watching some TV while he dipped some sausages into a container of chocolate ice cream. (And he thought at one point that the food Dean ate was disgusting… Stupid pregnancy cravings). And frankly, he was enjoying his vacation.
Just a stupid branch— Or had it been a root? It probably didn’t matter in the end. The only thing mattering was that it had been in the way when Black approached him for whatever reason, evoking the usually so stoic alternate to trip rather ungracefully over his own feet and right towards him. No surprise that it knocked him over as well when the assassin bumped into him, forcing Touya to land rather harshly on his behind, yet the additional weight resting on him kept the boy from letting out a noise of surprise and pain.
Geez, who would have thought that Black would be so heavy. ..either that, or he was just weaker than he expected himself to be. Not a pleasant thought, but it seemed rather obvious right now, considering that he found himself unable to shove the other off again. Too close, Blackie was way too close. Clothes brushed together, warm breath scathed along his neck; everything was sufficient enough to have his cheeks flare up in a surge of embarrassment as he curled fingers into grassy soil. “Uh—” What should he say? What was he even supposed to say without making this even more awkward right now. It was already humiliating enough that they had ended up in such an embarrassingly close position with legs entangled and jackets touching.
“Uh… Are— are you okay?” he finally muttered under his breath, all the while placing his free hand on Black’s shoulder to tentatively push him off him. That… really was an uncomfortable position, yes. “Did you hurt yourself?”
He wasn’t quite sure how he actually managed to lose the stupid thing - whatever it had been - on the ground. Well, maybe he was, but it didn’t mean that he was willing to actually admit that he had been distracted. Something like this would have been dangerous in any other situation, and he wasn’t proud of this mistake. Of course, it was only made more embarrassing by the fact that not only did he drop his guard in his distraction, but he tripped and fell. Right over Touya.
In his surge of embarrassment and regret, the assassin stayed where he fell, letting out a groan of pain. His legs were tangled with Touya’s, his body pressed against his, and somehow he had just barely avoided hitting his nose on the knight’s shoulder, sparing them both that extra bit of pain.
Touya’s voice snapped him out of it, though, and after a moment, he pushed himself up enough to look at his alternate’s face, despite the sensation that his cheeks were red with his shame. At least, the knight wasn’t focusing on how ridiculous he must have looked falling like that, but at the same time, it was a little odd to be questioned about his well being.
“I’m fine, I guess. It hurts, but I don’t think I got hurt.” At least, he didn’t think he had re-opened any wound, and well, bruises were hardly something he cared about. But, that was because Touya had broken his fall, wasn’t it? He should worry about him, too. “… Are you okay?”
How odd. Junkrat could’ve sworn the sun was coming up before. Now, as he slowly came to his senses, there was very little light filtering through his eyelids. Nerves began to awaken along his body and his wished they wouldn’t.
Everything hurt. He could feel bruises and broken bones even without moving. The tiniest attempt at moving his fingers sent spikes of pain up and down his arms. Something was off. He wasn’t sure what, but his right side wasn’t responding right.
Heh. He tried to laugh at the joke. Fire in his lungs cut him off. Grimacing, he made an attempt to take a deep breath, bring some oxygen to his aching body. A heavy weight on his chest stopped that, too. That wasn’t right. Why couldn’t he breathe?
Thoughts swimming to find answers suddenly brought back what had happened. The bikes. The hook. Meka. Scraps. His mind was screaming and he made an attempt to sit up. Hana. Where was Hana? Was she okay? Did the biker catch up?
Eyes shot open, dull sunlight filtering into them. Oh. That answered a few questions. The biker was currently leaning over him. The large form blocked most of the sun and a boot on his chest held Junkrat down. The hook was coated in blood and held firmly in the man’s hand. Whose blood?
Find words. Say something. He managed enough of a breath to laugh. The man didn’t move. Another breath.
“Pretty sure ya ain’t being paid to kill me,” Junkrat knew his type. Big. Brawn. Hired by a smaller Junker with more brains who didn’t want to do the dirty work of dragging him in himself. Bastard. “So why don’t ya back off a bit and let a bloke breath, eh?” It was cocky and a risk, but he needed the guy off of him to find Hana.
The biker considered him for a moment, almost as if he was thinking about actually letting him up. Then he laughed. It was a loud, deep rumble of a thing and fit the man who looked to be ten feet tall from Junkrat’s perspective. His eyes darted around the area as the laughter trailed off. He could see Meka off to the side, smoke rising from the cabin. Not good. There was no blood except for on the back where he’d been sitting. Slightly more good.
His mind was so busy piecing together the scenery that he almost missed the war cry. Her war cry. Scraps was a tiny thing, but that didn’t stop her from leaping up onto the biker’s back and wrapping her arms around his throat. He wasn’t expecting her. They never were.
He reached back for her, trying to bring the hook around to rip her off, but Scraps knew what she was doing. Her arms weren’t strong enough to choke this one like she normally did, so small sharp fingers scratched at the biker’s chin, slid up under the leather mask covering his face to try taking out his eyes. She always went for the eyes. It almost always worked.
He wasn’t having it. With what Junkrat could only describe as a bellow, the biker dropped his hook and reached both arms behind him. Giant hands found purchase in her vest and easily threw her over his head to hit the dirt hard next to him. She wasn’t hurt. Not too badly. A cut on her forehead and some bruises along her arms, but nothing she couldn’t handle. Good. She may not have injured their attacker, but he did step back. His hands worked to readjust his mask while the lenses never left their direction. He was watching them. Quietly.
Without the large foot on his chest, Junkrat made another attempt to sit up. The dust was more slippery than he thought because he couldn’t seem to get a good grip. A small noise of frustration left his mouth as he glanced over to see what the problem was.
He wished he hadn’t.
“H-hana.” They didn’t use their real names in front of strangers, not unless it was an emergency. Looking down at the shredded flesh and muscle that used to be his lower right arm, Junkrat felt like this qualified. It didn’t hurt as much as he thought it should. Actually… now that he thought about it, nothing hurt as much as it should. Honestly. Was he in shock? Possibly.
The sharp intake of breath at his side kept him from delving too far into those thoughts. Scraps stared at the wrecked arm, then looked back to Meka, eyeing the spot he’d been sitting on. Her teeth worried her bottom lip as she let her gaze end on the biker. He was still watching them. Still quiet.
Scraps had a plan. He knew that look in her eyes. They weren’t going to be able to take this guy in a fight. Not like this. Meka was down and he would be lucky to even stand up without the blood loss knocking him back on his ass. She might be able to do some real damage, but at what cost? No. They weren’t about to risk that.
Face set in a hard frown, she stood. Barely five feet tall, she made for an amusing image in front of the giant with both hands on her hips.
“They’re paying you for Junkrat, right?” It wasn’t a question in her tone and the biker shifted. This was an unexpected turn for him, they could tell. Another moment of silence and he nodded. “We can pay you more.” Junkrat highly doubted that. He’d seen his bounty before and they’d never had that much money in their lives. What was her angle?
“You can’t and you won’t.” Oh, the big man could speak. His voice was just as deep and rumbling as his laugh had been and despite the situation, Rat found himself enjoying it. Scraps wasn’t put off at all by his words.
“People want him because of what he found. They want it for themselves. They want it because it could make them a fortune if sold to the right bidder.” She gestured with her hands at the horizon. “Way more for them to make then they’re paying you to do all the hard work.” Junkrat was getting nervous. What was she doing? Surely the guy already knew all of this.
“Wouldn’t you rather have a cut of that loot?” She offered with palms open towards him. That seemed to get his attention. “Look. Him and I are splitting this thing fifty-fifty.” She continued, ignoring the sound of protest the other Junker made from his spot on the ground. “You work that bike and that hook like no one I’ve ever seen. Come with us as like a… .” She struggled for a word. “… bodyguard. Keep us alive and my share is yours.” Junkrat didn’t like this plan. He didn’t like it at all. They couldn’t trust this guy. What was stopping him from dragging him off in his sleep? Killing Scraps and collecting on the bounty?
“You that desperate?” The biker moved closer, forcing her to look directly up at him in order to keep eye contact. As much eye contact as she could through lenses, anyway. He was right and they all knew it. They were desperate. It would take time to fix Meka. It would take time to fix him. He’d lost a limb before, but he needed his hand for building new grenades and to hold on when they traveled. It would be weeks before they were ready to move again if he could even find parts for a new arm. They’d be ripe for the taking.
“You in or not, big guy?” Scraps wasn’t playing into it. Her jaw was firmly set as she thrust her hand out in front of him. If he didn’t take the deal, she was ready to fight. Junkrat saw it in her posture and it worried him. He wouldn’t be able to help her. Not like this. As much as he hated the idea of trusting the biker, he hated the idea of her getting hurt more.
Another laugh from the man and his large hand was dwarfing hers in a handshake. He agreed.
“Fifty percent of whatever the treasure sells for.” He repeated, making sure he knew what he was being offered. Scraps nodded. The relief in both of their faces was obvious. “Let me go get my bike.” The vehicle was parked a ways away, kept away from any potential firefight that might’ve broken out. Smart man. As soon as he turned his back and started heading towards it, Scraps was on her knees at Rat’s side.
“Fucking hell Jamie.” She was running her hands along the upper arm that remained, fingers twitching as she tried to figure out what to do. Her first instinct was to tie a tourniquet. After all, they both knew what was going to happen. The forearm and hand were worthless, but they weren’t gone. They needed to be gone. Junkrat’s breathing sped up at the thought. The shock was finally wearing off and pain was starting to seep into his brain.
“Twenty five-twenty five.” He mumbled as the edges of his vision started to blur. He’d managed to stay conscious a pretty long time hadn’t he? It felt like a long time anyway. Scraps tilted her head in confusion as the strip of her shirt was secured just below his elbow. “My cut. Split it in half still. Half for you. Half for me.” She was his sister. He wasn’t about to rip her off. Especially now that she’d be helping to patch him back together all while keeping an eye on their new bodyguard.
“Half and half, Jamie.” Her voice was shaking as she rummaged in her pockets for a knife. “You and me.” She wanted something that would cut through flesh as quickly as possible, save him any extra pain. They both knew they only had small pocket knives.
The biker, their biker now, stood just outside of earshot. His bike had supplies, but not many and definitely not for three people. He did, however, have a knife. Drawn from a sheath on his back, he offered the weapon to Scraps. If he didn’t know what it was going to be used for, the action would have made Junkrat feel a little better about the guy. That was a big machete to be handing someone you might still be considering a target.
“You, uh, you got a name?” The wounded Junker asked with a shudder to his voice, trying to distract himself from Scraps sizing up the blade against his arm. The man grunted, eyes on her. He wasn’t sure if she’d actually do it. No one ever actually expected her to be capable and that almost always got them killed. Almost.
Content with the angle she’d need, Scraps leaned over Junkrat and pressed her forehead to his, a calming touch for the both of them, before she shifted back. A moment of thought and she quickly shimmied her belt out of her pants and folded it over. She nudged his mouth with it and he understood. No good swallowing your own tongue. The leather felt weird on his teeth and he groaned. Scraps sighed at the sound. Swallowing the drool already starting to build up, he obediently stuck his arm out at his side, away from the rest of his body. Wanted her to have a good shot after all.
Over the sound of cracking bone and his own barely muffled shouting, Junkrat thought he heard the biker answer.