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My playlist just shuffled to The Last Unicorn and i got such intense Shrub vibes that i had to share. The image of Shrub standing alone in an empty civilization yelling that she’s alive, just yeah. Feels.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Pairing: Royal x Casimir (MC)
Rating: Mature; Word count: 2448
Tags: Not canon compliant; Developing Relationship; Angst; Blood and Injury; Canon-Typical Violence; Hurt/No Comfort; (Small) Time Skips; Emotional and Physical Hurt; Seriously, there's murder (done by MC)
Remember You Will Die by @vapolis ✨
/// NOW ///
The noise wakes him up, shallow sleep gone in a second.
There’s someone at the door and he can hear them moving. Like they aren’t sure they should barge in or knock or just go away.
He waits.
Laying on the couch, down on his stomach because his back hurts. Vision obscured by long strands of hair. Casimir’s fingers curl on the gun left under the pillow when there’s a muted thud of something hitting the door and he shifts. Low grunt leaving him when the uncomfortable feeling of pulled muscles spikes. He breathes slowly through his nose, getting up as quietly as possible, close to the wall. Arm with gun held deceptively loose by his side and he’s almost at the door, ready to open it with an aim to the head of the one disturbing him-
maybe it’s more of them and they want to finish the job
-but he freezes when he hears a muffled curse and lunges at the door without hesitation, tripping on the shoes left in the middle of the floor, banging his shoulder at the wall.
He knows that voice.
Gasping loudly through the pain, his battered body protesting against such rough treatment when it’s still recovering from what he pulled it through since last night. But he pushes on, the door handle cold under his feverish skin and when his wide eyes take on the space outside, there’s no one but an empty, poorly lit hall.
He looks around, peering into darkness and even taking a step forward to check the shadows but his bare feet meet something soft.
A plastic bag.
He pokes it with a toe, frowning. When nothing happens he bends to take it, biting his lip and leaning on the doorframe for support. It’s light and when he looks inside the bag he almost drops the gun he’s still holding. With one last sweep over the dark hallway he closes the door and slides down with his back to it.
His fingers shake when he holds on the fabric, light catching onto it with a colorful shimmer. Something falls onto the floor when he noses the neckline of his jacket, Royal’s scent still clinging to it.
They were wearing it just yesterday. Of course he can feel their smell on it. They looked so good in it, just like that first time he shared his jacket with them. He liked the sight of them in his clothes and last night they tried to hide their smile at his words, pulling the collar up until all he could see was their eyes over their sunglasses. The blue of them so pretty under city lights. Soft. And then he teased them and they teased back and it was fine until they both took a turn into that alley.
Until. Until...
There’s something in his throat and he tries to cough it out, failing. He picks up the piece of paper that slipped from the bag, wetting his dry lips. Catching the slick sweetness in the corner of his mouth, carefully unfolding the note.
I’m sorry
He stares at the short words until his eyes water, strands of hair falling into blurry vision when he curls over himself. The note crinkling in fist, one that he bites into to muffle the inhuman whine building in his chest. Sharp teeth break the skin and it hurts. But he doesn’t let go. It’s grounding.
I’m sorry
The throbbing in his hand matches the picked up pace of his heart. He’s hot. He’s cold. The pain is grounding. He spits the blood, the back of his head resting on the door. Mouth open, catching the air greedily through the quiet sobs. There’s a stain on the ceiling. His hand hurts.
I’m sorry
The holo jacket in his lap is light but it weighs a ton right now. He can’t get up, so he sits there shaking, until the wound on his hand scrapes over.
/// HOURS EARLIER ///
Casimir notices them too late, skin prickling with unease of being watched. Relaxing too much in the company of the person next to him.
Acting on instinct he stops and pulls Royal behind him, their back to the wall, ignoring their confused protest.
Three. Black spiders on their necks. Blocking them from both sides. If he made an opening, Royal could run. He'll need to distract them, make them focus on him.
Probably some misguided revenge. Casimir is aware of the enemies he made by killing one of the most important gang’s member. Doing so in person. It was reckless of him then, but he just couldn't resist taking the matter in his own hands. He enjoyed it as well, cutting the confession out from the filth under him. It made his smile wide and pure.
But, predictably, it came to bite him in the ass.
There’s no point in talking with them now, they want to kill. And he won’t let them.
It never ends, does it, some weary part of his brain whispers. It doesn’t end.
“Run when you can,” he mumbles to Royal and when he starts to move, it’s a blur.
He tries to keep his back to Royal, throwing punches that connect with the side of the head of the first goon, then slice at the arm of the other while dancing away from the blade aimed at his stomach.
Not again~
Casimir’s head rings with a blow that connects and he shakes out of it with a snarl, the cut over his brow bleeding freely, rushing at the man and tackling him with arms over his waist.
Something cracks when they both fall onto dirty asphalt, Casimir’s knife making short work of sinking into the hollow of his throat.
Royal shouts and he rolls off the man who’s desperately holding onto his neck when he drowns in his own blood with a gurgle. Casimir’s missing the punch to the back of his head, meeting his attacker head on, something she isn’t ready for and they go at it.
Too slow, because he looks at Royal fending blows from the third gang member-
Why aren’t they running?
-and Casimir’s doubling over when she kicks him straight between legs, grabs his hair and smashes his face on her knee. He’s down with a thud but keeps his arms around his head when the kicks start, wiggling on the floor like a worm just to protect his vitals.
A yell and scuffle where Royal is, the man at them and he sees red when their head jerks back after the slap to their face.
Still on the floor, he grabs the foot that keeps kicking him on the ribs and with a rage fueled strength, pulls. The woman topples with a yelp, the back of her skull cracking hard. He's quick with her, snapping her neck with one twist and on his feet, pulling the knife from his boot, one that he sinks in the kidneys of the man attacking Royal. Twisting, when he pulls it out, ignoring agonized howl, Casimir has his arms around him. Cutting at his neck in one swift motion, body going down.
Blood.
Lots of blood. He breathes hard through the stench of it, alley reeking with death. And when he looks at Royal, corpses surrounding him, they’re watching him.
Hand over their mouth, their eyes wide. Side of their face is swelling already.
They step back when he reaches for them and he feels like he’s punched in the gut again but it somehow hurts worse. He stops when he sees red on his hands.
He’ll get them dirty.
But.
There’s blood on their cheek and he just wants to make sure it’s not theirs, it can’t be theirs, not them, not them-
Not when he can pry open the ones that hurt them with his bare hands and he’ll do that, he’ll make them pay again and again for hurting Royal.
He. Has to keep them safe.
Then it gets to him.
They saw me.
Casimir lowers his shoulders, tries to look non threatening. Turning the grimace into a smile and failing. The fear in their eyes. It doesn’t go away.
“I had to.”
They watch him, unmoving. Then shake their head, looking away from the carnage. Tense. Ready to bolt. “I know.”
Royal knows. They know.
It’s different to see.
He swallows past the lump in his throat, the ugly truth crawling into the front of his mind.
You fucked up. Fucked up royally.
“You should go.”
For a second, they hesitate. But one more glance at him and at the scene has them moving. The picture he makes must be really too much for them, their face white as a sheet when they turn and nearly run away from him.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers but it’s too late. They’re gone.
And he has work to do. Before he has the chance to touch the SocialLink on his wrist, the bile building in his stomach makes him bend over the trash can. It takes a moment for his body to calm down while he presses his forehead against cold metal. Casimir coughs, eyes squeezed shut, light tremors running along his spine.
It’s a mess.
He’s a mess.
Last dry heave and a cough that turns into a choked snicker. He can’t help it. He giggles with tears in his eyes, head empty. Just like the look in his brown eyes when he glares at the corpses under his feet.
Fucked up. Nothing to salvage. Again.
/// DAYS LATER ///
Orla has a job for him. One that he’s ready to start as soon as possible.
“You look like shit. I don’t want to hear you botched this one because you don’t sleep or whatever. So don’t keel over before you have it done.”
He has died a hundred deaths already. What’s one more, when he doesn’t have anything to lose.
Maybe he should aim for one hundred and ten, and break his personal record. Maybe he won’t wake up from the next one. Isn’t that thrilling.
Orla’s comment doesn’t bother him, the offhand way she says it while watching him closely.
The eyeliner smudged with shadows under his eyes and it might be a bit darker than usual but he thinks clearly. Most of the time anyway. And maybe he doesn’t look his best with lavender hair unkempt, tied in a knot at the back of his neck, loose strands around his face.
Casimir throws her a grin over his shoulder, leaving her office.
“Get my money ready, yeah?” His smile is strained around the edges. But only a bit. Makes it sharper.
And after a last glance towards the bar, where he can see Royal working, he’s off.
///
He waits for them at the back of S&S. Hands in pockets, shifting on the balls of his feet every so often to keep warm. And when they appear in the entrance he takes a minute to watch them.
Pale skin, tired eyes. Mouth pulled down in a frown when they fiddle with their phone. They sigh and pull at the strap of their bag, preparing to take off. He then moves out from the shadows and their glare turns into widened eyes when he says “Hi.”
Royal’s eyes dart back to the still open doors. It’s only a few steps away. They clear their throat.
“What you’re doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
“Are you stalking me now?”
He could do that. Easily. Very easily. Casimir glances to the side. Kicks the empty can near his boot.
“I just wanted to talk.”
“So talk.”
Now, when they’re before him he doesn’t know what to say. Should he plead for them to not cut him away? Should he beg, say he didn’t mean to? He notices how they look at him. Their body tight, arms crossed.
They returned his jacket.
“Are you okay?” The question is blurted and he sees the surprise painting their face, here and gone. The bruises healed. His eyes zero on their neck where he can see their pulse. Going fast.
“I’m fine. What do you want?”
He shrugs. The wound on his cheek itches under the plaster. He doesn’t scratch it. He wants to scratch it until it opens and bleeds again.
“What I do as merc. Last time wasn’t anything new.”
Dancing around the subject is pointless, so Casimir throws it out in the open.
“Yeah. Knowing and witnessing are two different things.” Royal scoffs, running a hand through their hair. “I just need time to get over it. I saw you kill three people, little hard to process, you know.”
“I had to.” They should've run, why didn’t they run. Now that they saw, it won’t be like before.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” The ice in their tone is like a slap. They keep their chin up, wary of his reaction.
“I miss you.” It's quiet. Pathetic. Isn’t he though? Pathetic idiot that got too close to something good and thought he wouldn’t spoil it.
They bite their lip but don’t say anything. It shouldn’t sting as much as it does, the tips of his fingers tingling with cold that spreads with every heartbeat.
“Just. Just tell me if you don’t want to hang out anymore.” He pushes the words past the tight ring of his throat. He knew it'd happen. He breaks what’s good. Royal is good. They gave him affection and he basked with it. But he sees it’s over. There’s no chance they’d want to touch him again like they had before, not when their unease lingers. “I won’t bother you.”
He's not like that. He won’t be like that. It already slipped away from him and he’ll stop chasing it before he destroys something further.
“What are you-”
“Royal. Please.”
They swallow, their eyes locked with his. Royal shifts, stepping closer to him when the back entrance to the club opens fully and a woman stumbles out of it. Casimir recognizes her as one of Royal’s co-workers. Lessens his hold on the brassknuckle in his pocket.
“You forgot this,” she hands them a small object. “I was going to run after you.”
He doesn’t listen when they keep talking, staring at the bright light from the hall hitting Royal. They look good in light, a halo of fiery orange hair surrounding their face.
Casimir slinks back when they’re distracted. Close to the corner of the alley there’s an echo of a confused “Casimir?”
He doesn’t react, hastening his steps.
Time to make some money. Maybe if he’ll die a few more times he’ll stop feeling like he trashed something beautiful before it had the chance to bloom.
