#it was gut instinct to make him shorter

[paintedpatroclus]

“so, sokka clings to him, and sighs contentedly when zuko clings back.” from breakable heaven, chapter 10 by @sokkalore

how’s everyone holding up zukka nation …

[steddiealltheway]

It's clear to Steve that Eddie is being led on, but Eddie will not accept it. So, it's intervention time. Not because Steve has a huge crush on him and is entirely jealous but... he needs Eddie to at least see that he can do better than this asshole.

He sits Eddie down and lays out the facts. "You met him in The Hideout bathroom when he put his tongue down your throat then proceeded to ignore you the rest of the night when you left the bathroom."

"It's different for gay men, Steve."

Steve presses on. "He calls you late at night when he knows that your uncle is gone just to get off and immediately hang up after."

"It's not like that..." Eddie says with a sigh.

"He doesn't know a single thing about you either! Has he tried to ask you on a date or anything?"

Eddie gives Steve a look and stands up crossing into his space. "And why do you care so much?"

Steve's heart beats a little faster as Eddie gets a little closer to the truth. "Because you deserve better."

Eddie snorts. "I think you're just jealous."

"What?" Oh shit. He knows about his crush.

He steps even closer, but Steve doesn't back down. Eddie explains, "I've finally got someone, and you can't stand that I beat you to it. The freak outsmarted the king."

Steve shakes his head and steps back, unsure of what the hell has gotten into Eddie. "You don't mean that."

"I do, Harrington," he states with venom in his tone.

Steve can feel himself tense up. If Eddie's going to be an asshole, he can be one too. "Have fun then, Munson." He shoulder-checks him as he makes his way to his stairs.

He hears footsteps behind him as Eddie follows. "I think I'll go to The Hideout tonight with Tom," he calls after Steve, further pushing it.

Steve stops in his tracks and turns around to face Eddie. "Maybe if you opened your eyes you'd see what was right in front of you."

Eddie leans in. "Yeah, I see Tom carrying me away into the damn sunset."

Steve shakes his head and laughs humorlessly. "You really don't get it, do you?"

The other boy just stares at him looking confused and then hurt. "Just because I'm some kind of freak doesn't mean that the only chance I have with a guy is some asshole who is using me, so stop trying to convince me of that."

Steve scoffs as Eddie walks to the door. "Eddie, you know I didn't mean that. Did you not hear the part where I said-" The door slams shut. "...that you deserve better..." Steve finishes then groans. He sits on the bottom stair step and puts his head in his hands.

He hopes more than anything that his gut is wrong and Tom is a good guy. But every instinct is telling Steve that he's not.

So, Steve makes a decision that he might regret. He grabs his keys and races to his car, making his way to The Hideout. He reasons with himself that he just wants to meet the guy himself to get a proper opinion of him. And maybe he won't have to use his bat in his trunk.

When he gets to the parking lot, he sees Eddie's van and parks next to it. Here goes nothing.

He immediately feels off when he enters the bar. He can't spot Eddie anywhere and almost wonders if he had mistaken the van outside for his. Then he remembers... making out in the bathroom.

He spots the bathroom door and sighs. This is definitely not something he wants to witness. He goes anyways.

He's surprised when the door swings open as he pushes on it. Gosh, they should at least be more subtle than this. Jam the door or put a heavy- Steve freezes when he hears the heavy breathing and unmistakable sound of kissing halting. Then, a stall door bursts open and a shorter man is shoving Steve against the wall.

"What the hell do you think you're doing in here?" The man asks. God, he smells like beer and a bit like rotten eggs. And he vaguely looks familiar.

"Using the bathroom?" Steve fires back.

"Steve?"

The guy, assumedly Tom, glances over his shoulder. "You know him?"

"Yeah," Eddie says looking pissed. "You can let him go, he's fine."

Tom lets go but whips around to Eddie. "He knows about us?"

Eddie nods.

Tom gets up in his space and sneers, "What part of don't tell anyone did you not understand?"

Then, it hits Steve. He recognizes Tom as one of his dad's younger work buddies. Has a wife and two young kids and... shit.

"Sorry," Eddie whispers.

Tom shoves him back into the wall. "You're fucking sorry? Is that all you have to say??"

Steve sees Eddie brace for a punch, and that's when he cuts in. "Tom Gardner, right?"

Tom jumps back, going pale. "How do you know my full name?"

Steve can't help but be a little bitchy. "Well, now you've helped me confirm it. How's your wife Ginger doing?"

Tom tries to stalk into his space saying, "Listen here you little piece of shit. I don't know how you-"

Steve cuts him off, "Threaten me or my friend again and I'll tell your whole family your little secret."

Tom walks closer. "You wouldn't dare."

Steve uses his height to his advantage and looks down at the man. "Try me."

Tom's eyes flicker between Steve's for a couple of seconds before he curses under his breath and runs out the door.

Steve barely has time to celebrate the small victory before Eddie is sliding down the wall with his head in his hands. Steve rushes over to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Eddie smacks it away. He looks up with watery eyes. "Why'd you do it?"

"I needed to meet the guy myself," Steve says, stomach rolling at the sight of Eddie so upset. Maybe this wasn't a good idea.

"And are you happy?' Eddie asks, swiping at his eyes.

Steve stares down at him. "And why would I be?"

Eddie gestures to the door. "You got what you wanted. You can say 'I told you so,' but I kind of already knew he was an ass. Didn't know about the wife and kids though." He puts his head in his hands again. "How did you know about that?" He asks, muffled by his hands.

"Works with my dad," Steve answers. Eddie just hums. Steve sighs and sits on the floor next to Eddie scrunching his nose up at the disgusting bathroom floor. "That isn't what I wanted by the way. I wanted him to be a good guy, " Steve lies. He glances over at Eddie and pauses before confessing, "Actually, I didn't want him to be a good guy."

"What?" Eddie asks, heading coming up to angrily look at him.

"I didn't want him to be a good guy," Steve states again.

"And why's that?" Eddie asks. "Can't stand being the only single one?"

"That's part of the reason," Steve admits.

Eddie puts his hands on his knees and grunts as he stands up. "Glad to have solved the great mystery."

"Wait," Steve says before scrambling to stand. Luckily, Eddie stops. "Remember when I told you earlier that if you opened your eyes you'd see what was right in front of you?"

"No need to rub it in, Harrington."

Steve groans. "I was talking about me!" Steve practically yells. When Eddie turns to look at him with wide eyes he repeats, "I was talking about me."

Eddie looks him up and down. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Steve says walking toward Eddie, "That I'm entirely crazy about you, and I thought you knew until you started gushing about this Tom guy. You were right about me being jealous but for the wrong reason."

All Eddie says is, "Shit."

Steve nods in agreement.

Eddie looks down and fiddles with his rings. "I didn't mean what I said earlier. Like I said, deep down I knew but didn't want to admit it to myself or you, so I got a bit... defensive."

"A bit," Steve says with a laugh, stepping forward.

Eddie smiles bashfully. "I wish you would've said something sooner."

"Who says it's too late now?" Steve asks, taking another step forward.

"Really?" Eddie asks hopefully.

Steve smiles and almost leans in, but he remembers the door behind them. "Now, let me take you home before our first kiss ends up being in this disgusting bathroom and someone barges in."

"I'll also need some mouthwash or gum so I can erase any trace of Tom before I kiss you," Eddie says with a frown.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure to erase any trace and memory of him tonight," Steve says with a wink before holding open the door for Eddie.

"Jesus H. Christ. You're going to be the death of me."

Steve smiles. "I sincerely hope so."

[prazinos]

Just Go With It

Xavier Thorpe x Reader

Fake dating trope

Disclaimer ~ I do not support Percy Hynes White, this is about the character and not the actor.

WARNINGS ! ~ None just fluff !

Walking out of class, you saw him. Paul, a siren that honestly everybody secretly hated.

And unfortunately for you, he couldn't take no for an answer. Over and over he had asked you on a date. Countless times. You think nobody's had the guts to say no to him before or he thinks you're playing hard to get.

Out of your peripheral, you saw him look at you and start walking towards you. In a moment of pure instinct you grabbed onto somebody's arm in front of you.

You felt them tense, you look up to see Xavier, a devastatingly handsome young man who you were kind of acquainted with, you had only met at one of Bianca's parties.

'I'm sorry, just go with it, please' you muttered, he looked down at you confused, before nodding.

He put his arm around you pulling you in close, walking towards the courtyard.

Walking out you saw Enid, Wednesday, Bianca, and Ajax. Ajax was handing Bianca a bag of blunts as Bianca complained about the price

'Bianca, you can just get a bag of weed cheaper, the only reason the blunts cost more is because I have to roll them!'

'fine' Bianca mumbled

As you and Xavier made your way to the table everybody was seated, Enid broke out in a smile at the two of you, while everybody else looked kind of shocked.

Sitting down on the table, you saw Paul again, making a bee line towards you. You groaned as he approached the table,

'Y/N can I talk to you?'

'Paul I do not want to go out with you'

'Why not? I'm everything you could want and more baby'

You watched as almost everybody around you cringed at his words.

'I'm in a relationship Paul, stop asking me out'

'With who?'

'Me' Xavier said, his 6'2 frame towering over Pauls 5'6 one.

'Really Y/N? This weirdo? He hangs out in a shed with his free time doing god knows what' Paul scoffed.

'So what? At least he doesn't harass women to make them go out with him' you said crossing your arms over your chest.

'Whatever, don't come crawling back to me when you realise how much of a creep this guy is. You're such a slut for leading me on'

Everybody's eyes widened at Pauls use of 'slut'.

You watched as Xavier pushed Paul against one of the columns surrounding the courtyard, Enid attempted to get off of Wednesdays lap but Wednesday just held onto her tighter, clearly wanting to see how this went down.

'Don't fucking call her that you piece of shit' Xavier spat in Pauls face,

In all honesty, you loved the sight of Paul shitting himself.

Paul looked over at you in hopes you would tell Xavier to back down. You didn't.

'Don't look at her for help, you really think she would help you? You fucking harassed her for weeks just because she wouldn't go out with you' Xavier said, dropping Paul from where he had been pinned.

Paul got up from off the ground, shrugging his blazer back on properly, before running off, probably to tell Ms Weems.

Xavier walked back over to the group, Ajax passing him the blunt he was smoking with Bianca.

As that whole thing unravelled you were just sat in shock, how did Xavier know Paul was harassing you for so long? As Xavier sat next to you on the bench you quickly turned to him, kissing his cheek.

He smiled, blowing out the smoke from the blunt before kissing you.

You didn't know how to react at first before moving your lips with his.

'Alright you two, no making out in the courtyard. Xavier come to my office' Weems said walking over with Paul trailing behind. You broke apart although you really didn't want to

'Pussy.' Wednesday mumbled as Enid giggled.

Xavier got off the bench, kissing your cheek one more time

'Now! Mr Thorpe' Weems said

This is a lot shorter than my normal things but hope y'all liked it and stuff. I'm thinking about writing some Wednesday x Enid stuff in the future but idk probably will

lmk if you liked this by liking, commenting, reblogging or following !

[spasmsofthought]

there is no fear now (dick grayson x reader)

been a little while, so i might be a little rusty, but this came so suddenly and i had to get it out.

THIS remix of "unconditionally" by katy perry is to blame for all of these words.

i hope you enjoy this and i hope you know you are deserving and worthy of being loved without reservation or shame.

not proofed or beta'd so please be kind.

xoxo

+++

Maybe the problem is that you don't think.

It might explain the way you're operating on auto-pilot as you make your way to his apartment. It might be why he's been keeping his distance from you. It might be why his texts are shorter and why he says he's too busy to stop by your place of work.

He knows there's something that's changing, that will change.

Given his background and how much is going on in his life currently, it's logical that he would be resistant to change. Especially a change like this.

Your knock on his apartment door is loud, unashamed.

It's like someone tied a knot in your gut and has been pulling and tugging you to where you have landed yourself in front of his door.

Maybe the problem is that you have always jumped into everything headfirst.

There's no thoughts about self-preservation or how you might embarrassing yourself as the door swings open.

His blue eyes are the first thing you see, tinged with exhaustion and fatigue. But there's a shining warmth too as he registers that it's you.

He says your name softly. And then, "What are you doing here?"

It's 11:30 pm on a Wednesday night. You're normally already in bed, and he's usually getting ready for patrol. You both know this is unusual.

Your mind has been on one track all evening. Scratch that -- all day.

"I love you" comes out.

I love you - pouring coffee into a cup.

I love you - the middle of the morning blue sky.

I love you - as you are getting off the bus at the stop near your apartment.

I love you - a taxi horn blares as you sprint across the crosswalk.

"I do." You say as he stares at you. "I love you. I love you and I think you know."

"I do know." His eyes shine, but there's worry brewing in them too.

"I love you," It comes out a little fiercer this time; a little stronger. You are assured and fearless in this.

Being in love with Richard Grayson should scare the ever-living daylights out of you, but it's the only thing you're certain about.

A weighted moment of silence follows your last confession, and you stand in front of Dick Grayson in the doorway of his apartment at 11:35 pm on a random Wednesday night and begin to wonder what the hell you are doing.

There's a split second where anxiety rules you. Where you wonder if it was actually a good idea to follow your gut instinct on this one. You wonder if you should've left it alone. You wonder if the exposure and vulnerability your confession to Dick will be worth it.

Simultaneously as quick as lightning and as slow as a sloth, Dick's hands reach for your face. His mouth swallows your gasp as his lips press against yours and he gently pulls you closer to him.

One of his hands drops from your face as your touch lingers over his forearms and the slam of the front door is the last thing you hear before you are lost to euphoria.

[miabebe]

The Legend of The Sea

"You're crying? You must be turning human, the MerFolk don't cry."

"Of course we do. Why do you think the Sea is nothing but salt?"

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol × reader

Genre: Heavy Angst, Romance, Implied smut

Word count: 14K (completed)

A/N: This was supposed to be a very long fic with lots of dialogue and lot of plot but I decided to take a turn and write a shorter version! It's very different from my usual writing style, it would be great to recieve your thoughts and comments! I'm considering writing a epilogue if the response is good :)

Tags: @xcynthiaaa @dr3aluv5 @unlikelysublimekryptonite @orcasandtea @letsplayitcool @idubutily

It all started the day you woke up on the beach with that unbearable pain searing through you.  

The air was cool, the sand was hot; the seagulls were flying across the blue sky, the sound of the waves was like a beautiful melody – it was like a perfectly painted picture. It should have felt pleasant, it should have felt serene, instead you felt immense pain, like your guts were turning inside out and your chest was being split into two.

And it just wouldn’t stop. Even if you thrashed about in the sand or let out soundless screams clutching your chest, nothing could make the pain stop.  

Except the soft laughter.  

Someone else was here. 

As the pain ebbed at the sound of a voice, fear came rushing in its place.  

Someone else was here.   

Your instincts told you to hide so you did, scrambling to your knees in the sand, crouching behind one of the many large boulders scattered around, trying your best not to be found. And to not let curiosity get the better of you….. until it eventually did.

You allowed yourself to peak, just a little, just to put a face to the voice and instead saw a bouncing fluffy cloud of white. Strange. You didn’t know clouds came down like that. Or that they had eyes, because suddenly, this one looked right at you.

You immediately retreated back into your hiding but it was in vain - within seconds, it made its way over and much to your surprise, jumped right into your lap, covering you in wet, eager licks. You panicked, trying to defend yourself, although it didn’t feel like much of an attack.  

And that was when you saw him.  

First, he was just a silhouette, a dark outline against the sun but when he crouched down to meet your eye, you realised he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. He had such pretty hazel eyes, lighter in the middle, darker on the outside. Then there were the thick, dark eyebrows and thicker darker hair, swept back by the wind. He was wearing a white dress shirt, the first two buttons (unnecessarily) undone, the sleeves (needlessly) pushed up to his elbow. But your eyes were stuck on his lips – red, full of life and moving – he was saying something.   

You can’t hear him, not with the way your stomach was turning and turning and turning and then unable to hold back, you gave in. You turned and doubled up, finally throwing up all that discomfort into the sand, breaking into a fit of cough. The man before you though, wasn’t fazed. Rather, he was efficient, quickly getting up, pulling you away from the mess gently and handed you the bottle of water he had on him. You refused - water was only making you more nauseous.

He didn’t insist, instead he unfolded a large piece of cloth, (later you learnt that it was called a picnic blanket) and threw it over you. It was only its warmth that you realised – unlike him, every bit of your skin was exposed. You held the fabric closer to yourself hoping you could just bury yourself in the sand instead of having to face him – something about the way he looked at you made you feel very vulnerable.  

He then asked if you were feeling okay but only received silence as an answer. The truth was, you weren’t. Not only were you in the middle of nowhere, you had no idea why or how you got there. It seemed like he understood that; like he realised you were lost and needed help. When he got up and held his hand out though, you didn’t take it. Instead, you took support of the boulder behind you and got up on your own, only to lose your footing and stumble right into his arms. You instantly pulled yourself away and took another faltering step and then another, and then fell right back into his arms again. He was amused but didn’t say or do anything except watch you try, ankles sinking in the sand, knees unfaithfully giving away every time, until finally you gave up and took his hand. Slowly and silently, he led you far away from there.  

That day you learnt his name was SeungCheol.  

----------------------------------------------------------

That white cloud, Kkuma, was apparently what humans called a dog.  

While humans efficiently seemed to walk on two legs and could converse for hours, dogs apparently walked on four legs and couldn’t talk. Though you certainly looked like a human, you often wondered if you and Kkuma were the same. You too happened to find long hours of walking and talking difficult and more than anything, you didn’t seem to enjoy the company of other humans that much. That’s why the last one month, you spent most of your time with Kkuma, far away from most people, all the way across the town, in a small settlement between the lake and the mountains, in Seungcheol’s cottage.  

Seungcheol’s home was your safe haven. Rather, Seungcheol was your safe haven.  

When you were with him, when you looked at him, you always forgot that it had been four weeks and you still had no idea who you were, that you had no memories, you had no life.  

Because Seungcheol gave you a life. He taught you to walk the way you saw mothers hold the hands of their little babies, encouraging them to take a step forward. He taught you to read, scribbling away alphabets with you for hours on end, even when little children laughed at you for not understanding. He taught you that a fork was not the same thing as a comb and that water was used to wash yourself, and that fire was hot and burnt things.

He didn’t just teach you things, he cared for you. He noticed you liked the red and filled your wardrobe with red dresses. When you told him you really liked the taste of fish, fish was all he cooked for weeks. Though he never seemed to like being away from Kkuma, his little princess, he would always leave her behind to give you company whenever he left. 

Seungcheol left the house every morning at the break of down. So did most men, you noticed. The lady who lived down the stone pathway told you that men went out to make money while their wives, who stayed at home, cooked for them. That day you tried to cook for the first time, and asked Seungcheol if you were his wife. He laughed, then choked on a fish bone and asked you to leave all the cooking to him from here on and so you did.

Every day, Seungcheol would cook before he left while you stood beside him, watching in awe, handing him whatever he asked for. You usually ate breakfast and lunch with the animals in the stable but you always had dinner with Seungcheol. No matter how long he was gone for, end of the day, he always made it back to you.   

You watched the sun slowly setting behind the mountains. He should be here soon, which was why you shouldn’t be sitting by the lake anymore. Seungcheol always warned you to maintain a safe distance from it, to never go too near. He said it was dangerous, that people drown because they cannot breathe under water. You had seen it.  

When the woodcutter’s young boy fell into the lake a few weeks ago, you watched him thrash in the water, struggling to come up. A few brave people jumped in to save him but the boy never came out again. Everyone in town was scared of the lake, they hated it. Only the old ‘crazy’ lady that lived by the edge of the forest ever went near it. She wasn’t afraid of it; she said the lake was barely dangerous - it was the sea that was bad. That it had terrifying monsters and horrors that should never be uncovered. She liked the lake and honestly, so did you.

You liked how it never really felt cold and how the temperature was always just nice. You liked how all the fish swam up to you whenever you dangled your feet in, sitting by the bank, how at peace it all made you feel.  

But when you saw Hannie in the sky, you immediately pulled your legs out of the water and hid the wetness of your feet under the fabric of your long skirt. Hannie was Seungcheol’s other pet, a pretty, baby white dove. He wasn’t a pet, not really, he belonged to the skies but Hannie loved to follow Seungcheol everywhere and Seungcheol loved it just as much. Actually, the whole town seemed to love white doves – it was on their flags, their shields, their uniforms. Seungcheol said it was the emblem of the kingdom. You had no idea what that meant, and frankly you didn’t care much. All that mattered was that whenever you spotted this little white bird, instantly recognisable by the small tinge of red right in the middle of its chest, it meant Seungcheol was home. As it softly landed on the fence, right before the sun was completely engulfed by the mountains, you heard Seungcheol’s horse and opened the gates to let them in.  

Over dinner, Seungcheol told you about the fight that broke in the marketplace. It’s a funny place the market, something always seemed to be happening there. On the weekends, you would follow him through it as he went vendor to vendor, making his purchases. The people of the market were actually sweet. They would always smile and try to talk to you but you could never bring yourself to talk back, you could never find the right words to say. Instead, you’d simply stare blankly then move closer to Seungcheol, holding on to him. Eventually, they all started assuming you couldn’t speak. You didn’t correct them and looking at your reluctance, neither did Seungcheol. He would simply wave them away, or shoo the kids who seemed to tease you. As long as you were outside, Seungcheol would never leave your side or your hand.  

You didn’t like going out very much, the big crowds and all those loud noises were always highly uncomfortable but the few times Seungcheol insisted you come with him and said it would be fun, it was actually not that bad. He took you to the town’s lights festival, where every inch of the streets and houses was covered with the prettiest coloured lights, and also to the annual horse racing competition which was exhilarating beyond belief. Your favourite though was children’s drama day, when the little kids of the town participated in skits looking a lot, lot smaller than the original characters were supposed to be. He didn’t though, take you to that big feast that happened in the castle. You didn’t really mind – something about the castle was just very unnerving.  

It stood tall and proud, all the way at the edge of the town, up a long winding route, at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the sea waters. Initially you had no idea what a castle even was, but over time you learnt that it was where the king lived. The king was the most important person in the town and supposedly the kindest, wisest and strongest man too. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought Seungcheol was the king. Afterall, he helped everyone in the neighbourhood, he solved the fights in the markets, he protected the settlement from the wild dogs and other beasts of the forest. But Seungcheol was not the king. The king lived in the castle and Seungcheol lived with you.  

After dinner, like every other day, you sat in Seungcheol’s study, practicing writing your alphabets as he went through endlessly long scrolls of his own. Today when you handed him your work, he scolded you yet again for rushing through the last few lines. You knew you shouldn’t have but you can never help it because the faster you finished, the sooner Seungcheol would read to you. Granted you knew how to read now but you weren’t really good at it, not everything made sense. The small books were easy but they were boring - it was always about animals and children and other things. The big books were where everything interesting was.  

Every night before you went to sleep, Seungcheol would bring out a book, sitting down by the fireplace and you would curl up next to him, leaning over as he read to you. Sometimes he would read out history, recounts of great wars and heroes and sometimes about legends, the fire breathing dragons, sea monsters, fairies in the woods. While you listened to all of them with the same fascination and curiosity, a selected few made you feel somewhat…..different – the ones about true love. About two people fighting all odds to be together. About two people wanting to be with each other more than anything.

Whenever Seungcheol read those to you, you somehow saw yourself in those words. Or rather, those words in you. You found that ‘quickening heartbeat’ whenever your hand brushed against the man beside you. His compliments made the ‘heat in your cheeks rise’. There was a constant ‘nervous fidgeting of the fingers’ when you were around him and sharing of the ‘secret glances’. Even now as he was reading you were looking at him, at the way his lips were moving and how soft they looked and wondering how much softer they would feel against yours.

When Seungcheol turned to you, sensing your eyes on him, meeting them without hesitation, you could have leaned in, you could have found out. But you didn’t; you didn’t dare. Instead, you looked down at the book, at the pictures of the prince and princess dancing, wondering if you too had a happily ever after written in your fate.  

Maybe it was, because a few days later, when Seungcheol looked at you like that again, you didn’t hold back anymore. You didn’t want to. This time you leaned in, gently pressing your lips onto his, discovering much to your relief that they were indeed every bit as soft as they looked. His eyes widened when you pulled back immediately, but he didn’t say or do anything. Then a silence followed, heavy with confusion and anticipation and so many other things that you couldn’t quite fathom so you quickly excused yourself from there stating it might rain and you forgot to close your bedroom windows.

As you shut the doors of your room behind you, hand on your chest, you felt your heart racing away but you should have been at peace, right? You had finally plucked up the courage and satiated all that bubbling curiosity. Instead, you felt like you were going to lose your mind – now that you had a taste, you wanted more.   

Days passed before you finally kissed him again.

It was on a rainy night and you were sitting closer to him than usual, as though the fire was not enough to keep you warm. It started the same way, first a few stolen glances, then a long silent stare and then you were kissing him, soft and sweet but this time he pulled back and you didn't let him. Instead you grabbed a fistful of his shirt, holding him close, whispering that you wanted to do it again. He listened, kissing you back but it was different this time and god did it set off something in you.

His lips became demanding, and his hands were everywhere - in your hair, running down your back, on your waist. He took your breath away, quite literally because he just wouldn't stop and you couldn’t breathe. You didn't want to either but after what felt like eternity, you had to break apart, feeling all giddy. Seungcheol then gave you the brightest smile and one last peck. 

That went on for many more days. Sometimes it was sweet and simple, sometimes hot and heavy. Initially the books were your only witness then there were more. The peaking sun as he gave you a peak before he left in the mornings, the pots and pans of the kitchen while he focused on you instead of the burning bread, and kkuma, when he forgot to seek while she hid, his attention on your mouth instead. Everything was going blissful.

Then one day Seungcheol didn't come home even after the sun set.

You waited by the gate for a long time, but neither Hannie, nor Seungcheol, nor his horse could be seen. That was the first night you spent alone - shivering in the cold and terrified. The storms had begun outside, the rain was drowning everything in its way and as each hour passed, you sunk deeper and deeper into despair.

Even when the sun came up again the rain didn't stop, the pain didn't stop. Though you hadn't slept or eaten in hours you only thought about him. Even kkuma got tired of waiting and curled up in the warmest spot in the house but you stood by the door the whole time until you couldn't anymore.  

Not when you saw finally saw Hannie in the sky but Seungcheol didn't follow. That was when you knew something was terribly wrong. You immediately grabbed a lamp and were ready to set off to find him on your own when you saw the paper tied to the bird’s little foot. I'll be back soon it read in the handwriting you recognised was Seungcheol's, a wave of relief crashing over you.  

But it took very, very long for 'soon’ to come.

The rain had stopped, the sun had set, the sky had cleared and the stars were pitifully watching the way you sat against the door, desperately fighting your eyes threatening to fall shut. That was when you felt Seungcheol's hand on your face, gently tucking your hair behind your ear.  

You instantly got up, throwing yourself into his arms and for the first time ever, broke down, sobbing into his chest. He held you like that for as long as you didn't let him go, softly patting you, telling you it was okay, and that he's home. There was apparently a landslide near the mountains and he had to help the people stuck there but you didn't care what his reasons were. You were never going to let him go ever again, you'd fight the sun from coming up tomorrow morning if needed.

Seungcheol simply laughed and said first you should fight your stomach, it seemed like it was struggling in there. It was only when you admitted you hadn't eaten since last night that he let you go and walked into the kitchen to whip you a quick morsel.

That night he said he was too tired to read to you. Instead, he placed a soft kiss on your forehead with an apology and was about to retire to his room when you held him by the hand, scared to let him go again. He tried to comfort you but the tears just wouldn’t stop, not until he cupped your cheek and kissed you, whispering about how he missed this, how he missed you. You confessed that you did too, and his absence made you feel terrible, like never before.

Let me make you feel good then he said. But if he wanted to help you, why did it seem like he was pleading? Like if you didn't agree he would lose it? So you agreed, letting him do whatever he wanted, whatever he needed.

His mouth was hot on yours, hands wandering all over and when they tugged the strings of your dress, you let out an inaudible gasp against his lips. He swallowed your words, undressing you slowly, with his hands and his eyes. You felt so bare, so exposed yet you didn't feel like hiding from him - you wanted him to explore you however he could and god did he do it.

If you thought his mouth on yours felt good, the places he put it now were wild. It was like he somehow knew every sensitive bit of your skin and went straight for it. He wasn't lying, this was better than good, it felt euphoric. He unravelled you with his touch, his hands in places even you hadn't felt yourself. You wanted more, you wanted so much more and he gave it, over and over again, letting you feel every inch of him, reaching as deep inside you as he could, like any distance between the both of you was unbearable. You let him consume you in his fire as the pain turned to a pleasure like never before, a coil tightening in the pits of your being. The both of you whispered each other’s names for as long as you could hold it until you finally let go and so did he, filling you with every last essence of him. As you laid side by side breathless, staring at the roof, you saw the stars have come down, swirling across the ceiling and you fell into a deep slumber.  

When you woke up that morning, the sun was almost right on top of the cottage, half the day having already passed. Seungcheol didn't leave that day, instead he was right there, pressed against your back, wrapping you in his embrace, your limbs messily tangled with each other’s. When you tried to free yourself from him, he pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck, taking in as much of you as he could before he said he had to leave again. I'll come back to you, he promised and you did not let him see how tears brimmed in your eyes as you waved him away.

After that day though, you never cried again. Or ever slept in your own bedroom. Like promised every night Seungcheol returned to you and every night you lay between the sheets together, some days making love, some days simply talking and laughing away, some days just drifting away to sleep in each other’s arms. It truly felt like happily every after but you forgot, happily ever after was only for fairytales.

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It was just another normal day. The both of you had woken up as usual to the crowing of the rooster before dawn. You gathered the vegetables in the garden while Seungcheol made the most wonderful soup, perfect for a cold day. After he kissed you goodbye and left, you cleaned the stables, drew water from the well, tended to the garden, washed up, donned your favourite red dress, ate lunch, took a nap, played with kkuma, and finally, sat by the lake again, trying to catch your breath. It was the same routine as the last eight weeks.  

As you unconsciously plucked on the grass, your mind couldn’t help but wander back to a question that had been plaguing you these days. Was this all your life was going to be? The same routine, waking up everyday knowing it was going to be the exact same as yesterday and will be the exact same as tomorrow? Sure, you loved Seungcheol and Kkuma and Hannie and this little life you had built together, but you couldn’t help but think if you were made for something more. This couldn’t be it right?  

It wasn’t. And you were moments away from finding out.

You were so lost in thought, you didn’t notice Hannie in the sky until he landed right next to you, making you hurriedly jump to your feet to get away from the lake only for your damned dress to get tangled between your feet, making you fall right into the waters. Thank God Seungcheol had reached just in time to see you disappear under the surface and immediately dived in. Using all his might he pulled you up before you were lost in the depths, coughing and catching his breath as he crawled onto the bank.

That was the first day things went very, very differently.  

Instead of greeting Seungcheol like you usually did every day, you shivered, walking away into the house to dry yourself. You didn’t change into another red dress but a blue on this time that made even Seungcheol raise an eyebrow in surprise. Dinner was not the same too. The kimchi which never ran out had finally run out, there was apparently no fish in the market today and seungcheol bought eggs for the first time. When he insisted you would like the taste, you tried it and you indeed did like it, a lot. He grinned at you and said you could always trust his word but how could you anymore? 

He told you to stay away from the lake, that people couldn’t breathe under it but when you fell in, you could. In there you felt, if not more, just as alive and breathing and the water – it spoke to you. At first you were sure you were dying - you should have listened to Seungcheol, you should have stayed away but here you were in the middle of the lake, so close to death that you were hallucinating voices. But when you realised you were actually breathing, you listened. 

Finish your mission Y/n. Finish the mission and you can become who you really are again. You can join the waters again. 

You didn’t understand.  

That night instead of a fairytale, you ask Seungcheol to tell you about the legend of the sea again so he did.

Centuries ago, back when there was magic on Land, there was an ancient war between two of the most powerful kingdoms of Earth – the Chois and the Kangs. They battled tirelessly, day and night, for months to the point where uncountable bodies began piling, resources began running out and even the heavens begged them to stop - there would be nothing left of the Earth this way. But that’s the thing about power – relinquishing it was not an option.  

Finally, one unfortunate day, the Chois gained an upper hand in battle, forcing the Kangs to seek refuge in hiding. The Kangs though, disappeared overnight - though the Chois searched every corner of Land, they could not find them. It was only when they sort to use magic to find them that victors of the battle realised, they had lost their most prized possession – the Sceptre. The sceptre was like the motherboard of all magic on Earth – it was the source. After years of combing every inch of Land, the Chois finally came to the conclusion that the Kangs and the Sceptre were in the one place that no one on Land could reach – The Sea.  

Indeed, powered by magic, the entire kingdom of the Kangs and all those who stood by their side had retreated into the ocean, making a life for themselves there. Using the magic, they kept themselves alive, preparing once again to battle for what they believed was rightfully theirs. But the Earth could not take another war, at this rate, nothing would be left and so, the Council of the Land and the Council of the Sea were formed, to keep peace between both kingdoms. After months of debate, both councils came to a Pact.

The Kangs were allowed to keep the magic but were forbidden from ever stepping on Land. The very magic they stole was used to strip them of their ability to breath air, forcing them to stay in the waters for life. The Chois on the other hand, were allowed to rule Land but were never to see magic again – the Land would not know of it and would not use it anymore. And most importantly, the Land and the Sea were never to meet. Every single ship in sight was burnt, boats were torn apart, walls were built at the border of every coastal city.  

Over generations, not only did the Land never interact with the Sea but they began to fear it, malicious stories of monsters and merpeople making their way into children’s bedtime stories and fairytales. A few brave, rebellious souls would try to break The Pact and venture into the Sea but no one really lived to tell the tale.

Seungcheol said that there will never be anyone with a tale to tell because like all legends, this too was no more than just a story and a speculation. But for the first time, you don’t believe him.  

Instead, you think merpeople truly do exist and as impossible as it sounded, you might just be one of them

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You looked at the pretty red dress you had laid out on the bed for today.  

Today was important for more than one reasons.

Today was the annual citizen’s banquet, which meant it was the first time you were going to the castle. Today was also the first time you were going to see the king and most importantly, today was also probably the day you were going to find out who you really are.  

You didn’t tell Seungcheol about what happened that day in the lake. Maybe because he believed that the Legend of the Sea was not true or because you yourself were not sure you entirely believed it, but somehow you, who told Seungcheol about everything, didn’t tell him about this. You needed more confirmation first, you needed to go into the lake once more.

But surprisingly, the lake you once liked so much looks more daunting now. You were not afraid of drowning, rather you were afraid what being able to survive the waters would mean. You kept avoiding it, telling yourself one day you couldn’t go in there because you had to brine the vegetables and that you had to bathe the cows or whatever other excuse you could find until one day all the chores were over and you ran out of excuses. You had to go in now.  

Carefully looking around to make sure there was no one in sight, you sat down on the bank, put a foot first, then the other, then slowly lowered yourself in, submerging into the waters, kkuma’s barks fading out, the voices taking over.  

Finish your mission Y/n and join the waters again.  

It was true.  

You weren’t imagining things, you were indeed breathing in there, the voices were real, everything was ridiculously real. It didn’t make any sense but it also really did. The water felt like home, like you belonged. You could swim much faster, better than you could walk. You felt stronger, more powerful, more like you in there. Even though the lake looked like it held darkness, you could clearly see everything below – the animals, the plants, the life, all of it. Oh, you wanted to join the waters, you wanted to be here forever.

But when you opened your mouth to ask what the mission was, only the gurgling sound of bubbles left you. Somehow just the thought was enough because you heard the answer soon enough and it sent a chill down your spine.  

Kill the King.  

You looked at yourself in the mirror, donning your dress.

The price for finding out who you were was to kill the king, the most important man in the town.

You couldn’t.

Taking the life of another could not be the price of your truth. So, you had decided to forget about it. It was wrong and unethical and whoever asked you of that had clearly lost their mind except….. it was you.

The more you thought about it, the more you could not deny it – the voice in the lake was your own, as though you had left yourself a message, a reminder. Why on Earth would you want to kill the king? Then again, how did you, someone who clearly belonged to The Sea, find themselves on land? Why was it that you remembered nothing?

Maybe killing the king had a bigger purpose, a noble one, after all, all kings were not necessarily good.  

You had to find out. You had to meet him and see for yourself.

And as though the universe was aligning things into place for you, the night you decided to ask Seungcheol about visiting the castle, he mentioned that the king was arranging a grand banquet to which all citizens of the town were invited. He said if you were not comfortable you didn’t have to go but you cut him off much to his surprise, insisting that you want to attend.  

That’s how days later you found yourself standing at the gates of the castle as the crowd of town poured into the estate on either side of you. Seungcheol was supposed to pick you up tonight but instead there was a carriage waiting for you, with a message relayed by the footman that he got caught up in something and will meet you in the banquet.

The banquet was arranged in a large hall right in the middle of the castle and it was perhaps the most stunning place you had ever seen. The stone walls were covered in drapes of red and purple, the large windows shining with the views of prettily trimmed gardens. There were beautiful paintings everywhere, statues of men in armour and food of all kinds being serve around. Almost the whole town fraternised under the large golden chandelier, each dressed better than the other, chattering away in small whispers. You stayed near the large pillars of stone, as far away from the crowd as possible, eyes still looking for Seungcheol, ears trying to tune out all that people were saying around you.  

But you couldn’t ignore the loud sound of the trumpet as it echoes through the hall, followed by an announcement that the King had arrived. As your heart thumped away in your chest, he appeared, at the top of the stairs that led down into the hall, dressed in what you thought was rather simple for a king. You wanted to move closer to get a better look as he descended down the stairs but you realised everyone around you was bowing down to him so you mirrored it, staring at the white marble of the floor. Its only when a pair of pretty leather shoes appear right before you that you allow yourself to look up, facing the one person you were to see tonight – the king.

He was nothing like you hoped. He didn’t look malicious, or evil or like he was even capable of doing something wrong. He had the kindest eyes, crinkled with crows’ feet as he smiled at you so warmly, you felt nothing but comfort. Only one other person in this whole town ever made you feel safe like that. From the looks of his salt and pepper hair, he looked like he was aging, and the wisdom that came with time also shone on his face. He smiled so pleasantly, didn’t dress in a way that showed off all his wealth, and didn’t seem to harbour any sort of superiority because the moment the music swelled to life, he held his hand out to ask you, a commoner, for a dance.  

The whole town looked at you as though they were waiting so you placed your hand on his, letting him lead you to the middle of the floor as everyone else immediately moved to pick partners of their own.

Seungcheol had taught you how to dance. When you expressed your interest to go to the banquet, he told you there would also be a dance accompanying it and showed you how it was done. He was so patient with you, even though you stepped on his foot and banged his head with yours a few hundred times, bursting into a string of apologies whenever you did. But he only laughed, holding you close and dancing with you through the rainy night. You wondered where he was right now but that was the least of your worries considering you were dancing with the man you were deemed to kill and to your absolute disappointment, you could not find one reason to do so.  

You hoped so hard that you were right, that the king was a bad man and you were given this mission to make things right but he wasn’t. As much as you tried to not eavesdrop, you still heard whatever the people around you were whispering away. They were all in praises of him. They said he was a great man and under his ruling, the town was doing better than ever. They said the harvest was good thanks to him, that the they were safe from invasion thanks to him and were all living well thanks to him.

A part of you knew they were right – you had seen how happy and peaceful the townspeople always were, something that was only possible if they were in good hands. You could see for yourself what a wonderful man the king seemed to be and how everyone truly seemed to love and cherish him.

But a part of you didn’t want to believe that. You had to find a reason, something had to be wrong, you needed to justify why killing him was important. That was the only way to find out who you are.  

And as though the universe which had been so helpful so far decided now was the time to create chaos, the trumpet echoes through the hall again, announcing the arrival of the crown prince. When you see the person standing at the top of the stairs, you instant freeze, feeling your guts twist the way they did the first time you ever saw him – Seungcheol.  

Seungcheol was a prince. He was the crown prince of this land which meant he was the first born of the king.

That meant...... your mission was to kill the father of the man you loved.

As the townspeople gathered in the gardens below, you stood in a balcony of the castle, looking at the stars dancing in the sky.  

The whole night you had been feeling nothing but numb. The moment Seungcheol had appeared you excused yourself from the king, rushing out of the hall, trying not to throw up. Seungcheol immediately followed asking if you were okay but you didn’t answer. You did not see things unfolding this way. Not only did you not find a single reason why you had to kill the King, now you had one for why you shouldn’t do it.  

Seungcheol asked again, looking for answers in your expression but you just looked away, muttering that you had no idea he was the prince. He said he wasn’t trying to hide it from you, he just didn’t think about it. The whole town knew he was the crown prince so he never had to introduce himself that way. Besides, he didn't like to his status as royalty to define him so he didn’t usually mention it to anyone. As far as why he didn’t live in the castle was concerned, he started living in the cottage when he was 14 years old. That house was his mother’s, before the king and her fell in love and got married. After she passed away in the childbirth of her second child, he moved there so he could feel closer to her. His father too thought it was good for him to live among his subjects, to learn their problems and to gain their trust.  

You had nothing but silence to offer in return. It was all too much, all at once.  

The loud whispers of the town started fading out as the King walked in, standing among them. Seungcheol didn’t look too happy as he stared at the scene below him. He said he was worried about his father. You felt that churning feeling in your stomach once again. He said that he was getting old and it was getting harder for him to negotiate with neighbouring kingdoms, to keep war at bay. You didn’t understand what he meant.

He claimed the town was happy now but 3 months ago, nothing was going well. Their kingdom was under attack, everyone’s lives were threatened, the future looked very bleak. The king had somehow managed to save everyone then but unknown to the people, it was temporary. His father tried his best to negotiate and talk to the neighbouring kingdoms but there was no use – war has been declared against them yet again and he was worried King Choi was not strong enough for battle.

You held his hand stroking the back of it softly. He then apologised to you, confusing you even more. You asked him why but you had an idea already – he was taking his father’s place in war; he was going to lead the army.  

You felt as though someone pulled the ground below your feet and Seungcheol’s grip on your hand was the only thing saving you from falling. As crown prince it was his duty and you knew and understood but the thought of being away from him again was killing you on the inside. He said he wouldn’t be gone for long but you know what war meant - there was no guarantee of him even returning.

You hugged him shaking your head, refusing to let him go or insisting that he take you along with him but he simply hugged you back claiming that was not possible, it was dangerous. He told you to move to the castle while he was gone. Here you would be taken care of, you wouldn’t be lonely and most importantly, you would have the chance to get closer to his father.

You froze.  

Seungcheol let you go, making you sit on the moss-covered stone bench, sitting next to you. He said he wanted to leave you in good hands in case he didn’t make it back. You refused to listen to anything else, he promised he would always come back to you, that meant he had to come back. He laughed at your futile stubbornness, tucking your hair behind your ear, looking at you with a strange longing. You give him a soft peck on his lips to let him know he had no reason to long for you, you were always his. He pulled you in for more, taking your face in his hands, his mouth desperate against yours, like it was the last time, like a silent goodbye etched in his kiss.

It was only when the applause rang downstairs that he let you go, pressing his forehead on yours, sighing. You felt tears threaten your eyes once again as he caressed your cheek with his thumb softly, like he was trying to memorise how your face felt under his touch. He said he wished he had longer with you, he wished had done this earlier and slid onto the gravel floor onto his knees, looking up at you softly.  

Marry me, he whispered, holding your hands. 

You stared at him wordlessly as the sky behind you came alive with lights, fireworks prettily burning against the black canvas of the night. Maybe a few days ago if he asked you would have said yes without him even needing to finish. You would marry him right there and then but now you were torn. Kill the King. The words were constantly ringing in your head. How could you marry him if your mission was to…..  

He understood your silence as hesitance, saying you didn’t have to answer now, you could tell him when he returned - that way he would have something he had to come back for. He then pulled out a small necklace from his pocket, making you wear it, saying it was a reminder of him while he was away. You touched the pendant, feeling it with your fingers. It wasn’t like any jewel you had ever seen - it didn’t shine, it was an odd shape and it looked rather dull. He said it was a shell and it was from the sea.  

If he noticed your shocked reaction and stuttering as you asked him how he got it , he didn’t mention it. Instead, he answered that there was a path from behind his cottage that led to the other side of the forest, to a sea cave where land and sea met fearlessly. Before you came into his life, that was his favourite place to go - he often spent his free time there and that’s where he found this.  

You wonder if it’s a sign from the universe, receiving a part of the ocean at a time when you didn’t know what to choose.  

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The next morning, trumpets rang through the entire town, announcing that the neighbouring kingdom had declared war and the crown prince was leading the army to fight. People spilled onto the streets to watch the armoured and determined cavalry going to serve their kingdom, Seungcheol leading the troop all the way in front on his horse. You stood at the highest terrace of the castle, watching him leave, going further and further away, until the distance engulfed him and you couldn’t see him anymore. You barely had him to yourself for five minutes in the morning to say goodbye before he was called away. You convinced yourself that all this was temporary anyways, he would come back.  

With a heavy heart, you walked down the wide corridors of the palace, kkuma following your every step. You lived here now. Seungcheol had people shift your few things from the cottage to his room in the castle. Though the bed was beyond comfortable and the room was bigger than the whole cottage you lived in previously, you didn’t spend much time in there. Instead, you roamed around the gardens and corridors or stepped out into the marketplace that you never ventured in without Seungcheol by your side. Any place was better than his room. It reeked of loneliness and most importantly, it overlooked the sea. As much as the breeze gave you unexplainable comfort, it was also a constant reminder of your mission.  

As time passed, you found yourself less and less inclined to fulfilling your task. You tried your best to not let yourself be swayed but in vain – you could not help but like the king. He was nothing but welcoming and kind to you. Maybe Seungcheol told him or maybe it was just a constant in the Choi family, but he insisted that every night you join him for dinner. He would ask about your day and make light conversation, but unlike Seungcheol, he would retire early to bed. He was sick. You could see in the way he coughed through his meal, the way his eyes keep fluttering shut in tiredness towards the end of the night. Yet he did all he could to make sure you were alright.

He introduced you to the library in the castle and if you thought Seungcheol’s study had a large collection of books, this place was massive. Books were lined all the way up till the ceiling, there were all sorts of maps and globes scattered all over the room, shelfs lined with little trinkets and souvenirs from his travels. The King explained that Seungcheol like his mother, loved to explore and like him, loved science and this library was where it all came together. He used to be unstoppable ever since he was a child and his curiosity always landed him in trouble – the whole town was banned from stepping on the beach but nothing could stop him. He always wanted to explore the sea.  

It surprised you to learn about Seungcheol’s fascination with the sea because he had always told you to stay away from water, that it was dangerous. You spent days of your time in that library, going through his journals and drawings, but didn’t really understand all the scribbles of notes he had jotted everywhere. You did see on the map though, the location of the sea cave that Seungcheol had mentioned about, wondering if you could get any answers there, but somehow you could never bring yourself to go. The answers of the questions you had so far had not been pleasant.  

Then one day as you sat on the wooden floor of the sunlit room studying what looked like drawings of some strange contraption, Hannie appeared in the sky.  

You immediately got up, running out of the room, down the corridor, up the stairs, all the way to the top, to try and see Seungcheol reappear where you last saw him.

He didn’t.

Clouds made their way, covering the strong sun, submerging the town in a strange gloom. It all felt too apocalyptic. You rushed to find the King, learning that he was holding court, making your way to the hall, stopping right by the door and hiding yourself to overhear the discussion.

The Chois were ambushed.

More than half the forces were dead or injured, many were missing and as though your greatest fear came true, Seungcheol was missing too. He was also very badly injured and no one had seen or heard from him in two days, it was highly likely he succumbed to his injuries. You refused to believe it. He said he would come back to you, which meant he would, you believed him. But no one else seemed to share the same faith as you. They were going to give up, surrender the throne to prevent an attack on the town itself. That was when to everyone’s surprise you barged in.

You insisted nothing was wrong with Seungcheol and they had to find him and finish this war. They tried to reason with you, tell you the facts but you refused to hear it. You questioned how they could give up so soon and why they aren’t even trying to find him. They claimed they had to clear out from enemy territory, that it could be dangerous going back there. You turned to the King hoping you could at least reason with him but his tired old face looks like he’s already mourning his son.  You ran out of there, unable to come to terms with what was happening.

You would find him yourself if that’s what it took.

Rushing to the royal stables, you picked the horse that looked the strongest and forced its gates open, ignoring the crimson bleeding out of your hand as you cut it on the metal. Before the poor stable boy could stop you, you mounted it, riding out of the palace, into the unprepared town. People hurriedly ran out of the way, pulling their carts and children to the side, nothing but wind left behind as you raced through. You had your eyes on Hannie flying in the sky above you. You knew it could lead you to him, you just had to follow. You were almost successful in crossing the gates of the town, into the woods, when the royal guards caught up, surrounding you.

The head of security begged you to stop, that you were putting the kingdom in more jeopardy and you couldn’t let your desire to protect one man affect everyone. You wanted to argue, tell him that you didn’t care about anyone else and to insist that they let you go but when you turned and saw all the people stepping out of their houses to see what the commotion is, you let go the reins of the horse. Yes, finding Seungcheol was most important to you, but not at the cost of so many people’s lives. You knew better than that, you could never be that selfish.

As though Hannie sympathised, it landed on your softly shoulder, nuzzling your neck, cooing in your ear. You took him in your hands, the bloodied hand further darkening the red on its chest, a thought forming in your mind. You smudge the blood onto your fingertips, tracing a word onto its white, a word that you knew would bring Seungcheol back to you. As you set it free hoping it would find him, you watch the yes etched on it, praying to the skies that when it returns, Seungcheol follows it like always.  

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You didn’t return to the castle after that.  

Turning your horse in the other direction, you rode to Seungcheol’s cottage by the woods, the only place you felt close to him. The big room and big bed of the castle might be physically comfortable but nothing made you feel at peace like this house, your safe haven. You were curled up in the bed for hours now as the sun slowly began to descend behind the mountains. You just had to give it time. You kept telling yourself it wasn’t a matter of if Seungcheol returned but when. He would come back for you, he would fight all odds and come back, you knew it.  

The sound of the horses neighing at a distance made you sit up. The royal guards must be here to escort you back to the castle now that it was getting darker outside. You didn’t want to go. You couldn’t stand being in that castle again.

Grabbing the oil lantern nearby, you soundlessly left through the back door, kkuma following you just as quietly. You thought you could just wait it out until the guards didn’t find you and returned to the castle but when kkuma began wandering away, you had no choice but to follow her. Not listening to your hushed whispers, with a mind of her own, she ventured into the forest and thoughtlessly, you followed. It’s only when the trees parted that you realised where you were – the sea cave.  

You didn’t know what you were expecting when Seungcheol mentioned about this place but it was beyond beautiful. The crystal blue waves were racing back and forth on the golden sand, the stone wall of the caves were gradients of brown rocks and green weeds. There were holes eroded onto the roof, the evening sun softly pouring in and in that soft light you noticed in the corner, folded are some blankets and books that clearly belonged to Seungcheol – he indeed must have spent a long time here. Kkuma settled herself down in the warmth of the bundled cloths, as you placed the lantern on a nearby rock and kicked your shoes off, feeling the warm sand under your feet.  

The water was inches away. The Ocean, the place that, if you had assumed right, was your home. Every bone in your body was craving to be in it, to submerge in it, to just feel alive in it once again. You walked ahead, taking one step after another, but the closer you moved to the waters, the further it seemed to be moving away from you. You quickened your steps, but the Sea kept retreating, pulling away. It surprised you to receive such hostility from waters that always looked so welcoming but not more than the voice that boomed through the cave, making you look around in panic. There was no one, you were all alone and kkuma too was fast asleep, like she didn’t hear anything. When you turned back to the sea, you bit back a scream, coming face to face with a woman, whose eyes were piercing into you, her lips curled into a smile as her voice echoed through the cave again. 

I see you’ve finally found your way home.  

Pain like no other seared through your head, making you fall to your knees in agony, your dress fanning out in the sand. As the woman bent down to your level, you scrambled back, swallowing the phantom lump in your throat, taking a better look at her. Holding a staff in one hand, she looked as old as time, her white hair and ragged clothes floating like she was still in the waters and that’s when you realised, she wasn’t actually here – it was apparition, like… magic. As though she read your mind, she confirmed it indeed was magic, that she controlled all the magic of the Sea - she was after all the Sea Witch.  

You recalled Seungcheol’s story about how the Sea had taken away magic from the Land, watching the legend come to life before you as the woman floated a few feet above the ground, looking at you expressionlessly. Who am I? Do I belong to the Sea? Why am I on Land?  You knew she was the only one who could possibly have the answers and she did - for a price.  

She pointed at the shell on your neck, claiming it belonged to the Sea – give it back and you could have all the answers you wanted. You held it in your grasp; it was the only thing of Seungcheol’s you had with you. You could either lose it and learn who you are or keep it and walk away, return to the castle. You could let your forgotten past remain forgotten and think only about the future with Seungcheol.  

But is there a future? She asked, reading your mind yet again. You knew what she meant. Seungcheol went to war and people died in war all the time. If he did not make it back, you had no place on Land, no home, no one to call your own. But if you were to find out who you truly are, you could then return to where you truly belonged. You tightened your grip on the shell, the pressure opening your wound, the blood spilling again. Giving up this necklace meant admitting to the possibility that Seungcheol will not return. How did that make you any different from all the others in the court who you lashed out at? 

The Sea Witch looked at you fighting your own battle in your head. She held out her hand saying if it was meant to be, then Seungcheol would return to you, regardless of whether you had this necklace or not. You know she’s playing you but give in, ripping the chain from your throat and throwing it into the waters, watching it sink into the dark bottom.  

The waves which seemed so afraid of you, raised themselves, almost as though bowing to you and the Sea Witch mirrored their action before straightening and looking up but this time, respectfully not meeting your eye.  

What do you seek, Princess of the Ocean.  

----------------------------------------------------------

You held the dagger in your hand tight, hands not shaking as you approached the dining room.  

The moment you returned to the castle, the maids had told you dinner was served and the king was waiting for you. You washed up and changed out of your sand filled clothes into one of your usual red dresses. Maybe there was a reason why you liked red so much – maybe deep down you knew you needed to hide the blood on your hands somewhere.  

You had to kill the King tonight.  

You stood in front of the large doors, the dagger that the Sea Witch gave in your hands, hiding efficiently in the large fabric of your dress. Once you stepped in, everything would change. You would become the killer of Seungcheol’s father, but you would also finally be fulfilling your duty to your people, the MerFolk.  

The Sea Witch told you the story from when it all began. The legends were all true. The merfolk were real, the life under the sea was real, everything you had experienced was real. 3 months ago, you were a part of the Sea, living a carefree life as the youngest princess of the royal family. Then one move by King Choi and everything changed.  

Over the centuries even though the entire ocean was ruled by just one family, without the power of magic, land had split into many Kingdoms and many rulers. Unlike the peace in the Sea, Land was always at war with itself, neighbouring kingdoms attacking and occupying towns – they never got rid of the battle they thought they won. One such battle happened three months ago at the Kingdom of the Chois where they were invaded by their neighbours, the Hans. At the brink of losing war, King Choi did the unthinkable – he set sail.

His deep interest in the Sea, that his son eventually inherited, had led him to spend years of his youth designing and building ships, the last of which had been burned during the Pact. The Sea allowed his soldiers to take an alternative route to attack their invaders and drive them out but the moment the ships had touched the ocean waters, years of peace dissolved into chaos.  

As the calm waters were shaken, towns under the Sea began falling apart – many merfolk died, many lost their homes, many lost their way back and among all the tragedies, the greatest one was losing your mother, the Queen.  

Her death left the entire Ocean without a leader, without a protector. Your sister, the oldest in the family, who had been trained for years to take over as queen was missing, like many others in the aftermath. The kingdom waited for days for her to show up until it was not practical to anymore – the ocean needed rebuilding, it needed leadership and guidance. As the only one left in the royal family, you had offered to take your mother’s place as queen but the Council of the Sea refused. You were young and inexperienced and unlike your sister, you were not trained to take over the Kingdom. They wanted to hand the Sea to the Hwangs, another family who had their eye on the throne for centuries now and were willing to take up the responsibility of the Ocean.  

You couldn’t let that happen, not only would it crush your mother’s dreams if the Kang lineage of rulers ended with her but also the Hwangs were notoriously famous for their aggressiveness. Under their hands, there was no saying what the future of the Ocean would look like. The citizens of the sea protested too – they were all on your side, they wanted you to rule and so the Council of the Sea and the Hwangs agreed – if you could prove yourself worthy.  

Kill the King of the Land.  

Blood for blood. Get revenge for the destruction of the Sea, that was the order. That was the price for you to get back your kingdom and 100 days was all you had to do it.

That’s when they called on the Sea Witch. Breathing on Land for 100 days would require very powerful and ancient magic, something only she was capable of. But it would not be so straightforward. The process would be excruciatingly painful, almost like becoming a new person, like being born again - quite literally because it would wipe out all your memories, everything you know of the Sea would be taken away. You would be sent to Land like a blank slate.  

That meant you had 100 days to go on Land, figure out who you were, learn of your mission and complete it. Should you fail, not only would you lose your kingdom, but the waters had no forgiveness for those who disobeyed magic so ancient – you would join them again, but as sea foam.  

Today was day 92. You only had 8 days left.  

You pushed open the doors of the dining hall, eyes falling on the King tiredly slouched in his chair waiting for you. He must’ve fallen asleep because he didn’t move when you approached. You looked at face responsible for the death of your mother, the disappearance of your sister, the destruction of your kingdom and you felt numb. You still couldn’t bring yourself to hate him, but you also couldn’t walk away. Yes, if only he didn’t bring out his ships you wouldn’t have lost so much, you wouldn’t be here but you know like any other good king, he did it to save his people. And now you had to do whatever it took to save yours.  

And then fate smirked.

Just as you raised the knife and were about to plunge it in his chest, you heard the fluttering sound of wings and on the balcony landed Hannie, looking more red than white. The knife slipped from your hands, landing on the floor with a thud as the king stirred awake. His guards burst into the room as the royal trumpets echoed through the night. You rushed to Hannie in the balcony, the one that overlooked the town, and saw the oil lanterns of the houses, slowly increase in number, getting brighter and brighter in the darkness. The king and his men departed immediately and so you followed them, holding Hannie in one hand and your dress in the other, running down the palace corridors and out the gate to see a crowd gathered.  

As it parted, it revealed Seungcheol's horse and holding onto its reins walking it was Seungcheol, bruised and battered, blood splattered all over him, multiple wounds gashed open, barely but still alive. Take a staggering step at a time, he approached his father bowing and whispered, We won before collapsing into the gravel.  

----------------------------------------------------------

Seungcheol was immediately taken away by the royal physicians as the king announced to the people that the war was over and the town erupted into cheers. You tried to follow the doctors to be with him but they closed the door on your face, asking you to stay out. So, you stayed right outside, the whole night, prancing about, biting your nails, as you waited for the news.  

Instead, you were met with screams. You don’t know what they were doing to Seungcheol in there but he was evidentially in unbearable pain – you could hear in the way the screams ripped out of his throat, like he was in pure agony. It went on for hours and it was so terrifying to hear, you felt your heart shatter every time it rang through the halls. 

Finally at the crack of dawn he seemed to calm down and the doors finally opened. He was deeply wounded and his body was beyond exhausted, he just needed some sleep, the physicians assured you and the king, who unknown to you had also arrived. You thanked them and hurried in to see Seungcheol peacefully lying on the bed, bandages wrapped all over his body.

You sat beside him as the king gently stroked his son’s hair both proudly and sadly, muttering that he would pray for him to heal soon. As you held Seungcheol’s hand in yours, the king requested you to stay by the former’s side till he woke up. You assured him you would, to which he nodded and to both your shock and horror, pulled out the dagger which you had dropped in the dining room the day before. You held your breath as he placed it on the table beside the bed, not even looking at you. I believe this is yours.  

He knew.  

He figured out that you had attempted to take his life, but the tired old man didn’t say anything as he left. Instead, the royal guards placed at the door told you what you needed to know.

You failed your mission. Not only had you let down your people, you were discovered and now you were to be tried for treason. You only had till Seungcheol woke up. Lips quivering, you held onto his hand tighter. 

You didn’t know if fate was showing you mercy or prolonging your agony but it took almost 2 whole days for Seungcheol to finally wake up.   

You hadn’t left his room since you had entered it. Not only were you not allowed to, but you didn’t want to leave Seungcheol’s side. You either sat beside him, or in the balcony overlooking the ocean for hours together with kkuma curled up next to you and hannie flying around in the sky. The two of them had been awfully calm, as though they too knew what was coming.

Finally, on the 94th night, just as you had closed the doors of his bedroom and prepared your bed to sleep, Seungcheol stirred awake. You immediately rushed to his side as his eyes fluttered open, and the moment they landed on you, he broke into the most peaceful smile. You sighed in relief, softly holding his cheek in your hand, asking him how he was feeling.  

You said yes.  

Hannie flew into the room like a reminder of your message to him but his words only pained you. Things had changed so much since then. Not only could you not marry him but you had now become worthy of his hatred. You don’t think you can bear to see anything but love for you in his eyes.

Leaning down you kissed him, whispering that you loved him and that you wish no matter what, he always remembered that. He didn’t seem to understand your words, still reeling in the happiness of your acceptance of his proposal as he pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in the embrace you were craving for.  

As the two of you laid for hours together, wrapped in each other, he told you how they had been ambushed before they even reached the battlefield - someone had betrayed them. His horse had saved him, taking him away into the woods, far from his attackers but he was already very badly injured. It was Hannie who arrived with your yes that truly saved him. He knew he had to come back for you so he pushed through. He regrouped what was left of the army and infiltrated the enemy camp that was prematurely celebrating their victory and gained the upper hand.  

You snuggled closer in his warmth, hoping he wouldn’t see the guilt on your face when he spoke of you like you were his saviour. Everything would change tomorrow. Tonight was your last night with him, your last chance to create a memory for him to remember you by. As he went on about how tomorrow morning he would talk to the king about the wedding, you kissed him, cutting him off. Tonight you only wanted to love and love you did.  

Of all the nights you spent with Seungcheol, nothing felt like this. There was a strange desperation carved in the way you undressed each other, hands roaming, names whispered against skin. You took the lead this time, clambering on top of him and he stared at you like you were his whole world and more. Tucking your hair behind your ear, he told you how lucky he was to have you and you pushed the recurring feeling of guilt down and claimed him for yourself one last time.

A clash of hands, tongues and moans, he matched your need, leaving marks of love on your shoulder and chest. Burying your face in his neck, you held back the tears of pain and pleasure and a goodbye all dissolved in one as you came apart above him. Like always his arms held you in his embrace as though stopping you from losing yourself but it was too late. Everything had fallen apart already.  

----------------------------------------------------------

When you woke up, the bed was empty.  

Seungcheol was not in the room, neither were the maids scurrying in as usual, cleaning up and neither were the guards who were placed outside the doors all these days. You walked down the corridors which were overtaken by a strange emptiness, wondering where everyone was. It was late in the afternoon judging by the sun but the palace was looking bleaker than usual.  

That was when your eyes fell on the flag of the kingdom hoisted down, flying low.  

Mourning.  

You rushed back towards the bedroom wing of the palace, heart beating erratically against your still lungs, till you found the royal physicians walking out of a chamber, looking dejected. The kings chamber.  

As you got closer, you noticed the officials of the royal court had all gathered around, dressed in black, heads hanging, faces in sorrow. They parted, letting you walk in to see Seungcheol standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at the king who laid peacefully in a slumber he would never wake up from.

The moment you put your hand on his shoulder Seungcheol turned. He wasn’t crying but there was so much pain in his face, it made you want to take him in your arms and hide him there forever. But you didn’t. You rubbed his arms softly whispering that you will wait for him outside, knowing he needed time with his father, the last of his family.  

But the moment you stepped out, the royal guards surrounded you, their spears pointing at you from a distance and you knew the time had come. By the order of the late king, after Prince Choi was awake, you were to be imprisoned for treason. For life.  

 ----------------------------------------------------------

You might have been forced into a four stone walled dark cell for 5 days now but there was no greater prison that your own mind. As the moonlight creeped through the metal bars of the window on top, you sat crouched in the little dark space, leaning against the cold rocks. It was always so silent in here, you only ever heard the crashing of the waves against the walls, each ebb and flow reminding you of where you truly belonged.  

With the king now dead, your mission was complete, you could go back home. You could go back to your people, you could take back your kingdom but somehow you lacked the strength or the will to fight your way out of here. It would mean facing Seungcheol, who in the last many days had not come even once to see you. With each passing minute in his absence a part of you was glad to not see the disgust he would hold for you but another was broken at the thought of this being the end of the love you shared. As you fought your inner battle as a lover and a princess, time, the one thing that you did not have, kept slipping away.  

And then for the first time in 5 days, a shadow other than your own was cast in the moonlight. Seungcheol’s.  

You stood up, taken aback by his presence after so long but more by the sound of the gates opening and the guards asking you to step out, leading you out of the prison cell. You were free.  

It was only then in the light of the fire lit corridors that you saw him, dressed in finery like never before and on his head rested the whole responsibility of the kingdom - the crown. 

It was no longer Prince Seungcheol, he was now King Choi Seungcheol.  

Seeing him like that, your heart swelled with pride. When you found out Seungcheol was the prince you weren’t really as surprised as you should have been because it was only then that things made perfect sense. You had seen the king in him all along. One of the reasons that you loved him so much was because of what a good man he was, always thoughtful of others, always helping those in need, always looking out. No one was more worthy of being king than him.   

But before you can say anything to him, the maids brought you away to his room, complaining that you needed a change of clothes and a good bath. As they helped you strip out and scrubbed your neglected skin, they talked about how Seungcheol was furious when he learnt of your imprisonment. He insisted that you be released at once but he could not do anything as the royal guards would only take orders from the king. Stubborn to get you released no matter what, he sped up the coronation, which was due two weeks later and was crowned king just hours ago. His first order as ruler was that you be immediately released.  

You asked to be left alone for a bit, soaking yourself in the water after days now. Why did Seungcheol let you go? Did he not believe you tried to kill his father? Or did he love you so much that he was willing to forgive you for the attempt?

You couldn’t even ask him. He would not be free of the coronation festivities which apparently went on till sunrise and you didn’t have long before you had to return to the ocean – it was already day 99.  

Maybe it was better this way. You had your duties like he had his. Maybe if you left without giving him an explanation and without getting one, it would be easier for the love between the two of you to die. It had to die. The two of you belonged to two different worlds. There was no a happily ever after written for this story.   

You slid against the bath, submerging yourself into the waters, trying to breathe in peace again.  

But the nightmare had not ended. The voices were not gone.  

Kill the King.  

----------------------------------------------------------

When you walked out of the bathroom, Seungcheol was there.  

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in his usual simple clothes again. In fact, he was wearing the same white shirt as the first time you ever saw him. The irony was not lost on you. It was like fate was not tired of the joke after joke after joke it was playing. 

You walked in, asking him what he was doing away from the celebrations when you noticed what was in his hands. The dagger. Your dagger.  

It's been a while since I told you a story.  

He looked up, meeting your eye in the mirror, his finger dangerously dragging against the blade.  

Do you remember the legend of the sea?  

Why was the talking about this to you right now?  

There's more, he claimed, standing up, turning to you. In that blue sea of dangerous creatures and vicious beings also lived the most beautiful woman in the world.  

You can hear your heart thumping in your ear.  

One day, the woman of the waters found herself on land. She was sent with a mission.

You took a step back. How could he possibly know all this?

You may have forgotten everything Y/n. But I didn't. He walked up to you. You may remember only 3 months of our love, but I remember 10 years of it.

You didn't understand. You didn't understand at all.

The young woman had been interested in the Land and humans ever since she was a little girl. Even though the merfolk were clearly warned to stay away from humans and shallow waters were dangerous to swim in, she would always escape the barricades quietly, to see whatever little of Land she would.

Finally, when she was 14 years old, she discovered a little secret - a sea cave. It was the only place where the waters next to land were deep enough, where she could get close to the land without being in much danger. She would come there often just to look at the sand and the rocks but she never saw any humans.

Until one day, a young, 14 year old Prince, distraught at the loss of his mother had ventured into the forest all alone and found the cave.  

You remember Seungcheol telling you he moved to the cottage after the death of his mother when he was 14.

The price was also just as interested in the Sea as she was in land but unlike her, he did the stupid thing of entering the waters - he immediately started drowning.

That was the day she saved him the first time. Holding her breath to the point she couldn't anymore, she pulled him onto the sand before disappearing into the ocean. The last thing he remembered was seeing her most beautiful face.

After that the prince came everyday. Initially the young girl never showed herself. He knew she was there though, deeper in the waters, lurking silently. He would come every morning and just sit in the sand doing his assignments, glancing at the sea every once in a while and when the sun would start to set, he would return. Slowly, much to his anticipation and delight, she started coming up closer and closer to the surface until one day when he was 16, Seungcheol for the first time, put his hand in the water and touched hers.

It was magical, like nothing he ever felt before.

Then he started to get reckless again, trying to enter the waters, almost drowning too, but this time she held his hand and taught him to swim. Of the many hours he spent in the cave, a few minutes were always in the water, swimming by her side, and the rest were just watching her glide through the waves.

When he was 18, he created something extraordinary. He had always been a bit of a science man but after years of trial and error, he had finally made a device - a little mask of sorts that could help him breathe underwater, for about an hour or so. He didn't have to hold his breath anymore - he was able to spend longer under the sea, longer with her.

When he went to show it to her, she had discovered a little secret of her own - weeds. Not any kind but a very particular one that only grew in the Sea witches house. She apparently used to work for one, to learn magic, like all her other siblings did. There she had come across these very special plants that allowed merfolk to breathe on land.

That was the first time she stepped on land. The moment she did, she succumbed to her knees, throwing up water in the sand. Even the weed had its downsides, the most important one being that its affect only seemed to last an hour or so. But the hour she had with him on land and he had with her in the waters were more than enough - Their worlds were no longer barriers.

That went on for years, these secret meetings. Initially it was just sharing laughs, then dreams, then the thought of a whole life together. He taught her how to read and write their language, she drew him maps of different lands, far away in the sea. He taught her about science and she taught him about magic. His stories about the land animals fascinated her and her stories about the sea creatures terrified him.

When he was 20, he kissed her for the first time. When they were 22, they made love and when they were 24, around a 100 days ago, she told him she had to come to land for a mission.

It felt like someone had knocked the air out of your lungs. How was any of this possible?

She didn't say what her mission was, just that she had something to do and she needed him to help her. She would apparently arrive on land with all her memories gone and she needed him to guide her to find her way back. He didn't understand but she didn't have the time to tell him more. She just handed him a shell necklace and told him to give it to her when the time was right, it would help her figure things out.

So did you figure it out Y/n? He took you hand, placing the knife laced with his blood in it. Was your mission to kill my father?

You shook your head slowly, still processing all the information.

"It was to kill you."

The moment you heard your voice again in that bath, you felt like your life just left you. You thought the mission was completed - the king was dead. Then why were you still hearing it.... except you didn't complete the mission. You didn't kill the king, you didn't use the dagger.

Now the king was right in front of you. The man you just  discovered you had been in love with your whole life. The man who made you fall in love with him all over again. The man who you had to kill to stay alive.

But he didn't look even a little fazed.

The sky behind you was starting to get brighter. The sun was rising. The 100th day was nearly here.

"Its okay." He whispered, moving closer to you without an ounce of fear. "Do it."

How could he love you so much, enough to die for you?

You could feel the tears rolling down your cheeks. He gently wiped it away, shaking his head. You kissed the inside of his hand on your cheek, and then pulled him close, feeling his mouth against yours for what you knew was the last time.

As you whispered an apology, he assured you it was okay. That you were the most beautiful thing that ever happened to him. And there was no better way for him to go than you being the last thing he saw.

You took a step back.

"Till death do us apart."

And then another step.

"Till death do us apart."

And then another, till you reached the window overlooking the ocean, you back against it.

You smiled at him.

He was not the only one who loved you enough to die.

The sun had risen quite high by now. You were simply a silhouette against the light, an outline and soon a memory. Before Seungcheol could even realise what you were doing, you leaned back. He ran towards you, as you let yourself drop, only just missing his outstretched hand trying to pointlessly save you, taken away by the winds, taken away to the sea.

As the sun fully rose in the sky, the dagger in you hands landed in the ocean with a splash, sinking to the bottom slowly, disappearing from existence.

And around it was sea foam, finally reclaimed by the waters where it belonged, gently floating away in peace.

[varilien]

(character uses they/it) i keep wanting to start posting my ocs over here again and then Just Not Doing It so uhhhh !!! some stuff from february, had a dream about knives that made me think of a plant oc with a constant power output so extreme that it generates a deadly radiation field around them. because of that they've been living alone this whole time, avoiding contact with other living things, and over the years they've learned how to suppress that output for short spans of time or "safely" pour out the excess in order to be safe to be around, though they ultimately prefer their solitude due to a history of bad experiences with humans. they're very blunt, spiteful, and curious

@whatever-you-can-give-me suggested lr would make good friends for them since they are 🤝 about being extremely hard to hurt lol

also! wrote like 2k about they and razlo's first meeting below the cut if anyone's interested in some good ol violence + gore :3

that was a fr content warning btw read at ur own discretion:

Chance encounters with violent strangers out in the open desert are nothing new to LR, even when Livio purposefully had tried to find the quietest possible route to travel.  It’s not even necessarily surprising to run into someone a little to the left of human, someone a bit bigger or stronger or more durable than they really have any right to be.  The Eye aren’t the only ones designing freaks on this planet, that much is obvious, evidenced sufficiently by the odder fights LR have ever gotten in.  

And this one is shaping up to be one of their oddest fights yet.

Livio hadn’t seen the fucker coming, occupied as he was with the slow realization of why this stretch of road doesn’t see much use anymore: a creeping heat across his nerve endings unrelated to the overcast, evening suns, the taste of metal in his mouth, and a deep-rooted nausea twisting up his guts.  Radiation sickness.  He’s dealt with it before, and as unpleasant as it is, it’s hardly enough to slow him down too bad.  

It’s damn distracting, though.  A good enough excuse for not noticing them hiding up along the rockface above his head.  Not a good enough excuse to keep Razlo from tagging in, especially after something’s pierced straight through the back of his neck, nearly taking his head clean off.  

Razlo rolls for cover with a strangled sound, blood gushing from his forced-out throat and foaming at his lips.  Even with his senses jarred and his vision blurred, it'd take more than a near-decapitation for his instincts to be overridden.  He's slinging out a Punisher before he even knows what he's up against.  

There's a blur of motion to his right as soon as his sights are raised.  They're probably surprised Razlo's still standing, but so was everyone else who's gotten a lucky shot at him.

He can track their motion by sound alone.  They're sloppy.  Feet hitting the cracked earth in hard thumps, every one a warning that Razlo can aim a spray of bullets at.  And by now Razlo's healed enough to notice and wonder why the hell his head is still so fucked up.

At least now he can mostly see them when he turns, hanging back a ways, out of Razlo's reach.  Shorter than him by a head and a half, covered toe to tip in layers of sun-bleached rags, save for their face.  That's hidden behind a tall, curved mask, shaped in a way that looks an awful lot like a tomas' crest, with the false eye markings to match.  Even the glass for the lenses is opaque.  The only part of them that’s exposed is their left hand, extended delicately aside to keep Razlo’s blood dripping off it from getting on their clothes.

Razlo physically tries to shake out the buzzing in his skull that only gets worse by the second, only to notice the foul smell of burning meat and risk an instinctive glance down at his arm, where his flesh has started to bubble and steam seemingly on its own.  He looks between his arm and his opponent, the way their body tenses and head begins to tip, shaking hard, simultaneous with his skin boiling that much more fiercely.  

Something clicks in his brain.  There’s no way.

And no time to find out.  This time when they dart in he’s expecting it; he takes a swing at their head, and they dodge right into his follow-through, slamming his Punisher into their skull with a crunch and a wet sound from their throat.  They drop, like he’d expect them to, like anyone would.  And like no one does, they just roll out of the way and onto their back, braced to spring back up again.  Razlo puts his boot through their ribcage before they get the chance to.  That should be the end of it, too, but the fucker just keeps kicking, trying to get away, the only sound they make being the gurgle of their lungs filling with blood, and they keep kicking.

At this point Razlo doesn’t even have a plan anymore.  Needless to say, he doesn’t go up against an awful lot of guys who match him in the department of being a pain in the ass to take down.  Razlo's just starting to come up with a new idea when those long arms swing up, claws digging into and making ribbons of his right leg.

Razlo curses and tries to pull away, which only makes them hold on even tighter.  He's staring that four-eyed glare down when that burning feeling across his whole body raises in pitch again, and it's the sight of his flesh starting to disintegrate around their fingers that finally makes him back off.

Razlo rather gracelessly falls on his ass in trying to take a step back, not expecting his right leg to simply break off halfway down his thigh.  He scrambles back a ways, ready to keep going, missing limb or no, but— they aren't following him.  They're collapsed in the sand, limbs akimbo as they fight to draw a full breath.  Razlo watches with morbid curiosity as his severed leg dissolves into nothing more than an off-colored patch of sand beside them.

All that angry tension has gone out of their body, leaving them limp and motionless except for the stutter of their chest, and Razlo can hear the damp gasps muffled behind their mask.  By all rights, it should look like more of a struggle.  They should be dead, really, but from where Razlo is sitting, it looks a lot more like they’re just taking a rest.  He feels more sure of that when they roll their shoulders back a bit, arms braced in the dirt as they delicately arch their spine.  There’s some sharp popping sounds, and a little exhale from them; setting their ribs, Razlo figures.  He’s had to do the same thing before.  Once they can move their arms more effectively, they start to gather themself up into a seated position, bones and joints still crackling like popcorn here and there as they go, til they’re all the way up, with their hands resting in their lap, looking far too fucking comfortable for the fight they’d just had.

"You're not dead."

Their voice startles Razlo despite being as soft as it is, and his gaze flicks up to that mask, just slightly tilted to the side, orange lenses glinting in the harsh sunlight.  They don't move at all that Razlo can see.  Even their breathing has evened out enough to have become imperceptible under their heavy shroud; if they're in any pain still, Razlo sure can't tell.

"Nope," is all he says, or can manage to say.

He scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, blinking hard a couple times to scrunch up his face in the hopes his nerves might start feeling right again soon.

Another wave of nausea hits him, but his stomach was empty before the fight even started, so he leans forward to put his head between his knees and dry heave for a while.

The whole time, he's aware of his little opponent continuing to sit in silence, watching and eerily unmoving, even when Razlo manages to sit up again and wipe his mouth with his wrist.

"The fuck's yer deal, anyways?"  Razlo asks.

"'Deal'...?"  They echo.

"Couldn't exactly kill you, either."

He wasn't expecting them to spill their life story or something, but he was thinking he'd get something more of a response than their head tilting back the opposite way.  There's not a lot to work with here in trying to get a read on them, but Razlo feels it's safe to hazard they're probably just pretty damn confused, the same as him.

"You kinda smell like a Plant.  M'not an expert, but I've met two others."

Now that gets something out of them.  A tiny wiggle of their head that makes the pieces in their mask rattle.

"I wouldn't know.  I've only met me."

“Huh.”  

Whether it’s a confirmation or rebuttal hardly matters at this point.  He’s feeling sure enough that his assumption was correct, now, anyways.

"You, uh…"  Razlo has to pause for breath.  Unlike the thing across from him, he's having a hell of a time getting his back.  "You're the one making this radiation field?"

"Yes."

"Any way you could turn it down?"

They say nothing, though Razlo feels suddenly that he's being studied very intently.  And shortly after, slowly, slowly the fire in his cells begins to go out, and he can spit the worst of the sourness off his tongue.  Eventually he can't feel any radiation left at all, though his body's had a rough enough time from the dose he got, he'll be getting the sickness out of his system for a while yet.

Regardless, Razlo’s fingers twitch against the triggers when he hears that mask rattle again, and his eyes are on it in an instant.

"You didn't answer my first question," Razlo reminds, cautiously.

More silence, for a while.

"You wanted to hurt me."

There's no malice in the statement, at least that Razlo can tell.  Just the simple facts.  Still, he narrows his eyes.

"You started it.  Figured it was mutual."

"That's true."

Razlo grins.

"So, what now?  Regrow my leg, and get back to not killing each other?"

"If you'd like to."

That gets a laugh out of him.

"Nah, I think I’ll pass, if it’s all the same to you.”

“It is.”

That much is obvious.  They stay put, seeming transfixed on watching Razlo’s leg grow back, only a little more slowly than any of his other injuries, now that he doesn’t have the radiation to slow him down.  It leaves him feeling itchy and achy all over, and he’s got a bad hunch that right ankle doesn’t have the best chances of coming back right.  Once there’s enough of it to fuss about, he gets his foot in his hands and starts experimentally rolling it on its hinge, checking that the range of motion is right.

And still, those orange lenses glint at him curiously.  They don’t flinch or look away when Razlo considers them in return; he guesses they don’t know it’s not polite to stare.

“What's yer name?"  Razlo asks.

"My name?"

"Don't tell me you ain't got one."

The silence that follows is pretty self-explanatory.

“I’m Razlo.”

He can just make out the sound of them mumbling his name under their breath, like they’re not sure how it’s going to come out.  Almost warmly, almost shyly, they manage to say: “hello, Razlo.”

[messycunt]

Oh what if Trey or Cater’s handler is more on the shorter side? Like say 5’0 or less? Size kink size kink size kink (I bet his followers would be thrilled when they see a little belly bulge from him being inside, no?)

oooh I'm under 5' this is an easy one

cw: hybrids(hucows), size kink, caming, exhibitionism, afab reader

Cater:

During work hours he could gush all day about how cute and perfect his handler is. Riddle hates him for it.

Can be kind of teasing at times. Holding things above your head, pretending that you're too far away for him to hear you or asking you how the weather is down there… it gets old fast.

As far as his after hours streams go well:

Loves propping you up in front of the camera in positions that make you look even smaller than you are in comparison to him.

Once he got a big enough donation to buy the high end camcorder he dreamed of having it was over.

Streams shot from the top down where he slaps his dick on your tummy to show how far he's about to shove himself inside of you.

Let's his subscribers vote on what types of toys he should buy to use on you, obviously they go for the biggest ones every time.

Streams of him fucking you in one hole while easing an xxl dildo into the other get lots and lots or replays.

Trey:

I feel like being so much smaller than him would hyper trigger his brotherly instincts even just for a little while.

Like imagine being friend zoned but times 10 like he sees you as his little sister type shit

Treats you like you're made of porcelain.

It's something he can't help. What if he breaks you by accident(he is more than physically capable of doing so but the chance of that actually happening are 0)

But he gets over it eventually.

Once he's over that mental hurtle it's rip for your holes lol.

You basically weigh as much as a bag of flour to him so being manhandled by him is kind of the norm when the two of you get intimate, even if it isn't intentional.

Would pick you up and fuck you anywhere if you'd let him. 

Both Cater and Trey are exhibitionists just in different ways.

Not even the main kitchen counters are safe.

Loses his mind when he places his palm on your stomach while fucking you to feel himself rearranging your guts.

Uhm idk where to fit this in here but likes it when you tug him down by his ears to give him kisses -w-

more

[gaiastarion]

The Urge - part 2/2 (see previous post for part 1)

"Would that hurt?"

Gaia finally breaks the silence in a hesitant voice, doubt still visible on her face. Astarion sighs, relieved to see that she is considering the possibility. He can't help but salivate at the thought of her warm blood pulsating through her veins, imagining his teeth plunging into her skin to taste the crimson nectar...

His tongue darts out to hungrily lick his lips as he answers in a low purr: "Just a bit. At first."

He pauses and gives her an intense look, eyes wide with burning desire. A seductive smile instinctively starts growing on his face, as he becomes more and more desperate to persuade her to accept his request.

Gaia notices how his attitude slowly started to shift, turning from remorseful and scared to charming and confident. This change is having an effect on her, sending her blood rushing faster and her breath growing shorter. Astarion notices that she is not indifferent to his charms and he feels his resolve strenghtening. His smile grows wider, more seductive, as he decides to persist.

"Please, my little dove..." he murmurs in a suave voice.

His use of her favorite nickname finished to melt Gaia's resistance. She sighs in resignation and a contrite smile curls the corner of her lips, as she slowly shakes her head from left to right.

"You are impossible, you know that?"

Astarion chuckles softly, taking a few steps forward until his body is only a few centimeters from hers. He gives her a magnetic look, his hand reaching out to sensually brush her hip before delivering his final offensive.

"Well, you know me... I can't resist tasting you." he whispers in a suggestive voice.

Gaia's eyes widen and Astarion knows at that moment that he has her in the palm of his hand. He keeps smiling at her, his fingers caressing her side, patiently waiting for her to succumb.

She swallows with difficulty, flustered, and finally responds: "Very well, then. But not a single drop more than what you need, understood?" she adds, pointing a warning finger at his face.

"Of course, my love, I would never." answers Astarion in a falsely offended voice, an exulting smile on his face. "Now, let's make ourselves comfortable, shall we?" He gently helps her lie down on her bedroll, letting her adjust her position. His hand softly brushes her hair off of her face, exposing her pale neck to his gaze. Astarion swallows as he refrains from savagely tearing through her skin here and there. Ignoring the hunger torturing his guts, he takes a deep breath and look into the eyes of his beloved, giving her a reassuring smile despite feeling his whole body shaking cravingly. He finally brings his face closer to her exposed neck, admiring her soft skin glowing under the combined light of the moon and the campfire.

Astarion is now so close that his senses catch the scent of Gaia's blood running in her jugular vein and it sends him over the edge. A surge of blinding hunger overwhelms his body as his lips curl open and he swiftly push forward to plunge his sharp fangs into her body, piercing through skin and vein in one go.

Warm blood immediately fills up his entire mouth, dripping out of the corners. And nothing could have prepared him to that feeling... He feels Gaia's blood rushing through him, colonizing his cold parts with a welcomed fire, filling up his numb body with an unexpectedely overpowering vigor. He is completely intoxicated by the addictive liquid flowing down his throat, his greed overcoming his restrain. He barely notices Gaia flinching and letting out a sharp gasp, as he gorges himself in the precious essence.

Astarion has now lost all control, becoming more predator than man, a slave to his urges. Each sip triggers new devastating sensations and he can't stop siphoning more and more blood off Gaia's body, completely oblivious to her taps and pushes on his shoulder.

Gaia finally manages to strike him in the stomach, making him loose his grasp on her throat, a little blood spilling from his mouth. He clumsily stands up and takes a few steps backward, still so dazed that he does not seem to notice that he has been punched. His fingers distractedly wipe off his chin of the spilled blood, bringing it back to his mouth.

"That was... amazing." Astarion absently whispers, his eyes struggling to find their focus.

Never in his life has he ever felt so ecstatic, so powerful. He finishes to lick the blood off of his finger and gives Gaia a venerating look, stunned by the astonishing effects that her blood had on him.

"My little dove, I knew you were the most amazing thing in the world but this... Who could have known that you were carrying such a miraculous nectar all along?" he mutters softly, fascinated.

Astarion cannot take his eyes of Gaia's neck, feeling an unspeakable force drawing him towards it, craving to taste more. He shakes his head to try to control his impulses but the smell of her blood drives him crazier by the minute. He needs to get away, and quickly, else he will loose control.

"Now, however delicious you had been my love, I need to go hunt something more.. filling." he says with a smile, trying to hide the trembling in his voice.

His brain is still so intoxicated that he does not even pay attention to Gaia's reaction and turns around to leave, anxious to put as much distance as possible between her and him.

After taking a few steps, he suddenly pauses and slowly turns his head around to declare in a serious voice: "You gave me the most precious gift, my love. I won't forget it."

He turns around to resume his walk toward the forest, too exhilarated by his newly found blissful strenght to notice Gaia's intense look following him, her eyes blazing with anger...

[idolatrybarbie]

lover, be sweet masterlist

pairing: marcus pike x fem!reader

word count & rating: 1.8k | explicit - minor free zone!

summary: cuddles. guilt. the sensual caressing of plucked poultry. they don't make Pepto-Bismol for shame, do they?

warnings: references to and discussion of sex - hence the explicit rating, depression, loneliness, guilt & shame, angst, dissociation, citizen kane (1941) dir. orson welles, a few lighthearted moments but don't get your hopes up people, reader is described as slightly shorter than/the same height as marcus, very dramatic metaphors, very lightly edited, bea regresses to using writing as therapy again.

notes: hi - i am sad. this is a fic about me being sad. if you read it you might be able to figure out why i'm sad. i don't love creating from a place of sadness anymore but i am sick of talking about it to people that care about me and my girlfriend marcus pike is, like, right there. so this is me being sad. i am going to try to not write a fic like this again (sad for the fact that i am sad.) we'll see how successful that mission is. we out here.

It’s you who brings up the ‘M’ word. Well, two words: moving in. They come out of your mouth haphazardly one night. A long night of dinner and drinks with wonderful sex after.

It’s been six months. The question, what if me staying over was more…permanent? Marcus is silent for about thirty seconds before he simply kisses you, asking if he needs to start bringing boxes home from work. This is what makes you recoil emotionally, shaking your head as you say you’ve had too much wine. You fall asleep in his arms with your heart pounding and cold.

How are you supposed to tell Marcus that the last time you lived with someone you knew, it ended disastrously? Not just a shit roommate—lives ruined, emotional wounds that never quite healed. A friendship of almost a decade down the drain because the one person you trusted in the world couldn’t grow out of the role they’d locked themselves in. How do you tell him that your family only started treating you right when you moved hours away, that you need an allotted amount of time alone lest you turn into the worst person alive?

You’re over here three out of five nights of his work week. Marcus is the one person in the world you seem to never be able to get enough of. And yet you can’t help that lingering instinct, a stutter in your gut that births a brood of unwanted doubts and insecurities. You live alone. You like it like that. Liked it like that, maybe.

You’d like to move your dishes into the cabinet downstairs—the chipped set of Corelle that Marcus has eaten off of all but once, telling you the plates reminded him of the ones his mother had in Chile. You’d like to wake up with fresh underwear after showers with the man you love only a drawer pull away; his sheets to become your sheets, and yours his. Bender doesn’t like your couch as much as Marcus’ and you’ve been meaning to sell it anyway. 

There is a life that could be lived here. A future within these red walls. But you won’t risk it. You will not make that mistake again. Some things are not meant to be shared, and maybe this is one of them. Better to be in solitude half the time with him than isolated all the time without.

But all this stays in the background. Marcus doesn’t bring it up again, doesn’t push. Part of you assumes that he’s forgotten—he drank a lot of wine that night too. Or perhaps he assumes your life has had enough change for a little while. The new job and all that comes with it.

After months of unemployment and steadily weaning yourself off of babysitting other people’s pets, you’ve found one. It’s not much—the pay or the pleasure in doing it—but it is something. You wake up at seven o’clock to be ready for eight and out of the house by quarter past. The drive to D.C. is busy, an increasingly miserable twenty-seven minute commute that everyone on the road slogs through together.

Marcus is happy for you. He’s happy you leave the house for some other reason than to visit him, and he likes to hear about your work day. The people are fine, nice even, and you tell him that. Neither he nor they can stave off the low mood that takes hold of you with every coming cold season, but you try not to focus on that.

Marcus is aware, but he doesn’t bring it up beyond a simple question of how you’re feeling sometimes. He gets warmer as the world outside does the opposite, softening beyond what you thought possible. Your boyfriend is a sourdough starter, not that you’re complaining. The sex you have is sweet and slow. Lovemaking might be the only appropriate turn of phrase. He can’t seem to stop saying it—the ‘L’ word—every time he’s inside of you.

Your dreams are an odd combination of the Palace of Versailles and Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane. A spotlight, a projector. The many versions of yourself, all of whom Marcus loves. The many versions of yourself, most of which you do not.

Mirrors. Lots of them. You’re grateful now when the shower steam makes the glass in Marcus’ bathroom sweat, sparing you from looking into another one. Being so walled off feels like lying to him. You can’t help it. Maybe it’s the intimacy of telling Marcus that’s getting to you. Might it be easier to stand at a pulpit and do a speech on how you feel? Direct. Factual even if the words aren’t confident.

Some Thursday night, three weeks after the ‘M’ word, you pull your car into the driveway beside your house…and sit. Headlights on, engine idle. Right now is the perfect time to freeze and stare out at the dust settled over the dashboard. You only move when knuckles rap on your window. Marcus, of course. His breath is as warm as his soul, fogging up the dirty glass.

You turn the car off, pulling the key from the ignition. He opens the door for you when you make a move to grab your bag.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is already laced with concern.

“Hi.”

“Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah. Just…thinking.”

Marcus glances at the empty driver’s seat. “In the car…with the engine running?”

“Got home a few minutes ago,” you say. You don’t know how long it’s been.

Marcus senses your fragile footing, redirecting the conversation. “Do you want to come over tonight?”

“I don’t know,” you say. The words are highlighted by a puff of white past your lips. “Been a long day.”

“I’m making roast chicken,” Marcus says, trying to entice you. “We can lay on the couch. I’ll give you a foot massage.” When he sees you aren’t biting, he adds, “We can watch Pacific Rim. Again.”

You smile as the slightest bit of fire sparks in your chest. “You’ve got a deal.”

Marcus waits at the front door as you collect Bender from your living room. Then he leads the way across the street, unlocking his own door and letting you in first. The cat in your arms leaps gracefully away, ready to find a new spot to nuzzle into.

After a hot shower alone, you feel more like a person. No length of time spent under the water is going to get rid of the guilt masquerading as hunger pains, though. Marcus is already working on dinner when you make your way downstairs. His waist apron hangs over his hips, crimson to match everything else; a thoughtless purchase on your part except for the mental image of him wearing it with that adorably taut face he makes when focusing.

Seeing that exact expression now as Marcus rubs margarine over the plucked, pink body of a whole chicken makes you laugh a little. He looks up at you, hearing the noise, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“You like what you see?” Marcus waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“The sensual caressing of dead poultry?”

He makes a face. “When you put it like that…”

“I speak the truth, the whole truth—”

“And nothing but the truth. You forget that you’re dating a man of the law, y’know.”

“How could I forget?” you ask, coming up behind him. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you peer over the side of Marcus’ arm to watch him season the chicken with various spices on the counter. “You’re always here to protect me.”

“I’m glad you know that,” he says. “And I really mean always.”

Marcus can’t see the look of curious confusion that crosses your face. “Of course,” you mumble into his shoulder.

The chicken is placed on a baking pan lined with tinfoil before it disappears into the oven. Marcus washes his hands thoroughly, tossing everything into a sink of hot and soapy water before he finally embraces you. His hugs are a godsend. You melt into his arms and let yourself be held. Then, another twist of your organs. The feeling plagues you like heartburn, showing up at the worst of times. They don’t make Pepto-Bismol for shame, do they?

Marcus must feel you tense up, because he asks, “Alright. What’s wrong?”

Pulling back from the hug, he stares at you—the heat of a thousand carefully probing suns.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say. Clearly he doesn’t buy it, taking in the way your eyes are starting to water like the Potomac.

“Well that’s just not true. Honey, please just… I want to help you.”

“I can’t move in with you,” you whisper. The first tear falls when you blink, a warm trail falling slowly down your cheek.

Marcus tilts his head. “What?”

“I can’t move in with you,” you repeat a little louder. “I’m not—I can’t.”

“That’s okay,” he says. “If you’re not ready—”

“It’s not about being ready,” you say, pulling yourself from his grasp. “It’s about…I don’t know. I love you. And that’s huge, and the last time I lived with someone I loved it ruined my life. I can’t do that with this. With us. I won’t.”

Marcus gently calls your name as you turn away from him, hands steady against the granite countertop. You can’t look at him. You’ve told the man you love that you can’t take the next step of further knitting your lives together. Of starting anew as a pair. There is no timeline to feed him. No amount of months given will tide him over because there's no expiry date on this feeling of yours. It simply is; there was a time before it existed, but you’re almost certain there will be no after.

That crawling specter of loneliness hasn’t haunted you for six whole months, and you would like to keep it that way. Even if the knowledge that you’re missing minute details about Marcus in your time across the street kills you the slightest bit; even if you want to show him that you’re all in on this, what your boyfriend doesn’t know is that you are a nuclear reactor. The disaster happened a long time ago, but the ground is still poisoned. The air is teeming with radiation even if he’s been slowly sipping the water.

You say, “I don’t know when I’m going to be ready.” Not now, if ever. Breaking your own goddamn heart.

“That’s okay,” Marcus says. “There’s no rush on it. You could take a million years. I’m still going to be here.” He takes you back into his arms, cradling your head against his body.

This doesn’t fix anything—doesn’t fix you, but you don’t want Marcus to do that anyway. For now, this works. Right now this is okay.

[lxvejohnny]

The endless beginning

part six

scream VI fanfiction with implied ethan x oc!

find the masterlist for this fic here. realized this part is even shorter than the last one but... it's angsty and sad so.. it makes up for it? enjoy!

Suddenly the door bursts down and Quinn’s body falls out, landing directly on Anika causing her, Mindy, Amelie, and Sam also to tumble on the ground. Anika pushes the body off her in a hurry and lets out a scream as she soaks in what just happened. Her body falls directly beside Amelie, and she looks at her roommate, once alive and smiling, now dead. Her blood manages to get all over Anika and some of it on Amelie. Amelie looks at her hands, covered in blood once again and she pushes back on her bum to slide away. Another person’s blood covers her skin for the second day in a row and she feels like it may just start to becoming her own.

“Oh fuck,” Mindy, Sam, and Amelie all look up to see Ghostface standing in the doorway before he runs out and slashes at Mindy’s arm.

“Mindy!” Amelie yells out with her eyes wide open. She looks back to see Sam rushing to the kitchen to look for a weapon before she gets up and stares at the masked man in shock. She panics and almost feels like a fool in that second for being so cowardly and not rushing into knowing what to do. Her trance gets snapped back into reality when she sees Ghostface rush to grab Anika’s throat and chokes her as he presses her into the ground. She sees Mindy hold her arm in pain and reaches forward to push the head of the killer to distract him from Anika. On instinct, to keep from having his mask fall off his face, he takes the hand holding the knife and slashes it in Amelie’s direction. The knife slices the right side of her collarbone, and she gasps before falling back onto her butt.

Mindy, from the other side of Anika, sees what happened and also lets out a gasp, “No!”

Amelie feels her chest burn where her blood seeps out. What a sharp fucking knife, she thinks as she takes her left hand to put pressure on the wound to try and keep the blood from pouring out. Her heart races as she remembers what it is like to have your skin cut open, thinking about how she prayed that she would never have to experience that pain again. She looks up to see Ghostface has lifted Anika by her throat from the floor and up against the wall.

“Anika!” Amelie cries out when she sees the knife get jammed into the small girl’s stomach and twists it. Anika’s screams are so loud and Amelie sobs. No, no, no, please let her live, please. Amelie kicks her foot out from on the floor, hitting Ghostface's left foot and causing them to falter. It seems like Amelie's kick could only do so much before the killer quickly recovers balance and takes the knife, dragging it up Anika’s stomach, slitting her open. Blood pours out of Anika like a waterfall and Amelie makes a b-line for her when Sam rushes in and swings their knife block at Ghostface’s head. While on the ground, Sam ushers the three bleeding girls into Quinn’s room and locks the door. Ghostface starts banging on the door as Sam holds it shut, her face ridden with terror as the door continues to rattle. On the bed Amelie, Anika, and Mindy hold one another as different parts of their body bleed out. Anika far worse with her gut cut open and Amelie leans a hand over to her stomach to help with the blood, as if it will stop the red substance from running out. Moans and groans leave the girls lips as they sit in searing pain from their wounds.

All too eerily the room gets quite as the door stops moving and Sam looks in fear to the girls sitting on the bed. Mindy gets up to walk to the bathroom attached to the bedroom and screams when see sees the bloody body in the bathtub. “Fuck! That guy’s dead.”

She jumps once more when Ghostface makes his way around to the other bathroom door entrance and she screams once more while pushing the door to close. Amelie looks at Anika with fear pooling in her eyes, “I will be right back, okay? Just keep applying pressure.”

Anika nods but can’t make any move to speak as Amelie rushes in the bathroom to help Mindy shove the door close. Ghostface swings his knife blindly to which the girls dodge and now the two and Sam rush to the door connected to the bedroom and begin pushing that door to close. Mindy manages to lock the door as Ghostface begins to kick the door. Sam rushes to grab the dresser and push it towards the door. Amelie notices and moves over to help push the dresser in front of the door where the lock snaps open and the killer almost makes their way into the room again. Mindy and Sam push against the dresser while Amelie makes her way back to Anika and kneels in front of her to help hold her stomach. Her cut is in searing pain, and she tries her best to not have her eyes close shut from the amount of burning the slash is causing her.

Sam rushes over to the window where she sees Danny call out from his window and she pries the window up before looking down at the high distance from the ground to the window. Danny begins to lift a ladder from his window to theirs and Sam reaches out to try and grab the other end.

“Hey, Anika, you are going to be okay, okay? You are going to be fine,” Amelie cries from her kneeled position on the floor. Anika looks at Amelie and shakes her head at her, sobbing. “I can’t-I can’t.”

“You can, Anika, please, you can,” Amelie almost begs Anika. She wasn’t sure if at this point she was reassuring Anika, or herself. Amelie was sure that maybe this wasn’t the most appropriate time to be having a sentimental conversation but as the second tick away, she realized that this may be the only time she has left and while her and Anika still have some consciousness left in them, she begins, “Anika, I am so, so, sorry this has happened to you. If I hadn't become friends with you-"

“-I love you, Amie,” Anika continues to sob as she cuts off Amelie's words, barely able to register them due to the amount of pain she was it. If she wasn't going to make it, some of their final words would not be Amelie feeling guilty for ever getting involved with Anika. “It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault. Please, let this not be it.”

“Mindy! Go first!” Sam calls out once she successfully pulled the ladder to their side of the window.

“What? No!” Mindy yells as she continues to push her body against the rattling dresser. “Somebody needs to hold the dresser; I will get them next. Go!”

“Go, Sam,” Sam looks back hesitantly and sees Amelie nodding her head. She turns to the window and begins climbing onto the ladder and towards Danny.

Amelie looks back to Anika where blood spills profusely out of Anika and through their hands.

“You’re losing a lot of blood!” Mindy calls out to Anika and stares at Amelie who is holding her own wound and Anika’s stomach.

“Say something more positive!” Anika manages to call back out, hunching over from the electrifying pain.

“Come on!” Sam calls from the other window and Amelie looks at Mindy who is pushing the dresser closer to seal of the door. Mindy rushes over to slip her arm around both Anika and Amelie and brings both of them closer to the window. Amelie looks between Mindy and Anika and lets a sob out.

“Mindy, go!” She says looking at her. Mindy immediately shakes her head rapidly at the idea and repeatedly says no. “I will get Anika, please, Mindy you have to go now!”

Amelie knows that all of their wounds are bad, but Anika’s is much worse and with the amount of strength Mindy has already used, she knows she may not be as fast as she usually is if Ghostface were to enter the room with only her and Anika. Mindy seems to realize the same thing in despair before she turns to Anika.

“Mindy, go! I will be right behind you,” Anika sobs to Mindy. She grabs her cheeks and pulls Anika in for one last kiss, then looks at Amelie and kisses her forehead with tears streaming down her face. She rushes to the ladder where Sam and Danny anxiously watch her climb across the shaky ladder.

Back in the room the attacker continues to push their way at the door, making advancements at the dresser by shoving it further back slowly.

“Come on, Anika, you have to go,” Amelie tries to pull Anika up and bring her to the ladder, but Anika shakes her head and sobs harder.

“No, you go, Amie,” Anika cries and tries to push Amelie with one hand. “I promise, I will be right behind you.”

Amelie sobs as she makes her way to the ladder and leans forward to climb onto the ladder. She is trusting that Anika will be right behind her, as she said, and manages to push herself further down the ladder. Her heart races as she looks down at the height below her and the sounds of the thumping from the door being pounded in. Her right arm is so weak from the cut on her collarbone and tries her best to stabilize herself with the one arm. She hasn’t even made it to Danny’s apartment and guilt already eats away at her for letting Anika stay behind. She feels the ladder shake behind her and looks to see Anika has pushed herself up to begin climbing.

“I can’t do it, I can’t do it,” She hears Anika cry behind her and Amelie sobs again.

“Please, Anika, please,” Amelie pleads from ahead of her. She looks back up to see Sam, Mindy, and Danny have stopped moving and looked at the window behind her and Anika.

“What?” Anika asks from behind her as the two girls on the ladder stop moving.

“You guys have to move right now!” Mindy screams and Amelie hears Anika scream again from behind her. Amelie doesn’t make the move the turn around and look but she is sure enough that Ghostface has made his way through the door and has entered the room. Her friends in front of her all scream at them to hurry up and after what seems like forever, Amelie has made her way to the other side and Sam reaches out to grab Amelie and pull her through the window. Amelie continues to sob as she is let down and turns in the window to call for Anika.

Before Amelie made it to the window, just behind them, Ghostface had made his way into the room and saw the girls escaping through the window. He slammed his knife down onto the windowsill and tilted his head as he watched them climb. Almost too intricately, Ghostface appears to watch as Amelie gets herself off the ladder before grabbing the end and starts moving it around with Anika still on.

“Mindy, I don’t want to die,” Anika cries while being flung around on the ladder, almost entertaining him by playing with her. Mindy screams out as she watches the girl she loves be tortured right in front of her eyes with no ability to do anything to help. Amelie watches the two girls and sobs, screaming out for Anika to keep moving but she knows it doesn’t prevail.

“Give me your hand!” Amelie reaches her hand out to try and grab onto Anika. Her fingers graze Anika's as they both reach as far as they can to latch onto each other, but can't seem to prevail. Anika makes eye contact with Amelie and without words even being exchanged, Anika's eyes are saying enough. She can't see herself making it to the other side, and Amelie is losing any hope she had in her. Anika can’t seem to grab onto Amelie's outstretched hand and before they all know it the killer managed to tilt the ladder enough for Anika to slip off. Amelie’s whole body seems to zone out as they watch their friend fall onto the dumpster below and her face smashes in. Her body lays, lifeless, with a pool of blood beginning to flow from underneath her. Amelie can hear Mindy sob as she stares at her girlfriend on the ground and all she can do is let tears fall down her face as she watches the masked killer through the window of their apartment. He stares at them for a couple of seconds before ripping his knife out of the wood and tilting his head as he did earlier that night, then leaves the room.

Amelie almost forgets the pain from her collarbone as she can’t seem to tear her eyes away from the window where the killer once stood. She noticed he didn’t shake the ladder with her on it and she noticed his menacing stare from inside the apartment. Back at the bodega, she noted to herself that this killer was powerful, so much powerful than she last experienced and she really felt it tonight. The way he charged at them and would start kicking the doors down was too feral and she feared that this time she won’t be able to get out like she did last time.

Amelie also couldn't form any thoughts or find any words so speaks. Anika is dead. She just watched one of her best friends get their stomach cut open and then fall from a tremendous height, dying. She looks down at where the girl is now laying lifeless and her vision is so blurry from tears, she is almost grateful that they are nearly censoring the scene. She can hear the gasping sobs wrecking through Mindy's body and the cries from Sam beside her, but they are almost faded. She had just watched another person close to her die, a part of her wishing that it was her who was taken instead.

Because whether she follows the line of her family and have it be where Ghostface kills her or she chokes on the rising blood of the piling bodies, she can’t help but feel that it will kill her somehow. That Ghostface, the constant death, and pain are just an endless beginning, and she will never reach the end.

[bronx-bomber87]

Happy Tuesday Evening all :) We're off to next ep its more of a mixture of Tim/Lucy and Rachel. Not a ton of gifs or Chenford content. Be a shorter review than normal but it is a good ep none the less though. We'll have a ton of content/gifs in the next couple as you all know i'm sure. So off we go.

2x09 Breaking Point

The episode starts out with Lucy being stopped by a sweet old lady in the lobby. She lets Lucy know how she found this dog in the middle of the road. Lucy tells her that it's an animal control issue. Sweet lady say yes but he was covered in blood. Figured she should let them know about it. Lucy stops Tim lets him know they need to head to a vet. That this dog could’ve come from a crime scene.

They make it to the address on the chip and knock on the door. No answer. Lucy decides to look inside where she then sees a body. Now I shouldn’t get so much joy out of her slightly touching his arm…and yet I adore it. She does this to get his attention that they should enter the house.

Tim kicks the door in (fans self) They start to inspect the house and check the body. Unfortunately this person has already passed. They continue their search and sadly find a child hiding in the bathroom. Poor thing is rocking back and forth in the bathtub.

Lucy tries to get Malcom to talk to her. See if he’ll tell her who killed his mom. He is unresponsive and refusing to talk. Detective Armstrong shows up and lets them know it makes sense. He did a record search, That police and social services have been out to this house half a dozen times in the last year.

That the BF and the mom had domestic calls numerous times. That’s where they find out Rachel was the caseworker for this particular kid. Armstrong advises them to go to Rachel and get all the history they can on this kid and case.

Rachel meets them at the hospital gives them all she knows. That this kid had lots of visits, the BF wasn’t physically abusive, and that the mom was the eye of the storm. She tried to get this kid removed but couldn’t get a judge to sign off for her. Tim lets her know they’re going to need a statement from him. Rachel wants to be present for that. (Must note personal space doesn’t exist for them even in front of the woman he’s currently dating LOL that is all…)

Tim tries to comfort her. Rachel is clearly shaken by the whole thing. Especially since she was so close to this one. He is telling her she did everything she could. Rachel doesn’t feel the same. Here's what I liked about seeing how he is with Rachel. It gave us a little insight to how Tim is in a relationship. He wants to help her feel better because she is visibly shook from this. Which is really sweet. That instinct to protect and make things better for those he cares about. Unfortunately it misses the mark but he definitely recognized the distress and wanted to help her.

The statement begins for Malcom. It’s fascinating to watch everyone’s reaction during this scene. You can see everyone's body language from this shot above. It all unravels when Malcom finally starts speaking. Armstrong is clearly trying to get him to spill his guts, Rachel is protective but catching onto this going sideways quickly, Lucy is also on that train and looking worried about this, Tim looks in cop mode just like Armstrong trying to get the truth.

The more Malcom talks the more something seems off. He’s more angry about his mother and defensive of the BF Carson than anything else. They’re all putting it together quickly when Malcom says Carson left after their fight. That his mom was alive after Carson left….that no one else came over after that. You can see Rachel getting nervous and Lucy getting uncomfortable. Tim is also dreading where this is headed.

Rachel tells Armstrong to stop. Tim says 'Rachel...'. Tries to get her to not interfere in the process. Nick tells Rachel she doesn’t have the standing to make that request. You can see all over Lucy’s face how wrong she finds this. Rachel tells him to ask for a lawyer. Tim and Nick chide her for it. Lucy jumps in and says she’s right. Both men look at her in shock.

Lucy continues that he should have a lawyer for this. You can see Tim and Armstrong aren’t pleased with this suggestion. Nick looks outright livid about it. Then asks if Malcom wants one. He looks at Rachel and says yes. Lucy looks like she is in trouble but not regretting it one bit. She shouldn’t it was the right thing to do.

Tim tells Rachel he’s not mad at her personally. I really don’t think he is. There is a part of him that can relate. A verbally abusive parent pushing you to the edge. Luckily Tim had his sister someone to go through it with him. I’m sure having Genny is probably is part of what saved him from a similar fate with his dad. He had someone to protect. But that’s a future convo to be had in greater detail later on. Wesley shows up and gets involved at this point for Malcom. Making Rachel sit it out. He represents him now not her.

Tim and Lucy watch from observation moving forward. Lucy asks him if he’s mad at her for suggesting the lawyer. I think it's fairly obvious he is from his body language alone. Now I think she’s more upset with the idea he’s mad at her. Not that she feels she did the wrong thing. It distresses her but not enough to change her stance on what she did.

This is definitely growth for her. She’s becoming more confident in herself and the decisions she makes. (Even if she does hate him being upset with her) Just because it’s not way Tim would’ve liked it to go doesn’t necessarily mean it was wrong. I get why Tim didn’t want her to from a logical standpoint. It does give him time to change his story, strategize and possibly get away with murder. Tim is thinking from the victims POV where Lucy is thinking from Malcom’s.

They’re diametrically opposed on this one. He’s madder at Lucy than Rachel about the whole thing. Because at the end of the day right now she’s still his Rookie he her T.O. (Also why it NEVER would’ve worked for them during this period.) Lucy was always going to be her own person and cop. Even if it differs from Tim. It's one of the reasons he falls for her honestly.

Even though they’ve been working together awhile now, he still gets shell shocked when she disagrees with him. Especially when he feels it’s something he wouldn’t ever do. We know how true blue he is to the rules. Especially to what he feels is essential to being a cop. So when Lucy rocks that boat it’s going to upset him. Her testing those waters and disturbing his POV of what it is to be a cop. Her pushing those boundaries with him. Testing his teaching of her and what he think's is essential.

Her challenging him is what causes the back and forth. That tension and release we get. The thing with Chenford is we surge forward with some growth and we also get pushed back a little. That old saying two steps forward one step back. Every time we get a little breakthrough, like the last ep the next we get little push back. Honestly don’t think he expected Lucy to tell the kid to lawyer up. It shocked him. The last episode Tim was slowly allowing Lucy in. Then our step backwards is in this ep his intense reaction to Lucy not following his code on this.

This is the dance they do. Tim softens a bit then pushes away (his reaction to the lawyer situation) before she softens him again. Why the wall takes 4 years to truly crumble for her. It’s realistic and what makes their end game ultimately so satisfying IMO. So this is one of those steps back, in terms of how he’s reacting more severely to Lucy than Rachel.

It’s not a bad thing just a part of that push and pull that is our ship. Tim takes awhile to truly let Lucy in. With his background it's not surprising his reactions are so strong. Especially after letting her in a little more last ep he tends to scold himself for it and backtracks. Oh my poor broken Tim you'll get there.

Sadly Armstrong breaks the kid pretty easily. He breaks and says he killed her after she laughed at him for crying. The verbal abuse finally made him snap. So damn sad....Tim’s scenes end with Rachel. Trying to keep her from beating herself up. This moment further evidence of his growth. He does relate to this kid. He too grew up in a verbally abusive home. His feelings were disregarded and he was put down. Tim lets her know nothing more she could’ve been done.

That tragedies happen no matter how hard we try to stop them. Then comes a very Lucy inspired reply. You can’t tell me this woman hasn’t influenced him. Tim goes on to say ‘Doesn’t mean you give up. But you have to accept the fact, that some things really are out of our control. All we can do is cherish the small victories.’ Tim friggin Bradford said this. Lucy has no idea the impact she’s had on him. Truly. Such a good scene of emotional growth for him. Lovely to see. Tis all she wrote for this one.

~~~

Side notes-non Chenford

Another good ep for Harper. More development for her and her daughter. First sleep over and such. It’s so fun to watch her SL. Truly enjoy it.

Thank you as always to those who like/comment/reblog these reviews. I truly appreciate every single one of them. You have no idea. I shall see you all in the start of our 2 parter for the DOD eps. Those will be exciting to review and write about. They are an iconic set of eps for them and the series really IMO. I will do my best to do them justice <3

[blackjackkent]

All right, more Rakha adventures today. She's had a really wild couple days, what with Alfira dying, and then Arabella not dying, and then Wyll turning into a devil, but on the bright side hopefully she's about to have a nice, relaxing long rest--

Narrator: Tonight, you can't chase the thoughts of that poor girl you killed from your head.

It always seems to be much worse when she sleeps. When she is up and moving, it is a little easier to make some distinction between her own active choices and the mindless blood-hunger of the beast. At night, when she closes her eyes, everything surges to the forefront. There's no relaxation, no pleasant oblivion, no sense of rejuvenation for the coming day.

There is only blood.

Narrator: You wonder what she looked like as she died. Squirming. Skewered, in abject agony.

She shivers. The beast's hunger for the image is unmistakable. She feels the lingering ache in her arm from the stab and stab and stab into Alfira's ripped and ruined torso.

Can't sleep. Not like this.

Go for a walk, to try and stop yourself from retching.

She sits up slowly, feeling a strange distance from her own body. It's disquieting, unsettling. With a sudden burst of energy she surges to her feet, leaves the bedroll, stalks off towards the edge of camp. She feels on the edge of her own control, and should she slip... she does not want her companions within reach...

-----

Narrator: Your body barely complies. You feel such rushes from your thoughts of the dead woman. Why did she die? The mystery gnaws at your pounding heart.

She paces the far edge of the cave where they have made camp. Her legs are trembling, the steady rhythm of her footsteps hiccuping occasionally as she wrestles with the dark thoughts. She has no answers, but the images swirl in her mind, flashes of Alfira's face, contorted with agony, screaming up at her in the darkness.

She is so deeply within herself that she almost doesn't register the soft sound of a footstep behind her.

"Milady? Jubilant day! I have found your vile self at last!"

The voice - a high, keening, slightly obsequious whine - almost sends Rakha out of her skin. The taut-pulled strain between her and the darkness in her head snaps, and she turns with a sudden harsh roar and lashes out with a blind, frenzied strike behind her.

KILL. BLOOD. RIP HIS FACE OFF. SHOW ME HIS GUTS.

She misses, of course - partly because the source of the voice is almost three feet shorter than she is, and also because the unexpected visitor dodges backwards with a deft agility that suggests he might have expected the blow.

She sucks in a hoarse breath and steps backwards, pulling herself to a sudden trembling stillness. Her fists clench at her sides so strongly that she feels her nails drawing blood in her palms.

The visitor is like nothing she has yet seen since she woke up. About the size of the halfling they met selling goods in the grove, but with a skeletal, angular face with sharp nose, ears, and chin, all in strange, elongated proportions. His fingers are long, with two-inch claws. He wears a ragged jacket that looks as if it was once fine, and a similarly battered top hat.

"Sceleritas Fel," he says with a half-bow, clutching his hands in front of his chest. "Your loyal and ever-adoring butler. I followed you, my dear rotted Master. We have been parted so tragically long!"

Rakha stares at him, her chest heaving, her eyes wide. What?

In the best of circumstances, this incredibly strange speech would take time to parse. As it is, the words filter in only slowly past the angry roar percolating in her head, the instinct that wants to pull the creature's head from its shoulders for interrupting her.

Milady. An expression of deference. He is a butler, which means almost nothing to Rakha except that it seems to go along with that subservient attitude. And he has followed her. They have been parted.

He knows her. The realization goes through her like a lightning bolt. The beast urge in her head recedes just slightly at this revelation, at the possibility of answers.

She hisses out her breath between her teeth, loosens her jaw enough to speak.

"My head is sick. Very sick. Do you know about it?" she asks hoarsely.

The little creature hunches his shoulders with an ingratiating eagerness. "Ooooft," he says, with an air of deep sympathy. "I had heard of Milady's indisposition. But I had hoped the rumors were untrue."

Then he perks up visibly, his smile spreading wide across his skeletal face. "No matter! We will get you back to committing five villainous acts before breakfast in no time!"

He hops up to sit on a nearby rock, his legs dangling off it as he watches her with frank admiration. "I found you, following the stench of that bard." He draws a long, appreciative breath through his nose, makes a satisfied noise. "Ah... she reeked across the coast like a piece of dog-muck on the road."

The bard. So he knows not only her but what she has done since the nautiloid crash. How long has he been following her? "Did you cause me to kill her?" she rasps. Her fists, which were starting to loosen, clench again sharply. Did you put this beast in my head?

Sceleritas seems to interpret this question entirely differently than she means it, as his smile, if anything, seems to widen and become even more obsequious. "Such fine work could never be done by a wretch like me..." he croons.

The Weave shifts and twists around him with a sudden prismatic shimmer, tinged sharply with red. She watches, with so much astonishment that for a moment the fury recedes entirely, as he sticks a hand out in her direction.

There's a flare of harsh red light. An object slowly shimmers into being in his palm - a thick, red cloak of what appears to be some kind of very fine fabric. "Anyway," he says cheerfully, "I come once again bearing a part of your dreadful inheritance. You earned this iniquitous prize through your great show of exceptional violence the other night."

It's almost like talking to Gale; the words flow over her, bewildering, slightly too rapid to follow. But she can catch the gist. This creature knows what she did, and he is pleased. He offers this cloak as a reward.

She reaches out slowly, fists her fingers into the fabric and draws it from his hand. It falls in a heavy cascade to hang between them.

Scleritas looks pleased. "I'm sure Master will be better soon," he purrs ingratiatingly. "A fellow of your fine breeding is never down for long. I cannot wait until your next act of shameless barbarity."

Her knuckles turn pale as she squeezes the cloak's edge between her fingers. Enough of this dancing about. This creature has the answers she needs; she cannot allow him to deflect her from them. "You're going to tell me *everything* about my past life," she snarls.

If he hears the threat in her voice, he is entirely unbothered by it. His eyes narrow in what seems to be gleeful amusement. "Though I would love to regale you with past triumphs," he says with an apologetic shrug, "I cannot. I am forbidden to interfere. Our *betters*--" He leans on the word with evident significance that is completely lost on Rakha. "--will not allow it."

He leans forward conspiratorially. "Be true to yourself, my Lady," he instructs.

He takes a step backwards. She can see the flare of the Weave around him again, the burst of magic.

He's leaving. NO. She lashes out a hand, going for his collar, intending to grab him, hurl him against the wall, demand answers - everything he is refusing to tell her, about her past and her memories and the beast in her head - and tear a piece from him for every answer he denies.

But he slips through her fingers, vanishes in a surge of red light, and her fist closes on empty air.

"RrrrrrrraaaaaRRRRRRGHHHHHH!" She screams with harsh rage and blinding frustration and falls to her knees. So close... so near to answers, and instead just more, and more, and more questions...

Who was he? Who sent him? What does he know that he did not tell her?

One things is unsettlingly clear. She does have a history, and that blood-rage is a key part of it. Someone is watching her. Someone knows what she did and sees it with pleasure.

And she has absolutely no idea who, or why, or what to do about it.

[ensaladaaa]

“Lovely” Malleus x Reader (PT. 2)

a/n: part two of my previous one-shot!! um i believe you don’t have to read the previous part for this (i think it would make more sense but-) yes i’m still using the twitter account i mentioned previously on my one shot. this is shorter i’m sorry 😭

Warnings: none!!

Includes: fluff, malleus paying you back, malleus being romantical omg

Day: After Valentine’s Day.

Malleus had spent the night with me after our small loving session.

Unfortunately, Malleus had to go bright and early the next morning. Totally not because a certain green hair first year was screaming his name outside of the dorm.

Totally not.

So now, I’m here. Awake. It’s not even 7 yet. I can’t go back to sleep no matter how much I willed my mind to.

My body was tired, aching for rest. My mind, literally could go for a lap around the whole campus.

I sat up from my small bed.

Might as well see if I have any last minute assignments I need to do.

After-School:

‘Oh great seven, someone please save me’ I thought.

I was resting on the bench in the courtyard when I heard someone screaming my name.

It was the green haired first year (again). I willed myself to sit up straight to fix my posture.

“It’s you! The human who’s being courted by Malleus!” He’s practically screaming.

“Um- yes?” I tilted my head at him, “Do you need anything..?” He better hurry up, I can literally fall asleep right now.

He shoves a note in my hands, “Malleus has sent me to give you this note! Please read it immediately!”

“Wh-“ I looked up at him, to see him already- marching? Out of the courtyard.

Grasping the note, I unfold it.

“My Dearest, Y/N,

Please join me in the woods behind Ramshackle, I would like to show you something there. Join me at nightfall when the stars start glimmering in the sky. I’ll be waiting.

- Your love, M.D”

Huh? Why behind there? I shook my head and smiled at the small note with impossibly fancy cursive.

“Alright, I’ll be there then,” I whispered lightly to myself.

Nightfall:

I wrapped my arms around me. I’m in the woods already. Unfortunately, I underestimated the temperature and now I’m freezing.

My teeth are chattering, I’m too busy trying to warm myself up that I didn’t notice the small flickers of green fireflies next to me.

“Dear, you’re here- Oh. Why aren’t you wearing a coat..?” His deep voice snaps me out of my cold haze, making my body heat up a bit as I yelp.

“Mal!” I gasped out of my twitching jaw, “I- I didn’t expect it to be this cold..” I looked down, rubbing my arms.

He stares at me, I could tell he’s pouting at me with furrowed eyebrows. “Dear.. you’re a human, you’re weak to cold air.” He huffs out, his voice sounds like he has his hands on his hips.

“Sorry, Mal. I was just excited to see you..” I chatter out. He sighs and grabs my hand. His hand is surprisingly warm.

“Please, come with me..” He whispered out, already pulling me deeper into the forest.

It’s been a few minutes and we haven’t stopped. Mal has his arm around me, pulling me into his side at this point.

It’s unbearably dark.

“M-mal? Where are we going..?” I whispered out, fear hinting in my voice.

“Shh..” He hushed me and I saw small flickers of green light in front of me.

“I wanted to return the kindness you’ve given me yesterday.” The green light turned out to be fire, strings of it connecting to the trees. Without somehow burning it?

“Your love.. It was so beautiful that I can’t help but want to be the one gifting you,” His voice sparks a warm fire in my gut, the emerald fire around me warming me up as well.

He leads me to the center, pulling me in front of him, “May I have this dance?”

My mind cut off. Dance..?

I suddenly got very embarrassed, “Mal. I- I can’t dance…” I mumbled out.

“That doesn’t matter, rose.”

He grasped my hip and intertwined my hand, “Follow my lead. Alright?”

I instinctively placed my free hand on his shoulder, “Alright..”

He starts stepping out a small rhythm, me following. Soon enough, he started spinning me around and lifting me up even.

I let out a series of small giggles, Malleus following with deep chuckles of his own.

Small green fireflies started to appear around us two. Staring at Malleus, I notice how the fireflies highlight Malleus’s eyes.

His horns being highlighted by the light, I sometimes forget his horns are really just dark green.

I show a small smile. How could I had possibly have this dragons heart?

In my loved daze, Malleus started humming a small tune, mumbling the words out.

“I know you, I’ve walked with you once upon a dream..”

He’s swaying with me, spinning me.

“I know you, the gleam in your eyes are so familiar a gleam”

The fireflies seem to glow brighter around me, emphasizing the song lyric.

“Yet I know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seem”

His eyes, oh his eyes. Malleus’s eyes are connecting right with mine, his eyes show vulnerability and love.

Oh Mal.

“But if I know you, I know what you’ll do”

He spun me around one more time, bringing in my body to connect with his chest.

“You’ll love me at once, the way you did ..”

He released his hand from mine, bringing it to my chin to lift it up to make eye contact.

“Once upon a dream.”

His soft lips connected with mine. I felt all of my worries melt away. I felt everything of me melt away.

He unlatched his lips from mine, glancing down at my lips and looking up at me.

“I.. never knew you sung songs.” Embarrassment was catching up to me finally. I couldn’t help but think I’ve heard of that small melody once in my life.

Malleus let out a chuckle.

“Dear..”

Malleus pressed his forehead against mine, grasping my hand again.

“You brighten my darkest, most sorrowful nightmares, lighting up my gloomy world like a million lanterns.”

He then brought my hand to his lips, peppering my knuckles with a bunch of kisses.

“I’m not bright like you, but I promise, when your days are dark, I’ll be your light,” He whispered.

I let out a small huff, a sign that I was embarrassed, “You.. you give me too much credit..” I mumble.

Malleus stepped back a bit, making eye contact with me.

“Rose.. You should give yourself some praise. I spent much of my life guarding my heart.”

“But Mal-“

Malleus cut me off by grasping my cheek, “I guarded it so well that I could behave as though I didn’t have one at all.”

His eyes shown sadness as he gazed off to the side, “Even now, it is a shabby, worm-eaten, and scabrous thing.”

I inhaled through my nose, instincts kicking in for me to comfort him.

“But-” He furrowed his eyebrows a bit, looking back at me.

“But.. it is yours.” He sighs out, shoulders going down.

“Oh Mal.”

I put my hand over his and kissed the middle of his warm palm.

“My heart is yours as-well. I shall treat your heart as if it’s a rare jewel,” I kissed his palm once again.

“And I shall too.” Malleus kissed the middle of my forehead.

[voraciousvore]

The Half-Blood Giant (8/51)

***Contains unwilling vore***

Chapter 8: Marooned

Hunter didn’t know in specific detail what happened to Jackie, or why she was all smelly and wet, but he could certainly guess. He did his best to clean her up and make her comfortable. She was in a daze. She had overexerted herself and needed time to recover. He handled her carefully, guilt weighing heavily on his heart. He hadn’t intended to put her in harm’s way. As much as he resented being human and resented his parents, he knew how fragile she was. His father would never let him forget that fact whenever he touched her. 

Jackie was supposed to manifest a portal to bring Chester back after his meeting, but she couldn’t muster up a single spark. She feared she wouldn’t be able to conjure a portal until the next day. She figured Chester would be fine for a night, but she worried about him. She hated the lack of communication. She couldn’t even signal to him that she was safe, and that he just needed to be patient. They had discussed the possibility that such a thing could happen, so at least Chester had prepared for the situation in advance. Jackie was too tired to stay awake with worry, so she passed out for the night to help recover her magic. 

The Maneaters Anonymous meeting had been a productive one for Chester. He had reconnected with an old friend from past meetings, Milton, and met a new acquaintance, Bianca. Chester was comforted, knowing there were other giants like him that suffered the same affliction. He didn’t feel quite so alone. Back in his homeland, giants were eager to snatch up humans and devour them. Back there, Chester was an anomaly. Here, Chester was at least somewhat normal, albeit more voracious than the average giant.  

He perceived through observation that the giants who lived here were physiologically different than him. They didn’t have his extraordinary sense of smell, for example. Chester noticed that some Maneaters Anon members secretly brought their human companions with them, hiding them in their pockets or purses. Chester never outed them, but he realized after talking to Milton that the other giants couldn’t smell the humans like he could. Additionally, they were generally shorter here: Chester was considered a bit short in his world, but he was among the tallest here. Chester was certain there were other, more subtle physical differences, but he didn’t know all the details. He did know, from some of the stories he heard, that his insides were dissimilar. He could get a human out of his stomach without vomiting the other contents, for example. 

Even so, he felt comfortable and welcome around the other group members. He left in high spirits. He traveled over to the rendezvous point, within a secluded alleyway, and waited for Jackie to spawn the portal. He waited for a while. He had eaten some donuts at the meeting, but he was starting to get peckish again. He knew there were some pork chops waiting for him in the fridge that he couldn’t wait to fry up. His mouth watered at the thought. Maybe he could even eat Jackie if Hunter wasn’t watching. His guts grumbled pleasantly, eager for meat. 

Chester started to get concerned. He waited longer. The sun dipped low on the horizon, yet no portals materialized. Chester realized something must’ve gone wrong on the other side. By now, even if Jackie couldn’t manifest a portal large enough to transport Chester, she would’ve at least made a small portal so she could communicate with him. He was stranded—likely until the next day. Chester stepped out of the alleyway and looked around. He was hungry, very hungry, but he didn’t have any cash to buy food. 

He wasn’t sure what to do, so he went for a walk. A tempting aroma hit his nose and without thinking he followed it. He padded forward with quiet steps, staying in the shadows, moving with predatory instinct. Conditions were ideal for hunting: a light breeze, plenty of cover, and naïve prey. He spotted his quarry: a tiny businessman. He was walking through the human pathway in the sidewalk toward the railway station. He was wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase. Considering the late hour, he must’ve been working overtime. He was tired and unfocused, not paying any attention to his surroundings—not expecting a predator to strike. 

Chester kept to the shadows, watching him with unparalleled focus. His green eyes flashed in the dark when they caught the light, like a wild beast. He edged closer, sidling up to the wall of a nearby building, keeping his movements smooth and slow. His stomach growled and he froze, but the human didn’t hear him. Chester glanced around. There was nobody else in sight. It would be so easy, the easiest prey he had hunted. Just lunge forward, snatch him up, and devour him. He salivated at the temptation.  

Before he could stop himself, his huge body prowled forward. Like a coiled spring, he pounced. He moved with startling swiftness, not bothering to silence his steps as he thundered forward. The tiny man didn’t stand a chance. He turned around with an exclamation of surprise before huge fingers coiled around him and he was forcibly grabbed up. He didn’t even get the opportunity to run. The briefcase clattered to the concrete and Chester disappeared in a flash. He retreated back to the shadows, in an alleyway, drooling ravenously. 

Chester plucked the tiny man out of his palm and dangled him above his maw, licking his lips. Watching the man squirm helplessly just made him hungrier. He opened his mouth, preparing to drop the man inside and gulp him down whole. He was starving, his craving for human flesh all-consuming, blocking out his inhibitions. 

“No!” the little man cried out in a plaintive wail. “Stop! W-w-what are you doing, you monster?!” He stared down at the gigantic mouth gaping below him with unfiltered terror. Strings of slobber trailed between the white molars in a red cavern. He saw death and pain in that mouth, deep down the dark throat. He struggled harder, clinging to the thick fingers that were the only thing keeping him from falling to his doom. 

Chester paused. The man’s protests had brought him back to awareness. He realized he was at a pivotal moment. If he dropped the man inside his mouth, there was no way he could stop himself from swallowing and keeping him inside his gut. He would have eaten a person, and unlike Jackie this man wouldn’t have magic to save him from being digested. Chester was so tempted, however. Nobody would know if he ate this man. Just the smallest taste… 

His tongue quivered with desire and he lowered the small man closer to his open jaws. The poor human screamed and flailed. He flexed his tongue closer, mere inches away from the kicking feet. Just a taste. A little taste wouldn’t hurt anything. He opened his mouth wider, ready to receive the tantalizing morsel. Ready to trap him inside and gulp him down. 

The mantra from the Maneaters Anonymous meeting, still fresh in his mind, surfaced unprompted. I am a gentle giant. I am a friend to humans. I would not, could not, ever eat or hurt anyone. Chester wanted to be a gentle giant. He didn’t want to be a monster. He thought about what Jackie would say, if she knew he was eating humans. He felt guilt and shame. It wouldn’t be right, for him to eat this defenseless little man like this, in secrecy. He had promised Jackie he wouldn’t. 

He raised the man up out of the danger zone, closed his jaws with a sigh, and wiped the spit off his chin. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I lost control for a second there,” he admitted with humiliation. 

“Sorry?! Like hell you’re sorry! Let go of me!” the man yelled, brandishing his fists. Chester reddened with embarrassment and carried the man back to where he had snatched him. 

“Here you go,” he said, setting him back down safely within the human pathway. “And here’s your briefcase.” He pinched it carefully between his thumb and forefinger and offered it to the man. The human snatched it from his fingers with a scowl and stormed off. 

“Damn giants! That’s the last straw! I’m quitting this stupid job! It’s not worth it!” he muttered as he rushed off. “Candy can keep her stupid boyfriend to herself, no man is worth this shit!” Chester held still, so as not to frighten the human, until he boarded a railcar and sped off. He rubbed his face with his hands and exhaled heavily. He had dodged a bullet. The relief he felt overshadowed his disappointment and empty belly. Even though he was ashamed of his urges and near-failure, he was proud of himself for regaining control. He would’ve felt terrible if he had succumbed. 

Chester retreated to the alleyway where Jackie was supposed to make the portal and sat down, leaning his back against the wall. He was hungry, but he would just have to suck it up and wait. He was exhausted too—tired of having to deal with his cravings, tired of stressing over his son. He had a feeling his son had something to do with the delay. As much as he loved Hunter and enjoyed being a father, sometimes he wished he could go back to simpler times, when it was just Jackie and him. They had their struggles then, sure, but those days seemed so carefree by comparison. 

Parenting turned out to be a lot harder than he expected. He supposed difficult things in life were worth the effort though. He fell asleep. He woke up several times during the night, since he was cold, achy, and uncomfortable resting on bricks and concrete. Finally, to his relief, the floor near his feet sparked with blue electricity and a portal opened. He climbed down and landed on the floor of his own home. 

“Jackie! What happened? Is everything okay?” he asked, sweeping her up into his palms. His stomach growled and his expression hardened. “I need to eat.” 

As he hustled over to the kitchen, Jackie explained everything that had transpired. Chester listened as he shoveled handfuls of food into his mouth, his eyebrows turned down in anger. He was already cranky from being hungry, tired, and sore all night, on top of his other woes, but this news pushed him over the edge.  

“I’m so sorry, love. After all that I had to wait for my lightning magic to replenish. I felt terrible abandoning you like that,” Jackie expressed from her position on the counter. 

Chester leaned over her and nuzzled her lovingly. “It’s not your fault, Jackie. Don’t you worry about it. You know I’m tough, so I was just fine.” He looked down the hallway to his son’s bedroom. “Hunter! Get over here!” he bellowed. 

“Go easy on him, sweetie,” Jackie urged her husband. “It was rough for him too.” Chester looked down at her but didn’t respond. He was fuming. 

Hunter exited his room and sheepishly entered the kitchen. “You called for me, Dad?” 

Chester didn’t mince words or hold back. “How dare you disobey me!” he roared. “And you put your mother and yourself in danger! I told you it wasn’t safe! Why didn’t you listen?!” 

Hunter looked down at his feet. “Sorry, Dad,” he mumbled. Normally, with his rebellious spirit, he’d have a word or two of his own to shout back, but in this case he knew he had screwed up. He felt guilty. Flustered, he fidgeted with his hands. Chester opened his mouth to say more, but stopped when he noticed his missing finger. 

“What happened to your hand?” he asked sharply. Hunter tried to hide it, but Chester marched over and pulled on his arm to examine the stump. Jackie gasped. Out of shame, Hunter had concealed the injury from her. “Goodness…” 

“That other giant cut it off. To see if I tasted like a human.” Hunter wrenched his arm out of his dad’s grip. Chester looked at him sadly. 

“Well… I suppose that’s punishment enough. I hope you learned your lesson,” Chester muttered. “Just go to your room.” 

Hunter left, slamming the door to his bedroom, and Chester sighed. He was tired, down to the marrow of his bones. He scooped up Jackie and went to the master bedroom, laying on the bed with a soft groan. He set Jackie on his chest. 

“What are we going to do with him, sweet pea?” he asked her, staring at the ceiling. 

She sighed. “I don’t know.” 

Chapter 9

Chapter 1

[revenant-ao3]

The Hounds of Fate - Ch 6

Read on Ao3: here

Shoto hovers in the realm of wakefulness, woefully unaware of his surroundings as he’s dragged down an austere hallway. Trying to gain a sense of his situation is like looking at blurry, overexposed polaroids. Each moment passes by, a snapshot he can barely comprehend. A heavy metal door swings open. Blink. He’s in a new corridor. Blink. Voices hover over him.

“I hope you didn’t rough him up too severely. It’d be a shame to waste more time than necessary.”

The voice is masculine, unfamiliar, and far too pleasant given Shoto’s current state. It might be the electrocution or the head trauma, but it sounds a little like the man is speaking through a filter. It takes a moment for Shoto to decipher the words. By the time he grasps it, another voice, faintly familiar joins in.

“No more than what was needed.”

Who is that? Scars? No, it’s not hoarse enough. Sparky?

Shoto wants to look but each sliver of light that slips through his eyelids feels like an ice pick to the brain.

“This is what was needed?” says the first voice. It comes out exasperated and mildly inconvenienced like he’d been given the wrong drink at a restaurant.

Then, a cool hand touches Shoto’s face, gentle as can be.

It startles urgency into him. That brutal haze is pierced by an innate feeling of danger. Shoto doesn’t know exactly what’s going on or why he feels like death warmed over, but he knows no one should be touching him. Nobody aside from his sister has been so physically tender with him in a long, long time. Something’s wrong. His body jerks, aching muscles protesting at the command. He manifests a stream of ice without even thinking.

It earns him another round of shock therapy, though it’s milder this time by a large margin. More disorienting than purposefully agonizing. If his body had not already been thoroughly abused, it would do little to slow him. Unfortunately, his beaten muscles spasm with renewed vengeance, and stars dance behind his eyes. He can taste the current on his tongue.

Anger follows on the tails of the fear and pain that bite his ankles. Shoto isn’t sure if he’s growling but it feels an awful lot like he’s growling, borderline rabid as he lashes out like a cornered animal. Someone’s yelling. The electricity doesn’t falter. Every ounce of ice that leaves his body is replaced with lightning.

“He shouldn’t be able to—”

Shoto’s mind blanks out, missing the rest of the incredulous statement. His body gives in, convulsing from the combined backlash of the cold and unrelenting shocks.

“—warned you—”

He isn’t lucid for much longer.

---

Shoto flits through fits of awareness, each shorter than the last. And each time, he fights the hands that touch him, snarls at the voice that greets him. Spines of ice jut out like arrows on instinct and he’s shocked at every turn. He can’t even release a frosted gasp without electricity coursing through his body. Dazed, he can’t help but think it might kill him soon. Strangely enough, he’s not upset at the notion.

For a moment, somewhere lost in that electric haze, he feels a lick of fire burst from his face.

That dreadful, dreadful rage burns deeper in his gut.

---

The next round of consciousness hits him like a rough hangover – not that he’s accustomed to that feeling, but seeing a few people on the streets struggling after a wild night gives him a decent estimate of what it’s like. His head is throbbing, his mouth is dryer than his sense of humor, and he can barely breathe without it feeling like his body wants to shut down from intense muscle pain. Each minor inhale nearly causes him to convulse like his body’s grown too accustomed to the twitches to function otherwise.

Overall, he’s felt worse, though not by a large margin. This certainly isn’t making it into his Top Ten list of pleasant wake-up calls, that’s for sure.

He lays there for several minutes as he works on reorienting himself and taking marginally deeper breaths. His memories are foggy and his headache only exacerbates his efforts to backtrack. It's when he twitches his hand to rub his aching chest only to feel restraints around his wrists that it comes rushing to him in painful clarity.

The ambush – successful this time.

They got him.

Shoto knows he should be frightened, but he feels more annoyed and embarrassed than anything. Caught like a goddamn rookie. (The fact that he is years off of even being considered that level is pointedly ignored.)

Somewhere, he feels like his father is scoffing with a lecture for his incompetence at the ready. Perhaps the reality of the situation hasn’t settled in just yet, but he’s frustrated that he’s managed to give this little victory to Endeavor, even if the man is unaware of it. Laugh it up, you bastard. I’ll get out of here on my own.

He blinks and squints, forcing himself to work through the pain to observe his immediate surroundings.

White walls, white laminate flooring, white acoustical ceiling tiles, and not a hint of furniture beyond the tatami mat he’s lying on. He’d say the room is spartan but that’s being far too generous. The only other thing that catches his eye is a camera pointed in his direction up in the corner. The door, he observes, is solid metal with no visible handle. It’d be too easy if he was allowed to just walk out, he supposes. There’s no immediately visible threat or opportunity to exploit.

With that down, he moves on to cataloging himself.

The first and absolutely most concerning thing he notes is his bare face. No shitty, warped plastic rubs against his skin or causes his breath to condense unpleasantly on his lips. It rips the blinders off his eyes and forces him to see the situation for what it is. He’s known logically that things are most certainly Not Good, but there was a sense of safety his mask brought him, like a security blanket he’s imprinted on. With it gone, with the knowledge that anyone and everyone involved now knows his face – his shame – he feels the seeds of fear set its roots firmly in his gut.

There’s no way of knowing how many people have seen him. Was he processed somewhere? Examined? Someone moved him here. Is this a single entity or a team? The thought of more and more people recognizing him makes him sick.

He digs his blunted and cracked nails into his aching palms to ground himself. Focus. Evaluate the situation. Take control.

Ten seconds. That’s how long he allows himself to wallow in this miserable state, then he gets back to work. If these bastards think they can contain him or bring him to heel, they have another thing coming. He returns to his examination, only slightly stunted by the fog hovering in his brain.

Aside from his overtaxed muscles and the acute headache, he’s in working order. His vision has cleared and he has feeling in each limb. Granted, he could have still escaped without the use of his arms, but that would have been much more annoying. This? This is doable.

With a grunt and a roiling stomach, he forces himself into a sitting position. Once he's sure he isn't going to flop back down into a pathetic heap, he inspects his restraints with a frown. Stun cuffs. That might explain why he feels like an overused lightning rod.

Shoto remembers Endeavor going over restraint procedure a little over a year ago. These are ‘humane’, meant to disorient and prevent the captive from focusing on their quirk through the shocks it’d deliver if they tried. Given that he now has two pairs of cuffs on his wrists and, if he’s feeling it correctly, a set around his ankles, he supposes one just wasn’t effective enough. If he feels a tad bit smug at that, who can blame him? Anything to inconvenience his captors.

Still, he doesn’t remember how he got here or who put these on him. He can recall the moment of his capture and the moment he awoke in this room. Everything between point A and point B is blurry.

Having taken proper stock of his surroundings and well-being, he decides it’s time to act. The walls are sturdy, but likely not sturdy enough to contain his raw power. If, by some bizarre miracle they are, he knows the ceiling isn’t. The tiles are generic, little more than composite sawdust and glue. Tearing a hole into the next floor wouldn’t take much more than a basic attack.

Though that will likely alert my captors and I can’t afford to waste unnecessary energy, he muses and eyes the room up again before focusing on the the only exit. If I can finesse the door open I might be able to gain some ground before they realize anything is wrong.

Utter destruction will be his fallback if the door proves too difficult or costly to open he decides.

Gotta get these off first. Then I can bust out of here.

No matter which way he twists and turns his arms, he can’t see a latch, not that he expected to find one. They’d make for terrible restraints otherwise. He can try to overwhelm them, send out a burst of ice strong enough to coat them, and either fry the inner circuits or cause the metal to become brittle enough to break. However, that poses the same risk as breaking down the wall. It’d be a wasteful expenditure of his energy and he’ll harm himself in the process. Not exactly ideal when he’ll likely have to face down an unknown number of combatants.

Though, he doesn’t exactly know the voltage on these things. They’re something he has theoretical experience with through studying. It’s different to find himself strapped with a pair (or three). Getting electrocuted is something he’s come to loathe, but he doubts these things are packing the same sort of power as that villain’s quirk. It would hardly be humane then. Pain is something he has an oddly intimate relationship with. If the voltage is low enough, he can likely shrug it off and bust these things apart like toys. That would probably explain the extra sets, come to think of it.

Before he decides on the method, he’ll have to test the feedback. One set wouldn’t be too bad, but three? That’s questionable.

With a steadying breath, he bites back any shred of hesitation that tells him this is a bad idea and lets out an experimental little dusting of frost.

Electricity races all the way from his roots to his toes. He nearly cracks his head against the wall as he jerks back on instinct, like he can get away from the sensation. It’s painful and drives him into the realm of oversensitive, but, as expected, it’s not as bad as that villain’s quirk had been. This feels less like he’s been slapped into an electric chair and more like he fell onto a third rail. Still, not exactly a great feeling, certainly not one he’ll seek out for fun.

He’s pretty confident he can break them without passing out. But, it’s not a certainty. How long it’d take to actually shatter the cuffs is also an unknown. What state would he be left in after? One well enough to fight? The risk is too high to bet on while he still has other options to exhaust.

First, he has to get out of view of that camera; an unreasonable feat given the barren state of this room. So, he turns to face his back to the device and hunches in on himself, knees drawn to his chest like he’s just a distraught and hiding child. Acting has never been his strong suit, so he hopes it’s a believable display. Perhaps they’ll underestimate him given his now obvious age.

With some minor degree of privacy, he starts on his next plan.

The cuffs are sturdy and unyielding in the center, not allowing his hands to really bend far or meet in the middle. He can’t even touch his fingers together. He shifts a little so his arms slip around his knees and down until his hands press against the mat. Then, he tucks his right thumb under his foot and steps down. It’s awkward and slightly uncomfortable, but that might work in his favor this time.

Shoto takes a deep breath, holds it, and then jerks his arm back as subtly as he can manage with the force he needs. He hates that he’s almost grateful again for his father’s bullshit training because having dislocated this joint before makes it all the easier to do it again. (A child should not regularly have dislocated joints but that’s a fact that too many pros and adults were keen on ignoring.)

A familiar pain radiates up his arm as he feels his thumb pop out of its socket. It’s nearly insignificant compared to what he’s been through these past days. He hunches his shoulders close to his ears and releases his breath slowly as he grows accustomed to the throbbing. Hopefully, it just looks like he’s crying pathetically to any potential watcher.

Without wasting any more time, Shoto angles his thumb against his palm and forcefully wriggles one cuff off his injured hand. When the metal presses against the tender joint, it makes him shudder but he doesn’t slow. The second is no more pleasant to escape.

When his right hand is completely free, he heaves a sigh of relief before popping his thumb back into place without so much as a grunt. It’s a little stiff and uncomfortable. He’ll need to ice it and avoid overworking his hand for the foreseeable future, but he’s ambidextrous and doesn’t need his hands to utilize his quirk, so it’s a net positive in his opinion. (Any lasting and exacerbated damage to the joint is a problem for future-Shoto to deal with.)

Shoto presses a fingertip against the inseam of the cuffs and shoots ice inside. His punishment is swift as electricity arcs through him, though it’s certainly not as bad with half the cuffs off of him. He bites back a noise and tries to keep his body in check. The dosage lessens when the pair he iced sparks and the frame cracks as ice seeps out of its insides. He repeats the process with the second set.

By now, the feedback is almost laughable. He can understand how it’d affect most others, many of whom haven’t faced rigorous endurance training since they could walk or learned to fight through pain in the height of battle. This is a warm-up in comparison for him.

With both arms free, he swiftly and discreetly destroys the set on his ankles. He tests his quirk by covering his aching thumb in a thin sheen of frost to numb the pain. It’s borderline euphoric to use his quirk without feeling like an abused spark plug. Knowing he’s free to do as he wishes, he sends a thin, nearly imperceptible line of ice across the base trim of the wall. It races around the room and creeps up the wall under the camera, freezing the device. It sparks as it dies.

Here’s to hoping they think it’s a technical difficulty on their end.

He hates placing so much of his escape on faith and assumptions. But, there’s little else he can do other than wait around for some knight in tight spandex to bust in and save him (doubtful). No thank you, he’d rather choke on lightning again.

Getting to his feet is more of an affair than he’d like. There’s stiffness in his joints and a burn in his muscles like he’s run drills for days on end. It nearly makes him lightheaded. Shoto places a hand on the wall to stabilize himself while his senses reorient themselves. How annoying.

After a breath, he pushes off the wall, standing tall and looking almost entirely unaffected by what’s transpired. He’ll not allow these thugs to think they’ve so much as hindered him. They’ll become specks in his already ugly history and nothing more. Shoto tells himself this as he walks toward the door with aching limbs.

When he presses an ear to the cool metal, he can’t hear a thing beyond. It’s anyone’s guess what waits for him. Shoto runs his hand across the frame of the door, mapping out the hinges and working his way over to where he thinks the latch bolt is. It’s hard to get an accurate read due to the seamless design, but doors rarely differ in structure, so he can hazard a pretty strong guess.

He settles his palm over the minuscule crack between the door and the frame and lets ice creep in between. It’s small at first before more and more pushes in like a thickening wedge. There’s a low groan and creak as the frame slowly but steadily begins to bend under the unending intrusion. It doesn’t need to be a lot, just enough to free the door from its locked position.

While his muscles protest further physical exertion, he’s pleasantly surprised to feel little in the way of quirk fatigue. It’s there, on the frayed edges of his nerves, but it’s almost as if he’s slept through it all and is suffering through the tail-end. A worrying detail as it implies an extended stay in this place, but it’s also a boon. He’s free to more-or-less go to town on his captors – barring extensive hand-to-hand combat, of course. (Not that he planned on entertaining them long enough for it to get to that point. He’s going to turn this place into an iceberg at his earliest convenience.)

Shoto pushes a shoulder against the straining door and continues to wedge more ice into the sparse opening. It spreads further up and down the gap, pressing in like an industrial-grade jack. With a crack and metallic groan, the door jars slightly.

That’s all he needs.

He presses his left hand to the ice and quickly melts it as he rams his shoulder into the door before it can click back in place. It swings open with ease.

Shoto darts into the hall, mist rolling off his body as he surveys the area.

One person patrols further down the way but is striding in his direction swiftly, obviously drawn by the noise of the door. The woman seems shocked to see him exit the room. Her pale eyes widen and she moves to grab a radio on her hip.

Can’t let that happen.

Shoto sends ice careening her direction like a bullet. Before she can get the radio to her lips, she’s engulfed.

“Hey—!”

The device clatters uselessly to the ground.

He narrows his eyes as he stalks closer and picks up the radio. This might be useful.

“You won’t be doing that,” he says coldly and clips the radio onto his collar. Then, he fixes her with a glare. “Where am I? How do I get out of here?”

“C’mon kid, y-you don’t gotta—”

“Answer or I’ll leave you to get frostbite.”

He tries to put in as much vitriol in the threat as he can. Easy enough now that he’s sufficiently pissed and aching all over. These thugs are fortunate he wants to be a hero. If he fell lower on the morality spectrum, he’d take his pound of flesh in recompense. Instead, he’ll settle for thoroughly and soundly beating them.

It must be a convincing enough act because the woman grows wan. (Shoto doesn’t know, doesn’t see the hate in his own eyes. The way his lurid face and wild hair paints a distinctly malignant picture. He looks more savage than those that lurk in these halls.)

“This is the k-kennels. Sub-level 3. Gotta g-go up.”

Shoto glances quickly down the hall. It’s just as stark and impersonal as the room was. No signs, no posters, no other people, no windows. Nothing but blank walls and a line of similar handleless doors. It’s like an obnoxious marriage of esotericism and ultra-minimalism; hard to comprehend and empty to the point of discomfort. He would have had to scour each floor to figure out if it was the right one to get out.

The other doors are cause for major concern. If he was locked behind one, it’s not a far leap of logic to assume others are as well.

“And these other rooms?” he asks, just as coolly.

“O-other people. Boss M-Murmur sends them here for b-breaking before the shows.”

On the positive, he has a name. Murmur.

On the negative, he really does not like what conclusions he’s drawing. Breaking? Shows? It sounds like he’s training animals, not torturing people.

“‘Shows’? Explain,” he demands because he needs to know the severity of the situation.

“‘S where he s-sells ‘em,” she stutters out, breath frosting with each word.

So, he and Eraserhead were right. Not much of a victory when he’s in the midst of this shitshow, but he’ll be sure to tell the hero when he gets out. They can take a moment to gloat in awkward silence after cracking some heads. That’ll be a nice reunion.

He allows himself one more question. That’s all the time he can afford to waste.

“And what of your numbers? How much resistance can I expect?”

Her lips thin but she doesn’t resist selling out her allies. No honor among thieves.

“Boss h-hires outside muscle. D-don’t know how many there are. At least two a f-few floors up.”

With that, he decides her usefulness has run its course. He summons a thick piece of ice in his hand and uses it as a baton. She barely has time to see him swing before it cracks against her head with unforgiving force. Her face goes slack as she falls unconscious.

Despite his earlier threat, he really isn't a monster. No matter how much she deserves it, he won’t leave her in this hunk of ice. Though, he won’t leave her free either. After swiftly melting her prison, he throws her into his former room. The door slams shut and is coated in ice a moment later. We’ll see how she likes a kennel of her own.

Shoto then turns and makes for the end of the hall. As he passes the other doors, his steps falter. Guilt begins to gnaw at him.

How many other victims are here? How many would he be willing to abandon? It’s not logical to release a bunch of people without knowing their status, especially given his own physically questionable state. How can he protect them all? And how much time would that waste?

But still…

He reaches a hand toward the closest door, ready to blow it off its hinges, but hesitates.

It would be smarter to get out and bring proper reinforcements. Freeing people who may be physically or mentally compromised would be counterproductive. It’d put everyone in danger. He has one shot at this, so he has to be wise about this, not compassionate.

That doesn’t make the decision feel any better as he steps away from the door. It’s a bitter choice to swallow as he passes more potential victims on his way to freedom. I’ll be back, he swears to these faceless people, and I’ll bring help. You’ll be free soon.

Shoto’s steps feel particularly weighted, his chest unfortunately tight, as he reaches the door at the end. No time for second-guessing. Keep moving. Keep acting.

He rests his left hand on the handle, stance shifting to a defensive posture. Then, he throws the door open, frost billowing from his right side as he prepares to fight—

No one.

The door leads to a stairwell shockingly devoid of life. No matter how intently he listens, he can’t hear even the faintest stirring. It’s concerning. More than concerning. He’d have expected a closer eye to be kept on him after the trouble they went through to catch him in the first place. One guard is hardly appropriate security. Why kidnap people if you’re not going to monitor them properly?

Unless it’s a trap.

That, he feels, is the most likely scenario. This group has already shown their fondness for ambushes. What’s one more? It might also explain why his confiscated radio has been suspiciously silent. There’s been no check-in after her botched attempt at a warning.

He climbs the stairs as swiftly and quietly as he can manage. His footsteps still echo with sharp taps through the empty space. After reaching each landing, he counts until he gets to the door he believes is the ground floor. If that woman was honest, he should be close now.

His nerves jump and anticipation rises like a wellspring in his gut. Not far now. Just a few more doors and he’s home-free. As with the previous door, he prepares himself before opening it. If anywhere has signs of life, it’ll be this floor. Anyone entering or exiting the facility will likely pass through here. Through-traffic is more or less unavoidable.

He throws the door open in the same manner as before, stance prepared to strike. His escape comes to a screeching halt. Standing in the middle of the hall are three men and a woman, all clearly waiting for him. It's less of an ambush and more of a blockade. Shit.

Shoto would ice them but two very important details stop him.

One: Scars is there, expression darkly amused and entirely too relaxed, hands already smoking in preparation to act.

Two: One of the other men has a gun pressed firmly to the woman’s head.

Shoto won’t be able to freeze the gun before the bullet finds its way snugly into her brain. He’s fast, but he’s definitely not faster than a speeding bullet, especially one so close to its target.

So, he halts. He doesn’t know what will set this stranger off or what will get this woman killed. Shoto values his freedom, but he won’t kill her to get it.

A voice rings in the back of his head that sounds oddly like Eraserhead, telling him to compartmentalize and prioritize.

The man with the gun is smiling at him so calmly and politely that it unsettles Shoto. He is, in plain terms, bland; average in everything, right down to his neatly pressed khakis and neighborly expression. If it weren’t for his given situation, Shoto doubts he’d even remember the man’s face if given a lineup. He could work at a PTA bake sale and Shoto wouldn’t bat an eye. It’s unnerving.

“Told you he’d get out,” Scars says blithely. There’s an intensity in his stare that contradicts his lax posture. His smile is vicious as he watches Shoto with so much focus, it’s like he’s the only other person in the building.

“Aren’t you just impressive?” the gunman asks, pleasant as a lark, like he doesn’t have a woman hostage.

Shoto schools his expression into one of pointed disinterest and refrains from answering. Instead, he looks at the hostage. She's young, barely twenty. Her expression is slack, nearly deadened and her eyes are glassy. Is she drugged? That complicates things.

When he looks at the second man, yellowish wolf-like eyes and sharp teeth bared in a sneer greet him. It’s the tracker from the alley, the one Shoto threatened. No wonder nobody tried to stop him. They always knew where he was. Damn it.

With the animosity burning in his stare, Shoto’s pretty sure there’s no love lost between them. Suits him just fine. There’s a degree of sick satisfaction that wells in him when he notices the man flinch back slightly once Shoto levels his full, baleful attention on him. He hasn’t forgotten. Good.

“I think we should talk,” the gunman says.

It drags Shoto's gaze back to him.

Fine, not like there’s much of a choice. Besides, I might get information. Maybe an opening.

Shoto tilts his head, the closest approximation to assent he’s willing to give the man. Even that little concession earns him a too-pleased smile. He immediately wants to retract the motion.

“Please, take a seat,” the man says and nods to the floor, like Shoto’s stupid enough to get in such a vulnerable position.

Well, I am tired...

He’s moving before he even realizes it, leaning against the wall and sliding down. Comprehension dawns on him and shocks him into a stop mid-motion. His muscles scream in protest as he jerks back upright. Every line of his body is tense as he stares warily at the unassuming man.

“What the hell is your quirk?” he asks incredulously.

The man chuckles, clearly amused by the shock on Shoto’s usually stoic face.

“A minor suggestion quirk, nothing so impressive. Not like yours.”

There are several things he dislikes about what was just said. First and foremost, a suggestion quirk? Like brainwashing? That is really not good.

And he hates the way the man spoke about his quirk. It's covetous. That pleasant expression tips into something rapacious as he looks Shoto over. It makes his nerves twist. He can’t let that man near him, he just knows it.

Shoto moves into a more defensible stance as he glances at the other two men. The tracker is simple enough to handle but Scars is a different story. It’s too dangerous to engage him here when there are more people underground. Then there’s the gun. That’s his biggest concern.

Maybe if I…

There’s a move he can do that might just work but it takes concentration. Enough that he isn’t entirely confident he can manage it right now. He’s weighing the risk when the gunman tsks.

“I wouldn’t do anything rash.”

He shifts the gun a little as a reminder.

Shoto grimaces and relaxes his posture, if only to ease that finger further away from the trigger.

“Let her go,” he says as commanding as he can manage.

The man huffs a chuckle.

“If you insist.” He says it lightly like he’s entertaining a child.

It’s shocking how readily he agrees. Alarm bells ring in Shoto’s head immediately.

“Be a dear and hold this for me,” he says as he picks up one of the woman’s hands and transfers control of the weapon to her. “If he attacks or uses his quirk at all, kill yourself.”

The command startles Shoto. It's unfathomable, monstrous. He glances from the man to the woman who holds the muzzle to her head, expression barely cognizant. While Shoto broke control, he isn’t sure this woman is in any state of mind to resist.

Shoto wants to hit him so badly. His thumb aches as he tightens his fists. The glare he sends the man could level a city. Scars whistles at the expression, his own face lighting up in twisted amusement. The tracker growls low in his throat but steps back in the same instance. All the while, the man just smiles at him serenely.

“Now, that conversation…” he says as he claps his hands together.

“What do you want?” Shoto bites out, tension keeping his aching muscles taut.

“For you to behave.”

Shoto barely refrains from rolling his eyes. Get in line. Endeavor would probably hire this man if he succeeds in wrangling Shoto in completely, past transgressions be damned. (Forced compliance hardly counts, in his opinion. He still plans on turning the man into an ice sculpture once the hostage is secure.)

When the man looks him over again like he’s appraising Shoto, it makes the teen’s skin crawl. There’s an unsettling emptiness in those brown eyes. An absence of humanity. It’s hidden so well behind his genial appearance.

“Dabi did tell me you were a bit of a handful. Even still, this is a surprise. I didn’t expect you to escape so quickly.”

He talks to Shoto as if they’re friends. A little chuckle at the end like he’s retelling a funny story. The desire to hit him reinforces itself.

Scars’ smile widens slightly, gaze sharpening.

Dabi, I take it. The name is a little on the nose, given his physical state, but it’d certainly track with his quirk. Shoto would say he’s in no room to judge the creativity of other’s names, but he’s still harboring a grudge against Dabi, so he’ll offer the villain no such grace.

Seeing that Shoto isn’t being charitable enough to talk to him, the man continues on, sighing like he’s the one being inconvenienced here.

“I’m a fair man. I’m willing to compromise.”

That draws Shoto’s attention back to him, albeit begrudgingly. Fair? Really? He’d point out the woman about to commit unwilling suicide, but he sincerely doubts this asshole is capable of that level of self-reflection.

The man takes his bitter stare as interest and continues.

“You want to help this creature. I want you to be obedient. I think there’s a way we can reach an agreement.”

Anger burns through him. The casual dehumanization of this poor woman makes him sick with disgust and rage. His expression cracks, shifts, and curls into proper rancor. He has to take caution to keep from letting his quirk seep out in his anger, unsure just how little will be needed to trigger that latent command. Would the appearance of frost be all it takes?

“Unlikely.”

His voice comes out deceptively flat despite his expression. It does little to dissuade the man’s perpetually pleased demeanor. Why the gods decided to create such a punchable man is beyond Shoto’s comprehension.

“Return to your kennel and wait. If you mind your manners, this one will remain safe, sound, and unsold.”

What a horrifically vague bargain. It hinges on his manners? Those are pitiable on the best of days, even Shoto can admit that, but this man’s standards may be wildly different from the norm.

A chill trickles down his spine when he realizes he’s turning, ready to go straight back to that room. He stops before he’s even turned fully, eyes falling to slits as he glares back at the man. How’s he supposed to combat this quirk when he can’t even tell it’s being used? There’s been no indicator, no sensation in his brain, only the execution of the command that Shoto realizes isn’t his own will. It’s only that revelation that lets him stop himself.

The man’s smile ticks, though Shoto isn’t sure if it’s in amusement or slow-growing irritation. He’s hoping for the latter.

“Or, fight back,” he suggests nonchalantly, gesturing to the woman in a distinctly unsubtle threat. “Escape and live with the knowledge that you sacrificed her.”

Shoto’s irate expression darkens. His lips twist into a grimace before he locks it all down. There’s no other option for him, not one he would ever be okay with doing. Leaving those on the lower level so he can get help is one thing. Being directly responsible for this woman’s death or sale is unforgivable. His features fall distant and blank as he looks at the man as if he’s looking through him; like he’s insignificant.

“She’ll be okay if I remain complacent?”

His voice sounds hollow even to himself. It brightens the man’s smile to a revolting degree. It takes all he can not to erupt. He holds himself together the only way he knows how: sheer spite and bitter, biting cold. If only that were enough to petrify this bastard the way it does that tracker.

“Of course,” he assures, so saccharine it’s slimy. Shoto wouldn’t bet a single yen on his sincerity, but there’s little he can do to combat that.

“And how do I know you’re being honest?” he asks, trying to maintain even the faintest grasp of control of the situation. (He was never in control but he refuses to admit that, stubborn to the very end.)

The man huffs lightly and shifts his weight at Shoto’s continuous pushback. Maybe he’s unused to resistance. Maybe he really is getting aggravated. Good.

Though, he’s wary of how far he can push it. It’s selfish and so, so fucking stupid to risk her well-being just to indulge his petty habits. Seeing the man shift impatiently isn’t rewarding enough to compensate for the moment it goes too far. Pulling in the reigns and lowering his shoulders to show his passivity is a more momentous task than squaring up against Endeavor in their training hall, but he manages. His teeth grind as he exercises his tenuous restraint.

“You’re in no position to demand assurance, Shoto,” the man says, voice somehow both pleasant and snippy. It rubs Shoto’s aching nerves the wrong way.

“Don’t call me that,” he says through gritted teeth, repulsed by the way his name drips from the other’s lips.

The false familiarity that man is trying to establish does little to ingratiate himself into Shoto’s goodwill. In fact, it does the opposite. Perhaps it’s how his quirk works? The closer he is to the person, the easier his influence? If so, Shoto will have no issue maintaining that distance. It’s only through threats of death that he’s kept himself from harpooning the bastard.

“Of course,” he says, expression back to placid and voice cordial. “We’ll get to that stage soon enough.”

No, we won’t. He’d definitely rather have the heroes bust in and perform an obnoxious and over-reported rescue on him than exchange a single word more with his captor. But, he keeps that to himself. No need to antagonize this guy any further until that woman is safely away from the situation.

“You may call me Murmur,” the man says and holds out his hand for Shoto to shake.

It takes a truly divine level of restraint to keep from grabbing his hand and turning him into the world’s ugliest ice centerpiece. This asshole, Murmur, must know it from the audacity in his grin. This is the bastard in charge. Great.

Since he can’t freeze the man to the spot without the woman reacting in a truly terrible way, Shoto does his best to relay his opinion through sight. He glances at the offending hand and looks away in disinterest, leaving the man hanging.

He gets a sigh for his efforts and the hand disappears from his peripheral only to move up and touch his shoulder in a facsimile of affection. Every inch of his skin crawls and he tenses instantaneously, but his expression remains distant.

“You’re injured. Exhausted. All that impressive work has drained you. Don’t you think it’s wise to get some rest?” Murmur says softly and with so much care, it would almost be believable if his eyes weren’t utterly soulless.

Even still, Shoto feels the idea worm into his head. The ache in his muscles renews with magnified vigor and he realizes just how tired he is. I am exhausted.

“Stop it,” he nearly hisses.

Shoto is just about ready to punch himself like it’ll launch the manifestation of that thought clear out of his head. It’s horrifying how naturally it came to him like it was his own volition. What's worse is that he can't find it in himself to disagree with the thought, because he genuinely is tired. But now he can't trust that that's not another piece of manipulation. How is he meant to tell what’s his own thoughts and will and what’s Murumurs?

“Willful, aren’t you?” Murmur says with a light chuckle and draws back his hand. Then, he glances over to the woman. “Darling—”

Her glazed eyes are rimmed with tears and her arm shakes. Shoto sucks in a breath and takes a resigned step backward, gaze downcast. There’s a painful, poisonous feeling in his chest now, something like defeat and rage and unending self-immolation.

“I’m going.”

It falls out, flat and unfeeling, nearly robotic. Shoto separates himself mentally from the situation as he takes another step back toward the door. He can bide his time and come up with a better escape plan now that he has more information. He’ll just have to be careful for the other victims’ sake. It’s unknown how many are here and how many Murmur is willing to sacrifice to get to Shoto. If the avaricious way Murmur stares at him is any indicator, it’s an unsettling amount.

“I’m glad we could come to an agreement.”

Fuck you.

Shoto does little more than give him a dirty, frigid side glare, as dismissive and belittling as he can manage, before he turns away fully.

“Leave it to me. I can handle him,” Dabi (at least Shoto is still working under the assumption that Scars is Dabi) says suddenly. His raspy voice is pitched low and lilted in amusement. It grates against Shoto’s raw ego.

He tosses that same glare back at the scarred man. Then he smoothes it out to flat disinterest. Handle me? I distinctly remember things ending a different way our last encounter.

“How’s the arm?” he asks, blandly, catty undertones barely concealed. His gaze flicks down to the freshly-stapled purplish flesh, just as grotesque and painful looking as last time.

That earns him a vicious, snarling grin. Said hand lights up incandescent blue as Dabi raises a flaming fist and tilts his head.

“Fuckin’ peachy. Want a closer look?”

Shoto lets his gaze roll back up to stare at Dabi and tries to mentally communicate how gross he thinks the man is through his vacant expression.

“You’re pungent enough from this distance.”

Shoto feels like putting tape over his own mouth if only to shut himself up. Egging on a fight right now is the exact opposite of what he should be doing, even if he’d like nothing more than to go at all three men in this hall like there’s no tomorrow. Don’t be an idiot. The mental voice chiding him once more takes on Eraserhead’s dry tone.

It’s just so hard to reign in his temper and attitude. Usually, he never does. In fact, he tends to amp it up to piss off certain (Endeavor) individuals. Exercising this type of restraint is much more difficult when surrounded by multiple aggravating people, an aggravating headache, and an extremely stressful situation. He takes a deep, calming breath and resists taking the bait as Dabi strides threateningly close, flames even brighter.

Murmur’s expression takes on a tone of concern as he looks between the two. Not combative, huh? Good to know.

“Ah, I suggest—”

“Finish that sentence and they’ll be vacuuming you off the floor,” Dabi says, finally breaking their staring contest and looking at his temporary boss.

It’s a little jarring to realize this is the first time Dabi has looked away from him since he entered the hall. He must have really pissed the man off the last time they met. It’s also an interesting thing to notice that Dabi doesn’t seem particularly beholden to or trustful of Murmur. Is he afraid Murmur will try to manipulate him? No loyalties here. Might be a point I can exploit.

“Naturally,” Murmur says coolly, tone distinctly different from how he speaks to Shoto. He motions for the woman to follow him. Even as she walks, her shaking arm never lowers the weapon. Damn it. Then, he nods at the two, expression dipping back into that mixture of tender-greed as he looks at Shoto.

“I’ll be down to see you soon, dear one.”

Dabi scoffs while Shoto’s lips curl in disgust. That sentiment leaves him feeling gross and mildly nauseated.

“Stop being fucking weird,” is Dabi’s parting words before he shoves Shoto roughly through the doorway and out of Murmur's line of sight.

The walk down the first flight of stairs is quiet, something Shoto’s grateful for. Dabi has the unique talent of annoying him. Maybe it has something to do with the tone the villain tends to take or the way he stares like Shoto’s missing out on some big, hilarious secret. Either way, it makes antagonizing the fiery man all the more appealing. (Maybe it’s also his repressed desire to lash out at another smug, obnoxious, asshole-ish fire-user.)

By the time they’re halfway to the second landing, Dabi seems to have had his fill of not counter-antagonizing Shoto.

“Dumbass.”

The sudden and slightly expected insult causes Shoto to shoot a confused-yet-annoyed expression at the other man.

“Excuse me?”

Dabi gives him that I-know-something-you-don’t look again and Shoto’s fist itches to acquint itself with the man’s face.

“You really think you saved that waste of space? Murmur already has someone else lined up to take her place,” he says, lips stretched in an unsettling, lazy smile.

His blasé attitude and lack of empathy aggravates Shoto. How anyone can see this situation and think any of it’s funny is appalling. Just wait, we’ll see how much you smile when I get out of here.

“What else was I supposed to do?” he asks coldly.

Even though it was meant to be rhetorical, Dabi still rolls his eyes and answers.

“Let the sorry bitch die. Better fate than what these sickos have in mind,” he says casually and without a single care. His bright, blazing stare lands back on Shoto and his expression shifts back to grotesquely amused. “Then again, mercy isn’t your thing, is it?”

The way he says it, like Shoto’s no better than him, makes Shoto burn with indignation.

“You’re in no position to make judgment calls about me. You’re helping these traffickers,” he spits out, annoyed that this bastard has the gall to equate anything he’s done to what Shoto’s done to survive.

“Sure I am,” Dabi says, but the way he says it gives Shoto pause. It’s almost sarcastic like helping this group is the last thing he’s doing. Shut up, you literally kidnapped me.

Something in Dabi’s expression shifts. He’s still smiling, but it falls flat and jagged, the picture of vindictiveness.

“Endeavor’s little masterpiece knows all. Especially how to get his way. Got that special brand of Todoroki sadism in you, don’t you?”

When Dabi speaks, it’s darkly amused and so resentful.

Shoto’s eyes widen marginally. Something lodges in his chest. No. No, I’m not like him at all.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he finally manages to force out.

They’re nearing the door to sub-level three’s hall now. It hasn’t occurred to Shoto just how slow they’re going. This lackadaisical pace his captor takes draws out their conversation. No, Shoto is too busy choking back this unwanted comparison.

Dabi huffs a scratchy laugh.

“Threatened to kill Laelaps. Ripped the skin off my arm. Threatened to torture me for information. And what happened to the dumbass guarding you? How’d you get this?” Dabi asks as he flicks the radio still clipped to Shoto’s collar. His expression is smug, all too pleased with pointing out Shoto’s vicious streak.

It’s like a slap to the face. He did that. He did all of that. In the moment, it felt appropriate because he knows how far he’ll go, but to hear it put so plainly from another’s mouth? It’s almost monstrous sounding. My God, he’s right. I’m… I...

“So heroic. Just like daddy taught you, right?”

He says it with such certainty, it’s unsettling. Shoto shakes off the horror for a moment to stare at him, more cowed by this conversation than anything Murmur could do.

“Who are you?” he asks, hollow and distant as he tries to settle this new uncertainty in his head. I’m turning out just like him.

“The Ghost of Christmas Past,” Dabi says sarcastically, and it only confuses Shoto.

Those rushing, painful accusations are momentarily silenced as he knits his brows together in thought. Christmas isn’t something Endeavor cared to celebrate, and so Shoto never did by proxy. If this is a reference to something, it’s gone firmly over his head.

“What does Christmas have to do with anything?” he asks.

Dabi stares at him blankly for a moment, assessing how serious Shoto’s being, before he rolls his eyes in the same manner Shoto imagines Eraserhead does behind his goggles sometimes.

“Fucking hell, you’re dense.”

And Shoto would be more offended if he wasn’t still grappling with himself. He’s quite sharp, thank you very much. He just...has issues with pop culture.

The two are silent for the time being as they walk down the hall. Shoto can still feel the intense heat rolling off Dabi’s body, even without the fire. It makes him wonder if that’s his natural body temperature or if he’s preparing himself for Shoto to fight.

No need to worry, he thinks bitterly. I can’t risk it right now without sentencing that woman to death or worse.

They halt in front of his cell – or kennel, as they call it. (Shoto despises that term. He’s not an animal. None of them are.) Dabi looks over the icy door and scoffs.

“Told them the cuffs weren’t enough. Shoulda tranq’d you.”

And Shoto is glad they didn’t do that. Being constantly drugged is not something he wants to become familiar with. That poor woman seemed too well-acquainted with that method of control and it looked dreadful. At least he can function at full mental capacity with the cuffs.

The ice melts in record time as Dabi presses a hand to the door. The steam curls around his palm before he even makes contact. It gives credence to the idea that he naturally runs unbearably hot.

Shoto eyes him up and imagines bashing him over the head with a sturdy piece of ice, but resists the temptation. He doesn’t want to give Murmur a reason to hurt that woman or – god forbid – sell her. Still, the mental image of knocking Dabi out is at least slightly mollifying.

(Until Dabi’s voice rings in his head, poisoning his satisfaction with taunts of Todoroki Sadism.)

He can’t see how Dabi opens the door. Card? Fingerprint? Does Dabi even have fingerprints left? It swings open and reveals the woman on the ground, cradling her head. Shoto’s tempted to ask her if it hurts. Mockingly, of course. He resists and stares at the blank wall he’s going to become unfortunately familiar with.

“Quit laying down on the job,” Dabi says and kicks her leg. There is no gentleness to the action, like the way Eraserhead would nudge Shoto. It’s entirely impersonal and unkind.

She squints up at Dabi, pinched features pained and glaring. Then, she notices Shoto to his right and leaps unsteadily to her feet, anger rolling off her in waves.

“You little bastard!”

The way she steps forward, all aggression, would be threatening if Shoto wasn’t dead certain he could handle her again.

“Oh, please, do attack him. I wanna see if he actually kills you this time,” Dabi says with a laugh and steps out of the way, hands motioning to Shoto like he’s genuinely encouraging this action. The way his hazy blue eyes stare at Shoto makes him think Dabi really is curious to see if it happens.

She notices it too. Her steps falter and that false bravado flags as she reassesses the situation. Her glare grows uncertain, wary. This is a fight she's no longer interested in taking.

It makes that mocking voice pipe back up in his head. Endeavor is no stranger to excessive force but he isn't a murderer. To think that anyone, villains of all people, thinks Shoto's willing to kill someone is disheartening. How has it gotten this bad?

“I’m not killing anyone,” he says firmly, to Dabi, to the woman, and to himself. As he speaks, he shoots Dabi a sideways glare before staring at the wall again, entirely dismissing the woman’s presence.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Dabi says, and Shoto doesn’t like that tone.

What the fuck do you know?

He grinds his teeth and pointedly ignores the man.

“Get out of here. You clearly can’t handle this,” Dabi says to the woman and shoos her away with a particularly rude gesture. She huffs but leaves without a fight.

A nearly scorching hand shoves against his back and Shoto has to correct himself before he trips over his own feet as he stumbles into the room. Dabi takes the radio from his shirt and tucks it into his pocket. Shoto glares at him and Dabi just smirks in return.

Don’t punch him. Don’t punch him.

It’s harder to resist when Dabi leans a little closer, face in perfect swinging distance, to whisper to him.

“When you get done toying with these assholes and actually escape, keep an eye open. I’ll be waiting.”

It’s confusing and definitely not what Shoto was expecting him to say, but there’s no mistaking the threat in his voice. He’ll have to sleep with one eye open or risk becoming an unidentifiable pile of ash, that's a known quantity. But, that doesn’t make the threat any less odd. Dabi is positive Shoto’s going to escape and by the sounds of it, he isn't going to try to stop it a second time around. Shoto's not sure if he should take it as a compliment. Being that he thinks this guy’s a dick, he’s going to say no, it’s not a compliment.

Still, why bother with all this runaround? What’s his endgame?

And Shoto’s sure there’s an endgame here. In all his encounters with this group, Dabi is not only one of the only legitimate threats, but he’s also one of the smarter ones. At first, Shoto thought he was just a thug-for-hire, but that doesn’t appear to be the case. He has an ulterior motive, Shoto’s sure of it.

Dabi seems to delight in Shoto’s confusion. He laughs, malicious and grating, as he backs out of the room. His silhouette darkens the doorway for a final breath.

“See you around, Shoto.”

His name slithers out of Dabi’s mouth like a taunt. It’s so different from the way Murmur said it. One grasped for the familiarity and the other throws it in his face like it's a given. Shoto jerks, fists clenched. Before he can make the irrationally stupid decision to lunge at the man, the door slams shut, leaving him locked in the room with nothing but his thoughts and the hurricane in his chest.

Shoto leans against the wall and slides down, gaze a million miles away.

He wishes Soba was here.

(He wishes Eraserhead was here.)

[lollipencil]

RE: Curse/Blessing

I was thinking about different ways to portray Khonshu that aren't "actual god", and my mind wrapped a baseball bat with Resident Evil box art, and went to town.

Enjoy and be gentle ---

Marc panted as heat beat him from all sides and poured out from between his fingers. Each breath drew a sharp reminder of his most recent failure, of every body laying just outside of what was likely to soon be his tomb.

He didn't really know why he was dragging himself to the statue. Maybe, it was to escape the pleading eyes of the dead, or for the vague notion of shelter. But onward he crawled.

Flowers bloomed at the statue's base. Pale blue petals brushed Marc's skin as he pulled himself over with waning strength. Halfway over, his arm suddenly buckles. Instinct makes him reach with the hand covering his gut wound to brace himself, time denies him.

Marc yelled as a single flower embeds itself inside. Pushing himself up off the bloody stem, Marc falls onto his back, wheezing with effort. Petals clung to the wound but he can hardly bring himself to care that much.

The lack of water would likely kill him faster than contamination. If the blood loss failed to get there first.

Pain reducing to a tingling sting, Marc could only lay there and wait.

---

Steven woke suddenly. The bed was stiff, kind of musky, and not his. Sitting up, he looked around.

It was a small boxy room. A large storage box took up a full corner at the foot of the bed, and a table sat in the middle of the room. On the table, sat a typewriter with a written sheet still attached. A faint almost tangy smell hung in the air like a vail.

He had never seen this room in his life.

Slowly, Steven pushed himself out of bed. Everything felt stiff, like he'd not moved in months. Tiredly, he rubbed his face. And that's when he felt it.

Something sharp dug lightly into his scalp. Carefully, Steven removed his hand. Bird-like talons had replaced his fingernails. Breathing starting to pick up, he looked down to see shorter but equally sharp claws on his toes, visible from under the medical gown he was wearing. "Nonono, this isn't real, this isn't real," Steven begged, shaking his head frantically.

Desperate, he rushed to the typewriter for any sort of answer to this nightmare he'd woken to. "Welcome back to the waking world," it read, "I am sorry. Hopefully, you're still able to read and move after all this time. Outside that door will be monsters. Maybe not right outside, but definitely in this mansion. There was an accident, I can't explain it all here, barely got enough time as it is. You were waking up. I couldn't just leave you down there. I've gathered some files and other things into a care package of sorts. It's in the storage box. I'll try to make as much distance between us as I can, you may not even find my body, but I hope you make it out. Beware Umbrella." Next to the last sentence, was a symbol scrawlled in dried blood.

Numbness filled Steven. What was happening? With nothing else to go off of, he walked to the storage box. A chunky file, haphazardly collected and tied in blood-stained string, sat as promised. Alongside clothes, a small backpack, bandages and some dried herbs with a note: "Green heals wounds, blue cures poison, red enhances green."

Swallowing harshly, Steven got changed. Blue jeans with a white hoodie, a white blazer and, thankfully, trainers and socks. The file only just fit into the backpack. But the rest of his pockets fit the rest of the box's contents.

Slinging the backpack over his shoulders, Steven paused at the door briefly before turning the handle.