#○_○ and pure dread from either running for her life or just about to die in general

[fduck0]

i love this frame so much

[muses-of-the-mind]

Inside A Mind

Thank you to @gingerly-writing for the prompt. Her prompts are always so interesting

Sure, they would fight and occasionally seriously injure each other but they’d never gone that far to cross the line of killing. Villain could pretend that it was just because they wanted the thrill, the challenge Hero gave them but deep down they knew they didn’t want to kill Hero. They didn’t want their blood on their hands, didn’t want to know how the absence of Hero in their life felt.

"No." The word had come out of their mouth involuntarily, their mind blanking at the image of their nemesis being dead.

Hero shook their head feebly, "You have no choice. I’m not leaving you with one." They stared at Villain with pained eyes, "There’s a parasite in me, eating away at every sane thought. If the monster wins over me, the whole city, including you, will be dead within seconds."

Villain opened their mouth to rebut but the alarming sight of blood from Hero’s cough had them surging forward in seconds. They held the staggering hero close in their arms as their mind scrambled for an antidote. There had to be another way, something other than the tragic fate Hero had succumbed themselves to.

Villain replayed the strange description Hero had given them of the illness. They said it wasn’t physical, it was something in their mind that was toying with them.

Mind.

Villain didn’t let themselves have even a breath of victory. Instead, they plunged straight into Hero’s mind, praying that the mental armour they required wasn’t too crucial for their life.

The first few seconds were dark, peaceful even. But then their surroundings started to pour in and Villain couldn’t resist the gasp that escaped their mouth.

Red and black splotches tainted the walls of Hero’s mind, rippling and dancing across sinuously. Their pattern vaguely reminded Villain of a kaleidoscope, if the kaleidoscope was constantly moving in the manner of a snake’s belly.

Villain swallowed down the dread crawling up their throat.

It’s okay, they would just have to find the parasite Hero was talking about and destroy it. Easy.

They turned around to look for anything abnormal (other than the obvious contamination of their mind). The large blots flickered and expanded every second, covering almost every part of Hero’s mind and making the criminal’s head spin.

The few parts that weren’t tainted were engulfed by a shadowy substance, which they found made it hard for them to breath. Villain’s strained eyes followed the branches to their source, growing wide when they found it.

A dark gas leaked through a tear in Hero’s mind, a tear which shouldn’t have been there. A tear which should have killed Hero by now.

Villain abruptly bent over, letting out a hard cough. They were running out of time. They either had to leave the hero’s mind now or fight the poison, which would be incredibly difficult without their shield. Even if they tried to fight it, they might not win depending on how much and how long the poison polluted Hero’s mind.

Still, Their brain said, For Hero.

Villain coughed and moved forward, covering their face to protect themselves from the venomous gas. They would win, they would kill the parasite and they would free their brave Hero from the torture they were facing. Even if it meant they would die in the process.

Villain reached their destination with tear filled eyes and a heaving chest. Oh and a knife in their hands, courtesy of their back pocket. They didn’t know if physical objects could hurt the parasite but a sharp end combined with their telepathic powers made them have hope it would at least damage it.

They reached up to stab the parasite, determination coating their sharp features, but faltered when they realised something. The gas was shaped in the symbol of a spider. The symbol of Superhero.

Villain’s mind went blind with rage. They were unaware of their actions anymore, just the pure white fury making them stab the spider right at it’s heart. They distantly registered a scream, and then the world went pitch black.

Villain blinked, coming out of Hero’s mind. They did it. They won. Victory lit up the villain’s face and they glanced down at Hero with a smile, only to find their nemesis unconscious in their arms.

[dawnwritesstuff]

Hello everyone and welcome to the 407th episode of The Universe's Most Ridiculously Overfunded Game Show! I'm your host, Jeffery Judgeson, which means my job is to tell you what's about to happen so you can decide whether the best course of action is to turn off your radio, run away screaming, or just sit down and finally get around to writing your will!

We have a great lineup today, but why don't we start off with somewhere between seven and twelve minutes of people squeezing wet sponges, interrupted occasionally by earsplitting screams?

-spluuuurchh- -squishh- -spshh- AIEEEEEEE -splcch-

…

Well! Wasn't that just amazing? And now, meet our contestants!

This is Amelia Cragnorx, goblin general in the war between the Milky Way and Andromeda galaxies! We're not entirely sure which side she's on, but we do know it was very hard to capture her! (-muffled screaming- LET ME OUT OF HERE!!) We lost several interns and a few managers kidnapping her ship from the front lines. She should make a great contender in today's competition!

Next, we have a being whose name I can't pronounce without making all my listener's ears turn into spaghetti-like strands of gory flesh! We don't know what powers it possesses, but we found it in a previously crowded break room with no trace of any of anyone else!

Then… We have… Intern Johnny. I- I don't know why he signed up for this. But I guess he was allowed in. Well, either he has a lot… a LOT of tricks up his sleeve, or he's just looking to escape our hundred-year work contract! -whispers- It won't work, Johnny. You'll still work for us. We own your soul.

(normal voice) Anyway! Without further ado, let's get to the contest!

Today we'll have a standard gladiatorial free-for-all in our new arena. We'll spice it up by releasing various vicious animals to attack our contestants, and then halfway through, we'll pick 127 of our listeners at random, infuse them with fighting instincts and a taste for blood, and release them in the arena! Whichever of our three contestants, if any, survive, will win ten billion US dollars! Sure, it's an outdated and worthless currency, but there are ten billion of them!

Stay tuned for the bloodshed after this quick break!

You. Yes, you. You are mortal. One day your feeble flesh sack will decay, your nutrients will feed other beings, and eventually you will be forgotten. Does the thought of becoming nothing, losing what slight grasp you have on your reality, fill your heart with cold dread? Does the knowledge that your days are numbered make you think twice about your life decisions? Do you hate waking up knowing that today could be the day you finally perish? Does the inherent meaninglessness of your life leave you in a state of depression? Well, that's too bad. We don't have any fix for all that. Sorry. You're going to die and there's nothing anyone can do about it. What we can do, for the remaining years of your worthless life, is make you smell just a little better with Dr. Tnarodoed's multispecies antiperspirant. Because while life is ultimately meaningless, you might as well make yourself smell good while you're still here.

Hello again, listeners, and welcome back to episode 407 of the Universe's Most Ridiculously Overfunded Game Show! The battle is about to begin, so if you want to leave so you won't get sucked in halfway through to die in a bloody mess of our listeners and contestants… It's already too late! You're in the hands of pure luck now!

And now, as the countdown begins, let's all get ready for the show of a lifetime! -whisper- Or several. So. Many. Lifetimes. We've lost count of how many lives have ended for this one.

(normal voice) Aaaand the contestants are teleported into the center of the arena! They all look a bit befuddled, but General Cragnorx quickly moves to impale Johnny with her knife-like hand- Oh! And he dodges just in the nick of time! Whether that was just a stroke of luck, or he has hidden skills hiding behind his aptitude for misfiling papers, we'll soon see.

Hmm, the contestants have apparently decided to be peaceful for the time being. Well. That won't do. We'll start pumping the arena with anger-inducing gasses to make this more interesting.

In the meantime, weapons are appearing throughout the battlefield, ripe for the taking. Swords, clubs, knives, laser guns, and so on.

General Cragnorx grabs probably the most powerful weapon in the arena, a new blaster model whose name I'm not allowed to mention, seeing as it hasn't been released yet and we stole it from the company. The being with the unpronounceable name is gliding around, absorbing whatever weapons it passes over into its void-like mass. Oh! Johnny's grabbing a weapon. Let's see… It's… A knife. A basic, unenhanced, nonmagical knife. A bit disappointing.

We'll be right back after this quick ad break, because even though we get ridiculous sums of money to pay for this show from an unknown source, we're still supposed to run ads for some reason.

Why? Why did you do that? That thing you just did! You've doomed us all! The world will end any second now and it's entirely your fault! … Okay. Not yet… Aaaany second now. … Oh come on! Never mind then. I guess you're off the hook for now. You're lucky. Do you have any idea how lucky you are? You're very lucky. You should pay us back for that luck. I mean, the universe gave you all that luck and you haven't even given anything back? Cmon, where's your respect? You should give us money. What? Sure, we aren't the universe and we didn't bestow your luck upon you, what does that have to do with anything? You're lucky. You should pay us.

Hellllo, listeners, this is episode 407 of the Universe's Most Ridiculously Overfunded Game Show! Our contestants are currently locked in an intense hand-to-many-hands match for a really big sword with a cute little ducky pattern on it! The being whose name I'm really tempted to say but my supervisors have told me again and again that they'd fire me if I did? It's pummeling General Cragnorx from every side! We can't even see her from outside, so the only reason we know she's still alive is because she listened to our show once several years ago, and therefore now has several microscopic cameras planted on her! But she's holding her own, even against -bleeeeeep-'s many-directional assault!

Whoops! Wonder how many of your planets' radio systems managed to censor that in time, and how many of your ears have now become pasta!

Anyways! While those two are distracted, Johnny's sneaking past them, unnoticed, toward the sword… He's almost there… He's got it!

Woah. I didn't expect Johnny to be able to lift something that huge! Johnny's really been holding out on us! I could have used that strength when I was moving my new desk into my office!

Ooooh, Johnny slices through the nameless thing, cutting off its assault both figuratively and literally! General Cragnorx escapes and runs toward Johnny, releasing a searing pulse of energy from her new blaster directly at him- Ohhh! And he deflects it without breaking a sweat! I'm beginning to think I underestimated little Johnny!

Ahh, the unnameable being is reforming. Looks like all three of our contestants are still up and running… But how will they fare against the most horrifying creatures we could find after scouring the ends of the universe? Find out after this third entirely unnecessary advertisement that's only here because it was written in the ancient texts from the beginning of this station that we must always have a specific amount of ads per episode!

HahahahahahaHAHAHA Heh Nyehehehehehehe Oohoohoohoohooo BWAHAHAHAHAHAHHHHHH Ha Ehe MwahahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHA Teehee HAHAHAHAHA- -COUGH--COUGH- Chehhhhmhh Ahem Try laughter. Some people say it's the best medicine. We're not sure we agree, but it's worth a try, right?

Hello again, listeners, and welcome back to the show whose name I've already said thrice! I'm not gonna say it again, because if you haven't heard me say it yet, you've already been locked out of the broadcast!

And now, we return to our contestants, as we release hundreds upon hundreds of the most dangerous creatures known to sentient beings…

Thousands of rabbits from planet Earth!

Yep, we captured a couple of them as the planet was being evacuated, and we now run an inhumane rabbit breeding facility that breaks more laws than the average parasite fleet! I'd say it's a wonder it's still running, but we're rich beyond reason and can get away with just about anything!

But now, back to the contest. As shown in one of the few motion pictures recovered from the wreckage of Earth, these little creatures are some of the most dangerous in the universe. Let's see how our contestants manage against them!

Ooohh, the unnamable being is back at it, absorbing bunnies into its dark mass. It seems to be growing ever larger with everything it eats…

But wait! The rabbits don't appear to be showing any aggression! They come up to Johnny… And he pets them! This is quite unexpected. Hmmm… Maybe getting all our information about these things from a single DVD of a comedic motion picture wasn't the best plan.

General Cragnorx has picked up one of the little guys and she's touching its nose to hers. It's kinda cute actuall- WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT PRETENDS TO BE HOLY?!?

She just- put its head in her mouth and- bit it off! Erm. That was disturbing. Um. I'm gonna need a minute. Here's an ad break. Eugghh…

Do you need something to listen to? Something to fill the silence of a long commute? Something to put you to sleep, or pump you up before a big event? Try music. We recently discovered the concept, and we just think it's really cool. It's all like… Musical! It has… Sounds! That are usually pleasant! Sometimes it even has people saying things, but like… With the music! It's really cool! We don't have any specific music to recommend, but you should try things like: Elevator music! Get on an elevator and stay on that thing for several hours, letting its meaningless tunes pound themselves into your head! Phone line wait music! Buy about one hundred phones, then call the same corporation with all of them at the same time! If you're lucky, they'll have some annoying and repetitive tune for you to insert into your ears! Music blasted out of a speaker on some guy's backpack! Just walk around till you find someone who's playing music with no respect for anyone else's ears, then follow his path exactly, about one block behind him! Just remember to scram when you see him calling the police! There are plenty more ways to listen to music, we're sure, but we haven't discovered them yet! If you find any other way to listen go music, please contact us! We'd really like to know more about this interesting new concept!

And here we are, back to our competition, where General Cragnorx has decided to murder an innocent rodent! Quite an interesting development there! I wonder how the others will react to that!

The unnameable being looks undisturbed, but Intern Johnny looks positively revolted! General Cragnorx doesn't seem to like the look on his face… Oh! And she dashes at him, claws bared! And- He bats her away with his new ducky-patterned sword! She comes at him again, and- Ohhhh! Our first casualty! General Cragnorx has been stabbed cleanly through the chest! The sword's little ducks are covered in blood as if they've all decided to replace their bathwater with the blood of their victims! Now we're down to just Johnny and -bleeeeep-!

Oops. Well! Who will emerge victorious, once we release a group of our listeners? Find out after yet another ad break!

Hey. You. I have a job for you. I need you to find as many quilts as you can and cut one single corner off each one. Then pile up those little corners all together and burn them with a blowtorch. Do this as soon as you physically can. Do it. Don't ask questions. You're running out of time. Go. Now.

Welcome back, everyone! We've had some interesting developments in today's competition! Now we're down to just two contestants! But now, let's go ahead and grab 127 random listeners and fill their minds with an intense urge to murder our remaining contestants! Are you all ready for death and destruction? Well, too bad! The choice isn't in your hands!

Alrighty, they've started teleporting! I'm not going to announce their names, but you know you're one of them if you just disappeared from your home into a blood-filled arena with more murderous intent than you know what to do with! You lucky ducks get a front-row seat for the bloodshed!

Aaand -bleeeeeep- is- Oooh, sorry about that. I gotta say, though, it is really quite interesting seeing all your ears explode in gory tendrils of flesh in perfect synchronization! Anyways, the being I'm not allowed to name is sweeping through the crowd, consuming many of its attackers! Johnny has started fighting them off as well, slicing through their flesh like butter. Hmm. Probly should have thought of some bigger threats for this one. Anyway! Impressively, our two contestants have nearly wiped out all our unfortunate involuntary recruits!

…

That was fast. Well! Now the only threat remaining to these two is each other! This should be quite interesting!

Oh! The being whose name I'm not allowed to say has begun firing the weapons it absorbed at insanely high speeds, all directly at Johnny! But he's dodging them, staying just out of harm's way! But the unnameable being's assault isn't letting up either. It's started to throw human and rabbit corpses at him as well! The bodies look completely unharmed, but drained so their meager life force can add to the abomination that absorbed them! I love it!

Oh! Its attacks seem to be growing even more intense! Johnny's really struggling to avoid getting hit! Even though he's moving at speeds I thought were impossible, he's barely dodging!

Ohhh, and he gets hit right on the shoulder with a dead rabbit, making him drop his ducky sword! He's still running and dodging, but without that, he can't block the unnameable being's attacks!

He's still alive, but he looks to be slowing down a little! He's taking small cuts occasionally now, and it looks like it won't be too long till something finally takes him out! Without a weapon, he doesn't have much chance anyway! It's a tragedy, really. I was beginning to think he could actually win this thing!

Ohhh! There it is. He's hit with a large chunk of wood, and he's down on the ground. Poor Johnny!

The being has stopped its assault and is moving toward Johnny, ready to absorb him.

Oohhhhh!! Wow!

What an unexpected ending!!

In one lightning-fast movement, Johnny took out the knife he'd been keeping the entire competition and threw it at some point in the unnameable being's form! I have to assume it was a weak spot since its entire form dissolves almost immediately afterward!

Incredible outcome there, listeners! I hope you tune in-

J- Johnny?! What are you doing here?!

C- conveniently timed advertisement!

Guys! Guys guys guys! Guess what we just found out! We bet you'll never guess. Did you know you can listen to music ON YOUR PHONE?? And you don't even need a hundred of them! It's a really simple process. First, you'll need to go to a record store. Choose a record at random. Most likely, it'll have music on it! If it doesn't, you'll have to go back and repeat this step, so you might want to grab an extra one just in case. Now! Once you have a record or two, wait till nobody's watching, and then jump out the window and run at full speed until you get home! Don't let anyone catch you, or they'll make you give the records back. Once you're home, lock yourself in your bedroom and order a record player online. Make sure it's one that can transfer records onto your computer. Stare out the window until you see the delivery van, then creep to the front door and stare out until the delivery guy is creeped out and leaves. Snatch the box off the front porch and lock yourself in your room again and repeat the process to order a computer! Then just connect them up and start transferring the record onto your computer. Once you're finished, make sure to break the record into small pieces and dump it, along with the record player, into your neighbor's yard. It's their problem now. Now, from your computer, create an email account, and make another one on your phone. Then, simply email your shopping list to yourself so you can remember to buy a connector to plug your phone into your computer. Once you go shopping, then you can transfer the music to your phone! It's that easy!

[Jeffery Judgeson] But- What?

[Johnny] I already told you. I'm here to take your job. You got fired for, you know, making billions of people lose their ears.

[Jeffrey] But- but how are you here? Aren't you down there in the arena? I see you right now!!

[Johnny] Um… That's a shapeshifter. I thought everyone knew that.

[Jeffery] Um- no?

[Johnny] Huh. Well, it should have been pretty obvious.

[Jeffery] I guess it did seem a little weird…

[Johnny] Yeah, I'd never let myself get hit that easily. Amateur.

[Jeffery] Wh- what?

[Johnny] And that's it for today's episode of the Universe's Most Ridiculously Overfunded Game Show! I hope to see you next time for another great day of exciting competition! Bye!

[fallatyourfeet]

Under The Cover Of Darkness (Protective Tommy x Reader) One-shot

Summary: Tommy last saw you before the war, he never thought he would see you again. But what brings you back to him, gives him no joy, and yet, there is something he can do to help. And nothing will stop him.

Word count: 1835

A/N: This fic was purely inspired by the gif above. I just love it. It's one of my fav's

Warnings: This is a heavy fic, proceed with caution. Mentions of domestic abuse. Violence in the family setting and descriptions of physical injuries. Some swearing

A/N: Please feel free to send me a message/comment/ask, I would love to know what you think.

If you like this, please feel free to visit my blog and take a look around! You can find my masterlist in my bio.

The last time Tommy saw you, was the day he enlisted. He broke your heart that day, and in turn, you broke his, remembering it as if it were only yesterday. Dressed in his brand-new uniform, he came to you asking for your hand in marriage. And instead of saying yes, he stood there helplessly as you took in his uniform, watching all the colour drain from your features as a stream of tears trailed down your cheek, before turning around and walking from his life. You left Small Heath. You left Birmingham. Left your whole life behind to run away and forget him. To pretend he never existed, in a bid to avoid the heartache when the dreaded yellow telegram was delivered to your door, so sure you were that he would not return. Just like the telegram your mother received, just three months after your father left for the battlefields of South Africa. And in a way, you had been right. The man that left Birmingham barely resembled the one that returned.  

Maybe a part of him did die; left behind and buried in those dark suffocating tunnels beneath the battlefields of France. Gone forever. Or maybe that part of him died the moment you walked away and left him standing in his uniform under your favourite oak tree, a tree that until that moment, had been a place of only beautiful memories. Maybe he would never know when that part of him died. But what he did know, was that when his eyes saw you sitting by the fire in his kitchen, after years of thinking he would never see you again, he felt a jolt in the long-lost regions of his heart. 

Tommy had been home from France for less than a year, and he had not heard a word about you. He didn’t go searching for any either; it was too painful. Of course, he still saw your family around the streets of Small Heath, and they were a constant reminder of you, dredging up all those sweet memories and the heartache that still burnt raw in his chest. Because Tommy still loved you. He would always love you. No number of women, whores, barmaids or otherwise, could ever change that. It was a permanent thing. All he could do, was let you be, and hope you found the peace and happiness that he knew he would never find without you. 

The evening had not been a good one. Like every other night, Tommy’s sleep was plagued by the nightmares he lived through, day and night, during his time in France. Finding himself sitting on the edge of his bed, his chest heaving and forehead covered in sweat, he heard the panicked voice of Curly calling out his name from the street below. Throwing his clothes on, Thomas rushed out into the pouring rain, where Curly took him to Charlie’s yard to find his horse lame and cursed by the bloody Lee’s, leaving him with no other choice, but to shoot the damn thing. And it was while he was gone, that you arrived under the cover of darkness, taken in by Polly to warm up with a whisky and dry by the fire. 

Walking into the house, he heard Polly’s muffled voice coming from the kitchen, and he thought for a second that maybe Ada had come to her senses and come home. But upon stepping through the kitchen door, he found himself staggering and faltering on his feet. Tommy thought he was seeing things. There you sat, beside the fire with your back facing him, but he knew it was you. Even after five years, he could pick you from a crowd of thousands on a foggy day. You wouldn’t look at him; or couldn’t look at him, leaving your eyes firmly planted on your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap. A rush of blood pumped hard and fast threw his veins, the thumping resounding in his ears, making it hard to think. But he needed to see your face. Stepping into the kitchen, he was stopped by Polly, when she spoke, “She had nowhere else to go, Tommy.” 

Tommy felt his body stiffen, what did Polly mean? “Y/N?” he said, stepping closer, wanting you to turn around. But still, you wouldn’t, and it did nothing to quell the rising unease taking hold of him. 

You didn’t reply, your gaze dropping even closer to your lap and Polly took the chance to speak for you, “It’s the only place he can’t find her. He doesn’t know about us.” 

“For fuck’s sake, Polly... Who?” Tommy yelled, impatient to know what was going on. But the moment he raised his voice, you recoiled in your chair and his heart dropped.  

“Who do you think, Tommy? Y/N’s husband.” Bile bit at the back of his throat, not liking the direction of this information. What had he done to you? 

With a deep breath, Tommy sat down at the table, hoping it would put you a little more at ease, his voice much softer than before, “Y/N?” 

Lifting your head, you barely looked at him from the corner of your eye and spoke for the first time, “I’m sorry Tommy... I didn’t know where else to go. But I understand if you don’t want me here.” 

Tommy’s unease intensified, your speech was almost slurred, and you clearly weren’t intoxicated. “Y/N... will you please look at me?” Hesitation gripped you, he saw the jagged motion of your breath and the way you chewed on your lip, but he persisted, “Y/N, please.” 

Slowly, you turned your head and his mouth ran dry, his eyes tortured at the sight. This whole time you didn’t want to look at him because you were trying to hide the side of your face. It was unrecognisable. Your eye was so swollen you were unable to open it and the corner of your mouth was split and your lips busted, restricting your ability to speak. Tommy felt sick. What kind of monster would do this to the woman they were supposed to love... to any woman? What kind of animal would hurt you... you of all people? 

Tommy fought his rage, he wanted to stay calm for you, but the horror in his eyes gave him away. With a deep breath, he stood up and dragged his chair to sit in front of you and his night only got worse. On closer inspection, your hands weren’t fidgeting at all. You cradled one hand in the other as it seemingly sat paralysed in your lap. Long forgotten instincts took control and Tommy reached forward to cradle your cheek; he wanted to comfort you, care for you. But you flinched, and his heart broke all over again, making him want to squeeze the life out of the monster who did this to you. A man he had never met, he wanted him dead; forever gone, never to see the light of another day. And he would make it so, of that, he had already decided. 

With gentle hands, Tommy inspected your arm, finding the fracture just below your elbow. It was a bad break and there was lots of swelling, it would not be an easy fix. Turning to Polly, he said, “Call for the doctor.”  

“It’s already done. I sent Arthur for him the minute I opened the door and saw her.”  

Turning back to you, Tommy reached for your face again, this time much more cautiously and to his joy and relief you didn’t flinch, instead you leaned into his touch. With a gentle thumb, he caressed your cheek, holding your gaze with an intensity that almost burned, his voice soft and yet, never more fierce, “You don’t need to worry, he’s never going to touch you again.” 

Just like the last time he saw you; under the oak tree, a stream of tears trailed down your cheek, only this time you let him wipe them away. But the tears kept coming as you slowly shook your head back and forth, your voice shaking and apprehensive, “Tommy, I don’t care what happens to me.” 

Tommy couldn’t believe what he was hearing, it broke him, made him angry; how could you not care? Just looking at you hurt his insides. “Wha... What do you mean, you don’t care?” 

Taking a moment, you inhaled deeply, trying to stop your tears, but the action caused you pain and Tommy could only assume that your ribs must be covered in bruises. And the growing urge to end the man that did this to you intensified, not wanting to simply end him, but to end him slowly. After a moment of silence, you finally answered, “He hurt my little boy... He struck him so hard with the back of his hand that he... he went flying into the wall.” It was then, that you fell apart and your tears took control, rolling through your body in a string of monopolizing waves, barely allowing you to get your words out. “He... he has never touched him be... before... It... it’s my fault, I should have left soon... sooner... Tommy, I ca... can’t let him do that again.” 

It felt like someone had pulled the rug from under his feet; you had a son to this animal of a man. But it didn’t change a thing, he would make you safe... and he would make the boy safe too. Moving your hair from your face, he cradled the back of your head and asked, “Where is he, Y/N... where’s your boy?”  

Polly answered for you, giving you a chance to collect yourself, but her words only seemed to upset you more. “He’s upstairs, sleeping in my bed. The poor thing is bruised and has a decent cut on his head, but nothings broken... He’ll be fine.”   

Gently lifting you to your feet, Tommy held you to his chest. He was still soaking wet, but you didn’t seem to mind. Whispering soothing words against your ear he felt the erratic thumping of your heart slowly subside, and the heaving motion of your tears slow to a crawl. Because you were safe... you felt safe within his arms, and Tommy could barely comprehend how right it felt. He never thought he would ever hold you again, but here you were and you needed him. How he wished it wasn’t under these circumstances, but how glad he was, that it was him you came to. With an almost weightless touch, he held your face between his hands, wanting to make sure you caught every one of his words, his eyes never more intense. “There’s no need for anymore tears. Everything is going to be alright. He will never hurt you... or your boy again.” And with a deep breath, he kissed your forehead, speaking just five more words before Arthur came through the door with the doctor, but never meaning any five words more. 

“I will not allow it.” 

[raggaraddy]

I'd Die Fighting

Request from @dramaclub-thin: Mafia BTS where the reader is shot for/because of them.

A/N: Thank you for your request! I really like the concept, and kind of got carried away with the stories and now they're too long. So I'll release them as individuals as I finish them. I hope you like them! ^-^

If anyone else wants to request you can here.

Mafia Bangtan Other parts:

Namjoon

Yoongi

Taehyung

Jungkook

Summary: Pinned down by the cops, you know you're the only one who can stop Jimin from getting himself killed.

Trigger Warnings: Police shooting, gun usage, blood, violence, death, ambiguous ending.

Jimin

Mafia! Jimin

You were in the middle of a scheduled pick up, collecting the gang's share of the profits for the month. There had already been 3 today and all had gone as routine as the times before. You're in a residential building site, parked in one of the driveways, and on a Sunday too, so it's nice and quiet and empty. There was no reason to think that this stop would be any different than the last.

That was until the lights and sounds of police sirens filled the street.

You could only watch on in dread as 4 cop cars sped into the driveway trapping you and the two men into a box. With a 10-foot foundation wall behind you and building walls on either side, you were now realizing that this location wasn't so much secure, as it was an obvious dead end.

Looking back in the side-view mirror, you can see Jimin with the dealer. The guy panics instantly, pulling out his gun without a chance to even aim it before he is blown away. There are dozens of deafening shots all at once and the guy, no older than you, drops down dead.

Barely able to contain your terror, you are not able to do anything but to watch helplessly as Jimin dives behind the rear of the car to avoid the stray bullets.

Slowly, the officers start down the concrete path, closing in tighter, all of them with their guns drawn, all of them looking alarmed and ready to fire. With this many cops, you know neither of you stands a chance. There is no escape here, not without a miracle. But you know Jimin. You know he isn't going to just give in. He's said it before, he's said it often. He might die, but he'll die fighting before he dies in a cage.

The officer coming closest to the car bangs on the hood to draw your attention making you jump. "Stay in the car," He mouths the words.

You can't abide. If you don't do something Jimin is going to get himself killed. He may be willing to die, but you're not willing to lose him. You shake your head hard, swinging the car door open, stepping out tensely with your hands upright. Your arms and legs are shaking with pure adrenaline, relying on nothing but a prayer that they don't shoot you right now.

"Get back in the car." "Stay in the car." "Miss, get back in the car." A sea of loud, demanding voices shout at you all at once. While your survival instinct is telling you to obey the angry people with guns, you ignore them all. Your instinct-your love for Jimin is greater than your fear.

Walking paced steps backwards, you're watchfully eyeing them. They're still pressing forwards, but they have slowed substantially. Half of the group aiming more aggressively, and the other half pointing their guns at you more hesitantly. Calls of stay in the car turn into orders to get on the ground. But you can't, you won't.

Coming in line with the back of the car, Jimin is knelt behind it his gun in hand. "Y/n! What the fuck are doing?!" he snaps, eyes full of worry.

He may bluster to everyone else, but you know the full expression. In private he'd whisper the ending to you and only you. 'I'd die fighting before I ever die in a cage. And I'll spend my life locked up before I ever see you hurt.'

"Get back in the car!" He growls.

"No," you whisper.

"Get back in the car!"

"No."

"Oh for fucks sake, will you just listen to me for once!" He growls, running his hand back through his hair, about to lose any composer he has remaining.

"No!" You shout, your eyes darting from the cops to Jimin and back.

He roars, grabbing your shirt, yanking you down the ground beside him. The commands of the police heighten and start coming more frequently as they steadily begin to entrap the two of you again.

"I'm gonna beat the hell outta you after this." He shouts, reaching over the top of the car to fire a slew of shots, not aiming to hit anyone but just trying to keep the cops away.

"Fine. Do it. But just let there be an after." You plead, eyes filling with tears. "Put the gun down. Please!"

"What?! No!"

"Come out with your hands up or we open fire." A far off voice, coming through a speaker, gives a sickening order.

Jimin's harsh defiant look turns to one of pure fright and frenzy. He knows if they're shooting at him, they're shooting at you.

His hand scrunches in the scruff of your shirt, dragging you flat to the ground further out of harms-way, using the same momentum to launch himself into the open, weapon ready. He gets only 2 shot off before they retaliate with more than half a dozen. Not all connect, one catching his leg, another his shoulder. The hits double him over, making him drop the gun.

It all happens before you are able to even turn back over. The sight of him struck has you screaming, acting rashly and impulsively. You wail his name clambering to your feet, wrapping your arms around his neck. Lifting him upright, you're covering him with your body as much as you possibly can. You don't pause think what might happen right now if the officers began to fire again. You only know you need to save him from them. Save him from himself. Pushing him with your chest, you force him back more and more until his body hits the foundation wall. You turn yourself around towards the encroaching men and women, shoving your weight roughly against him. To shield him, and trying your best to keep him pinned to the bricks so he is unable to act suddenly or foolishly.

Thankfully the cops still seem hesitant to shoot at you. Although you don't trust it for it to last much longer.

Your stomach drops, feeling a warm wetness dripping over the exposed skin on your upper back. Jimin's shoulder is bleeding heavily down you.

This is so fucking bad.

"Stop, please stop, Baby!" You whisper to Jimin, nearly unable to form the words due to the shake in your voice. It's just the two of you opposing 7 armed police officer. You know he hates the thought of defeat, he may even hate you for this, but neither of you has any way of winning this standoff.

His forehead presses to the back of your head, his hot breath fanning down your neck. In the smallest motions, you feel him nod against you.

Raising them in surrender, his arms come out from behind you. There's a sharp pain in your side with a sudden booming sound. It knocks your breath away. You whine, your hand squeezing tighter against his legs, into the fabric of his jeans.

"Y/n?" Jimin knows what's happening before you do.

One of the officers mistook Jimins actions as hostile and got twitchy with his gun.

You gasp slumping back into him, your legs weakening. He catches you, lowering with you as you fall to the floor. "Baby!"

Jimin looks up to the cop who fired. He's memorizing every detail of their face. Already having resigned to hunt them down and make them suffer.

Finally able to inhale, you cry out a low scream, pain spreading from your stomach up. "Jimin," you cry clawing his arm, fingers wrapped in his sleeve.

The swarm of police starts to move more frantically. A knee flies at Jimin sending him into the wall, separating him from you. Without him, you fall flat into the dirt. To your right one of the men is forcing Jimin to the ground with a knee trying to flatten him. But he isn't giving in, fighting and struggling against the weight, desperately trying to get back to you.

Even as there are three of them versus only Jimin, he is still putting up enough resistance that they are unable to fully hold him.

"Y/n!" He yells, as one of his arms is pinned behind his back, driving him heavily into the dirt. "Get the fuck off!" he snarls.

Your throat feels full. You're starting to choke, spluttering blood out and down your cheeks. Your hands clutching your stomach are wet and slippery from blood. The heavy amounts of it pouring from you making you weaker with each passing second.

"Alright!" There's a heavy thump as Jimin stops resisting and is plunged aggressively into the floor. "Just help her! Help her!" With all of the pain and fear you're feeling, it's the pure panic in Jimin's voice that finally brings you to tears.

Rolling your head towards him, his chin is dug into the concrete floor, his skin and clothes red with blood, his face pale and flush, his eyes red and teary with emotion. With him no longer fighting they are able to cuff his hands. They haul him to his feet, carrying his weight. He yells in pain, his cries turning into pleas for you, calling again and again for someone, anyone to help you.

One of the officers comes to your side pressing firmly on your wound making you shriek, spitting out even more blood. They speak into their walkie-talkie describing your state and injuries calling for an ambulance. Explaining that a male will be coming to the hospital by a police cruiser.

In front of you, the others are dragging a limping Jimin away. Being pulled from you he begins his fight again, battling to not leave you. But he's too injured and restricted to combat them much more. Only able to call out to you over and over.

Even as the car doors close on him, you can still hear him shouting your name. Even as you lose consciousness you can still hear the echo of his voice.

[heliads]

Sudden Changes (Part Two)

When you, an Erudite, accidentally stumble upon Jeanine Matthew’s plans, she forces you to transfer to Dauntless. Your only hope is to blend in, although Four seems less willing to let that happen.

part one / masterlist / part three

This first encounter sets you on edge. You hate to admit it, that barely a few minutes into your tenure at Dauntless you’re already convincing yourself it’s all a mistake, but that’s the way it is. This is probably how your life will be until the day you die- terrified over the smallest of incidents, sure that any small happening means that Jeanine Matthews will be sending an assassin your way. This is no way to live, but you’re not sure that you have a choice about it. No, you have no choices left at all.

It was either this or die outright, you remind yourself. Even this nerve-strained way of life is better than that initial bullet. At least now you have time to grow and at least pretend that you got the easy way out, right? However, you’re not sure where to go from now. Jeanine included no terms of service in her deal. In fact, the only thing she said was that you would have to choose Dauntless. Then again, you’re fairly sure that if this man, Four, found out what you’d seen, you’d be back in that same scared place where you started.

That’s why you were sent to Dauntless in the first place, isn’t it? Jeanine wanted you to keep your mouth shut. You’d either learn to live as a mindless, brainless soldier, seamlessly fitting into the ranks, or you’d die and be stuck as a washed-out factionless roaming the streets, with nothing to do and no one to listen to you. However, you’re fairly sure that she hadn’t counted on one of her own Dauntless leaders questioning your presence here. Apparently Jeanine’s agenda only extends so far as herself, although that’s no surprise to anyone who’s ever known her.

This man, Four, however, you don’t know him as well. You may know Jeanine, or at least you thought you had, but he is a complete blank to you. You could swear that he looks familiar, like you’ve seen his face before, but every time you comb your memories, searching for a name to put to the face, you can’t remember a thing. This is unfortunate, especially since remembering who Four is could mean the difference between coming face to face with another one of Jeanine’s guards or accidentally discovering someone who could be an ally to you.

Regardless of who Four is or what his intentions are, you can be sure of one thing: he knows you, or must recognize you from somewhere, and he’s not going to leave you alone anytime soon. Ever since that first meeting, when he’d stared at you like you were someone he had pushed to the farthest corners of his mind, sure that he’d never see you again, it was as if he had sworn to himself that he’d never leave you alone. Wherever you look, he is there: down the table in the mess hall, watching you spar in training, eyes locked onto your knives and targets as you throw. His presence is silent, and he’s about as likely to say anything to you as any of the other initiates, but it’s there nonetheless. You can’t help but feel unnerved. You had hoped to blend into the crowds of trainees, but Four is making that impossible.

So, you throw yourself into your training with additional fervor. If he’s going to keep watching you, you might as well make sure that everyone else is watching you as well. Target practice, both with a knife and a gun, comes surprisingly easy to you. Maybe it’s because they both rely on taking careful aim, having perfect balance between what the eye sees and what the mind knows to be true. It’s about as close as you’ll ever get to Erudite in this dark corner of the city that the madmen call Dauntless.

Hand-to-hand combat, on the other hand, is not your forte. Not at all. You get the drills, sure, and it’s a good workout, but every time you’re put up against another opponent it’s like you’re missing some key part of a melody, repeating the same choppy chords while everyone else is improvising an entire symphony. Your punches are solid and sure, exactly what you’d practiced, but you can’t seem to quite put the pieces together the way the other initiates can.

Maybe it’s because you’re not used to this, the abandonment of all rational thought. As you watch your opponents, you notice one common thread among all those who win: they seem to run on pure adrenaline, and even when they study their opponent’s thought patterns, they don’t get lost in their heads, moving only with the speed of their fists. That’s where you’re lacking, you suppose, you’re still trying to cling to your past. If you let yourself truly fall, you might find something other than just the rocks at the bottom.

It’s after one of these days, when you just managed to eke out a victory over a girl who’s one place away from the bottom of the rankings, that Four finally approaches you. He walks next to you, arms folded across his chest. “You know, I figured that for someone who’s so good at rifles and knives, you’d be a little better in actual fighting.” You scoff. “Thanks for the kind words. I’ll cherish them always.”

Four chuckles. “Oh, don’t take it the wrong way. I’m just wondering why someone who’s supposed to be the best of the best back in Erudite would transfer away, and especially to a place that she doesn’t even seem to like.” You freeze slightly, then keep walking, hoping to cover up your slight lapse. Judging by the sharp look in Four’s eyes, though, he hasn’t missed a thing. “Maybe I wanted a challenge.”

Four raises his eyebrows. “I can’t help but doubt that. Why are you really here?” You weren’t expecting him to confront you like this, not here and not now. He isn’t dancing around the issue, not at all. You weren’t anticipating such a direct question, and you don’t have a solid alibi lined up. Instead, you deflect, hoping he’ll leave well enough alone, although you doubt you’ll be that lucky. “Why are you so interested in my motives? Don’t you have an entire other group of initiates to question?”

Four shrugs. “All of them make sense. All of them look like they’re happy to be here. You, though, you keep backing down. You’ll be in the middle of a fight, about to win, and then something comes over you, like you regret being here at all. You’re holding yourself back, and I want to know why.” This takes you by surprise. You knew he was trying to figure you out, but you weren’t expecting such an accurate appraisal. “We all have our bad habits. I still can’t figure out why mine is worth your trouble.”

Four stops walking, forcing you to stop next to him. “You’re interesting, Y/N. I saw you before, back in Erudite. I don’t think you would have left there for a second, and you don’t like you entirely want to be here now. You could have made a last minute switch, but that doesn’t seem like you. Either you’re making a point of trying to never be true to yourself, or there’s something going wrong.”

He walks away now, leaving you stunned and staring after him. You can’t help but flash back to the look in Jeanine’s eyes when she’d watched you walk away, remembering the cold glare of a woman who would be willing to kill anyone who got in her way. If you confess everything to Four now, if you tell him what truly went down, what would happen to you? Would Jeanine find out? Would she let you live?

As it turns out, you’re not sure that you’re going to have much of a choice. You manage to scrape through the first stage of training, especially due to your skill with a gun and a knife. You were able to improve your physical fighting skills after you picked up on Four’s silent hint to be more aggressive and just go for it, and you find yourself comfortably within the upper half of the initiates. Not bad for someone who’s not supposed to be here at all.

The next stage of training, on the other hand, seems even worse than the first one. When Eric and Four explain what your fear landscape is and how you’ll be traversing it, a silent storm of dread rises up inside of you. You know what your worst fear is- being found out, watching one of Jeanine’s guards place the barrel of a guard in front of your skull. You have no doubt that it will show up in your fear landscape, and you have no idea how to explain it away without revealing yourself. You’ve been thinking of potential alibis for days, but none of them make sense.

So, when you walk in the door to your first fear landscape training session and see Four waiting for you, you can’t help but groan inwardly. There’s no getting out of this, is there? Four will know the truth, you’ll be in even worse danger than before. When Four places the needle in your neck, he must sense the tension radiating out from your every movement, because he reaches down and takes your hand. “You’ll be fine, honestly. This entire stage of training will take place in your head. From what I’ve heard, that’s your strongest suit.” Then you’re pulled under the tow of the drug, and you can spare no more thoughts towards the comforting look in his eyes as he looks down at you.

You progress through your first few fears without too much difficulty. The last one, the most difficult one to face, is the one you’d been dreading all along. The scene shifts into a familiar hall at Erudite, the one where the windows progressively disappear, as do the cameras. If only you’d noticed the way that the building practically called out for you to turn around and run. Maybe then you’d have made it out without all of this. Maybe then you’d still be at Erudite, with no idea of the thrills of life at Dauntless.

A new thought flies into your head, one calling for you to run. If you turn around now, you won’t have to see the scene over again. You wouldn’t have to know any of this, you could make it out. However, your footsteps continue down the hall, carrying towards the open door that you know will lead to the large room full of Jeanine’s plans. You’re already here, you might as well see the whole thing through.

So, you keep walking, and when the ceiling opens up before you to reveal the room you’ve seen so many times before, whenever you close your eyes, you don’t run. When the guards come over, pointing guns at your head, you don’t back down for a second. Instead, you let your fists fly out as you’ve been taught, and you take them down without another thought towards the matter. This is what you’ve been learning all along- not to regret what might have been, but to fight. You’ve always been fighting, you realize. Maybe Dauntless provided you with the opportunity to make it all count for something.

You grab one of the guards’ guns, and when you turn back around, Jeanine is in front of you. Her voice is cajoling, as if you’re one of her students again. “Y/N, what is this? Don’t be ridiculous, put the gun down.” You shake your head. “You can’t scare me any longer. You might have forced my path, but I’ve made it my own. You won’t control my thoughts any longer.” You know the simulation, you know what you’re expected to do. All the same, when your finger closes on the trigger, you can’t help but look away, unable to stare your mentor in the face as you point the gun her way.

You wake back up in the Dauntless room, gunshot echoing in your ears. Four is staring at you with unabashed horror. “That’s why you left? You found out something that Jeanine Matthews wanted to cover up?” You nod, wrapping your arms around you as if the meager warmth can stave off everything that you’d seen. “I wasn’t supposed to be there that day. She gave me a choice: I could either transfer here or die by the end of the night.”

You’re not sure why you’re telling Four everything, not now. You’ve been so afraid of letting anyone know anything about you, and here you are, spilling your entire heart out to Four like he’ll be willing to watch over it for you. However, he doesn’t look like he’s about to rat you out to the Erudite guards. Instead, he’s shaking his head softly, his face wrought with something almost like guilt. “I just- do you regret leaving? You were meant to have a strong future in Erudite, to do things that no one else had even dreamed about. Now you’re here, a soldier for the rest of your life. If you could set things right, would you?”

Your attention snaps back to him. Those are dangerous words, and he knows that. Even entertaining that thought would mean rising up against Jeanine, against Erudite and the other factions. So, you stand up to face him, unwilling to commit to anything until you know Four’s true motives. “It depends on what setting things right would mean. This is a tricky city, you know. Anything anyone says could be taken the other way.”

Four sighs. “Right. I should clarify. This city, this faction system, is flawed. You know that. There are people with too much power over everyone else, and the factions don’t account for everyone.” You stare at him. “You’re talking about the Divergents.” Four hesitates, confidence wavering as if he’s about to make the worst decision of his life. “I’m one of them.” You shake your head softly. “Even saying that could get you killed. Why are you trusting me with this?”

Four steps forward, taking your hand. “I want you to remember everything you saw in that room. If Jeanine was willing to kill one of her best students, she must be covering up something big. If you can tell me everything you remember about what was in that room, we might be able to have some leverage. Leverage can get you anywhere in this city.” You nod slowly, realizing what he’s saying. “It could make sure you stay alive, even if your secret comes out.”

Four inclines his head. He looks back to you know, eyes seeming to swallow you whole. “Will you do it? Will you work with me?” You give him a half smile. “I’m not sure that I have a choice. I’ve been running ever since I got here.” Four shakes his head. “That’s not an answer. Y/N, we could both be killed for this. If you want out, I won’t judge you for it.” Your smile broadens. You didn’t expect this generosity, not from him. “I’ll do it, Four. Honestly. I won’t back down now.” Four smiles in return, the expression almost foreign on him. It makes his eyes soften, the hard glares of a soldier gone from him. To be honest, it makes your own gaze stray on him for a little longer, unwilling to put away this picture of him in your head. “When do we begin?”

ty luna once again

divergent tag list: someone who is way too cool to be one of my fears @underc0vercryptid​

[dreamoonverse]

Unbreakable vows 💚✨🪄🐍

Chapter 1

Just imagine you weren’t supposed to fall for him… it was forbidden, after what the dark lord has did your family… but yet someone seems to want to change that, Bucky is full of secrets but this one secret he can’t keep hidden forever and you will both pay a price to hide it…

Death eater Bucky x Witch! Reader

NFSW series 18+ no minors

Series playlist

Tradition, responsibility. That was pretty much how your childhood was run. You were born into a wealthy, pure blood family. They always had to persevere their own stick to how the natural order of the wizarding world ran. If you were halfblood, you were close enough to be invited to the events but yet somehow couldn't be ranked in the highest order. Muggle born...forget it, no one truly ever respected you at least the ones who didn’t care. Your family was comfortably seated at the table during parties, meetings, attending every event that was hosted at times. They would soon work their way up to the Malfoys...your father dreaded them...they hosted every death eater meeting, of course with Lord Voldermort’s return it is crucial to keep outsiders or the order guessing. You've never seen him in person and frankly would rather not. No one could ever quite describe the feeling. It was facing death whether you lived to tell it or not. But if you weren’t for him then you were against him and then death sits in front of you awaiting your arrival. And for you…you would be first to enter had they known what you are doing all along.

“Remember what I said darling, no talking or interrupting. Just please be quiet and act like you are the perfect woman your mo-mother would want…” he stumbles a little on the last line and could never bring himself to ever bring her up without choking on his own words. It makes your stomach turn and not from the Gilly wig shot you took last night…scratch that four of those. “Never would let you down,” you assured him. “We will see,” he half smiles like he always never gets your full potential. It was crucial though you act your part wisely after all you were expected to blend in, get your information to the order and most importantly…not die trying.

Riding to the Malfoy manor always had a gloomy, dim, atmosphere. Just seemed like all the energy just “poofed,” don’t need a spell for that. You were quite nervous you would never show it but you were terrified, it was technically your first meeting even after about three years since leaving Hogwarts. They always did keep you in the dark. Your body felt like an ogre had tossed you around ugh fuck Fred and George for that dumbass nightclub. They always find a way to either get kicked out or become the life of the party. But last night your mind was elsewhere…and on someone.

Before you know it you’re already entering the house with your father in front of you as usual while you walk behind waiting to be introduced since you can’t do that yourself apparently in his eyes or anything. “About time Callahan…” Lucius stands with his cane as usual by his side. “Mm not all of us live close by,” he shakes his hand. “Y/n, you're quite the lady now I see,” Lucius takes a glance you just nod your head lightly rolling your eyes in your mind.

Lucius leads you down the hall and up the stairs to the main dining room where everyone is seated already. Some death eaters have families, some are just on their own, others have business arrangements. It’s sorta a lifetime agreement if you wanna live to see the next day…you don’t really have a choice when it comes to the dark lord. You find a spot right between Bellatrix and Draco. Draco feels a little less tense when you’re around in times like these though you two have an ongoing feud you never seem to stray too far from needing someone to keep you grounded. “Bullocks if you aren’t the last one we know who is…” Lucius looks at the time knowing we can’t hold for everyone long.

(Que sociopath by stayloose)

It’s like the whole room shifts as soon as he walks in…”Mm sorry I’m late…but then again I don’t care to to come in the first place,” The long brunette haired man walks in making his way to his usual spot in the opposite side…but the only problem is your seat faces him.. Shit…

How could you untangle yourself out of this one.

“Mr. Barnes you should’ve been here already. You know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting…” Lucius scolds. Barnes…did he even tell you his name last night? You were too plastered at the time to remember.

“Mm I shouldn’t have to be here but here I am…” he snaps his fingers pouring a glass of bourbon in the air for himself before turning in your direction the slightest smirk forming on his face while you breathe out in pure embarrassment…oh you met him before, last night at that damn club.

“God who is that…” you focus your blurry vision about five dragonball shots later.

“Mm that looks like trouble y/n…we all know you shouldn’t be consuming this much Mom will kill us,” George sips just a butterbeer. Someone has to be sober to transport everyone home. Most of the time it was you but not tonight.

You look back at him sticking your tongue out. Looking back over at the brooding man spreading his legs apart while sipping his drink seeming to be uninterested and probably wanted to be unbothered. But yet you were drawn to it. You tried your best not to get too involved in relationships, they never really seemed to go your way but yet here you are. You focused on your work. I mean with your father and his ways you didn’t have a choice but there you were trying to drink your worries away.

“I’m gonna go talk to him,” a spark of courage builds up in you.

“I wouldn’t do that..,y/n, y/n!” George hisses for you to come back

“Come on brother, let y/n live a little,” he slurs, patting his brother’s back. George is very protective over you ever since you guys first met at the bookshop when you were getting some supplies for school. You guys just instinctively clicked. Some would call it platonic but others thought you were denying a growing relationship.

Nonetheless, your attention was too focused on the man faraway. The long dark hair, black blazer, pants… Drinking made you bold while on another day you would’ve shrugged it off or kept to yourself like always. You grabbed another drink of one of the waiters coming over sitting on the lounge couch at a distance beside him.

“Mm there isn't an invitation to be over here…” He glances over in your direction the intense eye contact he makes with you should scare you but it doesn’t seem to phase you at all you just sip your drink and indulge some by him.

“Mm that’s too bad, don’t want to dance at least?” you tease you can tell he doesn’t look like he is the type. He lets out a low chuckle

“Doll, it's been ages since that happened you are gonna have to try harder than that…” He goes back to his drink a flash of silver in the light revealing a detailed practically realistic metal hand. You get up pretending to be deafted by his blow.

“That’s unfortunate…” you walk to the dance floor purposely running your hands down your hips swaying them side to side.

“Bloody hell Y/N,” George groans a little chugging his drink to join you and Fred yells “I LOVE THIS SONG,” He runs to join you on the floor sometimes we do listen to the songs in the muggle world even we can’t deny some of them are really good like this Lizzo song what I get for showing these two around sometimes luckily I have a few connections to get around.

Bucky rolls his eyes still drinking but the way you move he can’t deny that he isn’t attracted. Once he sees you dance against some redhead and places his hands around your waist something in him gets up walking over and George is already moving you away from him “I wouldn’t do that,” he warns.

“Oh yeah? Wanna try me,” Buck scolds him then turns to you “You think that’s cute showing your ass off like that?" He licks his bottom lip at you. You shrug it off.

“I got it from here George,” You nod to him making him ease off letting you be he knows you can handle yourself. “Got you to come over didn’t I?” You fold your arms praising yourself a little. He leans in closer his breath against your neck sending a chill down your spine.

“I can make you cum too…multiple times..” a devilish grin forms on his face and you suck in a sharp breath shocked he is this bold as well and next thing you know a strong arm is around your lower back wrapped tight and you guys end up dancing like that for the whole duration of the next song (slow hands by nial horan)

“Jesus Y/N you're gonna catch flies like that…” Draco scrunches his nose kinda disturbed while you break out of your trance. You close your mouth clearing your throat swallowing hard you swear he was looking in your mind using the mind reading spell believe it or not very few witches and wizards are able to perform the spell without one everyone else being able to look into your mind.

“Enough of this, call him..” Bellatrx hisses. Everyone with the mark joins hands together even draco except you, no one even the dark lord himself wanted you to have it yet…no one can tell where your allegiance stands really they all think you are either manipulating the order as instructed or you are building bonds and to be fair you had no idea. But seeing the mark on draco your heart sunk, he only does everything to please his parents but the boy is terrified he doesn’t want to fail. Seems like there is a lot of that going around.

The room gets dim and the fire fades down, you feel your breathing heavier looking around at everyone focused. Bucky however hasn’t laid his eyes off you observing, trying to figure you out. Kinda stunned that you aren’t one of them but then again he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. This was hell all of it, he didn’t have a choice though…his family didn’t either. He made a promise to keep the ones he loved safe and if this was the only way then so be it. Besides had it not been for the darklord he wouldn’t even have his arm back for the most part after a greyback hound got him good after it attacked his best friend.

You can hear the slyther and everyone opens their eyelids moving their hands from the table seeing the twelve foot long green snake thick as man’s thigh make its way through like it was searching and sniffing out who tries to sort out who is wanted here. No one could tell if they would rather take the snake over the dark lord. Both seemed brutally painful.

“Well aren't all my friends here..” he says almost in a whisper. You all are just his ponds none of us are his friends but everyone is silent taking in all his words. No one every really makes eye contact with him. He waves his wand in the midst of talking revealing someone not really anyone is familiar with but they are already bloodied and bruised. Apparently they were a ministry worker, they float above the table like he does with all them muggleborn, and supposedly have been trying to go after his followers for some reason to set an example. You could never watch it, people die like this. Bucky picks up on how uncomfortable you are. Then again no one is sitting here whether they openly admit or not. You're just innocent it seems..and he doesn’t buy any of it. You have secrets and he needs to know what they are.

[awesomerextyphoon]

Don’t Tell Me

This is for @cockslut-padalecki​’s Not My Ninth Challenge. My prompt was Stucky x Reader with Royal Au and No Doubt’s Don’t Speak for the lyrics.

Summary: You loved them with all your heart, but now you must wed another.

Pairing: Stucky x Black Female Reader, Brock Rumlow x Black Female Reader

Word Count: 1,893

Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Warning: Angst, Implied Smut, Threesome, Mild Depictions of Violence, and Forced Marriage

A/N: This might be my saddest fic yet. I hope this isn’t too much of a downer for you, @cockslut-padalecki​. Happy Birthday and Congratulations on 9K followers!

Dividers are by the lovely @firefly-graphics​

Back to Masterlist

“Rise and shine, Your Highness! Today’s the big day!” Sabine, your closest handmaiden, announced.

You covered your head with your pillow in irritation, “I don’t want to!”

Sabine sighed, “You have to get up or the guards will come and force you out of bed.”

With an annoyed huff, you got up and stretched, “Let’s get this over with, Sabine.”

You had been dreading this day for weeks. Today was the day you were to wed Brock Rumlow, ruler of the Triskelion Empire. You didn’t want to marry him. He was boorish, cruel, and violent.

But most of all, you didn’t want to marry Brock because your heart belonged to Steve Rogers and James “Bucky” Barnes.

  It started when you were six years old. You were sent to Brooklynd to be King Joseph’s ward as part of a peace initiative (you later found out it was because of a failed coup and your mother wanted you safe).

King Joseph, Queen Sarah, and the court loved you. Only Prince Steven and his best friend, James Barnes Duke of Shelby, gave you the cold shoulder.

It sucked because they were the only ones near your age. You tried to win them over with baked goods from your homeland, trinkets and toys Queen Sarah said that Steven would love, and some of your favorite books. Nothing worked until you had enough and confronted them.

Steven was about to enter the stables with James when you caught them. You just wanted to ask why they were avoiding you, but as your mother warned you got violent and socked James with a left hook. It got to the point that the guards had to split up the three of you.

Queen Sarah had an unusual and embarrassing punishment: the three of you had to sit in a circle and hold hands for one hour under the stern eye of the governess and the queen herself. The air was thick with tension until the governess farted. You tried your hardest not to laugh, but you help yourself. Soon Steven and James joined in the merriment.

You were best friends ever since.

 “What do you want for your bath, Your Highness?”

“May I have the Rose, Hibiscus, Black Pepper, Lemongrass oils for the bath, and the Amla/Coconut Oil mixture for my hair, please. Thank you, Ngozi.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

Once the oils were applied to the bath, you sunk in sighing from the nearly scalding water; its warmth giving you a peace of mind that has been denied to you for weeks.

You wondered how it got to this, then you frowned at the bitter memories symbolized by the single piece of jewelry under your pillow.

  The three of you became thick as thieves. Always helping each other in defending one another whether it be fighting off Steve’s bullies with Bucky or telling the snobby rich girls to stuff it whenever they said you weren’t feminine enough.

Joke’s on them because you passed all of your etiquette classes with flying colors.

Though something happened when you turned thirteen; you started seeing your best friends in a new light. You noticed how Bucky’s shoulders were broadening, Steven’s full bottom lip, the dazzling blues in their eyes, or how their laughs.

Sabine, your closest handmaiden, and friend, confirmed it; you were falling in love with them.

You were scared at first; you didn’t want to ruin your friendship with them. So you started avoiding them by spending time with Duchess Natalia and Marchioness Monica as they were the only female peers you could stand.

You would sneak glances at them when you thought they weren’t looking, but they were.

It went on like that for a year until Bucky had enough and confessed to liking you. You were relieved that he returned your affections, but was taken aback when Steven grabbed Bucky’s hand and pulled him in for a kiss. Turns out they’ve been a secret item for six months.

They both loved you and wanted to make it work.

And it did, for a time. You spent a great deal of time together. Though they were a few close calls since your mother instructed Queen Sarah not to let you court anyone and Steven and Bucky couldn’t go public just yet.

It didn’t matter; you just wanted to be near them. The three of you would sneak kisses by moonlight, write secret love letters, all the fun, and mushy stuff. Your relationship reached a new level when Steve and Bucky presented you with a vibranium and dragon’s gold alloy promise ring with ruby rose and emerald leaves. The three of you vowed to be together forever.

It was pure bliss; you didn’t want it to end.

  “Life had other plans, huh?” you muttered to yourself as your handmaidens were making the final body preparations before you got into your gown.

  Your mother, Queen Ketandu, had written to you and Queen Sarah requesting that you return to Abia in order to complete your studies and take on royal duties. You cried in Bucky’s arms for hours before he had to return to his quarters the morning before your departure.

It wasn’t long before puberty hit you like an airship going at full speed (late bloomer). You became famed for your beauty with scores of suitors, but you rejected them all. Only Bucky and Steve would have your hand.

One of the suitors, Brock Rumlow of Triskelion took it especially hard. He vowed he would have your hand, but your cousin, Samuel Wilson, said to pay him no mind.

You were only able to communicate with Steve and Bucky via phone or letters. It took you four years to return to Brooklynd, but it was not a joyous occasion. King Joseph had passed and Steven was to be crowned king within the fortnight.

Both of them had changed so much, especially Steve; he was nearly unrecognizable. He towered over nearly everyone (only Bucky, Thor, Loki, and M’Baku were taller), broad shoulders, rich tawny pink skin, and a face that could make nearly all the women (and some men) swoon.

He looked like the kings of old, even more so than his father.

Bucky wasn’t slacking either with the way many of the courtiers were ogling him; admiring him for his rugged, yet prim presence.

They were Rulers of Paradise and you were to be their queen.

The three of you finally made love that night. It was your first time, so they decided to be gentle and showered you with kisses and affection. Steve and Bucky worshipped your body as if it was the last thing they would enjoy before the afterlife.

It was as though you were dreaming.

  “Here’s your wedding gown, Your Highness.” Zara, another handmaiden, exclaimed.

“Thank you, Zara.” You tried your best to not let the tears fall. This day was never supposed to happen.

Why did your dream have to die like this?!

  The first crack in your fantasy came with the news of your older brother’s assassination and the outbreak of a civil war. Your sister-in-law begged you to come home.

Your airship was to leave first thing in the morning.

You raced to inform your lovers of your departure. One of the servants said that they saw Steve in his mother’s rose garden. Thinking it was Steve being shy and needing some rest, you ventured into the garden only for fantasy and your heart shatter completely.

In the rose garden under the central archway was Steve on one knee proposing to Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter with Bucky looking on with a smile and the full moon behind them.

Everything froze at that moment.

Why?! Why did they do this?! Were your feelings a joke to them? Did they ever love you?

Unable to hold back your despair, you shrieked at the ideal romantic scene before you.

Steve tried to explain the situation and Bucky almost caught you, but you ran away before you could hear them.

You left for Abia that night.

  “Now ladies,” Lady Bente, the wedding planner bellowed, “remember, this is Emperor Rumlow’s big day. There’s no room for failure.” She didn’t need to say what would happen if you tried anything ‘funny’.

“I know. How can I forget the threats?” grumbled as Sabine put the final touches on your wedding outfit: an off-the-shoulder A-Line Tulle Wedding Dress, a Hand-crafted white gold Baroque tiara inlaid with pale sapphires, diamonds, and pearls, and matching earring and necklace.

Looking in the mirror, you almost didn’t recognize yourself. The dress accentuated your curves and the jewels made your face glow. You were a vision.

Too bad it was for a man who wouldn’t hesitate to destroy everything you hold dear.

  Barely six months after you returned from Brooklynd, Abia conquered by the Triskelion Empire. Their ambassador informed the council that the empire will let Abia continue as a client state if you married their emperor, Brock Rumlow.

If not, Triskelion would raze Abia to the ground and take her citizens as slaves.

The council implored you as Triskelion forces had Sam captive and Abia’s army was running out of supplies.

With a heavy and broken heart, you accepted Rumlow’s terms.

The wedding was to be in a month.

  You took one last look at yourself in the mirror, “Too bad Rumlow isn’t getting a virgin.”

“Goodbye, Your Highness.” Sabine whispered, “Now, don’t you start crying after all the work I put into ya!”

“I know it’s just not fair. I have to lose you, too?” Rumlow made it clear that you were to leave your old world behind, including your closest friend and confidant.

Sabine pulled you in for a hug, “I know it’s not. It’s been a pleasure and delight being your handmaiden and friend.”

“Alright, everyone! Line up! The wedding is about to begin!” Lady Bente ordered.

You gave your friend one last glance before the doors shut behind you, “Goodbye Sabine.”

  The cathedral was spectacular.

Bouquets of roses and elven tulips adorned the pillars. The banners of Abian and Triskelion colors were delicately placed creating an ethereal atmosphere.

Rumlow really outdid himself.

Dignitaries from far and wide were in attendance. You saw your mother, uncle, Sam, and your sister holding her ten-month-old son.

Rumlow took your hand with a triumphant smirk. You could say that he was handsome if you didn’t want to claw his eyes out.

“You look ravishing, darling.”

“I hate you.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Dearly beloved and exalted rulers, we are gathered here today to join the Triskelion Emperor and the Second Princess of Abia in holy matrimony.”

You closed your eyes in resignation. No one was coming. Maybe Brock wouldn’t be so bad.

“If anyone has any reason as to why these two should not be married.”

Then you remembered how he threatened your mother and uncle when after Abia surrendered. His twisted smirk was enough to make your blood boil.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

The cathedral was silent for a few minutes until the doors were blown off their hinges and several guards were flung to the opposite wall behind the altar.

Everyone turned to find smoke and debris. An inhuman roar filled the venue terrifying the guests.

Two figures emerged from the smoke and your eyes widened in shock.

“We do.”

[stealingpotatoes]

The Thorns of the Crown

ao3 link

summary: After everything Corvo’s family has been through in the past six months, he’s not so sure the throne is worth it all. (Emily doesn’t take the throne back au)

--

The Loyalists had been fools to think they could kill him and take his daughter, and still get away with it.

Corvo had silently fought his way through the Lighthouse, putting guards to sleep as he forced his way to the very top, where he knew his would-be murderers were. Where he knew Emily’s now-captors were.

He entered the foyer of the highest part of the Lighthouse as quietly as a ghost, and was immediately met with the grotesque sight of a golden statue of Hiram Burrows, standing proudly in the middle of the golden-gilded room. It was ironic to lay eyes on the false sight of the traitor Corvo had defeated, while on his way to deal with the very traitors that had ordered him to do it. The Loyalists had not learnt from the mistakes of those before them, it seemed.

A grand staircase wound around the circular walls that surrounded the beastly statue, leading to a room above. That was where they had to be.

I’m coming Em.

Corvo lifted his mask off as he quietly ascended the winding stairs. There was no point of hiding behind the face of Death; the Loyalists knew who he was. Or, at least they thought they did.

Corvo finally drew up to the entrance to the war room, and put his back to the wall beside a bust of Burrows. With a deep breath in, he channeled the Void through his hand, and watched the world shift into muted reds.

He looked over his shoulder, through the wall.

There were only two yellow shapes -- two men -- in the room ahead. Not guarding, but sitting at a table. No, slumped against the table. Are they sleeping? Or something else?

Corvo checked his crossbow, making sure it was loaded with sleep darts, and rounded the corner fast.

A dead man’s silence lay over the room like a heavy shroud, interrupted only by the harsh patter of rain.

The top of the Lighthouse was a purpose-built war room. It was finely wood-panelled like the rest of the building, but the left wall was covered with a huge map, places circled and labelled with smaller papers. There was a lit fireplace at the far end, with chairs surrounding it.

At the room’s main centre was a large war table -- where Burrows had no doubt spearheaded his campaigns and his war on the common people of Dunwall.

But it was not being used to plan any wars now; at the end of the table, fine foods had been served with expensive-looking wine. The food had not been eaten -- but the drink had been poured.

Martin’s body was slumped in place, and Pendleton had fallen half-off his chair. Neither of them were moving in the slightest.

Corvo slowly began to lower his crossbow, keeping a firm grip on it, and skulked towards Pendleton.

He put two fingers to the pulse on Pendleton’s neck, and heard the crunch of boots on glass. Corvo stepped back.

Shards of glass were shattered about by Pendleton’s limp hand, with drops of blood-- no, wine spilt around them.

Corvo glanced back up across the table; Martin had a glass in his hand too, and Corvo was willing to bet he had no pulse either.

Corvo stood up straight. From the glasses and past experience, he did not have to guess what had happened to them. Poisoned -- but with no boatman to save them.

But where was the man that had done this?

Corvo activated his dark vision again, scanning for any more yellow shapes that might have been out of range before.

His dark vision melted back away, unsuccessful -- but as it did, Corvo’s eyes halted on a purple shape on the floor behind Martin.

He moved over to it, a new sense of dread filling him, and crouched to pick it up. He inspected it for barely a moment; he didn’t need any longer to recognise it. It was Mrs. Pilsen, Emily’s favourite doll, the one Corvo had given her back upon his return to the Tower.

Corvo ran a thumb over a new, small crack in the doll’s painted porcelain face -- Emily must’ve dropped her. But she had been here. She had to have been. So where is Emily now? And where is Havelock?

A little girl’s scream was Corvo’s first answer.

Corvo’s eyes widened. Emily.

The voice had come from above, and-- outside? Corvo looked around the room again, and he zeroed in on the second set of stairs, behind the wall. She had to be up there. She had to.

As he rushed up the stairs, he noticed the small splashes of blood on the wood of the stairs and floor. If so much as a speck the blood is Emily’s, Corvo thought, running, then I am going to make damn sure Havelock wishes he had never been born.

The trail of blood continued into the office at the top of the stairs, out onto the metal balcony that began out of a door in the glass-roof and wall. Corvo continued his pace, unfolding his sword as he burst into the pouring storm once again.

There was no sign of her there. Corvo raced to his left, up another set of stairs. He paused on a landing -- the trail stopped there, on a maid, dead, surrounded by her own blood. It was no relief.

“NO! Let me go!”

Corvo’s eyes darted up.

On the walkway far above, two people were moving-- struggling, silhouetted against the sky. One far larger, one far smaller.

“Quiet now! And move already, child!”

Havelock.

A hundred words of vengeance filled Corvo’s head, but he said none of them. He only darted to his left again, bounding up the rest of the staircase to the entrance of a sheltered stairwell. The voices were audible again as he entered.

“Hold still you stupid girl!” Havelock’s voice boomed through the rain.

“Let me go! I am the Empress!”

Corvo kept running up the twisting stairs.

“Didn't you learn anything in your short life?” Havelock yelled seethingly. “Empresses are pieces on the board. And Empresses can sometimes die--”

Corvo stepped out of the shelter and onto the walkway. He didn’t need to announce his presence -- Havelock looked up the second Corvo laid more than two steps on the metal.

Another bout of thunder and lightning struck somewhere in the storm.

“No! Stay where you are Corvo, or I jump,” the Admiral yelled over the rain.

“Corvo! Save me!” Emily screamed.

Corvo stopped walking.

“That’s right,” Havelock said, a maniacally grim satisfaction rising in his voice at Corvo following his orders. “If you take one step closer, we’re both off the edge.”

I don’t need to take a step to get to you, Corvo thought.

He made a show of folding his blade back up and sheathing it, before holding his hands up slowly in a surrender. The rain was beating down on him.

Corvo let himself lock eyes with Emily -- but only for a moment. Then he fixed his blazing-ice gaze on Havelock, who wore the grin of a man that thought himself entirely in control.

Havelock opened his mouth to begin some taunting speech. Lightning struck beyond the edge of the walkway.

Corvo curled his raised left hand into a fist, feeling that sharp pins-and-needles sensation on the Mark and called the Void forth. It heeded his demand with a sharp whisper. Time ground to a complete halt around him.

The lightning behind Havelock and Emily stopped its descent half way down, looking like a harsh rift of pure light in the sky. Water droplets stood in place, small gems floating against the dark storm clouds.

Everything was still.

Corvo didn’t waste a second; he ran forward and at once pulled Emily out of Havelock’s unknowing grip, shoving the Admiral hard as he did it

Corvo took a short, undeserved moment to take in the frozen sight of Emily, half in his arms, before releasing his taxing hold on time.

The grey scream of the dragged-out present disappeared. and the world resumed its pace. Emily almost tripped onto the metal floor with the force of time’s discharge, but Corvo held her safe.

Havelock hung for a moment, as if time wasn’t yet properly flowing, his footing just lost and surprise written all over him. He had expected one last piece of control -- control over his own death. But he had fallen into the same trap as all those before. He had become too comfortable in his position, and he had forgotten that Death belonged to no man, and followed no man’s orders. No matter their station.

Havelock fell.

Corvo, still holding tight to Emily, peered ever so slightly over the edge. He watched the Admiral’s screaming descent until he hit the jaws of the rocks below.

After what felt like a moment too many, Corvo turned to his daughter, still holding onto him for dear life. He held her back, and tucked a drenched strand of messy hair from her face. The rain still beat down on them, ceaseless, soaking their already-soaked clothes and hair.

“Are you okay?” Corvo asked hurriedly.

Emily gave him a shaky nod, eyes still wide with fear. “I-- I think so.”

Corvo nodded in return. “We need to get out of the storm.” Logic was slowly returning, replacing the blood haze seeing Emily in such danger put him in.

Corvo made himself let Emily go for the moment, and she ran ahead onto the covered metal stairwell he had just come from. Corvo followed just as swiftly. They both traversed down the small stairs, the sound of Emily’s little shoes on metal filling Corvo with more and more relief.

He had only paused by the bottom doorway for a second when Emily barrelled right into him for a hug. “I knew you’d save me! You’re my hero, Corvo,” she said, voice half-muffled by his wet coat but slowly coming back to herself.

When she pulled away briefly, Corvo knelt down to just below her eye level and pulled her into a proper hug. He knew was probably hugging her too tight, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything but the feeling of his daughter in his arms. She was shaking and freezing-wet, but still warm enough. But still alive.

The storm raged on on the walkways outside of their small shelter.

Eventually, they both pulled back, and Corvo took Emily’s tiny hands in his. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“You-- you already asked me that,” Emily said, still shivering from the cold and the fear. When Corvo’s worried expression didn’t change, she told him, “I think I’m alright. I’m alright now you’re here.”

Corvo nodded, feeling some small part of the weight on his shoulders go.

“Is it going to be okay now? Will I-- will I be Empress?” Emily asked, almost eagerly.

Corvo glanced down.

He thought of Jessamine. Of her cold dead eyes in the Gazebo. Of her blood on his hands.

Empresses are pieces on the board. And Empresses can sometimes die.

The Heart was beating, an unrelenting pulse in the back of his mind. An incessant reminder that what Havelock had said was true; Empresses die. And who was Corvo to be able to stop it? He had failed once; he could fail again. Death followed no one’s orders; not orders from Empresses, nor those from Lord Protectors.

I know what it felt like to drive a blade into your Empress.

Empresses die. And for what? So men could take control of the damned city of Dunwall? This city didn’t care about them. It didn’t care about anyone. It ate everything alive. It would not let an Empress be safe, no matter how good or pure of heart she was.

The crown and throne were nothing but a curse and objects of desire for ambitious men who thought themselves the better of people. The curse of power nearly took the last of his family from him -- the family that, because of the crown and its rules and its curses, he had never been able to openly call his own.

Empresses die. And so did Burrows, and Havelock, and Pendleton, and Martin. And so did everyone else that tried to hold that kind of power.

Now I want nothing but to leave this wretched city, and fade from the memories of those who reside here.

Emily was just a girl. She was Corvo’s girl, his baby girl. She wasn’t meant to be a piece on a board, a piece in Dunwall’s deadly game of power. She wasn’t meant to hold an Empire in her small hands.

She wasn’t meant to die.

If they went home, if Corvo let Emily take back the throne… what fate would he be damning her too? She would be forever caught in the crossfire of power-grabs and the schemes of conniving politicians. All it took was one wrong move, and Corvo would lose her to that crossfire. That was not the life he wanted her to live. That was not the death he could ever let her die.

This was the only way he could protect Emily. He wasn’t sure if Jess would ever truly approve of it, but she had not been through what they had been through. He hoped what was left of her would understand.

Empresses die. But Emily wouldn’t. Not if Corvo could help it.

The Heart continued to beat.

Corvo pulled Emily closer and planted a kiss on her forehead, “It’s going to be okay now. I promise.”

A relief seeped into Emily’s big brown eyes, and Corvo felt something squeeze in his chest at her expression. “Are we going home then?”

Corvo swallowed. He shook his head.

Confusion knit itself between Emily’s furrowed brows. “What?”

“We can’t go home, and you won’t be Empress,” Corvo said slowly, forcing the words out. This was how it had to be. I can’t protect you from this city. Nothing can, Corvo thought. “Dunwall and Dunwall Tower-- they aren’t safe,” he said instead. “They aren’t ever going to be safe.”

Corvo had expected Emily to show more resistance, or be more upset at the idea they couldn’t return to Dunwall Tower -- but maybe he still expected Emily to be the girl she had been six-and-a-half months ago, before this all happened. But she was not that girl; Emily merely nodded, with a look she was too young to have in her eyes.

“So where are we going to go?” she asked.

Corvo tightened his grip on her hands. “We’re going to take a ship out of here--”

“Like a pirate ship?”

Corvo huffed out a half-laugh, relief at really having his daughter back hitting him hard. I love you so much, he thought. “Yes, like a pirate ship,” he said with a small smile. “We’re going to take a ship out, and-- and we’re going to make a new home, somewhere else. Just the two of us.”

“Three of us,” Emily corrected. After seeing Corvo’s confused expression, she made an obvious face. “Mrs Pilsen! I grabbed her when they took me, but I left her downstairs.”

Corvo shook his head, half-laughing again. All that had just happened, and Emily’s first concern was her favourite dolly. It filled Corvo with faith. They could do this. They could live a normal life, where Corvo could just be a father and, Emily could just be a daughter. Where she would be allowed to be a child, and not a piece to be manipulated.

He squeezed Emily’s hands. “The two of us and Mrs. Pilsen. We’ll make a new home. How does that sound?”

Emily’s eyes drifted to the floor below, and she bit her still soaking-wet lip for a moment. “I…” her gaze returned to Corvo, and she slowly gave him a small smile, “I’d like that.”

Corvo pulled her into another hug.

---

Emily woke up to the slight sway of the sea beneath her.

They had been on this boat more than a week now. It wasn’t like any boat she had been on before -- far less fancy, and far more dirty.

Emily knew a smuggler was a lot like a pirate, but this boat didn’t look like the boats from Emily’s story books. This was a big metal steam-ship, not a pirate’s sailboat with a flag of skull-and-crossbones.

And the pirates in the stories never had to check themselves for signs of the plague, or make certain no rats had come aboard, but the smugglers had had to. So had Emily and Corvo.

Emily wasn’t sure “Slackjaw” was a real name, but apparently it was the name of Corvo’s friend who set this all up. He owed Corvo one, because he had saved “Slackjaw”'s life. Which made sense -- Corvo was good at saving lives. He’d saved Emily’s life more times than she could count. He’d been saving Emily’s life since before she could even count.

But Corvo had saved Slackjaw’s life, and so Slackjaw owed him a favour. Corvo used that favour to get him and Emily on a smuggler’s ship with new clothes and made-up papers.

The papers didn’t have Corvo or Emily’s real names on them, but Corvo had said that he and Emily would need to take new names, to stay safe.

Emily hoped they could come up with something better than Slackjaw.

She rubbed her eyes and sat up in her cot-bed, before glancing to the other side of the tiny cabin.

The cabin -- if it could even be called that; oversized cupboard seemed more apt -- was flakily-painted metal, like the rest of the ship. The tiny room was almost empty, besides Corvo and Emily’s few belongings, and the two foldaway cots pressed against the walls.

The size of the room allowed very little space between the two cots -- and so Emily had a very good view of Corvo, sitting on the far end of his.

He was fully dressed already. It still was funny to see him in something other than a long coat, but Emily supposed the roughspun jacket and shirt he was wearing now suited him well enough. His folding sword was somewhere underneath the jacket, and that gave Emily no small amount of comfort.

She squinted in the near-dark. Corvo was looking down at his hands, clasped as if they were tenderly holding something. He mumbled something at his hands, entirely fixated on the empty space.

“Father,” Emily started, barely able to stop herself from grinning as she did every time she called him that. Corvo said she was allowed to now. “Father?”

“Mm?” Corvo hummed in an almost-startled reply, quickly looking up from the nothing in his hands.

“What time is it?”

“Early enough that you can go back to bed,” Corvo said fondly.

“Is it early early?”

“What does that mean?”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Is the sun out yet?”

Corvo glanced back ahead, as if he could see through the walls of the cabin. “No,” he said, turning back, “but it will be soon. The crew’s beginning to wake up.”

Emily perked up. “Can we watch the sunrise? Please?”

She thought Corvo might say no for a second, but instead he smiled and nodded. “If you really want to.”

Emily nodded gingerly, then shuffled to the end of her cot and pushed herself onto the floor.

Corvo stood up too -- bent over slightly, unable to stand to his full height under the cabin’s short ceilings. He’d moved his hands apart now, as if he’d put the nothing he was holding back down somewhere. Emily paid no mind to it, only grabbing her coat from the back of the door and putting her shoes on, before giving her father a big smile to say she was ready.

Corvo returned the smile, and quietly opened the door, letting her pass into the cramped metal hallway.

He didn’t have to tell her to try to be quiet too. Emily knew that some of the crew would still be asleep, and they needed to be nice and courteous to the smugglers, as any guest would be towards their hosts.

Part of that meant Corvo had to help around the ship a bit, so he and Emily were more worth their while. The smugglers seemed to like him; they’d told him that if he ever wanted a solid job, he could join their crew. Corvo didn’t seem that interested.

After a short time of quiet footsteps in the hall, Corvo and Emily reached a heavy metal ship-door, which Corvo opened with ease.

The fresh not-yet-morning sea air hit Emily with a gentle breeze as they stepped onto the side deck of the boat. It had been getting warmer every day, as the ship got further from cold Gristol, and closer to sunny Serkonos.

The sea ahead was almost dark, but a peaking of the sun on the horizon drove a warm streak across the water.

Emily walked up to the ship’s metal side railing and peaked over it, but didn’t look off the edge. She had done that on the first day on the ship, and promptly regretted it, needing Corvo to calm her down and remind her that they weren’t at the top of the Lighthouse anymore. That she was safe.

“I can’t wait to be in Karnaca,” Emily said. “Will you show me everything you told me about?”

Corvo nodded with a small smile, a fond and loving look in his eyes. “I’ll show you whatever you want to see in Karnaca.”

“And can I go swimming in the bay, like you said you used to? Ooh, or climb the big trees? And-- and--”

Corvo chuckled, “You can do all of that, and more.”

Emily grinned giddily, and looked back to the sea ahead.

The sun was beginning to rise over the waters, painting the world around them hues of orange. Emily wondered if the sun was rising just the same in Dunwall. She supposed it didn’t really matter; what mattered was that it was rising, and that she had her father by her side to see it.

A new day was dawning for them both, and Emily found herself apprehensively excited. It would be a strange new future ahead, one that she did not know, but she had decided it would be a good future. She knew Corvo would make sure of that.

Emily leaned in closer to Corvo, who too was partly leant on the railing, and rested her small head on his arm. In response, he lifted his arm up and pulled her closer to his torso, before settling his arm on her shoulders in a warm half-hug.

Emily smiled, snuggling nearer and keeping her eyes on the rising sun ahead.

[janetbrown711]

“   it’s  okay ,   i’m  here .   i’ll  always  be  here .   ” Wakko yakko dot

Wakko wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this. 

He was barely holding on as it was, always trying to keep on a happy face for his sibs, make them believe everything was okay. Dot was a lot easier to trick than Yakko, but even he could be swayed with very little effort. After all, it was very clear that their parents were never going to come back...

It had been almost a year. Wakko still missed them every day. He missed their protection... Yakko was trying, that was true, but even he could get distracted. Sometimes he’d be studying off in the library when Wakko needed food, so he’d have to figure it out on his own because God knows he couldn’t ask his grandmother for anything. Wakko figured it out for the most part, but it was easy to say he missed quite a few meals over the years because of fear of disturbing Her. 

Wakko knew she placed his room by hers for the specific purpose of making his life a living hell without his sibs. After all, she hated him. The only reason she’d want to be near is if she wanted to keep an eye out, or if she wanted to hurt him somehow. Well- she succeeded on that end anyway, though perhaps the better word was torture. 

Sure, sometimes Wakko could manage to sneak past if he crawled on his hands and knees and put socks on his feet and hands, but he was filled with anxiety that simply wouldn’t leave him the whole time. He was terrified of getting his sibs in danger- a trait he knew he shared with both of them. 

They were all putting on a happy face, he supposed. 

He couldn’t say it was all bad... he was getting better at reading. Dot read easy stuff which helped him boost his confidence, while Yakko read more difficult stuff to make sure he was actually learning, which- while Wakko kinda hated it- he couldn’t deny worked. He was getting better- he was actually learning things, which felt nice. 

Though they had had a few close calls here and there...

Wakko wasn’t sure what would happen if they got caught, but he was pretty sure they’d get into serious trouble. For whatever reason, Angelina really hated the fact Wakko was stupid but hated him trying to better himself even more. It was like she wanted a bug under her shoe to squish just for fun... the thought made Wakko shudder. 

So... the year had its good moments, but... a year had really taken it’s tole. The only major good part was that Angelina stopped wearing that stupid veil and pretended to be grieving. Now you knew what she was thinking and saying, which... well... good and bad. 

Good and bad. 

“What’s this word, Wakko?” Yakko asked, pointing to a particularly long one on the page in front of Wakko. He frowned at it. 

“I dunno,” he shrugged. 

“You’re a smart kid, sound it out,” Yakko said. Wakko winced a little and looked at the page. 

In truth, he sometimes debated with himself whether it was better to be stupid or to be smart. He wanted to know things, but at the same time knowledge seemed like a burden more than anything. At least- that’s what he got from observing Yakko. Yakko always had something on his mind, something big, while Wakko hardly ever thought about things other than food or some imaginary story he likes playing on repeat to keep himself busy while his sibs were gone. 

“in... for...ma...ti..own?” He looked at his elder brother. 

“Close. Information. Tion sounds like shun,” Yakko pointed out. 

“Right, that’s information,” he nodded. He knew the words, he was nine after all, but reading just make them look unfamiliar. 

Yakko was then going to make him read the full sentence again, but a familiar shout was heard right outside, and the boys froze as the door swung open. 

“Yakko- calm this child down,” Angelina shoved Dot, who was crying, towards Yakko, when her eyes feel upon them. 

“What on earth is going on here?” She glared at Wakko, and he felt his heart beat faster. 

“W-well I-i was just-” Yakko tried to think of what to say as Dot went to him, but Angelina yanked Dot back, before going to Yakko herself and slapping him across the face and he slammed into a bookshelf, books spilling out onto him.

“What did I tell you?! You are not to educate that bastard creature, lest you and him face serious consequences,” She fumed. 

“No!!! Don’t hurt him!!!” Dot continued to cry. Wakko growled and just about lept out of the chair, but Angelina grabbed him by the ears. 

“This is on you,” She spat, and began to drag Wakko out of the room. 

“No! It’s my fault! I forgot the dress type! Please! Punish me instead!” Dot insisted, stepping out in front of Angelina. 

“Oh Angelina,” The queen shook her head, placing a soft hand against Dot’s face. Dot froze.

“If you get in my way again I assure you his punishment will be increased ten fold.” She whispered harshly. 

“Now be a good girl Angelina, and run along now. You have much to study,” She smiled sweetly. 

“My name is Dot,” She muttered to herself, bearing her teeth.

“Dot, no,” Wakko pleaded with her. Angelina tightened her pull on his ears. 

“It’d be wise for you to listen to him for once,” She smiled more. Dot growled again, but stepped backward, and looked back at Wakko. 

“Angelina. Move,” She ordered. Dot looked at the arm holding Wakko, a very obvious thought popping into her head. Angelina growled. 

“I expected more from you,” She said, before kicking Dot to the ground and moving on, giving Wakko’s ears a massive tug before continuing on. 

Wakko heard Dot get up from behind, trying to keep her distance, but her tears made her noticeable. 

Quickly and painfully, they turned around halls and owners of the castle, before Wakko realized she wasn’t going to be putting him in his room, and he was filled his dread and terror. 

“Wh-where are you taking him?!” Dot shouted at her, once she had the same thought. 

“That is none of your concern, Yakko.” She said coldly. “I’m teaching you three a lesson.”

“Let go of him!” Dot shouted again as Angelina started to go up the enormous stairwell. The queen ignored her, climbing higher and higher. 

“I said let him go!” Dot shouted, pulling on her dress like she had a year ago. Angelina froze, before turning around, dangling Wakko off of the stairs above the at least 20 foot drop below, only holding him by his neck.

“Shout at me again young lady, and I will,” She threatened. Dot gasped, covering her mouth. 

“Wait- please! Don’t hurt him-!” She begged, and Wakko did his best not to be terrified for his life but uh- 20 ft drop. 

“Go back downstairs, Angelina. You’ve done enough today,” She spat in her face. Dot wanted to protest, but the queen lifted Wakko higher and Dot backed down, lowering her head in shame as more tears streamed down. 

“Good girl,” The queen smiled, and patted her head, before turning around and continuing to drag Wakko up, Dot’s sobs echoing as they went all the way to the top. At this point, Wakko was pounding and kicking against her best he could, but she proved herself to have gotten wiser about that, as her long silk gloves prevented scratches or bites to her skin, and her pure gold bracelets also didn’t help. 

Eventually, she reached the top of the familiar tower, and she tossed him in like an animal. She closed and locked the heavy iron door and the sound made Wakko’s head hurt. 

“How long do you plan to leave me here, huh?!” He demanded, running to the door. However, to his horror, she left without a word to him. He listened closely to the door, still hearing Dot’s cries when he heard her yelp in pain. Wakko pounded on the door, but since it was no longer wood, all that ended up doing was hurting his hand. Wakko cringed in the pain, but knew there was nothing he could do. 

He was locked in here... for who knows how long. Could be days, weeks... months...

If she even bothered to keep him alive, which was something she was clearly starting to debate more and more as time passed. Wakko didn’t want to die-

At least... not yet. 

Perhaps it was foolish, but he did still have a shred of hope for his future, though it only got cloudier and cloudier as days passed. He tried to remember the advice and optimism of his dad, but that only brought up the painful feeling of him being gone. The same thing happened when he tried to imagine his mom comforting him too. 

After awhile of him just sitting on the cold and filthy floor in shock and pain, he heard pounding on the door. 

“Wakko? Wakko? Are you in there?” Yakko called from outside. 

“Y-yeah!” he replied, wiping his eyes. 

“We-we’re gonna get you out Wakko. I promise,” he declared. 

“Yakko, you can’t promise that,” Wakko frowned. 

“Yes I can Wakko. We’re going to get you out,” He asserted. 

“She’ll kill you- she’ll kill me if you try,” Wakko pleaded. 

“I know... but... w-we’ll escape. Run away to a far off town where no one will find you two. We’ll be safe,” Yakko said, becoming more and more desperate.

“You’ve said it yourself: a place like that doesn’t exist,” Wakko crossed his arms, leaning against the cold door.  He heard Yakko do the same. 

“We... we could...” Yakko tried to think. 

“Yakko... you should just forget about me. You and Dot would be fine without me, I hold you two down. I should just- stay up here and- and die,” Wakko pulled his knees to his chest. 

“Wakko!” he gasped. “Don’t say that!” he said, much softer. 

“Grandma will never care about me, a-and mum and d-daddoo are gone s-so... it would just be easier for me to stay here... away from you two... just like she wants,” He suppressed tears best he could, but choken on the lump in his throat. 

“Wakko, no.” Wakko heard him turn around to face the door again. 

“No matter what happens, we are not going to give up on you. I’m here- I’m always gonna be here, Wak,” He spoke softly. 

“Mum and Dad said they’d be here too...”

A painful silence hummed through the air. It hurt to even breathe after he spoke. Wakko gave in and cried. 

“Wak... I-i... I don’t know what to say...” Yakko said. 

“Just go away- before you get locked away too,” He sobbed. 

Yakko didn’t respond, staying there for a long, long time. 

Wakko didn’t say anything either. 

“We will rescue you Wak... I promise,” Yakko repeated, before standing up and going. 

Wakko stayed on the floor the rest of the day. 

.o0o.

Angelina hadn’t been sending servants to give him food, only water. 

Wakko had been up there for three days and it was easily the most miserable he had ever been in his life. 

He knew his mother had been sent up there at least once. He could see her carvings in the wall, and scratches on the floor, which he traced over his finger and slowly read. 

“Yakko? Slacky? Wacky?” and “Harold the 9th” were written beside the bed. There was a tally for what he assumed were days next to the broken mirror. Other random words he couldn’t quite read were sprawled all around. 

Yakko came up to talk every now and then, but he never could stay long. Wakko kept meaning to ask him for food, but he knew Angelina was strict on eating hours, so it was unlikely he could sneak into the kitchen to grab anything anymore. It just... wasn’t that simple any more. 

He also promised he was thinking of an escape. Wakko thanked him for the effort, but his hope wasn’t high.

Dot came at one point too. She cried and apologized and explained how it was her fault their grandmother got mad, saying how she hadn’t read the page she was supposed to the night before and didn’t know the types of dresses and she got mad, which made her cry, which made her take her to Yakko, which caused everything else. Wakko told her not to blame herself, but he knew that wasn’t going to resinate. Just another way their grandmother tightened her grip around them. 

But for the most part, he was alone. Utterly and perfectly alone...

He had his little imaginary games in his mind, but even those ran out eventually, mostly due to the cold. Stupid early winters...

One particularly cold night, Wakko said “screw it” and went to the window an looked out at the stars. 

They shined a lot better all the way up here, at least that was nice...

As he looked up, a chill ran through him and he was reminded of just how hungry he was. He cringed in the pain, and looked up at the stars, having run out of tears days ago. 

“I... I wish mum and dad were still here... If they were alive everything would go back to being okay...” he whispered weakly to the brightest star he could see. The stars twinkled back. 

Wakko sighed, lowering his head, continuing to look when he noticed that the star appeared to be growing larger- that wasn’t normal, right? And if it’s not, was it actually happening, or was he just seeing things because he was hungry?

It also appeared to be growing closer- that wasn’t good. Too close and it’d probably destroy the whole castle. Wakko scrambled back from the window and pounded on the door for help, but nobody heard or came. Wakko braced himself as the light got brighter and brighter and eventually filled the dark tower. 

However, nothing crashed or burned or turned him into goop, so Wakko slowly turned around and opened his eyes, and he saw a glowing figure in a really poor looking rope, cheap wand, and wings. 

Well- that was interesting. 

“Uh- who are you?” Wakko asked, really uncomfortable with the idea of a stranger popping into his prison out of nowhere. 

“I’m your desire fulfillment facilitator, Pip,” the desire fulfillment facilitator said dryly. Wakko blinked. 

“Uh- hi, Pip,” he said. 

“Congradulations Wakko, you did it. Out of all of the stars in the night sky, you made your wish up the wishing star,” He said, so monotone Wakko wanted to tears his ears off despite the fact that he was saying good news. 

“The Wishing Star? I’ve never heard of a Wishing Star,” He frowned. 

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you stories?” He asked. Wakko shook his head. 

“Hm... doesn’t matter. You did it anyway. It was your request for a wish that brought me here,” he said. 

“Wait- so- you can bring my parents back?” Wakko realized. He nodded, and Wakko almost passed out. 

“You’ve decided on your wish?” He asked. 

“I just said-”

“Right, right. Welp- here it goes,” Pip snapped his fingers, and ball of green light shot across the sky, and crashed far, far away- behind the mountains in the horizon. Wakko frowned. 

“Hey, what gives? It couldn’t be any closer than that?” He frowned. 

“Oh whoops, too late to fix now,” Pip scratched the back of his neck. Wakko gave him a look. “Looks like you have quite the trek ahead of you.”

“Yeah... I guess so,” Wakko couldn’t be sour for long, now entranced by the bright light. 

“And you better be going if you don’t want competition to build up,” Pip added. 

“What?! How am I supposed to reach it if I’m stuck in this tower! These rules are completely unfair,” Wakko crossed his arms. 

“Don’t worry Wakko, your siblings will be coming to get you soon, you’ll just have to tell them where to go,” Pip explained. 

“Huh?” He tilted his head when he heard footsteps not far away from the door. 

“I must go now- just remember this: the one who touches the fallen star first gets their wish. If you aren’t first, you don’t get it,” He said.

“What’s the point of me wishing on the star then, if it’s just up for grabs? that’s lame,” He crossed his arms. 

“Whoops- I gotta go, bye,” He waved and turned to star dust before disappearing completely, right before he heard a knock at the door. 

So much for that guys help. 

“Wakko?” It was Yakko. 

“Yakko? What’re you doing here?” Wakko asked. 

“We’ve come to break you out,” Dot chimed in, and a very, very, very long rope made of several sheets was pushed through his “meal slot”. 

Wakko didn’t know what to say. 

“Tie one end to the hook by the window and climb down- my advice is to not look down and pretend like it’s just training with Dad. Plus, me and Dot will be waiting for you at the bottom,” Yakko explained. 

“Wait- I have to tell you,” Wakko interrupted. 

“What?” Yakko asked, surprised Wakko wasn’t protesting. 

“I-i made a wish at a star tonight and well- apparently it was the wishing star so now we have to go- like... really actually go so I can make my wish and then everything will be okay and happy just like it used to be,” Wakko said. 

“The... wishing star? I thought that was just some kiddy bedtime story...” Yakko said, mostly to himself. 

“Well- apparently not,” Wakko said, taking one end and tying it to the hook like Yakko said. Yakko sighed. 

“We’ll talk about this once you’re down. Me and Dot are gonna wait at the bottom,” He said. 

“Okay... see you on the other side,” Wakko said, making the mistake at looking at how far away down was, but was surprised the rope actually went all the way down. 

That was a lot of sheets. 

“You got this Wakko!” Dot encouraged, before he heard the two of them go. 

Right. He had this. 

He may not have been very smart, but he was a good climber. He could do this...

At least, he hoped anyway. 

He promised right then and there that if he was going to make it out of this alive, he was definitely going to go to the Wishing Star- it couldn’t be more dangerous than climbing down a 50 foot rope made of tied sheets, 

...Could it?

.o0o. 

Lena despised being in recovery more than anything. She had been rendered practically immobile because of her broken leg, and her weakened muscles took months of physical therapy to rest and recover. 

Every day she thought of her children, and missed them dearly. She knew when all of their birthdays were and was overcome with grief as each passed. 

She was supposed to be there, with them. Celebrating, laughing, protecting.

Instead?

Now she was in William’s hometown, mooching off of their generosity because of her title, feeling utterly and totally useless. 

After months and months of healing and resting and physical therapy she was finally back to semi-functionality. Sure, she could now go for strolls at night with William (it was part of her physical therapy- stupid leg injuries), but she knew she still couldn’t actually do anything- she still couldn’t go back to the castle and put an end to her mother’s reign. They’d be caught- called imposters and possibly be killed. 

Lena couldn’t imagine making her children go through them dying twice. 

“Lena..? What are you thinking about this night?” William asked softly, and Lena remembered where she was. 

“Just... everything,” she sighed. William kissed her hand. 

“We’ll figure it out, I promise,” He said. Lena closed her eyes and tried to believe it. 

“A year William... My mother must’ve done numerous unspeakable things to them by now...” She looked away at the plaza. He squeezed her hand. 

“I was thinking of the same thing...” he said. Lena put her head on his shoulder. 

“I miss Wakko’s jokes... I miss Yakko’s wit... I miss Dot’s smile,” Lena said, smiling a little at the memory. 

“We’ll figure it out soon, i promise,” he kissed her head and closed his eyes as they sat on a bench outside the hospital.

“Soon...” she echoed. 

Soon her ass. 

Soon was a ridiculous unit of time. No matter how much time had passed, everything seemed to be “soon”. The word drove her mad. 

She was going to say something about this, when suddenly a bright green shooting star suddenly soared through the sky, grabbing her attention as it went all the way down before suddenly crashing down behind the Acme Mountains. 

“William- did you see that?” Lena tugged on his arm. 

“See what?” He tilted his head. 

“That star- it crashed just behind Acme Moutains,” She shook him so he opened his eyes and he quickly saw it. 

“That’s- no... that couldn’t be..? Could it?” He squinted at it. 

“I think it is...” Lena said. 

“You think the Wishing Star could actually be real?” He asked. 

“My father taught me about it when I was a little girl, the books are still in the library. My mother never approved of fictional books- it has to be true,” Lena quickly stood up. 

“Careful Lena, you’re still-”

“Oh hush William. Don’t you know what this means?” She asked. “This is our chance- we reach the wishing star we can reunite with the kids- and take down my mother for good.” 

“And everything would be perfect again...” William couldn’t help but smile. He stood and kissed her. 

“C’mon- we haven’t a moment to waste,” Lena said. 

“Woah, woah, woah. Lena, it’s very late. We need to go to sleep,” He said. 

“But- William- it’s right there,” She frowned. 

“Yes, but we’ll have to get a horse or two to share and it’ll be a long and treacherous journey- those mountains aren’t exactly easy to get through,” William warned. Lena sighed. 

“But... it’s right there... Our kids...” She looked at it. 

“I know... but I promise Lena, it’ll still be there in the morning. Wishing Stars aren’t common knowledge, and we’ll have the distance advantage,” William said. “So please... let’s get some rest before we go out, alright?” 

Lena sighed. “I hate when you’re right.”

“You love me,” He teased. 

“I know,” She rolled her eyes and kissed his cheek. “But.. tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Tomorrow. We’ll head out first thing in the morning.”

“To the Wishing Star...” She smiled. 

They were going to see their kids again after all. 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

[thebigqueer]

Omg would love to read something about plague!will going apeshit in battle after Nico gets hurt or something

ooooh yes!!! thank you for the prompt!!

i hope you like this! 

i’m literally gonna do minimum editing lmao

okay literally whoops i made it a lot longer and the prompt starts later my bad asljkfskljfd sorry anon

tw for descriptive imagery & blood

It’s a normal night at Camp Half-Blood, with demigods in their respective cabins, sleeping either fitfully or dreamlessly. After all, there is no in-between for demigods.

And that is no different for Will, who tosses and turns in his bed, sweat prickling his forehead.

Visions of Tartarus flicker across his dreams, memories of monsters and heat and pure agony. The aches and pains from previous injuries return in their full heat, with no mercy for Will.

The dreams consume him, taking away any consciousness and tying him to the memories. Sometimes it takes fifteen minutes to wake Will up at all, even if he’s being shaken. And when he is shaken awake, he merely stares at the ceiling, a blank, glassy look in his eyes. Sometimes he stays there until afternoon. Sometimes he’s in his cabin until the evening.

He’s in there until he can convince himself that nothing’s going to risk his life the moment he steps outside. 

Tonight is one of those lucky moments where Will doesn’t have to be literally thrown around the bed in order to wake him up. A tug creeps on his shoulder, pulling harder and harder, until he jolts awake. Darkness consumes his cabin, spilling all across the room. For a moment, he swears a shadow moves near the bathroom, and he screams and pushes his back against the wall, heart racing.

And then a voice, deep and calming, melts in his ears. “It’s okay,” the voice murmurs. “You’re okay. It’s just me.”

Will’s head whips to the voice, blood roaring in his ears. Monster, some part of him thinks. Monster is trying to sound like my friends.

A demigod stands before him, dressed in black, melting with the darkness. Anxiety creeps over his neck, an icy cold grip on his body. Monster, he thinks again. What if it’s a monster that can shape-shift?

Will pushes himself further, his breathing ragged. The demigod lookalike leans back a little, as if to give him space. They turn their head to the side and mutter something to someone else, but with the utter panic bursting through his body, he can barely hear them.

Then another figure appears before him, this one shorter and more feminine. A part of Will thinks it’s just another monster, but his vision’s clearing now; the panic that gripped him just seconds before eases back a little. He recognizes them. He knows he does. 

“Will,” the feminine figure murmurs, leaning in. “Hey, listen. I’m not a monster. Your favorite song when you were younger was ‘Barbie Girl.’“

Suspicion still crawls over Will, but he’s more stable now. The feminine figure is... Kayla. His sister. Right. 

And the one standing next to her is... Nico? What are they doing here?

Will sits up a little straighter, feeling a little surer in himself. He looks between the two, confused. He opens his mouth to speak, but his throat is dry from the panic that enveloped him just moments ago. Will clears his throat. His voice comes out scratchy as he asks, “What’s wrong? Why are you guys awake?”

Nico nods to Kayla, who turns around and flicks on the light. Brightness consumes the cabin, burning Will’s eyes. The son of Apollo groans and shoves his head in his hands. Another bout of uneasiness creeps through his skin. Why are they awake at such a late time?

“Listen,” Nico says, taking Will’s hand in theirs. “I don’t want to freak you out-” 

“Just by saying that, you’re pretty much guaranteeing that I’m going to freak out.” 

“I know,” Nico mutters. “But you need to be awake. And we need to get out of the cabin.” 

Will blinks. Nico’s words are blending together, slurring through Will’s brain. What are they even saying? He looks around the room, seeing if any of the others are awake. A jolt of unease wakes Will right up as he realizes that, in fact, all of his siblings are awake. “What’s going on?”

Nico rises, hand pulling on Will’s. “There’s a chimera loose on the camp grounds. It snuck in somehow." Their arm tugs, and Will rises immediately, almost as if just by Nico’s strength he’s found the will to stand up.

Dread settles over Will like a blanket. The cabin may be covered in light now, but he feels as though only darkness consumes him. Monster, his mind screams. 

Nico appears to notice Will’s nervousness, because their eyes soften and they whisper, “You can just stay in the infirmary, Will. I don’t know if you’re in any mental condition to fight.” 

Will wants to argue, say that of course he’s going to fight. He more than proved to Nico that he’s not weak when they were in Tartarus, and Nico knows that Will can be more than just a healer.

But Will also knows why Nico’s suggesting that to him. It isn’t because he’s unimportant or useless; it’s because he’s exhausted. He hasn’t had a good sleep in weeks. And he’s just now awoken with dreams about monsters. Battling a monster would do nothing good for him, or for the camp.

Swallowing, Will nods. He looks over at his siblings, who he’s suddenly realized have all been watching him and Nico. After a slight hesitation, he announces: “I’ll help in the ways I can.”

~~~

It’s chilly in the infirmary, the cold air whispering against Will’s bare hands, but he doesn’t mind. It wakes him up, makes him feel a little more alive. 

Austin and Kayla are in the infirmary with him, waiting to patch up any demigods who’ve been hurt by the chimera. Will will admit, even though he hates being thought of as just a healer, he doesn’t mind the sense of calm bandaging cuts gives him. It’s not about helping people; it’s about the fact that at least he feels helpful.

A part of him yearns to be outside and help the other demigods attack the chimera at the hill, but he knows he can’t. Every time the chimera roars, ice drips over Will’s back; terror paralyzes him. He only thinks of Tartarus, of all the monsters who had tried sneaking on him and Nico so many times. 

For the moment, things seem manageable here in the infirmary. There haven’t been many lethal or super serious injuries; only cuts, bruises, and the occasional poisonous gashes. Nothing he and his siblings can’t handle.

And yet, uneasiness still grips him, the sense that something terrible is about to happen. He tries to shake it off. It’s only a chimera, he reminds himself. And there are literally fifty demigods going after it. It’ll be fine.

His worse fears come true when the doors of the infirmary burst open and a demigod comes through, holding a pale, limp figure in his arms.

It takes a moment for the image to register in Will’s brain. At first, the only thought to run through his mind is: Wow, that half-dead demigod looks familiar. 

When he realizes why the demigod looks so familiar, Will gasps. It’s Nico, he thinks with horror. For a moment, he doesn’t move. Fear glues him to his spot by the sink, his knees shaking. The cynical, depressing part of Will already assumes the worst: that he’s dead.

And then, all at once, he zips towards Nico, tears threatening to spill over. He pushes the other demigod aside and circles his arms around Nico, lowering them to their knees.

“Nico,” he whispers urgently, shaking their shoulders. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Nico mutters something incomprehensible, their words slurring together. Their head slumps against Will’s shoulder, body limp. Will takes his hand and places it over Nico’s forehead, almost crying out loud when he realizes how warm the child of Hades is.

Kayla and Austin rush over with a stretcher, their young faces betraying anxiety. Will gently lays Nico over it, his throat aching with the repression of frustrated tears. “Nico, can you say something? What happened?”

This time, Nico’s voice is a little more comprehensible, albeit still slurred. “Chim’ra,” they mutter. “Ven’m. Tried t’ fight it with sword.” They attempt to move their body and immediately give up, grimacing and hissing. Nico’s face turns gray, the color of ashes. 

Will notices the slash on their black T-shirt and the blood oozing out. He quickly lifts the shirt up, discovering a wide gash over Nico’s rib cage. The skin at the edge of the injury is tinged to a slightly green color.

For a second, Will almost loses it. He starts assuming the worst of it, thinking that Nico’s lost it all. But then he remembers: it’s only a gash. The cut may be deep and wide, but there’s no reason he shouldn’t be able to fix it. Nico seems worse off than other demigods who came in with the same poison, but if they can get to work quickly, then there’s no reason as to why he should start assuming the worst.

White hot anger erupts in Will’s system, blaring in his stomach and chest. The Chimera did this. It hurt Nico. 

Will has had enough of monsters. They chased him and Nico throughout Tartarus, making sure to haunt both their dreams. They’ve taunted him, making sure to ensure doubt and insecurities in himself all his life. They almost killed him and his mother when he first arrived at camp. He’s had friends and siblings die because of monsters who never gave a fuck about demigods and their lives. 

And now they’ve decided to mess with Will again, trying to hurt one of the people he loves most. 

Well, Will’s done.

He turns his eyes away from Nico momentarily, staring at his hands. He knows exactly what he needs to do.

“It’s okay,” he promises Nico, who’s skin sags even more under the pressure of pain. “It’s not too bad. Kayla and Austin will be able to fix you up.”

Nico doesn’t answer, too exhausted to do so. Kayla and Austin fix Will with the same confused expression. “Aren’t you helping?” Kayla asks, bending over to take one end of the stretcher. Austin holds the other side.

Will shakes his head, standing. He grits his teeth, staring in the direction of the door. “I have something else to take care of.” 

Austin’s eyes widen in concern. “Will, no. There is no way you’re going out there to fight that thing.”

Kayla opens her mouth to agree, but Will snaps his head back to them. “I’m going,” he states. He glares his eyes at them, mouth set into a thin line. Will almost relishes the sudden look of fear in their faces. “I’m head counselor, guys. I’m supposed to protect you guys.” Turning his face back to the infirmary doors, he announces, “That’s what I’m going to do.”

With that, he storms out of the infirmary. No one follows.

~~~

The winter air snaps at his skin, sinking its teeth into his hands. Will flexes his fingers, anger still seething, pulsing, gushing from every inch of his body. No one hurts his loved ones like that.

He follows the cries of battle and screeches of the monster to Half-Blood Hill, calling on his rage. If the monster wants a battle, then Will will give him one.

It’s been a while since Will’s used his plague powers. The last time was in Tartarus, and when he used them there, he almost passed out. He hasn’t trained with it at all, afraid of how much damage it could cause. What if he accidentally hurts a demigod?

But tonight, as the wind whips across his face and the image of Nico flashes across his brain, he lets the powers pulse, strengthen. His powers hum, resonating through every cell in his body.

His palms burst with a feverish warmth, turning a pale green. He feels the weight of thousands of sicknesses swirling through him, the power they hold. He’s finds the feeling of the plague powers quite strange; it’s like having a sickness, but only inverted. As if he can’t quite feel the symptoms, but he can feel the strength of the problems they can cause. Instead of wearing him down, they only empower him. He controls the sicknesses, can lash them out to whoever he wants.

Heads turn to Will as he steps over the summit of the hill, eyes widening at his sudden change of appearance. Now the heat reaches his face, hot and wild and etching to let loose. He’s a ball of energy, only existing to unleash chaos.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the shield of one of the demigods, and almost screams. He can barely recognize himself. His face has turned a pale, ugly shade of green, his freckles barely visible. The sky blue of his eyes have turned a sickly, glowy yellow, the only vibrancy on his face. The blond of his hair has turned as gray as ashes, limp against his forehead. 

He looks sick and terrible. But really, Will only feels the buzz of power underneath his fingertips. He almost laughs; this feels great. Why would he want to repress this so much? Imagine all the monsters he could kill. Imagine the glory he could get. He would never be looked as weak ever again. 

Demigods eyes trace over him, but as soon as he makes eye contact, they jump and scramble away. Will wants to laugh at that. For so long, he’s felt like some kind of scared, useless wimp; now he’s making others feel like that. 

No, a quiet part of him says. That’s not right. Stop thinking like that.

Guilt starts building up in Will’s chest, but when a roar echoes throughout the camp, anger once against consumes the demigod. He bares his teeth towards the Chimera, whose lion head growls at him, ready to pounce. Its goat, snake, and lion heads all stare at Will daringly, as if taunting him. What are you going to do, Sunny Boy? Going to kill me with silly little poems?

Will just laughs. “What’s the matter, kitty? Are we scaring you?”

This time the goat answers, bleating angrily. Will almost wants to laugh again, but then the goat breathes a blazing hot fire in the son of Apollo’s direction, almost searing off his clothes. 

Will scowls. He speaks again, and just barely registers the change in his voice; it’s raspier, the sound of something brushing against sandpaper. “So you want to play it hard, Kitty? We’ll play it hard.”

The snake tail hisses and spits venom in Will’s direction, but he simply steps back and lets it sizzle on the ground. That was just a test, Will knows. It’s simply measuring how much hell Will is ready to give him. 

Well, he thinks, if you want hell, I’ll give you it.

He lets the plague’s strength build up in his palms, locating the power in one place. Will concentrates on just the sicknesses, the energy buzzing through him. His body buzzes with electricity and excitement. Will’s skin turns an even worse shade of green, practically glowing in the night. Mucus builds up in his nose, and he steps towards the Chimera, extending his right arm.

He waits for it to go first. 

The lion head roars again, and the monster leaps at Will. But he’s ready for it. Just as it lands towards Will, the blond opens his palm to it.

For a moment, it seems as if nothing is happening. The demigods see nothing, no waves or signals to indicate that Will’s doing something. He looks almost ridiculous, really, and some demigods may have laughed if they weren’t so terrified of the way Will’s appearance has changed. 

Will, however, knows a lot is happening. His body surges with power, strength, the urge to only provide sickness. He wants to see the monster fall, weak with illness and begging for death. He wants to see it asking for mercy, and Will will respond only with more torture, more pain. 

He wants to make it beg for Tartarus.

The monster seems confused for a moment, surprised by the strange demigod. What does he even think he’s doing, standing there with his arm outstretched so uselessly and lamely? 

And then it hits the Chimera. Its body grows heavy, weak, wanting only to sit and lie down for a while. It sways on its feet and thumps to the ground, feeling dizzy and confused. Its vision gets blurry; it can barely tell where the demigods are. Only the glow of the strange demigod is clear to the monster, and for a moment it forgets what it’s even supposed to be doing. 

Its mind gets fuzzy. The itch of a sneeze consumes its nose, and then the scratch of its throat makes it wheeze. The Chimera wants to eat this demigod - but, wait. Suddenly the thought of food doesn’t seem too appetizing. 

It just wants to sleep for a while. Its body grows weary, tired, hot from fever. It shivers in the night, its fur doing nothing to protect it in the coolness of the night. The Chimera tries to blow a fire, if only to heat itself, but finds itself too weak to do such a thing. 

And then a strange tickle bursts in its leg. The snake head looks at the limb, and a delayed shock shudders through the Chimera’s body. It’s disintegrating! Not into sand, as all monsters go. Instead, it’s as if the sickness is breaking down all its cells, ripping apart each molecule in the body until there’s nothing left.

Will feels the power ripple through him, and suddenly he can’t help the laughter that bubbles through him. He’s made the monster weak; he’s made the monster helpless. It whimpers, begging for mercy, just as Will wanted.

Will doesn’t relent. He pushes further, extending his powers, breaking the monster down further and further, until it’s left with only the lion head. 

The lion’s eyes peer at Will, glazed over with sickness. Its face is green, which Will didn’t know could happen. Or maybe I made it happen, Will thinks with both elation and terror. 

Will glares, anger once against taking over him. “You hurt Nico. Now I hurt you.” 

And with that, the monster’s head disintegrates. The remnants turn into sand. The monster is gone.

Will wants to smile, to laugh, to say that he did that all by himself. But his vision goes blurry, then foggy. The world tilts violently.

Will collapses.

[bookstantrash]

A/N: Yeah, I broke my ghosting and wrote an one shot. My mental health has not been very good these days, and writing helps me.

I have no ideia how to feel about this. I started it with angst in mind but I think it ended up way less angsty then I had planned? Either way, I hope it does not look as bad as it seems to be.

Icarus

Emerie once knew the language of the wind. Spoke it fluently. Effortlessly.

It used to be like breathing for her. As easy and automatic as the action of inhaling and exhaling the pure and fresh air of the Illyrian mountains.

Mêmbira suí Ibutû.

Daughter of the Wind.

That was how Emerie’s mother used to call her.

Emerie remembered little of her mother. A smile, a lovingly hand braiding her hair, brushing it after a bath.

She remembered her walks with her mother. How they used to go to that deserted greenfield, its open space Emerie’s personal playground. Her mom would watch as Emerie soared higher and higher, the wind as gentle as her mother’s caress on her face.

“Watch me cig! Look how high I can go!” small Emerie would shout, her voice filled with delight.

“I’m watching xe nhia” her mother would loving answer, her wishful eyes watching her daughter fly, laughing and shouting in warning when Emerie got bold and would do a backflip or drop and open her wings too close to the ground.

Emerie’s mother could not fly. The scars on her wings were proof of that. But she never let that hold herself back from feeling happy for her daughter.

And Emerie flew for her cig. Higher and higher, wings strong, wind roaring around her. Each flap of her wings was to hear that laugh and see that big proud smile on her mother’s face.

But then her mother died.

And the nightmares began.

Emerie would dream of losing her wings. The scars she saw on her mother’s wings on hers.

She’d wake up painting and sweaty, and would run from home straight to her playground.

She’d fly until she felt the air getting thin, until she could barely breath, until she swore she could touch the moon.

When she was nearing the point of fainting from lack of air, Emerie would plummet down, getting dangerously close to the ground. Only then would she open her wings wide, stretching them to the point of pain and getting back to safety.

Time passed. Emerie became older.

Every day she dreaded the day her first cycle would come. Everyday she woke up and glanced at her sheets, her heart stopping every time during the seconds it took to realize they were clean. White. No sign of blood on them whatsoever.

She would scape to her playground whenever she could. Would fly for hours.

Her father tried to hold her back in the shop. Keep her inside, working.

Being an ornament.

Being seen but not heard.

There and not there at all, her existence a mere object of fleeting importance.

Emerie hated it. Knew her father kept track of her scent. To see if it had changed.

To see if she had bled.

Emerie knew her father did not care about the High Lord’s new law, which had banned clipping.

Her father came from a traditional family. An old family who had more money than most, but still less than the powerful camp lords had.

Their backwards mentality, however, was the same.

She remembers the day it came as if it was yesterday.

She woke up, and the usual panic before she saw the sheets was the same.

But this time it did not pass.

It became unbearable.

Emerie could feel her lungs closing, her pulse quickening, and dread, pure and deep dread filling her stomach.

She had lit scented candles to try and disperse the metallic smell of blood, ripping the bedsheets in small pieces and feeding the blazing fire in her room with them.

She remembers dressing with shaking fingers, finally braiding her hair in her usual style after countless attempts.

Remember getting downstairs to the shop and praying to the Mother her father would be so busy counting those damn gold coins or scheming some merchant transaction with the camp lords to stop and pay attention to her.

He had done so well in ignoring her after her mother had died.

“You’re just like your cig” he used to tell her.

Only when she grew up did she notice that he did not say it in a lovingly way.

He said it with a bittersweet tone.

As if he was saying she should have been the one to die from the plague that had befallen Illyria years ago.

No amount of power, contacts or money had been able to save his termireco.

The day his wife died was the day her father never looked at Emerie again the same way.

He had lost his opacatúmbae. His world.

Emerie thought she had managed to finish the day without her father finding about it.

How foolish had she been.

How stupid to dare and hope.

She also remembers when they came.

Four Illyrians, all friends of her father.

They held her down.

She tried to fight.

She kicked and bit at them, screaming and crying.

It was a fruitless effort.

One of them pressed a handkerchief against her mouth and the last thing she heard was her father’s voice before she passed out.

“I’m sorry xe tagira. It’s for your own good”

When Emerie woke up, she had scars.

Her beautiful proud wings were scarred just like her mother’s had been. Like most of the older females at camp were.

The day Emerie lost her wings was the day the wind in Illyria blew so strong that tents were torn from the ground and trees flew.

The ibutû was mourning the loss of his mêmbira.

For three days and three nights Illyria was throw into completely chaos.

For three days and three nights Emerie didn’t eat. Didn’t get out of her room.

For three days and three nights Emerie mourned, together with Qilaë, goddess of wind, what she had once been.

And when she got out of her room, face tearstained but brown eyes deep with hatred, she never gave her father an easy day until his passing.

Emerie would purposely stay away from home all the time, helping with chores at the healers tent or in the communal kitchen at camp.

She would spit insults at the males her father tried to sell her to, lashing at them until they were scared of her, until not even one male in Windhaven would dare accept her as his wife.

When her father died, she fought to be the owner of the clothier.

She hoped her father was turning over in disgust in his grave.

With time, Emerie slowly learned how to deal with the pain.

It became a fog that came and went as it pleased.

Sometimes it was so tick she would find herself screaming until her throat was sore.

Sometimes it was as brief as a summer breeze.

Sometimes Emerie would find herself standing in her old playground, opening her wings and flapping them in vain attempts of raising herself even a millimetre from the ground.

It did not matter how many times she tried. How her wings screamed in pain and how she fought back her tears.

She never left the ground.

Time passed again. Emerie would go to her playground less and less.

One day, she started going again.

Now, Emerie went to the playground with Azriel.

It all began when he found her there, alone, hair free and wind kissing her face, as if Qilaë was greeting her.

He probably had followed her through his shadows.

Even with her eyes closed Emerie could feel his presence. Could feel as he tentatively walked towards her, stopping beside her and staying quiet, letting her enjoy the moment.

And she told him the story of Mêmbira suí Ibutû, who had flown higher than anyone else had ever dared to before.

When she finished the story, she was sobbing, Azriel having moved to embrace her, his wings around them creating a cocoon of safety.

Protecting her from the horrors of the past.

Protecting her like she should have been protected.

After her crying had ceased, Azriel only asked her one thing.

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life” she answered.

Grabbing her waist, Azriel shot to the sky and for the first time in years Emerie left the ground.

He held her only by the waist, supporting the rest of her body with his shadows as he flew.

It was as if Emerie could fly again.

And in that moment Qilaë knew her daughter had come home at last.

•

Fixed tag list: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @arin1030 @caotica-e-quieta @vidalinav @swankii-art-teacher @ireallyshouldsleeprn @duskandstarlight @greerlunna @thegoddessaltenia @dayanna-hatter @verypaleninja @awesomelena555 @courtofjurdan @allilal @sensitiveillyrian @moe8 @illyrianwitchling13 @silvernesta @bri-loves-sunflowers @queenestarcheron @imwritingthesewords @vasudharaghavan @rainbowcheetah512

Emeriel tag: @julemmaes @angrypotatofairy @illyrianwitchling @moe8 @thewayshedreamed @ko0mbayamylord @rosegoldannie @fourshizzle149 @arin1030 @elide-lochan-salvaterre @the-bookish-deer @silvernesta @a-girl-named-isa

{Please let me know if you want to be added in either the Emeriel or my Fixed Tag list}

[lapinmiel]

Mirror, Mirror

Felix and OC (Female), 1,8K. (Part 1)

Phoebe’s life was never one of an adventure, even as a vampire — after being discovered by the Volturi for her talent, she finds herself running away from the world’s most powerful organization, and soon she finds herself in a complete lie and truth situation, with the anchor of her lover leading her to his side.

Part 1, Part 2

None of the nights were calm anymore, it was always a chaser behind, and there was always an obstacle to be faced ahead. Days were filled with blood and dread, and she wished she could close her eyes for a night and never wake up again.

He called it “teenage dread” which made her very sad and furious, because she had been alive for fifty years now, how the hell could she have a teenage dread now? She had never heard it before anyway, she was past her teens — more like early twenties, but she didn’t remember her birthday. Her thoughts were like water droplets in a bucket of water swaying left to right, purely disordered.

And now, she was dealing with another threat: the damn Volturi were after her.

The night they realized there was a vampire out there who could mirror any talent was the night her life as a free vampire had ended. She had never seen the Volturi before, but she’d heard about them from Saladin’s stories, and all those were horrible. From executing clans to poaching lone vampires, they gained form as soulless monsters in her imagination, and she was not ready to face them.

And when the night of her planned poaching had come, she was surprised, because even Jane, the little one was a monster in her mind but, she was barely half of her height, which made things complicated for her. She knew she could kill Jane in a heartbeat, it was one of her skills after all, but would she feel comfortable killing a child? She didn’t know, but she realized she would have to do it one day rather quickly.

“Phoebe.” Jane’s dead, stone-cold voice had traveled the air and reached her. “I propose you join us, and we will let your creator be free.”

It wasn’t an easy choice. It wasn’t a choice. Saladin had told her before, the Volturi does not forgive. The Volturi does not tell the truth. If she joined them, Saladin would be dead by dawn, and she would have to spend her whole life serving for three marble like (but much uglier) creatures to death. Her aspirations didn’t fit theirs, and her sense of freedom definitely wasn’t a thing that they could inspire. It wasn’t the right band of people to be sent to offer a union anyway, a little agony machine, a man with eyes of mischief and another one with a door like figure that looked like it would take him a single wrong lettering of a name to crush your skull to a jelly. Besides, the men looked slightly attractive, and it wasn’t for the easy lover like Phoebe to resist men like that easily.

She refused. No hesitation was found in her noise, no twitching of hands — and in a second of leaves falling from the trees, she felt thousands of needles trying to penetrate through her skin. Her mind took action in an instant and the three vampires fell on the ground. She used the chance to turn around and tell Saladin to run away, but he had already, and when she tried running, she felt something around her neck.

The arm, or whatever it was that choked her, felt like a tight rope, much like when she was drowning in her human life. She tried putting her hand around it, but the force was far too powerful for her to slip her hand.

Then she acted out on her instinct, and kicked the figure behind her. The arm around her neck loosened, and she used the moment to run away.

It had been five days since the night happened, and they hadn’t stopped for more than two hours. “If we stop, they will find us.” Saladin had said to her earlier, he told her that the shorter man was called Dimitri, and he could find anyone, anywhere. He couldn’t risk staying in a place more than a couple of hours because he knew the Volturi would bring a whole army to poach Phoebe, and it wouldn’t matter whether his shield would be working or not. They had penetrators anyway, and he wasn’t looking to die in at least three hundred years from that moment on. They were running for hours, hunting, and running again. Saladin knew the Volturi were tracking their footsteps, and Demetri was on their necks like a crow.

It had been three hours since they’d stopped on a mountain in north Asia, and soon, it was going to be the time to move.

Phoebe had been thinking to say something for days, and the mountain range, which she didn’t know the name at, gave her the feeling of what would happen if I said, it doesn’t matter, and she wanted to go for it.

“You know what, Saladin.” She said in a breath. Saladin was busy with finishing his food. “I’m gonna say it.”

He looked up with curious eyes.

Phoebe poked the hand of her victim on the ground to fend off nervousness.

“You are the reason that we are running away now.” She looked up at Saladin. His eyes showed no emotion other than curiosity. “If you hadn’t put your shield down on the forest, we wouldn’t be here. We would be looking for Zareen like you wished.”

Saladin, licking the blood on his lips, got up and stood on the place like a mannequin. Phoebe was relieved now, because her thoughts had reached the belonging place, and now she could deal with his bickering for a couple of days. Better than keeping thoughts in a locked up place.

“Well, I am.” Much to her surprise, Saladin wasn’t angry. “But you must accept that it wasn’t intentional. I was distracted by the human. If I wasn’t, nothing would have happened.”

“Yeah, that’s the point.” She said. “If you weren’t. You should keep your guard up all times. You hadn’t one time, and we are being hunted down by the Volturi and you are probably going to get burned like a witch at a stake as if it was the Middle Ages!”

“I’m not you, Phoebe! My talent doesn’t work on its own, I have to focus on it.”

“I know.” She was feeling guilty for telling him what she thought now. It felt ungrateful.

“It doesn’t matter. We will survive this.” Saladin took a step towards her and put his hand on her shoulder. “We are going to find Zareen, and we are going to erase our existence from our world.”

He smiled, and embraced her tightly.

She knew it wasn’t completely his fault. She knew that it was a distraction that caused this all, yet, she couldn’t forgive him completely. No, it wasn’t a matter of forgiveness — it just felt wrong. It felt wrong that after living fifty years in peace, she now had to run away, and if they couldn’t find Zareen, they had to do it for their whole life. God knew how long would that be.

She was already getting bored with her life. Living in the shadows, hunting people, overpowering every being on the planet, being indestructible. A weakness was lacking, and her talent didn’t help at all. She was presumably the luckiest person in existence, and perfection was boring after spending decades being it.

After Saladin released her from his hug, they started running again. Hours and minutes were as light as a bird’s feathers, and later, they found themselves in the southern regions of the continent.

After hours of running, they stopped again, another mountain by a big city. Saladin felt like the place was quiet enough for him to catch any sound that sounded peculiar, and Phoebe thought that the trail around the mountain was the perfect place to hunt humans. They quickly ran around the mountain for a possible prey, and they fed on him to his last drop of blood once they found him. Within seconds, they felt powerful again.

In that little euphoria of feeding, Phoebe caught the glimpse of a plane flying right above their head. Her eyes glimmered. She turned and looked at Saladin to see whether he was thinking the same thing, but no, he definitely was thinking about his meal.

“Saladin.” Her voice brought surprise to Saladin again.

When he looked at her, she pointed upwards to the plane, but still, Saladin’s eyes were oblivious as ever. Maybe it is his old age, she thought.

“We can use planes.”

Saladin furrowed his brows.

“We can use planes to stop the Volturi from finding us. We’ll sneak into the cargo compartments during take off, and you’ll use your shield throughout the journey. When we land, we feed and look for Zareen. Then the Volturi will be confused.”

Saladin finally understood. Phoebe often felt like following him was a mistake, because despite his brilliant plans, he was often too slow at understanding her plans.

“They won’t be able to track us without thinking that something is wrong.”

“Yes!” Phoebe’s excitement was flowing through her veins. “No vampire uses technology. And I wasn’t born a thousand years ago.”

Saladin gave a quick smile. They agreed on the plan, and they quickly finished their meals. They arrived at the airport soon after. Phoebe offered playing a little game to choose which plane to sneak in, but Saladin, being his no-bullshit self, refused it, and choose the biggest plane. The logic behind it wasn’t clear to Phoebe, because he had never traveled by plane before, how could he know which plane flew where? Phoebe didn’t know it either, but judging from the size, it was likely going to America.

The plane they chose came to the runway about an hour later. They were waiting by the airport fences. When he felt ready, Saladin told Phoebe to run and lead him. She did as he wanted — just when the plane was about to start its engines, she run and entered the plane from the back tires.

The space was enormous, and Saladin look terrified. He knew he wouldn’t die even if something happened, and he knew that planes were completely safe after what Phoebe told him about them, but being in such a foreign object was giving him an extremely uneasy feeling, as if he was a human again and was sick with nausea. Taking off part felt like he was flying, not the machine, and after spending long hours, lading felt like falling.

The terror in his eyes when Phoebe told him to hold on to somewhere on the top of the compartment was remarkable, and Phoebe couldn’t contain her laughter when he saw him looking like a little scared puppy. While they were holding to the cables and parts of the plane, the tires got lowered, and for once Saladin felt thankful for his vampirism. At least I won’t be crushed by this thing, he thought.

Just as when the plane was getting out of the runway, Phoebe and Saladin jumped off the plane and run to the nearest fences. They jumped through them, and started running again.

It took a couple of seconds for Phoebe to realize it wasn’t morning and that they didn’t have to run away. She slowed down and told Saladin to do the same too. He came close to her to get her in his shield.

But it didn’t take long. The feelings that settled in Phoebe was not relaxation, but fear.

Because the signs on the streets didn’t read any English words. The people around them were not speaking English either. It was melodic, much more than her own language. And it was terrific too, because they were trying to run away from their hunters, not land in their homeland.

From the Writer: Just a heads up, my first language is not English and I struggle with choosing tenses when writing. If you see “had been” mixed with “was” or thing like that, please inform me. I can’t really differentiate them. By the way, Phoebe is not read the regular “Phee-bee” way, it’s more like “Pho-ee-bee”, because that’s how I pronounce it lol.

[mishasminion360]

Crushed (Bonus Chapter)

Pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Warning: Language

Notes: Okay, I just couldn’t resist writing one more chapter from Javi’s POV. Purely because I’m a sucker for pain and love writing sad shit. I hope you’ve enjoyed my little ficlets! If you haven’t already, be sure to check out Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 before reading this one.

He was there when the call came in; one of the first to learn that 220 pounds of TNT inside a car had just turned the downtown Bogotá shopping district into a pile of ash.

He didn’t even wait for the higher ups to finish barking orders before he was running out the door, ahead of the troops. He didn’t need to wait for orders and he didn’t need directions. He knew that district by heart by now. Because he’d been to your apartment enough times to memorize the way there.

***

The mess wasn’t anything like Javi had imagined; had hoped for. It was much worse.

Bodies, and pieces of bodies, had been tossed about haphazardly in the wake of the blast; strewn about as chaotically as the rubble. He realized with a growing sense of dread that one of these corpses could be your own.

Working his way through the destruction, smoke filling his lungs, he dared to glance up at your apartment and his heart dropped to see that it was...gone. There’s nothing but a hole where walls and windows used to be. That home he’d come to know better than his own had been reduced to a fucking crater.

His pulse hammered in his ears and muted the world around him. The screams, the sirens, all far away now. Somewhere in the distance right beside him he could hear Steve yelling at him, trying to pull him back from the ledge before he fell headlong into a chasm of despair.

“She’s fine, Javi. She’s got to be. She might not have even been home. Whatever you’re thinking right now, just stop.”

Javier didn’t even turn to look at him as he responded. “You don’t know what I’m thinking. You couldn’t possibly know.”

He was already off and running before he’d finished the last sentence. Javi didn’t care that part of the building was still in flames, he didn’t care that it could collapse at any moment. All he cared about was you.

Javi took the steps, what was left of them anyway, two at a time on a perilous journey to your floor. There wasn’t much of that left either. Opening the door was another trial, and once he’d finally managed to jimmy his way inside he could see why. And it made his stomach roil.

The blast had blown everything, debris, furniture, to the front half of the apartment and the pile of wreckage had barricaded the door. Javi didn’t waste a single second climbing the mound of detritus, like the Dread Pirate Roberts scaling the Cliffs of Insanity.

He felt his lungs tighten from exertion and the excess inhalation of ash and dust, but he still found enough strength to scream your name as loud as he possibly could. He got only silence in return.

Javi started flipping over smoldering furniture and chunks of scorched rubble, praying softly to himself that he’d find you and that he wouldn’t. He dug and dug until he was soaked in sweat and his fingers were black with soot and red with blood.

He spotted your hand first, sticking out from beneath the splintered remains of your dining room table. The small, delicate extremity was abnormally pale, and not because of the layer of dust that coated it. He frantically removed the rest of the mess until he’d uncovered you, his buried treasure.

One of your arms and legs had each bent at an unnatural angle. Your skin was littered with cuts of different sizes and stained with bruises. Your hair was matted with blood. But it was your eyes that frightened Javi the most. They were wide open, but unseeing.

Javier knew better than to move you until paramedics arrived, but that didn’t stop him from trying to rouse you into the realm of wakefulness.

“Come on, baby, wake up,” he said, voice cracking as he framed your bloodied face in his hands and tried to force those empty eyes to look at him. “Don’t do this to me, baby. Please.”

He refused to leave your side for an instant, not even to spare a second to cross over to the gaping hole where your wall once was and shout down for help. So he just screamed again.

“Ayúdame!!” he roars. “I need help! Someone, please!!” He didn’t know if anyone was coming. He didn’t know if it’d make a difference. “AHORA!!!”

His throat was too raw to try again. Javi collapsed at your side clutching your hand in both of his, as if he could heal all your wounds himself the tighter he squeezed. If only life, or love worked liked that.

“Please....”

***

He’d always hated hospitals. There was something so unnatural about the sterility, and the fact that it served as a haven for healing felt like nothing more than an illusion. Javier knew what it really was. A place where people came to die. A place where you were currently bedded.

At first the nurses refused to let him in, not being a direct family member and all, but they quickly learned in frightening ways that nothing was going to keep Javier Peña from your side. If Steve hadn’t been there to watch his back, Javi was fairly certain he would have been arrested for assaulting a doctor. More than once.

Steve was the sensible, level headed one. He asked the docs all the questions, got all the answers. All Javi could do was stare at you. You looked almost alien to him wrapped in plaster and sprouting too many tubes and wires, but it was still you and he couldn’t look away. His deep brown eyes willed you to wake up.

From time to time he caught words from the doctor’s mouth, words like “skull fracture,” “extensive hemorrhaging,” and “cerebral and internal bleeding.”

“Can you fix it?” he thought he heard Steve ask.

“The damage she’s suffered is severe,” said a doctor who’s name Javier did not know and did not give a fuck to know. “We’ve stopped the bleeding for now, but until the swelling on her brain goes down she’ll more than likely remain comatose.”

The only thing Javier hated more than hearing the doctor spout his medical jargon was hearing his lame attempts to be comforting.

“These attacks are getting worse and worse in terms of casualties. It’s always a shame to see someone so young this badly broken,” said doc what’s-his-name. “Poor woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Will she be okay?” The words left his mouth so softly that Javier wasn’t even sure he’d said them.

“As I said, the surgery was a complete success,” the doctor responded. “The rest is up to her.”

The doc had other patients, so he didn’t stick around. Steve offered to stay, but Javi told him to beat it. All Javi wanted was to be alone. Alone with his grief. Alone with his shame. Alone with his love.

His fingers stroked tender circles up and down your arm; he wondered if you could feel it.

“I’m here, baby,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

***

Days turned to a week, and that week became two. Javi had taken up a steadfast vigil at your bedside. He’d become a permanent fixture in the room and no one could convince him to leave or, at the very least, sleep. He’d sleep when you woke.

The nurses tried to offer positive affirmations here and there and their saccharine sweetness almost made him sick.

“It won’t be long now, I’m sure of it,” one offered. “Just a matter of time until we see those pretty eyes of hers.”

“Her vitals are stabilizing. That’s a good sign,” said another.

They all reminded him to keep talking to you; that, even though you couldn’t respond, you could hear his every word. It wasn’t long ago that he would have killed to get you to stand still and listen to him. Now he finally had you all to himself, but it wasn’t in the way that he wanted. This was an awful way.

“Come back, corazón,” he pleaded silently. “Please.”

***

Soon the doctor was able to deliver a spot of good news: the swelling in your brain was gone and you were likely to regain consciousness soon. Javi tried to take the news for what it was, but knew he wouldn’t be able to officially breath a sigh of relief until you truly were awake and responsive.

“She’s going to have a long road ahead of her, though.” Ah, the good ol’ doc. Never one to sugarcoat shit. “Recovery will be difficult.”

“I’ll be there,” Javi said flatly. “Every step of the way.”

***

It was going on three weeks and you were still fast asleep. According to the doctor you were pretty much healed, internally anyway, but you just refused to come around. Stubborn as always.

Javi couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept himself. The last time he’d moved. He’d missed a shit ton of work, but he didn’t give a fuck. The world had stopped turning and it wouldn’t budge again until you returned to him.

Javier Peña was not a patient man. He’d never waited this long for anything in his life. But for you, he’d wait a lifetime. It felt like he already had. He’d spent so much of his life searching for something that he’d never been able to find. He wasn’t even sure what it was. Until he met you.

The second you walked into the office something shifted. You were like a breath of fresh air; an answer to all of his most burning questions. You awoke in him a feeling he’d long ago forgotten. He didn’t know yet if it was love or just desire, but he knew well enough that you were going to change everything.

But now, in that very moment, gazing longingly at your silent, slumbering form, he recalled the name of that feeling. In that moment he realized that you had made him whole. And it was at that moment he finally broke.

The tears came out of nowhere. His exhausted body was consumed by great, heaving sobs. Javi felt his throat constrict around a string of words that came unraveling from the very depths of his aching heart.

“Wake up, baby,” he begged. “Come back to me.”

He wept openly and loudly and didn’t give a fuck who heard or saw.

“Please, come back to me, please.”

He collapsed atop your supine body and cried the tears of a man shattered beyond repair.

“I’m right here,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

He repeated those words until, at long last, sleep overtook him.

***

“J-Javier...”

He was floating in a sea of darkness, blissfully lost in it when he heard the call. That very sound was enough to cause the inky blackness to evaporate and the world was suffused with light; a sunrise over the retreating black waves. And something inside Javier began to steer him toward wakefulness. Because he knew that sound. He’d heard it countless times in the waking world, and in his dreams. The most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. The voice of the woman he loved.

“Javi?”

The pull of the ocean receded, and he turned his face toward the sun.

@mamacitapascal @obsessivelysearching @grimeylady

[mypunkpansexualtwin]

For the hurt/ comfort dialogue prompt: 11 and/or 14? 😳🙏 thank you and have a lovely day!

Hey, you know how Strikers gave us all those Protect Oracle fights?

11 - “Just keep breathing. In and out. You’re doing great.” 14 - “Show me where it hurts.”

Yeah. Yeah, I can work with these. Thank you so much! Under a cut cause I rarely write small. Enjoy!

Send me a hurt/comfort prompt and I’ll (try to) write you a thing!

Futaba Sakura was a lot of things; a second year in high school, a prolific Featherman merch collector, one of the most formidable white hat hackers in the eastern hemisphere (possibly the world), and Oracle, the official Gal In The Chair for the notorious Phantom Thieves of Hearts.

She was not a combatant. Not even remotely built for being on the front lines in the middle of all the action.

Really, it was the worst part of these Jails. She never had to leave Necronomicon during a fight for a Palace run or down in Mementos, but the Jails were practically lousy with terminals tied to otherwise impassable walls. Terminals that only she could crack, and only by directly interfacing with them. Oracle trusted the other Thieves with her life, there was no doubt about that. But it was a lot easier to say that when she was cozy in her UFO controlling the flow of battle with just a few taps of her fingers than, say, completely vulnerable hunched over a screen with only four Phantom Thieves between her and an endless, fuming horde of Shadows eager to snap her like a glowstick.

Not only was it more comfortable to be where the baddies couldn’t reach her, it was a lot easier to see when a particularly nasty Shadow was winding up for a full-party instakill attack when she was that high above the action. Down in the thick of it, nerves thrumming with adrenaline and heart pounding a deafening drumbeat in her ears, she had only a split second to register the ominous droning of a Shadow casting Mamudoon. Really, it wasn’t even the sound that tipped her off, not over the din of the battle raging behind her and the rapid-fire clattering of her fingers flying over the keys in front of her and the rising hysteria screaming bad idea bad idea bad idea in the back of her head. No, something about Mudo was pure instinct, the hairs on the back of her neck standing straight up as icy dread trickled down her spine and settled like lump of ice in her stomach before those creepy little straw dolls could even manifest. Not only was Mona out of juice and Skull completely devoid of healing abilities, Sophie was in the fight and Joker was using one of his better healer personas, leaving them both weak to curse. Mudo would shred them, and if they went down, everyone else would go toppling after like the world’s worst game of dominoes.

When that realization hit, everything sort of happened at once.

In a heartbeat, Oracle had twisted partway around, one hand on the keyboard and frantically tapping out the last little bit they needed to take the barrier down, the other hand flinging her goggles haphazardly off her face. The next heartbeat, Necronomicon rose in a blaze of blue fire, painting the battlefield flickering teal as vivid green glyphs spread under her teammates’ feet and protective barriers shimmered to life around each of them. Another heartbeat, Mamudoon glanced off of them, curse nails clattering uselessly to the ground and blood-slick handprints sizzling away on contact with the shields, and Oracle almost had time to breathe a sigh of relief. Fourth heartbeat, the hack was almost done, but a shadow fell over her, pain lanced through her abdomen and... she was suddenly a lot more preoccupied with whatever that little point of silver was poking out of her suit than whatever it was over her shoulder. Fifth heartbeat, more painful than the last four as red seeped out around-- ah, that was the tip of a spear. She’d been stabbed clean through her diaphragm. Rude.

And then the world went sideways.

The Shadow--Eligor?--had flung her across the field with his spear still run through her and Futaba was distantly aware of several screams as she’d gone sailing through the air. Her vision went hazy as she bounced off of a wall and thumped to the ground. Man, how hard had that thing thrown her? She was either concussed or just delirious, because the last thing she saw before blacking out was Joker and some little blond girl laying into the enemy with an army of teddy bears with dynamite strapped to them.

The next thing after that was pain. Futaba didn’t so much regain consciousness as she was dropped unceremoniously into it like a pool of ice water and agony. One arm flailed blindly, trying to push away the hands that were holding her down, the other grabbed at her face in attempt to summon Necronomicon in her panic. Utterly blind to the Shadows that had her but if she could just get her persona out she’d be safe there, she’d be away from the fight, she wouldn’t hurt so damn much, she just needed to escape. But her mask was gone, her hand smacked uselessly against her face and pain was overshadowed by terror. Shadows had her pinned, Necronomicon was gone, this was how she was gonna die, wasn’t it? One hand was still free, she ignored the way every rib in her chest screamed in protest to fling one last defiant fist out at whatever had her trapped, and connected hard with--

“OW! Dammit, Oracle calm the hell down! You’re just hurtin’ yourself worse!” Ryuji’s voice snapped as a hand gripped her wrist, firm but gentle. The panicked haze in her head cleared a little and her eyes came into focus enough to see Skull looking down at her. He was rubbing at a bruise on his jaw and pouting hard enough she could have laughed. Theoretically. Y’know, if every muscle in her abdomen hadn’t seized up hard enough to keep her from breathing through the pain when she tried. Instead, all that came out was a strangled whimper and she tried not to focus on her vision going grey at the edges or the black spots that danced in front of her eyes.

“Easy.” Queen’s voice soothed as fingers gently combed through Futaba’s hair. “We had just enough stamina left to fix the worst of your injuries, but you’re still pretty beat up. Thankfully we still have enough medicine to do things the old-fashioned way.” Makoto was off to her left, uncapping a container of weird smelling ointment after she released Oracle’s other hand. Futaba tried to crane her neck to see who had her head in their lap only to have every bruise across her entire left side throb at once at the movement. A choked sob escaped her and her head spun, stomach roiling as tears blurred her vision. Skull’s hand slid up from her wrist to lace his fingers with hers and she squeezed back hard.

Whoever was holding her head and petting her hair stopped long enough to wipe the tears away from her face as they welled up. “Try not to move until Mako-chan has finished,” Haru murmured and ran her fingers gently through her hair again. “Can you move your right arm?” Futaba released Ryuji’s fingers and raised it gingerly rather than try to answer verbally. Why risk her voice cracking partway through or just flat out screaming as soon as she unclenched her jaw?

“Good. Show me where it hurts.” Makoto ordered gently. Oracle winced and released a shuddering breath as she gestured weakly to her entire left side. Her vision blurred again and Haru cleared just it as quickly. Ryuji took her hand again rather than let it drop and hurt her from jostling herself.

“Broken?” Futaba rasped quietly. The searing ache in her ribs every time she even breathed meant she barely managed to force enough air into her lungs to get even that much out.

The beat of silence was broken only by the sound of fabric being shredded as Queen sliced through her shirt to survey the damage underneath, then she finally answered, “no, nothing’s broken. That was the second thing we checked when we got to you.” The hacker managed a quizzical noise in the back of her throat, only to suck in a sharp breath through her teeth as Makoto started applying the ointment. The touch was gentle but still felt like Queen was dragging the knife over her bruises rather than her ungloved fingers. “Your... your pulse. It was weak, but still there.” Queen finally answered, her voice slightly thick.

Futaba managed to huff a weak laugh that time and that medicine was apparently doing its work because she barely even got any tunnel vision when she did. “Hack?”

Skull squeezed her hand a little, maybe to comfort her and soothe the fear clear on her face, maybe to force some circulation back into the fingers she was strangling the life out of. “Sophie finished it up for ya. Basically just hit the open button after Joker cleared her a path,” he chuckled, but his smile didn’t meet his eyes. Behind him, the rest of the team--minus Queen and Noir--watched at a distance to keep from crowding her. Mona up on Fox’s shoulder, each of them alternating between watching for more enemies and keeping an eye on their preoccupied teammates; Panther with one arm around Sophie and rubbing soothing circles on her shoulder, although it wasn’t clear whose comfort it was for judging by the wobble in Ann’s lower lip; Joker was a few steps away from the other group, mouth pressed into a tight line and hand occasionally reaching to his side like he would have been flipping his dagger as a distraction if he hadn’t passed it off to Queen. Every single one of them was visibly paler as they watched Futaba receive treatment with red-rimmed eyes and tense shoulders. Oracle’s chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with her injuries to realize how terrified they’d obviously been, even Joker. Maybe especially Joker; he was always so cool and collected and stoic even when shit was about to really hit the fan, so if she could see how scared he was under his mask, especially that far away...

Dwelling on it wasn’t going to help. Thinking about it and working herself up into a panic attack definitely wasn’t going to help. Especially when hyperventilating was probably the worst thing she could have done to her bruised ribs right then. Eventually Ryuji was sent away in favor of Ann and Sophia when Makoto had to start cutting away her shirt past what was decent to get at the rest of her injuries. Sophie brought one of the “armor” pieces they’d leveled past--an oversized hoodie with a nonsense motto in English that Futaba had called dibs on and wouldn’t let Akira sell--as well as Joker’s trench coat, both meant to cover her up when they were done. At Ann and Makoto’s insistence, the boys were banished entirely to the Monabus with no argument. Somehow that lack of argument is what really drove it home for her. It was almost funny, it wasn’t the bruises or the pain. No, the lack of Ann and Ryuji bickering, that was what made it real.

Futaba had almost died.

From there things were just sort of a haze of soft words barely keeping down the panic attack building in her chest while the other girls on the team patched her up. They wrapped her injuries that the medicine couldn’t completely work its magic on, they wrapped Futaba in the hoodie and coat to get her presentable long enough to make it to the next checkpoint, and they planned to wrap up the infiltration for the next couple of hours so everyone could get some rest after running on fumes. Of course, when Ann gave her a hand up, Oracle’s knees wouldn’t support her. Akira was kneeling in front of her in a flash, quieter than usual without the rustling of his coat to give him away, and thankfully kind enough to ignore her yelp of surprise when he materialized.

“I can carry you, it’s not too far--” Futaba didn’t even wait for him to finish his offer before gratefully and bonelessly draping herself across his back. The rest of the group scouted ahead and Mona took over navigator duty to make sure no more Shadows got the drop on them between there and the exit.

“Onward, noble steed.” She mumbled into the material of Joker’s vest, arms thrown loosely around his neck as he shifted her a little higher and a little less likely to slide off onto the ground. Huh, Ryuji was right, Akira did always smell like coffee and curry. He smelled like Leblanc, like home and Sojiro and--oh god, if she’d died, what would they have told him? What would her dad have done without her? He’d closed himself off almost as hard as Futaba had after her mom had died, how would he have handled--

“Hey.” Akira’s voice was low and soft when he pulled her up out of her downward spiral, and she felt it rumbling in his chest more than she actually heard it. “Deep breaths. Match me, okay?” Futaba did her best to follow along with his pattern; slow inhale, hold, slow exhale. It was shaky and still hurt, but eventually she fell into rhythm with it. “Just keep breathing. In and out. You’re doing great. Is there anything else you need me to do?”

“Keep talking, that’s all. ‘S calming.” Futaba added with a weak chuckle, “you should do ASMR, dude. You’d make bank.”

“I’ll think about it.” Akira hummed in thought as she worked on keeping her breathing even. “We can talk about whatever you need after you’ve gotten some rest in the real world, we’re almost to the checkpoint now. I’m sorry...” he trailed off, readjusted his grip on her legs as he hoisted her further up on his back, and started again, “I’m sorry I did this. I knew it was dangerous because we were all exhausted and you all warned me it was a risk but it was my call and I pushed us because I thought it’d be okay. The checkpoint was just on the other side, but then you took that hit and I was terrified I’d just gotten you killed because we were all out of energy and--”

Futaba awkwardly patted the side of his head with one shaky hand and he leaned into the touch while his babbling slowed but didn’t stop. It was kinda cute and a little funny how he acted more like a cat than Morgana did sometimes. But that wasn’t what she was trying to do. After the third pat, she found where his ear was hiding under that thick mop of curly hair and yanked on it.

“OW, THE HELL--???” Akira’s voice was a lot less soothing when it was that loud and the shout made her head pound and the rest of the team whip around in alarm. At least he’d stopped hyperventilating and holding her tight enough to leave bruises. As if she needed more.

“Those are not calming words, Joker.” She grumbled against his back.

“Right. Sorry.” He waved off the other thieves, who all had their hands halfway to their weapons like they were ready for another ambush after he’d yelped.

“We can definitely talk about it later, but I get the first Futaba Almost Died Panic Attack, okay? You can have the second one.” It was meant more as a joke, but once she’d said it, it actually seemed pretty fair.

“Sounds good. Any other requests?” He laughed, although the sound was really more of a quiet little huff, all nerves and no humor.

“Hmmm. I get to pick dinner for the rest of the vacation.” Futaba said matter-of-factly, hoping to lighten the mood until they were in the clear.

Akira sighed and, after taking a moment to readjust her on his back again and catch up to the rest of the group, nodded. “I’ll stock up on curry supplies when we get back.”

[teenwolffanclub-me]

Season 1, Episode 11: Formality

Hey there beautiful reader! If you’re new here, this is a series I’m writing where each chapter is an episode from the first season of Teen Wolf. If you’ve been here before, hey! I missed you! Previous and future chapters are linked at the end of each part if you want to catch up.

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader (FINALLY!)

Warnings: angsty angst angst

Notes: Does anyone still like this series? The last part kinda flopped 🤨

Anyway, I’m back and super excited bc my babies are FINALLY official and they only had to almost die like three times to do it!

P.S. Lydia has terrible taste in men, Y/N still sucks at being a psychic, and the high school desperately needs more security

                                                  ————————

Have you ever had a day go so unbelievably sideways that you honestly can’t even comprehend how fucked up it is?

Yeah, welcome to my Friday.

“This is the worst! My life is literally over.”

I huffed in annoyance, my jaw dropping at the pure absurdity of that statement. “Scott, Peter tried kidnapping you this morning and you’re worried about a dance?”

He frowned from beside me, his shoulders sagging. Last night, Deaton tried making Stiles and I leave the clinic once he was all patched up, but we both refused. I still wasn’t completely convinced that he was alive until he woke up with a start this morning.

It didn’t take long for Peter to show up, demanding that we hand him over. Actually, I can’t really say we because the three of us hid in the back while Deaton somehow took care of it.

Derek was still hanging out in the Argent’s basement, probably being tortured by Kate but most likely dead by now. I tried talking to Allison when I got to school this morning, but she practically ran away from me when I brought it up. I had no idea how much she knew at this point, and it was freaking me out.

And, to top it all off, Scott was flunking so many classes that coach banned him from the dance tonight.

Clearly, that was the most pressing issue.

He was so desperate afterward that he asked Jackson to watch over Allison, since he is her date. He apparently refused because it’s Jackson, so Scott had been losing his mind with worry all day. He was convinced that Peter would be after her next, but I wasn’t so sure.

She wasn’t an obvious choice. I mean, her family is literally just a bunch of professional werewolf hunters. Adding her to his pack wouldn’t make much sense.

“I just—I can’t sit by and watch him try to kill everyone I love.” Scott forced a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh.

My steps faltered and I peered over at him, my eyebrows raised in surprise. “You love her?”

“Oh,” His eyes widened as he realized what he said. “Yeah. I do. Holy shit. I love her.”

I watched as his lips slowly pulled into a grin, relieved that he wasn’t freaking out for a moment. It’d been pretty obvious for awhile that they loved each other, and I was honestly shocked it had taken him this long to acknowledge it, but happy for him nonetheless.

“That’s it. I’m going tonight.” His face hardened with determination before he turned on his heel and walked away briskly.

“Okay. Bye to you too!” I chuckled, curious to see how he’d manage to sneak in.

I only made it a few steps before someone rammed into my side forcefully. A pair of hands gripped my arms to steady me as I nearly toppled over. My eyes narrowed as they landed on Stiles’ sheepish expression.

“Hey. Sorry.” He let me go quickly and scratched at the back of his head. “Where have you been?”

“Class..?” I drawled slowly, my eyes trailing over his twitchy frame slowly. He seemed more wired than normal, which was saying a lot. 

His chest was heaving as if he’d just run a mile—which I’d recently learned he was surprisingly incapable of—and his eyes were shining with barely contained anxiety.

“I just...uh—I have a, I’ve been trying to...will you go to formal with me?” He rushed the words out so quickly, it took me a second to process them.

I just stared at him, waiting a moment to see if he was going to follow that up with anything else. “You mean the one that’s tonight? Are you serious?”

His honey eyes widened, as if he wasn’t expecting that response. I mean, what else was I supposed to say? I’d been waiting for him to ask me for almost two weeks now, and he waits until the day of? Who does that?

“Uh,” He glanced away from me quickly, his cheeks turning pink under the fluorescent lights. “Not if you’re going to say no.”

I just rolled my eyes, ignoring the way my heart began fluttering at the thought of going with him. I took a step forward so that there were only a few inches separating us and leaned up to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“It’s a date.” I patted his chest before walking away, an amused smirk pulling at my lips at his stunned expression.

                                                      ————————

I let my fingers trail over the frilly materials hanging in front of me as I took in my options. I was failing miserably at finding something decent to wear tonight. I wasn’t used to dressing up or being overly girly, so I had no idea where to start. I’d really just been standing here for the last several minutes, overwhelmed by all the colors and textures.

Allison was standing to my left, inspecting a few dresses in a full length mirror. Lydia was long gone somewhere behind me with a mountain of cloth in her arms. I picked up a knee-length blue dress and decided it wouldn’t hurt to try it on.

I saw someone approaching Allison out of my corner of my eye and glanced her way fleetingly, but froze as my gaze locked with Peter’s. I looked around, not fully believing that he was here, before jerking my attention back to him. He gave me a slow, amused smirk before shifting his eyes toward her. My head whipped back to the dresses in front of me, my entire body going rigid as I tried not to alarm her.

Maybe Scott had been right this afternoon. But would he really try to turn her now? In the middle of the mall?

“That’s not your color.” I heard him murmur, and stole another look their way. I didn’t want Allison to catch on that I knew him, or that anything was wrong. Very, very wrong. 

Allison shifted her weight, looking uncomfortable as he stared at her intensely. “Sorry if that was intrusive but, considering your skin tone, I’d go lighter.”

“Because I’m pale?” She asked quietly, somehow not questioning the fashion advice from a strange man.

“Fair.” He corrected, his head tilting as he tried to look well-meaning. “I mean, you can’t call skin like yours pale. Not skin that perfect...”

“Okay.” She laughed awkwardly and put the dress she was considering back on the rack beside her.

“Trust me, I have a...unique perspective on the subject.” She nodded and turned to walk away with a tight smile, obviously weirded out, but he stepped to the side so she couldn’t get away. My skin crawled at the predatory gleam in his eyes as he practically sized her up.

She watched nervously as he grabbed a new dress from the rack behind him and took her hand in his. She reeled back instantly at the unwelcome touch, but that didn’t stop him from bringing her skin up beside the material for comparison. “See? Much better.”

I’d heard enough. I took the few steps needed to close the distance between us, my heart racing in my chest. I wasn’t convinced that he was stupid enough to try anything wolfy in public, but I wasn’t about to take any chances, either. I stopped at her side and grabbed her wrist gently. Her wide eyes jerked toward me, swimming with relief. 

“Hey, Lydia needs help in the dressing room.” I rushed the lie out quickly, barely registering that she nodded in understanding before pulling her away.

I didn’t even spare another glance at Peter as I weaved through the narrow isles briskly, not stopping until I found Lydia clear on the other end of the store. She actually was by the dressing rooms, posing to herself in a full length mirror. I staggered to a halt at the sight of the champagne dress she had on. It was somehow...familiar?

“That was so creepy.” Allison muttered quietly as she shook my hand off and plopped down onto one of the plush chairs beside the mirrors.

I walked right up to Lydia, unable to stop myself as I continued inspecting her dress. She watched me for a moment and raised her eyebrows expectantly when my gaze rose to meet hers. My face pinched in confusion. There was a persistent nagging at the back of my mind as I looked at her, like there was something I should be picking up on. But I just couldn’t place it.

“I think that’s the one.” I jumped as Allison suddenly spoke up from behind us. I cleared my throat and took a step away from Lydia, realizing how weird I was being.

She turned away from me with one last questioning glance before giving herself a satisfied smile in the mirror, her hands smoothing down the silky material before resting on her hips.

“Me too.” She spun around excitedly and disappeared behind one of the dressing room curtains.

I couldn’t explain it, but I suddenly felt my stomach twist as a dark cloud of dread washed over me.

                                                    ————————

I looked over Stiles’ shoulder, the hardwood floors beneath my feet vibrating as loud music rang throughout the space. We were slow dancing for the second time tonight, my arms locked around his neck and my head resting against his chest. It was really nice, being this close to him. It helped lower the base level of anxiety I’d been fighting all day.

It’d been nearly an hour since I last saw any of our friends. We all met up with our respective dates at the start of the dance, Lydia having brought a random lacrosse player since Jackson was with Allison. Just then, my eyes found them dancing stiffly a few couples away, but the sight did little to calm my nerves. 

He was completely wasted at this point, since he thought it was a good idea to bring a flask of vodka with him, and she was just trying to make the best of it until we all went home. It was clear that neither of them wanted to be here together, but Scott had pretty much threatened him into watching over her, and she didn’t want to be without a date.

Scott successfully snuck in through the roof—don’t ask me how—and was managing to keep an eye on them while dodging coach all night. My eyes swept over the room, seeing nothing but familiar faces, just not the one I was looking for. 

Stiles suddenly pulled back and my arms loosened from around his neck. His eyes rounded as they flickered around my face with concern. “You okay?” 

I glanced over his shoulder again, feeling uncomfortable under his intense gaze. I didn’t want to lie to him, but I also didn’t know how to explain the uneasy feeling I’d had since we got here. My dancing faltered as I noticed that Jackson and Allison were gone.

“Have you seen Lydia recently?” I asked absently, my eyes still sweeping around the gym quickly.

I took a step away from Stiles and turned all the way around, my chest tightening with anxiety. For some reason, I felt like I needed to find her. Right now. Or something terrible was going to happen. My anxiety was quickly rising to panic when I didn’t see her anywhere. 

“Y/N?” Stiles put a hand on my shoulder and I glanced back to see him watching me closely, his brows pinched in confusion.

“I have to...” My skin was crawling with the intense need to get out of here. Something was wrong. I could just feel it. I leaned forward to place a quick kiss on his cheek, already feeling guilty for what I was about to do. “I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.”

I started jogging away before he could try and stop me. My legs had a mind of their own as I stumbled through the dense crowd toward the exit. I braced my hands against the gym doors and pushed my way through, stopping for a moment as they fluttered closed behind me to consider where she could be. I huffed, feeling an urgency deep inside me that was only growing with each passing moment. 

I turned on my heel to keep moving, and slammed right into a hard chest. I reeled back, ready to brush past whoever it was, but stopped when I saw that it was Jackson. His chest was heaving, as if he’d been running, and his eyes were wide with fear. 

“Jackson?” I asked tentatively, the look he was giving me only increasing my unease.

He stammered silently for a few seconds, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly. His eyes fluttered as they glanced away from me apprehensively. He was acting like he’d just seen a ghost, or maybe something worse. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I pressed, taking a step toward him. 

He gulped and let out a shuddering sigh. “I-I was out behind the school and...and I was...”

“What? What did you do?” My voice hardened with frustration as I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously. He had definitely been up to something, if his guilt-ridden expression was any indication. I momentarily forgot what I was supposed to be doing as my curiosity peaked. 

“I-I told...Allison’s dad, he was...”

My heart skipped a beat with panic at his words. Mr. Argent was behind the school? Why would he...

Oh shit. 

Oh my God. 

Without even sparing him another glance, I rushed past him and straight down the hall. Within seconds I was outside, the freezing night air causing my skin to rise with goosebumps instantly. My head whipped from side to side as I tried to figure out which way to go. On instinct, I starting running toward the lacrosse field. 

My heart was hammering painfully in my chest as I sprinted as fast as humanly possible. I was suddenly very glad that I’d chosen to wear ballet flats tonight, instead of the heels Lydia had tried forcing me to buy. I let my intuition guide me as I kept going until I reached the edge of the field. 

I staggered to a stop, my eyes widening at the sight of Lydia standing at the other end. Her back was to me as she walked around slowly, looking lost. I opened my mouth to call her name, feeling my chest loosen just slightly at the fact that she was okay. 

I froze, my whole body growing rigid with fear as Peter suddenly emerged from the tree line just outside the field. His figure was mostly cloaked by the bright stadium lights as he approached her, and it didn’t seem like she’d seen him yet. 

“Lydia!” I screamed, finally finding my voice through the panic coursing through me. I started running in her direction again, having no plan but just needing to be there with her. 

She whipped around at the sound of her name, but made no move to get away. There was nothing I could do but watch in horror as Peter stalked toward her and opened his mouth wide, his eyes flashing bright red. She didn’t react nearly fast enough. 

By the time I reached them, she was laying in a crumpled heap on the turf, blood splattered across her dress. All the air rushed from my lungs as a heavy sense of déjà vu washed over me. 

Of course, how could I be so stupid? It was the vision I’d seen when Derek helped me, finally playing out in real life. 

I let out a trembling breath, my chest feeling like it would collapse any second from the intense pressure. My mind went blank as Peter kneeled over her body, blood dripping down his face. His eyes, still red, slowly swept up to meet mine. 

“Well, they don’t usually run toward me, but I’ll take it.” He muttered lowly, an amused smirk twitching at his lips.

My eyes were still locked onto Lydia’s unconscious frame beneath him. Her new dress was ripped, the red stain at her hip growing alarmingly fast. My heart clenched painfully and tumbled down into my stomach at the sight. 

I was too late.

Peter took his time standing to his full height. I could feel his intense gaze on me, watching me closely, but I couldn’t look away from Lydia. She was so...broken. A wave of nausea washed over me and I forced my eyes to meet his.

My vision blurred as I tried desperately to catch my breath. “Is she dead?”

My voice was barely above a hoarse whisper, my entire body trembling. It was from the overwhelming terror being this close to Peter initiated, but I wasn’t just scared. I was angry. I knew something was going to happen all day, and I ignored my instincts. I saw this very thing happen weeks ago, but did nothing. And now, Lydia might be dead. Because of me. 

Peter hummed low in his throat, his eyes scanning me from head to toe before glancing down at her fleetingly. “Not at the moment.”

A few tears escaped down my cheeks as I tore my gaze away from him to look at her again. I wasn’t even sure if she was breathing. If she was still alive, it was just barely.

My panic only rose as I thought about how unlikely it was that I’d get out of this situation in time to bring her to a hospital. Her chances of survival were dropping by the second. And mine too, probably. 

“Tell me, Y/N, what do you see in my future?” Peter look a slow step toward me, and I stumbled back to keep some distance between us. 

My eyes jerked up to his as I stiffened, a shiver wracking my body as I became more aware of the freezing temperature. “How do you know about that?”

The earth crunched beneath his shoes as he stalked toward me. I stood impossibly still, knowing I wouldn’t be able to escape him. He didn’t stop until he loomed only inches away.

“How does anyone know anything?” He murmured hoarsely into my ear, and I recoiled back, my stomach clenching painfully in disgust. My eyes pinched shut as one of his hands came up to brush a stray lock of hair away from my face. “You, my dear, would make a fantastic beta.”

My eyes jerked open again and I took a miniscule step away from him, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. “Trust me, I wouldn’t. I’ve been told I can be really annoying. I wouldn’t make a good beta. Or a good anything, really. I’m hardly a psychic. You should just keep searching because, you know, whatever it is you’re looking for...isn’t me.”

“Oh, I think I’m willing to take my chances.” Time seemed to slow as his eyes flashed bright red, his mouth opening wide to show his razor sharp canines. 

I whipped around, ready to at least attempt running for my life, but instantly froze at the sight of Stiles barreling toward us. 

“No!” I shouted frantically, my heart leaping into my throat with panic.

A strong arm wrapped around my stomach and wrenched me backward. I slammed against Peter’s chest, hard. The air was knocked out of my lungs from the force, just as a clawed hand snaked around my throat.

Stiles lurched to a stop in front of us, his dress shoes slipping on the damp turf. He flailed to the ground before popping back up instantly, his eyes wide with horror as they glanced down at Lydia before landing on me.

“Don’t kill her. Please.” His voice was trembling with desperation as he held a hand out toward us hesitantly.

The tips of Peter’s claws dug into my skin and I winced, tears now running freely down my face. I was terrified. For myself, Lydia, and now Stiles. Peter had killed many times before, and there was literally nothing stopping him now. Stiles’ eyes flickered to my neck, his jaw clenching tightly. 

“Of course not. Just tell me how to find Derek.” Peter drawled, as if he wasn’t currently poised to do the opposite. 

“W-what?” Stiles stammered, seemingly surprised by that request. His gaze was still firmly planted on Peter’s hand.

I felt a sharp stabbing at the base of my throat and my lips parted as a shuddering gasp escaped me. He was surely drawing blood at this point. Stiles’ eyes widened with alarm at the sight and his hand jerked toward us as if he were itching to intervene. 

“Tell me how to find Derek Hale.” Peter leaned down, his warm breath fanning my shoulder. I tried jerking my head away, my heart lurching in my chest at his close proximity, but didn’t get far with his tight hold around me. 

“I don’t know that! How would I know that?” Stiles’ voice rose to a frantic shout, his chest heaving as his glistening eyes finally moved up to Peter. 

“You’re the clever one, aren’t you? And because deception has a very particularly accurate scent, Stiles. Tell me the truth. Or I will rip her apart.”

As if to prove the validity behind his words, his hand tightened around my throat. I instantly started pulling at his fingers as I felt my airway closing. My lips parted in a silent gasp, my lungs spasming painfully as I tried to force a breath in. 

“Look. I don’t know! Okay?” Stiles rushed the words out in a complete panic, his eyes darting between Peter and my neck. Tiny black spots dotted my vision as I felt myself growing faint. “I swear—I swear to God I have no idea!”

Peter hummed low in his throat, his chest vibrating against my back. “Wrong again.” 

Everything that happened next must’ve taken place in only a few seconds, but they seemed to drag on and on. Peter’s head jerked down to my left shoulder, his teeth digging into my skin easily. A scream tore through my throat as he finally released it, my vision blurring as unbearable pain rippled along my upper body. 

Stiles face crumbled in utter horror and he lunged toward me just as Peter’s arms disappeared. I tried gasping for breath as I sagged to the ground, but my body just wasn’t cooperating. It felt like Stiles caught me, but I couldn’t be sure as I lost all feeling in my limbs.

Then, everything went black. 

                                                    ————————

I stirred, already wincing in pain as I slowly regained consciousness. A high pitched droning was the only sound in my otherwise quiet surroundings. My eyes fluttered open and instantly squinted against the harsh fluorescent lights above me.

Everything felt heavy. I sluggishly started turning my head away from the lights, but jerked to a stop as searing pain radiated from my shoulder. My face fell into a grimace as a pitiful groan escaped my lips.

Something shuffled at the foot of my bed and I froze. My heart jumped in my chest with panic. Memories of Peter came flooding back all at once, and I started trembling with fear at the unknown presence.

Stiles jerked upright, appearing at my side a split second later. I let out a small sigh of relief, wincing as my lungs angrily protested each breath I took. My body began relaxing as I realized I was safe. 

“Oh my God! Y/N!” He practically yelled in my face as he leaned down over me. “Are you okay? Wait, that’s a stupid question. How are you feeling? Does it hurt?” 

One of his hands disappeared beneath the thin mesh blanket covering my body and he pulled out a hallow cord with a small switch in the middle. “If it hurts you can push this button as much as you want and I won’t tell. You’ll be higher than a kite, but—”

“Stiles.” My voice was barely above a hoarse whisper as I interrupted his frantic rambling. “I feel okay. Just tired.”

Truthfully, I hadn’t been awake long enough to know how I felt. I’d gathered that I was in the hospital, but obviously didn’t know much else. My entire left side hurt like hell.

My eyes trailed over Stiles quickly, noting that he was still wearing his clothes from the dance. His white button up was stained with blood and dirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His black jacket had been discarded on a table by the door.

Maybe it hadn’t been long, then?

“Seriously?” He sagged down into the chair that sat beside my bed, his eyes widening in surprise. “You were asleep for almost thirty hours.”

“I was what?” I planted my hands on either side of my hips and pushed myself up, ignoring the pain that ripped through my shoulder at the movement. 

How the hell had I been out that long? That meant it was already Sunday, although probably somewhere around midnight. Too many panicked thoughts invaded my mind at once to make sense out of any one of them. 

Stiles bolted back to his feet and pushed me against the bed with a disapproving glare. “It was actually twenty eight hours, forty seven minutes, and sixteen seconds, if that makes you feel better.”

“You know what, somehow it does.” I huffed sarcastically with a roll of my eyes, wiggling around on the hard mattress in an effort to get comfortable again. 

Stiles twitched his eyes at me while he sat back down apprehensively, as if not trusting me to stay put. He brought a hand up to rub at the back of his neck as he glanced down to my injured shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Y/N...”

“For what?” My brows furrowed in confusion. I really had no idea why he would be apologizing. There was definitely a list of people that should feel bad right now, but he wasn’t one of them. 

“I should’ve listened. If I’d just told him what he wanted...” He let out a heavy sigh and rested his elbows onto his knees before dropping his head into his hands. 

I reached out and took one of his hands in mine, rubbing my fingers across his skin soothingly as he looked up at me cautiously. He had no reason to blame himself. Peter had already proven time and time again that he’s literally insane, and I’d made the stupid decision to run toward him mid-attack. I had a feeling he would’ve bitten me either way, regardless of anything Stiles did. 

“It’s not your fault.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes glistening with a slew of intense emotions. 

I didn’t even have time to start deciphering them before he sat forward in his chair, his face hardening with determination. “I should’ve brought this up before I had to watch you almost die, but...you’re not—you know, how you are with me...with any other guys, right?”

His voice was timid as he struggled to stutter out the words. My heart swelled in my chest as my lips pulled up into a small smile. That was the most adorable, perfect, Stiles way of phrasing that question. For a moment, I forgot about all my worries.

“Stilinski, are you asking me to be your girlfriend?” 

His eyes twitched as he squeezed his fingers around mine minutely. “Only if you’re gonna say yes.”

I didn’t even have to think about it for a second. 

“Of course I’m saying yes, you dork.” I let out a breathy giggle as a big grin took over his face. 

His caramel eyes shined with happiness as he brought my hand against his mouth to place a gentle kiss on my fingers. It was about damn time we had that conversation. I honestly shouldn’t be surprised that it took us this long to make things official, considering how stubborn we both are. Regardless, it felt amazing to finally be able to call him my boyfriend. 

My boyfriend, Stiles. It had a nice ring to it. 

I only let myself relish the moment for a few more seconds before finally asking about the one thing I’d been dreading thinking about since waking up.

“How’s Lydia? Is she...?” I trailed off, not able to say the word out loud. 

When I’d seen her last, she was only moments away from death. I was sure of it. If I’d been here this long from a bite to the shoulder, I couldn’t imagine the damage that had been done to her. My heart clenched with regret as I thought back to all the moments I could’ve done something differently that would’ve saved her. 

Stiles winced beside me, hesitating for a long moment before answering in a quiet mumble. “She’s uh...missing.”

“Excuse me?” I instantly tried bolting upright at his words, my anxiety skyrocketing. Missing? How could she be missing?

He guided me back down gently with a hand on my uninjured shoulder, his eyes narrowing again in warning. “Yeah. She just kinda disappeared from her room this morning.”

It was like he could sense that I was about to try getting up again, as he peered down at me sternly and pressed his hand down more firmly. “My dad already has the entire department out searching. There’s nothing you can do.”

My mind was racing with anxious, jumbled thoughts. She could’ve been taken if no one was sitting by her bedside like Stiles had clearly done for me. Or, she could’ve run away. But why would she do that? She was in the hospital. Where she was safe and getting treatment. I guess, there was always a chance that she’d taken to the bite and shifted already...

I didn’t know what any of this meant for me. I could only assume at this point that I wasn’t a werewolf. I mean, my shoulder clearly hadn’t miraculously healed yet. I figured, if I were, it would’ve done so by now. I was just incredibly glad—and lucky—to be alive. 

My eyes met Stiles’ as he leaned back in his chair and inspected me closely. He kept glancing toward the place where Peter had bitten me as he drummed his fingers against his lips. It was like he couldn’t tear his gaze away. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I breathed, suddenly nervous. His anxious expression couldn’t mean anything good.  

“There’s something I keep—something Derek said awhile ago that I can’t get out of my head.” He mumbled, his eyebrows furrowing in apprehension. 

I looked at him expectantly, urging him to continue. He was seriously starting to freak me out.

“The bite—he said it either kills you...and I think we’re good on that one...”

I glowered at his poorly timed sarcasm as his eyes continued flickering between my own and my shoulder. He swallowed thickly, and I could practically see his heart racing as he let out a ragged sigh. He finally caught my gaze, twitching uncomfortably in his seat. 

“Or it changes you.”

Well, shit.

Episode 10                 Episode 12