#*holds him close* ill die for you red boy

[tei-to-tei]

he loves butterflies, your honor

[oraclekleins]

hello hello!! i discovered you a few hours ago and LOVE your content<3

could i request a joost klein x gn!reader where the reader is also competing in eurovision, representing {readers country} and basically they are already dating and joost kind of gets jealous because readers new make up artist got a little TOO touchy.. once they get back to their shared hotel room he expresses that jealousy by getting a bit more clingy?

when reader tried to ask about whats wrong he just kisses them or brushes it off as not important :3

thank you if you accept my request and have a great day <3

ill be 🩵anon if that’s okay!

Hii! Thanks for being so sweet, nonnie! Hope this is up to your liking. 💙 I changed the prompt a little iiif that's alright, so here's kind of an aftermath of that. ^^ I love any feedback.

You're Overcomplicating Things . . -> Jealous!Joost Klein x Reader

The buzzing of Joost's phone wakes him with a start. 

His head turns a bit to the side, slowed from exhaustion. Joost's vision is still catching up with him, the living room gauzed in a radial blur; he feels like he’s wading through quicksand — dragging himself to sit up, before his arm catches another body. You're curled onto the left side of the bed, unmoving —  the pillow your arm was wrapped around having ended up on the floor. There’s a spot of drool on your hoodie, plush lips tugged along the bold Eurovision logo of your sleeve. 

“Morning,” Joost mumbles, patting the cushions for his phone. His voice is groggy, scratched dry from the shitty beers you two had downed the night before. He grimaces at the spit webbed on the top of his mouth, flicks at it with his tip of tongue in disgust. He moves to gently push at your leg; it’s hot, too hot for you to lounge this close; there’s a pool of sweat sinking into the crook of his chest — he feels gross, sticky, uncomfortable. There's a heavy silence in the air. It feels like you did something wrong, but you can't place your finger on it. You stir in response, a whine of annoyance rumbling from your throat. You blink over to see what Joost's all worked up about, who’s grabbing his phone from the nightstand, pinching at his forehead.

"Good morning — what's wrong?" You're still waking up, clearing the spit from your throat. Biting back a cough, you manage to sit up, pressing on the wrinkles from your shirt.

Joost offers you a tired smile, moving to kiss your forehead. "Long day ahead, right? Hop to it." A bit of enthusiasm pokes out of his voice as the words die out, his lips trailing to your jaw, pressing into it. It feels like he's hiding from you, even when he's slotted into your side like a puzzle piece, lazily tracing his fingers against your hip.

He's sulking, the boy-shape trying to disappear into your skin, upset and loathing.

Your fingers find his curls, gently raking your nails across his scalp. He makes a noise of satisfaction, face nestling closer to your collarbone.

You would know his envious touches through death. There were small, red marks around your waist where he had been pressing into it, marking you, yet.. gentle. Apologetically, he rubbed his thumb over them, turning his face from you.

"Joost," you sigh, "you think it's stupid," he perks up. "Right? That's why you won't tell me."

His bottom lip is caught between his teeth. "Your makeup, it looked good yesterday. The new artist. Good." Joost fixates on the blanket under you both, looking anywhere but at you. "Good connection."

"Good connection?" He's already kissing the words from your mouth, stealing them from you. If he took them, then he wouldn't have to hear you say them. Listen to you accuse him — be disappointed. "Joost, let me," you're tired of this game already, and he's holding you like he can't get enough, arms tightly wrapped around your waist. You can feel the tense of panic in him, cold throughout his veins, a tremble to his grip.

You're prying his fingers away — careful, soft, not like a punishment. A warning. "You need to talk to me."

Joost is quiet for a minute. He's thinking. His uncomfortable grin is full of teeth, ones that graze on your irritability, biting into you like a peach. He doesn’t wipe the juice from his mouth —  instead lets it dry on his chin, picking at the stain. A rash of his own, festering nerves.

He sits up. Joost's tank hugs his figure. His hair is coiffed into loose, blonde strands of fray, kissing the back of his neck — bouncing when he tilts his head. He frowns. You wrap your arm around his shoulder, keeping him afloat.

"You do not rehearse today, yes?" Joost asks after a bit. You want to make a remark about how you have his schedule memorized, everything written down on your phones, laid out for him — it's a little mean. He doesn't need it right now.

Swinging your legs to the side of his bed, you nod. "Not today, yeah. You want me to come hang out with you?"

Joost nods, a little too fast.

You kiss the side of his head, pulling him back into your chest. "You need to tell me when you're upset. Even if you think I'm gonna get mad, or, I don't know — weirded out."

"I love you." You hum into shoulder. You're ghosting the pad of your thumb against his cheekbone. He looks satisfied, curling back into you.

Joost tangles your fingers. You know how this goes.

"I love you too."

Thanks for reading!

[s-rosie]

Javery hcssssssss #4

are you there goddddd it’s me fionaaaaaaa

jameson buys avery acrostic jewelry that says either cute messages or as clues for when he makes their dates a game (acrostic jewelry is jewelry that uses the first letter of jewels to spell out a word or message)

when jamie isn’t with ave and she says that she’s craving something or wants something he will order it to the house for her with a little message on the bag like “to avery from your mystery boy”

he can play electric guitar and she can sing so they make covers of songs together and just sing to have fun and it sounds really good

(this one is kinda reminiscent of some of my previous hcs) they once got caught making out in the library and when the teacher tried to give them detention they said that it never said in the rule book you can’t make out in the library (bc who would acc do it it’s just common sense…) and the teacher had to let them go but the next day the rules got updated with a “no making out in the library” rule on it and they put more cameras in that area

when they have whipped cream they always try to put it on the other’s nose/smear it on their face and it ends with a huge mess all over and like 5 empty cans of whipped cream

ave can rub a line down jamie’s forehead down his nose a few times with her pinky and he will fall asleep instantly and he won’t admit that he falls asleep that fast but she finds it adorable

to make them mad, nash gave them “the talk” when he found out they were sleeping together and wouldn’t let them leave until he was done and they were mortified but nash just found it funny

one time on her period ave bled through the sheets of jameson’s bed and she was so worried he would find it gross and want to leave her but he just told her it was natural and absolutely nothing to worry about and he gave her some of his really comfy oversized clothes and cuddled her after changing the sheets and helping her clean up

when they were still in school, jameson asked avery “so, want to come over to my room later and study 😏” but she was kinda clueless to what he meant so she was like “sure, i’ll make a quizlet” and he was like “no, we don’t need that, the test is on human anatomy” and she was like “oh i’m not taking biology this year so i don’t need to study but ill send you the link to my favorite anatomy blooket” and she didn’t realize what he really meant until a random 3:00 am 3 years later

once they accidentally left their handcuffs on the headboard from ✨activities✨ and ave filmed a grwm with those in the background and didn’t know until xander and max pointed it out and made fun of them

they hold each other’s pinky’s sometimes when they want to be close but still have their space and it’s adorable

jameson has a staring problem and will not stop looking at avery no matter what bc he just thinks she’s just so beautiful which causes alisa to get mad when jamie can’t even look at the reporters interviewing them bc he’s staring at avery but most of the fans find it adorable

he will grab her cheeks and pinch them slightly which causes her face to scrunch up which looks really cute and when her face is red from the pinching he says “haha i made you blush” which causes her to do the same and/or kiss his face all over until his face is red and say “now i made you blush”

on a couch or big comfy chair ave will sit on his lap (not in a spicy way but like how rachel sits on ross’ lap at central perk in friends) and he will cuddle her and whisper sweet nothings in her ear and kiss her face/neck while she giggles and kisses him back

jamie wears her jewelry and avery wears his jackets and sunglasses

the first time he put his hand on ave’s thigh she forgot how to breath/act like a normal human being and it was at a gala so there are photos of her from that gala trying not to die. she even says that the closest she’s ever come to dying wasn’t the shooting or plane bombing, but when jameson put his hand on her thigh for the first time

i’m trying something a little different with my hcs where i make them longer and add more context and stuff but make a little less so lmk if you like this better or the shorter ones!

also pls give me rqs bc i have motivation but i’m running out of ideas for hcs lollll

[fanficfanatic000]

(A date?) E.M one

Nerd loser eddie x nerd loser fem reader

Trigger warning 18 + content no minors

Summary ( the fem reader works at a craft shop .seems and patches. Reader has more alt style. Reader is 21 and Eddie's 22. Eddie dropped out of high-school after almost dieing. The reader has zero friendsUntil a certain boy came into your work.)

A usual day usually consists of older women asking for floral pattern fabric And the white thread until today It was afternoon when you heard the bell on the door ring as someone with clanking chains walked in "welcome to seems and patches anything ya looking looking for?"You had to greet every customer because The job made you. He walked up to the counter. His figure was tall and leaned back Slightly his ripped dark blue jeans slightly baggy and hanging over his dirty white sneakers. His black Metallica t shirt was slighty tight clinging to his chest under a Jean jacket and a Jean vest. His doe brown eyes looking at you with his small stubble on his chin and a grin. "Uh do you guys have any sew on patches?" He raised an eyebrow"Yep our patches would be in isle 8" you smile "yeah thank you..." his hand on the back of his neck and he gulped "um can you come with me... i kinda wanted a second opinion and...." he gets flustered from your stare "n-nevermind" you smile "no problem its a pretty slow day anyways" his face immediately brightened and the red from his face drained "thanks p-pretty girl" and that caught you of guard cause no one has said that. Your face turned pink "you okay?"He looked down at your name tag "y/n?"You awkwardly nodded yes "um yeah its just no one has ever said that..."He tilted his head "?thank you?" His nose slightly scrunched "no ive never r-really been called pretty" you look down and you walk towards the isle slowly "seriously?""Yep" you say popping the p "Well i think thats probably because you make them nervous so they could never get it out.." his words have you all red and filled with butterflies he runs infront of you and held his hand out "im eddie."You put your hand in his ringed hand "hi eddie" he smiles wide and his beautiful eyes sparkle then you made it to the patches. He grabs a Metallica patch and holds it to the Jean vest. "Where would this look good?" You grabbed the patch from him and put it on the left of his chest. The air heated from noticing how close he really was. "Here would look pretty good"You hear a shaky breath exhale from eddie "Yeah" his face a pink tint as he grabbed a patch with a little coffen on it "how about this one?" You put it under the spot of the other one. The sunsetting out side "um i gotta check out now my uncle wanted me to get pizza and he's probably so Starved" he laughs slightly. As he just gave you an explanation to leave a store. "Well eddie i hope you enjoy your new patches." You say scanning them he smiles "ya know im thinking ill need more tomorrow if a certain pretty girl will be here." He leaned foreword and winked playfully. And you handed him the patches and he stepped out the clear glass door and you watch as he fist pumped in the air then basically skipped away.

look for part two with hash tag

A date em

[vee-beeee]

Games

HIII

Another short fluffy and crack one one for yallll, because Im trying not to write 3 million words LOL

If you know what video this is from, you are a certified hood banger

Premise: The boys are a littleeee competitive

just a tad

but so are you

Warnings: anger, swearing maybe, big baby rage mad boys, poor gladio

Chocobros x reader

╰┈➤---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"UNO"

"Prompto, I swear to god, if you win again ill kill you"

"I'm joining in on that"

"Anything for his majesty"

Sooooo you were currently sitting at a picnic table, cards in hand, watching 3 angry men stare down a VERY scared Prom. The poor guy chuckled and shied away from the group while Noctis silently took his turn, slapping down a card as he continued to glare at the blonde. Ignis took his turn and as always, he took 5 minutes to analyze his cards. You bit the inside of your cheek, and looked down at your own cards, feeling a little bad for Prompto. But he had won 3 times already, so that made any guilt you felt fade away. This was war.

As you scanned your cards you found a pretty deadly one in the mix. Should you do it?

Should you play a +4 on Gladio when he only had 2 cards left?

He might actually strangle you, nobody would be able save you.

Oh well. You will die a peaceful death, suffocating in his bicep.

Your turn

"NO WHY" Gladio yelled out from next to you when he saw the card you gently threw into the pile, making you cringe away from the burly man. Noctis burst into laughter, and Ignis joined in silent chuckles when he saw the card.

"Y/n, baby, why would you do this too me??" you closed your eyes and sighed, slowly facing the man. You cracked one peeper open to see that he looked SO depressed, his shoulders were hunched and he was grumbling as he grabbed the extra cards. Feeling bad, you brushed your arm against his and gently leaned up to kiss his cheek. He just glared at you, and continued pouting.

Gladio finished taking all the cards, and soon it was Prompto's turn. Everyone waited with bated breathe as he sighed a reluctantly took one more card. Cue everyone cheering.

Prompto looked like a kicked puppy, so you leaned over to him to give him some encouragement. Kinda

"Just remember, you've won 2 times already" you winked and pulled yourself back to your original position as Prom reddened, and gave you a small smile. You returned it, and the game continued.

Finally, it was your turn once again. You turned to Gladio and saw him intensely staring at your cards, almost like he was scared of what was going to happen. You smirked to yourself and put down a regular red card, and you watched Gladio's body sag with relief. He exhaled and put down a green card (same number) without thinking twice.

And then everyone turned to Prompto, who sheepishly drew another card.

And then another.

And then another.

This went on for a WHILE

Prompto started screaming about how he "doesn't have a green" and your party started wheezing with laughter at the poor blonde.

Finally he managed to pull one.

Prom let out a relieved groan as he set down a green nine. He looked down at his massive amount of cards he accumulated and you counted that he had 10. You gave him a sad smile, and he opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted.

By Ignis telling Noct "not to do it"

You looked over and saw the prince shaking with laughter, as Ignis (having seen the card being shown to him) was desperately telling Noct not to do something.

And then he put down a green reverse card.

And Prompto almost burst into tears. He cried out one final "I DONT HAVE A GREEN" while Noctis fell backwards with laughter. You looked around the group, and mentally took a picture of everyone.

Promptos look of absolute betrayal, Gladio holding on to his stomach and wheezing, and Ignis with his head in his hands.

And of course, Noctis on the ground.

You leaned your face in your hands that were resting on the table and chuckled, and slightly kicked the giggling prince who was rolling under the table.

You loved game night.

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

Just a lil short one :D

I rewatched this uno video and I love it so much lol

HOPE YOU ENJOYED READINGG

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 14 Chapter 14 | contigo⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

As you find yourself at the heart of the ceremony, a sudden, inexplicable force bursts forth from within you, casting Camilo, your father, and the onlooking Madrigals away as if they were mere leaves caught in a fierce wind.

Their bodies are flung backward, expressions etched with a mix of utter shock and deep fear, as they struggle to comprehend the unseen power that has just torn through the fabric of reality.

In the midst of this chaos, your form begins a slow, eerily graceful ascent, rising above the cobblestones of the town square. Arms extend outward, your posture mirroring a figure of crucifixion, head lolling backward in a silent plea to the heavens.

Your eyes, now glowing a deep, menacing red, fixate on the darkened sky above, a silent witness to the storm that rages not just outside, but within.

Around you, the rain intensifies, each drop a torrential downpour that seeks to drown the world in its sorrow. Yet, remarkably, not a single droplet touches you; they veer away at the last moment, repelled by an unseen shield that encircles your levitating form.

This bubble of dryness amidst the deluge becomes a symbol of your isolation, the physical manifestation of the barrier that now separates you from everything you hold dear.

From below, your father's voice cuts through the storm's cacophony, desperate and laden with an agony that mirrors the tumult in your own soul. "Muñequita, please!" he cries, his plea a beacon of love in the overwhelming darkness.

But it's as if you're in another world entirely, his words unable to bridge the distance that this unseen force has created.

Inside, trapped within the confines of your own mind, you're a spectator to your own body's betrayal, screaming for release, for any semblance of control.

Yet, your cries echo back, unanswered, in this prison of darkness until a chillingly familiar voice whispers, offering no comfort, only resignation. "There's no use. You might as well give up."

Turning, you're met with Sidero's visage, a ghostly figure who had once been a source of comfort, now the architect of your despair. Relief at the sight of him quickly morphs into confusion and then horror as you realize what he meant.

"Sidero," you start, voice trembling with a mix of betrayal and disbelief, "why?"

He looks at you, his expression a complex tapestry of sorrow and resolve. "I suppose it's time you knew the truth," he begins, his voice echoing strangely in the confines of your internal prison.

The space around you shifts, colors and shapes melding into scenes from a past not your own. You watch, helpless, as Sidero narrates the tale of his life—and his death. "I was just a boy, no older than you are now," he says, the scenery changing to show a vibrant town, its life snuffed out by disease. "My family, my friends... I watched them fall, one by one, to an illness we had no means to fight."

You see him there, a young boy with eyes too old for his face, the specter of death looming over his town. "Encanto was a mere legend to us, a whispered fairy tale of magic and miracles. But when I passed, and I saw it... saw them," he continues, the vision morphing to show the Madrigals in all their vibrant glory, "I realized the truth."

The bitterness in his voice is palpable as he recounts how he latched onto you, a lifeline to the physical world, during a moment of your own vulnerability. "You were so close to death, so close to joining me in the void. But you lived. And through you, I saw my chance for... justice."

The word hangs heavy between you, a condemnation of the Madrigals' perceived selfishness. "They had the power to heal, to save, but they chose to hide away. My family, my town, we could have been saved. But we were left to suffer, to die, because they wouldn't leave their precious Encanto."

The visions Sidero conjures are vivid, heart-wrenching—images of suffering and despair outside the magical borders of Encanto, a stark contrast to the peace and prosperity within. "And so, I made you my vessel, a bridge between the living and the dead. Through you, I'd bring them to their knees, make them see the cost of their isolation."

As the last of his words fade, the visions dissolve, leaving you back in the dark recesses of your own mind, facing the ghost who had been your friend, your confidant.

Now, he stands revealed as the architect of your torment, a spirit consumed by vengeance and a twisted sense of justice.

"Sidero, how could you?" The question is a whisper, a reflection of the hurt and betrayal that courses through you. His plan, his hatred for the Madrigals, has turned your gift into a curse, made you the unwitting perpetrator of his revenge.

As Siderio's scowl fades, replaced by a look of what might be construed as regret, he steps closer, his movements slow, almost hesitant. "If there was another way, I'd do it," he murmurs, his voice a stark contrast to the cold anger that had filled the space between you moments before. He reaches out, his hand coming to rest gently against your cheek, a gesture that once would have offered solace now only serves to heighten the sense of betrayal coiling within you.

You instinctively turn away, repelled by the touch that now feels like a violation. His hand falls away, and a huff of frustration escapes him. "You'll understand sooner or later," he insists, the softness giving way once more to bitterness. "Those Madrigals are selfish, caring for nothing but themselves." His frown deepens, the scowl returning as his eyes begin to glow an ominous red, mirroring the storm of emotions raging within him.

His rant escalates, anger and resentment fueling his words until they are a venomous tirade against the Madrigals. "They deserve to pay for their crimes," he declares, the intensity of his fury sealing you away, leaving you a silent witness to his full possession of your body.

In the heart of Encanto's town square, with the Madrigals and townsfolk gathered in a tense circle, the atmosphere thickens with anticipation.

Your body becomes a conduit for Siderio's fury; his voice, emanating from you, is laced with venom, each word a dagger aimed at the heart of the Madrigal family.

"People of Encanto," Siderio begins, his tone dripping with disdain, "you stand here, blind to the selfishness that festers within the walls of that magical house." The crowd shifts uneasily, the air charged with a growing sense of unease.

"For years," he continues, "the Madrigals have hoarded their gifts, basking in your adoration while just beyond these walls, people suffer, people die—abandoned and forgotten." Murmurs ripple through the assembly, faces turning towards the Madrigals, seeking denial, seeking reassurance.

"Alma Madrigal," Siderio's voice booms, "patriarch of this so-called blessed family. Tell them, tell them about the families that could have been saved, the lives that could have been spared if only you had stepped beyond your precious boundaries."

The accusation hits like a physical blow, and Alma stands, her posture that of a leader, yet the sorrow in her eyes speaks volumes. "We did what we thought was best to protect our own," she starts, her voice barely above a whisper as she attempts to explain, to justify. "The world beyond our home is fraught with danger. We couldn't risk exposing our family, our children, to that—"

"Protect your own? Excuses!" he scoffs, his voice growing bitter, as he recounts the loss of his own family, the helplessness and despair that marked his final moments. "My family... we could have been saved. But you chose to keep your gifts to yourselves, hoarding your miracles while the rest of us perished. What of the children who starved, while your tables overflowed with food? Your gifts, a beacon of hope you chose to extinguish for those not fortunate enough to be born within your enchanted borders."

Gasps and murmurs swell in the crowd, the image of the Madrigals as protectors and heroes cracking under the weight of Siderio's words.

Children cling to their parents, their eyes wide with fear and confusion, while the younger Madrigals, those who had grown under the shelter of innocence and pride, look to Alma, their foundation, now questioned.

"You speak of danger beyond the walls, but the true danger lies in your greed, in your refusal to share your miracles," Siderio rages on, his anger palpable. "While you chose to watch from your walls, people died. Families were torn apart. And for that, you shall all pay."

The declaration, a curse spoken through tears and centuries of pent-up bitterness, leaves the square in stunned silence. Alma, the matriarch, the symbol of the Madrigal legacy, stands diminished, her struggle to defend her family's choices laid bare before those she sought to protect and those she inadvertently harmed.

A/N: poor siderio 💔💔.

[all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth]

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Apocrypha (3x16)

The ambulance doors fling open and for a split second, it's déjà vu for Luis Cardinal. A flash of red hair and those eyes, the same eyes… only these aren’t taken by surprise, barely registering death before they close. This time they are directed at him in anger.

Back in Nicaragua, death was a way of life. He’d spent most of his days chasing his older brothers, engaged in target practice, pretending they were Contras. His mother always called him cumiche, the baby. Her baby. 

But he doesn’t think about her anymore.

By the time he was in his mid-twenties he’d surpassed both of his brothers, having become exactly what he’d trained for. And when he arrived in the United States, having been enrolled in the School of the Americas, he’d required little training as a marksman. In fact, his skills in that area were exactly what had drawn the Smoker to him. He’d been the one to pluck him out of a lineup, take him under his wing, and erase his history. Just in time, too; it happened mere months before the feds required the human rights background checks he would certainly not pass.

He didn’t make mistakes back at Fort Moore. But here and now on his own as a mercenary, he has made far too many. First the Scully woman, then the Assistant Director. 

He’s come here to rectify his error in the restaurant; now is his chance to finish the job. Because the man he works for does not tolerate mistakes. And perhaps that’s what’s made him reckless now, as he fires wildly into the vehicle and misses. 

Luis flees, something he’s gotten used to doing. Working in the shadows as a cipher makes it a necessity. The redhead gives chase, and if not for an ill-timed car pulling out in front of him, he might very well have escaped on foot. But his legs ache, and his back… his back feels like it’s been stabbed with a thousand machetes.

“Federal Agent, stop right there!”

He collapses, unable to bear the pain. 

“Are you Luis Cardinal?!” she screams, her gun pointed directly into his face. Then, louder: “Are you Luis Cardinal?”

Luis Cardinal. His name sounds unfamiliar now. This is not who he is anymore, this is the name of the boy who chased his brothers through the streets, whose mother cradled him at night and kissed his head, calling him her cumiche.

No. He doesn’t think about his mother anymore.

“Are you the man who shot my sister?”

The Scully woman is not simply angry, she’s unhinged. A woman with a vendetta. And there’s a small part of him that understands;  it’s the part of him that, prior to working for the Smoker, had never been asked to shoot an innocent woman in cold blood before.

But the adrenaline is coursing through his veins, pushing towards the forefront of his mind the singular thought of a survivor: I don’t want to die.

The Smoker has made it clear he no longer trusts Alex Krycek. For years it seems Krycek was poised to be his right-hand man, but since that’s no longer the case, now is Luis’s chance to throw his counterpart to the wolves.

“You want Krycek,” he tells her. He was there, after all. It’s a last-ditch effort, and he’s not entirely sure it will even work. All she has to do is pull the trigger. But the Scully woman shows something he never does: restraint. It’s probably the only reason he’s still alive.

The officers arrive, slapping cuffs on his wrists, and he is caught. His third mistake. The Smoker will not be pleased.

Luis sits in a cold holding cell for what feels like an eternity, but most likely is only a couple of hours. It’s strange how time has no meaning when your death is imminent.

Eventually, the Smoker arrives, a carcinogenic cloud following him the way it always does. Luis crosses himself like a reflex; it’s something he has not done in years. He wonders how God will judge him, something he also has not done in years.

For the first time Luis notices Alex Krycek is standing behind the Smoker, unusually stiff, like a sentinel. Just as earlier, there’s something not quite right about him, but Luis has no time to worry about that. He has no time for anything, not anymore.

The Smoker comes up close to the bars, exhales a plume of smoke between them. “I have no use for men who make mistakes,” he says coldly. He unlocks and opens the cell door, and Krycek advances wordlessly. 

There is no time for pleas or arguments. A cord is wrapped around Luis’s throat, and he gasps wildly for air. All he sees is the Smoker standing back in the shadows, like Death himself. 

It’s not what he wants to see before he welcomes death. He closes his eyes and the last thing he sees is his mother. He waits for her to hold him close, to whisper cumiche.

She does not.

Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Ao3

@admiralty-xfd

[shytastemakerthing]

Hi, hello! I saw you have your matchups open so if it's okay I would like to request a romantic matchup with Twisted Wonderland <3 You are so sweet and amazing for doing these!

I am a cute, poetic, caring, and sweet person who knows how to listen actively and hold a one-on-one conversation, often getting people to open up more than they expected, otherwise I'm pretty reserved. If I was transported to a magical school, I would do my best to learn the theory and practicalities of magic, even if I couldn't actually cast spells, and try to excel in other scientific fields (and Mozus Trein would definitely be my favourite professor). I have a great interest in the occult (my library is something I'm very proud of) and psychology, but I'm truly interested in all types of knowledge and books. When I go to the used book stores, I can spend hours there, as I go through war, occult, philosophy, science, comics, fantasy, poetry, and all other categories of books, except sports and cooking. I also love music: opera, metal, neofolk, electronic, and all of them together.

I love crafting and learning new things, but I'm most interested in historical and folk crafts, like nålbinding, embroidery, weaving in many forms, making jewelry from bones and other things found in nature, and more! I love making stuff and seeing that I have finished something, that I've made something.

I have a rough history with mental illness and trauma, making me prone to getting overwhelmed easily, and I have to calm and ground myself. I often feel out of touch with my body, like my spirit is a feet out of me. One thing that works is a tight hug and closeness. I'm also very submissive by nature and other ways, so I really need someone who is sure of themselves and also accepting. I don't need pity, I need a helping hand and someone I can rely on.

Other small things: I can play erhu, dance butoh, bellydance, and few different folk dances, I've practiced tai chi with fan, my newest obsession is fountain pens (there's TWST pens by Sailor, but they're so expensive!), I can't eat meat or onions, I always wear a red bow on my head, mostly because it keeps my curly hair out of my face but also because it's just part of me now just like my red lipstick, I only wear dresses (comfy, cute, always fits any occasion), I have blue eyes, and my favourite animal is fox.

Hope this is not too much, and take your time, I'll be here waiting and reading what else you come up with :3

Hello and thank you so much for your kind words! Now that things are finally slowing down between work and college work, I can finally get to all of these! I am so sorry that you had to wait for so long for your match up but I do hope that you like it!

Tw: None

I match you with.........

Jamil Viper

Right off the bat, it was hard to actually get into a relationship with him to begin with. With all of his duties that he has to Kalim, his duties as a vice housewarden, his school and club activities. Plus the belief that he doesn't deserve the happiness that would come from having a relationship, not wanting to burden his partner with the burden that he shares as serving the Al-Asim family (please, this boy needs so much love, it's not even funny)

Then you come along and pretty much destroy all of that. It really threw him in for a loop.

Honestly, just the feeling of someone caring for him after such a long day of making sure that the rich idiot doesn't die or make any stupid decisions, just makes him melt. Having your arms around him after such a long day as he is able to just unload everything from the day, knowing that you are listening with full attention brings more comfort than you may ever know.

He keeps a few red bows lined in his pockets and in his room just in case there was a very rare event that you had forgotten to put it on that day. It had grown on him, and it was a part of you, much like the small beads in his hair were a part of him.

Speaking of hair, he honestly loves to be able to do yours. it is so different from his own. Jamil is a very fast learner. By the end of the day, he knows more about curly hairstyles and how to work with them and he has a wonderful woman to be able to try said styles on.

There was a time where he took you on a small trip to the Scalding Sands, and seeing you dressed in the traditional clothing from his home country had this man feeling all sorts of things as he couldn't help how his cheeks warmed upon seeing you.... yes, Najma teased him relentlessly for it. And yes.... he bought you several of those dresses to take back to campus with you.

Jamil is 100% someone you can rely on (and there is no hidden meaning to what he is doing, not with you). When things are far too overwhelming for you, he is there to simply hold onto you, giving you the reassurance that you need. He will help you and guide you through what it is that is troubling you in no time. This man has plenty of experience.

Overall, you brought a light and happiness into his life that he did not know that he needed. Now that he has it, he doesn't want to let go, he grows a bit greedy for your affection. After all, it is something that is just for him and he finally doesn't have to share. He thanks you everyday for coming into his life and just putting up with him.

[measuresderepo]

Wow did I write an angsty fic about Gally?? Set in the time between The Maze Runner and The Death Cure? No way.

@shuck-it-slinthead

@go-catch-a-chickn

@its-tea-time-darling

@pealeii

Title: Pesar Means Son

Word Count: 11k

TW: Attempted suicide, self harm, PTSD, nightmares about traumatic events, hallucinations, intrusive thoughts, cutting, scars, suicide ideation, trivializing mental illness, death of a loved one, grief and loss depiction, murder, graphic deaths, graphic violence, gore, self mutilation, described blood, needles, physical injuries, escalating violence, implied underage drinking, swearing (if I missed any I am so sorry in advance.)

Summary: Gally is picked up by two men (Gul and Rob) on their way to the last city. Gally is racked with guilt over murdering Chuck, and has to work through this, all the while growing closer to Gul and Rob.

Hope you enjoy <3

When you’re half dead with a spear digging into your side, pain’s supposed to cloud your thoughts. Bullshit. Mine were clear. There was only one: I killed Chuck. If it were only words, it’d be bearable. They could be easily tucked away, slotted into a space to be dealt with later. But it wasn’t just the words. It was him. Chuck stepping in front of Thomas, into my gunshot. His expression right before my bullet buried into his chest. His face. God, he didn’t want to die. Even as he protected Thomas, even as he stared down my barrel. He wanted to live. Yet he saved Thomas. Thomas who ruined our Glade. Who disregarded what we had created. Thomas who I wanted to kill. Chuck. Chuck dead, less than a foot away from my dying. I couldn’t stand it. The others had left. Their running feet echoing against the walls of my tomb. Chuck’s tomb.

I grasped the spear jutting from my stomach; it clenched as I slowly started to pull at the shaft. For three blissful seconds all I felt was the trickle of blood down my abdomen. Then I doubled over. It was as if the spear had injected liquid fire into my body. My vision clouded and goosebumps rippled up my arms. Indistinct voices chattered in my ears. Sweat droplets like scales spread in circles around my wound. My hands were wet with my blood. Slowly I gripped the shaft harder and, barely able to see, I snapped it in half. My body screamed in protest and I slumped to the ground, curling around the bloodsoaked wood still in my stomach. My body was trembling with adrenaline, but I still wasn’t done. I painstakingly crawled to Chuck’s body.

His expression looked angelic in the flickering lights of the lab. The broken screens casting his face in blue shadows, his open eyes reflecting the yellow of the sparking wires. His shirt was soaked with blood. “Chuck,” my voice was ragged, like I’d swallowed glass. A tear traced down my cheek. I couldn’t leave him like this. I gently rolled up his shirt and started cleaning the wound. Using a piece of glass, I started making cuts around the hole, feeling for the bullet. The glass chinked against metal and I dug it out with my fingers. His body was still warm. I could almost imagine he was alive. I ripped a strip of cloth off my tunic and wrapped it around the wound. I pulled down his shirt and closed his eyes. Now he could be sleeping. My body was shaking from the effort but the pain felt numb and muted compared to the grief stuck in my throat. I killed him. The boy lying on the linoleum. His curls spread around his face like a halo. I turned away and vomited. It was dark red with blood. It splattered against my arms as I crouched in a fetal position.

I didn’t want to kill Chuck. Not the Greenie who used to play pranks on me in the Glade. I didn’t even want to kill Thomas. The voices wanted me too. But I pulled the trigger. My arms started to tremble. I couldn’t hold the weight of what I’d done. I couldn’t stand it. I kneeled under it and fell face first into my vomit. I heard footsteps before everything went black.

#

“He’s gotta be a Munie, he was part of WICKED’s Maze,”

“He had the tell-tale signs of the Flare,”

“But it cleared right up when we gave him the serum! And if he does get it… he’ll fit right in,”

“Dereset. He’ll probably wake up any minute now,”

“Hey. Who’s gonna tell him about the dead kid? Could’ve been his friend. He obviously tried to save him, binding the wound…”

“Look, if he doesn’t ask, we won’t tell him,”

The voices were uncomfortably quiet as they waited for me to wake. I cracked my eyes open and saw that I was laying on the ripped back seat of a pickup with the stuffing falling out. The two guys were sitting up front, one was failing to dodge potholes and the other had a book cracked open on his lap. The dead kid. That’s what they called Chuck. I wanted to punch both of them and drive right back. But then… I didn’t. I could still see his eyes. They gazed past me. Chuck had seen something else. Something beyond here. And I was scared.

All at once I could feel the cold of the gun in my hands again. And I was standing. My abdomen didn’t hurt. I felt it, and there was no wound. I was in a black void. But I wasn’t alone. Chuck was there. My hands grasped the gun and raised it level with Chuck’s chest. He looked at me with the eyes. Reflecting golden light. Looking past me. I was scared. My finger pulled the trigger before I could react. Chuck didn’t make a sound as it lodged in his chest. He didn’t fall. His expression didn’t change. The blood drip, dripped onto the sheen, obsidian floor.

Chuck! I screamed, but no sound. He didn’t react. Just stared at me with the golden, unseeing eyes. The blood was pooling at his feet. And then it was around my feet. Then to my waist. Then to my neck. I tried to swim to Chuck but I couldn’t move. I could only watch his golden eyes, his frozen expression slip beneath the red waves.

Chuck! I tried to scream again, but the rising blood poured into my open mouth and I couldn’t breathe… breathe… the eyes, the golden eyes were everywhere…

“CHUCK!” I sat up and a flare of pain brought me back to reality. I felt the scratchy burlap texture of the seat. The bump of the moving car. My own labored breathing. It was uncomfortably bright outside, I could barely distinguish that we were racing through the desert.

“Hey, son, it’s okay, you’re safe now,” I started and turned my head to see a bearded man crane his neck around the shotgun seat. His hand was out in what he obviously thought was a calming gesture. To me he looked like he was fending off a wild beast. My mouth twitched. This wasn’t gonna work. I swung my legs so I was sitting on the car seat normally and with some pain I straightened my back and crossed my arms.

“Did you bury him?” I said.

“Ah, you mean the dead child…” the bearded man began. Inwardly I sneered. I liked watching him squirm.

“Yeah. His name was Chuck. You didn’t bury him. Which means you have no respect for the dead. Which means I’m going nowhere with you,” I layed each sentence down like cards in a royal flush.

“Son, you can’t just—”

“No, Rob, if he wants to wander the Scorch like an idiot, let him,” the second man met my eyes in the rear view mirror. “But I have a feeling you aren’t an idiot,” I nodded and sat back in the seat. Rob was watching me, his lip slightly puckered. Eyes wide and gooey like a puppy’s. What a shank.

“Son, can you just lie back down? You’re already bleeding through your bandages,” I looked down to see a red spot forming on the clean, white gauze. I opened my mouth to retort but the second man cut me off.

“He will if he knows what’s good for him. Rob’s a medic. You’d do well to listen to him,” I glared at the man, but he just wiggled his eyebrows. Slinthead. I layed back down and let Rob unwrap my bandages. The wound looked worse. The puncture was starting to scab and there were rings of sickly yellow bruises around it. As Rob carefully cleaned the wound, it felt like a stinging, deadly poison shot into my body. The pain climbed to my neck, but I sure as hell didn’t show it. I clenched my teeth and gripped the side of the seat, my muscles bulging and veins popping all along my arm. I tried to breathe slow and even, but then Rob took out a needle.

“What the shuck are you doing with that?” I asked, gritting my teeth. Rob smirked.

“Shuck? What does that mean?”

“It means you aren’t gonna stick me with anything until I know what’s in it, Rob,”

“Okay, it’s okay, this is just for the pain, son,”

“Well slim it, shuckhead, ‘cause I’m not in pain,” Rob mouthed “shuckhead” in disbelief, then gestured for me to lift my hand off the edge of the seat. I did, and saw that I had ripped a gaping hole in my agony. He gave me a little smile.

“Close your eyes, and imagine the best place you could ever be, then you won’t even feel the shot,” I did as I was told. I imagined I was sitting around the fire at the Glade. I was watching the sun set over the walls with Ben and Alby on either side of me. In the distance Minho and Newt were running towards us, Newt without his limp. Frypan was at the fire cooking his stew. And by his side I imagined Chuck laughing at a joke Fry told. I turned around to reply to Frypan, but I saw Chuck. He wasn’t laughing. His eyes were wide and yellow. His mouth hung open in mid gasp. I looked at his stomach and it was dark with blood. I felt cold metal in my hand and I was back in the void. Chuck was staring through me. I tried to drop the gun but it was stuck to my hand. It felt as if the metal had frozen to my fingers. The cold, horrible pain crept up my hand and into my wrist, I tried to yell to Chuck, but no sound. Mocking laughter emitted from Chuck, but his mouth didn’t move, like an old talking doll. The pain was up my arm now, I could feel my nerves freeze and crack.

 Chuck. I mouthed, Chuck, I’m so sorry. His expression didn’t change. The cold was to my chest. My neck. I could feel it creep up my cheeks, and my eyes started to flutter. Chuck…

“Hey, shuckhead. It’s done,” I opened my eyes to see Rob rewrapping the gauze. I gripped his arm.

“This is real, right?” Rob looked taken aback.

“Yes, of course, are you okay, son?” I ignored his question.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To revolution,” the driver answered.

“Don’t give me that klunk, where?” I started to sit up but Rob forced me down.

“We’re going to the last city. Our base is just outside the city walls. You’ll be safe there,” Rob said.

“I don’t care about that, who are you?” I directed my question to the driver. He laughed. A short, derisive laugh. “Well?”

“First: what’s your name? Then you can ask all the questions your pretty little heart wants,” I hesitated for a split second before spitting out:

“Gally. Now explain,”

“Calm down, this isn’t a hostage situation. If you can drop the tough and gruff for a second, baby, I’ll tell you,” I crossed my arms and clenched my teeth. The driver laughed again. “My name, Gally, is Gul. I’m from Afghanistan, well, what’s left of it anyway. It was hit badly by the Scorch. No one lives there now,” His voice died and his eyes wandered to the desert.

“Gul…” Rob got off his knees and slid back into the passenger’s seat. He touched Gul’s arm. Gul shrugged him off.

“I’m fine, Rob. For the love of Allah, tend to your patient.” But Rob didn’t move. Gul continued. “As for what the revolution is, well… Lawrence will tell it better than I.”

He cleared his throat and laughed weakly. I wanted to keep pushing, but from Rob’s expression I knew I needed to back off. So I just lamely growled:

“Yeah whatever, slinthead,” with less enthusiasm than a kindergarten bully. That got a smile out of Rob. Gul winked at me through the mirror. I cracked a smile but quickly turned to the window before either saw. I could see a faint skyline in the distance, stark against the sun baked Scorch.

#

“Hey, Gally, wake up,” I opened my eyes to see Rob standing outside the pickup, the open car door framing his body. He was tying up his long blond hair, a gun slung on his hip. An old, patched leather jacket partially hid the weapon. Rob wore a plain gray pullover under his open jacket, and bulky, wrinkled cargo pants. Loosely tied onto his feet were mud caked boots. “C’mon son, we need to ditch the car,” Rob said.

“Give the shuckhead a gun, Rob. He needs to defend himself,” Gul added, walking up to Rob. I exhaled sharply. Gul was beautiful. Blue eyes stark against his light brown skin, coiffed curls sprinkled with gray, stubble perfectly peppered on his cheeks. He wore a sleek, coffee brown trench coat, boots laced to his knees and a shotgun slung around his shoulder. A belt was strapped around his chest where a knife hung sheathed. He looked like a model, even his expression was cool, debonair. That is, until he laughed. “Gally! Look at him Rob, he looks starstruck!” Rob didn’t even look up from tying his shoes.

“Gul. You’re conventionally attractive. He’ll get used to it. You’re wearing the trench coat aren’t you?” He met my eyes. “A shameless show off this one is,” Rob nodded his head to a posing Gul. I rolled my eyes. Gul laughed and took out a small, dark object.

“You’ll need to defend yourself. You know how to use this?” Gul set the handgun in my palm.

“NO!” I dropped the gun like it was hot and curled into a ball. I could feel myself going back to the void. I didn’t want to. I tried to fend it off, I tried to hide from the eyes. I was rocking back and forth. It was getting dark, cold. I could see the golden eyes…

“GALLY!” My eyes flew open. I was on the dusty ground with Gul kneeling next to me. I don’t know how I got there. Did I fall out of the car? I giggled like a shank at that. “Rob, he just blacked out, what did I do?” Rob crouched next to Gul, he studied me.

“Gul, I want you to grab my medical bag,” Gul hesitated. “Now, Gul,”

“Fine. Bay pathar,” he spat and walked out of earshot.

“Okay. Gally, as your doctor, it would’ve been nice to know you get…like that at the sight of guns. But it doesn’t matter, not now anyway. Now, I’m asking, as your doctor, what happened in the Maze to cause… that?” He danced around what he had just seen, like he was afraid to call me… something.

“Nothing, Rob. I just… Nothing,” I growled. “Now let me up, I’m guessing this isn’t a good place to linger.” He wavered for a moment. Like he wanted to keep pushing me till I spilled. But he nodded and hoisted me to my feet. I almost immediately leaned on him for support. The world was hazy, red and fractured like a kaleidoscope. My stomach throbbed dully, in time with my heartbeat.

“Hey, just breathe. In and out slowly.” As I breathed, the world cleared and I saw that I was in a deserted alleyway. Fractals of glass and grime floated lazily in circles around me. In the distance, a beautiful, futuristic skyline.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the skyline.

“The last city. WICKED’s last defense against the Flare. Their last barrier from people like us,” Gul said, walking up behind me.

“Who—”

“He means the infected, Gally. We’ve all been around the Flare too long to be considered healthy,” Rob explained.

“Gally,” Gul said. “You need a weapon,” he handed me a knife. “You know how to use this, right?” I grabbed it from him and latched it to my belt.

“Yes,” I said, my voice filled with venom.

“It was just a question, follow my lead, slinthead,” he said playfully. Rob fell in behind me and readied his gun. I unsheathed my knife and followed Gul. “Once we get out of the back alleys there'll be loads of people. Don’t lose sight of me in the crowds!” With this he started down a sunless alley. I could hear the hubbub get louder as we marched deeper into the heart of the city. I could feel Rob’s tense, quick breaths on the back of my neck, like he was preparing for something to attack. The alleyways tightened around us, their concrete, graffitied walls and broken windows seemed to reach towards me. My tongue was coated with dust, it tasted sour.

“Rob…” I whispered, a sense of unease frosting on my neck.

“Not here. Quiet, son,” I clammed up and gripped my knife. We marched on, the high and fast sounds of rushing people crescendoing into an onslaught of noise. My heart felt like it was trying to rip out of my chest. I wanted to stop, but Rob pressed on behind me. My abdomen throbbed underneath the bandages, my hands slick with sweat. I could smell the sour stench of sickness as it overwhelmed my senses. I opened my mouth to yell, to stop us, but Gul turned a corner and I was suddenly in a sea of bodies. People pressed against me, their voices rushing past my ears like water. They blended together in a disharmony, so I could only catch snippets of their talk.

“WICKED says they're close to a cure…”

“God, I think my Mother has it,”

“I’m running out of time—”

“Crank fight at ten! Crank fight at ten!” This voice was louder and distinct from the rest. I craned my neck over the crowds to see a man in a velvety purple suit that at one time would’ve been striking, but now was ragged and dull. He was on top of a garishly painted car, obviously supposed to be eye-catching but only succeeded in nauseating me. He looked down and scanned the crowds. His eyes rested on me. He cracked a toothy grin and jumped from the car. The crowd surrounding the vehicle parted and the man sauntered towards me. Gul grabbed my arm and went to disappear into the crowds, but—

“Gul!” The carney yelled. “What are you doing with a fine fighter like this?” He motioned toward me like I was a purebred dog. “I’d pay a good price for a body like that,” Gul nonchalantly flicked his coat to reveal a shotgun. Rob stepped in front of me, his rifle knocking against his thigh.

“Move along, Akando,” Rob said. The carney lolled his neck, a half smile on his face.

“Like Lawrence is even going to let him join your, ah, revolution. I know a Munie when I see one. Lawrence has no space for privilege in his uprising, best if you left the…” he licked his lips. “Specimen with me.”

His greasy, straw hair hung in tendrils around his face. Gleaming through the strands were poison green eyes. I raised my knife, gripping it tightly to hide my trembling hand.

“No matter what these guys say, I’m not going anywhere with you. Back off.”

“That’s the exact spirit I need for my fights! But if you won’t come quietly…” Akando reached into his suit, I saw the gleam of a barrel…!

“NO!” I lunged at him and sent the gun spinning out of his hand, then, in one fluid motion, grabbed his lapel and thrust my knife into his eye. For a split second we held there, my feet just off the ground, his head snapped back. But my momentum sent us both crashing to the ground. I felt my knife drive deeper into his skull and chink against the ground. I’d stabbed straight through his skull. I quickly scrambled off the man, shaking from adrenaline, only to see blood leaking out of his eye. Like deadly tears. A crowd had gathered, they were staring at me with one emotion: fear. They were terrified of what I might do, who I might hurt. My breath was coming in short gasps. Blood flecked my face. My muscles were sheen with sweat. It was terrifying. I was. Gul clasped my shoulder.

“We need to go,” he said through gritted teeth. I suddenly felt weak, scared.

“Did—D-Did I…”

“He’s dead, Gally, dead in self defense.” Rob said, raising his voice at the last part. He handed me a gun, and I was too shucked to feel it, or care. Gul took my arm and led me through the crowd. I didn’t notice then, but as we walked, I felt no people pushing in around me. Or even the cacophony of noises. Turns out, everywhere we walked the crowds parted and fell deathly silent.

#

Once we stepped into the doorway of what Rob called “Headquarters,” I kneeled over and vomited. But with nothing in my stomach, all that came out was a red mixture of blood and acid. “Gally!” Rob crouched down and I leaned against him. Sweat glistened on my face in droplets. He felt my stomach and withdrew, his hand stained with red. “We need to get him to the med wing. He can’t face Lawrence like this,” Rob said to Gul, who was standing over us.

“He has too. Lawrence isn’t patient. He’s probably heard about our escapade by now, and right now, that’s the only thing that could get Gally in.” Rob cursed and felt my forehead.

“Fine. But bring him straight to me afterwards. Whether Lawrence lets him join or not.” Gul nodded and hoisted me to my feet. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

“You’re gonna have to walk on your own, Lawrence doesn’t like to see people weak,” Gul whispered. I nodded and focused all my energy on putting one foot in front of the other. It was like trying to move with two magnets stuck to my soles and the floor was stainless steel. I didn’t look up from my effort until I crashed into Gul. I was in what seemed like an empty airplane hangar. Cloth hung from the ceiling to partition off rooms, but it couldn’t distract from the open, exposed feeling. I tried to focus on details but everything was hazy and too bright. When I looked up all the lights had rainbows around them. That made me giggle. Gul turned to me.

“You have to go in alone, Lawrence wants you to speak for yourself,” He stared into my eyes. “Just in case… you don’t, uh—” I wrapped my arms around him before he could finish. For a second he faltered, surprised by my sudden affection. I was, too. He slowly, carefully enclosed me in a hug. We held there for only a moment, and I felt something I’ve forgotten to miss, something primordial about being held in an older man’s embrace. I felt a sob rise in my throat, but I pushed it down and pulled away. Gul awkwardly patted my shoulder and I stepped past him, down a short flight of stairs and into a whole different world.

Lawrence’s office wasn’t anything like I’d expected. There was no desk, no high backed chair, no purring cat. It was a greenhouse. Sunlight filtered through windows, showing swirls of mist in its light. Roses were everywhere. The smell was overwhelmingly sweet. Almost like it was covering up something. The man in question had his back to me. He was pruning a rose bush, it was so quiet I could hear the soft “pf” as the petals hit the ground. He gave no sign that he had noticed me enter. “Sir—”

“Quiet, boy. I’ll speak to you when I care to.” he continued snipping his plant. My eye twitched in annoyance. I turned the gun in my hand, unaware for a moment of what it could do. “Drop the gun,” Lawrence said. I faltered. “Drop. It.” I let it fall, realizing what I’d been holding. I pushed it out of my mind. I wasn’t going to black out in front of this slinthead. He continued pruning his roses. “So. You killed Akando.”

“Yes sir.”

“You’re immune.”

“Yes sir.”

“And you want to join my Crank army. Do you see the irony?”

“I would if I knew what a Crank was.”

“You would, you would…” Lawrence turned to me. “This is a Crank, boy.”

He was grotesque. There was no other way to describe the blueish-black veins crawling up his neck, eyes small and dilated like a frightened animal. And…

“Of course, most Cranks have their noses, but, this is what my army is made of, boy. And from the look on your face I don’t think you can handle it.” he started to turn away, but I grabbed his arm.

“Who’s your enemy?” Lawrence, disgusted, shook off my hand. “Who?” I repeated.

“WICKED,” he spat.

“Me, too. Can’t we be allies, Lawrence?” Lawrence sized me up. A small smile played on his lips. He stuck out his hand.

“Welcome to the Crank army.”

#

I woke up back in the Glade. I was home. It was strangely quiet as I walked through the familiar barracks, around the campfire. I didn’t even feel uneasy, I was so glad to be back. To rest my eyes on every familiar groove and detail, every nail pounded haphazardly into our shelters. Through the trees I saw everyone in front of The Wall. The one where every Greenie carved their name after their first day in the Glade. My pace quickened as I ran up to meet them. No one even glanced my way. All were concentrated on Alby. Slowly, deliberately, he raised the knife to cross out George’s name.

Wait! I tried to yell, but no sound. I couldn’t lose him now, again, when I was finally back… But the piercing, horrible scrape of knife on stone filled the quiet peace of the Glade anyway. I scanned the crowd: George looked frozen, his eyes closed as if he was asleep. But Alby wasn’t done. He crossed out Ben’s. Ben’s eyes closed and blue veins crawled up his neck, like when he was stung. Horror turned my stomach as I knew who was next. With the same careful precision, Alby crossed out his own name. Minho took the blade as Alby joined the rest of the Gladers, closing his eyes.

No! I screamed soundlessly. I tried to reach for the knife but my legs were stuck. Minho sent the knife scraping over “Chuck”. Chuck’s eyes closed and red bloomed over his chest in sadistic swirls. Tears filled my eyes, but then Minho raised his knife over the name “Gally”.

My heart stopped. Minho scraped and chinked at my name, until it was an unrecognizable mess of slashes. He dropped the knife. My hair stood on end. The Glade melted away, we were back in the void. Alby turned toward me, his eyes were golden. Then George, Ben, Chuck, Winston, Newt… they circled me, faster and faster until it was a blur of gold. Minho stepped into the circle. A spear clutched in his hand.

Minho! I tried to yell. Please! I tried to back away but the eyes were tightening around me, pushing me closer and closer to the spear. Please, Minho! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry. My voice broke into inaudible sobs. Minho’s eyes didn’t lift from his weapon. It almost looked like he was sleepwalking. He raised the spear level with me and shoved it into my gut. The golden eyes exploded like a supernova, washing me in superheated light. I raised my head to see Minho, his eyes dark. He released the spear and walked away. He didn’t even look back.

“Minho…” I groaned, and woke in a hospital bed. My stomach felt like fire, but I could see everything clearly and didn’t feel feverish. An IV was pumping something into my bloodstream, I started to take it out but a hand rested on mine.

“That IV is important, shuckhead. It’s pumping all the minerals you lost from blood loss back into your body. Plus a little antibodies so you aren’t crippled with pain.” Rob said, sitting on the edge of my bed.

“How long was I out?”

“Seven years in catatonic sleep, Hell froze over, and WICKED found a cure!” Gul said, sauntering in with bagels and drinks.

“Hah. Rob?”

“18 hours, give or take. You slept the rest of the evening and into the night. It’s ten o’clock now,” he finished. Gul handed me a bagel with a healthy serving of cream cheese smeared on it.

“He can eat that, right, Doc?” Gul asked. Rob nodded.

“As long as he’s slow—” I inhaled the bagel, getting cream cheese all over my fingers. “—about it,” Rob finished, sighing and handing me a napkin. Gul laughed and passed me an iced drink. It was filled with a light brown substance.

“What is this?” I asked, turning the cup in my hand. Gul choked on his bagel.

“Allah save us… You don’t know what coffee is?” I shrugged.

“We never had it in the Glade… is it good?” Gul hid his face in his hands. He mumbled incoherently in Dari.

“It’s not for everyone, but go ahead and try it, I think you might like it.” Rob said, taking a sip of his own drink. I raised the cup to my lips and tasted it.

“WOW!” It was a liquid with millions of subtle threads pulling together to make one smooth flavor. I tasted bitter, burnt toast, citrus alongside caramel, dark chocolate and cream. Yet it worked to create something new and—

“Shuck! You slintheads kept this from me? Why?” I yelled, staring at both of them between gulps of the stuff. They were both shaking with laughter at my outburst.

“Hey, slow down, that’s got caffeine in it.” Rob said, holding up his hand.

“Caffeine? Is that why I feel like I can lift a truck!?”

“Oh, I can’t wait to introduce this kid to alcohol.” Gul wheezed.

“Gul… he’s underage.” Rob pushed Gul’s shoulder.

“Hey, can I get more?” I asked, showing them my empty cup.

“I’ll get more!” Gul said, cackling.

“Gul—” Rob started, but he was already gone. “You’re not drinking anymore coffee, young man.”

“You’re such a shank, Rob…”

“Yep. Now get some rest.”

“Now? Did I mention the “lift a truck bit”? Can’t I at least get out of this stupid bed?”

“Sorry. Doctor’s orders.” I grunted and sat back on the pillow. “Hey… While you were asleep, I, I didn’t mean to overhear… But, you kept repeating the same names over and over. That boy Chuck, but also Minho. Did he…” Rob trailed off and gestured to my wound.

“Yeah.” I said, clipped and closed off. Rob paused and waited for me to elaborate. I didn’t.

“Do you want to talk about—”

“No.”

“Son—”

“Leave.” I clenched my teeth, my voice dangerously close to fracturing.

“Gally… Why won’t you talk about it?” The question was so plain. So unassuming. My hands started trembling, I curled them into fists.

“Because…” I took a shuddering breath. “Because then it will be real.” I crossed my arms over my chest, like a shield against all the meaningless shit Rob could say: It's already real, Gally. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Just know I’m here for you. He’ll expect me to cry on his shoulder and spill my guts like a shank. But Rob surprised me.

“Yeah. I get that.” Then he left. The room was quiet. I could only hear the beeping of my heart monitor. As if reminding me that I was still alive. Chuck wasn’t. My horrible nightmares reminded me of that every time my eyes closed. But, if he was kept there, in my dreams, it almost didn’t feel real. Like his death, his murder, was just another nightmare. But it wasn’t. It was real. I pulled up my shirt and stared at the clean, white bandages. I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve to heal, not while Chuck’s body rotted away on that linoleum floor. I took a fistful of the gauze and started viciously ripping it apart. My wound started to bleed, too burn and it felt so good. I ripped at the exposed flesh with my fingers, feeling my stomach shrink and shudder from the pain I was inflicting. The monitor heart screamed in harmony with my fast beating heart. My breath came in short, excited gasps. My fingers were dripping with my own blood.

“Ya Allah…” I turned to see Gul standing slack jawed, coffee splattered all over the floor. His face immediately melted into determined disappointment. He opened the medical cabinet and took out gauze. He started toward me.

“No! I don’t deserve it!” I yelled, twisting my body in the blankets, trying to get away.

“I don’t care. You’re getting blood all over the blankets and you made me drop my coffee.” He flipped me on my back and started wrapping my stomach in bandages. I fought him, but he held me down.

“Let me go, Gul!”

“No. I’m going to wrap you up and show you a better way to deal with your emotions, slinthead.” He said this with so much venom I shut up and complied. “Okay,” he said, tying a knot in the gauze. “Now follow me.”

I followed him out of the med wing and through a maze of corridors. He stopped at a door. “I’m going to show you this. But you gotta promise, as long as I’m around, no self harm. Okay?” He turned to me.

“Yeah. Okay.” I mumbled. He opened the door. Bright light streamed in from outside, temporarily blinding me. I stepped through the door and it was an alleyway. It went on for a while, but that wasn’t what I noticed. There were scratches all over the walls. Up and down, sideways, stark white against the gray concrete. They overlapped, cross hatching and digging deep into the wall. I could almost make out letters, but no words. It was intelligible gibberish, if gibberish screamed at the top of its lungs. If gibberish so clearly could tell me what this place was. This was a place for when grief and regret are too much. When you can’t stand it anymore. When you don’t want to feel the storm of emotions in your gut. When you can’t breathe from guilt. “Who…?”

“Me. All me.” He studied the walls, arms crossed over his chest.

“Why?”

“Afghanistan. I was studying in America when the Scorch hit. I remember watching the Afghan news underground. All the bodies, Gally, were burned black. You couldn’t tell who anyone was. That didn’t stop me from seeing my mother, my sister, in every shot. She was fifteen. My baby sister.” He stopped. He scuffed his boots against the cracked concrete.

“What was her name?”

“Amena. It means “safe”, that’s all Māder wanted. To keep her child safe.” He was silent for a moment, then handed me a knife. “Here. I'll get you for lunch.” Then he left. I slumped on the ground and curled into a ball. I didn’t have it in me to defile this monument with my own blood stained hand. Gul grieved blamelessly. I caused my grief. I let the knife clatter to the floor. This wouldn’t be my way to grieve. No, I needed to do something to earn my forgiveness. I needed to take down WICKED.

#

Four weeks. That’s how long it took to convince Lawrence to let me go on a mission. Two more to actually prepare for the shucked thing. I was going with Gul and Rob, my “babysitters”, as Lawrence coined them. Gul didn’t dispute it, the slinthead. I strapped a holster to my thigh and quickly slid a gun into it. My hallucinations haven’t let me hold a gun long enough to shoot. I blacked out every time I tried at the artillery range. I’ve gotten really good at throwing knives because of this. I tied a belt to my chest and slid three of them in their sheaths.

“Hey, are you okay?” Rob gripped my bicep. “You’ve got that look on your face.” I quickly tried to arrange my face in a more neutral position.

“He means you were glaring, Gally. Remember, our mission is to get in, disable the security system, and get out. No casualties.” Gul was crouching and tying up his excessively tall boots.

“Why do you wear those? They can’t have any practical use.” I looked down at my own durable work boots. “These actually make sense…”

“What? You don’t think these make me look sexy?” Gul struck a supermodel pose. Rob whacked the back of his neck. A shadow of a smile flicked on my face. Gul wiggled his eyebrows to make me laugh, but I quickly busied myself with tightening my laces. An awkward silence filled the room. Gul loudly cleared his throat and started packing his satchel with tools to infiltrate the security system.

“Gally, I need to rewrap your wound before we head out. May I?” Rob gestured for me to sit down. I obeyed and clutched the arms of my chair. Rob carefully unwrapped the bandages and started cleaning the wound. I tried to relax, Rob said it keeps the wound from bleeding. But then Rob swabbed it with alcohol. That sent a stabbing pain to my spine. I clenched my teeth to keep from crying out in pain. “Please try to relax, this is the only way you’ll be able to go on this mission, son.” I bit back a scathing remark and breathed in and out deeply. Rob slowly, carefully, started cleaning again. I thrust my chest out to keep from bending over my wound, I could feel my stomach clench and unclench in waves. I took quick gasps of air. It felt like slowly, Rob was setting my entire wound alight with poisonous fire. Tears squeezed out of shut eyes, though I tried to hold them back. “Son, try to rela—”

“Stop, Rob! Can’t you see the kid is in pain? Let him scream for Allah’s sake! STOP!” Gul shot out of his chair and snatched the rag from Rob. “You’re hurting him.” I slumped against the chair and felt tears stream from my eyes.

“Gul—” Rob began, flabbergasted. Gul crouched next to me and started lovingly wrapping my stomach with gauze.

“Kid’s gone through too much for you to tell him to keep his emotions bitten back, Rob. You’re a good doctor but…”

“But what, Gul? You put yourself on a higher pedestal as his guardian, don’t you? Or something more? His mentor perhaps, his fathe—” Gul whipped around.

“And what of it? I’m doing a lot better than you. I actually understand him, I’ve lost people! Unlike you, Rob you—”

“I’ve lost people! Everyone’s lost people! You just can’t get over it. You mope while the rest of us move on. Isn’t that a better lesson to teach him than, than scraping up a wall?” Gul stepped back. He looked betrayed.

“How long have you known?”

“Since the first time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Gul’s voice was wavering, close to cracking.

“It was your choice to tell me. It’s a vulnerable place.” Rob stopped. “I-I’ve gone there. Just a few times. I’m sorry. I—” But Gul already had him in an embrace. Rob held there, tears stark against his pale skin. After a moment he fiercely hugged Gul back.

“Barâdar, barâdar, my brother, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I…”

“Sh, don’t explain.”

“D-dostat daaram, b-barâdar.” Rob said, slowly sounding out the words as if he’d practiced. Gul started and looked at Rob. He smiled as a single tear slid down his cheek.

“Man ham dostat daaram.”

They held there. Hugging with tears streaming down, intense emotion on their faces. It was a picture of love. Beyond friends. They were brothers. It was a covenant love. A promise to always hold each other, lift each other, love each other. I released a shuddering breath. I wish I had that.

“Gul…” Rob gestured to me. And immediately they broke apart only to tag team hug me.

“Is the slinthead feeling lonely?” Gul crooned as he noogied me.

“Hush, Gul.” Rob knelt down and over carefully wrapped my bandages.

“I can take it, Rob. I’m not a sissy. Even though Gul—” Gul cackled at that.

“So I cried on this shank’s shoulder for nothing?” he said, pointing to Rob.

“Guess you did. I cried too, though, so we’re both, um, shuckheads.” Rob tied a knot in the gauze.

“I like barâdars better,” I said, “but…”

“God, Gally, I need to teach you and Rob proper pronunciation. You guys are killing me.”

“We’ll do it when we get home. First, let’s take down WICKED.” Rob cocked his shotgun. Gul grinned and grabbed the car keys. I rose to my feet and unsheathed my knife.

“Let's do this.”

#

“Oh, no way we can do this.” I was staring from an alley at the wall. It was huge, taller than any building on our side of the barrier. But that wasn’t the problem. A quarter mile of no man's land stretched between the cover of our rundown buildings, and the “safety” of the wall we needed to break into. Lawrence told us cameras were trained on this no man’s land 24/7, ready to shoot the monstrous rockets at any minute. The four rectangular launchers were more than one hundred feet in length. They had a five by five layout for its hangars, where inside each, a rocket lay primed to set off. That was the security system we needed to evade and then disable. I turned on my walkie talkie.

“There’s no way we can do this. We’ll get blasted right as we leave our positions, copy.”

“Aram shoo, you think we’re shanks? If you’d been listening to Lawrence instead of brooding, Gally—” Gul’s joke was cut off and I heard rustling and muted voices.

“What Gul means, son, is that Lawrence found a spot where there’s more cover, train your binoculars to the far left corner, over.” Rob’s voice cut off and I dropped my walkie talkie. I rustled through my knapsack and found the binoculars. I hesitated, and made two Ls with my hands. For a second they both looked like an L, then I realized and swooped the binoculars in the correct direction. When my binoculars focused I saw a toppled skyscraper, its roof close to the wall, but not close enough.

“There’s still at least six hundred feet of no cover, you guys won’t make it in time, over.”

“We’ll have too, over,” Rob said.

“Where are you now, over?”

“Right at the edge of the skyscraper, why? Uh, over.” Rob’s voice was edged with concern, like he could read my mind.

“Give the walkie talkie to Gul, over.”

“Gally—”

“Now, Rob.” Static. Then…

“What do you need, shuckhead?” Gul sounded tired, like he knew he wouldn’t like what I was about to say.

“I need you guys to start running right when I sign off, over.” Static. “Gul?” Static.

“Where will you be?” Gul’s voice was flat, expressionless.

“I’ll meet you guys in the security room.”

“Where. Will. You. Be?” I hesitated. “Gally?”

“Gul, please. I’ll meet you.”

“You slinthead! I can’t…!” He took a shuddering breath. “I can’t lose you, pesar.”

“Pesar?”

“It means ‘Gally is a shank’,” his voice got quiet, gravely. “Don’t you dare, don’t you even think of sacrificing yourself. Whatever you’ve done, it’s not worth dying for.”

“Gul—”

“No. No last words, I’ll see you again, over.”

I paused, savoring the deceptive safety of the static. “I-I’ll see you. Gul—”

“Zahr e maar, I love you, you slinthead. Over and out.” Static. I dropped the walkie talkie. My hands were shaking. But I didn’t have time to be paralyzed with fear. I steadied my hands and stepped out of the alley.

Instantly the guns were on me. Their barrels watched my body like they were a sentient creature. They clicked and scanned me. They reared their ugly, mechanical necks and emitted a screech like metal on metal. I went into overdrive. My jaw was slack, my chest convulsing in its need for air. I was watching the launchers with crazed, cornered prey eyes. Every time the guns twitched my body flinched, ready to jump out of the way. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. Oh God, I didn’t want to die. I still didn’t want to die. The guns dipped and pointed directly at my chest. I curled my fingers into fists and felt my nails cut into flesh. The launchers clicked loudly, the barrels glowing red with fire. My body froze. It felt like concrete was injected into my biceps, my legs. I was going to die. But I didn’t think about Chuck. Or Ben. Or Alby. I didn’t feel a crippling, terrified guilt for their deaths. For his death. I felt an overwhelming drive to live. Because of Gul, Rob. Because of a promise. I promised I’d see them again. Oh God, I wanted to live. My heart sped up again. My nerves buzzed and I bounced my legs to shake them awake. I unclenched my fists and could feel blood dripping down my palms. I stared down the launchers. I wouldn’t die. No one else would die.

The guns growled and puffed smoke. Yellow light made the barrels glow with golden light. Like eyes. His eyes. No. I wouldn’t go back. I couldn’t. I needed to live. The launchers deafened me with a whirring, static sound. Like an automated wind. The yellow glow mixed with a red fire, flickering inside the barrels. The sound grew louder and I tensed my body. The guns clicked and focused, pointed directly at my heart. I shut my eyes and waited to hear the guns fire.

Nothing. I strained for any sound. I held my breath. My muscles slowly relaxed and I tentatively opened my eyes. The guns hung down, the barrels dark. It was as if someone had turned them off. Like someone didn’t want me to die. Like someone knew who I was. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain on the back of my neck. It was as if I’d been branded. I reached to touch it and I could feel a raised symbol. I traced the lines and felt three overlapping diamonds. WICKED knew I was here. I hugged myself and kicked the sand. WICKED. Who caused everything. The first domino in a toppling that now is my life. WICKED. Who made my home. Made my family. WICKED. Who ruined my home. Ruined my family. God, I couldn’t face them. But I had too. To see my new family. I wouldn’t let them ruin that too. A clicking sound snapped me out of my thoughts. The gun rotated and pointed at me. “Oh shi—”

BOOM! The missile exploded right at my feet. My head snapped back and the blast propelled me backwards. A high, sharp sound whined in my ears. Smoke and dust curled around my body as I flew through the air. My head hurt. It hurt a lot. I felt gravity yank my body and I slammed face first into the ground. I spit out a mouthful of sand. My head hurt. I opened my eyes and everything was hazy. I coughed and choked on the smoke around me. My legs trembled as I tried to stand. Through the whining in my ears I heard a whistling sound. Adrenaline spiked my heart beat and I forced my legs to run.

BOOM! The ground shook under me as another missile detonated behind me. I forced myself to pick up the pace. I couldn’t see where I was running, the ground was so thick with smoke. I knew the door was a little less than half a mile away. If I could get there before—

BOOM! I fell forward. It was right at my heels. I scrambled to my feet and—

BOOM! God, I couldn’t make it. I ran faster. My feet barely touched the ground. I pumped my arms and pushed my body into high gear.

BOOM! The smoke was clearing now. I could see the door. It was too far away.

BOOM! My trembling legs twisted over each other, my knees slamming against the scorched ground. Pain laced through my body. I tried to stand but my weak legs couldn’t hold me. No. I needed to live. I forced my shaking legs to stand. I took a step and smashed my chin against the ground. My vision was tinged with red. I saw the door. Less than a hundred feet away. I started crawling. I clawed my hands over the ground, my fingernails clodding with dirt. My feet scuffed against the sun baked crust. The whistle of an oncoming missile screamed in my ears. I curled into a ball. Maybe heaven would look like the Glade.

BOOM! Burning heat washed over me. I felt my body skip over the ground, like a flat stone on water. I slowed to a stop and tried to breathe. I couldn’t see. My eyes were open but I could only see. bright yellow light. Big splotches throbbing in time. with my pounding head. Slowly my adrenaline died down. I could feel pain. It was everywhere. My skin felt raw. scraped. Burned, vulnerable. My abdomen throbbed. I touched it and my hand felt a wet, warm liquid. blood. My head hurt. Thoughts came slower than they used to. It was like my pain had a lag. Like my body couldn’t. process it. My leg hurt. Something was in it. i should be dead. Why was I alive? I strained to remember. why.

Gul. Rob. they’re important. Who are they? They are my.

Family. But there were others. i killed them. I should be.

dead.

why.

am.

i.

alive?

Gul and Rob.

My vision started to clear. My brain hurt. It’s lag smoothed. I could think. A little better. Without so many… walls. I looked around. I uttered a cry of relief. I was at the door. I stood, with shaking, bleeding legs. My vision was peppered with little yellow spots, but I could see. I opened the door.

Cool, sterilized air washed over my tortured body. Bright blue fluorescent light illuminated a staircase. I started to waddle up the steps when—

“Erg. Whozzat?” I reached for my knife and slowly turned around. In the corner, half hidden by the open door, sat three men. They were tied up. Two of the three only had undershirts and leggings, while the other had full armor. The man’s helmet had a sticky note on it. Gripping my knife I harshly ripped the note off. The helmet was reflective. I couldn’t see the man’s face, but I did feel him flinch. Smirking, I studied the note.

Hey shuckhead,

Neither of us forgive you for almost dying. Rob is royally pissed at me for “letting you do such a thing” . Don’t tell Rob, but thanks. The armor is a gift from us. You won’t get through the multitudes of guards up here without it. Don’t be stupid. Put it on and don’t start any fights. You’re like a gorilla in a china shop or whatever the idiom is. Be careful. Don’t you dare die.

Dostat daaram pesar,

Gul

I exhaled sharply. Half a laugh, half something else. Something I’ve never felt, only imagined. Who was Gul to me? Who was Rob? I felt tears well up in my eyes. No. I wouldn’t go there, not today. I would see them again. I stared intently at the man and nonchalantly unsheathed my knife. WICKED wouldn’t get in the way. The man pressed his knees to his chest and shook his head. His chest was rapidly rising and lowering.

“Give me that armor.” He shook his head slightly. I gritted my teeth. My knife shone in the fluorescent light. “Okay.” I growled. I rushed up to him and tore off his helmet, my knife raised.

I gasped and staggered back. The helmet dropped from my hand. It made a dull echoing sound. He was just a kid. My age or less. His brown hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. His skin was pale, sickly. He looked terrified. Of me. My knife clattered to the floor. “I-I wasn’t gonna kill—”

“Please, please. I don’t want to die.” He whispered it, reverently. Like it was a prayer to a merciful god I didn’t know.

“Give. Me. The. Armor. I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. WICKED took everything from me. Do you know what you’re a part of?” My voice was laced with venom; yet it was so close to dissolving into blubbering. I inhaled sharply and tried to look mean, dangerous.

“Finding the cure. Saving the world. WICKED is good.” He said it like it was a mantra that’d been shoved down his throat. I gripped his shoulders. His head lolled down. I grasped his hair and slammed his head into the wall.

“Look at me! WICKED has killed people. WICKED killed Alby. Ben. George. Those were people. People I loved.” The boy shut his eyes. “LOOK AT ME! I killed a boy. His name was Chuck.” My voice grew raspy. “I killed him blaming another boy for WICKED’s sins. Don’t do what I did. WICKED needs to be destroyed. But I don’t want you to die with it.” I was desperate now. Flecks of spit splattered on his face. I must’ve looked crazed, inhuman. I released him and stepped back. His head stayed raised. He sat there for a moment. Slowly he opened his eyes.

“Beth. Did you know her?” I shook my head. He nodded. “WICKED took her. For their experiment. To find a cure. She’s probably dead.” He looked at me. “She was so little. Mom got the Flare. It was just me and her. Then WICKED took us. We separated. WICKED told me it was for the greater good. So no one would get what Mom had. I never saw Beth again.” He said all this quietly, distant. Like it was a sad fairy tale. Not what he experienced. I knelt down and started untying him.

“Go across this no man’s land. Ask for the name Lawrence. You’ll be pointed toward a building. Say you're with Rob, Gul and me, Gally.” He stood and started to take off the armor. “No. You’ll need that to get across. Ditch it once you get to the buildings.” I handed him his helmet and awkwardly stood there.

“This—” he started. I heard footsteps on the floor above us, and shots. I gripped his shoulders.

“Go.” Then I turned and ran up the stairs.

It became strangely silent as I climbed the steps. Only now did my body remember it was in a critical condition. My lungs burned, my body felt abused. I looked down and saw tiny burn holes all over my clothes. I looked like a boiled lobster. My skin was peeling, especially on my hands. My leg throbbed like crazy, but I didn’t look at it. I’d probably throw up at the mess of blood I could feel dripping down my thigh. I reached the end of the stairs and stumbled down the hallway. There were so many doors. Which—

Shots. Third door on the right. I took a step and slumped on the ground. My leg wouldn’t move. More shots. Voices. I leaned against the wall and excruciatingly got to my feet. I took a step. Then another.

“GUL!”

Rob. That was his voice. It was anguished. No. I forgot my pain and broke into a run. I kicked open the door.

No.

Later I would remember the details of the room. An overturned table raked with gunfire. Security technology with monitors, dark and littered with bullet holes. Flickering blue lights. WICKED guards with their guns pointed at Gul.

But the only thing I saw that day was the bullets ripping into his chest. Blood splattering on his cocky, mischievous expression. His eyes locked on me. A smile flickered across his lips. ‘Pesar’ means son, shuckhead. He mouthed. Then he fell backwards, his body obscured by the table. No. No no no.

“NO!” I shouldered my way through the WICKED guards. They didn’t even notice me until I spun around and grabbed my gun. I shot like a madman. Bullet after bullet lodged in the guards. Guard after guard slumped. Dead. The survivors tried to run, but I kept shooting. I wanted everyone dead. Body after body fell, until the dead blocked the exit. The rest were trapped in a cage of death, a prison created from their own comrades. I didn’t drop my gun until every guard shared the same fate. To die at my hand. The roaring in my ears stopped and I could hear quiet weeping. Oh God, Rob.

I jumped over the table and— Gul.

No.

I knelt next to Rob. Rob was clutching him. Sobbing over him. Over and over he mouthed the word: Why? Rob’s med kit lay forgotten by Gul’s head.

No.

Pesar means son.

No.

But what about father?

What does father mean?

Gul.

How could he? How could he die? The shucking slinthead!

I covered my face with my hand. Slinthead. Shuckhead. Shank. He used those. Because of me. For me. He used to. What I wouldn’t give for him to call me a slinthead again. I sat back. I didn’t want to see the body. I didn’t want Rob to confirm that he was dead. Oh, God. I didn’t want to see the other bodies. I dropped my gun like it was hot. God. I shakily stood up. I had to see them. Slowly I waded through the bodies. I took off their helmets. Men. Boys. Woman. Gently I removed the helmet of a smaller figure.

No.

No no no. I told him. Tears wet my cheeks. They stung my burned skin. It was the boy. I fell on my knees, guilt steeping my heart in lead. I didn’t even ask his name. Tenderly I lifted his body. He felt light, empty in my arms. I walked over to Rob.

“We need to bury them.” Rob looked up. He didn’t even blink at the body in my arms.

“Okay.” His voice was raspy. I turned away, terrified he’d try to talk about…

“Let’s go.” My voice sounded so neutral, so uncaring. I was scared Rob would hate me. Would think I didn’t care. But I did. I cared too much. I was too close to breaking. I couldn’t even look at Rob. I knew he was carrying Gul. I couldn’t see him limp in Rob’s arms.

“Okay.” Rob followed me through the sea of bodies. To his credit, he didn’t say anything. Or maybe I just couldn’t hear him over my thoughts.

#

We buried them. We went back to the base. Rob went to his room. I went to the alley. Gul wasn’t here to stop me. I took out my knife. In the Glade we would banish anyone who attempted to murder or actually killed another Glader to the Maze. They would never survive the night. I’ve broken that rule ten times over. I wouldn’t survive this night. I only felt bad for Rob. Maybe one day he’d forgive me. Or he wouldn’t. I deserved that much.

I leveled my knife to my wrist and cut into my skin. One for Chuck. It stung, but it wasn't enough. Not for everything I’ve done. I slit my other wrist. for the boy. Three more quick cuts down my arms. For the guards. Then I raised the knife to my neck. For Gul.

I inhaled air. It seemed so sweet when I was about to lose it. I wonder if Chuck thought about his last breaths when he stepped into my gunshot. When the boy joined his comrades. When Gul tried to single handedly fight off WICKED. I wouldn’t see them again. With all my sins I was destined for Hell. If it was even real. What did Gul believe about death? I never got to ask him. I pressed the blade against my neck. I closed my eyes.

Instantly I was back. Back in the void. My body didn’t burn. My abdomen didn’t ache. The cold metal of the gun felt soothing against my healed hands. I was pointing the gun at Chuck. I knew this wasn’t real. I knew he was already dead. But I still resisted. I tried to drop the gun, move it away from Chuck, but my arms were frozen. My finger slowly, deliberately pulled the trigger. The bullet shot out the barrel. Leisurely it spun in slow motion. Second by second drawing closer to Chuck. I tried to move, flinch, scream, anything.

Chuck didn’t react when the bullet lodged in his chest. His face was frozen in an angelic, loyal, quietly courageous expression. Still he had golden eyes.

CHUCK!

He fell backwards. But that wasn’t the end. Behind him the bullet continued. It lodged in the boy’s throat. His expression froze in a pleading, terrified state. His eyes reflected a golden light I couldn’t see. Guilt washed over me, if my body wasn’t stuck I’d have collapsed.

No.

The bullet continued through the guards. Guard after guard it shot through. Face after face frozen in shock, disbelief, fear, grief. Over and over I saw these last expressions, each ripping into me. Each weighing me with more guilt than I could handle. It went on for too long. How many have I killed? Too many. Oh God, too many. The bullet tore through the last guard. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I tried to hold them in. I didn’t want to cry. It felt so wrong to cry for people I consciously killed. But I did. Tears streamed down my face as I silently sobbed.

But the bullet wasn’t done. It hovered in front of one last person.

Gul.

He had that same stupid smirk on his face, his mouth open in calling me a shuckhead. Only his eyes ruined the picture. They were golden. No. His eyes are blue. No. He can’t die. Not here. I didn’t kill him. Yet the bullet didn’t stop. Did I kill him? Was it my fault? No. No no no no.

I had to wake up. Would I have dreams like this when I was dead? Was this Hell? Would I dream of the bullet tearing into me? No. No. The bullet pressed against Gul’s chest. I could hear the skin breaking apart, the blood starting to flow—

“Gally!” I was back. I felt the concrete against my back. My body in pain. My hand closed over a knife that wasn’t there. My eyes flew open and Rob was kneeling next to me. My knife in his hand. I sat up, deranged. I flung myself toward Rob.

“Rob,” I said, clutching his arm. “You don’t know what you’re doing. Give me the knife.” I was breathing heavily, drool dripping from my mouth. Rob studied the knife. And, without his expression changing, he threw it down the alley. “No!” I tried to rush past him for the knife but he held me back. I scratched and clawed but he stood firm. “Rob—”

“Don’t even try. Don’t even try to explain why I saw you convulsing on the floor with a knife to your throat. I know why. You feel guilty. For something you didn’t even cause. Stop struggling Gally!” Rob’s voice was so filled with emotion I stopped immediately. For a second me both sat there. His arms wrapped around my stomach; My body stretched over his kneeling legs. We both were sweating, breathing heavily. After a few more seconds Rob stirred.

“Oh God, you're bleeding.” Rob turned me over and considered my abdomen wound. “I’m going to rebandage this. Let’s get you to the med—”

“No.”

“Son—”

“No!” I slid off his legs and sat up. “You don’t get it. I feel guilty, but it was for something I caused.” I was practically shaking with emotion. “I killed Chuck, Rob. The boy who was lying next to me at the WICKED compound. I murdered him.”

Rob didn’t speak.

“I murdered all those guards, too.”

Rob started to argue but I stopped him.

“Do you know how young some of them were? Did you know I talked to one of them? Did you know he lost his sister? Did you know they’re all brainwashed to believe WICKED is good? Do you know how many I killed?”

Rob opened his mouth to speak, but then he closed it.

“I’m too dangerous, Rob. I destroy everything I touch. Maybe Gul would still be alive with you if you’d have left me to die.” I gestured to the knife. “That would’ve been the only good thing I’d done with my life.” I looked into his eyes. “Rob, please let me die.”

Rob stared at me open mouthed, silent tears streaked down his cheeks. “You poor, poor child. You’ve been lugging that since we met you? Oh son, I can’t lose you too.” He held out his arms, but I recoiled.

“Rob. I killed people.”

Rob dropped his arms. He traced a word on his leg. “You regret it. Guilt is overwhelming you with every day that passes, am I right?”

I nodded.

“Gally, can’t you forgive yourself? Wouldn’t it be better to grieve these people as friends rather than the mistakes you made? Can’t you respect them enough to do that?”

“Respect? I’m ready to kill myself to avenge them and you talk about respect?” My voice practically shrieked. Rob was silent for a moment.

“Gally, do you need to avenge them? Or is that just a coward’s way to get out of facing your mistakes and moving on?”

It was my turn to be silent. I wanted to feel offended, wanted to hurt him back. But instead I clutched my knees to my chest and whispered: “Yeah Rob, I’m scared. I’m scared to move on. What if I forget… them. What if I just become an asshole again. What then?”

Rob pulled me into a hug. I went limp in his arms. “You won’t. In my eyes you’ll always be a shuckhead.”

“Oh haha, laugh at the Glade slang. You’re so original.” I said into his sweater.

Rob laughed. “Gally, you’re already growing into a wise young man. I’m so proud of you.” Rob gripped me tightly, I wrapped my arms around him and let myself sob into his sweater.

“Rob, Rob I’m so, so sorry. Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

Rob cupped my tearstained face in his hand. His own eyes were wet with tears and reflecting the golden, setting sun. It was beautiful.

“I love you so much.” He embraced me again. That feeling washed over me. The feeling I felt in Gul’s arms. That love. That love I could only get from a dad.

Pesar means ‘son’.

#

One year later…

“Rob! Look!” I stumped into his room, running my hand over my newly shaved head. Rob glanced up from his book and made a face. He quickly tried to cover it up with a wavering smile, but I’d already seen it. “You hate it.” I pouted.

“No… it’s… Gally, you didn’t… you went against the flow of your hair!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I scratched the back of my neck.

“Gally, where’s the razor? I’m just going fix up the back, and… a… a couple of other spots…”

I crossed my arms. “Gul would’ve thought I looked sexy.” I joked.

“You will be, just let Barber Roberto fix it up, monsieur.” Rob said, gesturing for me to sit down in front of his chair.

“Fine.” I handed him the razor and sat down, crossing my legs. Rob pressed the blade to my head and carefully buzzed around my ears.

“You have that scout mission to do, right?” Rob asked, continuing to fix up my hair.

“Yeah, just a ride around the square, really. We wanna spread word about the revolution.”

“Have you talked to Lawrence recently?” Rob said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Not since…” I couldn’t say Gul’s funeral. My voice couldn’t force the words.

“Yeah.” Rob got quiet, maybe thinking about the service. I was.

“He kinda hates me now.” I picked at the carpet, pulling at the loose threads.

“You punched him.”

“Yeah.”

Rob was silent. I could only hear the dull buzz of the razor.

“I just… the way he implied that we’d lost Gul on a mission that was basically crafted so I would stop whining…” I stopped. “It’s already hard enough to forgive myself,” I whispered. Rob giggled. “What?” I asked, self conscious.

“No, it’s not you, it's just,” he snorted. “Gul’s sides would’ve been splitting open at you punching Lawrence in the middle of his funeral…! And throwing the cracker platter…” He burst into laughter. I giggled too.

“Gul would’ve loved it. And he’d have let me drink the wine, Rob.”

“I’m guilty of being a responsible adult, how novel.”

I snorted. “Hey, you almost done? I actually gotta get going…”

“Oh, yes, of course, turn toward me for a second, I just need to fix up your hairline.”

“What the f— heck is a hairline.” I corrected.

“Nice save, shank.” Rob said, rolling his eyes. I turned toward him and Rob smoothly shaved along my forehead. Little bits of hair dusted my cheeks. “There. You’re good.”

“I was before, what do you mean?” I quipped.

“Get out of here, slinthead.” Rob said, trying to keep a straight face. I jumped up and raced to the door. In the doorframe I turned around.

“I love you Rob.” Rob looked up from his book. His eyes were wide, gooey, with understanding.

“I’ll be here when you get back, Gally. You don’t need to say it just in case—” I shut the door. I did need to say it. Who knew when a goodbye might be the last thing you’d ever say to someone?

[mx-lamour]

Hauntings of the Mind

Some personal meta/background for Bloodstain/"It's all right." (and that last sonnet):

My best friend and guardian died when I was 8-1/2 years old. At night, before I fell asleep, I would usually see him walk past my door, doing his rounds of the house to make sure everything was as it should be.

I watched him die. It wasn't my hand that killed him, wasn't even my choice to make, but somehow I felt responsible. It wasn't even my first dead body, or even my first dead loved one, but it was the first time I'd witnessed the spark of life leave someone's eyes. The first time I'd felt the breath leave someone's body under my touch and not come back.

When I tell you my best friend and guardian was a cat, it doesn't matter. When I tell you he was 18 years old and ready to go, it doesn't matter.

I bargained with whatever god would listen to give him back to me. He wasn't even mine; he'd been my dad's best friend since he was a kitten. My pleas went unanswered.

My mom has told me her story of taking care of her father through his struggle with cancer. There came a point when it was clear he was never going to make it, but it was near Christmas time, and my grandpa was a stubborn fiend who refused to die on what was supposed to be a joyful occasion.

When January came, my mom bravely went to him and said, "It's okay, Dad. You can go now."

That was my first funeral. I was two years old then. And, according to my mom, I wouldn't leave the casket's side. This explains why I have such a vivid memory of looking down on my grandpa's waxlike hands holding a red rose. My grandpa loved roses. He tended them.

That's beside the point.

Around the time I was 13, I started having dreams that someday I would have to kill my romantic partner, whoever that would be. It wasn't so self-direct. I was a daydreamer and a reader of books, so I would make up stories. But sometimes they were only scenes.

And one of those scenes which plagued me was the image of someone kissing their lover, then stabbing him in the gut. They didn't want to do it; they had to. Tears streaking down their face, they apologized while the dying one looked on in shock.

I never really made the connection as to why.

Now, I'm married to a man who is nearly always struggling. He's chronically ill and terribly intelligent and horribly depressed. Inside of all that muck is a sweet, imaginative little boy who long ago lost his brother and his faith in all things. Now a grown man, he's also practical. Pessimistic. A bit obsessive-compulsive. He DM'd our Curse of Strahd campaign.

We both fear abandonment.

When his thoughts have taken a dark turn, as they sometimes do, he considers giving himself over to death. To not have to try anymore.

Early on, this terrified me. "But I'm here," I would think, never realizing my mistake, that it had never helped before.

And sometimes that image would come back to me unbidden: Would I have to kill him myself one day? If I couldn't bear the thought of him hurting himself, but if there was also little choice left in the matter, would I do the work for him, to retain some modicum of agency in our doomed relationship? There seemed to be little else I could do.

This was, of course, very distorted thinking. And I never did do that thing, and I suspect we never will go through that. We're getting better. And we're changing side-by-side.

But there were several times, probably yearly if I would have been keeping track, possibly close to the anniversary of his brother's death, when I wondered if and when I would be forced to put the man I love out of his misery.

Because I know what grief is. And I know regret, and rage, and despair. I know it hurts. And I know it's exhausting. I know.

And with the amount of perseveration that goes on in my anxious autistic head (or did, especially before I'd done any real healing, myself) I know that the inability to fix your own tragic mistakes, to correct for factors you couldn't have known about is devastating.

I know how an event can haunt you into eternity, throwing you into a repeat of that same moment, again and again, from something so little as the passing of a number on a calendar page, and still leave you bereft of any real closure.

The window glass is so horrifying because, even though you can see tragedy unfolding on the other side, there is little you can do about what you cannot touch, whether what you're reaching for is the past itself or the despair clouding another person's mind and heart.

[courtzlou07]

The first ‘ I love you ‘

This is dog shit so sorry in advance just had to get it out my head again sorry it's really bad

'me and jj have been together for about 6 months now and i love him so much. i've never felt this way about anyone. but i don't know if he feels the same and i think its to soon to tell him anyway i mean what if i tell him and he just says 'thanks' like i think i would die. ill just wait.'

"Y/N HURRY UP OR IM LEAVING WITHOUT YOU!" Kie screams from my living room

"IM COMING HOLD ON" I stash my diary in my desk and run down stairs. "Ok I'm ready let's go " I grab kies arm and lead her outside to her car so we can go to Sarah's.

"Ok jees you trying to break my arm? What were you even doing that took you so long?" I stayed quite the pouges knew about me and jj but not that I loved him.

" nothing just making sure I had everything" she looked me up and down with a suspicious look in her eyes. I shrug it off and get in the car and we drive off.

When we get to Sarah's we run up stairs to her room for a girls day because the boys were driving us insane.

" so y/n how are you and jj?" Sarah asked with a cheeky smile.

"It's great I love being with him he just makes me so happy" my cheeks turn red at the thought of him and the girls aww at my blushing.

"That's awesome. You do seem a lot happier with him" kie said while hugging my side. "Anyway no more boy talk how about we make cookies or something and watch some movies" me and Sarah lock eyes and then turn to kie nodding our heads and giggling.

—————————

A few hours later we had made cookies and brownies and watched titanic (because Leo is hot) to all the boys I loved before and 10 things I hate about you (because why not) and we where ready to se the boys. We needed some chaotic energy.

We drove to the chateau and saw the boys chilling by the dock.

"Hey guys" kie yells from the porch of John bs house. They turn around and wave as we make our way over to them.

"Hey baby" jj kisses my head as I sit in his lap. Little things like that just make me love him even more. "What you girls do today I haven't seen you since yesterday" he pulls me closer to his chest.

" made cookies and brownies and watched movie at Sarah's, but it got boring without you guys to stuff everything up" all three of the boys looked at me with offended looks and I just laughed.

"She's not wrong. Without anything going wrong it wasn't as fun" kie says through her laughter knowing I was right and that why we could even last an entire day without our loving boyfriends.

after a few hours hanging around the hot tube and on the beach kie and pope had to go home and sarah went to bed." i have to go j " i whisper into his ear while trying get off his lap after cuddling for hours.

" ok ill take you home" he said and then kissed me on the head. we went to say bye to John b and left. its only a 15 minute walk to my house from the chateau so we walked in silence until we got there and all i wanted to do was tell him i loved him but that little voice in my head kept telling me he didnt feel the same.

we made it back and went up to my room." im gonna have a shower then we could watch a movie or something if you want?" i asked jj while he was spinning on my desk chair,

"yeah ok ill just wait here don't be to long" he grabbed my waist and pulled me in between his legs and i kissed his head and left.

JJ pov

I looked at my phone to see a message from John b

JOHN B: bro are you gonna tell her!?

JJ: I don't know man what if she doesn't say it back or she think it's to soon

I'll just wait.

JOHN B: no do it nan I'm telling you she loves you and she will say it back just do it don't over think it ok?

JJ: fine

I close me phone and walk out of y/ns room to the bathroom door.

"Hey baby I'm gonna head back to John bs he said he wants to go on the boat early tomorrow morning so I'll text you later ok." I call through the bathroom door trying to her if she heard me over the water. 

"Ok bubs I'll see you tomorrow" she calls back. 'This is my chance say it now that way you can just leave' o whisper to myself.

"Ok bye baby 'I love you'" I walk out the door as fast as I can not looking back hoping I haven't made a huge mistake

Y/ns pov

" ok bye baby 'I love you'" I love you did he really just say that I must be dreaming  

"JJ?JJ are you still there?" I hear nothing but silence I turn of the water pull on my pajarma shorts and shirt and run out the door soaking wet trying to chatch up with JJ.

"JJ!JJ WAIT UP YOU IDIOT" I scream running down the road behind jj. He turns around and laughs at my state , soking wet her and hardly any clothes and and no shoes.

" what are you doing" he asked like he was obvious

" why am I doing? What are you doing? Saying I love you for the first time while I'm in the shower are you kidding me" I push him back a few times until he caught my hands.

" I was meant to say it first not you"

" well I bet you to it then didn't I" he pulls me into his arms and I hold him tight.

"I love you so much jj you can't even imagine" I whisper into his chest.

" you really mean that?" He asked with a unsure tone

" yes and I will love you forever" I kiss him with all the passion in the world knowing I told him the one thing I was worried about him knowing.

" in that case, I love you y/n y/l/n and always will" I smile up at him and we start to walk back to place because I'm still hardly waring anything and spend the night cuddling until eventually we fall asleep.

[kannonymous]

The Art of Murder: stage play of the hero.

CW: CHILD ABUSE, CHILD PORNOGRAPHY, VIOLENCE, IMPLIED SEXUAL CONTENTS, PEDOPHILIA, MURDER, PROFANITIES.

PROLOGUE

Children likes role-playing and turning themselves into big one such as hero. There are times where the adults can't jump into the world of fantasies, so the child created a hero, they became the hero.

This world is practically the biggest stage for them to play with pure imaginations. But is it really fine to get there completely unarmed? Because who would've thought that the stage could be the worst place to get into, that the leading character would suffered the long, eerie nightmaresㅡturning the illusion into reality. The hero is a child, would he survive?

Only time can answer.

ACT I : STATE OF THE FIRST FUNERAL

The curtain never falls on magicㅡstage never shakes down on the true act of manipulation. He, the hero, was born on the stage naked. He was a born star, now a porn star, forced him to stay undressed.

One, two, check. Camera's taking bodies all checked. Three, four, ca-ching! Old filthy men joined in. They sent you dollars for an sensual poses, oh, how exciting, disgusting.

Night was the longest time ever that he wished it'll going to be over, soon, or just give him the right to rule over; the live, his life. Women behind the lighting said, "spread it more, go show them your hole". Close to her, men holding the camera inaudibly whispered, "just listen to your mother".

For fuck's sake, go fuck yourselves.

Said, "he seemed enjoying it tho", how he wished he could spit on those faces like a well-paid actor throwing hatred. When he realizes, his skin got red, swollen, by the morning. As soon as he came back to reality, he was thereㅡa funeral of John Doe. That's what you call unidentified men, and he claimed himself as one, he believes that one day he will die like he's obscured.

There is the young hero, standing by the sea, talking with the surf blah blah. He spoke as if the entities listened, doesn't matter because he listens. The bells sounded in the state funeral, murderer and widow a pair, the two suspects stood behind the coffin, wailing in badly-paid grief.

"Who’s the corpse in it, dear? Is it you, or the dream you’ve long buried?"

Both, dear mother. It was me, you, father and the dream we call family. He laid on the ground first and heard the world revolving step by step into putrefaction.

I AM THE GOOD HERO, I HOLD NOTHING BUT LOSS AND GRIEF.

SOMETHING’S ROTTEN INSIDE, HE WANTS TO BE FREE FROM SORROW.

Eyes openedㅡhe was wide awake to watch the sun touches his pale skin, it turned into human colors again. The said God stopped him from damned fate called death. Everything came to live soon as the night gone, tragedy left the scenes like it never happened.

"Sleepyhead. Aren't you going to school?"

Weren't you going to die, mother?

ACT II: THE SECOND RINGS OF BELL.

Night comes, the reaper is on ceiling, hovering above the bare skin of a little boy. He was forced to get on stage while suffering from terrible ill, but unexpectedly the audience yelled, God, that was the best face he ever made. Go on, these checks are all yours.

It was like another sound of money, made the pair of humans, inhumane, were greedy for more so they sold too many. Overshown an art of violence, turning blue into the new color of arousals. The devils cheered, he silently died.

No, the hero wasn't even get paid, but he had to pull out an act like the main character.

Worst state of human ever was when they beg to die, easily, ironically. Neck almost get broken, but his wrists certainly had. Bodies are like being skinned, carved openㅡleaking out a soul, lonely and unwanted. He was bleeding out, crying, scream on top of his lungs, and yet people think he wasn't doing enough.

The leading male, a hero, usually meet hardships to eventually rises. In his scenario, the play’s exposition show people a never ending misery; he is running circle in the midst crises. It's happened all at once, he wished he was a hero who's able to save all at once, ironic.

Tragically father was the loss in his left hand, and mother was the embodiment of grief on the other side. He never knew what is safety, home didn't make him feel secure. This family line got him feel like breaking his neck on the beer hall bench. What if I die, what’s my corpse to them, anyway?

And when the morning comes, the bell makes the same sound, waking up the dead; unsalvageable fragments of soul in cemetery. He was all naked. but still wearing hat ‘cause his skull has one hole too many. Voices are coming out asking, is one state funeral not enough, you senile old fool?

WHO IS THE CORPSE IN THE COFFIN? FOR WHOM IS THERE SUCH A HUE AND CRY.

"Wake up, dear. You'll have visitors once every two nights from now on"

ACT III: THE LAST.

He knocked on the wall, several times, counted the numbers and bloods coming out at fiftyㅡonly half way through to the perfect number he wants. His dead eyes wandering around the cramped storage room that somehow refurbished into single bedroomㅡhis prison, a casket for one. He scratches the wall, anxious. Grief slowly turned into anger, a hunger, he could eat whoever opens the door.

"You look just as horrible as they said, little bug. Just a right course for dinner"

He barely can catch the air when two men in suit entered the room. Click, locked. In one second those big hands already crave for a choke. You smell like trash I thrown up this morning, said the hero. The next second he's already on the floor.

"Really? Is this how you throw it, hm?"

His bones feels like broken at some parts but he laughs eerily, draw an annoyed look on their faces. The first man forcefully grab him by his chin, make strong grip on it to intimidate him. But his voice just gets louder like he was mocking them. One slap, two and more, his nose starts bleeding and yet he won't stop laughing from the pain he feels.

It's like a show of dummies trying to crush a child in the palm of their hand. One of them fucked his mouth to shut him off. Hurt. He decided to make it hurt, he bites. Bold enough, that was enough to make him ended up get tied up tight.

"I paid a lot for this. You better be good, I know how to find your arteries" Knives, needles, liquids, he couldn't tell how much they brought just to play with a kid. "You'll be perfect to be stored as a herbarium" said the one with glasses.

Skilled hands made the best of art. The scalpel danced on his right arm, circles around it make a swirl wounds; it is red, beautiful. They sucked the blood, trace along the cuts like bitches having their treats, he thinks it's hilarious that his eyes starts dropping tears. His voice pitched higher, filled the cramped coffin.

"Oh no, you're wounded, ladybug. Though it's pretty, I think we need to close this incision on your skin"

They stitched it like he's a ripped jeans. He can't really do anything but to enjoy it, he came, to be honest he felt good from the fear and pain. "Godness, you naughty little freak"

That was the longest night, the worst ever since he was numerously resurrected from deathㅡslowly changing him into something else, the person you probably don't wanna cross by on the street. That was the craziest night, indeed. Who would hook up while getting sewn on the neck? He had it; on the neck, on his lips, along his arms skin.

The bell rings again as they left. That wasn't in state of funeral, but the awakening of something worse than a monster.

ACT ??? DEATH IS AN ART, AND BLOOD SHOULD BE THE PAINT.

I believe that life is a play and the world’s a stage. I claimed I am the hero, so it's time for me to take over and break the whole stage.

He stood there, a little kid in black and red, his pupils are bright red. He is what you'd visualize ladybug as a human. His lips mumbles a mourning song as he gets closer to his father's ears, whispering, you shoul've been buried alive with dishonor for can't even control that whore and protect your son. Atone.

I ALMOST DIED IN THAT ROOM FOR FUCKING MONEY I NEVER TASTED. NOW, ATONE.

Father was tied to the chair, too easy to make a trap for an alcoholic, too easy to manipulate a loser who's already drowned in guilt. Given two choices, the old man decided to hang his uniformed flesh and bones. Neat, almost like going on his own wedding. Isn't it just right to make mother the bride?

He made the fest once again. Mother's breasts a bed of roses, her lap a nest of snakes. He held back a little when he choked, in the edge of dying he spit on her and said, you will die wearing this gown. He never hated his mother, she hated him first, thinking of him as an object to make money. You should also die in the way I want.

He smear the rags of her dress into the earth which his father has become one with the rags; her face, her belly, her breasts. Now he takes thee his mother in his, his father’s invisible trace. He strangled her cry with his lips.

Now go, go to your wedding, whore. Broad in the sun shining on the living and the dead.

"Please, stop" NO, DON'T YOU DARE TO CRY. LAUGH. YOU HAVE TO LAUGH.

"I'll set you free, please spare me" I SAID LAUGH, and then his mother laughs, a really bad one, it gets him irked. Shall he correct it, he takes knife he brought and cut her throat, helping mother to sound more harmonious.

She coughed blood, she's wailing, triggers a mad rage. He screams, I TOLD YOU TO LAUGH. He no longer cares of how she sounds, she better shut her mouth off rather than ruining the feast. The blade's stabbing throat until it's destroyed. She's completely muted. Before him lies an enchanting art, his eyes flickering in excitement watching how her lips slowly turned colors. Blue matches death more, he thinks.

Now it's his turn to laugh, then he laughed. Ah, what a happy family, glad now you have died blissfully.

That was the art of writing, he had done the art for painting fear on their faces.

WASH THE MURDER FROM THY FACE, PRINCE. MAKE A CHEERFUL FACE FOR BEGINNING AFTER THE END.

EPILOGUE

So, has the time answered the earlier question? It took years to know how would the story end and where it's leading toㅡ new beginning after the dark days.

It costs a monster to be the hero today.

Perhaps those who watches are questioning the morality, right or wrong on the ways, but he's being called hero not for immersing sins. He ain't God nor he trusted any deities. He is the hero for saving the one worth of life, murdering those who deserves it.

Is taking bad people's life a sin? He left the question hanging, he left the stage with the curtains closed behind.

I'LL GET ON ANOTHER SHOW TO TAKE MY REVENGE.

[saatorubby]

the lakes

synopsis: you won’t die, not on their watch.

a/n: hi hi, i’m starting to write for jjk too! so i hope to you all like this. and i’m trying a new style? actually putting in effort? I’m actually so ill about these two divorced gay boys who broke up in front of kfc. also bunch of different taylor swift song references, bare with me, it has consumed my soul.

genre: angst, fluff, pre-est relationship in flashback, kinda situationship in flashbacks? but make it deep cause its satosugu, and they’re stupid.

pairing: satosugu x reader

warnings: gore (mild), death and murder (in reference to hidden inventory arc), depression (lowkey).

I: 2008

You were dying. It was the plain and simple fact.

You might’ve tried to convince yourself that it’d turn out fine if it wasn’t for the gaping wound in your stomach. It was less a wound and more a hole.

You think you saw your rib cage poking out.

You were already feeling light headed, on the verge of passing out. If it went like this, you reckon you don’t have more than half an hour.

You pull out your phone, taking a minute to linger on the photo set as your Lock Screen. It was of you and your lovers, Gojo Satoru and Suguru Geto, often dubbed as the strongest. If you’d had a dying wish, it would be to see them once more. But the world was a cruel, cruel place.

You slumped back on the wall as your mind flashed back to when everything went so wrong.

You were sitting in the backseat of the car, which was being driven by one of your old friends, ichiji, making small talk with him. Lately you hadn’t had time to devote to your friends. It had been a busy year.

“y/n-san?” Ichiji called after he saw you zone out, looking outside the window of the car, absent-mindedly admiring the scenic view of the countryside Tokyo. “We’re here.” He stated.

You zoned back in and nodded to Ichiji, thanking him for taking you out on this far, almost a half-day trip. You stepped out of the sleek black car.

You faced the apperent ‘haunted’ house. It was fairly big, could’ve passed as a mansion, if it wasn’t in such a shabby shape.

It was battered as if no one had lived in it for decades, which they probably hadn’t. The wood that would’ve been previously stately, were now rotten and unsightly.

You scrunched your nose in disgust, the smell of the dead never really leaves the house.

With a heavy sigh, you entered, ready to get this done and over with so you could go back to your stupid dumbasses and give them the date you promised.

You entered, the creek of the door was as ominous as ever. It was surprising that it was even hanging from from the hinges, judging by the condition. The inside of house was no better.

The walls were mossy, damp, and rotting. There was rubble in the ground from some places, with no roof, indicating the fallen ceiling.

This is one of the worst place you’ve worked in. But you’ve worked in worse. So you closed your eyes and sensed for its cursed energy. Everyone leaves residual, some people can hide it -like Suguru- but most can’t, and considering it’s a first grade, it probably can’t.

And bingo, you found-

A splatter sound was heard and something collided with your head, you pushed your arm, towards your head, and there it was, the red sticky substance of life, pouring out of your head

You turned around, eyes widened in surprise. It was not just the first grade.

Shit.

Now, you’ve somehow managed to defeat it, slumped on the same mossy and damp wall the one you scrunched your nose at earlier, with your legs splayed out, one hand clutching on your wound -the one on your stomach- holding it tightly, and in the other hand, your phone, displaying the picture of your two loves.

Ah, you really wished you could see them.

The picture was of a late-night adventure where all of you went to get ice cream. Satoru is grinning widely, with his signature peace sign and Suguru has an annoyed expression, no doubt due to some stupid comment passed by Satoru, though the softness of his eyes betrayed him, with a middle finger pointed at the camera. You were between them, taking the picture, with a smile on your face.

You smiled at them, tracing their faces on your phone before you felt the black spots appearing in your vision.

You had a feeling it’d end up like this. It always does, for people in your line of work. You just wished for what everyone wished for, a little more time.

Oh how you wished to go to the lakes where all the poet’s went to die. But as you thought, the world was a cruel, cruel place.

The phone in your hand slipped.

And so did you.

II: 2007

It’s been more than a year since you got to know those weirdos in your grade and the pretty girl. Satoru, Suguru and Ieiri.

Blue eyes and bangs. That’s what you called them. Or well, used to until it turned into a pretty, soft-spoken, Satoru and Suguru. The journey from former to latter wasn't a long one but you sometimes wonder whether you've known them for twenty seconds or twenty years.

Satoru was an exhilarating fresh breeze on your face on a windy day, full of adventure and new experiences and Suguru was the warmth of soft sun on a beach, relaxing and familiar. Satoru was your twenty seconds and Suguru was twenty years.

it had been a month since Riko Amanai died.

You think something in you died when you saw that child die. And those claps, that fucking sound haunted your ears still. The booming sound of the gun fired by toji fushiguro, the claps, and the innocent trip to the beach just a day before, it makes you sick to your stomach.

Because it wasn't just a child who had died, that child was your friend.

You think you're spiraling.

Every day is a routine. You wake up, greet your friends half-heartedly, go exorcise curses, come back late, and go straight to bed, not having enough energy to deal with anything or anyone.

You know Suguru is not well. You think you should talk to him. Satoru, he'll survive.

Maybe you're being too harsh, but this is all Satoru has ever known, what he was ever taught. He doesn't know how normal people live, or the joys of having a normal life. He won't do anything stupid.

Suguru knows how normal people live. And in their lives, children aren't murdered brutally.

But you want Satoru to explore normal life. Coffee in the morning, sweet spoken, sleepy mumbles, sunlight through the window pouring in the room, and writing their names on each other's backs.

You want him to explore all that. With you and Suguru.

So you've decided. Enough is enough. No more moping. You will do anything to keep this small family you've built with your friends.

I: 2008

Blinding white lights, thats all you saw as you first felt conscious. Maybe, you died for real this time, no second chances huh? But as it seems, eternal rest was not what destiny planned for you.

You open your eyes, blinking to get used to the flash of light. It was already giving you a headache. You groaned.

You heard panicked shouts and bustling, as a melodious female voice entered your ears to calm the other two distressed male ones.

You recognized them. Also, it means that you're in deep shit.

Regretting your choices and foreboding sleeping on the couch for a week, you open your eyes.

"Water." Croaking out that, sent you to a fit of cough, though, your savior appeared in the form of a rough set of hands that were holding you up, strong and tanned. Other, fairer, a bit lanky, but just as strong, held up a glass of after to your mouth, cupping your cheek to keep you in place.

You gulp down the water, reveling in the feeling of soothing cold water going down your dry throat.

You blink your eyes fully open, seeing the distraught faces of your lovers. Satoru, who was in front of you, holding an empty glass, looked like he'd been crying. His pretty eyes lined red.

Suguru, who after making sure you were sitting on the bed comfortably, came in front of you and sat down opposite Satoru. He didn't look much better, his face was unhealthy pale and he had bags under his eye.

You couldn't help but smile. Maybe the world isn't that cruel yet

"Hi." You croaked out, not being able to help a small bashful smile that made its way over to your face despite the graveness of the situation.

You were just so happy to see them.

"Hi, pretty." Satoru smiled in your direction. It was strained and wobbly, but even he couldn't hide the relief in his voice. He raised his hand and rested it on your cheek, caressing it.

Suguru came up and took your hands in his, softly squeezing them. "You scared us, baby." He said, gazing into your eyes with his misty ones.

"I'm sorry." Your hoarse voice groaned out, the smile was still ever-present on your face, though the feeling of remorse was there as well.

When you look at their faces, relieved and ridden of all the darkness, you think that maybe, maybe, you were able to save your family.

[hooman4ever]

I was wondering if you would do hc's about if our slasher bois were asked by their s/o to mercy kill them due to them being terminally ill or getting gravely injured? I had this idea but held off. Idk why it's been in my head lol

Sorry this took so long to get done!

Contains: Sick Reader, Hurt Reader, Begging to Be Killed, Lightly Edited, Might be OOC, Gender Ambiguous Reader

Jesse |Chromeskull|

Jesse was confused at first. He’s never been begged to kill someone before.

You intrigue him and he finds himself staring at you for a moment too long, his knife held in the air just inches from you.

“Why?” he types on his phone holding to you with a hand in your hair. Was this some kind of ploy? Something to distract him?

“I’m dying anyway.” that took him aback, you sounded so sincere, and you looked so sad.

At first, he was relieved. Good, he could get this done quickly.

Jesse couldn’t do it though. In the end, he ended up stealing you away from the world.

After all, it’s been a while since he’s had a pet and you seemed like the perfect candidate.

Jesse was a man that has seen many things. Many gruesome and unforgiving horrors in the night, most inflicted by his own two gloved hands. Jesse wasn’t one to hesitate. He was quick and efficient in his work never faltering.

Yet as you gazed up at him, eyes shining with so much pain and suffering, he stilled. Only for a moment before your next words had the man pulling his mobile from his pocket. “Please,” you had said from where you sit. A pool of red dripping from the gash in your side. “Please, make it end.”

It was a pathetic gut-churning sight, your pleading. Had it been any other day, any other conditions Jesse wouldn’t have hesitated in fulfilling your request. Today though, he pulled out his phone typing in the simple question that would set you on a long drawn-out path filled with twisted love given to you from your assailant turned savior, Jesse.

Michael Myers

“What’s this?”

At first, Michael would be confused and then angry. Were you messing with him? You thought you could catch him off guard with such a stupid distraction. No one wants to die, right?

He swung his knife down at you and stopped inched from your face when you closed your eyes and relaxed.

Boring was the first word to come to Michael’s mind. There was no joy for him when it came to killing someone who couldn’t or refused to defend themself.

He would leave you alive and alone that day. If you survived and saw the man again he would disregard you unless you approached him.

After a while, though curiosity would get the better of him and Michael would end up going back to your home. He wouldn’t attempt anything unless you did first. Michael would simply watch you (as long as raid your fridge, the little shit.)

As long as you didn’t get in Michael’s way he would make no further attempt to kill you.

You were so utterly boring.

Michael Myers was disappointed as he held the intimidating kitchen knife inches from your face. No fear flashed behind your eyes, instead, something akin to relief was what greeted Michael.

He had followed a few drunken teens into your home late at night. They were obviously drunk and breaking in. Not a good combination in Haddonfield, especially with a curious killer on the loose. Funny enough Michael had practically saved you from the teens filled with ill-intent that night before coming for your head.

The killer had caught you at a bad time. You were hunched over– lungs heaving as you coughed into your hand. Red was the first thing that had captured Michael’s attention when you pulled your hand from your mouth. Blood was staining your palm as well as the corner of your mouth.

That night you had stared up at the man begging him to end you. Too scared to do it yourself you had admitted through a weak smile.

Michael had left you there disappointed and slowly dying. The Shape didn’t stray from you for long, it seemed that the smell of death acted as a magnet to the killer, and before either of you knew it the man was beside you again. Staring at you with a tilted head as you lay in your bed watching him back.

Bo Sinclair

He would bark out a laugh. “What’s this now?” gun tucked under your chin “Wan’ me to kill ya?” once you nod your head he’s smiling “Gladly–”

While he was sure you were pulling his leg as many others have done before thinking they could catch the man off guard or win him over with sympathy. Once he pulled the trigger on the rifle and you didn’t flinch only closing your eyes he scowled.

Will blow up on you, ranting about “How fuckin’ dumb can ya be!” while dragging you to your feet and trying to make you run from him “Save yer sorry fuckin’ ass!” he will get mad that you weren’t trying to live.

He’ll end up locking you away somewhere funny enough as he tries to figure out what he wants to do with you.

Bo knows he will get no satisfaction out of killing you so what’s the point. He can’t let you leave however so locking you away in Ambrose seemed like the next best option.

“What?” Bo breathed out. His look of pure ecstasy as he reminisced in the feeling of blood coating his hands quickly turned to a scowl. “Please, just shoot me, I’m not gonna last long as is.” Bo couldn’t believe his ears. You had ruined his day with your insolent pleading.

“Fine by me,” he spat out shoving the barrel of his rifle right between your brows a determined look on his face. You closed your eyes at the clicking of the gun– then nothing.

The rifle was empty. Bo knew it was.

Lester Sinclair

This man rarely has to actually kill a person as it is, but the situation where a tourist forces his hand has happened before. He’s used to the usual begging and sobbing but nothing could prepare him for you.

You had begged Lester, begged him to end your life.

That had him breaking. He couldn’t do it.

Lester will question you almost tearing up himself before taking you back to his home to hide you from his brothers. The man will feel conflicted about you, especially if you still beg after he has you safely locked inside his home.

“Please, just kill me.” your sobs were like glass cutting into Lester’s heart. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the feeling of ending one's life, but as he looked down at you he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t push his dull hunting knife through your chest.

You were so weak, so tired. It reminded him of his mother, how she had looked all dried up and miserable. Strapped down and used as a living ginny pig to his father's sick means of medicine. Lester couldn’t kill you now, nor ever.

With shaky hands the man latched onto your arms, his hands squeezing the flesh there as he dragged you to his car. Thankfully you didn’t protest, letting the man drag you along while stifling your coughs.

Vincent Sinclair

While Vincent would be warry he would see his mother in you and the way you had begged for death.

His own mother had done the same when her brain started deteriorating. She wanted to die as she was. Not as what she would become. Even then though, Vincent couldn’t do it. Bo on the other hand— could.

Vincent would hide you away feeding and caring for you despite your pleas for death. He wouldn’t let anyone touch you, much less his brothers.

“Sick dog,” Bo had called you “needed to be put down,” you couldn’t agree more. Vincent could though.

As time passes he will see you less as his mother your differences are too vast to ignore but it would be too late by then. Vincent was attached.

He knew you were going to die but he would try everything in his power to stop it.

Vincent had rushed away from the dining table that day leaving a disgruntled Lester and Bo behind. A spare bowl of food was nestled between his hands as the masked man walked. Making his down the stairs to the basement where you resided.

“Hey Viney,” you greeted him as soon as you heard his heavy footsteps. He nodded in return making his way next to you before setting down the hot food and helping you into a sitting position. As soon as you noticed the bowl your face fell “Not hungry,” you muttered looking away from the man in front of you. He was used to this.

Grabbing your face he gave you a pointed look. Begrudgingly you accepted the food eating slowly.

[cafedanslanuit]

♡   —   pairing: kazutora x reader

♡   —   summary: after a long day at work, you want nothing but to spend a calm night with your boyfriend. however, you have no idea this is the night were all his demons finally get the best of him.

♡   —   tags/warnings: female reader, angst, breakups, hurt feelings everywhere, mention on mental illnesses and nightmares, based on ben platt’s song ‘carefully’, mention of tora’s job in one of the future timelines.

♡   —   a/n: i enjoyed writing kazutora so. damn. much. also, i’m quite proud of this one and the small details i added~ thank you @ofoceansandtombstones​​ for being my lovely beta <3

♡   —  masterlist

And all this time you've had a gentle way of holding me

So could you please release me that way too?

— “carefully” by Ben Platt

“It’s open, come in!”

The first thing Kazutora sees when he opens the door of your apartment is you, kneeling on the kitchen floor and picking up pieces of a broken baking dish. Red sauce has splattered everywhere and his mind betrays him for a second, imagining an accident far worse than what has truly happened. He blinks twice and starts to notice the small details that finally slow down the fast beating of his heart. There are pieces of chicken breasts next to the open oven door and what he thinks are sliced carrots next to your right knee.

You hiss when you pick up a piece of the shattered glass, the sharp end pinching your finger. Kazutora comes back to his senses, widening his eyes as he realizes he’s just been standing there.

“Hey, let me. You’ll cut yourself,” he warns, walking up to you. Grabbing both your hands, he eases you into your feet and then guides you to the living room. “I’ll take care of it,” he promises as he goes back to the kitchen and starts cleaning up the mess.

You let yourself fall on the sofa with a loud thud and let out an exasperated sigh.

“I just had the most awful day,” you whine, taking off your apron and leaving it on the arm of the sofa.  “Work was hell, I got scolded by something that I didn’t do— like always, only this time my boss was all like: ‘You gotta be more careful, we wouldn’t want to lose such a valuable employee’. Like he was going to fire me over someone else’s mistake?!”

Your voice is getting louder by the minute and you take advantage of the fact Kazutora is in another room to keep the volume. You have been waiting the entire day to see him and vent about what a trainwreck you day had been. Just as always, he listens intently, the only noise coming from the kitchen being a soft scraping sound as he picks up everything and throws it to the trash. 

“Then, I went to the store and of course they had run out of basil. Tell me, how does a store that big run out of basil?” you ask. There’s no answer from the kitchen so you continue. “I mean, yeah, I could have gone to another store but my feet were killing me. I’m just not meant to work in heels the entire day,” you sigh tiredly, swinging your feet.

You reposition yourself, now sitting cross-legged on the sofa. Putting your right hand on your left shoulder, you stretch your neck, feeling your sore muscles releasing a bit of tension with a small ‘pop’.

“I ended up preparing something entirely different than I had planned for dinner. I tried to let it go but just as I was going to put it in the oven, it slipped my hands and—”

“I think we should break up.”

Words die in your lips the moment you listen to your boyfriend speak. The silence becomes loud and abrasive as you struggle to understand what was happening. Why was Kazutora breaking up with you with such a small voice? What had triggered him to come to that conclusion? Why had he decided to bring it up now? You turn your head to the kitchen door and watch him slowly make his way towards you, doubtful steps as he takes a seat on the other side of the sofa, avoiding your eyes at all costs.

“What?” you ask, your voice hoarse. His lips form a tight line and you see him swallowing nervously.

“I’m not doing okay— haven’t been for a while. I— it’s been two years since I left prison and I still haven’t— I don’t— I don’t know what I’m doing,” he explains, looking down at his hands.

You nod slowly, trying to comprehend where he’s coming from. Turning your body towards him, you take a deep breath before speaking.

“It’s okay not to know,” you assure him in a soft voice. “Just… take it slow. One day at a time and then I’m sure you’ll—”

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” Kazutora confesses and you notice his voice wavering a little. “I— I keep having nightmares about— about that day and— and also about the motorcycle shop. Those two mix up and…” he takes one of his hands to the side of his head, his fingers grazing his temple. “And I’m hitting Baji in the head. And there’s so much blood— so, so much blood and—”

Leaning forward, you take his hands. They’re shaking and extremely cold and you rub your thumb over his knuckles, trying your best to soothe him.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now, Tora, you’re—”

Kazutora pulls his hands away hastily, leaving a tingling sensation on your palms.

“I can’t!” he says as he shakes his head. You spend a moment looking at your empty hands, never before having felt your boyfriend’s rejection. “I feel like I’m drowning and— You know what? I think relationships just aren’t for me,” he shrugs, his hands moving in exaggerated gestures. “That’s why I never cared for dating, never got myself involved in that kind of shit, not until—”

He finally looks at you and, fuck, you wish he didn’t. You’re not sure if you have the strength to deal with such hurtful discourse. You lick your lips and take yet another deep breath, deciding to ignore his hurtful remark.

“I’m… so sorry you’re feeling this way,” you say, slowing down your words, trying your best not to show how hurt you were. This isn’t him, you tell yourself. So no need for that tightness in your throat. “But you have to understand it’s not because of me. It’s because of everything that you’ve gone through and how hard it’s to deal with them. I don’t blame you, it is hard. But this… us,” you gesture to the both of you. “This is a good thing. Despite all the pain and hurt we’ve both been through, we—”

“Please, stop,” he says, raising his hand and pressing his eyelids together. “I can’t be with you anymore. That’s it, that’s all—”

“So you don’t love me anymore?” you counter. You scoff in disbelief, shaking your head. Kazutora’s eyes shoot open and you notice his pupils shaking in fear, like a deer caught in headlights.

“I love you,” he breathes out, and for a moment you see the boy you fell in love with in his amber eyes that are quickly filling with tears. “I do love you but it’s killing me. I feel like I’m dying,” he chokes out. He looks away from you once more and starts tugging at his fingers. “I’m rotting inside and I don’t know what to do to make it better. I just want it to stop. I want it to stop and— I don’t want you around when I’m like this. I want to figure out what the hell is happening and—”

“But if you love me and I love you then why—”

“I’m not happy with you!”

Kazutora widens his eyes, scared by his loud outburst. He parts his lips, silently muttering nonsense as he tries to come up with words that can make it better. You lower your head and he wants to punch himself over it. He doesn’t want to make you cry, not after everything you’ve done for him. Is he really going to be the person that hurt the one that made a home for him in her embrace? Is he going to hurt the only person that was brave enough to pick up the pieces of his shattered soul?

“I’m…” he babbles, in a soft voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

You snort. “No, you really did mean it, Tora.”

He can sense the hurt and sadness in your voice, even if now you’re the one that won’t look at him. He watches helplessly as you stand up and walk towards the living room window in complete silence. The apron you took off is still on the couch and the vast memories of all the times he embraced you while you were wearing it quickly fill his mind.

He wishes there was a way he could keep you. But no matter how much he wants to, he knows there really is no other way. He’s thought about this countless times. He has gone to work without getting proper sleep, stared at his blank tv screen for hours on end, trying to come up with a plan where he could keep you. Was staying with the person he loved the most too much to ask?

No matter in how many shades of light or with how much care he handled the memory of you, the only way he could spare you the greatest amount of pain was to leave you— even if he knew he’d end up shattering your heart as well.

Kazutora notices the way your fingers tightly close around the edge of the window, your knuckles turning white. He had come to terms that he’d lose you today, yet he never expected for it to be this way. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. If hating him would mend your wounds faster, then he’d take it. Anything that would make the heartache he was causing you a little bit lighter. He knew you were the last person on Earth that deserved to go to bed carrying that much pain in her soul.

Looking out the window, you focus on a small girl walking her dog on the street. It’s a brown labrador and by the size of it, it’s barely a puppy. Rather than walk, it jumps on its four legs, his little head looking back at the girl every chance he has as he happily wags his tail. The pet shop Kazutora and Chifuyu work at immediately comes to mind. Would it be like this from now on? Small things eliciting memories of your days together without your consent and leaving a sour taste in your mouth?

You will need to find a new commute, you think, as you had been stopping by the pet shop on your way home for the past year. Is there another bus that you could take? As you try to remember the lines and their respective routes, you’re engulfed by the memory of the first time Kazutora dozed off with his head resting on your shoulder as you rode the bus together. You close your eyes and you can clearly see his peaceful expression and slightly parted lips as he slept, his fingers tightly intertwined with yours. His breathing is slow and his hands are cold and you wish you could go back, even for a minute and place a kiss on top of his head, since you wouldn’t be able to do so from now on.

Where exactly had you failed? You had just been complaining about your day when he dropped the bomb. Did you complain too much? Did you talk too much? Or was it you the one that was too much? You tried your best and supported him as much as you could but as it turns out, it hadn’t been enough. Good intentions were nothing but useless as you were now saying goodbye to the man you had loved the most.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt Kazutora’s cold knuckles against your cheek, wiping your tears. You gasp, startled by his touch and take a couple steps back until your back hits the wall. It takes a few seconds for him to bring his hand now, unsure on what to do next.

He looks so scared and small— it fills your heart with frustration. Your whole body is screaming to take a step forward and comfort him, cradle him in your arms like so many times before, assure him he’s safe with you and that he doesn’t have to worry anymore. That, if you can still go home to each other at the end of a bad day, you can take anything life throws at you.

But that’s the thing. You’re not each other’s home anymore. You don’t get to bury your face in his neck and hum happily when his perfume reaches your nose. You don’t get to have him take a nap on your lap as you watch a series or feel his lips ghost against yours seconds before colliding in a kiss.

You hate it. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, crossing his arms in front of his chest and looking down at his feet. “Please, don’t cry.”

“You know what, Kazutora?” you say, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. You taste venom in your words, yet that doesn’t stop you. “If you’re not happy with me, then what are you doing here?”

He flinches at your words. Biting his inner cheek, he nods, still incapable of holding your gaze.

“Yeah, okay,” he mutters. “I’ll go. I really am sorry.”

Kazutora turns on his heel, walking towards the door. Maybe it’s the way you know he’s not coming back this time that makes your desperation afloat. You don’t want him to go and you also know you can’t make him stay. And even if somehow you could find a way to keep him by your side, it would be worthless.

He’s just not happy with you.

“Are you happy somewhere else, though?” you ask, your words leaving your mouth before your head has time to process them. He stumbles on his feet and stops. “Because if you just can’t manage to be happy, then it’s not on me.”

Kazutora doesn’t have to turn for you to know he’s second guessing himself. The next seconds feel like years as he just stands there, mid-way to the front door, thoughts so messy and loud you can almost hear them.

“That doesn’t matter,” he finally says with his back to you. He closes his fists and you see his shoulders rising and falling as he takes a deep breath. “This way you don’t have to deal with... with the mess I am and—”

“Oh, please, I knew what I was getting into when I started dating an ex-convict.”

The weight of your words fall onto you the moment they leave your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, muttering a curse. It takes no time for you to walk towards Kazutora, standing between him and the door.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Tora, I didn’t— you know I didn’t mean it that way. Fuck, I’m so sorry,” you whimper, tears flowing free down your cheeks. Your wave your shaky hands, desperate to make your point across. “I just wanted to say I knew things would be difficult but I loved you— I love you and I—”

Kazutora shakes his head, a gentle yet sad smile on his face as he takes your hands in his. He holds them in front of his chest, squeezing them gently as they don’t stop trembling.

“Stop, it’s okay,” he assures you. “That’s what I am.”

“It’s not,” you protest. “I mean— yeah, but you’re more than that. You’re so much more than that. You’re caring, you’re noble— you’re so tender with the animals at your shop. You’re so sweet with me, always checking if I’ve eaten and offering to help me out if I have chores I need to do. You always come pick me up if I’m working late. You— you’re so fucking special to me.”

Kazutora’s lips form a tight line. “I wish I could see that,” he whispers.

“Then just— let me try. Let me try until you can look at yourself the way I do,” you almost beg. You let go of the hold he has on your hands to gently cradle his face. “I’ll do anything, but... don’t patronize me. I’m not a little girl. Whatever life throws at me, I’ve always been able to handle it. No— we’ll handle it. Together. Like it’s always been, you and me, I just— please, I don’t want you to go,” you cry. “We were going to be happy together, you were going to live with me and I’d give you half my drawers and half my closet and half… half everything. Please, don’t go. Don’t go, Tora.”

The sadness in his amber eyes only confirms what you’ve been fearing this whole time. You sob, your thumbs softly stroking his cheeks as you feel the world crumbling around you. This time, he doesn’t stop you, letting you cry as you hold his face, coming to terms with the fact he’s really leaving after all.

Your hands move to his hair, gently threading your fingers across his long, dark locks. Tracing the outline of his face, you push one of the dyed streaks away, only for it to fall back right where it was before. You can’t help the small smile that forms on your lips. He’s so pretty, you think, as the pads of your fingers gently caress his face. Your thumb grazes the space between his bottom lip and his chin and you dream of a world when he’s not saying goodbye, but rather falling asleep under your touch on your shared bed. You never knew loving someone as much as you loved him was possible-- yet the way your heart was crumbling in pieces was evidence of how much your soul was aching by being separated from the person it belonged to.

Sniffling, you rub your cheek against your shoulder to wipe your tears. You swallow before raising another question.

“Is this a… temporary thing? Or for good?” Your voice comes out in a whisper as you place down your hands on his shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he answers. He wants nothing more than to put his arms around your body like so many times before, but he’s aware that it will only make things more difficult. “But I don’t want to keep you waiting in vain. You should move on.”

Kazutora realizes how much he hates the idea as it leaves his lips. The idea of you starting over with someone else rots in his tongue. He doesn’t want you to hold anyone’s face the way you were just holding his. He wants to keep you all to himself, to go to endless visits to the grocery shop, to watch you fall asleep during movie night and then pretend you didn’t, to massage your hands as you tell him about his day.

But you don’t deserve the guck that’s forming inside his mind. He knows it’s only a matter of time before it comes out pouring and reaches you. And he’ll be damned if he lets himself ruin the one good thing he’s had in his life for many years. He promised to himself he wouldn’t let his ill state of mind touch his loved ones. Never again.

He watches you nod and feels his heart shattering, even if everything is going just the way he intended. You rub his shoulders and look into his eyes, a sad smile on the pretty lips he would never get to kiss again.

“Okay,” you sigh. “We’ll end this but… when you leave, never doubt how loved you were. No— how loved you are. I don’t know what is coming for either of us but… I do know a part of my heart will always belong to you, no matter who I hold hands with. I will always love you, Tora.”

Your words are enough to finally break him. Kazutora clutches your body tightly against him as he loudly sobs against your shoulder. You hold him, tears flowing free once again as you try and soothe the man you love, leaving small kisses on the side of his head and whispering soft reassurances that it’s okay. It’s not, you tell yourself. It’s never going to be okay. But it has to be.

Carefully, you move him back to the sofa, helping him sit down while he refuses to let go of his hold on your body. You lean on the back pillows, both your arms cradling him while he whimpers like a small child. Kazutora clutches the fabric of your sweater with desperation, wishing there was a way he could stay with you.

Why does he have to give up the person that had put a smile back on his face? He can’t quite remember a time when his stomach had hurt out of laughter before he ever met you. Or when he’d experienced such peace as the night he stayed at your apartment and got to see your sleeping face first thing in the morning. He’s never loved anyone as much as he loves you and, for all he knows, he may never love like this again. 

But he could never risk tainting you. He would never be able to forgive himself.

Kazutora softly pulls away from your embrace. His eyes are blotchy and red and you’re sure yours look the same or even worse. His nose is red, like it always does when he cries. It’s endearing, you think. Everything about him, from his hair, to his eyes, his hands— you’ve come to love every part of Kazutora. And that’s exactly why it’s so hard to let him go.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says in a whisper, resting the side of his head on the back pillows of the sofa.

“Like what?” you ask, gently pushing his hair away from his face and behind his ear.

“Like I matter to you. Like I’m making a huge mistake.”

You take a deep breath. Imitating him, you rest your head on the back pillows as well, so you’re both facing each other.

“I don’t— I don’t fully understand what you’re going through,” you admit, your eyes locked on his. “But if you need to… get away, then you should. You’ve been nothing but loving to me. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy, whether it’s with me or not. You deserve to fully experience all the beautiful things life has to offer.”

Silent tears fall from both your cheeks and his.

“I should be thankful I got to love you for this whole year. Because even if it ends this way… God, I loved you so much,” you sniffle, letting out a small laugh. “And I felt so loved. Isn’t that magical in itself? That we got to love each other at the same time?” you wonder with a sad smile.

Kazutora parts his lips, yet the doorbell interrupts him before he can even speak. You look at the front door, your eyebrows furrowing for a moment before you realize who’s probably there.

“Food’s here,” you say, wiping the tears from your face.

“Food?” Kazutora asks, confused.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Didn’t I tell you? The baking dish broke so I called that restaurant, the one with the burgers we like.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t really listening back then,” he admits with a pang of guilt. He sits up on the couch and turns his head at you. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

You sit up as well. “I ordered for the two of us. C’mon, stay for dinner. Let’s… remember us this way, okay? Without so many tears and sadness,” you offer, tilting your head towards him. “I even ordered your favourite one.”

Kazutora rubs his face with his sleeve, erasing the trail of the tears he just shed. Looking at you, he nods, drawing a small smile on his lips.

“Okay. I’ll get it.”

He only walks a few steps towards the door before he feels you tugging at the back of his shirt. Turning around, he notices you’re standing right behind him. Your eyes look up to him, biting your bottom lip and not even a ghost of the smile you previously offered him.

“Before that, uh— I want you to know I… I mean it,” you firmly say, taking in all his facial features, loving how they soften every time he looks at you. “I’ll always love you. No matter how many years go by or if I ever stop being in love with you— I’ll still love you.”

“I’ll always love you too,” he replies, taking your hand and squeezing it softly. “I don’t think I could stop even if I wanted to.”

You finally let out a soft chuckle and squeeze his hand back. The doorbell rings again and you walk around Kazutora to get to it. This time, he’s the one that stops you, not letting go of the hold of your hand. Looking back at him, you notice the soft pout in his lips and how they softly tremble, looming more tears.

“It’s okay,” you assure him, and you know you’re saying it to yourself as well. “Who knows, we might get together again someday. Have our own Casablanca moment. We’ll always have the pet shop,” you joke, trying to fight back to tears that threaten to fill your eyes as well.

It’s Kazutora’s turn to chuckle, only this time he does it along with you. You let go of his hand only to hold his face tenderly, a soft smile as you look at the man you love. Standing on your tiptoes, you press your lips against the beauty mark under his right eye. You feel his hands setting on the small of your back and watch his smile widen when you fall back on your heels.

Locking your fingers with him once more, you open the door.

[alternativespookster]

Y’all want my really awful thoughts? I have a chronic Illness and several health issues. TW for that, kidnapping, and death.

Some of the enstars boys have had/have health complications ( eichi has a terminal illness, the Sakuma brothers have anemia and I headcanon they have porphyria, the vampire disease, chiaki was a sickly child, shu presumably has an ed of some sort and is of poor constitution, I think I remember something about mayoi being a sickly kid? Idk) but anyways imagine one of these boys as a yandere with a sickly darling.

Eichi’s having a terminal illness but him being very happy about it, elated that him and his darling can share this pain, and he gets them the best treatments money can buy, unless it would cure them. He enjoys keeping his darling just weak enough that they are unable to escape him but healthy enough he can have them. His darling knows that when eichi dies, they will too. By lack of medical care or by murder, Eichi will not die without his love. After all, we can’t have the emperor in death without his beloved partner, like the Egyptians did, when he dies you will too. And he couldn’t bare to live without you.

I imagine Chiaki being one of the better ones, he always sees his heroes cheering up the sickly, so shouldn’t Meteor Red do that for you? What if that’s how he met his darling, him and possibly all of ryuseitai (Hmm them being platonic yandere for Chiaki’s partner? He’s the dad, so you’re obviously their parent now) visit you in the hospital to cheer you up! Eventually he falls for you, the urge to protect another fragile creature from evil too strong for him to stop! Now, dear, let him give you your medicine! We don’t want Chiaki to have to bring in his darling unit to hold you down now so we?

Rei and Ritsu. Rei has a habit of caring for other in need, and though he doesn’t want to burn himself out helping others you are an exception! Rei has you moved into the Sakuma manor, where both him and Ritsu can keep a close eye on your health. You’d have a personal doctor and care team, because both Rei and Ritsu have MONEY, and Ritsu clings to you constantly, in fact he hardly leaves your side. Both of them get jealous of each other a little, but Rei is content knowing you’re safe in his home and Ritsu needs nothing more than your thighs for a pillow and nips on your neck. (Not bites! Neither brother can bare the thought of hurting their darling dove!)

I can’t think of much for shu and mayoi other than the classic sickly Victorian lady cliché. If y’all wanna see that let be know I have been hiding this for a while in my brain.