#--the person who would kill to get back to him--

[soapcloth]

Filthy Dog

MMA au -> pro!Soap x PR team!reader

Series CW: 18+ MDNI, possessive behaviour, spitplay, oral oneshot - 2K words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

“-I'LL HAVE YER’ HEAD ON A STICK!”

You heard him before you saw him- the blur of a man who was truly more bull than human, and the scraping of chairs. Another headache for you. 

You knew this was coming, you knew he wouldn't be happy with this sponsor. You tried to warn them.

“Johnny.” Soap’s manager, Mitch, tried to reason, eyes widening when the fighter’s massive wrapped hands flexed around his freshly-pressed white button down, untucking the bottom from his pants in the process. “-John.” he corrected, coughing awkwardly. When Soap snarled at him, Mitch looked to you with that ‘help clean this mess up’ look.

“No.” Soap bit, jamming a blunt finger into the man’s chest before you could respond to his plea. “This is yer’ problem.”

“We don’t have a problem.” Mitch assured. “Talk to me John, what's up?” 

Soap’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. “Ye’ know damn well. Told you I'd sooner quit than work with Max Energy.”

Mitch’s lips pursed, You were unsure what he expected as the outcome of his greed- probably that he would be able to talk his way out of it. “I don’t remember you saying that." he scoffed. "Come on now, Max is great, don't blow this out of-”

Soap growled in frustration, his fist careening into the folding table beside him; a deadly weapon- a warning shot. 

“Tell me, Mitch- why was I-” he snatched the cloth hanging out the pocket of his sweatpants and pushed it into the wiry man’s chest. “-just handed shorts with Max Energy big and bold ‘cross my fucking bits?” 

he leaned in, jaw tense. “Ah’m a joke to ye’? I’ll quit right here, right now.” 

Mitch called your name like he was summoning a maid and you could only sigh in response. “Soap-” “You say one more word for him and ah’ll knock his fucking teeth in.” he warned, not even turning to look in your direction. Your mouth closed, locked tight. 

“John, you quit and all those paying fans out there waiting for you will make sure you never get another damn title again.” Mitch threatened. “They’re not here for some still wet-behind-the-ears openers. They’re sure as shit not here for Kozlov.” he laughed sardonically. “They’re here for you. Don’t ruin this.” ‘-for me’ he seemed to leave out.

You couldn’t help but wonder if Mitch was doing this on purpose, or if he was just flat out stupid.

A deep, rumbling noise echoed around the depths of Soap’s expansive chest, lips curling back like a dog. “I do this fight- then I’m done, Mitch.” Mitch beamed, seemingly only hearing the confirmation he’d be fighting tonight. “-Not for yer’ sorry ass and not for those Max Energy bastards either. For the fans.” Soap grit out.

You could see the gears inside the manager’s head turning as he processed the financial hit he would inevitably take if his golden boy were to leave. “John-” Mitch practically whined.

 “Not up for debate.” Soap snapped, shooting him a venomous look- and like a tornado on a storm path, he chucked the shorts in the bin and left, dipping back into his locker room.

Mitch sighed, rubbing at his temples before setting his eyes on you.

“Do something. You’re Personal Relations- go relate personally.” Mitch snapped at you as he began digging into the trash to retrieve the shorts.

“Public Relations.” you corrected, earning a frustrated hiss and a dismissive hand wave. 

“Don’t change the subject. Get in there.”

You grimaced. “He’ll kill me!” 

“Don't be dramatic and hurry up, he's on soon.” Mitch urged, shooing you off. You made a sour face, heaving yourself up off the padded bench before Mitch could find something else to complain about. “-Wait.” Mitch ordered, as if he was telling a dog to heel. “-Second thought," he hummed "scratch that, let him be pissed for the fight. It’ll do numbers.”

-

Loathe as you were to admit, Mitch was correct- all three rounds had been polished off like they were light meals. You were next, surely. Your knee bounced anxiously as you awaited the full oncoming force of Soap’s post-cage high. “Fantastic! MacTavish v Kozlov-” Mitch barked out a laugh. “What a joke Kozlov was, does his team think it's amateur hour?” 

“Mitch.” you interrupted, knee falling still. “This isn’t really time for celebrations, you're about to lose your current biggest fighter.” He mowed you down with an eye roll “John just needs time to come to his senses, Max Energy contracts like this are once in a lifetime.”

“He’s not-”

The Locker room door nearly flew off its hinges, a beast coated in sweat and blood emerging. “John!” Mitch grinned with outstretched arms that faltered as the big man stormed straight past him.

God. Good god. He was hurtling towards you. Avert your gaze downwards, you coached yourself, you wouldn’t sit well in the stomach of a dog like him. 

Bare feet stopped before you. “You.” he chuffed out around the rubber guard in his mouth, drawing your gaze upwards. “Let’s go.” You looked around, not fully processing the situation. Mitch regained his composure. “Y-yes! Go talk with John.” he urged, desperately latching on to any inch of leeway Soap would give. “Get the fuck out, Mitch.” Soap barked, voice distorted by the EVA covering his teeth.”’Fore I rip yer’ head clean off.”

“R-right! We’ll talk later.” he laughed out nervously and tucked tail as Soap stared you down through the eyes of a starving street dog; getting the hell out of dodge. He kept his eyes on Soap as he left- a survival instinct not to show your back to a hungry predator.

”I tried to warn them about the Max deal.” you pressed once alone, hoping to avoid an argument. “Ah’know, bonnie.” he hummed lowly, a sweaty, gloved hand coming to graze your cheek. His sudden, loose tenderness came as a shock to your system. “Yer’ not like those vultures- Ye’ don’t see me as an asset.” His empty blue eyes relaxed, pupils dilating as his other hand raised to cradle the other side of your face, both thumbs brushing the corners of your lashlines. “Aye, Yer’ the good one. So patient with a daft bastard like me.” Your eyelids trembled slightly, his gaze zeroing in on the movement. “You want me like I want you?” 

Your eyes darted to your lap, urging Soap to tap at your cheek. “Eyes up- On me.” 

“You give the word and ah’ll treat you better than any man ever could. Ah’ll set ye’ right.” his voice dropped to a low boom. “Yer’ the only good thing ‘round me, have been since the moment we met.” You could still remember why you were hired. Soap was on the come up, but couldn't seem to figure out why getting into random scuffs with strangers over little annoyances was a bad thing. Especially for a man with a body that was essentially a lethal dose of muscle and bulk he had been specially trained in how to throw around. Possible fatal outcomes aside, it wasn't making him a man to root for. Every fight needed tension, but Soap wasn't a man built for pyrrhic victories- he was an underdog, biting and gnashing his way through cage after cage; man after man. He was meant to enjoy his hard-earned glory, and because of your work- MMA fans absolutely adored him. 

Soap huffed out, head tilting. “Y-yeah- yes, okay.” you whispered, trying not to psych yourself out. Your lips creased, head nodding before you could chicken out. 

Pulled into an blurred vortex, it took you an embarrassing amount of time to realize you were hiked over his shoulder as he lumbered towards his private locker room for the fight, locking the door behind him. Setting you gently on the luxurious industrial sink counter was his last mercy as he ripped off his gloves and clawed at your bottoms and underwear, yanking them off your legs. A freshly-bare and clammy hand braced itself under each thigh as he jacked your legs up and over his broad shoulders, a pleased grunt passing his lips. 

He lowered down before cursing and pushing your legs back up against your chest. 

You made a small noise, worried you had somehow fucked something up for him which earned you a growl and a headshake as he grunted and spat his mouthguard onto your tummy, sticky saliva coating your skin as it found its resting place before he dove back in, not caring where the plastic ended up. 

He pressed open-mouthed kisses at the apex of your thighs, sucking and biting at the skin like he was underfed and hungry. You whined as his teeth kept digging into the sensitive flesh, earning satisfied hums from the man in response, stubble not helping your case. You flexed, legs caging in his head which had seemed to guide him towards your waiting cunt.

The noises he emitted as he lapped at your folds made you feel nauseated and lightheaded, a blushing mess.

A shoulder jerked upwards to support your leg so he could explore the messy folds with a newly-unoccupied hand, but didnt pull his mouth back to give himself the space needed to do so; leaving you reeling at the feeling of such a concentrated area of stimulation.

As if sensing your limits, he bullied his way deeper, growling into your pussy in a way that left black spots at the corner of your vision.

Brutish fingers began to dip into the spot they had been searching for and you could feel his body tense and flex as he practically humped into the space beneath the counter, hips desperately chasing contact it wasn't receiving. He cursed against your flesh, mouth covered in drool and slick as he rose upwards, reminding you of a hulking behemoth as you were forced to accommodate the new position. He gazed down with hazy eyes and a glistening jaw as he focused on jamming whatever he could of his finger into your cunt, twitching and thrusting the digit inside you. As if the stretch wasnt enough to satisfy that itch in the back of his skull, he stuffed in his ring finger next to it, pinky and index bracing his hand as he fucked the fingers into you, transfixed. 

You were going to pass out at this rate, his knuckles, malformed from years of improper training and injury- kissed at your inner walls, sending you out of body. 

His lids lowered, pace easing as a thought passed his mind. He paused, stretching open the hole as his throat bobbed a few times. Your head clumsily lolled to the side just in time to watch a fat wad of spit drip from his mouth, directly into your slicked pussy. He smiled, happy with himself and savoring the sight for a moment before continuing his ministrations- slower this time, deeper. He angled his hand, thumb massaging at your clit just to see the way you would react. 

You didn't disappoint him, the sight of you causing his mouth to part, drool still hanging from his chin. “Fuuuck.” he breathed, drawing the word out. "-What a sight ye' are." His eyes darted back to your cunt, thick brows quirking as he experimentally ground his thumb deeper into your nub, urging a cry to push its way out of your lungs. His teeth glinted as he huffed out a small laugh. “Yer’ being so good to me too, huh?” he rumbled happily, eyes coasting along your stretched folds and it took you a moment to realize he wasn't talking to you. He pulled his fingers out slowly, scooping the mixed fluids up and popping them into his mouth. “Mmh-” he groaned, diving back in to gather more, this time digging deep. the movement finally pushed you over the edge. “Tha’s it.” he praised, dipping his head low to lap his mess beneath your flexing thighs.  -

You spent the following half hour under a steaming waterfall shower head with a looming mass tucked against your back, cleaning you up and rutting against you in random incriments- his skin surely emitting steam at a higher rate than the water. He bowed his head into your neck, bunting against you and inhaling the smell of his favourite body wash on your skin. “-Got an offer from 141 Athletics a bit ago, they could take care of it all for us, y'know.” he mumbled, pausing and dragging his nose along your nape. “Yer' coming-" he breathed out. “You work for me, not Mitch- You're coming with me.” you could feel his lips drag up in a sneer against your skin when the man's name left his mouth. In an attempt to comfort him, you tried to turn and face him, but thick arms stopped you, curling under your arms and around your chest, sneaking a feel before pulling you into him, the fatty layer coating his pecs molding against your back like a dream.

You nodded.

“Good.” he sighed.

[patchouii]

I’ll never get over how Will gave him the skankiest most arrogant little smirk right to the camera when he said “the charm being debatable”….. the tricky thing with the show is that we’re introduced to The Main Guy when his brain is already being affected with encephalitis (which Hannibal, of course, aggravates, and is then treated and cured while in the BSHCI in early S2). And where is your identity— both the one you present to the world and the one you consider closest to yourself— held? Along with your instincts, your smarts, your function and memories? Your BRAIN, of course.

And encephalitis hits all that like an electric mixer by inflaming the brain and exerting pressure, leaving someone in pain and vulnerable in all sorts of ways. If it was real life, the show would be over before the year or so of S1 ended because Will would’ve keeled over dead or been severely disabled as a result. But of course it’s fun and fiction, and Hannibal has always used real facts as inspirations rather than concrete things. After S1, Will’s empathy changes— there are no more nightmares, there’s no more uncontrolled factors. He has a remarkable (and fantastically fictional, of course) amount of conscious and selective control with his visualizations. So I definitely think that Will is closer to a pure, authentic version of himself in S2+ because of that, and sometimes I do wish everyone would recall that it was only during S1ep2, in his second or third session with his brand new FBI-appointed psychiatrist who knew his boss personally, where he said that he really wanted to go back to the field because killing Abigail’s father hadn’t really impacted him, and that he thought it felt good. That it felt powerful.

And then he chose to have more sessions with a psychiatrist who responded to that by saying that humans are made in God’s image, that killing is an act of God, and that we can certainly do as God does…… that just goes to show how he views things. If he’d had a proper psychiatrist, they’d have likely agreed with Chilton and marked him down as having some solid “dark triad” traits, if not a potential diagnosis. This isn’t to say that Hannibal’s influence didn’t matter either way in the end— it definitely did for both of them and their self-realizations and character progressions. Hannibal’s influence provided him with things to consider and understandably inflamed a sense of deep anger and a desire for violence in him.

I think that without their S1 story, it would’ve taken Will a lot longer to accept and wield those parts of himself openly, and it would’ve looked very different in terms of events. But it’s well established that he’d been buckling under the pressure of a lifelong ethos of what he should be like, feeding his darkness the scraps his empathy could scrape from crime scenes, and would’ve cracked and had his “becoming” eventually— or maybe made some other kind of harsh decision like ending his life.

the "diagnosis" Chilton gave Will during his trial was the one closest to the truth ("Will Graham has never been diagnosed. He won't allow anyone to test him. He has carefully constructed a persona to hide his real nature from the world. He wears it so well, even Jack Crawford couldn't see past it. (...) There is not yet a name for whatever Will Graham is.")

unlike Alana Bloom or Jack Crawford, he saw what a manipulator Will was and that in front of them he played a poor, confused, wounded bird ("(...) A particularly-manipulative one at that. Poor, confused, wounded bird for Agent Crawford and Doctors Lecter and Bloom. And for me, well, I get the psychopath's triumvirate: charm, focus and ruthlessness. The charm, of course, being debateable.")

he believed Will that Hannibal may be the Chesapeake Ripper and said Jack Crawford: "Hannibal once served me tongue and made a joke about eating mine. It's hard not to at least consider it.". Jack ignored him. (I think Jack was already planning some large-scale action against Hannibal, but that's a topic for another post)

he called Dr Lecter "Hannibal the Cannibal"

he understood that Will Graham was alive because Hannibal Lecter liked him that way

criticized Jack for letting Will and Hannibal get closer to each other and then leaving Will alone ("You dangle Will Graham and now you cut bait. You are letting Hannibal have him hook, line and sinker.")

when Jack expressed hope that the relationship between Hannibal and Will was one of those friendships that ends after the disemboweling, Chilton told him: "I would argue, with these two, that's tantamount to flirtation. Will is going to lead you right to him." and let's be real, he was right.

[celestiamour]

Accept my Hyun-ju request and my life is yours 😩🛐 (/lh you totally don't have to accept it if you don't want to <33)

BUT. The part where Hyun-ju is about to leave to fight the masked guards. Throughout the games, fem!reader developed a crush on Hyun-ju and before she left to fight, reader decides to go for it and give her a goodbye/good luck kiss 🤭

I am SO obsessed with this queen omg

ft. cho hyun-ju x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ giving her a goodbye kiss before she leaves during the revolt┊0.8k words

setting: season 2, episode 7 contains: , angsty & open-ended, season 2 spoilers, canon-typical gun violence! love confessions, reader is sapphic obviously, mentioned homophobia/transphobic in conservative korea

➤ author's note: i’m so glad to see so many requests for this queen, i’m also obsessed

“goddamn it, where the fuck is dae-ho?!” you could barely even hear yourself over the sounds of shots being fired on both sides, hiding behind the pink walls which were steadily being painted red with the blood of your companions. 

the younger marine had left at some point to gather more magazines from the pockets of the deceased guards back at the barracks, but he was currently nowhere to be seen and the situation was becoming more dire by the second. although you had been conservative with your bullets to focus on accurate hits that would kill them on the spot, there were only a handful left at the moment and some of the other men were completely out. 

over all the ruckus, you could hear hyun-ju yelling into the walkie-talkie trying to get a hold of him, but he was nowhere to be seen or heard so she roughly shoved it into her tracksuit pocket and began to shout, “something must have happened! i’ll go down and check!”

“wait, let me come with you! it’s too dangerous to go alone!” you tried to get up from your position but was stopped when an oncoming bullet managed to graze your face, making you shriek in surprise as a shaky hand lightly brushed at the wound and found your fingers now smeared with blood. 

“it’s even more dangerous for you to move from your spot! i’ll be okay, i promise!”

her determination was awe-inspiring, yet your heart sank at the realization this might be your last time seeing her face. your affections toward her were unexpected even though you already knew you loved differently than most people did, something you both bonded over when being a part of the lgbtq+ community was still a taboo topic socially, but you found her to be beautiful inside and out with her caring personality and resilience in times of danger even though you were too scared of ruining your special friendship to admit it. you had no idea it was possible to become so attached to another in the span of less than a week, being so surprised at the realization you stayed up for hours when others were asleep to take it in. the only other person who knew about your feelings for her was young-mi, and she was…

suddenly hyun-ju was next to you wiping away the sole tear about to drip down the corner of your eye, holding on to you with a worried look on her face, “are you okay? i thought you went into shock for a second.”

god, you didn’t even notice with the battle going on around you sounding almost muffled with the two of you feeling like the only souls for miles around. everyone here insisted you should stay behind on account of being a woman even though you believed you had proven yourself to be tougher than most throughout the games, but she had faith that you could fight just as fiercely as a man and defended you each time they said you should turn back. (as annoying as it was, you don’t blame them since they were only looking out for you.)

you stared back at her for a second, blinking away thoughts of the past to focus on the present, the knowledge of this possibly being your last interaction with her once again coming to the forefront of your mind. taking in a deep breath, you decided “fuck it” with closed eyes and pulled her towards you for your first and possibly last kiss.

her eyes remained wide open in shock, trying to process the sudden action. it lasted for a few seconds but felt like an entire minute, feeling your soft lips against hers as she reciprocated the kiss and feeling her heart jump for joy. the earth seemed to stop spinning for those few moments until a voice called out to interrupt. “hey lovebirds! we’re kind of in the middle of something here!”

you finally parted with her, gazing deeply into her eyes and noting her blown-out pupils. “come back safe, and when we get out of here, we’re going to pay for your surgeries and move to thailand together, and i…” you closed your eyes again, taking a deep breath to muster up the bravery to utter the words you might never be able to say again, “i love you.”

now it was her turn to stare at you. you loved her? loved her as she is? she can’t remember the last time she heard those words after getting essentially disowned by her family. she always knew, deep down, she shared the same feelings for you, but was too scared she would end up alone again as she has been for so long so chose to push them down out of fear of rejection. yet when you’re by her side like this in the face of certain death, she feels courage. “i love you too. we’re going to get out of this together,” her confident voice made it sound like she was an oracle who already foretold your happiness in the future, “but first, you guys are going to have to cover for me.”

“don’t worry, i got your back!”

[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 6)

You go to confront The Witch and Lady Death

Word count: 3900

Warnings: smut, fingering, more murder

You try to call Tony on the way over, but his number isn’t there. You scroll through your text messages, his thread isn’t there either. You try recent calls. Nope. 

It’s like he’s been entirely erased from your phone. 

You’re getting frantic, desperate, and you know that you can’t exactly look up the personal phone number for the director of an FBI branch, so on a complete whim, you check your blocked contacts. 

Fucking Rio. 

She must’ve gotten into your phone when she came by to get your clothes that night and made sure there was no way you could reach your life outside of Westview. No way you could get help. 

Fingers gripped around the blade of the knife, you’re about to leave the room when your phone lights up with a call. Tony. You scoff, decline it, and block him. You don’t have time for that. 

Grimacing, you massage the area between your eyes. You’ve made a huge mess of everything. 

You unblock him and call him and he picks up on the first ring. 

“Y/N, where the hell have you been?” He barks and you wince at his scolding tone. 

“Things here have…developed,” you start, weighing how much you should tell him. 

He scoffs. “None of my calls or texts have gone through. I thought you were dead!” You try to say something but he barrels over you. “I’m on my way to Westview right now. I’m supposed to land in about an hour. I don’t know what’s going on there, but I’m bringing you back to Miami.” 

“No!” You cry out. He can’t. “Please, Director, I’m so close, I’m about to get them right now. I know who they are and where they are, I’m on my way.”

You can hear his sharp intake of breath when he realizes what you’re about to do. “Agent, stand down. That is a direct order. You are not to engage with them.” 

A blush spreads through your body as you remember just how much you’ve engaged with them. 

“It’ll be fine,” you assure him. “They don’t want me dead.” 

The sound of him hitting the tray table on the jet reverberates through your phone and you almost jump. “Dammit, Y/N, this isn’t a game! This is life or death, and you are not to try and get them all by yourself. Turn around from wherever you are and go back to your motel and do not leave until I get there!” You’ve never heard him this mad. 

But you can’t. You’ve come too far to let them slip away like this. You have your gun and maybe the element of surprise on your side. You have the power to end this tonight. 

Tony’s still ranting about how irresponsible and impulsive and stupid you’re being, so you hang up. The call ironically disconnects in the middle of him saying how you never listen to anything he says. 

You’re more convinced than ever that Agatha and Rio did something in the woods that day that fucked you up beyond measure. 

And who was that other woman? 

Somehow, after all of that, you had ended up in the hospital with hypothermia and pneumonia, and the post-traumatic and retrograde amnesia accounts for the block in your mind. Did you hit your head on something? 

Or did someone hit you on the head with something? 

Agatha and Rio and the mystery woman had been so shocked and afraid when you came across them doing something bad that they had clobbered you in the hopes that you would forget, or die? 

It’s plausible. 

If nothing else, you need answers before you kill them tonight. Maybe knowing what they did will give you some semblance of peace and you can sleep without fearing that you’re going to murder innocent people. 

It can hopefully get rid of your headaches, at the very least. 

When you get to the address left on the note, Agatha’s car is already parked out front. You breathe a sigh of relief and the tension in your shoulders you didn’t know you were carrying seeps out. They’re here. They didn’t send you on a wild goose chase. 

Your heart is beating so fast you think it might fly right out of your chest and you try to slow down your breathing before entering the viper’s nest. 

There’s no telling what you might find in there, or what tricks they have up their sleeves, so you want to be mentally prepared. 

When your breaths are finally under control, you get out of the car and immediately slip on ice. You crash down to the pavement with a thud and you struggle to get your bearings and 

Snow. 

Clearing in the woods. 

The woman beckons you forward and you find her with two other women. Out of the three, there’s two brunettes and one with gray hair. The gray-haired one looks older, lines prominent on her angry face. She’s standing against a tree.

The two brunettes smile. 

When you get closer, you can see that the gray-haired lady is standing in the middle of a big mound of sticks and branches. 

Why doesn’t she just move? 

The cold ground bleeds through your pants and brings you back to reality. The big mound of sticks and branches coupled with the fire you started seeing…was she on a pyre? 

One thing at a time, you remind yourself, pushing yourself up with the help of the car next to you. 

You silently slink up to the front door. It’s slightly open. You pause and press your ear to the wood, listening for anything that might indicate a struggle happening. 

Nothing. 

You push it all the way open and carefully step inside, wincing when the floorboard creaks under your foot. It’s so silent in the front corridor of the house that you think you can hear your blood rushing under your skin. 

There’s flickering light coming from the living room and you make your way in that direction when you hear something. You strain your ears and stop against the wall to try and discern what it is – is that a smacking noise? 

Are they kissing? 

You dare to peek around the corner and yes, not really to your surprise, Agatha and Rio are making out amidst a crime scene.

 A dagger sits on the kitchen table next to a plate of the same cookies from their house, two purple azaleas, and two containers. 

Two people, a man and a woman, are laying on the ground gasping for air. Their skin is getting tighter, shriveling, lines etching into their face as their cheeks hollow out. 

Their chests are still intact though. Maybe they haven’t gotten to that step yet? Clearly Agatha and Rio have been sidetracked.

You should go help them. You should go in there and save their lives, you should stop The Witch and Lady Death. Why do you feel so hot? You must have a fever, there’s no reason your body should be this warm.

But then you look in their direction and you’re enraptured, all other thoughts leaving your head.

The skeleton mask is thrown on the floor and the glow of the fireplace lights up Agatha and Rio trying to devour each other’s mouths. 

A flush of heat stutters through your body as Rio reaches her arms around Agatha’s neck and tries to pull her even closer. Agatha’s hands are clasped on her wife’s cheeks and you can see her tongue sliding into Rio’s mouth. The electricity under your skin is back, roaring to life, while your eyes move from the people on the floor, taking their last breaths, to Agatha and Rio, still kissing like their lives depend on it, to the 

Snow. 

The clearing. 

The sound of a match striking against the matchbox. 

You watch it fall, almost as if in slow motion. 

A brilliant blaze of fire erupts. 

Agatha’s foot squeaks on the floor as she walks Rio backwards, mouth never leaving hers. Your fingers tighten around the gun so hard you think you might snap them. You should shoot them. You should shoot them both right here, right now. 

But you can’t move. 

You’re stuck, rooted to the same spot around the corner, watching as Agatha’s lips trail down Rio’s neck. The younger woman’s head drops back to give her wife more room and you can almost feel the pleasure she does. 

“Agatha,” Rio whines and you never thought you would hear her beg. But the mighty therapist, the same woman who poisoned you after eating you out on your couch, is reduced to holding her wife’s hair so she doesn’t move away. 

Your breath comes out in sync with Rio’s, like you’re imagining that you’re her instead of you, that you have Agatha pressed up against you instead of being pressed against a wall. 

Rio’s fingers dig into Agatha’s thick locks and she switches positions, whirling Agatha around, and she takes control of the kiss. Your eyes are wide, rapt with attention, not daring to look away as Rio moves down to Agatha’s chest and rips her flannel open, revealing her pale chest and lacy black bra. 

Your mouth waters and the ache, the same one you felt in the woods and in your motel room, the same one you feel whenever you’re around them, floods through you, settling right between your legs. 

Rio nips at Agatha’s breast over the fabric, mouthing at her nipple, and you would kill to be with them. Agatha is watching her fondly, with heat in her eyes, and you think Rio must be looking up at her. 

Now would be the perfect time to shoot, so why can’t you move?

Because you like this too much, your body answers for you. You have to tug at the neckline of your sweater as you feel too hot. 

Rio kneels down, hands sliding up and down Agatha’s thighs while she sucks on the smooth expanse of her wife’s stomach. Your body is swimming with desire, it’s dizzying almost, and you think you need to cum soon or you might die. 

Agatha gasps when Rio sinks her teeth into her skin roughly and then soothes the spot with her tongue. She reaches up, moves Agatha’s hair out of the way, and unclasps her bra and you feel a guttural moan form in your throat. You have to bite your lip hard so it doesn’t escape. 

The pale skin of her chest is flushed red and there’s a slight sheen of sweat on her clavicle. Her nipples are a dusky rose color, pebbled and hard, and you want them in your mouth so fucking bad. 

Rio surges up to do exactly that, tugging on them with her teeth, and Agatha groans, eyes fluttering shut. 

Your brain finally forgets about shooting them, forgets about the fact that they’re serial killers at all, and you do possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life. 

You put the gun into the waistband of your pants and you step out from behind the corner. 

Agatha’s eyes fasten on to you immediately, but instead of looking surprised, she looks impatient. Like you should’ve been here thirty minutes ago. 

“There’s our superstar,” she drawls, hands tangling in Rio’s hair, forcing her still. “What took you so long?” 

You try to think of something to say, anything at all, perhaps a remark about how you caught them, when Rio rakes her eyes up and down your body and chuckles. “Look at her, Aggie. She didn’t just get here. She’s been watching.” 

Agatha smirks in agreement. “I wonder what got her more hot and bothered, watching us” She nods to the surely dead couple on the ground. “-or watching them die.” 

“You two are crazy,” you say, willing your hand to grab your gun, but it doesn’t obey. The heat in your voice betrays you, though. 

Rio simpers, advancing toward you with Agatha in tow. You clench your teeth as they start circling you like sharks. “Want to know how we do it?” Rio purrs into your ear and you shudder. 

“No,” you spit out, trying desperately hard to keep your eyes from darting down to Agatha’s breasts. She’s made no move to cover up. Her nipples are still hard.

“First,” the detective starts. “We lace the cookies with a delicate mix of hydrofluoric acid, acetone, isopropyl, and a few other things meant to just confuse test results. It slowly decomposes their body from the inside out and they’re dead within minutes.” 

Rio moves your hair out of the way to press kisses to your neck and it sends goosebumps down your spine. 

“And then,” Rio says right against your skin while Agatha’s hand slithers from your waist to your stomach up to around your throat. You can feel your pulse throb against her fingers. “I take my knife and carve out their hearts. The first cut is always the sweetest. After that, we use bleach to wash it away and hydrogen peroxide to eat away anything we left: blood, fingerprints, DNA.” 

“Voila,” Agatha says, snapping her fingers that aren’t around your throat. You hate how wet you can feel yourself getting. “That’s how you get away with murder.” 

Rio’s hands are on your hips now, squeezing in time with the hand on your throat. Your airway is constricted, you know you should be scared, but you meet Agatha’s blown-out pupils and are sure yours look the exact same. 

The therapist finds your gun and disarms you. “Or in your case,” she says right into your ear, jabbing the muzzle into your back. “You just lure them into the woods while you’re unconscious and slit their femoral arteries.” 

All the air leaves your lungs, both from their proximity and your own weapon being used against you. 

“Get on your knees,” Agatha orders, letting go of your throat so you can immediately drop down. 

Your knees hit the ground hard, but you barely even register the pain, looking up at them eagerly to await what’s next. 

Rio slowly walks around until she’s standing next to Agatha and tucks the gun under your chin, forcing it up even more. “Look at how much she’s getting off on this,” she says in a hushed voice. The air between the three of you is thick with tension, the dead bodies only a few yards away completely forgotten. 

“You’re capable of so much more than just being a profiler,” Agatha says wistfully, stroking your hair with some sort of affection. “You can be so much more.” 

Snow. 

The match drops.

Fire. 

The gray-haired lady screams. 

You’re running through the woods. Are you being chased? 

There’s a crack as your head hits the ground.

“What did you do to me?” You ask, voice breaking. “What did you do to that woman?” 

Rio drags the gun up the side of your face, traces your cheekbones, and then presses it to your lips. Instinctively, your tongue darts out to flick at the cold metal, and both their eyes flash. “You still don’t remember everything?” Rio asks. 

“I remember that you killed her, and it fucked me up,” you tell them, voice level as it’s finally making sense to you. “I found you two in the woods. You burned her, and then what? You tried to kill the ten year old who saw it? And this is — what? Your way of finally tying up all those loose ends?” 

Agatha snorts and Rio scoffs. 

“Look at our superstar, thinking she knows everything. We don’t want to kill you,” Agatha says, rolling her eyes. Rio takes the gun away from your mouth and tosses it onto the couch. 

Your gaze flicks between them, not sure who to look at. “What do you want then?” 

Agatha winds her fingers through your hair and yanks you off your knees, dragging you in for a kiss, biting your bottom lip hard. A metallic taste fills your mouth and it only makes you hungrier, so you open your mouth and shove your tongue into her hot and waiting mouth. 

You feel Rio’s body pressing against your back and her hand delves under your waistband to cup you over your soaking underwear. Your hips involuntarily jolt at the contact and you moan, but it’s swallowed up by Agatha’s lips. 

The detective pulls your shirt over your head as Rio pushes your underwear to the side and lazily spreads your wetness around your cunt. 

There’s a tugging in your gut, a burning, aching, guttural tugging that is going to be the death of you. Electricity skates through your veins, lighting up your blood and setting it to a boil. 

You’ve never felt so hot in your life. 

Agatha’s lips on your neck do little to quench your thirst for more and Rio shoves two fingers into you with no warning and a gasp tears its way out of you. Agatha bites on your collarbone as Rio twists her fingers and you groan loudly. 

“She loves this, Rio,” Agatha says like you aren’t even there. Rio whimpers and curls her fingers, her other hand snaking around to grab Agatha’s throat. The older woman’s breath hitches as she kisses along your bra, tasting the perspiration on your cleavage. 

Rio’s fingers inside you and Agatha’s mouth now sucking on your nipples, having pushed your bra down, somehow isn’t enough. 

You need to feel them. 

Your hands find Agatha’s breasts, kneading them and pulling on her nipples. She makes a noise against your skin and it only sears you more. You slide your fingers down her stomach, over the red marks from Rio’s mouth, and dip them into her pants. 

She’s just as wet as you are, and you gingerly rub her clit, gathering wetness from her entrance and bringing it back up to swirl at her. She pants hotly against your skin and you can feel her hand creep behind you to Rio, who has set a slow pace inside you. 

“Aggie,” Rio breathes and bites down onto the back of your shoulder. Agatha chuckles breathlessly and you’re able to twist your head just enough to see Agatha’s hands down the therapist’s pants too. 

It makes you clench around Rio’s fingers. You’re all being fucked, and fucking someone, and you can feel Agatha’s wetness the same way Rio is feeling yours, the same way Agatha is feeling her wife’s. 

You slide your middle finger into Agatha, groaning when her walls flutter around you. Rio squeezes a third finger into you and you keen at the stretch, but then she starts fucking roughly and it’s everything you need and more. 

Her thumb swipes at your clit and you try to time your thrusts into Agatha with Rio’s into you. 

Rio’s teeth find your shoulder blade again and dig in, and the pain just makes your body feel even more alive. 

You’ve never felt like this before. The intensity is tenfold what anyone else has ever given you. 

Your ring finger joins your middle and Agatha nips at the curvature of your breasts. Your free hand palms hers and you roll her nipple, enjoying the way she gets tighter around you. Rio plays with her wife’s other boob, and you don’t think you could move a muscle either way because the two women are wrapped so firmly around your body, holding you in place in the middle. 

But that’s nothing new. You’ve been intertwined with them since you’ve gotten here, maybe even almost your whole life. 

Agatha’s lips capture yours and you can feel her muscles in her arm strain against your bicep. You curl your fingers and find the spongy spot that pulls a resounding gasp from her mouth right into yours. Rio pauses, pulls out, and when she presses back at your entrance, your head almost falls back when you feel four fingers posed. 

The detective seems to know because she chuckles against your lips, sucks on your tongue. 

And then she pulls away as Rio plunges four fingers into you, the stretch burning. But the pain gives way to even more pleasure and when she twists them upward, you almost cum. 

“I’m so close,” you moan and Agatha leans behind you and out of the corner of your eye, you see her kissing Rio. And then Rio pulls your head back by your hair and her mouth is on yours and then there’s a flurry of tongue and teeth and lips and you don’t even know who you’re kissing but it’s someone and it’s so good and you’re about to —

— Rio’s fingers stop inside you and you whine, frantically rolling your hips. Your fingers are still pumping at a steady rhythm inside Agatha and you can feel by the movement in her arm that she’s still fucking Rio. 

“Why did you become a profiler?” Rio asks into your ear. “Tell us and we’ll let you cum.” Her thumb brushes against your clit and you’re so sensitive, you think you might be able to cum anyways with that and the fullness. 

“You guys…you killed her so I wanted to know why you did, how you could,” you choke out and Agatha peppers kisses all over your chest. The livewire in your body is about to snap. 

Rio gives you one harsh thrust and you almost sob. “Try again,” she orders. 

Tears prick in your eyes and your fingers falter inside Agatha. You can hear Rio’s breaths becoming shorter and shallower, indicating how close she is. Agatha’s eyes dart from your dark pupils to your swollen lips. She’s still holding onto her composure, better than you and her wife are at least, but you can tell she’s on the edge. 

“I don’t know,” you say, but is that the truth? 

The thrumming in your head comes back, like a memory knocking on your brain, asking to be let in. 

You give in. 

Snow. 

The clearing. 

The three women: two brunettes and one with gray hair.

You can now see that the gray-haired lady is tied to the tree.

The sound of a match on the matchbox. 

The match is flicked onto the sticks by someone, igniting the stake and a brilliant blaze of fire erupts. 

Who set the fire?

Your eyes snap open, the entire block in your mind gone and the memories flood through your head. 

“I wanted to understand why I did it,” you gasp and you know that you finally got it right when Rio starts fucking you with a renowned vigor. 

It takes no time at all before you cum explosively all over her hand and the two of them follow shortly after. The feeling of Agatha orgasming around your hand triggers another one in you and you cling to both of them while you come down from the most intense high of your life. 

They soothe you, whisper sweet nothings, press kisses all over your face, and you wince when Rio pulls her four fingers out of you, the emptiness filling you. 

You start to shake and you don’t realize you’re sobbing until they’re kissing your lips and you can taste the saltiness from your cheeks. 

“It’s okay, baby girl,” Agatha says, and they wrap their arms around you, holding you and letting you cry. “We got you. We’re not letting you go.” 

You sniff and lean into their embrace, feeling whole for the first time in your life. 

[secretsofafangirll]

let's talk...

//

Now I know this is not what I usually post but I felt like it was my duty and responsibility to talk about this.

On Dec. 4, United Health Care CEO Brian Thompson was shot and killed in front of a Hilton hotel in Midtown Manhattan in New York. Just 5 days later, the suspect and alleged shooter Luigi Mangione was arrested at a McDonalds in Altoona, PA with everything the police needed for an arrest present (that's a little fishy but we can talk about that another time).

As of now, Mangione is being held in a jail in Brooklyn, NY and is awaiting trial. He has plead not guilty to federal charges of using a firearm to commit murder, stalking, and discharging a firearm with a silencer. He has also been slapped with terrorism charges.

Now, do I think anyone should kill anyone in cold blood? No. Do I 100% support Luigi Mangione and his choice to kill Brian Thompson, a greedy slime ball who killed thousands of more people than Luigi did? Yes. With that being said, Luigi Mangione is innocent until proven guilty and I think we all need to remember that. We cannot be the same people who go on Tik Tok and Tumblr calling him the hot CEO shooter and saying that his act of protest makes him even more attractive and also stand up to the DOJ and say that he is innocent and should be pardoned. Regardless of the reason why he allegedly killed Brian Thompson, he could still be charged federally and is facing the death penalty.

I understand that he is incredibly attractive. I'm not saying he's ugly and that we can't talk about it. I have saved hundreds of edits of him on Tik Tok and his name has been in my Tumblr and Wattpad search bars more than once. But that isn't all he's good for. His attractiveness is not important because we want to look at him and read fan fiction about him. His attractiveness is important because people are paying attention to him. If he was ugly or fat or, I'm going to be completely honest, though I hate to say it, a person of color, the masses would not be reacting this way. No one would be talking about the case or about the suspect like they are. His looks are making people tune in. His looks are getting people to pay attention to the story. But we CANNOT lose the plot.

Luigi's alleged selfless sacrifice is what we need to talk about. He did something nobody, up to this point, in our generation has had the guts to do. Everyday, thousands of innocent people are killed in cold blood and the police and the government don't give a single fuck. We don't help them. If anything, we make their lives harder. If one of us get's shot several times in the city by a man who had a gun with a silencer, it wouldn't be in the news. The man probably wouldn't have even been arrested. He wouldn't be facing federal charges. He'd probably just get a warning and let back onto the streets. But because a rich man who took the money and lives from the poor got what was coming to him and got killed, they needed our help to find the perpetrator and get the violent beast off the streets so that they can send him to the chair. Well, you know what, FUCK THAT!!

The Parkland Shooter killed 17. He was an adult. No death penalty.

The Sandy Hook shooter killed 28. He was an adult. No death penalty.

The El Paso shooter killed 23. He was an adult. No death penalty.

It is not my job to find you a hero to kill. It is not our job to protect the people who take our money and our lives away from us. But it is our job to protect Luigi Mangione and get him out of the courts.

Peaceful protests don't work; that's why they let us do them. Luigi Mangione knew this, and he allegedly did what he felt needed to be done. Now, we have to help him.

We cannot, and I can't emphasize this enough, let him be a trend. Everyone was talking about the Menendez Brothers for weeks when the Netflix show came out and now everyone forgot. I didn't, but a lot of people did and the lack of support now is making their lives harder. Luigi Mangione cannot be the white boy of the month who we forget about in a week. He is a public figure now and we have to help him. I'm begging all of you to do everything you can. Send letters, sign petitions, keep his name in the media, and most importantly...

Remember who the real enemy is.

[lunarcrossingart]

"Until you are dead, I can't get married."

The sharp end of a sword tilted towards me as my younger sibling stood in trembled reverence. I had grown a lot bigger since my parents sealed me in this cave, but somehow, he still felt the same to me.

"Can't or won't?" I did my best to let my thundering voice be a soft purr in the cavern. The trinkets I had been given over the years clinked together regardless of how gentle I was. It came with the territory of being a monster.

His eyes held mine and his lip snarled. I gave an airy chuckle as I lifted my head and writhed my slender body. Within a blink he realized that I had blocked his exit. Yet, he never wavered in his footing as he tried to calculate how to reach my head again. It was clear he'd have to climb up my scales to even get that close.

Pitiful, really.

"Brother of mine, you can kill me, but under one condition." I grinned big and toothy. Each fang I had was far sharper than the sword Father and Mother gave him. There was no contest who was to die in our fight.

"You must spend seven days and seven nights with me, live as I live, eat what I eat, and do what I do. As soon as the eighth sun rises, then and only then, will I let you kill me."

"Do you accept?"

"I… Yes. I accept." He lowered his sword and looked at me with disdain. "What will you do first?"

—

I curled the tip of my tale to my chin and tapped the horns growing there softly. To be honest, I hadn't thought this out that far, but an idea found its way to me.

"First, introductions." I lowered my tail to his face and extended it towards him, "I am assuming Father and Mother named you, correct?"

"... Yes." He hesitated but ultimately accepted my 'handshake'. "I am Prince Zmija, second to the throne."

What.

"Second to the throne…?" I tilted my head, "Surely you are the first."

"Well I'm not, you are." He huffed and tossed away my tail. He continued to chatter as I watched the arch of my tail. I didn't want to break another part of my home and flicked it out of sight underneath my unending body. Actually, how long was I now? Surely the size of a small village with how many times I had to coil up in-

"Hey, are you even listening?!" Whoops. I turned my attention back to my brother and shook my head. He gave a light scoff.

"What did Father and Mother call you? Surely, it is more creative than my name."

"Nothing." When I spoke those words, I noticed it didn't hurt to admit that anymore. When there was silence, I assumed the conversation was over, and began to curl up for a nap. I had closed my eyes when he spoke up again.

"Nothing? As in, they named you 'nothing'?" He asked. I heard the shuffle of his feet towards the mouth of the cave. With a heavy sigh, I lifted away what kept him here.

"If you wish to learn my name then you must enter my village. You must do as I do, and introduce yourself to each person. When night falls, I want you back here, so we may eat."

"However," I peeked an eye open, "You must tell me the name of each villager you've met. That way, I know you've done as I asked. Then and only then, will I tell you my name."

"And if I don't?" He asked, a foot already out the 'door'.

"Then I will find you, and I will eat you instead." I closed my eye and yawned. Today was tiring. "Do you accept?"

…

"Yes. I accept."

—

"Brother, I have returned."

I opened my eyes and saw the glow of my stare on the ground. The fire behind my eyes was dimmer than yesterday. That was normal as of late. Soon there would be a thick film over it. I rose again in my small home to meet my younger brother.

"Welcome home." My tongue flicked out and tasted the meat in the air. "Have you brought our meal?"

"Yes." He held the side of a nervous steer. A bag placed over its head and more bags placed onto its back. My brother began to unpack the animal and relieve it from its load.

"And who's to thank for lending you their horse?"

"Lending?" He asked, baffled, "I mean, aren't you eating this animal?"

"No." The hiss in my voice made him jump, "Just because Jan has given it freely to me does not mean I will take it."

"How did you know that Jan gave you this horse?" My brother, Zmija I think, dumped the bags of food onto a woven mat.

"The villagers give me lots of things." I inched closer to him, watching bright fruits and cheese decorate the ground. "To many nice things, honestly."

"This-," Zmija huffed as he unloaded another bag, "This can't be enough for something your size!"

"It's not." I wrapped my tongue around some bread that caught my attention. Gone within a lick. I didn't even know what it tasted like. "But I find I do not need much. Food sits in me longer than it would a human."

"Now, besides Jan, who else provided for us tonight?" I asked, I rooted out the foods that I used to love as a kid, and reminded myself to leave space for Zmija.

He accepted the invitation more readily than I thought. Everyone must have put in a good word for me. As they should. I've given them no reason otherwise.

"Well, there was Ewa who made the bread, and this older person- shit what was his name?" He broke apart pieces of the dried meat, making himself a sandwich. I smiled.

"Was he a short, stocky guy?"

"No, that was Barnaba, this guy was taller. He looks like he could be Ewa's spouse but instead he-"

"Instead, Piotr is her childhood best friend."

"Yes, and Piotr actually likes this man-"

"Don't tell me he's still pining after the Blacksmith."

"Ok, but have you seen the muscles on Mariusz? I get it." He nodded sagely at me as he plucked an nut from the pile. "But you see, Mariusz actually likes this other person-"

I let Zmija talk and tell me about his day. Whenever he would begin to blank on a name, I'd supplement. The town was small and the people frequently visited me. The list was completed before I gobbled up the last pile of provisions.

"Your name." Zmija started, "What did Father and Mother name you?"

I paused, understanding the misunderstanding. Then I ate again once I mulled over my thoughts.

"You were the only one they named, Zmija." I licked away a crumb in my eye, "But I call myself Lindworm. That is the name you will use to return the horse tomorrow morning, and the name that demands all available milk they have to.offer. You are to do what I do and take the milk from the village."

"Do you accept?"

Something thoughtful crossed Zmija's face.

"Yes. I accept."

—

During the night I had expected Zmija to make an attempt on my life. Yet, after the draw of his blade, I only felt the palm of his hand on my snout. Unconsciously, he rubbed the spot.

"... I can't even remember the last time I had company for dinner. Let alone eat with family."

How pitiful.

—

As the cold nears, I've been sleeping more. 

Bits of my day fade in and out like wind against the land. I do not remember when my brother left, but I do recall when he returned. While I could no longer see him, I could taste him and the milk in the air. I lifted my head up and looked at the moving blob.

"Have you returned with the milk?"

"Yes." Zmija's voice hardly echoes in the cave. "The villagers said that they would help me tomorrow… but what are they helping me with, Lindworm?"

"I will tell you, but first you must help me initiate my task."

The blob moved away from the light and I swiveled to keep track of him. The shadows and shapes were too hard to tell apart. I couldn't see what he held in his hands.

"And if I don't?"

He echoed those words again.

"If it is consequences you want, then it is consequences I will give." I lifted my head until it touched the ceiling. The water on the stalactite dripped over my eye and down my chin. I suppose I look rather threatening with clouded eyes as I heard a pot shatter.

"I am to shed my scales. This process can take from three days to five days. You will attend to me for its entirety." 

"With the villagers, you will  bathe me in milk and collect each skin I shed. Once I have shed my seventh skin, then and only then I will divulge what you are helping the villagers with."

"Do you accept?"

There was quiet between us.

"... I need time to think about this."

"If you do not return tonight, then I will find you, and I will eat you instead."

"... Very well then." He responded.

I watched the blob, Zmija, exit through the light.

—

Thousands of tiny needles prick at my consciousness. The sensation was more annoying than painful. I rubbed my face against the cavern wall, but it was smoothed from the years I had lived here. I had considered using the ceiling but that was before my friends started to give me their items to safeguard and keep.

No one really thinks to steal from a thing like me.

Plenty have tried. All have failed.

Now, my father and mother have decided to deal with me in the only way they knew. 

How pitiful.

"Lindworm?" Zmija called from the entrance. More blobs were with him. Their torches bright in the dark night.

"Do you have an answer for me?" I carefully unfurled for my guests. Many villagers were already dowsing the rags in the milk.

"Yes. I accept." I assumed he patted my nose after he said that. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Like clockwork, everyone lined my body with rags full of milk, and let it soak on the weak points of my skin. I had asked Zmija to place the ladden fabric over my eyes and so I could peacefully drift off.

The sharpening of a blade stirred me awake.

"Brother, is that you?"

The whetstone stops…

"Yes."

Huh. 

"Why are you still here? Surely this entire space stinks to the high heavens."

"Well," Zmija drawled, putting the sword down somewhere, "You said to do as you do so… I'm also doing the milk thing."

Something like a laugh escaped my mouth.

"What! We're brothers, right?" Zmija stammered, "Maybe I also have some magic properties too like fertilizer hair! Or something!"

"Ah, they told you?" I asked. No need to mention that I was referring to the villagers.

"Yes, incredible to think your sheds fertilizes acres of land."

"And grows our flowers."

"Huh?"

I felt an itch in my insides. There was an uncomfortable pack of air that was making its way down my throat. I didn't think I would talk about this so soon.

"Are we alone, Zmija?" I tried to taste the air, but all I could smell was spoiled milk.

"Yes."

"Did mother tell you how we were born?"

"... No. She didn't like to talk about it."

"Do you want to know? It will help with what I will ask of you next."

The quiet. He thought a lot.

"Yes. I want to know why you are a person in a monster's skin and I… a monster in a person's skin."

Oh… I hadn't thought about that before. Granted, I didn't realize Zmija had been hurt by our parents too. Knowing what they did to me, I could only imagine the cruelty they had shown to him.

"Monsters don't know they're monsters, they think they're heroes." I shifted to scratch my side against the wall, but my skin hardly moved. "Righteousness is a dangerous thing, Zmija. People will do a lot to feel that way."

He didn't reply so I continued.

"Our parents needed children to inherit the throne but they were barren. Instead of accepting this fact, they continued to look for a way to conceive biological children."

"Mom said she wanted to have kids. It-it wasn't some political plan."

A weak rebuttal.

"If that was true, she would have taken in children who are in need. Plenty of children go without their parents and could use a home. Many of them find their way to me, but you know this."

I shifted my jaw to relieve a tightness there.

"If she wanted children, you and I would have been raised side by side. We weren't. I was locked here instead and now she's sent you to hide her shame. This was never about you or me. This is her story."

I clicked my teeth together, I had rehearsed this many times to whoever lent an ear, but it felt clunky as I explained to my brother. There wasn't enough that I knew that I could give to him as a solid answer. He'd remain hungry to know the whys as much as I starve for them.

"She consumed two bewitched flowers to conceive us. When I came into the world, malshapened and horrid, she was appalled. Believing to have been played for a fool. However, she claims that my form was not her fault. She placed the blame on the old crone who told her about the flowers."

"What happened to the old woman?"

"I wish I knew." A twinge went along my spine. "When she had you, well, you were what she wanted. To her disappointment, I had the birthright, and the entire kingdom already knew of us. She put me here and hoped I died."

"But you didn't."

"I didn't only because people cared for me. I am sure it is the same for you too."

Another quiet, this time I welcomed it.

"So… these flowers make kids like us?"

"I don't know."

A part of my body flipped over but it was far away from where I thought Zmija was.

"Like her, I also eat the flowers too to sustain myself. I have done so for years now. I assume, since I lack a womb, the magic has no vessel to escape to."

"Except in your sheds of skin."

"Yes."

"But no one knows what the flowers do, not even you Lindworm."

…

"What do the flowers look like?"

"One is luscious and the other is withered." I paused, "You'll know them when you see them."

"And you need them?"

"No." A lie.

"But it is the only thing that I can think of to get rid of them." A truth.

…

"I'll get them for you." Zmija decided.

"Thank you, brother." I went to settle in again-

A snap.

I try to lift my head to the sound, but I am too weak. There's a hand on my snout and I smell the oil from Zmija's sword mixed with milk.

"Stay here. I'll go see what that was."

And I did.

With the world quiet and dark, I fell asleep in the cave. A womb that wouldn't ever let me go.

—

Seven skins were gathered from me in five days.

Even with Zmija's help, my body has grown more from the previous years and became more difficult to deal with. My brother had found plenty of use for his blade. Zmija cut deep into the softened layers of dead skin and pulled it apart. With each cut he made, I wondered if he'd 'slip' and see how far his blade would reach on my new skin.

Yet, his hand was steady as always.

I talked to the villagers. Learned what was happening in my friends' lives. Heard good news and bad news. Laughed. Smiled. Told them goodbye in my own way. No one was the wiser.

But I knew that I was to be killed. If not by my brother's hand then by someone elses.

… Zmija never told me if he found anyone that night, but I knew he did. After the stench of milk wafted away, I could smell the meat in the air as this person watched us each night. I wondered why nothing had happened yet.

Finally, at dinner, I decided to break the silence.

"Zmija. I am now weak." I couldn't even eat. "I can no longer leave this place. I am too big. This is why I need you to-"

"I'm not killing you." He stated. "I decided not to a long time ago."

He got up and leaned against my face. His arms spread wide in an attempt to hug me. He pulled away and moved to my line of sight. Sword drawn.

"I'll get those flowers and I'll be back. Then," He paused, an awkward smile to his face, "If you wish, I can take you home with me. Do you accept?"

"No."

The air became stilted between us. He still didn't understand.

"Zmija, this is my home. I would rather marry the next woman I see than ever go back to that place."

Zmija paced and bit his lip. He went through different expressions and thoughts. As if he needed me to say 'yes'. I'd save him the heartache.

"If you do not return the flowers to me, then I will find you and eat you. I expect to see them on our eighth morning tomorrow. Then, and only then, will you be free of me."

He owlishly looked at me and twisted the handle of his blade. Undecided. It's too late to be undecided.

Luckily, I decided a long time ago.

"Go, Zmija." I used the full strength of my voice, or what was left of it. The rumble of it even shook my own innards. When he did not leave, I folded in on myself. My head was tucked out of sight.

I closed my eyes and I slept.

—

The flowers were exactly as Lindworm described them.

One was luscious. The petals were supple and it was adorned with many leaves along its stalk. So many, in fact, the flower tipped over. Even with the burden, the stalk stayed strong, and bent to accommodate itself.

The other was withered. The few petals it had were dry and brittle. The stem was more of a darken twig than a living thing. If you could call it living at all.

I could relate to that one, as my own insides had felt the same for a long time.

There wasn't much time to marvel at the ethereal flowers. I was racing against a clock that I didn't know the pace of. I used my sword as a spade to get the flowers out. I needed to remove the roots and all. Any part of it being left behind could mean anything. Likely, unlucky things, such as what happened to our family.

I caressed the plants close to my chest. The scent of life and decay mixed into a wet musty smell. In all honesty it shouldn't smell good but I found myself taking a deeper breath. A curious thought pulled itself to my attention. One that was hard to argue with as I began to open my mouth.

All that power could be mine.

Instead of the nonmagical, submissive whelp I had been to my parents. They could be scared of me for a change. If I had the power my brother had, then all that suffering I went through would finally be rectified. There could be no more pain if I had an ounce of what Lindworm had.

…

I pulled away.

The action took all my might and made my insides churn to do so. 

My brother had given me the ounce of his life. This past week, I had what Lindworm had. I lived as he lived, ate what he ate, and did what he did. If there was anything I didn't receive from him, it was given to me by his friends.

My mouth felt dry as I looked to the peak where his body laid. I'd been a fool and an idiot to have left him there. My feet carried me before my mind caught up but when it did, I scrambled up the mountainside hoping there was still time. 

I can make amends. I know I can.

—

There, in the dark cave, was a splotch of dark red. 

Something had been dragged through the cave and left its trail by Lindworm's mouth. His eyes were glassy and distant. Zmija darted to his brother's side and fell to his knees.

"No." Zmija reached out to Lindworm's snout but no air left the creature. Zmija tried to open Lindworm's mouth but it took both of his hands to hold open Lindworm's jaws. 

The flowers stayed uselessly outside of his reach.

He sobbed.

He let go and curled up. Crumpled, withered, and filled with remorse. Zmija looked at the flowers and kept hoping they'd whisper some solution to him. A way where they all win and live on.

A curious thought entered his mind and his sobs muffled.

…

"I guess, you will have to eat me then."

Zmija shoved the flowers into his mouth and swallowed them. The rough stalk of the withered was hardly masked by the soft petals of the luscious. It didn't matter. Zmija didn't care.

He pried open Lindworm's jaws and threw himself inside. He pushed himself further and further down Lindworm's throat until he gave up. He curled up again, like a caterpillar waiting to be emulsified in its cocoon. Zmija wondered if this would even work.

How pitiful.

—

The morning came and a stillness was over the land.

The Prince, Zmija, had been eaten by a creature known as the Lindworm. 

The cursed prince.

The kingdom cried with the crown and a public funeral was held in Zmija's honor. The empty casket that rested in the church was filled with fresh flowers. People were encouraged to pay their respects and they brought more flowers for the young prince.

Flowers upon flowers ladden the casket until it spilled onto the floors. When the pews filled with flowers, then people turned to the streets, and so on until there wasn't a single flower left in the kingdom.

The King and Queen held hands as they looked on to their subjects. There wasn't a dry face in the crowd. The thought of Zmija being so missed almost brought a smile to their faces. Even though they had experienced a great tragedy, the kingdom mourned with them.

How lovely.

The Queen approached the railing and waited for a hush over the crowd.

"We appreciate you coming out here today to honor our Prince Zmija. He cared much for us and that is why he set out to do what he did."

She held a breath, and rubbed her thumb against the back of her hand. People kept their gaze on her.

"As you know, we had found a neighboring kingdom to make an alliance with and they sent us over their most beautiful daughter. Unfortunately, they were made aware that Prince Zmija was the second born but not of the cursed condition of the first born."

The Queen patted away tears from her face.

"So, they ask for us to marry her to the Lindworm."

A murmur in the crowd.

"We couldn't in good conscious accept these terms to marry their daughter to a monster. That would be cruel and unusual to put anyone through. So, Prince Zmija decided to put an end to the Lindworm."

"Our knights that we posted nearby had informed us that Prince Zmija had successfully killed the beast at the cost of his own life. I can only blame myself for not stopping him sooner. There are so many things that I want to tell him-."

"Like what?!"

Prince Zmija yelled from the crowd as it parted for him. People gasped and awed at the relatively unscathed Zmija. Flowers decorated his outfit as the residents adorned him in wreaths. The commotion around the young prince was engulfed by silence.

A large… something trailed behind the young prince.

"I think it's an apology." The Lindworm hissed, "Which I will accept, when and only when you step down from the throne."

Despite being cursed into a monster and being banished by your royal parents, you were happy with your life. Your home was peaceful. You always had enough to eat. You even had friends despite your appearance, so yeah your life was great. Your non-cursed sibling's life, on the other hand

[paperfen]

Back at it again with more fnaf OUAW >:3 My ideas for this au are belooowwww!

RRRRR Im going feral. Alright, so, Carnival Lecroux is still an actual carnival run by the living characters we know and love. They are in serious debt with Mr. Garou, the same as in canon. However here, the feywild is kinda merged into the material plane, or at least its easier to cross between the two (as seen by the fact that Twig also works at the Carnival). Garou and the hags came to an agreement. (somehow, don't ask me how). Garou would kill the owners of Carnival Lecroux, and the hags would pay their debts in exchange for their bodies. Skabatha would make their toy replacements to send to the Witchlight Carnival that they already had a deal with. Torbek was experimented on the most after his initial creation (by who? I don't know and neither do you). Each of the animatronics runs on a little bit of witchlight, but he's pumped full of the stuff. He has the same role as the puppet, you play music to keep him calm. And once he's not calm, the other side wakes up. Kremy is the ringmaster. He's probably the most tame out of the animatronics, basically taking on a Freddy role. He is the mascot of the Carnival Lecroux gang. Gideon was originally supposed to be an animatronic space heater for cold late shows in the tents. A fun way to keep children warm. He was also tinkered with and turned into a flaming beast instead. And also YES he's a unicorn <3 both because of the poem and because Kremy loves them. A rocking horse, with ashen mane. Twig acts as the Bon Bon to Gideon hehe. Shes small and he can send her through vents. Hootsie and Gricko are almost always together. Grickos body fits on top of Hootsies perfectly in a saddle and they almost become one entity. Gricko is also small and crawls through vents a lot when he's not with Hootsie. Gricko is the fastest and most talkative animatronic. He's mostly inspired by Bidybab. Frost acts as Foxy almost to the letter. You have to keep checking on him in his fortune teller box, and his eyes can see through any hiding spots or disguises. Each glinting cat's eye seeing all. Also his legs are just metal. His fucking legs! THERE YOU GO there are my ideas!! RRRRRR!!! If at least one other person gets as much joy out of this as I do I'll be happy

[noxturnalmoth]

What Could Have Been

Silco, the Eye of Zaun, the Industrialist, was first and foremost a son of Zaun who wanted his motherland free. After an altercation in which his adopted daughter shot him in a fit of rage, he is left dying while the world goes on without him. His life's work and ideals soon trampled to nothing as his memory fades from the world. But what if he was saved?

Chapter 2: Alone

"You have five seconds to explain what happened before I snap your neck."

Was gruffly said in your ear, ragged breath fanning the side of your neck and hair as the wet rag around your throat was pulled tighter. Although you knew very well he could and would kill you if given the opportunity, you refused to give in to your base instinct of attack, fight engraved in each cell in your body instead of flight.

"Can't do much if I can't talk." Was wheezed out as you managed to elbow him in the ribs. The attack could lead to either Slico dropping the rag to cradle his fresh wounds or him dragging you down while the rag choked you further, you were relieved that it was the former. Taking a gulp of fresh air, you turn quickly on the bed and ignoring your ankle's painful straining, straddled the man's waist, your legs hooked around his thighs while you pinned his hands above his hands. His teal eye was narrowed viciously, the teal a biting cold that clawed at you as his disfigured eye burnt you down, charring you to nothing by a simple rageful look. The black of its sclera seeming darker while the orange of the iris was shining bright like an inferno, a a much more different look than the calm yet restless dullness of it when Silco was unconscious. "And if you can't stop trying to kill me I'll have to leave us in this very uncomfortable position for the forseeable future. You're gravely wounded, barely stabilized, and if you try anything not only would it be easy to subdue you but if you managed to escape you'd be dead meat, no matter how strong you are. So can you please not?"

Nightmare fresh on your mind, still appearing behind each blink, exhaustion having sucked up all you had even after a small rest and pain making your voice clipped. His good eye widened slightly in surprise, probably not used to being talked to in such a way or physically handled for quite some time. His lips were pulled back in a sneer but when he tried to escape your grip and blood seeped from his wounds, pain shot through his and cut the action short by making him go limp and groan.

"Fine."

Is huffed from beneath you before you peel yourself away and softly appologizing for your action under your breath, action that also seems to astonish the man as if he had never expected his "captor" to show any ounce of humanity. And you had to rectify that horrible misunderstanding, if not for your pride, for his clarity of mind and relief.

You start the introduction by saying your name as you unwrapped his bandages.

"I found you in a building pretty well hidden between the fringes and the entresol level. I had been there for personal matter regarding a Chem Baron meeting." Silco takes a sharp breath, as sharp as the daggers he had hidden on his person when you first brought him home, aswell as the glare he was currently shooting you while you were cleaning and checking his wounds. "I know, it sounds suspicious, and it was. Those are worse sump rats than I am, because they don't even harbor any loyalty or cause but their own, not even to our people, to Zaun as a whole. I heard from the grape vine that you'd already have an attempt on your life done by Finn, so when I learned he was organizing a little clandestine takeover I had to know what it was about. Plus there's always good extra information to get, they're not careful enough with how they speak and act, it reveals all their cards to the one who actually has a mind and uses it properly."

He scoffs, tensing as your hands touch his skin but biting back any comment or insult he may have for you, knowing better than to bite the hand that heals.

"I was about to hide in the building you were detained in until the meeting started, and heard a whole lot of ruckus. Turns out a family reunion was happening, and i may have not seen anything but I heard enough to know someone got hurt. Even after I saw it was you I couldn't stop myself from running home, I had witnessed manslaughter and I was not about to let a fellow Zaunite die if I could help it. So what if it was you? I would have done it if it was anyone else of our people, even if it was a Piltie. But like hell I, as a trencher, was gonna let one of my own die if I had a say in it."

Your voice resounded in the curtain walled room, the rounded window letting the fluorescent lights filter through the mezzanine, as your hands applied ointment softly to the puckering scars. None had to be restitched but the movements he had performed earlier would make them more sore than they would have been had he not done that. Yet you understood, the man who had all the cards and control in Zaun dying, then finding himself in bed with a stranger was bound to activate fight or flight. And just like you, rebellion was carved deep within his soul.

"What do you want?" His voice had asked so roughly, like angry, rolling thunder hidden behind a curtain of dark, inky clouds.

"Nothing. I want nothing but your health and safety at the moment." Is what you humed back, your hands grazing him gently as you wrapped his chest and stomach. A hiss was heard, and as you looked at Silco you found him analyzing you, mouth downturned as if your mere existence displeased him, and it may have but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You were doing what you thought was right, you were helping one of your own and that's all that mattered.

"I'll ask again." He all but growls out. "What do you want?" Is clipped from behind clenched teeth, his hands going for youe throat. "I don't believe in good samaritans."

"You shouldn't. Everybody has something they want." My hand catches his wrists and his snarl grows deeper, carving his face with a grave expression. "My condition is you taking it easy to not make it any harder on either of us, and to just let me do this. Because I don't know if you've noticed but you've come back from near death Silco. Gone are the Eye of Zaun and the Industrialist, it's been a week and the world goes on without you. You've been old news since you got shot."

His breath hitches and his weak grasp on your throat tightens, eyes looking between each of yours, trying to find something, anything. Turns out, even if you're Silco, near death by the hands of a loved one is enough to make all your walls tumble down like a house of cards. So you bring my other hand up, enclosing both his wrists between your palms.

"I've admired you since I was a kid, Silco." You begin, speaking softly, your eyes looking onto his. "Somewhere along the way you lost yourself and you lost sight of what mattered the most, Zaun. You were obsessed with the idea of it and did all that you did for it, but in the end all you've done was for the semblance of a dream of youth. All you did was for revenge against Piltover, you were fuelled by hatred and now your dream and your empire both have toppled because you've grown overzealous."

"In the pursuit of great, you failed to do good, Silco." His hands clench again, your breathing slightly altered yet not enough to make you take action, his eyes looking at you, drowning and flaying you with their dual violence. "I wanted to save you not for the man you are and what he possesses, but for the man you once were that raised hell to Piltover's enforcers, the man that was a founding member of the Children of Zaun, the idealist who wished for all of his people to finally be free and happy, the child who fought tooth and nail in those mines to survive, the co-founder of the Lanes who helped us generate some of our own profit without Piltover, the man on whom the bridge attack's responsibility fell who then disappeared and came back a monster."

You grab his wrists tighter as he brings his face closer to yours, breath still smelling like tobacco even days after.

"I am not that man anymore, he has died."

"And so have you." You push his wrists away, getting out of the bed and pulling the chair back up from its position on the ground, sitting on it to rewrap your ankle. "So who will you be now Silco?"

Is the last thing uttered from your lips as you take the basin downstairs with your tray on top of it, emptying the cold water and preparing food for two for the first time since you crawled up from the deepest, darkest and most lawless parts of the sump you grew up in. Figments of memories still clinging to you as you hum to occupy the silence, to occupy your busy, loud mind, your gramophone too far for you to want to drag your exhausted body to it. Later, with the tray and basin filled with food and water respectively, you climb back up the stairs, careful not to hurt yourself more.

And opening the curtains you're surprised to see the man still awake, yet a part of you isn't, it feels like the coma he was in for the week was the most sleep he's gotten in years, and that saddened you as you knew exactly how it felt. He was sitting up on your bed, back on the wall, legs stretched as his eyes looked in front of him absentmindedly, lost in thoughts you could only guess were dreary.

"I have to work today, I've been gone for six days and people need me." You say as you set the tray on the bed, his eyes snapping to you as if he only just noticed you were there. "I'll be back later on, please don't try anything. If not for my sake, for your own. If there are still things you wish to accomplish in this life, rest." And those were the last words uttered between you that day as you left right after eating your breakfast.

Down in Zaun in this time of year the weather was bitingly cold, the metal storing the cool from the wind, rain and snow and distributing it to the whole of the Undercity, the bite getting worse the lower you got. But that was no matter for you, the forge was always warm, the hearth burning brightly and illuminating the shop in a soft orange glow as you fixed appliances and made tools, day in and day out helping your community. It felt good, cathartic even, to hit something in order to help someone instead of hurting them, and it felt good when people needed you because you were good at fixing and creating, not destroying. And everyday that Janna let you breathe, you'd thank yourself for working so hard towards achieving something worth being proud of with no one's help but your own and your community's. People who had taken you in their arms and offered a new chance at life seven years ago and for whom you worked incessantly for to balance out the ledger, to repay your debt. And as you arrived at your shop, started the flame and opened up, you saw people pouring in, faces old and new, but all of them you could help and you would, for in Zaun everyone knows the one rule: "we never give our own people away".

But everyone forgets its second part: "we always help our brothers and sisters if we can".

You didn't, and it was the one motto you lived by, day by day, muscles flexing and clenching, sweating at the flame's heat as you fixed, as you created, and today wasn't an exception, and neither was the next week. Silco seldom talked to you, his stomach healing slowly but surely as he begrudgingly followed your advice of staying in bed while you wondered what he was thinking about that had his eyes glaze over, staring into the nothingness and his ears deaf until you metaphorically shook him awake. You took on no new mission of your own, your mind not up to sabotaging the Piltie pigs or the Sump leeches while the man you now shared your life with was still healing, although while his stomach was getting along quite well, the rest of his body seemed to degenerate. You had told about him to your landlord, telling him and his family how you've come to have an unwilling roommate and revealing who he was, knowing that you didn't have to plead for them to keep their mouths shut and you couldn't be more glad to be a Zaunite.

News in Zaun could travel as fast as lightning or as slow as the rolling of the clouds bringing it forth. It had taken two weeks for you to hear from a client that Piltover's council building had been attacked the night you saved Silco, and that three councilor had died, Councilor Hoskel, Councilor Kiramman and Councilor Bolbok, aswell as Viktor, a fellow Zaunite and one of the brilliant minds behind hextech which revolutionized technology on topside. Your heart grew heavy as you were revealed the Perpetrator: Jinx, Silco's daughter and the one who nearly killed the man she called her father. The rest of your day was spent pondering how you could break the news to the man, his daughter had probably been so guilt stricken she destroyed the world and herself alongside it, yet you couldn't lie to him, even less if it's about the only person he loves. So that night, you pass by a food stall, getting food that you bring upstairs with you to Silco, stubble had filled his face, the marred side patchy and irregular. His eyes were tired and glossy, and when you sat down on your chair next to your bed and placed the warm bag on the bed, they dragged lazily to you instead of snapping as usual. His shivering curled up form on the bed, his jaw locked tight as if in immeasurable pain, he wrapped himself deeper in your blanket, trying to maintain a cold façade even after everything.

He was ashamed and you knew it, ashamed of his near death at the hands of his daughter, ashamed at his weakness in this whole ordeal, control slipping between his fingers like sand. But it looked like something else was at play, he was flushed, sweaty and sensitive to sound, touch and light since you came back from work the day he woke up, the condition getting worse astime passed, and you knew you would never be able to get information as to why if you didn't drive a good bargain, so sighing you straighten up.

"I have knews of your daughter." Was what had him sit up, doubling over in pain yet it wasn't his stomach that he held but his eye. "But I will only tell you if you tell me what's going on."

"So you've finally decided to execute your power over me?" His voice wavered as he tried to force it to unleash venom, spittering and acidic against your skin as he got close to your face, his tired eyes looking particularly frenzied, the braziers of hell flickering dangerously in a way that had you narrowing your eyes in confusion.

"No, but there is something you're not telling me that's ailing you and I can't help if you don't let me."

"Why would I?"

"Because you want to know about Jinx." Cut through the fast paced hissing tone he had set for the conversation. "Don't you?" You tilt your head, secretly hoping that in his exhaustion he'll bite, because as much as you wanted him healthy you also knew of how comandeering and stubborn he was. And if his rough sigh, partly sounding like a growl, was anything to go by? You had won your bet against yourself.

"My eye. It's a source of constant pain, migraines, blurry vision at times, others it's depth perception being messed with. Those I can deal with usually, but this.." He stops, taking a deep breath, hand covering his bad eye. "I get episodes. My skin is rotting, so are my nerves, slowly but surely. I usually have a medication for it, but I have not the injector nor the serum."

There it was, and as you observed just how bad his condition was now, you knew he had been hiding his pain better than anyone else could have in his situation. Skin looking so much paler and its flush so much redder, the sweat gleaming all over his flesh, the marring across his left cheek running deeper, the gray flesh looking darker and like it was conquering more of the sickly territory of his face. That's when you realized that the flickering of his eye was a very persistant and visible pulsing of the organ. His flesh had been rotting before your eyes and you have no idea on how to help.

"What serum?" Your voice rushes, eyes looking at him as your hands measured the temperature of his forehead, burning.

"Shimmer." His voice croaked, no longer the energy for an angry growl. You take a sharp breath

"And the injector?"

"Made to deliver the shimmer directly in my pupil, it had a circular tubing around it to help place it around the eye." He pants a bit, closing his good eye to try to focus on anything but the pain. "I normally need one injection per day" And at that you were back up, telling him to eat without you.

"You still havent told me about-" He starts, scrambling on the bed to reach you, his voice breaking, tears clinging to his lower lashes, yet you cut him off.

"I'm not letting you know news about your daughter while you're agonizing, I'm not a monster. But just know that for now, she's a fugitive."

Closing the door behind you, you rush as much as your twisted ankle can permit you, stinging pain eating at every single one of your steps while youcut through town, goin to see an old connection of yours. Samira was a pharmacian, one of the rare ones down here in the Undercity, her pharmacy more akin to an apothecary shop yet her products were proven to help provided whatever relief you seeked. If anyone had to have proper uncut shimmer, it was her. And you were right, as you explained your conundrum to Samira she nodded and handed you a dozen of vials. "Free of charge" as the eye of Zaun had died, she had said huffing out a laugh at the Irony, but as you shoved them in your coat pockets hurriedly she asked if you were alright.

"I'm managing." Was all you answered before high tailing it for your shop, leaving her in the dust.

The hearth was burning bright as you lit it, pondering how to go about making his injector. You couldn't make one from scratch, it would take too long and you shivered as you thought back of the fact he had hidden the fact his flesh was rotting away. He had been in horrible pain, adding up day after day, effects piling up as he curled up on his own. And you felt for this man, although it was misplaced pride he was still clinging to the last thing allowing him control: himself. And there, in your bed, weak and helpless albeit still fighting for the last shred of his integrity, you had recognized the man you admired as a child, the look in his eyes as you mentionned his daughter had been fiery. Even if he was in pain he was still doing all he could, although he couldn't move, he was still holding on. And as you picked spare parts in the back of the shop and set them on the anvil, you decided that as long as he was with you, you'd provide him with all the help he needed. Even if he never came back to the young revolutionary he once was, even if he remained the stubborn mean bastard he was now, even if he left, what you sad today was a lonely man. His eyes, his voice, you knew that look more than anyone. It's the one you had, surrounded by people yet never truly feeling like you fit in no matter what you did.

So as you heated up the metal parts and assembled them together you allowed yourself to think back to that loneliness. The one that makes everything feels transactional, like you can only be loved if you provide, the crippling pain of seeing others have friends and family while companionship of any kind terrifies you to the core, like it was a starved beast ready to gnaw you alive, from your skin to your flesh and even your bones. It's that loneliness that mixes with the sleepless nights, haunted by visions of horror as if you were in a fancy Piltovan cinema, locked in a theater of your own demons while the film rolled indefinitely. The one that leaves your throat and skin raw as you scream and claw at your skin, hoping to wash and expell away any ounce of pain you feel, but it's never enough, so you never scream again and encase your heart in molted iron, letting it cool into a spiked shell. The look Silco had in his eyes, the tone in his voice, you felt for him because you were the same, and you knew he'd reject you, but you were willing to try to help him. It was selfish, you knew as much, but you had been someone good for others for almost a decade, shaping yourself into someone accepted and beloved yet nothing could bring you close enough to your people no matter how much you loved them and how much they loved you. Because there was always a part of yourself you hid, an ugly past that you didn't wish to unhearth in fear of your house of cards crumbling down. Yet the need for emotional closeness intrinsic to human beings ate at you day after day. And maybe it was foolish to think that by helping Silco you could help yourself too, and it disgusted you to think that you had maybe expected something from him after all even if unknowingly, but you were willing to try, even if he was the only one benefitting from it at the end.

A couple of hours had passed by the time you finished the injector, rushing back home ignoring your own pain again in favor for helping the man in your appartment, as you have done for the past two weeks. Door slamming open and shut as you hurried your limping form upstairs, Silco crumpled on the bed, curled up on himself. And when you touch his shoulder he reels back, as if your touch had branded him. His eyes were angry, confused and pained, cheeks painted with bitter sweat and salty tears as blood dripped from his bitten lips, his arms and ribs marked with half moons. He had been hurting himself, to forget the pain you wager, of his condition and of how in the span of so little time all he has worked towards for crumbled to dust. And as one of your hands goes to your coat pocket to retrieve the injector and one tube of shimmer.

"I did all I could, do you want me to let you do it on your own?" You say softly, hand caressing his before raking some of his sweaty, messy bangs back to the crown of his head and away from his eyes. As my hand leaves his burning face he grabs it and sits up.

"What happened to Jinx?"

"Silc-"

"What happened to her?!" A gasp escapes him at his own raised voice as he falls back on the pillow, writhing in pain yet tensing to not let it appear quite as much, the concern and anger in his tone and mannerisms still very present.

"She..Shot the Council, three councilors dead, a Zaunite civilian aswell, the co-creator of Hextech I believe, she's now considered an enemy of Piltover and will be hunted down. It happened the day you nearly died." I sigh, my hand turning in his, entertwining our fingers and squeezing, hoping to bring any measure of comfort. "Silco you're torturing yourself, take the shi-"

"I need to go back to Jinx, she needs me." His voice cracked, his waning strength pushing you away as he stood up, knees buckling under him before you caught him in your arms, his extra weight making you taste the violent crack in your ankle.

"Haven't you done enough Silco?" You ask gently as you set him back down. "That girl is already haunted enough as it is, don't you think it's better to not appear to her again, that it's time to let her go? You'd be another ghost to her, and in the state you're in now you'd die in front of her again by the time you got to her."

"You don't know what's best for-"

"I may not know what's the best for your daughter but you do, and you know as well as I do that coming back will only hurt her further. You have nothing anymore Silco, how can you expect to be someone she falls back to? How can you expect to be a good father if you're not even the man she knew?" His anger is evident on his face, and you're understanding of why, it wasn't the lack of refusals towards him in the past few years that provoked his rage, no it was that he realized how the little control he believed he still held had been gone, and that the words you uttered were nothing but the unfortunate truth.

"I don't mean to hurt you, all I want is for you to be back up and running, and happy if that's even possible, but let me ask you that. Is your past life really worth you rushing back to? The senseless violence and drugs you dealt to your own people, an empire brought forth by our brothers and sisters you've subdued, greedy, stupid and distrustful collegues that wait for any occasion to stab you in the back no matter how loyal they may seem. We've all heard of Jinx, if we haven't dealt with her first hand, do you really believe a good father would have weaponized his daughter, Silco? Had you been a good father, would she have even been there and done what she's done? You've been the best father you could be, but blinded by your own trauma and ambition you've used the girl's affection to further your own agenda. Look at yourself, alone and destitute, and no one brought it upon you other than yourself, Silco."

"We've grown up in a world were there was never enough for everyone. I was trying to pull us out of the depths Piltover dragged us in but I don't expect you to understand, child." He all but spits.

You sigh, placing the injector and shimmer on your desk, sitting on the bed next to Silco who was shaking, rage and a maelstrom of other feelings emanating from him, swirling like a destructive tornado as his eyes ripped you apart.

"We've grown up in a world where there wasn't enough to go 'round for everyone, but have you made it any better? Or have you just capitalized on our pain, profitted on the fear and violence you brought forth? All you've done was make Zaun an enterprise and still saying it was for all of us, but you lost all of that years ago haven't you, you fought for all of us even when you've lost the plot. You're a lonely, terrified and pained man hiding behind a façade of control you've carefully built over the years, but that pain only grew hasn't it? So you tried to make yourself into the monster every Piltie sees in all of us so their attention is diverted to you, you shouldered all of the responsabilities in Zaun, you've raised a child, and you've still failed in all of those! Your façade terrifies even your own people, your empire toppled over and your child's crazy! You make everything worst by clinging to it, trust me, sometimes it's better to just let go. "

You breathe heavily, gulping as your hands gripped the bed, sheets crumpled in between your fingers. A thud resounds through the room and looking behind you, you see Silco sitting up with his back against the wall, his bi colored eyes looking to the copper tool and the glowing purple vial. The rage softening slowly, the chipped teeth showing from his angry snarl now hidden behind the curtain of his lips. He breathes heavy and shivers, pain mixing with emotions he seems too overwhelmed to even try to understand. But then his good eye opened a bit more, no longer hiding the tumultuous ocean within his teal iris as it looks from you to the table on which are placed the objects he needed. A silent invitation, you decypher. And so you nod, your lungs heaving as you bring the shimmer and injector to the poor man beside you. Your eyes meeting his again, all the energy and the fight had left him, there sat Silco in what you surmised was his purest form, tears flowing down his cheeks, eyes so pained you felt like you were about to double over. His jaw was clenched and his lips pulled in a sneer, the usual rage nowhere to be seen, it was something more visceral this time. And as you went to give him the material he shook his head, his arms crossing across his chest, nails digging to the sides of his arms.

So you approached slowly to not agitate him any further, he looked troubled enough as is. You looked at him every step of the preparation, putting the vial in the contraption, unlocking the needle cap, and placing the cylindrical apparatus to his eye to stabilize your hand, giving him a chance to back down everytime. But he never did, and once you injected the product, his form crumpling in pain, you realize just how vulnerable he had allowed himself to be. Your thumb wiping away a purple tear, the same purple tainting the burning orange of his ruined eye, before he slaps it away and turns his back to you, laying down. His body was no longer shivering and from what you had seen neither was the unblinking black and orange gem adorning the left side of his face. Understanding he needed space after that, you left the vials and injector and went downstairs, showering before you crumpled in the couch you've been sleeping in for the past two weeks, curling up on yourself.

The days are long after that, no more words uttered between you two, a tense and overwhelming silence taking over your appartment, he still only ate whenever you were away and you grew more restless but you understood. He needed time, to digest the hard truths, to take a good look at himself and wonder what he was doing to himself, what he had done to himself, and what he would do with himself later on. You knew that confusion better than anyone, and as you remember the feel of your bruised and ruined hands, the sounds of screams and cheering, the stench of corpses, booze and sweat, the taste of blood and tears. You've become someone good, helpful and, you hoped, worth knowing. But in whichever future you imagined it was always lonely, no one waiting for you at home, no friends close enough to you to know everything, a void still ripping your chest apart. He had lost himself for some reason, but you could only imagine the crippling loneliness he felt was why he clung to his dream so hard even after diverging from it, why he clung to the comandeering façade he had created, why he clung to his daughter like a lifeline. Because they were the only thing that reminded him he was alive and human at all. Just like helping people no matter the cost has been what kept you going.

One day after work, your body heavy and dragging as you moved, you brought up his dinner as always, expecting him to barely look at you, chilling eyes sizing you up as you left. But when you began to retire his hand caught your wrist, dragging you to the bed, tray discarded on your desk.

"Would letting her go truly be the only good thing I can do?"

His voice, rough from unuse, breaks the silence. Its low rumbling leaving a crackle of electricity behind it.

"I believe so." Is the simple answer you give.

"I would have nothing left."

You shake your head, freeing your wrist and laying your hand upon it on the bedsheets. "You'd still be alive, there's a chance for you to build something. You've forgotten yourself Silco, you've locked who you truly are away for too long. I think it's time for you to redescover yourself."

"Do you know who you are?" And at that you chuckle and shake your head again a soft "no" escaping your lips, your eyes gently raking over his form which was much healthier now that he had his medicine. "Then how do you-"

You interrupt his angry inquiry. "Because I know what I'm not. Do you?" And he freezes, his scowl softening as do his eyebrows, his eyes looking past you and through you to see something you cannot.

"The Eye of Zaun, the Industrialist, they're gone." He breathes out roughly, one hand dragging through ink black and soft silver, and when arrived at the back of his head the hand tugs as if to bring his focus back. You nod, they had died a month ago, both of them, and as his eyes looked down to your linked hands you feel like that realization finally weighs in on him.

"You asked me when you woke up what I wanted from you. I've said that I only wanted you healthy, but I suppose I can't in good conscience continue to lie." He freezes and his eyes snap back to yours, hand gripping yours in a vice, not in anger, in something deeper, more all consuming. And you know that from the way the air shifts and his face twitches, like a child terrified of getting struck. "I did want your health to return to you, but I suppose I also didn't want to be alone anymore. People suffer in Zaun, that much is a fact for all of us, but I have seen things and done things, I've lived through events that molded me against my will. Events that most would not understand no matter how much they care. So I remain surrounded but alone, never truly myself with anyone. I guess, knowing parts of what happened to you, deep down...I hoped we could be friends. So I decided to be good to you no matter how bad you could be to me, as I always do, and even if you end up leaving I'll be glad if you at least felt cared for. Because I believe that no matter how well you hide it, you feel alone too."

Eyes lock and his hand relaxes, his eyebrows twitch and his eyes flutter around your face, digging for any hidden viciousness, for any burried intentions, but he finds none. You can see it in the drop of his tense shoulders, in the slow breath coming out of you.

"And you think I'd understand?" He drawls softly.

"I know you would, whether you want to or not. But you have a choice to stay or leave, I will never keep you against your will. As soon as you're good to go, feel free to do whatever you want."

"I'm not a good man."

"People can change, the question is whether they're willing to or not."

Silence ticks by, food untouched as you shift on the bed thinking the conversation is over, yet Silco's hand drags you back down.

"And you're willing to try?"

"Of course."

"It would be rotten work." The words spill from his lips before he can even think of a less emotive answer and your head shakes yet again. You set yourself next to him on the bed, enjoying the plushness of the mattress for the first time in weeks.

"Never to me. It's my job to fix things after all, no matter how battered, broken and unusable, no matter if the process is long, complex, or if I get hurt in the end."

Your hand quits his as it and its twin burrow in your pockets, procuring a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. You place two rolls of paper and tobacco between your lips, lighting them with a flick of the thumb, opening the silver rectangle which provided a large flickering flame. You take one cigarette between two fingers and show it to Silco, asking for a truce of sorts. His hand hesitates, yet shivering fingers find your question and accept its terms, the filter that had previously surrounded by your lips now enclosed between his.

"I don't think I ever had a friend." Your voice softly says, expelling smoke as you broke the comfortable silence, eyes looking up at the ceiling. You see him nod from your peripherals, his head leaning back to do the same as you.

Everyone needs to be drunk on something to stay alive.

And albeit differently, for the both of you it was affection.

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Taglist: @vicurious28 @midromiell @zorosleftmantit101 @anthy-j-ander @agathasslutt

[bunni-v1]

Past and Future (Happy Birthday Lighter)

🍓Finished this shit at 4:30am, if y'all don't enjoy this I will kill myself. Anyway had fun writing this, it's more of me fucking around and finding out with Lighter's character, but I think it's fluffy and cute so... enjoy lol

TW: Mentions of Death; Suicidal ideation

Info: Lighter x GN!Reader; Angst to Fluff (?) Kinda?; hurt and comfort (i think??)

Word Count: 2k

December 27th. Two days after Christmas, five days before New Year's. Oddly placed on the calendar, awkwardly smooshed between two major holidays in New Eirdu. To most, it was insignificant, just another day. To Lighter it was something he dreaded each year. Between the holiday cheer and the buzz of excitement for the new year, it was nothing more than a looming cloud dampening his mood.

December 27th, Lighter Lorenz’s birthday, one of the worst days of his life.

He didn’t hate birthdays, they were nice when they were for other people. He had to admit he enjoyed getting gifts for others and seeing their eyes light up when they opened it, and the light atmosphere when everyone sang a horrendously off-key rendition of the birthday song was hard to hate. They were celebrations of the life of that person, a hurrah to cheer them into another long year until the next came around. He just hated his own.

Gifts and cake and warm fuzzy sweet nothings acted only as reminders that he was alive. He was alive, and everyone else who deserved to be wasn’t. Another marker of another year since he lost everything. He wanted to pretend it wasn’t there, maybe sleep until the 28th or run away for a while, but the girls wouldn’t let him.

They’d managed to weasel his birthday out of him about a year into his being here, and they made a point to celebrate it each year. Nothing big, they knew he wasn’t one for huge crowds outside of his fights, but still a party where they showered him with gifts and congratulations that he did not deserve. He didn’t have it in him to tell them to stop.

So, year after year he grinned and bared it with as much grace as someone as fucked up as he could. It wasn’t hard to be grateful for all they did for him, but it was always hard to smile and accept it like he deserved it. The nagging voice in the back of his head reminded him that he shouldn’t be allowed to be this happy, not when his stupidity cost the lives of good people – wonderful people, who he loved.

He usually only lasted until Burnice got out the nitro fuel, then he would quietly slip away from his own party to be alone. The quiet was easier on his mind than the distractions of colorful confetti and sweet cake made just to his taste. He liked to sit in the pain, to recede into that cocoon of hurt, as if to apologize to his friends by torturing himself. 

This year was no different, of course. Just as Burnice handed out the nitro fuel, he quietly slunk into the shadows, smiling to himself as the rest of the Sons of Calydon remained celebrating in his steed. He walked his way to his bike, sighing in the cool night air. The breeze on his skin was the only comfort from the hell in his mind.

He let the air out, hand tucking into his pocket to pull out the little thing of candy he carried around on him. The little lemon drops fall into his palm with ease, and he tosses them back with practiced ease. He rarely felt like smoking anymore, but his birthday was always a struggle. The heightened emotions made him want to take the easy route out, to fall back on his old ways and make stupid mistakes in hopes it would make him feel better. Instead of giving in, though, he sucked on those candies like a saving grace. It was the least he could do for his old friends.

As he stopped in front of his bike, he shoved the candies back into his pocket. Taking a second to himself in the quiet of the night. It was almost over, just a few more hours, and the pain would lessen back down to an ache again. A little longer and he wouldn’t have to worry about constant reminders of being alive, and he wouldn’t have to save face for everyone else’s sake.

“Lighter?” A quiet, soft, almost worried voice from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes softening when he saw it was you. You’d been quiet about his birthday all month, not bothering him with any reminders. You knew, intrinsically, how much he hated it. You always knew everything about him, it was an infuriating quirk of yours that he would never want to go away. 

“Hey, dollface,” his voice just as quiet as he raised his arm for you to duck under, “got tired of the party?”

You press yourself into his side, enjoying the warmth of your personal heater, “I saw you leave and I wanted to make sure you weren’t doing anything stupid.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “Me stupid? Never. Just needed some air.”

“Is this getting some air just for you, or could you use some company?” You offer, giving him the reins.

He liked the alone time, he wanted to wallow in self-pity more than anything in the world. His head reminded him that he deserved to be alone on a night like this. Yet, your eyes flutter a little at him, and your lashes brush away those awful thoughts like nothing. 

“I’ve always got room for you,” he hums, giving you one last squeeze before helping you on the bike.

The drive is peaceful, the breeze cooling his hot skin like an apology from the world for all he’d been put through. He doesn’t think he deserves it, but he wouldn’t deny the feeling either. Your arms wrapped firmly around his middle, head pressed against his shoulder only calmed him further. It grounded him back in the present, reminding him that the past had long passed and that he still had things to live for.

The Sons of Calydon, who took him in and cared for him despite how distant he was at the start. The Proxies, who took special care to stop by earlier and give him a gift, congratulated him for being so strong and thanked him for his constant help when they needed it. The other former members of his mercenary group who, despite how much he wanted to deny it, held no ill will to him and wished him the best for the future.

And, of course, you curled against his back. You trusted him with your life, and he would easily lay his down for you – not that you’d let him if you had any say. You kept reminding him every single day that he was someone worth loving, that he was more than his past, and that he was the one who could define what his future looked like. It was hard not to picture it without you there, not with how attached he’d become to your little displays of love for him.

Displays like this, following him out of his party to make sure he wouldn’t do anything to hurt himself more than he was already hurting. He smiles warmly back at you as he eases his bike to a stop at his favorite quiet spot. You smile back pressing a kiss to his shoulder before moving to get off the bike.

You intertwined your fingers with his like it was second nature as you walked to the fence at the cliff's edge. From here you could see the endless desert, and the edge of the hollow, the moon peaking over it in an almost beautiful display. He helps you sit on the fence, placing a protective hand around your waist to keep you from falling forward.

Your hand presses his head into your shoulder, scratching at his scalp with such care it nearly makes his knees buckle. Another reminder of what he has that he couldn’t afford to lose. No one has known him the way you know him, no one has ever had the effect you have on him. It was almost enough to make all the horror of his past dissipate in his mind, but a small part of him still clung to it. Unwilling to allow himself to fully forget.

“You okay?” You ask, interrupting the quiet bubble that had formed around you.

He nods, “Thinking.”

“About…?” You urge with a raise of a brow, unbearably cute in his mind's eye.

He smiles, genuine for the first time that night, “About how much I love you.”

You shake your head at him, but you don’t argue with him about how he’s lying, or try and force him to tell you everything. You don’t need to. You always trust that he’ll tell you when he’s ready. It’s another thing about you that he couldn’t risk losing.

You let the quiet fall over you again, leaning into his chest with a content hum. He allows himself to indulge in your affections for now, preferring having you here in his arms than staring aimlessly at the skyline by himself. It was easier to swallow the ache in his throat with you to soften the harshness of the feeling, regardless of whether you knew you did it or not. 

He wonders, hopelessly, what his old friends would think of you. They would like you, he was sure of that. You had a personality that would let you fit right in with their eclectic group. The idea of you smiling side by side with them warms his chest, his heart aching as it fades away. A dream he’d never get to see.

He’s not aware that he’s crying, he’s not sure how long he has been crying, all he knows is that you turn to him and cradle his face in your hands. They wipe at his tears without needing to be asked, another quiet reassurance that you cared for him regardless of what was going on in his head.

Lighter sniffles pathetically as his eyes lock with your worried ones. You seem to know what's wrong without him needing to say it, which he likely wouldn’t be able to do if you weren’t able to deduce it on your own. You frown at him, bringing him down to kiss his forehead.

“I’m sorry it’s so hard,” You whisper, wrapping your arms around him.

He pulls you in tightly, desperate for the skinship you offered up, “It never gets easier. Everything is a reminder.”

“I know, that’s okay,” you press a kiss to the side of his face, “I don’t think you need to forget it, Lighter. I think you need to learn how to live with it.”

He closes his eyes, the hollow where they’re buried fading from sight as if looking at it would blind him now. He holds you even closer, letting your words sink in. Learning to live with it, sounded much easier than it probably was. Maybe you were right though, he’d done so much wallowing and running, maybe it was time he found a way to live with the pain.

“Mistake, failure, accident… it doesn’t matter what you call it,” you continue, pulling him back to look him in the eyes, “It’ll always hurt, but that hurt is a reminder of how human you are. You don’t want to lose that. Remember it, feel it, and they’ll never really leave you.”

You swallow, taking him in with those pretty eyes of yours. It’s not perfect, but it’s what he needed to hear tonight. He presses you into a kiss, soft and light and nervous. He was afraid you’d disappear if he was too rough. You melt into it, indulging him like he hoped you would. This was the only way he knew how to show you his appreciation, words would never be enough to display how deeply he cared for you.

When he pulled away you were breathless, face flushed from lack of oxygen, and indescribably beautiful. He smiled subconsciously at you, and you returned the look with all the love and admiration in the world.

“Happy Birthday Lighter,” You say soft as the wind still tussling your hair, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” He repeats back, and he feels the ache in his chest lessen every second he spends looking at you. You taught him a lot since he met you. A lot about himself, a lot about those around him, a lot about you. Most importantly, tonight you taught him that despite his past, he made a future for himself that he should be more determined to remember to protect.

[delusion-is-back]

*slams fist on the table* you know what I want? I want a fic of Jayce and Vi in a lavender marriage

I want a story where Jayce Talis, young and successful bachelor of Piltover starts getting marriage proposals from some of the more powerful families in Piltover, all of them with the clear intent of getting their grubby hands on Hextech as it's being developed. And Jayce, not knowing how to tell those vulture to fuck off decides the best course of action is to fake already being married to someone he knows won't screw him over.

His first choice is Cait, she's the single daughter of the Kiramman house, she would be a perfect match except for the fact that she's like his little sister, just the thought of suggesting a marriage to his openly lesbian little sister makes him want to barf, he can't ask her that. Plus he doesn't fully trust Cassandra not to take advantage of their fake marriage when it comes to hextech and he would rather not risk it.

She other obvious option would be Mel, another member of the council they would make the best power couple in Piltover but again, it doesn't feel right to ask that of her, Jayce knows that Mel would understand his predicament and help him but it would be serving Hextech in a silver platter to Ambessa if she got wind of her daughter marring the Man of Progress.

The list of women he would ask this is very short, while all of this is going on Jayce realizes he really needs to make more friends.

Jinx is not an option, not even a consideration she would kill him for even asking and he would rather take his chances with the vultures than with her.

That only leaves one, the one person he really, really didn't want to ask but realistically was his better shot at.

Vi would laugh at him for two solid minutes until she realizes he's being serious, followed by Vi trying to carefully reject him because "You're a cool guy Jayce, but you're really not my type" which Jayce would sulk on later but for now he really needs Vi to agree to help him with this before he loses his mind.

It takes a lot of begging and a lot of yapping, a lot of appealing to Vi's good heart and the danger of Hextech falling into the wrong hands before she starts to listen. Vi doesn't understand why Jayce can't just tell them to fuck off but that's rich people's problems she doesn't really wanna know about. Until she finally, reluctantly, agrees to do him this one solid because in all fairness she took his gauntlets and never gave them back.

And so Jayce makes a public announcement to the investors who kept bugging him with marriage proposals to, respectfully, fuck off because the man of progress already has a wife. Now that's out of the way, another problem surges because Jayce Talis is not very good at evaluating the consequences of action, because now the council and the people of piltover want to meet Mrs. Talis.

Stuffing Vi in a formal dress is no easy task, for one because none of Cait's really fit her, and those that do are a little too long and Vi already stated that she's not wearing heels, she can handle a dress but those ankle snapping heels are off the table, it's her regular shoes hidden under a long skirt dress or nothing.

Taking Vi to a formal event felt like dragging a bull into a china shop and locking the door, Jayce's behind didn't unclench for the entire night as he shuttled her around the uppercrust of piltover, they'd made up some bullshit story about Vi's past since being a former inmate of stillwater was not a very compelling story. If any members of the council recognized Violet they didn't say anything.

Now you may be wondering where is Viktor in all of this? Wouldn't he have something to say about it? Well he's just enjoying the shitshow from the sidelines, because Jayce Talis forgot one crucial thing about the whole thing; there's no such thing as homophobia in Ruterra, and if the issue was Jayce finding a spouse quick Viktor would've been more than willing to play along for the sake of protecting Hextech, but before he could even suggest it Jayce was already digging his own grave and it was way to entertaining for Viktor not to sit back and watch it all go down. He would tell Jayce how dumb his plan was another day and watch the realization hit him, but for now he's just having a good time watching Jayce Talis trying to handle the toughest pink haired lesbian of all of Zaun.

[stari-hun]

Everything Anya does in the plot of Mouthwashing on the day of the crash and esp afterwards is for her own self preservation first and foremost. Every decision she makes is to keep herself alive and from being brutalized by Jimmy again. Everything in Mouthwashing foils to another aspect of the plot and game, and if Anya told Curly that SA was involved in her pregnancy and he just didn’t care then so many things wouldn’t make sense. Curly and Jimmy were best friends and knew each other long before the Tulpar, he literally GOT him onto the Tulpar. Anya isn’t dumb she’s super smart, her self preservation and the fact that she’s been suffering from Jimmy’s harassment so long shows in the way that she appeases him. She knows he needs constant reassurance that he’s in control which is why she has him give Curly his pills. It’s a task to reassure him that can’t inherently kill Curly without him directly intending to. Despite his quickness to abandon Curly once he pinned the crash onto him, they would’ve been very obviously close to everyone else. Jimmy’s harassment would’ve been clear far before the assault in the same way that it was close to the crash. But why didn’t Curly do anything? Curly trusted Jimmy. It’s likely that Jimmy would be cruel to him in their friendship for years, so he wouldn’t have seen him being demeaning to Anya all the time as abnormal. Plus Swansea was mean to Diasuke on the ship and it was a more constant problem considering Swansea wanted him to never wanna come back for another flight and get stuck there. Curly had trusted Jimmy so much because of his personal experiences with him that he never actually protected her. He did his job as a captain and kept the peace, but that’s the extent of his actions. Anya couldn’t tell Curly about the assault while guaranteeing her safety for the same reason she didn’t tell Daisuke of Swansea: they were also men who knew Jimmy and there was no absolute guarantee they’d value her safety over keeping him around. The commentary on misogyny and rape culture is so important in Mouthwashing it’s like 90% of the plot. She couldn’t guarantee that a crew made of entirely men wouldn’t value covering up for each other and saving their pride in their desertion of people, especially since opinions of him were fairly positive and assumed he was just a hard ass.

[mymoshangthoughts]

the thing about my mobei jun hcs are that i believe two things are equally true

mobei jun is helplessly in love with (airplane) shang qinghua and would do literally anything for him, finds him charming, wants to spend the rest of his life with him, would simp 100%, very in love

mobei jun absolutely hates that sniveling motherfucking stupid piece of dumb shit (airplane) shang qinghua and spends many days thinking about how nice it would be to pop off his stupid little head so that he'd stop with all the fucking bullshit and also, fuck that guy

like i think he finds pathetic crybaby airplane to be the cutest thing ever. and he simultaneously thinks he's the most obnoxious bastard ever.

to be fair, i think most of his hate comes solely from the fact that:

airplane is clearly lying to him, has been clearly lying to him, their whole fucking relationship is basically a lie from day 1 and getting him to say anything sincere is like pulling teeth

airplane is not his type. oki bear with me, i know that i SAY two-faced crybabies are his type and thats because THEY ARE. but its like, he doesnt REALIZE that's his type and it's also the type he hates. highkey, this man has 'uncle issues' and realizing that his type is lowkey similar to his uncle is a reality that he is NOT ready to cope with. so he very much THINKS thats the type of person he hates most, even tho he's weak to it

airplane is NOT RESPONDING APPROPRIATELY TO ANY OF HIS COURTING ATTEMPTS, NOT EVEN GIVING AN APPROPRIATE REJECTION. IT IS MADDENING. try being strung along for many years with someone who keeps kinda giving you HOPE they miiigggghhhttt like you back, but then they rescind it just as quickly. over and over and over until you kinda hate them a little bit

i just love the contradiction of mobei jun being very ready to be a devoted and loving partner while also being very ready and happy to punt shang qinghua into a death-cave, oki? like he's been strung along for WAY TOO LONG not to have some hang ups about his shitty not-boyfriend

in other words, our beloved ice demon king is a motherfucking tsundere. to his very core, this trsundere is dying at all times because he simultaneously loves and hates the object of his affection and feels deeply embarrassed by his own feelings and equally shameless about them. mobei jun is pretty much ready at all times to completely deny any affection ever held for shang qinghua with a cold passion AND to shamelessly announce that this is his consort, his husband, the owner of his heart, and the only one he ever wants near him and the person he cares for most in this world

our precious tsundere king is sliiiggghhttly just trying to guard his heart from breaking because shang qinghua basically sends him every single mixed message in the world and LOOK IT MAKES HIM A LOT INSANE

when he tastes even a whiff of rejection from shang qinghua, mobei jun is ready to close himself off and haughtily sniff "i never liked that human anyway, fuck off. im not crying at all". at the slightest indication that shang qinghua returns his affections, he's ready to throw away almost all of his pride and cling to him desperately

i love him so much. mobei jun is so fucking silly and i love it. he absolutely is mad at shang qinghua and holds a grudge against him (for various reasons). but he's also so down bad for shang qinghua that it's a bit sad lmfaooo

expanding upon my previous thoughts of "shang qinghua totally tricking mobei jun into marrying him without his knowledge", i'd just like to say that i think it's a particularly amazing thought with regards to mobei jun's Very Conflicted Heart in mind

like he's split in equal parts "omg omg omg im his!? he's mine?! WE'RE MARRIED?!?!?! HE LOVES ME?!!? HEAD EMPTY, NEED QINGHUA, WHERE QINGHUA, MUST QINGHUA, LOVE QINGHUA, AHHHHHHHHH, NEED HUSBAND NOW" and ".........im going to kill him. im going to skin him alive. im going to roast him over one of those fires he loves so fucking much and eat his organs in front of him while he pleads for his life. THAT MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT I CANNOT BELIEVE HIM IM GONNA--"

[supacutiepie]

(I need some better pics of him fr) Caius 'Calico' Thorne

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from? Caius was born and raised in Rivain till his very early twenties or late teens.

2: What is your character's alignment? Chaotic Good absolutely

3: Race and subclass? Human Rogue! 4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found? The Rivaini Warden Forts, avoiding going home and 'researching' the forts he grew up in and around as a child.

5: What emotion did they usually pick? Very Purple Rook, but also very Honest/Emotional Rook. Towards the end of the game he became more burgundy bc the angry options just became easier to empathize with

6: What companion are you platonically close with? Taash. They flirted at first, but Caius gradually shifted into the big brother role. Because he's also Trans and Rivaini - he knows exactly what Taash is going through because it's Complicated AF to be a transman in Rivain that sort of idolizes Womanhood.

7: Romantically close with? Lucanis won out, but in truth is Lucanis and Davrin. It's about the Communication besties.

8: Who are they suspicious of? Anyone too nice, or anyone too flippant. Illario REALLY struck a nerve right out the gate

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction? With the other Ensigns? Yeah absolutely, he's both everyones little and older brother and he's not afraid to befriend the cooks and lower ranks, but also unafraid to challenge the high ranks - earns him friends and enemies that one.

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments? He likes to think he could play something, he cannot. He can carry a tune though! His voice has changed a lot since he last really sang though.

11: Weapon of choice? He's an Archer before anything else, but his daggers come and go depending on the job. He prefers understated, fine craftsmanship.

12: What is their orientation? Caius is a Nonbinary Man, Bisexual disaster.

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it? Some people can't be saved, or want to be. Every death weighs on him, even the monsters and beasts. If it didn't, he'd have to stop fighting - you can't kill with no remorse or conscience, then you become nothing more than a husk.

14: What hobbies does your Rook have? He actually enjoys cooking, enjoys Reading, and loves to people watch. He's the sort to sketch things and journal.

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike? He respects the hell of out Ashur and Tarquin, and mourns the fact he could never really get closer because Minrathous fell, he never blamed them for their ire. He's close to Evka and Antoine, got their little 'against the status quo!' squad. He isn't fond of Caterina and Illario, but really likes Viago and Teia. He prefers his deceivers to at least be honest at some point.

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas? Assan REALLY hit the nail on the head, he's a major Warden fanboy and Griffons are just, COOL! But, otherwise, he really likes Cats. Especially big fat mean cats, hence where he got the nickname 'Calico;

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer? He does. He finds purpose and effort in the work, gratified to physically see the difference he can make.

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric? Fighting Darkspawn. He'd just be any other Warden, but he'd probably be doing research with Antoine and Evka. Be the one to do the heavier lifting for the pair.

19: How do you think they'll meet their end? If the Calling still comes around, or if it gets worse, I think he'd hold off until Davrin's caught up as well. He has no intention of dying early, but he's a Warden, and he'll die fighting Darkspawn. If he gets the choice though, he won't die in a cave - he's going to whatever town needs help, and he'll die giving them their homes back.

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him? He starts out resenting Solas. Having heard horror stories about how Solas killed a child (personal timeline lore) and how Solas betrayed everyone...but in the end, he feels so much pity for the man. The Wardens believe everyone can be Better, but he only gives the man One chance to Be Better.

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability? Getting that perfect precision head shot??? Noice. But honeslty, he uses Arlathan's Gifts a lot because those disks flying around are fun.

22: What languages is your character fluent in? Rivaini foremost, which is basically an indentity crisis of different languages (canonically Rivain is the America of Thedas, melting pot) but then Common, and he picked up the Anderfels from Warden work (german, austrian, and etc)

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis? He held himself together for a long time. But the moment the sun rises, Solas is gone, and everyone can breathe? He can't breathe through his sobs. He has to lock away for a week, desperately fighting for his sanity because he can't be a leader if he can't surive his own heartbreak.

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife? It's changed a lot after..everything. He would like, maybe, to be a Wisp. To float around, learning. He thinks being a Spirit of Curiosity would be the best way to come back, if he does at all.

25: What specialization best represents your Rook? Given the options for a Rogue: Veil Ranger, The Antivan Duelist , and Lord of Fortune Saboteur - He chose the Ranger. Doesn't quite have the patience for dueling etiquette and artificing.

26: What animal best represents your Rook? Griffon? Honestly. He's got the Roar, the Grace, and the Heart. He embodies a Griffon, but not of old. He's the Griffon of Arlathan, the protector and friend who choose to fight for others.

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard? He's been a Warden for a while, and it's been good to him. He grew up stressed and lonely, fighting for identity in a world that didn't like that... becoming a Warden meant becoming Him. He took the Surname of the Lieutenant that recruited him and let his old rivaini life became his quietly closed first chapter.

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader? Caius doesn't outright think of himself as the Leader because he's More Than - he tells Solas outright, "Someone needs to do it" and if he needs to step up, he will. Just as much as he'll step back. He doesn't think the Veilguard needs a Leader. No god, king, or leader makes the world - the people do.

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why? If he hadn't ended up with the Wardens, he'd have been a Lord of Fortune. Escaping his village and taking up adventure with likeminded individuals.

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook? Caius has so much room for compassion. He looks at the wolrd and sees an Opportunity to Learn - it's why he gets on with Emmrich and Bellara so well, but also why he could band together so many different people - he sees the world from angles, from refracted mirrors. He sees People and knows they have unique stories, and he honors everyone's right to their individual story.

Rook Questionnaire

inspired by @cassieuncaged's BG3 Character Development Questions but for Rook instead!

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from?

2: What is your character's alignment?

3: Race and subclass?

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

5: What emotion did they usually pick?

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

7: Romantically close with?

8: Who are they suspicious of?

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

11: Weapon of choice?

12: What is their orientation?

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

14: What hobbies does your Rook have?

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas?

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric?

19: How do you think they'll meet their end?

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him?

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability?

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis?

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

25: What specialization best represents your Rook?

26: What animal best represents your Rook?

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

[nonranghaes]

heads up: this is longer than what i usually post here. oops.

this... is not how the story is supposed to go. your head is pounding when you wake up, body slumped slightly forward save for the way you've been bound to the chair you were thrown into. you blink a few times, brows drawing together as you lift your head. when did you get here...? one minute you were escaping up into this tower, the next...

fuck. where's your satchel? you gasp, immediately trying to pull one of your arms free. what the hell is this--hair? "shit. shit, shit, shit--"

"struggling..." a voice calls out, faltering just a bit, and you freeze. "struggling is pointless."

... fuck, what did you get into this time? the kingdom's already after your head and, with your luck, they're probably on their way to haul you off into a cell for the rest of your life. you can hear the sound of someone climbing down, and can make out the frame of that same person standing in the shadows.

"i'm not afraid of you. so... who are you?" he speaks again, slowly making his way forward. "and how did you find me?"

... huh? "sorry?" you furrow your brows. "i don't--"

"i said--" he steps into the light, and you're met with the pretty face of a young man... and the owner of the hair you're currently, literally, in. "who are you," he grips an iron pan in one hand like a weapon, and he looks like he could kill if he had to (then again, you think most people are like that when they see you nowadays), "and how did you find me?"

for a moment, you think you've seen his face before. a passing moment, nothing serious, but the feeling fades all too quickly. "look, buddy--"

"jeonghan." he spits his name at you, but there's a playfulness in his eyes as he makes his way over to you, lightly poking you with the pan. "you're the one tied up right now. you should respect me, hm?"

"look, jeonghan," you say, "i don't know who you are. i don't even want to be here. i just want to leave you alone, alright?" you tug again at the restrains. since when was hair this strong...? "you let me go, give me my bag, and i'll get out of your hair."

he crosses his arms, sizing you up. "i don't think so."

shutting your eyes, you try to gather some sort of patience. you don't have time for this. that fucking horse is probably sniffing you out right now. "i mean it! thought this place was abandoned, and, uh," you put on the most charming smile you can as you look at him, "didn't expect a handsome fella like you to be here--my bad, truly--but i've got places to be that aren't here."

that playfulness disappears in his eyes as he studies you. "... you really don't want my hair, then?"

"with all due respect, why the fuck would i want your hair?"

jeonghan eyes you suspiciously, and makes his way over to a different wall behind you. "no reason. how about we make a deal?"

you can hear the sound of him climbing behind you, and then the harsh tug of his impossibly long hair sends your chair spinning until you've hit the floor with a grunt. with a little struggling, you manage to peer up to where he's pulling back a curtain, revealing a mural of the lantern festival the kingdom does every year for the lost prince.

he nodes toward it. "you know what these are?"

"who doesn't?" you push as hard as you can just to get your weight off of your face and neck, and manage to get the chair sideways. "floating lantern thing. king and queen do it every year. think it's tomorrow." you pause for a moment. "... was that the deal? i answer your question and you let me go?"

his brows lift, and he's genuinely delighted with your initial response. he rushes down to you, already pushing your chair up so that he can be face to face with you. "the deal is," he presses the end of the pan against your chest, "you take me to go see those things and bring me back home... and then i'll give you your satchel back."

"... uh. no." you eye him suspiciously. does this guy... not have any idea who you are? waltzing back into the kingdom now would be a death sentence for you, especially with your name on one third of the wanted posters out there. "just go by yourself."

jeonghan's smile falls, and he crosses his arms. "so you don't want your bag? you'll never find it without me." he strolls away from you, looking out the nearby window. "it might not even be here next time you wake up..."

shit. he's too serious to not mean it. you've risked everything to steal that crown, including trusting two idiots that are probably also planning your death right about now. "that's it?" you turn your face as best as you can see him. "lights show and then home. that's all you want?"

he smiles at you. "is there something i should add?"

fine. if pretty man wants a road trip... then you can give him a road trip. "then it's a deal."

another tug of his hair sends your chair spinning around. to your surprise, you don't hit the floor: jeonghan's hand catches the back of it as he grins at you. "it's a pleasure doing business with you, then."

[yanderefarm]

yandere prisoner introduction

cw;; gore, nsfw, violence towards reader, violence, blood, knives, murder

his name is 7. it was given to him by a camper who found him when he only had 7 tally marks on his skin. that camper became the 8th.

he doesn't have a home or a family as far as he or anyone knows of. he's lived in the woods by that campsite for what could be his entire life.

he's been picking off campers who visit those secluded cabins for years getting increasingly more violent and intense with it.

he's very violent and bloody. he was enjoying killing your cabin mate to the fullest when you first woke up.

you noticed him and waited quietly until you could get away. you hit him with your lamp as he climbed over top of you and then bolted out the door.

he currently has 19 tallies on his shoulders. you're supposed to be 20.

he also got a tattoo of your initials on his shoulder.

he's madly in love with you for being the only person who has ever escaped him. he sends you letters in his messy handwriting covered in drool and other fluids. they detail all kinds of graphic things he wants to do to you.

one time he sent a letter with blood on it and detailed how he had to take care of another inmate but he made sure not to kill him for you. you're the only one he can kill.

you decided to go to see him in prison after moving back to your hometown and he was just as gross and off-putting there. he would get so excited and act like an eager little puppy everytime he saw you again. before asking if you got his latest gross letter detailing how he wanted to make love to your corpse.

he actually started to behave better in prison after your visits started. he couldn't see you if he was put in solitary.

after only 10 years in prison he was being released on a technicality. everyone expected you to be with the other families and be completely outraged but you went on several interviews saying that you forgave him. talking about how you would kindly give him shelter.

yeah that's not exactly right. you set up the cabin for all manner of tortures. that's where you'll both live until you rot away together in the place it started.

he thinks it's romantic. he loves you so much it doesn't matter what you do to him. he's happy to be with you forever.

he'd be really happy to know he haunts your nightmares.

he got most of his tattoos in prison. that's also when his hair became so long but its always been messy.

he gets really jealous but he likes to play it off like he's not. he'll especially mock you with the fact he killed your boyfriend at the time because he's so jealous that you still care after 10 years.

he'll kill anyone who tries to interrupt your time at the cabin. he'll escape and then come back once it's over asking you to put the chains back on.

its unclear if he actually wants to kill you anymore.

nsfw

he could top but he's not allowed to. he's better as a whiny drooling bottom.

he confesses to you only all the horrible things he did to people's bodies either during or after their deaths. he got off on the violence but it isn't enough for him anymore.

he likes your violence even more than the violence he inflicted. he'll moan to exaggerate and piss you off but he's always rock hard whenever you even hit him or look at him with disgust.

he's like a dog in another way too. he'll hump anything you give him. let him hump your leg, stuffed animals, pillows, bedframes, anything that gives him any friction.

his favorite position is your hands around his neck as you bare down on him. he doesn't even care if you're fucking him, he could cum from you choking him alone.

big tits. big muscles. big guy. big dick. big whore.

he always cums so much and he drools even more. sex with him is always messy.

he would love it if you dissected him and played with his body.

he'll cum when you kill him.

[ooastralberryoo]

MC who loves otome games

Lucifer acts pretentious at times and expresses that it is quite a strange hobby to have. You are often by his side in his room at his desk when he is working and in order to kill time you find yourself pulling out your handheld device and headphones to play. You don't notice but Lucifer is most definitely taking peeks at your screen maybe not so much peeks but he is full-blown watching until he catches himself and gets back to his paperwork. He also pays attention to how you talk about the characters in the games you play especially your favorite characters "This is a fictional character after all they could not provide much for you...I on the other hand.."

Mammon expresses his disdain right away. Why would you need a fictional character to obsess over when you have a real-life demon aka Mammon! Grumbles to himself while he sits next to you playing an otome game because, at the end of the day, he just wants to spend time with you no matter what you're doing. Next thing you know he is not grumbling insults at the game but instead demanding you to pick certain choices claiming that he knows which one would be the best "Obviously you should choose the third choice ..! Wait! What I meant to say was I really don't see the point of these games is the great Mammon not enough for you!?"

Levi is in a constant state of jealousy and understanding. On one hand, he loves that he has someone so close to him who also enjoys games like that but on the other hand, he tends to compare himself to the characters in the games you play and you often have to reassure him that you like him the way he is. Later on, though, he absolutely loves discussing his favorite otome game stories and characters with you! "Did you play his route yet?? The beginning was kind of slow but later on, he really shows how much he cares for the MC and .. ... .. .. .."

Satan prefers reading romance books but he is willing to indulge in this hobby of yours. After all, it is mostly reading. At first, he tries to act uninterested, making it clear that he does not want to be like Levi but he gets hooked in the end. After watching you play and playing a bit for himself he gets so passionate about the stories and characters and he gets pissed when there's a character who he thinks is not suitable for the MC. "Why the hell would anyone prefer this route over any of the others!? Do they not have taste?!?!"

Asmodeus is intrigued from the start. He has heard of these sorts of games from Levi but whenever Levi discusses them they lead to a long ramble and Asmo doesn't stay interested enough to stay until the end. He watches you play them and plays a bit himself and it immediately inspires him to try new roleplays in the bedroom. He is open to cosplaying as characters in the bedroom as well. He takes pride in the fact that he can learn the ins and outs of your favorite character but still in the end he hopes you favor him the most "Ooh ~ I can see why you like him so much he's so cute! ...But I'm hoping you like someone else a lot more darling"

Beelzebub just so happens to stumble upon you playing one of these games after he gets himself a snack and decides to spend his time eating in your room of all places. He does not have much interest in playing one for himself but he is happy to watch you play while munching on snacks..as long as it does not take too long. Eventually, he will ask you if you want to pause the game and go out to eat, his treat of course! (and this absolutely does not have anything to do with the fact that you are obsessing too much over this certain character.) "Is this the type of person you like MC..? They are not real though..maybe it's time to take a break from the game we should go out to eat now just you and me."

Belphegor forces you to cuddle him to sleep whether you are tired or not so you have learned to keep your phone or a handheld console on hand for this purpose. While lying down with your back turned to Belphagor you put on your earphones and dive into this romance game world but little do you know is Belphie is watching. He pays close attention to whatever you are interested in and this just so happens to be one of them. He does not make it known but you sometimes find it suspicious when he says something that resembles what the character in your game says.. "Hmm what do you mean? You must be tired Let go to sleep now" :)

I wrote this while drinking pls ignore any mistakes imma try to tweak it another day :D ALSO If you reached the end please consider checking out this adults-only otome game community I made on my other account!!

https://www.tumblr.com/communities/otome-game-community