#Angry Arsonist;; ic

[the-elemental-heros]

”intro post.”

”hello hello! We are the greatest hero’s on earth and in hell! My name is mike, this is my partner, Lumi.” “Hai!” “and this is red light!” “Sup.” “If you wanna be a member I’d be happy to accept!”

PLEASE READ: if you are an ask blog that interacted with any of the members before erase those from the characters memory and history because if they don’t know who mike or Lumi is it will play into the story of these characters

(This is a rp blog for the elemental hero group and this was supposed to just be mike/phoenix and Lumi but it changed into something bit bigger)

(Drawings of each member coming soon)

Mikes powers: super strength, super speed, super hearing, black acid control, fire and lava control, can make weapons and everyday things out of black acid or lava or fire, teleportation, self-liquidation, shape shifting, can morph his body parts to form weapons, amazing with weapons combat, amazing with hand to hand combat, flight, obviously extremely durable because he’s fucking liquid, fire and lava creation and obvious manipulation, limited aura creation (he can make a firey aura around him) can make fire, lava, or black acid clones, laser eyes, obvious regeneration, he can make portals, he can self detonate creating a explosion of fire.

Lumis powers: super strength, same level as mike, super speed (slightly slower then mike), can make weapons and everyday things out of water and ice, can “fly” by spawning ice or water under her as she surfs it through the air, durability, super hearing, can talk to under water creatures, limb morphing (like mike), regeneration.

red lights powers: can change colors of lights (usually changes it to red), light manipulation, light creation, good at weaponry combat, super strength (weaker then mike), super speed (weaker then Lumi), limited aura creation (can make a red aura around her), can make light clones, impenetrable skin, infinite ammunition. Treikos powers: impenetrable skin, super strength, super agility, super reflexes, blood bending, best at weaponry combat, super adaptability, regeneration healing factor, teleportation, X-ray vision, enhanced vocal cords, super hearing, super durability.

Mikes boiling point extra powers and physical changes: can make his voice very loud, to the point of deafening, grows a pair of spider legs with 8 on each side, his powers just get buffed, grows a bit bigger going from 8’11 to 12’8ft tall, grows deploy and concealable blades under his wrist bandages that are about 10-13 inches at full length, lava spit.

random facts about mike!:

🔥: he is a LEE, death spot is his underarms. He has a very “EEK”y laugh.

🔥: He is a psychopath who loves to make people, suffer and he murders people. He is only saving people and acting like a hero because he likes being regarded as a god by some people and hero by most… most. 🔥: He died at 4 when being kidnapped and he was shot 78 times in the limbs, torso, stomach, you name it, he was only alive because they kept giving him adrenaline so he would stay alive and he died at the last headshot. 🔥: Kills because he views and thinks everyone is as bad as the 2 kidnappers who killed him, sometimes he has moments where he snaps outta that but it doesn’t last for long. 🔥: Is very rude, scary, and intimidating when angry or just being normal. 🔥: Obviously can’t die, I mean you can kill him but he will just come back after like a day. Same thing with everyone else. 🔥: Is very intelligent.. just his arrogance and confidence can cloud that at times. Speaking of confidence and arrogance he views himself as a god and looks down at normal humans like insects. 🔥: He’s very inspired by homelander, this whole thing is inspired by the boys and the seven. 🔥: is an art the clown level of brutality sometimes. 🔥: Basically a mix between homelander and the T-1000. 🔥: he is 31.

🔥: idk if I mentioned this before but his true self isn’t actually a psycho, yes he will kill murderers, arsonists, the ones doing atrocities. But he won’t seriously maim like smaller crimes like theft or stuff like that. His true self is actually a good person and caring, he is aware of his psycho side and his psycho side is aware of him. he didn’t want this killing to happen.

🔥: he has a brother only mister Shapley, Lumi, lord Hansel, mister hotchkiss, [REDACTED], and red light know about, his name is Nolan. They never told him because a few reason but the main one is because they know that if he finds out they kept this from him, they are dead.

things that can make phoenix come out:

Being tickled

being Shown affection

psycho self using powers to make him visible

Being surprised with something very odd (like a cat speaking-)

being reminded of his family

being shot (will kill you for this)

being injected with adrenaline or tranquilizers (will kill you for this)

being stabbed in the side of the head/ear (he can make body parts grow at will cuz liquid) (will kill you for this)

he can sometimes just come out on himself

random facts about Lumi!:

❄️: big lee, HUGE LEE. Most ticklish spots are belly, feet, back of knees, and neck.

❄️: even though her and red light are sweet and caring, like phoenix, they will kill criminals who have done very horrible things. And also like phoenix, they will hurt criminals who do smaller crimes like theft or stuff like that but not kill.

❄️: Is trying to make phoenix come out for good.. but Micheal is becoming more resistant by the second.

❄️: will protect people from Micheal if she can.

❄️: snuggle bug.

❄️: she is 24.

❄️: Favorite food: rotisserie chicken.

❄️: Likes being pet.

❄️: As you actually know, she cares about others greatly and is very sweet.. she is still a badass at times though.

❄️: likes to loaf from time to time. ❄️: died from being run over by a train.

(Facts about red light and treiko coming later.)

RULES:

NO NSFW! Suggestive asks are fine tho (I updated everyone’s age cuz I realized the age stuff had flaws-)

offensive jokes of any kinda are fine, racist jokes, phobe jokes, etc.

DO NOT try to fight these people if you cannot handle your characters being killed… you can just bring them back to life in a different post anyway lol.

don’t be rude to the mod, I’m fine with you taking joking shots at me but don’t be actually a asshole.

swearing is allowed, I’ll allow the word retard but don’t say a slur that you can’t reclaim (I think that’s the word).

don’t go into a fight with them and expect to win, I’ve already had one dude throw a fit about it, I don’t want it again.

This isn’t just a FPE blog it could go in really any fandom.

COOL BLOGS!:

@abbie-appleboy @engels-ask-blog @zip-the-chaos-child @girl-from-the-snowy-forest @lesbian-zipster @oliversoapeater-official @claireslibrarycard

@danger-bloomie @danger-oliverrr @danger-abbie @danger-zipster

@askmyfpeocs @ask-april-stuff-ig @official-crazie

@mister-hotchkiss-craft-teacher @best-art-teacher-miss-sasha @pansexual-music-teacher @cannibalistic-forest-monster @math-teacher-who-loves-oreos @ask-mister-barrel @ask-miller @ask-margaret-sterling

(Sorry if @s don’t work or I forgot you, did the best I could.)

Story: a corrupt super hero group with members who are regarded as hero’s and gods are under control by a powerful demon consumed by revenge, only select fews knew and know about the truth and that the leader is just putting up a facade… most ended up dead, but the ones who know and that are alive are trying to get that info out, yet, no one believes them.

(Btw the ones who don’t believe mikes hero act are mainly the teachers and the principal, students believe it though… Edward knows he’s a bad dude)

(Mod talking)

“Micheal talking”

“Phoenix talking”

“Lumi talking”

“Red light talking”

“Treiko talking”

Edit: two people have already forgotten the “please read”- I’m not angry btw

[gnzma]

[ also i wanna talk about MY petty things bc. while i had my fair amount of toxic stuff i was thinking about one thing that i might write later and THAT'S the reason i wanted to send that salty ask

so pick your poison! what's gio's most petty reason to get mad and angry between:

that lusamine rper who wanted to rp porn with me bc they shipped (SuMo) g/uzamine romantically, i respectfully said no and wouldve been okay with still working on their very odd relationship, butone day came in and went "i wrote g/uzamine porn but also i cant write guzma can you write him ^_^"

that one time a guzma roleplayer came to burnet ic calling her a whore for "stealing his man", burnet got rightfully upset, and the only active kukui rper of the time told BURNET that "he has two hands and that SHE should learn to be nicer ^_^"

that one time i put down a willow dontstarve pokemon team who was made of only fire-types since. yknow. she's literally an arsonist. and some anon ketp discussing with me because i was stupid and i didnt balance her team

that one time i had a muse that was a broken down robot and i had to specifically tell people that him being broken was important for the plot and that no, i didnt want random personals and anons "fixing him up"

IM SALTY BESTIES IM SALTYYY ]

[fantasyideas1]

quotes almat

Aphorisms Liars play around, primitive gender solidarity increases hostility between the sexes, and creates much more social problems, due to hidden gender egoism, and the thirst for gender dominance, people are balloons filled with blood and helium of madness, the air of empty promises in which the ego is carried into the sky, try means eat, programmers propagandize selfish gain, at the control panel of the ego are legions of despair, the herd instinct of the mainstream of fear, cowardly cynics are obedient puppets, in a pipette there are lies of excuses, at each other with tongue-in-cheek, people are machines with childish instincts of greedy, infantile, vicious, lies gilded, in hopes not durable, in the senses de-energized, perfectionism of egoism, and blind ego of atheism, cannibalism of suicidal, lazy egoism, the appetites of greed inflation from death will all fall asleep ahead of time, they are controlled by a proud rogue, and in public by an obstinate, swaggering one, the cemetery of meanings is growing , everything that was in the culture will die, inflation is growing, their fear is growing, ruin and ashes await everyone, A compliment is a touching sexual harassment (touches the body with words), a girl with the blackest skin, the colors of one of the most unforgettable nights, a storm of speeches of eloquence, brings harm to evil , liars carelessly run away from the truth, they will be forgotten forever, choice forms the tragedy of indifference, blood clots from forgiveness, meanings are forgotten in angry oblivion, harmonious meanings from a diet of vices, Poetry The arsonist of penises, seductive and incredibly captivating, is filled with passion like a glass of wine in which the wine of lust is pouring, a waterfall of passion, the power of powerful love grows, from the detachment of others, god-like beauty will arise in a gay, impotent, blind man, and in a stupid insolent, in a pickup truck specialist, a scoundrel, a proud man, who has two caskets of accumulated love, a hot poem of lust, an eternal desire for you, uncontrollably attracted, obsessively dreaming, aggressively wanting, standing on you so much that it’s bleeding, Jokes He sneezes aggressively, and this makes him cum brutally in his panties, two sneezes, three orgasms What caused a massive fight in a nightclub, because of the click What do they call a frigid assexual, a man with an icicle with two ice cubes (eggs) You're a womanizer, which means you've rented out some part of your brain to your dick She didn’t come, the effect of Viagra didn’t wear off, and I swatted flies with my dick like a baton Bearded balls of courage Mutual destruction no one is offended I really didn’t understand what a chocolate eye cataract means, but the lecture was interesting On the first date I don’t approach as if I were fifa (football, fifa, milf) Madame Zhu Zhu, I’m not joking, and I’m singing, and I’m talking Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich

[arsonistsanarchy]

@cozy-cupid continued from X

[🔥] — Okay, Dan couldn’t help but laugh at that last bit.

“Oh my God, that sounds priceless! I wonder if Audrey would get mad at me if I ended up shooting the Impostor in the dick...ah, screw it! I’m gonna do it anyway!” — [💢]

[laplaces-angels]

[🔥] — ❝New year, new me.❞ Is he seriously getting ready to launch a bunch of illegal fireworks into a pudding factory? Yes. Yes, he is.

[arsonistsanarchy]

💥{Maven}💥

Sigh “Ever since we got that new counselor I’ve had so much more work… Seriously? Why did he burn down the whole camp?”

┍━━━━ ⋆⋅💣⋅⋆ ━━━━┑

[🌲] — “Hey, I didn’t mean to burn the camp down, okay!? That was completely unintentional!”

┕━━━━ ⋆⋅💣⋅⋆ ━━━━┙

[gay-otlc]

You're A Lot Like Me

Are you fascinated by the Marella & Fintan dynamic or do you have a healthy relationship with your father?

Warnings! Death. Violence. Fire. Manipulation. Cursing. I'll add more if anyone needs.

@countingthestarsaboveourheads @rainbowtay-11 @let-conner-bailey-say-fuck @tiergan-andrin-alenefar @an-ungraeceful-swan @if-only-wishes-were-answered sorry if you didn't want to be tagged but I'm going to annoy you with my queer arsonist bullshit 🧡

Read on AO3

"I hate being a pyrokinetic," she tells Fintan, once.

"We're dangerous," he agrees. "It's not easy to love us. People leave until we only have ourselves, and the fire. Fire never leaves us, even if we want it to. We destroy things. We destroy people. We destroy ourselves. Marella Redek, people like us were never destined for happiness."

Determination burns in her eyes. "I'll make my own damn destiny."

The fire has other plans. Marella thinks she can escape it. She can't.

Fintan

As one does, Fintan is at a secret underground facility for human experimentation, guarding the cell of a teenager's parents. Said teenager, who is somehow not thrilled about this, seems to have collected a group of their friends and family to get those people back. Given the bargaining chip they make, Fintan isn't exactly eager to let them go free without a fight. He cackles and recites his monologue on why murder is cool and fun. Then, the petite girl in the back catches his attention.

There's fear in her eyes.

But there's also fire.

The same gravity he feels, with the fire always pulled to him- he can feel it gravitating to this girl too. She looks just like Caprise Redek. This is Caprise Redek's daughter, and she's... she's like him. But she's not quite like him, not yet. She still believes in good, still believes in Sophie Foster. She hasn't yet burned down into bitterness. If she had, she'd be on the other side of this battle.

Most of him wants to make her hate the world, hate everything except him, and stand beside him as they burn it all down together. Something quiet, something hidden, wants her to have a happier life than he does. A happier life than murder. Than running away from everyone he loves loved, who hate him. Than eventually losing this fight and living his life in an ice prison, away from the fire he needs to survive. He wants her to have a better life.

He shouldn't care. He should be old, and bitter, and angry, and he's Fintan Pyren, and he doesn't care about children. If he has to suffer, why shouldn't she?

But he insists on bringing her to his prison, on letting him teach her. Sophie's worried that he'll bring her to his side. He wants to stop her from becoming him. Something in him cares, and it won't leave him alone if he lets her become a monster. He won't.

Marella

In retrospect, it probably wasn't a good idea to walk into a human experimentation lab with Sophie Foster and her friends, all of who have a habit of nearly dying. But here she is, trying to hide in the back and not be the one to almost die. She's just there in case they needed to light anything on fire, but if that isn't necessary at the moment, she will stay the hell out of the way. Hiding doesn't exactly seem to help, not when Fintan catches her eye.

His eyes narrow for a second, and then he smiles.

He smiles.

At her.

Does she make him happy, or something?

He makes her sick.

Fintan recognized her, recognized what she was. His smile and the- if she didn't know better, she'd call it kindness- in his eyes, looking like he's already planning to turn her into him. He thinks she's just like him. Marella will never be like him. Whatever he thinks he can do to change her mind, she won't let him. But she won't look away, either. Or can't? His stare burns into her, and she keeps staring back.

As much as she wants to deny it, they are connected, drawn to one another like they're both drawn to fire. He must be the only person alive who understands her. What all of this is like for her. All the voices in her head, the flames bubbling under her skin and threatening to bubble out at any moment. The temptation to just let the fire go, just destroy everything, and how hard it is to resist. He understands. Fintan understands, what she's like, because he's like her.

I'm not like him, she tells herself.

But even if she doesn't grow into him, their roots are in the same place.

Fintan

"-Fintan? Fintan? Are you listening?" Fallon gives him a stern look."Sorry." For once, it's not his fault he's not paying attention to Fallon. He's trying, since they're discussing the balefire lighting system in Atlantis, and being in charge of that, he should participate in the discussion. But Fallon's voice is impossible to concentrate on with the fire calling to him in the background. It's not as though Fintan isn't used to it, the need to snap his fingers and let the flames begin, but this... this is worse.

Fire is usually a whisper in the back of his mind.

This is a scream.

Everblaze. Everblaze. Everblaze.

He shoots to his feet, only half aware of what he's doing. Upon realizing the strange looks he receives, he blurts out "I have to go," and all but runs, calling Soleil the second he's out the door. "Can you be at my house in five minutes? It's arson time." He knows it's not a very thorough explanation, but she doesn't seem to need one. Once they're both at Cindercliff, he catches his breath enough to speak over the Everblaze, everblaze, everblaze��in his head."I need to try summoning everblaze.

"Soleil raises her eyebrows. "The fire of the sun? That we're not entirely convinced isn't a myth? That everblaze?"

"That everblaze," Fintan confirms. "And it's not a myth. I can hear it calling to me; it's as real as any other type of fire burning constantly in our heads. I can't ignore it anymore, it's too loud. I have to try summoning it. So I figured I might as well invite my favorite ex-student."

She considers him for a long pause, but eventually shrugs. "Sure. Go ahead."

He closes his eyes, and stops trying to push the words out of his head. He lets them take over. Everblaze! Everblaze! Everblaze! His fists clench, and unclench, over and over. There's fire, and there's Fintan, and he's not sure where one stops and the other begins. Maybe there isn't a difference; maybe that's what everblaze should feel like. Him and fire, one and the same. The fire in his head roars, taking over every inch of him. He feels at home. This is the first time in his life he's felt at home. Fintan is an inferno, and it's the best he's ever felt.

Eventually, the euphoria wears off, and he blinks his eyes open, gaze focused on the ceiling. "Sol, holy shit, I did it."

Silence.

"Soleil?" He looks down.

Soleil is a pile of ashes.

Soliel is dead, and he killed her.

Marella

What happened to her mother. It hadn't been an accident. The Neverseen had wanted to recruit her, and she said no, so Ruy had the measured response of pushing her off a fucking balcony. All Marella can hear is roaring in her ears as she screams, palms facing the sky, flames shooting into it. Sophie lays a hand on Marella shoulder, and he's an enhancer, and Marella feels the power surge through her.

Marella is fire. Fire is Marella. She is a storm, a wildfire, and she will destroy everything in her path. Destroy it all. When the smoke clears, and the rage clouding her eyes fades away, she can see the scorch marks all over the ground and Ruy Ignis's broken, burnt corpse.

He's dead.

She killed him.

"I killed him," Marella says, and it should concern her that Fintan is the person she thought to confide in, but she's too numb to process this. And maybe it makes sense. It's not like he has the right to judge her. Or maybe he's somehow become someone she trusts, talks to when her thoughts are too heavy to carry alone. "I didn't mean to kill him. Or maybe I did. I didn't even know what I was doing, I was just... angry. And now I'm a murderer."

Fintan puts an arm around her shoulders, and it's almost laughable that he's here comforting her. Being affectionate with her. Like they're close. Are they? "You're a lot like me, Redek. I wish you weren't, but you are."

"I know. I hate it."

"I know."

Fintan

"I have to break up with you," Bronte says, and Fintan can't say he's surprised, but he still steps back like he's been slapped. "I-I can't be with someone who hurts people like you do. People are dying because of what you're doing, because of your fire, and you refuse to stop. You find new people to teach, to kill, and you fight anyone who tries to stop you. I can't... I can't do this anymore, Fintan, I can't keep forgiving you."

He has a point. Fintan knows he has a point. But the anger erupts out of him before he even processes what he's about to say. "You want to talk about having an ability that hurts people, Bronte? I cannot believe you. I've forgiven you every time you've accidentally inflicted on me, or anyone else innocent, but the moment I make one mistake-"

"You killed five people! That's hardly an innocent mistake."

"You're afraid of me," Fintan says. Fire rises up from his palm, facing up to the ceiling. It's Bronte's turn to take a step backwards, but he nods. "You're afraid of me," he repeats. The taste the words leave in his mouth makes him want to vomit. "You are- were- the only person who wasn't scared of me, who didn't move away ever so slightly when they learn what I am. I thought I was a monster and you were the only person to tell me I wasn't. But you agree with them, now. There's no one left who believes there's good inside of me."

Bronte's eyes don't leave the flames as he says, slowly "I believe there is good inside of you. But you're too reckless. Too arrogant. You don't care who you have to hurt to get what you want, and I can't be with someone like that. I'm sorry, Fintan."

Maybe it's the fact that his voice is genuine, eyes burning with regret, but something about him trying to show Fintan kindness after all the harsh words only infuriates him further; how dare he pretend to care!? Try to comfort Fintan with meaningless apologies after taking his heart, his trust, and ripping it to shreds? He screams and shoots a ball of fire at Bronte, who dodges just in time for it to barely graze the back of his hand. Fintan glares daggers, breathing hard. "Fuck you," he says.

He doesn't wait to hear Bronte's response.

Marella

It's a surprisingly peaceful moment at her girlfriends' house, and Marella half feels bad about ruining it. But the question has been ricocheting around her brain for weeks, gradually building from a whisper to a scream that's impossible to ignore, and she's worried that if she doesn't ask it now, it'll tear her apart. So Marella clears her throat, taking Stina's attention away from her book and Maruca and Linh's from their game of cards. "Can I ask you guys a question?"

"Didn't you just?" Maruca asks.

Marella rolls her eyes, but fondly. She's made a difficult moment just a bit easier. "Are you three afraid of me?"

The three exchange a look. After snorting, Stina is the first to speak. "Am I afraid of you, Marella, the elf whose head exploded when I got a haircut last month and looked adorable while on the verge of death from that? The elf who consistently pulls on push doors and vice versa? Who would easily lose a fight to Princess Purryfins? No, I am not."

"But-" Any other time, she would protest the accusation that the murcat could beat her if they fought, but she's too busy not accepting the compliment. "I'm being serious, Stina. Everyone's scared of me. My mom tries, I know she does, but she's never quite subtle about what she's feeling and she can't stand to see me make fire. Whenever I bring up the fact that I train with Fintan, Sophie flinches and won't look me in the eye the rest of the day. I walk through Atlantis and parents hold their kids tighter- I saved the fucking world and they treat me like a threat. Shit, I'm afraid of myself! And you guys- you can't tell me you aren't..."

"Marella."

The voice startles her out of her spiral, and she blinks the tears from her eyes. "Linh?

"She reaches out to take her hand. "Marella, I know what it's like to have people be afraid of you, and I know what it's like to be afraid of yourself. But I trust you, Marella. Trusting people is hard for me but I trust you not to hurt me, okay?"

You can't be so sure of that, she wants to say, but the words won't get past the lump in her throat. Instead, she swallows and says "Fintan told me that pyrokinetics weren't easy to love."

"Even if it's not easy, it's worth it," Maruca says, and the other two nod.

"I love you," whispers Marella, and her girlfriends pile on her in a group hug.

Fintan

Fintan is so. Fucking. Done.This system has fucked him over, again and again. The years he had to fight to get his gender recognized, the debates on this matchmaking system that he kept losing, Bronte leaving him, being forced off the council, taking away the flames he craved, needed, more than anything. He knows they had their reasons for the Pyrokinesis ban. He just doesn't care. He wants the council to feel the pain they caused him.Wants the world to feel that pain.

There's a group, called the Neverseen. Its primary focus at the moment is rounding up the humans and putting them in one sanctuary, which Fintan understands. And they have other objectives too, nearly all of which are anti-council. That is definitely something he can support. He can even make them shift their priorities.

Priority number one: Watching the world burn.

Marella

("You were wrong," Marella told him once, her hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles were white. "I'm not like you."

"Who are you trying to convince?" he said.

"You."

Fintan lifted an eyebrow.

"Myself."

He nodded. "I hope I was wrong. I hope you end up better than me.")

He was right. Fintan had been right all along, and Marella had been trying to pretend he wasn't, but she can't deny it anymore. She can't. Because the memory of the Neverseen, and of the Black Swan's victory, eventually fades from everyone's mind. There had been a moment where they'd thought things would be different, now, but the glory is wearing off and the Lost Cities are slipping right back into their old ways.

The council voted to ban Pyrokinesis, once again. Oralie, still not over Kenric's death, led the movement, and the council voted in favor. They called it too dangerous. Maybe it is. But that doesn't give them the right to make a part of her illegal. She stands, staring numbly at the tribunal hall where her life had been made illegal.

Linh reaches out. "Marella, I'm so sor-"

"Go away."She nods. "I'll give you some time."

Time. Like that would fix this. It would just get harder with time. She could ignore the fire for a time, but the longer she told it to leave her alone, the louder it got, until it took control of her. She couldn't just not be a Pyrokinetic. She might as well stop breathing. If Councillor Oralie was going to take away Marella's breath like this, Marella would take away hers.

In a daze, she stumbles to Oralie's castle. Pink and glamorous and far too beautiful for someone this cruel.

Far too flammable.

Marella snaps her fingers, and as the castle burns, all she can hear is the screaming in her head- Everblaze, everblaze, everblaze- and Fintan's voice, rasping "You're a lot like me, Redek. I wish you weren't, but you are."

Marella Redek was strong, but the fire is stronger. For a long time she deluded herself into thinking she could be the fire's master. How wrong she was. Marella belongs to the fire, and she's never been anything other than a slave to its wishes.

[nebraska-is-a-myth]

But we can chose to fight - part 12

tw /// lots of mentions of  panic attacks, blood, and death, take care of yourselves please

Masterlist

P.s I'm sorry 

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Blood.

So much Blood.

Blood on his hands.

Blood on his clothes.

Blood pooling onto the concrete.

Pressure.

He needs to put pressure on the wound.

Keep pressure on it.

Stop the blood.

Why is there so much blood.

It won't stop.

Please, why wont it stop.

Pulse.

Check for a pulse.

Apply pressure.

No pulse.

Try again.

No pulse.

Too much blood.

Hands.

Hands all over him.

Hands dragging him away.

No, he needs to keep pressure on it.

He needs to stop the blood.

Hands.

Fists.

Blood.

His blood?

Why is nobody trying to stop the blood.

He needs to get up.

He needs to stop the blood.

Someone's shouting.

Is the ambulance here yet?

He’s covered in blood and,

Oh.

They're shouting at him. 

It’s foggy and he can't think, 

He doesn't know what's happening.

Think.

Blood

Counting

Gunfire

Blood

Oh

“Don't just fucking stand there say something!”

His face hurts, did someone hit him? He feels something run down his upper lip and he tastes the blood seeping into his mouth. The metallic taste makes him gag and he runs a hand through his hair, shit, now his hair is covered in blood.

Blood?

Blood!

Tommy!

“Tommy?”

The name leaves his lips like a whimper, it’s childish and desperate. He doesn't get a response.

“Don't you fucking say his name you monster!”

Something happens around him, something moves and people shout, not at him this time. It’s hard to understand what's happening when he can't pry his eyes away from Tommy's limp body. It looks unnatural for him to be so still, so quiet. Tubbo has his head in his lap, carting his fingers through Tommy's blond and slightly bloodied hair. There is blood everywhere. Dream looks between his hand and the red handprints on Tommy's cheeks and he decides that the marks on his face are because of Dream. He remembers holding Tommy's pale face in his hands. He wouldn't wake up. His back hurts and there are bloodied tracks on the concrete, are they his? He vaguely remembers being dragged away from all of the blood, was it Wilbur? Is that why Wilbur hit him, because he was too close? He was only trying to stop the blood. 

“What have you done.”

I don't know.

“What he should have done fucking months ago?”

George is here?

“So that was the plan was it-?”

Of course George was there, he shot Fundy.

Wait, he shot Fundy?

“ -lure him in when he was vulnerable and the murder him!”

No of course it wasn't, he loved Tommy. 

He loved him.

Loved.

But Tommy’s dead.

Oh my god he’s dead.

Tommys Dead.

He killed him

Tommys dead

Tommys dead

Tommys dead

Tommys dead

Tommys dead

He’s shaking

Why is he shaking

People are staring

Why are they looking

Stop it

Tommys dead

Stop staring

Why are they-

Hands

Hands on his back

He cant breath

Hands

Blood

Shaking

Tears

Stop it

Blood

Breathe

He can breathe

“Thats it Dream, in and out. In.”

Breathe.

“And out.”

Breathe.

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

When Dream opens his eyes again he no longer feels like there's cotton wool clogging his ears, the sun is setting and he wants to wretch at the smell of blood coming from everywhere. He is now faintly aware that he is no longer wearing his mask and the beating in his chest pounds against his ribcage louder and louder, but he feels calmer as rhythmic circles are rubbed into his upper back. Dream melts into the touch, he hasn't had much human affection in a while, apart from flying fists and painful sparring sessions. He’s sat on the floor with Fundy crouched in front of him. Fundy? Did Fundy just,   help him? Dream looks up into Fundy’s eyes to find the orange haired man already looking at him, it’s strange having the man so close, but his gaze feels softer than all the other harsh stairs around him. He sees Wilbur come into focus from behind Fundy and looms over the both of them with a terrifying look in his eyes. 

���Fudy what the fuck are you doing.” It’s a half mumble and Dream barely hears it himself, but Fundy takes his gaze away from Dream and removes his touch from the other man. Is it strange that Dream feels colder without it?

“I wasn't exactly going to let him pass out from a panic attack Wilbur, and it’s not like any of them were going to do anything.”

Fundy gestures over to the rest of the Dream team who were still armed to the teeth and quite frankly looked rather bored.

“Dream just needs to stop being such a pussy and get over it. So what the kids dead, plenty more annoying little prats in the sea.” 

George's voice is replaced by shouting and the clacking of metal and Dream needs to stop this before someone else is killed because of him. Dream is in charge, not George. So (with a little help from Fundy) Dream staggers to his feet and crosses the line between l’manburg and Dream smp to meet the brit. He stands there for a moment, letting the confusion settle on George's face, before striking George across the bridge of his nose in one swift movement.

He hopes it hurts.

The maskless man turns from Georges curses and sapnaps confusions and walks towards Wilbur. “I want you to have independence.”

“WHAT THE FUCK.”

Dream ignores George in favor of directing his eyesight to Fundy. The man isn't smiling, but his eyes become a lot wider at the statement. Wilbur looks angry and confused and on the brink of tears. He doesn't blame the older man, the smp had taken so much from them, and all because he couldn't bear to stand against the people who he used to call his friends. He knows that this will never even come close to making up for what he has done to them, but he hopes that it's a start.

“The east side is yours to command Wilbur, you are free from the laws of the smp.”

In rage, Sapnap goes to lunge at dream, but Eret manages to grab one of his arms and pull him to the ground. “ How could you dream, after everything we’ve done.”

Dream turns to face the arsonist, his head is still spinning but his thoughts are clear, clearer than he thinks they've ever been.

“What we’ve done? Sapnap we terrorized these people, killed a child! You really think that's something to be proud of?”

George pinches the bridge of his nose and clambers to his feet, he snarls and spits at dreams feet. “The east side is not yours to give! We made you what you are, that territory is ours!”

“George you Manipulated me! You made me afraid and you put me in an impossible position. I should be dead right now, I wish I were fucking dead right now but I’m not okay. And I’ll be damned if I let you hurt these people any more than you already have. If it’s power your after then take it, take whatever the fuck you want from me, but you leave the east side the fuck alone George.”

Tubbo can hear the others shouting but he stops paying attention after Dreams outburst. It’s sad Dream said those things about himself, he knows how much the older man cared about Tommy. Tommy trusted Dream, and the list of people Tommy trusted was painfully short, but Dream had always been on that list, no matter what. Even after their little fight about Tommys disks, even after they had both almost died, Tommy probably died still trusting dream. Tubbo carts his fingers through Tommys soft hair, flecks of dried blood are stuck to the tips of some of the strands, he tries not to think about all of the blood pooling around them. He focuses on the happy things instead. Tubbo likes to think Tommy is happier up there, wherever he is. Maybe he’s finally in the arms of his mother after all these years alone, he hopes Tommy finally knows he is loved. Tubbo’s other hand is wrapped around his friends wrist, fingers placed firmly on where Tommy's pulse should be thudding with energy. He hasn't felt anything in minutes now, he knows his friend is gone, that no amount of cpr will bring him back, the blood reminds him of that. So Tubbo takes his hand from Tommys pale wrist and slips it into his friend's hand. It's cold and it feels nothing at all like Tommy. Tommy always used to run hot like a furnace, the boy always complained about how warm it was no matter what the weather was doing. It was both a blessing and a curse, yes it meant Tommy complained 24/7, but it also meant that Tubbo could use him as his own personal hot water bottle. Cold after a long day of running round the city on jobs? Go to Tommy. Run down after getting caught in a storm? Go to Tommy. Just need a warm hug? Go to Tommy. Tubbo could really do with one of those hugs right now, but he can't can he? Tommy isn't warm anymore, his paling skin is like ice to the touch, and Tubbo feels like he wants to sob until his tears run out. Will he ever be warm again?

He sits like that for a while, clutching Tommy's hand in a death grip like the boy would sink into the floor at any moment. Still overwhelmed with shock, Tubbo glances up for a second to catch Erets gaze. The older man is staring at them with this look in his eyes that Tubbo can't quite place, although he’s never really been good at reading people. He looks, sad almost, Tubbo thinks it’s regret. One day he thinks he’ll forgive Eret. Not today, he can't. But one day, when the sun rises in just the right way, and the birds call to him with a song that makes his heart pang, he will visit Tommy's grave and feel the breeze caress his tear stained cheeks and tell him that it's okay. It's okay to forgive him. Tubbo will welcome Eret with open arms as gusts of wind tousle both of their hair, rustling their shirts and telling them that Eret is forgiven, and that they can start to heal again. But the skies are clear, there is no breeze on this day, and so Tubbo tears his eyes away from his friend and back to his brother. Because that's what they were, brothers. Together forever until the very end. Although neither of them expected it to come so soon. It’s terrifying, knowing how alone he is in the world. Tommy was his everything, he was the glue that held everyone together, clichés as it may be. But that was the truth, and now that he’s gone, Tubbo can feel himself start to crumble. The Brunette caves in on himself and lets the sobs rack through his body, the grip on Tommy's hand tightens. He can almost hear Tommy nagging at him complaining at how he’s squeezing too hard.

“You're hurting my hand bitch.”

The thought makes him clutch at the cold skin even harder, tears still rolling down his cheeks. That is, until he hears the nagging again, as if this is some cruel game.

“Oi dick’ead that ‘urts.”

Wait?

“Tommy?”

The outburst catches the attention of the other gang members, although none of them quite know what's going on. 

Tubbo is left speechless, he doesn't understand what's happening. It’s almost as if all the blood had soaked back into Tommy's body and he had sprung back to life.

“Tommy you're alive!”

“‘course I am idiot, why wouldn't I be?”

Tommy is more than confused. Tubbo is firing words at his head that just don't even make sense, talking about how he got shot and something stupid like that. It makes Tommy head pound, I mean he’s pretty sure he would remember getting shot right? Although, he doesn't really remember ever being on the floor, or anything after getting punched by George for that matter. The color blind man couldn't have hit him that hard could he? Surely not. I mean come on, it's GeorgeNotFound! Tommy's confusion continues to grow as more an more people crowd round him, Wilbur, Fundy, Eret, sapnap and...

“Tommy?”

Its...he...Dream..

He cant breath

Tommy's head spins, he only gets a few seconds of peace before he feels like he’s being swallowed by the void in his mind. His vision goes dark and he can feel his body start to tremble. It’s terrifying. The blackness around him is hollow and cold and Tommy screams for someone to help him, he screams for Dream, Wilbur, Tubbo, in a desperate attempt he even calls out to Eret in hope of a savior. But nothing screams back. Instead he is taunted by silence and the pressure building in his chest. But as Tommy starts to surface, the distant sounds of Wilbur's deadly counting haunt his empty wasteland.

[jusananimehoe]

Can we get a reader who has like 6or something siblings and a ton of daddy issues with our little ice gremlin or edgy gothic arsonist? Pls and thank you

Have some ice gremlin xx

You sat lazily back against the bed, fingers tangled in the sheets, trying to bite down on your growing desperation, it’ll just annoy him more. Across the room your pretty, pale boyfriend was still removing his parka, studiously avoiding your pleading eyes, which meant he was defintley still angry. Dinner with your siblings had gone about as well as expected, of course, meaning it had ended in a deathly silent Geten, dreaming of many ways to get even with all of them, most likely. You could hardly blame him, you were the youngest, the least loved, the most disconnected, and every family affair seemed to end in an argument or your tears, at least today you weren’t crying. You had always found it difficult, after all, to accept that they had a rather strong relationship with your father, while you barely knew the man, had anyone ever really loved you?

You whimpered softly and sat up on your knees, reaching out for Geten as he strode over to your bedside table, dropping something onto it before whirling on you, a hand wrapping sharply around your wrist before promptly shoving you down into the mattress, laughing cruelly at the soft moan that left your mouth. His icy hands ran along the small of your back before moving lower, pinching your ass harshly before spanking you sharply, drawing a choked little whine from your lips, so good when he got rough with you. You wiggled your hips just slightly, silently begging him for more and found yourself rewarded when he dragged your skirt down your legs, palms cupping your shapely cheeks slowly, before laying a stinging smack against them. You whined and gasped as he continued the assault, palms leaving harsh, red marks across your ass even as you moaned, before reaching around to pinch your nipples through your flimsy shirt, dragging a shrill cry from your lips, body arching back against him.

A hand forced your head back into the mattress as his fingers continued their deliciously painful pinching, pulling and twisting at your sensitive buds until they were hard, before pulling back and forcing all of his body weight onto you, letting you feel that firm hardness pressing against your sore ass, you keened for him desperately, cries muffled by the sheets, desperate for more. He tugged your head to the side, hand clamping tightly around your throat as he rubbed his clothed cock against your behind, grinning down as you gasped and moaned for him.

“Please”, you moaned softly, squealing when he spanked you again, “oh god, more please”, you reiterated, crying out when his fingers thrust inside your drenched pussy, gasping in relief as he set a punishing pace, bending them just right inside you, driving you relentlessly towards your release, laughing softly as your moans and whine got louder and louder, before jerking the nimble digits out of you just in time to prevent your orgasm. Your choked sob had him laughing again as he rubbed against you.

“Daddy please”, you begged, babbling for him desperately, even as he snickered and slapped your ass again, dragging a few pathetic whines from you every time his icy palm collided with the swollen skin of your behind, “please, please daddy fuck me”, you continued, eyes tearing up when his cock rubbed through your folds, when had he even gotten undressed? Your loud moans had him laughing quietly again as he teased you, rubbing slowly back and forth over your clit.

“Tell daddy what you want”, whispered huskily into your ear.

“Fuck me daddy, fuck me, god please, ruin me-OH”.

Your shrill little squeal of both pleasure and pain was far too loud when he shoved his cock inside you, but you were beyond caring now, moaning and gasping as he slammed forward to begin a brutal pace, hips slapping wildly against you as he fucked you wildly into the bed. Your eyes were rolling, your fingers curling wildly in the sheets as he fisted a hand in your hair, pulling viciously at it to adjust the angle, plunging deeper inside you as he bent your body back towards him until it became painful, it was amazing.

His other hand returned to delivering harsh slaps to your bruised ass, dragging more choked cries from you as all the sensations hit you at once, so close, you were so close.

“Oh, oh, oh daddy yes, please, I’m gon-I’m gonna cum, oh fuck”.

“Cum on daddy’s cock”.

Your scream was loud enough to be heard right through the mansion, your eyes rolling back into your head as your body spasmed against him wildly, groaning and gasping as he fucked you steadily through it, until you began to whimper from the overstimulation, and yet still, why did you fucking love it so much. It hurt now, your clenching pussy so sensitive that you jerked with every thrust, but he continued on, grinning against your ear as you sobbed softly, tears streaming down your cheeks from the sensitivity.

“Come on baby, give daddy one more”, whispered against your throat as his hips sped up again, shoving you back down against the bed again as he pounded away, your body going slack beneath him as the pleasure overtook your mind completely, leaving you in a near delirious state, tongue lolling from your mouth as you grunted quietly with each wild thrust, losing more and more of your faculties as you approached yet another orgasm.

“Such a good little slut for daddy”.

[for-a-muse-of-fire]

tame your demons

the wench and the witcher

"tame your demons”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!POC Reader.

Summary: Geralt keeps pieces of himself locked away and sheathed in ice. Sooner or later, the ice does have to melt.

Warnings: Possibly hard teen - we get a little smexy towards the end of this one, but nothing graphic. We are definitely getting into some angst now, kids.

A/N: I have a lot of feelings about these two. Basically, Hozier’s quote about “trying to love a damaged person” stuck with me and I refuse to give it up. Lyrics and title for this one come from “Arsonist’s Lullaby”, which was actually one of the first Hozier songs I ever fell in love with.

@coconutxraikage - @onyour-right - @ly–canthrope - @kianya-loves - @c-s-stars - @gczanetti1 - @alwaysnatz - @agniavateira - @witchernonsense - @owillofthewisps - @hina-chans-stuff - @yespolkadotkitty​

When I was a man, I thought it ended When I knew love's perfect ache But my peace has always depended On all the ashes in my wake

Gods, you should be used to the cold by now. For his kindness and warmth, your Witcher is capable of it. Biting cold, harsh as freezing rain. You try to insulate yourself against it, hoping that you can somehow bear the winter of his moods when they roll through, but it never seems to get any easier. You brace against the ice-cold of his silences and the way he draws himself away from you – steel your spine, try to smile when the flint in his eyes chips away at you.

Geralt can drop the temperature of a room without so much as a word. It’s remarkable.

And it fucking hurts.

He won’t look at you as you carefully clean the blood from his split knuckles. You kneel at the edge of the tub he soaks in, focused on the task at hand and swallowing back what feel like chips of ice caught in your throat. Even with the hearth fire at your back and the slight humidity from the steaming water, you feel like you’ve been thrown in a damned snow drift. It aches down into your bones.

The hunt had gone badly. Some alderman and his cronies unwilling to pay up for services rendered – and speaking up would have meant leaving town on the end of a rope. Geralt had blown in two weeks ago with an arctic cold around him, frosted over too thick for even you to break through, and then…

And then, there were those backwater pricks from Hagge.

You’d tried to be firm, but polite at first. The Witcher was your guest, and you didn’t take kindly to anyone speaking ill of the people under your roof, but they’d turned their drunken cruelty on you without so much as a second thought. Nothing new, there. You bore the insults when they came without flinching; it was just how it worked. They were the sort of men that didn’t much like being told what to do by the likes of you. A woman – stupid tavern wench.

‘The Butcher’s Bitch’, they’d called you.

And in all the time you’ve known him, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Geralt so furious.

You’d managed to pull him away before it devolved to a full-on tavern brawl and crushed aside the hurt when the Witcher had ripped his arm from your grasp. The instigators were summarily banned from the premises; the rest of the night had drawn to a close without incident, save for the fact that you’d practically had to snarl at Geralt to let you tend to his wounds.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break a finger,” you mutter.

Silence. The cold of it sinks in deep. You bite your tongue, standing and letting go of Geralt’s hand in favor of packing your healer’s kit up once more. The bottles clack together with a little more force that necessary as you grit your teeth; under the sting of your ego, you can feel your own anger bubbling just under the surface. Gods, you want to shake him – shout him down, throttle him around his stupid, thick head.

‘Let me in’, you want to scream.

“I’ll be downstairs,” you tell him instead, tone short and hoarse. “Need to settle the accounts for the week.”

He doesn’t stop you until you try to skirt past the tub. One big, scarred hand reaches up from the water and grips at your wrist, halting you in your tracks. His palm burns on your skin.

“Do you know why they call me that?” he growls out.

“No,” you snap. “And I don’t fucking care – “

“Well, you should.”

Geralt looks at you. Finally – finally – meets your gaze and you’re shocked to see those bright eyes have lost the ice behind them. He just looks tired; tired, and angry, with something that could be sorrow hidden just underneath. The firelight dances over his wet skin, reflects off the hammered copper of the tub to give the Witcher a gilded look about him. Pale and broad, tinged with gold. You study him, taking in the fall of his damp hair around his face. He looks so much younger.

You turn your wrist in his grip, shift to lace your fingers with his, and kneel at his side again. He stares at you and nearly seems to lose his nerve, shifting his gaze to the surface of the water. “Do you know of the Curse of the Black Sun?” he mumbles.

His other hand spins lazily over the bathwater, rippling it with a soft noise against the edge of the tub. “Heard it was shit,” you tell him. “Gave a lot of men the excuse to hurt a lot of young girls.”

The Witcher’s soft mouth twitches up, just for a moment – barely a smirk. The line of his jaw goes tense, same as it does when he’s biting his tongue. “Renfri… she was one of those girls,” he says after a moment. “I met her in Blaviken.”

It feels like the bits of ice at the back of your throat have started to melt and you find you can swallow again. Geralt’s hand is warm over yours, both from his own body heat and the steaming water. He’s silent for a long stretch, the quiet broken only by the quiet whisper of the water and the occasional crackle of the logs on the fire. His gaze stays where it is, but he finally begins to speak again.

You learn about Renfri and her men. How she called them off when they were ready to hang Geralt in the woods outside Blaviken. He tells you of Stregebor, and you can hear the sneer in his voice when he mentions the sorcerer by name. How the old man told him that Renfri was a monster, something mad and deadly that needed to be put down. He tells you Renfri’s story. He tells you about the marketplace.

Renfri’s death.

The stoning.

The Butcher of Blaviken tells you his story in a low, even, almost monotone voice. He doesn’t glance at you, not once. But neither does he push you away.

“That’s where the name comes from,” he says at the last of it, and it’s so quiet you’re not sure if he’s meant to say it out loud. “And with good reason.”

You inhale slow, taking in a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. It catches in the back of your throat. You half expect him to shrug away, but when you lean against the edge of the tub – when you grip his hand tight and press your lips against his temple – Geralt seems to relax into the contact. He smells of your soap, and oiled leather. You nuzzle softly into his damp hair.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to him. “I’m so sorry you had to make that choice, dear heart.”

The Witcher lets out a slow breath, shoulders sinking further into the warm water surrounding him. He lets you take gentle hold of his chin, lets you turn his face until he’s meeting your eyes. You study him, carefully, taking in the sharp cheekbones and the slope of his nose. Your thumb brushes gently over the stubble at his jaw. He leans into your hand, just for a moment.

“You are not the Butcher here,” you tell him, and your tone is fiercely gentle. “You were never the Butcher here, not to me. You are just Geralt – my Geralt.”

Pretty gold eyes flash back at you. There’s a curiosity behind them, something sharp that makes your stomach drop towards your knees because you realize the implication of what you’ve just told him. Shit – shit. Your face goes warm. You bite your lip, but don’t drop the Witcher’s gaze, and you see his soft lips tilt up at one corner. “Yours, hm?” he mumbles.

Your face feels too hot, but you nod regardless. “Aye.”

He stares. Studious, intense, and the heat in your face flushes downward, prickles over your skin until you feel sweat begin to bead at the back of your neck. You duck your head. The Witcher lets you break the spell, lets you escape and stand to grab the large bath sheet hanging by the hearth. You hear water slosh when he stands and steps out of the bath; you feel oddly shy when you hand him the warmed fabric, chewing at your bottom lip as Geralt rubs the water from his pale skin. Shadow and firelight play over the cut of his torso – you watch a bead of water slick its way down the side of his thick neck before it catches on the dip of his collarbone.

All the while, he watches you. You try not to fidget and fail. Gods, you can’t stand it when he looks at you like that – it’s curious heat and shameless, open desire. It makes you feel like you’ve laced your bodice too tight and you clear your very dry throat.

“Are you hungry?” you ask weakly.

The Witcher shakes his head. He stalks towards you – for that’s the only way to describe the movement – dropping the bath sheet as he closes the distance, all pale, naked skin and solid muscle. You can feel the beat of your pulse in your throat when he crowds close and he cups your face in his scarred hands before slanting his mouth over yours. The kiss is deep, but unhurried. Geralt licks your gasp out from behind your teeth, growling in return when your hands grip the solid plane of his back. He kisses you until you feel dizzy, until your heart thunders hard against your ribs and your legs go weak.

“Are you mine, then?” the Witcher growls, low and ominous as summer thunder. He keeps one hand at your jaw; the other trails sweetly down your neck. His fingertips skate over the smooth, polished wolf’s tooth of your necklace. He tugs the laces at the top of your bodice.

“Hm? Does that make you mine, sweet girl?”

The lacing whispers free of its grommets and though the tension on your bodice goes slack, you still find it difficult to catch your breath. You can barely remember how to fucking nod, but you do it. “Yes,” you whisper.

Geralt kisses you again. The heat of it scorches.

[imasyd]

The Tale of the Cursed Son's Blood

Time has made it muddy as to whether the title of the story is "son's blood" or "sun's blood"

On the day Roc of Widias was born, a great thunderclap like a cry of protest could be heard throughout the city. The wailing infant was placed in a basket and delivered to the church of Su without a word exchanged between the two furtive figures darting away from their package.

Roc worked for the church all of his early life, small and devout. They gave him a long scarf that wrapped around his neck many times over, and at first the young boy did not understand. He eventually learned that it was to hide the ugly symbol at the base of his neck that stung and itched late into the night, a symbol he shared with none of the churchgoers, monks or priests. In truth, they'd all heard of blessed children, infants born with markings from the great gods, possessed by divine power. This, however, was the first they'd seen of a boy blessed by Yimatulan, The God of Blood. It shook them to their core and filled them with unease. What sort of blessing would this child even possess? There were a few incidents that the head priest did not speak of. The infant had been slick with blood when he found him at the church doors. At the time, it was presumed that it had simply been from labour, but once he'd been bathed doubts arose. Roc had been a mostly pleasant young thing, without much tendency to throw fits. But when the child did, strange things happened. Blood dripped from the crib, from the tapestries, through the floorboards and even through the priest's own fingers if he tried to hold the boy down. The mess was difficult to clean, and he felt drained and almost woozy for days afterwards. It was baffling and terrifying, he didn't know what to make of it. So he stayed silent.

Years passed in this secretive peace and Roc grew into a fine boy. His body had grown strong but his face had remained soft, unmarred by hardship. Despite the simple life he led, tensions had grown high in the city among the common people, and violence grew. The head priest tried to guide the people but little helped the situation. The church was tasked with healing people who had been attacked and providing sermons and prayer at all time of day, running the priests ragged. As the only person left not overrun with duties, Roc was sent out again and again into the sometimes dangerous streets to deliver messages and pick up the much needed supplies. He performed this job with the most enthusiasm he could muster, hoping to relieve some of the burden for the others.

It was on a day of pleasant weather and birds roosting in church rafters that the priest through an exhausted haze asked that Roc bring a letter across the city. The boy accepted easily and gave his foster father a light kiss on the cheek to say goodbye. Roc sweltered in the otherwise kind weather under the weight of his old scarf. He had been used to suffering in the heat his whole life but it did not make it much less unpleasant. Unfortunately, the recipient of his delivery found themselves a ways away from the church and he walked for a long time under the merciless sun. It was high up in the sky, at its very peak, beating down on the earth so far below. Viv was at her best that day and shone in all her glory for the world to see. With great relief he reached the shelter that the priest wished to outreach his word to. From the letter he gave them Su's blessings and from his lips he gave them his own.

On his journey home, he itched at the scarf and pulled it this way and that, careful not to expose the marks he hid there. He froze when he heard the sound of shouting not too far down the winding streets. Scuffling, curses and thuds. With growing anxiety he understood that fights had broken out. He had of course known this was occurring more and more often, but he had never been present for one. He hurried along, desperate not to get caught up in something bad. He turned down one road and collided with a young woman. He began to apologize but stopped abruptly when he saw the fire in her eyes and the dripping rags balled in her fist. A tinderbox lay at her feet and cold fear spread through Roc's veins. "Someone started them, it's time now," she told him, seeming to have some point to drive home but lacking coherence. Her blazing eyes settled on his scarf and she wildly swung for it, narrowly missing plucking it from his neck as he stumbled back and away from her. "You don't need that, give it to me!" She cried, rushing towards him, oil from the rag coursing down her hand and staining her skirt. He defensively put his arms up, guarding this secret he had never been told why to keep. He did not see a second arsonist come from the back and rip the scarf away from him, dousing it in oil before sparing even a glance for its owner. He only looked up when the woman shrieked in terror. She pointed right at Roc, jaw agape, accusing finger trembling. "The god of blood has delivered his curse upon this city! This boy will doom us all!" She proclaimed. The man, moving quickly, lit the scarf on fire and threw it into a nearby doorway. His eyes had no inferno, but dim hatred. Roc put his hands around his neck, placed them over the symbol. He hid it from view, from their terrible and judging sight. An eye contained within a droplet, so horribly ominous, why had the gods given him this sick gift? Had they known whom he would be and altered the course of such a destiny or had it been random and cruel luck, just one pick among an endless list of possibilities? Suddenly his hands felt hot and wet, and he pulled them away in horror. Thin streams trickled down his forearms. Over that mark was stained a bloody handprint. The woman picked up a loose stone from the path they stood on and chucked it at him, hitting him on the cheek. The man followed suit. Soon other people on the street, some observing the same curse the woman had and some simply revelling in the violence, joined in. Roc ran away from this group of fearful and angry folk, ran for what may have been in that moment his life. Bruised and dazed, he took in the state of this chaos. The fights were spreading and people either spilled into the streets like ants from an anthill or made themselves scarce. He did not know why they rioted, he did not know anything other than a need to escape.

When he found a blissfully unoccupied corner to catch his breath, his gaze fell across the skyline of the city. Smoke. It blew up from straw and tiled roofs alike. It jumped nimbly from one to another like a thief in the night. Under the forceful glare of the summer sky, everything caught much too quickly. His throat tightened and he looked in the direction of home, his insides turning to both ice and fire all at once. The greatest of the blazes roared back there, choking the air around with such thick darkness you couldn't see the buildings anymore. The church lay behind that veil, concealed. His feet moved before his thoughts and he coursed towards those great fires. The wind was hostile and searing, exhausting his lungs and stinging his eyes. How could his good god have allowed this? This destruction and flame? It hurt, it was terrifying.

He came out of the gaping mouth of an alley and stopped dead. Stained glass glinted all across the stone street from windows bursting outwards under pressure. No one seemed to be leaving the building, he couldn't see movement inside. A body had collapsed just inside, so close to the exit yet just far enough to not have made it. Roc sunk to his knees and screamed. A few local residents were trying fruitlessly to put out some of the nearby fires and jolted to look at him, afraid and startled. He heard an anxious muttering start among the people choking on smoke and heat desperate to save their homes.  "Please!" he called to them, "have you seen anyone make it out?" he pleaded. Wide eyes shook no. They darted up and down between his neck and his face, between him and their neighbours. Afraid. They had known him, he'd lived here his whole life, but still they feared him.

He felt something like nothing ever before well up inside of him. An overwhelming whirlwind of grief, fury, indignation and anguish. He felt a tug deep in his body and blood welled up from every part of him. He stared up through the suffocating black clouds at the distant shape of the sun, red blurring his vision. All of the helpers that had looked at him with those fearful eyes crumpled like lifeless dolls. A small dot appeared in the centre of that sun. He could not understand this strong instinct that possessed him, it was like he had been overwritten. The dot seemed to spread across the visible surface of that hateful sun. Viv's colour, her gold, had been replaced. But this was not Su's brilliant red that came to substitute for her when she visited her love, this was a dark and thick red, the red of blood.

They say that on that day, from that sky came pouring a great torrent of blood. It coursed through the streets of Widias. Hundreds were found dead and drained where they had stood, for the blood flooding their city had been their own. And Roc? He had perished with them, his death the last. Of the god's blessed, he had been Yimatulan's first, but alas; the god of blood knew only to curse, no matter his intention.

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three {AO3} {Masterlist} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter Eleven → in which Carmelita gets adopted

After Nick had stalked off, Solitude kicked Klaus. “Put me down.” she said. 

“Soli?” Klaus asked. 

“You deal with her.” Solitude gestured to Esme. “Put me down.” 

Klaus glanced at the others, and then he slowly placed the toddler on the ground. She ran off, holding her skirts up and following Nick out. 

He had stopped at the edge of the headquarters, sitting down on a dusty step and gripping tight onto the edge of his jacket, shutting his eyes and breathing hard. Solitude moved up slowly, but she made sure she was loud enough that she wouldn’t scare him into thinking someone was attacking him. 

“Nick?” she called once she was a few feet away. 

“Go away.” he said. 

“Nick.” she said again, finally managing to reach him. She sat beside him, putting her small hand on his arm. “Nick.” 

“What?” He wasn’t even looking at her. 

She leaned her head onto his shoulder and said, “Why?” 

“We’re getting Sunny back, no matter what.” 

She bit her lip, trying to find a better way to phrase her question. 

“Why are you so happy about it?” 

“I’m not.” Nick huffed, curling up. “I hate it, too, Sol. But we have to get her back, and that won’t happen if- if she doesn’t think I’ll-” he shut his eyes. “I don’t enjoy hurting people.” 

“Her?” 

“I just…” 

Solitude crawled onto his lap, looking up at his face. He still wouldn’t open his eyes and look at her. “You want her to feel what she made you feel?” she guessed. 

He nodded. 

“Because she hurt you. She hurt you bad.” 

Nick made a sound that confused Solitude for a moment; she thought he might have gasped, and she wasn’t sure why. She’d just restated what he’d told her. Then she realized that the noise was him trying to hold back a cry. 

Solitude leaned over to hug him again, and then she said, “How’d they hurt you?” 

“I can’t tell you that.” his voice was all choked up. 

“Will it help you?” 

“It won’t help you. I don’t want you… thinking about it.” 

“But you want her to think about it?” 

“Because she’s evil. Her and her stupid boyfriend and…” Nick was breathing very hard. “And everyone. I feel like… like the whole world’s against us.” 

Solitude thought hard about that, her eyes widening. The whole world? That sure was a lot of people, and they probably had better supplies than the rest of them. Bigger numbers, more money and food and luck and… 

That didn’t matter. 

Soli hugged him tighter, and then said, “If they are, at least we’re on the same side.” 

Nick finally opened his eyes to look down at her, and he started to sob. 

Sunny may be a toddler instead of a baby now, but it looked like Solitude had grown up, too. She wasn’t a toddler anymore. 

A long while later, Lilac approached them cautiously, and when Nick turned, she said, “We got something.” 

Nick wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and then he said, “O-okay. How are we getting the bitch up the waterfall?” 

“Mush! Mush!” 

Nick whipped around and shouted, “Esme, if you don’t shut the fuck up, I’ll make you, alright?” 

Violet and Lilac had figured out how to get them back up the slope; they’d taken the toboggan Esme had used to get down and tied it around all of their waists; they quickly added the rest of the forks to everyone’s shoes, while they managed to get Esme strapped to the sled. She was oddly quiet most of the time, aside from the occasional snark. The only one not pulling the sled was Nick, who moved slightly above them and tapped the ice, Solitude strapped to his back, Babbitt snugly stuck into her pocket. She’d actually managed to fall asleep on the way up, rocking against her brother’s back. 

Her other siblings and Quigley were definitely not as relaxed, and not just because they were dragging a villainess up a slope in order to ransom her off for Sunny’s safety. Firstly, Nick still was barely looking at them, and seemed much more furious and violent than they’d seen him before; he kept stabbing his forks into the waterfall as if he planned to impale it completely. Secondly, the slope itself was creaking and groaning and did not seem like it would hold for long; the multiple fork punctures, the toboggan ride, and the increasing temperatures of False Spring were causing the ice to thin quite a bit. The Baudelaires and Quagmire were not sure that it would hold for very long. 

“What are we going to say to Count Olaf?” Klaus asked. “What if he doesn’t trade Sunny for Esme?” 

“We could tell him he’s surrounded.” Lilac suggested quietly, nervously glancing at Esme, who thankfully didn’t seem to be listening. 

“He can see everything from up there, he’ll know we’re bluffing.” Violet muttered. 

“We’ll think of something, I know it.” Quigley said. “Don’t worry.” 

“Worry a lot.” Nick said, turning towards them. “We’re almost there.” Then, quietly, he said, “Who wants to go first?” 

They fell silent, and then Lilac said, “You go up behind us. Make sure Solitude’s awake.” 

Nick nodded, and Lilac said, “Alright, guys. Now or never.” 

She hoisted herself and Violet over the cliff first, as they were in front, and then Klaus and Quigley followed. They dragged the sled up, and just as they got it, they heard a call of, “Who goes there?” 

“Us, you asshole!” Violet shouted. 

Nick climbed up, just as Olaf moved around the black car, giving them very frustrated looks. Behind him came the two mysterious arsonists, also looking incredibly angry. As the Baudelaires stepped forwards, Quigley sticking very close to them, they could see the rest of the troupe, as well as their former coworkers, climbing out of their tents to watch. 

“Miss us?” Klaus asked, crossing his arms, as Nick moved to stand by him, taking Solitude off of his shoulders so he could hold her. 

The woman with hair but no beard scanned the group, her eyes narrowing and her voice dropping in a way that made them all feel very worried. “Baudelaires.” 

“I thought you said they were all dead.” said the man with a beard but no hair. 

“They’re supposed to be.” Olaf snarled. His eyes darted between them. “How did you escape the cliff?” 

“That’s not important.” Lilac said, straightening herself up and trying to look sure of herself. “What’s important is we’re offering a trade.” 

Olaf raised his eyebrow. “A trade?” 

Lilac nodded, struggling not to break under his stare. “We want to trade Esme Squalor for our sister.” 

“You can’t trade Esme, she’s right there.” Olaf said. 

“Only because we captured her, you fuckwit.” Nick said, his voice strangled as he spoke through his teeth, his eyes burning into the Count. 

Olaf turned to him, a flash of surprise in his eyes, and then he said, “Why, my dear Nick, I thought you knew better than to talk back.” 

Nick’s eyes darted to the ground as his breathing quickened, and Solitude hugged him tight. He glared back up and spat, “We’re trading Esme Squalor for Sunny Baudelaire. And then maybe we’ll let you all live. How’s that?” 

Klaus and Lilac flinched, giving him a concerned look, but Violet just grabbed Quigley’s hand, stood up straighter and said, “We want our goddamn sister.” 

“That’s funny.” Olaf said, not looking worried at all, crossing his arms and smirking. “Because we already have Esme.” 

The group turned, and Quigley and Lilac swore under their breath as Esme stood up. She had a large knife in her hands, which she’d used to cut the ropes binding her to the sled. She strutted past the kids, waving the knife around. 

“You see,” she said, as Nick’s face fell into a horrified stare, “I was going to just threaten them into carrying me back up, but it turns out they just volunteered to bring me up themselves.” 

She gave Olaf a side-hug as Solitude stared quickly whispering comfort, and Lilac said, “You little…” 

“Hold on, weren’t there five of them?” asked Colette, who was sitting on the hood of the car and didn’t seem to quite understand what was going on. 

“Hello.” Quigley waved awkwardly. “I’m a Quagmire.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” Olaf said, turning to the Baudelaires with a wicked grin. “You know what? I’m very glad you’re not dead. Now I can have some fun with you.” 

Klaus instantly jumped in front of Lilac, and Quigley grabbed onto Violet’s arm, as Violet put an arm around Nick. Nick, who had started shaking again, turned to Olaf with a very dark glare. 

“Where. Is. Sunny?” he hissed. 

“The freak’s in her casserole dish.” Olaf shrugged. “Not that it matters.” 

Nick took a deep breath, and then said, his voice breaking, “Don’t act like I don’t know what you’d do to her. If you have laid a single fucking hand on my sister, there will be hell to pay.” 

“Oh?” Olaf laughed wickedly. “What are you children going to do about it? In fact, you know what?” He walked over to a small casserole dish behind the car, picking it up. “I have all of you now, and you’ll get the fortune much sooner. I might as well toss the baby off the waterfall.” 

“No!” Lilac screeched, about to jump forwards. 

“Let go of her!” Klaus shouted. 

Nick let out a cry, and Violet had to hold him back, though her other hand flew to the knife still in her pocket. Quigley glanced down at his shoes, wondering if the forks would make effective weapons. 

“Boss, wait!” said the Hook-Handed Man, looking incredibly concerned. 

“Well, then, orphans,” Olaf said, swinging the casserole dish around, “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t!” 

“We can still trade!” Klaus shouted, desperate. 

“What could you possibly give us?” Esme asked. 

An idea came to Lilac, and before she could think about whether or not it was a good one, she blurted it out. 

“We will take Sunny Baudelaire in exchange for the location of the Sugar Bowl!” 

There was a deathly silence as everyone stared at the Baudelaires. 

And then Esme screeched, “You know where it is? Give it to me! Give it to me!” 

“Give us the sugar bowl!” Olaf shouted. 

“We’ll- we’ll trade it for Sunny.” Klaus said quickly. 

“Give us our sister, and then we’ll tell you where the Sugar Bowl is.” Violet said. 

“I can’t just give up the baby!” Olaf shouted. “She’s our ticket to the Baudelaire fortune!” 

“The Sugar Bowl is more important than some silly fortune!” Esme shouted. 

“Silly fortune? They probably don’t even know where the Sugar Bowl is!” 

“Yes, we do!” Quigley shouted, thinking quickly. “Jacques Snicket told me before he died!” 

“You never met Jacques Snicket, you were in that statue the whole time.” said a White-Faced Woman, confused. 

“I’m not Duncan or Isadora!” Quigley hissed. “I’m Quigley Quagmire, I survived the fire, and Jacques Snicket told us where the Sugar Bowl is, and we’ll trade that information for Sunny!” 

“Well,” Olaf groaned, “Some days you just can’t win, can you?” 

“Darling, give them the biting brat!” Esme hissed. 

“Stealing this fortune is for the greater good!” 

“Getting the Sugar Bowl is the greater good!” 

“Enough!” ordered the man with a bear but no hair. “We can’t have you arguing all day long! We have recruits to pick up.” 

“Don’t you fucking dare-” Nick began, gripping tightly onto Soli, who looked about ready to cry, her eyes fixed on the casserole dish. 

Olaf sighed and passed the dish over to one of the White-Faced Women, who was joined by her sister to help hold it. Then, the two mysterious arsonists stepped together closer to the car, and pulled two shiny whistles from under their coats. They blew, and the children instantly threw their hands to their ears, hearing an enormous rustling above their heads. They turned and saw, to their astonishment, hundreds and hundreds of eagles soaring above their heads. 

“When the schism occurred,” cried the woman with hair but no beard, “The volunteers may have won the carrier crows and reptiles, but we have the two most powerful mammals in the world to do our bidding- the lions and the eagles.” 

“Eagles aren’t mammals!” Klaus cried out in frustration. “They’re birds!” 

“They’re slaves.” said the man with a beard but no hair. “And they do what we say, if they want to avoid these.” He shook his coat slightly, enough that the children could see a sturdy, thick whip tied underneath. “And in a few moments, they’ll carry away those idiot children who think they’re going to celebrate False Spring.” 

“Oh no.” Quigley’s eyes widened. 

“Those uniformed brats will be captured,” said the woman with hair but no beard, “And each one of them will be given the exciting opportunity to join us.” 

“They’ll never join you!” Lilac shouted. 

“Either they’ll join us or be our prisoners, it doesn’t matter.” the woman shrugged. “But one thing is for certain- we’ll burn down every single one of their parents’ homes and take their fortunes for ourselves.” 

“Once you tell us where the Sugar Bowl is,” said the man, stepping forwards threateningly, “You’ll be given that opportunity, too.” 

“No, thank you.” Quigley said. 

“We’re not interested.” Violet said. 

“Get fucked.” Solitude said. 

“You won’t succeed.” Lilac said desperately, looking to the casserole dish the White-Faced Women still held. “We have- we have backup-” 

“It’s too late to bullshit us, Baudelaires.” Count Olaf said. “Here they all come now.” 

The villain pointed in the direction of a rocky path, and the children gasped upon seeing the uniformed Snow Scouts, walking in two neat lines, maskless and bored-looking, and following Carmelilta, who was wearing a tiara and a smirk, and Bruce, who had a spring pole in one hand. 

Carmelita stopped after a few feet, glaring at the crowd. “What are all you cakesniffers doing here?” she demanded. “I’m the False Spring Queen, and I order you to go away!” 

“Why, hello, dear Snow Scouts.” said the woman, a false smile painted onto her face. “We’re here to help you celebrate!” 

“No! No, they’re not!” Lilac shouted. 

“It’s a trap!” Violet cried. 

“Turn around and run!” Klaus shouted. 

“Pay no attention to these children.” Count Olaf said quickly. “The mountain air has gone to their heads. Take a few steps closer and we’ll all join you in this special celebration.” 

“We’re happy to accommodate.” Bruce said. “After all, we’re accommodating, basic-” 

“No!” Nick shouted. 

“There’s a net hidden under the snow!” Quigley shouted, spotting the edges peeking out around them. 

“And those eagles are going to help them kidnap you!” Klaus added. 

“The net is decoration,” Esme waved her hand, “And the eagles are wildlife!” 

“Please listen to us!” Klaus begged. 

Carmelita narrowed her eyes. “You cakesniffers look familiar.” she said. “Do I know you?” 

“We were your classmates!” Lilac said. “But that doesn’t matter-” 

“Oh! Yes!” Carmelilta grinned wickedly. “You’re the cakesniffing orphans from the orphan shack!” She glanced at Nick. “You punched me in the face.” 

“They’ll do worse.” Nick said, almost too quiet for anyone to hear. 

“You’re just cakesniffing orphans trying to ruin my special day!” Carmelita huffed. She ripped the pole from Bruce’s hands and marched across the field, stepping onto the ice of the waterfall and laughing. “I crown myself False Spring Queen!” 

She slammed the pole into the ice, and a large crack appeared, rushing through and down the waterfall; it looked like the mountain was about to split in two. 

“Now, why doesn’t everyone come forwards and dance the False Spring Dance?” Esme called, clapping delightedly. 

“Sounds good to me.” said Kevin, as he, Hugo and Colette stepped into the center of the net. “After all, I have two equally strong feet.” 

“And we should really be accommodating.” Hugo said. 

“Absolutely!” Bruce agreed. “Come on, Snow Scouts, we are-” 

The Snow Scouts began to recite, marching right into the center of the net, but the second they were all inside, the woman with hair but no beard blew her whistle, and the eagles dropped. 

Several eagles swooped down, grasping onto the edges of the net and lifting i high into the air. Carmelita, who was standing outside the net, screamed and jumped back, covering her head with her gloved hands. Nick clutched Solitude to him as tightly as possible, his face going white and his shaking getting even worse. He let out a scream, as the Snow Scouts gasped and shouted, and Bruce called, “What’s going on!” 

“What’s happening?” shouted a Snow Scout. 

“I’m scared!” 

“Honestly,” said one bored-looking girl, “I’m just happy something different is going on this year.” 

“Why are you recruiting us, too?” Colette asked, peering from the net. “We already work for you.” 

“We’ll pick you up on the way to the Last Safe Place.” Olaf waved his hand. 

The man with a beard but no hair blew his whistle, and the eagles flew off. Esme giggled and ran to grab something from the tents, while Carmelita stepped back, confusedly staring after the birds. 

“Now that we have the eagles,” said the man, “We can finally catch up to that self-sustaining hot air mobile home.” 

“No!” Quigley shouted, his eyes flashing with terror. 

The woman and man just gave him a smirk, and then whistled again, and two eagles carried them away. 

“Don’t you dare!” Nick shouted. 

“No!” Violet cried. “Don’t-” 

“This is getting tiresome.” Olaf said. “I’d forgotten how annoying you all are together. I only need one of you alive to get your fortune and the Sugar Bowl, and you’re already here for us to grab.” He turned to the White-Faced Women, and said, “Throw the brat over the waterfall.” 

“No!” Lilac screamed. 

But to their surprise, one of the women also said, “No.” 

Olaf looked just as shocked as they did. “What?” 

“We said no.” said the other White-Faced Woman, and the two of them placed the casserole dish on the ground. “We don’t want to be part of your schemes any longer.” 

“We lost our parents and sibling in a fire.” said her sister. “And we don’t think that was a coincidence anymore.” 

Olaf gaped. “Obey my orders this instant!” he yelled, but the women just shook their heads, turned away from the villain, and began to walk away. Olaf took a deep breath, and then said, “I don’t need them! I don’t need anyone to complete my plans! I can throw the baby over myself!” 

He raced over and grabbed the casserole dish, and hastened to the side of the waterfall. Lilac screeched and ran forwards, followed closely by her siblings, only to watch as Olaf hurled the casserole dish over the edge.  

“No!” Nick screamed, as Solitude let out a loud wail. 

“Sunny!”  Klaus shouted. 

Lilac’s voice broke in a cry, and then Violet shouted, “You fucking piece of shit!” 

“Well,” Olaf smirked, “At least we got rid of the baby.” 

“I’m not a baby!” 

Everyone jumped and turned to see Sunny herself crawl out from beneath the villain’s car, beaming, her hair still tied back. Soli cheered, and Lilac ran to her and lifted her up, hugging her tight. 

“What the hell?” Olaf shouted, looking down the waterfall. “I just-” 

“Eggplant!” Sunny giggled. 

“She put an eggplant in the dish.” Klaus said, smiling. 

“Wow, you’re all fucking idiots.” Quigley said. 

“Nothing is going right for me today!” Olaf huffed. “I’m beginning to think washing my face was a waste of time.” 

“Now, now, Olaf,” Esme emerged from her tent, slinging a bag over her shoulders, “We still have the Baudelaires within our grasp. Just toss five of them over the cliff.” 

“That’s true.” Olaf said, as Lilac retreated to stand in front of her siblings, and Violet put her arm around Nick again. The Count smirked and said, “Now, Lilac is the eldest, so we’ll have to wait the least amount of time.” 

Esme glared at him. “We don’t need that ugly girl. Having an infant servant was fun.” 

The Baudelaires backed up, with Violet grabbing Quigley’s arm, just as Carmelita, who had been watching this all in some kind of daze, volunteered, “Oh! You could smash Klaus’s glasses and watch him bump into things!” 

“That’s an excellent idea.” Olaf said, turning to her. 

“Why, you’re an adorable little girl.” Esme said, stepping closer to the girl. “Would you like to join us?” 

“Join you?” Carmelita asked. 

“I could buy you all sorts of In outfits.” Esme said. “And we can give you some exciting adventures.” 

“Don’t believe them, Carmelita!” Quigley shouted. “They’ll burn your parents’ house down!” 

“Who are you going to believe, Carmelita?” Olaf asked. “Those orphans, or the adults?” 

“Carmelita, don’t listen to them!” Violet cried. 

“Carmelita, don’t join them!” Lilac shouted. 

“You’re making a monstrous decision!” Solitude said. 

“Carmelita,” Olaf said, in a sickeningly sweet voice, “Why don’t you choose one orphan to live, and push the others off the cliff, and then we’ll all go to a nice hotel  together.” 

“You’ll be like the daughter we never had.” Esme said. 

“Or something.” added Olaf, as he approached Carmelita.  

Carmelita glanced to the children, and then back to the adults. “Do you really think I’m adorable?” she asked. 

“I think you’re the most adorable little girl I’ve ever seen.” Esme said. 

“Don’t listen to them!” Quigley pleaded. 

“Carmelita, run!” Klaus shouted. 

Carmelita just smiled and gave Esme a hug. She turned towards Olaf, starting forwards, and just then, Nick thrust Solitude into Violet’s arms and raced ahead of her, pushing her back. 

“Hey! You cakesniffer!” Carmelita shouted. 

“Get away from her!” Nick shouted. 

Olaf snarled and swung his hand, slapping Nick across the face. Lilac screamed and started forwards, but Klaus pushed her back, gesturing to the wide-eyed Sunny in her arms, before he started running. 

Nick let out a terrified screech, as Olaf grabbed tightly onto his arm, yanking him closer. Nick screamed again, tears springing to his eyes. He ripped his arm back, barely managing to break Olaf’s grip, and he shouted, his voice cracked and choked up, “Touch me again and I’ll skin you alive!” 

“Now, now,” Olaf chided, stepping closer to him, “That’s no way to talk. Apologize.”  

Klaus threw himself in front of his brother, holding out his arms. “Get away from him!” he shouted, as Nick grabbed onto him, burying his head in his twin’s shoulder. 

Olaf started forwards, and Quigley and Violet ran forwards, too, grabbing onto Klaus and Nick and dragging them back. Solitude flipped Olaf off, and Lilac, still holding a now angry Sunny, ran to help her siblings. 

“Oh, stop being so annoying.” Olaf said. “You’re at a disadvantage, Baudelaires. We can just throw you off the cliff right now. There’s nowhere to go.” 

Sunny narrowed her eyes, and then said, “Rosebud.” 

Her siblings understood. 

“Sled! Now!” Lilac cried. 

They ran to the toboggan, rushing to squeeze on. Lilac pushed Sunny into Klaus’s arms and started pushing as everyone pressed together, and then she leapt onto the back as it went right over the waterfall.  

“We’ll be right behind you, Baudelaires!” roared Olaf, but they could only barely hear him over the sound of cracking ice. 

“Oh, shit.” Klaus said, looking back at the waterfall; droplets were starting to splash out as the ice cracked. 

“We’ll have a head start, we punctured his tires.” Violet shouted, clinging to Solitude and Nick, who looked like he was going to throw up, and not from the sudden drop. 

“He’ll have to take the path down!” Quigley added. “Maybe we can reach the Last Safe Place before he does!” 

“Hotel Denouement!” Sunny cried. “Overhear! Hotel Denouement!” 

“Good work, Sunny!” Violet said proudly, grabbing onto the leather straps at the front of the toboggan, steering it away from a ledge. 

“I bet I can find it, I have a city map somewhere-” Quigley said. 

“Fuck!” Violet shouted, as the sled jolted to the right, hitting onto a large crack. 

“What did you do?” Lilac cried. 

“The steering mechanism is broken!” Violet said. “Dragging Esme up must have weakened it!” 

“Son of a-” Klaus said. 

“At this velocity,” Lilac said, eyes wide, “The toboggan won’t stop!”  

“What do we do?” Solitude asked. 

“Drag your shoes across the ice!” Violet cried. “The forks should slow us down!” 

Lilac, Violet, Klaus and Quigley stuck their shoes against the ice, but it didn’t seem to help much. “Hold on!” Violet shouted, pulling the bread knife from her pocket and thrusting it into the ice. 

The blade hit the crack, and the Baudelaires heard what sounded like a huge shattering. 

In one crash, the ice burst apart, breaking to pieces, and the waters of the Stricken Stream rushed down the slope. The Baudelaires barely managed to take a deep breath just as the toboggan was forced underwater, as Lilac reached forwards and put her arms around Klaus and Violet, who had their arms around Nick, and Solitude and Sunny clung to their older siblings. 

But as the toboggan reached the surface, tumbling down the Stricken Stream, they realized someone was gone. 

“Quigley!” Violet screamed, whipping around. 

Quigley was barely bobbing above the water, barely gripping onto a piece of wood that might have been from headquarters. “Violet!” he called, terrified. 

“Quigley!” Violet screamed, and her siblings joined in, calling for their friend. 

Quigley barely managed to stay afloat, and he called, “Wait for me! The Last Safe Place! Wait for-” 

The Baudelaires heard no more, as a sudden fork in the stream jolted their toboggan to the right, and Quigley’s plank was forced to the left. 

“Quigley!” Violet’s voice broke, starting to cry. 

“He’s alive!” Klaus shouted over the rushing waters. “He’s alive, Violet!” 

“He’ll be okay!” Lilac promised, but Violet just sobbed.  

The sled rushed down the waters, and it was all the Baudelaires could do to hold onto each other as they rushed towards the sea. 

“Are we all here?” Klaus asked, not able to see a lot without turning around, which might threaten to break his siblings’ hold. 

“Sound off!” Lilac said, also starting to cry. “Like when Mom and Dad took us to the zoo and it got crowded! One!” 

“Two!” Violet barely managed to say. 

“Th-three!” said Nick, through his sobs and shakes. 

“Four!” Klaus said. 

“Five!” Solitude called. 

“Six!” Sunny shouted, clinging tight to Lilac. 

They heard a small chirp, and then Solitude cheered, “Seven! Babbitt’s awake!” 

“Just hold tight!” Lilac shouted, as the sled hurled out of the river and into the ocean. 

For several hours- or perhaps some very long minutes- the Baudelaires just held each other as the toboggan rushed through the cold waves of the sea. Nick was sobbing and shaking, and him and Violet just cried and held each other, and Klaus and Lilac kept their arms tight around everyone, and Solitude and Sunny clung to the older Baudelaires and tried not to think about the treacherous waters beneath them. 

After a while, the toboggan slowed enough that they didn’t feel like they were in imminent danger, and Nick burst out, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-” 

“Don’t be!” Klaus said, pressing himself against his brother for comfort. “Don’t be, Nick!” 

“It’s my fault!” 

“No! Don’t think that!” Lilac said. “This isn’t our fault, okay? It’s his.” 

“We just need to get somewhere safe.” Violet said, barely over her own tears. 

“Eye!” Solitude shouted, and everyone turned and stared. 

In front of them, as the waters slowed, what seemed to be a giant eye peered out of the water. But as they watched, it rose, and they realized the eye was made of metal. 

“It’s a periscope!” Klaus said. “From a submarine!” 

“And it’s got their symbol.” Nick sobbed, and they realized that the eye, indeed, made a VFD. 

The toboggan slid to a stop, bumping against a bit of metal, attached to the periscope. 

“There’s a submarine beneath us.” Lilac gasped, as they all struggled to  breathe  normally.  

“Hello?” Klaus called to the periscope. 

Sunny pointed, having spotted a hatch against the metal. The closest Baudelaires, Violet and Solitude, started to pound on it. 

“Hello!” Violet cried. 

“Shalom!” Solitude added. 

Over the sound of the water, they heard a voice, from beneath the hatch, very echoey. 

“Friend or foe?” 

The Baudelaires looked to each other, confused. “Well,” Lilac said, shaking and clinging to Sunny, “There’s only one answer that will get us in.” 

“Friend!” Solitude called. 

The echoey voice spoke again. “Password, please.” 

The Baudelaires glanced to each other, confused. “We don’t know a password.” Klaus said. 

“We can’t just stay out here!” Violet said. 

“It’s a VFD Submarine.” Nick said, leaning against his siblings and trying to stop crying. “So… so it’ll be…” 

Lilac realized first. 

She leaned forwards to the hatch, and shouted, “The world is quiet here!” 

There was a pause, and then the hatch opened.

[arsonistsanarchy]

[🔥] — “You guys all know what Pride Month means, right?”

“Time to be gay & do crime!” — [💢] 

[laplaces-angels]

@mightyzeta​ || x

[🔥] — ❝No shit it wasn’t an accident. Besides, the place was horrible anyway. I did the community a favor by destroying that lousy monocle company.❞

❝Seriously, who even wears monocles nowadays? Nobody, that’s who! They wouldn’t stop sending me these stupid flyers in the mail, so I had to do something!❞  — [💢]

[daysixdreams]

as certain dark things are (to be loved) | Sungjin [3/4]

Nobody ever told you ice can burn, that it could sear into your skin and leave a hot angry brand. It had always been fire that people had warned you about, how dangerous it is, how destructive it can be.

a/n: because i have no self control (and because i’m experimenting on a thing) here’s part three of vampire!sungjin. you can blame @jaechicken for this because that’s what i’m doing. insp.

as certain dark things are (to be loved)

flangst, paranormal…romance? | ~2k words

[ One ] [ Two ]

The attacks went like so: arson, murder, and now slander.

It’s going to be a long night.

You fall to a seat on the floor next to your bed and bury your face in your hands. Sungjin remains in his side of your bedroom, contemplating the best way to kill every single person, human or otherwise, involved in this mess. He can make his way up from the bottom. Pick them off one by one. He’s already dealt with the arsonists— he’d have killed them if it weren’t for you stopping him, saying they have information you could use. Once he gets what he needs to know, it will be so easy. Too easy. A few more nights starving and he’d go mad in hunger and feast on these fools who’d tried to hurt you. Then, when he reaches him, Sungjin will take his time. Make his death slow, painful, make him wish he were dead.

It’s been weeks of preparation, weeks of being distracted with having to rescue kidnapped Fae children, shifters locked in laboratories, dryads losing their natural habitats, and the general unfair treatment of Otherfolk in society. Not once has it left his mind that there’s a greater plot afoot, and hey he’d still been caught off guard.

Burning down the Moonrise studio, murdering a known contact, and blaming it on Dowoon? That’s taking it too far. But not far enough, because in the same night an article went viral detailing how you had staged all your rescues, how you’d paid off thugs and traffickers, how all this is a clever ploy to make you appear as some hero.

Sungjin is more than mad. He’s furious. And right now, it rendered him helpless seeing you slumped on the floor, curling into yourself. The flames had been doused now, they’d been waist high when Sungjin made it to you. And you, frantically killing balefire with water. Thankfully, Jae is a stronger wizard than anyone— not even himself— gives him credit for and had subdued the blaze. Though it came a price, and he’d badly burned himself in the process.

Of course, the fire was only a distraction. You recognized this just as Sungjin did, and he followed you into the editing room and archives just in time to find two men rummaging about. He then dragged them out and tied them up before Jae performed a mind spell on both of them to keep them quiet, at least until Brian Kang from Paranormal Investigations came in to question them.

But it was Dowoon who took the blunt end. One of your known contacts in the Red District had been murdered by a werewolf, and all the evidence linked back to Dowoon and Moonrise. It was chaos from then on. Sungjin can’t even begin to sort out the figurative pieces scattered all over the floor.

He can never put a name to the feeling that assails him when he sees you like this. You don’t break down often, and perhaps it is that which leaves him powerless. He can’t even touch you, his hands will literally cause destruction, and he’s never been good with words.

“Jae and Dowoon are safe,” he starts, “they’ll be safe with that Minjun guy. He’s a good healer. And Brian will make sure Dowoon’s name is cleared.”

You already know this, but it bears repeating. To assure you that none of this is your fault. It’s past midnight now, all the debris has been cleared and what could be salvaged had been moved to the only room barely resembling a room. Magic wards were set in place as well as flesh and blood watchmen. For now it would have to do.

Your studio had been your only known safe space, somewhere you felt powerful and useful and important. To have it taken away from you, Sungjin knows exactly what that’s like. If he had a heart, it might ache for you. But all he has is a monster inside him, roaring to wreak havoc on a world who dares to hurt you.

“What do I even write about this?” you ask, looking up at the darkness surrounding you. You’re looking straight at him but you can’t see him. Not really. The only illumination comes from the moon spilling through the curtains, but it’s not enough.

But Sungjin sees you clearly as though it were daytime. “The messy story, the ones you love to write so much. The difficult one. The one you know only the strongest stomachs can read. But not tonight. You’ve done enough tonight. There is nothing more for you to do but rest.”

In his mind, he reaches out for you. Wanting to touch you. But even in his mind, he doesn’t lay a hand on you. He can feel the warmth of your cheek, but he will not taint your light with his darkness. He pulls back and shakes his head.

“Go to sleep,” he says. Softly. As softly as he can muster.

“I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I’ll stay with you.”

He shouldn’t have said that. Shouldn’t even have thought of it at all. But it was too late. It’s too late to even think of all the should nots when it comes to you. And you, silly girl, inviting him inside your own home, your bedroom, your life. It’s too much. He’s dangerous, and you know it. Yet here you two are.

You look up, and this time you see him as the light flashes across his face. “Promise?”

“Wrong answer,” he says, yet he hears his own voice betray him. “You shouldn’t trust me.”

You lean back and rest your head on the side of your bed. You blink up hazily at him, fighting sleep. With your hair falling down your shoulders, eyes not quite focused at him, Sungjin fails to recall seeing anything else so beautiful. And he’s lived a long life, far more than he deserves. He wishes he were capable of whispering sweet nothings to you, assure you that he’s not going anywhere. That he will protect you. He will take care of you. That all will be alright and you can sleep.

A desperate thought sidles into his mind, so dangerous he feels fear for the first time since...since he can’t even remember anymore.

He could lay next to you, hold you, love you. Nothing will harm you.

“It’s funny,” you say, “that you think, after all this time, I still don’t trust you. You keep reminding me not to, but I could fling myself over that window right there and you’d catch me even before I could take one step toward it. Who’re you fooling? Because it’s certainly not me.”

He falls to silence.

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m afraid to sleep. I’m...afraid.”

“Shouldn’t you be?”

“I have to be strong, you know? Because Jae and Dowoon depend on me. A lot of people depend on me. I can’t be afraid of something like this. I’ve been through worse. I’ve seen this coming and I was still afraid when it was happening.”

“You don’t always have to be brave or strong. Everyone feels fear. And you have all the logical reasons there are to feel what you feel.”

“Are you ever afraid?”

He can lie if he wants to. He can refuse to answer and change the subejct. He can do so many other things but tell the truth. “Yes.”

She tilts her head up at him. “I can’t imagine what of.”

Of himself. Of the hunger inside him. Of the monster he is. He’s afraid all the time of wanting what he can’t have. Of wanting at all. Wanting more and knowing he can never have it.

Most of all he’s afraid that he’s falling in love with you. He didn’t even think he had a heart that can fall in love. Especially not one that works and beats like a living thing.

“Once long ago, before all this, was a war between the Children of the Night. Three vampire courts and three very angry princes. It was very bloody. Unnecessarily so. No one was spared. Nowhere was safe. Brother against brother they fought, and for what? For power. To prove one was better than the other. You couldn’t imagine it. Friends becoming monsters, creating more monsters for their armies, spreading the plague of evil over innocent lives. I’ve seen bodies ripped to shreds in front of me. I’ve seen parents poison their own children just so they couldn’t be Turned. In the end, everything burned. What wasn’t burning, was splintering or decaying.”

For a long moment, he says nothing else. He can’t.

You’re still looking at him. Still just looking at him. He wishes he can read minds just to see if you thought of him less now. “I don’t like these fights,” he admits. “Or small spaces...or fire.”

“See,” you whisper, “how am I supposed to not trust you when you were the first to come into the fire for me?”

“Sleep now,” he mutters. “You need to rest.”

You stand to your feet and do the exact opposite of what he’s asked. You come to him, slowly and carefully, as if you were afraid you’d frighten him. As if though he were a feral kitten to be approached calmly, earnestly waiting for trust to be given before you could give them the care they deserved.

“I’m so sorry.” You’re standing directly before him now, so strong and brave. “I’m so sorry you had to live through that...and so many other wars between your kind. I’m sorry there’s nothing I can do.”

You’ve already done so much, he can’t even begin to tell you. “You can go to sleep now.”

You purse your lips and a confused expression goes over your face. You sweep your gaze down from the floor— at his feet— and all the way up to his eyes.

The hunger lunges forward, but he pushes back against it A war between brothers is nothing compared to a war within yourself and your demons. You smell so good, he might go insane. “What is it?”

“You’re very tall.”

A laugh slips out of his mouth— another occupational hazard of being around you. Somehow, you could always make him laugh. You light up any room, his skin reacts like he’s been torched by high-powered electric cables. “Not any taller than most.”

You bite your lip and look at him uncertainly. “I can’t figure out what kind of vampire you are.”

“Best that you don’t.”

“One of the ancient ones, I’m sure.”

A void opens up and seems to swallow him whole. Smart girl, you’d have found out even if he didn’t tell you. “Are you implying that I’m old.”

It’s your turn to laugh now. “Sorry. You’re just…”

You reach out to him, fingers hovering shakily in the air. A part of Sungjin wants to stop you, another— much demanding— part of him has already given up and given in. He closes his eyes and shivers under his skin. He lets you touch him. Gingerly, at first. The tips of your fingers like a wraith over his cheek.

He turns his face and lets it rest on your palm. For a while, you stand together like this. His icy skin against the warmth of your hand. Then comes pain. Pain so unnatural, so unreal, courses through him as if he were struck by lightning. He only pulls back, jerks away from your touch, because to destroy himself would leave you open for the vultures to attack.

You gasp as you pull your hand away. You’re not hurt. It’s him. Even if he can’t see it he knows his cheek is raw and blistering.

Sunlight, he can fight. Emblems of faith have no effect on him. Garlic? He’s too powerful to even be affected by that. Sungjin’s one weakness? Love. The touch of someone he loves. Someone who loves him in return.

You look up at him, understanding dawning in your eyes.

And was that not the greatest tragedy of them all?

[kktxt]

calamusgerent replied to your post “calamusgerent replied to your post “YOU KNOW, I THINK THE ICING ON...”

I LIKE TO THINK I'VE BEEN OPEN-MINDED AND PATIENT THROUGH THIS PROCESS, BUT IF WHAT YOU ARE SAYING IS TRUE, WHY NOT JUST BECOME AN ARSONIST AND ENACT MY VENGEANCE? IN A WORD, THIS SUCKS.

HERE’S THE THING, IT DOESN’T REALLY MATTER. SURE, MOST OF US ENDED UP GOING THROUGH SOME TOUGH SHIT THAT SCARRED US FOR LIFE, BUT IT EVENTUALLY SHAPED US INTO........ KIND OF ALRIGHT LEADERS? I WOULDN’T SAY GREAT LEADERS, BUT WE GOT SOME SHIT DONE.

THAT’S SORT OF THE ROLE WE PLAY IN MOST TIMELINES. THE LOUSY, ANGRY LEADERS BARKING ORDERS AND GETTING SO FUCKING PISSED AT EVERYONE’S INCOMPETENCE OUR UTTER RAGE SINGLEHANDEDLY CAUSES THE MULTIVERSE’S ASSHOLE TO PROLAPSE AND SPAWN TIMELINES WHERE WE’RE NOT, IN FACT, THE LEADERS.

SO, DEPENDING ON HOW SHITTY YOUR UPBRINGING WAS, YOU’RE EITHER A PRE-MULTIVERSE-ANAL-PROLAPSE KARKAT, OR A POST-MULTIVERSE-ANAL-PROLAPSE KARKAT. I’LL LET YOU FIGURE OUT WHERE YOU STAND BY YOURSELF.