#HE LITERALLY LOOKED BACK AT THE DISMEMBERED ARM AND SMILED

[mintaikk]

"Vox can do better than Val!" This is Vox when Velvette told him that his little boy toy tore apart her model NO THE FUCK HE CANNOT

[iliketangerines]

Dude, I LOVE how you write, like, A LOT. I have this request where it’s basically how the kombat boys(Liu kang, Kung Lao, Raiden, Kenshi, Kenshi, Johnny, Syzoth and maybe Geras and Ashrah too?) would react to seeing the reader(their girlfriend)’s like variant in another timeline(?) in the end in a mk9 outfit(revealing as shit dude. They probably have to fix a wedgie mid-fight😭) SORRY IF THAT’S A LOT I’M ACTUALLY EMBARRASSED LMAO

revealing thoughts

a/n: lol no need to be embarrassed truly, don't worry about it

pairing: raiden x gn!reader

warnings: nudity mentions

Raiden always had considered himself a rather progressive man, not really caring whether the people in his village wore something deemed inappropriate by the elders

he was always respectful, treated everyone the same regardless of how they dressed or how they looked or what their occupation was

but this had Raiden averting his eyes to quite literally anything else except the massive window on your chest of your costume

which somehow was worse, his eyes trailing downwards to your barely covered crotch and the side of your costume cut out to reveal your hips, only the criss cross of string keeping it stuck to your body

Raiden resists using his hand to drag over his face as he prepares to fight against this variant of you, and his eyes trail back up to your face

which is the worst decision because as always, you look ravishing, especially so covered in blood and smiling at Raiden with those sweet lips of yours

someone bumps into Raiden from behind, and he grunts and quickly glances behind him and spots you, this timeline’s you, and you growl as you leap back forward to dismember a copy of Kenshi limb from limb

focusing back on this variat of you, Raiden barely manages to dodge your attack, weapon extended and aimed to kill, and he rolls to the side as you turn around, teeth bared in anger

you crouch down, giving him a perfect view down your cleavage, and he swears he sees a nipple slip when you leap forward, the strings keeping the window on your clothing barely holding on to the thin cloth

instinctively, he reaches his hands up to cover his face before he remembered you were there to kill him and his timeline

Raiden manages to drop his hands just in time to catch your attack and shoot a bolt of lightning through your palms through your nervous system

you rip yourself away from him with a howl of pain, voice so painfully similar to yours, and he bites his tongue to keep himself from apologizing to this variant of you

one more time, you lunge toward him, ready to kill, and Raiden moves to the side, preparing a flurry of lightning to hit you

and it connects, sending you flying to the floor, the straps of your costume disintegrating, and when you stand up, the remains of it fall to the side, only leaving you in your arm-length gloves and thigh high boots

you’re not wearing a single thing underneath, everything that he had only seen in bed waving to the world hello, and Raiden covers his eyes, face flushes bright red and burning as thoughts rush through his head

he cannot believe he just did that to you, and he apologizes to you profusely, still avoiding looking at your general direction, mind scrambled into a million different directions

was this cheating? if he looked at someone else naked? it technically was you, but it was a variant of you so technically it was a separate person? wait, wasn’t he battling you?

it’s too late, you sink your weapon into his side, and Raiden groans, thoughts of your nudity flying from his mind as he grits his teeth and grabs onto whatever skin he could and summoning the strongest lightning bolt into his hands

thunderclouds gather in the sky, angry and black, and bright light shoots down from the sky, ringing through your body and burning you into a charred crisp

Raiden’s chest heaves as he looks at your burnt and blacked body, nothing more than charcoal now, and someone grabs onto his shoulder

he whips around, hands raised and crackling with energy,  and he finds you, his actual you, his partner that he loved so dearly, and he lets out a sigh of relief at the sight of you mostly unharmed

you glance down at his injury, brows furrowed in worry, and he waves it off, saying that it wasn’t too deep and that it would heal easily

Raiden gives you what he hopes looks like a reassuring smile and not a grimace of pain, and you raise an eyebrow at him and shake your head at him

but the disappointment doesn’t last long as you give him a cheeky smile and ask if he really couldn’t keep his thoughts clean even in the heat of battle

the champion stutters and flushes, pursing his lips at you as you laugh and lightly punch him in the shoulder, saying that you were just teasing him

you lean in slightly, just enough so that your breath brushes against his ear, and you say that next time you’ll keep that costume in mind the next time the two of you get in bed

Raiden goes to refuse, to say that he wasn’t at all distracted by the costume, but you’ve already bounded off to find a medic to help mend his side wound

the evidence if how he thought of your costume is written all over his face, and Raiden would be a fool to think you wouldn’t pick up on his embarrassment

truly, you would be the death of him

[lasanya539]

Trick or treat! ✨🎃（＾∇＾）

post-halloween trick-or-treat ask!

Treat! You get a drabble (1.3k words) based on this prompt by @prompts-in-a-barrel!

----

"You seem nervous."

Donnie gulps, glancing at April. "I have never encountered human children before. I'm not sure of the protocols." April rolls her eyes, gesturing at the miniature person Donnie's been eyeing quite critically for some time, nestled comfortably in her lap. "There is no protocol, dude. This is literally just a baby."

"Yes, and I've never talked to one before. What am I supposed to say? 'Goo-goo', 'gah-gah'?"

She sputters out a laugh, fingers raking through the curly hair of a small head tucked under her chin. The child looks up, letting out a coo and leaning further into the touch.

Curious brown eyes tick over to Donnie, who shoots a vaguely disgusted look at the chubby fingers in her drooling mouth. She coos again, flapping her other unoccupied hand at him.

"Are you side-eyeing a baby, Donatello?" April says, picking up the packet of wet wipes from the coffee table. "I don't think Priya's old enough to have mastered the art of social cues and non-verbal communication."

"Look at what she's doing! She's getting her spit everywhere!"

April delicately pries the toddler's - Priya, as her birth certificate apparently says - hand away, wiping her clean. Donnie can see the clear affection she has for her babysitting charge, as she responds to her babbling with some baby-talk of her own.

He snorts. "You're so domestic."

Her eyes flash behind her glasses. "I will dismember you."

He raises his hands in surrender, not willing to suffer her wrath when he isn't caffeinated properly.

Honestly, he's not even sure why April asked him of all people to help her babysit. The only reason he's here is because she not-so-subtly bribed him with a slice of her mother's pumpkin spice pie, and Gaga knows how easy Donnie is for Mrs. O'Neil's cooking.

"How long are we staying here?" He groans, slouching on the sofa.

"A couple of hours more, I think. Her parents are planning on getting all of their Diwali shopping in one day for some reason. But that's why I'm getting paid the big bucks for sacrificing my Saturday before Halloween!" April bounces Priya on her lap once she's all clean, grinning at her.

"And I get to spend it all with you, cutie-pie!" She pokes her in the stomach, looking delighted at the responding giggle.

Donnie rolls her head towards the two of them. A smile tugs at his lips. "Okay, fine. She is pretty cute."

"Right? The cutest. Here, you should hold her!"

"I - what?"

April suddenly stands up, and with a surprising amount of strength drags him up with her. Donnie just barely keeps himself from crashing into the coffee table, before she thrusts the baby at him.

Surprised by the sudden course of events, he has no choice but to grab the small body, lest they somehow manage to drop her. Which he might, he thinks, panicked, tightening his grip as much as he dares to without hurting her in any sort of way.

"Oh, Galileo, absolutely not. Take her back right now."

"Donnie. Chill out, dude."

"'Chill out'?" He wonders what sort of picture he makes, standing in the middle of an apartment living room, among the festive string lights and decorations, shoulders hiked up to his ears as he holds up a baby at arms length.

He doesn't have to wonder for long, because April immediately snaps a picture with her phone.

"April!"

"Sorry, sorry, I couldn't resist." She puts the phone away, and laughs helplessly, waving a hand at him. "What are you doing? Why are you holding her like that?"

Priya seems to have the same question, if the wide eyes looking at him under the curly fringe are any indication. He gives her the same wide-eyed stare back. "I don't know! If I've never talked to a baby before, what makes you think I would know how to hold one?"

"Maybe start by not holding her like he's going to blow up any second?" April asked wryly, raising a brow at him.

Donnie furtively glances at her dotted onesie, specifically the diaper under it. "We don't know she won't for sure."

"Ugh, I changed her ten minutes ago! Donnie, look." She stands in front of him and bends her elbows in a cradling pose. "Here, see? Bring her close and hold her like that."

"Uh." Donnie has no idea how to do that without taking one hand off her, and he's terrified of trying to maneuver her without 100% certainty she isn't going to fall. "No. I think I'm good like this."

"C'mon, dude! Just hold her like you'd hold a football."

He huffs, quoting back, "This is how I would hold a football."

The football-in-question is still just blinking at him like he's a particularly fascinating science project. She gurgles at him, babbling incoherently. He wonders fleetingly if her babbling would sound the same if he spoke in Hindi instead of English, before her legs kick out impatiently under his hold.

"She's getting bored." April helpfully provides. Donnie tamps down the immediate 'noooo really?', keeping the sarcastic response to himself, studying the baby like she's the fascinating science project.

Experimentally, keeping a secure hold on her, he sways Priya a little to his right. Priya giggles happily with the motion, gums on full display. He sways her the other way with a little bounce. She squeals delightedly. He does it again. And again, side to side. Until he finally spins her around in a circle, balancing on his heel, whirling her in a wide arc as she shrieks in enjoyment. Her chubby arms are raised, legs extended. Donnie turns and grins brightly at April, automatically bringing Priya to his chest, settling a supportive hand under her legs. "It appears this child has an affinity for flying!" Donnie proclaims, jostling her as gently as he can in excitement, earning another giggle. His grin gets bigger.

April has one arm over her chest, the knuckles of the other pressed to cover up the growing smile, eyes crinkled behind her glasses.

"Goes after her new turtle buddy Tello." She quips, unable to keep the joy out of her voice. Donnie gives her a look, before a spectacular idea strikes him. "Elated gasp! You are completely right, my dear April! To further this interest, I must show her the beauty of actual aviation travel!" With a flick of his wrist, his jetpack pops up from his battle shell, purple propellers whirring to life.

"Oh hell no." April immediately denies in her most authoritative voice, which he completely ignores. But as he's lifted off the ground, Priya shrieks once more, clutching to his arm in fear. And that knocks some sense into him.

"Crap, yeah, no, bad idea." Donnie realizes in alarm, setting them both on the floor safely and making the propellers disappear. "Too soon, right? Sorry, I tend to get ahead of myself sometimes. Please don't cry?" Feeling helpless, he thinks back to the faint memories he has of being in his father's lap after a particularly bad day, and gently rocks her back and forth. Her scared sounds quiet down almost immediately.

"Wow." He looks up to see April blink at him, impressed. "You might be better at this than I am."

Donnie feels a swell of pride and embarrassment, which he rushes to cover. "Well, I am generally considered a genius. Being better than everyone is in the name."

She grins at him sharply. "Consider yourself lucky you're holding a baby and therefore an unviable target for a punch."

He chuckles, before he feels a tug. He looks down to see that Priya has one of his mask tails in her grip, her fingers smoothing over the silky material. His fault for putting on his longer bandana this morning.

"Admit it." April wheedles in an annoying, sing-song voice. "It's not that bad, is it?"

Donnie rolls his eyes, but smiles when Priya coos happily once more. "Yes, it's not that bad."

----

Thank you for the ask! Happy Halloween and a very Happy Diwali to everyone!

(i am only doing post-halloween trick or treats till nov 3)

[hiemaldesirae]

Thorn here: that's fucking hilarious that Vox is SOO proud on how his fucking cat KILLED 3-4 of his ppl and then MAIMED more of em he literally told ALL of HELL. I'm DYING.

Lucifer: *looking *directly at Alastor.* "It figures the only guy interested in you could tame THAT beast. Of course he'd be an animal person."

Husk: *chokes on his drink.*

more cat drabbles it is. go forth pathetic little orphaned child and the rest of you freaks (/aff). feast

"No, okay, I fucking *get* it, Populis--" Vox puts a hand to his forehead as the door opens behind him, suppressing another sigh as he turns around to greet Velvette, the doll sinner raising an eyebrow in an unimpressed manner as she watches him fumble with his phone. "Look, I'll get back to you later. Velvette. To what do I owe the displeasure?"

"Not even trying to keep up the act anymore, are you?" Velvette crosses her arms as she enters the room, releasing the fluffball of red fur in her arms to let him run to Vox, the Media Overlord immediately scooping Venom up the moment he gets close enough. "Val and I can only do so much, you know. Belle's been running damage control for days now, and she doesn't know how much longer she can keep it up without organic photos."

"Don't even start with me on that. Dei and Lis have been all up my asshole about it enough, I don't need you guys too," Vox grumbles. "Listen, Vel, I'll get back to business *soon*. Really, I will. I just need to figure out what the fuck Alastor is playing at this time."

"Just tune him out! What's the fucking point of listening to a thing that bastard has to say?" Velvette throws her hands up in her air in exasperation, "I mean, come the fuck on, Vox- it's not like he's some sort of demented ex trying to get your attention back or something! It's just your stupid, crazed rival who rejected you *once* a few years back because he's got no taste."

Vox frowns down at Venom, who simply cuddles into his arm and purrs. The tension drains from his posture as he watches the kitten rub up to him, letting his shoulders slump as the little ball of fluff curls up closer into his chest. "It's not... like that, Vel."

"Then what the hell is it? I mean, you and Val are always acting so secretive about your past with the Radio Freak-- you can't expect me to be able to stay in the loop with all that when you two are acting like this, right?"

"He's just taunting me again," Vox murmurs. "He does that sometimes. You know, there was that one time after he left, seven years ago... the frequency from his end turned on. When I tried to tune in, the only thing on the other end was laughing. I wanted to ask him how he was doing, but..."

"So... what, he likes to taunt you by destroying full blocks of buildings?"

"Something like that," Vox shrugs. "Just... it's fine. It'll all go back to normal once he grows bored of doing it or whatever, and then we can go back to normal again."

"If you say so," Velvette frowns. It's clear she doesn't believe him, but she doesn't press further-- a discretion that Vox is grateful for. He runs his hand over Venom's soft fur as Velvette exits the room, being careful not to scratch the little cat with his sharp claws.

Sighing, he looks down at the cat still laid on his chest, cheek smushed against his torso. "What do you think I should do about your freaky doppleganger, hm?"

The cat looks up at him and simply meows, looking up at him with its large eyes.

"Yeah, okay, I don't know what I was thinking asking that," Vox snorts. "I'll just... wait it out."

"Okay, Smiles, seriously, what the *fuck* are you doing?!" Angel bursts into the main lobby with an angry look on his face, something unusual for the porn star. "The Vees Tower has been on complete lockdown for like, a week now! I've got fuckin' bills to pay, drugs ta' buy! Stop being a fuckin' freak so I can go and get my paycheck!"

Alastor's eye twitches from where he sits hunched over the small shrine, complete with several dismembered plushies of that damned fucking cat.

All this, and Vox still wasn't acknowledging any of his attempts to get his attention. And that fucking cat... at this point, perhaps he would just have to break into Vox's tower himself.

[niah17]

HenPat oneshot 😍

WATTPAD: NiahGrace17

This is from a fanfic I am currently making, this is from chapter 4. If you don’t understand a girl is blackmailing Henry into dating her but the consequence is that he’s not allowed to speak to Patrick.

Based off the song: 'Cardigan' by 'Taylor Swift'

TW: Abuse, Self-Harm

NO POV

If there's one thing Patrick can do. It's draw stars perfectly. He discovered this when one day on Avery's death anniversary and they went to visit his grave and Patrick got so unbelievably bored he drew stars on the bench which was next to the grave. His parents found out and yelled at him since it was in purple sharpie so it was permanent. He shrugged it off though.

But his favourite memory of drawing stars is when Henry came over one day with scars all over his arm from where his dad had dug his metal part of his belt into Henry. Henry had shown up at the house in tears so Patrick took him in.

1987

He remembers asking him what had happened but he couldn't remember exactly as they were thirteen years old when this happened.

'What'd you do now?' He had said.

Henry had only looked at him with pain in his eyes and sighed.

'I dropped a plate'.

Henry now refused to look at him straight in the eyes after he said that but Patrick got him to eventually. Henry sat down on the bed and watched as Patrick pulled out a red sharpie.

'What's that for?'. Henry asked. Patrick only smiled and clicked off the lid. They were now sitting next to each other.

'Give me your arm'. Patrick had demanded. Henry showed him his arm with slight hesitation but he managed.

'What's wrong? Is it infected?'. Henry questioned anxiously. Patrick shook his head.

He started to draw something around one of Henry's scars making him wince in slight pain.

'What the fuck are you doing?'. He spat.

'Shh..'

Present time

That was two years ago now. But currently, the boys had gone to school the next day without any worry. And luckily Grace didn't spill anything until she caught them during lunch.

"Hey boys", She waved walking back over to them. They all groaned.

"What", Belch said. Grace smiled softly and turned to Henry and Patrick.

"Could I have a word with you both. In private", She whispered.

"No. Bye now nice chatting", Patrick waved goodbye before Henry said.

"Fine. Belch and Vic, fuck off", Henry sighed.

Belch and Vic walked away talking about nonsense.

Grace smiled until they were out of sight then frowned at the two.

"Let's get this straight. You date me or I'll tell everyone about how you two are faggots and soon enough it'll get around to the whole school and they'll all tell their parents then instead of them being afraid of you they'll think your disgusting fairies and that's why they won't wanna go near you. Yes or No?", Grace stated. Patrick gritted his teeth and got ready to lunge at her but Henry stopped him.

"Ok so.. if I don't date you you're gonna tell pretty much the whole fucking town me and Patrick are faggots?", Henry went through.

"Yep! You have three days to answer before it spills", Grace nodded. The boys looked at each other and sighed. Henry's was a sigh of annoyance.

Patrick's was a sigh of anger.

He kicked her in the shin and told her to fuck off.

"That's reduced your limit to a day. Oh and you two won't be able to see each other", Grace winked then walked away slightly limping.

"Fucking hoebag that deserves to be eaten by hyenas then be puked up then I'll take her to my fridge and slam her head against it ten times and then I'll incinerate her then I'll cut her up and feed them to her parents", Patrick explained very descriptively.

"Yeah we could do that or decide what to do", Henry added. 

"Hmm.. let's go with my plan", Patrick smiled sadistically.

"No. Patrick, this is serious I cannot under any circumstances let my dad find out I'm a faggot", Henry whined.

"So we should just kill her! Or even better. Dismember her!", Patrick shrieked enthusiastically.

"Patrick, please for the love of god take this seriously. I'm in literal hell right now I don't know what to do", Henry told him. Patrick sighed and nodded.

"Look. Tell Butch about the situation and if he understands that it's blackmail then you won't die but if he doesn't he might give you a little beating but then you can just come to my house", Patrick rested his hand on top of Henry's. Henry rolled his eyes.

"It's not that simple but I'll try", He agreed.

Later that day, at 3:35pm Henry had walked inside his house and opened the door to find his dad sitting lazily on the couch.

"Dad.. can I talk to you about something?", Henry asked hesitantly. Butch groaned and nodded.

"Alright, 'urry up then", Butch waved his hand as a signal to Henry.

"So there's this girl named Grace. Grace Verona. She likes me a lot and she's got the idea me and Patrick are one of those disgusting faggots. So she's told us that she's gonna blackmail us by telling the whole school and town that we're gay which I understand would ruin your reputation. But in order to do that I won't be allowed to talk to Patrick anymore", Henry explained slowly afraid of what's about to happen. Butch grumbled and sat up straight.

"If I was you back in my day I'd leave my friends to get laid by some chick"

"Of course you would..", Henry told himself. Apparently, Butch had heard that.

"Fuck you say?!", He yelled. Henry froze. His face turned pale and he started to shake.

"Nothing", He said quickly.

"Lies!", Butch shouted. He slapped Henry across the face brutally making Henry tumble slightly.

"I'm sorry! I didn't say anything really!", Henry argued. Butch lowered his arm.

"Just get with the girl. I won't have you ruining my reputation and career just so you can hang out with Hockstetter", Butch snarled at his son.

"Dad. You don't understand. I need to find a way to get out of dating the girl!", Henry repeated.

"Henry. You are apart of the Bowers family. Woman over men any day. Are we clear?", Butch stared into the boys eyes fiercely.

"Yes", Henry mumbled.

"I said, are we clear?!", Butch yelled grabbing the collar of Henry's shirt.

"Yes!", Henry stated raising his voice.

Butch stared at Henry for a little while longer before he went back to drinking and watching tv. Henry had walked up to the bathroom silently then closed the door and locked it. He stepped over to the mirror and glared at himself.

He didn't like what he saw. He saw a useless boy that didn't know how to fight for himself. That's when he saw a shard of glass where his dad had broken a bottle the night before. He picked it up and glanced back and forth at it from his wrist to the glass.

Slice

Blood dripped from Henry's wrist.

"Fuck", He muttered. He had done stuff like this before when he was twelve because that's when he was missing his mother the most. Patrick had soon found out and he convinced him to stop.

1986

'Fuck'. Henry mumbled. He'd cut small bits of his leg where some bruises were laid caused by Butch. He never liked the look of them. It reminded him of how weak he seemed. That night had been one of the worst nights ever. It had been the anniversary of when Henry's mother had abandoned him and sadly, Butch Bowers had remembered that day like it was yesterday.

He grabbed the telephone and dialled Patrick's home number.

'Hi' Patrick spoke.

'Can I come over? Please?' Henry's voice pleaded.

'Oh how I love it when you beg' Patrick joked laughing in the background.

'Fuck off you lanky giraffe! I would never beg in front of you anyway', Henry scoffed.

'Alright. See you in twenty', Patrick hung up the phone as Henry snuck out the window.

Henry ran through the shortcut but his legs were stinging so bad he had to stop.

'Shit I did not think this through', Henry inhaled sharply and slowly walked.

Soon enough he got there and was mocked by Patrick as he said.

'I thought you won the Derry High run last year?', Patrick laughed. Then he saw the scars on Henry's legs. Henry was wearing jeans but they were ripped which was expected because he's always fighting with people.

'Oh. Come in', Patrick helped Henry upstairs and into his bedroom.

'Patrick, who's that?', Arthur Hockstetter asked.

'Henry', Patrick replied. Neither spoke a word after that. The only sound you could hear was the sound of 'Queen' playing downstairs caused by Patrick's parents who were drinking some wine and beer. Nothing that would get them drunk though.

"Promise me you won't do this ever again", Patrick said. Henry nodded.

"I'll try but don't blame me if I do it again", Henry sighed.

Present time

Henry thought about that moment often. Yet it brought back much pain from that day. But he didn't worry about that anymore, he's gotten used to it. Henry walked over to his bedroom cautious of not getting blood on the carpet floor then grabbed his house phone and dialled Patrick's number.

"Hi Henry", Patrick picked up the phone almost immediately.

"How'd you know it was me?", Henry questioned leaning against the wall.

"My dad's out and my mum has no friends. What's up?", Patrick explained.

"Can I come over?", Henry asked already knowing the answer.

"Henry you practically live here. Of course you can", Patrick laughed.

Henry smiled then hung up the phone and started climbing out the window. The cold air made his wrists sting badly but he didn't mind. He's far too used to it by now. He began to walk through the shortcut when he noticed seven losers sitting in a tree.

"Well what do we have here?", Henry cooed. They all looked at each other with worry glued onto their faces.

"What do you want?", Stan asked gaining slight confidence. That was pushed back down when Henry glared at him coldly.

"Well I was just minding my own business until I saw you seven brats out the corner of my eye", Henry grinned. Richie scoffed.

"We know your boyfriend's house is that way so just run along", Richie pointed to the direction of Patrick's house. Eddie then pushed Richie causing him to almost fall off the tree.

"You little faggots are lucky I can't be arsed to fight today", Henry said then walked off.

"What the fuck just happened", Beverly mumbled.

Knock Knock

"Hey Henry", Patrick opened the door. Henry stepped inside and already made his way upstairs without saying hi.

"Someone's in a grouchy mood", Patrick chuckled, locking the door. Patrick followed Henry into his room and then closed the door.

"I hate my dad!", Henry grunted flopping down onto the black bed. Patrick nodded.

"I know", Patrick said. Henry grabbed one of Patrick's pencils and threw it at a wall causing it to snap.

"Thanks. What happened anyway?", Patrick asked picking up the pen then grabbing some glue.

"I told my dad about Grace and he said I should just date her and ditch you but I don't want to ditch you or date her!", Henry complained. Patrick bit his lip then sighed.

"Ok, what'd he do after that?", Patrick slowly asked sitting down next to Henry.

"Slapped me hard across the face because I said no", Henry told him. Patrick mumbled something but it wasn't loud enough to make it into a clear sentence.

"Then what'd you do?", He asked again.

Henry hesitated but showed Patrick his wrist that was full of tiny cuts with one big one in the middle.

"Oh uh ok", Patrick nodded then got up to grab something.

"What is it?", Henry questioned rubbing his wrist making the pain go down a little. Patrick walked back over to him with a purple sharpie in his grip. He took Henry's arm and started drawing stats around the scars on his wrist.

"You haven't done this in a while", Henry said. Patrick rolled his eyes.

"Well you haven't cut in a while so guess we're even", Patrick scoffed. Henry nodded.

"Look, for your sake I think you should just let me go and date the girl", Patrick said still focused on the stars he was drawing.

"But I don't want to!", Henry protested. Patrick looked up at Henry.

"Henry. You have to. It doesn't matter about not wanting to", Patrick insisted.

After that, they sat there in silence, Patrick still drawing the stars. Henry knew Patrick was right but he didn't want to believe it. He knew their friendship wouldn't last forever but he didn't want it to end this soon.

"I guess you're right", Henry muttered. Patrick smiled.

"I'm always right", Patrick said.

"I'll miss you", Henry looked at Patrick.

"I'm not sure what missing someone feels like but I'll say I miss you for your sake"

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Pygmalion (II)

Pairings: Rook/ (Pygmalion) MC // Idia/MC (Platonic)

Summary: You were frequently told that your career as a renowned sculptor did not match your dull and less than colorful personality. With your cybernetic hands, you carve the lives and deaths of those long gone‒ producing pieces which have been held in both technical and emotional high regard, dubbing you with the title “Pygm.AI.lion” despite your human heart and brain. When you accidentally still the usually flamboyant archer into silence after he comes across you working in your atelier‒ you find that you’ve become a victim to one of his ceaseless stalkings. Though, you’ve been prey long enough to know how hunt the huntsman himself.

Notes: Formatting shit on Tumblr literally makes me want to blow my brains out :)

Anyways here's another chapter, explaining some backstory as well as more interactions and a more internal look into Rook's thoughts. I appreciate the kudos‒ please leave your comments, I love reading and responding to them! I’m very chatty online lol don’t be shy

CW: Slight mentions of self harm in this one? And human experimentation and implied grooming.

Part 1 // Part 2 (Here) // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6

AO3 Link Here.

Masterlist

——————————————————

You were back in your old atelier, the one back in your homeland‒ the City of Flowers, before it was given such a name. Head in your hands, you pulled on the root of your hair to put this pain somewhere, anywhere, besides your fragile, human heart.

She‒ now a quiet statue‒ lay still, her face delicately graced with silent death. You transferred your iron grip onto her wrist, shaking, feeling its stillness, the cold, hardened stone. There was no warmth that kissed your flesh, soaking into your body like before‒ when she was moving, alive. You had brought her alive before, why couldn't you bring her alive again? What use did your magic have if it could not sustain life, merely create it? In a fit of violence‒ you threw her body down, watching her through blurry eyes as her form crumbled into a million pieces. You staggered down with it, your fists shaking on the floor. What use did these hands have?

From the corner of your vision, you caught a glimpse of your hammer. Reaching towards it, you steadied your other hand on the floor, feeling the shattered pieces of her digging into your arm like a thousand needles. Hot coppery blood pounded in your eardrums‒ a slow drumming that rumbled louder and louder and louder‒ you were sure it would explode if you didn’t do something, anything‒ to rid yourself of useless parts, dead flesh in your eyes. These hands, once deemed a blessing by many, were now a curse. You didn't ask for it, you didn't ask for any of this.

You swung with all of your mortal might.

"My, my. What a bad child you are, using such tools of creation for destruction." A strong hand snaked around your own, pausing the hammer right above your hand. You glowered through your tangled hair at the figure.

There stood a slender, pale man, leaning against a shepherd's staff decorated with a ram's head, his lips twisted into an impish smile, reaching to his pointed ears. The narrow slits on his face, pushed up by the raised corners of his mouth, bore into you like two crimson crescent moons. His indigo curls bounced as he leaned forward in slurry movements, coiling his fingers up from your arm, into your hand, twisting the hammer out of your grasp. He carelessly threw it behind him, before searching his hip for something. When he found it, he rammed it into the ground, cracking the old wood of the atelier.

"If you're going to dismember your hands, you'd better do so with a knife." He raised himself with the help of his staff, turning away to walk the other direction. "Trust me, I'm a doctor."

You blankly stared at Kopis knife*, wedged between the hard wood, barely missing your finger. Briefly, you imagined it slicing skin, tearing muscle, cutting through to the marrow of your bone. Perhaps it's burn would be less painful than the one smothering your heart. But all you could do was stare, squeezing and gasping air into your lungs.

Pausing his feet, he turned his head upwards, and towards you, his sharp teeth gleaming in the lantern light. You caught the scent of his cloak, smelling of bleach and sterile death as he swiveled his feet and crouched down at your level once more. With a sharp smile, he grabbed the knife and intertwined your trembling fingers around the handle. “Here, allow me to help you, my sweet child.”

The knife shook in your hands, as he drew the blade closer and closer to your wrist which he held in his fierce hands with an iron grip. Your skin pursed open at the slight contact of the sharp metal, dripping hot blood onto the floor covered in her remains. The man’s raspy voice rang in your ears. “Go on, or,” He brought his leathery palm up to your cheek, caressing your jaw to bring you closer into his crimson hues. “Shall I do it for you?”

You swallowed thickly, with it the rising bile burning your throat. The bitterness still lurched in your chest, coming out as gasping breaths as he drew the knife closer, and closer into you. Flickering your eyes into his gaze, you were momentarily stuck with a force of pandemonium which roared in your blood, before you ripped your eyes from him and caught glimpse of her head, rolling on the floor with cracked marble falling from her neck. You pushed the man back, stifling your clamoring nausea with a frantic hand over your mouth, mixing cold sweat with coppery saliva.

“I-I merely‒ I c-couldn’t‒ I-I didn’t‒“ you said between shaking fingers, gulping in air with such fervor you were beginning to see purple dots in your vision‒ suddenly‒ clarity within your hoarse voice, “I didn’t ask to be this way.”

The man molded a saccharine smile onto his lips. “No one asks for a curse, child. But,” he cupped his rough hands around your feverish face. “You can certainly ask to be forgiven for it.” He pushed himself up with his horned cane, lifting himself into the moon glow that cast a halo around his sturdy figure.

“Come with me, young one.”

You're still not sure if you regret following Dr.Krios that night, but it was certain that you had replaced a human part of you with something else, something artificial, when something dragged your body up, and walked behind him. He smothered you in his grasp, forming a dark womb in which you emerged when he crouched down to your figure, sinking the sharpness of his eyes into you.

“Your old name is not your god, my child. I rename you‒ our everything. Welcome, (Name) Jupiter.”

‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒

Your eyes fluttered open, finding yourself to be surrounded by the liquid in your charging pod. The liquid slowly drained, letting out a gust of air from the pressurized container when it's glass doors opened. You had these dreams now and then, it was strange, since your systems had an abolishment protocol to conserve energy during sleep. There was a bit of time before classes were to begin‒ maybe it was time to visit your dorm leader, who had been entrusted with your maintenance as stated in Dr.Krios’ will. It had been so long since you had seen him, you now stood at his door, wondering what he looked like now. Undoubtedly a lot older, though, you were sure Ortho hadn’t changed. Rapping your metal knuckles against the smoothed surface, you hoped it wasn’t too early to intrude.

“Mn…It’s too early in the morning for this…” A disheveled mass of flaming cyan hair framed the tired face of Idia Shroud, who widened his eyes when they focused on your form.

“Who is it, big brother?” Ortho’s voice called behind him.

“It’s nice to see you again, Master Idia, Master Ortho.” A rare smile creeped up on your lips, nodding your head forward in a small, respectful bow.

“(Name)!” The younger Shroud brother leaped into your arms, clinging his mechanical arms to your neck as you spun him around, attempting to displace the force in which he threw his body into yours. The elder stood, face frozen in stunned silence.

“(N-Name)…But, S.T.Y.X…”

“You didn’t really think they could keep the likes of me in that lab forever, did you?” A playful tone bubbling in your voice. You noticed Idia was a lot taller, hair a lot longer since the last time you saw him during his adolescence before the Jupiter Family took you away for their affairs.

“…shut up…don’t call me that name weirdo, we’re friends.” He said with a bashful smile on his lips, covering it poorly with a slender hand. “It’s strange seeing you here of all places…” The door was held open for you, Ortho took your hand excitedly, pulling you inside.

“A carriage arrived after Dr.Krios died, and now I’m here. Honestly I’m just as surprised with the late enrollment as you are.” Idia offered you a seat at his desk, which you took. “But fate, as always, is a sly bastard. I’m just glad you two remember me.” In the face of eternity, you had forgotten what it felt like to leave an imprint on humans, but then again, your relationship with the Shroud brothers was a bit special, resulting from your time with Dr.Krios at the S.T.Y.X labs. A small smile appeared on your face, glad that you were able to revisit a friendship before time had taken them away as it always had.

“Of course we do. You were the only interesting person in that lab after all.” Idia mumbled. “Everyone else was either a weirdo or couldn’t keep up with my speed.” A crooked smile twisted onto his lips, just as you remembered.

——————————————

You trailed behind Dr.Krios, who parted the employees of S.T.Y.X swimming in the hallways with his crippled, but still imposing presence. Though his aging body kept him from his lively energy like when you had first begun to work with him, he still held himself with sprightly footsteps, aided by his bionic organs and enhancements he had implemented centuries ago. Used to the curious glances and whispers directed at your cybernetic forms, you kept your dried gaze forward, boring into the doctor’s white lab coat. Finally reaching the lab you usually reserved, you stood in silence as your superior peaked into the window, groaning a bit when he realized there was a figure already inside.

“I thought I reserved this lab…” He grumbled. “Stay put. I’ll be quick.” The door opened with a swoosh, leaving you outside the hall with nothing to do. You closed your eyes, hoping to conserve some energy for the tests today.

A quiet moment passed, before you felt a tug on your canvas apron. Trailing your eyes to the perpetrator, you were slightly amused at the sight of two children, each with their own set of flaming, cyan hair, their golden eyes looking at you with curiosity. Ah, must be a new addition to the Shroud family, you thought, observing the dancing fire. But even with centuries of observing humans passing through various developmental stages, dealing with children was not one of your fortes. As times changed, so did their interests, you never knew what the latest “thing” was enough to converse with them.

“What are you?” The taller one asked, poking the exposed metallic skeleton of your arm.

“I am a sculptor.” You answered simply.

The younger copied who you assumed was his brother, looking into your eyes with ones gleaming with boyish joy. “Are you a robot sculptor??”

“No Ortho, they’re an A.I. Robots can only do what they’re told, A.I’s replicate the human brain.”

“Eh..? But big brother, they totally look like one of those robots in Rebel Spacefighter…”

“I am not a robot, or an A.I.” The taller one huffs in frustration of your stony tone, the flame on his head flaring slightly in a sunny hue. Hm, cute, you decide.

“Then what are you?”

“I am a cyborg. The most advanced one yet. But I am a sculptor first and foremost.”

“Hm…” The older one inspected your arm with a skeptical gaze. “Prove it. Prove that you’re the most advanced cyborg!”

You paused, thinking, before nodding. “Okay.”

Taking your hand out of his grasp, you raised it to the base of your opposite arm. Getting a good grip on it, you focused all of your energy into that hand. With a deep breath in, your felt your hand burst with energy, digging into your shoulder and tearing your arm off, bits of metal sprinkling the floor below you. You turned slowly to the children, eyes and mouths gaping wide open, before dropping it onto the floor with a heavy thud. Their enlarged eyes followed the severed arm to the floor, which spurt viscous black liquid, twitching slightly with energy. When glassy eyes snapped back at you, the dullness in your eyes blew up into panic.

“I…I-I didn’t..” The elder one spurted, his mouth trembling a bit as he struggled to form a sentence.

“A-ah‒ wait‒ no, no, no. L-look!” You picked up your arm, bringing it back to the nub on your shoulder. The black liquid began to form around it, mending the gap with dark webs. It melted into the metal of your skeleton, leaving the same smoothed surface as before. You chuckled nervously, bringing your arms up and palms forward in a jovial manner to reassure them. “The Orpheus* system is the most advanced bionic program at this current time‒ s-see? Good as new.”

The children let out a sniffle, the taller one carefully examining the surface of your arm. The liquid of his eyes never dried, which worried you, especially since these were children of the Shroud family. No doubt you would be turned to scrap metal if the current head found out, no matter how much Dr.Krios would likely try to convince the esteemed family that this was all for them. There was truth in that statement, you had exchanged the possibility of extinguishing your unique magic, your curse‒ for the advancement of research in blot infused cybernetics to rid the family of their own curse. However, with the encounters you had in the past with the current head of the family, no matter how young, you couldn't shake off the same ravenous glint in his eyes that reminded you of your doctor's crimson hues. You were panicking internally, you weren't allowed any of your materials before the tests were done for the day, so you didn't have any small carvings of anything on hand that you could marvel them with. Oh gods, what do children like again? What do they do for fun? Create wax figures? Go down to the quarry and find the finest marble?? No, that's definitely not it. Maybe you should just start asking random questions adults had always asked you when you were a child. You searched back in your memories centuries before, during your apprenticeship with your master in the city of flowers.

"Ah…so. What…what do you want to be when you grow up?" You punched yourself mentally. How was that supposed to calm them?? That question never ceased to tick you off as a child, toiling long, hard hours at the studio. Such frivolous, wonderful things like dreams had no space within a life you had struggled to survive at first. Even now, you weren’t really sure what you wanted, or if you wanted anything‒ your purpose was chosen at all points of your life‒ apprentice, sculptor, and now a project for Jupiter Enterprises and S.T.Y.X. Did people even have dreams anymore??? Oh gods, help thy stupid soul, you prayed

You let out a relieved sigh when the tears of the younger dried quickly, as he began to shuffle through his clothes for something. The elder seemed a little stunned by your question, before looking at his feet. Ortho revealed a crumpled up drawing, proudly spreading in front of your face as he pointed to two of the figures crudely scribbled onto the worn paper.

"Big brother and I are going to be heroes‒ like in Rebel Spacefighter! Look, like here, big brother is going to make a bunch of robots because he's a genius! And here's the cool armor he made me so I can protect him!"

Your chest tightened, the reminder that most humans begin like this‒ naive, fragile, brimming with the secret colors and beauty of the world‒ solidifying in your chest. It's been so long since you've touched humanity so closely, so purely‒ and it welled a fresh feeling inside you that you dared to delight in. Swallowing the heaviness down, you took the paper preciously into your hands, examining it with a ghostly smile. “Is this true? You’re a genius like your brother claims?“ You looked down at the elder.

He hid his bashful smile behind his sleeve. "I guess…" He mumbled. "...but I won't be able to be a hero like Ortho said."

"Oh?"

"Father says I have to run the company since I'm the eldest. So…I won't be able to be a hero." His solemn, but knowing tone made you raise that pressure in your chest into the creases that formed in your eyes, wincing from the heartache. You leveled your eyes with his.

"No." You took his hands, so, so small, you noted‒ folding the drawing into them. Even without your synthetic skin, you felt a tiny pulse vibrate within small hands, beating into your metallic skeleton, making you yield in his flushed gaze. "You are a human. Death comes quicker than you can ever fathom…keep what’s important to you in your heart. Don’t let people guide your desires, your dreams‒ or you’ll end up living and dying a life that isn’t even your own.” You wove your heavy hand into the flames flickering on his head, giving it a loving ruffle. “You’ll become a hero if you want to, you’re a genius, are you not?”

He beamed, leaning into your touch. “Of course I am!”

“Hm. You must see to it to prove it to me one day.”

The flames on his head arose a bit, as he tipped his head up with a prideful grin. “You’ll see. I’ll even build a better model than you are!”

“I don’t doubt that one bit. Ask Dr.Krios and he’ll probably let you even take a look inside me.”

“Won’t it hurt? To be taken apart like that?” Ortho jumped in, concern adorning his face.

“Being opened up is nothing. I’d be glad to support your brother’s research.”

Idia circled around you in excitement. “You don’t feel pain? You don’t seem to have synthetic skin…hm…”

“No little flame, I am not a robot and I still have my heart and brain‒ so I do still feel pain." You opened the compartment in your chest, revealing your human heart encased in glass, pumping synthetic blood throughout your body. "And the pain of a human heart is greater than anything in this world.”

The door from the lab swiftly opened, revealing Dr.Krios, and another figure that you recognized which made you immediately snap your chest cavity closed. Despite missing the organs to properly feel nausea, you felt yourself spin under his scrutinizing gaze, fearing that you might be devoured by it.

“Father!” Ortho clung onto his knees, stuffing his face in the fabric of his father’s tunic.

“Ah, children.” He briefly flickered his gaze towards the youngest, patting him on the back before returning his spiraling hues on you. “I hope Dr.Krios’ toy here has kept you company?”

“Yeah!” Their father hummed in response.

Dr.Krios spoke up, a crescent moon grin stretching his lips. “You’ll have to excuse us, young masters. The tests are about to begin.”

“Sorry, little flame. You can take me apart another day.”

Idia, you later learned was his name, waved his hand as the door shut behind you. You waved back, hoping to see them again.

——————————————

"Well, you are weird though, no doubt about that." Idia says with a fond smile as he clicks through your body's program. "Traumatizing innocent children by dismembering yourself‒ imagine if our parents found out. I thought I was going to die.”

"I'd reckon I would be taken apart and put back together again, but this time with a smarter, metal brain that didn't go around scaring little flaming children to death."

Ortho chuckled fondly at your words. "I'm so glad you're here though, (Name)."

"Yeah. It's nice to see you out of that lab finally. And without that creepy old doctor stalking you like a hawk."

"I agree." You nodded. "Though, it does seem like I have a stalker here already…" Rook's face appeared in your mind, reminding you of the strange events that happened yesterday, and the fact that you had to see him today. “How is the maintenance coming along?”

Idia’s eyes didn’t leave the computer, as he wore a bored expression on his face that juxtaposed the rapid movements of his fingers gliding across the keyboard. “Huh? Oh yeah‒ this is low level stuff, especially cause I based some of Ortho’s coding from yours. But you know, obviously I made it better.” A lazy grin appeared on his face. “Alright. Ephesius* protocol is active again. It should be alright but it’s a fickle since it’s connected through carbon neuron implants in your brain, so let me know if I need to tweak it again.”

You hummed in agreement. “The implants are an older model, so that might be why. But thank you.”

“I can give you ones with better stats if you’d like…” Idia let out a yawn, clearly not accustomed to waking up so early in the morning.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, little flame,” you ruffled his mess of cyan inferno, not used to his tall height despite the slouch in his seated form. “But I think I’m getting a bit too old to be taken apart and put back together so often now.”

Idia’s eyes twitched a bit, remembering the tests done back at the S.T.YX lab, before contorting into false annoyance.“U-ugh you’re such an old geezer. It’s a miracle you’re not crumbling to dust as we speak with that clumsy handiwork by that creepy doctor.”

You shrugged. “It’s more of a hassle trying to implant all my human parts back into another body. Besides,” you remembered the months preceding your meeting with Dr.Krios when you had begun to replace parts of your human body. “Transferring the human soul is painful and takes a lot of energy.” You huffed, exhausted by the mere thought of experiencing that again.

“Ugh you artists are too poetic…” The older rolled his eyes, while his younger brother laughed.

“(Name), it’s almost time for class, we should get going soon.” Ortho mentioned. You glanced at the clock.

“Ah, time flies in good company.” Brushing off the creases in your uniform, you stood. “Idia? You’re not joining us?”

“Less stress taking classes online.” He leaned back in his chair.

“The privileges of being a natural-born genius I guess…”

“Says yourself.” The brothers said in unison. A ghostly smile appeared on your lips. It really was good to see them again.

—————————————-

Rook flipped his body over in the bed once more, his satin sheets a mess from turning and twisting himself in his fruitless attempts to drift into blissful sleep. Vil’s voice rang in his head, warning him of the demerits caused by sleep deprivation‒ but how could he, after he had seen that carving of yours? Glancing at the clock reading 6:12, he let out a stifled groan, turning his body again to inspect his wall decorated with photographs of your statues he had taken in various galleries and museums. How different the grand marble and gleaming ivory statues were from that formless, disembodied, fleshy mass he saw last night.

His gaze turned upward, to the various postcards of paintings he had on his wall. He particularly favored Vermeer, for his early prototype of the camera that could be felt in the delicately proportioned composition and detached precision of his paintings. Dutch Golden age painters were his favorite in this way‒ you could clearly observe, touch the beauty through various observable rules like color theory, composition, and form. Rook often delighted in the sensory pleasures and decadence he could taste on his tongue and feel between his fingers upon looking at these paintings‒ it was playful, tricky, exciting in the pleasures of life‒ similar to himself. It could be said with certainty that the meticulous formulation of the paintings not only shined with beauty in their formal qualities, but the time, skill, and passion that could be felt within each invisible brushstroke. Truth, to him, was beauty‒ and this was the truth of life at its finest, full of charm and vigor that catches the eye instantly.

This was the core, the truth to his way of living‒ and to stray from this principle of beauty felt like he was submitting parts of himself that he desperately kept together with practiced spontaneity and comfortable distance. To hunt was his nature, through his narrow, hungry gaze that greedily ravished his prey. He sought to do that with you, carving you open and devouring you until his teeth fell on soft marrow‒ leaving to track the next beautiful creature when his fickle mind smelled the scent of a greater, more inspiring hunt. But for the very first time in his life, he felt like he was the one being hunted. He felt it was unacceptable, even more so when he cherished that feeling in his chest, rolling it around his flesh like a rough pearl, gleaming with unknown colors. He felt bewitched by that ugly beast you had molded into existence, feeling something inside him, which he could hold, but could not truly touch. The feeling was eating away into his mind, like you had released an infestation into his soul that replaced his certainty‒ his truth‒ with something much too grotesque, but shimmered splendidly with all of the colors of the world.

Rook truly didn’t know what he felt, but he felt it deeply. An easier feeling, anger‒ greed perhaps‒ simmered his thrashing blood, trying with all of his might to recluse into the clear picture of beauty he had been painting for the years he had lived dedicated to beauty. He faced the ceiling now, boring his eyes tiredly to the dark wall. The phone on his bedside table vibrated, letting him know it was time to begin his morning routine. He sighed, feeling the heaviness of his body with slight irritation, before walking to his dresser to tidy up. Vil would surely scold him for the bags under his eyes.

—————————————-

You caught up with most of your classes with ease, thanking that your years of living had finally given you a tangible advantage. You lived through the history of magic, have seen mighty sages in action, and science was basically potion making‒ you had never had an issue picking things up quickly, so classes shouldn’t impede on your studio time. Though, it did seem like you were getting quite the attention not only as a honor student, but as Pygm.AI.lion‒ you ignored any calls of students directing that name towards you, differentiating yourself from the version of yourself that had been fabricated into emptiness by the Jupiter businessmen and scientists. Not my name, not my problem, you thought boredly, heading to the art studio for your next class.

When you opened the heavyset doors, you were greeted with stares and whispers‒ nothing unusual, but nonetheless annoying. The teacher looked up from their desk, their face sprouting with excitement when you gazed back with dull eyes. “Ah! Mx.(Name)! Please, have a seat, we’re honored to have the esteemed Pygm.AI.lion in this humble class!” You silently leaned into an empty seat, a bit perturbed to find Rook sitting across from you, sending you a wave with a fox-like grin. Gazing far out the window, you rested your head on your hand, only half listening to the teacher’s instructions for today.

“Since we have such a special guest joining us for their first day‒ I thought I’d propose a critique at the end of class after today’s prompt!” On the board in chalk, the prompt was spelled out in round handwriting: ‘Depict your perception of the world!’

With a huff, you headed towards the corner of the room with marble situated in it. No wax, or plaster in sight‒ you decided you wouldn't be needing it this time. Taking a slab of marble into your hands, you let the charcoal between your fingers glide across the glossy stone‒ entering your body into a deep trance as you traced the divine image in your mind. In practiced movements, your body began to chip away at the stone, carving the vision which descended down to you with musical movements. The splintering by cold metal into the pearly boulder rang like a thundering heartbeat between your metallic hands. Time passed quickly this way, even more so than usual in the face of eternity.

The teacher eventually began to gather the students near a wall, with it their artworks with a label on each. There were a cluster of various paintings, sculptures, photography, and pencil drawings with white title cards on each of them. Your thoughts were interrupted by two claps that echoed from the teacher’s hands, announcing the critique was about to begin. Sitting on a stool near the side of the classroom, you noticed people parted where you stood, giving you a conscious amount of space between themselves and your body‒ better than weird business men and reporters grabbing and prodding your body without your consent, you thought.

“So, let’s begin with our photography pieces.” A hand was pointed towards the top most photo.

Silence ran throughout the room, an invisible pressure staring into your unrelenting gaze shifting to the floor.

“Perhaps our very own Pygm.AI.lion would like to give an example?” That question seemed more like a twist of your hand, which you accepted with an exasperated raise of your eyebrows. How long has it been since you’ve participated in a group critique like this? You gazed at the photo he pointed to‒ slightly amused to find a photo of one of your sculptures‒ a baroque Venus you had carved centuries ago, towards the end of your master’s life when he entrusted you with his studio. The focus was softened to an angelic glow, with splotches of washed out color seeping into the thin material in an airy manner‒ it made you feel like your shoulders were being lifted into their sky like clouds, a floating feeling at the bottom of your feet. However, you grounded yourself with a pointed gaze.

“Though I find the choice in subject…interesting, to say the least‒ I can’t say it’s within the theme of the prompt. Casting someone else’s image as your own is part of photography, but I can’t help to feel a disconnect between the intended essence of this photo, and what I’m seeing in front of me. I’m not versed in the delicate balancing act that is photography, however, I find this angle and effect a little redundant.”

“A-ah. We try to stay as civil and neutral as we can with our critiques in this classroom.”

You made a face. “I am. I am merely stating what I am seeing.”

“Maybe your sensors are a bit too sensitive to the formal intricacies of the photo?” He suggested, opening his palms to gather the agreement of the rest of the class. Some nodded, some looked away. "Try looking it through a more human eye."

“I am." I am human. A pause. "My sensors are still connected to my human brain. Would you like to see?” You would tear yourself apart in a blurry mess right now to prove that your statements are true. His throat bobbed with thick movement. “Besides, how does one stay neutral with a portrait of the artist’s face staring into you when you observe their work? I would love an explanation of how objectivity seems to work in this studio.”

“…Maybe we should just ask the artist for their opinion.” He turned to a feathered head. “Rook?”

A smile bent onto Rook’s lips. “I can’t say I’m disappointed in hearing my work is…redundant. But I take that as inspiration for my next work." A beat of silence. "Thank you."

You nodded. "It is however," the words were paused on your lips, your eyes gazing far beyond the photo. "rather, delightfully human. There's a grotesque beauty in that. Perhaps it's better your way."

Rook felt a ghostly color bloom onto his cheeks. It was as if you were looking right into him with a crystallized gaze, reaching into his heart and squeezing it. He had tried to capture something enchanting on the school grounds today, but his tired mind still gravitated towards the dismembered statue of yours, fogging the usual sharpness of his mind and steady hand. While looking through his portfolio hoping for the divine inspiration that you seemed to bask in, his eyes trailed to that magnificent baroque Venus displayed in a retrospective gallery for you a few years ago. He tried to avoid using any of his photos taken of your sculptures, intending to push that feeling away with his fickle mind‒ but his eyes wandered back to that portrait of your vision. You were, much to his current dismay, a part of the clear picture of beauty he painted in his mind. He felt the glossy paper between his fingers, and he sought to reveal something within it.

Some noise came out of your mouth, but he was too distant to hear. "Pardon?" He asked.

"You used different chemicals when you developed the picture?"

"Ah, no, I used a potion to reverse the development process, then added the effects after it with different chemicals." The smile returned to his lips. "We Pomefiore students pride ourselves in our talents in potion making."

"Hm. Interesting, I've learned something new."

Pride swelled in his chest at that, moistening his palms with salty sweet sweat, erupting into a chuckle that came from deep inside his stomach. "I'm glad." He echoes the voice in his heart, rather than his chest.

The rest of the critique went smoothly, perhaps attributed to the teacher's reluctance to initiate your keen sensibility once more. The last sculpture remained, none other than your own. Clocks of every size, gathered together like a hive to form one larger clock‒ the back of the sculpture revealing intricately carved gears and screws, all made of hard marble. It hung like a lonely chandelier above the wooden studio floors.

"This requires something from me." You pulled the glove between your teeth, infusing your touch into the stone. The clocks began to move in sync. However, a few seconds passed, a few slowed, ticking off beat. "My Aphrodite's Kiss allows me to animate my carvings. The larger the structure, the more time it has."

The professor looked down at his clipboard, through some notes he had been taking during class. "I thought your unique magic allowed you to bring your work to life?"

You watched as the smaller clocks begin to yield to their limits, eventually stopping after a few lethargic ticks at the end. "Something which gives cold flesh purpose is not life?”

“W-well‒ “ The man lowered his clipboard in defeat. "...I'm having trouble interpreting the 'essence' of your sculpture as you criticized Rook for. Can you explain a bit about this work?"

"We all project ourselves onto others and their work when we view them. Interpret however you want."

“But could you explain‒ “

“Art is not knowledge. It’s not as flimsy as that.” You felt like spitting those words out into the teacher's face, eye twitching when you barely withheld from it. “You feel it. Feel it, as it feels you.”

Slowly, quiet claps rang around the room‒ you could hear the hollowness in them, just like the ones ringing in the spacious galleries. Your ears were accustomed to the slight ache that followed after hearing it, clenching it with your porcelain teeth with nearly invisible movement. Though the eyes of many were on you‒ you felt them look through you, onto a reflection of themselves projected onto your metallic body that was more grand, more beautiful than what they were. In all the years you’ve lived, producing such lifeless creations, no one truly loved you for it, or what you made. They just loved the version of themselves that did‒ clapping, crying, hyperventilating at the sight of themselves in you when you clasped their hand back in a diplomatic handshake. The striking of their hand onto their own was truly only for themselves, you were just hearing the echoes of the sound which rang inside their hollow bodies. You yielded to the numbness that ended the feeling‒ closing that feeling inside a tender fist.

However, from the corner of your blurred gaze‒ you caught glimpse of Rook, sitting still with his lips resting delicately on his slender fingers in deep thought while he observed the last ticks on the large clock. Though his green eyes were not on you, you felt his gaze, taking in your words with a welcome embrace, inspecting them with great care. You quickly averted your eyes, a shaky breath squeezing its way out of your lungs. Had you been holding your breath? It felt heavy, deep in the synthetic flesh that trailed from your stomach, deep inside your throat, to the back of your eyes.

"Magnifique. My interpretation of it is only its beauty." He turned his whole body to you, you soaked your eyes in his entire color. "With my human eyes, that's all I can see." Though you had no iron clad blood left in your body, you felt hot blood reach to the metallic taste in your tongue, seeping out from the teeth that bit into it. The class was dismissed a bit early that day, allowing yourself to snake your way out of your classroom, away from the warmth of his eyes.

—————————————-

Notes:

Hey when I promise slowburn I'm going to give you guys slowburn

Designated the City of Flowers (which is likely referring to Paris since it's where Nobel Bell College is, which is based off of the Hunchback of Notre Dame that takes place in Paris) as the reader's hometown since it has a strong connection to Carolingian dynasty which has its roots on Charlemagne, which has its roots on the Roman Empire (Charlemagne), which caused the fall of Ancient Greece. I imagine reader's master fled ancient Greece before it fell and infiltrated into Rome in order to succeed as a carver, passing down both Roman and Greek sculpting techniques. Or I'm overthinking the lore per usual lmao

Heavily implied that Krios is part fae and a descendant close to the Shroud family‒ hence his pointed ears and indigo hair. He also carries a shepherding staff as a self proclaimed symbol of his divine leadership (also reflective of his desire to play god)

I wanted to explore Idia’s and your relationship since I think it’s vital to your connection with STYX and why you were “reborn” into a cyborg in the first place. Definitely just making stuff up as I go lol (also younger Shroud siblings are cute, even when you’re traumatizing them lmao)

Uhh huge disclaimer I have no idea truly if any of the cybernetic information is correct. I did a bit of research but I’m an Art History major and gay lol I am actually genetically incapable of doing math or sciences

Kopis is a ritual slaughter/sacrificial knife from Ancient Greece‒ usually for cutting meat (considered a low-status/impure trade), or for animal sacrifice. Also sort of connects with the whole ram imagery since rams/lambs/goats were often sacrificed in at least Jesus times, I think maybe also in Greek times. Also, would make sense if Krios thought of himself as a god to carry it around since the whole Abraham almost sacrificing his son thing before Christian God was like just like jk lmao! Just kill a ram for me instead. He's twisting that tale of divine sacrifice into one which reclaims power by playing God

The Orpheus system obviously named after Orpheus, who was a renowned poet who was torn to pieces for not honoring Dionysius as a god. However even in his death, his head still sung mournful songs, drifting down the river of Hebrus into the sea, funnily enough to the island of Lesbos. Orphic cult/mysteries also center their rituals around dismemberment and rebirth (as it is connected to Dionysus who originally had a lot of connections to rebirth in his early Mycenaean characterization predating the pantheon we all know that's from the hellenistic period), so I thought it was perfect for a system which could continuously but its body back together, especially for an artist type that carves the lives and deaths of others. Also, I just have an obsession with Dionysus and the cults surrounding his characterization lol

Extra bonus‒ Orpheus also traveled with Jason and the Argonauts in search of the Golden Fleece‒ the rams of which have a connection to Ancient Greek’s interpretation of Aries‒ so another cool connection with Dr.Krios since he symbolizes/named after a ram. Wow I really hit the symbolic jackpot with this one

Ephesius (also known as Artemidorus) is an Ancient Greek diviner who wrote about dream interpretation in 2nd century A.D. I originally had the idea of calling it the Baku protocol since Baku is a creature I am familiar with that eats dreams‒ but I decided to keep the Ancient Greek theme since the in game lore does too lol. But if you know an Ancient Greek creature who eats dreams please infodump

I think Rook's perspective of beauty is interesting. The “truth of beauty” for him is something he can see, something he can touch. He seems like someone who systematically disassembles what he considers beautiful (which is why I think he is moving towards the field of archaeologist‒ they're uncovering the truths of civilizations and artifacts) viewing its aesthetics with an objective eye‒ I feel that in his art courses, he’s extremely mathematic with his color theory, composition, and form, and thus I think artists like Vermeer, and any other Dutch Golden Age artists fit him well, especially as the era emphasizes the idea of “looking” and sight, sensory pleasures that can be felt on the tongue, nose, and eyes much more than something that can be felt in your heart. It’s playful, and it delights in the delectable pleasures of life‒ much like how I imagine Rook does (I mean his favorite food is liver pate), and I think that’s very beautiful in it’s own way. But above all it attempts to create truth‒ a lot of sensory components (especially sight) are needed to "evidence" beauty (he probably wouldn't like movements like Dada or Abstract Expressionism). Granted most art does this, however I believe during the Dutch Golden Age it becomes a fixation as the power of the merchant class rises, and people begin to discuss sight and science above Christian/Catholic truth, taking truth into their own hands. The Dutch were also Protestants, which allowed them to dissect human bodies (see The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp by Rembrandt), which furthered scientific pursuits leading into the Enlightenment, the art of the period focusing on technical skill showing the wonders of technology and human achievement much like the Dutch Golden Age. Artists like Vermeer and Rembrandt and other still life artists also valued very technical aspects such as the ability to replicate color and texture, the balance of light, compositional melody, which pulls from the Renaissance and its precision in balance, perspective, etc. I think in a similar way to Rook complimenting the RSA students on the passion he felt during their performance, he would praise artists like Vermeer and Rembrandt for their own passion because of the observable technical skill for them. Passion and love for him breeches on obsession, on perfection. So I do think he may have a hard time understanding movements like say les nabis and Tachisme, which are a lot more abstract and rely on an imperfect, unfinished, or generally distorted and aesthetically “ugly” but are there to elicit a very strong emotional and vestibular response.

In the same sense I also think he’s very good at deciphering observable behavior with his sharp eye, but has trouble identifying internal affairs. He almost reads neurodivergent to me this way?? But maybe I’m projecting lol but I feel like his eccentricity + sharp observation skills (pattern recognition) + trouble identifying internal thoughts and emotions of himself and others + need for spontaneity/stimulation makes sense for some type of neurodivergent (which I’m sure the Pomefiore dorm is full of)

The Pearl bit was inspired by our lord and savior Mitski (once again)

I’m actually so fucking bad at understanding photography on its own. I think photography in the contemporary context sometimes makes us exclusively consume reality through it but I think it can be touching?? Like I understand it's doesn't really "capture reality" rather presents a perfected version of someone's perception of the world just like painting but god it's so hard for me to consider when it's not within a political or sociological context please info dump if you're knowledgeable lol

Your sculpture is based off of Felix Gonzales-Torres' "Untitled" (perfect lovers). Though the sculpture I described depicts a clock made of clocks, which is vastly different from the two analog clocks featured in Gonzales-Torres' installation‒ it came from a similar inspiration. The artist's gay lover had been dying of AIDS when he made this artwork‒ and he had to watch his lover whither away into nothingness as he stood helpless‒ reflected in the fact that eventually, the clocks will fall out of sync (because they are human made) causing one to stop before the other without proper maintenance, alluding to the political as well as physical/personal ramifications of homophobia during the AIDS crisis. I liked this idea of "falling out of sync", eventually realizing you are on a different speed, different point on the timeline of demise despite being made of the same thing. Also though clocks are mechanical (a robot basically, designed to do a task with given instruction), they are a product of a human made concept (time) also another interesting parallel boy am I on a roll

Sorry for the super long notes! Hopefully I can crank this next chapter out quicker

[kawaiigirly21]

Promiscuous pt 3

Walking up to the Valkyrie, Natasha tapped her on her shoulder. Brünnhilde turned to look at the woman and smiled. “Oh why if it isn’t The Promiscuous Flower? I see you were already living up to your name huh?” Natasha could feel her face drain as she laughed nervously. “Oh come now, don’t be ashamed. I actually expected no less from you. Now tell me, What is it that you need?” Natasha deadpanned at the obvious pot shot Brünnhilde took at her before shaking her head. “I need to know, who am I fighting? Where am I placed on the roster?” The Valkyrie only shrugged as she looked at the list. “You don’t know?!” Göll exclaimed at her sister before turning to Natasha and bowing to apologize.

��Please forgive us Miss Natasha! We’re usually more prepared than this!” Natasha sighed as she tried to look over Brünnhilde’s shoulder to see where she was placed on the roster. “Nothing is definitive yet. Your opponent will be decided when the time comes. And that’s when I feel like picking you.” Natasha groaned as she walked back to her own waiting room. Sitting on the floor, the girl watched the screen as it popped up to show the next match. Zeus vs Adam. Watching this match put her in a feeling of despair to say the least. Her eyes followed along to the extraordinary skills of both men in the ring. Of course on her thirst level, Adam was definitely someone she’d gladly call ‘Daddy’. Now Zeus on the other hand…..Absolutely not.

Perhaps maybe if he was youthful like the other gods, but even then it was a huge maybe. She heard the stories of his ultra bitchy and jealous wife Hera. She rather keep her pussy to herself than give it to Zeus and get her body ripped apart. And she's not even an infant. (Fun Fact; Hera had Dionysus dismembered when he was only an infant because Zeus cheated. Again. Dont worry, he was put back together again but thats fucked up right?) Watching the match progress, the swordswoman felt that the humans might actually get a point this time. It would be very exciting if humanity could kill a god but the question is, could they really? It seemed so impossible that it was damn near a fantasy. No one but the opponent in the rings could say for sure whether it was possible to slay a god.

But with the way Adam was beating the hell outta Zeus, it sure did seem that way. His divine reflection was a big help but Natasha started to notice something wrong with the man. His eyes began to look strained. “Oh shit…No no no. Shit! Adam!” Natasha watched frustrated as Adam was finally struck by the GFOC. “You’re kidding me. You’re literally shitting me right now. Are we gonna lose?! Again!?” And surely enough, when it was all said and done. Even after what Natasha dubbed his ultimate act of badassery, he still died. Meaning the humans lost another match. Groaning in frustration and anger, Natasha kicked open the door to her waiting room and began to look for Brunnhilde once more. Now fired up and restless, the swordswoman was determined to have the next spot in the tournament. Humanity needed a win. Desperately.

“Woah. Look at that sour expression. Doesn’t suit a cute girl like you.” Looking over her shoulder, Natasha had to crane her neck up to see the tall man behind her. His red tattoos and very large and (SEXY) broad chest stood out to her the most. “My eyes are up here sweetheart.” Feeling heat come to her face, Natashas looked at the man’s face and stepped back to catch herself from fainting. Holy shit was this guy hot! He looked like a prince straight out of a fairy tale! Only more buff! “Care now, don’t want you fainting on me.” Natasha squeaked in surprise as she felt the man place a hand on her lower back and pulled her closer to him. Almost as if he was cradling her with one arm. Damn he was fine! “That’s better. Now tell me, what gave you such a grimace? You’re way too pretty to have that kind of look on your face.”

Natasha scanned her brain for answers and excuses to give the man seeing as he certainly didn’t seem like the type to just let anger go unresolved. “I um…I lost my dad. You know how old men get at a certain age right? You can’t tell them to stay put or else they’ll just-” Before Natasha could finish her sentence, she heard a statement she dreaded hearing. “Behold history’s greatest loser!! SASAKI KOJIRO!!!!” The woman immediately escaped the man’s hold before running towards the noise. “Are you fucking joking!? Please tell me! Tell me this is just a cruel joke! BRUNNHILDE!!!!” The Valkyrie stood face to face with the very worried and enraged daughter of Kojiro and simply smiled.

“You have good energy. Keep that.” Natasha only growled at the woman. “Good energy my ass! Wanna tell me why it’s not me down there and instead you picked my elderly father!? You tryna get him killed or something?! Answer me!!” However Natasha was only met with a kind smile by the Valkyrie. “Go and support your father along with all the men who shaped you and him into the greatest swordsmen in history.” As she went down to the stands to cheer on her father, Natasha stopped and looked over her shoulder at Brunnhilde and glared at her. “If my father dies, You won’t have to worry about the gods kicking your ass. Because I'll do it first.” As Natasha found an empty place to stand, she felt eyes burning holes into her. “Is it really that shocking for you to see me again? Musashi?”

[heirofgriefalwayspresent]

Gabriel slowly lifted his face from the ground, gazing upon the soil in which he had rested for a time he did not have the capability to ascertain. Turning his head around, he looked upon the stars with newfound glee, for he did not hear anything inside his head apart from his most immediate thoughts.

"The stars...where are they?", he pondered. The world he woke up in...was different from the one that he had been in before. In a monochromatic hue, all the scenery around his person remained unchanged, with the sound of a sea current swaying close by. Walking for a bit, he felt his tunic no longer fluttering, the wind no longer rustling his messy hair and making his myriad scars and wounds feel alive. His eye socket itching and his right shoulder itching, Gabriel walked briskly towards the edge of the crater, propping himself up and looking towards the distance.

A coastline, stretching as far as his eye could see, drove grey water into it's pearly white sands. Atop a small dune, a woman with white hair and wearing the only color, a dark chartreuse cape, looked at a skull which laid on the floor, a small smile twitching the corners of her mouth. What could such a person be thinking? He did not know, for she turned her back towards him, and sank her feet into that sea of gray, laughing as she did so.

"Wait, hold on for just a moment!" Gabriel walked, for he realized he was now powerless; he had not been a stranger to such sensation, but the abilities that before just required only a thought of his consciouness to bring into the real world yielded...nothing. With unsteady steps, he did not pay much attention to the skull as he grabbed the shoulder of the woman with his remaining appendage, shouting with undue authority. "Miss, please hold on for just a second. Where are we?" As the woman, which was only a girl upon closer inspection, turned to face him, she laughed as if meeting a former friend.

"So it was you who drove those burdensome people out, Gabriel? Oh, goodness me, thank you so much! It's been so long since I've had this place all to myself." Gabriel made loud splashing motions as he walked towards her, the strange girl's cape soaking in this strange seawater. "I don't know how you managed to convince that old hag to leave them out, but I thank you for it nonetheless."

"I...I didn't...I think? Who are you talking about? Who are you?!" Clutching his head, Gabriel tried to think, but he did not hear anything aside from his innermost thoughts; it felt as if his brain was working on low power.

"We're...dead. Would you freak out if I said that, Gabriel?" Smirking complacently, the girl crossed his arms and expectantly awaited a response.

"No...for some reason, it wouldn't. I...you are..."

"Beth Ruimania. How hurt I am; you truly forgot about little old me?" As the person in front of him stroked her hair, Gabriel, gazed upon his only hand, finding quite a few number of bruises. It was then that he realized that he did not know how these bruises had come to be. The water got closer to the shore, covering him and Beth up to their waists.

"You truly don't remember? No wonder, it was only a matter of time."

"Until what? A matter of time until what, Ruimania?"

"Does it really matter? Whatever you left behind now...is dust in the wind, literally. That person wanted to know, too." Beth pointed towards the skull, which the water ever neared, a white light looking at him from the sockets where the eyes should be, causing Gabriel to feel a chill up his spine as the white-haired girl put a soft, bony hand on his shoulder. This hand...was cold, very cold.

"Haven't you endured enough? Beneath the waves, we can all rest, finally. You, I, every single person that's ever been murdered, burned, dismembered, all of that, whatever the cause for their death...they all yearn for rest. It's my job to guide them, and It's your job to enjoy a good sleep. Come."

"Wait, I still have other matters to..." Her grip felt forceful, like a vice holding a material in place. "No. The time has already passed, Gabriel. No regrets, no other matters...only a good sleep."

"Let go of me! Stop!" He could not resist; aside from being grabbed by his only arm, he could not properly see in front of him, his quivering legs failing him.

It was then, in the furthest reaches of his mind, that a voice, one clearly attributed to a boy, made itself heard.

"I don't want to go." Heeding it's call, Gabriel raised his voice before he could sink further, gritting his teeth before shouting in rage and impotence.

"I don't want to go, Bethany! Let go of me!" The fear stuck to him like a parasite, lodging itself inside of his brain and influencing his every action. He could feel the tears of his only eye mix with the water that threatened to engulf him as the girl's unfeeling expression seemed more annoyed than conflicted.

"You never shut up before, and you don't seem to plan on starting now. I get it, Gabriel. Would you please make my work a bit easier and quit stalling?" Finally, his whole head was lodged inside of his watery grave, the whole of that grey sea sheltering him and locking him from escape in one fell swoop, much like a straightjacket, as the calm waves of this formation became turbulent for a little while before finally regaining their peace.

[topazy]

Inside, outside

Pairing: 10k x reader, Addy Carver x sister reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of blood and violence

Chapter: 4.03

“Shit!” you hiss through gritted teeth before putting your knife through the head of a Z. It was the fourth one you’d killed in the space of ten minutes, and you had no idea where they were coming from.

“Astra! Astra, can you hear me?”

“10k?”

Hearing 10k’s voice, you spin around fast to see a much faster Z coming at you. You aimed your gun, but before you had a chance to pull the trigger, its brains were blown out by 10K. He stood in front of you and cupped your face, gently turning your head to the side as he inspected the splatting of blood covering one side of your face.

“Yours?”

“No, just a z. When did you guys get back?”

“Just now. What the hell are you doing out here alone? And where’s Red?”

“I-I'm not sure,” you said, running your fingers through your hair. “I left camp for a while, and when I went back, she was gone. Is Sun Mei fine? I gave her one of my guns and just left her to try and find Red. I’m sorry... I just need to find her.”

Hearing the pain in your voice, the 10k’s face softened and he pulled you into his chest. He stroked your hair for a few minutes before signing, “We need to get back to camp.”

“What about Red?”

“We should go back and get more supplies and come back out to look for her, along with Doc for backup.”

—

“God dammit! Where the hell have you been?” Doc asks, pulling you and 10K into a hug the moment you step foot into the camp. “You have got to stop leaving me like that.”

The older man had explained that when 10k found out you weren’t in camp, he took off running, leaving him and Sun Mei behind.

When you walk further into camp, you spot a blonde-haired woman smiling at you. It takes you a moment to realise who it is because of how different she looks. “Warren! I can’t believe it’s really you.”

She greets you and 10k with a wide grin, but it’s short-lived as Murphy bursts out of one of the tents yelling that Burgess, who was in charge of the mission 10k and Doc had gone on, was gone.

“What do you mean gone?”

“Gone as in he’s gone,” Murphy scoffs.

You shake your head and look to your left and stare in disbelief as a girl who looked old enough to be a teenager smiled at you. Lucy. You couldn’t believe how fast the blue-skinned girl had grown up. You had so many questions, mainly how and why she was aging so fast. Also, why was Murphy's skin no longer blue and back to a living human colour?

Hearing a snarling noise, you shoved the young girl behind you and aimed your arrow in the direction it was coming from.

Seconds later, Burgess ran up to the gate leading into camp, now a Z with black blood drooling from his mouth. Everyone, including Lucy, started to shoot at Burgess, but no amount of bullets seemed to slow him down. Everyone took a turn at trying to show him mercy, but nothing worked.

From the opposite gate, Private Lilley called for everyone to move out of the way as she aimed her machine gun at Burgess, arms wrapped around your waist pulling you out of the way. You crashed to the ground with a thud and looked over to see Doc was beside you. “Thanks.”

The older man gave you the thumbs up before returning his attention to the zombified Burgess, whose body was slowly starting to fall apart. You watched as Lilly’s crystal blue eyes filled with tears as she quite literally destroyed someone she once loved. The only way to stop Burgess was to dismember his body parts with bullets.

—

You watched silently as Lilly dug a grave for Burgess. You’d offered to help her, but she insisted on doing it herself.

“I heard a congratulations is in order,” Murphy said as he approached you. “Who popped the big old question, you or him?”

“Tommy did.”

The stern tone of your voice caused Murphy to frown. You had really hoped you’d seen the last of Alvin Murphy when he got shot, but deep down you knew he’d come crashing back into your lives at some point.

“Well,” he clicked his tongue. “I’m hoping, since two years have passed, that you’ve gotten over our little tiff from before.”

Before he could finish his sentence, you first collided with his nose. He hissed out a string of curse words while clutching at his nose, “What the fuck? I’m guessing you're not over our little tiff from before.”

“A little tiff? You bit 10k, told me he was dead, then tried to manipulate all of us while trying to take over the world. So no, I’m not over it.”

“I saved his life. I’m the good guy here.”

You held his glare, “the good guy, huh? Then tell me, would you have saved 10k if you didn’t think one of us would have killed you if you didn't.”

He didn’t answer you.

You scoffed, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

—

After Lilly said her goodbyes to Burgess, your group packed up the rest of their belongings to start heading north.

You spot Warren walking in the wrong direction as everyone else starts to get into the vehicle, and start to run after her. “Warren? You’re going east; we need to go north.”

She ignored you and continued to walk east. You look back at 10k and Doc, who both shrug. Not knowing what else to do, you all start to follow in Warren’s direction.

[slasherwife]

How would slashers react to their s/o getting suddenly spooked and then jumping and clinging to them?

Yes!! Omg 💗

Y/n getting spooked and clinging to their s/o would include...

Thomas

- Tommy would be very angry at whatever spooked you. Whether it was a dog, an animal, Hoyt, even Luda, he would be upset and an angry mother at it.

- A dog? He scolds it and shoos it away. Hoyt? Death glare and a growl. Luda? A warning glance. From the moment you two got together he has now gladly taken the role of your protector and caregiver. You’re his #1 responsibility.

- his heart turns even more into protective hen when you cling to him. His hands instinctively cover yours, and he’s scanning the vicinity for possible threats. It may seem overkill but have you met Thomas? He’s the ✨definition✨ of overkill when it comes to you.

- once everything’s fine again and you’ve calmed down, he looks into your eyes and smiles at you. “Everything’s fine, y/n. See?” He doesn’t let go until you’re comfortable 💖

Jason Vorhees

- he’s not even aware there was something spooked you until you’re clinging to him for dear life. He’s like “what—“

- he’s daydreaming a lot so don’t be upset if he doesn’t notice something important 🌸Although, when something does spook you, he’s being very gentle and enters caregiver mode. He’s like “what’s wrong my flower”

- he’s the absolute strongest of all the slashers therefor he’s the most gentle with you. He definitely does NOT pull away when you latch onto him, in fact he lifts his arm to bring you closer so he can search your face for an answer 💗

- he offers quietly to get rid of whatever made you upset, gladly dismembering anything that spooked his precious flower 💓 if you decline, then he continues in his merry way, enjoying the sunshine and the birds, sinking into pleasant dreams.

Michael Myers

- he notices whatever made you jump and just kind of waved it off as no big deal. But the instant you latched on to him he was like “WTF EW” and tried to shake u off like a pair of maracas.

- physical touch? Absolutely. Only if he gives you permission or if HES the one touching you. But once you keep your tight hold, he cradled you into his side, and examines you.

- he definitely judges you. “Did that actually make you scared? Y/n...” though he doesn’t say anything really. Eventually he lets you hold on for as long as you want as he continues on his way doing whatever 💗

Bo Sinclair

- he HOWLS in laughter. This ass thinks you terrified and running to him for cover is hilarious and nothing could convince him otherwise.

- it feeds his ego that you go to him for protection and will 100% fill that role 💗you are too out of it scared to realize he’s laughing until you see the thing that scared you. Then you’re beating the shit out of him and he’s still laughing.

- he easily pulls you into a hug despite your batting, and his laughter dies down. Now he’s just teasing you until you’re beet red. He’s nice like that.

Vincent

- doesn’t care abt what scared you. Only wants to hold you and protect you uWu💗 literally drags you away from wherever the scare came from. Growls in its direction, while switching his attention back to you and stroking your hair.

- “I’ll take u to safety!” Tiptoes with u in his hold to his room. At this point you’re laughing and telling him it was no big deal. This doesn’t faze him and he protests against your laughs.

- “we’re you just joking? Y/n this is no laughing matter.” Dont say anything, just let him cuddle you in your bed and stroke your hair for a good 10 mins and he might let you go 🥺💓any excuse to touch you is a yes to Vincent

[chamomileteainabuttercup]

Short post-BoBF finale fic

The big room is quiet now, no sound but the soft bubbling and swishing of the bacta tank’s filtration pumps.

(There was plenty of noise earlier, when a frantic Mandalorian carried in the patient in his arms, and in his worry half-fought the medical droids who were just trying to get him safely into the tank. Once he was prevailed upon by his similarly armoured friend, their master, to step back, they neatly stripped off the wounded man’s grimy clothing and the field dressing from his shoulder, applied a spray-on pressure garment to the upper body to arrest further tissue damage, then attached the respirator and safely immersed him in the therapeutic fluid. Their job done, they drew back and entered a waiting state until such time as any change in the patient’s vital signs should alert them.

The taller Mandalorian hung around for a while after that, as if his continued presence and attention would make any difference to an unconscious patient behind many litres of bacta and a transperisteel tank lid. Eventually his friend prevailed upon him once again, with reference to a child, and they left the room together. The droids logged that and waited undisturbed until the modifier arrived. They watched him with great dubiety.

He brought in a large cabinet on wheels containing his own equipment, as if this were not a fully equipped treatment facility. He walked round and round the tank viewing the patient from all sides, rubbing his hands together. He made comments to the effect that the patient was “a beauty” and he was going to “trick him out.” He opened assorted compartments of his wheeled cabinet and brought out not medical prosthetic devices but several dismembered droid limbs, holding them one after another alongside the tank, comparing them with the injured arm as if to assess size and fit. He selected a limb which seemed to please him, a glossy chrome arm with two-way elbow and two-thumbed reversible hands, set it on a table and then took out a welding implement and tested its flame.

The most senior medical droid was about to say something regarding unapproved procedures when the door opened and a human walked in; accordingly, it waited to see what she would say or do before attempting to assert itself.)

Fennec Shand walks at a relaxed pace, but her gaze is intent on the modifier from the moment she enters. He looks up and after a moment smiles in recognition.

“Hey, another satisfied customer,” he says, coming around the end of the tank to meet her.

“I’d like to talk about your treatment plan for Marshal Vanth,” she says.

“Who? Oh, him. I’m pretty jizzed about this one. I don’t often work on an older guy like this, but I think this is going to look badass.” He holds up the arm. “But hey, how come you’re keeping your mod all covered up? That’s beautiful work, and your boss paid a pretty price for it. Doesn’t he want to see his investment?” He reaches over and taps on her midriff.

“I’m not talking about me,” she says with a faint quirk at one corner of her mouth which might have been a smile, and folds her arms. “But Boba paid you to keep me alive. That was the investment. He’s not concerned about the aesthetic.”

“What a waste,” the modifier says. She just looks at him, smiling faintly, until he gets uncomfortable. “So, uh, treatment plan, yeah, I’m just about to get cracking.”

She glances over at the patient. “He’s unconscious,” she says.

“Well, so were you.”

“I was near death. He, on the other hand…” She goes up close to the tank and scrolls through the diagnostic display. “I’m no doctor — then again, neither are you — but he looks pretty stable to me. He’s not about to die, is he?”

“Well, no, but that arm is shot. Heh, literally, but you know, the nerve damage, and how long it took to get him into bacta — he’s not getting that back. It’ll still have circulation but it’s going to be totally numb, totally limp. It’ll atrophy, look like a skeleton with skin, pretty much. No one wants that when he can have two working arms.”

“Oh, I accept that amputation is the logical course,” Fennec says calmly. “I’m just confirming. If he’s allowed to rest until he regains consciousness, with no other treatment, he’s not going to deteriorate, is he?”

“Well, no. But why wait? I can get it over with and he can wake up better than new. Look at this thing, it’s basically cherry. I would wear this.”

“You’ll wait,” says Fennec, “until he’s conscious and can understand what’s going to happen to him and make an informed choice. I imagine most of your clients come in with their own vision for how they want to look.”

“Listen, your boss is paying me, so if he trusts me, don’t you think you should?”

“The thing about Boba, bless his heart, is that he’s not very self-aware,” she says. “He’ll go around saying ’I give my allegiance to no one,’ and he means it, but the truth is anyone who he believes helped him has his loyalty. You saved my life when I was mortally wounded. Just like that you became his go-to guy for this type of thing, regardless of who might be better qualified. And this man? Was prepared to help him in his fight with the Pykes, although he didn’t get a chance to take action before Bane shot him. Boba will look after him for the rest of his life, or try. Someone has to look out for a guy like that, and that’s where I come in. To ensure his generosity is not… abused. You understand.”

“Listen, sister,” the modifier sputters, “he’s getting top value for his money. There’s no abuse here.”

“Your own assessment is that it’s safe to wait for Vanth to regain consciousness. Yes or no?”

“Yes,” he says grudgingly.

“Very well, then. You’ll wait for him to be ready to tell you what he wants. That’s only... manners.”

[moonlit-mizukage]

Chapter eighteen: Home Visit 

Summary: Popular punk band, Skull crusher, had to find a new drummer due to the sudden disappearance of the last one. As band manager and lead singer, Semi Eita’s girlfriend, Y/l/n Y/n brings Kyotani, a rising internet drummer they found online into the picture. Everything was great at first, then Kuroo, the lead guitarist, started getting creepy messages and presents. Y/n is determined to find out who is trying to sabotage the band when things only take a turn for the absolute worst. Who could be the mysterious stalker really be? Is it their new band mate? Or could it be a close friend of one of the members?

TW: This is literally disgusting pls, like body horror, cannibalism, graphic, blood, nails in a human hand, burns

AN: This chapter is literally an experience I am so sorry in advance bfdhvds

Third Person Pov 

A soft knock could be heard on the door while Yachi cried in Asahi’s arms. 

“I’ll get it. Stay here Toka.” He said as he stood up leaving a kiss on top of her head. 

He walked over to the front door as he opened it only to be greeted by a splash of red. He felt his body collapse as they kicked his body inside the door closing it behind him. “Fuck why are you so tall all of a sudden?” He said dragging his body into the rest of the house back to where Yachi was resting on the couch. Daichi picked up Asahi and tossed his partially alive body back onto the couch. Yachi let out a loud scream when she saw Asahi’s throat sliced wide open. 

“Please don’t scream I have a headache.” Daichi sighed from behind the couch. 

“WHAT THE FUCK DAICHI!” He sighed at her while she screamed on the floor. 

“Looks like my partner doesn't get any of the fun this time.” He hopped the couch landing right by her feet as he reached down and grabbed her hair. “I will allow two questions so go ahead as away.” 

“Why did you cut off your own fingers? How could you do this? You're insane!” She yelled in his face. 

“Good questions. Too bad I won’t answer either.” He said with a sadistic laugh as he slammed her head into the floor. He reached into his pocket and grabbed out a pair of wire cutters. “You know these are great for more than just cutting wires.” He forced his weight on top of hers trapping her arms next to her torso in his muscular thighs. He reached one hand into her mouth as she began to gag as his large hand grabbed her tongue. The hand holding the wire cutters reached in and snipped her tongue as she cried out. 

He got up and dragged her fighting body to the kitchen where he slammed her back into a chair. He pulled out some duct tape from his other jacket pocket and began to wrap her arms to the chairs arms easily overpowering her. 

“Don’t drown in your own blood yet.” He said with a laugh. “We are just getting to the fun part.” He moved to her right hand uncurling it as she tried to recurl it instantly. “Alright so we are playing hard ball today okay.” 

He walked away only to return a few seconds later with a bag she assumed was left by the front door. He dug around inside looking for something until he pulled out a nail gun. “Here we go.” He said with a sadistic smile. He pulled a random plank of wood that fit perfectly at the ends of the arms for her hands to rest on. “Don’t move too much or it will hurt more.” She coughed blood at his face in an act of rebellion. “Or don’t you stupid bitch. See if I care.” 

He grabbed her hand and slammed the palm open on the plank of wood. He started aggressively shooting out nails into the back of her palm leaving her fingers untouched. She was wailing and attempting to scream through all the blood pouring from her mouth. “Are you going to behave with this hand or do I have to do this shit all over again?” She sprawled out her hand as he smiled and shot multiple into that hand as well. “I lied I enjoy seeing you in pain.”

He reached into his bag again pulling out an ice cream scoop. “I just had a really fun idea.” He walked into the other room dragging Asahi back into the room again and tossing him into the chair by Yachi. “Why did you have to date such a big dude geez.” He sighed grabbing the ice cream scoop. “You know Yachi, if you weren’t weirdly obsessed with Kuroo, like it seems most people are these days, maybe you could have been a survivor. Yukie though, she had to die. My partner had so much fun killing her you know. They said it was such a relief to hit that one home.” He laughed as he turned to Asahi’s dead body. 

He squeezed the handle on the scoop a few times making sure it was able to move. Muffled gargling came from Yachi behind him. “Don’t worry, this snack won’t be for me.” He slammed the scoop into Asahi’s eye and began to play with the scoop handle. He pulled it back after a few minutes as Yachi was now face to face with her dead Asahi who was now missing an eye. 

Daichi set it on the table before reaching into the bag again grabbing a hand torch. “This will probably hurt but you deserve it and I don’t want you to drown.” He ripped open her mouth and lit the torch inside, searing the inside of her mouth as she cried and flailed around in the chair. He walked over to the counter when he figured that was good enough and grabbed a cup from the cupboard. He filled it with about a sip of water before he got a different idea. 

He walked back over to her and smiled. “I was going to treat you with water after giving you probably 3rd degree burns BUT I have a better idea. Since you decided to ruin my plans, I will make you suffer as much as I can.” He leaned Asahi’s body forward letting the blood pour from where his cornea once sat. “See, a drinking fountain right here.” He said with a sadistic laugh. 

Yachi squirmed as much as he could as he pushed the glass to her mouth, forcing her open and closed. Holding her nose and jaw so she had no choice but to swallow. “Now you deserve a snack!” He grabbed the ice cream scoop as he forced her mouth open once again, shoving it inside. The gooey texture on her burned mouth only made her feel worse, trying her best to vomit daichi held her head up and forced the blood cup back to her mouth. He dropped the cup on her lap and plugged her nose again. He made her swallow every last bit and the eye fully. As soon as he let go she looked as if she would throw up so he grabbed her head again making sure she would keep it all down. 

The front door soon opened as Daichi assumed it was his partner. “Hello! Yachi?” A female voice called out. 

Daichi recognized it as Kiyoko’s soon after and looked at Yachi. “Looks like you have a guest.” 

She walked into site and began to scream. Before she could grab her phone and call the cops, a hammer swung down and knocked her to the floor, unconscious as Daichi’s partner stood holding the hammer. 

“You’re so fucking stupid.” They said. “There is blood all over the door. I pull in and see Kiyoko walking inside like what the great fuck Daichi.” 

“You should be proud of me for making this one eat an eyeball and drink blood.” He said. 

“What the fuck Daichi, after this shit I will pay for your therapy, I swear.” 

“As long as you promise. He said, walking up to his partner and grabbing Kiyoko off the floor. 

“I can carry her what the fuck.” 

“Nah I let you have all the fun dismembering Yukie. I want to dismember this one.” 

“No. I have something else in mind for her. Just take her to your trunk and make sure she’s out OUT.” 

“Yes boss.” Daichi said as he bent down and began to tape her up. 

“And now for you little Yachi. I brought my favorite little knife to chop each little finger of yours off and blend them all up into a yummy drink for you to have.” 

“And I am the messed up one?” Daichi asked. 

“Yes now go you sick fuck. We have fingers to chop. Starting with….. this one.” The person said as they stabbed the knife breaking off the finger as Yachi cried out.

Previous | Masterlist | Next 

Taglist: @satan-ruler-of-hells @elianetsantana @elephantloser @putmeinyourdeathnote @levithansbabygirl @megumitodoroki @idontknow-whatto-callthis @jellyfishsart @freakydeaky226 @atria-avior @doodletingz​ @kac-chowsballs @twistedvalkyrie @ranu-chan @why-couldnt-it-be @thisnoodlewritesao3 @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa @trashy-simp @inumakis-salmonroll @nyxeaa​ @random-fandom-girl-24 @faewraithsworld

[duckiesdoodlesdelight]

what if i wrote fanfiction at 10 pm on a saturday night  😏 (this lasted for an hour so now its 11)

(warnings for mentions of Gore.  the only reason im writing this is bc i was trying to think of animatic ideas but then instead had an interesting thouight >:-] there’s going to be violence in this one !)

Context: I like making theories for Fire Spirit. This one is essentially about him previously being a knight much like Knight Cookie, named Magma Cookie. 

(Here’s the uh. first and only design i’ve made of him AHAHSF)

A knight of vanilla armor and a knight of chocolate armor walked side-by-side into the entrance of Dragon’s Valley. The Vanilla knight, famously known as Knight Cookie, was a relatively short cookie with a strong build and poorly cut blond hair. The chocolate knight, on the other hand, was not known well by those outside of the kingdom neighboring the Dragon’s Valley. His name was Magma Cookie. He was tall, slim, and had flowing magma hair. 

At this time of day, there were usually two to four dragons awake and flying around. The two armored cookies could see a yellow dragon flying away from the valley and a green dragon flying above their heads. While it was impressive, they were on a mission to find the dragon that had been terrorizing Magma Cookie’s kingdom: Pitaya Dragon Cookie. Other dragons had relatively positive relationships with the kingdoms around them. Pitaya Dragon Cookie was the exception to this expectation. Every other week, they would try to burn down a kingdom, whether it be Magma Cookie’s kingdom or Knight Cookie’s. The two bravely decided to venture out and teach this dragon a lesson! 

“Are you slow?” Teased Knight Cookie as he walked ahead.

“Are you? I’ll race you to Pitaya’s cave! I know where it is.” To be frank, Magma Cookie knew his way around Dragon’s Valley like the back of his cracked hand.

“That’s not fair!” 

Most dragons rested peacefully as the clang of armor hitting the ground went past the mouth of their dens. Some, although disgruntled, ignored the disruption. Few called out for the two knights to stop making a ruckus. 

“Here it is,” Magma Cookie whispered to Knight Cookie. “Pitaya’s den.” They tip-toed their way in, trying not to awaken the dragon. 

“Don’t announce our entrance this time,” Knight Cookie warned. “We have to get the surprise attack--”

“PITAYA DRAGON COOKIE!” Magma Cookie was twenty steps behind Knight Cookie in his plan, having already announced their existence. “I, MAGMA COOKIE, CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL.”

“Is that sssso...?” Queried the sleepy dragon as they rose their head. “Would you like your partner to help or are you a... brave cookie?” They looked up and down at Magma Cookie, sizing him up. “You’d be a quick meal.”

“I...” Magma Cookie looked at Knight Cookie, who had his face in his hands. 

“We’ll fight you together. You need to stop terrorizing the kingdoms!”

“That’d be so boring. You’re so tiressssome... Because I do not like you, vanilla knight, I will be fighting the chocolate knight and him only. Should I win, you will leave me alone.”

“Do you think our lives are something to bet on? Like we’re--”

“Deal. I’ll leave you alone if you beat me. I’m not so sure about Knight Cookie, though.”

“Stop making impulsive decisions like this, Magma Cookie.” He crossed his arms. “You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days.”

“Hopefully not today!”

“Sssay goodbye to your friend, ‘Knight’ Cookie.” With a swish of the tail, Knight Cookie was pushed outside of the den. He could feel the ground shake and see rubble fall to block him out. There was no way inside. Knight Cookie wasn’t strong enough to pick up or push the fallen boulders.

Why did Magma Cookie feel so cold? He was fighting a fire-breathing dragon! It was supposed to feel hot! Magma Cookie grunted as he swung his sword at the dragon’s legs. He panted as he dodged most of the dragon’s attacks-- they were powerful, even one hit would end in his demise. 

His sword clashed against the dragon’s scales, although it seemed nothing happened. Pitaya Dragon Cookie raised their head and roared, breathing a great gust of blazing fire at the roof of the den. “Pathetic mortal... Your sssword is heated...” They slashed at Magma Cookie, quickly knocking him over into the wall. He was shivering as he stared up at the large dragon. 

“Don’t kill me! I’ll-- I’ll leave you alone!”

“Tch. You think that me sssparing you will teach you anything? You really are quite stupid.” Pitaya Dragon Cookie’s stomach made a rumbling noise as flames erupted from their mouth, burning Magma Cookie to a crisp. They coughed on his ashes, hacking up a bead. “Yuck. It’s been 500 years already?” Looking at their large collection of beads, they shrugged. “I’ll leave it on those ashes... They’re like a nessst.”

Pitaya Dragon Cookie burst through the rubble at the mouth of their cave to find that Knight Cookie was talking to another dragon of the valley. He immediately turned over to the dragon and began speedwalking. 

“What did you do? What have you done? Is he alright?”

“I’m afraid not,” they answered with a malicious smile. “Would you like to sssee the damage?” Pitaya Dragon Cookie was already walking toward their den, knowing Knight Cookie would follow.

“Here he is!” They showed the miserable display of hubris that was Magma Cookie’s ashes. 

“Oh my tree.” Knight Cookie broke down on his knees, picking up Magma Cookie’s ashes as his tears fell down. “Why would you do this? He just wanted you to leave the kingdoms alone!”

“Like you two would ssstop hounding me about it if I let him live. You wouldn’t know sense if it stood in front of you and introduced itself.” 

“I have a deal for you.”

“Oh?” Pitaya Dragon Cookie slithered around Knight Cookie. “The vanilla knight has come with a deal? How interesssting.”

“If I can beat you in this battle, you will do whatever you can to bring Magma Cookie back. If you beat me, well... You know you’ll be left alone for good. No other knight is as brave as us-- me.” 

“Ohohoho! Do you care for this cookie?”

“I’d give my life for him!”

“I already knew that, you buffoon. I wasss asking if you had relations with the chocolate knight.” 

“Obviously so. If you weren’t a murderous beast, I would’ve been glad to show you our rings.” 

“How adorable! You wish to sssave a husband. A lover.” The dragon dramatically posed around their den in a mocking manner. “Let us fight.”

Knight Cookie swung his sword in a cold and calculated manner, aiming for the dragon’s neck. Pitaya Dragon Cookie was careless, allowing the Knight to bang his sword against their neck. He attempted to hit other body parts, each having similar results. The vanilla knight growled, trying to think about what he’s doing wrong. Was the dragon’s scales simply too powerful? 

That was when it hit him-- literally. Pitaya Dragon Cookie swung their tail, hitting Knight Cookie square in the chest and launching him into a wall. Knight Cookie swiftly got up and ran around, trying to get the large dragon to swing their tail again. He called out to the dragon, heckled the dragon, and teased the dragon. Finding himself the perfect opportunity, Knight Cookie raised his sword.

He swiftly sliced downward. 

The dragon’s tail flew off followed by trails of pink blood. Pitaya Dragon Cookie, after thrashing around the cave for a few minutes, fell over on their side and passed out. 

“I did it.” He huffed. “I did it! I beat the dragon!” Knight Cookie stood up, feeling more powerful than ever. He picked up the dragon’s tail with ease despite the tail’s large size, examining it. “Maybe I can hang you up on my wall. Isn’t that right, Magma--” Realization struck his face as he turned toward the bead. He stared into the ashes of his fallen lover once again and tried to shake the dragon awake.

“Pitaya Dragon Cookie! Wake up! You’ve a deal to fulfill!” 

It was surprisingly hard to wake a dragon. It was even more hard to take care of the dragon-- the only solution Knight Cookie had to his issue was to try to heal Pitaya Dragon Cookie enough for them to at least speak to him. This was a task that took him weeks of outgoing trips toward unfamiliar cookie hospitals and other dragon’s dens. 

But he was finally successful.

“Who the hell are you...?” The dragon drowsily asked. 

“You-- you.” Knight Cookie, although surprised by this successful attempt, managed to bring himself to a grim and serious tone. “We have a deal. You need to follow through on your loss.” 

“I haven’t lossst to a cookie...” Upon seeing their dismembered tail, their mouth dropped. “Until now.”

“You’ve been asleep for weeks. How can I revive Magma Cookie?”

“I have an idea, although I will warn you... Your husssband will never be the same after thisss...”

“I just want him back.” 

“Take one of my scales to the bead on his ashes.” 

After doing this, it was obvious to see the effects. Flames were sparking from the dragon scale and the bead that quickly erupted into a blazing ball of birth. The light was blinding as a meek, flame-haired cookie was born.

Fire Spirit rose from the ashes, his cape elegantly flowing through the breeze of The Dragon’s Valley.

“Who are you?”

[horrorslashergirl]

So heres a cute idea that keeps living in my brain rent free but what if Asa comes home after a long day to see his S/o sleeping on the couch with his two dogs, one laying behind her legs and one actually letting her use as a pillow, at the sound of the door opening and seeing their master they both lift their heads up but dont move not wanting to wake her up

The Collector x Reader- Compassion of Arachnid

Authors Note: From what was supposed to be cute turned angsty. Curse my deranged brain, Anon.

Warning: Manipulation and Stockholm Syndrom

Words: 942

The front door of the classic two-story house opened and shut without a sound, it was the middle of the night after all and Asa didn't felt like hearing the echo of the door being shut with force. He left the keys to his car and the correspondence on the nightstand in the hallway, he will look into them in the morning, his black eyes inched from lack of sleep and neon lights.

Today was just like any other, go to the university, work on research and paperwork, after the program ended he went to the hotel and checked on his collection, in the mood to continue on his latest project, a Latrodectus pallidus or at last that's what the man or what it remained of him was supposed to resemble.

The problem was that he couldn't concentrate on the work at hand and Asa hated when there was even a glimpse of failure; he gave up on the project for today, it would be a loss to mess on this one. He worked on it too hard to have the scalpel slip on the last finishing touches.

His lack of concentration was because of you. Recently, you ended up from being his favorite of the collection to what one can assume from an outside perspective, a company pet, because significant other was way too much; you weren't his girlfriend, lover, or wife. These words didn't suit your position in his life and that wasn't your purpose; you just had the utmost luck of not being killed or dismembered then assembled into an arachnid or what other species he fancied.

Of course, you sometimes think you would be rather dead because you didn't felt like a person anymore. A human has freedom, a choice, the ability to make decisions; you didn't have such luxury, he broke that from you the moment he left you into that red box for three weeks, only coming to feed you enough for your body not to shut down.

He basically taught you in a silent way that you were depending on him, your life was in his hands, he was your God and you learned that is better to worship than fall to his rage that will tear your skin off, literally speaking; you saw the punishment for yourself on someone else who decided to play fighting with Asa.

Back to the actual scene, his steps took him to the living room, and on the way there he inspected everything, the house was as clean as ever, no even a spec of dust, the dishes were clean and in their respective cabinets and the dinner was all set for him, just like he instructed.

Probably that was one of the reasons you were still alive; your obedience was your savior, always listening to him, following his instructions exactly. Black boots stopped in the living room and obsidian eyes took in the scene before him; your form cuddled up on the couch with his two German Shepards acting like pillows, like a protective blanket.

It was a scene of domesticity and tranquility, and perhaps Asa felt compassion as he saw your peaceful form sleeping with his guards' dogs, who perked their heads up as their master made his presence known, but didn't jump up to greet him in order not to wake you up. Asa didn't minded.

Compassion? No.

That wasn't the term to use for what he felt for you. Ownership? A possibility. In your broken mind maybe you thought you felt love for the man who destroyed your life and put the pieces back together, a reminder that he was the one that decided your fate, according to your behavior and since you were a good girl, you lived to see another day.

Let's face it. If you really wanted to escape you could have done that today while he was away; breaking a window and running to the first police station, calling him in and putting an end to your nightmare, but you didn't do that.

Asa was still suspicious of what was wandering through your mind, but until now you proved your loyalty to him, even in that time when one of his collected ones managed to escape and tried to help you do the same, but you didn't. He remembered how you tugged your arm from the collected one like a dose of acid burned you and you stayed in your designated room, waiting for him to come and even then you apologized.

He couldn't help the small smile that formed on his face as you cuddled up to his dogs. 

Yes, maybe there was compassion for you, but Asa showed such compassion in different ways than the average human did. The fact that he brought you to his house, to his most personal place, it was a show of intimacy, deeper than the rough intercourse between you two. That was just carnal pleasure, but this?

Maybe he will never admit it, but it was a show of deep trust. Perhaps in other circumstances, things would have been different, but that's how things were currently; plus you accepted both sides of the coin, Asa and the Collector.

Maybe you didn't even realize it, but you were deadlier than him in a non-violent way. You were his weakness, although you would never ever said it out aloud or God helps your tongue.

He sighed and walked away upstairs, not having the power in him to move your sleeping form, it was perhaps one of the rare moments when he saw you truly at peace.

Only time will know how you two will evolve.

[sebbybooks]

Never Mine

Sebastian Stan x Fanfiction

Part One

"With my dog as my witness, to whoever was riding my ass if they didn't back off my bumper I was going to stop in the middle of the road and rip their windshield wipers completely off!"

That type of anger coiled around me like a snake, because there was nothing that bugged me more than someone driving bumper to bumper. The long and exasperated breath I just released helped ease the tension out of my body temporarily. Just in time for reason to settle in. Though in reality it wasn't like I was actually going to jump out of my car and confront this road demon. Who clearly needed to take a course on etiquettes of the road. What I did know was that whoever was behind the wheel of the car had headlights that were so blinding I am sure extraterrestrials in space could spot them.

Trying to find the calm in the situation I focused on the road ahead of me. What little road I could see for that matter. Which wasn't exactly much. I had checked the forecast earlier in the day with the report of it showing that there was to be only clear and blue skies. By the amount of downpour before me you would think there was a tear in the sky if that was how rain fell. I just needed to hang tight for a few more miles until I reached my exit to stop for the night.

I had been driving for nine consecutive hours and it wasn't until the third hour I realized I was not cut out for long distance driving. The plane ticket I turned down from my father was starting to look like a missed opportunity. I opted out for Cooper's sake. I just rescued the little guy a few short weeks ago and I didn't have the heart to leave him alone so soon.

Despite having only six more hours of this painful drive I needed out of my car. A hot shower and a bed was calling my name like a siren's call was to a dazed sailor at sea. I was fervidly drawn to it. Granted, I wasn't exactly going the speed limit in my own defense. Simply because I chose to be a cautious driver not a careless one unlike the dip shit behind me. Cooper and I were going to get to Sonoma, California in one piece if I had anything to do with it! I had no intention to speed in the rain even if it annoyed the person behind me. After all I was driving down a one lane road there was literally nothing else I could do but drive forward.

Taking a glance up at my trusty Garmin my gps projected that at this rate I wouldn't make it to my hotel for another hour and a half. Ahead of me the sky was starting to look like a terrifying shade of gray and to top it off the dismal weather was becoming more and more hard to drive in. I could barely see the paint on the pavement. My defrosters seemed to have given up on me as I began to notice that my rearview mirror fogged up as though it was twilight hour.

I needed to pull over to try to wait out the heavy rainfall. The only problem was that I did not know where I was nor could I see where the road even had an end. The cheap gas station coffee was starting to wear off and the pep talks could no longer motivate me. The words of encouragement quickly transitioned into self deprecating quips of "I can not fucking do this!"

I was too far from home to turn back now and hearing a lecture from my dad despite being well beyond the ages of even receiving one, certainly would not stop him from scolding at my absence. I am more than certain that fiancée number three would not mind if I missed their prenuptial celebration. Especially if arriving on time meant I would be showing up dismembered. It was official I was going to die in this storm.

All of sudden like I called upon a bad omen my tiny Kia Forte jerked forward. I thought I accidentally stomped on the gas pedal too hard without realizing it. When it happened again I knew exactly what it was. Clearly the driver had mistaken this for a game of bumper cars. I laid the palm of my hand on the center of my steering wheel and relentlessly pressed my horn. Not sure what that was going to necessarily ward off , but I had to try something in the efforts that they would leave me alone.

Cooper's head shot up from his bed in the backseat. He looked just as displeased and annoyed as I felt. Why wouldn't they slow down? Is the question I could not figure out. I don't know if it was all the Stephen King that I read, but my paranoia was increasing as I started to settle on the possibility that they were now following me.

Maybe I was tired?

Maybe my imagination truly was getting the best of me?

Or maybe whoever that person was also suddenly decided to take the same random exit as I was taking.

I didn't think. I veered my car off to the right and got on the first breakaway from this seemingly endless road. I had no idea where I was headed at this point and neither did my Garmin. It made multiple attempts to reroute itself, but even that could not locate where I was. I took an unexpected detour by driving off into the middle of nowhere with a now stalker in my midsts.

Adrenaline now filling up my bloodstream. I gave my steering wheel the death grip and drove as fast as the tire tracks of my car would guide me. On a midsize billboard to my left I saw a logo for a gas station and a non franchised bed & breakfast saying it was right up the road. I was taking a chance by trusting that the establishment was clean and safe. I just needed to go where a crowd of people would be. The battery on my phone was likely dead and yes this was now becoming the opening sequence for a King novel. I'd laugh if my heart wasn't fluttering as fast a hummingbird's wing.

I managed to make out lights ahead as I neared the petrol station first. However, it just about looked abandoned. The dim white lights flickered around the desolate parking lot. I saw only two freight trucks parked side by side and I immediately thought

. . .hell no.

I kept driving forward in the hopes that the bed and breakfast sign wasn't last updated in the early nineties. I nearly combusted from relief when I finally saw it. Several cars and mini vans lined up with people inside of them probably doing the same thing that I was. I didn't plan on staying the night I just planned on staying long enough to hide out from the rain and from the trouble that still followed my trails.

Luckily there were free parking spaces close to the entrance. It was still hard to make out what the place truly looked like. From my view in the car the rain made it look like it was a melting oil painting. In a swift motion I put my car in park, turned my ignition off, reached in the back to grab Cooper and grabbed ahold of my purse in the other arm. I bolted out of my car for the door.

It felt as though I was running through a hurricane. I was completely drenched. I could barely keep my eyes from closing as I ran up the slippery steps in my worn Toms praying that I wouldn't eat concrete. There was an awning over the door that offered relief from the storm's cruel embrace . Looking down at the fuzzy brown welcome mat I noticed a quote was scribbled out on it.

"some beautiful paths

can't be discovered without getting lost."

As I reached for the doorknob I couldn't help but notice the intricate design. I'm aware of how wrong the timing was to fawn over something so utterly mundane. I just could not conceal the fact that I was a sucker for antiques roadshow and architectural designing. Growing up with a dad that built and reconstructed vintage furniture one might pick up on the interest. It was a white privacy doorknob with hand painted roses, with a Victorian long plated silver keyhole. The sound of distant car door slamming snapped me out of my daze. I turned my head in the direction of the sound low and behold it was that same car. Crazy thing is I didn't see anyone by it.

Instinct guided me forward considering my brain was scrambling with worry. I ushered myself inside and it was as though I fell into a pink wonderland. From the pink carpet to the multicolored pink pinstripe wallpaper. Hot pink roses seemed to have been the main theme for the lobby. There were various black and silver picture frames with photos of pink roses hanging on every wall. On every surface my eyes could catch, red and pink plastic roses sat in circular olive green vases. It was certainly....something. I thought I was doing the most logical thing by coming inside, but it quickly dawned on me that I saw no one around.

"Hello?" I cautiously called out.

I paced myself as I walked up to the front desk, simultaneously looking around for any potential red flags. My right arm was going numb, my little guy was tiny but felt like I was lugging around a sack of potatoes. I wandered away from the desk to poke my head around the place. There was a entry way that led to a dinning area with a handful of seats adorned with of course pink table settings. I was standing next to a spiral staircase to what I assumed led to the rooms. There was only one door that held a sign for a bathroom. Perhaps there was a power outlet I could use long enough to charge my phone to call my dad.

The same door I walked in swung open and droplets of rain was blown in by the wind. A shiver rolled down my spine, sending a myriad of sparks that shot through my body. Turning around a strange sensation filled the pits of my stomach. It felt like butterflies and moths had taken up space there. Excitement and fear. I just stood completely mute like I had never seen a man before. Well to my defense I hadn't seen ones that look like him in my town. Without even seeing my reflection I had an inkling as to the state of my appearance. I was utterly perplexed by how he pulled off the kissed by an ocean look. To embarrass myself further of course my dog chose that moment to shake water off of his fur on to me.

"Really Coop?" I tried to hide my disgust, but he got it around the corner of my mouth! The good looking stranger offered a half smile that probably pitied my overall state.

"Is the black Kia parked out yours?" Even his voiced oozed sex appeal. He angled his frame so he could face me. There was about an arm length of distance between us. His eyes practically bore into my face I suppose waiting for me to say something. Must have been the buzzcut, the facial scuff, or the fact that some creep was still parked outside waiting to do who knows what. But my thoughts were not where they should have been.

I blinked and straightened up my posture. "Yeah why?" I finally answered.

It was a causal question, yet it felt completely random like there was something else to it.Neither of us spoke for a few seconds.The silence was so thick it would take a hacksaw to cut through.

"Well I'll be damned! I didn't think I would get to see you until after you got back from your trip in California." A woman most likely in her late sixties came rushing down the stairs for him. She draped her arms around his body clearly taking him by surprise. Her cotton candy colored pink bouffant made up for most of her height. Sebastian returned her embrace. Although it looked extremely awkward considering he stared at me the whole time and I stood there watching.

"Moe's old truck didn't give you too much trouble did it?" She asked.

"No it still got some life left in it." Sebastian's jaw went slack and he looked from her to me once more. Only this time he was looking at me with a cold glare. Realization suddenly crashed into me like a wild horse.

[theladyofdeath]

The Manly Man {Manorian}

31 Days of Halloween: Day 12.

All installments co-written with @snelbz​

Based on a prompt sent in by anon: “Haunted House - staged (Manorian - Dorian is the terrified one)”

Warning: Gore. 

Autumn/Halloween 2020 {Collection}

Manon was practically bouncing where she stood.

There were very few things she loved more than being thrilled, and as Halloween was quickly approaching, she found a no better way to spend her Friday night than to take her boyfriend to a haunted house.

She used to work at one, in high school. She was the zombie-surgeon that picked at the intestines of whomever was lying on her table. It had been fun, thrilling. People would come through her room, scream bloody murder, and Manon would applaud herself for her performance every time. 

Yes, she loved haunted houses.

Dorian didn’t look so sure.

His hands were shoved into his pockets as he looked at the front door up ahead. There was creepy music playing, and lights flashing, and Dorian looked like he was nearly ready to vomit. 

“How you doin’, babe?” Manon asked, eyes narrowed as his throat bobbed. 

“Huh? Oh, good,” he said, nodding a little too quickly. “Yeah, no, I’m good. How are you?”

“Great,” she answered, chuckling. 

They took another step forward in line. 

“So, I want to be clear before we go in there,” Dorian began, clearing his throat. 

Manon chuckled. “Yeah?” 

“I’m a manly man, and I want that to be noted,” Dorian began.

Manon nudged him. “I think we’ve been together long enough that I know exactly how manly you are.”

He proved it, nightly, again and again, just how manly he was. 

“Right,” he continued. “So...when we go in here...just...remember that.” 

“You’re scared,” Manon crooned, slipping her fingers through his. “I didn’t think you were the type to get scared.”

The couple had spent every holiday together in the last year, except for Halloween. They’d started dating just before last Thanksgiving, and every holiday had been absolutely perfect. Now, as they fell deeper and deeper in love, the spookiest season was upon them.

And Dorian was not a fan. 

He never understood the appeal of being scared, never understood how peeing your pants was considered a good time, and yet, here he was.

At one of the scariest haunted houses in the city, taking another step forward in line. 

“I’m not scared,” Dorian replied, at last, shaking his head. “I don’t get scared.” 

“You don’t get scared?” Manon asked. “Because it looks like you’d rather be anywhere but here. You know, if you don’t want to go through the haunted house, we can-.”

“No, no,” Dorian protested, quickly. “I don’t… I’d like to go through, yeah. It looks…fun.”

A series of earth-shattering screams echoed from inside the house. 

Manon squeezed his hand as they took another step forward. They were almost near the front of the line, and the energy had Dorian’s hands trembling.

The one that wasn’t squeezing Manon’s, anyway. 

Once they were next in line, Dorian was about ready to puke.

He hated being scared.

Hated it.

Loathed it.

They entered the building. 

The hallway was dark, although flashing lights were going off against the walls. Dorian’s feet had suddenly become heavier, causing him to move slower. 

So, incredibly slow.

“We’re going to hold up the line,” Manon said, dragging him along. 

“I can’t take my time in this hellhole?” he asked, looking around with every step he took.

“With how terrified you look, I figured you’d wanna get through it as quickly as possible,” she said, quickly, with a sly look on her thin lips. 

He shot her an exasperated look. “Be happy that I love you.” 

Her grin only widened.

They continued down the hall, the sound system throwing out loud, terrifying shrieks and rolls of thunder. The lights were blinking. Dorian had always hated strobe lights, had always found them annoying.

In clubs.

In haunted houses.

Strobe lights sucked.

But then the lights went out entirely. And with a quiet click, one lone light came on behind them. Dorian turned around and looked back to where they’d entered, only to find a solid wall there.

“Fuck,” he whispered and Manon squeezed his hand, which she chuckled softly. He turned back to look down the hallway and they moved forward, towards the corner that seemed to get darker and darker with every step they took.

“You want me to go first?” Manon asked, smirking over at him.

“No, I will,” he said, picking up the pace. At least he tried to.

As he got closer and closer to the corner, unable to see a thing around the edge, he remembered that Manon probably knew what was around the bend. Whether from experience of going through it herself or just a knowledge of what haunted houses usually were, she had an idea. He was both literally and figuratively in the dark.

And he hated every second of it.

Once Dorian came around the corner, clinging to Manon’s hand for dear life, the lights came on the moment they stepped around the wall. A young girl was tied to an electric chair, looking like she was getting electrocuted, blood pouring from her lips, smoke filling the room.

Dorian tried not to jump, but failed.

Manon scoffed, quietly. “Amateurs.” 

“Yeah,” Dorian tried to agree, but his voice cracked, and he was quickly pulling Manon into the next room.

Which was so much worse than the first.

The temperature hit him the moment they walked through the door. Dorian’s foot slipped on something slightly and looked down and gasped as he saw a puddle of blood leaking from a dismembered leg. Manon’s hand was an anchor in his and her other hand gripped his forearm. The frigid temperature unsettled him and as she looked around at the body parts hanging from the ceiling, Dorian really thought he might be sick.

“Come on,” Manon said, gently, pulling him through the room.

He really wanted to look down, to let her pull him through, but his eyes couldn’t look away from everything around him. When they ended up at a large metal table, a man holding a large meat cleaver was slowly sectioning meat off of a bone. He seemed to be focused on his task and just as they were about to pass by, his other first slammed against the table and he held the blade out towards Manon, as he laughed maniacally.

She didn’t even flinch, but Dorian wasn’t proud of the noise that left him. He pulled her toward the door on the far side of the room and tried to move as quickly as he could.

“I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered.

They went through an entry way that led them outside, although the area seemed to be fenced in, which Dorian automatically wasn’t a fan of. It was set up like a trailer park, and there were tall trees surrounding a beat-up trailer. There was a series of coffins scattered across the lawn, and Dorian was scared to move.

“Do you hear banjo music?” Manon whispered.

“Shhh!” Dorian begged, careful for every creeping sound. 

“Come on, there’s a door on the opposite end of the wall we go through,” Manon said, pulling Dorian along.

After a second, Dorian became more comfortable. “Well, this doesn’t seem so ba-.” The world's most unsettling scream flew out of Dorian’s lips as the door to the trailer was thrown open and a man with a chainsaw appeared. He was revving it, and hurrying down the trailer stairs.

Dorian’s screams continued as he hauled ass along the wall of the haunted house until he appeared at the door on the opposite end and flung himself inside.

At some point, he had dropped Manon’s hand.

She appeared a moment later, though, in the doorway, grinning uncontrollably.

Dorian’s hand flew to his chest as he huffed and puffed. “I- my heart has legit never beat as quickly as it’s beating right now.”

Manon couldn’t stop her smile as she wrapped her arms around her boyfriend and rested her chin on his chest and gazed up at him. “You okay?”

He rested his forehead against hers and said, “Please don’t ever ask me to do this again.”

She laughed and leaned up and kissed him. “Come on, scaredy pants.”

Dorian realized he was hearing faint music from down the hall, leading to the next room. They walked closer and it became more and more defined and he slowed down. “Nuhuh. Nope.” He stopped moving. “There’s a fucking clown in there, isn’t there?”

“It’s a haunted house, babe,” she said, dragging him forward. “Of course there’s a clown. There’s a mirror maze, too.”

“Oh, great, so I can’t get lost and it can murder me,” he muttered. “Great.”

“I know the quickest path,” she said, with a comforting squeeze of his hand. “We’ll be through it in no time.”

The walked through the heavy, tattered, velvet curtain and it was worse than Dorian could have ever imagined.

Not only was there a mirror maze, but there were clown paintings, statues, constant laughter from everywhere, disorienting him.

“You better be happy I love you,” he said, terrified to even look at Manon and give someone a chance to jump him.

She just shook her head as she led him through the maze, and with every turn they took, Dorian became more and more convinced that this is the way that he would die. 

And when the clown jumped out from behind a corner and Dorian saw it’s bloody grin in the reflection of the mirror he stood in front of, he was pretty sure he peed his pants, just a little bit.

“Get me the fuck out of here!” he yelled.

Manon’s laughter reverberated throughout the room as she pulled Dorian just a little bit quicker through the maze. 

“The clown has a fucking sledgehammer!” Dorian continued. “My gods, I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to-.”

Manon pulled them out of the maze and instantly into the next room, which once again had Dorian growing queasy. 

Now, he loved Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. It was a classic, a beautiful work of literature. 

What he was looking at now, however, was ruining the classic for him, forever.

A mad scientist was laughing, horridly, as he stood above his table, looking down at his monster. There were body parts in jars, ancient, rusty tools everywhere, and eyeballs scattered along the table.

“Please tell me we’re almost out of here,” Dorian muttered.

She rolled her eyes, but squeezed his hand in a comforting gesture and tugged him through the tamest and shortest room yet. When they walked through the door, his senses on red alert, he was surprised to see they were once again outside and the only thing aside from the back half of the creepy house was a corn maze wrapping back around to the front.

“Oh, sweet Mala, thank the gods,” he said, bending over, resting his hands on his knees and gulping down air. “Never again,” he said, repeating his earlier promise. Manon laughed and when he stood upright again, he took her hand and they walked into the corn maze.

It was a chilly night, but that was fine with him. He’d gotten so hot inside that stupid haunted house that the bite in the air was absolutely welcomed. Not to mention, the sky was gorgeous tonight, stars everywhere, not a cloud in sight.

Manon was in the middle of a story about one of her clients earlier that day when Dorian held up a finger and stopped walking. “Do you hear that?”

He wished he hadn’t seen the smile on Manon’s face when she innocently asked, “Hear what?”

He felt the color drain from his face. “I thought it was over, you said it was over. We’re outside!”

Manon kept walking forward, letting her hand stay on the right wall. “I never said anything. You just assumed. Come on.”

She held out her hand and he quickly took it as the sound of a revving chainsaw grew closer and closer.

“Fuck no!” he yelled, and picked up his pace. He didn’t make it far before a bloodied-up zombie jumped out of the corn stalks, making Dorian scream, yet again. 

Manon was laughing maniacally, which only terrified Dorian even more. 

“If you love me, you’ll get me the fuck out- is that chainsaw getting louder?” Dorian knew he sounded like a complete and utter sissy, but he really didn’t care. 

His heart was nearly pounding out of his chest, and his need to pee was unbearable. 

“We’re almost out,” Manon yelled, dodging her way around a ghostly bride that had just popped out at her. “Hang in there, babe.”

“How the hell are you so calm?!” he yelled, thinking his feet couldn’t move fast enough.

The roaring behind him grew and he turned to find the masked man from before running at them.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, please, run!” He cried, pulling Manon’s hand harder as he ran.

She kept laughing as they ran through the maze, Dorian’s breathing becoming heavier and heavier.

He could hear the heavy footsteps pounding right behind them and Manon pulled him around a corner and-.

They were out in the fresh air and there were other people dressed in flannel and jeans and the sound of laughter and excitement.

Dorian groaned as they stopped and he realized that this time it really was over.

“Oh, thank the gods,” he breathed and Manon wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Not that bad, right?” She asked, smirking up at him.

Dorian was still breathing heavily, trying desperately to catch his breath. With a groan, he dropped his face into her shoulder and said, “I'm serious. Be glad that I love you.”

Manon just threw her head back and laughed as she patted her boyfriend’s head and walked him to the safety of her car.