#I have actually never drawn gore before today

[chill-vibes-but-rainbow-panic]

Cringetober 14: Candygore

That moment when you're forced to remember the second-most traumatizing thing that's ever happened to you :/ /j

[shxtodxroki]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝙵𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚁𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚘 𝚂𝚞𝚗𝚊, 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝙷𝚎 𝙵𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚈𝚘𝚞

Summary: From the moment you met him to now, there have been 4 times where you’ve fallen harder and harder for Rintaro Suna, until he "finally" falls for you as well.

Flufftober Day 5 Prompt: ___ + 1

Warnings: Brief mentions of gore (nothing is described, just a vague mention of a gory/graphic horror movie), reader is depicted as scared/uncomfortable of said horror movie

Pairing: Rintaro Suna x Gender Neutral! Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Check out my full Flufftober masterlist here!

The first time you meet him is at work, and honestly, you've never seen a guy that hot in your life before.

It's been an incredibly boring shift at work, like all shifts are. You're working the typical high-school student job at your local smoothie bar, your head pounding from the sound of the blenders whirring behind you at full-speed, and haven’t even bothered to look at the door as you heard the bell chime to indicate a new customer. “Welcome in,” You mutter, doing your best to sound somewhat personable as you make your way over to the cash register. “What can I get for you today?”

When your eyes finally glance up at the customers your gaze is instantly drawn to one of the five men standing in front of you, watching in awe as he mindlessly stares at the phone in his hands and waits silently for his turn to order. He is without a doubt the cutest guy you’ve ever met, and you suddenly find yourself wishing your work uniform were just a bit more attractive-looking, though the boy in question had yet to even meet your gaze as he remains entirely focused on his phone.

You take each of their orders one by one, doing your best to smile and act like the perfect friendly cashier to each of the boys in hopes that they won’t notice how your eyes are irresistibly drawn to one boy in particular, though you’re unable to fight off the way your heart rate picks up slightly as he’s the last one left to order.

“Suna, your turn man.” The boy with silver hair nudges your newfound crush, and the boy in question finally looks up from his phone to meet your eyes.

“Oh, I’ll have the peanut butter chocolate smoothie, I dunno what it’s called though.” He mutters, eyes seeming disinterested as he stares at you, though a small smile tugs on the corner of his lips once he begins actually taking the time to observe your features.

“That’s fine, I know which one you’re talking about!” You smile just a bit brighter at him than you did towards the others, though you hope they don’t notice as you put his order into the system. “Will that be all for the five of you today?” You ask, forcing yourself to turn your attention to all of them rather than just the boy whose eyes are now stuck on you. One of the boys nods, pulling out his wallet as he steps up in front of the others.

“Yes, that’ll be it. I’ll be paying for the five of us.” He smiles softly, and you can see the faces of the other four light up in gratitude as they thank him one by one. “Don’t worry about it, it’s my job as captain.” He simply responds to them, before handing you his card.

Once their order has been paid for you direct the group to where the finished orders are called out, telling them to wait there as your coworkers get started on their drinks. Four of them easily follow your directions, with the two identical ones (twins, you assume) bickering as the other two chide them for acting out in a public place. You immediately take notice, however, of the fifth boy still standing in front of the register, your face heating up as you get a longer, up-close look at his undeniably beautiful face.

“...Is there anything else you needed?” You ask after a moment of silence between the two of you, using the same cheery customer-service voice in an attempt to mask how anxious you feel beneath his gaze that you can’t quite decipher. He cracks a small grin at that, before pulling out his wallet as he steps closer to you.

“Not really, I was just thinking…. I just got paid today, and since my drink was already paid for, why don’t I leave a nice tip for the sweet cashier with the pretty eyes?” He says this so nonchalantly as he pulls out a $20 bill, handing it to you with a relaxed grin as if he can’t see the way your heart is pounding out of your chest at his blatant flirting. “Don’t share it with any of your co-workers, though. That’s just for you.”

And with that he walks off to join his friends, not even giving you a chance to respond as you’re left dumbfounded and incredibly flustered in front of the cash register.

A few weeks later, when you return from summer break, you’re surprised (and mildly flustered) to realize that the incredibly cute, flirty boy from that day actually goes to your school, and you’re even lucky enough to have been placed in a few classes with him this year. You have no clue how you haven't noticed him before, stunned that you had missed out on seeing his pretty face for so long. He notices you on the first day, shooting you a cat-like grin as he enters first period late and makes his way to the last seat left open. But you don’t actually get to speak to him again until a few weeks later.

Once everyone’s settled into the new school year and classes are in full swing, one of your teachers assigns you a partner project, and you find yourself lucky enough to be partnered with Suna. You force the grin brewing behind your teeth back as the pairs are read aloud, not wanting to seem too eager, though you can’t help but grow flustered as he saunters over to you after class with the same relaxed grin you always see on his face. “How lucky am I, getting to work with the cutest person in this class?” He flirts as if it's as easy as breathing, and you force yourself not to overthink his words for the sake of the project.

Luckily for you, he seems to take the project fairly seriously, which is a surprise in comparison to his typically unbothered personality. You had been prepared to take on the majority, if not all, of the work yourself, knowing that it would likely sully your opinion of the admittedly gorgeous boy in the process. But somehow he had exceeded your expectations and sent you a suitable set of research for his half of the project well before the due date, giving the two of you plenty of time to prepare and practice your final presentation before the final presentation day. 

You know it would seem rude to outwardly admit how you had doubted him at first. You made a baseless assumption about him, one that would likely hurt an ordinary person’s feelings. Yet as you and Suna grow closer and more comfortable around one another through this project, you can’t help but let your internal monologue slip out one evening as you’re rehearsing your presentation late one night at the local library.

“You know, I’m really impressed with how hard you’ve worked on this.” You admit after running through your presentation so many times that you’ve practically memorized it word for word. Suna raises his eyebrow at your words, a curious smirk on his face as he pushes you for clarification though he's fairly sure he already knows what you mean.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that, you think I’d make you do all the work?” He teases, though it’s clear he’s not upset or hurt by the assumption even if he probably should be. You sheepishly look down at your fidgeting hands upon hearing his words, ashamed to admit how shallow you had been when you had first been assigned to this project with him.

“Sort of…. You seemed so laid back and unbothered all the time, so I guess I just assumed you’d be that way about your grades as well, and I’d end up carrying this project.” Your face is hot again, eyes avoiding his pressing gaze as your voice is soft with shame. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed that without even really gettng to know you.”

“It’s alright, I’m happy to prove you wrong.” He shoots back, keeping the mood light and relaxed as he eases your guilt ever so slightly. Days later once the project is over, however, you go to thank him for helping you to get an A on the final presentation and happen to overhear the boy in question chatting with his friends, their conversation telling an entirely different story than what he had impressed upon you.

“Dude, I can’t believe you got an A! How the hell did you do that?” His blonde friend questions, trying and failing miserably to whisper as you hide behind a corner to remain out of sight as your curiosity is piqued. “You never even turn shit in for that class, so what the hell?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get an A in your life. What gives?” The grey-haired twin adds on, their words only serving to confuse you. Before Suna can get in a response, however, the boy with the grey hair begins to smirk, as if he’s put the pieces together faster than you (and his blonde counterpart) could even begin to understand. “Oh, I get it. You wanted to impress your partner. They were the cute person from that smoothie place a few weeks back, yeah? I’ve seen you flirting with them after class the past few weeks.”

Though Suna’s attitude remains laid-back, simply insisting that he decided to be nice for the sake of your grade rather than his and there was nothing deeper to it, you could feel the butterflies zipping around your chest with more intensity than ever before as you silently made your way to your next class, face beaming in an irresistible grin. You fail to see the barely-there blush that dusts Suna's cheeks at the question, however, or the way he corrects the twins by insisting they use your name that slips off his tongue just a bit softer than everything else.

From there your relationship with Suna could only improve, moving steadily from acquaintances as you got to know each other over the course of the project into a genuine friendship as Suna kept in contact with you even after getting your final grade. He had texted you a few days after the project had ended, simply asking if you wanted to hang out after school with him, and since then the two of you have grown more and more comfortable in one another’s company just for the sake of it.

Days blurred into months, and somehow, you now found yourself walking beside Suna with a stomach full of convenience-store ramen as you made your way back to his house, the newly chilly air nipping at your fingertips and nose as you silently stewed in your past neglect to bring a scarf or gloves.

“Suna,” You start, to break the peaceful silence that had lingered between you two over the past several minutes as you walked. “Do you have Mario Kart? I wanna race you when we get back to your place.” Your question is a simple one, and you don’t expect the way he looks at you with an emotion you can’t quite decipher in response.

“Yeah,” He responds, though the tone of his voice and the way he’s looking at you makes it clear something else is on his mind. “But you know you don’t have to keep calling me by my last name, right? We’ve been friends for months now, just call me Rintaro.”

His words are as casual as ever, he plays them off easily as they fall form his lips with a blank expression though they send your poor, fragile heart into overdrive at the implications behind them. Not only had Suna never called you his friend before, but now he was asking you to call him by his first name, and while you knew that wasn’t a particularly intimate offer, it still had the butterflies caged deep within your chest fluttering wildly about as you did your best to play it cool as the heat on your face starkly contrasted the cool afternoon air. 

You should leave it there, you really should. Pushing his potential boundaries would risk your friendship altogether, and you never want to make him uncomfortable if you accidentally went overboard under the assumption that the two of you were closer than you truly were.

But you’re feeling greedy, even in the eyes of Suna- No, Rintaro- ’s friendly offer. So you decide to test the waters, see if you can take your budding friendship one step further.

“Hmm…. how about I call you Rin instead?” The grin on your face seems so at ease, playing it off as a simple suggestion. You had to act like you wouldn’t take it to heart if he said no, like it was nothing special. But you nearly betray yourself as your legs fall weak upon seeing him nod, watching a genuine smile spread across his face in response to your request.

“Sure, go ahead. I like the sound of my name from your pretty lips, however you wanna say it.” He has yet to cease his playful flirting, though it's less common now that the two of you have grown closer. Before you can get another word in, though, he manages to completely melt you to a puddle as he takes off his scarf and gloves, swiftly placing them on to you as the two of you continue walking towards his house. “Here, put these on. I can see you shivering, you clearly need them more than I do.”

You want to protest, to insist that he keeps himself warm since you were the one foolish enough to leave the house without warm attire, but you can’t find it in yourself to do so when his things feel so cozy, so perfect on your body. So you remain silent, settling with simply shooting him a thankful smile as you make your way to his house with warm hands, a warm face, and a positively burning heart.

From there things seem to stay the same, at least for a while. You’re well beyond the point of being able to plausibly deny your feelings for the man you now call your friend, but you’ve also managed to convince yourself that it’s nothing more than a simple crush that you’ll eventually grow out of as your friendship with him progresses.

Until the day when you realize you’ve lost your heart to him for good.

Your now blooming friendship with Rintaro has led you to develop a surprising friendship with the infamous Miya twins as well, a fact you still marvel at even as the four of you sit together on the twins’ living room couch, a plethora of snacks (and some of Osamu’s positively delectable cooking) laid out on the table in front of you as you move on to tonight’s third movie of the evening, Atsumu's pick this time.

Osamu manages to snag your attention for a moment as he explains to you the simple recipe for the homemade sushi he was kind enough to make for the four of you this evening (a recipe you most likely won’t try to emulate, but that you’re still thankful for nonetheless), so you miss the not-so-subtle wink Atsumu throws a disgruntled, annoyed Rintaro’s way as he chooses what movie to watch for his turn during this movie night.

Before you realize it, and much to Rintaro’s dismay, Atsumu’s quickly presses play on an incredibly gory, graphic horror movie, the sinister smile on his face causing the contents of your stomach to churn as you’re immediately put off by his choice in movies.

“What the hell, Miya?” Rintaro grumbles, unusually perturbed by something he’d typically react all too casually to as his eyes never leave your face which is currently twisting in discomfort. You don’t seem to catch the way the twin in question mouths ‘I did this for you’ to the man beside you, though it serves to deepen Rintaro’s scowl as he reluctantly turns to you.

“I’m sorry, I told him not to pick anything that would weird you out. I know you hate this stuff.” He apologizes, sounding shockingly sincere as he looks at you with a remorseful gaze. He knows that a seemingly perfect opportunity has been presented to him, though, and he can see the anxiety brewing in your stomach, so he chooses his next words surprisingly carefully as he slowly inches closer to you.

…”C’mere, let me try to make you feel a little better.” Rintaro mumbles, simultaneously scooting closer and pulling you towards him until you’re snuggled cozily into his side. The two of you have never been this close before, never genuinely cuddled like you are now, and the affectionate gesture wipes the gory movie completely from your thoughts as the scent of his cologne and the warmth of his skin fills up all of your senses. “If you’re too freaked out, I can kick him out and we can turn this off.”

Neither of you even bother to acknowledge Atsumu’s disgruntled “Hey!” in response to Rintaro's threat, his voice slipping into the ambient noise surrounding the two of you as you stare into one another's’ eyes. The disturbing movie isn’t the slightest concern to you any more, as it’s suddenly given you the perfect excuse to do what your heart has longed for with the man beside you, and you try to hold off a bit before rejecting his sweet offer in feigned nonclalance and reluctance. 

“...It’s okay, I feel better now that you’re here.” You mumble, trying not to sound utterly lovestruck as you tuck yourself further into his welcoming hold. But in that moment you can no longer convince yourself that this is nothing but a simple crush, struck by the forceful truth that you’re falling deeper and deeper for Rintaro every day you spend in your presence. “Thanks, Rin.” You mumble, ignoring the truth as you melt into his warmth and his touch.

“Any time, Y/n.” He whispers back, squeezing your side gently and your heart right along with it.

Though you’ve finally gained clarity on the true depth of your own feelings, Rintaro’s remain just as much of a mystery to you as ever. Since the first day you met him you’ve always assumed his flirting was mindless and playful, nothing more than a physical attraction that didn’t run any deeper for him like it did for you. He had taken root in your heart and blossomed from that very first day, encasing your lungs with infatuation, but you never believed his flirtiness to mean the same for his heart. Your growing friendship only strengthened this belief of yours, as he made no efforts to make a genuine move on you even as you grew closer and closer, and you had long ago let go of any hope of Rintaro returning your feelings as you were now content to enjoy the friendship you two had cultivated.

But then, just like always with Rintaro, New Year’s Eve brings forth a new development in your relationship, one that shakes your world and sends your heart into more of a frenzied fever than ever before and permanently altering the status of your relationship for the better.

He was looking for you, searching for you for quite a while in fact. The New Years Eve party the twins were holding at their house had quickly gotten a bit crowded for his liking, and he eventually found himself searching out the sole reason he had come to this party in the first place: you. At first he was simply meandering around, eyes glancing around for you as he kept on his usual nonchalant mask and made casual conversation with a few tolerable classmates. As the time drew closer and closer to midnight, however, his search grew more anxious, and when it was less than a minute to the new year he grew frantic as he felt the plan he had formulated for the evening crumbling beneath his very eyes without any sight of you.

His eyes widen with dread as his peers begin the traditional ten-second countdown, each number spiking the levels of stress coursing through him tenfold as he eagerly swims through the crowds in search of you. He had wanted to use this night as his chance to finally take the next step with you, but it seems that fate was not on his side this evening, blinding him to you in the mass of people enclosed in such a small space and instead leaving him crashing unceremoniously into a random partygoer, sending both of them tumbling to the floor as his hopes plummet all the way down into his feet.

“Three!” The crowd yells as his eyes fly open, two hearts nearly stopping at once as his eyes meet yours beneath him. Maybe fate hadn’t completely forsaken him after all.

“Two!” A genuine smile, not some sneaky smirk or grin, rapidly takes over his entire face, his minty breath wafting onto your skin as he leans down even closer to you. “Fancy seeing you here.” He teases, his hand fumbling out from under him as he hastily and clumsily cups your cheek in his palm.

“One!” His eyes meet yours as he leans in, seeking for confirmation, for consent that you were okay with this. And when you give him a small, almost imperceptible nod, he hands his heart over to you on a silver platter as your lips meet his for the first time and sparks all around ring in the new year. “Happy new year!” Echoes all around you from dozens of different voices, and it's in this very moment that you realize that Rintaro, your Rintaro, has been all yours from the very beginning, and that he had actually fallen from you from the very first day on, at the same exact moments that you had fallen for him.

Request - ⛄️ anon said: HELLOOO!!! i really hope you're doing well this week!!! i just came to tumblr and saw the flufftober post so i wanted to suggest three characters if nobody have suggested them already??? so, i have in mind suna rintarou (haikyuu!), bakugou katsuki (bnha) and/or historia reiss (snk)??? hope you would write something for one of them but if not that's totally fine!

A/N: Eeeee I was so excited when I got this request, I’ve been obsessed with this man ever since I first saw him and I was stoked to write about him! He’s so pretty omg I see why he’s so popular within the fandom <3 And I’ve always wanted to try writing one of these ___+1 fics so I really had a lot of fun writing this and I think it turned out super cute! :D Also I apologize for posting this way late in the day, somehow my saved post in my queue was deleted and I didn’t notice until way late, so I had to go back and re-edit everything once I got home from school! (This is what I get for proof-reading and editing in Tumblr I guess) Still made it in time though, so yay! I hope you guys still enjoyed this, and my requests are currently open so feel free to send any requests you have my way!

Taglist: @flufftober

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[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Run through me

Title inspired by this song, which also inspired the ficlet entirely. Here's the winning option on this poll, but I'll probably be writing all of these in time anyway.

Also, today is my 3 year MDZS anniversary, so this doubles as a little celebration ficlet for that!

Warnings: canon typical violence and a bit of gore

Enjoy! <3

"You lot aren't the brightest, are you?" Wei Wuxian's voice echoes through the cave, the two tall candles that have been lit in the back casting ominous shadows over the stone walls. His tone is neutral, bordering on amused, though it carries an edge of something that could only be described as hair-raising danger.

The sharp sound of two swords being drawn pierces the silence of the cave, and the shadows on the wall writhe in response, giving away that they are not mere plays of the light.

"You cannot possibly think your swords could do anything here." Wei Wuxian laughs, finally revealing himself from amongst the shadows of the night and the resentful energy guarding the entrance to the Demon Slaughtering Cave.

"You would think for two impossibly audacious, suicidal bastards, you'd think of a place other than the Burial Mounds to take the Yiling Patriarch's husband and son to."

"You aren't the only demonic cultivator that's thriving here." A man says, and his eyes glint red as if for emphasis.

"True." Wei Wuxian replies, smiles in a way that would have been friendly had his eyes not carried such clear dark intent behind them. "However, I am the one that invented it. The only one."

He waves a hand and the shadows on the walls disperse around the cave, a dark fog that renders candlelight useless. Wei Wuxian glares, red, bloodthirsty, his pupils both bright and dark, hellfire piercing through the darkness of the cave.

"If you want to hurt the ones I love..." and he lifts Chenqing to his lips, wisps of resentful energy dancing around him like untamed children, "...you're going to have to go through me." A smile. "And I guarantee you won't."

Chenqing's shrill notes bounce off the stone walls of the cave, almost as loud as the screams that follow.

The candles writhe before the fire dies out, and all that is left is sound.

Mindless slashes of swords against incorporeal targets, talismans failing to burn, spells that cut off into shouts for help. The sound of ripping flesh and cracking bones, the unmistakable smell of blood and the rot that fills the place whenever the Burial Mounds feed on something living.

There are gargles, words of apology, curses, pleas - but they drown into the wailing nothingness of resentment, replaced with the excited screams of the spirits that have received another in their ranks.

Wei Wuxian waves a hand, and it all stops. Candles light up again, and the shadows have returned into the crevices of the walls, quietly murmuring as if to entice Wei Wuxian to call onto them again.

The two men - or rather, whatever's left of them - lay haphazardly across the cave's floor, drying blood stains the only evidence of what had transpired in the dark. Wei Wuxian lets the red in his eyes slowly extinguish, the intensity of it stinging his pupils.

He feels the resentment slowly slide off him, like armor plates falling off his shoulders. Though his cultivation never actually hurts him, he can admit he has overdone it a little bit this time - but his emotions ran too high for him to bother to keep himself in check. The moment he was told something had happened to Lan Wangji and Lan Sizhui, he felt like he lost some of his mind and much of his self control, desperately trying to trace back the last place his loved ones had been seen.

When he was told it had been the boundary of the Burial Mounds, he nearly leaped with joy - there was no other place better than that for him to be able to quickly find his family and dispose of whoever dared hurt them in the most effective and definitive way.

He didn't even care to find their motives, or even their names. All he wanted was them dead. Perhaps some of those rumors about the cruel Yiling Patriarch had been true. And, not that he ever minded them, but he'd have no problem proving them true if anyone ever dared hurt his family again.

Lan Wangji and Lan Sizhui lay asleep in the most distant corner of the cave, leaning against one another. There are no major injuries on their bodies - of course not, Wei Wuxian chides himself, they're powerful cultivators with strong golden cores - and they seem to be peaceful, chests rising and falling rhythmically.

It feels... Wei Wuxian doesn't know how it feels. These two don't belong in this wretched place, yet Wei Wuxian feels like they're safest here. Like nothing could ever hurt them, any of them, if they just stayed here, where he could protect them, where nobody would dare...

Wei Wuxian shakes his head as if to rid of those thoughts. He knows they're not his own.

However, trying to leave the Burial Mounds at night is next to impossible - he would know better than anyone. And if Lan Zhan and Sizhui are already sleeping, there is no reason disturbing them. They'd have nothing to do out here anyway.

Wei Wuxian knows he won't be able to sleep, high on adrenaline and knowing he'd stirred the Burial Mounds' hunger too much to be safe for him not to stand guard.

So, he takes his old seat at his makeshift invention table, and finds himself scribbling talismans.

He tries not to let his eyes mist over at the thought that he used to dream of this a lifetime ago.

[deyadee]

Fear and Guilt

Earlier today my mom was talking to me about weight loss drugs that I could be taking, apparently there’s a new version of one she takes that’s a pill that dissolves in your mouth. Previously it was a shot that you had to get in the side. I took it once and about passed out seeing it because I’m terrified of needles, then made me feel like I was having a heart attack and my ass was on fire. I’ve refused to go and get those shots no matter how much my mom says it helps her and will help me. I of course want to lose weight and not be such a fat ugly bastard anymore but I feel like any potential future like that for me is damn near impossible. I just feel like I have to give up and accept it. I’m HORRIFIED of needles. Do not put those fuckers anywhere near me and especially not in me. I hate getting shots, I hate having my blood drawn. It physically makes me sick to see one used on me or to know that I’m going to get one. I can sit through tons of gore and violence in horror movies like it’s nothing but the second they bring out a syringe I have to cover my eyes.

I agreed to take the pills but said absolute fuck no to the shot. I’ve had it before and it did nothing but make me feel like I was gonna die. I’d rather be fat than feel like I’m on meth or something. Though my mom and dad kept yelling at me to stop being a pussy and take the shots even though I said I’d take the pills. They said it didn’t even hurt and you didn’t notice it, except that’s what every goddamn doctor says before they stab your finger and juice for damn near 10 minutes. That’s what they said last time I got the shot, it felt like someone was grabbing one of my fucking fat rolls and pinching as hard as they could to cut off the circulation. Then afterwards the bitch that did it put it in wrong and it hurt to sit and my ass felt like it was actually fucking burning. Like when you sit on metal after leaving it in the Florida heat all damn day. Yeah no. I know you think I’m a fucking moron but it does goddamn hurt and before it I have to have a full-on panic attack the second I see them bring out a syringe or finger pricker.

So what does any of that have to do with the title? Sometimes I want to tell them that fear is one of the few things that’s keeping me alive. I feel like I would’ve been gone a long time ago if I wasn’t terrified of pain or giving myself a life-long disability. Sure, I’ve never tried to end it with a syringe, but it’s in the same ballpark. I tend to use a boxcutter, scissors, razor, or what’s in the closet. I never *really* do it because I always pussy out of it before I actually get it done. If I didn’t have that threshold of fear they’d’ve had one less daughter for a few years now.

Though I’m sure someone with their fucking Psych 101 class will come in here and say that fear is also holding me back from being happy because I won’t take one fucking shot when I could instead take the pills. I know fear keeps me back from doing a lot of things. Talking to people, trying to make friends, reaching out, telling someone about all of this, and while you might have a point about those- I think some phobias don’t need to be solved. Like needles.

Another one of my main thresholds is guilt. Just tonight I had a boxcutter and thinking about, the blade out against the thinnest bit of skin on my arm, thinking about my final moments. Then I realized how could I end it now when I planned to go to a street fair later this month, and then a few days later go out with my friend after she comes back from a trip? (Yes, I’m also shocked that I still have exactly one friend. This isn’t Watamote.) Not because I think those events are worth living for, but just because I feel guilty if I didn’t come. Or even worse, if I hit rock bottom and just wanna go home and hack and slash I just think “Do I want them to think I died over some stupid bullshit?” Like to me of course it’s a build up of dozens of different things that send me spiraling, but to the ones the outside it’s just because of some mean-spirited joke from a bitchy little brat. People will find me the next day and think “That ONE thing killed her?” When it wasn’t JUST that one thing, but I don’t wanna put a ton of Emo bullshit like “My TikTok account got deleted, I’m fat, and I didn’t get to go to somewhere I wanted today :(“ I’m so fucking weak and I know I’m fucking weak but I can’t admit it. I can’t tell people that something made me upset or that I’m crying because I feel like a failure. I can’t go out and show my parents this blog about me bitching about what I’m gonna do when we all know I’m not gonna do shit but bum around until I end up in a dead-end life but never do it because I feel like I deserve a miserable life. I could bring myself to show someone this blog. I originally wrote a diary promising that one day I’d leave as a note after I did or bring it to someone to read as a final cry for help. I’ve hid that thing away hoping no one will ever find it. I see it every once in a while and can’t bring myself to read more than a sentence because I sound so fucking whiny and useless, I’m sure if anyone else read this blog or that diary they’d tell me to suck it up and stop being such a fucking bitch about everything. Everyone around me has actual problems yet is so much stronger than me. I’m fucking pathetic and I’m scared someone will find it out eventually, if they haven’t already and just pity me too much to admit that they already know.

Random story, but back a few years ago while my family and I were on a walk in the woods I tripped on the path and twisted my ankle, I sat crying and not moving on the ground for I don’t know how long because I’d never felt pain as bad as this before. My parents had to help me to park bench before going to get the car since I couldn’t walk any farther. My little sister sat on the bench next to me as they went to get the car and had tears down her face. I was confused at why she was crying since she usually didn’t cry unless she was in trouble. My mom told me a few days later that she had been crying since she (Little sister) had never seen me cry before. Typically when I cry unless it’s over the loss of a family member/pet, I tend to hide away in my room and turn off the lights so no one can see me. I cried once or twice in the shower but stopped when my family started asking if I was crying in the shower. So I stopped crying in the shower unless I was completely home alone for a week at a time, or I would bottle it up and wait until everyone had gone to sleep to hide in my room and cry in the dark. It’s stupid, but I hate people seeing me cry. I feel like I’m not allowed to cry. Not because other people don’t let me, but because I feel my chest sink when I do, like I’m wasting other people’s time or being some kind of attention whore. I don’t mind when other people cry and I try to comfort or help them, though I don’t know exactly what to do all the time for them and end up just being awkward. Though when I cry I feel like it’s something no one should have to see. I shouldn’t burden everyone else. I shouldn’t bitch when everyone else has worse problems than me. I shouldn’t cry when I know no one will ever truly love me. I shouldn’t get sad when I break up with or get broken up with my girlfriends, I should just expect it to happen. I shouldn’t be surprised that those girls didn’t *really* wanna be my friend, they just wanted to use me as the one that looks worse in comparison to make them look better. When I cry I want to crawl up in my bed, hide away from the world, and hate myself for it.

[lizmindpalace]

Blood and Crime

Summary: A new and unusual murderer will make Sherlock change in ways he would have never expected.

Warnings: In this work there will be eventual explicit content, graphic depictions of violence, there may be a lot of triggers such as anxiety, depression, paranoid, mental illness, murder, suicidal tendencies, horror, very toxic relationships, manipulation, sexual innuendoes, gore, lots of blood, nightmares, fantasy and vampires.

You can find it also on AO3.

Chapter 4- Nightmare

"John, John" Sherlock's voice was back to normal after those days at home regarding volume and what could have been described as health, but now it sounded deeper than ever before. "Wake up,  John". 

It took some effort to John in order to finally open his eyes, that actually closed again due to the brightness provided by the drawn curtains, courtesy of his flatmate. 

"What's going on?" John achieved to sit up on his bed, looking with uneasiness at Sherlock, who was staring at him in the same way. 

"You were having a nightmare. The breakfast is getting cold". Sherlock responded quickly, leaving the doctor alone and perturbed, so he could get dressed and make his way to the table when he was ready.

 John was lost in thought the whole day, deeming the horror produced by the nightmare he had had earlier and its effects, since if Sherlock had forced himself to waking him up, it must have been something beyond what he was capable of handle. He had had an array of traumas due to everything he had to face back in Afghanistan, but he had gotten over them and he had not felt fear because of a nightmare ever since, not even when Mary appeared in them. Still, he had a bizarre feeling, as if venomous animals were running through his body and slipping in his eyes, crawling upside down, he was exhausted. 

"John?" It was the third time Sherlock called him, and finally was able to draw his attention handing him his phone. "It's Molly". 

"Of course!" He took the call, locking himself in his bedroom so Sherlock would not hear his conversation. "I know I said I would pick her up tomorrow but... are you sure you don't have any problem? Thank you, Molly. I just need a couple of days, I promise. He's doing fine, but he's still a bit weak, I have to look after him". 

That way it was arranged the little Rosie Watson would stay at Molly's until uncle Sherlock recovered completely or enough to have a child at home. Besides, John didn't feel so well in order to be the responsible father he had to be. 

A week later, John Watson still felt off-colour, and unwell enough to be a father or even to be a human being. He blamed the excessive amount of time that he spent with Sherlock,  because he hadn't been able to attend to any public event or crowded place, and in consequence, the nightmares became more frequent, there was no night when the gloomy silhouette didn't walk towards him, bend over, and muttered some unintelligible words at him, the kind of words that made him sick and at the same time he would find hard to reject if he was conscious. Said nightmare made him feel spent, he felt so weakened that it would take him longer and longer to leave the bed. Except for that night, that night he felt a bit better than the previous nights, he thought it had been a good idea to chatter to Sherlock and taking the pill he had suggested. 

"I'm going out today" he announced the next morning and even though there were wide dark rings under his eyes, he felt a bit better and reckoned the scant London sun would do some good to him. 

The detective, who was curled up on the couch in the dusk, even taking into account the hour, nodded, giving no importance to the words of the doctor. He went back to his bedroom, his vitality seemed to be back and John Watson was pleased because of it. 

John Watson's adventure for the day was about going to the supermarket and retrieving the supplies his flatmate and himself had used up in the two weeks long holidays they had had stuck at home, he knew he had to be the one responsible for getting them, because, otherwise, Sherlock would allow them to starve to death. In his way back home, John got a newspaper with something he thought might draw the interest of his friend. 

"He's back, Sherlock".

The man looked at him uninterested and shrugged.

"You knew it already?"

"Didn't you?"

John kept silent, weighing up that brief and sharp answer.

"What are you going to do?" Watson had left the supplies over the table and was now back analysing the note on the newspaper. "Must be at Bart's. Same signs, invisible, but it is known it was murder. You haven't told me yet what happened that day, Sherlock".

"I think it's better if you don't know, John. You've been so sensitive lately, I would not be able to sleep if I knew I was the one causing you mental damage". Sherlock's tone was sharper than normal and John did not know how to reply. 

"Are you going to abandon the case?" John asked with disbelief drawn on his face since he knew Sherlock didn't enjoy giving in, even if he knew his decision was reasonable due to the fact the danger was imminent and unknown, the first try had been a failure and maybe a second one would actually get him killed. 

"Something like that" Sherlock snorted. "I doubt these attacks happen very often, anyways".

"How do you know?"

"I know it, I know how it works".

And with those words, he left his seat and went back to the place he had come from with that appearance of an enigmatic god who knows everything that happens around and is above everyone else. John felt hatred towards his attitude, the one where he was left with questions, however, he understood perhaps Sherlock was working with his superior mental processes that always made John look like a fool so he allowed him to go, to think. 

John had spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning and ordering the refrigerator while the storm lashed the city once more, he was interrupted by Sherlock, who was putting his coat on with the intention of going out, even considering it was around 10 pm and the downpour outside. 

"Go back to bed, Sherlock". John insisted after giving him a significative glance.

"I have something to do, John, I'll be fine, I'm not ill, either mentally or physically".

John sighed, tired and stepped back of Sherlock's way when the aforementioned, looked at him in certain way he had never perceived before, that made him slightly quake with fear, he thought that if he kept bothering the detective, his placid manners would change and his life would be at risk, he didn't know what it was, it was perhaps that drop of red, stumping with the blue in his eyes, that gave him an aspect ranging from insanity to evil. The detective wrapped his scarf around his neck and left, violently closing the doors of the flat. 

Previous Chapter.

Next Chapter.

You can read the finished work in Spanish on Wattpad.

[angxlyxn]

preservation - aesop x f. reader

summary: Aesop wants to make sure that you stay as his, forever.

warnings: death, reader dies, minor gore (blood), asphyxiation/choking, obsessive behavior, usage of a syringe, death by use of pancuronium bromide.

a/n: identity v is unfortunately my current brainrot, so please take this.  i’m actually pretty proud of this piece and i hope you enjoy it too!

word count: ~4.6k

When you had first arrived at the manor, you had been seen by many as strange.  An oddity if you will, a disturbance in the otherwise monotonous and flat life that the others led.  You had stood upon the steps of the mansion, clutching a leather case between your clammy hand and knocking definitively on the door.  The oaken frame was soon flung open by a vivacious girl, her brown hair falling in locks about her face and tangling around her chin with a sort of carelessness.  She had introduced herself to you as Emma, and you had given her a curt nod in return.  You mumbled out your name, mindlessly letting your eyes drift about the meticulous architecture of the manor in disinterest, the girl’s lively rambles buzzing about and filtering through your previously vacant ears.  She soon had led you into the warmth of the building, a creeping feeling overtaking you as she tugged you towards the dining hall, where she said the others were waiting.  Your hands tightened around your skirt pocket, where the letter that brought you to this place was secured.  It had promised a large sum of money for your participation in some sort of “game”, of which the details were not included.  You, however, blindly jumped at the opportunity.  Lack of a spouse and job had left you nearly homeless, and you had become tired of being a scavenger, tired of having your life depend on whether or not an inn had vacancies.  So, the idea of a huge cash prize was everything to you.  

You remembered clearly the moment when you had been pulled into the dining room and hurriedly introduced by an overly excited Emma, the sea of survivors greeting you with looks varying from boredom to contempt.  One person, however, stood out to you as they looked on with an expression of interest, cold grey eyes analyzing your features and brows drawing together in thought.  You returned his stare, not as a challenge but simply out of curiosity.  Upon realizing that you were looking at him as well, he turned away from you, gently tucking the hem of his mask further over his thin nose.

A peculiar one, Aesop was.  He never did grow less reticent during your time together, always staying serious and stone-faced, yet easy to fluster.  A few survivors took advantage of his frightful nature, but most were too afraid of the embalmer to even spare a glance in his direction.

Which, he supposes, is where his infatuation with you began.  You were like him, in a way.  Generally avoided by most, with the exception of a few more social survivors, such as Kevin and Emma.  Luca, it seemed, had also taken a liking to you, and often would drag you along to keep him company.  Those were the times that Aesop hated the most.  He never minded much when Kevin would flirt, or when Emma would insist on you helping her with her gardening, because he knew that these were just patterns of behavior, and nothing personal.  Luca, however, was hard to read.  He was extroverted, yet private, and tried as he did, Aesop was never able to figure him out.  His motives were too jumbled to understand, his words always far too fast and convoluted.  And the amount of attention you seemed to divert to the young inventor was more than enough to bring forth the feelings of jealousy and disdain that seemed to occupy Aesop whenever someone spoke of or interacted with you.  

Despite these odd feelings, Aesop was disgusted by you.  The living repulsed him, and you weren’t supposed to be an exception to this rule.  He would hold back a flinch each time that you would breathe, the motion of your chest rising filling him with contempt both for you and himself.  He hated that he was so attached to a living thing such as you.  

You would be so much better off dead.  So much prettier with your eyes permanently closed, the gentle flush that usually occupied your cheeks drawn out from your skin.  

He knew that he had to resist these temptations of seeing you lifeless.  Aesop was a calculated man, but he seemed to have much less control when it came to you.  So, he decided that it would do him well to attempt to act as one usually would, and for a time he tried to fit himself into the social structure of the manor, at least more so than he usually did.

He tried to grow closer to you as someone usually would.  The male would dedicate part of his day to attempting to be social with you, although this usually just meant that he would sit near you in the library or join you by the fireplace.  Little to no words were exchanged between the two of you, and yet, he could not have wished for anything more.  During the time he spent with you, he was able to observe, able to familiarize himself with your behavior, your quirks, and your patterns.  He found immense satisfaction in watching as your expression would change as you read, taking great joy in the way that your brows would cinch together every so often.  Not to mention your other more intimate expressions.  It almost felt orgasmic to the male whenever the most lithe of smiles would spread across your cheeks.  Sometimes he would grow flustered just thinking about the gentle curve of your lips, or the way your tongue would protrude slightly in an ever so innocent way when you would grace him with that kind smile of yours.

This was enough to keep him content for a long time, but at some point, that changed.  He grew bored of just watching you, and longed for more.  He wished to feel you against him, to feel your steady breaths reverberate against his ribs.  He wanted to experience the sensation of you quivering against him, wanted to caress and tug your hair, wanted to wrap his hands around your pretty little neck and squeeze until you were begging and gasping for air.  He wanted to make it so you were completely at his mercy.

Unable to refuse him.  

Helpless.

But still he continued watching you, without your knowledge, of course.  He familiarized himself with your schedule, and found that Tuesdays were the days you were most often matched, while Sundays you always kept to yourself, not even sparing a glance at other survivors unless it’s warranted.  

Sunday was Aesop’s favorite day.  Sunday meant that he could observe you without being bothered or eavesdropped on himself, it meant that he could watch over you in an environment where pests, such as the likes of Luca and Emma, weren’t constantly flitting about you.  

Today was a Sunday, and Aesop was planning something special for you.

A bundle of storm clouds had gathered atop the manor. Rain had already drenched the wooden exterior of the building, and was now continuously pelting against the many window panes.  The sound of the storm resounded through the manor in a way that was reminiscent of a hum.  You presently were sitting inside of your room, clothed in a silk nightdress that was gifted to you by Miss Nightingale.  You didn’t have many proper clothes upon your arrival at the manor, neither had most other of the participants.  The majority of your wardrobe was provided for you by the woman herself, whom you had never seen.  

The dress itself was rather comfortable, and draped nicely over your body.  It reached the floor, the ruffled trim on it brushing against your feet periodically.  You had laid yourself across your bed, pulling the blankets adorning it up to your chest and drawing the bed curtains closed.  A book sat beside you on your bedside table, and yet you couldn’t be bothered with reading it.  You were too occupied with watching the rain outside, memorizing the patterns of the water as it fell down and clambered against the manor.  

A knock at the door brought you out of your dazed state.  You waited for a voice to precede the sound, but nothing came, and so you rose from your bed, reluctantly moving out from under the bundle of blankets and grabbing a dressing robe from your armoire.  You pulled it on, walking tiredly towards the door with an unconcerned expression and grasping the brass handle, pulling the hatch open to reveal the delicate frame of a man before you.

Aesop stood outside of your doorway, grasping his embalming kit and standing stock still, as though someone had forced a pole up his back.  

“Mr. Carl..” You said, voice breathy and calm as you pulled your robe further over your exposed clavicle.  He offered a curt nod in return, acknowledging you with a blink.  You noticed how his hands were shaking, quivering around the handle of his kit as he stood in front of you, his fingers obviously clamming up.  Perhaps he was nervous?  “Do you need something?”

He looked up at you with a frightened expression, and you were worried that you had said the wrong thing.  He looked back down, turning from your skeptical eyes and nodding profusely.

“Y-Y/n,” he began, gaze still casted downwards. “Would you mind...a-accompanying me to my room?  Th-There’s a bird that flew in, and I don’t know what to do about the thing.”  His voice shook as he spoke.  

You squinted at him.  It was raining outside.  Why had he propped open his window?  Why would he ask you for help?  Emma and Eli were both much more comfortable with animals than you, and the latter especially had a talent with birds.

“Do you want me to get Eli?  He’s much better with things like that,” you offered, your voice skeptical.  

He finally looked up to meet your eyes, his pupils dilating slightly.  

“No, I’d- I’d rather have you.  Help me, I mean,” he finished awkwardly.

You turned over his question in your mind, surveying the man’s frail appearance.  Aesop had never talked to you much, but you supposed he did have a habit of staying around you.  Sometimes you would find him following you places, and he never seemed to be more than a room away from you.  You knew very well the male’s nervous tendencies, as well as his difficulty with interacting with others.  Part of you felt sympathetic for him, but your place in the manor’s social structure wasn’t much different than his.  Still, you felt obligated to help him.  Not many other survivors, or hunters for that matter, acted too kindly towards Aesop.  If he had worked up the courage to ask you something, you might as well comply with his wishes.  He never asked much of anyone, so you supposed it was a rare occasion that you should indulge.

“Alright,” you said hesitantly.  He looked up at you, his eyes the most telling they had ever been.  His grey irises swirled with probably the closest thing to joy you had ever seen him express, mixed with a bit of shock.  You supposed the second part was warranted.  You weren’t particularly one for helping others around the manor, especially because of how selfish and cruel many of the survivors were.  You sure as hell weren’t going to help Freddy if all he would do is be stingy towards you, neither would you help Naib, who would just yell at you if you tried to assist him.  You couldn’t be too upset with him for his reactions, though.  You supposed you would do the same.  Your life before the manor, which was generally spent in poverty and isolation, had bestowed upon you the gift of independence, as well as a lack of selflessness.  You saw this as good.  Why help others if they have nothing to offer to you?  

You were only helping Aesop because...well...you supposed you enjoyed his company, however solitary the time you spent together would be.  And you supposed he had never asked for anything before…

And so you were off, following Aesop down the winding hallways of the manor.  He led you through sets of doors, each strikingly similar and equally as eerie as the next.  The clothed floor creaked beneath you as you walked, carpet growing indents in it each time either of you would take a step.  

After what felt like an eternity filled with nothing more than the sound of monotonous footsteps, you reached what you presumed to be the embalmer’s door.  It was a tall door, one that was crafted from mahogany and glazed to be a darker, more sultry color.  He hesitantly turned to face you, an unsure expression on his face as he gazed at you with distrust.  

“I…” He began, only to leave his sentence hanging.  

“You wanted me to shoo away the bird, right?”

Aesop tried not to panic as he looked at you.

Vulnerable you.

Standing outside of his room.

Once you were within the confines of his abode, he could do whatever he wished to you.  You were going to look so wonderful dead.

He wrapped a milky hand around the doorknob, pulling it open and letting you into his room.  He watched you with narrowed eyes as you walked through, observing your surroundings with a sort of careful skepticism.

You had a distinct feeling that something was wrong.  Aesop never allowed anyone into his quarters.  He never even let anyone see inside of his embalming kit.  He was excessively private.  This was strange.  And the feeling of eyes burning into your back was not helping with your nerves.

“Mr. C-Carl,” you said, shifting to face him.  “Where was the bird?”  Your words knocked him out of his unconscious stupor, and he shut his door behind him before pointing to a place near his clothing chest.  You turned around, walking towards it as he discreetly locked the door behind him.  

He watched you intently as you bent over, looking carefully through his meticulously organized room with part curiosity and part concern.  

“Aesop,” he corrected, his voice barely a whisper.  

You hummed in confusion, looking back to face him.  

“My name...please don’t be so formal.”  

Your eyes betrayed you as utter confusion seeped through your pupils.  Aesop had always been one for formalities, and he had always been perhaps the strictest about respect out of the group.  Only a few survivors called him by his first name, all of which did so without his permission.  This wasn’t like him.

By now you were certain that something was wrong.  However, you just nodded compliantly, still foolishly putting your trust in the male and shoving your suspicions down.  He was probably just trying to be nice.  

You breathed in a sigh, turning back to to corner and continuing to look for the bird.  There were no signs of one, and you grew increasingly irritated at the male for calling you as you came to the realization that there was probably no such thing in the first place.  Bringing a finger up to your temple, you muttered out once more.  

“Mr. Car-”  

“I told you to refer to me as Aesop.”

You felt a deep presence take its place near you as you stood stock still, the clarity of the young embalmer’s voice indicating that he was directly behind you.  Lurching upwards, you whipped around, an unintentionally accusatory expression on your face.  

“Please don’t...be so close to me.  I-  Why are you..” You couldn’t even finish your sentence, your discombobulated words drying up as he leaned into you, moving his face down to meet yours as you looked on with discomfort and shifted away from him as far as you could.  He just hummed in satisfaction, eyes narrowing as he observed the power he currently held over you, how you were bending away at the mere prospect of his touch.  Anyone else might have found this hurtful, but your actions just submerged Aesop into an unmistakable feeling of power, one that he faintly remembered from his time before the manor when he was still working as an apprentice.

He carefully reached out a hand, feelings of longing spreading through his fingertips as he drew them close to your face.  A slender digit traced up to your hairline, shifting some stray hairs aside.  You stood there, quivering.  

This was uncomfortable.  You had to go.  Even Aesop must know that this wasn’t normal.  Your eyes darted across the four walls of his room before falling on the door.  You spared him one more shaking glance before pushing him away from you, shoving the male to the side and sprinting towards your only viable exit.  You heard him stumble a bit behind you, the satisfaction of having stunned him motivating you to move faster.  You grasped a hand out, searching blindly for the doorknob in a less than futile attempt to let yourself out of the room.  You grabbed a hold of it, shaking wildly when it failed to click open.  

An unforeseen force grasped you by the back of your collar, pulling you backwards and eliciting a few chokes from you.  Your body collided with something soft behind you, the slim torso of the embalmer pressing up against yours in an uncomfortably heated manner.  His breathing was thick and shallow, as though he were struggling for air as he grasped you within his horribly depraved hands.  His arm slid around your middle, pulling you further into him as he breathed down your neck, heavy sighs falling against your skin and creating a sensation of chills within your shoulders.  

“Don’t run,” he said between heavy breaths, voice shaky and thick with something akin to arousal.  

Without warning, you were shoved against the cold wood of his desk, head banging against the surface as he wrapped his hands around your throat, his movements sharp and concise.  You yelped, only for the sound to come out as a series of gasps due to his inhuman grip on you.  You clawed your hands against his, eyes glazing over as you fought against the male.  He refused to let up on you, his mask itching down his face and revealing a sick half smile.  

You felt as though you were about to die. Correction: you were going to die.  But you were nothing if not a fighter.  You kicked your steadily numbing leg up, your unclothed foot colliding with his stomach.  He grimaced, his grip loosening noticeably for what must have been less than a second.  This moment, however, was enough to give you just the slightest bit of hope, and so you kept struggling. If he was going to kill you, you should at least like to go out fighting.  

A flash of clarity came to you as you shoved your hands towards his face, aiming for his eyes as your outstretched fingers came into contact with the male’s milky flesh.  He threw himself backwards, retracting his hands and hissing as he shaded his face from further assault.  

You took off, sprinting wildly towards the door and stumbling over your own feet as you tumbled away from your attacker, lunging once more and outstretching your hand.  Taking heed of your previous mistakes, your fingers slipped around the lock, releasing it before pulling the door open.  The hallway never had looked so inviting before as you jumped out into it, forcing yourself through the doorway and out into the hallway and screaming for someone to help and…

And no sound came from your lips.  In one swift motion, Aesop grabbed you back, his grip on your midsection suffocating.  He kicked the door closed, wrapping his arm around your chin in order to muffle the cries that were threatening to spill out of your mouth.  You kicked and struggled as he once again pulled you backwards, keeping one arm wrapped around your waist as he reached into the pocket of his jacket.  

“I wanted to try and make this as painless for you as I could, darling.  However, it appears that tried methods always work the best.  Choking is far too messy of death anyways, isn’t it?  I want the beginning of your new life with me to be as clean as possible, I want it to be something befitting of a person like you.”  You stopped moving, freezing up as he spoke out the word death.  “It’s a good thing I prepared for this, hm?”

You craned your head towards his mobile hand, spotting a syringe filled with a milky substance, the tip of it dripping slightly as he pushed the plunger forward and tested the liquid.  

“What?-”  You managed to spit out, gasping as you pulled against his restricting arm with all your worth.  

“Pancuronium bromide,” the male said, addressing your unspoken query.  “It’s a serum used in lethal injection.  It should be relatively painless, well- as painless as death can be.”  His voice was confident, firmer than you had ever heard it.  It was terrifying, how quickly he had switched from his customary anxious demeanor to this cold, almost professional persona.  

“No, Aesop please think about this!  I’ll- I don’t know what you want, money, or- or information or sex- but I’ll give it to you, please we can work this out, I just- Mr. Carl please!”

He paused before answering, his grip tightening even more as he began to speak.  “My love.  My beautiful, exquisite gem, my precious doll.  You really do not understand, do you?  This is the only way we can truly be together.  I cannot bear to be without you any longer, I can’t stand being without your presence.  Of course, the likes of you wouldn’t spend time with someone such as myself, so you must understand that this is just me ensuring that we can stay together, forever.”  He halted, letting his words hang heavy in the air. “I’m doing this because I love you.  This pain will be temporary, but my affections for you won’t ever let up.  I’ve never had even a concept of what love should be, but you’ve helped me to see that this is what it is, and you are the person who I have chosen to spend the rest of my time with.”  His voice grew gentler as he spoke, his tone reverent as he held you.  You grew numb at his words.  He truly was messed up, in more ways than one.  What he was describing was not love, it was obsession.  It was a cruel infatuation, one that, for some reason, had led to him feeling the need to kill you.  

“Aesop.  I- I promise I’ll be with you.  I- I love you!  I do..and I will continue to do so, but you must let me live.  I beg this of you, I just wish to spend time with you, I truly am o-obsessed with you, Mr. Carl.”  You felt him freeze up behind you at your feigned confession.  The promise of your affections had to be enough to convince him to not kill you, you were going to make sure of it.  No matter what, you were going to make it away from the embalmer, alive.  You would try anything, and eventually you would be-

“Doll,”  He began, his arm resuming its suffocating grip on your torso, the sudden pressure enough to make you draw your breath in as you fought for air.  “Please don’t be so formal.  I told you to call me Aesop”

A sharp pain spread through your neck, the feeling of a needle plunging into your skin barely registering in your mind as he held you, a low hum falling from his mouth as he held your quivering self.  He drained the syringe of the substance, pushing it further into your vein as he gazed down on you with eyes full of concentrated adoration.  He had killed before, but nothing had ever felt as satisfying as gripping your twitching body, holding onto your vulnerable form as the fluid began to spread through your bloodstream.  You shook against him as he laid you on his bed, silken sheets coming up to caress your steadily paling face.  

Nimble fingers removed the syringe, wiping the needle with a nearby cloth before setting both upon a bedside table.  His silver eyes drank in your form, pupils dilated as he ran his gaze over the red marks on your neck.  He couldn’t manage to resist a final temptation of his, reaching his hands out once more and wrapping them on top of the strips of pink skin.  He knew that the bromide would be enough to kill you, but he couldn’t deny that there was something satisfying about the power he felt as he had choked you before.  As so he gazed down at you, now too weak to struggle against his hold.  

His grip was what finally pushed you over the edge.  A deep breath reverberated through your lungs right as the life finally faded from your eyes, pupils glazing over and cornea becoming cloudy as you gazed forward with a sort of inanimate poise.  You were still, completely still.

Aesop was right.

You did look beautiful dead.

He kept his eyes on you, gazing at you distrustingly as he retrieved his embalming case, as though he was expecting you to spring back to life.  

He set it down beside you before moving your limp legs onto the bed, your body significantly heavier than it was before.  Such was one of the physical tolls of death.  

Hands subconsciously reached for a needle and thread, used normally for repairing ripped clothes and garments before burials.  It held a different purpose for you, though.  You were special, a newly immortalized doll, and one that should be treated as such.  He threaded the needle, gripping it between careful fingers before carefully lifting your eyelid and plunging it within the flesh that lay there.  He slowly sewed it to your bottom lid, a bit of blood spurting out, which he quickly wiped away with a previously pristine white cloth.  He moved on to your other eyes, repeating his same meticulous process.  A finger traced over your stitches, caressing them with a sort of gentleness that could only occupy one such as Aesop. He took another glance at your features, deciding that you needed to look at least a bit more lifelike.  Aesop hated the living, but he supposed you had always given him pleasure while alive.  He wanted to preserve his feelings, no matter what.  He plucked the corners of your mouth up into a smile before threading the string through your lips and cheeks, forcing your features into a permanent simper.  He tied off the string, appeased by the doll-like appearance that the stitches gave you.  He took out some blush, methodically spreading it upon your blanched cheeks and up near your nose, returning a bit of life into your body.  Your robe was soon pulled open, leaving you in only your nightgown.  You looked so soft, so vulnerable.  Aesop was pleased.

He caressed his hand against your cheeks before bending beneath his bed, drawing out an elongated wooden box that lay there.  He opened the top, revealing the plush white surface of the surrogate coffin.  He pushed himself up, more careful than ever as he placed you within the tomb, manually wrapping your hands over your chest.  You looked so peaceful, so utterly perfect, and you were going to stay as such.

Now you two would be bound forever, with him as your owner and you as his loving doll.  Such a relationship was born out of his pure love for you, his unadulterated affection that no one, not even yourself, could hinder for any longer.  This was a safer and more thorough solution, not to mention more desirable for Aesop.

He despised the living.

And so here you were, perfectly preserved for him.  

[velkynkarma]

Big List of FMA Parental Roy Mustang Fic Recs

Recently a family member of mine has been enjoying Fullmetal Alchemist for the first time. I’ve been revisiting it too for fun. While I was at it, I decided to poke through the fandom, revisit old fic favorites, and see if there were any good new ones. 

Turns out: there are!

I was always a big fan of Roy Mustang, and especially fics where he acts as a surrogate parental figure for Ed and Al, accidentally or intentionally. It was hard to find good ones though, so I thought I’d throw together a list of fic recs. 

Everything here is platonic, and does not focus on romantic relationships. Fics can be from the 2003 anime, Brotherhood, or the manga. 

To the Night Sky by Ranowa 

Summary: They tell him he lost his mind. He doesn't remember anything else, so he believes them. But if that's the case, then why does he sometimes feel like he doesn't belong here... and neither does that little, annoying, blond kid named Ed? 

Comments: In the author’s words, ‘not a traditional amnesia fic,’ and it sure isn’t. Long, eventful, has a ton of hurt/comfort but also a great background plot that ends up becoming more important the farther you go. This author also has a few other great FMA fics that are worth checking out, but this one stuck out to me the most. 

War Heroes by Akarii

Summary: Drawn by rumors of a Philosopher's Stone, Edward travels to North City along with Roy and the soldiers of Eastern Command who plan to compete in the North vs. East Training Exercises. However, Ed and Roy find their lives at risk when they get captured by a rebellion group who aim for the end of all State Alchemists and the entire Amestrian government.

Comments: Great adventure fic with some good hurt/comfort, but also plenty of Roy and Ed both kicking ass and taking names. This author also has some other FMA fics that are definitely worth checking out as well, but this was again the stand-out for me. 

Number Twenty Eight by Sevlow

Summary: As of today, Edward Elric had been missing for four months, two weeks, and five days.

Comments: An oldie but still a goodie. Ed goes missing, and when he’s found again, he’s a Nina-esque dog chimera in bad shape. With Al on the other side of the country chasing down another lead on his missing brother, it’s up to Roy to try and fix Ed, and take care of him in the interim. Chimera!fic was a dime a dozen back in the days of the 2003 anime fandom, but this was one of the ones that delivered on the premise. Years later, it still holds up and remains a personal favorite, with plenty of hurt/comfort and dark humor moments. Sevlow has a lot of other Roy-centric fics that are equally good, though not necessarily parental!Roy.

Warning: Parts of this fic do get super dark, with references to suicide, gore, and implied sexual abuse during Ed’s missing months. 

Bookwrm389: This author had some of my favorite FMA fics back in the day. Imagine my shock when I discovered their FF.net account has been completely deleted within the past year. Thankfully, they only orphaned their stories on AO3, so they’re still available. Since it is an orphaned account now, I can’t link to it for people to browse at their leisure, so here’s individual links to all my favorites:

Gold from Lead ~ There were whispers. There was absolutely no way to stop them. Ed would rip out his spleen if he knew what all those people were insinuating about the two of them.

Comments: Ed gets kidnapped by insurgents to be used as ransom against his father. The problem? Thanks to the rumor mill, everyone thinks his father is Colonel Roy Mustang. 

Your Son ~ "I'm not your father. It's not fair that you can affect me this much." A military function becomes a nightmare when Ed accidentally takes a poisoned drink meant for Roy.

Comments: Exactly what it says on the tin. Somebody tries to assassinate Roy, and Ed gets caught in the crossfire. Excellent hurt-comfort. Also features Maes Hughes being awesome, and Roy having an existential oh my god am I a dad????? moment. 

Tempest ~ Ed is adamant that he doesn't need a father. And it's only when he's about to lose the closest thing he has to one that he understands how very wrong he is.

Comments: Has a solid dose of both action-adventure and hurt/comfort and found family moments. It’s the full package. 

Shadow of a Doubt ~ It was meant to be a simple inspection, but a disturbing dream makes Ed uneasy and fearful. His anxiety intensifies when the mission takes a dangerous turn, putting his and Mustang's lives at risk. Can he hold it together long enough to save them both?

Comments: Another nice, long fic with a good combination of action, hurt/comfort, and family moments. One of my favorites.

Likeness ~ One morning mere hours before an inspection, Roy is amazed to receive absolute proof that his young subordinate is growing up.

Comments: A surprisingly adorable fic in which Roy ends up being the one to teach Ed how to shave. 

Bonus fics that aren’t specifically parental Roy but do still have some hilarious Roy and Ed interaction: 

Military Courtesy ~ Ed learns how to do a proper military salute and promptly drives the Colonel absolutely insane (or not)

Who’s the Alchemist? ~ A Who’s on First parody that goes exactly like how you’d expect but still had me cracking up

Name Calling by Lost_And_Longing

Summary: From the start, Roy Mustang had always believed in Edward Elric. Even after he'd learned the horrific story of their attempt at human transmutation, Mustang had just looked at Ed and offered him a chance. He'd come when Ed was despondent, weak, and helpless...and offered him a way out. Maybe that was why, out of all the men Ed knew, Roy was the closest thing he'd ever had to a father.

Comments: A 5+1 based on all the different names and titles Ed uses for Roy. Has a nice dollop of humor, hurt/comfort, and parental moments. 

Of Hospitals and Health by ReminiscentRevelry

Summary: Al is still recovering after the Promised Day, so Colonel Mustang pays him a visit.

Comments: Post-series (although not by much). A nice fic where Al actually gets a little moment with Mustang. Most parental Roy fics are with Ed, so this was a nice change of pace as well as as sweet little fic in which Roy shows he cares about both of the Elrics, even if only one is technically his subordinate.

Twelve Cups of Coffee by BeyondtheClouds777

Summary: Roy finds a sleep-deprived Edward in his office.

Comments: Just a cute little one shot in which a freshly appointed State Alchemist Edward Elric overworks himself trying to find the solutions to his and Al’s problem, and Roy makes sure he knows not to push himself too hard.

Point of Exhaustion by Took-Baggins

Summary: Roy never thought he'd be the one to be there when Edward finally pushed himself too far, but when the Fullmetal Alchemist suddenly collapses there's no one else to hold him down until he can stand again.

Comments: Another fic in which Teenagers Are Just Bad At Knowing How To Take Care Of Themselves, so the adults step in to make sure they do. Ed’s not eating or sleeping properly when he’s so obsessed with getting Al’s body back and makes himself sick. Features both a parental Roy and a parental Hawkeye, because both of them are fed up with the smallest youngest member of their team not properly taking care of himself and are not gonna let that stand. 

When the Rain Falls by Marcellebelle

Summary: Colonel Roy Mustang has two problems: Edward and Alphonse Elric.

Comments: Still a WIP, but the first two chapters are definitely promising. A sickly Ed calls Roy asking for help when his brother is kidnapped, and now Roy has to find one and make sure the other is taken care of. Really looking forward to seeing where this one goes.

As always, if you take the time to check any of these out, try to leave a comment or kudos for the writers and their hard work!

[frostahesmegabite]

The Judgement of Carrion

@daily-writing-challenge - Day 4 - Accomplish/Macabre [ Content warning: Blood, Guts, Gore, Bits of Torture, That sort of stuff. While there aren't pages and pages of it, it is present in this short story. I tried to find a balance of detail and keeping things light without going into ‘Hostel’ territory. ]

Human forts were a dime a dozen, easily found and half of them forgotten or falling to ruin due to the numerous war fronts that were constantly moving across the face of Azeroth to fight one force or another. Some lost to time, others to ruin, some to marauding forces and others simply abandoned because they were no longer needed. It was one of these Forts that Megahes had put to use for himself and probably his most comprehensive and long lasting pastime.

Clever little devices put into play to keep things looking abandoned and misused, neglected and falling to ruin. The place had not only been repaired but also reinforced with Magical and Mechanical Goblin ingenuity that was built upon with knowledge gained over the past several decades.

Inside of this fort, despite the fact it was never intended to receive an actual willful audience, was decorative furniture made of fine dark woods embroidered with rich velvets, soft silks and the finest wools and cottons coin could acquire. Tables stretching about with plates and goldware that no man or woman other than Megahes would ever see sat to present an atmosphere of riches on display. Trophy cases and stands line the walls with numerous weapons of both magical and mundane descent that perch over Armor Stands holding protective metal layers meant not just for Goblins, but all races.

If any ever came to somehow find the place and took the time to inspect any of it, they’d find that all of these items weren’t as ‘pristine’ as they may appear at a distance. Damage came to them all at some point or another. Blunted blades, shattered axe heads assembled to look presentable. Armor with gashes, pierced helmets or chest pieces, greaves with shorn metal by the thighs that most likely led to bleed outs.

The more one could look, the more they’d note that all of the gear was like walking through a museum of deathly wounds. All that stood or hung from the walls had a story of defeat and loss and probably before then, great triumphs, valor and victory… just to have their stories end here.

Megahes pays no mind to these things now though as he walks with his back rigid and straight, his arms back behind him with hands clasping the other arms elbow in some overly formal glide across the stone floor. His bright white and gold attire is a stark beacon amongst the dark colors and atmosphere of the room that one should have found comforting, but for some reason, only brought worry and dread with it as he moves about his untold business.

[ Artwork by the Magnificent Fishadee. No Fire or Light Shards floating about in this scene, purely put for clothing example. https://twitter.com/fishadee ] He stops, not worrying to look around for any watchers, for he knows there are none as he stops at a small wall just behind a staircase. “Rehorur decno Kudex.” A series of flashes occur around our Goblin and once completed a small stone panel slides off to the side and Megahes puts his hand into the slot. A sudden sharp ‘shing!’ sound is head and Mega’s neck tenses but for a moment before his hand is withdrawn. A mechanical but feminine voice perks up from the slot. “Welcome back.” “Hmm.” The only sound Megahes makes before he takes a step back and then to the left. The stone wall jars forward at an alarming speed, spikes erupting from her stone crevices meant to impale and kill any would-be intruders while giving Megahes the solitary moment that was needed to pass behind the crude defense into the wall beyond. Whether by measured practice or perhaps sensors, the trap quickly retreats and returns to normal, giving off no telltale signs of a hidden door or of Mega’s earlier passing.

The reason for all this secrecy? Hidden at the end of the staircase Mega was already descending. Humans had their specialties sure, jacks of all trades those people. But the one thing they never fail to make well?

Jail Cells and Prisons.

It was this singular reason that Megahes took over this once ramshackle Fort for himself. Though there weren’t many cells, there was no need. Three of them sat in a row at the bottom of the stairs, each outfitted with custom Arcano-tech that allowed for the arrival of a singular occupant that was soon set to magical and electrical suppression to keep them docile and incapable of action while time slowly allowed them to become dehydrated and starved to where strength or speed was no longer an issue either.

The work put into this place was one of Mega’s hidden creations of pride and in the past, its use went towards a sorted pastime of torturing whoever was unfortunate enough to get caught by one of his traps. Times change however and with Mega’s newfound religion, came the need to change how and why he did things while applying them to old hobbies. Today’s hobby however, only involved one other person beyond himself and Mega comes to stand right before him as electricity pulses through his frail, nearly starved frame.

“Brother Abacus.” A stupid name, false to be sure, but one that Megahes didn’t really care about either way. “I realize you don’t know who I am and that’s quite alright.” He leans in, voice dialing down as he speaks through the bars just as another tide of electricity bombards the ‘Brother’, causing him to whimper and whine in pain. “You have been found guilty of being a member of a Twilight Cult, one in fact, that was run by Dinthoqaf the Defiler.”

The cultist looks up, arms shaking in heavy tremors as he tries to look his would-be captor in the eye. They give out however, causing him to hit the ground with an exhale. His cracked and bleeding lips wobble, trying to say something, but the lack of strength made their efforts near useless. It was sad really, or at least it would be if Megahes cared about the man's condition in the slightest.

Megah glides over to a control panel on the wall and proceeds to flip a series of switches and dials which cause several mechanical tendrils to tear from the wall in Abacus’ cell that soon lash him to the same wall they originated from. His body was quickly drawn into an ‘X’ shape with limbs pulled tight and to their limits.

“You see. Your former… Employer? Boss? Leader.” Megahes hands lift and tumble in slow methodical circles as he tries to find the right word, but leaves it be. “Him and I don’t get along very well and thanks to his efforts, I find myself needing to improvise my tactics a bit. While I know he’s dead, face turned to slag and glass, I wanna make sure I get the job done correctly, meaning none of his followers try to take up his mantle. I’m sure you understand.”

He turns around and heads into the cell, worry of electrocution now gone thanks to the current state of affairs. “You see. I have this…” He pauses. “...Macabre little ritual I have to do every so often and believe me.” The Goblin laughs while looking up at the man while proceeding to straighten up his clothes, as if it mattered. “As much as people might want me to say I hate doing this… I don’t. I’ve been doing this to people way before you all found me and now. Now I get to put my hobbies to better use.”

Megahes’ hand comes up, his index finger pressing to his lips to tell Brother Abacus to be silent. His smile fades with the gesture and he reaches up, pressing his black and gold painted claw against the clothing of this man's thigh. Downward, slowly, it runs. Fabric quickly turns from a peasant-y brown to a heavy red and brown as flesh below seems to split before the clothing itself can.

Magic? Possibly. Insanely sharp claws? Not likely. But whatever it was, the man's thigh split open as if by scalpel and despite his starvation, he thrashes weakly in an effort to pull away. The machines holding his wrists tighten and continue to do so until the sound of bone is heard crunching.

This process continues on not just for mere moments but stretches of hours, lines drawn across flesh like sand. Megahes had nothing else to say and so, despite the protests and pleading, begging to let him go and he’d tell no one, Mega continued.

Soon, details were carved away, facial features, scalp and its rooted hair, ears. Nearly anything that could be taken and removed without outright killing this poor cultist was taken in some macabre movie of silence and torture and finally, when the man was nearest his end, Megahes opens his own shirt.

The metal embedded into his Chest that shines with the Light like a beacon in this squalor, practically vibrates as Mega runs his blood coated hands across its surface. Red blood made semi-translucent by the sheer shine, soon was baked and cooked black, all Vitae devoured, leaving Megahes to sigh in relief.

“I would ask you to tell the Defiler thank you for giving me this. But… we both know you’re never going to have that opportunity.”

Megahes runs his hand up from Brother Abacus' groin clear up to his collarbone, shearing clean through flesh and muscle alike. What came next was a grotesque shower of innards that began to fall and slop to the floor, leaving our would-be cultist inanimate and lifeless.

“Now to clean up and go home. Tonight’s my date night and I have so many things to accomplish before She gets home…” Soon, the jail cells were left dark and eventually the slow trickling of blood and various other liquids came to silence in the dark, waiting to be cleaned up and for a new subject to be taken.

[dumdumsun]

Forever and Never

A/N: One more chapter! You guys are a dream, thank you so much for reading ❤️

Warnings: mentions of marijuana, derogatory terms for homosexuality, blood/gore and death/dying

Word Count: 5690

—————————————

Eight: All Die Young

“Um… I think besides everything with Ricky… the night of homecoming was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.”

“With Bradley Lewis’s death.”

“Yeah. I-I mean, it started off as a normal day, a-a great day, actually.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Awaking to a text from Stanley Barber, informing me that he was driving us to school, was a heavenly sight. Almost as heavenly as waking up beside the boy, himself in the near future. Grabbing my phone off its charger, I rolled onto my stomach and texted him back, my feet giddily kicking in the air. It amazed me how he could change my entire demeanor within seconds. I could go from a sniveling baby to a hopping and skipping lovesick fool when it comes to Stan. And I don’t even think he meant to have this much of an effect on me. I wondered if I had the same effect on him? I never really paid much attention to it, just accepted the fact that he would never reciprocate my feelings. Even during that time, I had no idea if we were a couple or just adoring each other. It didn’t matter, though. Stan was finally looking at me the way I wanted him to.

Jacob stared at me with unease as I skipped down the stairs, prancing my way into the kitchen for breakfast. “Mom, (Y/N)’s being weird.” He called out as he opened the front door to leave. Pam hushed him before handing me a plate of food.

“Hush, now, Jacob. Let her be in a good mood for once.”

“For once?” I frowned and sat myself down. Pam smiled over at me and gingerly kissed my forehead as I began eating.

“Yes. For once.”

When I finished eating and readying myself for the day, I received a text message from Stan.

Stan: I’m outside

Me: omw

Pocketing my cell, I called out to my family before stepping outside to see Stan in his car with a grin on his face. “Good morning, lovely!” He called out above his music as I strode up to the vehicle, climbing inside. I gave him my usual greeting before leaning over and kissing his cheek. He chuckled and waited for me to strap myself in before riding down our street. It was clear he was in a good mood, because he let me pick the music for the ride. As Waterloo by ABBA flowed out of the drawn-down car windows, I felt the comforting warmth of his hand latch onto mine. Our combined hands shook to the beat of the music as we happily sang the words to the song. Remember when I said I had only been this happy one other time? This was even better. There were never any consequences to being with Stan, never a dull moment, never a hint of doubt between our bond. I’d never been as close to anyone as I was to him. And now at last, we were even closer in more ways than one.

Stepping onto the school campus, we were no longer strangers. I still walked within my bubble, and I probably always will throughout my life, but from now on there was no need to allow Stan inside. He was planning to be beside me through it all. He wasn’t afraid to be alienated with me any longer, we were to embrace it together. We were going to allow the stares, the whispers, the rumors. Allow them to act as water on a duck’s back. I was proud of him, I was proud of us. Even as I felt the dark brown glare of Ricky Berry trail after the two of us, watching our bashful and lovestruck glances throughout classes, the way we held hands in the halls. I was certain he got the message that I was no longer his, despite the forceful way he claimed me the previous week.

At lunch, I was just about to declare my spot in line when I felt a gentle hold on my arm. Stan, with a warm grin, pulled me away and walked us to an empty table. “Um, Stan, I’d kinda like to eat lunch today.”

“I know, Nugget,” He held up two brown sacks. “I made lunch for the both of us.” The way his grin grew prideful made my heart swell in affection. We sat across from each other as he slid the bag over to me.

“Awe, Stanley, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to, though,” He shrugged and watched as I took each item out of the bag and carefully organized them. “So, about homecoming. I was thinking we could make a big deal out of it. If you want to.”

“I totally want to,” I nodded, eyes trained on my task. “What were you planning, beautiful?”

I didn’t miss the bashful blush tinting his cheeks when I snuck a glance up at him. “Uh… Well, I was thinking when I pick you up, we can take, like, a shitload of pictures. Like, just let Aunt Pam go at it. She’ll love it.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely.”

“And then after the dance, I wanna take you out to eat.”

“Really? Where to?”

“Nothing too fancy. You don’t like all that. I was driving around yesterday and saw this restaurant that specializes in their pasta,” I suddenly felt the tip of my nose being gently pinched. Looking up, Stan was playfully wiggling my nose with a goofy grin on his face. “I know how much you love pasta.”

“I do,” I laughed and swatted his hand away. “And after that? Are we robbing a bank and driving off into the night?”

“If only,” He wistfully sighed. “But alas, I’m afraid we’ll have to remain trapped within Brownsville until we’re old enough to run away.”

I gave a mischievous smirk. “The entire act of running away is rebellious. Why wait until we’re allowed?”

“Because, frankly, I don’t feel like running away,” We shared a laugh. “But in all seriousness, we go to my house and just chill. We can have a dance contest. Our last was a tie, remember?”

The antsy excitement rushed through my veins the closer the night approached. I was never one for making a scene about school dances, but this time was different. It was my senior year, I had Stan, Ricky was out of the picture. Or at least, he was for the next hour. After lunch, Stan walked me to photography class, the two of us hand-in-hand as we had been for the entire day. Approaching the door, he wished me a good class before leaning in and pecking my lips. Our fingertips lingered as he pulled away and continued to his own class. Feeling my burning cheeks, I turned to go into the room, but an arm blocked my path. “Hey, Zip.”

Inwardly groaning, I looked up at Ricky. His bruises were beginning to fade, the dark ring around his right eye taking its time to heal. I silently hissed at the sight of him. “What.”

“Listen, I just wanted to apologize. Brad talked to me the other day and… made me realize that what I did was really fucked up. Really, babe, I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

“You’re so fucking lucky I haven’t called the police on you, Ricky-”

“Yes, I know,” He sighed, discreetly rolling his eyes. “And I really appreciate it. Gives me a chance to better myself, you know? Help you better yourself. And what better way to make up for what I did than to make homecoming the most magical night for you? Yeah? We still on for tonight?”

My eyes dangerously widened at his hopeful smile, his expression melting under my fiery stare. “Are you kidding me?! Hell no! You think I wanna be anywhere near you?!”

“(Y/N)-”

“Besides, I already have another date.” I shrugged and moved to duck under his arm, but he leaned against the doorframe to decline me access inside. I quickly backed away from him, my fear kicking in at his brash behavior.

“What, Stan The Faggot? You’re really going with that fucking twink when you could be going with me?” He laughed right in my face. I lifted my chin and stepped forward.

“Don’t ever speak about Stanley that way. He’s the most kind-hearted person I’ve ever met and is an even better boyfriend than you’ll ever be to anyone-”

“Boyfriend?!” He cackled. “I knew it. How could I not? It was so obvious! You’re fucking crazy.”

“Excuse me?!”

“You don’t see the way he dresses? He’s fucking weird, (Y/N). He’s a goddamn drug dealer. What is he gonna offer you? Huh? Free weed? Babe… Come on, you are so better off with me.”

He lightly shook his head with a smile of disbelief as I took out my phone. “I just remembered. You’re not supposed to be near me, talking to me, or even looking at me. I think Jacob would love to hear about this-”

“Fuck you.” Ricky hissed before stomping away, leaving me in an empty hallway that was filled with the ringing of the tardy bell not too long afterwards. At that point, I was just about sick of guys. I was irritable during gym class, running off my anger and letting it steam off my shoulders. When the coach told us we could stop, I took greedy gulps of air and trudged to a nearby bench to rest. As I plopped down, I noticed Syd and Dina walking together to the opposite side of the field. It was good to know they were to finally talk everything out. Now for her and Stan to make up…

I was thankful for a split second for the shadow that casted over the burning sun raining down on me, but huffed upon seeing who it was. Some guy from my math class stood before me. He was shirtless, displaying his six-pack and chest glistening with sweat. He beamed down at me with a suave smirk. “Hey, Zip.”

“Hey.”

“So… I know you and Ricky are… you know. So, since the dance is tonight-”

“Sorry, I already have a date.”

“Right,” He nodded slowly, beginning to back away. “I should’ve known. No worries.”

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

“And he just walked away?!” Stan laughed on our drive home from school. My hold on his hand tightened as I tried to hold in my own laugh.

“No, he ran away!” I snorted, triggering the increase of his laughter.

“What is that, the fourth guy today?”

“Don’t remind me.” I rolled my eyes as he pulled up to my house. Unbuckling myself, I froze at Stan’s intentuous stare. He reached over and grabbed my hand again, raising it to his lips.

“I expect you to dazzle everyone like you usually do.” He kissed my knuckles.

My breath hitched. “Of course. And I expect you to do better than me, like you usually do. What time should I be ready?”

“I’m picking you up at eight. On the dot.”

“On the dot, got it.” I leaned over and pressed my lips to his. He returned it and tilted his head to try and deepen it, but I pulled away with a giggle. Stan watched in awe as I got out of the car, snatching up my backpack as I did. Waving him off, I turned and headed inside my house.

I had to look perfect. Not just for Stan, but for me. This was a new era of myself, I had shedded my skin and materialized as something beautiful. I had to showcase just how beautiful I’ve become. So, after my shower, I struck up a playlist and dolled myself up. Starting off with my hair, I simply pinned it up with white butterfly hair clips. My makeup was nothing special, other than the baby pink eyeshadow and the small application of glitter over it. To seal up the look, I added cherry lip gloss to give my lips a bit of a pop. I hoped Stan would appreciate it. My face burned at the thought of him tasting the cherry on my mouth. Backing away from my mirror before I exploded, I entered my closet. My dress was something I never thought I would ever wear. It matched my makeup in baby pink. An off-the-shoulder look that hugged my torso and flared out to the floor. I managed to zip it up myself before slipping on a pair of white heels. Turning to my reflection, I let out a breath.

I had never looked any more beautiful, I think. I remember gazing at my parents’ wedding photo as a child and wishing to look as beautiful as my mother one day. I wondered if she was looking down at me, proud of who I had become at that point. Gazing fondly down at the ring on my pinky, I blinked back the stinging of my tears.

Yeah, she’s proud.

An eager three knocks sounded at my door and I hurried to open it. Pam immediately teared up the moment her eyes settled on me, camera ready in her hand. “Oh, my baby… You look so gorgeous! Just like your mom!” She gushed. I could only chuckle as she took multiple pictures of me. Hearing a taunting laugh, I looked down the hall to see Jacob leaning against the wall, silently mocking his mother’s excitement. I kindly showed my middle finger to him, much to Pam’s disappointment. “Oh, come on. Now it’s in the picture! Jake, leave your sister alone!”

“Sorry, ma’am.” He feigned innocence and batted his eyelashes at me. I playfully sneered at him before David’s voice sounded from downstairs.

“(Y/N), Stan is here!”

Grabbing my phone, I checked the time. Eight o’clock. On the dot. That punctual bastard. Clutching my phone in my hand, I nervously made my way to the top of the stairs. Everyone was waiting for me at the bottom, including Stan. God, he looked so cute. He was wearing his baby blue suit, some sort of black and tan shirt beneath that oddly went well with the suit. Leave it to Stan to defy the laws of fashion. I could tell he paid extra care to his hair, the way it was styled perfectly for his curls to sit off to the left side of his forehead. I was sure I was grinning like a maniac as I descended the stairs, but Stan’s expression was the reason I was grinning. He looked absolutely astonished and at a loss for words. His jaw was dropped and eyes were bulging as he watched me walk closer to him. When I quietly greeted him, he couldn’t even respond. Great job, (Y/N), you broke him.

“How’d I do?” I whispered and hooked arms with him. At my touch, he snapped out of his haze and beamed at me.

“You certainly did not disappoint, lovely.”

“Awe, and you aren’t looking too bad yourself, beautiful.”

Pam squealed from the sidelines before rushing over to us. “Stanley, doesn’t she look stunning?”

“Absolutely, Aunt Pam.” He grinned at the older woman as she began taking photo after photo of us. We decided to indulge her and pose for each one. All the while, I felt a red hot glare from the side. Glancing its way, I noticed Jacob fuming at the sight of Stan and I hugged up on each other. His Big Brother Mode was going to activate the second Pam was done with us. To my horror, she finished sooner than I thought. As she excitedly showed our photos to David, I watched as Jacob slowly approached us. Just as he opened his mouth to spit some sort of threat towards the poor, unsuspecting Stan, I turned to the front door and flung it open.

“Well, we really have to go! We’re already late, you know.” I chuckled and gently shoved Stan out of the house.

“Oh! Yeah, of course!” Pam called out after us. “You two be careful out there! And have fun!”

“And (Y/N)-” Jacob began to add in a warning, but I waved him off, mouthing an ‘I know’ as Stan scrambled to hold the car door open for me. I quietly thanked him and climbed inside. The car ride to the dance was very pleasant. The hum of soft rock music fit the mood of our night as we quietly sang along. Stan found a parking spot rather quickly and leaned back in his seat after turning the car off. Bringing the visor down, I checked myself in the mirror, gently running my fingers over my white gold hoop earrings gifted to me by my dad for my previous birthday. They were pretty expensive and I hardly wore them, so why not? Hearing a click, I turned to see Stan lighting up a joint. After he took a hit, he looked my way and smiled, offering it to me. Without any hesitation, I joined him in a quick session. As I took my third hit, I felt his eyes on me.

“What?” I raised a brow and exhaled the smoke. His eyes shown in adoration.

“What a sight you are…”

“A sight? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you’re sitting in my old-school car, looking like a goddess and smoking a joint. You’re so beautiful… Just perfection.”

“Jeez, maybe I should get dolled up to smoke more often.” I joked and handed it back to him. We shared a chuckle before Stan put the smoke out. He gave me a wink before getting out of the car and rounding it to let me out.

Our highs kicked in the moment we stepped into the gymnasium. Our clammy hands found each other as we walked further in. I let him lead me through the sea of dancing bodies and bouncing balloons, the two of us hitting them out of our way as we ended up near the bleachers. When we stopped, we overlooked the scene before us as I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Best theater in town, Stan.”

“Best theater in town, (Y/N),” He looked down at me with furrowed brows. “So, why aren’t you on stage?”

“I don’t perform without my co-star.”

“Well, in that case.” He took hold of both my hands and swung us around. At that, we let loose, broadcasting our best secret dance contest moves to anyone willing to watch. I thought it was perfect. The two outcasts, both outcasts for difference reasons, wildly dancing together away from everyone else. And yet, they were the life of the party. It was meant to be. My feet stung from the stomping and jumping I was doing in my heels, but I couldn’t care less.

“I fucking hate this song!” I joyfully shouted, eliciting a laugh from my date.

“Me, too!” From the sound of our laughter, it was clear the two of us were high. Three songs later, in the middle of my rounds of spinning, I felt Stan’s hands on my waist, attempting to stop me. When I did, my surroundings rotated around me and I leaned into him for support. Looking up, I saw Sydney awkwardly smiling at the both of us.

“Oh! Hey, Syd! I love your dress.” I smiled and gestured to her attire. Her smile widened.

“Thanks, (Y/N), y-you look great.”

“Awe, thanks.” I gushed and bashfully waved her off. My attention turned to Stan, who had a look of indifference on his face, but a hint of pain in his eyes. Sydney noticed it, too, and looked back at me.

“Uh… Can I borrow Stan for a second?”

“Go ahead.” I motioned. Stan stared at me for a second before following Syd onto the bleachers. I suddenly felt very out of place, so I decided to keep my hands busy and get myself some punch. Thankfully, I found Dina there, pouring herself a cup. When she noticed me, she quickly set it back down on the table and reached her arms out for a hug. “Dina, you look so good!”

“Are you kidding me?!” We engulfed each other in a tight hug before pulling away. “You look fucking amazing! You always have to show out, huh?”

“I try…” I lowered my voice. As the two of us talked, lonely guys would come up to us and ask to dance, but we would hold hands and politely decline. After the third walked away, Dina turned to me.

“Hey, so… In detention… The thing that Jenny said about Ricky. Was that true…?” The hesitancy in her voice made me deeply inhale as I nodded in confirmation. Instantly, her eyes welled up with tears as her hands covered her mouth. “(Y/N)... I’m so sorry. If I had known, I would’ve been there for you.”

“No, no, Dina!” I quickly took her hands into mine, my heart wrenching. “It’s okay! I’m okay…”

“You’re okay? H-How are you okay?” She frowned and blinked back her tears. A warm smile twitched its way onto my face.

“Stan… he’s been making everything better…” I admitted. Dina’s face lit up before she hugged me all over again.

“Oh my god, (Y/N)! I’m so happy for you! God, you fucking deserve it, girl!” She exclaimed as I hugged back, quietly laughing at her excitement. Our hug was cut short, when Dina caught sight of our dates heading toward us. I turned to them and happily watched as they approached us, their hands lazily clasped together. Sydney held out Stan’s hand over to mine and I gladly took over. “Stan!” Dina grinned at him as he allowed me to lean against his side.

“Dina, you look, um… you look like a Christmas tree.” He awkwardly complimented as I rolled my eyes. Dina looked down at herself.

“Thanks, dude.”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded before his eye caught something. “Oh, god. Whitaker’s still watching us.” He sighed. We directed our gaze to our principal, who indeed was standing across the gym, arms folded and a piercing gaze on the four of us.

“It’s probably the most exciting thing that’s ever happened in his entire life.” Sydney crossed her arms, as well, as we all grinned. Stan leaned forward and placed his other hand over ours as he hummed.

“I don’t know, guys. I mean, we’re wanted criminals. Why are we out here in the open? Exposed. First rule of the heist is split the loot and split the fuck up, right?”

“We don’t have any loot, Stan.” I raised a brow in false confusion as Dina smirked at me.

“Yeah, all we did was disrespect this fine institution.”

“And disrespect ourselves.” Sydney finished, Stan humming again before we all shared a soft laugh. Stan’s smile disappeared as a slow song came on. I barely recognized it, but he sure seemed to know it. His free hand reached up to cover his eyes.

“Oh, no. On principle, I just- I can’t,” He groaned and began to free himself from my grasp. “Sorry, this playlist is all over the map. I’ll- I’ll be back.” He squeezed between Syd and I to leave, but I followed right behind. He was nearly at the DJ table, when I managed to stop his striding.

“Stan! Stan, wait!” I laughed and turned him to me. “Come on, I wanna dance to this.”

“(Y/N), I have to enlighten that poor DJ over there.”

“After this song?” I pouted and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I don’t care about the music. I’ll dance to anything with you.”

“That is a lie, but fine,” He sighed before his hands rested on my waist. Our dance started off with timid shuffling, Stan clearly not used to slow dancing. I chuckled and directed his eyes away from his shoes.

“Stan, it’s just swaying, I promise.” I whispered. He gave me an incredulous look before moving with me to the music. Of course, since it’s Stan, he had to add in a few spins that had us stumbling. We laughed aloud when we almost toppled over, and we earned a few weird stares, but we didn’t give a shit. Just as it seemed we were getting the hang of it, a voice that rang throughout the gym interrupted the song and dance.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr File announced from the stage. “If I may have your attention. Stop talking. Look up here please.”

“Thank god, they stopped the song.” Stan whispered in my ear as we turned to the stage. I playfully and gently hit his chest as our teacher continued.

“It is my privilege to introduce your homecoming king and queen, Jeff Butters and Julie Frasheski!”

As the homecoming royalty hopped on stage, we all clapped and cheered for them, Stan and I exchanging looks that said ‘I have no idea who these people are’. “What up, Westinghouse!” Jeff exclaimed into the microphone, his queen by his side, the both of them wearing sashes and crowns. “Yeah! Where my boys at? Whoo! Where do I begin? I wanna thank my mom for meeting my dad-”

His amusing speech was cut off by Bradley Lewis running onstage and clamping his hand over the mic. “Listen up!” He yelled as the feedback screeched. Our smiles dropped as he swayed, clearly drunk. As Mr File tried to take the mic from him, he thrashed about and moved away. “Give me a second! I would like to take this moment to talk about something very important that affects everyone here.”

“What the fuck…?” I muttered and watched as he turned to the middle of the crowd.

“Sydney Novak!” His exclamation sent a flinch through Stan and I, and I felt him tense under my hold on his arm. “Hey, Sydney! Raise your hand! Raise your hand! Give a wave so everybody can see you!” When she didn’t comply, he moved on, proceeding to pull out Sydney’s supposed diary and flipping through it, exposing all of her secrets to the whole school. He told about how at Ricky’s party, she had kissed Dina upstairs. As he spoke, he hopped off the stage and pushed past people to stalk closer to his victim, the path to her and Dina made clear. I could see the panic in Sydney’s eyes. My blood boiled at the derogatory term he used for her sexuality, but Stan was just about ready to pop. His jaw was severely clenched and his face was flushed red in anger. I felt him move forward, but kept an arm in front of him. But there was no holding him back after the next thing Brad exposed. “And my god, don’t even get me started on the daddy issues on this one. I mean, it’s fucking worse than Zip’s! And we all know about that!” That comment punched me straight in the gut and Stan ripped his arm from my hold, pushing his way through the crowd. “Everyone in Sydney’s life thinks that she’s a piece of shit. And I mean everyone!” His cackling was interrupted when Stan broke through everyone.

“Hey, man! Leave her alone!” He went to stand in front of his friend, but Brad immediately swung, his fist connecting with Stan’s face and sending him to the ground, unconscious. My breathing stuttered before I wordlessly shoved everyone out of the way, trying to get to his limp form. There were a few people separating us that wouldn’t budge. I growled as Brad continued, shaking his fist from the blow.

“But that is not even the weirdest thing about Sydney… Novak,” He took a few steps forward, and I watched as Sydney wiped a tear from her eye. This whole situation was fucked. “Get this. Sydney claims that she has-”

To this day, I have no fucking clue how it happened, but Brad’s words were cut short when his blood and brains exploded onto everyone near him. Including me. I heard nothing but white noise the second the blood platter smacked into my hair, onto my face, my dress, my shoes. Brad’s headless body fell limp to the ground, the remaining of his brains spilling out from where his head should have been. His head should’ve been there… His head should be there! I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak. My eyes were glued to the bloodied corpse on the ground. I was sure everyone was screaming and running around, but I couldn’t do the same. I saw shaking Dina’s form, trembling as she moved, but my focus snapped right back to the fucking corpse. I should’ve moved. I should’ve screamed. I should’ve ran. I should have been crying and gagging and panicking, but I just… I couldn’t. I don’t know what the fuck.

“(Y/N)!” I felt a hand pulling me by the arm, but I was in such a state of shock that I blindly let whoever drag me out of the school- no, the crime scene. I felt the cool air nip at my exposed skin, but I still couldn’t have been bothered to react to anything. It wasn’t until I felt a piece of bloody meat slip down my face and disappear into my dress that I could breathe again. I let out a blood-curdling scream as I felt it run down my skin.

“It’s in my dress! It’s touching me!” I cried. The mess of curls in front of me whipped around to face me. Through my teary-eyed vision, I could make out that it was Stan. He was awake, he was fine. But I wasn’t.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?!”

“It’s in my fucking dress!” I gagged as I felt it run down my stomach. “Stan, a piece of his fucking brain-”

He firmly grabbed me by the shoulders and rushed me to his car. I hyperventilated as he placed me in the passenger seat. Before closing the door, he reached into my dress from the bottom and slid his hand from my knees, past my thighs and planted his palm on my stomach. He gagged when his hand touched the meat, grabbing hold of it and ripping his hand from my dress, throwing the flesh to the ground. Stumbling a bit, he shut my door and rounded the car to drive. I had to ride with my window down, letting the wind blow against my face to prevent the contents in my stomach from resurfacing into Stan’s car. He drove all around town, calling out for Sydney. He would glance over at me every once and awhile when I would gag or groan, but that was it.

What a sight I was.

Do I look beautiful now, Stan?

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

When Stan decided to give up on the search for Sydney, he sped us to his house. The sirens of police cars and ambulances echoed within my empty mind. But the moment I left the car, I hurled my guts up into Stan’s yard. He caught me before I could fall and rubbed my back until I emptied my stomach. Then when I was done, I did the same for him.

I had no concept of time, I can’t remember how long we were throwing up in his front lawn, but when we were done, he guided me inside the house and down to his room. The second he let go of me to retrieve new clothes, my entire body trembled and shook uncontrollably. “S-Stan… S-S-Stan.” I whimpered out. He returned to me with clothes tucked under one of his arms. He held me by the elbow and guided me to his bathroom, sitting me down on the toilet lid before starting up the shower for me.

“Nugget? Hey, do you want me to-”

“N-No.” I don’t know why I said that. I needed him in that room with me. He was patient enough to look away as I undressed, nearly falling a few times, and stepped into the shower. He left the door slightly ajar, so I was sure he could hear my sobbing as I sat down, letting the water rinse me of Bradley Lewis’s blood and guts.

I returned to Stan in one of his sweatshirts and a pair of his sweatpants. He stood from his bed and carefully watched the way I moved. The way I slowly blinked and walked two steps at a time toward him. Silently, he lifted his covers for me to lay down. I stared at him emptily for a few beats before complying, my back facing him. I felt his lips on my neck and gladly welcomed the kiss before he whispered into my ear, “I’m gonna shower now, okay? I won’t be long.”

“Go ahead.” I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. As Stan showered, my shaking hands reached up and freed my locks from my hair clips. I tried to keep my crying near-silent as I did so, but I wasn’t too sure how loud I was being. Within time, he had returned and laid down beside me in bed. And from the warmth I felt when his back touched mine, I could tell he was shirtless. It was painfully silent as we both unevenly breathed. I bit my fingers to keep myself from crying again. Everything about me felt unbalanced. I wanted to be beaten even. It’s what I deserved for not taking care of myself.

“Hey.” Stan’s whisper broke my train of thought.

“H-Hey…”

“You asleep?”

“No… You?”

“No.” He muttered as I felt the bed dip when he turned around to spoon me. His leg draped over mine as his arms pulled me closer. He pressed his lips to the side of my neck as he deeply inhaled. I closed my eyes and willed myself to ask the question brewing in my mind,

“Do you have any idea what the fuck happened? B-Brad just… h-he fucking…”

“I know,” He murmured against my skin, his hold tightening as well as his throat. I could tell by the way he choked on his breath. “I… I’ll explain it another day. N-Not tonight.”

As we fell asleep an hour later, I knew he’d never explain it.

—————————————

Taglist: @nate-isnt-great @sapphicsyn @stqnley @lonely-kermit @a-t-h-r-e-e-n-a @moatsnow @magicalgothpandamaker

[bl00dgutsgl0ry]

Unhealthy Obsession

Pairing - Childe/Tartaglia/Ajax x Reader

Warnings - Violence, yandere undertones, stalking, gore (this seems to be a running theme in my works huh). The reader is scawwy ><

Other Comments - I’ve seen so many of these types of fic but it was always Childe being yandere, so why not yandere reader??? I put this in a time line slightly more recently so there is actual like technology like phones and stuff in this. Oh and the reader had a bow for a weapon in this hehe.

      Childe was infamous for his charm, having the ability to have the entirety of Liyue under his thumb if he so pleased. Of course, he was able to use this to his advantage when collecting debts and manipulating the people he needed to. Childe’s newest person of interest was the daughter of a shop owner who was indebted to the Fatui. 

      You had also found yourself enthralled by Childe’s charm, but unlike the many others he used it on he had actually considered you a genuine friend. One close enough to him for him to reveal his hidden agendas and dirty work plans. Now of course you unfortunately found yourself with the semblance of a crush on the copper haired man; which at first wasn’t the worst until you began witnessing the actions of the girl.

      Much to Childe’s ignorance, you had been watching his movements for a while now, which also means watching the touchy feely actions of the girl. She loved to give him hugs was they took their separate ways, or would lean on him any chance she got really. It was starting to piss you off but you also found it quite humorous. This girl was so stupid, thinking Childe was actually interested in her; of course you couldn’t really blame her since Childe was so good at his job.

      Things were beginning to get out of hand though, as now not only did you feel the need to keep some tabs on Childe’s antics; you know had to keep track of the girls actions. And tonight was an eventful one to say the least. After quietly watching Childe from the shadows for quite some time, you could say you were quite skilled in stealth so it was incredibly easy to follow around the girl without looking suspicious, as you watched her walking along the shops of Liyue Harbor.

      Tonight you could see her heading towards the Scent of Spring perfume shop, so you decided to follow a little ways behind and then find yourself a good spot within earshot. You decided to lean against a wall and look to be occupying yourself on your phone so as to not look odd.

       “Well hello, you're looking rather fetching today. Care to take a look inside Scent of Spring? I'm sure you'll find something unforgettable~!” Ying’er was a lovely woman, as well as being incredibly skilled in the art of creating perfumes.

      “Ah hello! Uh I was looking for something that could get a guy to fall for me?” The girl spoke hurriedly, almost as if she was embarrassed for making such a request. You grit your teeth, silently groaning, as Ying’er giggled before responding.

      “Oh young love, how cute! Of course you look to be the lady who would enjoy Valley Weaver? Or maybe Golden House Maiden if you’re looking for something a bit sweeter and more candy like? Would you care for a sampling?” The girl nodded enthusiastically and Ying’er brought out the two previously mentioned scents, handing both over to the girl.

      “They both smell so amazing! But I think Valley Weaver is a little bit more endearing.” Ying’er hummed in response as she stored away the other perfume. While she was doing this the young girl brought out a small bag of mora. You rolled your eyes shaking your head. Your phone quickly took you out of the interaction as it buzzed in your hand. Your mood immediately brightened as you saw you had received a text from the one and only Childe.

      “Hey babe! Where are you? I let myself into your apartment, hope you don’t mind too much :)” You giggled to yourself before rolling your eyes and shooting back a text.

      “Of course you did. Well I just went on a little walk around Liyue, I’m heading back now; of course make yourself at home but I’m sure you already have.” You shook your head, still smiling to yourself. You had to say, this was great timing as it gave you an excuse to leave. Leaving the same time as the girl would’ve been far too suspicious so this was convenient.

      You made sure to take all of the shortcuts to your apartment and tried your best to walk as briskly as possible. You didn’t want to keep the man you were doing all of this for in the first place waiting after all.You didn’t even have to announce your arrival since the loud squeak of your door did it for you, allowing Childe’s familiar cologne to fill your nose.

       “Hey babe! How was your walk? It’s awfully late for a walk isn’t it?” You smiled, as Childe’s comforting voice filled the room, the only other noise being the muddled voices leaving your old tv in the living room.

      “Well it was a nice night out tonight, plus I enjoy looking at the shops; they always have such nice stuff.” You quickly took your place next to Childe on the couch, not too close to consider it borderline cuddling but close enough to feel his warmth. Childe placed his arm behind you, almost allowing it to fall onto your shoulders.

      “That being said, you have yet to reveal to me what the motive is behind gracing me with your presence, unannounced might I add.” You heard Childe chuckle next to you, as you found yourself absentmindedly watching whatever the hell he had playing on the TV.

       “Well, I’ve been pretty busy for the time being, and I guess I found myself missing your company.” You screamed mentally, the butterflies in your stomach dancing around excitedly.

      “You have been quite busy, unfortunately for you though, the same cannot be said.” Childe let out a boisterous laugh, playfully nudging you with his side. You giggled as well, shaking your head before looking up at the taller man. Both of you stared at each other for what felt like ages, before you felt Childe’s arm wrap itself around your side pulling you closer to him. Suddenly your lips were pressed against his, as he pressed you against him. You allowed yourself to tangle your fingers into his copper hair.

      This sparked a make out, bordering on heavy petting as both of you were pressed as close together as humanly possible. Childe’s hands had found themselves comfortably resting against your ass, as he would occasionally squeeze. All too soon though, he pulled away; a shit eating grin plastered onto his face. You blushed bright red before lightly smacking him in the chest with the back of your hand. You watched him snicker before pulling out his phone and looking at the time.

      “Well it’s getting really late, and as much as I would like to stay here and keep you up, I should probably head out.” Childe ended his statement with a wink causing you to become an even more flustered mess. He was the first to get up, help you up as well before pulling you into his chest. Neither of you usually participated in hugging as a farewell, but it’s not as if you were complaining about being pressed against his firm chest.

      With at, Childe was gone; casing your apartment to feel far too empty. Though, this gave you the opportunity to excitedly jump around and quietly scream as you relived the actions that had just transpired between the two of you. He was right though, it was incredibly late and you had just now realized how tired you were. At least this would send you off with some interesting dreams.

      And here you were again, in the familiar situation of carefully watching this annoying girl. You had overheard her on the phone with presumably no one other than Childe. She had asked him to meet her around the pound by the shops in Liyue tonight, which after hanging up she excitedly clapped for; confirming that Childe had said yes. You knew it was going to be too risky to go there in your normal attire, as you couldn’t be recognized by Childe under any circumstance so you decided you would go home and get changed.

      You felt like a genius for changing into black clothes, as you had found yourself a pitch black alleyway to hide in that gave you a clear shot of what was happening. Sure you couldn’t hear what they were saying but that was the least of your worries for the time being. You watched as the girl flaunted herself and flipped her hair around, clearly trying to get her money's worth out of that perfume she had bought the night before. It all made you feel sick. She was nowhere near Childe’s league.

       For the most part, everything was fine; just them having a boring conversation until the girl did something unexpected. She reached for Childe’s arm, and pulled him down into a kiss. You had never been so enraged before, seeing red and acting without thought. Before you could think twice you bow was drawn and pointed directly at her.

      It all happened in a flash, an arrow flying out of nowhere, the puncture into the girls head, her falling back as Childe stumbled back as well, all of the guards rushing towards them. Childe’s eyes were blown out wide looking around wildly for the source of the arrow. Right as you were beginning to turn back your eyes met his. Fuck.

      You began sprinting back to your apartment, hopefully if he came by your apartment you could be changed into something different so you could try and persuade him into thinking he saw someone else. And thank the gods time was on your side; you had managed to finish getting dressed into your sleepwear right as you hear a knock on your door. Your heart was racing but you knew if you took too much time answering the door, it would be even more suspicious so you needed to act as normal as you could manage. You cracked the door open like usual and were greeted by a familiar face.

      “Oh my god (y/n) you will never guess what just happened.” You stepped aside as you opened the door for Childe.

       “What happened?” You tried your best to not sound very interested hoping that would throw him off.

      “So you remember that girl I had been telling you about? The daughter of that one shop owner?” You nodded in confirmation as you headed to your small kitchen to put on some tea for the both of you. Childe stood on the other side of the counter.

      “Well she had called me earlier today and asked if I could meet with her tonight. Of course I accepted and we were in the middle of a conversation when she had pulled me down to kiss her! That's not even the worst part though, she was shot immediately after!” You feigned surprise as you gasped looking up at him.

      “Oh my god what?! That’s awful! I imagine the pond was quite a mess with all the guards?” You hadn’t even realized what came out of your mouth until he began to speak again.

      “Huh… That's strange, I never told you where it happened.” Your eyes widened as you quickly looked back down to the teapot that was now whistling at you.

      “You know what else is strange? I think the arrow looked really familiar; and that’s not even the weirdest part. I could’ve sworn I saw someone who looked identical to you who was in the same place the arrow came from. Your blood ran cold. He knew and there was no way you could persuade him otherwise.

      “You know I don’t like when people lie to me (y/n) so I am only going to ask this once. Were you the one that fired the arrow?” You had just finished pouring the water over the tea leaves when he asked you. Your clenched fists were now resting next to the two cups, as you struggled to hold back the tidal wave of anguish. But in the end you couldn’t.

      “She fucking kissed you! How could I sit there and do nothing about it! I have been putting up with her touchy feely bullshit for weeks now! I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing as she kissed what was supposed to be MINE!!!” You were breathing heavily, your face red and chest tight. Childe was silent and you refused to look up to meet his gaze. After what felt like hours, you heard his heavy footsteps move towards you. You screwed your eyes shut too scared of what his reaction was going to be. Only when he gently put his hand under your chin and tilted your head up did you open your eyes.

       “I am yours (y/n). You didn’t even give me the chance to push her away. You’re a really good shot though.” Your eyes were blown out wide as he smiled down at you.

       “You’re not… Disgusted with me? Or enraged?” Childe chuckled.

      “(Y/n) I’ve done much worse things than this, it would be hypocritical of me to be mad at you. But if that situation ever happens again, at least give me some time to push them away before taking it into your hands alright? I might admit I do find it endearing that you would kill someone for me; but let me be the one to have blood on my hands alright?” You smiled and nodded before he pulled you into a hug.

      “Now, shall we have that tea?”

[iamdeku]

Broken Ribs and Whole Hearts

Description: A Deku x Reader where the reader is a nurse who finds an unexpected guest in her emergency room. A continuation of this post.

Warnings: Descriptions of injury/some light gore. Talk of painkillers administered by a medical professional. Fluff.

It was safe to say that when you woke up this morning you weren’t expecting to find the life of the number one hero in your hands.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t worked with heroes before. You had plenty of experience with them, since they had a way of getting themselves hurt. That being said, you’d never worked with this particular hero before, and you were a little bit starstruck.

You wouldn’t call yourself a fan of Deku, but you weren’t not a fan. You saw him on the news all the time, but that was virtually impossible to avoid since he seemed to find his way onto every crime scene. If there was someone who needed help, Deku was there.

Right now though, he was here, bleeding out.

You had heard about the fight from your coworkers. It was hard to avoid hearing about a battle on that scale when you worked in a hospital. You had already been getting civilians in for treatment, but the heroes came last and were, naturally, priority since their injuries tended to be far more severe. Deku was no exception to this rule, and when he was rushed through the doors you were quick to fill your empty hands, not even realizing who he was until you went to assess the patient.

You jolted back a little bit in surprise, seeing the shock of green hair and bleary green eyes peering up at you. In your moment of surprise leaning over him, he cracked a blood-smeared smile.

“Are you an angel?” He asked softly.

“He’s delirious from the blood loss,” you declared, quickly getting to work surveying the rest of the damage. “Several cracked ribs, and I think he may have punctured a lung.”

As you continued to rattle off instructions and commentary, Deku continued staring at you. You, unwittingly, had become his lifeline. He kept his eyes open out of sheer desire not to look away from you. You were so capable, not faltering once after your initial shock. He was in awe of you.

Eventually, Deku was rushed into the operating room, and then he had no choice but to go under. When he woke up though, lo and behold, it was you there, checking his vitals and adjusting some things.

He opened his dry mouth, preparing his cracked voice to speak. “Well if it isn’t the prettiest nurse in all of Musutafu.” 

You jump slightly, not having expected him to wake up. You fidget with your hands, a nervous habit.

“Oh, hello Deku. You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been worse.” Deku would have shrugged, but he knew from experience that would make things worse.

He turned his eyes to the rest of the hospital room, taking a look around. He was in a standard hospital gown, which he joked was his “back-up uniform”. An IV fed drugs into his arm as necessary, and he knew he must be on some pretty good pain killers if the slightly hazy feeling in his head and the warm confidence in his chest were any indication. 

“So, any chance you’ll go out on a date with me?” he asked.

You stiffen in surprise, but then grin teasingly at him. “Wow, the morphine is talking pretty loud today, huh? Who knew the number one hero was such a light-weight? Maybe I should lower your dosage.”

Deku winced. “Please don’t. I have a high pain tolerance, but not that high.”

Your beautiful smile turned to a look of concern.

“Are you in any pain right now?”

Deku quickly shook his head, which actually did cause him some pain from the force of the movement. 

“I’m fine. Just keep doing what you’re doing. It’s working great.” He smiled encouragingly at you.

You visibly relaxed from where you stood by his bedside.

“Okay, well just let me know if you need anything, okay? I’m sure you know the drill, but you can just press this button right here for help.” You showed him where it was.

“Any chance I can get your number before you go?” He asked hopefully, unwittingly throwing you into cardiac arrest.

“I will take away your painkillers, Mr. Midoriya,” you threatened over your shoulder as you walked out.

Little did either of you know it, but Izuku was going to be spending a lot more time with you. His tendency to get injured on your shifts almost made you believe he was doing it on purpose. You asked him once when he was drugged up, but he would admit to nothing, only giving you a slightly loopy smile before falling asleep.

Once he was settled into his hospital rooms though, he made no secret of it. He would blatantly request you, or rather, “the prettiest nurse in Musutafu.”

“You know I have a name right?” you asked, looking at his chart like you didn’t have it basically memorized.

“Yes, I just happen to think this more fitting. I can stop if it bothers you though.” 

Suddenly your confident hero had turned into a Christmas tree, whole face from the neck up turning red as a cherry. Feeling a desperate need to sooth him, you hurriedly corrected yourself.

“No, this is fine! I mean, I can’t really complain, can I?”

“Pretty sure you just did,” he teased.

You two continued on in this way until you would nearly consider yourself friends with the hero. In fact, you had started a routine of eating lunch with each other after an incident where you had both been in the hospital cafeteria at the same time and had sat together. Since then you had repeated the encounter a few times, though never exactly on purpose. You had even gone to dinner with him once, just as friends, to some fancy new restaurant he claimed to need a date to, since eating alone was ‘boring’. You had grown into a comfortable rhythm with him over time, and then it happened.

It was the first rain of the season, and you had your window open to let in the smell. You were peacefully making some soup in your kitchen on your night off. Your gray sweats clung to your hips, comfy t-shirt wrapping you up under the warm lighting of your cozy kitchen. The cheerful paint of the walls beamed at you as you swayed softly, humming along to the song on the radio.

All of your peace was shattered the moment Deku fell through your window, hand clutching his side, at the exact same moment your tea kettle screamed at you. You quickly moved it off the heat, nearly sloshing water onto your usually steady hands before rushing across the room to your fallen hero.

“Izuku!” you gasped, turning him over on the floor.

He smiled up at you, not looking nearly as concerned as he should be.

“Hi.”

“Why are you here? You should be in a hospital.”

“I just wanted to see you.” He reached up to cup your cheek in his warm, broken hand.

“You can’t be here Izuku. You’re hurt.”

“You’re my nurse. You’ll take care of me.”

He smiled at you with so much faith it cracked something in your chest. An overflowing font of affection for this man, this hero, welled up in you, begging to be let out. You thought of every time you had seen him broken, the implicit trust he had in you to piece him back together. To take care of him. 

You swallowed down your tears, mirroring the smile on his face, trying to be as brave as he was. “You have a stab wound in your side. It doesn’t look too deep, but you still need serious medical attention.”

“It’s just a scratch.”

He was staring at you, those deep green eyes brushing up against your soul, flirting with your deepest secrets, dancing around the unspoken truths weighing down your tongue, things you both knew. Things neither of you could say, as far as you were concerned, but Izuku Midoriya had always had an open heart and a loose tongue, and so he said them slow and easy, honey slipping through his teeth and coating his cracked lips.

“Kiss me.” 

“That...that wouldn’t be very ethical of me.” Despite your words you are leaning in, nose brushing his.

It is not a demand, not a question, not a request. It is a gasping, haunting, wavering plea, he is begging and you are teetering on the edge of a cliff you wouldn’t admit existed until you were borderline tumbling off of it.

"Can I...?"

This time it is a question, and you find yourself drawn into him. He is the Jupiter to your Io, and you are lost to a constellation, entwined in your own milky way. Your shadow blends into his, pressed flat against the grain of your wood floors, as your lips whisper against his. It is barely a touch, just a taste of what is to come, but it is all the permission he needs.

He surges forward to kiss you, and it is something foreign, something incomprehensible as he catches you with his chapped lips. He tastes of bitter, salty blood as the rush of his breath fills you, slipping down your throat and curling through your lungs. You have never done this before, never felt whatever is warping the planes of your chest and the contours of your heart. It is as though you have met yourself in him.

It is a ravaging sort of feeling, even though the kiss itself is achingly soft, heartbreakingly slow. He is so gentle with you, as though you are the breakable one here, when in fact you have had to put him back together too many times to count. You allow it though, you allow it because you have seen firsthand how Izuku Midoriya’s large, scarred hero hands touch everything with this sort of gentle kindness, a piece of his heart slipping through the spaces between his knuckles and digging into the pads of his fingertips. 

When you pull away it is slowly, reluctantly, a smile taking over your face. Izuku's smile matches yours, his eyes sparkling as he reaches up to brush a thumb across your lip, a light laugh escaping him. It is this action that brings you back to yourself, snaps you out of your haze as his thumb streaks blood across the swell of your mouth. Your body jerks back away from him suddenly, and worry flickers over his face.

"Izuku Midoriya! How dare you distract me like that! Did you think I wouldn't take you to the hospital if you kissed me?"

He has the nerve to look a little guilty.

"I don't need to go, really. It will just inconvenience them."

You grind your teeth. "We. Are. Going."

And over time, Izuku learns that eventually, all roads lead to the hospital. Because all roads lead to you.

[darkeninganon]

(So, this storyline now has a name; it is the Ender Family AU! Dream’s design was based off @winifreyd and their White Enderman Dream! They are awesome and do amazing artwork, and this story would probably not exist if they did not  share their art! Warning for gore, blood, very heavy torture, passing out (as a fear/pain response), forced drugging/drinking (Potions are canonically drugs/alcohol), unwanted contact (Dream doesn’t like people touching his fur), and (there is no nice way of saying this) flaying. If you spot something else, message me and I will add it and apologize profusely. The beginning is deceptively sweet btw, just as another small warning.)

Ranboo looked between Tommy and Tubbo. His face was burning, but only one side showed a tinge of color.

"You mean you really don't remember staring down Quackity?" Tommy found it hard to believe, and was currently the main person opposing such an excuse.

"Really, I don't! You know how much I hate eye contact."

"He's got a point..."

Michael oinked in agreement. The trio were currently in the zombie piglin's room, Ranboo holding the child as the little monster drew something. Tubbo was kneeling next to the table, head partially resting on said table. Tommy was the only one standing, arms crossed, glaring at Ranboo.

Ranboo sighed, shaking his head. "Even if you don't believe me, it is the truth."

"Oh, I believe you, I just want to know why this is the first time we are hearing about it!" Tommy hissed, throwing his hands up. "I mean, if you hide that, what else are you hiding?!"

"Oh come on Tommy! Ranboo wouldn't-"

"Quite a bit because I would rather NOT be the reason someone kills Tubbo or Michael." Tubbo snapped his head towards Ranboo, horror plastered on his face.

"WHAT?!"

Michael snorted, holding up his picture. It depicted Ranboo holding a red square, and speaking in scribbles. Ranboo groaned as Michael proudly displayed his picture. The baby zombie piglin still had yet to learn to speak, but his writing skills were far beyond where most thought he should be at.

Tubbo stared at the picture, clearly concerned. "Michael, sweetie, have you seen daddy act weird?" Michael nodded, borderline enthusiastically. The little zombie pigling then grabbed a sheet of paper, scribbling most of it in red crayon before writing three large letters on it, and handing it to Ranboo.

Tommy and Tubbo stared.

"So, I guess I blew something up." Ranboo stated, staring at the crudely drawn TNT. He looked back to Tubbo and Tommy; "I think it's about time to tear down the walls of your old house."

"Damnit Ranboo!"

"I'm sorry?!"

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Dream stared, listening to the murmur of Quackity and Sam talking outside the wall of lava. It is a new day, Quackity is back. Dream could only wonder what Quackity was going to do today. Maybe he'll take my teeth, that would make sense. Or perhaps my other eye. Yeah, that sounds like something they could justify doing. Dream sat up as the lava fell away, Sam and Quackity standing at attention. Quackity was decked out in netherite armor. Enchanted netherite armor. Dream's ears fell back as a low growl fell from his chest.

Quackity made his way across the pit of lava, standing across from Dream with nothing in his hands but a potion and a pair of shears. Once the lava covered the opening again, Sam came through, glaring at Dream.

"Huh, what's the special occasion?" Dream smirked, tilting his head. Of course Sam; dear, dear Warden Sam; would want to help Quackity. "Don't tell me I actually scared you two." The prisoner chuckled, glancing between the two.

Quackity held out the potion; it looked like mud mixed with glitter. "Drink this."

"Excuse me?"

"Dream, do as Quackity says. I really don't want to have to force you." Sam stated, monotone. Dream stared at the warden, incredulous.

"No! I'm not drinking anything that crazy moron brings in here!" Sam sighed, striding over to Dream. "Get the hell away from me!" Sam went behind Dream, locking the prisoner's arms in an uncomfortable hold. Dream began yelling, kicking his legs out as Quackity approached. Quackity took Dream's jaw into a tight hold, digging his nails right into the joint and forcing Dream's mouth open. Once that was done, Quackity tore the cork from the bottle, shoving it into Dream's mouth.

Dream gagged, coughing and thrashing in an effort to get the bottle out of his mouth and not swallow the bitter liquid. Eventually, the potion's effects won out over Dream's own desires, his body going limp and his struggles ceasing.

Dream's eye darted around the cell. He wanted to move, wanted to cry out, wanted to not be sitting still. No matter how much he tried though, his body just sat there, even as Quackity removed the bottle and let go of his jaw.

"Hell yeah!" Quackity cheered, throwing the now empty bottle into the lava. "I told you it would work!"

Sam let go, gently resting Dream's head on his lap. "Yeah. You're sure he can't feel anything?" The warden sounded worried as he placed Dream's tongue back in his mouth and closed his jaw.

Quackity chuckled, "Yeah, I'm sure." He dragged his hand through Dream's fur, drawing lines at seemingly random points.

He's lying. Dream wanted to scream, Quackity's hands were cold and he hated as the "visitor" ran against the grain, causing the fur to stand up on end. Sam, he's lying! Please! But he couldn't say anything.

Sam, for his part, was staring at Dream sadly, carefully petting the prisoner as if he didn't co-sign this. He jumped as a hand snatched his wrist, holding it still. Sam looked to Quackity, who was still smiling.

"Seeing as how Dream isn't going to feel it, why don't you feel how soft he is!"

Sam looked at the prisoner, resting helplessly in his lap. Even though Dream's body couldn't move, his eyes were glaring at Sam. Still....

Curiosity won over the Warden as he took off his glove. Even with Dream unable to move, Sam was hesitant to touch the fur. When Quackity had entered the prison, that was all he talked about. It was just fur, what made it so special? What it because it was from Dream, and the prisoner never let anyone touch it?

Quackity groaned, snapping Sam from his thoughts. Without warning, the visitor grabbed Sam's hand and buried it in the mane around Dream's head. Sam could only stare. It was... So freakishly soft.

"Right!?" Sam glanced at Quackity, who was smiling like the cat that got the canary. "Seriously though, seeing as how he's going to be trapped in here for eternity, he really doesn't need this fur. He'll just overheat!"

No, I won't! Sam, please stop this! Tears fell from Dream's eyes, his mind racing. Taking his fur was the one thing he never expected.

Sam nodded, resuming petting Dream. "Just... be as quick as possible."

Quackity nodded as Dream's eyes darted to the man with the shears. "Let's see... Let's start here then!" Quackity stated, opening the shears and pulling Dream's skin right at his hip. Dream watched in horror as Quackity carefully cut a thin layer of skin and fur from his body, pulling and cutting just enough to make a starting point for him to continue. "Man, this is going to take a long while. Sam, would you mind grabbing a few more potions, just to be sure?"

Sam nodded, carefully setting Dream's head down on the obsidian floor, giving the prisoner one last pet before drinking a potion and diving into the lava.

As soon as Sam was gone, Quackity looked at Dream, and slid his hand between the skin he had just cut free, and the lower levels of skin and muscle. Dream tensed, the salt from Quackity's hand burning the fresh wound. "Man, this must really suck for you." The visitor laughed, a cruel smirk coming across his face as he wiggled his fingers in the wound. Dream gave a weak whimper, tear pouring from his eyes as the wound became wider and burned more. "Do you have any idea how hard is was to get the potion just right? Make sure you can't move, can't talk, but also heal you and make sure you can feel it? It was hard, man." Quackity finally removed his hand from the wound, marveling at the lack of blood. "This is probably what Tommy felt like. I have no idea what the afterlife is like, but maybe one day, I'll ask him."

Quackity straightened up as Sam came back, carrying a bag filled to the brim with the potions Quackity had made. The visitor smiled, turning back to Dream and resuming his work. Dream watched, heart racing as he finally saw what his fur and skin hid. Thin muscle hung from bones that showed painfully through in some places. It only took about two minutes for it to look like Dream was wearing a furry shirt or hoodie; a quiet whimper bubbling up from his chest as the first “hem” was finally completed.

Sam snatched a potion from the bag, opening Dream’s mouth and doing his best to make sure the prisoner didn’t drown on the vile liquid. Quackity gave Sam a weird look, getting ready to cut open Dream’s front.

“Really? He has another hour or so on the first potion.” Quackity muttered, pulling the skin up with his fingers, smirking as the muscles underneath twitched in pain.

Sam cast an unseen glance at Quackity, removing the empty bottle and throwing it into the lava. “He must have some form of tolerance, even after all this time. The numbing factor wore off I think.” Sam sounded distant, did Sam even believe his own words? Surely he knew.

“Well then let him deal with it. It’s not our fault he’s weird.” Quackity retaliated, making one final cut right at Dream’s collarbone, stopping as he noticed Sam flinch. “Hey, I’m sure Tommy felt way more pain than whatever little pin pricks this monster is feeling. Need I remind you-”

“No!” Sam winced, “No, I don’t need to be reminded.” He repeated, softer. Through the thick lenses of the mask, Dream could see Sam’s eyes darting between the prisoner and Quackity. Sam went back to petting Dream, unaware he had stopped for so long.

Quackity shrugged, cutting a gracefully curved line around Dream’s collarbones, stopping about halfway on either side. He grabbed Dream’s arms, inspecting both before dropping one to the ground, and making a quick slash around the whole wrist.

Blood poured from the fresh wound, diminishing to a trickle as Sam’s hand wrapped tightly around the small wrist. “Quackity! What the hell?!”

“Wow, language Sam.”

“Screw the language! What the heck were you thinking?! Get the bandages out of the bag now!” Sam glared at the visitor. Removing Dream’s fur was one thing, but getting so close to such areas… Sam would not stand for it.

“Will you relax? Look, it’s already closed!” Quackity pried Sam’s hand away, revealing a thin, bare scar circling Dream’s wrist. “Nothing to get pissy about.” He huffed, grabbing the prisoner’s other hand and doing the same. Sam was quick to cover the wound again, glaring hatefully at Quackity. “Alright. I need you to turn him onto his stomach so I can finish up the neck. I was not going to risk cutting your legs.”

“Quackity…”

“What? Don’t tell me you actually feel bad for this piece of trash.”

Sam looked between the visitor and prisoner. Dream looked terrified. Sam held out his hand. “I’ll take care of it.” Quackity stared at Sam, hesitantly handing him the shears. Quackity watched as the Warden made a shallow cut along the back of the prisoner’s neck, breathing heavily and muttering. Sam practically threw the shears back to Quackity, petting Dream as soon as they left his hands. “There, done.”

Quackity nodded, looking down at the paralyzed prisoner. He struggled to pry Dream’s skin open, humming and inspecting where it connected. Quackity took out a netherite knife, sliding it under the skin and between the muscle.

Dream watched, muscles burning and twitching. A ringing filled his ears, his heart racing, his lungs tight. He couldn’t breathe, and he felt way too hot… no, he was cold… Well, his body was cold, his arms freezing, but his face felt like it was right next to the lava. Sam… Sam something’s wrong… SAM! Sam please! SAM! Dream was suddenly in a void, screaming and wailing filling his head. He blinked, back in the cell. Quackity was further along in removing his skin. He could see his ribs laying right underneath the smooth muscle, his vision flitting to Sam, distress hidden by dark lenses. Sam’s head snapped to look at Quackity, muffled words demanding something. Dream’s mouth was pried open, another bottle shoved down his throat.

Black consumed him again. Back to the cell. Something hard and soft was in his mouth. Sam was holding his head, forcing him to look at the warden. Sam kept calling his name. Black again. Back to Sam. Black again. Sam. Black. Sam. Black. Sam. Black. Cloth?

Dream could feel his mouth was open; he could feel something wrapped around his body, arms, even his legs. Everything hurt. His eyes were wet, not from the cloth.

“S….Sam…?” His voice sounded too quiet. A hands was suddenly placed on his head; a gloveless, unarmored, calloused hand.

“It’s…”

“Sam… I’m sorry… I’m really, really sorry…”

Sam sat there, staring at Dream. Dream’s whole body was covered in tightly bound gauze. He looked almost like a mummy rather than… whatever he was. The only parts of him that still had fur were his head, hands, and knees. Sam had to fight with Quackity over leaving the fur on his knees. Sam sighed, closing his eyes as he took a breath, one hand resting on Dream’s chest while the other continued to pet him. “I know you are. I know.” Sam opened his eyes, staring at the creature laying on the floor before him, “It’s not me you have to apologize to though.”

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Quackity held up the pure white pelt. He had just finished cleaning it.

“Damn.” Quackity turned, smiling wildly at Schlatt. “Where the fuck did you get a coat like that?” The goat-man ghost lit up a cigarette, reaching out and touching the fur. “Again I say this: Damn.”

Quackity laughed, “I got it from my dear friend in prison.” Schlatt paused in his appraisal of the fur, staring at Quackity as if the still living man had grown another head. “Not like he needed it with how hot that place is. Besides,” Quackity pulled the fur away, brushing the soft hairs against his face. He froze, jolting to look at Schlatt, “Did you know his fur was this soft?”

The ghost stared, Quackity had a look to him that made Schlatt happy he was already dead. “No…” He spoke softly, lowering the cigarette he had. “I had no clue.” Schlatt watched as Quackity skipped way, the beautiful white pelt held close. Schlatt shook his head. Not for the first time in his life was he thankful that Quackity was on his side.

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Concept: RED Spy is down, his watch damaged and the knife blasted from his hand by a clever strike from a BLU. His ribs ache from the force of being hurled bodily into the unforgiving soil of Teufort’s rocky ground, and he grits his teeth into a snarl. 

He can fight without his knife, he lived this long as a Spy prior to this whole mess of a contract... but it would not be easy. His ankle feels damaged, twisting as he rolled and Spy curses at the misfortune; still, his arms were hale enough to enact a chokehold when the opportunity arose. 

The sun disappears as looming shadows block the light, and hearty chuckles linger in the air, the malice behind the sound sending a shudder through the espionage agent. He understood, this was... well, it was personal to a degree, if he had a downed BLU then of course he would think nothing of enacting some quick revenge for a past death/insult.

But it was also their job. He hoped to take at least one down with him, if possible... but it would not be the end of the world to die here and now, later he could hunt them down and delight in the gurgled screams as his butterfly knife pierced their spinal columns. 

Blood dribbled slowly from the shallow indentations in his bottom lip wheren a few teeth had pierced accidentally during the heavy impact. Spy’s tongue darted out automatically to catch it, equally thrilled and revolted by the taste of the coppery substance... 

He grunts as a heavy Texan boot digs into his side, and two voices laugh uproariously as if the world’s wittiest joke had just been exchanged. They would pay for tha-...

His vision flashes sharply a second later, pain radiating through his face like an explosion as a steel-capped boot makes contact; without even consciously registering it, Spy knows his nose is broken. That was a sensation he had become all too familiar with in the past. 

He cries out as something heavy crunches down on his legs, efectively trapping him. 

“Aw, don’t be such a wuss Spah, I manage to carry that around when it’s full all’a the time!” the BLU engineer coos, his expression worryingly unhinged, though not unfamiliar... the RED Engineer had made the same face a truly disconcerting number of times in the past. 

Indeed, the toolbox weighed more than one would suspect, and if his ankle had not been shattered before, it certainly was now. There was only one solution, if he could but find it... where was his-...? 

“Oh laddie, don’t go looking for your pretty little pistol... our spook went and knicked that when ye blacked out for a second, like the delicate little crossaint ye are.” BLU Demo taunted, crouching down over the RED. 

Spy did not recall blacking out, but that’s not generally a good sign...

“You are, as ever, outclassed here, mon frier.” came a smug voice so like his own that it irritated to no end, as the BLU Spy faded into visibility.

If this had been the first death of the day, or even the twelfth, then perhaps he would not have stopped trying to find a solution. Beady blue eyes darting subtly around until some ingenious escape plan came to light and he could be freed from this mess...

But it wasn’t, and he was so, so very tired. Between the Pyro, Sniper and a number of rather lucky swipes from the BLU Medic, Spy had been dying all day long. He would love for this to end quickly... but given the location, and the unlikelihood of help arriving in time to curb the enthusiasm of the currently losing team surrounding him... Spy felt that things were not in his favour this day.

Hovering gently across the room, the intel gleamed innocuously, cruelly. A beacon that lured them all to their deaths day in, day out on these damn capture the flag campaigns; a beloved sight for both the teams’ benefactors. 

And so they died, day after day, for nothing more than a glowing briefcase with an ever-changing array of useless paper inside. Why, last week there had been a recipe for some fried chicken with eleven herbs and spices... useless, though Engineer had been eager to try it, as had another fried chicken afficiando on the team. 

The week before? A number of magazines, a short story about some science fiction show he was certain may have been written by one of the Pyros, and a crudely drawn map to different households that Spy could not make heads or tails of...

A slap snapped him back to reality, sending fresh waves of sizzling pain through his face as the damage to his nose once again took his full focus. 

“Looks as if he’s back with us again.” BLU Spy said, radiating smugness from every pore as he flicked out his knife with unnecessary flourishes. “Good evening Monsieur, seeing as you will be staying with us for some time, I would hope you will be an obbliging guest... and not miss out on the festivities. Such as,” he said, pointing the blade directly at a blue pupil, “when I remove your eye from its socket, hmmm?”

“Hey, I called dibs on ‘im first boyo.” BLU Demo exclaims, swatting at the blade-wielding hand, and trying not to look too pleased as it scored a deep groove across Spy’s face. Spy hisses at him through clenched teeth, loathing the man. “He needs those eyes to see what ol’ eyelander and I are gonna do tae him, aye?” 

“Just don’t go hogging him, I’ve had to rebuild a dozen sentries today because of him. Not to mention my back’s achin’ somethin’ fierce from all the damn backstabbing the little red weasel’s gotten away with.” BLU Engie interjected, groaning as he stretched, fingers and spine making awful audible pops. The man flexed his gloved hand and the mechanical whirring sent chill straight down the Spy’s spine. “Now see, I’m thinkin’ that fair’s fair only if’n I get to pull yours right on out of that body of yours. Whatcha think about that, you filthy RED?”

It would technically fall under ‘fair’, but not anything Spy particularly wanted to experience. Before he could open his mouth in his own defence, with a smooth ‘Gentlemen, please...’ the mechanical fist slammed in from the side. Bile rose automatically in his throat at the sensation of a tooth dislodging and blood filling his mouth. The BLUs seemed wildly unhinged today, beyond their normal bloodlust... but they had lost all week long, so they may be getting sanctions and penalties from the Administrator.

His head whirled. When was the last time he’d had more than a few hours sleep this week? The last time he drank some actual water or ate something substantial? Maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess if he’d not insisted on skipping the team lunch during ceasefire, in order to do some covert surveillance in the enemy intel. 

Consciousness flickered. 

There were delighted but angry voices jabbering back and forth about ‘waiting their turn’, and ‘going a little easy to start because the french fry had to last’...

And then, there was screaming.

It was almost like a bad horror movie, with the sounds of screaming, crunching and swearing flickering in and out. Little snippets of a full scene that he could not comprehend as his battered head swam...

In the sudden silence, loud and grotesque for the heaviness of it, all that could be heard was a sharp, angry series of breaths.

Spy blinked frantically, trying to ascertain what had happened, trying to cling to the here and now when all his body & mind wished for was to give in to the swirling darkness. 

A figure coalesced before him, eyes seeming to glow with a feral light, body and bat completely splattered with blood and gore, expression half in shadow. 

“S-Sco-...?” Spy tried to get the word out around damaged molars and a outhful of blood. Everything throbbed, but the silence was a symphony of hope to his ears.

“Don’t worry, they won’t fuckin’ touch you again, Spy. I got ‘em.” growled an unusually serious Scout, his fist shaking around the bat’s handle. He seemed frozen, a figure in a portrait surrounded by the broken corpses of the BLUs, uncertain what to do next.

A wheezey exhalation from Spy seemed to snap the runner out of it, and he knelt to shove against the toolbox pinioning the espionage agent to the ground. It clunked to the ground with a heavy metallic finality, and Spy sighed at the sudden freedom. 

“Ya look like shit, Spook, so we gotta get ya out of here before those guys fall outta respawn lookin’ for revenge.”Scout says, mouth running while his eyes dart over the mess that the normally immaculate espionage agent made. He slips an arm under Spy and they slowly work the man into a sititng position.

Ankle’s definitely shattered, Spy notes with a true lack of enthusiasm.

“Scout... just prop me against the wall there and take the intel. Once it is secured, they cannot touch me anyway, as the humiliation round will keep me safe.” 

“And just who the fuck do you think you are ordering me about like that?” Scout objects, eyes never once leaving Spy’s face. 

“Someone who wants to win as much as I do?” Spy hazards.

Scout leans back on his haunces, crouched by Spy. He tilts his head, “Ya a real bastard, ya know that? I don’t care about the intel, we gotta get you outta here. But if it means that much to ya...”

In a frankly ridiculously fluid movement, Scout is up, across the room and back again before Spy could blink. The intel snapped to his back like a magnet.

Spy is hauled to his feet with minimal protestations, an arm over Scout’s shoulders and the runner’s other one about his waist. The majority of his bodyweight was resting on the runner, and Spy felt rather despondent about their chances of surviving like this.

He said so.

“The others are coming, don’t worry about it.” Scout grinned. 

Heavy machinegun fire could be heard above near the BLU spawn, along with delighted maniacal laughter. The REDs were here, and judging by the beeping of a sentry, they were spawncamping like no tomorrow.

“See? We got this. So don’t worry about it.” Scout shrugs as they begin the slow ascent up the corridor and hiopefully towards a dispenser. Spy lurching along and trying to think of other things as each jostling movement created little discomforts. 

In a momentary pause, he looks to the runner. “Merci, mon... fils.” 

The words felt too big for such a narrow corridor to hold all at once.

Scout laughed, half in delight and half from awkward nervousness. “Yeah, yeah, you better thank me. I saved ya butt in there!”

They continued hobbling towards the rest of RED for a long moment, before Scout said, looking anywhere but at Spy. “Don’t worry about it... Dad... I got ya.”

Spy could not help but smile through a mouth of bloody, broken teeth. Suddenly, the world felt a little brighter... 

The End

[callmemythicalminx]

Of Rain and Warm Embraces- Tommy Angelo x Reader

Fandom: Mafia Definitve Edition

Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence, slight gore, small reference to sexual assault, language. 

Summary: You’re in desperate need of help protecting your neighbourhood from a gang of punks. In a last resort, you ask Don Salieri for his services. Tommy is picked for the job, setting into motion a night of laughter, pain and confessions. 

A/N: Okie, so... this is kinda long, which is why it’s taken so long. I started writing with this one and didn’t really stop, so grab a blankie, some snacks, put on some nice mood lighting, maybe even treat yo self to a special drink and enjoy the ride...

Dedicated to: @kaiiiiiiparkerismyhusband @lolita-wolfson @mayday1284 @xxsamanthaxx @kneelingforvillains @loutino20 @levitate-gengar @dorothynerding ​ @blackbladevika ​ @my-blog-for-me ​ @rammstein-obsession ​ @octorebel @demonsouthere ​

---

The rain pours hard as you walk across the road. You’d hoped the weather would be clear this evening, but the world seems to be against you. Usually, you take the train home as it drops off right near your street. But on this occasion, you were taking a completely different route, one that had you traversing the streets of Little Italy. 

Though there are many people around, you feel on edge as you walk. You have done for the past few weeks since you moved to this city. Every once in a while, you take a quick look over your shoulder, but nothing is amiss. You’re paranoid. They won’t be on this side of town. That’s why you’re here, remember.

You hasten your pace regardless, pulling your coat and umbrella closer to you as the biting wind forces the rain into your face. 

By the time you get to Salieri’s, you’re practically drenched through. You dressed up especially nice for work today knowing you’d be coming here after. You wanted to look attractive, make a good impression- but that’s all gone to waste now thanks to the dreadful weather. You must look an image as you quickly rush into the bar, the door slamming behind you as the wind whips against it. Your wet hair flings up into your face from the force and you cringe. Oh yeah, you’re definitely going to make an impression alright. 

You’re cheap shoes squelch against the floor as you move towards the older gentleman serving at the bar. It feels like all the eyes in the small space are on you- it’s suffocating. You blush. As you stand there, waiting for the barman to finish with a customer, you cross your fingers and desperately hope you’re not making a puddle on the floor with the water dripping from your coat. You look down. There’s practically a lake on the floor already. 

You gawk at it, your eyes practically bulging out of your head. In a feeble attempt to get rid of it slightly, you swipe at it with your foot. You nearly break your neck as your foot slips on it. Thankfully, your hands latch onto the wood bar before you fall.  

The sound of a throat clearing with badly hidden amusement brings your head up so fast, you feel like you’ve got whiplash. You open your mouth ready to speak, but you stop short. Instead of the elderly barman who has mysteriously disappeared, a man stands in front of you, a devilishly handsome one at that. Everything you were going to say slips through your mind like a sieve. You just stand there, staring at him with your mouth open. Could your night get any worse?

The handsome man raises his eyebrow at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “Can I help ya, darling?” Damn, he even sounds handsome too. 

You try to speak. What you end up coming out with is a mix of a breath and a laugh. “I- I uh. I-I um.” His eyebrows raise further. 

“Salieri!” 

Fuck, did you really just do that? Shout at him?! From the slightly amused look on his face, yes, you definitely did just do that. 

“Sorry” you quietly murmur, looking down at the wood just to avoid his eyes. A deep, breathy laugh resounds in your ears, bringing your head straight back up. He’s laughing at you. Usually, you’d be annoyed at someone enjoying your obvious embarrassment, but you can’t seem to stop yourself from smiling back at him. 

“It’s alright…,” he gestures for your name “, Y/N.” He pauses, smiling slightly again. “Tommy. I’m guessing you wanna see Don Salieri then?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s what I’m here for. To see him… Don Salieri.” What the hell is wrong with you right now? You’ve never been this nervous talking to someone before. You forget your embarrassment for the time being though as Tommy smiles, nodding his head and pursing his lips. 

“That I can do. May I just ask why you wanna see the boss?” He leans down slightly on crossed arms, bringing his face slightly closer to yours. You swear you can feel his warm, whiskey scented breath on your face but it’s more likely the warm air seeping into your cold flushed cheeks. 

“I- I uh, need his help with something. Or his services should I say.” He nods, apparently pleased with your answer, then gestures for you to follow him. 

“I’ll show you to his office.”

As you make your way through the bar and into the back rooms, you curl into yourself unconsciously, running your hand through your wet hair in a desperate attempt to control it. You feel out of place here. The men are dressed to the nines, in expensive tailored suits. The women are just the same, smoking high-end cigarettes in dazzling dresses. You look like a drowned rat compared to them.

In a sense, you feel like you’ve walked into the viper’s den. You’ve heard the stories. Seen the newspapers- these men are criminals. The one in front of you who has enraptured your attention is no doubt one too. This isn’t the place for you. Danger and illegal activities aren’t exactly your go-to hobbies. You’re here only because you’re desperate. So why are you suddenly very interested in the gangsta in front of you?

Tommy leads you up a set of stairs and to the right, pausing at a door. He looks back at you and must notice your terrified expression, as he releases a small, wispy laugh. 

“Don’t look so petrified, yea? The Don’s only scary if you’ve done something wrong. Have you?” You shake your head hard in response. He nods. “Then you should be fine.”

He knocks and a strong voice from within grants entrance. Tommy opens the door, announcing himself.

“Boss, I’ve got a dame here to see ya. Says she’s in need of your services.” Timidly, you follow behind him, peering slightly from behind his back. You see the Don look up at you, a warm smile appearing on his face. You try to hide behind Tommy’s back again but he moves to close the door, leaving you in direct view. 

You don’t move for a beat. It feels like a million alarm bells are ringing off in your head, screaming at you to leave this room and run away. You’ve never been in a room with a man of such power and influence, so your body's fight or flight response is going wild, favouring the latter option to the first. You finally move forward when you feel a hand press against the base of your spine, leading you towards the desk gently. At that moment, you’re very thankful Tommy is here with you even though you’ve only known him for less than five minutes. 

“Don Salieri Sir!” You blurt, thrusting your hand up unceremoniously. You expect him to shake your hand but you’re shocked when he instead rises and grabs your hand with both of his own.

“Please dear, just call me Salieri. And don’t look too worried, I’m not as frightening as everyone makes me out to be.” 

You hear Tommy let out a small drawn out “Well” behind you, but it goes unnoticed by Salieri as he crosses around his desk to come before you. His hand rubs the top of yours slightly as he does so. 

“You’re freezing girl. Tommy, would you get the poor girl a coffee, please?”

“Sure thing, boss.” He leaves the room and you’re quite tempted to follow him, but you feel rooted to the spot under the Don’s intense, but intuitive gaze. He leads you to one of the couches and gestures for you to sit. You take your wet coat off as you do and he takes notice, offering his hand to take it off you. 

“That’s not necessary-”

“Please. I insist.” You give it to him, albeit with a little reluctance. You rub your palms against the fabric of your dress, smiling slightly when he turns back towards you. Thankfully Tommy then re-enters the room, easing your nerves slightly. He places a small cup down in front of you, steam rising like a beacon. The aroma is too enticing for you to handle and you immediately reach for the cup, sighing as the warmth begins seeping into your cold skin. The two men laugh slightly at your reaction, making you blush as you blow onto the hot liquid. 

Salieri sits opposite you, Tommy standing beside you. The latter must notice you shivering slightly now that your coat has been taken off as a sudden warmth envelops you, smelling like rich cologne and cigarettes. Tommy’s coat covers you like a blanket, incredibly long against your frame. You reach up and pull it around you tighter, looking up at him with a shy smile in thanks. He smiles back, this time with more softness than before. 

“Wonderful idea, Tom.” You barely register Saileri’s response as you find yourself enchanted by Tommy’s golden eyes. It’s only as he replies, that you seem to snap out of your trance. “Just tryna help the lady boss.”

“So my dear. How can I help you?” Oh yeah. Right. You actually forgot for a moment why you were here. You look back towards Salieri, taking a sip of your coffee as you do so. You can feel it already beginning to warm up your body and sigh before beginning to speak. 

“Well, where do I begin?” You let out a gentle, almost soulful laugh then continue. “I moved back into the city about a month ago. I’ve been away for a while because of an old job, but I’ve returned to look after my father. He’s quite ill, you see. I don’t think he has long left and I- I just want him to feel comfortable.” Salieri nods solemnly, eyes adrift. Tommy places his hand against your shoulder, squeezing slightly and you whisper a small thank you to him. 

The Don looks at the hand on your shoulder for a second, squints, then returns his gaze back to you. You take a deep breath, sipping more of your coffee before continuing. “My father and I live in an area of mostly elderly folk. They can barely see 10 feet in front of them anymore, nevermind deal with any trouble. Because of that, there’s this little gang of goons terrorising my father and his neighbours. They know they’ll be able to get away with it.”

Salieri nods. “Have they tried anything with you?”

“Um, well. They uh. They cornered me a couple of nights ago and started,” you struggle to get the words out for a second and feel another comforting squeeze on your shoulder “, touching me, but luckily there were some police walking down the street. So they left pretty quickly. They haven’t tried anything since, but to be completely honest with you, I’m more worried about the elderly residents than myself.”

“That’s kind of you dear. Putting them before yourself.” Salieri nods to himself, lighting up a cigar as he does so. “ You’re wanting some protection then?”

“Oh please. I’d be happy to pay.” Salieri looks at Tommy again. You don’t know what passes between them, but the former nods rising from his seat. You follow him after quickly sipping the last of your drink. 

“There’s no need. I’d be happy to help get rid of those punks.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, bringing your hands to your chest in thanks. It feels like a great weight has been lifted from your body. Your father will finally be safe.

“Oh, thank you, Mr Salieri! I’m truly indebted to you for this!” The man in question shakes his head as he crosses round to you and grabs your hands again. 

“Trust me, my dear, there is no price for this. These punks need to know that I run these streets and look after all who live in them,” he turns towards the door “, Tommy will drive you home. I would imagine the goons are usually out around about now?” At your nod, he moves to collect your coat.

“He will deal with them tonight then. As for you my dear, if you ever need anything else at all, whether it’s a job or some money… please don’t hesitate to come back and ask.”

“I will. Thank you, Mr Salieri!” At that, he gives you one last smile, then retreats back to his desk. Tommy ushers you out the office after collecting your coat from his boss, then leads you back down the stairs. 

Before you reach the exit, you reach up to take Tommy’s coat off but his hand reaches out and stops you before you can do so. You look up and see him gazing at you with a warmth in his eyes. 

“Please. Keep it on. You need it much more than I do right now.” You open your mouth to argue, but from the look on his face, you surrender and instead pull the coat tighter around you. 

“Thank you, Tommy.” He nods, looking down, then pushes open the door. He reaches behind you and ducks you slightly, then you’re suddenly out in the rain again, rushing towards a building opposite. You keep your head low, trying to shield your eyes from the bullet-like rain. Tommy ducks you more, moving his other hand over the top of your head to shield you further. You feel your heart skip a beat at the kind gesture. No one’s ever been this kind to you before. Stop it Y/N, he’s part of the goddamn Mafia. You don’t need any more trouble. 

You choose to ignore the rational part of your mind as you reach the cover of a garage, a beautiful dark blue Eckhart Elite waiting parked inside. Tommy shakes his shoulders slightly in an attempt to lose some of the rain on his jacket. He reminds you of a dog, making you giggle. 

“You laughin’ at me, darling? After I just kept you dry from the rain?” You can’t help but continue giggling at his mock hurt expression. He shakes his head at you while he leads you to the passenger side. 

“Maam.” He opens the door for you and actually bows. You try to retain a smile, but it breaks out easily on your face. You mock curtsy in return as you climb into the car. “Why thank you, good sir, you do know how to treat a lady well.”

You see his smirk as he shuts the door and jumps in the driver seat after leaving your wet coat in the back. Once the engine is on and he’s got your address, he drives out into the rain.  

As you look out onto the road, reality comes crashing down around you, reminding you that you’re now stuck in a car with a criminal for the next 20 minutes. You take in a deep breath through your nose. Instead of calming your racing mind, it instead focuses your attention more on Tommy as you get a deep whiff of his smokey scent. Why not enjoy your time with him? He has been such a gentleman. For once, you can’t help but want to agree with your inner voice. 

“Your boyfriend must be a coward if he’s not dealin’ with these punks for ya.” Your head shoots back to Tommy, confusion on your face. “What? It’s not that hard to send a message-”

“Wait, no. I’m not- I don’t have a boyfriend.” Tommy looks at you with genuine shock. 

“You’re kiddin?”

“I’m telling the truth.” You shrug your shoulders as you look back out the window “Ever since I moved back, I haven’t really had time to date, what with my father and working. Well that and the fact I haven’t really found anyone I’m interested in yet.” Tommy doesn’t say anything back. You turn to look at him and find him looking at the road, but you can tell his mind is in a completely different place. He finally seems to come to his senses as he shakes his head, looking towards you. He actually blushes when he realises you were looking at him. To save him from the embarrassment, you start the conversation again. 

“Well, what about you? Does any lucky girl have the privilege of calling you there's? Surely a man such as yourself wouldn’t be single.”

Another eyebrow raise. “A man such as myself? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Damn, you really need to think about what you’re saying around this man. “Um, well. Y’know. You’re uh… handsome. And you're very gentlemanly and kind. You’re tall too. And you have… Nice taste in cars.” Your rambling now. It’s only when you hear a deep laugh come from your driver that your embarrassment quickly disappears. Instead, you look at him incredulously, squinting at him in mock anger. He notices and laughs even harder. 

“I’m glad you find my unfiltered mouth so funny Tommy.” You say it sarcastically, but you can’t help but smile as you speak. He breathes deep, looking down at the wheel then back up to you. 

“I’m sorry. It’s cute seeing you get so flustered darling.” You know you’re blushing again, but thankfully the absence of light on the street hides your rosy cheeks. No one’s ever called you cute before. “As laughable as it sounds, I don’t have a girl right now.” Now you are in disbelief. 

“Did you not just hear what I embarrassingly said about you? How could you possibly be single?!”

“Yea, I know, I know.” He shrugs, pursing his lips slightly. “I just… Haven’t found the right girl yet. There’s also not many women who wanna be with a guy like me.”

“Now why would you say that? It’s not your job is it? No wait, I know- you have some kind of weird hobby don’t you?!” You’re really taking the piss out of him now. And he knows it- you can see him silently laughing. He answers anyway. “Apart from being one of Salieri’s soldiers, my ‘nice taste in cars’ and my handsomeness, I haven’t really got much else to offer.” 

“Oh please, there has to be more to you than just being a gangsta Tommy.”

“Maybe there is, maybe there isn’t- guess you’re just gonna have to find out.”

You don’t get to process his answer fully, as your mind suddenly blanks as he turns onto the main street that leads to your road. You spot the goons out of the corner of your eye immediately. 

“Tommy, there! That’s them on the side of the road!” All traces of humour leave his face. He pulls the car in just in front of them and quickly gets out, slamming the door behind him. You follow him, jumping out into the rain. The goons having already noticed the expensive car were making their way over, but now that they’ve seen you, they quicken their steps. 

“Hey sugar, haven’t seen you in a while. You been holding out on us?” 

“Piss off.” You know it’s ‘unladylike to swear’ but you couldn’t care. You’re sick of these punks and with a gangsta at your back, you also feel fearless. The leader of the gang walks closer to you when you reach the sidewalk, but Tommy steps in front of you before he can get any closer. 

“If you saps aren’t careful, you’ll end up in wooden overcoats.” The leader looks taken aback for a second. But then his confidence returns and he slowly walks towards Tommy, puffing his chest out as he does. His friends follow close behind. 

“You brought your boyfriend sugar? It’s okay, he can watch. He can even join in at the end if he wants.” That’s apparently hilarious as the rest of the goons start laughing along with their leader. Tommy just gets more rigid. You can feel the waves of anger rolling off him and you know he’s gonna go for them any moment now. His tone is clipped and harsh as he replies “You fucks clearly don’t know how to treat a lady do ya?”

The leader’s laughter immediately stops.“Listen here pal. We know who you are- you’re one of Saleri’s washed up soldiers.” He spits on the ground at Tommy’s feet. “We ain’t afraid of you.”

“I don’t need him for this. Or anyone else.”

“Well then. Let’s see what you can do.” The leader swings for Tommy, but in the blink of an eye, he’s on the ground passed out. The rest of the punks pause for a second, thinking over their options before (stupidly) running towards you both, eager to get revenge for their leader. 

Tommy quickly jumps into action, biding his time between them all as he begins taking them out one by one. You stand there shocked for a moment, disbelieving of what you’re seeing. He takes them out easily, his fists landing heavy blows that can be heard even in the roaring rain. As one of the punks tries to grab him from behind, you jump into action yourself. You reach for a brick on the ground and hurl it towards his head.

Somehow, it actually hits him with a large thud. He falls to the ground just behind Tommy, the man in question turning around to see what happened. He smiles at you in both thanks and appreciation, before ducking out of the way of another punch. From your short interaction with him, you fail to see a beefy goon run at you from the side, pushing you back into the car. You slam into the wing mirror with force, the wind rushing out of your stomach. You gasp and sputter into his face as you try to breathe, making him angrier. You attempt to push him, lifting your leg up aiming towards his crotch, but he spins you around quickly forcing you over the bonnet. As thunder belows through the sky, your answering scream can barely be heard.

You panic, flinging your legs out wildly. Somehow, you manage to kick his leg and he curses behind you. He flings you around again. You barely register a sudden sharp pain against your face before you’re falling to the ground. Agony radiates through your head, your ears ringing. Luckily, your arm blocks your head from hitting the ground, but you feel your hands and knees scrape the gravel. 

You can’t move. The pain is clouding your thoughts. You can do nothing but lie there, breathing heavily as you wait for your senses to return. You feel hands grasp your shoulders, one of them rising to your face. You shrink back from it at first, but then the hand curls around your cheek, softly rubbing against a forming bruise. You look up into golden eyes and the world freezes around you. You feel safe. Comforted. As those eyes look at you with worry, you no longer feel the water soaking into your dress or the ache from the scratches on your skin. You can’t hear the thundering rain or the whistle of the wind through your ringing ears. You can barely even register your pounding hearbeat. All you can see, hear, feel… is Tommy. Those warm hands pulling you into a strong hug. The frantic beating of his heart from his solid but warm chest. Home. It feels like home. 

“Y/N?! Y/N!? You okay, darling?!” You struggle to answer, overwhelmed by the emotions running rampant through your body. 

Tommy rises with you pressed against him, pulling you into the open again. As you feel the full force of the rain again, the world centres around you and the chaos of the weather reigns over your senses once more.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit shocked is all.” You can hear how dazed you sound. Tommy looks down at you and curses. He pulls you back from the car, quickly opening your door and ushering you in. He turns around and runs around the car, getting in himself and quickly starting the engine. His hair is soaked and he runs his hand through it, trying to tame it before driving off. You just continue to look at him, unbelieving of the experience you just had. You ignore the bodies of the punks as he goes down the road towards your street. You ignore the body of the beefy goon whose head has practically vanished underneath a bloody brick. You can only focus on him. 

“Do you have a first aid kit at your house?” You don’t hear him at first. It’s only when he looks at you again that you snap out of your reverie. He repeats the question. 

“Yeah, yeah. I have one, it’s there for my father.”

“Your father ain’t the one I’m worryin’ ‘bout right now. I need to fix you up, your cheeks’ bleeding.”

It is? Your hand reaches up, stroking lightly. You feel a sting. Lo and behold, when you move it back, there’s a smudge of blood on your fingertips. 

“That fucker was wearing rings. They cut your fuckin’ face!” Tommy is angry- really angry. Though your cheek is bleeding, you can feel that it’s nothing to worry about. You attempt to calm him down. 

“Tommy, it’s fine. It’s just a-”

“That ain’t the point darling!” His fingers grip the steering wheel tighter, his mouth a grimace. You can practically hear his teeth grinding together. “I don’t like seeing women hurt. Especially y-” He suddenly stops talking. You look at him but he refuses to meet your eyes. 

“Especially who Tommy?”

“It doesn't matter. We’re here.” He jumps out the car before you can say anything more, quickly running round to your door. You limp slightly as you get out, the grazes making your legs ache with the pain. Before you even know what’s happening, you're suddenly in Tommy’s arms as he runs up the driveway of your home. You open your mouth to protest, but his arms grip you tighter, pulling you just slightly more into his chest. Why not enjoy it?

Once you reach the door, Tommy takes your keys from you and swiftly opens the door, carrying you to the couch in your living room. He goes to retrieve the first aid kit after closing the door, while you struggle out of his now soaked coat. You leave it hanging over the side of the armchair facing you. 

Tommy re-enters the room moments later, already routing through the kit. Thankfully, you only have the minor cut on your cheek and some grazes on your hands and knees from where you fell, so they only need to be cleaned and covered. 

He falls into a crouch before you, unrolling some cloth as he does so. Neither of you speak as he adds a dab of alcohol to the material, the weight of the conversation in the car still hanging heavily between you. When he reaches up to start dabbing at your cheek, there’s no way of escaping looking at each other. 

“Thank you Tommy. Not just for helping me deal with those goons. But for looking after me too.” He breaths deep, looking away from you as he adds more alcohol. He doesn’t say anything, so you continue. “I’ve never really had someone look after me like this before. Apart from my father, my experience with men is little to none.”

Tommy sighs, his hand dropping from your face. “Y/N, I-”

“Please. Let me finish.” You say it softly, almost a whisper. He purses his lips, but nods at you to continue. 

“I know you don’t think you have much to offer. I also know that we’ve only known each other for a few hours. But the way you made me feel tonight Tom….” You shrug, looking down at your fidgeting hands. “I haven’t ever felt this way before- like someone cares about me.”

You pull at your fingers in your nervousness, but his hand stops you, gently holding your hands between his. He rubs slightly at your skin with his thumb. 

“I’ve never really joked with another girl, like I did with you tonight. Usually, it’s my buddies takin’ the piss outta me. It was… nice.” You let out a scoff before you can stop yourself, swinging your face back up. Tommy looks off to the side with a reminiscent smile. 

“Nice? That’s it?” He laughs quietly at your response. He looks into your eyes and you swear you can see the battle taking place in his mind through those pools of burnished gold. 

“Fine. It was better than nice.” You nod, pleased and he just sends you one of his smirks, his eyebrow raised. 

“You really impressed me when you knocked that guy out. You also scared the shit outta me when I saw you fall to the floor after that punk…” he breathes deep unable to finish his sentence. Unconsciously, your hand reaches out and cups his face. You can feel his day old stubble beneath your fingers as you slightly caress his cheek to comfort him. His own hand reaches up and covers yours. 

“I ain’t ever been that worried about a dame before. It… scared me in a way.” 

“What are you saying Tommy?” You ask, stroking his cheek gently. 

“It ain’t obvious?”

“It is. I just wanna hear you say it.” You practically beam at him. He jokingly sighs, then leans forward tilting his head slightly. 

“I’m saying Y/N, I think I wanna make you my girl.” You can’t help the wispy giddy laugh that escapes your chest. 

“I think I’d like that Tommy.”

This is really not how you thought this night was gonna go. He finishes cleaning up your wounds, then covers them. You’ll have some explaining to do to your father tomorrow no doubt. Tommy rises to dispose of the stained cloth, walking to the door after helping you up from the couch. As he opens it, you suddenly realise you’ve left his coat on the arm chair. You turn to retrieve it, but his hand quickly grabs your wrist. You look at him in confusion but he just smiles michievlosuly. 

“You can bring my coat back to Salieri’s tomorrow. I’ll return yours. Then I’ll take you out. To the pictures maybe. I might even get ya some flowers.”

Oh, he’s smooth. You shake your head and lean up, placing a quick kiss on his cheek. You can’t contain the giddy feeling that spreads through your body when you see the blush painting his cheeks. “It’s a date.”

He grabs your hand, bowing again and kissing it. “Until tomorrow then maam”. You jokingly curtsy back. “Goodnight to you sir.”

He smiles one last time, then turns, hurriedly walking back to the car. You wait under the shelter of your porch until he drives off, giddily spinning when you see him leave the road. If you neighbours can for some reason see you, you don’t have it in you to care. You’re in a bubble of happiness right now and nothing is going to burst it.

After locking your door, you walk to the couch and pick up Tommy’s coat. Even wet, his smell still clings to it and you can’t help pulling it up to your nose and taking a whiff. Just the scent alone makes you feel warm and safe. You bring it up the stairs with you, quickly checking in on your sleeping father, before going to your own room. 

You leave Tommy’s coat to dry in the bathroom, touching it every so often as you get ready to go to bed. When you finally crawl between the sheets, you can still smell cigarettes and whisky. 

As you fall into slumber, your dreams consist only of golden eyes and a warm embrace.

---

Thank you for reading minxies! If it’s too long or boring, I’m sorry. I really just wrote with this one... (Unedited)

[sagasofazeria]

Broken Chains

Song of the Seven Suns, Part 6

Summary: Dawn arrives, and the companions head to battle against remnants of the group called the Mortal Chains, led by a woman named Dymea. A reckoning is had.

Taglist (just ask to be added/removed!): @hellishhin @talesfromaurea @thelaughingstag

content warnings: heavy discussion of slavery, violence and murder, injury, blood and minor gore, death, discussion of death, discussion of trauma/childhood trauma, swearing and strong language

word count: ~3900

Awake before even the sun, the five companions had already set out to confront their enemy, eyes and blades sharp as they crept through the inky night.

The shadows were long and grasping, even as the storm flashed on above. The group moved swiftly and silently through the darkness, all holding their breath for fear it would be their last.

Fuego hated it. He despised the dark, the unseen. He’d never liked the shadows and fog of his home, and he didn’t like this either. He only kept his flames snuffed because the others had insisted it’d give them away. Even though he hated the dark, he knew how to use it to his advantage, and he didn’t want to sabotage his first quest with his new friends.

So, onward they went, pushing forward through the creeping brush and craggy hills, as the slick rocks and leaves flashed with the reflections of lightning above.

Hours passed as they continued forward. Faulkron was leading the group, his faintly glowing elven eyes piercing through the dark.

As the morning wore on, the sun’s light began to begin its crawl across the sky behind the blanket of clouds that still bore down on them. The black of night became the faint notion of blue that lie beyond the curtain, gray clouds filtering what light shone behind them into a dim gloom, rain still falling through the leaves of the trees as the sky shifted.

It was in the faint illumination of the first steps of morning that the five adventurers saw the first signs of their quarry.

Faulkron noticed them first, the ever-so-slight disturbances in the silent stillness of the woods. Moments later, Shakari’s keen senses picked up a faint stench hidden beneath the clean smell of rain. They shared a quick glance, and the group quickly altered course, following the well-hidden trail.

Fuego couldn’t help but smile to hiself. He could tell he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t be any more ready for the coming fight. He saw Shakari’s eyes glinting in same way his mother’s would. Though, Shakari’s eyes were admittedly far larger, and probably scarier. Well, scarier to people who didn’t know his mother.

Shakari looked like a hunter, a proud and vicious one, and Fuego couldn’t be happier to be hunting alongside them.

•••

As Shakari pushed through the brush, clambering over the rocks and small borders that blocked their path, she never lost the scent. They hadn’t told the rest of the group what scent they’d picked up, only that they had one.

On the surface, it was the smell of blood.

Dirt.

Steel.

But beneath that, beneath the layers of rain and storm that hid the scent, beyond even the limits of her smell, something else lurked. Something Shakari could see only by extending their mind to the flows of energy around them, the movement of spirits and magic that pervaded everything, if you looked close enough.

It was there that they could smell pain.

Fear.

Despair.

Cruelty.

A poison sat on the air, one not even the rain could wash away.

And that was what Shakari was hunting. She knew the source of that poison, and on her ancestors she knew she would cure it. Today she was certain the sun would rise on one more step toward redemption.

Tail lashing with purpose, Shakari led the group forward alongside Faulkron, and in time the stench grew and grew. Before long, they found themelves in a small valley thick with trees, a grove of trees hiding them from any nearby eyes. She could smell the poison now, stronger than ever.

“We are getting close,” she whispered, holding up a claw to halt the group.

Fuego’s face pushed out of the leaves above, mouth cocked in an almost sinister grin. “Good.”

“How close, exactly?” asked Faulkron, turning to Shakari and reaching back for his sword.

“Close enough that you might need that, if that’s what you’re asking,” Shakari said, peeking through the still-wet leaves and brush for signs of a camp.

Faulkron gave a nod, pulling the sword from its sheath and steadying his grip, eyes focusing as he began to search as well.

“I don’t see anything, too many trees,” he whispered. “Fuego, can you get up any higher?”

“Naturally.”

With that, Fuego ran off into the trees, light halfling feet carrying him into the foliage without a trace.

The four of them waited for a while, and Shakari could see Alejandro and Jetra beginning to get nervous. Jetra was tapping a haphazard rhythm on a nearby stone, and Alejandro was twisting his hand around the hilt of one of his blades, palms sweaty as he went.

“What is taking him so long?” Alejandro finally snapped, voice at a tense whisper. “He should be here by now. What if he’s been injured, or taken, or—“

“Aww! Alejandro, you were worried about me?” Fuego’s voice suddenly called from the shadows as he walked out of the bushes, knocking a bit of ash off of his hands and beaming.

In a second, Alejandro had his blade halfway drawn. When he saw Fuego, he let it go with a sigh. “Fuego, you need to stop startling me.”

“You’re ignoring the question.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Isn’t it?”

Alejandro sighed. “Yes, I was worried for you. Now tell us what you saw.”

Fuego nodded and shrugged. “I’ll accept it for now. Anyway, I saw the camp. Pretty well defended, actually. I had to take out one scout on the way, but they never saw it coming, so we’re all clear. I can get us there.”

Alejandro held up a hand as they all began to move. “Wait, wait. What even is our plan here? We’ve got a location, what do we do from there?”

“Don’t worry, I think I’ve got something,” Fuego said, looking around for a second before snapping a branch off of a nearby tree with a mumbled apology.

He gestured for them all to kneel around him, and began to draw in the mud. “All right, here’s the plan...”

•••

It was working so far. Jetra hadn’t expected this from Fuego, but a fortress made of wood was kind of a pyro’s playground.

Not to mention, she wasn’t sure she could have come up with a decent plan at the moment. As much as she tried to look like she was sensible and collected, she had to admit she was completely making stuff up in the moment half the time. And that wasn’t when she was crouching behind a rock, staring at the place where her father’s killer was actively kidnapping people and selling them into slavery.

She tightened her grip on her sword, and clutched the amulet around her neck. The symbol of the blue moon was cold in her hand, but it held a comfort she appreciated well. Just a symbol, she knew, but it gave her hope, and gods knew she needed a bit of hope right now.

I can’t fuck this up, she thought to herself, visions of her father’s body being lowered into the ground filling her mind. I can’t.

She looked into the camp again, peeking around the boulder. Even through the soft rain and dim light he could see the faint silhouettes of cages, and she was filled with rage.

Then I won’t.

And that’s when the smell of smoke filled the air.

Jetra watched the pile of brush, scouts’ corpses, and wet leaves they’d carefully gathered against the camp’s edge outer wall go up in bright amber flame, black smoke curling upwards to mingle with the clouds despite the rain. Jetra muttered a brief thanks to the gods that magical fire burned far better than the average flame before leaping over the boulder and charging forward, sword held aloft. Across from her Faulkron and Alejandro did the same.

The smoke and the pile of tinder behind her blew forward into the camp with a sudden gust as the Shakari’s roar sounded through the camp, the groggy slavers caught off guard by the sudden onslaught and confusion in the smoke and flame, the buildings beginning to glow with fire in seconds. Jetra tightened the scarf around her nose and mouth, gritting her teeth as the sudden gust blew her hair forward.

The first group of bandits never even saw them coming. Through the smoke and haze, Faulkron moved like a shade, hacking one of them down with ease.

The next slaver barely had time to draw a weapon before taking Alejandro’s blades through his throat and chest.

Jetra charged forward still, kicking the embers of their campfire forward and setting another slaver alight. She cursed in alarm, throwing off her burning cloak and drawing a sword.

Shouts and cries went up around the camp, as more slavers were woken from their sleep to try fight off the attackers and the fire.

Smoke still covered the camp, and there was coughing among the unprepared bandits as they began to draw their weapons.

The badnit Jetra had tried to burn lunged forward with her sword, slicing across her right arm.

Jetra hissed, feeling warmth trickling down her arm and beginning to soak her clothes.

“You’re not who I’m here for, asshole,” she growled, swinging her own sword forward into the slaver’s side, cutting through the leather and sinking the blade into flesh.

The woman only grunted and raised her sword in response, but was cut off by a hissing as a familiar red-hot scimitar pushed out through her chest and she collapsed into the mud with a gurgle.

Jetra nodded to Fuego in thanks, and kept running further forward, trudging uphill as fast as she could. Chaos surrounded her, and she could see the wooden fortifications and buildings catching fire rapidly. There were shouts all around as the slavers began to rally.

As she ran, she saw Alejandro facing a group of slavers with a snarl on his face, all of them standing in front of cages of terrified people. His rain-soaked blades flashed in the firelight, and he charged them, Faulkron right beside him.

Fuego was dancing through the smoke, laughing as he went, burning blade held aloft and cutting through yet another confused enemy.

Shakari’s mouth was glowing with power, and a whole group of slavers and buildings was blasted apart as she roared again.

And Jetra ran forward, her mind was on one thing, and one thing only.

Just before she crested the hill, where the center of the fortress was, a group of slavers leaped from the haze, blades slashing.

Jetra cried out as her leg was slashed open and a dagger was sunk into her shoulder before she brought her sword up to block the remaining swings.

Pain pulsing through her, and she screamed, her voice booming outward as the vibrations shook the ground, sending the slavers in front of her careening backwards, most of them unmoving.

She kept running.

•••

Faulkron’s blade clanged against the slaver’s, but he pushed forward with all his might, sending them stumbling back. As they stumbled, he swung in an arc and separating their helmed head from their shoulders.

He saw Jetra run forward and disappear into the smoke, but had no time to react before he felt a knife across his back, turning to the next bandit.

He swung once, but the rain was still coming down, and even his eyes found it hard to see. His blade crashed off of theirs, and he felt another slash across his side.

Most of the camp was on fire, and it seemed every slaver had rushed out of their tents to fight them.

That much more of a challenge, he thought, and grinned.

The bandit in front of him faltered a moment, coughing in the smoke, and Faulkron took the chance to thrust his sword forward into their gut, throwing them to the side with a heave.

That was when he heard Alejandro scream. Faulkron whipped his head around, and as the smoke briefly parted he saw him.

Torso shiny with crimson blood from numerous slashes and cuts, at least 4 slavers lay dead around him, but a larger warrior had shoved their spear through his shoulder, and he’d dropped one of his blades into the mud.

Faulkron didn’t know what overtook him, but he charged across the burning battlefield, rain pelting his armor, shoulder lowered. He rammed his shoulder square into the slaver’s chest, sending them both tumbling to the ground. He quickly got to his feet in the mud, but was cracked across the face by the spiked butt of the spear, and he felt hot blood dripping down his cheek and chin.

He quickly wiped it away, swinging heavily with his blade, trying to protect Alejandro. The blow glanced off of the slaver’s armor, and they stabbed the spear towards Faulkron.

He managed to block the blow with his blade, and cut once across the slaver’s gut, tearing through the leather armor. Just as the bandit could attack again, however, Alejandro quickly came up from behind, one arm bloody as he sank his blades between the slaver’s ribs, and the large man gurgled in pain, blood trickling down his chin.

Faulkron took his chance, shoving his own blade through the man’s chest as Alejandro stepped away.

As the man fell over, so did Alejandro, collapsing to one knee. Faulkron kneeled next to him, clasping his good arm in hand.

“Come on Alejandro, get back up, fight’s not done yet.”

Alejandro grimaced and took a deep breath, and clasped his arm as well.

“Of course. Somebody needs to protect you,” he grunted, a grim smile on his face.

Faulkron stood again, lifting Alejandro up.

The fires were dying down as the rain kept falling, but the haze was still heavy in the air, although most of the bandits had been slain.

Fuego ran up to them, sporting a large slash of his own across his chest and breathing heavy.

“Hurry, we have to find Dymea, she can’t be let escape,” Alejandro said with a cough.

“This way!” Shakari called from father up the hill, through the smoldering buildings.

As they ran uphill, they heard another scream, Jetra this time.

But it wasn’t one of pain.

•••

“DYMEA! Where are you, you cowardly piece of shit? Come fucking fight me!” Jetra screamed, channeling all her rage and pain into her words, cursing the name she spoke, hoping Dymea was near enough that the magic would take hold.

The smoke was billowing all around, and her knuckles were white as she gripped her sword, waiting for the knife from the shadows.

All she heard in response was a sick laugh, a laugh full of poison and malice.

“And who are you supposed to be, exactly?”

She turned to see an armored and hooded figure emerge from the clearing smoke, grinning with a cold and calculated hate, the dim firelight and predawn sky leaving most of her face shrouded in shadow.

“I’m the daughter of Marakos, and you fucking killed him. Stabbed him in the back. He never had a chance... I’ve come to return the favor, or die trying,” Jetra growled, turning to face her.

Dymea laughed again. “Of course you are. I see you’ve also decided to burn down my slave operation, which will be a problem for me after I defeat you. It’s very annoying, but makes you that much more interesting. I wonder, did the vengeful daughter also join father’s secret society for the idiotically righteous?” Dymea said, looking over Jetra with a smirk. “Oh, but of course she did...” she trailed off, smiling and casually twirling a dagger as she slowly stalked around her.

Jetra furrowed her brow. She hadn’t expected a conversation, and her mind was already clouded with anger. She felt herself faltering, mind paralyzed as she found herself off guard. She shook her head and took in a breath, clearing her head. “Enough! What are you even getting at? Fight me already!”

“Oh, I would, but it’s much more gratifying to do this first. So I can tap into your fears, know what goes on in your mind. After all, I’m going to need to know how to control you. What’s more... you don’t want to tell a boring story, do you, bard?”

Jetra froze mid-retort. How did she know? Had she overestimated herself? I won’t, I won’t, I won’t fail, I won’t fail, her own words echoed through her mind, but now they sounded more like doubts than promises. “What are you talking about? How do you know-”

“Please, I already knew you, long before you showed up here. I remember killing your father. It was a big achievement for me, really. Another reckless idiot with a sword and a bunch of lies to fuel his morals dies by my hand. You’re just the same, clear as day. But you? I’m not going to give you ‘die trying’. No... you’ll be my final trophy from killing your father.”

Jetra’s eye’s widened and she growled. “That’s not gonna happen. No game you try to play will save you. You will die today,” she snarled, weaving years of hatred into her words as she spit magic at the woman before her.

She watched as Dymea hissed and grabbed her head, a slight trickle of blood coming from her ears. 

Jetra grinned. “Don’t like that?”

“Oh, so she’s tricky,” Dymea muttered, wiping blood from her face. “Don’t worry, I have some tricks of my own.”

She flicked her wrist forward, and a long dagger sailed toward Jetra with almost inhuman speed. She raised her blade on instinct, knocking it away, only to have a second dagger sink into her thigh. She cried out in pain, and when she looked back up, Dymea was gone.

She called out to the shadows and smoke through gritted teeth. “Fucking cowardly—”

She was cut off when another dagger flew from the smoke, sprouting from her gut with a sickening thud as she cursed.

She tried to set her feet again, looking for any sign of the woman, but she couldn’t see her. Her wounds were burning with pain, and she stumbled again, grimacing.

She took a shaky breath and grabbed her necklace, closing her eyes and looking up to the rainy sky, tears and rain mingling on her face.

“I... I refuse to fail,” she whispered, letting the hope she found in the symbol grow and blossom in her chest.

As her magic faded, she felt her confidence and strength returned.

She opened her eyes saw her companions sprinting up the hill toward her just as Dymea lunged again from the smoke, knives extended towards her.

Before she reached her, however, there was a flash of blue, and Shakari leaped in front of Jetra, one extended hand sending lightning coursing forward into Dymea.

Dymea stumbled to a stop, gritting her teeth as the electricity coursed across her body from Shakari’s outstretched claws before drawing back to them, jumping across their scales as they bared their teeth.

Then, stepping out of a door of embers and smoke, Fuego appeared behind her in a blast of magic. He leaped onto her back, sword piercing her shoulder as she growled and stumbled forward.

“Funny how the tables turn, huh?” Jetra laughed, standing upright again.

Dymea snarled, grabbing Fuego by the neck and throwing him forward into the mud with a wet thud, his sword flinging off into the smoke.

Fuego coughed and tried to roll away, wind knocked from his lungs, but Dymea grabbed his hair and yanked him upward. She smiled at Jetra, dagger flashing in the fading firelight before she stabbed him in the back with a growl, and he coughed blood.

“You’re right. It is funny,” Dymea snarled, before kicking the dagger, sending Fuego sprawling into the mud as he screamed.

Jetra felt her heart sink, and her breath caught. She gripped the sword tighter as they converged on Dymea. Jetra was not going to let her kill Fuego, or any of the others, not when they were so close.

Dymea drew a shortsword and started to step back, but she was quickly interrupted by Faulkron, who knocked the blade aside before bringing the end of his sword across her face with a yell, drawing a line of blood across her cheek even as she leaped away.

Alejandro, adrenaline fueling him through the pain in his arm, pushed forward and stabbed her once through the shoulder as she tried to dodge away, then slammed his knee into her back as she stumbled forward, cursing. She tried to recover, only to be slammed backwards by a boom of thunder, as Shakari split the air with a bolt of lightning.

“And you call me a coward. How many people did you con into helping you kill me, exactly?” Dymea chuckled, spitting out blood.

She stood again, brandishing her last two knives. She looked around at them all, but they had her surrounded. She looked at them all in the eyes, then laughed. “Don’t you know? I don’t fear death. None of us do. Our chains—“

She was interrupted again as Faulkron lunged forward in a sudden explosion of movement. She lashed out, sinking one blade into his arm before Faulkron stabbed his own blade into the earth in front of her, one hand holding it steady.

She looked at him in confusion for a moment, and he only stared back. Then, he grabbed her by the back of the head with one hand and slammed her face into the metal hilt of his blade. Faulkron grabbed Dymea around the throat while she was stunned, crushing inward as she struggled to breathe, unable to escape his grip no matter how much she struggled and tried to move away. Alejandro ran up next to him, grabbing her arms to further restrain her, even as he growled in pain from his wound.

Fuego was still lying in the mud, struggling to push himself up and coughing blood.

“Keep her there!” Jetra yelled, before running over to him, hefting him up from the ground and placing one hand on his chest.

“Get up, damn it. Your story isn’t over yet,” she grunted, letting the healing magic flow into him and close his wounds. She watched as the dagger was forcibly pushed out of his back in a flash of light.

“Thanks... let’s kill this lady?” he panted as he stood and steadied himself on her hip.

Jetra turned back to Dymea with a glare. “With pleasure.”

Jetra strode up to the still-struggling slaver, grip tight on her sword.

“You wanna know why they’re here? They’re all here because you’re a sick fuck who sells people into slavery, and you’ve got a trip to the Nine Hells we don’t want you to miss,” Jetra growled, filling her words with malice again and grinning as Dymea hissed and struggled, more blood leaking from her ears.

She tried to respond, but Shakari clenched her fist, and the lightning coursing around her flashed, spearing into Dymea and causing her to convulse again and fall to her knees, still held by Alejandro and Faulkron.

Fuego held up a roiling flame in one hand, but Jetra put out her arm.

“Don’t. I want to do this.”

She stepped forward and put her sword beneath Dymea’s chin, staring her dead in the eyes. “This is for my father, and all of the people you’ve made suffer.”

Dymea’s final act was to choke out a smile.

“Good. It means I won.”

At that, Jetra shoved the blade upward.

Part 5 | Part 7

[margoshansons]

Desperate Measures: 17/?

MASTERLIST

Summary: Y/N and Bellamy come across a survivor....and reunite with a familiar face.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, guns, gore

Notes: I am officially off of hiatus!! We will be back to our regularly scheduled programming soon enough, but I really wanted to post this today so enjoy! As always, I’m down to talk about any of it! Based on 2x04 “Many Happy Returns”

***

“Are we gonna talk about it?” Bellamy asked, dropping in next to her, his tone disapproving.

“Talk about what?” Y/N feigned innocence, really not wanting to discuss anything about what happened in the bunker. Bellamy pulled her aside, “You were ready to die for me.” He stated, hand growing tighter around her bicep, intense gaze never leaving her face.

She swallowed nervously, pushing down the butterflies fluttering as she ripped her arm out of his grasp, “Yes, I was.” She confirmed, moving forward so they didn’t fall behind. Bellamy chased after her, not wanting to end the conversation.

“I need to know why.” He pleaded, eyebrows raised, waiting for her answer.

She sighed annoyingly before dropping the bomb, “You’re more important than me.” She stated as if they were discussing the weather instead of their self-worth. “You’re a better leader, a better tracker, and you keep the rest of us grounded.” She began to explain, “You’re older, and have more experience, it’s simple logic.”

This time his grip refused to let up, grasping her wrist and turning her toward him so she could see the desperation hidden in his gaze. “That’s not true.” His voice cracked, throat bobbing up and down as he scanned her face, ���The grounders respect you, you’re the best engineer we have--”

“Had” Y/N corrected, her mind wandering toward Sinclair, “The Ark’s down now. There’s plenty more engineers.”

“And you’re a damn good leader.” Bellamy continued to press, refusing to let her believe that her life was worthless. “I may keep the rest of the hundred grounded, but you keep me grounded.” He confessed, breath hitching as they moved closer. “I need you alive.”

Y/N threw her gaze up, sighing at the unfairness of her own words thrown back in her face. “That’s not fair,” She joked, playing with Bellamy’s fingers as they stood on the edge of a clearing, hoping Finn knew what he was doing.

“Are we finally taking a break?”

The couple inhaled sharply as Murphy’s voice interrupted their moment. Just as the two of them were about to answer, Finn cut them off. “No breaks.” The Spacewalker said, eyes still trained on the map, “We have to keep moving.”

Y/N moved forward, “Look,” She pleaded with her former friend, “I know you want to find them, I do too. But we need a minute or we won’t be in good enough shape to rescue our friends.”

Finn finally took his eyes off the makeshift atlas to meet her own, a snarl curled on his face, “No we don’t.” His gaze turned to Bellamy’s, “You heard the grounder, ‘they’ll outlive their usefulness’ we need to keep moving.”

Bellamy stepped in front of the anxious kid, “Y/N’s right,” He told Finn, hand pressed against the other kid’s chest, “Besides, you had a gun to his head, who knows if he was telling the truth.”

She stood there watching the two go at it, trying to find a peaceful way to resolve the tension when she heard it. A slight buzzing in her ear.

“Guys be quiet,” Y/N ordered, training her ear toward the buzzing, trying to discover the direction it was coming in, “Do you hear that?” “Hear what?” Bellamy asked, brows furrowing.

“I think your girlfriend’s gone crazy” Murphy sneered, a glare from Y/N thrown his way.

She followed the buzzing until they broke through the thicket of trees, the road beginning again as they found themselves near the edge of a cliff. But the fear creeping up inside her wasn’t because of the height.

Thousands of Arkers lay before her, the flies picking off what nutrients they could from their decomposing bodies, creating the buzzing that had drawn her here. Their crimson blood splattered against the tan ground, creating a grotesque painting that each delinquent viewed in horror as they moved through the clump of dead bodies.

When they reached the edge of the cliff she held up her hand, telling the rest of them not to go any further.

“Now we know why we never heard from Factory Station.” Bellamy stated numbly, a hint of sadness developing in his voice as the group stared at the debris in front of them.

“Rough landing” Murphy muttered and Y/N glared at the insensitive delinquent, her hand brushing against Bellamy’s arm.

Finn joined them on the edge, “There’s nothing we can do for these people.” The emotionless tone from earlier had returned and despite every bone in her body screaming otherwise, Y/N found herself agreeing with the now murderer.

Their footsteps were cut off by a scream coming from the bottom of the cliff, Bellamy stopping the group again, “Did you hear that?” Something akin to hope returned in his eyes as they peered over the edge, catching sight of a lone figure hanging onto a tree branch jutting out of the cliff, her feet swinging wildly.

There was a survivor.

“Please!” The voice called, female, “Help me!” Sterling joined the leaders at the edge of the cliff, “Mel?” He asked, disbelief written across his face.

“Sterling! Help me please!” Mel called, her voice desperate.

Finn stopped Sterling from grabbing his pack, turning toward Bellamy. “We can’t stop.”

Sterling pushed past Finn and looked back down at Mel.

“This isn’t a grounder Finn,” Y/N pointed out, her voice growing hard, “We have a rope. We can save her.”

“We can save our friends!” Finn countered, the anger coming back to play. “The longer we wait, the less we can save.”

Y/N wanted to scream in frustration, “We don’t know if our friends are still alive!” She finally brought up, knowing it was on everyone’s minds. Finn went silent. “What we do know is that there is someone here who needs our help.”

Finn looked about ready to snap, his lips thinning at her argument. The sound of rocks clattering caused the three of them to swivel around, catching Sterling’s blonde hair disappearing behind the cliff edge.

“Sterling what are you doing?” Bellamy asked, running forward, getting there much too late as Murphy joined the trio at the edge.

“Looks like we’re taking that break after all.”

Bellamy and Y/N shot another glare at Murphy and she watched his eyes widen at the synchronicity of the two leaders before they turned their gaze back to Sterling’s heroics, holding their breaths as he began to creep closer to the ledge that Mel was holding onto.

“I’m almost there!” He shouted up, “Once I have her pull us up!” A sigh came from Murphy and the trio as they released their breaths in relief.

“Well I’d say he’s heard one to many of your motivational speeches,” Murphy joked, relieving some of the tension.

“Shut up Murphy,” Bellamy responded, his eyes never leaving Sterling’s frame.

Y/N’s gaze moved from Sterling to the quivering rope beside her, watching anxiously as it began to shake more until she caught the rock the rope was tied to. The knot flew apart and her eyes grew wide. She jumped on the rope, trying fruitlessly to wrap the edge around her hand, only to watch in horror as it slipped from underneath her, sliding off the cliff and sending Sterling to his death.

His scream rang in her ears, only silenced by a smack as he fell limply against the ground.

Her breathing was ragged, muffled sounds unable to pierce through the cotton like substance in her ears as she replayed Sterling’s screams over and over in her mind, replaying it like the music Marcus used to play.

Suddenly, another scream entered her ears, Mel’s screams.

“We need to figure something else out.” Maria uttered, shaking herself out of her stupor. She owed it to Sterling. She owed it to Mel.

“We’re out of rope.” Finn spoke matter of factly and she knew what he was trying to do.

“So we make a new one” Y/N pushed, sending a small look toward Monroe, the other girl tensing up.

Finn moved closer, invading her space, “We don’t have time. We can come back to her after we save our friends.”

Bellamy exploded. “We don’t know if we could save our friends!” He moved closer to Finn the two men continuing their argument from earlier, “We’ve all thought it. But, Y/N was right, we can save this one girl.”

Finn clenched his jaw, sending a dirty look the engineer’s way before moving closer to Bellamy, “Just because the person you love is safe--”

Bellamy tilted his head, mouth tightening in anger, “I would be very careful with what you say next.”

Monroe stepped in beside the two leaders, “Sterling died to save her, and I’m not leaving until we do.” She spoke, determination hiding whatever grief she was feeling. “How do we do it?”

“We make rope from the wreckage,” Y/N pulled her gaze away from the two silent men, sliding into leader mode, “Seatbelts, wires, anything you can find.”

Murphy and Monroe nodded, the three of them going off to craft a new rope that was going to save Mel’s life. It had to.

***

“I’ll be fine.” Bellamy assured her, pulling tightly on the makeshift rope to make sure it was secure. “You made it.”

Y/N chuckled slightly to break through the unnerving feeling that something was going to go wrong. “You better make it back alive.” She told him, squeezing his hand as she joined the assembly line to lower him down, Murphy and her holding the front of the rope, watching anxiously as Bellamy lowered himself down.

The seatbelts cut through the skin of her palms, the knots in her stomach weighing her down. She hoped it actually added physical weight as well. She didn’t like this one bit, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something awful was going to happen.

As soon as Mel latched onto Bellamy her prophecy came true.

A buckling sensation sent her lurching forward, the momentum threatening to send her flying off the cliff interrupted by a pair of hands wrapping themselves around her waist, pulling her backward as their feet slid against the rocky cliffside.

“Don’t worry Sparky” Murphy’s strained voice entered her ears, moving his hands from her waist to the rope, “You’ll get your chance to kill me.”

The two of them pulled, Monroe and Finn joining the pair, the four of them trying as hard as possible to keep Bellamy and Mel from falling.

“What the hell happened up there?” Bellamy’s voice rang up from cliffside, and Y/N forced herself to look down, the two Factory station residents swinging helplessly as he tried to find a placement for his foot.

Something buzzed past Y/N’s head and she turned just in time to see an arrow land inches from her.

“Grounders!” She heard Finn yell, “Take cover!” Monroe reached over to grasp her gun, leaning on one knee to protect the trio trying to lift up Bellamy and Mel to safety.

“Everybody pull!” Y/N shouted, having enough faith in Monroe to focus on the task at hand. The seatbelts burned against her palms, and the sweat dripping down her back refused to let up, even as the sun disappeared behind the clouds.

A scream pulled Y/N away from Bellamy as she watched Monroe collapse to the ground, gripping an arrow that had embedded itself deep in her thigh. She released her grip on the rope, grasping the gun in earnest.

“Get back on the rope,” She ordered Monroe, “Now!”

Y/N stood her ground, raising the scope to her eye, recalling Marcus’ lessons.

She pushed another magazine in, locking her eye on the trees above her, bullets striking true as grounders began to fall forward, the arrows slowly dissipating.

Except they weren’t.

Instead it felt as if she was battling an endless hydra. Whenever one fell, two more seemed to be there to greet her in their place. They only had so much ammo, and she knew they were running out soon.

It was only the sound of a foghorn that saved her.

She turned toward the thicket, searching for the familiar yellow orange clouds that could kill them at any second. Instead she found herself locking eyes with a familiar pair of green ones, a wide smile on their savior’s face.

“Octavia?” She breathed.

The two girls collapsed into each other, unable to believe that they were here together. That they had finally found each other.

Their reunion was nothing compared to the relieved one between her and her brother. The siblings refused to pull apart, almost as if they were afraid the other would disappear if they did.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Murphy asked, the atmosphere growing sour as soon as he made any mention of Lincoln.

Octavia froze, and Y/N caught her gaze as she helped tie up Mel’s arm. “He’s gone,” the younger sister replied curtly, tying off Monroe’s leg as she held the arrow up to her vision.

Bellamy moved toward her, a regretful look on his face, “I’m sorry O,” He uttered, unsure about how to comfort his sister.

Pain shot up Y/N’s side as she stood back up, her knee buckling underneath her as Bellamy moved to catch her, setting her down on the same boulder Mel was on moments before.

“I’m fine.” She lied through her teeth, clutching onto her hip.

Bellamy shook his head, a smile reaching his eyes as she continued to deny her own injuries. “God, it’s a good thing we’re both stubborn as hell.” He muttered, untying the fresh bandages to glance at the wound.

The two of them stared in horror at the sight of blood staining the gauze, and a few stitches tugging at the skin, fraying as one popped open.

She almost thought she saw regret cross Murphy’s face.

“We need to get you back to camp.” Bellamy announced, “And don’t even think about trying to argue with me.”

This time it was her turn to smirk, “I wasn’t...dad” She threw in his face, biting her lip to stop her smile from growing any wider. “But you’re going with Finn and Murphy,” She whispered, her smile replaced by something more serious.

“No way,” Bellamy shook his head, not wanting to leave her, “I’m not leaving you alone.”

“You said it yourself,” Y/N inhaled sharply, “Finn’s a loose cannon, so is Murphy, you need to keep an eye on them.”

Bellamy shook his head, refusing to agree with her, “I just got you back, and I promised myself I’d never let you out of my sight again. Especially after you got injured. I’d never forgive myself.”

Silence stood between the two leaders as they examined each other’s faces, gazes locking onto the bottom half of the other’s face. The gap threatening to close.

Her chest constricted as the words ran themselves over and over in her head.

I need you alive.

She nodded her head slightly, turning her gaze toward Murphy before chucking her rifle at him. “Shoot me again, and I’ll kill you” She breathed heavily, a playful look in her eyes as she extended the olive branch between them. Murphy caught the gun, a smirk playing on his lips as he gave her a mock salute, following Finn into the bushes.

“Let’s go home.” She smiled, tilting her head up to meet Octavia and Bellamy’s gaze, the two siblings nodded.

She hoped she did the right thing.

***

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