#I resisted the urge to self-mutilate

[antiquepearlss]

I just got some needles shoved into my face. I think the dried blood on my nose really brings out my eyes <3

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 51

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: Torture, rape, gang rape, murder, mutilation, body horror, graphic descriptions of all of the above. (🛑 This chapter is brutal. Please heed warnings. AO3 has more detailed warnings.)

Worst

There was a sharp pain in the side of your neck and dripping warmth trickling down the skin. Every thrust into you, the knife Warthin pressed to your throat left another furious scarlet line in the skin. You were afraid to breathe too deeply or move your head at all, fearing the blade would sink too close to major arteries. Breathing was already made difficult by the wad of fabric shoved in your mouth. Biting down on it was at least keeping your pained cries to a minimum. 

It was impossible to take your mind out of the situation. There was too much adrenaline and anxiety flooding your body that you couldn't help but be self-conscious. You were painfully aware that you were being watched by people you cared about and that everything that happened to you would be seared into their memories. One thing that made it more bearable was the continuous stream of threats being screamed at Warthin by Kid. If you focused on Kid's voice, you could tune out the creaks of the bed or the grunts of your assailant. Although you weren't the one being yelled at right now, Kid yelling had been one of the constants in your life for the past few months. It was comforting. 

Warthin wasn't pleased with your lack of reaction. He loved that Kid was pissed, but you seemed to be holding up, and he couldn't have that. He wanted you to squirm and resist, to scream through the muffling fabric. He wasn't concerned with preserving you anymore. He was going to do whatever he wanted to you, and then he was going to let his subordinates do the same thing, if you lived. 

The sharp pain at your neck disappeared. As much of a relief as it was, you didn't like that now you had no idea where his knife was. It became apparent shortly where it was, when you felt an intense, ripping pain in your thigh. The chains rattled as you pulled your leg in reflexively. Even through the gag, your scream was audible. The veins in your neck popped out with its intensity. Fresh tears poured from the empty sockets in your head. Warthin repeated this again, leaving a trail of wounds down your thigh. There was a lightheaded feeling as you wavered in consciousness. The pain and the blood loss, along with the force of your screams had you on the edge of passing out. 

 Warthin groaned. "Good girl. Scream some more for me." He taunted the others, "I bet she never screamed like this for you."

Kid's infuriated reply was cut off by his own strangled gasp as he watched Warthin shove his thumb into the place your eye used to be. 

The pain was so great, you turned your head, suppressing the urge to retch. If you threw up, you would aspirate, potentially drowning I your own vomit. It was a shock that you didn't pass out then. When you refocused, Warthin had pulled out. He wasn't finished either, and you didn't like what that could mean. 

"Wait what am I doing?" Warthin mused. "If you can't give me what I want, why am I still fucking your cunt?" 

Dread filled you. You shook your head and attempted to plead through your gag. 

"Before my boys get ahold of you, I want to fuck your ass first." He chuckled. After all, it's my right as captain." 

Now, you prayed you would lose consciousness soon. Part of you needed to be awake so you would know what was happening to you, yet the protective features of your brain screamed to shut down completely specifically so you didn't know what happened to you. The rims of your eyelids were dry as you ran out of tears. Your mouth felt like cotton, all the screaming and the fabric stripping it of moisture. The helplessness you felt was suffocating. No one was saving you from this but yourself. 

You felt Warthin lean down, probably about to say something vile to you. With the last remaining shred of dignity and fight you had, you head butted him as hard as you could, your head the only thing that wasn't restrained. The force of it didn't knock you out, but it did knock out one of his teeth. After that, your wish was granted. In his fury, Warthin punched you with such force that you went limp with unconsciousness. Right before you blacked out, you could feel bones in your face crunch. 

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All the Kid Pirate officers were sickened by what they saw. They expected torture, and they expected some level of sexual violence, yet the sight of you in this state was horrifying, much worse than they thought. Rage-filled tears fell behind Killer's mask as he took in the multicolored bruises that covered your skin, focused around your face. Heat couldn't rest his gaze on you for longer than a few seconds at a time. Wire was frantically trying to get the device he and Kid created to lock on to the transponder snail's signal. Kid had never felt this livid in his life. He was going to turn this monster into a fine mist of blood. Pieces of him would be so small, ants wouldn't be able to find him. 

Killer and Kid had been instructed by Wire to keep the guy talking. Wire wasn't sure how long it would take to get the signal or if Warthin would stay on the line long enough. By the time they actually had what they needed, they didn't want to stay on the line, yet they had to, all because of Kid's big mouth. Now that he had revealed the truth behind the lie keeping you alive, there would be a race against time. Or it could all be over. Warthin could kill you whenever he wanted. 

Kid's heart dropped when he realized that he had fucked up. If you died, your blood would be on his hands, a layer of fresh red crimson over the brown, long-crusted over blood of Victoria. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he wasn't able to prevent the death of someone he loved a second time. But what if you lived and resented him for his indiscretion. Could he live with that? Kid would rather you lived and hated him than see you dead. He just hoped that if you got through this alive, that you could forgive him. Watching what he had caused, he didn't think he could forgive himself. 

They watched as you trembled with fear, trying to keep a brave face while you told them that it was okay for them to abandon you. It only cemented their will to get you back. They wanted to see you be vulnerable with them, but not like this, never like this. Your words affirming your affections for them had different meanings for Kid and Killer than for Heat and Wire, however they held equal power over each of them. None of them would let Warthin go unpunished. 

Kid screamed threatening promises until his voice became hoarse. He wanted to egg on Warthin, maybe he could get him to direct his attention away from you. His heart was being chipped away at with every second you suffered in silence. They were all trying to leave their eyes facing you without perceiving the acts being forced on you. It turned all of their stomachs. It was a quick motion, Warthin stabbing you, so quick that they didn't know you had been harmed until your piercing scream ripped through the screen. Killer instinctively reached for Kid's hand for support, his tears slipping from the bottom of his mask to leave silver trails down his neck. Wire noticeable flinched and Heat had to will himself not to look away. 

Kid's jaw ached with the force he was gritting his teeth together. He watched spattering trails of scarlet fling through the air with each arc of Warthin's knife as he plunged it into your flesh.  His eyes went wide, mid-threat, as he saw Warthin force his thumb into your eye socket. He cringed when he saw your body try to fold in on itself in self-preservation. The sound of the chains pulling taut was going to haunt him just as much as your cries of agony. Kid could tell you were at your breaking point. None of them had seen you this far into despondency, slipping further as Warthin was about to sodomize you. There was a brief moment in time where they all brightened, seeing a familiar combative presence within you. It was short lived as you slammed your head into Warthin's before being subdued. They watched as your body relaxed into unconsciousness, head lolling to the side. On one hand it was a relief to see you leave your body before anything worse was done to it; on the other hand they would still have to watch it be defiled. 

"You little cunt!" Warthin growled and rubbed his head. "I'm sure you all stretched this whore out for me." Warthin's hands gripped your thighs and pushed them apart as far as the chains allow. 

Kid wanted to lash out at him, and was ready to, until Wire kicked him. He bit his tongue. Anything he said could be an excuse to do something worse to you at this point. He and the rest of the men next to him flinched when, even through unconsciousness, you grimaced as Warthin entered you. 

A barely audible whine left you as Warthin fucked into you. He laughed. "This is nothing. Just wait until your old crew get their hands on you." He redirected his attention to his audience. "But that shouldn't be a problem right? I'm sure she's been filled with cocks before. It's all she's good for really." 

The edge of the table under Kid's grip splintered. His orange eyes were an inferno as he watched Warthin leave red, raw bite marks across your chest. The marine wrapped your hair around his fist and pulled, causing your head to be yanked forward at an awkward angle, to give himself more leverage. He fucked your body at a brutal pace. Killer didn't overlook the sight of blood at the base of Warthin's cock. The first mate silently prayed that Wire could get them there in less than a day. Tears ran down Heat's face as Warthin positioned his knife over you. 

Warthin looked at them. "You all don't have much to say. You must like watching another man rape your toy." He spun the knife around in his hand and pressed the handle against your folds. He pumped the handle into you a few times and took it back out, flipping it again so the sharp end was pointed at you. "I wonder... maybe I should make her a little wider, so she can accommodate all my men." He brought the very tip of the knife within millimeters of your cunt.

"DON'T!" Kid couldn't bear to see that. 

Warthin gave them a smug look, halting his thrusts to stick his fingers into your pussy and stretch it open. "Even being ran through this pussy is so little. Poor thing is going to be ripped and torn." He snickered and paused, like he remembered something. He pointed at Killer. "You. I can't see your eyes." He gripped your breast and put his knife under it, slicing deep enough to get into the yellow fat under the skin. 

Killer understood the threat immediately and didn't hesitate for even a millisecond before yanking his helmet off. It clattered to the floor with the force of how quickly he took it off. 

Warthin took the blade from your breast and instead rested it at your shoulder, dragging it down and back up again in a zig zag pattern.

"STOP! I took the mask off!"

"Good job, you saved her tit. I'm still going to make sure you know who she belongs to now." 

Dripping red lines made a 'V' on half your chest. As Warthin continued, he braced his hand on top of your ribcage, sliding his fingers into the slit he made on the underside of your breast. He groaned as he continued to sodomize you and carve his initial into your chest. The crimson droplets spilling down your skin made his balls tighten. A weeping red 'W' now sat in the center of your chest, from shoulder to shoulder. He tossed the knife aside and plunged his finger into the cut surface, swiping it along one line and licking off the blood. He re-coated his fingers with your life's essence and plunged them into your cunt, furiously pumping them in time with his cock in your ass. He leaned down and slid his tongue into the slit under your breast, sucking at the blood that trickled from the incision. Warthin groaned as he lapped at the blood oozing from his artwork. His breath became ragged and his hips stuttered as he let out a final grunt. 

He rolled off you and let out a satisfied sigh before walking to and bending down closer to the transponder snail. "While it would be entertaining to let you watch her with my men, I can't let you in on all the fun. You're going to have to wonder what they're doing to her." He looked back at you and to the camera again. "She's not gonna last more than a night." The man grinned at them. 

"I WILL TEAR YA LIMB FROM LIMB JUST YA WAIT!" Kid's threat was cut off as Warthin killed the feed. Kid turned to Wire with angry, watery eyes. "Please, Wire. Tell me ya got the location."

Wire was frowning. "I did." Wire was deeply unsettled by the things he saw, by how far these people were willing to go to harm you. "It's a few days away." His somber eyes met Kid's. "Captain, I don't-"

"SHUT UP! We'll make it there faster." Kid was talking to Wire, but also to his own thoughts, which ventured deeper into dark territory. 

Heat ran out of the room and vomited over the guard rail. He felt dirty and ashamed for watching what had happened to you even though he didn't have a choice. Wire followed after him.

Kid sat on his desk with a defeated look on his face. Killer placed himself between Kid's knees and rested his head on his captain's shoulder. Kid put a protective arm around his friend as he felt Killer begin to shake and Kid's shirt became wet. Kid rubbed Killer's back and rested his own head against Killer. Neither of them could truly comfort the other because neither of them fully believed they were going to get you back after watching that. There was no question that they were going to get you back. They didn't want to accept that there was a possibility they wouldn't get you back alive, though both had the thought that the least they could do was lay you to rest away from the people you hated the most, if it came to that. 

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No different than any of the other times you had woken up in a cell, every inch of your body ached. Ached wasn't the right term. It was on fire, it seared you to the bone, it felt like you were being ripped apart at every joint, like a ship was dropped on you. You were afraid to move, if you even could move. You felt like you would fall apart. Your wrists were still shackled, connected by a chain that was fastened to the wall over your head. Your legs were chained together at the ankles, but not attached to anything. If they were, it would make it too difficult to rape you, and they couldn't have that, now could they?

After the initial shock of the pain that hit you when you woke up, you could tell that you were turned to face the wall. You could tell because you felt the skin of your already-broken face be eroded away by the rough stone wall as someone pushed your head into it while taking you from behind. There were snickers and cheers from others in the room. You gave no inclination that you were awake. They couldn't tell anyway because your eyes were gone. A few times you winced, though everything hurt so badly, you were desensitized to new pain. You couldn't see them, but you could tell by their taunts that they were remnants of your old crew. They were drunk and reeked of sweat and stale beer. You didn't even think the one that was inside you was fully hard. 

"You can't even get it up. Let me have a turn." There was a trade-off and new hands were on your hips. "I've always wanted to fuck you. Too bad Captain ruined you for the rest of us." The voice was next to your ear. "You used to be so pretty." A shudder gave you away. "Hey, are you awake?" There was a rough pinch of your nipple and you yelped. "You are!" 

There was another sarcastic voice next to you. "Captain Y/N, we missed you so much." His breath stank of booze. 

There were hands all over your body, prodding into wounds that had only just scabbed over. You didn't allow them the satisfaction of a reaction. They were all drunk and tired. They would leave you alone soon enough. You only had to endure it for about ten more minutes. After the last of them finished, a hand grabbed your chin and tilted it up. You felt the rim of a beer bottle against your lip. 

"I bet you're thirsty. Go ahead. Have some." 

You were thirsty. Beer wasn't ideal, but it was something. You felt the bottle tip up and you gulped down the liquid. After the first mouthful, there was a chorus of laughter and you realized that it was warm and salty. It wasn't beer at all. You felt yourself get hot with shame, gagging. If you had any tears left, they would be falling. There was urine dripping down your face and the front of your body. Then you felt splashing by your feet and something being pressed to your cunt. 

"You should have poured it on her. Stupid piss-drinking cum dump." 

You squirmed as what you assumed was the beer bottle, judging by the size, was pushed inside you. You whimpered at the foreign feeling. All of them were laughing at you, mocking you. You turned to vomit. Everything that had been in your stomach, which wasn't much, had been retched up. Even after nothing came out, you still dry heaved. Their laughter disappeared down the hall and only then did you tearlessly sob.

Eventually the bottle fell out and shattered around your feet. If you picked your feet up, you would step on broken glass, so you shuffled them, knocking the glass away from your feet. In your movements to get comfortable, there was an odd sound, like metal grinding against something. You moved again. There it was. The chains rattled and that noise, you were used to. This was slightly different and was coming from the direction in which your chains were attached. You pulled on the chains that were attached to your wrists. There was a metallic whine. Following the chains with your hands, standing on your tip toes, you felt where the chain was anchored to the wall. The bracket was loose. The metal was rough. You brought your fingers to your nose. It smelled of rust. 

You ran your hands around the area, trying to build a picture of your immediate surroundings in your head. You focused specifically on the gap in the stone where the chain was anchored. The bracket barely had any smooth areas, and you could feel it flake between your fingers. The corners of your mouth tilted upwards as you recalled Kid's lessons in metalworking. This was 'shit-quality' metal. You tested the chains, pulling them as hard as you could. They didn't budge. Instead, the shackles were starting to skin your hands.

Someone was coming. You dropped your body weight, letting your head flop forward, giving the impression that you weren't awake or too weak to stand. Several minutes later, there were footsteps in front of your cell. They paused and something was said, which you couldn't make out, and they continued on their path. You thought for a moment. How did you know someone was coming if you only heard the footsteps a few seconds before they appeared? You didn't dwell on it. You didn't have the time. 

Your upper body might have had the strength to break free, not in this condition, however. You tugged your hands until the chain between them and the wall was taut. This would take a lot of core strength, and if you couldn't do it in one shot, you weren't going to be able to try again. Every fiber in your body was begging you to stop before you hurt yourself even worse. You could feel cold sweat manifest as fever inched into your body. You worked your feet up the wall slowly, wincing as some of the glass that made its way into your foot, pressed in deeper. Your full weight was suspended between your feet and the chain. You worked your feet up further, the goal to place your body perpendicular to the wall. You were panting heavily and your muscles burned. The leg that had been stabbed was throbbing, quivering more than the other. There was a tearing pain as some wounds reopened but you pushed it aside. By the time you made it into position, your entire body was shaking, about to give up. Your knees were bent and you had pulled the chains over one of your shoulders, bracing against it. The bracket in the wall protested as you started to push off with your legs and your shoulder screamed as the chains dug in. You pushed harder, sweat dripping from your forehead and thighs quivering as the muscles within ran out of energy. You gave it one last push, straining so hard that blood was pushed into your face. Then there was nothing, no resistance. 

Chains hit the floor with a jingle. You landed hard on top of them, biting your tongue and landing on scattered glass. It hurt like hell, but you were laughing maniacally. You were unbound. Still, shackled, still, freer than you had been. Now, you ignored the pain, easier due to the flood of adrenaline that rushed into your blood. Finally, your body decided to fight. You felt around until your fingers brushed a skinny shard of glass. Pushing yourself up, you carefully repositioned the lose bracket so that it appeared nothing had happened, and hid the glass in the palm of your hand. Then, you waited. 

The passage of time was difficult to measure, as it had been this entire time. Something tickled your brain to be more alert. Nothing, then murmurs, then footsteps, and then the creak of the cell door. The lewd threats and mocking didn't even reach you. The bloodlust that rolled off you was a buffer. You waited until they were close enough to feel their body heat, then you struck. The first man dropped when you lodged the glass into the side of his neck. You don't know how you were able to strike so accurately, muscle memory perhaps. You could tell there were more. One? No, two. You waited to the last second to react. Was it instinct that moved you out of the way? You jumped on his back and brought the chain connecting your wrists around his throat, pulling up, simultaneously stepping on his head to keep him down. You could hear him gurgle and sputter. The hair on your neck stood up a second before you were tackled by the remaining marine. Before you hit the ground, you were grabbing for his face. You pressed your thumbs into his eyes to even the playing field, grinning when you felt the jelly under your pads. The hands that he had around your throat went to cover his face, while yours felt around the floor until you found more glass. It dug into your hand as you tore it across his throat, feeling a hot spray on your face. There was a shuffling noise as the second marine stumbled towards you again. You kicked the other marine off you and rolled to avoid getting stepped on. You swept your leg in the direction of crunching glass, lunging in the direction of the thump that followed. Your hands found the man's throat as you climbed on top of him and pressed the chain into him once more. Pushing your entire body weight into the chain, you laughed as he sputtered and choked. They shouldn't have given you a tool. They shouldn't have fucked with you. 

When you felt the rest of his life drain from him, you started stripping his clothing off. You wanted to cover your nakedness, more than that though, you were looking for any weapons they may have had on them. If they did, they were stupid for not using them. It became apparent that you couldn't actually put the clothes on correctly. The chains were in the way. Improvising, you tied one jacket around your front and one around your back, like a really shitty tube dress. Then you started tearing shreds from the remaining cloth, tying them around the wounds that had reopened. The adrenaline was wearing off, with that, the deep stab wounds in your thigh began to ache. 

While you were crawling over the floor, your hand landed in something wet. Lifting it to your face, it smelled like iron. You felt the puddle out with your hand until it went to the source. They were right when they were torturing you. You were thirsty. It was made worse by the episodes of vomiting. You gulped as you felt the glass shard sticking out of the marine's throat. Around its base, you could feel a warm trickle. Was it crossing the line? The feeling of the drips coming off your fingers made you salivate, wetting your bone-dry throat. Fuck it. I'm crossing the line today. You yanked out the shard of glass lodged in the side of the neck and replaced it with your mouth, greedily swallowing the still-warm liquid. It wasn't refreshing, and it may irritate your stomach to the point of throwing up again, but it was instant relief in this moment. You pulled away, dripping blood from your mouth, gasping and sitting back on your heels. You were a murderer. Who gives a shit if you were a little bit of a cannibal in dire circumstances?  

You pushed yourself back until your spine met the wall, fanning the glass away from where you sat. In the stillness, you could feel pieces of glass embedded in your flesh from the scuffle. You leaned your head back. The wetness on your chest increased. It should have been drying. What you thought was wetness from blood coating your chest was sweat pouring from your skin. It dripped down your neck and between your breasts. You thought the heat was from the rigorous activity of fighting, though it was becoming clear that the slight fever developing had caught and was raging. Every inch of you was sweating. Your hands felt over your body and you winced as they ran over puffy, tender, oozing flesh. The biggest threat to you now was infection. 

It was a struggle to stay awake. If you fell asleep, you were leaving yourself open to be attacked. You hadn't moved from the spot you had settled in, your body back to sounding alarm bells every time you shifted your weight. It was the fever making your brain misfire. Every time you thought of those marines that signed their own death certificate, you started to laugh. No one came into your cell again. They saw what you had done, still chained, and were too afraid to step in. Warthin himself came to see the damage. One look at you, where multiple sites on your skin were turning green and black, and he decided to let sepsis take you. He could shoot you in the head, but that was too quick of a death. This had far more suffering involved. 

Even at your rock bottom, you still had three stinky, decomposing friends to keep you company. 

"We're sorry Y/N. Can you forgive us?"

"No."

"What if we told you where the keys to your cuffs were?"

"I'll think about it."

"Do you really think you could make it out alone? With those wounds?"

"I will level this place."

"What about your friends?"

"What about them?"

"You're almost as dead as us. You think they'll want a heap of rotting flesh, with a consciousness hanging on by a thread?"

You didn't respond.

"You're filthy. You're disgusting. You're a used piece of trash." The voices started to morph into the voices of Kid and Killer. "Whore. Ya think yer good enough for the Pirate King? You're a toy and nothing more. Especially now. Look at ya. Pathetic. Weak."

"STOP! SHUT UP!" 

The voices left you alone with your thoughts, which weren't much better. The flame of life within you was slowly being dampened by the toxins in your blood. It wouldn't be long before your blood pressure tanked and your organs started to fail. Your kidneys were probably already in the first stages of failure, though it was difficult to say whether the lack of pee was from that or your severe dehydration. Both, if you had to guess. 

At your side, you gripped a shard of glass so tightly, it was cutting into your hand. There was dried blood around it, as you had been holding it for some time. There was that itch in your brain again and your grip tightened. Someone was coming. There were a lot of someones scattered around. Why were there so many? Why did you know that? The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you felt someone approach, someone that had bloodlust and violence seeping out of them. Maybe two? Hard to say since their raging auras melded together. You dropped your head, assuming the same passed out position that you had before. You were hyper-focused on their positions, blocking out everything else. There was no way you would be able to take whoever it was, not when they felt like this. But maybe if you could get one swift stab in the right place...

As soon as you felt them get close enough, you slashed at them. There was no connection. You slashed again, this time your wrist was caught. You released your makeshift weapon and caught it with your other hand, aiming to try again. You felt the shackle around your wrist get suspended, stopping your hand firmly in its place. You tugged furiously trying to get away and realized that nothing was happening to you. You were only being immobilized. Then, your senses came out of fight mode and you could hear yelling. 

"IT'S ME! IT'S ME! STOP!" 

"Liar!"  "He's lying!" "Kill him!"  The chorus of voices came from your cellmates. No, they were imagined, auditory hallucinations. Fuck, did your head hurt. 

"Easy," a second, calmer voice said. "It's okay. We're here."

The hand that was caught first was placed against something smooth and cold, something with evenly spaced holes. Your wrist was cautiously released and you moved your hand around, finding a helmet with some scruff sticking out of the bottom. "Killer?" The shackles containing your wrists dropped to the floor and your other hand was placed on something half-buried in hair, some rectangles, a triangle in the middle. You moved your hand to where you thought you might find scars, feeling the two that ran down your captain's face. "Kid?" You spoke so softly that they could barely hear.

Next

Tag list: @bbnbhm @nocturnalrorobin

[animentality]

you guys think Gortash ever pitied the Dark Urge because he knows what it's like to be enslaved by/ beholden to a higher power, whom you cannot fight or resist, because they own a part of you, and could easily destroy you, should you forget your purpose?

conversely, do you wonder if he was proud of the dark urge when they came back without their memories, and freed themselves, without the help of anyone else, fighting Orin alone, and defying Bhaal, and surviving?

and also. do you ever contemplate the notion of the dark urge pitying Gortash right back, because they know something he'll never know: how to move on, and grow outside of what they made you?

they look at this stranger and have no recollection of him, but they still have this quiet, unknowable part of themselves that feels sorry for him.

I think about these things.

I think that Gortash knew their dream, and empathized, because he wanted the same thing, freedom from the tyranny of others, but he wasn't able to see why the dark urge could attain that dream, but he never could.

he mistook their freedom as a result of their power, their savagery, because he doesn't know the dark urge anymore, and he keeps insisting that they're the same dark urge he's always known... but they aren't.

the dark urge was allowed to come back because they weren't trapped in the past. they weren't just freed from external forces, but their own chains, locked around their heart and soul.

they lost their memories and their old self, and became something new. someone who would continue to exist, even after the pieces of Bhaal were torn out.

Gortash could've done that too...mutilated himself in the name of metamorphosis... but the tragedy is in the fact that he never would've.

So he congratulates the dark urge for achieving their dream, and something without a name sighs within them, because he doesn't get it, and he never will.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

A Figure in the Shadows...

PAIRING: Vampire!Aemond Targaryen x Human!fem!Reader

WORDS: 1,278.

SUMMARY: The mystery surrounding the young, desolate Prince Aemond, was ultimately a discovery you had never dreamt imaginable, and yet you craved just as he did...

WARNINGS: vampire tendencies, mentions of period blood, self-mutilation/harm, mentions of blood.

A/N - I finally got around to this AU, hope you all enjoy x

Aemond was not a person that favoured making himself known. Neither loud nor obnoxious, he was a reserved and distant figure who tampered with dark magic that ultimately led him to a fate he could not escape...

Rarely seen in broad daylight, you would often catch faint glimpses of him in some bustling background, hidden amid the masses: his ominous presence was palpable.

It was your scent that seized his senses, captivating his mind solely. Sweet and rich, a ripeness to it that heightened his senses.

Then the nagging, harrowing thoughts followed, potently wondering what you would taste like...

Initially, he tried to resist the urges to stalk you, yet his body had a mind of its own, and found himself helplessly enamoured in basking in your presence, relishing in listening to your delicate voice [even if it was from afar].

Relentlessly keeping himself distant and hidden in the darkly dim, cornered shadows as you naively wandered the long, stony hallways all on your lonesome self [his mind often teasing him that now was the perfect chance to treat himself to a flavour of your ripe blood], yet he refused to treat you like his common prey.

After a few nights, he noticed how much more aware you had grown to your surroundings. Anxiously looking over your shoulder often, closely peering down the hallway hesitant yet hopeful to find a desolate figure or hungry eyes lurking over, only to be greeted with silence and absence [or so you were convinced].

Aemond sought for more of you: desperate for something more tangible than just memories of your enrapturing figure. In the daytime, when you had embarked on some errand needing the daylight, he would sneak into your private chambers, and meticulously rummage through your belongings [particularly eager for your undergarments... Used under-garments in the woven laundry basket that the maids had not yet reached, his nose and tenacious sense of smell leading the way to treasure].

Freshly wet and much to his favour, drenched in your maiden blood: his black pupil dilating intensely at the raw sight, swallowing the lilac colour of his Targaryen genetic, whilst the sapphire [of his mutilated eye] glistened in awe.

He found himself inhaling your natural scent, and soon his tongue and mouth lapping at the bloody fabric. Even though the source was not "fresh or alive" nor even palpable, he was intoxicated with your flavour, and was desperate to sink his fangs into something more alive.

In the late, cold hours of the night, Aemond snuck into your chambers, lurking in the shadows, observing your defenceless, lonesome self deep in slumber. Unblinking, his eye wandered over your near naked body, the sheer, luminescent fabric of your nightgown ranked up from your unconscious movements, and the sheets tussled.

Aemond drew himself closer and closer, vividly hearing the gushing sound of your blood streaming through your vessels, and the rhythmic pounding of your heart. He found himself a mere few inches away from the crook of your neck, almost as if you were taunting him yourself, like a siren luring a sailor into his death.

The primal urge to feed had overpowered his humane thoughts, and Aemond succumbed to his animalistic traits. Hastily and sharply plunging his grown fangs into your soft, tender skin, the sudden sting of his bite was enough to abruptly awaken you.

Finding a sudden stranger, let alone a man, atop you, firmly gripping your body down against his heavier, stronger weight, the fright had set, as your breathing quickened the adrenaline pumping now, feeling your heart beat faster: it only made Aemond sink in deeper, earning a loud cry from your behalf, as his large, rough hand fell over your mouth, ceasing any further cries or pleas for help.

As your sight grew accustomed to the dim light, and sense resumed once more in your mind, your gaze paced over the figure, realising the familiar platinum, long strands, you immediately recognised Prince Aemond.

Your helpless whimpers, and the drop of your body temperature, growing colder the more Aemond drew of your fresh blood, he'd grown apparent of his actions, immediately pulling himself from you: fresh, bright blood drizzled all across his defined lips, as his tongue lapped it up eagerly.

Feeling the sensitive, sore open wounds [two-precise openings] at the crook of your neck, blood smeared across your shaky fingers. Seconds passed, before you began to feel hazy and frail, your mind drifting off once more into a faint.

The following bright morning, the soreness of the wound still very present, you were adamant to seek out Aemond: searching the castle keeps thoroughly, questioning servants of the revered Prince's whereabouts, the forbidden keeps of the library, planted beneath the castle's foundation, close to the prehistoric skull that belonged to the black dreaded beast, Balerion.... Wintry, dark and isolated, it was the perfect hideout for the creature that Aemond was...

Sneaking into the desolate chamber, book shelves boarded up and locked, Aemond seemed to pay no mind as you made yourself known: possible that he had heard your haste footsteps from afar, inhaling that alluring scent of your maiden blood, oozing from your aching cunt.

Aemond attempted to nonchalantly persuade you upon confrontation: "sounds like a terrible dream", and that the wound was one of your own doing in your active sleep.

Impatience brewing, you remained stubbornly persistent in your truth, and despite Aemond's obvious attempt in maintaining some physical distance between yourself and him, you hastily stormed towards, drawing the dagger from his slim waist, slashing your forearm, as fresh blood gushed out invitingly.

"I suppose then the sight of this should not undo you... A Targaryen Prince, weak to the sight of blood? Mayhaps... Is my scent something alluring... Is my Prince is feeling a little... Thirsty?"

"Taste me, my Prince... I desire for you to feed from me, this I grant you from now always."

Whether it was a toxin from his bite, or some trance he casted, there was something invigorating, from that night Aemond first succumbed to his instincts. How captivated and enraptured he was by your very humane being. All his senses were lost, defenceless and yet you, empowered.

The chilling notion that Aemond is this supernatural, almighty being and yet, would become feeble and vulnerable against your mere, mortal existence was captivating for the both of you.

This was a first for Aemond, in all the long years he had existed and for all the prey he had drained, none like you.

He did dislike the notion of feeding off you directly, if necessary or when you desired: frightened that he would reach a point of complete intoxication, losing any sense of self-control, only to be left with your empty, physical vessel.

You would definitely have a safe word, and some plan to fiend Aemond off, if necessary. Regardless, he was strong-willed and refused to indulge himself utterly.

Innovating, Aemond preferred keeping a vial of your blood with him: sating himself even if you were absent.

Aemond did enjoy replenishing you: hand-feeding you with rich fruits [especially pomegranates] and wine [often justifying that it made your blood taste sweeter].

He enjoyed bathing you in floral scented soaps, lathering your skin with rich oils. Providing you with a lavish self-care ritual that no servant could.

He was highly protective of you, often noticing strange glances from afar only moments after you would enter a room: and immediately he would act a menace, incomprehensible to his repercussions.

Despite what Aemond was, you loved him as he deeply loved you. Devouring yourselves in each other's affections and admiration: a love that would last an eternity of lifetimes.

general taglist [bold means I could NOT tag] - @evenstaris @bel-bottoms @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @hightowhxre @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified

Aemond taglist - @megatardisbaby @harrypotteranna23-blog

[somebluemelodies]

DAY TWO OF SPIDERBIT THEME WEEK STARTED BY @anonymous-dentist! :D SELECTED THEME: MURDER HUSBANDS (au slash something or other where purgatory happens later bc we were robbed of murder husbands plans) (i, uh… violence warning? murder husbands commit murder. i think this is one of the more interesting things i've ever written. you'll see why)

Their synergy is that of a well-oiled machine; quick yet eerily meticulous, like they’d done it together a thousand times already.

(Only one of them has. But the anger, the desire for blood and revenge from the other, is the perfect compensation.)

Their victims don’t stand a chance, one dropping to the floor right after the other with barely a chance to react.

The guard vaguely recognizes the man pinning him to the ground, whose arms are littered in scars new and old and whose clothes are stained with blood. A red and black dagger is held against its throat. They warned it, about this man. A potential threat, but not definitive.

Definitive, indeed.

The struggle only seems to make the man more pleased, laughing with a grin like the Cheshire Cat. The guard gets a few hits in with its baton, knocking him back, but he always comes right back, eager to fight. Eager to play. Eager to kill.

The other worker knows next to nothing about the other man dealing with it. But what’s more concerning is that they were wrong. There isn’t just one killer to be weary of. Since when was there two? Has it been two this whole time?

It’s this worker that’s the first of the two to go, the spider-hybrid above it playing no games with it, unlike his companion. The worker’s one and only attempt at self-defense is blocked with ease, and it watches as two extra sets of ruby red eyes open to stare at it, pupils as thin as needles.

(As if to say, you shouldn’t have done that.)

He strikes, and there are fangs piercing its neck. Immediately, it feels something coursing through its veins, numbing as its limbs feel as heavy as lead. The fangs are torn out of its white fur with no remorse, and the last thing it feels through coughing and sputtering is a spider leg piercing right through his chest. Digging.

And that’s that.

The guard sees it happen. And that’s the last thing it sees. Because the dagger that’d been shoved through its chest is pulled out and slicing against its neck, quick and efficient as it slumps to the floor, unmoving…

Cellbit climbs to his feet, lifting the dagger and swiping his tongue along the flat side of the blade, licking the blood clean off.

He watches Roier - his love, his husband - hold a heart without so much as flinching. If anything, the spider-hybrid seems just as pleased as he is, even if his expression is stoic, borderline angry.

(He knows how to read that man better than most people.)

Roier’s black sweatshirt is stained even darker still with fresh blood, hands covered in it too as he drops the organ carelessly, standing as well.

(Cellbit’s heart jumps, and he resists the urge to walk over, pulling him into a smothering kiss.)

It’s Roier who walks over to him first, finally smiling and looking evidently satisfied. Roier slips behind him, chin hooking over his shoulder, arms circling his waist as they both admire their handiwork.

“Que lindo,” the spider-hybrid murmurs.

The tone nearly sends a pleasant shiver down Cellbit’s spine. “Sim.”

Cellbit finally wheels around after a few moments pass, shoving his dagger away momentarily to cup Roier’s face and pull him into a bruising kiss.

His husband makes a surprised sound but immediately reciprocates, arms wrapping tight around his neck and deepening the kiss.

It tastes like blood; metallic and bitter and addictive.

(Cellbit’s heart hammers in his chest, and he’s never felt more alive.)

(Roier starts to understand the thrill, too.)

…

Two new bodies show up, mutilated and massacred as ever. But there’s a catch, this time. They don’t show up days apart; they appear on the same exact day, and the exact same place.

(And one of them is missing a heart.)

The dead Federation workers have been morbidly displayed on the quartz floor in front of the train station. Bloody symbols paint the pristine white floor crimson with another message, another clue.

Find it before we do.

Far away from the train station, in a tall, brooding castle on a hill, the island’s head investigator sits, carefully cleaning red off of his wedding ring as he and his husband strategize and plan out their next little date.

[diary-of-a-quarantined-yandere]

About Me

Greetings, my lovely devotees & followers. I wanted to introduce myself to you all.

Name

Valkyrie

Alias

High Priestess, Val, Quarantined Yandere

Gender & Pronouns

Genderfluid, She/They/God

Sexuality & Relationships

Panromantic Demisexual, Polyam, Taken by Moth ♡

Birthday

October 31st. Triple Scorpio ♏️

Val Facts

⛧ I practice witchcraft; Lucifer & Aphrodite.

⛧ I am addicted to horror and gore.

⛧ I enjoy anime and manga.

⛧ I love video games & stream on twitch.

⛧ I enjoy writing fiction & roleplaying.

⛧ I am attracted to guard dog personalities.

⛧ I <3 plus-sized baddies.

⛧ Treat Val as your God & I'll fall for you.

Blog Content

I am a yandere irl.

I do not act out on these thoughts irl anymore. I am proud of my progress. This blog is how I resist the urge to act out on these intrusive and impulsive thoughts.

I do have mental health issues.

I have at least two fixated persons at any given time. One is always my beloved Moth. I try to keep my splitting here to avoid lashing out at others. Some claim I have a god complex, but the opposite happens too.

I do enjoy kink.

Although this blog is not a kink blog it is 18+ because I may post sexual content. Some of my deepest fantasies involve hard kinks, such as cnc, and may trigger other people. Please be aware.

I do not use trigger warnings.

I have never used any trigger warnings on any of my posts. I never wish to upset anyone so please be mindful of the content I post. This is the only warning.

TW: Gore, Violence, Nudity, Stalking, Abduction, Repetition, Mutilation, Self Harm, SA, CNC, Kink

Do NOT Interact

Minors, Terfs, Bigots, Anorexia/Thinspo, Pedophilia, Beastiality, Drug Content

Anyone who encourages my trigger warnings irl (excluding kink).

Ask for other socials if you want to show some love. 🫶

[mundanemoongirl]

WIP Introductions

I’ve been posting about my wips for a while, but I never formally introduced them. So here they are!

Spiritwalker

Genre: YA fantasy, dark fantasy

Tag: spiritwalker wip

Status: Second draft

Triggers: Death, murder, suicide, self-mutilation

Summary

Lady Daron Spiritwalker lives in a world of witches, plague, and war. She is the seemingly perfect heir to her clan and is known across Serenta, the country of witches, for her beauty, intelligence, leadership, and ability to bridge spirits, which only her clan can see and communicate with.

When she is sent to an academy that only the most elite witches attend, she expects a normal education, but instead receives a deadly fortune and discovers secrets within the walls that reshapes the way she sees her world.

Daron is not the type to make friends, but when faced with this problem much bigger than herself, she learns to rely on and even love a group of her schoolmates.

Snippet

Ann Marie, Maya, and I all looked at each other. From their blank faces I could tell that they were just as confused as I was. “What does that mean?” asked Maya. “I presume it means that pressing the hand on the wall opens something. A passageway maybe.” “I already checked the other mosaics and none of them have runes. Who would defile a depiction of our goddess like this?” Ann Marie asked with as much indignation as her soft voice could muster. “There is only one way to find out,” I said, placing my hand atop my goddess’. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Maya asked. “It could be a trap.” “That is why you are here. You know what to do if something happens to me.” I knew how to read the signs. Someone was calling out for a Spiritwalker’s attention, and no matter who it was or how many warnings I received, I was not going to ignore the call. I would be a failure as a primary lady if I did.  The icy tiles warmed beneath my skin, letting me know that I was taking too long. I pushed and the section of wall behind the mosaic shuttered, but I still needed more force. I pressed my other hand to the wall and pushed harder, straining the muscles in my back and shoulders. The wall moved inwards this time, rotating like a cog. When it was just a sliver centered between two gaps, I gestured to Maya. “Are you coming?” The younger witch, ever loyal, followed me into the pitch black that awaited us. The smell of mold slapped me in the face, and I had to resist the urge to cover my nose in order to keep my grip on the wall. I stretched my foot as far as it would go, trying to gauge how far the passage went, but only felt emptiness. This vast, dark, unknown space should have frightened me, but instead I was struck with a strange familiarity. I had been here before—in my dreams.

We Faceless Folk

Genre: Mystery

Tag: we faceless folk wip

Status: First draft

Triggers: Racism, kidnapping

Summary

Rachel is a second-year Black college student and loves nothing more than watching movies from her comfy bed and hanging out with her photogrophy-loving girlfriend, Chinwe. But one day Chinwe goes to a concert and never returns. When Rachel gets no answers from the police and is sure they aren’t even looking, she takes to finding Chinwe herself.

Rachel finds clues in Chinwe’s Instagram and even enlists the help of Chinwe’s unhinged ex girlfriend. In her search, she discovers more about Chinwe than she’s ever known, including where Chinwe’s really from.

Snippet

Sometimes when I lay still long enough for my mind to lose control over where my thoughts roam, and the late summer heat blurs the lines between reality and imagination, I swear I can hear her voice. Her lips just shy of my ear, whispering something unintelligible. I turn to hear her better, but of course she’s not there. Chinwe’s been missing for two weeks. The door clicks as my roommate enters the room. We hardly ever talk. I don’t hate her, and I don’t think she hates me, but she lost interest in me pretty quickly after she discovered I’m a homebody. She’s been talking to me more ever since Chinwe disappeared. Not starting actual conversations, but reminding me of things I needed to do. When she walks in and still sees me in bed when I’m usually heading out the door, she asks, “Don’t you have class soon?” I do, but I don’t want to go. I don’t want to sit in that room that feels too large and yet suffocating with Chinwe’s empty seat next to mine. I groan and run my hands over my braids. Just one class and then I can get out of here. I can do that.

[snoelledarts]

POV: Ripping Your Beloved's Heart Out | A Dark Urge Playlist BG3

I present to thee, a Dark Urge playlist (feat. metal music)! I got tired of listening to the same 10 songs in all the villain arc playlists, and then this ran away from me creatively... and I decided to write in-game-esque dialogue to go with each song as an explanation.

Narrative description/explanation for each song of the playlist is below the cut <3 LISTEN IN ORDER! (If you want to, I'm not your mom)

(Trigger Warning below the cut for cannon-typical graphic description of murder, body horror, and death. This is a Durge playlist, after all.)

(Note: The below narrative is not canon.)

List of songs/narration:

Krwling (Mike Shinoda Reanimation) - Linkin Park, Aaron Lewis

Narrator: *That thing deep inside you stirs. You want it. You want to prove yourself. You want to see their insides strewn across the camp and smeared on the cavern walls.*

> And only then will your beloved be perfect. > Run as far as you can from the camp as fast as you can. You can't kill your love tonight if you can't make it back to camp before the sun rises again. > I can't - what would I do without them?

God Complex - VIOLENT VIRA

Narrator: *You approach their sleeping body. How peaceful and sweet. How perfect a chance to immortalize them, just like this, forever. It's almost a shame that they'll never know it was you who committed the perfect crime.*

> Wake them first, then go in for the kill. Let the gods hear them scream your name. > A kill while the victim is asleep isn't a mercy, it's an art. And you, the artist.

Yandere - Jazmin Bean

Narrator: *Blood sinks into the bedroll as you slit their throat. Wouldn't want to wake the others...*

> Pretty, pretty... > Resist the urge to continue to mutilate the body.

Stabbed Her to Death - Zheani, Cameron Azi

Narrator: *The sound of your weapon hitting flesh over and over rings through the otherwise silent night.*

Want It All - Ashnikko

Narrator: *When you finally come to, their body is naught but remains, each piece eagerly and lovingly carved away from the others.*

> Laugh. Sceleritas Fel was right. Only now are you truly free. > Weep. What have you done?

Saccharine - Jazmin Bean

Narrator: *There's one small problem... this masterpiece is incomplete. Where is the artistry in a dead lover without a matching pair? How will anyone understand the weight of what you've done?*

> Carve a matching piece of yourself to lie next to them. > You cannot leave this world before you've seen to it that everyone else has left it first. > Have you gone mad? Hide the body, or the whole camp will surely know.

GASLIGHT! - Maggie Lindemann, Siiickbrain

Narrator: *You half expect Sceleritas Fel to reappear and congratulate you on such a fantastic job well done. But no matter how long you stare at the corpse, he doesn't show himself. Which begs the question, now what? Alfira was one thing to explain to the others... but this?*

> All those living and dead should bear witness to your craft. They should be honored. > Weigh your options. Which ones of them could be convinced to stay on your side? And those who can't... could you take them down in a fight? > Shake yourself out of it. Hide the body, burn the note.

Don't Fucking Touch Me - Banshee

Shadowheart [alt: Wyll]: What - what have you done?!

> Isn't it beautiful? > [Intimidation] I told you it would keep happening. I warned all of you, and you let me stay. You tried to convince me I could change. This is your fault. > [Deception] They tried to kill me. It was self-defense.

You Make Me Sick! - Ashnikko

Narrator: *You're not sure who, but someone behind you vomits. Whether at the sight of the state of the once body, or at the visage of cold drying blood against every inch of your skin, you aren't sure.*

> Wipe dirty hands against equally vile clothing. > Turn around to see who.

No Mercy - DeathbyRomy

Narrator: *The whole camp erupts into noise. They are debating if you are safe to keep around.*

> Drown out the noise in favor of admiring the corpse some more. > [Persuasion] You need me. Without me, you'd all be long dead. > [Intimidation] Any abandoners or insurrectioners will meet the same fate. I expect no disruptions to our goal.

*Success*

Whore of Babylon - Zheani

Narrator: *Peace and quiet. It seems as though you've finally earned your rightful spot as the leader of this group.*

> Now, leave us. > Rejoin the camp.

DAYWALKER! - Machine Gun Kelly, CORPSE

Narrator: *You settle in to spend your night on the cold stone floor of your camp, picturing every other way you could have honored or desecrated your beloved's corpse.*

Monster Truck - Jazmin Bean, Zheani

Narrator: *Vision swimming with blood and unidentifiable fluids, you spot their heart, neatly placed in the center of it all.*

> Reach for it. It was yours, and it still is now. > Close your eyes and pretend it was just a fleeting thought.

BIRTH OF VENUS - Banshee

Narrator: *It is only as the sun peaks through the mouth of the cavern that you wall asleep, your head cradled, comfortable in the still-warm viscera of what could have been.*

Requiem - Avenged Sevenfold

Sceleritas Fel: Wake up, Milord! I should have had more faith in your most vile self...

[summerwritesfics]

🪽🌎We Are The Fallen

Pairing: Hanzo Hasashi/Kuai Liang Length: 1652 Words Rating: Mature Warnings: Fallen Angel AU, Fallen Angel!Bi-Han, Fallen Angel!Kuai Liang, Demon!Hanzo Hasashi, Drinking, Alcohol, Past Child Abuse, Past Abuse, Past Self Mutilation, Self-Mutilation, Demon Deals, Minor Violence, Guilt, Betrayal

Meanwhile In Another Universe Masterlist - In The Nightside Of Eden Masterlist

Notes: Fun fact, this was actually my 100th work over on AO3 :3 Anyway, I think this kinda makes up for Bi-Han being a crappy brother in the last fic.

Bi-Han downed another drink, even though it did nothing to him. He may have fallen, but he still had angelic qualities to him. And being immune to the illicit substances of humanity was one of them.

“You should probably go a little easier on the drinks.” Bi-Han blinked and stopped breathing. I know that voice. “I’ve heard they can be deadly.”

The person who was talking to him walked up from behind, circling round to sit at the chair opposite. Bi-Han couldn’t believe who it was, even when face to face with him.

“Kuai Liang?” He questioned, and his brother softly smiled at him.

“Hello Big Brother, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

It had been a while. He hadn’t seen Kuai since their father cast Bi-Han out of heaven. Funny, given it was always Kuai he threatened to send down. Bi-Han made one mistake, just one, and that was it, he was cast away. That wasn’t Kuai’s fault though, it was their fathers. He still remembered the agony as his wings were torn from his body, his own screams harmonising with Kuai’s wailing cry, before the weightless feeling of him falling down to Earth below.

If Kuai was also here, then it seemed father had finally gone through with his previous threats.

“He threw you out,” Bi-Han whispered. Kuai looked a lot worse for wear since the last time he’d laid eyes on him. That scar across his one eye was new, as was the beard. Most alarming, his wings were gone, and while he could have just been hiding them, it seemed far more logical that they were simply no more.

“No, I es-“ Kuai hesitated, swallowing and looking away. “I left.” Kuai blinked a few times before he looked back at his big brother. “Gēgē, I need your help.” He was fidgeting with his hands, and Bi-Han knew that he was nervous about something. “I am… working for someone now. He is trying to find someone called Quan Chi. I know you know where he is.”

“What?” Bi-Han did know where Quan Chi was, but how Kuai knew that he didn’t know. More pressing was whomever Kuai was working for however. “What do you mean, working for someone?”

“When I fell, he found me, and helped me. I made a deal with him, Bi-Han, and that’s why I need to help him find Quan Chi.”

A deal? The only beings really known for making deals were demons.

“What kind of deal?” Bi-Han asked, afraid of the answer.

“I think you know what kind, Bi-Han,” a third but alarmingly familiar voice spoke out. A hand touched his shoulder, and Bi-Han turned his head to look up in disgust at Hanzo Hasashi.

“I thought we agreed I’d sort this out?” Kuai desperately questioned, and somehow that made everything slot into place.

“You were taking too long,” Hanzo claimed, looking down at Bi-Han with a bored look.

Bi-Han knocked the hand off his shoulder, jumping to his feet and summoning his sickle to hold at Hanzo’s throat, shoving the demon against the wall as he did. Hanzo huffed, but otherwise looked unbothered.

“What sick game are you playing Hasashi?” Bi-Han hissed, resisting the urge to push the sickle into Hanzo’s flesh. “What are you forcing my brother into?”

“There is no force involved,” Hanzo replied in a bored tone, before his mouth broke out into a cruel grin. “I don’t do anything to him that he doesn’t want.”

Bi-Han saw red. He suddenly pulled his hand up, sickle still in his grip preparing to slash at the demon’s throat. Kuai’s hand reached out to grab Bi-Han’s wrist and stop him.

“Bi-Han, stop, please.” Kuai struggled to keep Bi-Han’s hand at bay. “When I fell Hanzo found me, and he helped me.”

Bi-han’s eyes flicked over to his little brother, his eyes were wide and watery, practically begging Bi-Han to stop. There was more to Kuai’s falling that he wasn’t telling him. He knew his brother, he knew when he wasn’t being completely truthful.

“What happened?” He asked, pulling away from Hanzo and turning to face Kuai instead. As Bi-han lowered his arm, Kuai let go. “What happened when you fell?”

Kuai blinked a few times, mouth going tight and conflict clear on his face. He cleared his throat a few times.

“After you were gone, Father’s actions got worse.” Kuai’s hand reached up to his face, fingers rubbing at the scar like it was hurting him. Did Father do that to him? “Everything I did was wrong. Everything I did made him angry.” Kuai closed his eyes and swallowed. “One night, I overheard him making plans. He wants you back Bi-Han, and he was going to use me to get to you.”

“But then…” Bi-Han was confused. If their Father was going to use Kuai as bait to bring Bi-Han back to heaven, why would he banish him?

“I couldn’t let him do that to you,” Kuai explained, holding his hand up and summoning a knife. “So. I escaped. I cut my own wings off, and I let myself fall.”

Bi-Han stumbled backwards, hand flying over his mouth, feeling like he was about to throw up. His brother. His beloved little brother. Forced to cut his own wings off to protect the elder. To escape the abuse he suffered. It should have been the other way around. Bi-Han should have been Kuai’s protector, and yet all the evidence in front of him proved that he had failed.

“It’s not your fault,” Kuai cut in before Bi-Han could react, already aware of Bi-Han’s guilt complex and habit of self blame when it came to these things. “It is our Father who shoulders the burden for both our suffering.”

Somehow that did little to comfort Bi-Han. But for the moment, all he could do was put his own feelings aside.

He’d make plans on how his father would suffer for all this later.

“What about him?” Bi-Han hissed, and gestured towards Hanzo with his head. “Where does he come into it?”

“He found me when I fell,” Kuai explained, his eyes briefly glancing over to Hanzo. The demon was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and looking a little bit annoyed at all the talking. “Father wasn’t going to let me go easily, he sent men after me. Hanzo has kept me safe from them since. In turn I aid him in matters such as this.”

“The sex is just a bonus,” Hanzo smugly added, and how Bi-Han resisted jumping him and beating the shit out of him, he really did not know.

“You aren’t helping,” Kuai growled between his teeth, shooting his own glare towards Hanzo. The demon just laughed. He shook his head and returned his attention to Bi-Han. “We need to find Quan Chi, big brother. He’s responsible for a lot of hurt towards a lot of people and we need to stop him. We know you’ve been doing work for him here and there.”

“I have, and that’s why I can’t just tell you where he is.” Bi-Han reached to take Kuai’s shoulders in his hands. “Like Hanzo has helped you, Quan Chi has aided me since I fell. I can’t betray his trust.”

“He is working with Father.”

Oh, how that simple sentence completely shattered Bi-Han’s world.

“It seems with me no longer a viable option, he was willing to make a deal with Quan Chi for your capture,” Kuai explained, his own hands reaching to cradle his brother's face. “Maybe not tonight or tomorrow, but eventually, when you’re no longer of use to him, he will hand you back over to Father.”

Bi-Han swallowed, “he’s going to betray me?”

“Quan Chi is loyal only to himself,” Hanzo roughly added, grimacing slightly. “Believe me, I found that out in a far harsher way than you have.”

“Please, Bi-Han,” Kuai whispered. “We need to stop him.”

Bi-Han grit his teeth. He hated this, everything about this situation was heinous. But Kuai was looking up at him with large pleading eyes and he just could not say no to that.

He couldn’t say no after what their Father had done to both of them.

“Quan Chi lives in a condo on the other side of the city,” Bi-Han spoke, addressing his brother, rather than Hanzo. “I can take you there.”

“Thank you,” Kuai replied, resting his head on Bi-Han’s shoulder. It was the same action they used to do when they were children and Kuai had been punished by their Father. Bi-Han closed his eyes, and gently pet Kuai’s hair.

“We have no time to waste,” Hanzo told them, completely spoiling the moment, although Bi-Han couldn’t say anything in return. “Let’s go.”

And with that Hanzo was walking back towards the exit of the bar. Bi-Han watched him go with nothing but loathing in his heart. If Kuai Liang wasn’t here he’d have killed the bastard.

“Please tell me you aren’t actually having sex with him and that he was just trying to piss me off,” Bi-Han huffed at Kuai Liang, who looked up at him sheepishly. “I know your taste in men has always been terrible, but I refuse to believe it’s that bad.”

Kuai gave an uncomfortable smile, one with a few too many teeth showing as he replied “maybe it’s best I let you keep believing that.”

“Are you two actually coming or what?” Hanzo shouted across the room, not giving Bi-Han chance to argue further on what the hell was wrong with Kuai.

Bi-Han gave Kuai a look that he hoped screamed “are you serious”. All Kuai did in turn was smile and pat his chest a few times. He moved past Bi-Han to go and catch up to Hanzo. Bi-Han grumbled to himself, but still went to follow after them.

Elder Gods give me strength to not strike that demon down before this night is done.

[whump-cravings]

The Harem - Snap

Masterlist

1.5k words | The Harem - AU of The Royal Three (original work) - this is pretty far into Hakon's imprisonment at the Vusen palace as a member of the royal harem. He was recently subject to a vicious gang-rape and has gone mute and compliant.

Content: public self genital mutilation, heavily referenced noncon, long-term captivity, forced surgery

taglist: @nabanna @emcscared-whumps @suspicious-whumping-egg @i-can-even-burn-salad @mylifeisonthebookshelf @thecyrulik @honey-is-mesi @spookyceph @melennui

Hakon was thinner.

Out the corner of his eye, Sevae watched the man docilely refill empty cups, drifting around the table. He never sought out Sevae's eyes anymore. The bruises, previously a constant, had all but faded, which Sevae supposed was... good.

Except it meant he wasn't fighting back anymore.

"I humbly ask again for custody of the foreign prince," Sevae had said, kneeling before his queen.

"We settled this matter months ago, lieutenant general," Queen Hemuh said. "Why now? Naetehu's finally reformed him into a model citizen."

"Forgive me for impertinence, my queen, but his altered behavior is the cause of my concern. A prisoner subject to extreme stress over a prolonged period is—"

The queen gave a dismissive scoff. "An outlet for manly urges and moderate correction is hardly 'extreme stress.'"

Sevae bit his cheek to keep anger contained, eyes trained on the steps to the throne. What callous words, what casual cruelty. Had he truly once admired these people?

"Be as that may, your majesty," he tried once more, for Hakon, "I expect that this is but a precursor to far more worrisome behavior."

"Perhaps," she said dubiously. "But for now, you may bring your concerns to my son. It is not befitting for a man of your station to subvert the proper channels of authority."

Bitter frustration on his tongue, Sevae bowed his head further at the chastising dismissal.

Sevae stabbed at a cut of boar, hand tightening at the memory. Prince Naetehu would not so much as grant him an audience since that first time Sevae had approached him with 'concerns.' It was hard enough to secure time with Hakon, who didn't have the power to turn him away.

"Your mind seems elsewhere today," Ebaeru commented.

Realizing the woman had been speaking for the last minute or so, Sevae grimaced. "Apologies. You were saying?" This was hardly the time to allow alliances to dwindle from inattention.

"No worries, friend," his dinner companion said. "Could your distraction have something to do with your recent audience with the queen?"

Sevae shifted with a tilting acknowledgment of his head and a tight smile. "You read my mind, madam. It is not a subject for polite conversation, I'm afraid."

"Ah, I see," she said. "Perhaps you can—"

A scream set Sevae's blood pumping, his shield bumping up against others as the war mages in attendance instinctively threw up protection. Already on his feet, Sevae looked towards the source. Nobles were backing up from a scene, which Sevae was only able to glimpse.

Hakon laid on the ground in a fetal position, blood pooling out below him.

Sevae's heart bottomed out in his stomach. Taking up a silver knife, he used his chair as step a to leap onto and over the table. As he encountered resistance from another's shield, he slashed through it with his knife, driving a wedge of magic into the opening to allow him passage.

He fell to his knees while running, sliding the remaining distance to Hakon's side. "What happened?!" He directed this question upward at the table of pale-faced nobles as he grabbed Hakon's shoulder to lay him flat.

"He just—he cut it off," Lord Rethu exclaimed.

Hakon gave a weak laugh as his body unfolded, a knife slipping from his hand. The blood was concentrated about his groin. Sevae severed the waistband of the soaked harem skirt, finding only gore where Hakon's manhood ought to be.

"Put your shields down," Doctor Cecel called. "Let me through!"

Horror rose up and Sevae shoved it aside, forcing himself into a clinical mindset as he spread a barrier across the gaping wound. Contouring to the body slowed him down, but he swiftly ensured the entire injury was covered, keeping the blood contained much like skin.

"Where is it?" Naetehu's voice rose above everything else. "Find it!"

Sevae wanted to shake Hakon, to ask what on earth he was thinking, but that was obvious, wasn't it? He shrugged out of his jacket to lay it upon Hakon, both for the man's dignity—whatever was left of it—and to keep him warm in light of the blood loss and shock.

"Prince Hakon," Sevae said, grasping the man's shoulder.

The foreign prince looked at him, mouth twisted in some mockery of a smile. "Hurts more than I expected," he remarked deliriously.

Words of comfort settled on the front of Sevae's tongue, but what could he say that would truly bring hope? I am working towards your freedom, I swear. Hang on.

But his efforts could never have come to fruition soon enough to spare Hakon from hell.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered as the doctor finally made it to Hakon's side. The woman knelt as well, flipping back the now-bloodied jacket to examine the injury, stone-faced.

"Good work," she said to Sevae. "You may have saved his life."

For what good that does him.

"There it is," someone cried, and Sevae lifted his head to see Naetehu marching to retrieve the severed part.

Rage surged through him, heat burning in his chest and pressure constricting his head. Hakon had wounded himself, had almost bled out, and Naetehu's greatest concern was having him in one piece.

Seldom did Sevae find himself so overcome, but he found himself shaking from the force of his fury, jaw creaking. What he wouldn't give to switch which prince laid on the ground, to take Hakon from this place, to tear down this corrupt nation.

"Friend," Ebaeru's voice commented, hand settling cautiously on Sevae's shoulder. "You've done what you can." Her tone conveyed an unsaid message: it's not the time.

The much-needed anchor to reality let Sevae breathe and loosen his fists, nodding as he stood and stepped back. Two people arrived with a stretcher, perhaps having been sent by the doctor as soon as she saw the commotion. With minimal resistance, Hakon was loaded onto it, along with his manhood wrapped in a napkin.

As Hakon was carried away, Sevae mustered strength to go before his monarchs. He sank to his blood-soaked knees, raising his eyes to meet the king's. He needed not speak his request again; they knew his desire well enough.

Gazing with displeasure at the scene and his son, King Aeret gave a sigh as he met Sevae's gaze. He glanced to his wife, whose expression was similarly displeased. She dropped her napkin across her plate before standing.

"Your petition is granted, Sir Sevae," she said. "You are entrusted with the custody and well-being of Prince Hakon of Ironda."

"What?" Naetehu said. "He's mine! You can't—" The prince flinched as Aeret pierced him with a look. Frustration flashed on his face, mouth twisting, before he stormed out the doors.

"What a mess," the queen muttered as she turned away from the table.

King Aeret picked up his utensils. Glancing at Sevae, his voice spoke to the lieutenant general's mind before he went on to finish his meal. - See to it that this does not happen again.

Sevae bowed his head before taking his leave.

***

"How is he?" Sevae asked, standing as Doctor Cecel stepped into the waiting room.

"It's reattached," Doctor Cecel said, wiping her hands on a cloth, smock spattered with blood. "We'll know with certainty within a few days whether the stitching took, though who knows about functionality. He's still sedated."

Relief rushed through Sevae. "May I see him?"

"Elme and Cudul are about to trundle him back to the harem, so—"

"Not the harem," Sevae said. Never again. "My quarters. I've been granted custody."

"Oh?" Doctor Cecel gave him an appraising look. "Good." She sighed, tucking the rag into the pocket of her smock. "That's good." She folded her arms as she looked at the floor, lips pressed thin, and silence hung in the air.

"It's too little too late, isn't it?" Sevae said softly.

She nodded. "I've seen this sort of thing in veterans before, and it usually isn't a one-time occurrence. You'll need to monitor him closely."

Her two assistants appeared then with a sleeping Hakon on a stretcher, and Cecel said, "Right. Well, the boys will let you know how to tend to him for the next few days, and of course I'll be by daily to check on him. Off you go."

After Sevae and the assistants got Hakon set up in Sevae's bed and Elme and Cudul delivered care instructions, Sevae thanked them and sent them on their way. Finally, quiet descended.

He took the chair from his desk, carrying it to the bedside. Hakon looked... so peaceful in his sleep. Sevae reached out, intending to brush a lock of hair from his face, but hesitated before he could make contact. Hakon had been touched so much against his will.

Sevae dropped his hand. "I'm so sorry," he whispered into the silence. "Had I known it would turn out this way, I would have..." Leaning forward, he cradled his head in his hands.

I would have never taken you alive.

You were right. I regret it.

[deathbyvalentine]

"Do you believe in witches?"

She rolls over to face me, blue eyes wide and frightened. I cast my mind back to the stories told by torchlight earlier, all of us trying to outdo the tale that came before us. But they had been terrifying ghosts and hungry ghouls, not witches. And who would be scared of them anyway? Green skin and warty nose, they seemed like a child's monster, not like tragic deaths and mutilated corpses. We were thirteen now and too old for such things. We were worldly, grown up and demanded our fears be too.

But Elise didn't seem worldly right now, duvet pulled up to her chin, covering the My Little Pony PJs that she only got away with because it was the new reboot. Heidi's pyjamas on the other hand (too sophisticated to be called PJs) were a dark blue and made from a fabric that shone like silk. They clung to curves that were only just beginning to emerge but the flattest amongst us were jealous all the same.

"No. That's kids' stuff." I paused. "Why?"

She bit her lip, eyes flickering to my face and then away again rapidly. It seemed to take an age before she said, all in a rush - "I think we've been cursed." There was a pinched look around her mouth and eyebrows, the furrow so deep I wanted to remind her she didn't want to get wrinkles.

I had to try hard not to laugh but she looked so serious that my mirth melted away. She wasn't joking. And she had waited until the other girls were asleep before telling me, like it was a secret. Was it a secret? "Cursed? Elise, nobody gets cursed. That's not a thing."

"But there's... been all these signs. Weird things. Things I don't know how they happened."

"Like what?"

She moved onto her back so I could only see her in profile, her anxious fluttering hands resting on her chest. There was a certain beauty to her like this, the shadow of her straight nose, plump lips. I could hear her breath in deep gusts, in and out, in and out. She took so long to reply I had wondered if she had fallen back to sleep. I hoped she had.

"I wake up, in the night sometimes." Her voice no longer sounded like herself. She sounded strangely dreamy, distant and far from me. I got a sudden flash of what she would sound like as an adult. Perhaps at this age our adult self hid inside our sleeping self, ready to emerge when we stopped paying attention. "And I think there's something in my room."

Despite myself, a shiver ran down my spine. My mum would have called it 'someone walking over my grave'. I resisted the urge to lean up on my elbows and scan the room, telling myself firmly that I was too old for that. All that was in this room was two awake girls and a whole bunch of sleeping ones. I closed my eyes, tight. "So? That's just a nightmare."

"It happens in the day too. I'll just be somewhere and then..." She trails off. "There's other things too. I forget things. Things I shouldn't. Things I know. I lose my words I open my mouth and nothing comes out. And sometimes it's like all this strength goes out of my arms and legs and they tingle... Don't you just feel like something bad is going to happen? And you can't stop it? You just have to wait for it to happen?"

I kept my eyes closed, shutting her out. I might have covered my ears too, if I could have. I heard the crinkle of her sleeping bag as she shifted and I wondered if she was looking at me like I had been looking at her. After too long and another set of rustles, the even steady breath indicated she actually had fallen asleep, leaving me all alone in the dark room. I opened my eyes cautiously. Was it just me or was there a tall shadow in the corner of the room, watching over us all?

*

Afterwards, when it had all returned to normal and we were allowed to go to school again, I learnt that they used to call them hysterical fits. Nowadays they might be called paroxysms. I learnt that from a medical encyclopaedia, read under my duvet with a torch. My parents had been discouraging me from looking too deep into it all. They had even put a parental control block on my laptop which was a new method of parenting. I wanted to tell them I was thirteen. I had already seen the worst of the internet. Talk about closing the barn door after the horse has bolted. So anyway, I was reduced to this.

The thing is about hysterical fits is that they catch. As quick as any 'real' infection, they could tear through communities with a fires fury. It becomes mass hysteria. It had happened to nuns in cloisters. Boarding schools. Villages full of women. That was the other thing I noticed- it seemed to only really happen to women. Was that because we were more hysterical or because we had more to scream about? Science didn't know and neither did I.

Elise had been the first. Two days after the sleepover. She had been asked to write on the board (our school, strangely old fashioned these days). She walked to the front of the room, took the pen and stared at the diagram on the board. I like to think her mind went completely and angelically blank, filled with music or the sound of leaves rustling, sending her to some place beyond the mundanity of a senior school classroom in a town famous for nothing.

Then she fell, like a puppet with all its strings cut. I was drawn to watching her legs, kicking out and twisting. I wondered if she would twist too hard and snap a bone, spearing straight through her skin. I know now that rabid animals can break their own backs. That seizure victims can bite clean through their own tongue. I'm not sure if hysteria can numb you to such pain or just make it all the more acute. Her eyes were fixed on the corner of the classroom. Even as she bucked, arched, she couldn't look away. She was seeing something we could not.

Our teacher (young, French) had frozen in horror, her expression just as alarming as the writhing girl on the floor. She wasted three seconds before she bolted for the door, calling for help. Some quick thinking girl scout type ran to the front, shoving a jumper under Elise's head and trying to put her in the recovery position. The rest of us stood back. Someone was crying softly which made me roll my eyes. I wasn't sure what made me cruel in that moment but cruel I was, exasperated at the idea someone else's fit could frighten you. I don't have that exasperation any more. I am frightened.

The next girl was only three hours later. A first year. She didn't even know Elise but by then everyone was whispering about her. I'm not sure it was instant popularity but it was certainly instant recognition. The little girl certainly would have heard stories. Was it this she was thinking of when she was overcome with shivers that grew and grew until her body was an earthquake? Or would she, like Elise, come to in the hospital and whisper about shadows?

Both of them were fine. No signs of epilepsy, encephalitis or drug use. No head bumps, self-harm or sudden trauma. Of course, they were accused of faking it, as every girl that followed them into the frenzy was. But they weren't, which was more frightening. Something was happening to the girls and nobody knew how to fix it.

Two weeks, in total. Twenty six girls. An emergency stop to studies called and students told to isolate at home, in case we were carrying some germ that sent each other into seizures. I was convinced it was spread by whispers, or maybe a special single word. I wondered about curses. About who would have hated Elise enough to work magic around her. Was it about her at all? Or was it about the school or even us? I buried myself in books - and the internet, my parents hadn't considered that there might be a need to block the dark arts from my searching. Curses could be passed on by paper or small bags or items hidden in the house. I read about an Icelandic withering curse cast by sewing a herringbone into a coat.

So I turned all my coats inside out. I counted my steps and avoided cracks and three drains in a row. I picked up every lucky penny I saw, held my breath past cemeteries. I didn't look at the figure inside my room and I didn't, not once, talk to Elise. I haven't fitted yet. I'm calm and sane. I will not be one of those girls.

____________________________________________________________

Ooze

Caitlyn’s brow furrowed in concentration as she twisted to look at the long scratch on the back of her calf. Her back twinged in irritation at the odd angle but she ignored it completely. She hadn't thought it was a deep cut, but looking at it now, it had gone further than she realised - odd when it hadn't felt especially painful. But this was not what had made her freeze, staring at the wound. Yes, there was the expected slip of red, droplets of her blood racing to be the first to her sock. But the main attraction was this; thick, black ichor seeping out from the wound and slowly sliding down her leg.

"What the…" She reached down and pressed it with two fingers. When she pulled away it separated into long, sticky strands, making her recoil and rub her fingertips on her ripped jeans. Her fingers were stained from whatever the fuck it was. Slowly, she dismounted from her bike, taking extra care not to jostle the leg. Limping a little pathetically, she wheeled the bike into the garage, carefully leaning it against the wall. She then dropped into a squat (leg pinging irritably) and looked at the wheels. Mud, sure, thick black ooze? Nada. So it wasn't something she had cycled through at least -

Wait, no, not true. She had cycled through the small thicket on the Holmesfield Park's hearth. Some funky plant must have caught her as went through it, in and out so quickly she hadn't even noticed the wound. Relief at the satisfying answer flooded through her. She clapped her hands on her thighs and stood, heading inside.

Unfortunately her mum was working nights - unfortunate, considering she was a nurse and this would have been a great time to have one of those around. She rooted underneath the kitchen sink to locate the first aid kit and decamped into the bathroom.

It looked worse underneath the clean white lights. The muck had stained the jeans around the rip and she had to half peel it from her leg. They were a bust. She tossed them in the bin rather than the laundry basket. Then, nose wrinkled, she ran her leg underneath the bath cold tap. The sludge left her skin reluctantly, clinging for as long as possible before slipping down the plughole. She switched the tap off and reached for the

Huh.

When she turned back to her leg, the wound was oozing again. Bile rose in her throat as the realisation kicked in, a little too late. It wasn't that something that had gotten into her leg. It was coming from her leg. Leaking out of the wound, mingled with the normal red blood. For a long minute all she can do is stare as it slides down to her ankle, feet, bath. She doesn't know a single bodily fluid that should be black and definitely not black and pouring out of one's leg. There was a smell too, heavy on the air, something organic and horrible. Like rot. Like oil.

She had to bite down an instant, vicious response to find wire wool and scrub it out of her. Unclean. Unclean. She didn't consider herself a germaphobe. Sure, she frequently scrubbed under her nails hard enough that they bled and she counted to ten minutes when she brushed her teeth, but who didn't? She was conscientious, not obsessive. The proof was in getting the wound in the first place - she liked climbing, running, cycling, anything where she could be under the open sky with real earth under her feet. The dirt was the price you had to pay for that, a tithe paid in long soaks in the bath or scalding hot showers. She paid it willingly enough and only slightly begrudged the earth her blood.

She wasn't bleeding any more. She was paying the earth in something different - or was it that the earth was paying her? It didn't look like mud. It was glossy, like an oil slick. She ran it under water again and before it had a chance to start seeping, poured antiseptic on it and bound it tightly with a bandage. She was considering sitting and watching her leg to see if or indeed when the liquid soaked through. But that was madness and she was thankfully interrupted by the postman knocking at the door, pulling on PJ bottoms as she went to answer it.

The rest of the evening, she was calm. She drank hot, sugary drinks. She curled up with her cat and watched some terrible quiz shows. She fell asleep in front of the television and had to escort herself, still and sore up to bed. She crawled between the sheets and fell straight back into the fitful doze she started on the couch.

When she woke up, she knew something was wrong. The sheets were sticking to her leg. When she turned the light on, she wasn't surprised to see the pool of black liquid. She stripped off the sheets, PJ bottoms and bandage, dropping them in the trash. What she was surprised to see was her skin. Starting at the skin surrounding the cut, the skin had darkened and darkened until her leg was a sunset of greys and blacks, reaching up to her hip. It didn't hurt. In fact, when she pressed her fingers to the flesh, it didn't feel like much at all. It felt cold and numb, only the slightest bit of pressure reaching the nerves. When she pulled her hand away, her fingers were shaded with the lightest grey. She rubbed them together but the colouring didn't dissipate.

Tying a towel to her leg, she fished out her laptop from beside the bed and flipped it open. But WebMD was not helpful. There were pages on necrosis and infection but none of the gory images matched what was happening to her. A few pages of an obscure occult website mentioned ghost sickness but she was pretty sure her cycle route didn't take her past a graveyard or near any cursed weapons, so even the weird option was out. By the time she was done the creeping black had reached the right side of her stomach. She fetched a needle and slowly, cautiously pressed it into her leg. She didn't feel it. Not at all. She discarded it, shuddering at the long strand of black ichor that followed it out of her flesh. She had a sudden image of the blackness creeping up her throat, filling her lungs until she drowned. Filling her veins until she had a heart attack. She swore she could feel it in her stomach, turning her acid into slime.

It was now that she considered calling her mum. She found her mobile and held it in her hand, thumb posed over the button. But the missive rang in her ears; ‘only in an emergency’. Her mother was a nurse. She saved lives. Calling her away from work meant hurting other people, like it or not. And it wasn’t like she was dying. It didn’t even hurt. Her mother had worked long or odd hours ever since she was a kid. Eventually you learn to take pride in the independence you cultivate. She made her own lunches, washed her own clothes, dried her own tears. Her mother was always so proud of her, so grateful for how little trouble she was. She put her phone back on the bedside table. Calling her mother was not an option she could entertain. She just had to wait until she got home.

She was jolted from her reverie with another knock from the door, far too late to be another delivery person. Teeth gritted, she quickly wrapped her leg up with another bandage and hopped inside a clean pair of pyjama bottoms. She was sure that the visitor would have assumed nobody was home by the time she got to the door, but when she opened it, Celia walked in, already talking.

“God, were you asleep? I nearly died of boredom waiting. Your mum is on nights today right?” She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Caitlyn holding the door open and blinking at the sudden torrent of words.

Celia had been Caitlyn’s best friend since nappies. They could not be less alike. Sometimes Caitlyn wondered if they would be friends if their mothers were not, but mostly she thought they would be. There was a push and pull to them and while they had more than their fair share of explosive arguments, for the most part balance was achieved. Whenever they fought Caitlyn felt as if she were missing a limb, phantom itches and all. Their grand record for not speaking to each other was a whole three weeks and they were among the worst of Caitlyn’s life, her father’s death not unexcepted. She had apologised first, as she usually did. Sometimes it didn’t matter who was right, it just mattered that it was over.

Caitlyn followed Celia through to the kitchen where the kettle was already boiling and Celia was rummaging in the fridge. Bangles clattered around her slim wrists, her midriff exposed by the crop top she was wearing. It was summer and it was hot. Caitlyn found her eyes drawn to the tidy tuck of her waist, the barely there flaring of hips. Celia was beautiful. She knew it. Caitlyn wondered if sometimes she wished she could turn it off. She couldn’t imagine the weight of all the gazes she carried. Caitlyn would never command attention like that. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

“ - And I just couldn’t believe her. I don’t want to be a bitch but she makes it so fucking hard.”

Celia could have been referring to any one of her numerous feuds. How she kept track of them, Caitlyn never knew. Underneath the badly wrapped bandage, she felt her leg beginning to seep, one droplet sliding down to her ankle. She opened her mouth then after a moment, shut it again. She didn’t want to interrupt the normality. Celia often invited herself in, regardless of the time, often regardless of if Caitlyn wanted her to or not. The noise was nice and required barely any of her input. Celia didn’t care if her audience was listening, just that there was an audience. Caitlyn leaned back against the counter and closed her eyes for a moment.

Maybe more than a moment. Celia was clicking her fingers in front of her face. “Helloo. Earth to Caitlyn. Are you asleep?”

Caitlyn opened her mouth to reply. And turned around, vomiting up black slime into the brushed chrome sink with an obscene splatter. Her stomach heaved once, twice more, bringing up more of it than she thought her body could contain. It coated the inside of her mouth, cloying and bitter, making her gag in a more conventional sense. Blindly she reached for a glass on the dish rack, filling it with water and gargling it, swilling it around her mouth and spitting it back into the sink. It took a minute but finally she could register something other than her bodily functions. The kitchen was silent, bar from the humming of the refrigerator.

Caitlyn turned. Celia was looking at her with wide wide eyes, hand (complete with painted and chipped nails) over her mouth. The two cups of tea behind her sat ignored, cooling. “What the fuck was that?” Caitlyn wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, shaking very slightly. “I don’t think I’m very well.” “No shit.” “I think it’s an infection.” Celia took this in, blinking a few times before she nodded, as if she was steeling herself. “Okay. Let me see it.”

Back to her bedroom, it could have been any other night except for the wound. Celia was perched on the bed, one leg swinging off the edge, her eyes firmly fixed on Caitlyn. A little awkwardly, Caitlyn stripped out of her pjs, unwound the bandage. She sat, trying not to look at the cut that was now pouring with ichor. She shrugged off her shirt too, seeing that the skin on her stomach and ribs was black. Her hands too had started taking on a darker tint. She knew now that in her stomach was slime instead of acid. That something bad might happen when it reached her heart or brain or lungs. That nothing could stop this, the progression from clean to tainted, pure to cursed. It was pointless wondering what she had done to deserve this. She might never know. Maybe there was never even a reason at all. The taint that she had long felt in her blood, the guilt she carried had been made manifest. It had often kept her awake at night, plaguing her when she closed her eyes, when she looked at Celia. This was not an infection nice girls could get. And she was not a nice girl.

“We need to call someone.” For the first time since Caitlyn had known her, Celia sounded frightened. The girlishness that she tried so hard to suppress had finally come to the fore, unable to be hidden under lipstick or sunglasses. Caitlyn shook her head. “No. Not this time.” They sat in silence for what felt like a long time. When she looked down, it looked as if she had satin gloves. “Then what do you want to do?” Caitlyn mulled this over. “I think I want to lie down.” “Okay. We can do that.”

Celia lay down, pulling her ponytail out of the way. Caitlyn lay down too, turning off the bedside lamp, plunging them into shadow, only lit by the lamppost outside. Celia wrapped her arms around her and their bodies slotted together perfectly, the way they always had. Caitlyn could feel Celia’s breath on the back of her neck and it was just enough to give her gooseflesh, as it did every time for as long as they’d been doing this. The thing inside her pulsed. The night shift wasn't over but she had no idea what time it was. At the moment it felt like the night would never end but perhaps that was the slick oil reaching her brain. She lay down with Celia, being held and held until her vision grew darker and darker and she could see nothing at all.

____________________________________________________________

Web

The house was old and dusty. It sat, as it had always sat, at the corner of Hennessy Avenue and Park, cheapening the look of the place with its boarded windows and overgrown garden. Nobody could remember when it was occupied last, but all were in agreement that the owner had died some years ago and was a recluse even when they were still breathing. Theories were posited about stacks of newspapers, piles of mail building up behind the unopened door and floorboards rotting away under dripping pipes. The garden was squinted at for signs of feral cat colonies. None appeared and without too much work, the house faded into the noise of the street, a feature much like the curb or painted white lines down the centre of the road. And nobody thought much of it.

Until.

There was not the excuse of Halloween. It was June and the days stretched off into summer nights that seemed barely dimmer than the hours preceding it. It was like the entire neighbourhood had entered the doldrums. Fans were made from any material left lying around for too long, ice placed in front of whirring blades. Parents found excuses to linger in the cool of air conditioned supermarkets. Dogs found what shade they could and panted within it. There was no real breeze to ruffle the missing posters that hung on the wooden telephone poles.

Cassie was lying on the tarmac of her driveway. The tarmac hadn't released the heat of the day yet but the air had finally begun to cool. The sky was the yellow of a week old bruise and seemed just as ripe somehow. Cassie thought tomorrow storm clouds may gather and in another day break, drenching the land in the water it needed. For now though, the country held its breath.

She was restless. She felt it in his wrists and ankles that she twisted in small circles. Sometimes she put her foot flat on the ground so she could twitch her leg up and down, the jiggling irritating even herself. She blew lazy bubbles out of the gum in her mouth almost unconsciously, punctuating the air with sharp snaps. A foot away from her, her tortoiseshell cat lay sprawled, flicking its tail idly.

She saw Ellie approach without raising her head, looking at her friend upside down. She wiggled her fingers in greeting, popped the gum once more and pressed it to the inside of her cheek before sitting up, auburn hair swishing to her side.

"Alright?" "Alright."

Cassie offered Ellie a piece of gum, which she accepted and popped between lips painted with an unnatural, shiny shade of pink gloss. Ellie was always the girlier one of the two of then, Cassie still not having 'grown out of' her tomboy phase. She despised skirts and eschewed make up altogether, much to Ellie's anguish. And even deeper than Ellie's anguish, privately, was how Cassie didn't need it. She was naturally beautiful while Ellie was commonly pretty. She needed the colours and powders and gels to get on an even playing field. Of course, to make matters worse, Cassie didn't seem to give a button about whether she was pretty at all and seemed baffled that Ellie didn't feel the same. Nor did she care about dresses or boys or any of that stuff. Ellie couldn't fathom her and the frustration almost made her teeth ache.

"Whatcha doing?" "Nothing." "Wanna walk for a bit?"

Cassie nodded and clambered to her feet, coltish. She dusted herself down, ridding herself of the grit of the driveway. She waved goodbye to the impassive cat and vaguely called a goodbye to the house's open windows.

The evening had taken the sting out of the suns heat. Their sandals smacked against the pavement, their movements unhurried and languid. There were only so many summers left in their girlhood. It was hard to tell if this would be a memorable one or if it would fade into that montage of vague nostalgia, leaving only a sense of 'summerness'.

Ellie couldn't remember who had suggested walking to the house first. Or if anyone had suggested it at all, if they had just ended up there by following her feet. All she knew is fifteen minutes later they were stood in front of the old place, looking doubtfully up it's overgrown path.

"I dare you." "I double dare you." Both of them popped their gum, mulling this over.

Cassie shrugged a shoulder and put her hands on the top of the locked gate and hopped over effortlessly. Ellie hesitated before following, more cautiously due to the fact she was wearing a skirt, not shorts. She had modesty to think of, a concept that rarely occurred to Cassie. She even climbed trees in skirts, not giving a toss about the boys that would gather below to watch her. She didn't care about boys. Not like Ellie was beginning to.

The grass in the garden was long and seeding, spilling over from what once might have been a lawn and creeping into the path. Ellie put one hand out to brush them as she walked. They tickled, just a little. The sweat in the crook of her knees stung. Cassie had made it to what had once been a front door - now a sheet of corrugated iron sat in the frame, solid as an ogre. Cassie looked over it coolly. Then she popped her gum once and headed around the side of the house.

There was a tall garden fence and gate but they were made out of rotten wood and all but crumbled at her touch. One gentle shoulder against it and they were in the back garden. Jungle might have been a more appropriate term for it. It was a riot of summer colour from daisies that had sprouted up and up to the foxgloves standing sentry at the border. They had been less cautious here - the board blocking the back door was made from plywood, not metal.

It was about now that Ellie started to get the sick feeling in her stomach. It had been a hot and restless day, one that unsettled and made her feet tingle. But this was different. She tilted her head back to look at the house, squinting against the evening sun. This feeling sat low in her stomach, dark and churning. Her hands automatically went to hold it, like she did when she had period pain.

Whatever she was feeling, Cassie wasn't. Or maybe she was and this is just how she reacted to it. Fight or flight - Ellie was a flyer. Cassie was crouched in front of the backdoor, pulling at one corner of the plywood, ignoring the small spiders that ran out and skittered across the step. The door creaked in protestation. She tugged again, a small grunt of frustration escaping.

"Help me!" Ellie stirred herself, going over and putting her hands above Cassie's and joining in the pulling. With a low cracking, it came free, sending both of them tumbling out of its way as it hit the ground with a clatter. There the actual door was revealed, painted light green and with glass panel.

This was getting too real now. Ellie uneasily took a step backwards. "Okay. We've done the dare. Now we can go home." She just about managed not to say 'please'. She couldn't show that she was a chicken. "You can go home. I'm going in." Cassie tugged at the handle and frowned. "I don't think it's locked..." But it was rusted. She tried shoulder barging lightly, it barely shifted. She gestured for Ellie to join in and reluctantly, she did. With the two of them slamming into it in tandem (Ellie was sure she would have a bruise later), it finally dragged open. They stood on the threshold. Even Cassie looked apprehensive, looking back over her shoulder at the bright garden. Something in her jaw set though. Ellie knew she was going in and that she would too.

Cassie went in first. Ellie followed.

The kitchen was small and grimy. Newspapers on the windows made the light yellow and faded. Ellie's sandals stuck and peeled off the linoleum floor in sticky steps. The sink was filled with empty cans and cartons. Cassie peered at one, holding it up to the dim light. The date on it was from 1996. She dropped it with disgust. They did not explore the cabinets or open the silent fridge. What might lay within was too disgusting to contemplate. Ellie tugged the hem of Cassie's shirt.

"Can we go now?" Without meaning to, she whispered. As if she were afraid of disturbing the dust. But Cassie didn't react - her eyes were fixed on the bottom of the kitchen door. Ellie followed her gaze and realised what she was looking at. The dust that lay thickly everywhere else was absent in a neat semi-circle in front of it. Ellie's heart stuttered in her chest. Images went through her head of drifters from the local overpass or the older kids from the petrol station who played with lighters and glared into every passing car. But Cassie looked between the door in front of them and the door behind and frowned. Ellie had the realisation a moment later - the dust disturbed had been done by them alone. "Maybe they went out the front door." She ventured, her faltering voice unconvincing to even herself.

Cassie reached for the doorknob and yanked with more force than was needed. The door clattered open and she stepped through it, Ellie once again trailing in her wake. But both of them soon stopped dead. The hallway itself was not so remarkable. A staircase lay next to one room, two other doors stood ajar on the opposite. The carpet was thick with grime and the wallpaper was peeling from every corner. What made them stop was the webs.

They hung from the ceiling in thick, ropey strands as wide as their arms. There were no delicate strands, no thread like gossamer, these pieces reminded you that spiders silk was as strong as steel. They looked weighty and solid, coloured the white of old bones or broken shells. Bile rose in Ellie's throat. The white was repulsive somehow, reminding her of maggots and rot. She had images in her head of being wrapped in it like a mummy in bandages.

Cassie was already reaching for one with a single finger. It touched the web and when she tried to withdraw her hand, it followed her hand for a moment before she managed to free herself. The rope fell and swung, occasionally brushing those beside it. When Cassie looked at her finger, there was a coating of sticky residue.

As the rope was swinging in smaller and smaller lines, Ellie heard something. Cassie heard it as second later. Both of them looked up towards the water-stained ceiling. There was the certain, steady sound of footsteps. Well, maybe not feet. Steps though. First there was one pair, sending the floor creaking as they froze in horror. Then there was another and another and another and they were speeding up. When they heard movement on the stairs, their paralysis broke. Cassie bolted, grabbing Ellie's wrist to drag her back into the kitchen. Ellie's plait touched a part of the web and she cried out as a chunk of hair was pulled from her head, but she didn't stop.

Inside the kitchen Cassie slammed the door behind them and in an astounding show of forethought, grabbed a plastic kitchen chair and shoved it under the handle. Then like rabbits disappearing into a warren, they were out the back door and tumbling into the summer evening.

Cassie had scratched herself on the rough doorframe and a graze on her arm was oozing red. She had a streak of dust in her hair that made her look as if she was turning prematurely grey. Ellie herself had slipped and banged her knee on the kitchen step and a bruise was already beginning to spread across it like mold.

But the door stayed closed and the house stayed silent. Together in unison they lifted the plywood sheet to rest against the door again. They had no nails to hammer back into it but Cassie said she would come again tomorrow after stealing some from her dad's toolkit. Ellie made no such promises. She never wanted to be here again in her entire life. She trailed after Cassie when they made their way back to the street. She noticed a bead of sweat rolling down Cassie's grubby calf. It comforted her, a little. Cassie had been frightened too.

They stood on the street for a moment, the first cooling breeze all day rolling in from the west. Ellie ground her sandal into the pavement.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Cassie ventured, sounding unsure of herself. With good reason. Ellie was already thinking that she should spend more time with Megan who liked painting her nails, not dragging her best friend into infested haunted houses. Who snuck Smirnoff ice from her fridge into the bedroom for them to giggle over. Why was she even friends with Cassie in the first place? Beautiful, tomboyish Cassie who didn't care about being safe or being pretty or any of the things Ellie couldn't stop caring about. "Yeah, I guess." Ellie mumbled, eyes on her feet. If she had looked up she might have seen the edge of desperation in Cassie's eyes, the hovering in her hands like she wanted to take Ellie's. Neither of them could say what they wanted to.

And so they turned away, walking to their separate houses with their jointly oblivious parents. Summer was ending soon and maybe they'd be in the same class and maybe they wouldn't. But Ellie was going to have nightmares about the spiderwebbed house for years to come, until she was an full grown woman who stopped believing the truth and started telling herself that it was all just a teenage girl exaggerating. After all, isn't that what they did?

[fairydust-stuff]

Black Lagoon BF cross-over snippets.

Balalikia sat cross from Mr Chang “ So your taking a trip to New York babe?” 

“ Some shit about mind control drugs” 

“ Your kidding me”  

Chang scowled  “ I wish, you heard of  Dino Golzine Fry face?” 

Balalikia raised an eyebrow yes she was aware of the head of the French Mafia and all his dirty dealings. The going on’s at Club cod alone were enough to leave a bad taste in her mouth.   “ Don’t tell me” she resisted the urge to groan. “ What kind of mind control, torture, or are we talking bond Villian antics?”  

“ He started his own supervillian organization…..” Chang continued. “ Their trying to take over the world starting with South America” 

“ Oh fuck me!” Balalikia understood where this was going chances are those power hungry shit heads  would create a huge mess, draw more  FBI interest  in the drug trade. There was also a possbility someone far smarter could get their hands on this new substance.  

The CIA is very Adament about me personally seeing to the situation” Chang stressed. 

“ Their people  are involved then, probly in both the trafficking ring and the experimentation funding. This is going to fuck so many powerful people if word gets out. ” 

“ Not to mention it might remind people their paying for expensive  poisen. “ 

Balakilkia nods  “ And then all of us have to deal with slipping profit margins….” 

“ It gets even better one of papa Dino’s whore’s is running around distroying half of New York.” Chang sounded almost amused. “ He trained his child slave to kill, paid for everything” 

Chang slides a picture of the aftermath of a massacure across the table to Balakikia. She didn’t even flinch seeing far worse over the years. 

He hands her a second picture the aftermath of a tortured body, so mutilated and disfigued it barely looks human.  

“ The work of seventeen year old, Aslan Jade Callenresse, the streets of New York nicknamed him, Ash Lynx.” 

 Another Hansel and Gretal, she thought darkly a self destructive monster with no leash or way to control him. Who only knew how to cause death and destruction. 

“ Former Mafia hit man, debt collector,  and gang leader he went rouge a couple of months ago. He’s so infamous among the locals, I didn’t even have to ask you to look though kiddie porn this time” 

Balalikia gave him a humorless look  “ Given the circumstances I wouldn’t rule out the possibility….I’ll still end up viewing pedophile jack off material”  

Chang reaches for another photo 

“ The Lee’s were massacured recently, they say it was Vietnamese but I have my doubts” 

The picture is shot through the glass window into a room where Hau Lung Lee stands drooling next to a slender figure with long hair. 

“ You think someone used that mind control drug and is puppeteering him behind the scenes” 

“ Unfortunately the Itallians surveillance team didn’t get much, whoever it was knew they were being watched and they were fast…but we did get this” 

Chang hands her another photo which was enhanced to reveal the tattoo of a dragon on the nape of the figures neck. The Lee family crest.  “ Seems the massacure hits a little close to home” 

“ So once again we have to clean up someone else’s mess” 

Chang leans forward  “ I’m going down there see what can be salvaged and what’s just trash” 

They both knew the unspoken implications of what Mr Chang was implying. 

“ I’m meeting a friend for lunch would you like to join?” Chang asked sardonically

“ of course Babe” …

“ Thank you for coming” Mr Chang said politely. 

 Vito  Maranzo the head of the five italian families was sitting across them at the italian resturant. “ I’m glad your here, Chang…..would you like anything? This place has the best Veal” 

“ No Thank you” Chang said politely. 

“ The lady?” 

“ I’m quite fine” 

“I’m going to get right to it,  This Ash Lynx business is out of control” Vito said. 

“ Now he’s gathering allies from your own gangs, as I understand it” Chang stated. 

“ Just the Chinese and the darkies” Vito said dismissively. 

“ Maybe today but tomorrow, you could have a full rebellion on your hands” Balalika mused and she’s know how easy it was to rebell against those in power, who would cast you aside. 

“ The Chinese don’t seem concerned though” Chang said. “ Could  the Lee’s have cut a deal with Lynx?” 

“ Hau Lung lee, never had his dad’s capabilities”  Vito paused  “ Don’t get me wrong Shang Lung Lee was a freak, with his ten year old girl concubines and shit. But hey the guy knew how to run a buiness, and he created one of the largest global networks.” 

 He paused 

“ I don’t like to speak ill of the dead….but  the Lee boys were all pretty dim” Vito takes a sip from his wine glass. “ Shang used to joke with me about just picking his concubines kid, as his heir” 

So Shang Lung lee had another son, interesting. 

“ What did you think of him?” Chang asked casually “ Any good?” 

“ Never met him, honestly….Wang and Hau  Lung, hired toadies….crazied loonies anyone who inflated their sense of self importance. I’m not surprised the Vietnammese wacked em! ” he paused “ If your thinking the kid was responsible, he disappeared one night along with his mom.”  

“ if Hau had died too it would have been a headache inducing shit show.  The Lee’s have blood ties to the Chinese Emperor, distant relation but their the closest thing to Royalty we have.” 

“ I see and Dino Golzine” Balalikia muses. 

Vito cursed in Italian  “ His slut is causing millions of dollars in damages and Dino isn’t making it back” Vito grinds his cigar between his teeth. “ Hey its your business what you do in the bedroom.”  he breathes deeply 

“ But important people are dead, senators ect the press are having a field day. Then I find out he’s spending hundreds on some secret experiment! Now we have the CIA breathing down our necks. The problem is the little menace is too good, Golzine brought in several dangerous people to tutor that boy”

“ Did he pin his suicide note to the kid  as well?” Chang asked dryly 

Vito scowled  “ Its no laughing matter” 

“ Your right, we have a finically crippling situation, i’ll be take care of just give me a couple of months and we’’ll have the situation under control”...

“ You find anything on the mother?” Chang asked Balelikia later on. 

“  A fake passport to get into the country, after she was taken to Shang Lee’s house its as if she creased to exist” 

“ I need you and your team  to find out if any of the Lee’s staff were randomly promoted to a high position without warning?” 

“ Do you want a confession?” Balalikia asked 

“ I have someone else in mind for dealing with them, after all she’s might enjoy getting to come home again” Chang said 

[nyf-archive]

i'm over here thinking a lot about my durges, and honestly, i'm obsessed with them now. i never thought i was going to depict one, but now i have two, almost three. whoops. sorry not sorry. anyways! below the cut are some info/hc about colette without bothering my friends with constant notifs lmao just gotta get the thoughts out and written so i don't forget

Colette

evil or good? for the most part, she is a redeemed dark urge. that is, until act 3 when she reunites with gortash again. it is then, in that moment when they divulge their history together, that she decides whether she wants to rule with him as this new self, or if she will allow herself to be consumed. If she has found a partner in any of her companions, she refuses to become the chosen and frees herself from his ties.

if she rekindles her relationship with gortash, though, as he helps her kill her sister, she accepts bhaal and reclaims her birthright. fucked up, yes, but she has been resisting the urge up until this point and it has been killing her. literally. to go without harming anyone, she does not sleep except for short rests. never enough to get any true sleep. she stops eating because everything tastes like metal, and she self-mutilates near the end to try and stop herself from hurting others. It is better to die by her own doing than to kill anyone else.

the slayer the creature that is her murderous form is one she refuses to use. the demon rages within as she denies herself to satisfy the urge. she has felt herself change into it, woke to find herself in that form among a field of murdered corpses. it was gore and nothing but death. but it made her father proud.

on the note of the slayer, colette will lose herself to the creature should she resist too long. a prominent sign that she hasn't fed into her urges or at least killed enough of their enemies or had enough carnal pleasures to satiate the urge are as follows: agitation, insomnia, hallucinations, disorientation, increased sensitivity to pain, tremors, nose bleeds, self-mutilation to try and quell the desire to see blood spill.

the MOST OBVIOUS sign that she is about to lose herself and that it's too almost too late to get to safety is that her eyes turn completely black. her pupils will begin to blow, expanding until her iris is completely gone. the darkness then bleeds into the sclera until her whole eye is consumed with ichor. at that point, touching her for any reason other than restraining her causes her lash out. it is stimuli that sets her off. whether it is due to the slayer taking over, or out of fear that she'll be mutilated again like she was for nearly a tenday, touch is best to be avoided in this state unless for the reasons above.

having lost herself in the past with a certain ex-lover, the only way to stop the slayer was the command spell that was enchanted within his glove. unless someone else was around that knew the spell, unless she was stopped before turning and restrained properly, the demon broke free. calm emotions is not a strong enough spell to stop her, and sleep spells weren't strong enough to hold the demon from taking control of her mortal form.

how to quell the thirst killing and physical satisfaction are the only ways she's been able to quell the beast within. maintaining deniability for her friends is the most important thing. if there is a mission where a public figure needs to die, colette is the only one who enters the building. but she doesn't kill innocents. only those that deserve it or have it coming. otherwise, the pleasures of the body are the only other things that satisfy that crave for lust.

[narutomaki]

i want. bad things

[beef-bakery]

When Robin Met Rabies

Rating: Robin Buckley x f!Reader - 3.4k words - SFW

Synopsis: Maybe Robin is a bit in over her head when you end up with a raccoon bite

Warnings: rabies, animal bite description, slight arguing, cursing, cleaning of wounds, fluff, cuddling, kisses, banter, no pronouns used for reader but is referred to as a girlfriend

You really hadn't planned for this to happen.

Robin’s shrieks in your ear interrupted your thoughts.

“Will you please just calm down?” You winced. “You're about to blow my eardrums off.”

You really hadn’t planned to get bitten, but who does? You doubted there was anyone in the world who would waltz into the woods holding out a peanut butter coated limb for a hungry and also feral racoon to chomp on - actually, thinking twice about it, you thought that Steve might be just stupid enough to do that. Only if a pretty girl asked him to, of course.

“How can I calm down?” Robin’s voice was breathless as she hiked your arm higher over her neck. She never had been the most athletic. “You might have rabies!”

You rolled your eyes. “I most certainly do not.”

“You don’t know that! We have no idea where that racoon has been.”

“Yeah, but it wasn't foaming at the mouth or anything. Trust me, I’m fine.” You yelped as Robin suddenly stopped and swept you up in a bucket lift, her hands under the back of your knees and around your waist. Hold on, maybe having rabies wasn't so bad. “You're totally overreacting.”

“Frothing at the mouth isn't the only symptom of rabies in racoons,” Robin argued.

“Well please, Encyclopedia Robin, enlighten me.” You shifted in her arms, crossing your own and glaring up at her.

“Well, self mutilation is one, and as far as I could see, that racoon had a decent amount of lacerations-”

“Lacerations? What are you? Some sort of secret surgeon?” You squinted up at her, tweaking her nose.

“Hey, don't do that,” Robin chided, stopping to look down at you before adjusting your position, pulling you higher up to get a better grip. “I don't want rabies.”

“I thought you could only get rabies through a bite,” you said mischievously, a grin slowly growing across your face.

“Don't give me that look.” Robin said, fixing a serious stare onto you. A silly thing, really. Seriousness didn't suit Robin. “I will drop you.”

“No, you won't.”

“I promise, I will.” Making direct eye contact with your girlfriend, you slowly opened your mouth, inching closer to her left shoulder, which was exposed due to the tank top she wore. “Oh, no you don't.”

Before you could blink, Robin had dropped you straight on your ass. “Ow!” You moaned in pain, dropping back on the forest floor.

From where you’d been dropped, you could see that Robin had bolted out of your range. A smart move, as you weren't known to be merciful when taking revenge. However, it seemed that your yelp of pain had brought Robin back, because she was creeping slowly into your line of sight. You quickly closed your eyes, resisting the urge to stick your tongue out to play dead.

As you heard a twig snap, you cracked an eye open to observe Robin tentatively approaching. She said your name once, a nervous lilt in her voice. You groaned again, closing your eye. You heard her kneel down and seized the opportunity, grabbing ahold of her shoulders.

“Gotcha!” you yelled, leaning in close to bite her neck before deciding against it and pressing a kiss against her pressure point.

“Don't scare me like that.” Robin pushed you off, gentler this time.

You stuck your bottom lip out, pouting and giving her puppy dog eyes. You couldn't keep up the facade, cackling once she gave you her serious face again.

“Ah come on, don't be like that.” You pushed yourself up so that you were resting on your palms. “I was just joking.”

“Rabies isn't a joke,” she chided, standing up and offering you a hand. You grabbed onto it, finally on your feet then on nothing at all as Robin hefted you onto her back. “The whole point of me exerting myself-”

“Exerting?” you asked, incredulous. It was out of character for Robin to use such large words, but you supposed that since she was playing doctor, she’d want to fully get into character.

“Yes, exerting,” Robin continued, slightly annoyed. “The whole point was so that you would have to use up less energy. You need to preserve it so that your body can heal.”

“Aww, that's so sweet,” you cooed. “Only, I don't have rabies.” You slipped out of her grip and back onto the forest floor, giving her a hard look. “You worry too much.” You nudged her with your shoulder before continuing your trek back to the car.

“Well, excuse me for not wanting my lovely girlfriend to be subjected to a terrible, terrible disease.” Robin jogged to catch up with you.

“Come on,” you rolled your eyes. “It can't be that bad.”

“Oh, really?” Robin raised an eyebrow at you, as if asking you to test her once more. “The mortality rate for humans who contract rabies is 99 percent.”

“Jesus! Where’d all this knowledge come from?” You squinted at her. “If you put this much energy into studying, you’d have straight A’s.”

“Who cares about straight A’s? Good grades can't save you from rabies!” You rolled your eyes as Robin continued. “And as I was saying, it’s painful! You can get muscle spasms, seizures, hallucinations. You name it, it’s probably a symptom of rabies.”

“And yet I haven't experienced any of them.” You argued, beginning to tire of this conversation.

The two of you neared the car and you gave your girlfriend the stink eye as she reached for the driver’s seat door handle at the same time you did.

“I'm driving,” you said.

“No, you’re not.” Robin shot back.

“And why not?” you asked, removing your hand. You knew that Robin couldn't possibly get into the car when the door was locked, and only you had the keys.

“You could have rabies!”

“But I don't!”

“You don't know that!”

“Neither do you!”

This was getting ridiculous. The two of you almost never fought. Bantered, sure, but you had never actually argued, and you sure as hell weren't planning on starting now.

“Robin,” you sighed out, leaning against the car. “Just let me drive.” Robin opened her mouth to speak but you cut her off. “You don't even have your license, and who’s going to drive you home? You can't take my car back to your house.”

“Then I'll just stay with you.” Robin offered. “At least until I know you’re okay.”

You let out a groan. “And just how long does it take for rabies symptoms to appear?”

“Well, it depends. It can take a few days. Or weeks. Or months.”

You threw your arms up in the air in frustration. “Well then, what does it matter?”

“Because it’s deadly!”

“Surely there's someone out there who’s survived it!”

“Last time I checked, the mortality rate was 99%.” Robin reiterated.

“Guess I’ll die, then.” You rolled your eyes and unlocked the car, sitting down. You reached for the door handle and found Robin’s hand resting atop yours. You looked up at her with a haughty look, expecting her to be in full rabies-informant mode, but found only the look of a concerned girlfriend. “Okay, fine.” You relented. “I'll come to you if I experience any symptoms.”

Robin perked up, releasing your hand and shutting the door herself, then opening the passenger door and settling in. “You know,” she said almost timidly, “It’s best to treat rabies before symptoms. After symptoms show, you have about one to two weeks before you die.” You gave her a look, to which she held her arms up defensively. “I’m just sayin’!”

The rest of the ride back to Robin’s house was relatively peaceful. There was no more talk of rabies, and you found yourself once again enjoying your girlfriend’s presence. It was only when you pulled up to her house that Robin cleared her throat ominously.

“Would you like to come inside?” Robin’s question could be perceived as innocent only through its words, for her strained voice showed her true intent.

You side eyed your girlfriend. “Any particular reason for wanting me to come in?”

“Well I just thought it would be nice, y’know? I could make dinner-”

“We both know you can't cook,” you pointed out, folding your arms.

“Okay, then you can cook and we could watch a movie or something…” Robin trailed off, clearly out of ideas. You sighed, rubbing your eyes.

“Look, babe,” you said, “I know you’re worried about me and rabies, but I’m probably fine. I'll call you if anything happens.”

“I just-” You silenced Robin with a single look, her mouth shutting guiltily. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I'm just worried about you.”

You gave her a soft smile, leaning your head against the headrest. “Hey.” You reached over into Robin’s lap to take her hand. “I understand. It’s just that it's been a long day, and I'm sick of all this rabies talk.”

“Okay,” Robin smiled. “I'll see you later.” She leaned over and your eyes fluttered closed in anticipation of a kiss, but you were surprised when her lips met your cheek instead of your lips.

“Sorry,” Robin said guiltily when you gave her a concerned look. “It’s just that rabies transfers through spit.”

You laughed loudly, pulling Robin’s hand to your mouth before pressing a soft kiss against the back of it.

“I love you. Be safe,” you called after your girlfriend. She gave you a thumbs up before blowing you a kiss, her grin brighter than the sun.

You leaned back in your seat, admiring your girlfriend while you waited for her to get inside.

---

The rest of your evening was normal: catching up on homework and having dinner before washing up for bed. It was only when you were in the shower did you start to worry.

The bite hadn't gone away. Instead it’d become somewhat inflamed, the puncture wounds tunneling deeper into the skin than you had thought was possible.

You bit your lip before scrubbing at it furiously. Fuck, shit, fuck. If you were to die from something, like hell would it be rabies, of all things.

You finished your shower, trying to ignore the throbbing bite on your forearm. It hadn't been throbbing before, had it? Maybe it was a placebo effect of sorts, your brain tricking you. It had to be some sort of result of human evolution, like survival of the fittest. Only the most paranoid humans could survive. There's no way you could have rabies, right? Right?

As the night grew deeper, you found that you couldn't ignore the gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach. You had bandaged the bite, but it most likely wasn't doing much. Bandaging was to prevent infection, and if you did have rabies, you would be countering your body’s natural response by forcing the infection to stay inside. With that thought you ripped off the bandage, wincing as you did.

You tried to sleep, but you found that you couldn't. Finally accepting that you weren't going to get a wink, you sat up in bed, turning on your light and checking the time. It was two am.

Was it too late to call Robin?

Throwing caution to the wind, you threw your legs over the side of the bed, got up and threw a coat over your pajamas. You grabbed your car keys and headed outside, starting the car to get to Robin’s house.

---

Plink. Plink. Plink.

The pebbles you threw at Robin’s window made such a noise, you worried that you’d wake her neighbors up.

“How can someone be this heavy of a sleeper?” you muttered to yourself after throwing an especially large stone, the click echoing through her cul-de-sac.

You saw her curtains move, and a yawning Robin appeared at her window. You waved, dropping the next pebble you had posed to throw.

Robin’s brow furrowed as she opened her window, leaning out ever so slightly and calling out to you. “What are you doing?”

“Uh, I missed you?” You really hadn't thought this far ahead. Up until now, your anxiety had been controlling you, dictating your moves and forcing you to drive to your girlfriend’s house.

Robin leaned back inside her room to check the time. “At two in the morning?” She rubbed her eyes. “What’s this really about?”

“Let me in and I'll tell you,” you called up.

Robin nodded, stifling a yawn and closing the window. It only took her a couple minutes, opening her front door to reveal her own pajama-clad self.

You rushed in, nearly knocking her over with the force you exerted.

“Whoa there Cinderella, the clock struck midnight hours ago.” Robin leaned against the now-closed door.

You gave her the stink eye. “Someone seems to be in a better mood.”

“That's what happens when you give someone time to wake up,” Robin said, before muttering under her breath. “But notmuch.”

“I'm sorry, did you say something?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing, my love,” she said in a falsetto voice. “Now, what is it my dearest desires?” Robin fake bowed, taking your hand and giving it a loud smooch.

“Stop that.” You wiped your hand on her. “That’s disgusting.”

“If you say so. Now do tell, what brings you to my humble abode at such a late hour?” Her eyes widened as her mouth dropped open. “Would it be? You wish to besmirch me?” Robin stifled a fake sob. “I shouldn't! But it is you, is it not? How can I hold myself back? Oh, what will my father think?”

You nudged Robin rather harshly. “Hey, come on.”

“Okay, okay,” Robin held up her hands to show that she was defenseless. “Now really, why did you come over?”

You averted your eyes, instead looking at the floor, made of beautiful dark cherry hardwood planks. You scuffed your shoe, procrastinating telling your girlfriend the real reason you came over.

“Hey, shoes off,” Robin said, pointing to your feet. “I don't want to have to clean up a mess you could've prevented.”

“Right,” you said, happy to busy yourself. You slipped your shoes off as slowly as possible, delaying the inevitable. After a few moments of standing awkwardly, Robin gestured for you to start speaking. “Well… I was kinda… worriedimighthaverabies.”

“What?”

“I was kinda worried I might have rabies,” you muttered, your cheeks beginning to warm.

“What?” You couldn't tell if Robin was torturing you by making you repeat yourself, or if you were actually too quiet.

“I was worried I might have rabies!” you nearly shouted.

Robin flinched back, rubbing her ears. “Jesus, you could wake the whole town with those lungs.”

You huffed out, “Well, maybe everyone would still be asleep if someone could actually hear!”

Robin grinned at you. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Shut up.” You hit Robin’s shoulder with your own as you headed for the stairs. “Coming with?”

Robin rolled her eyes. “It's my house, dumbass. Of course I'm coming.”

And that's how the two of you ended up in Robin’s bathroom, you perched on top of the toilet lid, Robin on the rim of the bathtub, the two of you surrounded by various medical appliances.

Robin held up the instructions included in her first aid kit, tilting her head to the side. “There's nothing in here about treating rabies,” she murmured. You felt your heart sink, but your girlfriend grinned up at you. “Thankfully, you have a master rabies informant sitting in front of you, so don’t worry about a thing.”

“Alright, Big Words Buckley, what should we do?”

Robin held her hand out expectantly, and you gave her your forearm.

“Did you put a bandage on it?” Robin squinted at your arm.

“Yeah…” You rubbed the back of your head with your free hand.

Robin tutted, running her finger across the leftover residue the bandage left. “You should’ve let it air out.”

“I know, that's why I took it off.”

“Smart.” You looked up to snap back at your girlfriend, but you found there was no sarcasm in her voice. You reddened ever so slightly.

“Did you disinfect it?”

You shook your head. “I washed it with antibacterial soap and body wash, but nothing more than that.”

“We can rinse it with alcohol.” You raised your eyebrows at that, prompting Robin to roll her eyes. “Not that kind of alcohol, like rubbing alcohol.”

“And here I was, thinking I was going to get blasted tonight.”

Robin released your arm, moving to retrieve the rubbing alcohol from underneath the sink.

“This will probably sting,” she said, going back to her place on the bathtub while soaking a cotton pad with alcohol.

“Won't hurt as bad as the bite,” you joked, but you immediately winced once the alcohol made contact. Sure, your wound wasn't open anymore, but it still managed to get in between the somewhat healed skin.

Your sharp inhale prompted Robin to stop pressing the pad to your arm. She looked up at you with concern, an odd look from your usually playful girlfriend.

“It’s fine,” you managed, forcing yourself to exhale slowly.

“Alright.” Robin pressed the pad back down, wiping your arm down once a suitable amount of time passed.

“Anything else, Doc?” you asked lightly, taking her hand into yours.

“Not anything we can do now,” she said, squeezing your hand before leaning over to throw away the pads. Robin got to her feet without removing her hand from yours, pulling you up in a swift move.

“Well well,” you teased, “you’re a regular prince charming.”

Robin shrugged, pulling you in to press a soft kiss against your lips. “What can I say? I’ve wooed my fair share of maidens.”

Robin released you with a grin to wash her hands in the basin. She only looked up at your reflection in the mirror when you wrapped your arms around her waist, pressing your cheek against her shoulderblades.

“Hello there,” she chuckled softly, turning off the tap.

“Hi,” you smiled.

Robin stood up, twisting to face you before placing her wet hands on your cheeks and kissing you loudly.

You laughed and placed your hands on her chest, pushing her away. “Now look at what you’ve done! I'm all wet!”

“Oh, are you now?” Robin gave you a mischievous grin, snaking her hands beneath your shirt.

“Stop!” You tried to wriggle away from your girlfriend, but that only caused her to pull you closer.

At some point you gave up, allowing her to dry her hands on you.

“That doesn't seem to be the most sanitary option,” you warned as she finally pulled away.

“Why not? You just showered, so there's probably not that much sweat or oils on you.”

“Fair,” you agreed.

Robin cocked her head to the side. “Do you wanna stay overnight?”

You smiled in response. “No, dumbass, I want you to send me out into the cold like a forsaken harlot. Yeah, I wanna stay overnight.”

Robin kissed your cheek and took your hand to lead you to her bedroom, even though you already knew the way.

“Might I offer you our humblest chambers,” Robin batted her eyelashes and gestured to the floor. “We don't offer this rug to just anyone.”

“Oh, shut up,” you pushed past your girlfriend, launching yourself onto her bed, bouncing on top of her bed as you landed.

“Make yourself at home, why dontcha?” Robin muttered, but there was a playful spark in her eyes.

Robin made a big show of rearing up and jumping on top of her bed, and by proxy, you.

“Oof.” The air in your lungs whooshed out of you.

“Oh, are you okay?” Robin asked, rolling off of you.

“I'm fine,” you said, rolling onto your side to look at her.

You really could admire her forever. Robin’s mousy brown hair looked almost golden in the moonlight. You held up a hand to bat at her hair.

“Hey,” Robin tucked that strand of hair behind her ear.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” you breathed. Robin’s cheeks tinged pink ever so slightly.

“Don't play with me,” she said, laying down on her back, her eyes to the ceiling.

You propped yourself up, taking her cheek in hand. “I'm serious,” you whispered affectionately. “I'm the luckiest girl in the world.” You leaned in for a kiss, pressing one on her lips, then both her cheeks and nose.

Robin finally laughed, a soft thing, rumbling underneath your forearm. You smiled down at her, finally laying down, your head on her chest, her arms around your waist.

“Goodnight, love,” she whispered.

“Goodnight,” you whispered back, snuggling closer.

[showrunnerihardlyknowher]

Idk about you but that trope where a giant gets angry and accidentally scares a tiny and feels bad abt it afterwards makes me go absolutely feral,,

So, originally, I was planning for this scene to be in a future chapter of This Is Nothing Like The Disney Star Wars Trilogy, but I could never really think of a full story arc around it, even though I still really really really love this idea. In any case, if I happen to brainstorm a better plot and find a way to squeeze this in I might edit it into the main story, otherwise enjoy some classic Giant Catboi and Twink Solider fearplay >:3c

--

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that was!?”

As expected, the little one did not respond to his rhetorical question, though his tone certainly helped snap it out of its previous stupor as it released its death grip on his shirt in favor of squirming as soon as the bedroom door slid shut behind him. His aggravation at the situation was clear as day even without the usual language and cultural barrier that impeded any sort of deeper relationship Edix tried to form with the human. Red ears were still folded back against his curls and his shoulders tense, the stiff posture traveling down to his hands were they gripped the earthling to his chest perhaps just a touch more tightly than usual, not that it prevented it from trying to push and wriggle itself out of his overprotective hold.

Fuck no, he wasn’t ready to let it go yet, not when flecks of blood were still smeared against his knuckles as a result of an impromptu rescue mission. The satisfying snap of cartilage under his fist after one good sucker punch to Talan’s smug face still echoed in his mind, blood gushing from the surely broken nose while the biologist stumbled backwards into the shelves. Edix wondered if he would be reprimanded for that by the directors later, or if Talan would be too proud to report the ass kicking, maybe even taking the lesson to heart to not fuck with his things in the future. And yes, that included trying to vivisect his sweet little pet.

How was I supposed to know the stray belonged to you? He had asked with sarcastic innocence, as if the human in question hadn’t been seen with Edix a thousand times before, and wasn’t drenched in his scent, and didn’t have his ID code printed on the back of its little suit, Maybe if you weren’t such a wuss and actually put it on a shorter leash-

Asshole. He was lucky Edix’s only goal at the moment was to get the little one off the table and back to the appropriate sector rather than rip Talan to shreds with his own tools. A taste of his own medicine, perhaps. Still, he admittedly did have a point about the human, what with how much it would run off and get lost and damn near killed. He simply couldn’t figure out what was so terrible about staying in his company that the little one would risk injury and mutilation in a foreign environment as opposed to the safety and comfort he so desperately tried to provide for it. They might have had a bit of a rocky start, sure, but stars above that was far in the past now. There’s nothing either of them can do to change the facts so why not accept things as they are and make some type of effort to be happy in this new life? By all accounts, Edix was a great owner!

And yet, the little one still fought him every step of the way. Even now, having just saved it from a fate of having its tiny organs sliced while it was wide awake, it made it known it did not want to be near him anymore. It might have been clinging to him the entire walk back to the bedroom, but it must have remembered it was supposed to be oblivious to the notion of genuine love and safety because now it started to stutter out little squeaks on top of struggling. Normally, Edix adored any and all of the sounds it made, especially when it was directly trying to talk to him which only served to give him the mental image of a pup mindlessly babbling before they managed their first few words. This time, however, it only worsened his irritation.

“Stop.” He ordered, which the human somewhat complied with, though it probably had more to do with his harsher tone and the fact that he was already lowering his hand towards the bed to set it down. As soon as it was free of his hold, it scrambled back, looking at him with those wide brown eyes that were full of so much fear it made him sick. Why did it have to be so afraid of him? What could he have possibly done that even now, almost a cycle later, it was still overtly wary of his intentions. All he ever did was care for it. Feed it, pet it, cuddle it, protect it, and still nothing was good enough!

With a tired sigh, he rubbed his hand down his face and resisted the urge to tug at his hair. “I just don’t understand,” he pleaded, begging some cosmic being out there to suddenly grant the little one the power to understand what he was saying, “what can I possibly do to prove to you that I’m not going to hurt you? I’m trying to keep you alive and it’s like...I don’t know, you resent me for that or something!”

The sweet thing looked more confused at his words than anything, but he could tell his body language and voice were making it uneasy. The human was used to soft words and purrs and slow movements, rarely any agitation in his being. After a beat of silence marked by an intense stare down, Edix gave up on hoping the earthling would miraculously explain itself and open up to sharing its thoughts on the matter. He reached for it and it instinctively back up, flinching when a growl rumbled in his throat in response.

“Stop running,” it was a fruitless endeavor, but like hell if he wouldn’t stop trying. That was how new pups learned how to understand a language anyways, wasn’t it? To repeat certain words over and over until they got the idea? Maybe that’s all he needed to do here, maybe by now it already knew the Venandi words for no, stop, be good, and so on. He reached for it again and it did the same thing as last time, always sure to stay just out of the most convenient reach. Not that it mattered how much it inched away seeing how it was trapped on the bed with Edix directly in front of it, but it was the principal of the matter.

And it was then that something inside him snapped. Something primal as a result of dealing with an unruly pup far too long for his nerves to handle at this moment. He wasn’t even aware of his actions, belatedly realizing how he pounced on the bed in a flash, the human scrambling to get away but only having enough time to turn around before being roughly pinned on its stomach against the mattress. His teeth were bared and pressed tightly against its back, fangs scraping against the layers of its clothes to no doubt bruise the tender flesh underneath, though thankfully they didn’t break the skin. A loud growl reverberated though its entire body, shaking it to its core.

“Enough.” He hissed against its back, keeping his teeth pressed into its skinny frame for a moment longer before pulling away. The second he did, his glare softened, all the anger he felt gone in an instant as soon as he saw the sight underneath him.

The poor thing was absolutely petrified.

It was probably the worst it’s ever been scared, arguably. Not even the first time they met, when it had so gracefully tumbled down that hill and landed face first in front of him, compared to the level of fear that radiated off it. A split-second thought had Edix wondering if he had legitimately scared it to death. Soon enough, though, he was able to pick up the minute tremors that shook through it, almost like an aftershock of the warning that it felt more than heard. It was pale, baby face devoid of color not unlike that time before when it had been sick with fever. But its eyes...those sweet little doe eyes he loved so much were wide and wet with a sheen of tears that refused to fall, locked in a blank stare straight ahead towards the wall and refusing to look at him.

A small, choked hiccup made its body twitch every couple of breaths, but it refused to open its mouth to allow any of these sniffles to turn into cries. Shit, it refused to move at all, too terrified of Edix’s threat display that if it did anything he didn’t like there would be dire consequences to pay. He supposed it worked exactly as intended, in that case. It was still, it was quiet, it was technically obeying him after he just forced it to behave via alternative punishment. That didn’t change the fact that he felt absolutely, terribly, extremely awful about what he just did.

It was just a pup, as he always said, regardless of what Ylva would tell him about human adolescence and such. It didn’t know any better, it had never been raised in these situations before and needed much longer than a measly cycle to unlearn all of its prey behaviors it needed to survive on its home planet. Besides, it wasn’t that it didn’t fully know that it was perfectly safe with Edix, it was smart enough to know he was at the very least the safest option when presented with any other Venandi. Edix had been upset, and it knew he was upset, so of course it would want to avoid a potentially hostile predator before-

--before it snatched the little one in its teeth.

Fuck, fuck, he was an idiot. Maybe he wasn’t as cut out for this as he thought, not like Ylva who was the very essence of motherhood. No. Now wasn’t the time for self doubts and pity, not when the human was in such a state. Slowly, hands cupped around its shaking form, mindful to make sure his fingers were in its view so it wouldn’t be any more startled when he lifted it up, not that he was completely sure it was actually seeing anything in front of it. The little one hardly reacted to the movement, laying limp when he pressed it against his chest and moved to sit up against the headboard of the bed in a similar fashion to what he had done the first night the poor thing was on the ship.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s okay,” he whispered to it, rubbing his thumb along the curve of its back just how it liked whenever it dozed, “you’re okay, we’re fine, it’s okay to cry. I’m sorry I scared you, I’m so sorry.”

Normally in these types of instances, he’d be purring and shushing the little sweetheart until he was able to get it down for a nap, but he had little confidence that any other types of chest vibrations would have its usual effect of making the human drowsy currently. When it finally started blinking again, the tears that had welled up ran freely down its cheeks, quickly biting down on its wobbling lip to prevent any sobs from escaping and get it in trouble for misbehaving. He softly clicked his tongue at it and cooed, anything to put it at ease with a softer demeanor. “I know, honey, I know. I won’t ever do that again, I promise."

Well, if nothing else, at least the little one’s apprehension of him wasn’t unfounded anymore, much to his dismay.