#and now its broken off of its hinges and Dad

[hollowporcelain]

well im glad i woke up when i did... that woukdve been a rathed rude awakening otherwise.

[tenjikyu]

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 - 𝘧𝘢𝘺𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘣𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ what happens when chifuyu is forced to break it off with you ?

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ gn!reader , angst to fluff , forced breakup , lots of crying , vv sad chifuyu :( , kinda short sos .

chifuyu seriously had no idea what he was doing.

the look on your face was an expression he vowed to never have you make at the beginning of your relationship.

“i’m sorry (Y/N), but we should really stop seeing eachother. i’m not happy with you and i want to end it.” he spits out, almost choking on his own words. it felt as though something was blocking his airways, punishing him for breaking your heart.

“okay…” your voice speaks out, tears of your own flooding your cheeks.

as you slowly walked away from your beloved boyfriend, you couldn’t help but wonder. where did you go wrong? he didn’t seem unhappy 3 days ago when you two went to the arcade with hanagaki and tachibana, did he? when did this begin?

your only bodily response was more tears that were protruding down your face, nose crimson red and eyes slowly puffing up. you walk away slowly, assuming he no longer wanted to be around you.

“godamnit” chifuyu gets out before his own tears flood down his cheeks.

only a few hours earlier, your father had sat down with your boyfriend, unbeknownst to you.

“i don’t want you dating my child and i think i’ve made that very clear.” your father almost spits in disgust at your appalled boyfriend. break up?? with you?? no fuckin way??

“you’re a good for nothing delinquent who does nothing but heat up other boys. the only times i’ve even seen you, you’re beat up and injured! how long before you get (Y/N) involved in your violence, or even worse, lay a hand on my child.”

“ I WOULDN’T DARE RAISE MY HAND TO (Y/N).” the blonde screeched, overwhelmed and stressed. why now? why did he have to do this right before such a big holiday? did he want to ruin your christmas??

chifuyu knows you splurge about him to your family, that’s how your father knows so much about him, including what he gets up to when the sun goes down. but you never spoke ill of him, so why is your dad getting so defensive?

he’s proven on multiple occasions he’s a total gentleman to you! and he gets the same treatment back from you! you open doors for each other, make food for one another, come racing over when one of you is sick e.t.c. why do this now?

but..

in the back of chifuyu mind, he starts to wonder.

what would happen if you got dragged into this? what if someone uses you as a way to get information?

it’s obvious to anyone that chifuyu is a loyal man, and his loyalties lies with keisuke baji, takemichi hanagaki and you. there’s no chance he wouldn’t give away valuable info to keep you protected, anyone in toman could see just how dedicated he is to keeping you safe.

this thought runs through his head as he breaks up with you, just 2 days before christmas. before his christmas battle.

the next two days were a shitfest. you father didn’t take into account how this would affect you. you had locked yourself in your bedroom, sobbing to the polaroid photos of you and you beloved boyfriend that you took together everyday.

of course, you’re mother does everything to comfort you after hearing what had happened, however you were inconsolable.

“mom, this is the boy i thought i was going to marry, you don’t just get over that.” you sigh. no amount of hugs could help you.

“in my opinion he was only a setback. you should be greatful he’s gone.” your father speaks up.

. .

. . . .

wait…

you practically yanked the door off its hinges, startling you mother who was sat on your bed in another fruitless attempt to console you. you had only just heard what your father said to himself, and in that moment you knew why chifuyu had broken up with you.

“IT WAS YOU! YOU TOLD CHIFUYU TO BREAK UP WITH ME, DIDN’T YOU”. you bawled to your father, his face in total astonishment that you had spoken to him in such a manner, especially on christmas night.

“YOU DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT HIM, DO YOU DAD?? I SING HIS PRAISES EVERYDAY BUT ALL YOU TAKE HIM FOR IS A STUPID DELINQUENT! MAYBE IF YOU GOT TO KNOW HIM MORE, YOU’D SEE HE CARES ABOUT ME MORE THEN ANYTHING!” you scream towards your stunned father, guilt piling up in his stomach.

knowing what you had to do, you chucked a coat over your pijamas, your family yelling at you to come back inside.

you didn’t care, you had to get to your boyfriend.

though you didn’t make it very far, as chifuyu was stood right outside your house with tears welling in his eyes. he was battered beyond belief, uniform thrashed and body more blood then skin. he had a serious injury on his ankle and his bike was parked next to him.

“chifuyu..” you mumble out, running towards him, your arms opening wide.

“(Y/N)-” he couldn’t finish his sentence as you crashed into his embrace, one of your arms caress waist, with the other embracing his beaten cheek.

he held onto your shoulders, huddling into your warmth. he could only pray to the gods above that you’d forgive him.

“i’m so sorry (Y/N), please… i can’t do anything without you by my side. the entire fight i felt sick to my stomach, but not because i had been struck multiple times in it. it was because i couldn’t bare the thought of not being with you on christmas day. your tears were sewn into my memory, and i just couldn’t handle it.” he chokes out, huddling closer to you in a seek of comfort.

“it’s okay chifuyu, i forgive you.” you coo, his face was beaten to shit, but chifuyu could never not be adorable to you.

you were just happy to have your boyfriend in your arms once more.

in the distance, giggling can be heard from your mother as your father watches the interaction.

“i don’t know why you even tried breaking them up, don’t you see how whipped (Y/N) is for the kid? they do everything together. chifuyu has stayed over multiple times and had dinner with us so much i’m surprised he hasn’t pre-proposed.” she laughs.

“i guess i’ll take that hit. in my defense though, that kid only seems to come over when i’m not around!” your father complains, however your mother just holds his face.

“well, after these past few days i wouldn’t blame him if he avoids you all together.”

[smilesrobotlover]

Whumptober day 19- abandoned cabin

Yayyy. I had fun writing this one. The dads all share one braincell

Warning for some spooky things ;)

~~~~~

“Guys!”

The group of men looked up to see Benji standing on a rock, pointing into the trees. Leon walked up to him, climbing onto the boulder to see what he was seeing.

“What is it?” He asked, and Benji papped his shoulder.

“There’s a cabin!” He simply explained, and he hopped off to jog to it, leaving Leon flustered and annoyed.

“Wait—don’t run off!” The first knight yelled, but he kept running, leaving the men to chase after him. Despite their exhausted bodies, they jogged to the cabin, excited to hopefully find a place to rest for a long while. They had been traveling and camping out in the woods, trying to run and hide from the puppeteer, who was no doubt chasing them. It put strain on their bodies, and it didn’t help Rusl who was still recovering, so finding a place with shelter gave the men hope that they’d be able to relax, at least for a couple of days. Which was most likely what was going to happen, since when the rest finally spotted the cabin, it was completely covered and hidden in the trees. Even if they were being hunted down, it wasn’t likely that the puppeteer would find them easily. Which made them wonder…

“Benji, how in Din’s name did you spot this?” Ammon asked when they reached the mysterious cabin. “It’s completely hidden!”

“I guess I was able to see it in between the trees,” he muttered, staring at the door broken off its hinges. The relief the men had was gone as they stared at the tattered cabin. It was clearly abandoned, with the windows filthy and broken, the plants and trees overgrown against it, and the door squeaking in the wind as it threatened to fall any second. They were silent, everyone clearly feeling a sense of dread as they stared, but Benji was the first one to step up.

“Well, no one’s here. Let’s see what they have,” he suggested, but Leon seemed hesitant, his brows furrowed.

“This doesn’t seem very safe,” he muttered, his arms crossed.

“Oh come on, let’s just see if it’s liveable,” Benji pushed, walking up the creaking steps. Leon remained hesitant, so Ammon decided to follow, with Talon and Linebeck following. One step broke as Linebeck put his foot on it, and he let out a string of curses as he pulled it out, with Talon holding him steady.

“Ok, I’m thinking that this’ll end up killing us,” Linebeck grumbled, carefully walking through the door.

“You know what else could kill us? A bear,” Benji, responded, looking up at the broken place. The inside was dusty but surprisingly empty—only a few pieces of furniture could be seen in each room. It was eerily silent, making the men’s hair stand on end, until Ammon let out a shriek and jumped up against a wall. The men jumped as well, staring at Ammon in shock.

“What is it? Are you ok?” Talon asked, and Ammon let out a shiver.

“I-I felt something crawl on me. Do you see anything?”

The men stared, with Linebeck looking the man over.

“There’s nothing on you. Whatever it was, it’s gone now.”

“Maybe it was a skulltula,” Benji teased, and Ammon glared at him.

“Not. Funny.”

A thump was suddenly heard above them, and the men grew silent again.

“What the heck was that,” Linebeck whispered.

“I dunno, let’s check it out,” Benji said, and jogged to the stairs.

“Benji!” Ammon called out to him, but he was already skipping the steps, leaving the three men to follow him. When they reached the upstairs, they found it completely empty; not even furniture rested up there.

“What was that thump sound we heard?” Ammon asked, looking into every room. “There’s nothing up here that could’ve caused that!”

“Maybe it was a ghost,” Benji suggested, moving his fingers to imitate one. Linebeck scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Oh please. It couldn’t have been a ghost. R-right? There’s no ghosts here right?”

“It’s fine guys,” Talon finally spoke up, looking unamused. “Ghosts ain’t real, I’m sure we were just hearin’ things.”

“What, you don’t believe in ghosts?” Benji asked, a teasing smile on his face.

“No. Ghosts are impossible, and I’ve never seen one. So they ain’t real.”

The three looked at each other, and Linebeck shrugged.

“Ghosts are…. Kind of real,” he muttered, and Talon let out a sigh.

“Look, I’m gonna be honest with y’all. I’m tired of staying out in the woods. The front steps are sketchy, but the rest of the place seems sturdy. I think we should stay here and finally get some rest for a couple of days, ok?”

The men glanced at each other and accepted, all wanting to find rest as well.

“Ok, fine,” Benji said, “but if you get possessed, I ain’t helpin’.”

Talon rolled his eyes and moved towards the stairs. “Whatever.”

The group reached those that were waiting, and Benji waved for them to join them.

“Come on! Talon says it’s ok!”

Talon gave Benji a weird look before carefully walking down the stairs towards Rusl.

“It’s sturdy enough and well hidden. Should be a good place to stay for a few days don’tcha think?”

Leon shrugged, nodding his head. “Alright. If Talon says it’s fine then I say it’s fine.”

“Yeah, I’d do anything Talon says,” Benji said, a grin on his face.

“I’d jump off a bridge if Talon told me to,” Ammon joked, and Talon put his hands on his hips.

“Now where the heck is this all comin’ from?”

The men all laughed and Rusl wobbled over to Talon, resting his weight against him.

“I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, Tal’. But I probably wouldn’t jump off a bridge. Already kinda did that and I didn’t like it.”

The men grew silent and Rusl glanced around.

“Still too soon?”

“Yes.”

The men all gathered their belongings and carefully walked up the steps, avoiding where Linebeck fell through. Kass, Rusl, and Leon all stared at the inside in shock, remaining silent as they observed the place.

“Well this is certainly creepy,” Rusl muttered, and Ammon suddenly slapped his arm with his prosthetic hand, a frantic look in his eyes.

“Something crawled on me again!” He yelled, searching the floor. Leon and Kass both looked at Benji, who only shrugged.

“I think Ammon’s losing his mind.”

“I am not! There’s something wrong with this place, I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s haunted,” Benji continued, giving Linebeck a grin. The sailor only scoffed, but he moved closer to Leon as they all stepped further into the cabin. It grew silent once again, with each men’s breathing being the only thing they heard. Until Leon jumped back, shoving Linebeck away from him.

“Will you get off of me!” He shouted, brushing his arm off. “Do you realize how hard it is to walk when you’re hanging off of me?”

Linebeck scoffed and crossed his arms, looking up at the ceiling. “I was only hanging on so you wouldn’t like… fall through the floor. Obviously.”

Leon raised a brow as Benji walked up to them, a grin on his face.

“Linebeck’s just scared ‘cause this place is haunted, oooooh.”

The men all groaned at his teasing, telling him to either “knock it off” or saying “it’s not haunted.” Leon shook his head and continued to the stairs, observing the way they twisted to the second floor.

“What’s up here?”

“Nothin’ much, except for a ghost that tripped,” Benji explained, and Leon rolled his eyes.

“Enough with that Benji. This place isn’t haunted.”

“You sure? ‘Cause a thump was heard upstairs but there’s literally nothing, not even furniture! And twice Ammon has felt something crawling on him. Seems pretty paranormal to me, yeah?”

“You’re just imagining things,” Leon said, walking past him and closer to the front door. “Now I agree with Talon. This place is good enough for us to stay, so we’ll stay here. And it’s not haunted. Ok? There are no ghosts or spirits or anything ghoulish coming to harm u—“

The front door suddenly slammed shut, cutting Leon off. He slowly turned to the group, his skin a few shades paler than before, and he swallowed.

“O-ok—“ he whimpered, his deep voice a few octaves higher. Benji barked out a laugh and some of the other men snickered and Leon’s face turned red, a glare on his face as he crossed his arms. “Shut it! I just w-wasn’t expecting that!”

“Is Sir Leon afraid of ghosts?” Rusl teased.

“No! I’m not afraid of ghosts, that’s ridiculous! Goddesses!”

Benji laughed and slapped Leon’s back, leaning against him. “Oh yeah, you’re not scared! You just nearly pissed yourself when that door slammed!”

“Y-you are a disgusting man! Get off!” Leon shoved Benji off of him and he landed in Talon’s arms, who looked annoyed.

“Y’all are bein’ ridiculous. It was just the wind or somethin’. That door was gonna slam any second now anyways,” he said, taking Benji off of him.

“Oh, yeah. It was just the wind,” Benji murmured, brushing himself off. He turned to Leon who still looked like he was able to pass out. “What’s the plan then? You still wanna stay?”

Leon sighed and rubbed his head. “Yes, we are going to stay. Talon’s… probably right.

It was just the wind. All this talk about ghosts is just freaking everyone out, so stop talking about it.”

All the men turned to Benji.

“Ok! I’ll stop talking about it,” he grumbled. “It’s just fun to see everyone freak out is all.”

Leon rolled his eyes and shook his head, clearly tired of Benji’s antics. “Right, well as long as we stick together, especially at night, we’ll be fine.”

“Aw, you need someone to tuck you into bed?” Benji mocked, and Leon wordlessly walked up to him, picked him up, and carried him to the stairs, where he hooked his guitar strap to ledge, leaving the man hanging.

“H-HEY!” Benji yelled, wiggling his legs helplessly. “Let me down! I’m sorry, I promise I’ll stop! LET ME DOWN!”

Leon ignored his yellings and went back up to the group, who all looked surprised at the punishment.

“Where should we stay?” He asked, looking at the ones who went in first.

“Um, I say downstairs,” Ammon suggested. “There’s nothing upstairs, but down here there’s at least furniture and supplies.”

Linebeck nodded, his eyes wide as he stared at the ceiling. “I second that.”

“Me too,” Talon said. “Rusl wouldn’t be able to go upstairs anyways.”

Leon nodded, turning to the living room that had couches and blankets neatly folded up in baskets. It was cozy enough—even had a fireplace in case it got cold. He nodded again and turned to the group.

“Well, hopefully we can stay here until Rusl and Kass feel better, yeah?”

The men all nodded, and Leon gestured for them to enter the living room, where they would set up their supplies. Benji only hung there, the men leaving his vision.

“H-hey guys? Don’t leave me hangin’!” He stammered, but the men said nothing, not daring to undo Leon’s punishment. “G-guys? C’mon this isn’t funny! Guys? GUYS?”

The men glanced at Leon who didn’t look worried.

“He just needs to learn a lesson. Leave him be,” he simply said. He patted the couch, coughing as dust floated from the cushions. Talon followed and smacked each cushion, getting all the dust out of it the best he could.

“Alright everyone, better get yourselves comfortable,” he muttered, sitting on the old couch with Rusl joining him. “We’re gonna be here for a while.”

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

and john’s back at it again ALSO one of his lines is FORESHADOWING babdmdkdkfjsn

part thirty-seven

❝ PLAN B ❞

THURSDAY — SEPTEMBER 3 — 12:00 PM

BENTLEY WAS PRETTY SURE HE’D NEVER MET ANYONE, NOT EVEN THE PUPPET MASTER, WHO COULD PULL STRINGS LIKE A WAYNE. Because, less than four hours later (with Bruce’s blessing), Bentley Whittaker and Jason Todd were waiting to get called into the visitation room at Blackgate Penitentiary to see his father.

Bentley hadn’t expected to be so nervous. Maybe he should’ve, since he was going to talk to the man who’d abused him for ten years, kidnapped him, poisoned him, and was now turning people into terrifying monsters whose only soul purpose was to murder his family. Not to mention that he’d just been patted and scanned and checked all over by people who, he was pretty darn positive, were carrying guns. And he was in a prison. Full of, like, murderers and stuff.

Before they’d left the house, he’d been a normal amount of nervous, but now, sitting in the empty prison hallway, he was downright horrified. He and Jason were sitting in uncomfortable metal chairs, staring down at old tile. Bentley’s knee was bouncing at a pace that might rival Nico’s superpowers. Honestly, as dreary as it was, he’d rather be back at the Manor sitting on the same loveseat watching Asten puke his guts out every ten minutes. (Because, yes, that was happening again.)

Bentley heard Jason breathe in and out. “You know, it’s not too late to back out.”

Bentley glanced over at him. They were both a little more presentable now, mirroring one another in varying colored jeans and hoodies. Jason had fixed his hair in its typical upward fashion, putting the white streak on full display. He was looking back at Bentley, a serious look on his face, his greenish-blue eyes gleaming oddly under the fluorescent lights. 

Bentley looked down at his ratty red tennis shoes, at his vigorously bouncing knee. “No.”

He felt Jason’s eyes on him, and could practically feel the smirk on his face when he replied: “You sure? Because you look like you’re trying to pedal a broken bicycle.”

Bentley forced his knee to stop moving. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jason said, patting Bentley’s knee once, quickly. “Just… really think about it. I can’t come in with you, so it’ll just be you, him, and a cop. If you really don’t want to do it, that’s okay.”

Bentley let out a puff of air. “I’m going to do it.”

“Okay,” He saw Jason nod in his peripheral, and after a moment of silence, he leaned in close and continued: “But if anything happens, I’ll blow that door off its hinges before the cops even know what’s happening.”

Bentley cracked a smile at that, and Jason sat back with a triumphant smirk.

Waiting felt like both an eternity and a split second. One minute, he and Jason were sitting alone in the hall, the next, he was being ushered through a big, thick door by a female officer who was relaying ground rules and reinforcing the fact that Bentley only had twenty minutes to talk to his dad.

“You don’t have to stay for all twenty,” Jason interrupted as Bentley was whisked down the hall, which the officer didn’t really appreciate. The woman kept talking but Bentley couldn’t really focus; he was too busy trying to peer into the visitation area. 

The long, barren hallway turned into a long, barren room, lined with plexiglass booths. There were no other people in there. Each booth had a phone and desk on either side, separated in the middle by a wall of glass. There was a sign above every window that said: please don’t scratch the glass!

Bentley steeled when he spotted a mop of red hair that matched his to the tee, sitting behind one of the windows. He breathed in and out. His father couldn’t get to him behind the glass, right? Bentley didn’t see any holes or doors or ways for him to get into the room. The police officer, whose hair Bentley could now see was black, closed the door to the room and went to stand along the wall.

With a final quick glance up to her, Bentley made his way to the rickety spinning stool across from his father. Third booth from the right.

He looked… different. Not so clean cut. His hair was longer — he’d always been so anal about trimming his hair that Bentley was thoroughly shocked at the sight of the shaggy red mop that looked a lot like his own now. He had a little facial hair, too, patchy and strange looking. He was wearing a matching set of gray clothes, not a pressed suit, and when Bentley sat down, his shiny brown eyes bored into the child’s head like an electric drill.

Bentley, when he sat down, moved his feet up to the highest rung on the stool in an attempt to make himself smaller. Cut the head off the snake, right? That’s what he was here to do; stop the operation in its tracks. So… how was he supposed to manipulate the manipulator? (In hindsight, maybe he should’ve thought a little bit more before he decided to go to the prison.)

His father picked up the black wall-phone on his side of the glass and brought it up to his ear. Talking openly about, like, crime and stuff was pretty stupid, though, wasn’t it?

Bentley lifted his hands, finger-spelling: sign.

His father put the phone back.

A moment of silence passed where Bentley’s father just sort of watched him closely; contemplating. His eyes scoured what had to be every inch of his son’s appearance before he lifted his hands and signed: ‘You’ve grown.’

Bentley thought long and hard about how he should respond. He considered saying: Yeah, food helps with that, but decided against it. Instead, he just bobbed his fist yes. This was already way harder than he’d thought. How was he supposed to talk to him? After he’d… you know. After all, his father never really gave up, even in jail.

Bentley kept his gaze trained on his father’s hands like he used to, avoiding eye contact like the plague. He didn’t want to see his face. 

The hands moved. ‘How is school?’

Bentley breathed in and out, fingerspelling: ‘Fine.’ Well, besides having a murdering mad scientist (who moves at his father’s command.) for a teacher, and a bully who thought it would be funny to lock Bentley in the janitor's closet. That and the fact that he was now in the public eye for living with Bruce. He didn’t even want to know what the news reports looked like lately. Bruce Wayne’s newest child, gone without a trace?

John nodded. Another brief moment of staring ensued, before he brought his hands up again. ‘Made any friends?’

Not besides the ones you tried to kill. Bentley blinked a few times, moving his fingers calculatively. ‘Yes. But you already knew that.’

His father’s expression grew curious, in an arrogant sort of way, like he was raising his brows to say oh, really? Bentley only looked at him for a second before his eyes drifted back to the table his father’s elbows were resting on. 

‘I know you’re still talking to Dr. Keene,’ Bentley signed subtly, glancing at the officer behind them, who looked anything but engaged. ‘And I’m sure you know by now that he had us at the facility. Then he didn’t.’

His father said nothing. Typical, and a great way to piss off an already sort of simmering-in-his-own-silent-rage kind of child. 

Bentley kept his hands moving, lest they stop. ‘You’re hurting innocent people just to get back at me? I never did anything to you.’

John lifted his hands, his fingers twitching oddly for a moment before he signed: ‘It wasn’t about you. It was about Bruce.’

Bentley fought the urge to roll his eyes. ‘But-’

‘Bruce is the reason your mother and sister are dead. And then he came along and took you away from me, too,’ His father’s hands were sort of trembling, now, his expression intense and hard. Bentley could feel his eyes but still wouldn’t look right at them.

‘You didn’t even want me. What sense is there in attacking someone who got the kid you never wanted? Now you don’t have to deal with me,’ Bentley signed, looking at his father’s hands, shaking his head subtly. ‘You hate me, and now I’m somebody else’s problem. You should be happy.’

‘I don’t hate you,’ Was his father’s reply. Bentley saw his expression change. ‘I love you.’

The child breathed in through his nose. Not this, not again. Get the conversation back on track — control it. ‘No, you don’t.’

‘You can’t tell me what I do and don’t love; you don’t know,’ His father signed. ‘I love you.’

‘No, you don’t, and I don’t care. That’s not what I’m here to talk about,’ Bentley tried, but his signs went unnoticed. 

‘I do, Bentley. I love you,’

Bentley inhaled sharply, looking down at the table with a few blinks. The last time his father had said that, it was a big fat lie. What had Bentley ever done to deserve all of that? All of this? What did he do not to deserve his father’s love?

Still, he caved for the patented back-and-forth arguing game. ‘You don’t.’

‘You just don’t want to accept the fact that maybe you’re wrong.’ His father signed, lowering his head so it was more in Bentley’s view. ‘You don’t want to accept the fact that I can change. That I can be more than the monster under your bed.’

What if his father could change? Not that Bentley thought he was. He was still a crazy psycho killer. But what if, one day, he wasn’t? What if, one day, he really was more than the monster from Bentley’s past? What if one day he really wanted to love him? 

What if he wanted him back one day?

Bentley tried to push the thoughts out of his mind — he was on a mission. He was the Puppeteer. Right? His father couldn’t really love him. Right?

‘You asked me in the warehouse why I didn’t love you, and I’m telling you now, that I do,’ His father continued to sign, and Bentley’s eyes began to burn. He tried to push it away with everything in him, but something didn’t want to let go of the hope. The hope that maybe his real dad could love him again. ‘I did some awful things to you out of my own pain. Terrible things I would never wish upon any child in this world. I don’t know if I’ll ever do enough good to make up for it, but the one thing I can make damn well sure I do is let you know that I do love you.’

Bentley looked down at the table. It had been almost a year. Could someone change so fast? A year was long enough, wasn’t it?

‘You’re not lying this time?’ He signed in return.

‘No, Bentley. I didn’t see it before, but I see it now — getting you taken away, coming here, spending my time thinking, reflecting… It helped me realize that you were the best thing that ever happened to me. The only thing I really wanted. Needed.’

Bentley shook his head, blinking away the beginnings of tears. Rational thought and logic said he was lying. Hope said something else. ‘I don’t believe you.’

To the child’s surprise, his father smiled. Actually, literally smiled. With teeth and all. Teeth. Bentley’s father never smiled, let alone at him. ‘That’s okay. I’ll just keep saying it. I love you.’

Bentley shook his head, breathing in, swallowing thickly. ‘Stop.’

‘I love you, Bentley. I love you so much,’

‘Stop lying,’ He tried again.

‘I love you,’

‘Stop it,’

‘Look up at me. Please?’

That strange little sliver of hope had Bentley lifting his head on command, his brown eyes meeting the identical ones of his father. His father had tears — actual, honest tears — beginning to glimmer at the bottom of his eyes, a smile playing on his lips.

‘People can change, Bentley. You’re surrounded by them. Damian Wayne went from being a murderer to a superhero. Jason Todd went from rage-killing to a full-time older brother,’ He explained with his hands, smile staying all the while. ‘I can change, Bentley. I want to change. I just need you to have faith in me.’

Bentley stared, dumbfounded, vision slightly obscured by the liquid in his eyes.

‘I,’ His father separated the signs for emphasis with a smile, and an honest to goodness tear went down the man’s face. ‘Love. You.’ 

All that reliable rational thought and logic went out the window, and Bentley brought a hand to his mouth. Of all the things he expected to do while talking to his father, crying was not one of them. But here he was. Crying. (He probably should’ve expected to cry anyways. He was basically a professional at it.)

For a moment, he just rested his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands. So many red flags were waving in his mind, alarm bells sounding, lights flashing, telling him his father was lying, deceiving him, but he couldn’t really bring himself to accept it. He couldn’t. Not when his father had just told him he’d loved him ten times in one conversation. Not when Bentley was so close to feeling what he’d always wanted to feel. His father loving him was different from Dick or Bruce, it was… more. It didn’t feel the same. Different, long overdue, and… really, really, really, really good.

So, there he sat for a solid five minutes at least, his palms buried in his eye sockets in an attempt to keep the tears in. (It didn’t work. When did it ever?) He was biting his tongue to keep silent in fear Jason really would hear him crying through the wall and come break it down. 

Logic told him to stop. To pay attention. To use his Puppeteer mind to see through everything his father was saying. That if he really had changed, if he really loved him, he wouldn’t be doing all of this.

The part of him that wanted so badly to be loved didn’t let him. 

Because what if his dad really did love him?

There was a subtle peck on the glass, and Bentley looked up again, finally letting his (watery, and red.) brown eyes meet his father’s and stay there. He was still smiling, kind of like Bruce always did. 

‘It’s been a year, and you still crumble under the weight of three small words. I thought I taught you better than that.’

Bentley sat up, wiping at his eyes, and glanced around the room warily. His father’s smile fell into nothing — something cold, like Bentley was used to. This wasn’t… he hadn’t… again?

‘You were lying?’

‘I thought you lived with detectives, Bentley,’ He signed, one eyebrow raised in a triumphant manner. He leaned in close to the glass, and Bentley instinctively moved away. ‘Listen, and listen closely, because this is the last thing I’m saying to you.’

Bentley looked down at his shaky hands. That strange feeling came again, the same one he felt at the Manor. He heard water moving through the pipes in the ceiling. He felt his blood pumping.

‘Even if you get Dr. Keene arrested, even if you kill Charlie and release the other children and destroy this entire operation from the ground up, you’re going to lose. If I can’t destroy the Wayne’s alone, I’ll just watch all of Gotham burn instead,’ He signed, a strangely competent look coming across his face like he was having a normal business transaction. ‘We have a plan B that you won’t touch, that you won’t even know about until it’s too late. Think of it as a boss fight in a video game. It’s coming. And you can’t stop it.’

Bentley exhaled a shaky breath, wiping at his eyes.

‘If you find a way to stop this — if you make us change to plan B, all the thousands of lives lost here in Gotham are on your head,’ His father smiled a crooked smile, different from the last. ‘There’s no way for you to win, Bentley. This is the end. It's your choice how many people come out of it.’

Bentley’s hands were shaking when he signed: ‘You’re not going to win.’

His father laughed. Literally laughed, out loud. ‘If you really think so, then keep your eye on the news channels. If you keep your ears open you might hear the warning call before the end comes.’

Bentley looked down at his own lap. 

‘And Bentley…’ His father signed, and the child looked up one last time. ‘Just to clear things up… not a single atom of my very being has ever loved you… and not a single atom ever will.’

That was the moment a part of Bentley… died. Something inside of him shifted. The little boy that wanted his dad to love him so badly faded away to nothing, and left something oddly empty and wrong in its wake. Something like rage, but muffled by something else he couldn’t place right then.

Bentley stood up from the stool, letting out a breath of air. ‘That’s okay. Bruce loves me better than you ever could. Don’t you ever get tired of being second best?’

He didn’t wait for his father’s reply, but turned to leave the room.

“Oh, and Bentley…”

He turned back to his father one last time, who was standing now, with a smile. “When the elements are pitted against one another, fire always wins.”

Bentley said nothing. The officer led him out of the room.

When Bentley made it back into the hallway and Jason noticed his red rimmed eyes, he looked like he was going to kill someone.

“Bentley?” He questioned, standing up when they got close. “What happened?”

“I think they had a heartfelt conversation. I couldn’t really hear it, of course — I didn’t know the boy didn’t talk,” Said the officer, patting Bentley’s shoulder. “He’s all yours. Make sure you check up with security on your way out.”

Jason took Bentley’s shoulder and replied with a: “Yeah…”

The walk out of the prison felt like an eternity. Somehow, Bentley was feeling everything and nothing at all. It felt like everything negative inside of him — rage, sadness, despair, desperation, terror, loneliness, disappointment, frustration, a whole entire life’s worth of guilt — it was like it was all broiling and fighting to get out, but the lid of the pot was closed too tight. Like it was seeping out of crevices and waiting for the day Bentley Whittaker breaks.

“What did he say to you?” Jason practically demanded, his hand staying firmly on Bentley’s left shoulder as they walked through the not-very-crowded parking lot. He had a very deadpan, sort of pissed off look on his face. 

Bentley looked everywhere but at Jason, dutifully shutting down the urges to cry or throw a tantrum or punch something or burn down a house. “I just… can we just go home? Please? I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Did he threaten you?” Jason continued, squeezing Bentley’s shoulder as they split to go on either side of the car. Jason climbed in the driver’s seat, and Bentley hopped into the passenger’s side.

“No,” Bentley replied once they were both in Jason’s car, buckling his seatbelt. Not directly, anyway…

“Why have you been crying?”

Bentley looked down at his lap as the car started up. “Can we just go home?”

Jason didn’t argue.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @flyrobinflyy @skylathescholar @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun @xiaonothere

[lovely-rants-alot]

Ooc: I'm so proud of this

Well, she could already feel her dad's lecture now.

To most people, this was something that only happened in fiction. To Brooklyn, this was a regular Tuesday.

She felt the luke warm water touch her hands as she washed them. The bathroom walls were piss yellow and covered in not so pleasant drawings. What they were spending their tuition on still appeared a mystery.

She turned off the water and went to grab the thinnest paper towel known to man, but she paused , noticing something, or more someone, in the mirror.

She turned around, and there stood her teacher, Lady Mary, but she didn’t look like herself, she looked into need of some moisturiser.

"Lady Mary." She lowered her head for a moment.

Lady Mary stayed silent, her gaze piecing Brooklyn like a knife.

"I'll get back to class." She went to get her backpack but something whizzed pass her head, missing by about a centimetre and landing in the wall.

She gasped slightly, standing still.

"You never learn, do you?" She snarled, her voice sounding deeper than normal. "We always seem to cross paths."

Shit.

Lady Mary, or whatever her actual name was, was Brooklyn's biggest pain in the ass. She seemed hellbent on killing her, for some reason she felt didn't need explaining.

"Look, I just want to get through my day, so if you could-"

"I'm here on a job. Peace isn't an option."

"What do I have you want so badly?" She turned around and faced her. Lady Mary had turned into her usual half lion, half human, part scorpion, all annoying form.

"You and your sister were protected from something, and I need to find what was kept under wraps."

"You better not touch my sister." She growled.

Lady Mary smiled, but there was no warmth to it. "Aren't you the younger sister?" She teased.

"I don't give a flying fuck. You touch my sister and I'll turn you into a baked potato."

Her smile faltered slightly. She grabbed Brooklyn's shoulder firmly, stopping her from running. "Why didn't you go to camp?"

"Where?" She asked.

"Don't play dumb."

"I don't-"

"Are you forgetting how good my aim?" She held up her tail and pointed it directly at Brooklyn's face. She gulped, old memories lingering in the back of her mind.

"I have zero clue what you're talking about-"

Lady Mary, being the asshole she is, threw Brooklyn to the side, making her slam directly into a bathroom stall and stumble backwards, the door opening with her.

Fuck that hurts.

Lady Mary went to start throwing more thorns or whatever they were. Brooklyn scrambled to her feet and slammed the stall door shut, hearing the thorns land in the door.

More thorns shot at her feet, making her back up and crouched on the toilet. Not her most flattering moment.

Lady Mary clearly wasn't impressed with that. She grabbed the door and pulled it off its hinges, tossing it behind her, breaking the sinks.

Brooklyn got out the stall and pushed her out the way. She ran to the broken sink and went to grab a chunk of porcelain. When she lifted it up, a glittering golden dagger.

Was it absolutely suspicious? Yes. Was Brooklyn going to ask questions later? Definitely.

She grabbed the dagger and faced Lady Mary. "Don't come near me."

Lady Mary pointed her tail at Brooklyn again. "I don't need to get close."

I didn't think this through very well

Brooklyn knew that peace really wasn't an option anymore.

Lady Mary flung thorns again. Brooklyn ran and tackled her.

Her grip tightened on the dagger and she slashed at Lady Mary's tail.

Instead of drawing any blood, or even cutting it off, Lady Mary hissed, pushing Brooklyn off.

She started turning into dust, crumbling like sand.

She yelped, trying to grab Brooklyn, even though she just pushed her off. Before she could even take a step, she faceplanted, turning into thin air as she hit the ground.

"What the hell..." Brooklyn breathed, staring at the spot Lady Mary had just been in.

Before she could even catch her breath, she heard talking approaching.

She grabbed her backpack and clambered into one of the only remaining stalls.

The talking became silent as they gasped.

She could see their feet from under the stall door as they all turned into circles, presuming looking at the damage.

"Someone get Lady Anne!" One of the girls yelped, as everyone spirted out of the bathroom, well expect for Brooklyn. She was currently crouching on the toilet again.

Moving probably the quickest she ever had in her life, she quietly opened the door and climbed out the bathroom window.

There was no way she was staying here after that.

@that-asian-child-of-aphrodite @that-one-daughter-of-apollo @childofthewargod @damiedantediane @glee-of-ares-wrath-of-aphrodite

Ooc: Hello, another lore drop!

This was the situation that brought Brooklyn to camp. Super fun, right?

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, let me know :)

[pumpkinsy0]

Okay so this is gonna sound weird but when I was younger I legitimately didn’t know my family was poor. Like when your a kid your kind of just oblivious to it I think. For example: there were time where we ate rice and beans for a month straight. Or sometimes the electricity would go off. BUT the one thing that would catch my eye is the fact that everything around the house was always broken.

The bathroom? Plumbing absolutely screwed, with a door that’s off it’s hinges.

The floor? Fine except the four missing/broken tiles in the corner of the living room.

But the one thing that is my villain origin story…is the sink. Our plumbing is so bad that the sink just won’t work. If you try to use it normally it just gets overflowed and clogged. So my dad decided to just put a big bucket in the sink. Now every time me and my brother had to wash dishes, we had to carry that big bucket outside to dump the water. It SUCKS and to me anyone who has a working sink feels rich.

That being said I definitely imagine that the shepards have gone through something similar. And I just KNOW Curly would absolutely hate having to take that big old bucket out everytime he has to wash dishes. Angela refuses to do the dishes cause there’s no way she’s gonna get her clothes dirty with dish water, and Tim pulls the oldest sibling card.

i get EXACTLY what u mean

at least ONCE, curlys fucked around w it bc he knows hiw much angela hates it and he would fake throw it on her, but ONCE ONNEEE TIME, it actually did drop on her and she was so pissed and tim had to deal w their shrieking

and if i may add on☝🏽their house just isnt rlly looking the best like safety wise either??? like its so easy to get a nasty cut where they live and ALL of the shepards have a scar

they all hate the place, the only place they rlly like is their bed and they can barely even say THAT, they dont rlly like being home</333

[scaryscarecrows]

Can we have some stories of times that Frank, beloved Squad Dad, had to give each of them a hug? Thanks!

"Christ, where are they?"

"I don't know, I'm looking. You're sure you weren't followed?"

"Positive." Frank shuffles closer to the monitors and dodges the angry swat. "Relax, son, I'm just lookin', not touchin'."

"You're a menace. Fingers to yourself."

"Christ, you hit one touchscreen--"

"No touching!"

Frank had hit it. He'd hit it pulling Jimmy into a tight hug because oh, thank God, somebody's still alive with that cyclops bastard on the warpath. Jimmy'd fixed it fast enough, it's fine. They're both fine. For now.

The front door opens and closes and Antoine's voice, exhausted and wrung out, reaches them before he does.

"Tell me I'm not walking into a room of corpses."

"Nope." Jimmy switches screens. "Frank's here. Everybody else has gone dark. He follow you?"

"I lost him."

"You hear from the boss?"

"No. Was hoping you had."

"Uh-uh." He comes over, next to Frank, and slumps forward. "You got nothing?"

"Zilch. I can kinda track Deathstroke--chatter, y'know--but it's a ballpark."

"Great."

Frank pulls him into a one-armed hug and promptly rips his hand back when he hits blood.

"What the hell?"

"Armor took the brunt."

"For fuck's sake--c'mon, lemme take a look at it. Next time, lead with the gunshot wound, okay? And gimme your cigarettes."

*

Trent narrowly avoids taking the door off its hinges half an hour later. Antoine's collapsed in Jimmy's spare rolly chair, insisting that he's fine, and Frank has largely given up fighting him on it.

"I swear to God," Trent pants, "when we find the boss, I'm giving him the biggest fucking I Told You So."

"You're not hurt?"

"Nah. I got him to back off with the mini gun and lost him on the back streets." Trent grins and plunks said mini gun on the ground. "Shit, man, you didn't try to fight him, did you?"

"Fuck off," Antoine mutters. "No."

Trent looks fine. Out of breath, a bit, and his hands are badly burned from the confrontation with the Bat, but otherwise he's okay. Well, apart from the bruise on his head, also courtesy of Batman. When Frank pulls him in for a quick hug, there's no broken bones or questionable bloody spots, either.

"I'm okay. Just. You know. Pissed."

"I don't think this was part of the contingency plan."

"Yeah, well, I'm still getting in my I Told You So," Trent gripes. "Because I did. I said that one-eyed bastard was trouble. And now look."

"We all said it. He said it, too, remember?"

"Still. How do we know he didn't double-cross us?"

"We don't, but it's not his style." Jimmy pauses. "Everyone shut up. I got activity at one of the safehouses in Drescher, just lemme work."

*

Mark gets there before Riley does, but there's no time for anything because they've found the Knight, all right, but everything's gone tits-up. They're all gathered around the screen--Mark's only half paying attention, with Antoine's shoulder an' all--watching in anticipatory horror. Well, not Trent. He left to meet them, to offer any help possible. But they're keeping him updated. Frank would love to do the same, but Batman destroyed most of the drones, the remainder are hacked, and Batman also fucked up his leg earlier tonight. So he has to sit here and stew and curse whatever deity did this to them.

Riley made it. He must have. Frank doesn't know anybody else who has a snowball's chance in hell at shooting Deathstroke. A cheer goes up when the assassin staggers back, and yeah, all right, when he's not their problem, the Bat's an impressive fighter. More importantly, he stands a chance at dealing with this asshole.

"Trent's comin' to you," Antoine says tiredly. Mark tries to take the mic away and gets swatted at. "We looking at a pickup or a...a retrieval?"

Silence. Then rapid taps: pickup.

Oh, thank God. Something goes right tonight.

"Okay. He's about...Jimmy, get me--thanks--five minutes out. How bad is it?"

"Not as bad as it'll be when I'm done," Mark grumbles. "Fucking idiot. What the hell got into him? That was never gonna go well."

"Could'a been fear toxin," Frank reminds him. "Could'a been anything."

"Goddamn moron."

"Yeah, well. That's nothing new."

"Humph."

Frank just laughs at him, gives him a friendly elbowing.

"Might wanna grab a Coke," he says. "Night ain't over yet."

*

Riley gets three steps inside before Frank grabs him. Mark's not here to lecture, but that's okay.

"The hell," he says, "was that?"

No answer, but a second later he realizes it's because Riley's arms are pinned. Whoops.

He lets him go and straightens up, hands on hips.

"Well?"

It worked.

"You were gonna try to kick his ass."

Yeah.

"For chrissakes, boy--"

He'd have done it for us.

Yeah. Yeah, he would have. For better or worse.

"Can't argue with that," he says softly. "C'mon, may as well comfy up."

Riley shrugs. He looks exhausted now, with the adrenaline worn off, and his hands are shaking a little. Frank claps him on the shoulder with a little more force than strictly necessary and steers him away from the computers.

"Get on, now."

[tsarisfanfiction]

Hide and Seek

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Teen Genre: Family Characters: Michael, Apollo, Piper, Meg, Jason Michael wasn't expecting to stumble across his mortal father in his latest escape attempt. Now if only his dad would do the sensible thing and get off the floating villa Michael's been trying to escape for the past two years. TOApril day 24 - Unexpected Allies. This is a spin-off AU from mine and @stereden's fic A Single Drachma, where instead of his escape from Caligula meaning he missed the TBM drama of canon... well. This happened. I may or may not tackle this AU properly later on, but for now here's a pilot of what could be. There are characters I've not written much if at all before in here, so please bear with any oocness that may have occurred as I start to get to grips with them.

Michael didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this.

More fucking big eared furry menaces hounding him with the bows that he just wished he could get his hands on?  He’d rather not because they meant trouble, but they were a possibility.

Brainwashed humans and stupid cyclopes working together to pin him down and drag him back to his dressed-up fucking prison?  Second most likely, and preferred out of the two – even without a weapon he had a chance of wriggling past them.

The horse?  Fuck off, but also a known quantity.  Same for the deluded creepy freak that called himself an emperor-god and kept telling Michael he was going to replace Apollo.  If he never saw either of them again it would be too fucking soon, but so far his luck hadn’t been that good.

It hadn’t been good at all.  If it was, he wouldn’t have been stuck on these fucking boats for the past two years.  Michael was very, very sick of water everywhere he looked.  There was land around them at the moment, some bay or other, although he had no idea which one.  He didn’t care, either, as long as he could finally get away, and there had been enough noise going on that something was happening, and he had another chance to slip away – if he could get onto one of those landing boats unnoticed.

Then the lightning had struck the boat he was on, blowing apart enough of it that the freaky sound-proofing that Michael hated so much cracked open and the noise of fighting was right there.

Lightning.  Striking a boat.

Michael had been a demigod long enough to know that lightning didn’t just strike for no reason.

He shrunk back into the shadows as more of the freak’s goons – one of them a cyclops – ran towards the broken cabin and yanked open the door with enough force that it almost came off its hinges.  The freak was not going to be happy about the destruction of one of his precious boats, and Michael almost wished he could see his reaction.

Almost.

He still wanted to get the fuck away more.

Then the freak’s goons dropped dead, and Michael saw opportunity.  He hated to admit it, but with two years’ worth of failed escape attempts, it was pretty damning evidence that he wasn’t going to get away without some help.  It was either going to save or damn him, but he needed to know if there were more anti-freaks on the ship – if there were, he was joining their fucking party no matter what they said.

Michael stayed low as he nudged the door open, pushing it without actually standing in the doorway, because he’d seen how fast those idiots had dropped and wasn’t going to get himself killed by being like them.

Gold weapons flashed out at the empty space, lower than he’d anticipated – a shorter warrior than he’d accounted for – and proved his paranoia right.

“I’m not with those bastards,” he said, keeping his voice low – because sound travelled on the water and the freak might be several boats over but that didn’t make him necessarily out of earshot – but clear.  He was well aware his outfit didn’t help matters, with the stupid white-and-blue sailor crap the freak loved so much, but that wasn’t his fucking choice, either.  Still, he poked his head cautiously around the doorframe, keeping a hand raised where whoever was in there could see it.

It was a bad fucking idea, he knew it was, but two years was enough to make him more than a little bit fucking desperate, okay?

There were four of them in there – closest to the door, with those dangerous-looking twin golden blades, was a black haired girl about his height, and probably a similar age to Kayla (if Kayla hadn’t fallen, and no, Michael wasn’t going to think about seeing his youngest sister fall from the fucking bridge right now).  The other teenagers were all a couple of years younger than him, maybe Will’s age or a bit older, but they had the clear air of demigods, and Michael hadn’t seen any of those in two years.

Demigods on a quest, even if there was too many of them, technically.  If the kid was part of it.

She certainly gripped her weapons like she knew how to use them.

“Michael?”

It was his name, soft and broken and unexpected, and it came from the curly haired brown boy clutching an arrow in his hands.

“You know this guy?” the older girl asked, and the other boy – this one blond – peered at him from behind his glasses in a way that looked distinctly Athena-kid-like, except for the bright blue eyes.

“I- yes,” Curly said, sounding like he’d seen a fucking ghost, and Michael scowled at him.  He didn’t recognise him at all – he hadn’t been a camper two years ago, none of them had been, Michael didn’t recognise any of them.  Not the unruly brown curls, not the nasty case of acne, not his voice or even the bow that he used.

Then he made eye contact.

He’d heard the saying ‘eyes are the window to the soul’ many times, but he’d always dismissed it at romanticised bullshit.  Eyes were eyes and they came in many colours and shapes and emotions, but the idea of them being more had never settled well with him.

Curly’s eyes were an unfamiliar blue, but there was something in them that was familiar, that made Michael unwillingly think of camp, of his siblings, of dreams and sun-warmth.  Of all the things he’d missed for the past two years, wrapped up into one condensed thing.

“Dad?” he asked, and it was stupid, Apollo wouldn’t be fucking here, except-

Except it was, wasn’t it?

Fuck.

“Michael!”  The arrow dropped to the ground, and Curly – Apollo, really, what the actual fuck, what had taken him so fucking long and Michael wasn’t stupid, Apollo hadn’t expected to see him – grabbed him in a desperate embrace.

“How many do you have?” the younger girl asked, but she wasn’t threatening Michael with her swords so he was going to take that.  She went unanswered as Apollo started crying into Michael’s shoulder, blubbing things about you’re alive that Michael immediately decided to shut up in a box and not acknowledge until after he was off the fucking floating villa once and for all.

With his dad there, it seemed a lot more possible, even if there was something really weird about him.

“What the fuck is going on?” Michael demanded, intentionally cutting off Apollo’s words.

“That’s what I want to know,” the older girl said, and Michael could see the way her eyes were inspecting his clothes with suspicion.  “So tell me why you’re here.”

Her voice gained a sort of double-layer, subtle enough that Michael knew most people couldn’t hear it, let alone ignore it, but he wasn’t most people.  Drew had bitched about it often enough.

“You’re an Aphrodite kid,” he deducted, pointedly not answering the Charmspeak-layered question.  That would tell her what she needed to know, would stop her wasting her power-

Except she was looking at him with even more open suspicion now, and so was the so far silent blond boy behind her.  Seriously?

“Answer my question,” she said, and the Charmspeak was less subtle and more like a hammer against his ears.

Idiot.  How had Drew or Silena let her out on a quest like that?

He shut down the unwelcome thought that maybe they hadn’t been there to teach her.

“When you stop trying to fucking Charmspeak me,” he growled.  “Apollo, why the fuck are you like this?”  He gestured as best he could whilst trapped by his dad’s arms at the whole not-pretty teenager thing.  He’d never seen Apollo look so not-perfect in his life.

“He’s mortal,” the younger girl – and really, Michael could do with some fucking names, he was going to call her Sword Girl until he got a better one – shrugged, although there was nothing carefree about the action.

That… that was another can of fucking worms that Michael did not want to deal with right then.  His immortal god of a father suddenly mortal.  Great.

Wait.  Fuck.  Was this what the freak meant when he said he was going to replace Apollo?  Fuck, no, Michael was not letting that happen.

“You need to get the fuck off this boat,” he snapped.  “Now.  Why the fuck are you even here, anyway?”

“To steal Caligula’s shoes,” Sword Girl said bluntly.  She was rapidly becoming Michael’s favourite for actually answering his questions with recognisable answers.  Even if they were stupid ones.

“Why?” he despaired.  “What is worth risking your whole damn fucking existence for a pair of fucking shoes?  Or a boat of them?”

“How do you know about that?” Charmspeak Girl demanded (he would have called her Charmspeak Bitch, except Drew was a difficult one to topple from her bitch queen throne), her voice still laced with the fucking useless power.

He fixed her with a glare.  “Stop with the fucking Charmspeak.  It doesn’t fucking work on me, and even if it did it’s not a fucking interrogation power.”

“What do you mean?” formerly Silent-Blond asked, finally inserting himself into the conversation.  Charmspeak Girl looked just as confused, if also frustrated, and Michael realised she really didn’t have a fucking clue.

She was working with his dad, and Michael wasn’t one for dead demigods, either.  Fuck, he was not qualified to teach Aphrodite kids about their own powers, dammit.  Still, he had to say something.

“Charmspeak is based on attraction,” he told her, elbowing his dad in the process because forget Drew and Silena, why hadn’t Apollo thought to explain this shit to her?  “You persuade people that are fucking attracted to you that they want to do whatever the fuck you want.  Works for direct orders.  Doesn’t work for getting the truth out of people when they’re busy saying whatever the fuck they think you want to hear.  Stop relying on the fucking thing, it’s unreliable at best.”

Charmspeak Girl looked like he’d just told her the sky was fucking green.  Duty done, Michael ignored her and turned back to his dad.

“You need to get the fuck off this villa,” he repeated.  “Which of these idiots is your master?” because Michael had been a camper for seven fucking years, he knew the stories.  Every damn time his dad got turned mortal, he got given a demigod master.  Silent-Blond and Charmspeak Girl stared at him like he’d said something unreasonable, while Sword Girl puffed her chest out.

“Me, duh.”

Huh.  Well, at least it wasn’t Charmspeak Girl.

“Get him the fuck away from this villa,” he told her.  “This isn’t fucking worth-”

“There’s a prophecy,” Apollo said, finally talking again.  “We need those shoes, to beat him.”

Well, fuck.

Michael would love to see the freak defeated.  Right now, more than most other fucking things, but he wasn’t letting Apollo get destroyed in the process, which was what was going to happen if his idiot of a currently-mortal dad kept trying to scout across the boats until he stumbled across the right one, and then the right pair of shoes.

No fucking way.

Fuck.

“What fucking shoes?” he demanded, finally pushing Apollo off of him.  Mortal or not, Apollo was still the god of prophecy.  If he was saying shit like that, then Michael couldn’t just tell him to fuck off and ignore it.

“Caligula’s namesake,” Silent Blond finally spoke, still assessing him with those too-sharp, too-bright blue eyes.  Michael still couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t quite an Athena kid, but didn’t have a clue what other options were on the table.  “His childhood shoes.”

Michael sighed and nodded.  “Get the fuck off of this thing,” he told them.  “You don’t stand a fucking chance.”

They bristled, all four of them, and Michael got it, at least from the three demigods.  Of fucking course they didn’t trust him.  Apollo’s reaction hurt a little more, but Michael forced himself to ignore it.  The arrow at his foot caught his attention and he bent down, picking it up and shoving the shaft against his dad’s chest, not entirely certain why except it was an arrow and Michael had always been an archer.

Apollo’s eyes got so wide it would have been funny if Michael wasn’t currently trying to save his dad’s fucking existence.

“Go,” he snarled.  “If you want to be fucking helpful, get one of those fucking landing boats over to ship forty three.”

“And what are you going to do?”  She’d finally dropped the Charmspeak, but her voice was still sharp without it.

Michael scoffed.  “I’m going to go get your fucking shoes.  Now fuck off.”

He didn’t wait for them to respond, ducking back out of the ruined cabin and slipping back into the shadows.

Time to put the last two years of playing hide and seek with the freak’s fucking goons to good use.

----

Okay I don't usually put A/Ns at the end of fics on tumblr, but at this point I want to clarify the Charmspeak thing, because Charmspeak is a power that can very easily go squick so I've spent some time trying to make it not so awful - specifically the implication that every middle-aged adult that Piper charmspeaks is Attracted to a sixteen year old girl. So, the premise I've worked on is that Charmspeak works on by drawing on either attraction (as in somebody already actively attracted either romantically or physically to the Charmspeaker), or for more powerful Charmspeakers like Piper, the potential for attraction (e.g. if a man is straight or bi/attracted to women, then even though he's an upstanding individual who would never dream of being attracted to a teenage girl, because the only thing that skews her out of his demographic is her age, the Charmspeak is still enough to bring them under control despite the lack of active attraction). This also extends to the additional worldbuilding whereby people with no potential for attraction - don't swing that way, or in the case of Michael in all my fics, are both very much aroace and also have no inclination to seek that sort of company anyway - can't be Charmspoken, even by someone as powerful as Piper.

[tbznewberry]

Second generation vampire — Kim Sunwoo / OT11

While looking through your missing mother's old house, you find a recorder than tells you what happened ... and you met who did it.

Genre: horror, yandere

Warnings: death, yandere hint, bones

Inspired by Drink it MV

You don’t know why you’re here. You don’t know if it’s good, if it’s bad … or what the sound you just heard was. You’re sure that your late mother kept her stuff here. It was her property after all. You walk through the since long ago abandoned mansion, looking through dusty boxes and broken cabinets. You’re not sure what you’re looking for. Probably anything that can connect you to her. Your heart has been aching for years and now that you’re going to move, you want to give this one last try. Your dad has never let you come close to this house before, but now that dad isn’t himself anymore, who is going to stop you?

You sigh and walk into the bathroom. The door is barely hanging from its hinges and the lock is gone. You turn a newspaper from 2009 that lies in a box, finding something under it. A recorder. Frowning, you pick it up and press ‘play’. Firstly, you think that it’s broken because a weird noise is coming out of the small speaker … but you soon realize that it’s sobs. Your entire body freezes.

“P-Please …”, the female voice shakingly hisses. “Please help me.”

Your eyes go wide.

“Mom?” you whisper in shock, not managing to raise your voice any higher.

Her voice sounds just like you remember it. The same gentle tone, the same pitch in certain words … but the frightened feeling your mother seems to be experiencing in the recording causes your blood to turn to ice. You take a look at the date the recording was made and shiver. The exact date your mother went missing.

This is the last moments in her life, you understand.

Horrified, you press ‘play’ again.

“I shouldn’t have come here”, your mother cries, trying her best to keep her voice as low as possible. “I shouldn’t have bought this house. I-I thought it’d be a good house for me and my family … b-but …”

Silence. Only her fast breathing can be heard.

“I think they’re getting closer”, your mother whispers.

“Who?” you whisper back, wishing that she could talk to you. “Mom, please …”

“Something is wrong with this house … it’s already occupied. They … I don’t know what they are … but I’ve seen them, they look human. I-In the beginning I thought I was going insane … but I’m sure they exist now. I don’t know how many there are … but they’re more than I thought. I-I thought they were three or four … I think they’re more than ten.” Your mother sobs too loudly and forces herself to stay quiet. “They have been wandering the house at night in a group. They walked past me once … one of them turned their eyes to me. He saw right through me.”

Silence again. Your heart is beating in your ears. What did your mom go through?

“I think they’re coming for me now”, your mother sobs. “I can hear them. I’ve locked myself in here, but I don’t know how long I can keep them out.”

A harsh knock on the door causes your mother to choke back a scream.

“I-If anyone finds this … p-please try to find me”, she sobs. “I have to come back to my child. I have to get back to them.”

Your heart clenches. Your poor mom.

Another harsh bang on the recording causes you to flinch.

“Open up~”, a deep voice sing-songs on the recording.

You can hear that there’s something between, it doesn’t sound as clear as your mom's voice. Whoever the voice belongs to, they must be outside the door. You feel how your entire body tenses. You want to reach into the tape and help your mother, but there’s nothing you can do. You’re helplessly listening to the recording, wondering if you will have to hear her last moments. You can’t turn it off, this is the closest you’ve been to finding out what happened to your mother, the first time you’ve heard her voice in years.

“Lady, open up, we’re not going to hurt you~”, the same voice says and laughs afterwards.

It sends shivers down your spine. Who were these monsters?

“Come out, come out, little mouse~”, another voice sing-songs. “We just want to taste you. Your blood smells so sweet.”

Your mothers sobs grow louder. Loud banging on the door fills the recording. A large crash follows and then … silence. You listen closer and hear heavy breathing.

“P-Please don’t”, your mother begs weakly. She then screams. “Please! No!”

Something sounding like hissing and a loud, heart wrenching scream is the last thing that is played on the recorder.

“No …”, you breathe out and hide the recorder. “Please no!”

Suddenly, you hear a snicker behind you. You freeze.

“It was a long time ago I heard that scream”, a voice says.

It sounds identical to the first singing voice on the tape. You quickly spin around and are met by a man wearing a white shirt and a black vest. His pants are a toned red and ashy blue and his hair as dark as his eyes. His jewelry looks like small chains.

“You must have gotten lost”, the man says and lifts his eyebrows, tilting his head slightly. “Or were you meant to come here?”

“Who are you?” you ask with tears building up in your throat. You can no longer keep your voice to a normal level. “What did you do to my mom?!” you show him the recorder. “I heard your voice on here!”

The man frowns. “‘Mom’, you say?” He breaks out in a smirk. “So you’re the little child she was begging to return to?”

“Where the fuck is she?”

“I’m afraid you can’t see her. But you can come visit what is left of her.” He turns around and gives you a glance over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Are you sure? Don’t you want to know what happened?”

You decide to follow him, knowing that once you get to the stairs, you’re going to run for your life until you get out of the cursed house. You walk with him out through the open corridor before darting down the stairs. As soon as you get down to the ground level, he appears in front of you out of thin air. You manage to stop running just before you run into him. Heart beating quicker than ever, you start backing away.

“I wasn’t done with you”, the man says. “You said you’d come with me. You’re not leaving until you see your mother.”

“O-Okay”, you gulp.

He starts to walk upstairs again, giving you a warning gaze over his shoulder. You glance back at the door, finding that it’s now closed. Quickly, you feel the handles. Locked?

“You”, the man says, now at the top of the stairs. “Are you coming or not?”

“Y-Yes”, you gulp and start to make your way upstairs.

You feel like you’re going to faint at any moment. The man that was with your mother during her last moments is currently in front of you and you have no idea what to do. He seems to be able to teleport and the front door is locked. You’re on the second floor. You can’t jump out through any of the windows. They’ve been boarded up with planks. Only a few rays of sunshine manage to get through. You follow the man through the corridor until you reach an old door. He waits by the side of it as you stand in front of it.

“Open it”, he whispers and stands beside you, almost towering over you, his lips almost by your ear. “And find out.”

You gulp and let your shaking hand rest on the cold handle. Suddenly, you don’t want to see what’s behind this door.

“Open.”

And you do this time. You’re presented with a dark room. In the middle of it there’s a table with a box standing on it. You recognize that box all too well. The familiar flower on the side causes your heart to break. You walk in before you can think twice and lift up the box. Inside are a few bones. You tell yourself that it’s not your mother’s, but you don’t believe yourself.

“Did you find what you wanted?”

You flinch. You had totally forgotten that he was still by the door. He leans towards the door frame with his hands crossed over his chest.

“What … what are you?” you whisper with a shaking voice.

“If I told you, would you believe me?” he smirks. “Vampires.”

“Vampires?” you scoff, but something tells you he’s not joking.

Afterall, he’s still a young man after twelve years. He should have aged … shouldn’t he? And the teleportation … the covered windows … it all seems to make sense, although it shouldn’t.

“I heard that there were more than one in the tape”, you say and shoots him a glare. “Who killed my mom?”

The man’s lip twitches to a smile. “Why don’t you ask them yourself?”

The same weird blur appears behind him and suddenly, what looks like a dozen men stands there.

“Sunwoo, got a new friend?” one of them asks in the same taunting manner as Sunwoo’s used throughout their meeting.

“It appears so”, he smiles and gives you a cocky glance. “This is our dear lady’s child. She wonders who killed her. Do you want to answer or should I?”

Silence.

Sunwoo grabs a taller man by the arm and puts his arm around his shoulders. You frown.

“You see, Younghoon here had just been turned”, he says with false sympathy in his voice. “He was so hungry, we had to give her to him.”

You have to get out of here now. With one strong push, you manage to get through the crowd of proclaimed vampires. They laugh loudly behind you, the same eerie laugh you heard on the tape. Their laughter echo throughout the large house. Wherever you turn, one of them appears, blocking every possible way out.

“Stop!” you shout loudly. “Let me leave!”

“I’m sorry”, Sunwoo says. “But now that you’re here … we can’t let you leave.”

As if a clock had just turned, they start walking towards you.

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Twenty-Seven — Patrons

That's my brother. I couldn’t lose him. That’s my brother. 

5.4k words | 19 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: death, body horror in a way? cops [ACAB]

I fought to turn in place, ignoring the stinging soreness in my body and how the shards of glass from the broken window sliced into my knees. “Brent?” I repeated more urgently. Dr. Sims materialized into pixels and was gone, flitting out of the window beside him. I pulled myself over the side of the driver’s seat to look at Brent, who was limp and unmoving. My heart dropped in my chest, and I immediately began to shake his shoulder. “Hey man, come on,”

The truck groaned a bit as some weight was added, and Dad’s face appeared in the shattered square where the back passenger window used to be. “Jean, are you okay?” He demanded. 

“Dad, Brent won’t—” I cut off, only glancing at him for a moment before turning back to Brent. There was some blood coming out of his nose. “Come on, asshole, wake up—”

There was that crystalline sound that always accompanied Dr. Sims’ powers, and the passenger-side door was yanked off of its hinges with a grind of metal. 

“Come out of there,” Dad demanded above, looking at me from the hole where the passenger’s side door was. 

I shook my head, trying to push up off my knees to get a better look at his face. He just wouldn’t move. 

Getting up to look at Brent gave Dr. Sims enough leverage to grab me by my arm, and he pulled me up with a surprising amount of strength for a dude who looked like he avoided heavy lifting at all costs. Dr. Sims dragged me out of the wreckage, my legs getting cut up in the shards sticking out of the window’s track as he yanked me out of the smoking car and flitted down with the aid of his powers, setting me down on the road. 

The truck that had been chasing us was entirely decimated, the hood of it denting in so far that the back of the truck lifted up a bit. The mangled bodies of the thieves chasing us slumped in the seats or out of the broken windshield. The other truck was nowhere to be seen. 

Dr. Sims gave me a one-over, noting the little bits of blood littering my body and asking, “Are you hurt?” 

I blinked, looking away from our destroyed truck to him, then to where he was looking at my body. My side was bleeding again, staining my shirt. 

I shook my head, coughing again and trying to get to my feet. Who the fuck cared about that right now? Brent was hurt. 

Dr. Sims’ hand came to my shoulder and he forced me back down. “You need to stay sitting Jean, at least until we know how injured you are—”

Dad’s smoke form flitted out of the truck, to the road by the roof. “Eugene!” He shouted. “Help me turn the truck!” 

Dr. Sims hesitated, looking at Dad as he hooked his hands on the truck, then to me. “Don’t move,” he stressed before disappearing in a pixelated blue cloud. 

He flitted over the truck and beside Dad, the two of them straining to lift the truck even with their powers. I shakily got to my feet, ignoring the stench of rubber and smoke and death to begin closing the gap between me and the totaled truck. Between me and my brother. 

The truck settled, and Brent’s form followed the momentum and slumped over the center console. My heart practically left my chest. “Brent?” I called, breaking into a jog. 

Dad flitted to the passenger side and clambered in, hooking his hands under Brent’s arms to begin pulling him out. Dr. Sims grabbed Brent’s legs as soon as he was able, and the two laid him down gently on the ground, Dad immediately checking him for a pulse. 

I used my powers to dash the rest of the way towards them and skidded to a stop on my feet just as Dad pulled away from Brent, and Dr. Sims moved in his place, hands lighting up blue as he began to slam them into his chest to perform CPR. 

I was glued in place by fear, frozen by it. Everything around me seemed to slow down until I was able to watch how every dense blue pixel of Dr. Sims’ power tried to spread into Brent’s chest and restart his heart, giving him a bit more strength to push his steeled rib cage in. I could see into the truck now that Brent’s form wasn’t there; there was a nice indent in the dash of the car in the form of Brent’s chest, wires and glass and everything scattered around the seat. He had somehow taken the force from the crash chest-first. 

Dad’s jaw was so steeled it looked like it’d wire shut forever. “C’mon, son,” he whispered through grit teeth. “C’mon.”

“D, see if there’s any smoke in his lungs,” Dr. Sims grunted, putting more force into his presses. 

Dad tilted Brent’s head back, using one hand to open his mouth while the other came up to hover just above it, skin going dark as the smoke pulled from inside of him and swirled around in a lazy ambience. Dad’s fingers flared, and the smoke ringlets around his wrists spun faster. 

Something slowly escaped from Brent’s mouth, pulling from somewhere deep in his throat; the smoke from the accident and whatever move Dad had pulled, the bit that he never got to force out on hacking coughs. Dr. Sims kept punching a beat into his chest, the blue on his arms glowing stronger. 

My hands were on my lips now as I silently sobbed, eyes so wide the tears pooled as I refused to blink. My mind could only chant how that’s my brother, again and again and again as I watched Dad and his friend fight to bring him back to life. That's my brother. I couldn’t lose him. That’s my brother. 

The blue of Dr. Sims’ power seemed to charge, glowing brighter before his next push down and following the movement; there was a deafening pulse that made me flinch as the energy of his power shot down into Brent’s chest, charging the underlying steel in it blue in some odd attempt to shock his heart back to life. The remnants breezed past, ruffling my hair. Pushing away the breath I was already barely taking in. That was my brother. Why wouldn’t he wake up?

Dr. Sims’ arms charged up again, and there was another pulse, the bass accompanying it making my ears throb. How much time had passed? It felt like a lifetime. How long was too long? 

My hands shook and my eyes got too blurry to see past by the time the third pulse of energy pushed out of Dr. Sims, the blowback from it clearing the tears in my eyes. Brent’s chest was now glowing a dim blue, the energy shifting deep in his chest. 

Dr. Sims stopped his compressions, arms falling limply to his sides as he huffed. Dad fell back from his knees, staring blankly at Brent, smoke dissipating from his hand. Why did they stop, why weren’t they trying anymore? 

I took a step back, shaking my head. No. No, no, no, no, no no nonononono. 

There was a pensive moment where nothing moved. The only sounds came from the groans of our broken and beaten truck as the stuff in the engine settled and the swampland below us. Everything fell to my senses then, engraving in my memory forever; the way Brent’s sternum glowed, the blood from his nose, the tears in Dad’s eyes. The way the glass scattered around Brent caught the warm light of the bridge’s lamps and reflected them back like stars. The small gashes along his arm that was once facing the window of the truck. The smoke still in the air from our wreck froze in place, painting a picture of a moment that would haunt me forever. 

The blue in Brent’s chest faded, and Dr. Sims shifted to watch it intensely. There was something in his face that made me pause, that had me looking between him and Brent’s body in hope. 

The blue suddenly flashed, and with it came something else; a large aura of steel ripped from every pore in Brent’s body, pulling away and then snapping back to him just as quickly. The hit from their return was just enough to shock Brent back to life, their stabbing into his skin making him gasp out, eyes shooting open. 

Dad scrambled on his knees, “Brent,” he rushed, “Can you hear me?”

Brent couldn’t seem to catch his breath. “What the fuck,” he groaned, coughing. 

Dad laughed breathlessly, like he couldn’t believe his eyes. Brent cursed. He’d be fine. I choked back a sob of relief. “You okay?” Dad asked. 

Brent blinked hard a few times, head moving to the side to look at the destroyed truck. “What happened?” He asked, trying to sit up. Dr. Sims put a hand on his shoulder. 

“You need to lie down,” he advised. “Your Conducrine Gland needs time to work before you start moving.”

Brent looked at him, bewildered. “My what?” He asked. 

“It’s the little sack that makes the proteins that creates your powers,” Dad chimed in. “You need to let it heal your body all the way before you move. You got hit pretty hard, bud.”

Pretty hard was the understatement of the century. 

Brent laid his head back down, blinking hard. He stayed there for a moment before his head popped back up and he said, “Shit, Jean, where’s Jean—”

“She’s right there,” Dad pointed in my direction. Something about the acknowledgement broke the spell the fear had over me, and I was rushing over to Brent, crouching down on my knees. 

“Are you okay?” I demanded, looking at the cuts and bruises on Brent’s body. Steel was slowly overtaking the red under the slices, healing him from the inside out. 

“Are you okay?” he asked pointedly instead.

I glanced down at myself; my jeans had ripped at some point, and my palms were bleeding, little holes stabbed in them from the glass. I looked like a mess. My fingers moved to my side, where my stitching had popped, and came back bloody. “Jean,” Dad got up from where he was sitting. “Let me see your side.”

I nodded, standing and letting Dad raise my shirt, getting a bit woozy when he did. The gash on my side that had only been stitched for a week had lost three of those stitches, the barely-welded skin trying to pull away from itself. 

Dad gave me a look over — checking my face, examining my cast to make sure it didn’t break — his brow furrowing the entire time. “I told you to stay on the floorboard, Regina,” he began to chastise. 

There was a calm anger in his voice, like he was trying to keep himself from yelling at me. “Wh—” I cut off. “Dad, you can’t be serious right now.”

“I’m very serious.” His eyes left the cut he was pulling glass out of to bore into mine. “You will listen to me when I tell you to do something.”

“Dr. Sims was shot, and Brent was driving.” I defended. “You fell off the car! What, was I just supposed to sit and wait—”

“No, what you’re not supposed to do is put yourself in front of a bunch of bullets when you can’t heal.” Dad shot back. “You should have stayed in the truck!”

“They would have shot up the truck anyways!”

“I was dealing with them.” Dad said through grit teeth. “I would have been able to deal with them if I didn’t also have to worry about keeping you safe.”

I blinked. Was Dad…blaming me for this? “I was trying to keep everyone from getting hurt—” I started, Dad cutting me off. 

“That’s not your job, Jean!” Dad growled. “We’re not going through all of this to help you just so you can throw it away on some stupid heroics. You want to be helpful? Do what you’re told. Don’t make us drop out of the sky just to save the people you’re sacrificing in the process. Stop throwing yourself into danger trying to do something you can’t.”

My voice died in my throat. Dad really was blaming me for this. For what happened to Brent, for the destruction. Was he right? We wouldn’t be here in the first place if it wasn’t for me. 

Yet again, something else happened that was my fault. 

All the defensive spirit left my chest and I looked down at the asphalt. “Okay.” I simply muttered. 

Dad stayed there, his feet unmoving, before I heard him sigh above me. “We’re gonna have to call the cops.” He said, like it was the worst possible option. “Get ready for a long night.”

It was indeed a very long night. 

EMT rushed in with the multiple police cruisers, checking me out at Dad’s insistence. All I gained was more scratches and bruises, and the stitching on my side gained two butterfly strips and the insistence that I take it easy the next few weeks till the others dissolved. 

That was the first two hours. The other five were spent being questioned at the police station. 

There was either disdain or acceptance of our presence at the police station, no in between. There was one officer who handed Brent and I wrapped sandwiches, and another who sneered great, more of their kind. I’d say it was some good cop/bad cop facade if they were actually asking us any questions. We were just asked our version of events, and told to stay put. I was falling asleep sitting up in the chair by the time they released Dad and Dr. Sims from wherever they were in the back of the station. 

The room Brent and I were in was a meeting room of some kind, all of our things on the long table after being searched through. Dad came in first, rubbing his eyes. “You two okay?” He asked. 

I nodded. Brent was folded over the side of the table, head in his arms, dozing off. 

Dad looked at our things splayed out across the top of the table, and groaned. “My fucking truck,” he muttered. He plopped down in a chair, elbows going to the table, head in hands. “There goes transportation.”

“We’re in the center of the city,” I started. “Don’t they have trolleys here?”

Dad shook his head. “Not for where we’re going. But we would have had to ditch the truck anyways, so this doesn’t change much.”

My brow furrowed. “Where….where are we going?”

Dad leaned his head back, keeping his eyes closed. “The person that could help us lives in the swamplands. We would have had to take a boat.” 

I rubbed my eyes, yawning. “Where would we be staying if he’s in the swamp?” I asked. I thought he’d be in the city, or at least close enough to it for us to have a hotel. 

Dad shrugged. “Offered us his place. We’ll figure out sleeping situations when we get there.”

I nodded, eyes going back to the grain of the table. Every time I blinked, I could see Brent laid out on the asphalt, in that middle ground between dead and alive. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me. He wouldn’t have almost died if it wasn’t for me.

Dr. Sims was in the room a few moments later, looking just as beat down. “We’re the ones chased and robbed, and they treat us like the criminals.” he sneered, pulling his bag close and unzipping it. “We’re lucky we’re getting off on technicalities,”

"Might be a conduit safe haven, but that doesn't mean everyone's still welcoming," Dad muttered.

Dr. Sims opened up the laptop, checking to see if the screen was shattered and closing it just as quickly when he realized it wasn’t. He then pulled another one out, doing the same. “Well if they bothered doing anything about the highway robbers, we wouldn't be in this mess.” Dr. Sims muttered. It was the angriest I’d ever seen him. I didn't even know the guy could get angry.

“We need to leave soon,” Dad groaned. He must have been considering passing out right here in the meeting room like I was. 

Dr. Sims sighed. “Yeah.” He closed the second laptop and shoved them both back in the bag. “Alright, come on. Let’s get going.”

We stepped out of the police precinct and into the sun, tired, sore, and groggy. 

The rest of the city wasn’t feeling our laze, though. 

We were deep in what I had to assume was downtown, surrounded by neon signs and tall buildings all in some square. It was this blend of modern and vintage that shouldn’t have worked, but somehow did; Greek Revival buildings with fairy lights wired in their wrought iron, multi-story brick buildings with moving neon signs. This didn’t look like the decimated New Marais we were all told about, at least. 

But then again, we were coming out of a police station after nearly being sniped, so.

Brent and I only had one bag each; my big mountaineering bag was on my back, and Brent was holding the handles of his old football equipment duffle bag. Dad brought his thick briefcase along with his own hiking bag, and Dr. Sims was able to fit both the straps of his backpack and the sash of the messenger bag on his body comfortably. We definitely looked like tourists, but we at least didn’t have much to lug around — so it wasn’t too strange when Dad suggested, “Let’s walk. We’ll find a trolley to the docks if we don’t just get there first.”

“Thought you said New Marais was unsafe,” Brent tried to joke. I could tell it was only partially in jest; even with his Conduit abilities, parts of his skin were still pink from the bullets. He definitely didn’t look interested in gaining more marks. 

“That’s why you two will walk in front of us, and we’ll make sure nothing happens. Don’t stop, keep walking, do not engage anyone that tries to talk to you.” Dad commanded. 

I wasn’t in any place to challenge him. I’m sure he was still mad about the last time I didn’t listen to him. 

New Marais was a city I could get lost in, if given the chance. Partially because I had no fucking idea where I was going, but also because it had an allure to it I’d never caught from anywhere else. There were no alleys, no spaces between doorstops. The porches on the second floors seemed to run for miles, curving with the buildings as we entered some giant square with a huge cathedral in the middle. 

“Never would have thought the land of the sinners would have such a big church.” I quipped. 

Brent froze dead in his tracks, looking around. “I know where we are.” He murmured. His eyes widened in that way they always did when he was close to some sort of architectural archaeology, and he exclaimed, “No way, I know where we are! Jean, c’mon!”

And then he just took off, much to Dad’s protests. 

“Brent!” Dad shouted as Brent disappeared somewhere behind a crowd, a group of men performing little stunts to the cheers of the watchers, passing around a bucket for change after each trick. Dad cursed under his breath, saying, “C’mon, we’ve gotta keep an eye on him,” and rushing off just as fast, leaving Dr. Sims and I to chase after him in his wake. 

Brent was hard to track in the crowd, something Dad was struggling with too as he shouted, “Brent!” again in an effort to call him back. But, between two parents and their baby’s stroller, I caught a glimpse of him, saying, “Dad, over here!” 

I became the leader, weaving through the crowd with a coordinated ease that Dad and Dr. Sims were struggling to follow. I didn’t worry about that; I just kept my eyes on Brent as he dodged his way through the people, skittering to a stop at the front of the cathedral’s gardens. 

“Brent!” I called, managing to find a gap wide enough to jog the rest of the way to him. He didn’t move, eyes staying glued ahead as I got closer to chastise him. “Dude, you’ve gotta—”

I glanced over and cut off, finally realizing what he was looking at. 

The cathedral was huge, elevated gardens and tiered steps leading up to the steepled gothic church with a giant rosetta window in the arch of the lancets. At least, I think that’s what those curvy bits just over the entrance were called. I’d ask Brent, but he was transfixed on what stood in front of the cathedral. 

Just up the first flight of steps past the iron gates, a terrace cut into the stairs, this huge pile of concrete sat up in its center and lit up despite it being the middle of the morning. It would have looked like a bad disposal of some concrete left over from the church’s repairs if it wasn’t for what was sticking out of it. It was an old step, ripped up and immortalized because of what was embedded in it: Cole MacGrath’s Amp. A two-pronged prod made of nothing but metal, his weapon of choice as he fought back the Beast and saved the world from its destruction. Trapped in concrete and now forever preserved, the closest we would get to an Arthurian sword in the stone. 

Behind it on a pedestal stood the man himself, cast in stone. Cole MacGrath’s effigy stood with one foot propped up on an extra little slab of concrete, posed as if ready to leap forward and punch whatever was in his way. One fist was balled and ready to do so. The other had its fingers flared, ready to call upon that electricity I remember he was blessed with and strike with who knew what. Maybe bolts of lightning. Maybe simple arcs. 

I think what took me off guard was how normal the man looked, even in commemoration. The most eye-catching thing about him was the Amp in a sling bag on his back. Otherwise he just looked…normal. Really short hair, a tee-shirt. He looked like a regular man, someone who couldn’t have been capable of what he did. 

Maybe that’s what was most inspiring about it. That he wasn’t some god, but under it all, a man. 

“The Patron Saint of New Marais,” Brent breathed, stepping closer to the closed iron gate and lacing his fingers in the spaces. I followed close, as if it’d help me get a better look.

“Is this…” I drew off, looking around. “Is this where it happened?” 

Brent nodded. 

Somewhere, right in front of me or behind me or maybe even where I was standing, was where Cole MacGrath took his last stand and defeated the Beast almost 26 years ago. 

There was shuffling behind us, and Dad and Dr. Sims appeared, stepping close. Dad’s disapproval died in his throat as he looked at the scene before him, while Dr. Sims’ looked reserved, like he was at a wake. 

We stayed in an enraptured moment of silence for about two minutes before the spell finally broke over Brent, and he turned to Dad. “Did you have anything cool?” He asked. “Like a weapon or something?”

Dad scoffed, a crooked smile playing on his lips. “Yeah — I had a chain.”

I blinked. “That was it?”

“Got the job done, didn’t it?”

“We should go,” Dr. Sims interrupted. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting any longer than we need to.” 

Dad hit the stalling motor on the boat rather hard, hissing, “That’s fucking great,” 

“Well,” Dr. Sims sighed. “We did tell the guy at the marina we’d take it as is. Guess we should have checked the fuel.”

It was probably the dingiest little thing at the docks, but it was supposed to be enough for the trip out to the swamps. Or, we thought it would have been. Dad and Dr. Sims bargained with some guy who looked surprised to even be spoken to, offered a few incentives for a three day use of the boat that involved Dr. Sims’ video powers and his Macbook that looked like it needed to be put down back in 2023. Brent and I didn’t ask exactly what this favor was. Probably was safer if we didn’t know. 

But Dad, in his rush, offered to take it then and there, which led to us floating aimlessly in the middle of the wetland, accompanied by nothing but direct sunlight and screaming trees as the cicadas yelled their protests at our presence. 

Brent was perched in the center of the dinghy, knees tucked to his chest. We’d finally found a downside to his steeled reinforcements; he was dense. Not mentally, though I was saving that joke for later — steel’s apparently three times heavier than bone, and his weight increased a good 40% when his muscles became laced with it. When Brent moved to step into the boat the first time at the docks, it lurched under his foot and threw me overboard. So he was situated in the direct center of the boat and told not to move. Not that he needed much incentive; he looked at the water with apprehension, probably thinking about the last time he was submerged. 

And right now, that turned into a bit of panic. “So we’re stuck here?” Brent demanded, looking around. 

“I could go,” Dr. Sims offered, “Buy some gas?”

“I mean,” I started, shrugging slightly, “I could sorta push us along? If I manipulate a current behind us, I should be able to—”

“No.”

Dad’s voice was low and stressed, like I’d just suggested stealing from the Pentagon. “Dad, it’s just a tide, it’s super eas—”

“I said no, Regina.” He looked down at me, glower in his eyes. 

“It’s not a tidal wave!” I retorted. Dr. Sims looked away from Dad uncomfortably and I could see Brent roll his eyes, but I didn’t care. “It’s a current. It’s literally one of the easiest things I can do!”

Dad’s chest flexed when he inhaled, as if trying to make himself bigger. “No. You’re not in a position to be doing that right now.”

“You mean I’m too weak.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I mean, Dad could probably do it—” Brent tried to interject

“I can’t.” Dad responded simply. “Most I can do is shoot water off into the swamp.” He then turned his attention back to me. “Jean, you’re not doing this.”

“I’m not healing right now, but I can use my powers. You saw me on the bridge! It’s not gonna kill me.” 

Dad’s eyes flashed, and he opened his mouth to argue more when Dr. Sims interjected. “It isn’t a bad idea, Del.”

“Euge—”

“We’re out of gas, and besides, the more power she uses, the more proteins in her system. More of those means it might speed up her healing.” Dr. Sims continued, like Dad hadn’t even spoken. He looked at Dad and stressed, “It could be good for her.”

Dad stayed staring at his friend for a while before moving away from the stern of the boat, motioning me to it wordlessly. 

I stomped past, uncaring about how it rocked the little dingy and Brent’s “Jean!” behind me as he tried to keep himself steady. 

This was ridiculous! There was this fire in my chest as I summoned my water and began trying to manipulate the swamp; what was going on with Dad? He was acting like I couldn’t do anything right! If there was something I couldn’t mess up, it was piloting a goddamn boat. 

That weird discomfort in my shoulder blades was back, a sort of soreness that I couldn’t really compare. It pulled as I did, manipulating the waters around the boat to gently push it forward. 

The boat moved slowly, but hey, it moved. This was more than I’d done before, and Brent’s heavy ass wasn’t exactly helping — so it dragged lazily through the water, Dr. Sims directing turns every now and again as we traveled deeper into the swampland. “How long are we gonna be here?” Brent asks behind me. 

“What, New Marais? Or this guy’s place?” Dad hummed. 

“Both, I guess.”

Dad sighs. “Hopefully, not too long. This guy can give us some info on the tar, might have some connections, and then we’ll be out of here.”

“What is he? Some kinda scientist?”

Dad scoffed. “He’s not much,” 

“He’s been there since the beginning,” Dr. Sims interrupts. “He was Cole MacGrath’s best friend.”

“Holy shit, the Cole MacGrath?” Brent asks, incredulous. 

“He’s been doing a lot of underground pro-Conduit work since. It’s how your father and I met him,” Dr. Sims added. 

Dad murmured off on the side, “Sure, if you call that fucking work,”

“D,” Dr. Sims chastised, sounding tired. I could only imagine the exacerbated look he was giving Dad. 

“Let’s just hope he’s actually useful this time,” Dad says simply, voice curt. Dr. Sims sighed somewhere behind me. 

There’s an awkward silence that even the cicadas’ screams couldn’t cut through, Brent cracking to ask, “So what kind of Conduit is he?” 

“He’s not.” Dad replied flatly. 

Dr. Sims tried his best to be more welcoming. “He helped MacGrath with a lot of stuff — built the amp, even — but he’s not a Conduit.”

“Oh,” Brent hummed. “And he decided out here was the best place to settle down?” 

“It’s off the grid. No one’s gonna come out here willingly,” Dr. Sims explains. “He’s made as many enemies as we have over the years.”

“Let’s just see what he knows. The sooner we get outta here, the better,” Dad grumbled. 

I hadn’t realized he was saying this because we were at our destination, ignorant to it all until Dr. Sims told me to veer left and a voice echoed over the ambiance of the swamp. “Well, long time no see, Eugene!” 

I looked over my shoulder to see one of those swamp houses, a shabby little shack on stilts — only this one was modified to hell, with an extra floor and what looked like an old train car on the other side of a wide dock, where a portly older man stood. He was in a printed blue and white cuban shirt, the quiff of his slightly graying brown hair blowing in the breeze that shot between the mangroves. His eyes hid behind glasses but his face reminded me of those little rodent animals that always smiled, quokkas or something. 

I pushed the boat to the dock, Dad throwing a rope up to tether it as Dr. Sims pulled himself out of the boat to greet the guy. The water slipped away from my arms, sank back into my skin, and I flinched when it settled; something about letting go of my control made the center of my shoulders twinge in pain, like I strained myself with a stretch. 

Rolling my shoulders, I turned, catching how Dad was looking at me. “You okay?” He asked. He still looked a little miffed from earlier, but at least the concern was genuine. 

But if I told him something was hurting after doing the exact thing he wanted me not to, I knew I’d never hear the end of it. He’d tighten his grip on me and I’d never be allowed to do anything like this again around him. 

So I lied, saying, “Just tired.”  

Dad nodded. “I know. Me too. We’ll talk to this guy, and then you both need to get some sleep.”

Brent was still in the center of the boat, unmoving. He couldn’t get out till we all did for fear of throwing us overboard. “You’re telling me,” he grumbled, staring off into space. He looked exhausted. The bags under his eyes seemed deeper than usual, and I had to wonder if it was because of his near-death experience.

Dad moved to grab a bag, stopping when he heard, “Nice to finally meet you, Delsin,”

We all turned to look at the guy who was standing on the dock with Dr. Sims, hands on his hips. “Kids,” Dad said instead of greeting the guy back, “This is Zeke Dunbar.”

Special shout out to my little boy, lovingly referred to as 'Delsin Layer' by friends, for coming up with the cool idea of how certain conduit powers could theoretically revive people! I've never met a more inquisitive and creative mind. He also really wants me to point out the steel when Brent's revived comes from the in-game healing animation (he was very serious about it staying in-canon). I may have given him too much control and he's now trying to direct more things in this story lol.

[stripeixii]

Ooooh yooo

Random writing idea

Loosely based on a possessed corpse AU idea I had, but not necessarily part of the AU.

This takes place in the future, I'd say Cassie is about in her mid to late 20s

Word cout: 2,070

Cassie looked over the cluttered driveway she sat in, her cinnamon coloured eyes taking in the decaying house and landscape with nervousness as she tried to will herself to get out of the car. The click and whirr of the seat belt retracting felt unreal as she took a breath and pushed open the car door.

She slipped out of it but hovered around the open door for longer than intended as the vehicle droned out an irritating beeping. She made a face as she bent down and snatched the keys from the car ignition. 

She was just going to leave them in the car, but thought better of it, instead  she retracted herself and shoved the car door shut with a thud.

She wasn't sure what she'd find, if anything but she at least had a small glimmer of hope for an expectation.

 

The dead leaves and dry overgrown weeds crunched with each step, and each step filled her with more dread. The cold breeze tore at her cheeks as it blew past, taking leaves with it into the autumn air. As she walked up the paved path to the house she frowned, she didn't like how time had treated her childhood home. The outside looked battered, dirty with decay, and falling apart. The shudders hung off broken hinges and the windows looked coated in grime. The siding was dingy and discolored while the yard and weeds had grown up around the house to help encase it in solitude.

She had to kick a clump of overgrown weeds and dead leaves to the side as she stepped onto the porch and ascended up the steps. 

She gave a harsh gasp as her foot went through a part of the wood that was weak with decay and yanked her foot back. She was thankful for the boots she wore because that would have probably cut her leg all up. She forced herself to take another breath to calm down as she stared at the hole her foot had just made. Carefully she tapped around its edges with her toe, and then out in front of her in search of any more sunken in and decaying planks that made up the porch.

The cold air smelled like decaying plants and overhanging foliage, it reminded her of the wooded areas she'd sometimes play in when she was younger. It was a memory that felt bittersweet now as her gaze panned up to the door. Its dirty state was saddening.

With a strain of hesitance she grabbed the door handle to open it, but it was locked. She made a face in a moment of irritation, but a bit of pressure and resulting cracking noises had let her shove the door open.

She was immediately hit with the dence musty air and horrible stench.  She recoiled and had to compose herself before entering, unsure if she'd like what she'd find.

“...Dad…?” She called out into the quiet and thick air, the sound bouncing a bit off the walls and decrepit furniture. She looked around the corridor a bit with a twinge of disappointment seeing so many things from memory desecrated with time. She stepped up to the coat hooks near the door, they were empty with the exception of a dirty pink and green windbreaker in a child's size, dust hiding the bright colors under a dull gray overlay. Reaching out to separate the sleeve and examine it she tried to stop the pained expression she made. Instead she released the sleeve and went to unhook the small jacket entirely. The movement jostled it enough to disturb whatever was in the pockets and it fell out in a shower by her feet.

She quietly exclaimed,

“Ah!” As she stepped backwards leaving the coat swaying a bit on the hook, but realizing what had happened she had stepped back in place. Bending a bit she examined what was on the floor; buttons, rocks, a marble, and a decayed piece of hard candy ( it looked like maybe bugs had gotten to it as the wrapper seemed relatively empty but was still wrapped neatly.)

She frowned, deeming it unhelpful and stepping back. Thanks younger cassie.

The silence that had fallen over the house, and the undisturbed creaks as she carefully walked along the floor made her reminisce in the warm memory of running through the house barefoot to see what her dad was doing, probably cooking something in the kitchen. There was almost always a soft ambiance of something playing, he didn't really like the silence either. It was always jarring when the power went out, and even the quiet hum of appliances was gone.

She stopped in about the middle of the small hall that was the entryway and sighed.

“I'm sorry I didn't take my shoes off,” she whispered as she looked to her feet on the dirty carpet and it brought her memory back to the many times she had walked over the nice off white carpet in mismatched socks, something she had taken for granted out of ignorance.

She blew a sigh from her mouth as she turned to walk through the familiar halls, all the while choking a bit on the air having to press her sleeve covered hand to her nose.

Her eyes caught a dust covered Pictureframe, knocked back against the other little decorations on the little shelf hanging from a nearby wall. She approached and scooped up the picture to look at it, it was a photo of the three of them, her momm dad, and her… it too held an odd sadness that distorted her features a bit. 

The day they took this photo was such a nice one… they had gone out to a park with a pond, there were ducks! There were also frogs! Cassie gave a sad smile, even after her parents divorce he had still kept photos around, she knew that, but even now still seeing them about…

She glanced around a bit at the walls so she could look for other framed photos. It was like nothing had changed, had he never moved anything,

She stared at the photo she held a moment longer before setting it back in its place, and swiping at the dust collected on the glass with her thumb, it barely helped.

“Dad..?” She tried again as she continued forward with slow steps “I, Uh-”

She what? 

She didn't know.

She was here, sure, but why?

Another bauble caught her eye, standing watch from inside the open cavity of a cabinet placed over drawers, she approached slowly and carefully stuck her hand in the cavity to grab it.

The movement caused a black blur to unfurl from the darkness and shove outward, nearly hitting her in the face as it flew out of the cubby.

“Ahk!” She yelled as she stumbled back, falling on the floor.

“Ah- Okay,” she tried to reassure herself, “It was a bat, I’m-” She exhaled. “It was just a bat…” she mumbled and after taking a moment she pushed herself up and swiped at the dirt that was collected on the back of her thighs.

“Okay,,,” she said again trying to reassure herself before looking at the item again. A little plush rabbit she remembered well. Again, a bit more cautiously this time, she reached out and pulled it from the shelf. The purple fabric was matted and grayed with dust, and it's face and body were a bit deflated as if it had lost volume over the years. Despite its sad appearance, it still radiates warmth she long missed. She hesitated a moment as she held it out, she was going to put it back but decided to instead  shove it in her coat pocket.

She continued a bit further now and couldn't help but smile a bit as she stood in front of a cute green and purple decorated room, the glow-in-the-dark stars barely clung to the walls any more, they looked like a slight breeze would knock them down. Even coated in dust the frilly room seemed bright. She stepped into it and the familiar creaking from the floorboards of the doorway made her giddy, she wasn't sure if it was excitement or nervousness.

She trailed into the room and picked up

A stuffed toy that lay on the floor and she breathed out a bit of a sigh

The stuffed dog had seen better days, that's for sure. She turned a bit swiveling to glance around the room before deciding to walk across it and take a seat on the dusty bedspread; the mattress of the little twin bed sunk under her weight and the frame creaked. She blew out a breath as she set the dog up against the head of the bed with the pillows and other plush toys stashed there.

She could only handle reminiscing in the memories of the past for so long before she had to leave the bedroom, she thought she might start crying if she didn't. 

Out of respect for preserving it metaphorically she pulled the door closed and stood there a long moment looking at the closed door, her eyes stuck to the funky font spelling out “Cassie” but the stickers were worn and peeling. The name wasn't recognizable from the halves a quarters of letters, more so that the initial lettering left a clean outline from where it blocked the build up of dirt.

She had to manually tear her gaze away and turn to walk back the way she had come.

She was quick to notice this side of the house smelled much worse.

Without thought she idly wondered if an animal had died here. She pressed her hand to her nose in hopes of just smelling the scent that clung to the fabric.

She frowned, and forced herself to pull her hand away from her face as she cautiously pushed open the half closed bedroom door she now stood in front of. It let out a long whiney creak before the top hinge broke and it fell at an odd diagonal with an unpleasant thud, she had stepped back in surprise but managed to not verbally react.

She stepped into the room and the floorboards creaked and shifted with her weight. She wasn't expecting it to break through the eerie silence and jumped a bit before gathering herself. She scanned the room, half darkened by torn and rotting curtains, but in the places they had completely fallen there was plenty of light creeping through to illuminate the room. Like being near the mouth of a cave, not the bright glass house atmosphere of light pooling in through all the windows and bouncing off all the walls like she's used to seeing from this room.

Her eyes finally fell to the bed across the room and she yelped, jumping back into the rotted door and smacking her head against it.

“Ow-!” She gave almost involuntarily as her hand had trailed to her head to rub the sore area.

Her eyes fell back on the bed, and the skeletal decayed mass that lay on it.

It took a lot to force her legs to move forward, but she did finally trail into the room and over to the bed to stand in front of the decrepit sight.

“Oh… god..” She managed to  push out under her breath.  As she looked over the gross pile of bones in front of her, it was vaguely human shaped and barely held together by thinly veiled skin draped around it, the translucency allowed you to see the inactive veins and decaying muscle beneath. There was barely anything left to identify it as even a person.

When one of the fingers twitched she thought her soul left her body as she jerked with a jump, stumbling back a few steps and emitting a yelp.

Panicked, her eyes were glued to it as she watched from this distance to make sure it wouldn't get up and attack her, it took a minute for her to approach again with eyes still a bit wide with shock.

On the left hand she could see the tarnished but barely decayed metal wedding band on what was left of a boney finger.

The realization had crept up on her and not addressing it made it attack her in a flood,

“Dad..?” She whispered

“How long have you been in here..?”

[thedeathlysallows]

memento mori

prologue

The rain pounds against the asphalt and thunder rumbles above me as I walk into the abandoned building, the door creaking on its hinges. The building isn’t actually abandoned, but the average person would assume so and not give it a second look. That ignorance it what helps The Society operate. I’ve been working for them ever since they found me in Seattle, a college dropout terrified of going home and facing the music. Not that my dad would’ve actually done anything. I just couldn’t handle his disappointment.

           Once inside, I shed my coat and hang it on one of the pegs sticking out from the wall. The entryway is small, homey. Photos of past Society members cover the walls and the sconces give a soft, warm glow. I can hear the crackling of a fireplace in the main room off to the left. There’s someone in there judging from the delicate sound of pages turning in a book. Probably another member returning from or waiting on a mission.

I wish that’s why I was here.

My reason is much, much worse.

“You’re compromised, dear.” Titania had said. “I’m afraid this matter goes beyond me now. We must consult with the Camarilla.”

It isn’t fair. I’m only “compromised” because of their inability to make decisions in the first place, and now they want to punish me because of it. They can pretend at a fair hearing all they want to, but I know my fate. I know what they decided before I even left my apartment.

Gritting my teeth, I throw my shoulders back and walk down the hallway. It opens up into what was likely once a grand ballroom. The Society changed it once they sunk their claws into it, though. That’s what they do. They take broken, helpless things and claim to give it new life. In reality, all they do is smother whatever life was left and transform it into something they can control.

I’ve grown jaded.

Whatever they’re about to do to me is probably for the best.

As I step further into the room I immediately spot Titania. She sits with the rest of the Camarilla at a long table, looking down her nose at me. She was the one who found me, who introduced me the The Society, who trained me. I know without a doubt she takes what’s happened personally.

But it’s not my fault.

Sitting in front of her on the table is a sprig of poison ivy and I feel my blood turn to ice in my veins. I hadn’t noticed anything when I walked in. There was no sign he had even been here. Titania pushes the plant towards me with her pen.

“You’ve gone pale,” she notes in a bored tone. “Care to explain why?”

“You know why.”

Titania smiles, baring sharp teeth. “Yes, but the Camarilla would like to hear directly from you, Agent.”

“I’m-” But the words won’t come out. I can’t bring myself to say it. Still, I try again. “I’m… compromised.”

She hums and looks to the man on her left. I don’t recognize him. I don’t recognize anyone besides Titania. All of them are founding members of The Society, but they might as well be myths as often as they’re seen by anyone.

“Tell us what happened,” he says. “The mission we gave you was simple and straightforward, but you became compromised. How?”

My bottom lip quivers and I have to actively fight the fear that creeps up my spine. “I went to Forks like I was told.”

“And?”

The memory surges to the front of my mind, but I feel like a third party to my own thoughts and feelings.

           I should have never came back.

           The thought echoed around and around in Roseanna’s head while she ran. Her breathing came in ragged short pants that only bounced off the trees around her. She couldn’t see him anymore but she knew he was there. The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight in fear, rain pelted down and soaked her to the core. He was still there. Still hunting.

           She should have stayed in Charleston and ignored her dad’s plea to come back to Forks. The hell with The Society and their missions too. Maybe then she wouldn’t have been running for her life through a once familiar but now forgotten forest, death hot on her heels.

           “Fuck,” she screamed. Her clumsy feet finally stumbled over a tree root and she toppled to the ground, her knees scraped and bleeding from impact. Her blood turned cold as she realized she wouldn’t be getting up any time soon. Her ankle snapped during the fall.

           Fuck.

           No.

           Get up, get up, get up.

           But it was useless.

           His eyes, those terrifying red eyes, peered at her in amusement when he took in her splayed body on the ground. Her chest heaved with each laborious breath. He smiled. Reached out a hand. Roseanna scooted backwards, palms bruised and cracked against the rough forest floor. She watched his smile grow ever larger, more predatory.  

           “Hello, darling.”

           It was the first time he actually spoke instead of looming menacingly.

           I’m pulled out of the memory to find my body convulsing and thin sheen of sweat covering my skin. I hate when Titania does that, when she pulls the memory from my mind and watches it like a movie. It hurts. I’m always left feeling sick and violated.

           But that’s how The Society is. It takes what it wants and spits out the rest.

           Titania clicks her tongue in disappointment. “You were trained better than this, Roseanna. If I didn’t know any better, well, I would assume you wanted him to catch you.”

           “Why the fuck would I want that?” I feel enraged that she would even suggest it. I’ve been nothing but good and loyal and now I’m about to be thrown away like I’m nothing.

           All because of one fucking vampire.

           If Titania doesn’t notice my anger, the man by her side does. He gives me a pitying look. “Roseanna, you’ve been the pride of The Society for years. Please understand this is not an easy situation for us. We value you as an Agent, but the fact remains that you’ve been compromised, and we can’t allow you to bring such danger to our doorstep.”

           My eyes fall to the poison ivy once again.

           I’ve already brought the danger.

           “The threat is clear.” Titania takes over the conversation. “As of today, you are no longer an Agent of The Society. The Camarilla hereby strips you of all rank and power. Let the vampire do with you as he will.”

           “No!” I lunge forward, but the pain stops me from actually doing anything besides dropping to the floor. I want to scream. I want to fight. All I can do is scream as the burning pain washes over me.

           I don’t remember passing out, but when I wake up I actually am in an abandoned building. There’s nothing. No one. I’m all alone.

           There’s a searing pain in my left arm that feels like it goes straight to the bone. I don’t want to look because I know what’s there, but I can’t help the morbid curiosity that creeps in. On my forearm is an hourglass with ‘MEMENTO MORI’ written below. If anyone were to look they would only see a tattoo, but I know the truth.

           My name is Roseanna Swan. I used to be an Agent of The Society. I used to be a lot of things. Now, I’m nothing. Now, I will kill the one vampire who took it all from me. No matter what. I will kill the Volturi executioner. I will kill Felix.

[portalwalker]

Visiting Graves

It was rainy and dark when Maria stepped out of the portal.

Large, heavy drops fell into her hair and dripped down her clothes, making them wet but not truly soaked. She took a moment to relish the feeling, holding out her arms and tipping her head back as the rain left wet tracks across her face.

While the watery trails left a mark, it didn’t linger; something in her dried the rain seconds after it hit her face, or repelled it from being truly absorbed into her skin and clothes. Humans would notice it on her jacket first, if any came across her, then realize it was happening to her hair and skin and realize she wasn’t what she appeared to be.

If anyone came out this far anymore.

Maria moved her face from the sky and scanned the landscape. Ruined homes with caved-in roofs and collapsing walls lined either side of what was once a road. What remained of the asphalt was cracked and faded back to stone, with weeds growing through the cracks. The civilization here had been all but reclaimed by nature – what little there was of it left.

Even the dandelions had seen better days….

Maria sighed and shook her head, then turned her attention to the collapsed two-story home she’d opened her portal in front of.

The color of the siding had faded a long time ago, leaving it gray and cracked as it fell off what remained of the rotting frame beneath. The front door had been kicked in a long time ago, leaving it barely hanging on rusted hinges. It was amazing that even that had lasted this long. The front porch looked like it was barely standing, and the roof had long since fallen into the floor above, judging by the broken windows, but…it was still here.

Home was still here.

Maria blinked away the faint wetness in her eyes, then shook her head and walked up onto the rotting porch. The wood creaked and groaned dangerously under her feet, but she didn’t pay it any mind.

“Mom, Dad,” Maria said into the rain-filled air. “I’m home.”

She could almost see them, standing in the open doorway. Her mother’s black hair blended in with the darkness of the first floor, but her green eyes were bright and warm. Her father’s brown hair likewise tried to vanish, but the blue of his eyes – a darker shade than her own – carried the same tone in them.

Maria closed her eyes and shook her head. When she looked again, the shades had vanished.

Just a long-dead memory, nothing more.

A shaky sigh slipped out, and Maria ran her fingers across her forehead, as though to ease a nonexistent headache. She hadn’t suffered from one in centuries, but old habits never died. 

“I know you’re not here anymore,” Maria said into the empty air. “But…I hope you’ll forgive me for pretending you are, for just a little while.”

She stepped around the broken front door, carefully making her way into the dark house. The scent of mold and mildew hung heavy in the air, and it was clear by the sound of dripping water that it wasn’t dry in here, and it hadn’t been dry in a long time.

Maria snapped her fingers, and a flickering orb of flame came at her call. Nature-damaged walls flickered in its light, revealing an empty ground floor devoid of furniture or appliances. It looked like this place had been cleared out a long time ago.

The sight made Maria’s eyes tear up again. She could almost see the well-lit living space, her brothers sitting at the couch with their father playing a fighting game, her sister sitting off to the side with a grumpy expression after having lost all her lives in the brawl.

She shook her head again. Just a memory. As much as she wanted that to happen again, it couldn’t. Not after…

…no. She didn’t want to think about that here. Not now.

“I guess I’ll start with where I left off after my last visit, huh?” Maria said quietly. “I’m in Gravity Falls now – you remember that cartoon, right?....”

-----

She spends what feels like hours recounting her recent adventures to the ghost of a house. It echoes with the groaning of the roof, threatening to break through the floor above and finally collapse the entire building, but it holds for as long as she stands in what was once the living room.

It’s only after she leaves, tears evaporating from her face, that the entire building gives in with a groan and collapses.

She doesn’t wince at the sound. If anything, her shoulders seem to droop with more unseen weight than when she’d arrived.

“Guess it’s official, huh,” Maria muttered. She sighed and shook her head. “Got one last place to visit, and then I’ll go. I promise.”

She walked further up the decaying street, to another home that had long since collapsed. There were the remains of a sleek, silver building behind it, now rusting with disuse.

The safe-like front door gave way at her touch, and something dinged in the building. “Spark signature recognized. Welcome, Maria Flare.”

She tried not to wince at the synthesized voice of the young man over the loudspeaker system. She failed miserably.

“I’m just here to fill up on whatever’s left,” Maria said. “Please, don’t report back. They don’t need to know I’m here.”

“Understood.”

Lights flickered on, but sporadically – clearly, it’s been a long time since this place has seen any use. Mechanical tools and similar lab equipment lay on tables and in cabinets, gathering dust. They look like they were laid out for some grand project, and then were left before the mechanics or scientists could begin.

Maria ignores the tools, walking past them to a large tank in the far back. She glances at the gauge.

Energon reserves – 15%

A heavy sigh leaves her again. “Might as well take what’s left.”

She pulls a few metal canisters out from under her orange jacket, similar in shape to large, multi-gallon water bottles, and sets to work. It takes some time, but she’s able to empty what remains in the reserve tank into her own portable ones.

Some spattering drops of the glowing blue liquid are lost in the transfer, but Maria doesn’t feel greatly concerned at their loss.

When she finishes, she stows away the tanks. They vanish under her jacket as soon as she moves them there, disappearing to some personal pocket space. Then she walks back to the safe-like front door.

“Initiate final shut-down,” Maria said flatly.

“Password required to confirm command.”

Maria closed her eyes. “Same old Joshua.” She raises her voice to the ceiling. “Spark’s Call.”

“Password accepted. Initiating shut-down.”

The lights flicker and die behind her as Maria steps out of what remains of the lab.

She notices a pair of headlights on the ruined street through the rain, and hears the calm purr of an engine too smooth to be human-made.

Maria paused on the grass, then snapped her fingers again.

The blue glow of a portal appeared at her feet, and she vanished from that world without a word.

Maybe I’ll come back and speak with them again. But not now. Not today.

Seeing what remains…it hurts enough.

[ducky-died-inside]

Broken Promises Part 2: Varian x Fem Reader

Summary: Varian has some nasty visitors who are very interested in his dad's old graphtyc, one of which has a significant connection to you....

Genre: Angst

Notes: Part 2! This is what Varian is doing before episode "Quest for Varian" in the Canon show. Also, the business that Quirin is doing is moonstone business and I might end up killing him. I haven't decided yet. SPOILER WARNING FOR SEASON 1.

Warnings: Angsty, blood, mad dad, death threats, crying/screaming

Part 1 Part 2 (here)

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

One week. That's how long it took before anyone from the capital came to check on Varian. One week of hurting hands, a cold that seemed desperate to kill him, and you not being any closer to being freed.

When he heard the footfalls, a bitter hope rose in his chest. Had Rapunzel remembered him and her promise? Had she come to help him free you from your gold colored prison?

That hope was quickly crushed when he heard the front door crash off its hinges. Varian risked a look up the stairs and saw it was not in fact Rapunzel, but a bunch of armored men. They were clothed in red and black clothes and blinding silver masks.

They came bursting into the small house and started overturning everything on the top floor. Varian turned back and ran down the stairs. Now that he was in the basement, he could hear everything as it hit the floor. He also heard a loud voice ordering the others to go down the stairs.

"Split up and find the boy! He may know something about the rocks and we need him."

Varian heard pounding feet as they came down the stairs. They tore up his workshop, flipping over the tables and breaking bottles of chemicals. He hid in the corner and watched as they threw the tarp off of the amber, revealing you inside. One of the guards stepped forward and removed his helmet to get a better look. Varian may not have knew him well, but it took one look to know the man was your father. The other guards must've realized this as well, because they left the room.

"Y/N?"

Varian tried to look away, not wanting to see the reaction, but he couldn't. He could see the range of emotions as your father slammed his hands on the amber.

Shock.

"How could this happen to her? I thought she would be safe."

Grief.

He sobbed and pounded his fists on the unrelenting crystal, as if that would set her free. He sank to the floor and curled his arms around him.

Guilt.

"I knew that boy was dangerous. I never should have let her go here. I never should have let them become friends. This all could have been avoided if I had just stopped it before it started."

Anger.

"When I get my hands on that kid, I'm going to kill him. He hurt my daughter and I will return that to him tenfold."

Varian gulped and slipped into the corner where it was dark and no one could see him. He knew your dad was a royal guard, so what was he doing here? Had the king sent them? Why weren't they in their normal uniforms? Why were they here? What had he done that warranted this kind of search?

He had a million questions and zero answers, and he probably wouldn't get any if he didn't go out of his hiding place. On the other hand, if he went out, there were guards everywhere and they destroyed his alchemy stuff. On the other other hand, he couldn't stay here if they were going to tear the house apart.

He was distracted from his thoughts by Ruddiger. The raccoon had skittered his way to Varian without drawing attention to himself and curled up on the boy's shoulders. He sighed and stood up, walking out of the shadows. He needed to either leave or get answers and he couldn't do that without moving. He stepped forward.

Crunch.

He slowly lifted up his foot and saw broken glass beneath it. Your father turned his head and stared daggers at Varian. If looks could kill, Varian would be dead twenty times over.

Varian ran.

He ran past your father and sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He would let nothing stop him from leaving the house. However, when he got to the top of the stairs, there were many sharp blades pointed at him. He stopped dead in his tracks, nearly getting impaled by a sword. He tried to go back down the stairs, but your father was there with his sword behind Varian.

It was at this moment, Varian knew, he messed up.

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

So. This certainly isn't an ideal situation right now. But at least I'm not dead. Yet.

That was the only thing going through Varian's head as he was pushed out of his house. When they made it outside, he noticed there was no snow left from the blizzard, as it was summer and that blizzard was a strange anomaly that he wanted to study later, but the ground was still very muddy.

Varian soon became acquainted with the mud very quickly as he was shoved into it from behind. Your father knelt next to him and grabbed him by the shirt collar.

"What did you do to my daughter? You better start talking, or things will real messy here, real quick."

"It was an accident." Varian's voice was shaky with fear as your dad wound back his fist for a punch.

"Wrong answer, kid."

Varian shied away from the fist that came very close to his face when your dad got shoved off of him.

Varian gasped for air upon being released and scrambled backwards, away from the guards. He heard your father's disappointment at the fact that he got let go. "That boy did something to my little girl and I'm not leaving until I figure out what."

"Mason, you know that isn't our goal here. We came here to find out about the rocks, not your daughter. However, we can still ask him what happened."

The man talking to Mason turned toward Varian. He started walking forward, but Varian was not having it. He mustered up what little courage he had and yelled at the top of his lungs. "Don’t touch me!"

His outburst surprised the guards and they all took a step back. He noticed this, so he continued. "I am friends with Princess Rapunzel and if you hurt me, there will be hell to pay."

The guard walking toward him just sighed, shook his head, and removed his helmet. Varian felt the blood drain from his face. "Captain Solomon?"

The captain motioned for the other guards to remove their helmets. When they did, Varian realized he recognized all of them from when he had been at the castle, either to acquire Rapunzel's help, or for the science expo. As his eyes darted around at all of them, the captain knelt next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Look, kid, we were sent by the king to find out what is going on here. He told us that you or your father might know something about the rocks."

Varian shoved the hand off. "You think I want to tell you anything after you rampaged through my house?! After you broke all my stuff?! After you almost impaled me when I tried to leave my own home?!"

The captain pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted his eyes. "Some of us went in a little too eager and I'm sorry for that."

Varian scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"If you're so sorry, why were you shouting orders to find me and tear the house apart if you had to?"

The captain's eyes widened with shock. "I just got here." He turned to the rest of his men. "One of you was shouting orders without me here?!"

Varian huffed an angry sigh.

"That doesn't change the fact that I won't tell you anything."

The captain's gaze turned stony as he stood up and left Varian on the ground.

"Fine. Your funeral, kid. I really didn't want it to come to this, but you've left me no choice. I was your path to the easy way, but now you get the hard way. I really don't want to hurt you, and that is honestly a terrible way to get information from someone, but lucky for me, I won't be the one doing it."

The rest of the guards swarmed Varian and two of them held his arms behind his back. He struggled and tried to get out of their grip and locked eyes with the captain.

"Is this really going to give you a clean conscience, Captain? Giving me to the dogs you call guards?"

The captain's eyes darkened.

"Are you going to tell us what happened without fighting? You owe us that at least."

"I owe you nothing. You tore up my home. You destroyed my stuff. And now you have the gall to tell me that you didn't want to hurt me and that I owe you answers. Sound about right?"

A smack rang across his face and he accidentally bit the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. He looked at the offender and saw it wasn’t Captain Solomon, but Mason who had slapped him. He spit out the blood that had gathered in his mouth, glaring at both men. His head was spinning, both from the force of the slap and the sight and taste of his own blood. He put on a brave face, trying to not pass out.

"Still keeping a clean conscience there, Captain?" His words slurred together, destroying his image of feigned confidence.

Another smack from Mason. His vision began to swim and it all went black.

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

Sorry for the wait on this chapter! It's finally done though

Taglist: @minion-tampons @impulse-cake @gloomymuffin @offersqueen

[bts5sosempire]

as yours (ii); troublemakers

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sukuna ryomen x reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1,730

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: fluff, comedy(?), college au, mention of gang fighting/ involvement, sprinkle of angst (future updates), idk what I might miss.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:  "as a child, you have harbor a massive crush on Itadori Yuji; it wasn't until that college happened you dared to ask him. Trying to give him a letter, the one who you ended up giving to was no other than his no-good twin brother, Sukuna Ryomen."

chapter 1 ✿ chapter 3

A few days passed, and you were still feeling slumped over the note is taken. You were walking to college with Maki and Nobara, who were lagging, whispering about the newest thing, and then giggling at one another. After arriving from the train station, you guys hit up at a local cafe around your college area for morning breakfast and proceed on.

Nearing the college gate, you see Megumi's car approach. “Hey! Megumi!” You wave at your friend who came out trying to tell his father off to stop embarrassing him. You only saw Megumi's dad from time, and have been to Megumi's home for school projects back in high school (and even till now). You have to boot that he's a good-looking dad even tho he's married and is in his forties with strands of grey hair donning his upcoming age. Even his mom and older sister are beautiful too; you had to guess that good looks run in the family.

Megumi mumbled a small ‘hi’ while shooting his father a final glare. “Oh, hey there, kiddo!” Toji greeted you with a smile that had a scar dash down at the corners of his lips, “Take care of that troublemaker, would you?” He gives you a hearty laugh with a wave, and you return it right back. You drag the boy by the arm, and Toji snickers before driving off.

When Maki and Nobara arrived at the gate with you and Megumi, a commotion was going at the front of the bulletin board. A bunch of students was chattering loudly among themselves and to each other. They were trying to see the latest news. You didn't bother much unless it was necessary about upcoming exams and important notice. Turning away for a second, something in bright red caught your peripheral view; on the board was a note, not just any message, but it mimicked your handwriting in a big font. Not to mention it sums up what's in the letter too!

[“Sukuna-san,

From the deepest part of my heart, I hope you accept my sincere love and be my boyfriend since I have liked you for a long time, ever since we were children.

                                             Sincerely yours truly, (Name)”]

A hot and cold flash ran through your body as you weaved through the crowds like a madman. Going to the front, you tore off the paper from the board, feeling your face might explode from any second now. You freed yourself from the crowd and went to look for that despicable man!

Sukuna, who skips the morning halls lecture as always, was humming a familiar tune. He listened to as a kid. Sukuna stopped when he heard rapid footsteps approaching his confined space; a wide grin made across his face like a Cheshire cat.

“Sukuna!” Your voice echoed into the room when you slammed the door open with rage, that it could've fallen off its hinges if there were more forces. Looking at the man who sleeps his life away, you point an accusing finger at him. “You!” Stomping to him angrily, he looks up at you, then down, scanning your chintzy form like you just got back from fighting for your life, hair disarray, and clothes slightly underhand. “W-Why did you have to post this bullshit upon the board?! Did taking my note is not enough for you?”

“This?” Sukuna pulled the confession out of his front pocket, waving it. Even though it had been with him for a few days, the paper was already damaged beyond repair by Sukuna. “I thought I should just amuse myself.”

A scoff came from you, “Your humor is broken as your personality.” Sarcasm rolling off your lips, you snatched the letter out of his hand and threw the other one already crumpled up in your hand. “You think copying the letter and making it yours is funny?”

Sukuna lets out a low charming chuckle (that could make his fangirls swoon) while he swings himself upon the makeshift bed; he props an arm to his leg while his jaw rests on his knuckles. “I already told you if it's not funny, I wouldn't have pulled the stunt. Plus, you're falling for a boy who views you as nothing but a friend for the longest time.”

A frown appears on your face; you overlapped your arms over one another, feeling one of your feet itching to kick him down a notch. “You don't know that,” speaking with confidence, you're not going to let a man like Sukuna bring down your affections for Yuji. “Quit acting like you're high and almighty; it's stupid and irritating. Just because you can pull anyone to your side doesn't mean they truly love you; they're just infatuated with you.”

“Ouch,” Sukuna feigned a hurt look before mocking you, “even if all the girls who had been in between my sheets may not love me, I can say that I'd wanted more than one way, unlike you.” A look of disgust flash across your face. Sukuna, extend a free hand out, pull one of your belt loops holes with his finger, and give it a firm tug that makes you tumble to him unexpectedly. Your hands fall upon Sukuna's shoulder for supports, the proximity between you shortened suddenly, “Another thing I could say to Yuji is that he's truly missing out though,” he looks at you with those glimmers rosy eyes, “you may not notice, but you're my type.” 

‘What in the actual fuck?’ Trying to pull back, you thought that Sukuna's jokes just got worse as he aged. “What a funny joke. Are you aiming to be a comedian? Maybe you should get it since you're a fucking joke.” Pushing him off, he lets you go without much of a fight.

“Suit yourself,” was all he said. 

You walk away about a reasonable distance, not before turning around to flip him off, then hold your chin high.

Outside the door, someone lingers unknowingly. Listening.

After school hits and your group decides to hit the library, Panda and Inumaki finally show up after being swamped for days. Megumi works diligently on his history paper, Nobara flipping through her fashion magazine while Maki hangs around after revising her English papers. Panda and Inumaki were making origamis when they only worked for ten minutes and only called quit later.

And you, you were reading the same line for the eighth time before huffing a tired groan, rubbing your temples in stress. Closing the textbook, you slump in your chair and look up at the high ceiling of the library. Rays of cupids were painted across the vast top, with a baby blue background and clouds.

“You were the talk of the day (Name),” Maki mentioned, and an exasperated cry left your throat; you don't want to remember what happened in the early hours, “rumors about you already started flying. It wasn't the pleasant kind.”

“I thought that I would pass through college like a breeze, but here I am caught up in fraudulent rumors….” You quietly take a deep breath, “Why do people have so much time to come up with things about me? They could've donated those time to my lack of sleep and deadline extension.”

“You do remember about that Minori or Minomi person, right?” Maki asks, and you look to the side, trying to find a piece of memory about that person with that name in your head. “The one you got into a fistfight during freshman year in high school.”

Then it clicked, “Oh, you mean that pompous sassy little lady?” You turn your body towards Maki; now, an old face resurfaces into your head. Minomi, a girl back in high school who mistakes Yuji for Sukuna and starts ridiculing him, and it gets in your nerve that you ended up giving her a few punches to her face when she was insulting and making fun of him for being the ‘no-good’ half. You didn't regret what you did, but you would give her a few more if you could turn back time. “What about her?”

“Heard that she's the head of Sukuna's fan club,” Maki told you. While you don't know how this adds up, “She runs a large following online Twitter and Instagram for daily news.”

“And?” You raise a brow at the woman sitting across from you.

“She wants you gone.”

That makes a laugh rise out of you as you slap a hand over your mouth, surprised. The librarian over the desk shoots your table a glare, and you nod your head apologetically towards her.

The door to the library opened with a slammed which caught the attention of everyone in the vicinity, and lord behold, a woman who was a bit a tad shorter than the rest of your group and you, walk furiously towards you. Their coiled pigtails bounce behind them with each rapid movement.

“That's her,” Maki used a hand to cup her mouth and whisper to you without moving her lips as her eyes were glued to the sassy child.

“She's still short as I remember,” you whisper right back.

“I thought that after high school, I would have never to see you again,” she spoke with a condescending tone. Once she's up to you, her face is blocked by your chest as you look down on her.

Without warning or sign, no one saw it coming when she stood on her tiptoes and extended her arm back before swinging it forward, and a loud slap echoed around the room. Your friends and even you were shocked because it came so fast that you thought this was her way of getting back at it for all those years when you fought her Chihuahua stature.

“Stay away from him!” Minomi pronounces before turning away and walking out of the room, pushing a student out of the way.

“Well, I'll be damn…” You give the group a look before rubbing your cheek in pain. Despite her size, she can pack a slap. Years of pent-up hatred for you might have been the source of that holy power. “If she can slap, why didn't she fight me like that at the time?” You ask no one in particular.

On second thought, your ego and pride might've been bruised, and you convince yourself not to feel that way. A heavy sigh leaves you.

[cryonme]

𝐈 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐈𝐕

PART FOUR- “I Can’t Stop Thinking About The Way You Held Me That Night After The Boneyard And I Think I Need You To Do It Again.”

part one here

part two here

part three here

short series-- jj maybank x kook!reader

word count- 4.2k

tw- scratching, panic, description of bruises and cuts, big ol mental breakdown, swearing, self deprecation, fluff if you fuckin squint harder than you ever have in your life, mentions of blood, hints at sexual assault, mentions of wanting to throw up probably more please tell me if I missed something :( typos guaranteed

a/n- thank you for being so patient for this part! it was a busy couple days for Roxie!! again, the reader talks a lot of self deprecation, and I want to make it clear, I do not agree with her views on herself. please remember that I don't think of victims that way, I just wanted to write accurately. love you all so much!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You were basically a shell of a human being for the next week.

Your dad and Christine had told Shoupe that it was no surprise to them that Tyler had done this, and explained that they had kicked him out of the house and why. Tyler was apparently “nowhere to be found”, very convenient, considering the police were looking for him.

All you wanted was to go see your friends, you wanted to tell them everything. You wanted to apologize for the way you treated them and thank them for saving you.

But your dad and Christine had you practically locked up in your room.

You were afraid to even ask to leave, knowing they would get upset again. You avoided bringing up the situation at all, not wanting to see the sad looks on their faces.

So, you waited. You waited a week to see your friends just so you wouldn’t have to go through the awkward sadness.

“Dad?” You asked softly as you walked into his office, hands shoved in the back pockets of your blue jean shorts. He was writing at his desk, his fingers flying across the keyboard. He started working from home when he got the call from Christine about what had happened. You hadn’t told either of them what you know yet, you needed to know more before telling someone as powerful as your father.

“Hey, honey.” He turned in his chair and smiled, taking his glasses off, giving you a warm smile.

You and your dad had a good relationship. You weren’t best friends, you didn’t tell him everything, you didn’t hang out often. But, he loved you with everything he had, and would do, and has done, just about anything for you.

“Hey,” You started, fidgeting with your hands and the rings on your fingers. “I uh- I was wondering if- Everyone’s going to John B’s today and I really miss my friends and Pope and JJ and John B will all be there so they can protect me if anything happens and-”

“(Y/n),” Your dad started but you kept rambling.

“And I just think it’s really important for me to get out of the house especially-”

“You can go.”

“Because of what happened here and I just- wait, I can?”

Your dad nodded, standing up and placing his hand on your shoulders, looking straight into your eyes with his (y/c/e) eyes, sullen and misty.

“I agree, I think you should go.”

You smiled and wrapped your arms around your dad, squeezing extra tight. He let out a watery laugh and kissed your head.

“I’m really sorry kiddo. I can’t believe I wasn’t-” He stopped for a moment and let out a deep sigh, “I just can’t believe I let it go on for so long.” You frowned and just hugged your dad tighter. “You didn’t let anything go on, it’s my fault.”

Your dad's lip quivered and he rested his chin on your head, “It’s no one’s fault but his, let’s say that.

You nodded in agreement, “Let’s.”

After a couple more apologies and just a few more tears, you and your dad pulled away and you made your way back to your room, after stopping by Christine’s room to tell her you were leaving and promising 50 times to be so safe, and sent a text to Sarah.

*Can I hitch a ride to JB’s?*

It took about 15 seconds for her to reply.

OH THANK GOD

YES WTF

You smiled at your phone and shook your head, almost giddy with excitement to see your best friends. You knew Sarah was probably gonna pick you up in less than a couple minutes, so you stuck with the outfit you had on already, opting against a swimsuit. Your cuts and bruises had healed and faded immensely, but they were still there, and you’d rather skip the pity glances and sad looks. Your hands were still wrapped in compression wrap from the force of Tyler’s kick, along with your left knee and rib cage, your neck covered in red, ugly scratches from your panic attacks, and you had to be very careful with your movements so you wouldn’t worsen your concussion. You were already in a lot of pain, and having to deal with your emotional pain today would just be too much. You knew they came from a good place, and they were just concerned, but that’s not what you were there for today, you had a lot more problems in your future than just a couple injuries.

Once Sarah had texted you that she was waiting outside, you made your way downstairs, bidding your parents one last goodbye before walking out the front door and giving your best friend a wave as you made your way to her passenger seat.

“I’m not gonna hug you because I’m afraid I’ll squeeze you too tight and I know you’re injured.”

You giggled and leaned over the center console, giving her a quick kiss on top of her head and a big smile. “I would offer you my hand to squeeze but unfortunately my hands did not make it out unscathed.”

Sarah just nodded, taking in your appearance for a moment before clearing her throat and starting her car, blinking hard a couple times as she made her way out of your neighborhood.

“I didn’t tell anyone you’re coming, they’ll be so excited.” She forced a smile to her face and you returned it.

You knew she was having a really hard time having you in her car, forced to look at you and remember the day they found you nearly unconscious with Tyler’s hand around your throat.

You probably looked disgusting.

You pulled down the mirror to examine your face, your eye was still swollen and discolored, your lip as well. You had a yellowing bruise on your right cheekbone and a healing cut on your eyebrow right above it.

A sight to see.

“(Y/n/n)...”

“Please don’t, S.” You said softly, flipping the mirror back up in its place and turning to your blonde haired friend, giving her a weak smile. “Just making sure they’re healing okay. Forgot to check before we left.”

Sarah just nodded, not looking convinced by your untrue words.

+

The sound of Sarah’s tires rolling over the dirt road made your stomach flip, you weren’t ready yet. You didn’t want to see John B’s sad eyes, or Kiara’s quivering lip, or Pope’s lingering eyes on your bandages.

You didn’t wanna see JJ’s face, you’d turn to putty if you saw even an ounce of hurt in those pretty blue eyes.

You took a deep breath when Sarah finally rolled up to the Chateau, trying to calm your shaking hands, using one to steady the other, but it was no use since they were both unsteady. You mustered up all of your courage and confidence and opened the car door, immediately spotting your friends on John B’s wrap around porch, drinking beers and laughing.

They don’t miss you. You had told yourself, stopping in your tracks and raking your hands through your hair, suddenly wanting to cry. Look how much fun they’re having without you.

What you hadn’t seen was the pogues sitting in silence only moments before, sullen looks on their faces as they forced light conversation and jokes, before one finally made them laugh, bringing peace to the friends for just a moment.

“Hey,” Sarah stood in front of you, hands on your cheeks. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to. Her eyes looking into yours with nothing but love and compassion was enough. “Come on.” She nodded encouragingly and grabbed your hand, pulling you behind her as she approached the screen door.

You wanted to throw up.

The door cracked open, it’s rusty hinges making a high pitched squeaking noise.

And there it was.

John B’s sad eyes.

Kiara’s quivering lip.

Pope’s eyes glued to your bandages.

You didn’t look at JJ.

“Fuck.” Kiara breathed out as she quickly stood up from her spot to hug you, but quickly stopped herself as she got closer and could see the damage more clearly. She stared at you a moment with teary eyes, not sure what to do.

“Just hug me, weirdo.” You said, grabbing her arm and pulling her in for a light hug.

“God, I just wanna squeeze you.” She muttered, her mouth pressed against your shoulder.

“Please don’t.” You said, only half joking.

You both giggled and pulled away, you gave her a small smile before squeezing her shoulders.

“Love you, Kie.”

“I love you way more, how are you doing?”

You just shook your head, “I’d rather not get into that, if that’s okay.”

Kie just nodded. She should’ve known better with you, of course you weren’t gonna answer that question.

“At least you’re not lying.” John B said, pulling you into a light hug much like the one you had with Kie moments before, his arms around your shoulders while your cheek rested on his chest, his chin on top of your head.

“Love you, bub. Glad you’re okay.” He said into your hair before leaving a slight kiss, pulling away to put his hand in Sarah’s, his gaze lingering on your broken down figure.

Pope just kept looking at you, obviously freaked out.

“Hey, Heyward.” You put your hand under his chin, bringing his eyes up to yours. You smiled at the boy and nodded, “I’m okay.”

Pope reached one hand up to grab yours, hot holding it too tight, but just enough to tell you how much he loves you. “I’m happy you’re here.”

JJ watched as you had a heartfelt moment with each of your friends, but wouldn’t spare a single glance in his direction. She had whispered his name in pain just a week ago, wanting him by her side, and now she won’t look at him.

She realized what a piece of shit you are.

The pogues sensed the tension, all of them standing up and heading inside the house to give you two a moment alone. You wanted to beg them to stay, or follow them inside even. Grab a bag of chips and flop yourself onto the couch with your head in Pope’s lap, giggling at John B and Sarah’s lovers quarrel in the kitchen.

But you had to face this head on, you had to face JJ head on. It was time.

“Why won’t you look at me?” JJ asked, trying to mask his anger, it wasn’t working.

“I-”

“After all this, I thought we were past the hatred, (Y/n).” He was trying to keep his cool, but he couldn’t. Keeping his cool was never one of his strong suits.

“JJ-”

“I’m not doing this anymore with you. You can-”

You cut him off. If he said one more angry word at you you wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“JJ, I know you hate me and I know I’m a bitch and I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you. But, god, I can’t stop thinking about the way you held me that night after the boneyard and I think I need you to do it again.” Your voice shook as you finally whipped your head to look at him, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through your head from the sudden movement.

There was that hurt in his eyes, plain as day. His hair was disheveled and his eyes looked heavy and sad, dark circles hanging underneath them. He looked so beautiful.

JJ was wordless as he strode towards you, his arms out as he finally held you lightly in his arms.

“I need you to hold me tighter, Jayje, please.” “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“*Please.”

The blond responded by just holding you tighter against him, one hand around your waist and the other supporting the back of your head. You let out a choked sob at the feeling of him around you, this is all you ever wanted, all you ever needed. It was like air was finally rushing through your lungs.

“I’m sorry I was angry, I’m so sorry.”

You just shook your head, unable to speak words as you continued to cry, wordlessly telling him not to apologize, just pulling him impossibly closer.

JJ stumbled a little as you pulled him, “Okay, okay. Let’s sit down.” He said softly, leading you to the outside couch, careful not to loosen his grip on your frame. JJ sat down in the corner and pulled you with him, situating your body between his legs, your arms wrapped around his neck as your head fell to rest in the crook of his neck. JJ’s hand that wasn’t on your waist came to rest on your cheek, his thumb slowly stroking your cheekbone back and forth.

“I’m so scared.” Your voice squeaked through your sobs and hiccups and JJ’s heart shattered, scattering broken pieces at his feet.

“M’not gonna leave you. Promise.”

You didn’t respond as you held up your pinky, signalling for him to hook his around yours, and he did, leaving a sweet kiss on your fingers, then returning his hand to it’s spot on your cheek, holding onto you for dear life. He wanted to find Tyler and kill him himself, even if only for the way you were shaking in his arms, it scared him. He had never seen you this broken before, he didn’t think anybody had, not including Sarah or Kie, but even then the amount was few.

He didn’t want to shush you or tell you everything was okay, because it wasn’t, really. Your abusive step brother was nowhere to be found and he had nearly killed you. It wasn’t okay. So, he let you cry and he held you, letting out an involuntary whine every time your body would tremor and whispering sweet things in your ear, until eventually you fell asleep in his arms, your breathing finally normal.

John B came out the front door when he heard your crying stop, Pope trailing close behind him, and the two leaned on the railing across from JJ.

“I wanna kill him.” JJ said, not looking up from his gaze on you. “Look at her.”

JJ was holding back his own tears now, forcing out a couple coughs to try and cover up his cracking voice. “The way she just broke down, I- I’ve never seen her like this before, guys. She usually has something funny to say, a joke to pull even in the toughest situations but she’s so scared and sad. Fuck, I never want to see her like this again.”

John B and Pope were silent as JJ talked, just listening to their distraught friend.

“I’m not leaving her. Not ‘til that son of a bitch is dead or behind bars for the rest of his life.”

Pope nodded, “I think that’s smart, actually.”

The boys were interrupted when Sarah brought out your bag, holding it out to JJ.

“She needs to change her bandages, they look a mess.”

JJ grabbed the bag and placed it on the ground next him, then turned to you and gently shook you awake, stroking your hair and whispering softly.

“Hey, pretty girl, Gotta get up and change your bandages, okay? They’re all twisted.”

You nodded and stood up, immediately whimpering from losing the extra compression around your ribs and the pain in your head. JJ shot up, fawning over you, offering to carry you to the bathroom. You just shook your head and made your way inside, keeping your eyes on your feet so you wouldn’t make eye contact with Pope or John B.

You made it to the bathroom before JJ did, so you sat on the counter and waited, he must’ve been talking to the boys outside.

“You should’ve said something sooner, Sarah. This could’ve been avoided.” You heard Kie’s voice through the door.

“What? Do you know how mad she would be if I did? She’d never talk to me again.” “At least she’d be safe.” Kie spat.

“Look, I- I didn’t know that was gonna happen, okay-”

“Obviously.” Kie muttered.

“You don’t think I’ve been beating myself up about it all week?”

“You should be beating your-”

“Kie, lay off.” John B’s voice interrupted, followed by the slamming of a bedroom door, and silence.

You frowned at the conversation. This was no one’s fault, no one but Tyler. He’s the scum who did this to you, there was no one else to blame. Kie was angry and looking for someone to pin it on who wasn’t conveniently missing, but it wasn’t fair to Sarah.

JJ entered the room not a moment later, holding your bag with fresh compression wraps and bandages, a nervous smile plastered on his face.

“Let me see.” He said, setting down the bag on the counter next to you.

You had a hesitant look on your face, you knew he meant for you to take off your shirt, and you didn’t want to. After everything-

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” He whispered so softly you almost didn’t hear him. “I just wanna help you, okay? I need to see them so I can help you, baby.”

You nodded and he mirrored the action, slowly bringing his arms forward to pull your shirt over your head, leaving you in just a bra and shorts. JJ didn’t bat an eye at your chest, solely focused on your injuries. He stayed silent while he carefully unwrapped the compression from your ribcage, which was now twisted from your sleeping position. He sucked in through his teeth while he looked at your ribcage, horribly discolored and red from the wrap, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to your tiny heart tattoo, almost invisible from the bruising.

“Broken?” He asked.

You shrugged. You don’t pay attention when doctors talk, that was Christine’s job.

JJ didn’t acknowledge your answer, just continued his work. He pressed a kiss to each spot he unwrapped, telling you something about how it always made them heal faster.

“Kisses from a handsome man like myself make everything better.” He had said with a playful glint in his eye.

You wanted to smile and the sweetness and pureness of it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

JJ finished and crumpled up the old wraps and bandages before tossing them in the garbage and looking back at you. He looked at you for a moment before reaching his hand out and softly running his fingers over your red scratches. You couldn’t read his expression. You still didn’t know JJ well, having hated him the entire time you’ve known him up until just over a week ago, you were seeing him in a new light, and you couldn’t tell what he was making of all of this.

You told yourself he was probably over this, annoyed that he was having to deal with the beaten down girl in front of him instead of sticking himself into the gorgeous blonde he had wrapped around him at the Boneyard.

He thinks you're ugly and pathetic. Who the fuck scratches themselves?

“These look like they hurt, baby. You gotta stop doing this to yourself.” He said, bringing his blue eyes up to meet yours. “Not that easy.” You rasped back.

JJ sighed and nodded, he of all people knew how not easy it was to quit a coping mechanism. He always hated when Pope or Kiara would try to tell him to just “Stop drinking” or “Stop getting in fights”. It isn't easy when you feel like that’s the one thing that will help you.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said seriously, his eyes full of intensity as he looked at you, the girl he felt so strongly for that he mistook the feeling for hatred.

You scoffed.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

JJ sighed and looked down before settling himself between your legs, his eyebrows knit together and eyes sharp on yours. “You know.”

“What kinda girl lets this happen to herself, JJ? It’s ugly, I look ugly.” Tears started to build up again and JJ didn’t know what to say.

“Baby, you didn’t let anything happen. This is not on you.”

You shook your head as more tears fell, “You don’t get it, I’m weak.”

JJ just shook his head, “No.”

“Stop disagreeing with me!” You yelled, trying to punch his chest but crying out from the pain in your hands. “I’m weak, I’m pathetic, I’m gross, I’m ugly! He did this to me! He made me this way and now he gets away with it! He gets away-”

You were inconsolable, your words were barely coherent as snot and tears ran down your face. You wanted JJ to agree, tell you you were weak and ugly, you needed to be right. It was comfortable to be right. “I’m right, JJ! Don’t fucking tell me I’m wrong! Why are you lying to me?!”

“Baby-”

“He did this to me! I’ll never feel clean again!”

If JJ’s heart wasn’t fully broken before, it was now. He felt utterly helpless for the first time in his life, completely not knowing what to do. He always had a next move. Even when his dad was beating the shit out of him, even when a kook had him pinned down, face in the sand and barely able to breathe. But now, looking at you, body broken and bruised and lips and eyes red and puffy from crying, choking on your own sobs, JJ felt fucking useless.

“(Y/n), please, breathe, angel.”

You stopped for a second and pushed your hair out of your face, looking at him confused.

“You can let it out, just remember to breathe, okay? You’re gonna panic and scratch yourself again.” His voice was so gentle as his hand lightly squeezed the back of your neck, his other hand softly caressing your thigh.

You just nodded slowly, expecting him to yell at you for your outburst or tell you you’re being childish, but you received the opposite. You began to take deep breaths for JJ, beginning to realize you’d do just about anything to get rid of the heart broken expression on his face.

He took deep breaths with you, placing your hands on his chest and covering them with his own so you could feel the rise and fall and the patter of his heart beat. He gave you a small smile when your breathing settled, and he let you fall into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. “Proud of you, pretty girl. Did so good.”

You whined and pulled away from him, you wanted to see his face, to see the way he was looking at you. JJ’s hands rested on your hips and he gave them a gentle squeeze as you stared at his ocean eyes.

“I wanna kiss you.” You whispered, your hands coming up to cradle the sides of his neck.

JJ shook his head, “Soon, I promise. Okay? But not now.” He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. He couldn’t kiss you while you were torn apart and terrified, he wanted to see the sparkle in your eyes, that striking grin on your cherry painted lips.

He doesn’t want to kiss you.

“Not like this. Not when you feel this way, okay?”

Oh.

You could’ve sworn your heart burst and melted all the way down to your toes. This was a new JJ. Even when he hated you he probably would’ve jumped at the opportunity to do anything with you, shutting up your loud mouth with his own. But now, it’s almost like he’s afraid to break you.

You nodded but stayed silent, finally letting your body rest against his. “I need to talk to the group.”

JJ nodded, helping you off of the counter. His heart squeezed when you intertwined your fingers with his, gently holding on so you wouldn’t hurt your hand further. His heart skipped a beat when you brought your free hand up to hold onto his forearm. You were gonna give him butterflies forever.

The two of you walked outside the bathroom and you saw your friends sitting and waiting for you, and you began to feel nauseous.

Once JJ got you out of the bathroom and onto the couch comfortably, you let go of his hand and he suddenly felt empty. You ran your hands up and down your thighs with anxiety before letting out a small whimper, feeling your body begin to surge with panic as you thought about what you had to tell your friends.

“You’re safe.” JJ whispered, his hands hovering over you like he wasn’t sure what you wanted from him. You looped your arm through his and he brought his hand over to gently rest on your knee, giving you a soft kiss on your temple.

“I wanted to tell you guys this as soon as I knew, but I had to tell you in person and when I got here the emotions were just too much and-”

JJ pulled your hand down from your neck, softly shushing you to stop you from rambling. You hadn’t even realized you were scratching. You took a deep breath and looked at JJ again, waiting for his quick nod before you took the deepest breath of your life and said the words you had been dreading to say all week.

“Tyler killed my mom and sister.”

+

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