#and then kills him in his moment of shock | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-teufort-nine · 3 days ago

Note

may i rq a scenario with any of the mercs where they find reader injured when respawn's down. maybe bc of an accident or an ambush. i like angst as long as its ok in the end

HOLY SAXTON HALE ANON THIS ONE GOT AWAY FROM ME!

This isn't explicitly romantic, but you could definitely interpret it as being romantic if you want! You're def the team's fave <3

Anyways, enjoy about 8400 words of hurt/comfort goodness and the Blu team being pathetic lil meow meow when they think you're dead dead.

Mercs x GN!Reader | Respawn Malfunction

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ Hurt/Comfort | SFW | Cw: starvation, temp character death, excess drinking, animal death ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Featuring:

Everyone! Even Miss Pauling is here!

Scenario: During the last few moments of a match, Blu team's Respawn Machine suddenly malfunctions, with you inside! Left reeling by the loss of their Chemist, the team attempts to cope. A week later, Miss Pauling receives a most unexpected phone call...

There had been no warning.

If there had been, then the sharp eyes of RED and BLU’s Engineers would have certainly caught it. Unfortunately, the Respawn Machine had been just as reliable as ever for the entire match, bringing the mercenaries back from the great beyond time and time again, just as it had been designed to do.

Scout and Soldier had just been revived when it happened; the two men taking a moment to shake off the inevitable rush of nausea that came from going through the unholy machine. An Ubercharged Heavy had taken both them and their teammate, Y/N, known officially as the Chemist, out as the hulking giant made a final push to capture one of their points, and both BLU men knew it was only a matter of time before they heard the biting voice of the Administrator informing them of their failure.

Scout scuffed his sneaker against the concrete floor of the Respawn Room as Soldier launched into a furious rant, leaning against the wall as he waited for Y/N to come through, knowing that they'd been killed only a moment after him. He sighed when felt the gentle pulse of the machine as it vibrated like a speaker, getting ready to return his friend to the world of the living.

SKREEEEEECHHHH- BOOM!

A blast of hot air sent the two men crashing into the wall, stunning them momentarily. It was Soldier who regained his wits first, the BLU quickly pushing up his helmet and looking back at the source of the damage in shock and mounting horror.

“Aeughhhh… what da hell just happened?” Scout moaned, one of his hands rubbing against his throbbing forehead. He blinked, his blurred vision slowly clearing, and as he regained his sight, his eyes began to widen.

Respawn was on fire.

Flames licked hungrily at the walls as they spread out further from the Respawn Machine, with the contraption itself bathed in white and blue hues, the intense heat making quick work of what hadn't been destroyed in the explosion. Shards of complex metals and pools of gleaming Australium were littered all over the room, reflecting the light of the fire.

“HOLY CRAP!” Scout yelped, adrenaline coursing through his body as he attempted to scramble up off the floor.

His voice jolted Soldier out of his shocked state, and he shot a hand out to grab the back of Scout's shirt and yank him along as he made for the door.

“Emergency! Cease fighting immediately!” The Administrator's voice boomed out over the battlefield, the old woman's voice sounding more shocked than stern for once.

Scout finally found his footing as he pulled out of Soldier's grip, spinning around to stare at the encroaching flames. Fear roiled in his gut like an angry serpent as his disoriented mind finally allowed the reality of their situation to sink in. Respawn was gone.

Death was permanent once again.

“Private, this is no time to be standing around! We need to go!”

They could die. For real.

“Scout!”

If they'd come through only a moment earlier, they wouldn't have come back at all.

Wait…

“Solly, where's Chem?”

Soldier paused in his attempt to drag Scout down the hall, his gaze snapping back towards Respawn. He hadn't seen them when he'd grabbed Scout, too focused on getting away from the rapidly approaching fire, but he'd assumed that they were right behind him.

“They probably snuck past us! They're sneaky like that.” he replied. That had to be it! Otherwise that would mean they…

Scout looked down the hall, searching for any sign of the Chemist, before looking back towards Respawn, his face paling. He jerked forward, sprinting towards the blaze.

“Chem! Chem, hang on!” Scout yelled, reaching the doorway in only a few seconds, his eyes desperately searching for where his friend could possibly be.

The room was as empty as it had seemed before. There was no trace of the Chemist, alive or dead, to be found in the room.

They hadn't made it through.

“What in the Sam Hill is goin’ on here?!”

Scout wrenched himself away from the door as he heard his teammates gasp behind him. Engineer was up by his side in an instant, his mechanical hand gripping the doorframe so hard it cracked the material. He pushed his goggles up, and Scout could see real fear in the other's eyes.

“Vhat zhe hell happened? Zhe Respavn Machine vas fine only moments ago vhen I came through!” Medic said, pausing as he looked at Scout, who was trembling. Gently, the doctor led the young man away from the fire, “Scout? Are you alright? Vere you injured?”

“Chem’s gone.” was Scout's quiet reply.

“Vhat?”

“They was suppose’ta come through after me ‘n Solly, but Respawn went up in flames before they could come through.” the runner's voice was shaky and hollow, and he leaned more of his weight against Medic as his legs started to feel less dependable than usual, “They're gone. Like, gone gone.”

The gathered mercenaries went quiet, the only sounds being that of the crackling flames and Scout and Soldier's laboured breathing.

“DAMN IT!” Engineer bellowed, throwing his hard hat onto the ground, “GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!”

Medic closed his eyes, bringing a gloved hand up to his face as a wave of grief crashed down on him. He'd been rather fond of their newest teammate, glad to have someone around who was as interested in risky experiments as he was. The Chemist had often taken up many of the smaller, more neglected duties around the base, such as cooking proper meals and making sure that Medic's less used medical supplies stayed topped up, in case of emergencies. They'd also been of great help in wrangling some of his more… problematic patients, using their charms (or stealth) to herd them into the Medbay for check ups or shots.

He watched them die every day, but this was different. This was permanent. The machine he and Engineer had worked so hard to build, the one that had allowed them to cheat death time and time again, had finally taken its pound of flesh. Y/N had been taken from them, from him, before he'd been ready to let them go.

Now, this usually wouldn't have been a problem; committing sins against both God and nature was something he did quite often and with great delight, and he was sure he could wrest Y/N back from the afterlife, provided that he had access to their body.

And therein lay the problem. There was no body. Respawn hadn't even spat them out half formed or thrown them into the flames, it had simply not reconstructed them. Whatever remained of the Chemist was likely nothing more than a partially formed mist of human remains that had burned up almost instantaneously.

The tenth class was no more, and there was nothing Medic could do.

“Aw, hell,” Engineer gritted out finally, looking back at his teammates with a tired, beatdown expression, “Christ, someone go ‘n track down a fire extinguisher. If we don't get this under control soon, we'll all end up dead.”

Seeing an opportunity to both flee the horrific scene and be useful, Scout ran off like a bat out of Hell, skidding around a corner and disappearing from sight. Soldier, who was being uncharacteristically quiet and still, made to follow him, but Engineer stopped him before he could take more than a few steps.

“Hold on, pardner. I need you to round everyone up and let ‘em know what- what happened.” the southerner swallowed hard, trying his best to push down his emotions for the time being, “The last thing we need right now is to lose someone else because someone did somthin’ stupid and got themselves killed.”

Soldier thought of how often Demo tested his equipment after their daily battles, especially after a loss, and stopped only long enough to give Engineer a salute before rushing off, determined not to lose any more teammates.

“Gott, vhat a mess.” Medic whispered hoarsely, mentally preparing himself for the utter shit show that was inevitably coming their way. The Chemist had been a friend to all of them, even to Spy, who pretended that he didn't care, and losing them was going to be hard on everyone.

Personal loss wasn't something the mercenaries were used to, lulled into a sense of security, of immortality, by the Respawn Machine. After all, why be afraid of death when you knew that you would be back in what felt like only an instant? None of them ever considered that Respawn might fail one day.

“C’mon, Doc. We can't stay here.” Engineer said, leading his co-worker-turned-friend away from the fire.

“Ack!”

You yelped as you tumbled face first out of Respawn, hitting the floor hard and fast. You hissed in pain, pushing yourself up and rubbing a hand over your aching face. Instinctively, you check over the various vials of chemicals you have strapped to your person, praying that your odd tumble hasn't resulted in anything breaking.

A sigh of relief passes your lips as you determine nothing to be out of place or wrecked. You pulled yourself to your feet, stretching and cracking your knuckles. Christ, the RED Heavy must have gotten you good that time, because you felt just awful. Exhaustion made you slouch slightly, and your stomach ached something fierce.

After bracing yourself for the inevitable screech of the Administrator's voice telling you that you had failed, you allowed your eyes to fall open, expecting to see Scout and Soldier's sour faces.

An unfamiliar room greeted you, wooden planks replacing the expected concrete. Dust lingered around the space, and your only company was a chittering raccoon, which startled and ran off upon seeing you.

What the fuck was going on?

“Hell-o?” you called, confusing coloring your tone, “Scout? Soldier? Anyone?”

Silence greeted you. Not even the sound of gunfire and shouting could be heard, only the sound of a fierce wind blowing outside.

Thoroughly confused and more than a little creeped out, you stepped out of Respawn, head constantly swiveling about as you called for your teammates. However, no matter how much you yelled, no one ever responded. No matter how much you searched, you couldn't find anyone. No matter how much you listened, not a soul could be heard.

“What the fuck. What the fuck.” you chanted, rubbing your arms. It was so cold here, and your outfit was designed for the New Mexico heat.

Your breaths came in steamy puffs, and you could feel goosebumps prickling along your arms as you made your way towards what you hoped was the Intel Room. Whatever it was that was going on, you were too tired and too sore to try and puzzle it out. If this was some kind of elaborate prank, you were going to kill whoever was responsible, because the last thing you wanted to deal with after such a rough day was this creepy bullshit.

Finally, after a solid hour of getting lost within this bizarre, wintery base, you managed to find the Intel Room. A phone, blue in colour, sat mounted on the wall only a few feet away. Wasting no time, you dialed the number Miss Pauling had given you to use if there was ever an emergency, or if Engineer and Medic started spending too much time together again. (The last time they'd gone unchecked for too long, the base had become overrun by something they called Spycrabs. It took weeks for you and your team to get rid of them, though you were fairly certain both Spy and Pyro had managed to hide one to keep as a pet.)

“Aperture Bakery, where the cake definitely isn't a lie! This is Tammy speaking, how can I help you?” an obviously fake cheery voice greeted you after only two rings, and you smiled slightly.

“Jesus, Pauling, I think that's your worst ‘wrong number’ persona yet.” you groused, no real venom in your voice.

“...Y/N?” Miss Pauling’s voice suddenly became very soft and disbelieving, something you'd never heard it do.

You frowned, your brow furrowing. “Yeah, that's me, last I checked. I thought you were supposed to call me Chemist, though?”

“Holy shit, you're alive?!” she shouted, the volume causing you to pull back slightly, “How are you alive?!”

“Uhhhhh,” you stammered, completely at a loss as to how you were supposed to respond, “I… I breathe? And eat? And sleep? Jeez, Pauling, I don't know what you want from me here.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, one that lasted so long, you began to worry Miss Pauling had hung up on you.

“Hello?” you tried.

“Oh! Shoot, sorry, I'm still here! I just-” there was a sound like papers being moved, “Chemist, what is the last thing you remember?”

“Losing the point and getting shot to pieces, why?” Was this a test? Had you already failed somehow?

“Right, yeah, okay that makes sense.” Miss Pauling took a deep breath, and you shifted uncomfortably, sensing that something was wrong.

“Chemist, Y/N, you've been declared dead for just over a week now.”

The phone slipped from your grasp, and it was only years worth of training and quick reflexes that kept it from smashing into the wall. You gripped the phone right, pressing it tightly into your ear as you spoke. “I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you right, Miss Pauling. Would you mind repeating that?”

“You were dead, Chemist. Something happened to BLU’s Respawn Machine, and it was completely destroyed before you could come back. I- I don't know how or why it took so long for you to come back this time, but I'm so glad you did.”

You all but collapsed onto the wall, your free hand tangling itself in your hair. You'd died? Like, died for real? The thought made your stomach turn, and you had to suppress the urge to vomit.

“Pauling, Christ, I-” you swallowed, breathing in through your nose, “Is everyone else okay? Oh God, please tell me no one else… died.”

“No, no, no! Everyone's- well they're not fine, but they're all alive. The Administrator called for an emergency ceasefire the minute she saw what happened, and both teams got the message pretty quickly that something was wrong. The ceasefire is still in effect, since everyone needs to be relocated to one of the other base locations.” Miss Pauling replied.

You audibly sighed in relief, tension leaving your body as you uttered a soft ‘Oh, thank God.’ “I think that's where I ended up. One of the other bases, I mean. It's fucking freezing here, Pauly.”

“Shit, you're that far out?” Miss Pauling sucked in a breath through her teeth, “Okay, just- just stay put, alright? There's not going to be any supplies there, so just fine somewhere warm and try not to move too much. I'm going to come get you, okay?”

“Okay.” you replied, smiling slightly as you heard her immediately begin to gather various items on her desk, “Thank you, Miss Pauling. I know you're busy.”

“I'm never too busy for my mercenaries, especially when they manage to defy all logic and cheat death more than they usually do.” a warm, fuzzy feeling settled in your chest at her words, and it remained even after you hung up. There was something so viscerally pleasing about being wanted, about having someone care for you.

Worn out from your return to the living world, you peeled yourself away from the wall and wandered around the base a bit, before locating what had to be the common room. A couch and a few chairs were tucked in around an unlit fireplace. There wasn't anything around to burn, and you didn't feel up to going out to find something suitable, so you chose instead to simply curl up on the couch. Once you laid down, it was as if all of your strength left your body. The aches and pains that plagued you became more apparent, and your stomach growled and gurgled loudly. You were starving, but as Miss Pauling had said, there was no food at the base, and you certainly weren't going to be able to hunt any animals that might be scuttling around.

Resigning yourself to a fitful sleep and an empty stomach, you closed your eyes and pressed yourself in closer to the back of the couch, slowly drifting off into a light slumber.

The BLU base had never been so quiet. It was not a calm quiet, like one might find if they walked into a library, or in a room full of people simply enjoying each other's company while they entertained themselves, but rather a tense, unnatural quiet. A mercenary base with nine men living in it should have been full of noise and movement, but each member of the BLU team seemed more than happy to break away from the norm today.

Engineer was holed up in his workshop, pouring over blueprints, both new and old, determined to find some flaw, some imperfection, some failure, that could give him an answer as to why the Respawn Machine had gone up in flames. He needed to find the problem so that he could fix it. He couldn't leave things as they were; everyone, even the RED team, once they'd found out what had happened, felt unsafe going through any of the Respawn Machines, since no one knew what exactly had gone wrong.

Medic was working himself to exhaustion right alongside him, while also fretting over packing up his birds and equipment on such short notice. They weren't due to rotate out to another base for another month, but the accident had pushed the timeline up to a few days. What's more is that he needed to review the applications for a new Chemist, though he'd been putting that particular task off for as long as possible. He'd never once needed to replace a teammate, nor had he ever expected to. The process of both finding someone who was Respawn compatible and willing to fight and die everyday was an arduous one indeed, and Medic could feel a stress induced migraine begin to come on whenever he even glanced at the paperwork.

Heavy had been trying his best to help Medic prepare for the move, but he, like everyone else, was feeling the effects of their friend's sudden death. He kept expecting to hear their voice coming from the kitchen, or to see them waltz through a door with some manner of bubbling condition held in their arms. Often, he caught himself setting out the supplies for two sandviches, only realizing his mistake when he had plated the food.

Pyro had firmly planted themselves in the Chemist's room, taking special, delicate care to pack up their things into neat little boxes. When Medic had gently floated the idea of reusing their supplies for the next Chemist, Pyro had chased the doctor around the base with their fire axe. There were drawings of the two of them taped carefully to the wall, gifted to the Chemist by the resident firebug, and Pyro left them for last, wanting to keep pretending that they were simply packing up to move like the rest of them. When they'd nearly finished, Pyro noticed that the Chemist's uniforms, which had been folded up on their friend's bed, had mysteriously disappeared. They'd panicked for a moment, before the faint smell of cigarette smoke filtered through their mask.

Sure enough, the clothes were returned the following morning, freshly washed, dried, and without any wrinkles. Any and all holes or rips had been carefully hand stitched with expert precision. There was also a single rose lovingly tucked into one of the pockets on the outfit the Chemist wore most frequently.

Demo could often be found in the company of Soldier, sitting out on some roof or bridge, nursing his tenth or so bottle. Soldier didn't drink nearly as much, but when he inevitably did get drunk, only he and Demo knew about the few tears that would slip down his cheek. Neither acknowledged it, nor the sinking fear of having to inevitably go through Respawn again that sat like lead bullets in their guts.

Scout ran to ignore that same sense of fear and loss, to push it down into the deepest parts of himself. He ran from sunrise to sunset, pausing only when he absolutely needed to. Sometimes, when he would stop, panting and sweating and one small breeze away from toppling over, if he was in just the right spot at just the right time, he'd catch a glimpse of Sniper, tucked away on some far off cliffside or peering down from a tall, rickety building. The marksman hadn't been seen in the base proper since the accident, but he was always around somewhere, watching day and night to ensure nothing happened to his remaining teammates during the ceasefire.

So it was no wonder that it was him who first spotted a frantic looking Miss Pauling as she parked her scooter and dashed off towards one of the base entrances.

Curious, Sniper pushed himself up out of his hiding place, ignored the burning sensation that rippled through his taunt, stiff muscles, and started to make his way down to the base. He didn't make any attempt to soften his footsteps, but he also didn't call any attention to himself. The dark haired woman had been heading for Engineer's workshop, so that's where Sniper went.

Just before he could reach the door that led to the workshop, he collided with someone coming down the hall. He let out a quiet ‘oof’ and stumbled back, baring his teeth instinctively when he saw an expensive suit and steely blue eyes. He calmed, however, when he saw that this Spy was dressed in his team's colours

“Bushman.” came Spy's snide greeting. The Frenchman eyed Sniper up and down, “You look like shit.”

“I could say the same for you, mate.” Sniper sneered back, and he really could have.

There were heavy bags around Spy's eyes, and he smelled as though he'd been absolutely chewing through his expensive, imported cigarettes. Clearly, the man had been coping just as well as Sniper had.

“I'm shocked to see zhat you are no longer wallowing in your mobile hovel, or rolling around in zhe dirt, or whatever it is that you've been doing zhese days.” Spy raised a brow, “What has brought you back to zhis cheap imitation of civilization?”

Now, normally, this would be the point in their conversation where Sniper would tell Spy to not-so-kindly fuck off, but the Australian was running on coffee and will, and Spy was good at getting information. If Miss Pauling’s sudden appearance was supposed to be a secret, then Spy would be Sniper’s first choice for a partner in crime.

“Miss Pauling just showed up lookin’ real frazzled, and I want to know why. I didn't get any alerts or messages, did you?” Sniper asked.

Spy pursed his lips. “Non, I did not.”

Both men's gazes flicked towards the workshop door, and before either could contemplate if this was a good idea or not, Spy had cloaked and Sniper was pushing the door open slowly. A conversation came into earshot as the door opened silently.

“Engie! Thank God you're here!”

“Miss Pauling? What are you doin’ here?”

“There's no time, I need to borrow your truck!”

“Whu- mah truck? What for?”

“Listen, I need to get up North. Fast. And my scooter isn't going to cut it for this trip. Also, I think I might need that emergency dispenser you guys built a while back.”

Sniper's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. Miss Pauling did many things to people, but healing them wasn't something he'd ever heard of her doing.

“Well, now, see that there dispenser is still a prototype. It ain't ready for fieldwork yet- HEY!”

“Sorry Engie! Look, I promise I will bring the truck and the dispenser back, but I really need to get going! If this works, I'll bring back something that will make up for all of this.”

“And just what the hell would that be?!”

“Your Chemist!”

Sniper jolted, his body moving faster than his mind, which was still struggling to understand what he'd just heard. He gripped the guardrails that overlooked the lower floor, arriving just in time to see Miss Pauling putting the pedal to the metal and hauling ass out of the workshop in Engineer's truck. Engineer himself was standing stock still on the workshop floor, hand still raised mid gesture.

A set of hands suddenly grabbed Sniper by the shoulders and spun him around. Spy was staring at him, eyes alight in a way Sniper hadn't seen in a long time.

“Bushman, you can fit at least four people in your disgusting van, yes?” the man asked, squeezing harder when Sniper's mouth failed to make words come out, “Well?!”

“Eh- ur- yeah mate, that's right.” Sniper nodded finally, still reeling from the idea that Chemist might still be alive, “What's it to ya, Spook?”

“Gather up Soldier, Heavy, and Demo. I will take Medic, Scout, Pyro and Engineer in my car. We need to get going immediately if we want any chance of catching up to Miss Pauling!” he exclaimed.

Sniper's eyes widened as he understood what Spy was saying. The Frenchman wanted to follow Miss Pauling, to see their supposedly not dead teammate for himself, and he knew the rest of them well enough to know that if they didn't take them along, then the others would find their own way to them. That, or they'd simply destroy the base if left alone for too long, and Sniper was willing to bet that Spy didn't want to risk Pyro or Soldier destroying his precious suit collection.

‘Still,’ Sniper mused, ‘It’s nice to see that Spook cares about our feelings, even if it is mostly for ‘is benefit.’

“Right, I'll go round up the boys. You focus on snapp’n Engie outta his stupor, yeah?” Sniper agreed.

Spy nodded, and the two separated, with Sniper wasting no time in flying back down the hall. Obsessively stalking- er, observing everyone over the course of the week had granted him a decent understanding of where they chose to spend their time while in mourning.

Heavy and Medic were up first, and Sniper knew exactly where they'd be. With a swift kick, he burst into the Medbay, startling both the pair and all of the birds.

“Augh! Herr Sniper, vhat do you think you're doing, barging in here like-” Medic started, but Sniper cut him off.

“Can it, Doc! Pauling was just ‘ere, and she says Y/N is alive!” Sniper exclaimed. The other two men's eyes widened, and Medic almost dropped the glass beaker he was holding. “She sped off a moment ago, and we're gonna follow ‘er. Spy's taking you, Scooter, Engie and Py in ‘is car, while I'm takin’ the rest.”

The dynamic duo shook off their shock and nodded.

“Heavy will grab Soldier and Demolitions. Leetle Sniper will find Pyro in their room.” Heavy paused, then fixed Sniper with a stern look. “Be very careful how you tell news. Fire starter has… not been taking loss well. May attack, if they think you are playing joke.”

Sniper gulped quietly. “Think we should hold off on tellin’ them why we're really leaving?”

Medic shook his head quickly. “Nien. Zhough it is not alvays apparent, Pyro is quite intelligent. Lying to zhem about zhis will not end well for any of us.”

The marksman winced, remembering the feeling of fire blasting across his skin. “Too right. Okay, I'll handle Pyro, and Heavy’s gettin’ the drunk bastards. Hopefully they can sober up a bit, because I do not want those two sicking up in my van.”

Suddenly, a thought came to him.

“Oh, and bring yer Medigun. Miss Pauling mentioned something about need’n the emergency dispenser, but Engie didn't seem too confident that it would work.”

Medic's face crumpled up in distress. “And he shouldn't be! Zhat machine is just as likely to kill both zhe Chemist and Frauline Pauling as it is to heal zhem.”

“Shit.” Sniper swore, “We better be quick, then.”

The three men scattered, each one going in a different direction. Sniper hauled ass towards the barracks, eyes flicking to the different class symbols that marked each of the doors. He had only ever been here once, but picking out the little blue and yellow picture of a bubbling vial was easy enough.

He skidded to a stop before the door, taking a second to rap his knuckles against the wood before pushing the door open.

Pyro was where Heavy had said they would be, sitting on their friend's neatly made bed, their stuffed Balloonicorn clasped tightly in their grip as they rocked slightly. Pyro tilted their head at Sniper, communicating their confusion at the man's sudden appearance.

“C’mon, matchstick. We gotta get going right quick now.” Sniper panted, motioning for Pyro to follow, “Miss Pauling was just here, and she seems pretty damn convinced that our Chemist isn't as dead as we all thought.”

Pyro stilled on the bed, their masked face staring right into Sniper's soul. The Australian licked his chapped lips, feeling a sense of unease creep across the nape of his neck. After a moment of relative silence, Pyro seemed to find no deception in his words, and quickly leapt up, pausing only to grab their axe and holster it on their back.

“Huddah huddah huddah!” They yelled, voice muffled by the mask. A thick rubber glove suddenly gripped Sniper's vest, and the marksman found himself getting dragged along towards an exit.

Barely able to keep up with Pyro’s quick stride, Sniper stumbled a bit, all but crashing into the firebug when the large door before them slid open.

“Let's go, let's go, let's go!” Scout's voice carried across the desert base as the young man practically flew towards the workshop, clearly having been told the news, “Py, Snipes, let's friggin hustle! We got places to be, ya bunch a slowasses!”

“Piss off, ya bloody roadrunner! We're goin’ as fast as we can!” Sniper shot back, no real venom in his voice. He knew that Scout had been hit hard by the loss of their teammate, especially since he and Soldier had been the last ones to see them. The kid was more sensitive then the rest of them, especially when it came to someone he cared about dying

Scout slowed ever so slightly, just enough to grab ahold of Pyro's hand. The runner and the arsonist took off together to where Spy was waiting, and Sniper deviated off towards his van.

Heavy was already waiting for him when he arrived, the hulking giant holding both Soldier and Demo over his shoulders. The two had clearly had more to drink than usual, because neither of them were conscious. Sniper contemplated waking them for a moment; this was important after all, and he knew neither man would want to be left out of the loop.

And then he considered how completely insufferable the duo would be if they were awake, and he simply nodded towards the back of the van as he moved to sit in the driver's seat.

Heavy joined him a few moments later, and they were off, speeding down a dusty New Mexico road. Spy's expensive, gleaming vehicle was tearing down the same road as them, the light of the gradually setting sun bouncing off the well maintained blue paint job. He'd told Sniper the name once, while also threatening to gut the marksman if he so much as stepped near the vehicle, but Sniper couldn't be bothered to memorize it.

Sniper had thought that Spy wouldn't ever dare go as fast as he was now, what with all the potholes and tumbleweeds around that could potentially damage the Frenchman's precious ride, but perhaps he'd underestimated how much losing the Chemist had weighed on their most elusive teammate. Spy, for all his aloofness, did occasionally let slip the fact that he actually liked his teammates. Sometimes. Rarely. And usually in some strange, hard to interpret way.

He saw Scout's head pop out of one of the backseat windows, and the lad raised a hand to shield his eyes, like he was trying to see something in the distance. He must have spotted something other than desert, because he pointed towards an upcoming side road before popping back inside.

Sure enough, the car skidded around the corner, and Sniper followed, squinting his own eyes in an attempt to see what Scout had been pointing at.

Tire tracks marred the road, ones that hadn't been caused by Spy's quick turn, but that were also very recent. Sniper grinned and pressed harder on the gas, accelerating until he was only a few feet behind the other vehicle.

He'd never had a target escape before, and Miss Pauling wasn't about to make him break that streak.

Cold.

You were so cold.

You'd awoken to the sound of your teeth chattering, the sound only made worse when another wave of ripples inevitably wracked your prone form. Each breath came as a gasping wheeze, catching on the film of phlegm that had made a home in your throat and chest. Your stomach felt almost alive in your guts, spitting acid on your sensitive middle as it growled and snarled and roared for food that you couldn't give it.

You tried to get up, but your body began to shake and wobble dangerously as you began putting pressure on your forearm. Apparently, all your energy had been diverted to shivering in a, perhaps futile, attempt to keep your internal organs from freezing over. Breathing out a puff of warm air, you slid your hands over your chest and stomach, eyes widening as you realized that something was deeply, deeply wrong.

Gone was your well earned muscles and insulating body fat. You felt dangerously thin, like a starved greyhound. Whatever dark magic and science pulled you back from death had seemingly lost most of your fat and muscle reserves in the process. Truly, it was a miracle that you'd been able to walk at all!

You were in a bad spot, and you weren't sure Respawn would be able to save you again, should the worst happen. After all, no merc had ever starved to death before, and you had no idea what would happen if you did.

‘That’s not going to happen.’ You tried to reassure yourself, ‘Pauling will come to get me.’

How long had you been asleep? It hadn't felt like long, but there were no windows in this common room, and it wasn't as though you could rely on your stomach to tell you that a great deal of time had passed.

With little else to do, you lay your head back down on the cold couch cushions, attempting to curl up closer to the plush, velvety fabric. You tucked your arms into your armpits and folded your knees up close to your chest as you shivered once again. You'd lost feeling in your toes and fingers, but you could still, with great difficulty, wiggle them, which you counted as a win. Your eyes slipped shut as you turned your face down towards your chest, nose buried in the fabric of your uniform in a desperate attempt to seek out any scrap of warmth.

Sleep came easy enough, but it was far from a peaceful rest. Nightmares of endless darkness and being reborn wrong plagued your mind. You woke frequently, but exhaustion dragged you back into unconsciousness just as quickly. Each time you awoke, you were reminded of just how hungry you were, and the urge to gnaw at your own dangerously thin arms grew in intensity. Thirst plagued you as well, and each time your failing mind allowed it, you licked desperately at the inside of your mouth, trying to acquire some moisture for your sandpaper-esque throat.

On your next return to the waking world, as you stared out towards the door that led to the hallway, contemplating drinking one of your fatal mixtures, if only to end your suffering and quicken your return to Respawn, a sound echoed out into the lonely building. You lifted your head, blearily squinting towards the door. Had that been real? Or simply an illusion, a trick crafted by your starved brain?

“Chem? Chem, can you hear me?!”

Miss Pauling.

She did come for you!

You grinned, the action pulling at your chapped lips. You tried to call out, but all you managed was a slight cough. Huffing, you flopped your head back down, eyes locked on the door. You knew that she knew where the phone was in this place; there was no way someone like Miss Pauling didn’t know the ins and outs of every place her mercs set up shop in, so it was only a matter of time before she found you.

Sure enough, after a few minutes passed you began to hear footsteps pounding down the hall. It wasn’t the heavy, familiar footfalls of your team, but rather a lighter, quieter sound. A blurry purple figure entered your field of vision, and after your eyes finally focused, you saw a disheveled, red-cheeked Miss Pauling standing before you.

“Hey there, stranger.” You rasped, wincing slightly when you felt hands suddenly cup your cheeks. Pauling’s hands were warm and slightly calloused, and you blinked slowly, leaning into her touch.

“Jesus Christ, Chem. You never do anything by halves, huh?” Pauling laughed, though the noise came out more like a sob.

“Can't. I wouldn't be a very good Chemist if I did, right?” You joked softly, your eyelids drooping slowly as you began to relax, “Things’d be spillin’ all over the place.”

“Woah, hey!” A series of quick, rapid taps against your cheeks made you open your eyes again, “Stay awake, okay? You're in rough shape, but I brought- well, stole but that's really not important- Engie's truck and his little mini dispenser thing-”

“You stole Engie’s truck?” You interrupted, voice tinged with a sense of horrified awe, “He's gonna kill you.”

The raven haired woman gave you a half smile as she reached an arm under you, pulling you up to your feet to stand beside her. Your vision swam, and you had to lean heavily into her.

“I think bringing you back will soften him up a bit.” She said, looping your arm around her shoulders, “Come on, let's get you to the truck. You look like you're about to pass out.”

“I might.” You admitted. “Got anything to eat? I'm starving.”

Miss Pauling glanced over your emaciated form. “That… actually might be the case. When Respawn brings someone back, it usually leaves them feeling a little bit drained, and it's why you're all so hungry at the end of a battle. Respawning takes energy, and I'd say this last trip took almost all of yours. It ate right through your fat and muscle reserves!”

“Ah,” You replied, “I was afraid that might be the case. What happens if I Respawn again?”

“It's… it's probably best if we don't test that out.”

The two of you walked through the base in silence after that, with you leaning heavily on Miss Pauling for support. She didn't seem to mind, however; though you often caught her casting worried glances at you. You felt the temperature in the air steadily drop as you reached the entrance to the base, yet you were still caught off guard when a chilly blast of wintry air smacked you in the face. Snow swirled all around you, coating the base and battlefield in white. The first rays of an early morning sunrise were just starting to peak over the horizon, giving you enough light to see by.

In the distance, you could see Engie's truck, the blue vehicle standing out amidst the white. However, something seemed… off about the truck. You squinted, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“Hey P, did you bring a… a dog with you?” You mumbled, tilting your head at the canine shape that stood in the headlights.

“What?” Miss Pauling looked confused for a moment, before she, too, saw the creature. “What is… uh oh.”

“Uh oh? Why uh oh?” You questioned, before taking a closer look at the dog, which was now slowly moving towards the two of you.

Oh.

Uh oh indeed.

It wasn't a dog.

It was a wolf.

The beast was huge, with a thick, ungroomed black coat and amber eyes that glowed a bright, golden color in the early morning. It growled as it approached, and you could see saliva frothing at its mouth.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” You balked, stumbling as Miss Pauling pulled you both back, “A rabid wolf. Why not!”

“How did it even contract rabies all the way out here?!” Miss Pauling yelped, quickly drawing her pistol. You eyed the small gun, wondering if she could aim well enough to shoot the hulking animal with your dead weight hanging off her.

Left with no other options, you weakly pawed at your coat, trying to locate something that could help you fight off the rabid beast. You had all the ingredients needed to make something truly dangerous, but if you tried to mix them now, you'd just as likely make something that would kill you before the wolf could.

Grabbing something that would at least blind the animal, you braced yourself as best you could, ready to try and help Miss Pauling fight.

“INCOMING!”

You, Miss Pauling, and the wolf all turned your heads as one, eyes widening when Sniper's van suddenly emerged from the snowstorm like the chariot of an angry Australian god. The vehicle slammed into the wolf, sending it flying out of sight. A few seconds later, an expensive looking car skidded to a stop a few feet away, one of the back doors opening before the car could even fully stop.

Scout came barreling out first, slipping on the snow and ice as he tried to regain his balance. Sniper, Heavy, and Spy followed suit, with the other's appearing behind them. They all looked absolutely horrendous; their eye bags had eye bags, Soldier and Sniper clearly needed to shave, and none of them were even remotely dressed for the cold weather of the north.

But they had never looked better to you.

Scout spotted you first, and you hardly had time to blink before the Bostonian was upon you, yanking you out of Miss Pauling's hold and into his arms.

“You're alive! Holy crap you're alive!” Scout cried, spinning you around and pressing his face into your shoulder.

Pyro joined you next, the arsonist all but smothering both you and Scout as they sobbed. You patted their back, leaning into their warm suit, attempting to leech their abundant body heat.

Before you could get a word out, a fierce yell startled you into a defensive stance. Suddenly, you were being held up by your armpits and being shook like a maraca.

“DO NOT PULL SUCH A STUNT AGAIN, MAGGOT!” Soldier yelled angrily, but you caught a glimpse of wet eyes under his helmet, “IF YOU DIE LIKE THAT AGAIN I WILL PERSONALLY RIP YOUR YELLOW-BELLIED SOUL RIGHT OUT OF HELL!”

“Sol, put them down, consarnit!” Engineer chided, smacking Soldier in the side. Once the helmeted man set you back down onto the ground, Engineer pulled you into a warm, firm hug, his flesh hand coming to rest on the back of your neck.

“Hey Engie.” You murmured softly, “Don’t be mad at Miss P, okay?”

“Buddy, ah’m gonna be treatin’ her to a steak dinner after this.” he chuckled, before gently passing you over to someone else, “Here, Demo. Be careful with ‘em. They ain’t lookin’ too good right now.”

“Aye, ya look like shite, dont’cha?” Demo laughed softly, gently ruffling your hair before pulling you into a hug, tucking you under his chin. “Ah, I’m glad yer alright. Ye gave us a right scare, ya wee bastard!”

“Sorry.” You chuckled, leaning into his chest. Demo patted your shoulder, before you were released and spun around to see Medic, Heavy, Spy and Sniper. While Heavy lifted you up into one arm, Miss Pauline began questioning how the mercenaries had found out where you and her were.

Medic descended upon you like a mother hen, fretting about the poor state you were in while simultaneously raving about the unexplored limits of the Respawn Machines. He plucked a few tablets out of a bottle in one of his coat pockets, instructing you to swallow, not chew them as Sniper handed you a well worn thermos. It was warm, and when you opened the lid, the smell of coffee hit your nose. A quick sip revealed that it was made just how you liked, which made you smile, because it meant that the usually unsociable marksman had gone out of his way to make the drink specifically for you.

“Here, mon ami,” Spy strode forward, a blanket draped over his arm. He wrapped it around your shoulders gently, tucking it in tightly, almost like your parents would do for you when you were small, “this should warm you up a bit.”

The tenderness of your usually tough, rowdy teammates made you sniffle, and you snuggled in closer to Heavy, clutching your thermos.

“I love you guys.” You said, your voice wavering with emotion, rather than cold this time, “Seriously. I- there isn’t a better team out there.”

Your praise made the gathered men puff up slightly. It was clear your opinion mattered a great deal to them.

“Hell yeah! We’re da’ freakin’ best!” Scout shouted.

“Leetle Chemist is included in that.” Heavy added, and you blushed slightly.

“Heavy is right, mein Chemiker.” Medic agreed, “Jou have cheated Death more zhen anyone else before jou! It is truly amazing!”

“I don’t feel amazing.” You said, quickly sipping the offered coffee.

“Vell, you are severely malnutritioned, so I am not surprised.” Medic replied. “Ah, don’t drink zhat so fast. Jou’ll just zhrow it back up.”

Once the word ‘malnutritioned’ passed the doctor’s lips, you could practically hear Engineer’s ears perk up. You were sure many home cooked meals with Engie in his workshop were in your future.

“Come on, mate, let’s get em’ outta the cold, yeah?” Sniper suggested to Heavy, gesturing towards his van. Spy snorted.

“Please, you want to have our dear Chemist rest in zhat thing? The last thing zhey need is to be surrounded by piss and crocodile jerky.” he snarked, which drew a disgruntled sneer from Sniper.

“Oi! My van is perfectly clean, and its leagues bettah than your dinky lil’ car! You just wanna hog all their attention ‘cause you’re a needy, selfish buggah!” Sniper shot back.

Heavy sighed deeply as the two men started arguing, before looking down at you.

“Heavy thinks it would be best for leetle Chemist to ride with Engineer in his truck for now. Team is very excited you are alive, and this makes them act-” the two of you winced as Soldier started yelling again, “more like loud idiots than usual, да?”

“At this point, big guy, I’d welcome the noise.” You admitted, “It was… quiet here. And lonely.”

Heavy looked at you with a saddened expression. “How long were you alone for?”

“A… a day, I think. It was hard to tell, since there were no windows.” You glanced over in the direction the wolf had been flung. “Honestly, that might have been for the best, considering what was waiting out here for me and Miss Pauling when we finally got outside.”

“Was wolf, yes? Heavy could not see very well, but it looked like wolf.” The heavy weapons expert said as he started off towards Engineer’s truck.

“Yeah, it was a wolf. A rabid one. You guys showed up just in time. I was afraid it would get close enough to bite us.” You shivered, pulling your blanket in closer.

“Miss Pauling would not have allowed that. She is small woman, yes, but very fierce.” Heavy paused for a moment, looked over at Scout and Soldier, who were talking to Miss Pauling, then leaned in to whisper: “She is better shot than some of the team. Do not tell them I said this.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t say a word.” You winked as Heavy gently set you down in the passenger seat, careful not to jostle you. The seat was still warm from the heater, and you relished in it, almost not even noticing when Engineer slipped into the driver’s seat next to you.

“Buckle up, darl’.” He grinned, reaching to pull the seat belt over your chest.

“Thanks, Engie.” You returned his smile and lay back, resting your head against your seat belt.

As you got comfortable, you noticed that the truck had an extra few passengers. Pyro waved to you from the back as both Soldier and Scout climbed up into the bed. Both men looked visibly cold, but they stubbornly plonked themselves down, dead set on staying near you. Just in case.

Spy and Sniper finally stopped squabbling when they realized that you were no longer around to fight over, and both slunk back to their respective vehicles as Engineer started up his truck. Miss Pauling and Medic followed Spy, while Demo and Heavy trailed after Sniper. Knowing your team, there would be another fight the second you all stopped for gas or food, likely over who you should sit with for the rest of the drive back. Honestly, it was like being back in school, surrounded by a friend group of mentally ill lunatics who fought like spoiled dogs for your attention.

You wouldn’t change a thing. You were, after all, just as needy and clingy as the rest of them, and you knew you’d be even more desperate to be near someone all the time, afraid to be back in that horrid silence.

How wonderful for you, then, that you had 8 men, 1 woman, and 1 Pyro who would be more than happy to indulge you.

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satanic-worm · 1 day ago

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What if I died right now?

Ok but no, seriously. I cried and screamed and hit things. I think I could die happy now, best Smissmas present, happiest holidays!

Not gonna talk about the whole plot of the comic because I was in shock for most of it with the occasional screaming whenever a character appeared, BUT here are some things I loved:

• Zhanna's prosthetic hand and her and Soldier's children.

• Pyro is SO HAPPY to see Engie again.

• My man Tavish having a moment.

• This interaction after Scout's whole speech, it's great.

• Miss Pauling is not doing well, girl can't have a win even when she does.

• The most girl boss ever, like oh wow I mean fucking damn!

• Beautiful evil woman <3

• Everyone flabbergasted and horrified by what they've witnessed.

• THIS moment of Pyro going 'OH SHIT-'

• Medic and Heavy comforting each other (AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH).

• He actually adopted her, I didn't dare hope for something this wholesome but I guess we actually got it.

• Here you can see the moment Bidwell's heart stopped, he was legally dead for three seconds, I checked.

• Heavy converting won to US dollars on the spot (that's the hottest thing I've ever seen), and that beard looks VERY good on him.

And the team Smissmas reunion near the end might have actually killed me.

• Scout is the most Jerma he's ever looked.

• Spy almost saying "I'm your grandfather" (I swear he was gonna) and taking off his mask.

• Everyone bringing their families + the Eyelander, Archimedes, Medic's baboon, and Pyro's fucking dog.

• Merasmus and Tome Jones together forever in the afterlife, love wins.

• Medic's gonna cut the turkey with the bonesaw (smart choice).

I am over the moon and my eyes are burning. Merry Smissmas am I right?

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kathlare · 3 days ago

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fading distractions

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Lando's night in Ibiza takes an unexpected turn when his actions with Magui lead to an emotional slip-up.

Wordcount: 1.6 k

Warnings: just fluff

request over here!

August 16th, 2024 - Ibiza, Spain

The dim light of the hotel room flickered on as Lando stumbled through the door, his arm slung lazily around Magui’s shoulders. Her laugh was high-pitched and tipsy, echoing through the room as she leaned into him, the scent of her floral perfume overpowering the faint saltiness of the ocean breeze that clung to his skin.

Ibiza had been... well, exactly what he expected—loud clubs, overpriced champagne, and long nights that blurred into hazy mornings. Tonight had been no different. Martin Garrix had absolutely killed his set at Ushuaïa, and the afterparty was predictably wild. Lando had spent the night surrounded by friends, bottles, and a sea of attractive people who seemed to drift in and out of his orbit. Magui had been one of them.

She wasn’t his girlfriend. Hell, she wasn’t even someone he thought about when she wasn’t physically in front of him. She was just... there. Convenient. Fun. A distraction.

Magui kicked off her heels as she collapsed onto the plush sofa, her legs draped across Lando’s lap as he sat beside her. She reached for the hem of her dress, adjusting it slightly, her movements slow and deliberate. Lando leaned his head back against the couch, his body buzzing from the alcohol and the hours of dancing.

—You’re so quiet,— Magui purred, running her fingers lightly over his chest. —Thinking about the race already?—

Lando chuckled softly, his words slurring just enough to betray his intoxication. —Not even close,— he murmured, his accent thicker than usual.

Magui smirked, shifting her position to straddle him. Her hands slid up his neck, her lips grazing his jawline as she kissed a path toward his ear. Lando’s hands rested on her hips, his grip loose, his mind not entirely present despite the suggestiveness of the moment.

She tilted her head, her lips trailing down to his neck. Her kisses grew more heated, and her nails pressed into his skin as her movements became more insistent. Lando closed his eyes, his head tipping back as a soft sound escaped his lips.

—Amelie...—

The name fell from his mouth like a reflex, unbidden and unmistakable.

Magui froze.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly, the heat between them dissipating like smoke. She pulled back, her expression a mix of shock and fury.

—What the fuck did you just say?— she demanded, her voice sharp and cutting.

Lando’s eyes snapped open, his drunken haze clearing just enough for him to realize what he’d done. —Shit,— he muttered, sitting up straighter. —I... I didn’t...—

Lando’s heart skipped a beat as the reality of his slip-up hit him. He blinked rapidly, trying to steady his breath, but the damage was already done. Magui was standing now, hands on her hips, her eyes blazing with a mix of confusion and anger.

—What the fuck, Lando?— she repeated, her voice trembling with irritation. —Did you just say her name? While I’m here?—

Lando ran a hand through his hair, desperately trying to make sense of what had just happened. The word “Amelie” still echoed in his mind, his mouth dry. He could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks as the tension in the room grew thicker, suffocating.

Lando exhaled sharply, his mind scrambling for the right words to make this all go away, but nothing came. It was like his brain had short-circuited, caught between the haze of alcohol and the shock of his own slip-up. He wasn’t sure what had come over him, but hearing Magui’s voice, feeling her hands on him, and then… Amelie.

He cursed under his breath, attempting to meet Magui's eyes, but she was looking at him like he’d just slapped her.

—Magui, I...— Lando started, his words faltering. —It wasn’t... it’s not what you think.—

Her hands shot up in disbelief. —Not what I think? Really? Then what the fuck was it, Lando?— Her voice was sharp, louder now, her words dripping with frustration. —I’m sitting here on your lap, and you call out someone else’s name? What the hell is wrong with you?—

Lando opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. He was panicking, his stomach turning, feeling a sharp pang in his chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol or the situation itself.

—God, you’re fucking insane!— Magui yelled, pacing a few steps away. She ran a hand through her disheveled hair, clearly furious. —I don’t care if you’re drunk, that’s not something you just do. That’s not something you just say.—

—I...I didn’t mean it,— Lando muttered, standing up abruptly, his legs a little wobbly from the booze. He reached out to her, but she slapped his hand away with such force that it made him flinch.

—Are you seriously going to tell me you didn’t mean it? Are you going to tell me you’re thinking about her while I’m here, with you, right now?— Magui was almost yelling at this point, her words coming faster, the anger in her voice making Lando wince. —You know what? Fuck this.—

Before he could say anything else, Magui grabbed her purse and threw it over her shoulder, her body tense with fury.

—I don’t need this shit,— she spat, walking toward the door. —You’re a fucking idiot, Lando. And I’m done. Call me when you’ve got your shit together.—

Lando opened his mouth to stop her, but the words died in his throat. He stood frozen in the middle of the room, watching her slam the door behind her. The sound reverberated in his ears like a punch to the gut.

What the fuck just happened?

He didn’t even realize he was standing there, hands clenched into fists, until he noticed his breathing had become shallow and uneven. He let out a long breath, collapsing back onto the sofa. His head was spinning, the mixture of alcohol and a wave of emotions he wasn’t prepared for crashing over him.

—Fuck,— he muttered, his hand going to his face, rubbing his eyes as if that would somehow make everything make sense. But it didn’t.

Lando sat there for what felt like hours, the silence of the hotel room suffocating him. The whole situation with Magui had been easy. Casual. They had fun, they didn’t complicate things. But now, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him.

What was it about Amelie? Why had her name slipped out like that? It was a name he hadn’t spoken in months, not since the last time he saw her.

He remembered the way things had ended. She’d been busy with Wicked, throwing herself into her work, and he’d felt ignored, pushed aside. That had been the excuse he’d used when he’d started talking to someone else—someone like Luisinha. That relationship, too, had been a mess, full of things unsaid and feelings that didn’t belong.

But now, he was here, alone in a hotel room in Ibiza, with Magui gone and his head a mess. The one thing he couldn’t get out of his mind was Amelie. The way she used to laugh, the way she’d look at him when they talked, the way she made him feel… like he wasn’t just some driver to her. He remembered the times they’d spent in the virtual world, playing games together, talking about stupid shit, and then—what? It was so much simpler then.

He dragged a hand through his hair again, frustrated. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did her name keep coming up?

But maybe the real question was: why hadn’t it stopped?

Lando leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to shake off the thoughts. But even in the haze of alcohol and confusion, he knew one thing.

It wasn’t just Amelie he missed. It was everything they had. The closeness, the ease, the connection that had been so fucking easy at first. And then it all just... stopped.

But the real question lingered in his mind as the room fell silent again. Why had he called out her name just now?

He ran his fingers over his lips, biting his bottom lip in frustration. —What the hell was that?— he muttered to himself, his words barely above a whisper.

Lando was left there, alone, still feeling the weight of the moment.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure if he was more pissed off at Magui or at himself.

The room felt colder now.

Amelie had always been his weakness.

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procyonloser · 18 hours ago

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Adam didn't know what to say, how to react, or what to do - nothing could have prepared him for this. Upon his creation, many things were confusing, strange, befuddling, and upon his removal from Eden, he got a taste of how the world could sting.

But nothing, nothing could have prepared Adam for walking into Lute's condo and finding a body pillow with him on it.

She turned fifty shades of gray and stammered over her words, trying to defend the purchase. She hadn't ordered it, she said. She got it from Peter.

'Peter dating my son, Peter', Adam had asked her, to silence, as Lute broke out a window to jump out of an fly away.

Adam looked down at the pillow, it was his normal outfit. He turned it over and found art of himself face down, ass up, with a little bunny tail.

Nope. He burned it right to hell.

Adam tracked down Peter next, who smiled upon seeing him, then turned pale as he realized Adam wasn't happy. He tried to escape, but Adam was quicker and larger than him. Peter turned bright red when Adam slammed him up against a wall, letting out a small moan that made his skin crawl.

'Explain the fucking pillow,' Adam snarled in his face.

And Peter did.

They hadn't been made in heaven, which was less shocking - they'd been made in hell, but Peter didn't know who by. He just found a truck load, and apparently there was a line around the block to pick one up. Why people wanted a pillow of Adam in a slutty pose, Adam had no idea. He was a badass exorcist alpha male rock legend, not some bitch.

Peter said as far as he knew, the pillows had come out of the Greed ring. Which Adam wasn't supposed to go to. He wasn't allowed there. It wasn't part of the agreement, he wasn't supposed to upset the heirarchy in the hellborn by reminding them all they were nothing compared to him a human soul.

Adam went anyway.

He found one of Mammon's factories, and felt stunned silent for the second time in one day. There wasn't just one pillow of him in production, there was an entire series of them, and some were blatantly pornographic. He was happy they gave him a totally accurately sized huge dick, but he wasn't as thrilled with the things that were up his ass or down his throat in half the pillows.

Technically, he wasn't allowed to kill hellborns, but he was allowed to pull the fire alarm and then blow the whole place to smithereens.

Flying home, he had to pass through Pride, where he was quick to run into the face he hated most.

Lucifer hung in the sky, arms crossed, horns high.

'Mammon told me what you did, you know we have cameras now, right?' Lucifer asked tiredly, and Adam just parroted him mockingly, before telling him to get the fuck out of the way. 'No, you can't just attack the private property of one of my people, my sins, without answering for it. Those sex dolls cost Mammon a lot to produce.'

Adam stared, and stared.

'... Dolls? I burned down the body pillows.'

Lucifer froze, nervously laughing. 'That's what I meant, of course. Pillows. Right. That's all he's made of you.'

Adam decided in that moment all sinners must die.

#hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #everyone x adam #kinda #adamsapple

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theoriginaldick · 2 days ago

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Christ on a stick I have never wanted a man as bad as I want Adam from Hazbin Hotel at this very fucking moment. The worst part is I loathe everything this stupid man exudes. I loathe his toxic masculinity, his sexism, his dumbass frat boy behavior and fuckboy attitude. And yet I long to taste his skin.

This man vexes me in a way a person cannot physically fucking fathom. The level of hatred I feel for men like him, the level of hatred I fee towards him as a person. He is thousands upon thousands of years old and he acts like a giant fucking manbaby. Never in my life have I seen such a poor excuse for a spoiled rotten dickhead outside of the bullies I had in middlechool. Yet there he is.

Adam from Hazbin Hotel is the kryptonite of every fucking living being in creation that has zero standards outside of "gaslight". He is the fucking narrative foil to every single goddamn feminist alive. He looks like every fucking white man rolled up into a single character, shit out by some random linebacker named Brett Thompson who wears his hat backwards.

"All of humanity came from these fucking nuts" is forever burned into my fucking brain, the shift of anger and arrogance to absolute and utter shock and pain, the way he falls flat on his fucking face in the dirt. Taken out by a fucking 2 foot tall goddamn housewife that stabs bugs. I both love and hate him in a way I cannot truly express. It's like seeing the world's ugliest fucking cat, one thats blind and humps everything, and giving it the personality of a grumpy fucking old man.

He is the most average, bottom of the barrel motherfucker in Hazbin Hotel, he is the most every day dude looking character, he is the most fucking uninteresting design in the show and yet I want him. I want him in a way that exceeds possibilities. I want him in the way a fish wants to fucking fly.

I HATE this dude and everything he's about and yet I'm left wondering why it couldn't have been me they killed instead? Why couldn't they have taken my life and spared his own?

I'm ill.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam hazbin hotel

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oddberryshortcake · 2 days ago

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MY DEAR i apologize for the random drabble request pls don't feel pressured to do this if you do not wish🩵

but as u know, I love how you write the Dia gang🥺 and I crave crumbs of Lilia being put in a scenario where he actually needs to drop his 'ufufu' act and be protective over a one Silver Vanrouge

which is something I have not found yet in canon materials, very sadly, (but pls correctly me if i am wrong bc I am not in-the-know of all the vignettes and such)

There is one great moment in Book 7 where Lilia literally gets shot by a cannon while shielding Silver and he didn't even remember Silver was his son, his body just reacted on its own. Such good angst 😭 and then Jade's lab vignette has a pretty cute moment between the two with Lilia thinking Silver was getting poisoned.

But yes, I have written something for you (sorry it took so long lol) please enjoy and thank you for asking!

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

‘Shouldn’t he be taking less naps by now?’ Lilia thought to himself.

In all of the human parenting books he read, most of them said that young humans tend to stop napping regularly at around four years old. Unless Silver was in the 30% margin of human five-year-olds needing naps, Lilia couldn’t find rhyme or reason for Silver to be this tired so frequently.

When Silver was a baby, Lilia often praised him for his ability to go to sleep easily. It was a far cry from Malleus, who hated naps even when he was a wee little dragon. For a while, the only problem Silver really had was something called ‘colic’ and that thankfully passed by the time he reached 6 months.

He had his suspicions it could have something to do with the state Lilia found him in…Lost in the throes of a protective sleep spell for over 400 years. The spell should’ve broken by now, otherwise Silver wouldn’t be here with him at all, tottering about in their front yard.

He felt in his gut that some of Silver’s quirks weren’t normal, but he had no way of knowing for sure. He never lived with a human before nor took care of one. He kept telling himself that maybe human children would fall asleep standing up.

He was brushing up on his reading because of his anxious observations. It was his way of dissuading himself from worrying. That’s when he heard what sounded like a heavy object being dropped down the stairs…The stairs that led up to Silver’s bedroom.

“Silver? Are you causing any mischief up there?” He asks playfully, but he got no response which was odd.

He went to inspect the sound and found Silver collapsed at the bottom of the stairs, limbs contorted in ways he’d see the deceased on the battlefield lie, not befitting for a little five-year-old.

After a moment of standing there, in shock at what he was seeing, his senses finally came back to him and he rushed over to investigate. There was a cut just above Silver’s delicate forehead, and blood was gushing out.

“Silver! Please speak to me!” He attempted, but got nothing. Then panic set in, those colorful little bandaids he had on hand wouldn’t be enough to close up this wound, and he had no healing potion on hand.

The blood reached down to his white eyelashes and wasn’t stopping. Was he gravely injured? Was he dying?

He already knew humans were fragile, but could stairs really kill him?

All these unknowns swirled in his brain and he felt like he did when Silver first got ill as a baby. Completely blind, making stuff up on the spot, a novice in the ways of raising a human, guilty of not handing Silver over to willing humans who would’ve taken him in and raised him better.

He took Silver into his arms, not caring that his blood stained his newly cleaned white shirt, and took to a broomstick to fly all the way to the nearest human clinic.

When he arrived, there was someone new at the front desk, a human employee he had never seen before instead of someone familiar.

“This child fell down my stairs. He’s bleeding and he isn’t responding, I need help.” Lilia told her with urgency.

“Sir, where did you find this child?” She asked, not knowing.

He had fallen into his usual habit of referring to Silver as ‘the kid he looked after’ like he would around Baur. This woman took one look at him and knew they didn’t match.

“He’s mine.” Lilia asserted.

“But you’re-“

“Yes, I know I’m a fae, but he’s my child and he needs help! Where’s the doctor?!” He quickly lost his patience with her.

His heart was already pounding out of his chest, feeling unworthy of calling Silver his own. The judgmental reaction he was met with had validated his feelings of inadequacy.

The usual doctor stepped out and recognized them, apologizing for his new employee’s reaction. He took one look at Silver in his arms and took him to the back where Silver would normally get his annual check-ups.

The doctor wiped the blood away to reveal that the cut Silver got across his hairline was not as deep as it looked.

“There are many tiny arteries around the head, that’s why the bleeding was so profuse at a small cut,” the doctor explained, “With some gauze, it should heal up like normal.”

“But he’s unconscious,” Lilia told him, “that’s dangerous for humans.”

“This wound isn’t deep enough for that. Children often get more hurt when they try bracing themselves for a fall, but I believe Silver went limp before he fell down the stairs as you described.” The doctor told him as he wrapped the bandage around his son’s head.

Silver didn’t necessarily look in pain, just asleep as he normally was…Except that wasn’t normal, was it?

“What do you mean? Are you saying he wasn’t conscious when he fell?” Lilia asks.

The doctor turns to him, a serious expression on his face.

“I know you’re new to this and as you’ve told me before, you haven’t interacted with humans much before adopting him…But excessive sleepiness is not normal for a child his age.” The doctor said, and Lilia felt the pit in his stomach grow.

“It’s not?” He repeats dumbly, of course, it’s not! Why did he allow so much room for doubt in his mind, pushing his concerns aside, believing that he was making up it being an issue.

“No, and the fact that his injury hasn’t woken him up is concerning. I think you should look into consulting medical mages or human doctors closer in the city about this.” The doctor recommended, “It could be an underlying neurological disorder.”

‘Or a blessing turned curse,’ Lilia thinks in his head. He couldn’t tell the doctor that, though, he couldn’t tell anyone. Not even Malleus, nor Silver even when he’s old enough to understand. This is his secret to keep close to his heart.

“If you have any recommendations, please let me know.” Lilia requests, “I’ll take him to whatever doctor or mage he needs to go to solve this.”

Would anyone be able to find out what’s wrong, though?

Ancient magic was seeped into his bones, there was no known cure for that. But if someone could find anything, then…

Silver stirred and was understandably disoriented from his change in surroundings. He started to tear up, which he hadn’t done in a long time, and Lilia pulled him into a hug where he could muffle his soft cries into his shoulder.

“Thank you for always helping me.” He thanked the human doctor, who returned similar sentiments.

“I was surprised when Dr. Zigvolt referred you to us,” he said, referring to Baur’s son-in-law, “A fae raising a human isn’t exactly common, but I can tell you both care for each other. You have a good kid, I’m sure you raised him to be that way.”

“So you’ve noticed,” Lilia replied light-heartedly. Silver turned his face to the familiar doctor, now ashamed by his tears, and wanted to thank him for patching him up. “What do we say, Silver?”

“Thank you sir,” Silver says in a small voice.

“You two take care.” The doctor bids them farewell on the way out.

As they left, Silver looked up at him with his side, auroral eyes, and tilted his bandaged head in curiosity.

“Papa, you’re gripping my hand really tight. What’s wrong?” He asks, “Is it cause I hurt myself?”

Silver could be strangely perceptive, almost wise beyond his short years. Yes, Lilia had Silver in a tighter grip than usual, afraid a possible second slip up would send them right back to where they start.

Lilia could never tell Silver about who his parents truly were or where he came from or even why he is the way he is. He would keep having to lie about that, and lying to that sweet little face was already so hard.

Silver didn’t even know he was adopted yet, it’s like everything about their little life was one big secret.

But he couldn’t lie about this.

“I’m a little worried about you, that’s all. The nice doctor told me that your sleepiness isn’t normal.” He broke the news, to which Silver looked down at his tiny feet in shame, “But it’s alright because I’m going to take you to many doctors so we can find a cure.”

“That’s good!” Silver looked up with a smile, “Then I can still be a knight, right?”

“Yes, you can.” Lilia said, swinging both their arms back and forth, “And Silver?”

Silver looked back at him.

“Please try not to scare your papa.”

#oddberry fics #twst fics #twst #twisted wonderland #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #diafam fics are my jam next to scarabia angst

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oreolemur · 3 days ago

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can you plsss make a fic about geto’s reaction to his wife offing herself?

Wasn't really gonna write his reaction, but here you go <3 Link to the original story: Lesson Learned

Hearing a loud thump coming from upstairs, Geto called out to you. “Darling?! What was that?”. The house was silent. He felt something was wrong, but didn’t know what it was. “What was that noise?”, he shouted again. After waiting a few minutes for a response, he decided to go to you. “My love?”. The closer he got to the bathroom, the deeper the feeling got. “Y/n?”. He heard the sound of water running. “Did you fall?”. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. “Baby, open the door”. He heard nothing. Geto rattled the knob again, his actions getting more desperate. “Say something!”. Without hesitation, he began to kick down the door. “I swear to god if you escaped I’ll-”.

The moment it flung open, his eyes widened. “Baby?”. You laid on the floor, blood everywhere. “No…no…no”. He crouched down, shaking you. “Please wake up. You’re still here”. He checked your pulse, but felt nothing. “No no no, come on!”. He tried to perform CPR, but everytime he pressed on your chest blood oozed out of your neck. “Fuck!”. He began to panic. “Something told me I shouldn't have left you alone”. Suguru paced around the bathroom, losing his mind. “It’s all my fault”. He didn’t know what to do. “I was too hard on her”. He then sat beside you, holding your lifeless body. “I’m so sorry”, he sobbed.

After crying for what seemed like an hour, he decided to call Satoru. “Please pick up…please pick up”. Once he heard Gojo’s voice, he explained what happened. “I’ll be over in a few”, the man said. Geto remained in the bathroom as he waited for his best friend to arrive. “Don’t worry, my love. I’ll make sure I fix this. You’re not leaving me this easily”. It took about 30 minutes before Satoru arrived. “Geto?”, he walked upstairs to the bathroom, witnessing your dead body. “She killed herself and it’s all my fault”, Suguru said. He was staring off into space, mind filled with thoughts of suicide. “She’ll be all alone. I have to go with her”. He reached for the knife that laid beside you. “No!”, Gojo shouted. He quickly ran over to Geto, snatching the weapon from his hand. “Get your shit together…I know what to do”.

❤~An Hour Later~❤

The two men cleaned up the bathroom as they left your body laying on the bedroom floor. “That should do it”, Gojo said. Geto sat on the toilet with his hands covering his face. He was still in shock. “What am I going to do?”. Satoru looked over at you. “We’re going to bury her…somewhere no one can find her. And then…once you’ve settled…I’m going to help you find someone new…someone better”. Suguru glanced at his friend, “Ok”, he said. They gathered up some materials and placed you in the trunk of Geto’s car. “At least she doesn’t have any missing persons report”.

They drove out deep into the woods, finding a spot to bury you. “Fuck this is harder than I thought”, Gojo said. Geto wasn’t much help. All he did was hold you, thinking about the memories you two shared. “I don’t know why you stopped me from ending my life. I just want to be with her”. Dropping the shovel from his hands, Satoru walked over to him. “Hey”, he said. When Geto looked at him, Gojo sent a hard punch to his face. “Get over it!”, he shouted. “She’s not the only girl in the world. We can find someone better for you”. Just at that moment, they heard the sound of a twig snap. Looking to the right, they noticed a girl standing there. “Oh no”, she said. She stood there frozen, giving Geto enough time to fall for her. “Satoru…I want her”.

#jujutsu kaisen #dark writing #gojo satoru #jjk geto #jjk fanfic #jjk gojo #geto suguru #geto and gojo

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acidblum · 14 hours ago

Text

— Яitual ²

Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Vampire!Reader (w/c: 2.5k)

DO NOT BUY TLOU

AO3 PART ¹/SERIES MAS.

⚠︎ WARNINGS +18 MINORS/MEN DNI, blood consumption, angst (kinda), mentions of infidelity, backstory chapter in a way, less dialogue, less ellie, vampire!abby anderson, references, sex, death, weapons, mentions of religion no mentions of readers skin colour or hair texture.

ⓘ A/N: i’m so sorry pretty people the second part is coming out this late :(, luv yall pls enjoy and share with me your thoughts and ideas about our cuckoo gals<3 also if there's any warning i failed to mention tell me.

The two infamous covens, a divine picture drawn to the naked eye, a unity, somewhere you could belong-at least that’s what they told everyone when they preached their sermons. Although the consequences included losing your soul for a higher connection..some might claim it was worth it.

All the pain and all the agony started with Selene for Aaron questioned why she bit into the snake when she was asked to not give into the temptation by Kanchelsis—the god of the underworld. It wasn't the apple hanging high from up the tree she was after, she had her eyes set on the shimmering green snake, she smelled the blood and tasted the flesh before she even pierced her canines into the flailing reptile.

What everyone failed to know is that the highest mother was carrying a child when she started feeding on her mortal dutiful husband for he was the only one she was allowed to feed on—as demanded by kanchelsis. bringing forth the mankind of vampires and the formation of the first ever coven to go down in the books, The Ancients. They were and still are known for their reserved nature, never seeking or raising their children to be anything other than thankful and graceful with the humankind.

Selene’s pregnancy went as smooth as it could but it was naught without losses, it seemed that her feeding off of her husband wasn’t the safest option for she killed him whilst giving birth in a moment of utter fury, she sat in the water tub in total shock and distress whilst she was encouraged to push by her maker and the servants surrounding her thrashing body in a circle

Tears well up in her eyes “i cannot bear his child..orphaned, i beg of you my lord”

He ignores her pleas, focusing on the task at hand of making her deliver a healthy child. “Push my lady” squeezing her hand in his long clawed one, her agonizing scream reverberating off the walls of the chamber and into the dark night, awakening all types of demons and creatures alike.

“I can see this head! Come on push my highest mother! Push” the shrill cries of the fragile babe with the tiniest of canines for teeth can be heard by everyone in the chamber prompting them to sigh in relief including the mother who is drenched in sweat with red emerald tears streaming down her face.

and it flew right over their heads, the intensity this child could bring and what his uproar did. Elijah grew into the most rebellious vampire known all over the world, word got out that he is a wanted man for being the deadliest of the whole lineage. That's when the second and last coven was made, in the First Republic of France.

They call themselves the La Brumes, 10 vampires always gloating about their agility and power to vanish through thin air, facing no consequences whatsoever regarding their relation to the french revolution. Elijah made sure to be close to every nobility he could ever get to know including Louis XVI. It is heard around the streets of good ol France that Louis died at the hand of a creature that tore him apart and threw him all around his humble abode..in pieces might i add. And of course the servants and whoever found his pieces had to say that he was found dead in his bed.

He rebelled against his mother Selene and shunned her to a locked palace under an alias. putting her on trial simply for refusing his request to turn even more mortals into vampires around the world—talking all about the “tremendous power” it’ll give the covens. With the help of Kanchelsis, he ensured the highest and the mother of his kind doesn’t see the sun ever again. Stupid was he for he still yet has to face you.

𓃭

The candle lit room seemed to have seen better days, clothes and undergarments strewn all over the floor and around, where your naked form is laying on the lounge chair with nothing covering your lower intimate area but a light satin shawl.

Your observer for the day who is just as equally naked as you was your companion, or maybe lover? Not quite that..even though the both of you were really really close and she was one of the few people who managed to give you a bone thrashing orgasm. not to forget that the entanglements among the coven's members were a bit frowned upon by the higher ups—and all you replied with after making love to her was..fuck the higher ups, your coven or hers can suck it just how she does on a sunday morning.

“What ails your mind now? Do we need to go for a third round??” she questions, chuckling when you snort from your place with your arm under your head. “Now wouldn’t you love that Anderson?” you ask with a raised eyebrow.

You shrug “and let’s not get this twisted, I'm always the one that dominates you.”

she tuts with a sly smile etched on her cheeks “you read me like an open book mon cher” her brush cladded hand moving in calculated strokes against the canvas, focusing on painting your crimson glinting irises.

A smug look graces your face before you exclaim. “But we’re not lovers Abigail..remember?”

she shakes her head “And do you ever let me forget”

Abigail Anderson, the history you’ve had with her extends far back into your teenagehood, when her dad was your dad’s right hand. At first she saw you as a very smug, fragile, mommy dearest type of person, waltzing around in her mothers french garden with your Ted Lapidus glasses on and a red scarf that compliments your eyes around your neck, your figure cladded in a black on black suit. you’ve kept to yourself that day—until your younger brother decided it was a good day to throw you into the Anderson’s gigantic fish pool.

and oh boy was she ready to dunk in and save your poor self from the little fishies. holding your body close to hers where she was wearing a white simple shirt with nothing underneath and some grey trousers, her nipples hardening against the shirt and her eyes never leaving yours—the intensity of her stare definitely left you aching for something more.

she carries you out where your brother snickers and laughs at your sticky and wet form with a nod. shooting him a death glare, eyes shining in pure red, he closes his mouth not uttering a word when you pass him by the door with the water dripping down your back and forming a trail behind you.

“Good luck sister” he whispers.

that day she lent you her clothes—you never returned them. which was a little bit big on your frame. “Hopefully the stench will come out when you shower, there’s a towel behind the door for you, and plenty of hot water.”

“oh you’re not coming with?” you ask, feigning innocence.

she chuckles in amusement, fangs shining underneath her pink luscious lips. taking two steps towards you. “I don't think you’re ready for this” cold icy hand reaching to cradle your equally cold chin, she rubs it once before walking out of the door, leaving you to watch her wet shirt cladded back retort into the hallway.

“you know i really wanted you” you look up at her with glossy eyes and a downturned smile. prompting her hands movement on the canvas to pause, her back going rigid from her place in front of the aisle. shaking her head, inhaling hard “you know i would’ve never been able to hold you down”

you snorted in mockery “oh yeah i was the literal face of Studio 54 wasn’t i? Still I wouldn't have minded if you showed me around instead of gawking from the other side of the dance floor.” a manic laugh spurts out of you uncontrollably “i’ve searched for your face in every mortal i could find..man or woman, i wanted them big, hard, french with a mean streak..but they never were all of that. They were never that perfect, not like you at least.”

standing up, she rests the palette and the brush on the stool beside her. stretching out her back you can hear a few cracks bellow in defiance. walking up to you in slow calculated steps before kneeling down to your level, her big body creating a shadow that looked like it could engulf yours.

“and how can I make it up to you..hm?”

“Does anyone in your coven even know that you’re here? Your partner??” a look of disdain..confusion crossing your face when she holds out the palm of your hand to her lips, light feathery kiss after the other getting plastered all over your lightly held arm. Holding her dead stare you make no effort of moving or reciprocating her advances.

“Isn’t mommy dearest gonna get upset if she knows that i've been between these lush thighs for years?? Day in and night out you’ll have me right here, ravishing you and getting ravished by you and your heavenly sex” she points out looking up at you from her kneeling spot, a vision of art that she is, maybe you should’ve been the one who made her pose for you, you’ll probably end up hanging the portrait on the wall facing your bed..and maybe using it to relieve yourself while you whisper her name, knowing that she can hear you even with thousands of miles between the both of you.

“Bite me” a knowing look crosses her face, almost proud before she does exactly that without uttering any other words. Sinking her teeth into your forearm gulping down your sweet blood, abby’s loud throaty sounds and her humming into your skin sends pure vibrations urging your back to arch in immense pleasure. “Do you know the amount of people who’d love for me to tell them that? Bite me?” you push her teeth off with a low snarl. blood gushing and then trickling down your forearm, the veins around your eyes more prominent than ever.

Sparing her a scrutinizing look while you rise to your feet, the shawl sliding down your body and onto the floor beside her thigh. “And yet you’re the one asking your supposedly sworn enemy to do it” she retorts.

You can’t help but snicker at her whilst you put on your robe “says the one sitting knees down on my floor like a good kitten” words spitting out of your mouth like venom you failed to notice that in a fast whiff of air she appears in front of you, nails digging into your waist, the shine of her eyes speaking a foreign language to you, nose flaring uncontrollably with a lustful look gracing her face. She bites into your neck after a low growl, taking slow calculated strides until your back hits the wall of your room in a loud thud, swallowing your soft moan.

𓃭

“I need my sister gone”

“Here we fucking go again, i told you i am not that capable, i can’t kill your sister. Can’t you find a Cerbera Odollam stake or whatever your kind uses to kill each other and pierce it through her heart if the idea of her walking amongst the living haunts you still? It’s been two decades and you won’t let it rest.”

Not liking what she was hearing—the harsh and painful truth from her dear witch friend she mutters. “Your great grandmother did it once on my deranged uncle”

“You said it..deranged, your dear sister is eccentric..but not like him, he went on a killing rampage and it’s literally written down in history which was exactly what he dreamt of achieving and your coven gave it to him on a golden platter when your dad wrote a ‘fictional book’ about him”

Before getting executed by order of the two covens. Your uncle, David, claimed he saw god and that the almighty asked him to form a cult, your mother tried talking him out of it but it just resulted in him killing nearly ten vampires of which are his own including his own child and thousands of humans without hiding his tracks well. He wrote in blood on every concrete wall in the streets of every country he ever stepped foot on including Persia ‘if we burn you burn with us’.

A hunt had to be put in place for him, you were the one who brought him in, bruised and hungry. “I’m sorry uncle but you gave us no choice, who do you think you are? The prophet? What. a. Joke.” a baseball bat wrapped in silver wire swinging left and right in your hand, taking calculated steps towards him.

He was dragging himself on the wet muddy ground, clothes torn, hair matted with blood, reciting verses upon verses in prayer. A sight for sore eyes. not even bearing you a look, the poor man was trying to save himself. little did he know that in front of him was you. “have mercy on me, niece! the lord will save us all through my body”

you look around “i don’t see him saving you right now”

“b-but he is with us! i can see h-“ not taking your chances you swing the bat right at the side of his head, silver wires piercing his skull, hard enough to hurt but not enough to kill his immortal corpse. “Now you’ll get to meet the lord and have some tea together. tell him i said hello.”

𓃭

Ellie’s sleepless nights persisted after that dream she had, rehearsing, eating and writing for their new album had one being in mind…she thought it was very childish, but she couldn’t shake off the presence of it, of her, the vampire.

something she never believed in and never will—that’s what she keeps telling herself. in her young years she and her sister alongside their dad used to watch horror movies of which involved vampires and other monsters. Sarah would cling to their dad whilst Ellie would snicker at her older sister.

“you’re such a pussy”

“language Ellie” Joel would retort without a glance making her sister stick her tongue out from her place cuddled up against Joel. “tch it’s not even that scary..these types of things don’t even exist and if they did they’ll get killed in seconds in the sun” she shrugs.

Ellie continued with conveying her distaste about the paranormal, even when people started accusing them of selling their soul to the devil over their written lyrics and sudden spring into the metal and nu metal scene. interviewers found it funny and had to bring it up every. single. time. she was extremely fed up, she'd nod and and shrug cause why was it surprising that a so called satanist didn't believe in all of that??.

Dina on the other side leaned into it, often times than not taking weird pictures with a drawing of 'punk jesus' that she made, facing extreme backlash on her socials while Jesse posted verses about kindness—their PR team never catches a break that's for certain.

taglist🗞️: @winkybun

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autisticshadowthehedgehog · 2 days ago

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I do love that, while there weren’t many moments that the movie kept from SA2, the one they truly chose to keep practically the same was Shadow sacrificing himself to save the world. Of course he’s still alive (they couldn’t kill him off in game they wouldn’t do it here), but they easily could’ve not done that. Yet they did. They even kept him removing his inhibitor rings despite never mentioning what they are in the movie.

I actually like the touch of him dying in a different manner and Sonic being the one to plummet through the atmosphere.

I do hope we don’t have to deal with his amnesia this time round though. Without Rouge to balance him, it would be hard to do it right.

listen considering we're getting amy next movie, i can 100% see them adding rouge to balance Team Shadow. im honestly shocked she wasnt in this movie but i blame the studio for that; from interviews, we know the film writers really like her and have been trying to get her in for a while

#sonic 3 spoilers #sonic spoilers #sonic movie 3

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gwyndolence · 2 days ago

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Gwyn couldn't help the grin that stole across his face at Cassian's coy little admission, "Is that so?" He teased, hand tracing the shape of the light he'd seen inside of him, trailing down to Cassian's ribs and then his back, holding the dragon's body against his, "I'm glad I could satisfy." It was an easy enough answer for Gwyn's curiosity, currently more preoccupied anyway with enjoying the warmth and weight of Cassian on top of him, the feeling of fullness from having him still seated inside. The sith basked in it like a cat in a beam of sunlight, his wandering touch silently encouraging Cassian to settle closer and not be afraid of laying against him, of lending Gwyn's cool flesh some of his heat. Cozied together like this, chest to chest, he could hear Cassian's heartbeat like it was his own. He liked that.

Gwyn stirred with a questioning hum as his doctor spoke again, his gaze sharpening from dreaminess near-instantly at the words and darting to that innocently offered neck. For a moment, the sith had no reply, so pleasantly shocked was he. Then he laughed, a musical, affectionate sound, reaching up to take Cassian's face in his hands and turning the dragon's head back to meet his eyes. "You are very perceptive, my Sherlock," Gwyn grinned up at him, showing off a line of blunt, human-seeming teeth, "I am a blood-drinker, to be sure, but I have no intentions of biting you. Not like that, at least." He scrunched up his nose in amusement, "And no plans to kill you either, so you may tell your lawyer to rest easy."

When Gwyn came again was when Cassian was truly satisfied. He gave a breathless little smile, pleased. He brought his hand up to his mouth to lick off Gwyn's spend and when he was finished, he nearly pulled out before Gwyn stopped him. Cassian nodded and stayed where he was, just sort of pressed against the sith and partially squishing him against the bed with his warm body. It felt good to still be connected so carnally, luxuriating in the afterglow of their orgasms together.

His eyes flicked down to his chest as if the lightning was still sparking inside him. He gave a shy little grin. He fully knew why it had happened. Cassian was a young dragon and his control of his element was shaky at best. He didn't practice with it enough, too absorbed in his career to bother. To have it get nearly so out of hand this time? That was something different. That was an ancient part of his biology trying to call out and he refused to admit it out loud.

"Not exactly," Cassian answered vaguely. "It's usually just sparks when I breathe out. You just feel that good on my cock, sweetheart."

Now that he wasn't so absorbed in their sex, he could feel the pinpricks from Gwyn's claws in his arm. He looked at the blood slowly dripping down, following the line of the muscle of his forearm. Careful not to squish Gwyn any more than necessary, he leaned down and in, turning his head to the side to expose the vein pulsing in his neck.

"I clocked you as a blood drinker at the bar," he admitted, "You can bite me if you promise not to kill me. I've been getting around to my last will and testament but me and my lawyer have been playing phone tag and then I moved to Russia. You know how it is."

#ft. cassian #cassian1

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theorphicangel · 2 hours ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 | 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

wc: 2.2k

tags: heian era!sukuna, true form! sukuna, reader is a villager and wears a kimono, gn!reader, mentions of cannibalism (brief), eventual fluff, strangers to lovers??, threat of death, reader has a sense of humor, reader risks life for a peach (real),

synopsis: stumbling in a random field, the gods have granted you the luxury of discovering a rare peach tree and it's all yours for the takings. at least that's what you're mistaken to think before you're confronted by the king of curses himself. coming close to death, you're forbidden to ever return.

it's just a shame you're incapable of listening to rules.

part one | part three | bonus scene

Part 2: Committing the sin

“...And I told him to stick his peaches where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“And then what?!”

“Well, he was so shocked that I spoke to him in that manner and his jaw fell wide open. Then I told him that I wasn’t scared of him and informed him that the tree was public property.”

“What did he say back?” Multiple sets of eyes peer into your face with eagerness and pure excitement.

You pause for a moment – for dramatic effect. With a deep breath, you speak again.

“He said, ‘do you not care for your life?’

“What did you say back?! What did you tell him?!” A dark haired child rose in front of you, his eyes wide.

“I said I wouldn’t regret dying after tasting those appetizing peaches, so if he killed me right there and then I would nonetheless be happy and satisfied.”

The children sit in a small circle around you, some expressing their glee aloud as their faces were filled with awe of your encounter with the king of curses.

“I squared up to him, unafraid to fight and he walked away first.” You let out a laugh. “His tail was between his legs like a dog, I doubt he’ll ever come back to that tree!”

“Does he actually have a tail?” a child asked.

“I thought he had 6 arms.” another child spoke, curiosity filling their tone.

“I thought he had 9?!”

“No, there was no tail. The king of curses only has 4 arms and really ugly eyes.”

“How many?”

“Four!” You reply and you giggle as the children shudder. “All the better to see you with, I think. Very scary.”

One child says, “I don’t ever want to see him!”

“He’s a monster!” Another spoke.

“Well, you won’t ever meet the monster if you all promise to obey your parents and not misbehave?”

They nod diligently, hanging onto your every word. One by one they disperse, breaking off into their own stories about the king of curses now based on the new information you had told.

Among them, your eyes fell upon Miko. She stood alone, waiting for the others to drift away before speaking. You’ve known her to be the shyest girl in the village, with the other kids she doesn’t seem to speak or interact. You usually find her off on her own in the corner, playing on her own in a corner.

Recently, you’ve taken her under your wing. Whilst her parents work away in the village, you made sure that not all of her hours are spent entirely alone. Interacting with her, you take her along with you on your errands or play along with her games. Even in your company she’s still a quiet kid but you don’t mind as long as she has someone to be with.

She waits until the majority of children have gone, their conversation too loud to overhear her question. It slips out so quietly you almost think you’ve missed it but you manage to read her lips.

“Can you get me one?” Miko looks down at her sandals, shy and timid.

You hum, wanting to know what she’s referring to.

“A peach.” She speaks again, her small lips moving. Again her voice is quiet and her eyes are glued to the ground. “Could you get me one?”

Your heart yearns at the sight. You knew all too well that her family doesn’t have much. They barely manage to get the bare necessities monthly, so the simple act of indulging in the taste of a sweet ripe peach wouldn’t just be a luxury but equate to rich reward for her entire family and their hard work.

Crouching, you meet her eyes.

“If you’re not scared of the king of curses could you do it?” She mumbles. “If you’re sure that he won’t come back.”

A small part of you hesitates, maybe your exaggeration went too far. The truth of the story weighs heavy in your gut and a part of you considers confessing your dishonesty. But just one glimpse into Miko’s warm coffee eyes and you melt again. You couldn’t break her heart and say no. It would kill you.

Your gut churns as you mull over your answer.

There was no part in your body capable of telling her ‘no’ so the corners of your lips flip up into a smile.

“Of course, I can.”

The king of curses is away at battle. For the next two weeks to be presumed.

Him and his army traveled past the village, heading down with their carts and horses. Obviously, you weren’t present and chose to hide away to watch from afar. Even from a large distance you couldn’t help but feel his presence, his overwhelming aura seeping into every crevice of your skin.

But at least now you had your chance.

Just one week after his departure, you gained up the courage to return to the forbidden peach tree. You’d hope no one would be present at the estate, perhaps a few servants here and there, but you doubt they would commit to the long walk to the edge of the estate for a mere peach tree.

With a large basket in hand, you set out as early as you could, the sunrise warming up your cheeks. Rays of orange and red mix in the sky, the sunlight fixing its spot in the blue summer sky.

You retrace your steps you had previously taken a few weeks prior, straying away from the original path. Again, the grass blades tickle at your ankles. Certain that the king of curses has disappeared, you take your time through the field watching as different species of birds fly over your head and how the bees keep obedient to their flowers, collecting their sweet nectar.

Soon the shadow of the tree comes into view.

At first glance it seems to be unchanged, however a new difference you picked up on is the range of new peaches available. With adrenaline running, you don’t hesitate to pluck the peaches, multiple at a time. In a span of five minutes your basket is already half full, emerging from your task. You start with the peaches which are easier to reach before dealing with the dreadful task of resorting to your tippy toes.

Before you know it, your eyes are caught once upon a scarlet red peach, perfectly ripe and round. Of course you have to get it, this one would be especially for Miko you think.

The only problem which rose was that the peach was located on the highest branch, straining, it was only a few inches away from your fingertips.

“Almost—” you strain, your tongue pokes out the side of your mouth.

“Seems like insolent fools never learn.”

A rough voice echoes into the distance at the exact moment that you manage to pluck a peach from the highest branch. At the sound of a gruff tone, a shiver runs up your body and the peach falls from your hand, dropping to the grass and rolling away.

Just as you felt previously, a menacing aura came over you, washing over your body like a heavy tide. Your temperature drops and your mind freezes, his ever so familiar aura now hitting you like a slap to the face.

Of course, you turn to find the king of curses standing behind you. Tall and treacherous, you cower away, dropping to your knees.

He’s back. One week earlier than expected.

Bowing your head, your mind runs over the brutal image of his appearance. Blood stains over his body and skin, dry of course and scars litter his chest, shirtless in front of you.

“I thought I warned you to stay away, did I not?”

You clear your throat before speaking, your voice shakes. “You did, my lord.”

“So why did you not heed my warning? Do you wish death upon yourself?”

“No my lord, I-” you cut yourself off, searching for words which fail to leave your lips. Your hesitation and silence only seems to aggravate Sukuna.

“Speak.” He orders.

“I wanted to bring peaches back for the villagers.”

Sukuna doesn’t speak again. Trembling, you keep your eyes down onto the grass. He must be eyeing your basket right now.

You were definitely going to die. This was it. You had gotten away with it before and by the gods he was not going to let you leave alive again.

The king of curses wouldn’t make that same mistake twice.

Suddenly you find your chin in his palm and he forces you to look up at him. His eyes are cold and deadly. No ounce of human empathy or compassion lingers in his pupils.

“You wanted to bring some peaches back for the villagers.”

You nod, a quiet whisper leaving your lips. “Yes.”

“Pathetic.” He spat.

From then on you expected to feel some form of pain. You have heard multiple stories about his brutal killings, simply decapitating limbs of people without a single care. Some people say it’s best to be killed right away by the King of Curses rather than his cruel method of allowing his victims to bleed out and die slowly.

Your body freezes to expect a pinch of pain, a stab, a slice – anything, anything at all yet it doesn’t seem to hit you. Tilting your head upwards ever so slightly you notice a wound on the right side of his torso. . Blood, freshly red, drips down his side, staining his skin and clothes.

“You’re injured.” It comes out as a murmur, pathetic and weak.

Sukuna says nothing more as if he hadn’t heard you in the first place. You bow your head deeper, almost ashamed for pointing it out. Perhaps it would come across that you intercepted the King of curses as weak. A king having a deep wound is something that he wouldn’t want others to know.

But— you could still use it as some sort of excuse.

“It’ll get infected.” You speak again, gaining more confidence in your tone. “If you don’t clean it up soon.”

“I have taken care of it.” Sukuna speaks. “It’s just a scratch.“

You let out a scoff. “Barely, you’re bleeding out heavily.”

“What’s it to you? It has nothing to do with you.” He snaps, his tone rising.

“I have a speciality in helping people with wounds and illnesses. I could help you.” You raise your head slightly at your offer. You outstretch your hand towards his blood drenched clothes.

“I do not like to be touched, I will heal myself.”

You glance up at the king of curses, studying his face. For the first time you sense a feeling of exhaustion within Sukuna’s eyes, heavy lidded and tired. The king of curses was on the verge of passing out.

“I could help you–”

“I don’t need help from a thief.”

“A thief!?”

“The tree is on my property is it not?”

“I–”

“And this is the second time you have been caught stealing, correct?”

“My lord—”

“Correct?” His tone is rough, cutting you off with a sharpness that causes goosebumps to appear on your body.

You say nothing, looking down at your feet. You can feel his eyes bore into you. “Pathetic human.” He mumbles.

You swallow, saying nothing more. Your hands turn into fists by your side. Just from your expression and energy Sukuna feels your growing anger with every second that passes.

All of a sudden, the band snaps and you can’t hold in your emotions anymore. The next time you speak, you refuse to cover up your venomous tone.

“And you’re just as pathetic as me if you can barely heal your own wound. You call yourself the king of curses for what?”

A silence comes after your words, not even the sound of rustling trees or tall grass can be heard. It takes no longer than a second for you to feel deep regret for your words. Similar to your first ever encounter with the king of curses, the fear of death looms upon you.

If you thought he wouldn’t kill you the first time then he definitely will now.

You await the moment for him to strike you. A pinch of pain, a slice, a beheading or even a stab to your stomach. Anything to disperse you as soon as possible.

Instead of a violent action, he chooses to speak again with a challenging invite.

“So how would you suggest you would heal me?”

Did you hear him right?

You stammer, words failing to leave your mouth. “To heal you?”

He stares at you in contempt, “You said you knew how to take care of wounds, do you not?”

“I do.”

“So…?” Sukuna raises a brow.

Your mind searches for a solution, malfunctioning under his venomous gaze.

There’s a stream nearby, I could guide you to it so you can clean it.”

A pause.

“Where is this stream you think of?”

“Over there.” You point behind him.

“So be it.” He speaks in a gruff tone. “Lead the way”

You manage to get your feet whilst succumbing to a daze.

How have you managed to escape the punishment of death a second time from the King of curses?

Glancing behind you, the basket of peaches tempts you. There would be no point in taking it and running, you knew that he could kill you in an instant. The plump peaches would have to wait, for now you have to focus on surviving Sukuna.

You leave the basket behind.

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

lmk if you would like to be tagged for part three!

#angel writes #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader fluff #jujutsu sukuna #jujustu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk headcanons #jjk x reader fluff #jjk fluff #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x you

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heliosunny · 11 hours ago

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Yandere!Fyodor x Reader

"How many times have you tried to kill me? Eight?" The man with black hair sitting across from you asked. No reply.

Fyodor Dostoevsky killed your friends. All of them. He had been more than happy to see you suffer. You should've known better than to get involved with someone like him.

"Aw... look at you, so pathetic. At least-" You spat in his face the moment he knelt down to get closer to you. Would he slap you? You waited, anticipating his reaction, but there was only silence.

Your thoughts drifted back to a few months ago, when you had found him injured in an alley. Kindhearted as ever, you took him in and cared for him.

Vincent, your childhood friend, had looked at you with doubt written all over his face. "Are you sure you want to... let him join our group?"

"Pfft, what kind of question is that? Don't you see the way he solves mysteries in the blink of an eye? He's a genius! We need someone like him." You replied, brushing Fyodor's hair gently.

Fyodor hated anyone else touching him but you, you were one of the few exceptions.

He had been clever, acting all innocent and harmless in front of everyone. With your help, he became acquainted with your friends- your second family. The small business you ran with your 3 other friends thrived under Fyodor's guidance. It became so successful that you barely had time to rest like you used to.

Fyodor was fine. He was fine watching you consumed with work, forgetting all about him.

Fyodor was fine. Watching from afar as you acted lovey dovey with Vincent, the one everyone knows you had a crush on. The blond was the complete opposite of Fyodor in every way.

Fyodor was fine.

Until he wasn't.

One night,he got drunk. Fueled by something darker, he did what he felt necessary to make you rely on him entirely.

He killed them all.

In front of your eyes.

He explained his ability to you, the one he had been hiding all this time, but you were too shocked to process a single word.

"You know, Fyodor.."

His eyes widen. Hearing your voice after all these days lit him up with hope.

"I can't wait to see.." You leaned closer, whispering the rest of the sentence into his ear.

He bursted out laughing. "The ADA, you said? Fair enough." He replied, tugging the chain attached to the collar around your neck, pulling you even closer.

"I would love to see this future you were talking about. But first, let's have some fun, shall we?"

#bsd #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #fyodor dostoevsky #yandere bsd #yandere x reader

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mychlapci · 2 days ago

Note

For cybertronians, both carriers and sires produce energon for sparklings. Since the Megamag divorce happened when Sentinel and Optimus were still at the age where they needed refined energon from their parents, they had to get it from Ultra Magnus. Problem was though, Magnus is not doing a carrier's job, it's demeaning of him to be seen with sparklings on his pouches in public all the time. Sentinel and Optimus are bottle fed babies when Magnus pumps his energon alone. They have an awful time with it at first, being unresponsive to the cold bottle put in their tiny servos versus being snuggled up by their mama to drink from the nozzle, but it was bottle or starve so they had to eat.

Optimus and Sentinel grow up, Optimus is on the repair team, and he gets very clingy to Ratchet. He's so fixated on their cranky old medic, he has the worst staring problem in the wash racks as he tries not to get caught watching Ratchet removing his heavy duty plating to clean his pouches. Eventually they get to earth, the stasis thing happens, they wake back up, Optimus gets killed and revived, TFA rundown. The thing is though, when Optimus is revived his systems are still bouncing back from the shock of being brought back from a snuffed spark. His tanks are sensitive and he's having a horrible time keeping his energon down.

Ratchet basically has to manhandle the prime to medbay. His big fussy sparkling of a boss is resisting the help he needs, and Ratchet isn't playing around with him. He gets Optimus into the med berth and pops off his plating to let his breast free, which makes Prime stop struggling instantly. Ratchet sees it as a good sign, so he keeps pushing his luck. He sits Prime up a little, but the damn mech is still bigger than him so Ratchet has to straddle his lap. Now that they're practically panel to panel, Ratchet can pull Optimus' helm down and press his nozzle to his lips. Optimus is a little lost at first, it had been so long since he had this opportunity, but his reflexes kicked in. He snuggled his face into Ratchet's breast and drank away while the medic pet his helm. It was so good to have fuel that wouldn't cramp his tanks, and in his milk drunk haziness he could make out Ratchet say "There you go kid, that's a good boy."

Might come back to this later, but I think Sentinel's lack of breastfeeding comfort comes out in how he treats the jet twins. He's got Magnus' view of sire and carrier relationships, he's the big mech and he's not feeding the bots he made out of his pouches. He wasn't allowed to have milk from the tap, and look how he turned out! Turns out that encouragement actually just makes the twins pin him down and drink from him like they would offline any second so they would not turn out like him -🌱

NOOO they weren’t breastfed as babies, that explains so much about Optimus and Sentinel. I bet that Ultra Magnus had them put on formula the moment he could, immediately turning off his energon production so it’s once again a choice between the bottle or starving. I think this should mean Optimus and Sentinel both are just really weird around boobs. Optimus gets flustered and stares. Sentinel gets flustered and pretends to be grossed out by them.

oh yes absolutely, post-resurrection Optimus needs milkies to keep functioning :) Ratchet has him on a whole feeding schedule, and Optimus is always very eager to suckle on his pouches. He’s like a big sparkling when Ratchet whips out his titties, it’s almost sad. Ratchet can tell Optimus didn’t get a lot of motherly bonding as a sparkling…

Sentinel would totally think that the experience of not being breastfed made him tougher and stronger or some shit like that. When the jettwins brave up and ask to feed from him because the fuel they’re fed makes them sick (post re-frame system jitters i guess) Sentinel scolds them for being needy and weak just like Ultra Magnus used to scold him and Optimus. They get their milkies anyways though :) and i bet it feels kind of weirdly good for Sentinel, who would never admit that.

#valveplug #texty #pregnancy mention #dubcon #breastfeeding #lactation #scheduled

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daflangstlairde-art · 1 day ago

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"she ain't worth a goddamn in anyone else's hands" 5,334 words

Part 2 of ocean depths

Work Summary:

Nightmare was all, all Killer had. He defined Killer’s entire world. He was the most important thing to Killer. But, just as well, at the end of the day — even if in a very different way — Killer was all Nightmare had. — Being left in the Antivoid is just as much of a torture as you’d imagine. Real torture.

Credits, warnings and additional info on ao3.

—

Killer wasn't sad when first Horror and then Dust ditched their operation.

It didn't happen fast, nor at the same time, but it happened. It wasn't a shock. And he wasn't sad. He wasn't. He wasn't. He couldn't be.

As he stalked the halls of the dark castle, he felt nothing.

It was emptier than ever.

There was no longer Horror to cook warm soup and to splinter wood with a cleaver. He was introduced to some universe of farmboys. He left. He cared for his own universe, which remained alive.

There was no longer Dust to shadow him because company was better than the emptiness. He was harder for those Stars to convince, but apparently, Underfell admired violence and strength. Apparently, he was being “rehabilitated”.

And, well! We all know how Nightmare was. He had always been above them. Killer could linger in his company only if allowed.

There was... nobody.

Nobody.

Just massive, spanning walls of dark, cold stone. The rare slits of light only enough to illuminate the particles of dust in the air, really. It was all abandoned. Silent and dead. Empty.

Desolate.

Familiar.

...Haha. Hahahah.

How funny.

Killer kept ending up in dead ends.

—

He sat at the kitchen table.

He laid down on his bed.

He wandered the halls.

Emptiness of emptiness of emptiness.

Bored.

Killer wasn't sad. Killer couldn't be sad. Sadness was... it was a sincere emotion.

Killer was drowning in the dark, dark depths.

Killer felt emptier than ever.

It's like he wasn't even real.

—

“If you don't get your act straight, you’ll keep messing everything up.” Nightmare growled, tentacles holding Killer aloft and pinned to the wall by his throat.

Missions were boring. It was the same, all the same. Hurting and ruining and sometimes killing. All alone. All repetitive.

But Killer was Nightmare’s one loyal tool left. The only one.

Of course the Stars tried to break him too. Of course they offered many things that... probably sounded appealing to others. Like forgiveness, or help, or freedom.

Killer didn't care about those. Killer didn't care about the Stars. He didn't even know what their deal was! He had never particularly cared, and only really knew the most vague of details. Because none of it mattered to him.

Nightmare was the only thing that mattered. He was all Killer had. All.

...And Killer was all Nightmare had left.

Killer chuckled low, even as the restriction around his throat tightened painfully.

“Anything for you baby,” he teased, because it drove Nightmare up the wall with annoyance. It earned Killer the prize of pain, just like he wanted it to. He was discovering being provocative and crude made people react hilariously.

Missions were a fog. He lacked drive, he lacked interest, he lacked attention. On missions, heck, in everyday life, Killer was in a fugue state.

But he didn't need a brain! He just had to do as told.

Nightmare says kill, you kill.

—

“Why are you still fighting for him?!” Blue yelled, trying to keep up in parrying each of Killer’s violent slashes. “He doesn't care about you! He– he’s awful to you! I don't understand you!”

Killer just started laughing in his face.

Slash, stab, attack and attack and attack. Again, and again, and again and again, repeat upon repeat.

All the same. All meaningless. All horrible.

—

“I heard them talking about some ‘Cross’ guy,” Killer mentioned, twirling a knife, its point against his fingertip.

Nightmare paused in his irritated pacing, and for a moment Killer was sure he would get another “Shut the hell up while I’m thinking” for his generous efforts to help his boss.

Instead,

“...Cross, huh?” Nightmare hummed, considering.

—

They beat the Stars to it and now, once again, after weeks and weeks of emptiness, there was finally someone else in the castle.

And Cross was even fun to poke fun at!

“What’s got you so angsty?” Killer teased, tailing the guy into the kitchen.

“Leave me alone,” Cross dismissed him all huffy. He had this stoic attitude going on. Not very fun, except when Killer got it to crack. He was still exploring which buttons gave him the best reactions — honestly, he didn't know much about this Cross guy, and didn't care particularly to learn about his tragic backstory or whatever.

“I don't think I will,” Killer hummed, as Cross started searching through the cabinets.

“Is this place just empty?” Cross muttered to himself.

“Like my soul,” Killer joked. Ah, a classic.

Cross gave him a flat look and continued searching. “Where is all the food?”

“Oh the guy who did that left,” Killer replied.

“Did... food?” Cross turned around to look at him.

“Yeah, that was his thing,”

“And you... what, don't?”

Killer shrugged. “Nope, I'm not into it,” he chuckled, and Cross groaned.

“Why are you like this?” he demanded, exasperated. “Aren't you, I don't know, uh, in a–” and then he seemed to reconsider his words. Frowning. “...What is the deal with you and Nightmare?”

Killer started laughing so hard he teared up.

Cross disregarded him.

—

Knock-knock-knock at the door. Cheerful as ever. Waiting for the multiple locks on the inside to be unlocked, even when Killer could've just used a shortcut right in. That's to signify he’s coming with no violent intent, or whatever. Well. Minor violent intent maybe, haha.

The door opened, and immediately Red grimaced.

“H–!”

“DUST!” Red yelled to the inside of the house. “NIGHTMARE’S BITCH IS AT THE DOOR!”

“What?” called muffled from inside.

“ONE OF Y’ FUCKIN’ MANIAC FRIENDS!”

Killer laughed. Maybe someone else would've been hurt. He wasn't. Both of those statements were delightfully true.

—

There was one little problem. A little thorn in Killer’s side. Not enough to change his modus operandi — again, emotionless and uncaring — but enough to be noticeable. Enough to be annoying.

“Cross, you're in charge of this mission,” Nightmare stated.

“Yes sir.”

That thorn was called Cross and Killer might just hate him.

Before Killer could stop gaping and reply, Nightmare was already gone, leaving them in some random forest (not unusual, not important).

“Let's go.” Cross turned to walk in some direction for some reason.

“What– do you know where we are??” Killer sputtered, waving his knife.

“No.” Cross didn't even look at him, like he was better or something.

That wouldn't do.

Killer grabbed his shoulder and turned him around.

“Then why are you ‘in charge’?” he asked, so very friendly.

“Because I don't fuck off to do whatever I want every time?” Cross raised a brow ridge. Ohohoo, some spunk in him today! “Because I'm an actually good henchman and don't talk back constantly?”

Oh the nerve of this guy. Heh. Heheheh! Hilarious!

In fact, Killer was chuckling. He was laughing. He was hysterical.

“You?” he gasped. “Whatever gets you off, puppet boy!”

Because there were a few easy answers to Cross’ question from awhile ago.

What was their relationship? Easy.

Killer was Nightmare’s. His yes-man, his victim, his tool, his loyal toy, his lackey, the only one who stayed. His bitch, to put it oh-so-elegantly. Everybody knew that.

—

“What have you done with Cross?!” Dream demanded, parrying Killer’s attacks beat for beat. That guy was not to be underestimated, which Killer was admittedly guilty of! What could he say? These positive, soft types never went for the kill — how can you be truly afraid of them?

It's not like he felt much fear, anyway. That was reserved for a special someone.

“Horrible things!” Killer exclaimed, laughing. “He's suffering as we speak!”

“What?!” Dream exclaimed, horrified.

(Cross was probably just sleeping. There wasn't much else to do when you're stuck at the castle and need to pass the time.)

“Terrible!” Killer nodded, dodging to the side and using the movement to try shanking Dream. It was evaded.

“Where is he?!”

“Where do you think?” Killer teased. “Same as always! He's not some treasure to be hidden,”

“Oh,” Dream was caught off guard by that. Probably wasn't expecting it. That meant he also wasn't expecting the knife Killer stabbed into his shoulder, haha.

—

Killer’s gotta give it to the Stars. Having experience with Horror and Dust, they retrieved Cross pretty efficiently this time.

—

Killer’s skull slammed into the wall behind him so hard the pain reverberated through it and echoed throughout his body. He groaned, a gutteral drawn out sound. The tentacle that’d grabbed him by the throat now also lifted him off his feet by it, in that uncomfortable way where Killer’s body dangled and felt like it’s about to drop away from his head.

“HOW DID THEY KNOW HE WAS HERE?” Nightmare demanded, shoving rage and disgust and fear into Killer’s soul like it's nothing, like it doesn't drown him.

“How am– I supposed– to know?” Killer choked out, grinning, hands clutching onto the tentacle in a poor attempt to hold himself up a little, to loosen the pressure. He was barely able to think through the onslaught of horror and misery. It was like a diseased, starving, feral animal clawing at his body. Unrelenting with you're horrible disgusting scum you're going to die die die you are going to SUFFER there is no escape you–

“You useless tool!” Nightmare pulled him away from the hard stone wall, only to slam him against it, and again and again and again until Killer was crying out with the pain. Everything was ringing with the building concussion. It was a little difficult to hear whatever Nightmare was saying through it, pardon Killer’s manners, but it sounded something like “This is your fault, isn't it?!”

In case it wasn't clear, Nightmare was really pissed. This whole weakening of his forces seemed to be really getting to him. How sad.

Killer blinked against the shapes swimming in his vision. He could feel that hateful substance trickling, leaking even, from his eyes down his face. Warm. No, it was cold. He could never quite decide. The probably-blood oozing down the back of his skull was certifiably warm, however.

“That’s very– presumptuous of you–” he struggled out, breathing heavily, breathing through the pain and the merciless barrage of rancid emotions. Grin widening. “I can see you’re– angry, baby– are you hhngh on your period?”

Nightmare was livid. Killer started laughing, even as there were great efforts being put to choking him out.

“Shut. Up.” Nightmare said, cold and reverberating off the walls until it surrounds you. He lowered Killer down slowly, but didn't let go of him — it was just so Killer wasn't held aloft anymore, but rather, Nightmare, with all his engulfing darkness, loomed over him. “Need I remind you betrayal. Isn't. Tolerated?”

Killer couldn't help but snort and cackle at that, past the rancid, cloying smell of death from Nightmare’s general aura.

“Betrayal?” he exclaimed. “Me? Please. You and I both know I'm all you really have.”

There was the kicker.

Nightmare was all, all Killer had. He defined Killer’s entire world. He was the most important thing to Killer.

But, just as well, at the end of the day — even if in a very different way — Killer was all Nightmare had.

He was the only one truly allied with Nightmare. Not through force or violence or threats, none of that — because he wanted to be. Because Killer was an empty husk of a being and adored the force and the violence and the threats and the fear. A living wound that only exists when it's bleeding.

Nightmare knew that Killer knew that. But Killer knew that Nightmare knew it too. They both knew where they stood. They both knew Nightmare could leverage whatever suffering he wanted against Killer and that Killer would only enjoy it the worse it is. Killer only did as told when he enjoyed it, because he wanted to. He misbehaved for the very same reason.

Killer was so ruined through his own fault. There was nowhere further Nightmare could ruin him. Nightmare couldn't hurt him because Killer hurt himself, and Nightmare was just the most intense, most effective, most convenient way to do it.

That's why Nightmare’s glare narrowed. That's why the tentacle holding Killer’s neck loosened, letting him exhale and inhale deeply.

“You're not as clever as you think you are, loudmouth.” Nightmare spoke slowly. Promising danger. He always carried out his promises. He was cute like that.

...Except.

Except it wasn't what Killer expected. It wasn't sickening, merciless violence. It wasn't choking suffering. It wasn't burning agony. It wasn't animalistic fear.

It was... white.

Just white.

Endless, shapeless white.

All it took was a moment for Killer to be brought there, and a second one for Nightmare to be gone, and then it was just Killer and the endless white abyss.

He exhaled, standing amidst it all. It was so much larger than anything that could be conceived, and yet. And yet it was empty.

Hah. Hahahah.

Like his soul.

...It was always... a strange experience. The way the emotion would rise, like a tidal wave. A split second explosion of anger-hate-fear-despair at the devouring vastness, at the fact that he was just ditched there. When Nightmare knew he despised the emptiness. Or, rather, precisely because he knew how much Killer hated it.

And just as quickly it would be gone. Like a sudden electrical surge that blew out the fuse. And he was numb as ever. All the feelings he may have felt about this just the lingering buzz in the non-air. Only serving to make him even more aware of the nothing that remained, that lingered.

Killer couldn’t parse whether being stranded in the Antivoid was a worse or better hell than the Void. He supposed it didn’t particularly matter.

He sat down on the concept of a “ground”.

He didn’t even have a shadow. It was all empty. It was all nothing.

He didn’t have the energy to laugh. He laid down, staring up at the whiteness (as opposed to the whiteness to the side, or even: the whiteness down below).

—

Being left in the Antivoid is just as much of a torture as you’d imagine. Real torture.

It’s... familiar. In the worst of ways, You hate “familiar”. You hate the staleness, the sameness, the stillness. It’s all the same, for hours upon hours upon hours.

Haha. Funny how you keep ending up in dead ends.

It’s more barren than your own universe. It’s more repetitive and deprived than hundreds of repetitions of the same goddamn day remembered with crystal clarity. It’s not warm and it’s not cold. It’s not nice, and it’s not even painful.

If the Antivoid was painful, that would’ve been a mercy to you.

The emptiness devours you whole. It rips you up piece by piece. Slow and deliberate, unbothered by the passage of time, which makes sense, because it’s not like time changes anything at all around here.

You don’t know how long you’ve been here. It couldn't have been that long, but it already feels like weeks. The void spaces have that effect on people. It’s by definition. Here, eternity is stored in every second.

You sleep, mostly, to pass the time.

When you’re awake, you self-destruct. Your mind is starved and desperate, looking for something something something to grasp but there is nothing. It’s just you. You engrave your own bones with sharp points. You claw at your being. You seek and seek and seek and you find nothing but yourself, until your self is indistinguishable from the nothing as well.

You feel like screaming just to hear something, but nothingness has no voice.

—

You wake up. Again. All the same every time. Repetitions for eternity. You despise abstract concepts, except you don’t, because emptiness doesn’t contain emotions.

...Except.

“Good thing it’s not Error who found you first!” Ink jokes, standing over you all cheery. He’s... he’s colorful.

It takes you several moments to remember that, conceptually, you have a body, and you leap to your feet.

“Woah there buddy!” exclamation mark in his eye, Ink stumbles back so you don’t ram your head into his accidentally, but that triggers some desperation in you and you grab him by the scarf and yank him back.

The feeling of something material in your hand, something that isn’t you, is like a shock. Except you still feel nothing. You just stare at the bunched up fabric.

Ink remains in place, a little awkward. In a position showing he’s unsure what you’re up to, whether to be prepared for an attack. You consider attacking. You feel nothing about the concept.

“Heeeeyyyy,” Ink draws out, regaining his nonchalant cheer with a blink. “Yyyoou okay there...?”

How are you supposed to answer that? The question strikes you as absurd. Nonsensical. You laugh even though you feel no amusement. That’s normal for you.

“...Right,” Ink clears his throat. “Sssooo whatcha up to? Where’s Nightmare?” he asks, mostly curious. Ink has always struck you as a weirdo freak, something off about his reactions, but you’ve never thought about it too deeply.

You shrug. You’re still holding his scarf. You’re unsure why. You don’t particularly care and he doesn’t seem to mind it either, so. No reason to stop.

(He’s real he’s tangible he’s something different he’s something something something–)

“Well I’m just passing by, I’ll be out in a–”

“If you so much as think about leaving I’ll stab you through the spine.” you immediately counter, calmly threatening.

“Awww if you wanted company you could’ve just said so!” Ink takes it in stride, and again, off reactions. It’s the most interesting thing that has happened in what feels like eternity so you latch onto it.

“You’re weird.” you point out.

Ink laughs. “Yeah, I get that a lot! Part of having a creative nature,” he strikes a pose all cheeky, eye light in the shape of a sparkle. You’re still holding him by the scarf. “Soooo what have you been up to??” he asks, rocking back and forth on his feet all silly.

You gesture around with a flat expression. “Nothing,”

Ink snorts. “How long have you been here?” he prods you (literally, with a finger, which you allow because he’s physical and here and real).

You shrugs. “Not like I can keep track,” you huff.

“Yeesh. You gotta be careful with that one, spend too long and the glitching disease will get to you,” Ink says like he’s joking, except that is literally a fact. People go insane and corrupted in the void spaces.

You consider demanding from Ink to get you out of here.

...You remember you have nowhere to go.

You remember how livid Nightmare was. And how much more powerful he is than you. And how he owns your soul. And how if he wants you to be here, here you will be, so there’s not really a point to it. Everything always ends up like this for you, huh? Everything always the same, and always horrible, until none of it matters. That’s how your existence has always been, and how it always will be.

“Need me to get you somewhere?” Ink offers, lifting his brush, like he was on a similar train of thought but departed a few stations earlier.

“...I’ve stabbed you several times,” you point out like an echo of amusement, because Ink is best described as quirky. And again, considering circumstances, it’s currently the most interesting thing in your life. What a tragedy.

“Yeah...?” Ink prompts with a question mark in his eye, like he isn't seeing how that relates to his question at all.

You tilt your head.

“Why do you want to help me?” you ask, because the closest thing to emotion you have right now is curiosity-fascination. Though that doesn't say much, considering it just as distant as everything else. “We're enemies, or something,”

“Oh!” Ink exclaims. “Oh I don't really care,” he shrugs. “I mean, I guess that's the narrative, yeah! But it's not like I hate you personally or something,” he chuckles.

Weirdo freak.

You've never cared to learn anything about the Stars. You realize you barely even know their tragic backstories. You still don't particularly care, but Ink is a natural yapper, so maybe you can use him to fill the silence.

(Until he leaves, of course. Until you are left alone. You are always left alone.)

“You don't find my actions abhorrent? Not how I've killed hundreds? Not how I enjoy torturing others?” you seek for the buttons to press, grinning. You recall that yeah, Ink is a lot more difficult to get a rise out of compared to the other two, who are so openly emotional.

“I mean,” Ink scratches his skill. “On one hand, a good story needs villains. On the other hand, the best narratives are about how good triumphs in the end, and so you need someone to be that component as well. In that sense, I am against it!” he concludes. “Although works that explore dark endings are also fascinating and have their own merit,” he considers. “Like tragedies, or darkgrim stories. They–” he starts rambling, distracted by the topic.

It's interesting for maybe a second. It quickly stops being so. You can't bring yourself to care about whatever he's talking about, or to want to.

You consider attacking him, again. But then he might leave, depending on whether he has something else to do instead or not.

“Are the other two coming around?” you interrupt, though Ink doesn't seem offended that you completely ignored his spiel.

“Hm? Uh, I don't think so, why?” he asks in turn. Damn, that means they have no business around here. Though, after a brief pause, Ink’s eyes widen and he exclaims a “Wait!”

He tries to pull away but you hold onto the fabric of his scarf tighter, summoning a knife in a kind reminder of your threat. Ink lifts his palms placatingly, chuckling.

“Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere!” he assures. “I’ll just call them over too and then we can all... talk!”

Oh.

That meant he was going to seize the opportunity to try and “reason” with you like they did with Horror and Dust. Again. Like you didn't laugh in their faces every previous time. Respect for the persistence?

“You do realize that won't work, right?” you generously point it out to Ink.

He blinks.

“I’m not betraying Nightmare,” you snort.

Ink tilts his head. “Why?”

He asks it so simply. No “You know he doesn't love you, right?”, no “But he's awful to you!”, none of that. Maybe that's why you answer him.

“Because,” you say, almost amused, shrugging. You're unsure how to finish that. You're unsure how to explain, so you just say the truth — “I don't care about anything else,”

Ink is looking at you curiously now, his previous idea of calling for backup seemingly forgotten, which is typical for him.

He sits on the ground. He pats the ground in an invite. You sit down too, mostly because you're still holding his scarf.

“Nothing? Really?” Ink asks, pulling his leg closer to rest his chin on his knee.

“Nope!”

“You don't have a family?”

You burst out laughing. You pretend to wipe a tear, even.

“What? Do you know nothing?” you exclaim, cackling.

Ink is just staring at you with question marks.

“Know what?” he asks. What an idiot. You'd roll your eyes if you had any. At best, you manage to mimick the action.

“I killed them all,” you say easily. “Many, many times,”

“...Oh. Right.” Ink seems to remember. “But why??”

Huh. Apparently Killer wasn't the only one who couldn't give a flying fuck to learn anything about his supposed enemies.

Killer sighs dreamily, “To listen to their sweet sweet cries of pain,”

Ink grimaces. “Oh. Really??? You come from a twist on the original timeline though, right?” he asks, frowning in confusion. “The classic version of Sans is not like that,”

“Clearly I'm not the classic version of Sans,” Killer pointed out flatly, and to emphasize the point, he gestured to his soul. You know. The one that is nothing like a monster’s or a human’s.

“Oooohhhhh,” Ink nodded along, hand reaching forward– Killer flinched. Body immediately strung tight, ready for the barrage of suffering that always followed when his soul was grasped and squeezed and–

But he was so baffled by the action, he let it happen.

Ink pulled his hand back, however, staring at his face.

Killer snorted, and moved his hand to offer his soul, that wretched thing. It's not like he cared if anyone did anything to it. Or hurt it.

(His soul. His being. His self. The essence and shape of his existence condensed into one. The most vulnerable part of you. The most you part of you.)

“Go on,” you shrug. “Not like I care,”

Ink hesitantly reaches out a hand to prod the cursed thing. It feels just as uncomfortable and bad as you'd imagine, to have your soul poked. He pulls his hand back.

“...Well,” Ink starts, “at least you have one?” he offers, chuckling. “Better than nothing!”

You tilt your head. That's a strange way to say that.

“What, you don't?”

“Nope!” Ink says as easily as you would.

It's your turn to blink and stare. At his neutrally cheerful grin.

And suddenly... it does make sense. The sense of emptiness behind half his expressions. The lack of care where others would have at least some. The odd view of the world. His flat affect, even if it was a positive one.

...Huh.

Ink was telling the truth. He was soulless.

You raise a hand to where yours returned to the middle of your chest. Always sitting in front of it. Always bare. Detached from the rest of you.

“...How?”

“Just never had one,” Ink shrugs.

You can only think of one other soulless creature — that yellow flower.

But... it doesn't make sense. The wretched flower reached the point of destroying everything, over and over again, to curb the nothingness and boredom. You reached the point of destroying everything, over and over again, to curb the nothingness and boredom.

Yet here Ink was. Playing as one of the so-called “good guys”.

“Then how do you feel?” you press the issue.

“Oh? I’m good!” Ink says cheerfully.

“No– how do you feel feelings if you're soulless?” you huff.

“Huh? Oh!” Ink exclaims, and then takes out one of those colorful vials he carries on a sash everywhere he goes. “I don’t! Not naturally, anyway. I have these to help me!” he shakes the little vial — yellow, barely anything remaining inside. They're all in different quantities.

You frown. “What? How? Are they magic?” you reach to take the vial but Ink pulls it back. Now that's interesting.

“Sort of?” Ink squints at the vial. “They correspond to different emotions, but I think they only work on me,”

...Of course.

You let go of his scarf.

You consider fighting him to snatch one of the vials and try it anyway. You know it's pointless, however.

The disappointment is crushing. You feel like a drug addict who was just handed a bag overflowing with white powder only to discover it's flour.

“You should leave before I dice you into dust.”

The disappointment is crushing.

Hah. Hahahah. As if. As if it could be as easy as drinking some paint. Of course not. When has your life ever been easy? No, you are doomed to be like this forever. You knew this. It's downright hilarious you thought (hoped), even for less than a moment, that there could be anything else.

It's so funny you're chuckling.

It's so funny you're laughing.

When Ink leaves, you're still howling with laughter, black liquid streaming down your face.

—

The quiet around here was deafening. It was starting to make Killer hyperaware of every quiet rustle of clothing from every little movement. Several times he caught himself starting to talk to himself, trying to fill the quiet with jokes or something. But that was a slippery slope, so he shut the hell up. If he didn't talk, hopefully nothing would start replying. He refused to get corrupted by the glitches.

Luckily — and that is a weird descriptor — Ink returned. For some known-only-to-him reason.

“Why the hell are you back?” Killer asked, not bothering to get up this time. Just laying on his back. He's here on a vacay.

“Well!” Ink said, and judging by the changing direction of his voice, he was moving around. “The empty white is literal torture, isn't it?” he chuckled.

“What would you know,” Killer mimed rolling his eyes. Wasn't Ink some almighty creator? He could just hurl some ink around and it wouldn't be white anymore.

Ink laughed. “Oh trust me, I know,”

Killer felt like he was missing something.

“Can't you just, I don't know, paint it?”

“Yep! That's what I'm doing right now!” Ink explained cheerfully. Killer pushed himself up to look, now.

Huh. Yeah. Ink was going around with his brush, using the white space as a big canvas. Killer squinted, unable to decipher what exactly he was drawing, besides some colors and shapes. Red and pink, blue in different shades, yada yada.

“...What is it,” Killer observed Ink’s movements, walking around him, deliberate but free flowing.

“Just whatever feels right,” Ink shrugged. “The different hues have different, you know, vibes, depending on how you mix them, how you use them against one another– oh can you step to the side there?”

He did, getting to his feet and stepping aside.

“Thanks!” Ink said, filling in the spot.

Killer squinted, still trying to figure out what it all was. The warm colors looked like a flame maybe...?

He kept watching Ink work for a few more moments. It was weird, to be alone with someone, without a constant background thrum of negativity. Killer couldn't call it pleasant, but... it was better than the emptiness.

Suddenly he was hauled up and his reflexes immediately fired off, magic materializing in an immediate attack and just as soon he was dropped.

“Wow you are jumpy!” Ink exclaimed, holding the wound that Killer cut into him. It didn't seem too deep, mostly due to Ink’s durability. He was standing on top of a short pillar of ink.

“Don't forget who you're talking to,” Killer threatened with a low tone, grin stretching as he gripped a sharp, sharp knife in hand.

“Whoops!” Ink didn't seem all too affected. “Don't you wanna see what it is though?” he leaned on a hand, all silly.

...

Killer accepted being lifted up by a glob of ink, mildly curious.

He stared at the splatter on the white ground.

It was a moth. In shades of icy, hopeless blue. Surrounded by scorching red flames. Huh. Okay them. Pretty cool, or something. At least it was colorful.

Ink put him back down on the ground. With his hands on his hips, he admired his own work, chuckling.

“It’s nice to fill the emptiness, don't you think?”

Killer had never bothered caring about the Stars. He didn't care about them as people, what they felt or what they thought.

He... never would've expected to find understanding with one of them.

“...Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, it is.”

—

“ARGH we’re too late?!” Dream blurted out.

“Huh, I could've sworn he seemed to be staying here for longer,” Ink commented, much less affected.

“The one time he and Nightmare aren’t attached at the hip–” Dream continued groaning.

“Maybe Nightmare sensed we were planning to talk to him–?” Blue suggested, trying to investigate the nearly empty white space. All that remained were splotches from Ink’s activities. No Killer in sight.

Dream sighed loudly, rubbing his face, greatly dejected. “That's... possible,” he breathed.

“We should've come here sooner,” Blue put his hands on his hips.

“He wasn't very happy with the idea,” Ink shrugged.

“It’s... we’ll have another opportunity,” Dream concluded. He had to stay positive and hopeful. “No matter how long we need to wait, we’ll figure out how to help them,” he remained determined.

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