#and will continue to draw them more gruesome each time. thanks

[k0yaz]

I saw that you were wanting requests for Mizu, so hiii, I have one! :)

What about one where fem! Reader takes care of Mizu when she’s injured or just back from a long day (stitching wounds, massaging hands and stuff when she’s sore, preparing her favorite meals, etc.)?

And then when she finally convinces Mizu to come to bed for the night, Reader holds her to her chest and just lets her focus on her heartbeat while she helps her relax and fall asleep.

Just overall fluff, y’know?

Hope this request is okay!

remnants of firewood and steel.

Pairings: mizu x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, descriptions of wounds idfk, girls kissing oh no, wlw, shy mizu my beloved, uhm idk she gets naked but not in a sexual way you little grabby hand freaks, obv lemme put that more formally lol, nudity, mizu being my lil cutie patootie blinded by revenge, someone send me back to 1657 please I need to hold this woman so bad, ik this has nothing to do with him but can I beat the fuck out of mikio thanks, number one mikio hater and number one mizu lover, not proofread.

A/N: ok so I do have a mizu fic saved with this exact banner if the author of the fic finds this I DIDNT STEAL UR BANNER I FOUND IT ON PINTEREST PLS DONT EXECUTE ME anyway FIRST FIC OF 2025 YAY mizu deserves the world pleasee i remembered in ep 5 when mikio’s fugly ass said that she liked dried mackerel and I can’t stop thinking about that she’s so cute I’m sobbing🕯️

A quiet hiss sizzled through the tense push of Mizu’s teeth grit together as your fingertips grazed the seeping wound gashed along her forearm. Carefully examining the split ends of skin patterned down to halt at her wrist, the cool air pelting against the wood of the door to your shared home spilled through a small crevice cracked open in exposure to the interior warmth.

Each sweep of the frigid breeze fanning against your flesh only served to ease the discomfort wrenching in you upon hearing your girlfriend’s strained sounds of agony from the sunken wound embedded into her arm, followed by a sharp exhales expelled from her lungs each time she withstood the pain of you stitching each wound slit across her body closed. Mizu only groaned in response to your futile effort to minimize the sting of the needle protruding through her flesh, as the string threaded across the reddened opening searing the exposed muscle.

“Mizu, what did I tell you? You can’t keep being reckless and get hurt like this.” You scolded her firmly as you closed up the scarring of her stitched wound, trying your best to shut your mind and disregard her pained expression. It already hurt you enough seeing the wounds adorned across her skin as a grim reminder of every battle, every ache twisted into her chest in the gruesome state of her physical and emotional fights, lingering along with the tainting stains of her past betrayal.

Only a defeated hum vibrated against the bandages circled around her throat, your hand momentarily rising to carefully tug at the plastering utilized to mask her lack of an adam’s apple. Your irises, now harboring a softer, more hazed flicker outlined around them in a sense of tenderness tilted up to meet Mizu’s own, silently inquiring her permission to tug off the bandages. The ripples of air continued to draw inward like a disruption cutting the warmth of your home, inducing an odd tranquility within the thick atmosphere clouding the air in a mix with the trailing smoke.

“How did you get hurt this badly again?” You muttered in a gentler tone than before, eyes locked onto her unfeeling expression as you carefully unwrapped the bandages tightened against her skin. Your hands trailed down to the base of her neck as they cascaded down onto the floor, carefully kneading her skin in a heartfelt massage.

“Just got ambushed by what I assume to be someone sent by Fowler again.” She sighs, allowing the bandages to fall loosely down her chest and pool onto the floor, similarly to a downpour of blood spilling from an enemy’s throat. You drew in a breath as you nodded in response, carefully pushing aside the bandages curled up onto the wooden floorboards while you rested the ridge of your palm against Mizu’s sweat-laced throat. “Still won’t get off your ass?”

Mizu huffed out a quiet laugh, folding up the orange tinted glasses between her fingertips as she set them atop the pool of bandages tucked away to the side. Reaching up, you proceeded to caress the side of her face smoothly, palm running along her defined cheekbones while she tilted her head to lean into the gesture of clinging attachment, tugging at the center of both of your hearts in a loving connection that wordlessly tied you two together at the shoulder.

You beckoned her to lay back comfortably rather than to strain herself by kneeling before you, her knees likely aching as the chafed against the hard wooden floors. With a benign push to her shoulder, Mizu leisurely reclined down onto her discarded kimono sprawled out below her, her back weighing against the pressure applied to the freshly closed wounds slashed along her spine as well. Her eyes narrowed in the meantime while you kept away from her for a short while, fixing a beverage off to the side while she was flat against her back, shoulders relaxed and lowered to press onto the hard lined wood.

The simple home she shared with you, isolated from the whereabouts of large urban areas around Japan, fostered the calming, homely serenity of where she had grown up with Master Eiji. Close to, yet distanced from Kohama. Remnants of the familiar scent of burning firewood and steel seemed to float around in a ghostly sense, despite the charcoal fueled shadow of metal remaining nowhere to be seen in your home.

On top of the racing memories swirling around her thoughts, replaying echo after echo of her past recounting her life up to this point, she always found refuge within the grasp of your arms whenever you held her close to your chest, heartbeat thudding against the shell of her ear in rhythmic, yet soft knocks. Not only did the gesture soothe her with an audible memoir of her lover’s presence, reminding her that she was currently loved and held in the grasp of the woman she cared for most…

It also reminded her that you were still alive.

The remnants of firewood and steel, the salty odor of fish on occasions when you cooked it, even the smoke floating from the dim lighting of the candle alongside your presence was the heartfelt reminder that you were still there with her. And she swore to protect you to her limit, or die trying.

A mellow aroma began to waft through the air in a snaking path of steam, dispersing across the enclosed space to induce a rush soothing Mizu’s tense muscles and your own cluttered thoughts. Her eyes flickered down to the sight of your hands held out as they curled inward in a cusp, carefully grasping the porcelain teacup you spent a fortune on from the time you had visited Edo.

Steam continued to arise from the hot tea rippling in a pattern of emanating rings expanding from the center and dissolving around the edges while you kept blowing away the steam fogging up your line of sight. Mizu shakily elevated herself from the kimono bedding her back, hand shielding her wound to avoid any possible risk of the flesh tearing open again.

Now half dressed—left in nothing but her harem pants and chest binding, she slowly parted her lips to taste the aroma for a brief moment, clamping them back shut as you knelt before her to extend your arms in her direction. She couldn’t help it. There was something about seeing you face to face which enveloped her whole body in an intoxicating warmth she didn’t want to escape from. The burning urge to cup your face and press a solid kiss directly onto your lips right in that moment.

A shame she had to restrain herself to suppress that humanity she craves that she could wallow in. She couldn’t cling to that sliver of hope that she could live normally…not when she was so dead set on killing the remaining three.

Mizu greatfully accepted the cup in both hands, allowing the sleek porcelain to slip between her palms as she brought the steaming rim to her lower lip. You watched intently as she sipped the tea, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she savored the flavor of the hot beverage. Clearing her throat, Mizu commented on the taste, albeit a bit hesitantly as you could tell by the embarrassment which you learned to pick up on throughout the course of your relationship.

“…could you make it sweeter..?”

“I thought someone so coldly powerful and unfeeling preferred a more bitter note in her tea?”

“Please, (Name)…do you get off on assuming these things while im on here unable to swallow without it hurting?”

“Ah- right. Your injuries…sorry, love.” you mused, taking the cup back to add the hint of saccharine the samurai oh-so-desperately wanted. “While you’re at it…take everything off while you sleep. I don’t want you to feel constricted by any clothing—especially those bindings on your chest. It’s not good for your breathing.” You added while fixing her tea, earning a subtle nod from Mizu as she tugged at the waistband of her pants, pointer finger testing the elasticity.

While she disrobed, another pungent smell stung her nostrils sharply, yet it didn’t take long for her to pick up on the familar scent of a snack she quite enjoyed. Salty. A metallic yet earthy odor clinging to the back of her throat as she took in the smell.

“Dried mackerel?”

You smiled at her question, giving her a brisk nod before setting the cup back down before her now fully bare frame. Mizu’s toned arms gleamed a gentle gold from the faint candlelight, her slender yet muscular form encompassed in the captivating glow of orange gold. She could only manage a weak smile in response as you handed her a bowl of the dried fish she secretly adored, alongside the newly sweetened tea, basking in the gentle fuzzy feeling overtaking you upon seeing your usually stoic girlfriend genuinely happy.

—

“Was there a need for you to take everything off too…? You’re not injured, (Name).”

You simply shrugged as you rolled over beside her on the heaping futon, noticing her gaze avert from yours bashfully. Cupping her cheek, you firmly turn her head towards you, yet lacking any forceful action, allowing her head to turn along with the motions of your hand guiding her. Those bright blue eyes boring into you with a heightened intensity—cutting through the flesh and bone spiritually and ingraining into your very soul as it burrowed deep within the wisp of your heart.

A symbol of her impurity and ‘filth ridden’ origins that outcasted her from the rest of society, kicking her off to the side like some stray. Yet to you, they were only a beauty to behold. An impurity you yearned and longed for, the metal of a sword that required a hammering that retained some of that impurity. The fire in her edge was almost perfect, despite the monstrosity she saw in herself everytime she looked.

The monstrosity in which you wished you help her see was perfect.

You exhaled a gentle breath as you pressed your shoulder to Mizu’s, the skin to skin contact emitting a sort of raw affection ignited between the two of you as you sought more of the gentle heat. Her fingers hesitantly crept up between yours as your hand rested between your chest and hers, your own fingers quickly clasping her hand tightly as you laced your own fingers without a second thought.

Mizu blinked, breath catching in her throat as you brought your joined hands to your left breast, resting the back of your knuckles against your skin comfortably. Your heart. Her hand was on your heart. Thousands of questions began to conjure up in her supposedly resting mind, not being able to believe the sight before her as she took notice of your steady breaths.

That wasn’t enough proof.

Was your heart still beating..? She couldn’t feel it through your palm…

You noticed the change in her demeanor in a matter of seconds, your head lifting from the edge of the futon to pay attention to her seemingly frozen self.

“Mizu..? Is something-?”

“Your…heartbeat.” She breathed out, fighting back the quivering tension plaguing her throat. You were all to familar with when she got like this, so exhausted to the point where she believed that everything around her was playing tricks, the one time she was left especially vulnerable in need of your support.

You nodded, leaning over to capture her lips in a slow, languid kiss as you attempted to ease her stress. Hand traveling to her nape, you brushed away her now loose hair, flowing past her shoulders whenever she undid the bunched up topknot. In a nurturing embrace, you slowly guided Mizu’s head down to your bare chest, illuminated by the filtered moonlight as the blown out candle’s smoke continued to float through the air.

Gentle breaths accompanied the steady thuds of your heart pushing against your chest with each pulse, slowly relaxing the built up anxiety raging throughout Mizu’s mind. The vibrations of your heart pulsating within your chest rang along her ear as well, gradually lulling her to sleep in comfortable solace, knowing that you’re still alive.

You were still alive. You were with Mizu, and loved her with all you had.

A/N: I was supposed to post this on January 1st absolutely not lmfaoooo but shh anyway I have no authors note other than I’m in love with mizu agagagaga sorry guys leaked the script for the end of the show she actually marries me

AND DONT YOU DARE ANY OF YOU TRY FIGHTING ME ON THAT SAYINF “uhm no it’s actually me!! SHUT UP I GET IT NOW LEAVE ME ALONE AND STOP REFUTING MY CLAIM WE CAN SHARE OUR BELOVED SAMURAI DONT BE GREEDY

someone get her brown contacts for those baby blues I’m shaking

[moonselune]

hello again! Hope your inbox isn’t too full. When you get to this, take your time btw, can we have a lil scene where gith!bard!dancer!tav and laezel head off to the tears w/ voss and orpheus and they like “hes a weird ass motherfucker—he’s dancing? What a dumb—oh my god he’s slaughtering—HOLY SHIT HES GUTTING—*SON OF A BITCH HES MASSACRRING*”

Aw I love this

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel x Gith!Bard!Dancer!reader | Look at him go

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The battlefield ahead would be unlike any other, a treacherous space teeming with Githyanki soldiers loyal to Vlaakith. Lae'zel was focused, her eyes alight with determination. By her side, you, her lover, prepared for the coming fight in your own unique way.

Kith'rak Voss and Prince Orpheus, both seasoned warriors, stood nearby, their expressions hardening as they took stock of the battlefield. They had already voiced their doubts about you considering your background as a bard and a dancer. They found your presence and profession strange for a warrior. You could almost hear their thoughts: A dancer? What use could he possibly be in battle?

As you all graced the battlefield on the legendary Tears of Selûne, you took a deep breath and began your routine. Music emanated from your lute, enchanted to play melodies that bolstered the spirits of your allies. You moved with grace, each step a precise and practiced motion that seemed to defy the urgency of war. Voss glanced at Orpheus, a skeptical look in his eyes.

"Is he… dancing?" Voss muttered, incredulous. Orpheus' brow furrowed, but he remained silent, waiting to see what would unfold.

Lae'zel stood by your side, her faith in you unwavering. She knew the depth of your skill, both in music and combat. As you danced, your movements began to change, growing sharper, more deliberate. The Githyanki soldiers approached, their weapons drawn, ready to cut down any who opposed them.

In an instant, your dance transformed. With a flourish, you spun, drawing hidden blades from your attire. The transition from dancer to warrior was seamless, almost mesmerizing. Your blades flashed in the light, and the first soldier fell, his throat slit before he even realized what had happened.

Voss's eyes widened. "What the—"

"Focus!" Lae'zel barked, slicing through another enemy, her movements perfectly synchronized with yours.

You continued your deadly dance, each step a calculated strike, each spin a lethal flourish. Your blades moved in a blur, cutting down enemies with a precision that left Voss and Orpheus speechless. The battlefield became your stage, the enemy soldiers your unwitting partners in this gruesome ballet.

Orpheus, finally shaken from his stupor, shouted orders to his troops. "Form ranks! Cover them!"

But you needed no cover. You moved through the ranks of the enemy like a phantom, your dance both mesmerizing and terrifying. The soldiers hesitated, their confidence wavering as they faced this unexpected whirlwind of death.

"He's… slaughtering them," Voss said, his voice tinged with awe and disbelief. "How is this possible?"

Lae'zel, amidst her own brutal combat, glanced at you with pride. "He is a bard, a dancer, and a warrior. Underestimate him at your peril."

Your blades continued their deadly arc, and soon the battlefield was littered with the bodies of your foes. The remaining soldiers, seeing the carnage, began to retreat, their morale shattered. You paused, catching your breath, the music of your lute still playing a haunting, victorious melody.

Voss approached, his expression a mix of respect and astonishment. "I've never seen anything like that. You… you truly are remarkable."

You sheathed your blades and gave a small, respectful bow, your eyes meeting Lae'zel's. She stepped forward, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"We are victorious," she said, her voice filled with pride and affection. "Thanks to you."

Orpheus nodded, still processing what he had just witnessed. "Your skills are… unparalleled. We owe this victory to you, bard."

You smiled, knowing that you had earned their respect, which meant you couldn't help but add "And dancer, I didn't do all those years of schooling just to be called 'bard'"

Lae'zel elbowed you in the side, perhaps you had gone a bit far in testing their acceptance but you couldn't help but smile, oh this was going to be a fun revolution.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope you all enjoyed this ! Semi sleep deprived whilst writing this so any errors please lmk xx - Seluney xoxo

[crowborn666-warriors-ramblings]

What hobbies do you think the cats would have? Since cats need a lot of enrichment, I feel like clan culture would become enriched in the arts(second to warrior things though) Like, For Example:

Playing w/ prey -> Competitions for who can drag it out the longest? (I know this sounds morbid but in olden times with less to do, there were more gruesome activities, look up bear-baiting)

Starclan as a religion -> Perhaps, despite being oral tradition, has a firm structure(like Bible?)

Cats wear different accessories for different occasions(vague but it could depend on symbolism)

Hobbies

Thanks for the ask anon! Here’s a list of things I think the cats would have:

Dirt Drawing

Cats will use the dirt patches in camp to draw things!

Sometimes this will turn into competitions or group drawings.

Flower Weaving

Cats will gather various flowers and weave them into each others fur. This time is often paired with Sharing Tongues.

The elders especially enjoy this activity, growing closer with their clanmates as they recall old stories.

Tree/Rock Decorating

Older cats will break down berries and flowers for their color, adding them with water to create a paint of sorts.

Younger cats, or artsy older cats, will use these paints to decorate rocks and trees around camp, or even use them to mark their borders.

Collecting and Nest Decorating

Each cat will often decorate their nest with their favorite things(prey is usually frowned upon, and bones are an oddity), and oftentimes other cats will look out for things others like to help decorate the nests.

Elders often have to most decorated nests, their decorations not only being a symbol of their clanmates love, but their age and time in the clan as well.

Sports and Competitions

Many clan cats partake in sporty activities to keep their bodies prime. This could include racing, climbing, hunting, sparring/wrestling, etc.

Elders who’s bones ache yet still need to move around will often go on walks together, with able bodied warriors standing as guards or help.

Singing

Mothers often sing to their kits to soothe them, and many times singing will continue on. Cats often sing around camp to keep it lively.

Some will even sing in celebration for a new leader or promotion in a cats life.

[seasons-beatings]

Happy holidays, @appy-polly-loggies!

From your gifter: A/N: I hope this little fic doesn't feel too OOC. I tried to do as much research as I could on your characters. They seemed super cool!! I hope to continue getting to know more about them and thank you so much for sharing them with us. Happy Holidays!

The rain was pounding hard against the sheet metal of the shed where Blink had decided to stop. His breath formed small clouds of steam every time he opened his mouth to release a tired and painful exhale.

"That damn Sephire," he thought, pressing the bleeding wound on the side of his body. The shot had not been fatal, luckily, but it hurt like hell, and if he didn't hurry to treat it sooner or later he was going to bleed slowly. It was fortunate that his pursuers had decided to stop hunting him. Maybe they considered that it was not worth doing so, or maybe the storm had decided to help him by erasing the trail of blood that he had surely left behind.

Blink adjusted himself, pressing his back against the wall. The first thing he had to do was get the bullet out of his body. It would be a quick and gruesome job. Without wasting any more time he inserted his fingers into the wound and a scream tore from his throat. No, not like that. With his other hand he ripped the tie from his neck and shoved it into his mouth.

Even if he was no longer being pursued, he didn't want to make a fuss and draw the attention of those living nearby.

He bit the fabric between his teeth before continuing his task. His fingers delved into his wound, slightly enlarging the hole between his muscles and arteries. After a few agonizing seconds, he let the bullet fall to the ground, where it clattered with a sound muffled by the raindrops.

Blink stopped biting his tie, trying to catch his breath and waiting for the black spots to slowly disappear from his field of vision. Now he really needed to close the wound. He took a deep breath and activated his healing powers. His fingers began to glow, emitting a greenish color that stood out in the darkness of the storm. Even when he was used to it, the pain was always horrible. He tried to ignore his silenced screams, while his skin and flesh regenerated, slowly joining together, until only his disheveled, blood-soaked clothes remained as the only witness to the event.

A nausea seized him and he felt his head spinning. He spat out the tie and that simple action drained his already scarce energy. He knew he had to get up, return home to Salvage and Stira (who surely had already begun to worry about his prolonged absence), but he couldn't get his body to cooperate and get up. He felt very tired.

At some point he wondered if it wouldn't be best to just stay there until he died, until someone found him, or whatever came first; but then, remembering Salvage and Stira, that pair of misfits who called themselves his friends, remembering how with them, after so many years, he finally thought he felt something like the warmth of a home... he didn't want to let it go.

He stood up, leaning against the wall. His legs felt shaky and it took him a long time to feel like he could keep his balance and take a step. The cabin wasn't far away. He just had to ignore the rain, the rapidly dropping temperature and the invading pain. Easy peasy.

He started walking. In just a few minutes he was soaked to the bone. The rain and the cold clung to his skin and hair, making his clothes heavy. He had to take careful steps to keep from slipping on the wet pavement, which made his progress an even slower journey. Soon his teeth were chattering and his entire body shivering.

"Just hold on a little longer," he told himself, with each staggering step. His vision had lost its sharpness, guided only by the streetlights that, every few meters, illuminated the lonely street. "Don't die yet, it's not time to die yet."

"Blink took long enough," Stira said, watching the storm outside the window. He closed the curtain again.

"I'm worried about him," Salvage said. His furrowed eyebrows made him look like a scared little boy, especially seeing him settled in the armchair, with a furry sweater two sizes bigger and a steaming cup of chocolate in his hands. "I think I'll go look for him."

"In this storm? You're crazy," Stira said firmly. "You're just getting over a flu that left you bedridden for days, I won't let you go out into that mess and get sick again." Stira wasn't going to let Salvage go out in this filthy weather, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't also worried about Blink. He had gone into town hours ago to who knew what. It was late, the storm wasn't letting up, and the temperature was slowly dropping.

"I'm going out to look for him," Stira finally said, going for the umbrella.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" asked Salvage.

"Very sure," replied the other, walking towards the door.

"Well," added Salvage. "In that case I'll wait for you both with a cup of hot chocolate."

He smiled. That was enough for Stira to finally gather his courage and go out into the middle of the storm to look for that idiot Blink. His friend Blink.

The rain hit his umbrella hard and the wind almost blew it out of his hands several times. The water on the pavement splashed his pants and he could feel it seeping through the soles of his shoes into his socks. The cold that soon took hold of his limbs made him regret not having brought a thick jacket or a scarf.

After several minutes walking around the neighborhood without finding anything or anyone (because who in their right mind would think of going out in a storm like that?), he was tempted to turn back; but a feeling of discomfort in his chest prevented him from doing so, perhaps a kind of hunch, a hunch that was not so wrong when, a few blocks from the cabin, he managed to see a figure advancing towards him in the middle of the empty street.

It was nothing more than a dark silhouette among the violent drops of rain, but as he passed under a streetlight, Stira identified it immediately.

"Blink!"

The figure moved slowly and clumsily, shuffling and staggering. Stira was quick to run towards him.

"Blink, are you..?"

And in a flash he saw it: red, blood staining Blink's white shirt. Blink was soaked, his clothes sticking to his body, and his eyelids seemed to barely be able to stay open. Hearing Stira's shout, he raised his head with difficulty, trying to make out the person in front of him in the middle of that blurred landscape. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, drowned by the rain or by his own exhaustion.

It was then that Blink rolled his eyes and collapsed on the ground like a puppet without strings.

Stira ran and threw himself on his knees beside him.

"Blink?"

He turned to the young man, but he didn't react. His eyelids were closed, his breathing was barely audible and his skin was too cold to be considered normal even in those circumstances. Stira felt fear stab the center of his chest painfully.

He had to do something, otherwise Blink could...

No, he wasn't going to think about the worst case scenario. He didn't want to even imagine how Salvage would react. How he himself would feel if...

Throwing the umbrella aside, he scooped Blink up in his arms and ran off to the cabin.

Within moments Stir was soaked. The water on his body soon began to bother him, hitting him, the drops too hard and too cold, too invasive and overwhelming, covering everything around him. He had to pause to breathe, as his heart was suddenly beating too fast and the oxygen in the air seemed very hard to come by.

Blink was almost weightless. He was quite light and thin, his neck drooping back and Stira had to stop to adjust him so that his friend's head now rested against his shoulder. "You better not be dead," he thought, before continuing towards the cabin.

Salvage kept glancing out the window to see if his friends were coming back, but the raindrops crashing against the glass made the outside nothing more than an abstract mix of colors, light and shadows.

He was starting to get worried, knowing about Blink's tendency to get into trouble and Stira's hatred of water. A part of him was eager to go out and find them, but he also knew that someone had to stay in the cabin waiting for the others to return.

Time seemed to move slowly on the clock, whose hands were getting closer and closer to midnight, when suddenly he heard a scream on the other side of the door.

"Salvage!"

The aforementioned was quick to head to the entrance of the cabin and open the door, finding a rather miserable sight. Stira walked forward, shivering and soaked to the bone. He looked like a wet cat left to its fate. In his arms he carried an apparently unconscious Blink, in no better condition than his companion.

Salvage wasted no time looking for dry towels, bringing changes of clothes and preparing more hot chocolate for his friends. Stira was shivering, sitting on the floor and trying to dry himself with a towel, while Blink rested on the couch. After a while, Blink's eyes began to shake and slowly open.

"W-what?" His words were barely a whisper. He tried to sit up, instinctively bringing a hand to his side, where the bullet wound had been.

"Don't get up, idiot," Stira said when he saw him.

Blink ignored him and stood up. Immediately he felt his head dizzy and his legs were failing to support his own weight.

"Blink, you should get some rest," Salvage said calmly, carrying a new, thick blanket.

"'m fine," Blink said through clenched teeth. He took a step forward and fell to the floor, or well, he would have if Salvage and Stira hadn't rushed to grab him and put him back on the couch. This time he didn't have the energy to get up again. He didn't know when he found himself wearing comfortable pajamas, with towels and soft sheets around his body. The humidity and cold slowly disappeared.

Salvage had brought him a cup of hot chocolate, which Blink drank in a kind of trance.

Suddenly he discovered that his head was no longer resting on a pillow, but on a person's lap, while fingers tenderly caressed his hair.

"Why do you care so much about me?" Blink asked. His voice was barely a murmur, so much so that at first he wondered if he had actually spoken or had just thought the words.

"You are our friend," said a voice, kind and full of confidence. That voice gave him security and made him feel... less bad. In fact, that voice made him feel at peace.

Blink wanted that warm and pleasant feeling to never end. Meanwhile, Salvage continued to caress Blink's hair in a gesture of comfort, while Stira leaned on the back of the couch, observing the scene with a certain tenderness.

The storm continued throughout the night, but inside the cabin everything remained safe. As long as they stayed together, everything would surely be fine.

[surveillance-0011]

Omega 3 fans rise

Anyhoo, since you mentioned AUs, I feel like I have to ask..

You got any AUs where they’re the main focus?

(Also I was the one that asked for angst HCs and now my heart is in pieces thank you)

RISE RISE RISE and you’re welcome :)

I’ve got a couple!!

Doll Au:technically not centered on them but as of now this au is basically just. Open world with many a story to tell. But uh they (and most salmonids?) are rag dolls. At least the Cellist and Timpanist are, maybe the DJ is a different kind or has better material bc Goldie (which isn’t stated canon yet but he has the eyes and the fringy bits and jewelry/piercings so. Probably the case). But they’d all a little roughed up, well loved, mended over and over. They make their music, live their lives, sew each other back up again when needed…somewhere between quaint and chaotic. when I write or draw more for this au it’ll all be vignettes of events, tales that range from whimsical to creepy to heartbreaking. If a little absurd.

Reincarnation AU: also focused on everyone but these guys are in it so the gist with them is that they’ve been in nearly all of each others past lives as rivals or adversaries and continue to be a part of each others next lives as friends. Also since DJ is a Goldie and those live longer he does cross paths with one or two of the other two’s next lives since he ends up outliving them both by a long time.

Inkfish/Turf War AU/hypotheticals: not rlly an au yet but I’ve posted abt what they’d main and how they’d play turf war before so that counts for something? I’ve considered exploring it further in an au where they’re all inkfish (octolings probably) or maybe just outright make a splatband species swap au to explore how that would change their music and whatnot. Hm… Warabi salmonid…

Human designs/Au: In general I like to draw nonhuman characters as human bc it’s a nice creative exercise in translating certain traits (both physical and personality) to something that still gives the same vibe. Uh in an au where everyone is just a modern day human they’d just be like. A “normal” but very experimental band situated/formed in Hokkaido or Okinawa. There’s less animosity between them and inkfish bc Yknow. Human so no gruesome Grizzco war would take place but they still end up with many a rivalry and people they don’t get along with bc of their unique sound often being turned away in favor of the more mainstream musicians and their personalities are just as easy to clash with as in canon.

Putting the last two under a read more bc it’s getting long. And warning for darker content- death, horror, one offhand mention of suicide ahead…

Death/Ghost AU(s): MORE ANGST sorry about your heart. Hopefully this doesn’t grind it to dust. Technically AUs bc there’s like three different hypotheticals here. All involve the same prompt with one of the three dying during a salmon run shift, some sort of freak accident or being too close to the sr stage and getting hit by one of the longer ranged specials (Killer wail, sting ray). But Yknow basically an unexpected undignified death. And then coming back as a ghost and hijinks and angst and low grade nightmare fuel ensue. So basically the 3 outcomes/sub-aus are:

Cellist dies: Very distraught about the dying-and-becoming-a-ghost thing but more so abt having to leave the other two to mourn and pick up the pieces. He haunts his cello, basically clinging onto it and he eventually becomes able to play again (initially he’s very much invisible and intangible but becomes something more along the lines of a poltergeist). But the thing is the other two basically took it home with them bc he’s got got no other living relatives go claim his belongings and they want something to remember him by and can’t bring themselves to part with it so. Haunting ensues. Typical poltergeist happenings and just. They keep hearing him play. It’s horrible to deal with, just a reminder of their own grief. He eventually gains the strength to truly make himself known, able to be seen and communicate more directly… but he appears as he did in his last moments, still bleeding bright pink ink. Still horrific but he’s able to tell them he means no harm. Not to them, at least. He resolves to stay, too stubborn and concerned for the other two to just pass on. So, perma-bleeding ghost here to stay. Yay. While he doesn’t mean to hurt them they rlly don’t like seeing him like this and he becomes prone to bouts of more typical haunting activity that at times becomes aggressive. At one point they do consider exorcising him.

DJ dies: most… “lighthearted” of the three options! Somehow. They end up haunting the home as well, communicating via technology esp their own computer which they turn on and try to control in an attempt to communicate. Unlike with the Cellist version of this au the other two catch on to exactly what’s going on sooner and the DJ does actually make themselves visible earlier on. But they’re otherwise intangible and weak outside of their controlled tech. So for a haunting it’s relatively low in actual traumatizing events, since they’re more amicable and mischievous than the other two when they die. But while they try to be a nice friendly upbeat ghost they’re still rlly upset abt being dead and not as good at hiding it as they think. So between their attempts at being a ghostly prankster they have these bouts of jealousy and grief that they need to be helped through, not to mention how the other two are technically still mourning. Still this is probably the least scary and upsetting outcome? Also the ink color that they bleed would be the typical orange.

Timpanist dies: on the other hand. Oh boy. This version and the Cellist’s are both more upsetting but while that one is more depressing and tragic I feel like this one would go straight devastating horror. I feel like not passing on normally would fuck with the Timpanist. He would not grasp how he is still around and feels like he’s done something wrong if he’s not in the afterlife yet. Unless someone’s keeping it from him. Or unless this is all there is. Maybe at first he would nobly resolve to protect the other two, any way he can. But he can’t. They don’t sense him. He can’t interact. Totally intangible and invisible. Maybe he’s even bound to the exact spot he died, stuck right on stage. Forever. Forced to watch every performance go on without him. Forced to stay anchored to the scene of his last moments, unable to follow his friends home like he used to. Unable to give or get any comfort. And eventually it just breaks him. There’s nothing he can do… but actually there is: he can possess others. Idk how he figures it out but once he does. Every other day, another Inkfish loses it. Takes off the lifesaver ink tank and runs to the nearest salmonid, or the water, open arms. Those who are held down, stopped right when their eyes go wide and their face pale until the moment passes, report hearing a familiar timpani beat, then just… going blank. It continues for a while. Then he gets the bright idea to possess another salmonid. Maybe one of the other two. Now he can finally reach out again. But he’s… changed. He’s not the same person he was. So desperate, without reason or regard… Having heard and seen what happened, the DJ is well aware of what is going on when the Cellist stops what they’re doing, turns to them with wide eyes, and says hello. Or, when they hear those familiar rhythms, and then that familiar voice, fuzzy but still understandable, right in the back of their mind. But he tries to communicate by possessing one or both of them, basically trying to stick around and act like everything can go back to normal. But it gets to the point where’s he’s just no longer able to connect the same way and basically alternates between wreaking havoc on inkfish and trying to stick with the other two, every bout of possession becoming more terrifying and violent. Eventually it gets to the point where they have to get rid of him before he gets rid of them. Then the two outcomes would be that they exorcise him… or die trying. Oh and the ink is either the new yellow green or lilac.

Monster AU: Cellist as an onyrō or ningyo, Timpanist as either a Yukijin (demons that protect Noboribetsu’s Hell Valley) or Onibi Will-o-Wisp sort of ghost (bc Green Flame) and DJ as a Shachihoko (Tiger-Fish hybrid creature). If I go with the Cellist being an Onyrō I’d mix this with the ghost au concept: he’d be a normal mortal before joining the band but would die sometime between 2 and 3, either in a freak accident like in the normal ghost au or… well… as I mentioned in the last hc post… yeah. But he’d come back as a ghost either way and decide to torment Grizzco’s employees forever… and keep making music, because hey, he’s at least tangible enough to still hold the cello. But in this case he’d be more dangerous and malicious than the base ghost au but not as directed towards the others either!

And then there’s my “Omega 3 as Single Player Bosses” proposal which may eventually become a whole au or DLC pitch. Like Deep Cut they’d be fighting you for reasons only kind of sort of related to the issue at hand but probably a little more direct (bc they want to kick your ass for being an inkfish with possible ties to Grizzco and think you straight up abducted little buddy probablyyyy). I think they also may target you if you’re working with OTH in the DLC bc they remember that those two promoted Grizzco so the rivalry that forms between the two bands is mainly born of that and part of the story would be the two having realized Grizzco sux. Or something. I think Marina already had a hunch and has more respect for salmonids but the network still made them advertise and Pearl would be oblivious bc Inkling Propaganda or just not understanding that Salmonids don’t come back when they die.

[junebuggeryy]

a glasgow or two

[difx-writes]

Wildest Dreams - In the Death of the Night

Masterlist

After turning 10 and losing her soulmate, Marinette would imagine how Damian Wayne would be.

Would he be tall or short? Did he have blond hair or brown or did he dyed it? Would he be shy or have a bold personality? Perhaps he was an artistic soul, a poet, a writer? Or would he be a baker like her parents? Why did his last name change?

The wonders and questions took over her mind for days with no end.

On good days, she imagined how he would interact with her friends, how her parents would take him in as their own son, how he would fit into her life.

She liked to talk to him, pretending there, alive, with her. She asked his opinion on what to wear, how she should do her hair, what colors with go well with the design. He was her voice of reason. Talking to "Damian" brought a smile to her face, even when she knew she was deluding herself.

On bad days, she pretended he was right there with her, comforting her, encouraging her, whispering that everything would be alright... Sometimes it worked and she felt better the next days but most times she felt bitter, she felt robbed of a future where he was in her life.

The realization that the person she was supposed to share her soul with was no longer alive, that his death was painful, gruesome, and... lonely... It always ended with her taking a few days to prevent a breakdown...

When she turned 13, Hawkmoth appeared and Marinette became Ladybug, the hero of Paris.

Soon after, Marinette stopped talking with "Damian", she couldn't afford to wonder about him anymore. She couldn't afford the bliss of her own delusions. She couldn't afford to let herself grief and fall pray to Hawkmoth's manipulation.

As she couldn't fail Paris and its citizens, Damian Wayne mostly disappeared from her life.

But there were days when her “friends” demanded a lot from her, akumas were too violent and draining and everything was just too much, those the godawful days.

On godawful days she wished Damian was there to take her away to a place she could feel she belonged. Away from everything to a place she could call a home.

_______

Most nights Damian recalls a voice talking to him during the time he was dead.

His soulmate, he supposed, talked to him regularly, she started her day asking his opinion on her outfit for the day, when at home she would tell him how her day went, what she did with her friends, what she learned in class, etc...

At first, Damian was pretty much annoyed that he couldn't "rest in peace" with all the noise pollution but after a few weeks, he slowly started to tolerate her talking to him.

Unfortunately, he couldn't talk to her nor see her very clearly so it was a pleasant surprise when Marinette would ask his opinion to make a decision, she always picked what he chooses.

Perhaps it was their bond that allowed her to know what he was thinking without actually hearing each other's thoughts. Or maybe they were more in sync with one another. Most likely it was pure luck on her part. (Him being dead is enough proof of how bad his luck was.)

In the months he was dead, Damian learned a grand lot Marinette. He liked how she made him feel he wasn't alone, like how her voice calmed him when he remembered the family he left behind in his death. Marinette was his only lighthouse in the vast void of the afterlife

_______

Impotent, despair, and hopeless.

That's how Damian felt every time Marinette had to relive his death. He hated it so much. She didn't deserve that and it broke his heart every damn time.

Why did he have to die? Why did it have to be in such a painful way? Why did she have to feel it on repeat over and over and over again? Was it a twisted way the universe tried to make them reunited? If they can't find each other in life, then they can be together in death? That isn't right!

But it always hurts more when she wakes up and talks to him. Wondering if he was happy and in peace, in wherever place he ended up.

He was there but she didn't know.

He felt sick.

After being revived, Damian felt an immense sense of loss. Sure, he was kinda happy to reunite with his family and grateful for being alive again, but he missed her.

It was difficult to readjust to being alive again, it was crystal clear that Damian Wayne wasn't okay. What hurts him the most was how her name turned into a scar on his wrist.

During the day paranoia settled in making him always on high alert, lashing out when it got too much for him.

In the night, he couldn't sleep properly as a feeling of unease latched onto his every nerve and when he did sleep, nightmares plagued him.

Damian tried to calm down in various ways, but ultimately it was Marinette's voice that soothed him and lulled him to sleep.

It quickly became a habit to replay their one-sided conversations as he tries to fall asleep.

He went over what Marinette Dupain-Cheng spoke to him time and time again as to engrave her voice in his mind. Unfortunately, her voice was fading away, every time he recalled it, he hear his own voice.

At least some memories remained, which was relieving for Damian, even when important ones like what language she spoke or the name of her school were completely wiped out.

He never told his family his experience while he was dead, he guesses Jason was the most likely to know about it but he never brought it up to anyone, so Damian did the same.

Now he was lying in bed, remembering about the time Marinette tried embroidery for the first time.

She started by searching up what she wanted it to be and after much talking, she chose a Robin, Damian smile at the eagerness he felt for her to chose it. It was a fun day, with her making comments here and there about the work, he wishes he could see it.

A knock woke him up of his thoughts, Alfred emerging from the door.

"Master Damian, I'm here to inform you a guest will be joining us for tomorrow's dinner."

"Whose guest?" He didn't really feel like dealing with new people.

"It's Master Jason's guest."

Damian groans, perhaps he could go visit Kent.

"It would be in your best interest to participate, Master Damian." Alfred gave him a look.

He sighed, definitely can't miss tomorrow or he'll have to face Pennyworth.

So, I've written another chapter while listening to a sad song on repeat :') I know it doesn’t really connect to the last chapter but I wasn’t feeling okay and didn’t know how to continue from where I left off.

I hope y’all enjoyed this and have a nice day!

P.S.: The taglist is temporarily closed as some tags aren't working. Again, I'm very sorry if I missed anyone. If you no longer want to be tagged please hit me up.

Taglist:

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[deluluass]

Red, like blood. Blue, like love.

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; bullying; soulmates au

Prompt: 88 & 183

There’s someone for everyone, you’d learned growing up.

 "Remember, blue means happy," your mother would say. "The happiest you'll ever be.”

She liked reminding you about this fact— for it is an indisputable truth, every so often when she could still carry you. You’d be hugged from the back, as she recounted stories of first meetings, serendipitous and life changing in their nature; belonging to those who’ve lived long before you, sometimes even those who’ve only lived in tales.

Mostly, your mother loved telling those involving the people she knew. And if you’ve behaved properly, she would tell you about hers. 

Tracing your palm, starting from the forked lines to the dashed ones on your fingers, she’d say, “These would start to glow like stars.”

“That’s weird!” you’d burst out, shrieking a laughter as she tickled you. 

“Listen carefully,” she chastised. “Blue is for your soulmate, okay?”

And you’d repeat: Blue is for my soulmate.

“Then, mama,” you tugged at her sleeves, “What if it’s really, really bright red! Like! Bloody glow sticks! Say, mama, you see, everyone at the park was talking about the man who died because he touched someone and his hand became bright re— ”

You never brought that up again. What your mother said about it had been enough to never make you forget.

“Tell me if you get red,” she said firmly, clutching your arms as if she feared someone would snatch you away from her. “Red is bad, my heart. Red means run.”

 It hadn’t nearly been as gruesome as your mother made it out to be. 

Case in point, when you turned twelve the couple three houses down your street found out, shortly after their honeymoon, that their palms gleamed a fierce red once they clasped each other’s hands in front of the neighborhood aunties.  

Their marriage ended with a swift and ordinary divorce, a year or so later.

Red: Not just an ominous warning for homicide, then. That was a relief, you’d thought.

Contrary to how your mother framed it, you were thankful, actually. It helped some of your friends escape from potentially hellish relationships. How lucky is it that you lived in a reality where the universe seemed exceedingly benevolent. Though, you sometimes have to question if that generosity extended to everyone.

Fat lot of good it did for you. 

Because, from where you’re standing, it doesn’t have to take some arbitrary and unsolvable scientific mystery to heed that Oikawa Tooru must be avoided like the plague.

Any person in your shoes would be conditioned to do exactly that. 

You’d first met in Elementary. You thought he was the prettiest kid you’d ever seen, with chestnut curls and doe eyes and lashes that swept past his cheeks, and when you’d asked for a hand shake he’d called you “the ugliest girl I’ve ever seen” and “fart face.” 

Recess and lunch were when he’s most fearsome. Spiky burdocks slapped on the collar of your dress; dead lizards in your food; the boy was determined. The worst part was that it always happened when no one was looking. And if someone were, it was his best friend. So when you finally told on him to your mom, both your teacher and the principal simply judged Oikawa as the victim of an attention deprived child.

“Please discipline your daughter,” they told her. “We are all aware of your situation at home, but do ensure that she’s not getting out of control.”

You couldn’t even muster up the strength to defend yourself. In that moment all you could do was swear that you’d never allow anyone to talk to your mother in that way again. 

You moved out of that school. 

You didn’t wait for your palms to flash a warning signal because, somehow, you knew that boys who discover early that they could get away with anything cannot get any better. 

There’d been no way to be sure of that until Aoba Johsai— after a peaceful interim of no Oikawa; no red palm lines (and no blue ones, either).

The proof hit you in the face. Literally. 

“Oi, Shittykawa!”

Heat permeated from your nostrils as you patted your cheek, detached and staring back at the large gymnasium. 

“You hit someone!”

How unlucky did a person have to be to bleed right on the first day of classes? 

You tried to lean forward. “It’s okay,” you slurred nasally, pinching your nose and averting your embarrassed gaze from the boy kneeling next to you.

“Trashykawa! You better hurry and apologize!”

“Don’t be mad, Iwa-chan,” that disgustingly saccharine voice came from behind you, making you flinch, as if the years you’d spent apart had done nothing to purge it out of your system.

In all honesty, you hadn’t really cared for whoever was responsible for the ball that careened all the way to where you were standing, so sure that it had to be an accident. No one in their right mind would want to injure someone they barely knew, especially if said someone is a couple of feet away from you. 

Morally and athletically, it should’ve been improbable. But then you saw who did it and everything made perfect sense.

Iwa-chan. The boy beside you. Iwaizumi Hajime.

If he’s here, then— 

“You,” he whispered. 

“Eh?! Gosh, I’m so sorry!” Oikawa Tooru gasped. “You’re bleeding.”

Time is cruel. It wears down on you, tears you and molds you into something you can’t even recognize, if it decides to. (Fate, more so). You didn’t know if you wanted to cry or laugh, looking at him. If the universe were so benevolent, then perhaps Oikawa Tooru had received all of its favor.

He was beautiful. You’d known this before, but with all the baby fat replaced with sharp yet slender angles, figure lean and imposing even when he’d lowered himself to meet your eyes, Oikawa didn’t seem real.

“I did hit someone, didn’t I?” he pouted, wiping the dried blood atop your lip. “And such a pretty girl, too.”

That volleyball existed should’ve made life better for you. It didn’t. If anything, it seemed that out of the court, when he’s not taking names and being praised like a god, you were his little pastime. Something fun to take his mind off whatever it is he thinks about it. 

The mocking comments, you could handle; every time you’d recite and he’ll interject with something playful and then the entire class would laugh (because he’s Oikawa) and your professor would reprimand him but you could always tell that they, too, are holding in a giggle. 

Those were easy to bear, because although his insults hit way too close to home, it’s just— it’s just so petty.

Really, it’s the aftermath that does the damage.

“They’re like Christmas lights under your skin!” 

This topic pops up every month or so. Most people your age can be lucky enough to meet their soulmate this early. 

“And it’s the most awesome feeling in the world,” your classmate sighed. “When we touched hands? Man. We just- we glowed.”

Then, the others would poke fun, faking a gagged expression, but they’d always ask afterwards, “What happened next?” And everytime, you’d watch from the sidelines. Like an uninvited audience. 

You tried being a part of it once, wanting to share about the time your close friend met her soulmate. But all you’d gotten were side eyes and titters, as if they were laughing about a joke only you didn’t know about. 

“They’re so mean to you.” 

You groaned.

Oikawa was seated behind you, resting his head against his elbow. Everyone was too busy talking about blue lights and destined souls to notice what’s happening at the back of the room. 

He continued, “Not including you in conversations, treating you like an outsider.”

You didn’t bite, focusing on the opened book in front of you.

“Must be lonely, having no one.”

“Oikawa,” you muttered under your breath. “I don’t have the energy for this.”

The silence that came after that was unexpected. You were sure it would be short lived; he’s just gearing up for more. He usually went at it until you’d have no choice but to physically remove yourself from his presence. You’d thought once that that may be why he does this so much. Maybe he still thought you were the “ugliest girl” he’s ever met and he wants you out of his sight. Because Oikawa’s infantile like that.

But the silence stayed, accompanied by the background noise of eager conversations; lingering some more as white, fluffy clouds passed by the glass windows. 

When he broke it, all Oikawa said was, “Soulmates, huh.”

You felt a finger touch your back, drawing the barest of lines over your uniform. He removed them just before you could stand up and leave. 

You disliked those moments with him. 

You disliked him especially when he played. 

Oikawa’s a monster, be it in volleyball or with you. There are times, though, that you’d notice some things that you think you’re not meant to see. Like after a serve— its impact booming throughout the court, he’d have this puzzling expression on his face. 

It looked like....anger. 

He scored a point, right? Everyone’s cheering for him, aren’t they? Wait, didn’t they win?

You thought maybe it’s the adrenaline making him nastier than usual, but sometimes you’d pass by the gym when he happens to be alone. And that anger is still there, punctuated by the sound of the ball exploding against the floor. Jump. Hit. Spike. Jump. Hit. Spike. He’d do it, again and again and again. 

As if he’s trying to grasp something even he cannot reach. 

Those instances should’ve taught you that the best thing to do is look away. 

That’s what you should’ve done. Look away.

They lost the Interhigh tournament.

You knew this not because you’d watched, but because for one day, Oikawa Tooru wasn’t your bully. 

The derision was replaced by sulking. He didn’t speak for the entire period. The funniest thing about it was that everyone kept staring at you. Like somehow you’d been the cause of this, when all of them were lamenting the loss just as much as the team itself. 

 What was supposed to be a reason for celebration suddenly became a crime that you had to explain for.

 “Great,” you grumbled to yourself. “One time I don’t have a target on my back, now I’m the bad guy.”

Trash bag in hand, the scraps inside rattled against each other as you stomped to the recycling bin, both sleeves of your P.E jacket folded up to the elbows. You affected a tone, choosing to mock the grating way some of classmates talked:

“Oh, hey, if it’s not too much,” you began. “Can you please be his punching bag again? If you will, can you relieve our superstar’s burdens? By, I don’t know, alluring him into walking all over you? Like the good old days! Please, oh please? We rely on you, oh Great Punching Bag! We Beseech thee, oh Esteemed Doormat! We compel— dude, what the fuck?!”

Crumpled papers and steel and tin cans rolled to the ground. You didn’t pick them up, like you should’ve; you left it there, trash bag lying open, and grabbed the ball that whisked mere inches from your face. 

This time you’re not making the same mistake. The asshole is more than capable of suspending what little morals he has, just to hurt someone he barely knew. As well as athletically adept (an understatement, that) at hitting a walking target; or not hitting it, in this case.  

You stormed the almost empty gym. Oikawa is a ray of sunshine, greeting you with that smile. It makes you want to punch him.

“What is wrong with you?” you spat. 

He chuckled. “Whoops. Sorry!” 

“I’m not having this-” you shoved the ball to his stomach. He didn’t even blink. “This isn’t gonna slide anymore, Oikawa.”

Wide grin still in place, he took it from your hands with his much larger ones and said, “Wow, you’re actually mad this time. ”  

Then, he added, “I didn’t mean it! Honest!” 

Must be nice, you thought with a scowl, to be him. Anyone can be sincere if they look anything like Oikawa. 

“Sure. Fine. No, actually,” you glowered. “You know what?” 

“Hm?” He tilted his head. Oikawa tilted his pretty little head.

You seethed. “I get it. You lost. That doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. I mean, what did I ever do to you, Oikawa? I have-” you exhaled, surprised by the break in your voice. 

“I haven’t done anything to you. We stopped being kids a long time ago. That shit you pull should’ve ended by now. We’ve grown.” You jabbed his chest. “But I see that maybe not all of us have.”

His pleased expression hadn’t dropped. “Ouch,” Oikawa grimaced, glancing amusedly at the place you’d touched. “How mean.”

This isn’t going anywhere. 

You don’t know why it took you this long to realize this, as you shifted your gaze away from him, noticing the gashes on the floor that tear the surface like scars that never healed. That must’ve been because of him, with the amount of practice he does. 

“It won’t be enough, won’t it, Oikawa?” you whispered. “Not for you.”

The smile that’s been there since you arrived tensed, straining at the corners of his lips. 

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” he beamed. 

He was bathing in his own sweat, seeping through his shirt and matting his hair to his face, and he looks— Oikawa looked tired. His eyes were sunken in, too. Did he even sleep?

You’re so used to seeing him not a hair out of place, with a sweet scent that you amusedly thought lures his gaggle of admirers into following him everywhere. It takes you aback, honestly. Particularly the wobble in his step as he bent and squeezed his knee with shaky fingers.

You don’t think he’s aware he’s doing it in front of you.

Then, just like that, everything seemed to have added up.  

“You’ll never be happy,” you said.

You should’ve stopped there. You should’ve left. Instead, you looked him in those brown eyes, the warm hue becoming a lot colder as he moved closer. 

Oikawa sneered. “And what do you know, huh?” 

(Go. Leave.)

“Nothing,” you told him. “I don’t- I don��t know. Because, I don’t get it.”

(Shut up. Shut up.)

“Why you try any harder, I don’t know. Win or lose, it’s all the same. You’re still the same. You’re still awful and annoying and- and still you.” You laughed, unsure why you’re running your mouth like this. 

“Win or lose. Oikawa is still Oikawa,” you breathed in. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

His teammates must’ve gone somewhere. For lunch, maybe, you thought as you eyed the abandoned bottles and used towels scattered around the court. “Besides,” you huffed, not without a twinge of envy. “They’ll all still love you, either way.” 

Everything went still for a while, and you’d just realized what you’d just said.

“What about you?” 

You looked back at him.

“What?”

He tipped his chin. You stepped backwards. 

He brushed your wrist.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, but he only smiled and wrapped his entire hand around it. 

Oikawa had been your first bully. Before you could even comprehend what that meant, Oikawa had been the source of your mother’s worries whenever she parted with you at the school gates. It is funny, thinking about it, for letting this boy affect you despite making an effort to stay away the first time. 

But it is only now— now that he has a firm hold on you, gentle yet smothering— that you truly feared Oikawa Tooru. 

It rattled your breath, squeezing your heart and refusing air to pass through your lungs, as you felt a shock zap through you. And apparently through him as well.

You broke away from each out with a cry.

Your hand was burning. That’s the only explanation for it. Your hand was burning and any moment now smoke will diffuse from the pores. 

You waited. Any moment now. But the more you stared at it the more tiny spots of flames sparked under your skin, bursting along the palm lines— first, the forked ones; then, the dashed lines— glaring back at you, glowing brighter, blotting and spreading until they mapped your palms then your entire hands like constellations. 

“Red is bad, my heart,” your mother said. “Red means run.”

“I knew it,” you scoffed, shaking your head. 

Well, it’s not as if this is news to you. 

“What about that, Oikawa?” You put both your radiating hands in the air. “The universe is telling us, you and I? We just don’t—”

Why are you crying?

Why is Oikawa crying? 

“I knew it,” he croaked.

Your mother made the red light sound so horrifying for a reason. 

There has to be a reason, too, why the universe is warning you so late into your life. You’d actually ran before. And when you thought it a waste of money, you chose to stay and not fight back; thinking that his punches have become less severe, degraded into verbal taunts that induce social exclusion at most; that, certainly, red doesn’t forbode something as bad as murder, right?

Well, what now? You were wrong, after all. This time you have a feeling that you actually need to hide. 

Because Oikawa’s looking at you like you’re the last two people left in this Earth. 

Just you and him. Without any need for anybody else. 

You didn’t breathe, attempting to bolt despite the overwhelming need to throw up right where you're standing. He stepped closer, faster than you’d liked, and touched your face, caressing your cheek up to your aching temple.

“You should really stop trying to run away,” he said, voice low as if he’s sharing a secret. “I’ll always find you, you know?”

You didn’t have to look to know. Even if you closed your eyes, as well, you know it’s still going to be there; glowing in the darkness behind your eyelids.

“Me and you—” Oikawa sighed. 

Listen carefully, your mother said.

“ —we have a connection that no one else will ever understand,” he said.

The light emitting from his hand was so harsh it hurt you, pricking your sight until it drew fat tears, reflecting against your damp face and tinting the fallen streaks with bright—

Blue means happy, she told you. The happiest you’ll ever be.

And you’d repeat: Blue. Blue is for—

“My soulmate," Oikawa said, before locking you in a deep, searing kiss. 

The lights didn't die even as he dragged you into the storage room.  

"Hey, where'd senpai go?" 

The rest of the volleyball team came in droves, occupying the hollow court with their squeaking shoes and questions about Oikawa's whereabouts.

"Must've gone somewhere," you heard a deep voice say. 

You could answer that question. All you  had to do was scream. They weren't so far from the room that they wouldn't pick it up over the noise of their volleyball practice. Really, if you needed to, you could even outshout their guttural yells of "Nice kill!"

Though, you'd have to remove the underwear lodged in your mouth first. 

Yours, in fact; soaked now by your own saliva, drool dripping to your chin as your wrists chafed against the rope that's keeping them tied at your back.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" You felt every sickening movement of Oikawa's lips against your throat. "Feels good when you- ah, fuck- when you give in."

With the cloth muting your shrill bawling, you tried your best to recall how you ended up here: seated on his lap as he sluggishly humped himself against you, his still glowing hands cupping your ass.  

The only thing left on your body was your bra, and even that he's already lowered to let your tits spill over the top. Your pants and t-shirt and jacket are lying around somewhere. You couldn't determine where in particular; the only sources of light were behind you.  

He was leaving imprints of blue all over your skin; around your waist as he slithered his hands to reach your breasts, scantily brushing over the hardened nipples and making you keel over.

"So sensitive," he tutted, smooching your neck so gently that even the underwear couldn't muffle your loud yelp when he suddenly bit into the flesh. Hard. 

You wanted to claw his eyes out and call for help and you wanted badly to scream don't do that Oikawa someone please save me he's gonna kill me he's gonna kill me-

But the gag remained intact and the boys outside continued their game, ignorant that their precious captain is taking everything away from you. 

Sharp canines bruised your skin, provoking a fresh batch of tears as he sucked and licked every after cruel bite. 

Then, when you thought the worst had passed, he removed his mouth from your neck to spit onto your bare cunt, allowing it to slide from the hair on your mound to the nub sticking out in the middle.

(It is not enough that he is killing you. Oikawa must defile you, too.)

His fingers gripped the insides of your thighs open when you tried to shut them together. "Don't be a brat," he clicked his tongue.

"Be a nice little kitten for me," Oikawa drawled, smearing the slick that's soaking your folds against the spittle coating your clit.

You didn't notice when he'd taken his cock out, you only realize that he's about to enter you when he teased your entrance with it, pushing the tip to nudge the drenched hole, only to pull it back again.

And you didn't dare look. The feel of it almost stretching you out with just the head is already driving you to insipid begging.

"What'd you say, kitten?" he pouted.

Oikawa you've already taken too much is it never going to be enough Oikawa let me go.

"I can't understand you," he chuckled. "Here—"

He pulled the underwear out of your mouth as he thrust all the way inside, your back arching, driving him deeper, as his cock throbbed against your pussy walls.

"Now, what were you saying?"

You swallowed your cries and heaved and swore you were gonna tear his heart out after this. 

"Say," he whispered, sniffing your wet panties without breaking his gaze. "If everyone saw us right now, how'd you think they'd react?"

It was so reverent, the way he did it, blue light revealing that he closed his eyes as he took a whiff, as if he hung onto your scent like a lifeline.

But you thought that'd been a calculated move, because as you dumbly stared at him, he immediately gyrated his hips under you, rocking back and forth ever so slowly, and you remembered that you had to keep quiet.

His cock was so big inside you, making you bite your lip as it filled you up, the curved tip hitting a spot that has you squirming in his embrace.

"At this point they'll know how much of a whore you are," he said, tangling his muscled arms around yours and anchoring you to his body. "Made just for me."

"Oika-Oikawa…"

You don't know this person. 

"Help..me.."

You don't know who's speaking out and whimpering for Oikawa, on her knees and bouncing up and down on his lap with weak, quivering thighs. 

It couldn't be you.

"Help you?" You felt him nuzzle your neck. "I thought you wanted me to stay away, though?"

Someone mewled out a pathetic, "N-no."

"No? Then what d'you want, kitten?"

(Oh. Oh, he feels so fucking good.)

Your belly has never felt this hot before and it's driving you crazy that you're chasing for something you cannot see and it feels so near but there's something, something that's keeping you from it that all you can do is grind your sopping cunt closer to him.

"Wanna- I wanna cum."

Oikawa kissed you on the forehead, and then he said, "Go ahead, then."

He released your arms. 

Then, he's scooping cum off your pussy, making sure to drag his fingers under the lips, before circling your large, swelling clit. Then, he's sucking your tits and swirling his tongue around a nipple and you're so so close.

"That's it," Oikawa sighed. "Ride my cock, baby."

His rough palm slapped both your ass cheeks and the cry that erupted from you only made him laugh. 

"Make yourself cum on my cock," he grunted, licking his smiling lips as he leaned back against the wall, hand idly rubbing your dripping clit. "You're making a mess, darling. Leaking like that."

You're quivering all over; your cunt is spasming and your legs are complaining beneath you, but you don't stop. You lift your hips and then sink your pussy down, down until you feel his balls touching your sore ass, the sloshing sound growing louder as you move faster. 

You don't think about what this'll all mean later, what you're doing giving in to him, when you scream out his name. But as soon as you did, Oikawa's growl had been your only warning.

He grabbed the back of your head and kissed you, plunging his tongue into your throat, his strong arms pressing you so close to him you can no longer tell his skin from yours, his battering heartbeat from yours. 

You didn't move—weren't allowed to, when he hammered his cock into you, pounding your cunt and fucking you raw until you're breathless and nothing but a shuddering wreck, splitting at the seams in his hands as you feel thick spurts of hot cum slide out of you. 

"My pretty girl," came his hoarse whisper. "My pretty, pretty girl."

The lights have dimmed, when he cradled your shaking form and moved out of you, faint traces left on just the palm lines and fingertips. 

They were flooded by the sudden brightness that enveloped the storage room.

"Holy shit."

You pressed your eyes close, your entire body prickling at Oikawa’s touch.

It shouldn't be surprising, at this point, that Oikawa, as quick as he'd stripped you off of everything, has already covered you back in your jacket. The smell of it striking you ruthlessly, that old cologne that you always use to school reminding you of who you were, before all this.

Had it only been a few hours? It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Ah," Oikawa murmured. "They caught us."

"Oikawa,” someone roared. Oikawa held you, hiding your face against his chest. “Why you son of a-"

"C-coach..! Stop- Oi, someone help me hold him- no, coach! "

You heard him chuckle. “Sorry about this, everyone.” He held up his hand and you had to keep yourself from sobbing. “But, look.”

There were several gasps. 

(Everybody knows now.)

“You..and her?” 

The boy who said that sounded so astonished, clearly overjoyed for some reason, that it revolted you.

“Mhm,” he nodded, a smile in his voice. “Now, can you guys please give us some privacy?” 

Feet shuffled out of the room, along with stuttered apologies. They all left. 

Except for one.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pouted.

“What did you do, Oikawa?”

A beat. Then, he repeated, “Iwa-chan.”

Please. 

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything. 

Please help me.

“Sure,” he grunted.

He was gone, too, after that.

You were back in the darkness, with nothing but the faltering red and blue on your hands and his, while he untied your wrists and kneaded the abrasion away, cooing sweet nothings to your ear. 

“I hate you,” you rasped. 

“Don’t say that.”

“I fucking hate you-”

“Please stop yelling-”

“I won’t ever forgive you, Oikawa!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he cried, shaking his head as he brushed your tear-stained cheeks with both thumbs. You clutched them, wanting him off you, but he only latched himself firmly into you. “We’re meant to be.”

“You’re the only one for me.” 

Oikawa brought your numb hand to his face, pressing a kiss to your palm, the red light basking him in its soft glow.

“And I’m the only one for you,” he said, intertwining your fingers together. 

The lights flickered in and out, at first, as you stared vacantly into it, the red and blue swallowing each other. Until they finally disappeared, leaving just you and him, curled against each other in the shadows. 

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Psychological Warfare  (A continuation of Super Soldiers)

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord ) (For those interested in learning about the events leading up to this please read the previous short story for this here: https://niqhtlord01.tumblr.com/post/188251556966/humans-are-weird-super-soldiers )

“This is enforcement team three, responding to request for assistance at broadcast building nine.”

The enforcer car sped through the well-lit streets like a blade of grass dancing in the wind; swerving between other vehicles and pedestrians almost as if it was liquid curving around a hard surface. The lights from virtual billboards lining the streets each casting another shade of color as enforcer Gavrin hung up his transponder as he rounded another corner and avoided a headlong collision with pedestrians.

“Will you slow down!?”

Gavrin was too focused on the road to respond to his partner’s pleas as they continued to speed towards broadcast building nine.

Jimble had his three hands pressed against the roof of the enforcer car for stability and shot another scornful glare at Gavrin.

“What the flartack has gotten into you, Gavrin?” Jimble said as they hit a speed bump and lurched through the air for a few moments before crashing down to the hard road again. “You’re going to get us both killed!”

“What was the request for assistance?” Gavrin calmly said as he continued weaving through the traffic. Jimble let go of the roof with one of his hands and scratched his head.

“The report said intruders had forced their way into the building.”

Gavrin nodded. “Something that big is going to be noticed by a lot of people, and I want them to know that I was there first.”

“If you were any more of a glory hound you’d be wearing a collar.” Jimble replied. He looked down at the navigation screen showing the layout of the city. “It should be just around this next corner on the right.”

As the enforcer car swung around the sharp corner Gavrin’s eyes went wide and he slammed on the stabilizer brakes. The car screeched and nearly flipped over as the momentum was suddenly killed before Gavrin grabbed Jimble and pulled him over to his side of the interior. The combined weight brought the car back down to the road before coming to a complete standstill.

Jimble lifted himself up slowly trying to regain his senses while Gavrin popped open the side door and stormed off. “No, no; I’m fine.” Jimble groaned as he blinked his eyes several times to clear them up. As he got a good look at his partner in front of the car he gasped.

Surrounding the entire street level entrance to broadcast building nine were several dozen military transports. Jimble looked to either side of the street and saw soldiers lining either side all with their weapons trained on the broadcast building.

“What the flartack is going on?”

As Jimble got out of the car he could see his partner arguing with two soldiers that had stepped forward and barred him from passing.    

“Like flar I will!” Jimble heard his partner shout into the face of the nearest soldier.

“This area is restricted.” The same soldier continued as two additional soldiers broke away from covering the building to stand on either side of Gavrin. “Move along.”

Before Gavrin could let out another outburst Jimble stepped in.

“We are responding to a request from assistance filed from this broadcast building five chrono ticks ago.” Jimble said as he glanced between the visored helmets of the soldiers. Gavrin looked like he was about to shove his way passed the soldiers until Jimble put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He grunted for a moment before Jimble felt his partners muscles relax before Gavrin shook off his hand and went back to the enforcer car.

“And if I’m not mistaken,” Jimble said as he addressed the original soldier his partner had been shouting at “the military does not have jurisdiction outside of military installations and star ports; making this a de-facto enforcer matter.”

“This incident has been reviewed by city officials and was determined to fall under military jurisdiction.” a new voice cut in.

Both enforcers turned to see a sharply dressed military officer approach the group. With a wave of her hand the soldiers dispersed back to their positions leaving them alone.

“Since when?!” Gavrin nearly shouted as he smacked his hands against the hood of enforcer car.

“Since several highly ranked prisoners of war escaped a military base five days ago.” She turned and looked at the broadcast building and for a moment Gavrin could see what almost looked like fear cross her face.

“Why weren’t the enforcers informed of fugitives on the loose?” Gavrin pressed. “We could have found them far faster than you lot.”

“They are not normal fugitives.” was all she said before quickly raising a hand to her ear. She nodded a few times to herself before casting a look around the entire street.

She opened her mouth as if to give an order when an ear shattering static cut through not only her radio but Jimble and Gavrin’s radios as well.

“Good evening, fine citizens of Tivin.”

Jimble looked up to see the virtual ad long that had been for clothing change to static before displaying a new feed. It showed the interior of what appeared to be a broadcast room. There was a broadcast desk, a virtual backdrop of Tivin, and even the stations logo on the front. Yet behind the desk was someone Jimble had never expected to see.

A human…..

The human wore a makeshift cloak across his shoulders along with a bandana over his forehead keeping the strands of black hair out of his eyes.

“Cut the line!” Jimble and Gavrin tore their gaze away from the screen to see the officer shouting into her communicator. Whatever the response was it appeared to displease her as she turned to her waiting forces and shouted “Get in there now!”

The waiting squads of soldiers surged forwards, blowing the doors off the front entrance and rushing inside without a moment’s hesitation.

“My name is Joseph Maker,” the human continued drawing the attention of the trip remaining in the street, “and as you’ve no doubt noticed I’m very much human.”

Joseph waved a hand to something off screen and the camera panned around the room to reveal several other humans standing in the corner of the room. “As are my friends here.” Joseph continued as the camera spun back around to him.

“Your military was kind enough to invite us to your world for a little…chat..and afterwards we felt it only right to see this prime example of society we’ve heard so much about.”

Gavrin felt something strange and turned to see the building behind him. The virtual ad for some food parlor warped and displayed the same transmission of the human at the broadcast station. He watched as one by one the ads lining the streets all began to blink and switch to the same feed.

“They’re using the emergency broadcast system.”

His statement fell on deaf ears as sounds of weapons fire erupted from the broadcast building. Jimble and Gavrin both reached for their side arms and trained them on the entrance expecting something to come rushing out. The windows of the upper floors were flashing with the light of muzzle fire and grenades exploding, several of them shattering from the barrage raining broken glass down on to the below streets.

Gavrin looked up to see a soldier flung through one of the windows as if they were nothing but a rag doll. They screamed the entire way down falling through the air until impacting the ground with a disgusting wet flop of a sound.

“I’ve learned so much about your culture these last few days.” The human calling themselves Joseph continued. “For instance, your media appears to block any mention of the war effort what so ever.”

Joseph stood up and began walking across to the other side of the room and as the camera followed him Jimble and Gavrin let out a horrid gasp. Curled up in the corner was the broadcast stations staff, bound with cabling.

Joseph knelt down to one of them and removed their gag. “Tell me, mr…” he waited several seconds before his hostage caught on that he was waiting for him to respond. “Kavik.” They said as their voice reeked with fear. “Mr Kavik, thank you.” Joseph continued as he placed his arm around Kavik. “What do you know about the war between our two peoples; hmm?”  

Kavik looked confused and scared, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the words. “That..” he began to speak, “that we are winning.”

To Gavrin’s surprise, rather than showing anger the human laughed and patted Kavik on the back.

“What a patriotic answer!” Joseph smiled as he continued patting Kavik on the back. “I’m sure it will be perfect on your tombstone.”

Before Kavik could react Joseph had grabbed his head with both hands and violently twisted. In an instant Kavik’s neck had snapped and his head was now facing the wrong direction on his body.

“Will someone kill this flartack feed!?” Jimble could hear the officer shouting again. “It’s going out planet wide!”

To Gavrin’s horror the humand did not stop at simply snapping the now dead broadcaster’s neck. They watched as the human continued to twist the head in circles until the skin began to rip and tear. As the camera continued to remain focused on the gruesome affair, Joseph slowly and deliberately continued twisting the head in circles until finally pulling it free from the body along with a portion of the spine.

“See what patriotism will get you kiddies?” Joseph still had a smile upon his face even as he casually held the severed head.

Jimble’s eyes were so transfixed by this act of barbarity unfolding before him that he didn’t feel Gavrin shaking him.

“Do you hear me? We need to get in there!”

Jimble looked down from the virtual displays and Gavrin saw nothing but fear in his partner’s eyes.

“Did you not just see the human rip a head off with their bare hands?!?!” Jimble was nearly hysterical now. His mind was not able to process what was happening before him. Before Gavrin could reason with him Joseph spoke again.

“You see, your people have a knack for invading other systems and either enslaving or eradicating species on flights of fancy.” Joseph let the head fall from his hand finally and just before it hit the ground kicked it with his right leg. The head simply turned into a shower of blood, bone, and bile before the camera; coating Joseph in a glazing of gore.

“Reading your records it’s been centuries since the last time one of your own worlds felt an enemy attack, so I imagine it’s given you this sense of security and superiority.”

Joseph looked down at his hands now for the first time and noticed they were covered in blood. He tried shaking them a few times but after that failed he walked back to the huddled hostages and wiped his hands on one of them.

“My friends and I thought that it would be most beneficial to reintroduce you to the horrors of war.”

The smile faded from Joseph’s face as one by one the other humans began to stand behind him.

“From this day forth, this planet will become a battlefield.”

“The safety and security you have lived with your entire life will now become a distant memory.”

“Your leaders will be hunted down and flayed one by one.”

“Your centers of industry and commerce destroyed beyond repair.”

“Your culture and history washed away in a tide of your own blood.”

“I promise you that for the atrocities you have carried out against my people you shall be shown no quarter, no mercy, and no forgiveness as we rage across this pathetic world like a hurricane of death and destruction.”

Jimble and Gavrin watched silently as the remaining hostages were brought before the camera. Each of them screaming into their gag as the humans slaughtered them like cattle, live for the entire world to see.

“War has been nothing but a game to you people, played out far from your homes and loved ones.”

The smile returned to Joseph’s face, but it lacked any semblance of warmth or kindness. It was a twisted smile, a smile of a predator looking down at his prey’s final moments.

“So now I want to ask you all, would you like to play a game?”

Roar of an explosion rocked the broadcast station building cutting the feed instantly. Jimble, Gavrin, and the officer dove for cover as debris began falling all around them. When the dust finally settled Gavrin looked upwards and saw the smoking remains of several destroyed floors.

“It’s about time.” The office said into her communicator as she straightened up. “Which team finally got the shot off?”

She waited for several seconds but no reply. “Repeat, which team took out the building?”

Yet again, silence.

“Will someone respond!?”

As Gavrin and Jimble both rose to their feet a strange thudding sound could be heard in the distance.

“What’s that sound?” Jimble queried. Gavrin listened closer to the thudding. “It almost sounds like-“

Another set of explosions rocked the street, this time from below the surface. In a flash of light Gavrin saw the officer thrown violently up into the air as the ground beneath her feet exploded upwards. He didn’t see where she landed as the explosions continued to ring out all around him.

When the explosions finally stopped Gavrin opened his eyes to a city of darkness. Every light save for the fires now burning brightly across the city streets were off. People in surrounding streets now ran to and fro in panic as if they had been consumed by madness.

“We need to contact headquarters.” He turned to see if Jimble was already up only to find his body limply hanging out from under a crushed piece of masonry.  

“Well hello there, friend.”

Gavrin turned to see the speaker and froze.

Joseph was standing before him, casually standing in front of him with half his face burnt off. He could see strips of flesh burnt and charred hanging from him like bits of loose string, but even more surprising was the slowly growing blob of new skin that was already growing over the wounds.

Remembering his side arm Gavrin went for it but was too slow. In a flash Joseph had grabbed his hand by the wrist and clenched it so tight he severed it entirely.

Gavrin looked down at where his hand had once been and the bloody stump that now remained; a twisted mesh of blood and bile leaking from his wound like a waterfall. He looked up at his attacker to see the dozen or so humans that had been with him on the screen spreading out from the building. Some were equally singed while others appeared fine as day.

Several civilians saw them as well and let out a scream in horror. The humans began running and were on the in moments ripping them limb from limb.

It was chaos, pure chaos.

The last thing Gavrin remembered before passing out from blood loss was the crooked smile of Joseph as he looked down on him.

The crooked smile of a predator about to feed on a world driven to madness. 

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

Away From Home

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Captain America: The First Avenger

Pairing: 1940s! Bucky Barnes x Female! Reader

Summary: Reader and Bucky are half a world apart. How are they holding up without each other? ft. some love letters!

Word Count: 1644

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, hint of smut, angst, talk about war, mention of suicide. Please read at your own risk!

Authors Note: Just want to thank my beautiful wife @buckybarnesdiaries for hyping me up with this series! Not everything may be accurate to the 1940s, war or Bucky’s story. My apologies! Enjoy loves <3

Main Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

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It wasn’t easy being all alone without your other half, but you managed to fill up your day with fun and responsibilities to take your mind off it. The women at the office missed their husbands immensely, just like yourself, so it was good that you all took comfort in one another. It was good to talk with them about the shared feelings of fear and uncertainty that came with the men going off to war.

The office work that was ordinarily boring to you became very interesting as your bosses ordered you around. At home, you had organized your various pieces of literature more times than what was necessary. You couldn’t either count how many times you’ve gone “I missed a spot” on the kitchen counter when it was nothing there in reality.

When there was nothing at home to do, you called up your girlfriends, hoping they would be willing to go out on the town. The few times they were up for it, you forgot all about the hurt inside as you danced the night away with your best friends.

Bucky's parents could come and go as they pleased. Your house was their house; whenever they wanted to drop by, they could. On the weekends, they would invite you home to their residence for dinner and drinks. It was sweet of them to ask you. You already had a strong relationship with them that only increased with you spending more time with your parents-in-law.

The stories they would tell you about James growing up in Indiana with his siblings were stored in your memories to use late at night when you couldn’t sleep. Those thoughts would turn into dreams and scenarios of him and your child that you would hopefully get pregnant with soon.

On the few occasions his parents and your girlfriends had other plans, you sat mostly inside staring at one spot on the wall. The book by your side would only be read a few pages before it was placed to the side again so you could continue gawking at the flower patterns on the wall.

That’s how you were sat now. The television was on, but you weren’t paying attention to the boring movie you had watched countless times playing on the screen. You decided that you would write another letter to James. Writing letters to your husband and receiving letters from him was the thing that brought you joy and was the closest you could come to him for the time being. Picking up the pen and paper, the words flowed easily as you wrote.

~~~~~~~~~~

My Dearest,

I feel I must write you again altho there is not much news to tell you from the last time I wrote. Work is keeping me busy, while your parents’ comfort and the fun my girlfriends are bringing keeps me content. I dreamt last night my husband. I dreamt about a child. Our child. A child that will bring us love and joy in the future.

I miss you terribly, my love. I miss the warmth from your touch as we are tangled in the sheets together. I miss the softness of your voice as the words whispered in my ear are meant for me only. I miss your laugh filling up the house that feels so empty now without you. I miss you. There is nothing more that I desire in life but to have you with me constantly.

I wonder how you are getting along, my love. I shall be so relieved to get a letter from you. I can’t help feeling a bit anxious for you, my dear. Thinking about what you are going through in the gruesome war overseas. I pray to whatever higher power exists for you to survive and come home to me in my arms.

Well, my husband, my brave soldier, I don’t know what more to say now, so I will finish this letter with fondest love and kisses from your wife.

I love you the most. From yours truly,

xoxo

~~~~~~~~~~

You sealed up the envelope containing your love letter for your husband, your other half, your soul mate, and hoped that it would bring him a hint of delight in his usual dark, empty and deadly war days.

Somewhere in hostile Germany…

With barely enough sleep from the night before, Bucky rested his eyes for the few minutes they had before it was out on another day of fighting the opposition. The faint sound of bombs dropping was heard in the distance. His heart started pumping in both fear and excitement to be out there again.

As his eyes were closed, he sat and wondered what his wife was up to at the moment. You were most likely at work. What would you have for dinner later? Something good, he hoped. It would at least be ten times better than what he ate for breakfast, soggy bread with a slice of cheese on top.

His mouth watered at the thought of a homemade meal from you right now. You always made the tastiest and fulfilling dinners.

What were you doing after? Out with your girlfriends? Were his parents coming to visit? Either way, he hoped you had the most beautiful time being as carefree as you always were.

When the darkness came, and it was time for bed, what would you be doing? Had the day been exhausting that you dropped dead on the covers as soon your head hit the pillow, or would you stay up and think about him?

His mind started racing to you, touching yourself dead at night while you remembered the last time the two of you were intimate. The thought about you moaning his name so softly and innocently had him adjusting himself in the seat.

Not now, Buck. We have to leave soon. There’s no time for that now.

“BARNES! Post for you.”

Once he had the letter in hand, he immediately knew it was you from the little drawing you drew on the envelope. You always did some form of artwork on it that had his heart warm up.

A single tear ran down his cheek after finishing the heartwarming letter. He could never fully express to you and his parents how these letters had saved him when he needed it the most. When he had thought about ending it all after watching the inhumane things he had witnessed that no human should ever have to see, the pieces of love from you and his family were what kept him going.

There was still some time left before they had to go out to war again. So he took that chance at writing a reply to his wife.

~~~~~~~~~~

My Darling,

Thank you for the heartwarming letter. It found me well in the time when I needed it the most. I so long to be close to you. Trust my love that I do not forget you. I am doing everything in my power so that these few lines reach you.

I am happy to hear that you are keeping yourself busy with work, friends, and family. I’m jealous.

I miss you terribly, my love. If only we could be together soon. I’d give anything to be back in the comfort of your arms. To be tangled in the sheets together. To feel you wrapped so tightly around me in all the ways possible. To hear your laugh that fills my heart with warmth and butterflies. Soon my love, soon.

A child? I’ll give you as many children as you want when I return safely to you. We will buy a big house out in the countryside to raise our children and grow old if that’s what my wife desires.

The war? I don’t know what there is to say? I won’t sugarcoat it. The war is brutal and gruesome. It is something I don’t even wish upon my worst enemy to experience the things I’ve seen and gone through. Don’t be alarmed, my love, by the words you just read. As long as I have you in my mind, I can make it through the days and nights.

There is not much more for the time being to write to you. Just know that I am coming back to you after the terrible war is over.

I love you the most. From your brave soldier,

xoxo

~~~~~~~~~~

He sealed it up in an envelope, and he once again hoped that this wouldn’t be the last letter he ever wrote to you.

A few weeks later…

You waited anxiously out on the steps of your home for the postman to arrive. Legs were bouncing up and down in anticipation if today was the day a new letter from James would arrive.

“Morning, ma’am,” the postman nodded at you. By now, he knew very well who you were as he would find you most days waiting for him to bring you the mail.

“I believe this is yours.” He handed you a single letter. A smile on his face once he saw the excitement on yours when you realize it was from your husband.

“Thank you, George.”

“Have a wonderful day, Y/N.” “You too.”

You opened it right there on the steps. There was no time to walk a few meters into the house to read it.

You took the time to read the lines on the paper written by your love. Sadness came over you as you read the part about war, but a smile was left on your lips nonetheless after you had read the whole thing a few times over.

You clutched it to your heart. To try and feel that extra bit of love that radiated off it. A few tears rolled down your cheeks.

Soon my love. Soon you will be back safe and sound in my arms again.

Credit @ firefly-graphics for the wonderful divider

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[brownandblackpearls]

🦇𝒯he  𝒱isitor (Alucard Tepes x BlackReader) Pt.3

PART 3 SUMMARY:

You’re given a lackluster tour of Dracula’s castle that adds more questions than it answers, yet your quarters are beyond admirable and enough to forget the mysteries for just tonight. His ice is slowly melting, but not enough for you to see anything certain. To help speed things along, you decide to be a friendly guest and cook breakfast for the both of you.

─── Alucard x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── explicit smut

─── Fantasy, vampires, hurt/comfort, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, magic user, cute bats, gardening, cooking, cottagecore MC, castlecore Alucard.

☾ previous. ☾ next.

┌───────────━┿──┿━──────────┐

└───────────━┿──┿━──────────┘

Your host is as gracious as the circumstances allow, you begin to realize. As immense and as glorious as the few parts of the castle you’ve seen are, your host confides that they were once even grander. He speaks briefly of there being a battle of sorts. He doesn’t say when or why, despite prodding, but it helps to fill in some of the gaps you have.

Spying some of the deeper gouges and gashes in the tough stone, you can’t help but wonder exactly what he was battling.

“You won the battle, then...?” You ask.

“Something like that,” he says simply enough, but it reads rather ominously to your ears.

You pause as you follow him, trying your best not to sound too afraid. You hope no enemies from this past battle still sneak about...

“So it’s just you and I, here…?”

He turns on you slowly, and a familiar dread rises in your gut as you realize you’ve angered him once again. Unfortunately for you, you’re not sure how. His features appear natural and still, but what you are feeling under your skin hints at the truth to his demeanor. You catch a hint of fang as he speaks, and you wonder if it’s intentional.

“Yes. Does that suit your plans?”

You hesitate, unsure.

“I…’plans’? I don’t—“

“—Allow me to assist you. Silver is a trifle. Stakes are laughable. Garlic does nothing, and no holy symbol nor water—no matter what wayward priest you find to bless it—will help your cause. Sunlight is a pleasure to my skin, which heals from fire, knife wounds, and all other maladies in conception, if you even manage to pierce it. If a Belmont had trouble making me bleed, you surely will. The few things that I am susceptible to, are magic, decapitation, and stakes, but then again, who isn’t? I implore you to try though, and wish you luck. Believe me, you will need it.”

Like before, as if you’ve been transported back behind the walls of books, he is upon you, and you cannot help but tremble. The ruby red is back, flickering just behind his sunstorm eyes. You are beside yourself but you do your best to think quickly as to what nonexistent offense he’s percieved.

‘Does he think I mean to kill him? How even could he assume such a thing…? From me, of all people...?’

“I do not wish to make an attempt on your life,” you say slowly, clearly. “My magic is very poor, but not my behavior towards hosts kind enough to allow me in their homes.” You put a heavy emphasis on the ‘host’ portion, hoping to remind him of his promise from before.

“Enlighten me then,” he asks in a tone that seeks anything but enlightenment. “Why do you want to know if we are alone, if not to better plan something that would require isolation?”

You find yourself frowning.

“You…you completely misunderstand me, sir…” you begin, stepping back. “I just…I asked if we were alone because….I…I…”

Something in your face must call out to his reason, because the red drains out from his eyes and he steps away, reeling back. The grieved look returns.

“You’re afraid,” he realizes suddenly, aloud. “You want to ensure nothing else lurks in these walls.”

You nod, happy to be comprehended, for once.

“Yes,” you insist. “The damage from the battle...I see it, and I think that your foes were very strong. I only hope they were all defeated and that it is just you and I here, alone, sir—er, Alucard.”

He nods, looking somewhat embarrassed now.

“It is only us, in these walls.”

You sigh happily, glad to have your fears discarded. The castle was still scary and intimidating of course, as large as it was. It felt as though something had to be tiptoeing somewhere around in the fortress, yet...he would know the place better than you, wouldn’t he...? And if he says its just you two, then hopefully that is so.

“Good,” you sigh. 

He makes no move at the sound of his name in your mouth, but he does think on your words before bowing his head ever so lightly.

“I apologize,” he admits. “I keep...jumping to conclusions. I made you fret after giving my word. Forgive me.”

You watch him with pleasant surprise, the corner of your mouth quirking up. 

So there were manners somewhere in there.

“You’re forgiven. I’m sure you must have had a rough go of assassins, being who you are and all.”

“I’ve had my share,” he admits, before turning to advance through the corridor. You don’t have time to think about his ‘share’, trying to keep up. You know he can move far faster than he is showing now, and you appreciate the effort he makes to go at a human pace so that you may follow closely behind. 

Deep down, you are still worried about what lays in the castle. You do feel safer, knowing something supernatural like him is at your side, and vowed to make sure no harm befalls you.

“Well,” you continue conversationally, trailing after him, “thank you for soothing my concerns. I feel all the safer for it.””

“...Odd,” he comments. “Hm?”

“You, feeling safer alone in Dracula’s castle, with a dhampir.”

You chuckle.

“I suppose it is odd when you put it that way. Just work on that temper of yours, and I’ll really be right as rain!” The jest is funny enough for you, but it doesn’t land so well with your present company.

He scowls, but the real heat is gone. Energized from knowing he is bound by promise and that there are no others here, you feel bold enough to place an assuring hand on his arm. 

He feels strong and solid, like stone. He stiffens before pulling away, peering down at you.

You try your best not to look too hurt. You smile assuringly instead.

“Believe me, Alucard. I’m not here to try and do you in. I mean, look at me! You think I’m foolish enough to attempt such a thing on you when I could hardly handle that crowd of ruffians outside?”

You laugh then, slapping a hand on your leg. It is the bare one from the rip in your dress, and the smack is much louder than you anticipate. It’s enough to silence you into meek embarrassment.

Alucard simply watches you before turning around and leading you on.

You follow him silently now, and you quickly find that the tour is rather lacking. He says little about the winding halls you are led through, and you can’t help but wonder the stories of each hallway, of each room. Will you ever learn of them?

The place is monstrous, and so the soles of your feet are a bit sore by the time you reach what Alucard regards as your quarters.

“You will stay here,” he gestures past a large emblemed door into a wide room. 

You peer inside, finding a beautifully canopied bed, heavy curtains attached to what you can only assume is a gigantic window. There is a large bookcase, a fireplace, an armchair, a desk, and a small door leading into another room. 

“That is your bathing room,” he notes.

When you stare at him curiously, he explains.

“My father possessed immense technological advancements,” he says quickly, as if he’s explained it several times before. Perhaps he has.

‘So his father is Dracula,’ you think. ‘But the stories of Dracula were much more…gruesome and cruel. If this is his son...this man is certainly scary when roused, but…’

His deep voice breaks you out of your reverie.

“The washing room has a basin called a ‘tub’. There is also a bidet with a smaller basin called a toilet. No need for outhouses or bringing up jugs of water here. We have plumbing.”

Now, you’re utterly confused.

Alucard sighs.

“Just…follow me. I’ll show you.”

You do just that and watch, engrossed, as your host thoroughly lays out and points to every faucet, knob, and all of their uses. Before long, you ascend from a common traveling woman to an expert in an alternate world knowledgeable on things such as ‘plumbing’.

You beam at the tub and sink, too giddy with joy to hide it. You bounce a little, your hands drawing to your chest excitedly.

Alucard levels a raised brow at you, pausing.

“...Are you alright?”

You nod happily, twirling in the bathroom to face him.

“This place is incredible! Plumbing! Who would’ve thought? There was almost something like this I saw over the Eastern seas, but the people there called them…acq..acqueducts! They were these large beams that delivered their water…oh, but no matter! My hair! Goodness, it will be leagues easier…”

Alucard glances at your crown of curled, kinky locks before refocusing on you.

“How did you manage, before?”

“Oh, ponds. Streams. Rivers. The seaside. That sort of thing,” you say absently. “The chill of the water did wonders for my mane, but I felt like an icicle the entire time. And you say I can have heated, freshwater through these devices? I can’t lie, I’m ecstatic!”

Alucard nods shortly at that, watching you curiously, but seemingly unable to share your interest in the fixtures. Perhaps you’re more of an interest for him at this point than the plumbing. You eyeball his own healthy mane and assume he’s long been used to such luxuries.

“Oh, but…can I wash my garbs in the tub, too?”

Alucard tilts his head at that before realization sparks in his eyes.

“No. No, you’ll wear something else. That’s fairly ruined.”

You silently leave out the part that it is partially his fault, but he seems to catch on anyway.

“I…” he tries stiffly. “I apologize again. For before.”

“Oh?” You respond innocently. “For what? Scaring me? Yelling at me? Threatening my life? Tripping me?”

He sinks a little lower with each act. 

“All of it.”

“Oh! Well, then you’re forgiven. As much as I appreciate the apology, I have a feeling that this ‘tub’ will more than make up for it.”

Alucard seems to relax at that, showing you the cabinets with everything you’ll need.

“I’ll…” he trails off. “I’ll find you some clothing.”

He turns to leave, but you reach out to gently grip the tuft of white blouse peeking out from his sleeve. He turns, watching you sharply. 

He does not pull away, though. You call it progress.

“Alucard,” you say. “Thank you for your hospitality. Sincerely.”

He looks to the floor instead of your eyes—as if he’s afraid of what he’ll find there—before gently pulling away and wordlessly leaving the room.

───────────━┿──┿━──────────

You are lucky enough to find interesting soaps and good-smelling candles before working the bath. With some maneuvering and much delight, you are able to conjure bubbles through use of items you’ve scavenged from the cabinets. You find washcloths, sponges, brushes, and an assortment of other things.

You want to wait for your host to return first, but as the minutes continue to pass you realize you need to take advantage of the hot water before it cools.

You shed your clothes, undo your hair, and step into the water-filled basin.

“God…” you whisper, goosebumps rising on your skin.

It feels incredible.

You sink into the water, a smile on your face. You haven’t felt something this good since traveling to hot springs in your more daring adventures. Back then, you had to evade the cultist locals for a hint of heated water. This was so different, as it was your own personal hot spring whenever you desired!

You sink deeper into the water for a bit before beginning to scrub and lather your journey off of you. You decide to empty and fill the tub once more, just because you can, and bathe a little more before feeling pristine to your liking.

Stepping out, you massage in some leftover body oil from your pack. You clean the basin before peeking out into your room.

There is no one present, but a new, soft nightdress lays comfortably on the chair. Your fireplace is even lit.

You smile to yourself as you step out and lift the nightdress, assessing it.

“So his bark is louder than his bite,” you decide aloud.

You change swiftly, and despite being in such an strange situation, once in the massive bed, you find sleep has come right on your heels. Your eyes almost slide shut until you hear a knock at your door.

You open your eyes and slip out of bed. You push open your door—which has a heavy lock, you now realize—to see Alucard, in low lantern light, gazing back at you.

“I trust you found everything,” he says, rather than asks. You hear the question for what it is.

“Yes,” you smile. “Thank you.”

He considers your expression for a long moment before nodding his affirmation.

“Hm. Very well. There is a lock on the door of your room…if that’s any consolation to any fears you may have. Feel free to use it. Good night then,” he says, turning to leave.

“Alucard?” You call.

When he waits for you without turning to face you, you speak.

“Where will you be staying?”

‘If I need you,’ you think. 

You soon realize that this may become a situation where Alucard hears something in your speech that is not really there. With a solemn look, and the absence of an anger just as disturbing as its presence, he points to a door just down the hall from you. You would be pleased if not for the expression on his face.

“Just there,” he says. 

You realize that due to the two misunderstandings being him assuming you want to kill him, that this is likely what this third time revolves around. 

“Alucard,” you try, “I don’t intend to condescend, but you must know, I only ask for my own concern. I’m happier to know that my host is nearby. I meant no ill will by it. I’d be a poor assassin, remember?”

“Yes,” he answers quietly, as if he really is just recalling it. “I remember.”

“You’d hear me before I even entered, I bet!”

“I would.”

“So there is nothing to worry about…right…?”

His stiff shoulders finally seem to relax an inch. 

“I suppose. In any case…You are not to enter my domain, under any circumstances, outside of imminent danger. It would be…unwise of you.”

You nod, unsure of what exactly he means but positive he that he does mean what he says.

“I will see you in the morning...?” 

He pauses at that, looking somewhat bewildered. 

“I…yes, you will.”

“Alright!” You nod, pleased. “Good night then.”

Closing the door, you turn to the large, firelit room and beam.

It is a princess’s quarters…no, a queen’s! You will live lavish while you’re here, it seems.

You lay on the soft mattress under the thick covers, knowing pleasure you’ve never felt before until sleep takes you gently into the night.

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When you wake, it is before the sun has fully broken into the sky. Pretty blues and pinks spill across the sky outside your window, so different from the cold colors of the day before. Rising in your nightgown, you spy a dress on the chair of your room. Alucard must have entered in your sleep. Had you locked the door...? You cannot recall. Under normal circumstances, traveling on the road, you would have never forgotten such a thing as utilizing a lock. For some reason, perhaps last night you felt you didn’t need to. 

You absently palm your neck for pinpricks of the vampiric sort, and find nothing.

‘Good enough for me, then.’

The dress lays before you, waiting

It is different, without any tears, and deep in its color. You pause before adorning it, turning this way and that in the looking glass before attempting to do something with your hair. 

‘I look rather stunning in this. Why does he have such nice women's clothing lying about, I wonder...?’

Once complete, you decide to do something as equally nice for your host as this dress was for you.

“Breakfast! I’ll make us breakfast. Dhampirs can eat food, right…? Now, if only I could find the kitchen…”

You spy your basket by the door. Another gift from your late-night visitor.

You pick up your newly returned basket from the room’s entrance, flipping over the blanket to spy your stolen vegetables still intact. 

You leave your rooms with a smile that slowly falls.

‘He said not to disturb him…perhaps I can find the kitchens myself? They must be on the first level, maybe the underground chambers, if anything. That’s how all castles are. I’d better start now if I hope to finish in time.’

You’re certain you will get lost, but you have a feeling that your host can easily find you again.

You pause, realizing something.

‘I hope I don’t find bottles of blood or something lying around…or something else’

On that sobering thought, you strap your dagger’s hilt tighter to your thigh. Alucard said you were both alone, but it couldn’t hurt to be vigilant.

You venture out and do your best to recreate the inverse of Alucard’s path to the great hall. After several turns and rerouting, you finally begin to recognize the way back to the grand hall. It takes far longer than you anticipated, and your soles begin to complain a little once you find the grand staircase.

With some exploration on the main floor, you finally come across a door leading into what appears to be a small kitchen. The floors are clean as are the pots and pans hanging from their hooks on the walls. You spy plenty of utensils, knives, and what appears to be another basin...plumbing. You will ask Alucard the name later.

You set down the basket, pleased to have reached your goal, and get to work.

“Can’t have just a vegetable scramble. He’s a literal dhampir, and I could use some protein.”

You can't find any aprons about, and so you wrap what looks to be a tablecloth around your pretty dress. No reason to ruin it with the trials of breakfast.

You hunt for eggs, meat, nuts, and anything of the protein type. After some pillaging, you are able to find all three and get to work. The eggs are small, and the meat is fox, rabbit, and fish instead of the typical villager fare of cows and pigs, but you make it work. You wash your hands and begin to carve out fillets, prep vegetables from your basket, and luck upon some spices. You search for oil, but can only find butter, and so you do your best with it.

Soon enough, the kitchen begins to fill with the scents and fumes of a bountiful breakfast. You plate the spiced eggs, the braised meat, the sautéed vegetables, and fill a pitcher with water. You think about finding the secret garden nearby once more to perhaps make juice from berries and fruits, or even preserve. Turning to the wood table, you set everything down before finding your final item.

The loaf of bread is well hidden, but not well enough. It is a little stale, but not enough to discourage. You claim it and cut it before setting it out on the table as well.

Turning to wash your hands one final time, you are unsurprised to find Alucard stalking in the doorway of the kitchen when you turn back around.

“What are you doing...?” he grouses, clearly just having recently awoken.

“Cooking us breakfast,” you sass, “you’re welcome, by the way. Oh, uh...you can eat food, right...?”

Alucard’s sleepy demeanor slowly fades as he nods, his interest growing as the smells of food clearly begin to assault him and cause wonders for his mood.

“Well?” You say, undoing the tablecloth-apron and taking a seat for yourself. “What are you waiting for? Sit with me, let’s eat!”

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AN: Do not under any circumstances copy, repost, or edit any of my work. If you see someone do so, please let me know.

☾ previous. ☾ next. 

☾ check my blog for more imagines.

[barbenheimer-core]

AUDERE EST FACERE !

하나. chanel : part one — 1.3k words

Ahyeong stared at the green wormhole outside the restaurant window that looked like it had ripped through the walls of reality itself, tuning out the low hum of the piano and the incessant chatterings of her parents discussing stock prices with the company investors over glasses of fine wine and impeccable dining.

She blinked.

It was gone.

Maybe she shouldn't have pulled an all-nighter binging True Beauty on webtoon as a reward for finishing the end-of-term exams. Lack of sleep was leading her to have vivid hallucinations.

She set her sights on her waiting dish of panna cotta instead, picking up the gold dessert spoon and scooping up an acceptable amount of the cold dish before putting it in her mouth.

"Noona," her brother, Gilyeong nudged her side, briefly scrolling his phone's screen before turning it at her direction under the table, away from the eyes of the adults.

Ahyeong, slightly confused, looked down at his phone screen, only to snap her neck as fast she could the other way.

Aish, that kid, the girl cursed under her breath, always up to ruining her mind.

Gilyeong lowly chuckled at his sister's agitated state and continued reading his horror manhwa on a mobile-reading app.

She couldn't exactly remember when, but it had become a tradition of sorts among the siblings to share the most gruesome stills of creepy images they could find to incite a satisfactory — and sometimes, rather laughable — reaction from the other.

They had a whole rating system where the degree of their flinches would determine the amount of money they had to pay to each other. Though she had to add, Ahyeong was winning in that department.

While Gilyeong found such material more often than not as he was an avid reader of any and every horror comic he could get his hands on, Ahyeong was more partial to the films and movies, only occasionally dipping her toes into physical pages.

Although she found clips and images at a slower pace than he did due to mountains of schoolwork, her contributions were usually the most disturbing (and mentally scarring) of all the others, which three times out of ten resulted in Gilyeong damaging his voice box by the magnitude of his screams.

(The neighbor had to check in once because he had thought it was Ahyeong screaming bloody murder.)

It wasn't like Gilyeong held back either. Despite being twelve, the guy had a lot of nerve in him reading all sorts of body horror. She supposed it was their mum's fault for leaving him unsupervised in the comics section at the library and Ahyeong's own for not stopping the seven-year-old from tainting his eyes. He had looked genuinely fascinated with the grotesque drawings and she had thought that it would have been nice to have someone to discuss her interests with. Her friends were hesitant to delve into "nightmare fodder" as they had called it.

She sighed, blinking away the drowsiness in her eyes as she tried to focus on eating her dessert. She couldn't wait to go back to reading True Beauty.

The restaurant lobby was as extravagant as it could've been, with rich, dark colors and gold-silver accents on every corner.

Her parents were outside, seeing the investors off while Ahyeong and Gilyeong waited for them to pick her up.

It had been over twenty minutes and they still hadn't returned. She could've rested a bit. Ahyeong tapped her foot impatiently, wincing at the sting in her foot. Standing in her stilettos for so long was doing her no good other than causing pain to her toes.

"Yah, dongsaeng, I'm gonna take a power nap, wake me up when mum and dad arrive."

She got no sign of confirmation other than a slight glance her way, and with that, she finally sunk into the couch and removed her heels.

The couch felt like a cloud, and Ahyeong couldn't help the heavy feeling behind her eyelids as exhaustion finally took over her consciousness and her eyes slowly fluttered shut, unbeknownst to the green hole in reality that formed in front of her as soon as she did.

Turn.

Turn.

Turn.

Someone was reading a book. That was what she first thought as her sleepiness faded, waking up from her nap but still keeping her eyes closed.

Maybe her brother had sneaked a copy of a comic under their parents' noses and was reading it while they were away.

Why didn't he wake her up yet? They still hadn't returned?

She was feeling more refreshed than ever and that was only possible with a full eight hours of sleep. Had a power nap finally lived up to its name?

It also smelled different. Compared to the faint scent of lavender and roses that glided through the air in the restaurant lobby, the only thing Ahyeong could register now was the steaming smell of convenience store ramen as if it was right in front of her and a rather strange note of musk from someone sitting across from her.

She furrowed her brows.

Gilyeong never put on cologne or perfume, who was it?

Snapping her eyes open, Ahyeong stilled, looking at the Gucci-clad person reading a manhwa in front of her.

She blinked.

Huh? Lee Dongmin?

Looking down at herself, she noticed her obvious change in attire, wearing Chanel trainers instead of stilettos and wide-legged pants and a cream turtleneck in place of her grey chiffon dress.

Where was she?

Awareness flooded her system, and her eyes zoomed over her surroundings to see a place she never thought she would.

Prince Comics.

The haven of horror enthusiasts.

Ahyeong contemplated. So was she in a drama? True Beauty, no less.

. . . wow, she really had been sleep-deprived, hadn't she? So much so that her obsession with True Beauty ended up with her having this extremely realistic fantasy.

Smiling faintly, she got up, alerting Cha Eu— no, Lee Suho, who went back to reading when she went to browse the collections available in the store.

So, a character from the main cast and an almost endless collection of her favorite pastime hobby?

She never thought she'd thank sleep deprivation for giving her such a wonderful lucid dream.

Suho glanced over his book to look at the girl peering at the various volumes of Uzumaki on the Junji Ito shelves.

Judging by her appearance, which screamed wealthy, she was most definitely not from around here.

He didn't recall seeing her around school or the neighborhood either.

Strange, he thought as she pulled out a copy of Shiver and sifted through it, face completely straight and not flinching in the slightest, rather, an amused smile played on her lips.

"Oh? Ahyeong! Is that you?"

His mental analysis of the new girl broke when the bookstore owner entered the lounge with a face of vague recognition, and Suho hastily returned his eyes back to reading his comic as the girl — Ahyeong, as the owner had called her, turned around with equal startlement.

TURN.

What the-?

"Wangja-ssi, it's been a while," Ahyeong smiled at the shop owner, slipping the book back into the shelf.

"Wah, you've gotten even more pretty from the last time I saw you!" Wangja exclaimed, face alight with elation at the sight of one of his favorite customers back at his shop.

She'd never seen him aside from behind a screen, what'd he mean?

Ahyeong looked abashed at the sudden compliment why was she doing that? and smiled awkwardly.

"Well, I'm here now. Our family moved to Gangnam a few days ago." She had been living in Gangnam since she'd been born, what was she saying? Why couldn't she control her actions?

"Daebak, what about your schooling? It's the middle of the year, have you found a place?"

"Oh, yeah, about that," Ahyeong grinned. She looked at Suho, who was gulping down red ginseng and not paying attention to their conversation at all, trying to signal him of the weird situation of paralysis that she was in. Was this what usually happened in a lucid dream? Her gaze locked onto Wangja's.

"I'm transferring to Saebom."

HUH!?

Suho choked on his drink.

masterlist

© 2021 Alfia Sheikh, All Rights Reserved

[queen0fm0nsterz]

I wonder if Scarecrow girl regret pushing away someone that she initially disliked? Given one of the meanings for scarecrow in dreams is wanting to correct negative decisions and realizing the good qualities in a person you dislike?

(give this post a read for context!)

MASTERPOST

Ok, I'm going to use this question to answer a few of the Ladies related questions I got. Thanks to all of you for the positive feedback on that theory, I really appreciated it!

Starting with you, anon.

1) About Scarecrow

You know, after making a full analysis on the Ladies and getting a good look at each one of their rooms, both in the Residence and in the Nest, I think I agree.

The question now would be, who was she pushing away?

An obvious answer would be (her) Mono. As I previously established: a Lady of the Maw cannot exist unless a Thin Man creates her and a Thin Man cannot exist unless he's betrayed by said Lady. Maybe she regrets leaving him to his fate? The Eye paintings are quite prominent in her section.

Or, this could be referring to the other girl.

I theorized that Scarecrow may have had a sister who ruled the Maw alongside her. Not only that, it might have been one of the others as well.

The candidates to fit this role would be Tengu and Teapot. I lean more on the latter.

Tengu is tecnically the second in line, following the order we previously reconstructed, yet I also mentioned that she and Scarecrow may have been interchangable because you can choose to retrieve them in either order. They're the only ones to which this rule applies; Fox will always be first and Teapot will always be last. Plus, Scarecrow's pedestal is taller than Tengu's, effectively making her the second.

Another thing I think is worth mentioning is that, in the way to reach Teapot, we have to pass over the two armchairs. Reminiscent of when Teapot had to sneak past the sisters, perhaps?

Then, when we do get Teapot, to leave the room we have to once again sneak past Tengu (albeit it's her false persona).

Lastly, I wanted to mention that Red and Blue have always been opposites. It would make sense for Scarecrow to dislike Tengu, especially considering how drastically different they behave. For example, while Scarecrow prefers to hide away from the monsters and ignore them, Tengu actively engages with them and pretends to be a monster herself. I could easily see the Lady in Blue be either disgusted or irritated by this way of handling things.

On the other hand, we have our other candidate, Teapot. I do believe it's less likely, but pictures of one of the girls in the paintings (the one with long braided hair) are seen in her area.

Of course, it's also possible that Scarecrow's possible sister is not one of the other Ladies and was someone else entirely.

This lowkey got me thinking though.

If the "Lady & Thin Man coexistence theory" (yes we're naming it lads), is true, then this means that, if there were two Ladies governing the Maw at the same time, then the number of Thin Men wouldn't line up... because one Mono accompanied two Ladies. Consequentially, our Mono would be the fifth Thin Man and not the sixth, and the number 6 on the Thin Man's door was indeed referring to the number of Ladies.

Now I can't help but wonder how such an event would go down. My guess would be that the Thin Man of the time only took one of the girls (maybe only one of them was wearing the yellow raincoat?), awakening her Hunger which would then lead her to become the Lady while her sister helplessly watches and follows.

Mh. I have to think this one through. The concept is really interesting though.

2) About Fox (and Six)

" I wonder if Fox Mask Girl met a gruesome end for being too kind? Given that kindness will guarantee suffering with certain death in the little nightmares world so it won't be too farfetched that she got killed by someone that she offered kindness to. " - anon

" You know given how Fox mask Lady was able to have children be comfortable in her presence and how she likely died a gruesome death, maybe she was the type to continue on being kind and caring despite what she experienced as a kid and becoming the Lady of Maw? Her horrible death is definitely her being punished for still being kind since the world of little nightmares is where kindness will make you suffer and guarantee certain death. " - anon

I do think she met her demise as a consequence of her gentle nature. But in her defense; if the order is correct, then she was the first Lady ever. Maybe she wasn't aware of the cycle/loop. I'm pretty sure she died at the hands of her successor after trying to offer her kindness and shelter.

(Another thing to think about: the rip on her statue kind of looks like a bite.)

People who try to be kind always get the worst possible outcomes in the Little Nightmares universe. Once again, that famous achievement expresses the core belief behind this world: "Kindness will be your undoing!"

And talking about achievements... the other day I was on the wiki reading the achievement list - as one does - and something caught my eye.

Little fox.

In the achievements, Six is referred as a couple of small animals that relate to her in some way. For example, she's called a "little canary" or a "sneaky rat". Both connections are obvious: the canary is a bird with bright yellow feathers and rats are considered vermins - which is how Six is seen by the monsters.

This only draws more paralleles between Six and Fox, who have been stated to be quite similar in many ways.

3) Additional Color White Meaning - Teapot

@pidgeapodge

That is absolutely correct! Then again, this begs the question: who or what could the Lady in White be mourning?

Again, maybe (her) Mono? Or perhaps she's mourning her own lost freedom?

Out of all the Ladies, current one included, Teapot really seems to be the most depressed about the whole situation. It's really heartbreaking considering how her coding made her out to be an innocent, pure hearted, happy go lucky soul.

4) About Scarecrow's and Teapot's masks.

@doragonlw

Thank you so much for the kind words!

So, personally I do think they kept wearing their masks, even if they're a little peculiar.

You have to keep in mind that people wearing masks is kind of the whole "brand" of the Maw.

When Six gets there every single employee and even some of the guests are wearing masks, with the only exception being the Granny. Then again, the Granny is a contractor, not an employee. She kinda does what she wants and no one can really stop her, which is really funny in my eyes.

Plus, Scarecrow is not the only one we see wearing a sack on her head. We have the Hunter as well! So I wouldn't say it's that uncommon.

Teapot's choice of mask is way more goofy, bc let's be honest. An extremely powerful force of darkness going around with a teapot on her head? But then again, it lines up with her innocent nature.

It's a stark contrast with the current Lady, who is so refined and came right after Teapot.

5) Lady Six design? An headcanon, I guess!

@agandcw20

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE!

I actually may have to correct you on one thing before we go though: if the girl in this portrait in the Lady's quarters is infact a younger Lady, then it's safe to assume all Ladies before her wore a yellow raincoat as well.

Perhaps that's their signature clothing, like Mono's paper bag. Paperbag and yellow raincoat, always together.

Moving on!

Yes, I do agree on Six's kimono being yellow. A darker shade of the Lemon color - like how the Lady's kimono was a darker shade of Tangerine - would be PERFECT. Lemon is usually associated with Awareness, Enlightenment and Alertness, which I think would fit Lady Six. She finally realizes how things work in this world and how she was just a pawn into the Eye's plan all along.

As for the mask, I actually thought about it for a while. I don't think it would be the same as the Lady's, because they're really different from each other, but I still think it would have something to do with Noh masks.

Personally, I settled on the Ja mask. It's badass and scary, something I think Six would definetely wear.

(Btw, I tried searching for what Noh mask could be associated with the Lady's. I found several, but the Fushikizō may be the best candidate.)

6) Same person from different dimentions?

" Random thought but what if the ladies and Six actually exist similar to the movie "Spiderman: Into The Spiderverse", where they are actually a different version of The Lady brought into Mono's dimension to continue the cycle? Some of the masks seem to hint the presence of other worlds, AND Six's connections to previous mask owners. Six herself is also hinted to be from a different world as well, as she is labelled to be "awaking in a world she cannot recognize" " - massive brain anon

OK BUT THIS ACTUALLY MAKES A LOT OF SENSE???

And this actually explains why Mono and the Thin Man would be drawn to her! It's still his friend, but a different version of her! Especially after we've established how the human children are all lured from other dimensions in the LN universe... Wow. Good thinking, anon. This way, the selection of the next Lady is not casual and actually makes sense all things considered.

[ginanosakka]

The Mind of a Monster

Masterlist

I’m Sorry | Next

“Daddy, why does everyone look like that?” Your young and bright eyes stared up at your father’s, his own having no light or warmth in them, not even as he looked at you.

The smile that crept onto his face scared you, but you smiled back nonetheless like the naive little girl you were, just wanting to return your father’s love. In truth, you had been scared the moment you entered his company office, the automatic shift in energy when he walked in the room from all his employees had you fiddling with your fingers and doing your best to avoid eye contact. It was confusing to you why he wanted you to come with him today to introduce you to his work, but he never greeted anyone or even acknowledged their existence.

You wished you had paid closer attention and broken from his leash sooner.

“My dear, you’ll learn soon enough that these are inferior beings, and how they feel mean nothing when it comes to success.”

Sitting in a conference room filled with heroes was one thing, but sitting in a conference room full of heroes being debriefed on your secret criminal business father was another. Seeing all of these familiar faces made your palms sweaty and an anxious shiver go down your spine. They were all the former class 1-A students who met your father —whether that was by coincidence of scheduling, or these were the ones who couldn’t believe the case at hand, you didn’t know. None of them were as close as Mina and Katsuki so this truthfully had nothing to do with the past, but everything to do with the present news that came out not too long ago.

They were helping to protect their old friend’s child, and his now speculated ‘wife’.

“. . . I can’t give you any more information than that, the old bastard has all of his dirty work under security, but there’s someone who can.” Katsuki said, and you looked up at him from your spot next to Ashido and Kirishima, vacating your thoughts to meet his eyes that had landed on you. “Y/N.” He called, and you stood up from your seat.

You glanced at them all again, taking note of their very clear interest while finding the words to help them understand what you knew. It wasn’t just the ones who you had just seen again for the first time in years, this was also information and a plan that you had not run through with Katsuki, Mina, or Eijirou who had discussed this meeting with you beforehand. Whether it was because all three of them looked so concerned with your safety that your plan would positively not be received well, or simply because you yourself weren’t prepared to put everything at stake wasn’t abundantly clear.

A warm and soft hand grabbed hold of yours from where you stood, and you glanced at Mina to see her smiling with encouragement. “Don’t worry, I’ll have your back, ‘kay?” She said, and you squeezed her hand.

“Okay then. First things first, I want you all to know that I haven’t had contact with him since the last year you have all seen me, not even money related. When I was in close contact with him, I was unaware of any illegal actions he’d done until I was kicked out. Are there any questions on that?” You began, doing your best to get the most obvious questions out of the way first.

The eight heroes in the room — Tokoyami, Sero, Kaminari, Todoroki, Uraraka, Ashido, Kirishima, and Bakugou — all glanced at each other for a moment, and two hands went up: Todoroki, Kaminari. You looked to Todoroki first, his dual colored eyes piercing into yours like he knew you. From what you remembered from all that hero news Ryu loved, he had his own personal family issues that ended up public information. Honestly, you didn’t know if he was looking at you like that because he related to you, or was greatly suspicious of you. Either way, you nodded at him to voice his questions first.

“Did your father use you to fulfill his own goals?”

“Todoroki, let’s stick to questions that have something to do with the crimes and just her father.” Kirishima sweatdropped, and you could see Katsuki’s expression from the corner of your eye that looked like he wanted to send an AP shot right through his left side.

‘Never let him ask me anything, good to know.’

“Kami- Chargebolt, you had a question.” You redirected the attention to Denki who looked as done with Todoroki as the rest of the group, but once you called on him he refocused on you.

“If you knew he was doing illegal stuff at some point, why didn’t you say anything to the police before?” He asked.

The air became thick in the room, and all of them looked at you with their full attention once again, and that’s how you needed it to answer that. What they were about to take on may not be physically exhausting as a villain, but the mental toll this could take would be something they’d never forget. Their images will forever be changed in the media, and they’ll never look at those who run this world the same when you expose to them the man that they’d only met as a hopeful teenager. This was a man who would stop at nothing to stay on top, even going as far as to threaten his own blood’s life to ensure silence.

“When I got kicked out of my home, pregnant and a disgrace to him, he realized that I may not have known much about how the underground business he did, but I could easily stain his image by telling my story. About a month after I was kicked out, when I was two months pregnant, a man showed up at the hotel I was staying at and attempted to kill my baby. I survived with bruises and a stab wound that entered just between my rib cage instead of directly into my stomach. That man was hired by my father to kill me. . my mother had come to the hospital to break that news to me. She is the reason another attempt hadn’t been made on my life, but it was at the cost of me disappearing and never returning again.” You laid out the full story, sparing gruesome details but not leaving any room for confusion or continued suspicion.

Denki looked horrified as he tried to apologize, “I didn’t think he did something like that to you. I’m-“

You cut him off with a raised hand, “that’s why you’re here now. No one knows how evil Eito L/N is, because he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing to the public. This isn’t your routine evidence and arrest case, and if you think there’s a low that my dear old father won’t reach to make me disappear, you’re going to end up dead, or so far in the gutter of negative media attention that your career will be over in days. You’re going to find out information that will destroy the relationship between you and the men that have made you heroes. As we speak, he is most likely ten steps ahead of us all and expecting us to move as quietly as we can for the sake of your licenses and my business.” You explained, and Uraraka stood up in distress.

“Then we should be looking for evidence! Doesn’t this mean you could be being followed right now? Why are we sitting here discussing it?” She asked, and you nodded in agreement at her words.

“You’re right, but there’s a quick end to this that only I can do at the risk of my own life. . I didn’t go over this with any of you, and I deeply apologize for the trouble I will soon be causing, but I can’t let all of you save my life while I lay down and cower with my son.”

You whipped out your phone and searched up the first news outlet that came to mind, and just as you expected, your video was being played as you spoke. You laid it out on the table after turning the sound up, watching the video you had recorded last night played to the public.

“I am Y/N L/N, the daughter of a very well known man, Eito L/N. Six years ago, he told the public that I went overseas in search of a different life, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. In actuality, six years ago, Eito kicked me out of his home after finding out I was pregnant and used that story to cover up my disappearance. I have since been living on my own with no help or contact from my father, and I urge all of you to look closer at those in power and wealth. You have no idea what they could be doing behind closed doors. Thank you.” You turned your phone off and slipped in back in your pocket as they all took in what you had done, and it was of course Katsuki who spoke up first.

“What the hell did you do?!” He growled, and you met his concerned and angry eyes with frightening intent.

“I’m making this a media circus, Dyanmight,” you smiled.

“You’re drawing him out, but why? Won’t that make this worst?” Tokoyami asked, but you weren’t the one to answer.

“He doesn’t know what she’s going to do. . she’s making it impossible to keep his tracks covered.” Todoroki looked at you, and you both nodded at each other in complete understanding. “Y/N just made this a lot easier for us.”

A/N: I was gonna keep dad’s name neutral, but it just didn’t make sense that they all would constantly refer to him as her father. So evil dad’s name is Eito! This is pretty much a small filler before we reach our real drama and end. I can’t promise a soon update and the hiatus is still very much in motion, but I wanted to get this out to you. I hope you enjoy!

Taglist (Closed) <3 : @fandomgirllover @cloudsgathering @that-bipolar-renegade-romantic @jazzylove @that-chick212 @bonbonthedragon @misssugarless @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @bakugous-bakahoe @pinkykookie17 @animexholic @arielting @samkysnks @simpforeveryone @damnirina @deneuves @tsumuuumiyaaaa @vintage-teddyxo @regalmigraine @samvmgh @iamagalaxy @officialtrashbusiness @xwackk @videogameboiwhowins @marajillana @ellasdilemma @plutoneu @saucey-kneecapzz42020 @thestarsanctuary @dewdropwifu @star-light-imagines @kritiiiii @bakugosbottombitch @the2ndl @candybabey @simply-not-the-same @sam-i-am-1025 @mes-bisous @eternallyvenus @peppytine @chaelysian @definitely-yours @oikawarc @suneaterofthebig3 @m0na-l0ver @nkb0048 @losertsukki @notyourfavorlte @caramelsquares @hikaru-mikazuki

[honeyxmonkey]

Whumptober Day 2: Talking Is Overrated

"Douxie!" Toby shouted, struggling against the thick, meaty arms that held him back. "Let him go!"

"No, we can't do that." The man said, tightening the garotte wire around the wizard's throat, listening to his choked sounds with glee. "You kids are a pain in my side and I'm going to take you out. One. By. One." With each word he pulled the wire tighter around Douxie's neck, now drawing a thin line of blood from where it was digging into his skin.

Douxie felt lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, clawing and scratching at the man's arm but he held fast. He let out a choked, gagged scream when the wire was pulled even tighter. The world was beginning to go fuzzy, the voices in the room becoming muffled and far away, like he was listening to a conversation underwater.

The lights dimmed, but that could've just been him blacking in and out. Douxie's struggling started to grow sluggish as he lost consciousness, the warm feeling of blood trickling down his throat became numb and blended in with the rest of the pain he felt as the world went dark.

_______________________________

"Douxie?" There was a warm and soothing voice in his ear, and a familiar weight on his chest. "Come on Douxie don't do this to me."

Muffled voices soon began to become clearer as the wizard drifted back in from a void of unconsciousness.

"He's coming to." Another voice said and Douxie could feel gentle hands at the side of his head.

"That looks bad." Someone else said with worry in their tone.

"He's lucky we came when we did." A girl's voice said.

Douxie struggled to open his eyes but he forced them open, wincing immediately at the harsh white light above him. His eyes adjusted to the light soon enough and he blinked blearily up at the figures surrounding him. Most notably was a large troll with six eyes and four arms.

"Blink-" he tried to get a word out but his voice came out raspy and it hurt to speak. "Bl-"

"Shh," the troll said softly, placing a cool stone hand against the boy's throat. "Don't speak yet, Hisirdoux. Who knows how damaged your vocal chords are."

The weight on his chest shifted and Douxie didn't need to look to know who it was.

"Are you okay?" Archie asked, appearing in his line of vision. The dragon had blood spatters on his fur but Douxie had the feeling it wasn't his familiar’s blood.

"I-" he rasped, immediately being gently knocked on the head by the person who had his head in their lap.

"You heard Blinky, Douxie." Claire said sternly. "No talking."

"No talking for who knows how long?" Jim said with a slightly snarky tone and a very worried smile. He was trying to make light of the situation for him. Bless his heart. "The silence will be amazing."

The little group erupted into laughter and Douxie couldn't help the small chuckle building in his chest.

Claire helped him sit up and out of the corner of his eye, Douxie saw the body of the man who'd kidnapped him and Toby laying a few feet away, blood everywhere. Archie must've been pissed.

Archie seemed to catch where his line of sight was and put a paw on his shoulder. "He didn't deserve to live." He told his familiar quietly. "Not after what he did to you. After he tried to kill you.”

Douxie was silent but nodded all the same.

"Hey, but being killed by a dragon isn't something just anyone can brag about." Steve joked, albeit a little uneasily. "He's gonna have a story to tell all the ghost buddies in hell."

"Alright that's enough." Blinky said sternly. "Save the dark humor for another day." He looked at the wizard again, eyes a bit softer. "Can you stand?"

Douxie slowly and shakily pushed himself up, staggering a bit before steadying himself. He gave Blinky a weak smile and a thumbs up.

"Alright then." Jim stood too, helping to support him as they walked. "Let's get out of here."

_______________________________

They were slow in getting out of the facility. Douxie was still unsteady on his feet and also still bleeding from the thin but precise cut on his throat. Thank god that particular part of the injury wasn’t too bad or else they were in deep trouble.

They slowly made their way down one of the corridors, red flickering lights overhead lit the path in an eerie manner. The group stayed huddled together as they walked, Jim supporting Douxie, and Steve and Claire at his other side and behind him just in case he suddenly went unconscious or something.

“It’s creepy in here.” Toby said nervously. “Where’s the exit again?”

“Not too far now.” Archie reassured, hovering near Douxie’s head. “Just a little further.”

“You said that five minutes ago.” Steve mumbled under his breath.

“We’re lost aren’t we?” Toby bemoaned, scooting a little closer to Aarrrgghh.

“We’re not lost.” Archie snapped, landing on Douxie’s shoulders. “I know the way out.”

“Then where-”

The arguing was cut off abruptly when Douxie suddenly lurched forward, falling to his knees. A raspy cough shook the wizard’s shoulders as he held a hand to his mouth, a deep red liquid splattering onto his fingers.

“Douxie!” Claire knelt next to him quickly, eyes widening at the blood. “Oh no…” she gently turned his head towards her, stomach dropping at how unfocused his eyes were. “Hey, hey look at me.”

Douxie seemed to be looking right through her, not even recognizing she was there. Another spurt of blood bubbled up from his throat and he hunched forward, coughing up the sticky liquid. He sat on his knees, arms wrapped around his waist as he continued to basically vomit up blood.

“What’s happening!?” Steve shrieked, having gone pale at the gory sight.

“I don’t know!” Claire yelled, not caring about the blood splattering on her pants. “Blinky?”

The troll seemed just as lost and as concerned as the rest of them were. “I don’t know…”

The team flinched when Douxie gagged and more blood splashed against the cement floor.

“His throat!” Jim suddenly gasped in remembrance, crouching next to his friend, grabbing the sides of his face to move his head back so he could better see the injury. His stomach churned at what he saw.

The earlier, seemingly fine, wound had begun to fester and smoke, the cut itself digging deeper into the wizard’s skin all on its own. Blood was pouring mercilessly from the injury as if an invisible and intangible knife was cutting deep into Douxie’s throat, causing him to cough up blood… and maybe soon even be choking on it.

“What do we do!?” Jim asked, mind racing for possible solutions.

“How are we supposed to do anything if we don’t even know what’s wrong?!” Claire demanded.

Douxie coughed again, this time it sounded more like a choking sound. He dropped onto one hand, the other clutching his throat as it continued to bleed and then… he dropped. He fell onto his side, gagging and choking on his own blood while his friends watched with helpless horror.

Archie nudged Douxie’s head frantically, eyes darting back and forth while he tried to think of something to do. With a reluctant sigh he placed both his paws down on his familiar’s shoulders, basically standing on his chest. “Sorry about this Douxie,” he said, feeling a comfortable warmth building in his chest and throat while he summoned his fire. “This is going to hurt.”

Without wasting a second the dragon let a scalding hot and steady stream of fire wash over Douxie’s neck. He didn’t stop, not even when the wizard started screaming and thrashing in pain through his choking gags. Claire and Jim were quick to hold him down, eyes wide with tears as they watched.

Finally, when the sound of choked gurgling ceased, Archie let the fire dissipate, nodding at his good work. The wound was closed, cauterized by his magic fire. He’d successfully stopped whatever sort of poison was on the garrote wire that had caused this… he only wished he’d noticed it sooner.

“He’s going to live.” Archie said shakily, watching the tears streaming down Douxie’s face with guilt. “He’ll be fine…”

No one moved, still too shaken up and trying to process everything that had just happened. They sat in the hallway, the lights still flashing a dim and gruesome red, blood spatters on the floor, and they wondered… When would the nightmare end?

[lookforanewangle]

sweet child o’ mine || spn || 2.5k || ao3

tags: canon typical mentions of violence from the slice girls, brief mention of blood

a/n: throwing this out into the void before I inevitably get sucked back into dc stuff tomorrow, so. here you go: a quick bundle of scenes of dean and emma, and a little deancas, and a little dean and jack. takes place around a year?? after the end of s15 (minus the finale because we don't accept that as canon in this household) title is from, you guessed it, sweet child o’ mine by guns n’ roses.

also! brief mention of the leviathan takes inspo from @/demenior’s fic series the love it takes which you all should go read asap 👀

*

Emma shows back up on a Tuesday.

The scuffle from the direction of the War Room draws Dean’s attention away from the long list of house listings he and Cas have been going through. Find a Fixer-Upper, Cas had said. We can make it our own. Dean was all for that, but finding their house, thee house, was taking longer than he’d like.

He thought nothing of the noise at first; Eileen may have come over or Sam may have been moving around artifacts again, or maybe Cas was back from the Farmer’s Market.

At Sam’s sudden shout, however, Dean goes running.

He whirls around the corner, gun whipping up to aim at whatever threat lay ahead. Sam is on his knees, blood dripping from his nose, and there’s a girl holding a blade to his throat. There’s something familiar about her, but Dean can’t place it. He doesn’t waver in his stance.

“Who the hell are you,” he demands, “and how did you—”

Dean falters, then, memories flooding back from a one-off hunt years ago. A one night stand, a sudden surprise. He pales as her face finally clicks.

That's his daughter.

“Not another step,” she snarls, fingers fisting tight in Sam’s jacket to hold him in place. Sam shifts his hand towards his pocket, and Dean pulls himself back to the present. He moves his supporting hand away from the gun and up to the side, placating, as he slowly lowers the gun to the ground.

“Woah, no no no, hey, no one’s gonna hurt anyone,” he rushes gently, catching Sam’s gaze with a look. Don’t. He turns his gaze back to hers and sets the gun on the floor. “I’m putting the gun down. Just let him go.”

“He killed me!” she spits, blade pressing deeper against Sam’s neck. “I can still remember the look on his face, and you had a gun on me too.”

“I know,” Dean says, chest twinging at the memory, “and I regret how I acted, Emma. It’s— it’s Emma, right?”

At the mention of her name, her fingers loosen on the knife and she inhales sharp and quiet. Dean takes that as a promising sign. He exhales.

“You...you remember?” she breathes. Dean can only nod.

“If I could go back and change that day I would,” he says. He risks a half step forward. Emma straightens and retightens her fingers.

“Don’t,” she warns.

“Emma,” he says, hands still up and placating. He fights not to lunge forward and tear the knife from her grip. He takes a breath. “Please. Let him go.”

“And why should I?” she demands. “So he can kill me again?”

Sam wisely stays silent.

“He won’t, I promise you. He was pretty messed up the last time you saw him. We both were, really. But I need you to trust me,” Dean pleads. “We...we’ve changed. I know you won’t believe that, but it’s true.”

Emma says nothing, but she gazes at him intently, as if looking for the truth behind his words. Dean slowly lowers a hand out to her, facing up.

“Just give me the knife,” he continues, palm open and waiting, patient. “Please.”

She searches his face a moment more. Dean waits.

“Fine,” she says finally, and Dean can hear the tremor in her voice. She shoves the dagger hilt into Dean’s palm.

“Thank you,” Dean says, soft.

He closes his fingers around it and moves it away, placing it on the map table. Sam stands and steps out of reach, coming to a rest just to the side and behind Dean. Dean and Emma just look at each other, assessing.

"Sam, why don't you go see if Cas is back," Dean says. There's a pause. Dean can feel Sam leveling him with a look.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Dean says and spares him a quick glance and a nod. "Go on."

"All right," Sam says, hesitant. He glances between them, unsure, but he leaves them be.

"Take a seat," Dean says once Sam is out of earshot. He lowers himself into his own chair, hoping she’ll follow suit. "We have a lot to catch you up on."

“Where the hell am I?” Emma bursts, hands fisted at her sides. She doesn't sit. “What even is this place?”

“Home,” Dean says, lips quirking for a moment. He can hear the tell-tale flutter of Cas’s wings in the kitchen, arriving back from the farmer’s market, the low timbre of Sam’s voice as he speaks with him. Dean’s fingers itch for Cas, restless and wanting.

“You’re home.”

*

“You’re locking me up?”

“Listen, kid, I'd rather not do this, either, but you did try and kill us last time you saw us. And again today,” Dean says matter-of-factly, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.

“I was ordered to slaughter you, and return with your hands and feet,” she says.

“Well, that’s gruesome,” Dean says.

“I didn’t have a choice,” she whispers, glaring at the room as if it’s a prison sentence. She doesn’t take a step forward.

“You always have a choice,” Dean counters, insistent. “Maybe not then, but you do now. We made sure of that.”

Her brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“We...might have killed God,” he confesses, shrugging helplessly. “He was a dick.”

She stares at him.

“You killed...God.”

“Yup,” he says, popping the ‘p.’ “It was a whole thing. Don’t worry about it.”

They stand in silence, glancing looks at one another in turn. Emma doesn’t step into the room. Dean doesn’t push. When he was younger, he may have forced her in against her will, locking the door behind him until morning and walking away from her desperate pleas to let her out. He’s grown, though. Changed. They’ve all changed, him more than most. His dad’s voice still rages in his head from time to time on the worst days, about how he’s grown soft, and wouldn’t last a day in the field.

But he’s made it this far. Their little rag tag group has beaten every adversary they’ve come across, even God, and over time they’ve all grown. They’re family.

Emma, however briefly they’ve known her so far, is family. Or she will be, if she wants to be.

Dean sighs, and strides in alone.

“Change of plans,” he says, tugging on the corner of the mattress. Emma watches him from the doorway, confused. “Help me with this, would you?”

*

“I don’t like this plan,” Cas says with a grumble after dinner, eyes squinted in distrust as he watches Emma from the far side of the doorway. She’s perched at Dean’s desk, flipping through the various papers and books with mild curiosity.

“I'm not locking her up, Cas,” Dean murmurs, chest panging. “We didn’t do right by her the first time around, and I’m not going to treat her like we did before. We’ve learned since then, and I’m— I’m not—”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts, reaching out to grip his fingers. Dean squeezes back. “I trust you. If you think it best, then we’ll go with it. But I will be listening in case anything goes wrong.”

Dean’s chest warms.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he answers with a smile, leaning over to peck Cas’s cheek. Cas’s free hand drifts upwards, catching Dean’s jaw to tilt him down into a full kiss. Dean hums.

“Love you,” he murmurs against Cas’s lips. Cas mimics his response as he presses his nose to Dean’s and vanishes in a flutter of wings. Dean opens his eyes to Emma’s face screwed up in disgust, cringing in the chair.

“What,” he asks, challenging.

“Gross,” she comments. “Why do you kiss if you’re incapable of copulating?”

Big words for a...shit how old is she? Dean muses, brain stalling out. One? Two? How many years is that in Amazon years?

“Because we’re in love, kiddo,” he says finally, shutting the door behind him and collapsing onto his bed with a sigh. Sam will be by to lock it before bed.

“Gross.”

Dean just laughs.

*

“Are...are you awake?” Emma whispers into the dark, hours later. Dean shifts, turning his head towards her voice up on the bed. He refused to let her sleep on the floor, regardless of the fact they’d both be on a mattress. She doesn’t have memory foam. She deserved to experience it at least once.

“Yup,” Dean whispers back.

“Oh,” she breathes. She pauses. “I, um. I’m hungry, I think.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she answers, hesitant. “Sorry. I know it’s bad timing.”

“Nothin’ to worry about,” Dean answers, raising himself onto his elbows to find her. She’s sat up against the headboard, knees pulled to her chest. She looks so young.

Dean’s chest pangs.

“Luckily for you,” he continues, standing and heading to his desk, “I happen to be one of the best at picking locks.”

He rifles around in the top drawer for a moment. Eventually he finds what he’s looking for and turns around with a smile, lock picks in hand.

“Have you had those the whole time?” she asks, not moving from her spot on the bed. Dean shrugs.

“Didn’t want to give you the chance to do something you may regret,” he answers. “Clearly that wasn’t something we needed to worry about though, unless you’re faking right now?” he asks, eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“No.”

“Well, good on that then,” Dean answers. He waves the lockpicks in his hand.

“Ever been on a jailbreak?”

*

“I saw you once,” she says over a bowl of strawberry ice cream, “in Purgatory.”

“Oh,” Dean says, memories flooding back of the horrors from that long, long year. He tries to remember ever spotting a young girl in the vast, grey-colored woods. “I never saw you.”

“Good,” she says, corner of her mouth lifting up in tired amusement. “You weren’t supposed to.

“I got very good at hiding,” she continues, stirring the melted soup of her ice cream around her bowl. “I may have been bred for fighting, but some monsters are... too much for one girl to handle.”

“I, uh. I know what you mean,” Dean answers, setting down his spoon as his stomach churns at the thought of her scared and alone in Purgatory of all places. He’d seen how terrifying some of those monsters could be, the sheer magnitude of the Leviathan in particular. He’d had Benny, at least, and eventually Cas, but her on her own…

“Were you on your own the whole time?” he asks carefully. She doesn’t lift her gaze from her bowl. Dean waits.

“For the most part...yes,” she answers. “Making friends in Purgatory is, um.”

“I know,” Dean rasps. They sit in silence. Dean’s not hungry anymore.

“There were other Amazons,” she says after a while. Dean glances back up. She carefully doesn’t look at him, stirring her ice cream around and around her bowl. “We didn’t necessarily see eye to eye.”

Dean doesn't know what to say to that.

“I don’t want to be like them,” she says in a rush. She clamps her mouth shut, eyes wide with terror in her gaze, as if Dean would react poorly to her statement. Something about her fear strikes a nerve in him, reminds him too much of a little boy trying with all his might to please his father.

Dean wants to go kill a few more Amazons.

“You don’t have to be,” he reassures her. He reaches out and places a comforting hand on her wrist. She flinches at the contact, but doesn’t pull away. Dean holds. “Emma, you can be whoever you want to be. Family shouldn’t dictate who you decide to be.”

“Wasn’t your father a hunter?” she asks, wary.

“He started hunting when I was little,” Dean answers carefully, “and raised me into that. Just like you, I didn’t have a choice, then. But things have changed. They’re complicated, for sure, but I— I am not my father. You don’t have to be like your mother or sisters. Or, uh, like me either,” he says. He rubs his free hand across the back of his neck, self-conscious. He clears his throat.

“The point is,” he continues, “is that whatever you want to do and whoever you want to be is entirely up to you. You’re welcome to stay in the Bunker, if you’d like, or uh, head out on your own, I guess, if that’s what you want. I don’t want to keep you trapped here. We’re gonna get you a phone first, though, if you decide to leave. You may have shot up like a weed, but you’re still a kid, just like Jack.”

“Jack?”

“Long story,” Dean says, waving his hand as if shooing away the conversation, “you can meet him later. I just. I don’t want you to be alone, again. Not when you don’t have to be.”

“I’d like that,” she says, slow and careful, mulling over her words, “to...to stay here, I think. At least for a while.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, stress sliding away. “We’re a pretty rag-tag group of fellas. Though Eileen comes by often; you’d like her, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” she answers with a shy smile. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

*

She ends up in the room just down the hall from Dean. He takes her shopping the next day, much to Sam’s hesitation, but Cas only offers a knowing smile and turns back to his crossword of the day. Dean figures Cas been where Dean is now, both with Claire and Jack, to an extent. He’s gone through many similar struggles.

Now it’s Dean’s turn.

*

Jack confesses to being the one to bring her back.

“Almost everyone else from our family got a second chance,” he explains when Dean finally corners him later, bribing with peanut butter cookies, “I figured she should get one too, even if you barely knew her.”

“That was sweet of you, Jack,” Cas says from over Dean’s shoulder, hand slipping beneath Dean’s jacket to rest comfortingly at the small of his back. Dean leans into the gesture.

“It was,” Dean agrees. “Thank you, Jack.”

Jack beams.

*

When they find their fixer-upper, Dean triple-checks that there are enough rooms for everyone. One for him and Cas, one for Jack, one for Claire, one for Sam and Eileen whenever they come to visit—

And one for Emma.

She disappears for a while a month into staying with them, heading out with Claire to help figure herself out. It’s not until her first hunt (against Dean’s best wishes) where she kills for the first time that her rapid aging kicks in. She settles somewhere in the mid-twenties range; Dean doesn’t know for sure. It’s a bit too reminiscent of Jack, but they’re all used to weird magic things by now, and no one questions it.

She leaves often, these days, coming into her own over time, but Dean is proud of who she’s grown into the past few years since Jack brought her back.

She always returns home, though, and Dean welcomes her with open arms every time.

***

tagging a lovely emmanatural advocate: @borntodiedean

if you’d like to be tagged, just lmk! <3