#angstober day 1

[the-daiz]

#1— fool me once again

—Angstober day 1: Again

Pairing; Speed-o’-sound Sonic x reader

Warning(s); self-sabotage, unhealthy attachments

Synopsis; He’s always in conflict with himself, between staying and leaving, breaking your heart and caressing it. Either way, you’ll allow him to.

✎Word count; 1.1k

♪ Playlist; Again & Again || A loving feeling

A/N; happy 1st angstober day ;) I love writing angst. But anyhow, Sonic is maybeee a bit ooc

You were an eyesore.

Disgusting, vulnerable, weak, and pathetic. You were everything wrong in this world. Every single flaw that someone could possess you had it, and Speed-of-sound Sonic could do nothing but snarl at its hideous embodiment.

The recoil in his gut intensifies with every glance you give him, and the revulsion in his head yells louder at every smile you offer.

And with your touch, he wants to tear at his skin, the skin soiled by your crud.

But with your everything, he succumbs again, and yet again to the overwhelming spell you've embroiled him in.

And every time, he holds onto it, holds onto you. Loves, cherishes, adores, and promises the better of him.

You were perfect. How could a being be so entrancing in every sense? Your looks, your voice, your strength, and the beauty within you that roamed your presence like an ensnaring scent, how could it be real?

Another night beside you. Another night where the turn of your lips lock onto him. Another night he rests into a soft quiet, and he can love with no regrets.

As soon as that night passes, he is overwhelmed by loathing, at himself and you.

He doesn't want to be this close. He can't be. Letting himself swim in this soft— vulnerable feeling of 'love' made his insides churn with conflict.

And again he'll break his promise and leave for a week or two or however long he can keep himself hauled far away from your skin.

He doesn't care. That's what he tells himself. Despite the jittering within him that doesn't quiet unless in your presence. Despite the ache in his heart that cracks him every time he can make out the despair in your features. Even though every time he says he'll never come back again, that he won't let your filth taint his dignity any longer, he always finds himself being drawn back to you.

And you'll wait for him patiently. Just as you had waited before.

Again you sit in your balcony, the soft breeze of the cool night brushing past you. Your gaze is distant, absent, as your thoughts consume you. How many nights have you sat here, the sorrow in you palpable and the void in you deepening?

You allow yourself to be mistreated, manipulated, and used by that man, depriving yourself of sleep and an appetite just because of the yearning that is never satisfied without him.

Why him? You pondered. Why is the one thing that you love more than anything— why the fuck was it that bastard? Why couldn't your brain choose something else? Something truthful?

"Fuck you."

"Y/n-"

"Why can't you just leave long enough for me to forget you?" You turn away from him and storm into your home, your face twisted in utter hurt and frustration.

"I'm sorry." Sonic apologizes. He suddenly appeared before you and you stumbled back a step as you bumped into him. He tries to hold you by your sides to steady you but you push his arms away.

Damn his speed.

"Like last time?" You hiss, watching his face remain still to the familiar insults. "You're always sorry."

"I meant them all." His brows furrow.

"And how does that help me?" You retort, a resigned laugh mixing with your sentence. You sucked in a shaking breath and placed your hand over your eyes. "I don't—"

His palm clamped around your wrist, softly prying your fingers away from your temple, urging you to peer at him. You could see the turmoil in his gaze and the apology lining his expression, it made you want to pull him into you. To thread your fingers in his hair and console him, give up all the forgiveness you harbored.

You expelled a soft sigh and let your gaze fall.

"Why do you keep coming back...? Why do you keep leaving?" Your voice was hushed.

"Why do you keep waiting?" He replied, his words cruel yet his tone oddly tender. "If you just tell me to leave and never come back, then I will."

He won't

"But why can't you listen to me when I tell you to stay?" You slipped your hand out of his grasp, taking a step away from him. "I feel like every time you're here I'm breaking, but every time you aren't I'm shattering."

"Don't you think I feel the same way?" The faintest hint of desperation lapped his words as his volume grew.

"Then come back to me!" You cried, your hands clutching the fabric of your shirt right above where your heart pulsed. His form visibly tensed. The constriction in his face was unmistakable, even in the dim light of the room.

His frame relaxed as he averted his gaze. You felt the heaviness weighing at you tug harder with the guilt evident in his person.

"I'm hurt. I just want you. Do you even care about me?!" The words came out strained and tottery as you attempted to compose yourself.

Sonic's shoulders rose as he inhaled sharply before firmly trotting towards your crumbling soul.

"I never stop thinking about you. No matter how hard I try." He began, his gaze intense as he stood right in front of you. His irises absorbed every dejected, desperate, longing emotion behind yours. "I'm not going to leave this time. I'll come back the next day. I'll do as I promise.

I hate that I can't stop loving you." His voice grew vulnerable upon uttering that last phrase, and all you could do was glower at him with every bit of anger you had left in you.

"I hate..." a trembling sigh escaped your lungs as anguish pooled into your features.

"Why can't I hate you?" You muttered, then pulled him into another desperate kiss, your body portraying all the words you hadn't allowed yourself to speak. Every 'I miss you' that clouded your brain and each 'I love you' you begged yourself to deny.

His touch charred and sizzled onto your skin, and you hoped the burns that were left in his wake would stay longer than he would. Maybe the searing pain could give you the closure that he could never fulfill.

⋆

"I'll be back." He whispered, his palm pressed gently against the side of your face.

"Will you, really?" Your gaze pleaded for empty reassurance as you leaned into his touch. He enveloped you into a hug which you melted into immediately.

"Yes." He muttered into your neck. Both of you could sense the sincerity in his voice, though how long would it last?

Once he pulled away and his warmth was stripped away from you, disdain was quick to itch at the back of your throat whilst your despaired eyes watched him disappear in a blur.

Again he won't come tomorrow like he promised.

And again you'll cry a silent weep as you wait, cursing at him with all of you, knowing every single drop of rage and grief within you will dissipate once you're in his arms once more.

[whumperwithwings]

Angstober Day 1

Again

Content: Abusive Parent, Imagined Gore

the blade goes up the blade goes down the blade goes up the blade goes down

Whumpee watched the fan spin and spin, over and over and over again. Their routine was the same every day, and it had been the same since they were a toddler nearly two decades ago. Wake up at six thirty in the morning, stare at the fan, eat a cup of cereal with five strawberries cut in half twice over, stare at the fan, eat a pastrami sandwich on rye bread with a sour pickle cut into eight slices, stare at the fan, turn on an online lesson that fades into the background while the fan spins and spins and spins and spins in front of them, watch the fan spin more and more and more, eat a bowl of elbow pasta with a quarter of a stick of butter and one-eighth teaspoon of salt, watch the fan spin around and around itself again, shower for exactly fifteen minutes, no more, no less, watch the fan until they fall asleep at exactly nine thirty every. single. night. Whumpee had never deviated from that routine even once, by even a minute, and even today did not seem like the day to start changing things up. Little did Whumpee know, today was the day when the fan broke.

"Whumpee!" The bellowing voice of Whumpee's father rang down the hallway, seemingly shaking the whole house as they stomped up the stairs. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Schoolwork!" Whumpee screamed back. "What on earth are you doing? Aren't you supposed to be at work right now?"

"Oh that does it, Whumpee, that does it." Whumpee heard their father curse under their breath before slamming the door to Whumpee's room open. They didn't take their eyes off the fan. " I'm breaking my back for you, and what do you contribute to this household?"

"I'm passing all my classes. I'm keeping up with my scholarships." Whumpee said dryly, still staring at the fan in front of them, imagining their father's head between the blades. "Mom said I could stay as long as I was in college."

"Don't you dare mention your mother in front of me!" Whumpee's father yelled. "You can't even spare the decency to look at me, you ungrateful brat. What if this stupid machine you waste all your time staring at was seven floors down, huh? Would you pay attention then?"

"You can't." Whumpee whispered, fear creeping into their voice as they peered into the fan for comfort. the blade goes up the blade goes down the blade goes up the blade goes-

The fan was wrenched from Whumpee's view, their father snatching in up and holding it out of the window, dozens of feet above the ground.

"Maybe you'll finally listen to me now that this machine is..." With that, Whumpee's father let go. He continued to talk, but the world was buzzing and blurring into nothingness. Whumpee faintly register a crashing noise behind the tears now streaming down their face.

down

[apalonecreations]

Angstober days 1 and 2 since I missed day one

Again and Countdown

[weilaverdui]

Angstober Day 1: Again

Centuries passes, yet the heritage continues, and we have to deal with same problems again.

This year I am trying to draw my Angstober using original characters, so this is for sure a more niche project. This image shows how past and present groups trying to prevent cataclysm reflect each other to some degree (With Phoenix, Dillon and Ashton both sharing similarities and directly inheriting things from Molly, Kat and Remi, and Director and Leo trying to deal with similar monumental tasks).

And yay, first appearance of Director.

[feathers-and-song]

Again

Angstober Prompt day 1

(Warning: mentions of death and overworking)

A repeating dream, over and over and over again. Her face, a smile, a crash, and screaming. He was screaming. He was screaming.

But his duty required him to wake at the same time each day. Again and again. Get up, eat something (anything really), get dressed, ready for work.

Work until the day is over get yelled at by people who don't know you, go home, eat, shower, sleep.

Again, again, and again. Over, and over, and over again. Because his life was never his. It was just a wild string of occurrences that just so happened to involve him. He was a worker bee, never the queen.

All Kai was meant to do was to get things done. No mater what happened to him. No mater the day. No mater who he came across.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Dream of her, wake up, scream.

Eat something, anything, just so he had the energy. Get dressed, go to work, fight.

Go home, eat, shower, sleep.

Dream of them, wake up, scream.

Over and over again.

[fanfictasia]

Angstober Day 1

Honorbound

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from Favorless

He feels even more lost and alone now that he’s standing in the center of the room by himself.

“What’s your name?” the Kel Dor asks him.

He hesitates a moment, but there’s no real reason not to tell them. His name will give away nothing. No one knows about him. “Anakin Skywalker.”

“Young, you are,” Yoda speaks up, “Not as blinded by the Dark Side as your master is. The chance to take up our offer, you still have.”

Anakin has… no idea what to say to that. Agreeing would give him a chance at finding a way out, but he can’t really agree for his master. If Sidious already refused, he doubts he’d be happy at all if Anakin disregarded that. But this might be their only chance at getting out of here, at putting off whatever the Jedi really plan to do with them. And if this creature is really a threat, it… doesn’t feel right to just do nothing.

The purpose of the Sith was to help where the Jedi failed, and all he’s ever wanted to do is help. Doesn’t mean he can just… agree where hsi master didn’t, though, can he? “What is it doing?” he asks finally, because that’s what he needs to know. If it’s even as serious as they’re making it sound like… he doesn’t have much choice.

Something is wrong and Anakin has felt it for a long time. He… wants to help, because something is hurting the Force and it shouldn’t be.

“It shows up on various planets with no pattern, killing everyone nearby senselessly, and usually disappearing before we get there,” replies another member, “But we’ve encountered it briefly, and it’s a creature of the Dark Side.”

“How can I help, where you can’t?” Anakin asks, cautiously.

“You know the Dark Side,” Windu replies, bluntly, “You may stand a better chance at stopping it.”

For them to go so far as asking a Sith for help, it must be serious. And it… doesn’t really feel right to refuse, when people are dying from it.

Besides, it’s his fault they got captured in the first place, so he should at least try to get them out. Somehow. Even if he’s probably going to just mess it up even worse. That always seems to happen, and trying to talk to the Council makes him feel like – like when he was talking to the masters back on Tatooine. And he’s so afraid of messing up and saying the wrong thing, and making this worse.

“If I helped you, what would happen to my master?”

He doesn’t like the looks the Council members are exchanging. Doesn’t trust it.

“He will be kept here,” Windu replies, coldly.

“No harm will come to him,” the Kel Dor assures.

Anakin doesn’t know that he really believes that, but there’s nothing he can do. If he turns down this offer, they’ll have no way of getting out. 

He has to decide now, though, and he can only hope this is the right choice. If he could feel the Force, at least it would give him some comfort. At least he wouldn’t feel so desperately alone, like he’s lost in the middle of nothingness because he can’t feel anything. “I… I’ll help you,” he says finally, desperately hoping this isn’t a terrible mistake. Maybe he doesn’t want to, but it still feels like this is something he has to do.

[rattling-reverberations]

Again

Angstober day 1

(Warning: Medical rooms, illness, uncomfortable environments)

White and pristine. The walls glistened with an eerie lack of color, dimmed by the absence of natural sunlight. Everything in this building was artificial.

The walls were a thick metal, painted over white to make it seem like it was a welcoming place. The doctors smiled, hiding their sharp predatory teeth behind their lips. The medicine they promised to help him never did its job.

And yet, he sat here. Every day. Every week. Every month. Every year. For the rest of his life. But even a fifteen-year-old like him could tell he was never getting better.

His vision was fading, turning a blurry gray, and his blood flowed endlessly, scarily so. The smallest scrape could prove to be the end of his life if he wasn't careful about treatment.

One wrong blood transfusion and he was done for.

But still, he sat here, waiting for the doctors with tight lips to force-feed artificiality to him in spoon fulls. Good Doctor was the only one he could really trust. He gave him the facts, never sugar coated anything.

The clock ticked on....and on.....and on.

He was getting tired of this cycle.

[tales-of-eternity]

Again

Angstober day 1

(Warnings: Allusions to human experimentation, death)

Their feet dragged across the floor, kicking and screaming. Zeta could only watch from behind his mask, an imperfect recreation of the other segment's. This was the third one today.

Another person, another body. Zeta felt sick.

He was in charge of disposal today and new that he would be seeing that poor soul again at the end of the day, ready for the incinerator. Oh, how he wished he could shove a metal pipe down The Doctor's throat for what he did to all these people.

But he wasn't nearly as powerful, nor as smart. he couldn't do anything. So, for now, he would wait and watch as more and more souls were taken.

But the time would come when he would give Zandik a piece of his mind. He just had to wait.

[rima-niki]

So I've decided to join in on Angstober! Plenty of angst is coming people's way! Anyways Day 1: Again Characters: Ajax and Rayko Fandom: Sherbverse and End of Days SMP

[messenger-of-babel]

Your Jill

Summary: After all you've been through, you still see remnants of your Jill. (Jill Valentine x fem!reader)

Word Count: 3.2K

Notes: very little! one use of (L/N) and it irks me. Oh I also can't write angst so this is very much just a learning curve for me. Please enjoy regardless

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

For reasons unknown to you, you stir in the middle of the night. You look over to your left, eyes groggy with sleep, seeing the sleeping figure of your girlfriend under the covers. Her back is facing to you, and your fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and pull her to your chest. However she was a light sleeper and jumpy, and you'd probably end up with a broken hand before she even realised what she'd done. The sliver of light trickling past the curtains falls onto her, and you can only imagine the way it would trace across the bridge of her nose, the dip of her lips, and the scars settling on her chest. With a bittersweet smile you think of Jill, your Jill, before your smile falls.

You wanted this to be over.

For her. for both of you.

You didn't want to do this again.

Sighing out through your nose, you close your eyes, mind reeling with memories that melded into dreamscapes.

━━━༻❁༺━━━━

"Hey, you got a second Valentine?" you call out, swinging your boots off the desk you had propped them up on. She throws a glance over her shoulder as she does her own paperwork, eyebrows drawn together as a scowl begins to form. "What?"

A grin begins to spread over your lips as you prop your elbows on your knees. "Captain isn't going to be back for a while, want to go grab a coffee?"

She tilts her head as she looks at you, hand coming up to grab her beret and throw it onto the desk, fingers combing through her hair. "Go ask one of the rookies to get you one." she mutters, before going back to her report.

"Awww, don't be like that." you groan, standing up from your desk and coming around to hers, settling atop the wood and paperwork. She casts you another half serious look of irritation, wiggling a cream-coloured folder out from under you. You lean forward slightly, giving her your best pout. "It's not the same if it isn't with you."

She scoffs at that, hitting your knee lightly with the folder. "You mean it's not the same if it's not on Captain Wesker's time." she corrects.

"Exactly." you smile. "So how about it?"

Jill thinks for a moment before shaking her head, a small smile flitting across her lips for a second. Your own mouth quirks up in response, heart pounding at the thought that you might be able to pull a laugh from her. She leans back as she looks up at you, arms crossed over her chest as she goes to form words.

"I-"

"Valentine. (L/N)."

Her words fizzle out as you both catch the intense gaze of your captain, his silhouette half obscured from the hallway he emerged from. "Everyone to the briefing room, we've got as assignment for alpha team. Departing to Arklay Mountains immediately."

"Yes, sir." you call out, while Jill nods. Wesker seems content enough with that, nodding once curtly before heading back the way that he came. Your shoulders dropped once he was out of sight, exhaling softly. His gaze was always so firm, despite constantly being held behind those black shades.

"Guess we better get going huh?" she says, patting your knee as she stands up to walk around you. You hop off the desk, boots thudding as they hit the floor. "Yeah," you mutter, running a hand through your hair in irritation. Cockblocker, you think to yourself, groaning internally at your missed chance. You'd been trying the last month to ask out your co-worker, and it had taken another two before that to work up the courage to even entertain the idea. Yet when you actually tried to put your plan into action, it seemed that the universe had other plans. Barry, or Wesker, or Brad, and especially Chris managed to pop up at the most inopportune time and steal her away.

"Hey."

Jill's voice snaps you out of your frustration, hip popped as she calls over her shoulder for you. "You get us coffee when we're back, and I'll consider it a date, yeah?"

Your eyes widen and mouth runs dry. She shakes her head at the red tinge blooming across your ears, and the way your usually confident facade stutters out a "s-sure," before the sight of her back disappears around the doorframe.

God damn it, three months of trying to ask her out, and she bet you to it.

and yet you had to do it again.

"Jill!" you call out, rushing forward to the door that she's kept behind. You see the recognition flash in her eyes as she stands up, coming to clutch the rusted bars of the small window. You push past Chris with your shoulder, your hands covering hers over the bars. "Are you okay?"

She nods, swallowing tensely. "Better now that you're here."

"Okay, break it up you two." Chris grunts, gently pushing you to the side as he goes to unlock the door. When it swings forward you slip around Chris, stepping into the dingy room. You look her over, scanning for any injuries. "You worried me," you breathe out. Her hands twitch in time with the corners of her lips and little do you know the urge she has to pull you into a hug.

"Wesker's betrayed us." she informs, something you've already come to figure out.

"Yeah. Some first date, huh?" you say softly back, shoulders dropping with a faint smile. Jill smiles for a brief second, and in this situation, it seemed to light the dark, dingy prison cell. She doesn't say much as you all leave together, but you can tell in the clench of her fists, the way she's set her jaw, and the faraway look in her eyes. She isn't the same person as when you left. You can't tell exactly what's missing, but the ache in your heart festers into a seed of worry as you watch her retreating figure stepping into line with Chris. Despite losing something, you could still see her in there. Your Jill.

and again.

"Jill," you call to her, grasping her arm desperately, your pistol in the other. "Jill, we have to go, now." you plead, not even bothering to mask the fear in your voice. She has her eyes trained on Brad, struggling to keep back the horde of infected chasing after you. Your pistol shakes in your other hand. "Jill!" you shriek, and she finally looks your way. Whatever expression you're wearing on your face snaps her out of it, and with a mournful look at Brad she turns to you, grabbing your arm back and runs ahead, dragging you after her.

The cool air of the Raccoon night burns your lungs, but you choke it down greedily. you want to cry; you want to scream.

 fuck this.

 It'd only been a few months since you both got back from Arklay Mountains, from the Spencer Mansion incident. Chris was gone, Wesker had betrayed you, and both of you had been placed on surveillance like criminals. You lean over, now free hand covering your face as you try to get your racing breath under control.

"Hey."

Brad was bit. the city was on fire-

"Hey. Listen to me." Jill says roughly, grabbing your shoulder to make you look up at her. When she meets your eyes her gaze softens, and she lowers her voice. "We're gonna be okay. Take a deep breath, and take my hand, alright?" she says, holding out her hand for you to take. You nod, calming your nerves enough to take her hand. She was never like this while you were S.T.A.R.S, but since you had both been forced to leave after trying to bring up the mansion mission, you'd gotten to see a softer side to her. Was it a little fast to move in after only dating two months? maybe. But you both had been reluctant to be alone after coming back, and you'd quickly found that the only person who could calm your nightmares was someone else that had also lived it. Thank god for that arrangement, or you wouldn't have been together when the giant fucking monster burst through your living room.

Maybe that wasn't such a good thing, but at least you weren't alone when it happened. You take another deep breath, calming your nerves. you were better than this. You were S.T.A.R.S. "Yeah. I'm okay now." you say, trying to be firm. You reload your gun with one hand, meeting her eyes and pushing down the fear that threatens to bring bile to your throat. "Let's go."

She smiles at that, corner of her lip pulling into a smirk.

"There's alpha team's finest."

and again.

"Get the car going!" Jill yelled at you, hand bracing the roof as she sits in the passenger side.

"I'm trying!" you holler back, hand turning the key and desperately trying to start the engine. The thing that had been chasing you was in your sights, straight ahead of you. the thumping of its feet on the cracking roof of the parking garage matched the violent thudding in your ribcage.

"Come on," you plead with the car. "Come onnn," you hit the steering wheel once. "COME ON." you roar, turning the key harshly again and the engine finally turning over. "It's coming closer!" Jill yells, reloading her gun.

"I know it is, I can see!" you snap back, foot slamming onto the acceleration and shooting both of you backwards into the seat. You grunt when you plow forward and it makes contact with the monster, hand that’s not on the wheel throwing the car into reverse before ramming it again. on the second contact the windscreen shatters, and the creatures thick hand grasps around your throat.

"Get off of her, you bastard!" Jill's lips are pulled back into a snarl as she empties a clip into its arm. You struggle for air, foot still all the way pressed on the accelerator. Suddenly you can breathe again, air burning as it rips down to your lungs. It takes only a moment of weightlessness for you to realise that it wasn't the gun that made it let go, it was the fact that you were hurtling off the rooftop. A scream rips from your throat, and you look over to Jill.

"I'm sorry" you mouth to Jill, unsure if the words actually come out over the wind whipping through the car, but you hoped your last moments would relay that to her regardless.

When the car smashes, you feel your head hit the steering wheel, brain slamming into the wall of your skull and exploding a round of pain behind your eyes. Your limbs are heavy, senses ringing, but you can feel the hand of someone clenched around your forearm, dragging you from the wreckage as you flicker in and out of consciousness like a stop motion frame. You want to make words, let her know that you're conscious, but you can't. The exploding car doesn't help the numbness in your ears.

Are you really going to die like this?

The vibrations of the monsters’ heavy footsteps echo through your bones.

Maybe you are.

"Hey fuckface!"

The words seem to cut through the ringing of the world around you, and despite the light stinging your eyes you manage to crack them open. The monster has caught a rocket launcher in its tentacles, flinging it away before it’s engulfed in the flames of the second shot. You weakly shield your eyes, Jill pulling you up to a sitting position. A man comes running towards you, rocket launcher falling from his shoulder. "Easy ladies, I got ya." he murmurs, helping you sit up more as Jill and the stranger each loop on of your arms over their neck. Your eyes flutter to Jill’s, her gaze worried and her lip bitten anxiously. You give her a faint smile, feeling the blood on the crown of your head start making its way to your temple. Maybe you will survive the night.

and again.

"Jill! Jill please!" you beg, eyes filled with tears. She thrashes below you, snarling like she was a beast, teeth clenched. "Jill, honey, please it's me." you let the pet name slip, yet her face doesn’t change.

 You had come as quickly as you could, when Chris had said he'd found a lead that Jill might be in Africa. That she might be alive. You're not sure if you were ready to forgive Chris just yet, not sure if you could ever erase the sorrowful look of him on your apartment doorstep, throat closing up as he tells you that she sacrificed herself to take down Wesker, tackling him into a canyon. You'd wanted to slap him then, to take out all your anger and rage and sorrow in that one moment.

But you didn’t.

You opted to slide down the doorframe, taking deep shuddering breaths as Chris silently tried to console you as an apology.

You had both argued about chasing Wesker before she had left with him, an argument that had started in the afternoon and had boiled into the night. You had argued that Chris was chasing a ghost, a fight that extended past her, past you. He was the one that had gone to chase Wesker while you both had been stuck on house arrest, who was somewhere in Europe while you tried to escape the burning hellscape of Raccoon City with the Umbrella merc, Carlos. You had argued that you should try to settle somewhere else, try to get away from the blood and the terror and the horror that seemed to cling to both of you like a second skin. You wore the scars across your arms from dealing with the nemesis, and if that meant the most you did was be a desk cop the rest of your life, maybe that is what it should be. It was safer.

She couldn't let it go. You could see it in her eyes and the tick in her jaw. Her argument was that he was still out there. That he needed to be stopped before he hurt more innocent people, before Raccoon happened all over again. You had asked her if she was seeking justice or revenge.

Neither of you spoke to each other when you got into bed that night, and she had been gone in the morning. that was the last time that you saw her.

and again.

"Help me get it off!" you holler, Chris and Sheva coming around to your side. you dodge another kick from Jill, eyes trained on the device on her chest. Chris gives you a nod, Sheva firing at her feet while Chris tackles her from behind. your boots scrabble against the stone floor, blood rushing in your ears as you lunge for the device on her chest. you hook your fingers under the cool metal and pull, heart clenching at the screams that fly from her mouth. You don't let up as it starts to part from her skin, or when her nails come to dig into your forearm so hard they draw blood. With one final tug you wrench your arms backwards and the device separates from her skin with a sickening snap.

You're thrown backwards from the force, quickly pushing yourself to your forearms and crawling over to her. She groans softly, and you pick up her head to put in your lap. Your eyes meet Chris, full of fire that hasn't burned that bright since your S.T.A.R.S days. "Get him." you hiss. "I'll look after her. Get. Him."

Chris nods, casting a worried look to Jill before sighing through his nose and turning away. He signals Sheva to run with him to the elevator, while you give him a nod in confirmation. Wesker was dying today, and while it may not be with your own two hands, it would definitely be through your will.

Jill coughs weakly, making your head snap back towards her. Your fingers hover over the burns on her chest, not even sure where to start. You feel your heart crack a little tracing over the wounds, the holes from the tubes bleeding and spilling across your fingertips. The lump in your throat returns, and you try your best to hold back the tears burning at your waterline. Jill hated it when you cried, except this isn't something that could be fixed with an apology, bottle of wine, and a good time in bed.

"Hey," she calls up to your softly, fingers curling around your own as you sniffle. "You came back for me?" she asks weakly.

"Of course," you scoff indignantly, trying to channel your confident persona through the tears. "Can't let you have all the fun all the time."

She grins at that, a weak curl of her lips that lets you know that after everything, she's still in there. Your Jill is still in there. "What do you think of the new suit?" she croaks out, smirk weak. The attempt at a joke in this time makes the tears spill over onto your cheeks, lips wobbling as your facade comes down.

"I think..." you whisper out, tone wavering. "I think I like you better as a brunette."

She gives a tremoring smile at that, her fingers squeezing yours reassuringly as you lower your lips down to press against her forehead.

This was never happening again. not if you could help it.

━━━༻❁༺━━━━

But it did. it always did. Again, and again and again and again.

You let out a soft sigh, watching as she sleeps peacefully. It's two days after she got back from a mission at Alcatraz, chasing some bioweapon lead. You hadn't been able to get her out of the field despite how much you tried, but it's not like you did either. the scars on her chest were still prominent but had healed over to pale white lines and the remnants of the burns. It was always again and again and again. Your eyes skim over her silhouette, taking in the steady rise and fall of her chest.

You wanted to give her the life you both had thought you could achieve back in Raccoon, before everything went to shit. You weren't oblivious to the way that her eyes lingered on the kids that would play in the park when you both walked home in the evening. The slight pause of her eyes on the dress boutiques as you went out for a date at the weekend markets, staying a little too long on the wedding dresses in the window of the city shops. It's not like you hadn't thought of that. You'd gone in numerous times to look at engagement rings but always walking out empty handed and dejected. The more you thought on it, the more you ruminated on it, you knew it was unlikely she would say yes. If there's anything you knew about your Valentine, is that she would never allow herself to say yes. She'd put people first, everyone else's happiness before hers, as she had always done.

Despite the years and battles that had worn your hands, whittled you down piece by piece, you could still see the remnants that were there. Your Jill, still in there after everything.

You closed your eyes again, trying to get back to sleep. You could sleep it off, distract yourself the next day, but the thought would always be there in the back of your mind.

The thought telling you that one night when you rolled over, when you met the eyes of your forever girlfriend, that you wouldn't recognise the Jill staring back at you.

And your Jill would be gone.

[ok-canary2323]

Let Me Keep This One

Kuroaka for Angstober Day 1 - Again @angstober

[autobot2001]

Proven Wrong

Author: Autobot2001 Genre: Fanfiction Fandom: Multiple slasher movies Genre: T Warning: Killing PairingL None Description: Freddy questions Jamie claiming she senses three intruders near the slasher house.

Day 1; @ailesswhumptober; "If you cry, will go easy on you." @fictober-event; "That was good work."

"Seriously?" Freddy says. "Miles of trails in these woods, and people are approaching the house?" "Yes," Jamie answers. "You know she can sense energy," Hannibal argues. "Oh, right, a freak with powers," Freddy mocks. Everyone else believes in Jamie's powers. They all go searching for the intruders before the intruders reach the house. They all split up, going down different paths. Jamie goes with Michael.

The three intruders walk down a path and ready a clearing. They see seven other paths. "Great, we're lost," one intruder says. They see Jamie running down a path. "At least we'll have fun," another intruder says. "Oh, going to assume I'm a helpless kid, are we?" Jamie says. "You do not know who you're dealing with." She whistles. The intruders are confused, but the slashers understand it as a signal that she has found them. The three intruders watch as eight slashers run down the path they're on, reaching the clearing. "Oh fuck, they kidnapped you?!" one intruder asks Michael stands behind Jamie. His form towering over her. He puts a hand on her shoulder. Everyone sees the three boys' confused looks. "Y-you're friends with them?!" "Fuck, Roy, we shouldn't have gone too deep into the woods." "Shut up, Rex!" Roy says. "If you cry, will go easy on you," Freddy mocks. "I'm not afraid!" Roy says. Rex and the third boy remain silent. "Fools," Freddy says. Freddy shows his clawed glove, and Jason shows his matchet. Billy, Stu, Norman, and Michael show their knives. Even with two unarmed slashers and Jamie is unarmed, two of the boys are afraid. "Crap, we're dead," the third intruder says. "Stop being a coward, Trey," Roy says. Roy charges toward Jamie. While he knows she can handle the intruder, Michael's protective instincts take over. He stabs Roy in the chest. Rex and Trey panic. "Who's next?" Billy smiles. The two boys run. "Screw a game of cat and mouse," Stu says. "Jamie."

Jamie runs after the two. She quickly catches up to the two boys. They stop running, believing she can't do anything without a weapon. Roy is about to grab her when she punches him in several places. The boy falls to the ground, unable to move. Before Trey can run, he's punched several times and falls to the ground. "What did you do?" Trey asks. "I can't move!" "I think a chase would have been fun, but at least we'll be dealing with them," Freddy comments. Freddy and Jason drag the boys behind some trees, but their screams can still be heard. A few minutes later, Freddy and Jason join the others. "That was good work, Jamie," Freddy praises. "We had a little fun tonight." They all go back to the house. Jamie finds it odd Freddy praised how she sensed the three boys were around.

[thekingofthenameless]

Day 1: Again

Length: 2.3K

Cws/Tws: Major (Temporary) Character Death, mentions of blood and wounds, non-consensual drugging

Ao3

Author’s note: started another thing! :D I'm not sure how consistently this will be updated since I'm still working on Flufftober 2024 lol. I also have plans for Whumptober after both of these. I may be cooked y'all /hj

Charlie:

“Merlin- please, I can’t do this again,” he begs, quickly shifting into his human form and pressing his hands to his familiar’s side.  It’s futile. Golden blood flows underneath his fingers, staining Merlin’s clothes, and his heart hurts. It’s an ache, cracking into a chasm too wide for him to cross, even though it will be journeyed through soon enough if he can’t save his companion, and he knows this is how Merlin feels when it’s him dying, even if he’s healed in the end because of his father. “Charlie,” Merlin whispers, somehow still awake. “It’s all right,” he continues, trying to soothe him even though he’s dying, dying underneath his hands, and he can’t do anything but watch because he’s not a god, not even a wizard, no magic flowing in his veins like Merlin. “No, it’s not,” he whimpers, sudden tears spilling down his cheeks, and he can barely focus on the strange sensation of crying, until his vision begins to blur and his body wracks with involuntary sobs. “Please- please stay awake. You’re going to be fine.”  Merlin’s hand reaches up to cup his face, stroking his cheek, touch gentle even now. “We’ll both be all right,” he murmurs, almost as if he didn’t hear his words. “I love you.” Merlin’s breaths are slowing, eyes slowly closing, and the pain in his heart worsens somehow (it makes sense, too much sense). He gives up on staunching the blood flow, hugging his father close as a grief-stricken wail comes from his throat. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I love you. His companion’s breaths stop. He doesn’t even realize at first, because he was trying to keep some semblance of calm (even though it was too late for that) until Merlin- and now he’s- He sobs harder, burying his face in his familiar’s shoulder, one of the few places not stained golden. Merlin’s dead, and it eats him alive, tears him apart into tiny pieces as grief consumes him. He can’t be comforted by them being together again until it happens.  He cries until he runs out of tears. He feels… hollow, now. How long has it been? Shouldn’t he be dead? Slowly, he releases his hold on Merlin, gently laying him onto the grass, and even that’s stained. His father’s expression is peaceful despite everything, how he’d died, how he’d gotten hurt- and he doesn’t- he doesn’t remember how it happened. It doesn’t make any sense, but all he remembers is begging, shapeshifting and attempting to staunch the wound, not how it came to be in the first place, what happened leading up to this. Why doesn’t he remember? At least he can ask soon. He wipes away what tears he can before shifting back to his true form, curling around his companion as much as he can and laying his head on his stomach. He can’t let anyone desecrate his father’s body, even if it doesn’t seem like there’s anyone around at the moment. People are already so invasive while he’s alive. Why would death stop some of them? He closes his eyes, knowing his own death will come shortly. He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he hears a voice: “Charlie. Come back to me.” It’s too faint for him to decipher; he opens his eyes, and he isn’t dead- why isn’t he dead? He can’t still be alive, can’t be drawing breath without Merlin for this long. Their souls are intertwined. Why isn’t he- Merlin’s still under him, and his body is cold now. Why isn’t he dead? “Charlie,” the voice murmurs again. “Sweetheart? Can you hear me?” It isn’t Eleanor, at least, since her voice isn’t as deep or masculine, but why hasn’t she taken him yet?  He’s so tired. Why isn’t he dead?

He slowly moves away from Merlin to look at his leg, to make sure his mark is still there, that some wicked magic didn’t happen out of nowhere and sever their bond, so that he would keep living after Merlin’s death. It’s still there. It’s still there, so why is he- Is Merlin’s? The bliaut his father has on blocks him from seeing if it remains or if it’s disappeared, and the only way to know is to remove it. He’ll- he’ll understand, he’ll forgive him, even if someone simply touching him when he’s not expecting it is enough to make him startled, even if he’s hated his clothes being taken off, no matter the reason, since that day. His stomach churns, but he has to do this, has to know why he’s alive. The voice hasn’t spoken for a few moments, and he has nothing to guide him. He unsheathes his claws, and they cut through the bliaut easily. Gripping the fabric in his teeth, he gently pulls it away, revealing soft skin. It’s still there, still a lighter brown than his skin, like his is lighter than his fur. Their bond isn’t severed. Their souls are still intertwined. Why is he not dead? His wings flutter, not quite shaking, not yet, and he knows he should petition another god- someone, anyone, but he’s too shaken to think of anything that might resemble a prayer. Merlin’s dead, and he’s still alive and he doesn’t know why- “Charlie!” The voice suddenly shouts, and magic grips him gently even though he can’t see it. Then a hole opens under him, and he doesn’t have time to take off, much less fly away, before he’s falling. He falls, falls, falls, and the only light is his own glowing, and flapping his wings is as futile as when he tried to staunch Merlin’s wound, and thinking of that makes his heart hurt again (but the pain’s never left, really, settling in his chest). Then he feels nothing. Consciousness slowly returns, and his body is on some kind of hard surface. He feels drained, so drained, worn to the bone. His head aches, but the pain in his heart seems… better, and he doesn’t know how. Merlin’s dead. Soft hands are cupping his face, he realizes, and his head is in this person’s lap. Merlin would do this.  The pain worsens, grief sinking its claws into him. He can pretend it’s Merlin’s gentle touch, Merlin’s lap, if he doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t look into the face of whoever else is kind enough to touch a worthless dragon. The person feels him waking even though he isn’t moving, and they relax in relief. Why do they care so much? They don’t love him. They don’t know him.  Maybe they’re deceiving him with kindness before they kill him. Maybe they’re the one who murdered Merlin. Maybe they want to use him as a weapon. None of the possibilities he thinks of are enough to make him move. How can he? Merlin’s dead, and he’s alive.  Gods, he wants to hear his voice more than anything, nuzzle him and lay his head in his lap while his father strokes his face. Merlin would be fine if their roles were switched. No, he wouldn’t. He’d be able to get up and not let grief crush him in its jaws, and he wouldn’t be lying on a stone floor in the gods know where, letting himself be comforted by a stranger and pretending it’s his son. Yes, he would. The grief would tear him apart, and he’d be irreversibly shattered, just like he is. He can’t do this. Why isn’t he dead? “Charlie?” The voice softly calls after a while. (Or maybe it hasn’t been that long, only seemed like it.) Gods, he’s already going mad, because he’d swear on his life that they sound exactly like Merlin, and it isn’t him. He slowly opens his eyes, not knowing what to expect. Merlin looks down at him, hair still up in its ponytail, locs the same length and thickness from what he can see, the three scars on his face unchanged. His nose and beard are the same, glasses on his face, earrings in and necklace on his neck. His bliaut is the same green, cape the same blue, clasps the same silver, dragons still engraved in them. 

But it’s not him.  If he had any strength, he’d shy away, demand why this imposter was taking on Merlin’s form so soon after his death, if they were the one who killed his father, why their bond is still intact and yet he draws breath. “Oh, Charlie,” the imposter murmurs, seeming concerned. “What happened?” Is his grief really that obvious? Of course it is. Merlin’s dead, and someone is wearing his face and body and they don’t understand why he’s upset. “You’re not him,” he finally whispers.They pause, clearly not expecting him to see through their ruse. “What do you mean?” They ask a moment later, and their confusion looks just like Merlin’s, but he won’t fall for their tricks. “Merlin’s dead,” he snaps, even if he’s unable to raise his voice, too exhausted to. To their credit, they don’t even pause. “Sweetheart, I don’t know what you saw, but it’s me. I promise.” He shakes his head, unable to produce any further rebuttal. Speaking and thinking coherent thoughts both feel like a burden too heavy to bear. “How can I prove I’m real?” They ask softly, offering. They’re not offended in the slightest. Could- could it really be Merlin? Why doesn’t he remember what happened? Why doesn’t blood stain his clothes? And why are they here instead of the forest? He stares at the imposter- but maybe they’re not one. He can’t think of any questions, of any way to prove that it’s really Merlin. “How about I tell you what I know?” When he doesn’t object, they continue. “Your full name is Charlemagne William Ambrosius. Your birth parents abandoned you when you weren’t growing fast enough for them. A bear would have eaten you, but I saved you. I raised you. I named you. I watched you take your first steps, heard your first words, taught you how to fly. I helped you learn how to hunt when you got older. And when I started getting sick, you took care of me. “You’re my son. You’re my companion, familiar, and best friend. Nothing could ever change that. I’m not leaving you. I’m never leaving you.” Snow-white magic comes out of the hands still on his muzzle, soothing his headache, making his body and heart feel less heavy. An imposter wouldn’t have the same color of magic. An imposter wouldn’t know all those details; they wouldn’t even know his full name. It really is Merlin. He nuzzles his father’s chest frantically, breathing in his scent of vanilla and lavender as Merlin hugs him tightly. “You died,” he whimpers, sure he’d be crying if he could. “Shh. Shh. I’m right here,” Merlin murmurs, pressing kisses to his head. “I’m so sorry you saw that.” Finally, he calms, the storm of emotions slowly dying down. Merlin lays down, uncaring of their surroundings being stone, and he follows suit, resting his head on his father’s chest. Silence, far more peaceful than before, encompasses them. They stay like that for a while, just… cuddling, taking solace in each other, and gods, he never wants to go through something like this again. ”What happened?” He asks quietly. “You were drugged again,” Merlin answers after sighing softly. “It was intentional this time. Some bastards drugged every deer where you were hunting, so no matter which ones you ate, they’d succeed. Then they brought you here.” His father’s hands clench in his fur, and he nuzzles his companion, knowing Merlin was as distressed as the first time he was drugged. Merlin takes a deep breath before continuing. “Must’ve have had a wizard in their ranks to get you here in the first place. I don’t know what they made for you to see me dying, unfortunately. Maybe it was an illusion of your worst fear?” He says the last part softly, like he needs to say it, but doesn’t want to exacerbate the experience. “…I’m not scared of you leaving me,” he responds after a moment, and it’s true.

“You’re not scared of me intentionally leaving you,” his father quietly counters, and he suppresses a shudder, burying his face in his companion’s chest as the all too fresh memories flash through his mind. Something gives him pause once he regains control. “Why don’t you know what was in the drugs? Or any of their names?” Merlin flushes a little, sheepish. “I might have… killed them before I interrogated them any.” “Very practical of you,” he responds, staring at him, and Merlin stares back like he’s being audacious. “Oh, like you have the right to say anything about that, Charlemagne ‘please, please, please let me kill that person because they looked at you wrong’-” He raises his head, nuzzling Merlin’s neck in the spot he knows is ticklish, and his father shrieks before dissolving into helpless giggles. “All right, I’m sorry,” he laughs, trying to shove him off, but to no avail. He takes mercy and relents soon enough, partly because another question came to mind. “You could just revive them,” he tells his companion, tilting his head as he looks down at him. “So why don’t you seem to want to?” Merlin sighs, sobering. “I don’t want to deal with them anymore. Not after they hurt you like this.” He nods, understanding. He doesn’t want to either. But for all they know, there could be more people dealing with that drug than inside these walls. Practicality matters more. Maybe they could bring in a few of the other gods to deal with them. If they were told what happened, they’d be all too willing to help with this. But… they can worry about it later.  For now, he readjusts his position on Merlin’s chest, and his father’s hands begin to stroke his muzzle again. He closes his eyes, letting out a small purr. Merlin is all right, and that’s all that matters.

Taglist: @gaylightisminetocommand, @the-arson-author-gamer

[la-muerta]

Title: radix malorum

Fandoms: Red, White & Royal Blue (book + movie)

Warnings: Rated E. Mild violence & blood.

Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz x Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor

Summary: In his first week at college, Alex, June, and Nora find a black book hidden in the basement of an abandoned frat house, a book full of supposed magic spells. They think it's just a joke — until the spells actually work, and all hell breaks loose.

--

Chapter One: first impressions [read on Ao3]

For @whumptober Day 1 prompt: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”

For @angstober Day 2 prompt: Anxiety

[bilightningwhumper]

@angstober 2024- Day 1; Again

My Angstober 2024 Masterlist . Next>>

"Final Piece" Masterlist --- TNEI Tumblr Masterlist

Summary:

Excerpt for "Final Piece" (The Last Unicorn retelling) Galen has a choice to make

Notes:

Characters: Galen- Last Unicorn Galen's father- Schmendrick Galen's mother- Molly Grue Galen's mate (mentioned)- Lir

Ao3 link

Word count: 219

Galen PoV

“Galen?”

He startled, looking away from the wall he realized he’d been staring blankly at. Everyone had mixed expressions on their faces as he met their gaze one by one. His father, frowning, not meeting his gaze, eyes far away. His mother, teary eyed, squeezing his hand gently when he looked at her. The investigators weren’t looking any specific way, just… waiting.

“The choice is yours, Galen.” Ms. Lyle said, hands folded in front of her. “No one would blame you if you walked away now.”

I would.

It wasn’t an easy idea to swallow. Go back to the Asylum? He’d gotten out once, but there was no guarantee that he’d find his way out again. And the idea of trusting strangers with the task of freeing him was nerve wracking enough.

But… his mate was still in there. Not that he’d told anyone but his therapist that. And his old friends were trapped there with him. Should he really turn down the chance to give them freedom, too?

“You don’t have to answer right away. We don’t even need to know today. Take a few days or as long as you need to-”

“I’ll do it.”

You could hear a pin drop.

Galen’s heart was in his throat. He couldn’t believe he’d actually said it, but continued on, “I’ll return to the Asylum.”

TNEI Taglist:

@scoundrelwithboba

[tempestaurora]

and in the end, i'd do it all again (i think you're my best friend)

11k | bakugou & midoriya | my hero academia

@angstober day 1: again

summary: “What I’m about to tell you is a secret,” Bakugou said. “It’s my biggest secret in the world, and you need to swear to me that you’ll never tell anyone ever.”

Bakugou produced his Edgeshot tin lunchbox from the drawer, in which all of his notes were hidden.

“Cool lunchbox,” Izuku murmured.

“It’s not about the lunchbox.” He opened the lid and produced the typed list.

Before he showed it to Izuku, he held it to his chest.

“I’m from the future, sort of.”

-

On the morning of his 24th birthday, pro hero Dynamight wakes up in his 4 year old body. It's not long before he realises he's going to have to live his life all over again - so this time, he's determined to do it right.

He woke up on his fourth birthday, hands alight with explosions.

They were small, little pops that tickled his palms and would leave them aching afterwards. His fingertips still soft and smooth before years of callousing would overcome them, forming a thick layer to protect him from himself.

Bakugou Katsuki blinked, confused, because he was not supposed to be there. He was supposed to be at home, his new home, his overcrowded apartment four people strong – Sero, Kaminari, Kirishima – and he was supposed to be waking up to his twenty-fourth birthday. Twenty-four. Not four. An adult, paying rent and working a job and occasionally number one on the hero ranking depending on the month and number of times he yelled at a reporter.

Not four. Not tiny and young and vulnerable.

His parents opened the door, shedding light into his darkened bedroom, singing happy birthday and carrying a cupcake, alight with four candles. Last time around – he remembered this well – he had raised his hands in jubilation, showing off his new quirk, coming exactly on time. His parents had cheered and hugged him, and he’d blown out his candle and gone to the zoo with his family and the Midoriyas.

This time around, he waited until after blowing out the candle. Nothing really changed; he still got his cheers and his hugs and a birthday zoo trip, Midoriya Izuku trailing after him as always, annoying as ever but just tinier about it.

But it was strange all the same.

continue reading on ao3