#anyway drawing knives is harder than it seems

[ofdarklands]

a while ago i mentioned on discord that mitr'a would have definitely given the twins knives made by him, and i've since been thinking about the shape they would take. evidently they had to be functional above all, and probably made with insane, never dulling ultima thule materials or something

eventually decided to go with one i had researched before. its inclusion into my personal keeper lore is ongoing; still have to decide on the traditional materials... maybe some sort of very hard seedpods would be cool? anyway

got a bit long:

these two are based on the chilean corvo knife. historically it was a knife used by miners and farmers, made from recycled farm equipment, and probably descended in its shape from the morish knives brought by the spanish. it can, and has, been used as a weapon, but its original function was practical: cutting rope, leather, wood, boring holes, skinning animals, opening cans...

you can absolutely filet a person with it, but it requires intention. you have to hack at people like you're holding an axe, and while it doesn't require much strength or dexterity to wield it, you have to know what you're doing. it's not much good to defend either, so if you're attacking with it about your best option is going fully lethal with killing shots to the eyes, throat, gut, and arteries

alphinaud's would be the so called 'condor's beak' shape, mostly used by the military, but in this case i chose it because it's also perfect for cutting underbrush like a handheld rozón. added a little saw too, replacing most of the outside edge. you could also use it to climb, probably. it looks impressive, but it's actually harder to fight with. can hook on bone alisaie's is the shape called 'atacameño' and is an older, more utility based knife, with an edge only on the inside of the curve. it was mostly used by workers, and then brought by them to the pacific war where it was used as a close melee weapon and multitool. unlike alphinaud's, it also can stab, and the extra metal in the pommel is for whacking people (and things) with for both, the handle has the 'angel's eye' design, which is, supposedly, to distract and scare the opponent before you slice and dice them

here's some sketches with other shapes. since it was mostly a self forged weapon until about the 60s, there was a LOT of variation in the references

all this lore was gathered from a bunch of web pages. i can't claim to be an actual expert on corvos

[its-no-biggie]

inspired by the notes on this post (definitely scroll through them bc theres some really good stuff in there) heres some more thoughts

first things first, im not exactly sure how this works in canon but heres my interpretation of weapon/weapon duos. we know that its not impossible - we see liz and patty working together on multiple occasions, and theres a certain duo that we find out later the meister was actually a weapon without knowing it. my guess is we dont see weapon/weapon duos often because weapons arent super common, so it makes sense to pair them up with humans to make the best use of their weapon abilities. but there doesnt seem to be anything preventing two weapons from working together the way weapons and meisters usually do? swapping between which one is the weapon would probably be difficult, so they would either stick to one person as primarily the weapon, or train a lot to get used to doing both. but soul resonance and stuff doesnt seem to be a problem. anyway lets get into it

LOLIX. thank you *tumblr user joltning (whoops misremembered who said this lol) i always forget about these two, but my god. lolix in soul eater..... okay heres my thought. felix and locus are both weapons and siris was originally their meister, although when missions went awry lolix worked as a duo (like that one time kid abandons liz and patty in the middle of a mission to make sure his toilet paper is symmetrical or whatever lmao). then siris dies and the 2 of them are already used to working together, so they make for an unconventional duo but their years of history make them deadly. augh and then when they start drifting apart and it physically gets harder to work together, and theyre both blaming it on each other but really they just arent on the same wavelength anymore. ough. just like what happened to maka and soul except they dont fix it. and then locus kills felix. soooo good. in terms of what weapons they would be - i know felix favours knives and locus is more of a sniper rifle guy. so locus is a knife and felix is a sniper rifle?

[i know my weapon choices have been pretty uncreative - soul eater has magical weapons so i dont have to limit myself to whats in halo. im just not very good at inventing new weapons lmao - if i were to actually draw this i would want at least some of these guys to be more fantastical weapons, but for now im staying in the realm of rvb weapons lol]

someone mentioned church and tucker both being weapons..... i think i like that! tex and church used to be paired up, then in blood gulch flowers was versatile enough to work with either of them. then caboose shows up and pairs with sheila (huge powerful weapon thats difficult to use), then flowers dies, so chucker are just kinda like well. lets try it. and they work well as a duo! then we could have both tucker as the sniper rifle (hilarious) and church as the sword (insert joke about crossing swords but more uncomfortable this time). i dont think these two are good enough to swap back and forth the way lolix would though so church is primarily the weapon in this arrangement (he wanted to be the meister but he cant aim for shit lmfao).

im still not really sure what i wanna do with tucker and wash though...... i really like the idea of meister!tucker, with wash being a similar weapon to church, so that he seamlessly fills the gap where church used to be (for angst purposes). but i also like freelancers as meisters..... maybe wash is also both? someone also mentioned pfl like experimenting with swapping around meisters and weapons so it could be like. a special weapons-only program where they focus on making weapon/weapon duos as strong as possible? with a focus on versatility rather than a strong partnership.

if you wanna get a little more unethical with pfl - perhaps theyre experimenting on people to turn them into weapons? so originally the ai fragments were regular people but they undergo a dangerous and experimental procedure and come out the other side a weapon. and pfl is doing this so they can control what kind of weapon the person shifts into - so they start with compatible duos, see where their partners strengths lie, and turn them into the optimal weapon. but maybe its kinda like the black blood where it like. leaves some kind of evil magic in their body that can then affect their partner when they resonate? so the duos are really strong but very unstable, and thats how we get the meta and the epsilon incident. and THEN if wash was already a weapon, but he was the meister for epsilon when the incident happened, he would refuse to be a meister again and only work as a weapon. so then he pairs with meister!tucker, which works great for tucker because hes used to working with weapon!church so its basically like church is still around. and then they both realize this arrangement is preventing them from confronting their own issues, so they grow and heal together and thats represented by them swapping roles. hmmm this doesn't really account for epsilon very well but whatever. maybe ill revisit it another time

last thing. grif as the grifshot. i cannot BELIEVE i missed this. its a little unfortunate bc grif is the one who uses the grifshot in canon, not simmons, but lets be real simmons with the grifshot would kick ass. 10/10 easily my favourite duo in this whole au

fuck it. rvb soul eater au

context on soul eater for those who havent seen it: some people can turn into a weapon. they get paired off with meisters (ppl who wield the weapons) based on soul compatibility. if two people are incompatible or out of sync, theyre unable to fight together - their bodies will physically reject it and they can even get injured by trying. so weapon/meister duos are always very deep and trusting (and often ambiguously romantic) relationships. and then they fight monsters or whatever the rest isnt important

im starting with blood gulch, as usual. although..... freelancer has interesting implications...... okay but reds and blues first

grif and simmons - grif is the weapon (maybe a rocket launcher?) because you know his ass is not running around fighting. this works great with simmons' need for control. 10/10 no notes

church and tucker - i think church would naturally be the weapon here but im thinking about how this applies to tucker and wash down the line..... i kinda had it in my head that the freelancers would be meisters and the ais their weapons, which would make weapon!tucker pair well with meister!wash after church dies, but if i disregard that. weapon!wash could be really really interesting.... i dont really have a plot in mind so i also dont know how epsilon fits into this but hes also here. idk ill think about it. anyway obvious weapon choices for this duo would be a sword or a sniper rifle. (i do think its really funny to make tucker the sniper rifle that church cant aim for shit. oh you wanted the sniper rifle so bad? now you are one and your meister gets no kills with it <3)

sarge and lopez - this one has hilarious implications. is lopez still a robot? is he just a regular ass shotgun that sarge built and insists on using instead of pairing with a person? is he a robot that can turn into a weapon? does he still speak spanish? if he is a robot, does he have a soul???? do he and sarge resonate the way weapon/meister duos usually do???? honestly this is hilarious no matter what, but im leaning toward hes a humanoid robot that can turn into a shotgun. sarge built him and lopez hates him for it but he was programmed to be compatible so they resonate just fine. dont think about the implications of a robot having a soul okay shhhhh its fine

if robots are on the table then you know we gotta do caboose and sheila - is sheila also a robot? i think it works either way. shes definitely the weapon though - something with a lot of firepower. truly i think shes the only one who can balance out caboose in a combat setting and even then they still get church killed. incredible

donut and doc - this one is interesting with doc being canonically a pacifist. maybe hes still primarily a medic but he keeps a weapon on him just in case? and then omalley makes good use of it >:D donuts really just along for the ride. i dont have specific weapon ideas - i know doc tends to favour the rocket launcher and donut is good with grenades, but also. insert joke about crossing swords. anyway no matter what weapon he is, donuts weapon form is pink

(also i want you guys to know that i almost did pastrytrain as a duo and left doc out for the crimes of being a pacifist. i still think it could work, but donut and caboose dont really interact that much compared to caboose and sheila, and also i wanted to keep the teams separate. you understand)

tex and kai - honestly this is a GREAT duo imo. i know the only time they interact in canon is some catty bullshit but its not their fault they were written by misogynists, and honestly they have some really good black star/tsubaki duality going for them. i think tex would be the meister, and kai would be maybe a melee weapon? oooh could do both of the grif siblings as knives..... knife simmons...... anyway tex and kai really good duo. easily the best out of all the blood gulch crew

and then the freelancers would be...... actually remarkably similar to how the freelancer/ai relationships work in canon! although if you swap around whos weapon and meister (as opposed to the ais all being weapons) you could certainly shake things up. also kind of interesting bc theres a lot of partner swapping in freelancer, which doesnt seem to happen much in soul eater. a testament to the poor conditions at pfl perhaps......

anyway i dont really have ideas for a full-fledged au, but its certainly fun to play with - the soul eater designs are already fun and then bringing in the rvb colour coding...... giving them fun dramatic weapon designs...... plus the whole soul resonance thing adds a layer to the relationships that i think would make for some delicious character interactions. force these mfs to communicate with each other lmfao

[sirowsky]

The Stories We Tell Ourselves (One-Shot)

Author's Note: So, this was an ask sent to me by my darling wife, @lucrezia-thoughts a while back, that I for some reason never actually added to my collection of works. Which seemed like a shame, since I'm kinda proud of it (it was my very first ask), so I thought I'd re-post it and give it a proper spotlight. Description: Mando's injured and Grogu's bored, so fem!reader tells him a bedtime story.

Rating: Everyone (all fluff all the way on this one, though blood is mentioned) Word Count: 1872

It had been one of those days when one thing had just bled into another, and everything had gone wrong. It was a miracle all three of you had survived, but the Mandalorian had been injured, trying to protect you from a very unpleasant trader, who had knives concealed everywhere in his clothing. Mando had been cut along his side, and while the injury would heal on its own, it had bled a lot before you’d been able to get back to the Crest and properly dress it. He’d insisted on getting the ship off the planets surface before he’d allowed you to help him, and as a result, there was blood everywhere. He hadn’t actually hired you, he had just sort of… realised that the kid liked you and decided that if you were brave enough to stick with them despite the danger of their situation, without even asking for payment, then he wouldn’t stop you.

You weren’t sure if he actually liked you. It was hard to tell with him, even after months of being couped up with the man. You could quite easily read him around others, as you’d become familiar with his body language and mannerisms, so you knew how he should behave if he liked you. But for some reason, he behaved differently with you. His body language was always much more still and maybe even careful, around you, as though he was afraid you’d break if he accidentally bumped into you. It was more than a little annoying, sometimes, since it made it difficult to define what your relationship actually was. But it was mostly just annoying because you wanted him to bump into you. He was a mystery, but that wasn’t what drew you to him. He was kind and respectful, quiet but strong, in both body and conviction. He wasn’t too proud or too self-assured, but he was loyal and protective and gentle. It was quite amazing to you that he was so proficient at using those hands for violence, when he was also so tender with the baby. It had brought tears to your eyes on more than one occasion.

When you’d finally cleaned the last remnants of blood from the controls in the cock-pit, you headed back down to check on Mando. But your eyes fell on the empty pram sitting on the floor of the cargo-bay.

“Oh, no. Kid… where’d you go?”

You searched quietly, not wanting to wake Mando after you’d finally gotten him to lay down in his bunk to rest, before going to scrub the blood away. But then you heard a muffled giggle, and of course it came from the damned bunk. You’d left the door open so that you could easily hear it if he stirred or seemed to worsen in any way.

“No, no, no… Come on, get out of there, let the man rest.”

You reached in and snatched the kid off of Mando’s chest and then stood there for a minute, rocking him quietly against your hip, while you listened for any sign that your… companion… had woken up. You eventually sighed and sat down on a crate, directly behind the bunk, cradling the kid in your arms.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, you know.”

He just cooed and looked at you with bright eyes.

“Okay. How about a bedtime story?”

He just blinked and angled his head a bit more towards you.

“Hm, let’s see. When I was young, my mother would tell me stories about love to get me to sleep. She said that a child that feels loved, will always have the comfort to sleep soundly. So, this story begins with a King. A good, and kind man who rules his land with open arms and a warm heart, but also protects it with ferocity and conviction. Because that land holds everything that he loves, and without it – he’d be broken. One day, when the King is travelling, he finds an orphan outside of his dominion, and being the good man that he is, he brings the child home, to raise as his own. He has no idea how to do that, and it’s chaotic most of the time, especially since his duties can’t be put on hold while he cares for a baby. He still has to rule the land. But he loves that baby so much, that no matter how hard it gets, he endures. He doesn’t care that he hasn’t slept in days, or that he’s always terrified that something’s gonna happen to his boy. None of it matters, as long as the child is safe.”

Mando woke up the moment the kid climbed onto his chest. It was reflexive at this point. Even though he knew that you were there, and would care for the boy without his asking, he was already conditioned to react to whatever the little one needed. But he was wounded and tired, and he heard you coming down from the cock-pit, probably having cleaned up his mess – yet again, so he ignored the kid, and made no effort to let you know that he was awake, when you came to pick the child up. He was in some pain, the wound throbbing a little with each beat of his pulse, which made falling back asleep a little harder, even though he was exhausted. And it was surprisingly nice, just listening to you talk quietly to the kid, not knowing he could hear you. It wasn’t surprising that he found it nice; he found everything about you nice. It was surprising that he enjoyed the eavesdropping aspect so much. That he liked the intimacy of listening to you when your guard was down, and you were just being a woman caring for a child. He listened closely to your story, not missing the clear similarities to your actual life and the way you two had met.

“So, when the King has to travel again, he decides to bring his son along, and they go on a long and adventurous journey together. But on their way back, they come across a woman, wounded and in need of help. And because the King is a good man, he brings the woman to his castle, and helps her heal. And while she heals, she repays the King his kindness, by looking after his son while he cares for his kingdom. And as the woman watches her rescuer, and sees the true warmth of his heart as he cares for his land as closely, and tenderly, as he cares for his son, she falls in love with him.”

He nearly stopped breathing as he heard the words. Could you really mean him? The rest of the story was more or less exactly your story, so you had to be talking about him. He had never allowed himself to consider it. To think that you could ever want to be with a man like him, no matter how much he might want you to. He knew that his efforts to restrain himself around you made him seem stiff and perhaps a bit cold, and it always hurt him to see you try so hard to read him, to understand why he was different towards you than his friends. But if you wanted him too… that changed everything.

“But this wonderful man is a King, and she’s just a woman he found on the side of the road. She has no claim to him, and she’s afraid to tell him how she feels, because if he doesn’t feel the same, it’ll break her heart. So, she cares for the child as best she can, and hopes that he won’t make her leave the castle once she’s healed. And he doesn’t. He let’s her stay, and over time, she finds the courage to tell him the truth, and he reveals that he loves her too. And together they raise the child with love and happiness and adventures, and that’s how this little story ends, my sweet.”

The kid was asleep by the time you finished the tale, and you rocked him gently in your arms after you fell silent, to make sure he wouldn’t stir once you got up to put him back in his pram. You tucked him in snugly, and then closed the little egg up, to keep him warm and safe. Once you were done, you raised your hand up to your neck, rubbing idly at the knots and strained muscles, after such a long day of hardships and stress, and you couldn’t stop the exhausted sigh that escaped you. The movement to your side didn’t register in your brain until Mando was already sitting up at the edge of the bunk, and it startled you. You flinched and then your brain woke up again, and you approached him.

“Hey, what’s the matter, are you okay? Do you need anything?”

Oh, stars above… the number of ways that he could answer that last question.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“No, no, you’re the one that’s wounded, which means I’m the only one that gets to ask that.”

He considered that for a moment.

“I heard your story, mesh’la.”

You froze, and suddenly your heart was frantic in your chest. He heard… all of that? You’d been so certain he was completely passed out! You hadn’t meant to pour so much truth into the story, but it had happened anyway, and now he knew how you felt. He knew. He saw you begin to panic and reached a gloved hand out to you, which you couldn’t bring yourself to take, but before you could back away from him, he reached for your waist instead, and pulled you in closer, until you were standing between his slightly bent knees as he rested against the bunk. You were flustered and shocked to suddenly be so close to him, and you found yourself having trouble figuring out where to put your hands in the small space between you. He’d never given any indication that he liked it whenever you’d touched him, so you settled for resting your palms on the flat and cool beskar on his chest, with your eyes firmly planted on the diamond shaped indentation at the centre of it.

“It was a very good story. I really liked it.”

Your eyes snapped up to stare at his visor, and you wanted to say a thousand things. But nothing came out. You felt him draw in a shaky breath, before his hands tightened on your hips, pulling you even closer. Then he bent his head forwards, leaning his helmet against your forehead, and your arms found their way around his waist, suddenly needing to hold him to you, now that he’d finally given you his silent permission.

“Would you tell me another story?”

His voice was trembling just a bit. Just enough that you could tell through the modulator.

“Okay. What would you like to hear?”

“Tell me how the story continues, after the King declares his love for the woman? Tell me how they live happily ever after… and I promise I’ll try to make the story come true for you.”

THE END

[thatharringrovehoe]

So I've been playing Dishonored which is my favorite game and this popped into my head so now you all have to suffer with me. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

He's so fucking cold. Like he’s been plunged into a lake mid winter and can’t find his way to the surface. Hands shaking, Billy sifts clumsily through the box of his mother’s things he keeps hidden in the back of his closet. He's found that if he thinks about the good times, picnics at the beach under the California sun, the thing oozing it's way though his brain losses just a bit of it's grip. Leaves Billy with enough motor function to stumble around his bedroom, trying to find the right pieces. And fucking hell it’s been so long since he's done this. He can remember helping his Ma when he was little, chubby fingers clenched tight in her cotton sundress as she arranged the items on the table just right. Pricked her finger to draw sigils in a language long forgotten, her voice a soft cadence through the bedroom as she hummed Billy’s favorite lullaby. No words, just a beautiful mournful thing. Humming a song of grieving loss. Billy doesn't know why he likes it so much.

“Remember baby. When you offer your gifts they have to be special. Well loved. Something that brings you joy every time you use it.”

His mother kept a pair of earrings on the cloth covered table. She never wore them when his father was home. Took them out and put them back on the little rickety stand in the back of her closet every day before he came back from work. Dangling silver daggers with the onyx beads. Billy shoved one straight through his left earlobe when he turned fifteen and has barely taken it out since.

His Ma told him that everything he built his shrine with had to mean something. Had to be something he treasured. From the fabric to the stand itself. So Billy tried his best. Draped his best leather jacket over the milk crate that held all of his favorite hair products. Placed his Ma's Fleetwood Mac album next to one of his mother's silver earrings (the one he always wears), arranged as neatly as he can manage. He’d had to prick his thumb seven times because to his dawning horror it kept healing over. Just another tally mark towards something being really fucking wrong. And he remembers the warehouse. Can still feel the slimy caustic sludge being pumped down his throat by a fucking tentacle. But he’d hoped it had been a dream, a nightmare from reading to many Lovecraft novels. Billy curses as he slices open his thumb for what feels like the millionth time.

Apparently not.

He's drawn the characters just how he remembers. His mother had made him practice every day, showing him each and every shape and line, drawn in colorful crayon. She gave him a cookie every time he got them right. Never hung them up on the fridge though. Didn't want his father to see.

He can feel the shadow creeping through his blood, dragging it’s claws against his veins. It might not know exactly what he’s doing yet, but it must be able to feel the intention. Billy thinks of ocean waves and a soft hand running through his curls. Fights the pull at the back of his mind to just give in. To sleep. His hands shake harder.

Fuck, where is it?! Billy combs through records and trinkets, a bottle of her perfume. He’s desperately hoping it didn't get lost in the move because his mother never taught him how to make one. Hell, he's pretty certain that he wouldn't be able to find the pieces he needs in Hawkins anyway. Not like Melvalds has a supernatural voodoo isle.

Then finally, finally he finds it. Lifting up his mother’s satin scarf it comes tumbling out to land on the floor with a clatter. Bleached white and beaten smooth by the waves, it's about the size of a sand dollar. Billy picks it up, places it in the palm of his hand. He still remembers the day he found it out on the shore. Washed up between some sea glass, the leather bindings still somehow soft even soaked with salt water. Etched with symbols and shapes Billy will never understand. When Billy showed it to his mother an unreadable expression crossed her face. It was that evening she showed him her shrine.

The rune seems to hum against his skin, an otherworldly song from far away ghosting past his ears. The thing that’s trying to Shanghai Billy’s brain writhes. It's angry, but more than that it’s fucking terrified and Billy has never been more sure of anything in his life. This was a good idea. But his limbs are getting colder, heavier. Whatever this evil piece of shit is it doesn’t like what Billy’s doing. He has to fight against the deadening of his limbs, crawling towards his shitty attempt at a shrine from his place on the floor. His vision is starting to grow dark when he finally clutches on to the milk crate, placing the rune between the earring and his cassette tape. And he knows that there's no guarantee. That whatever his Ma prayed to every night never shielded her from Neil’s fists, didn’t do a damn thing as the cancer slowly drained her down to nothing. That sometimes (most times) when someone would call out to the void the only thing they heard in return was their own disappointment. But he's got no other options. This is his trump card. His last resort. If this hocus pocus bullshit doesn’t work then Billy is up shit creek without a paddle. With a frustrated shout against the nightmare pulling him in, Billy begs.

“Please! Fuck, help me! I'll do anything, c’mon just- please!”

The air in Billy’s bedroom all of a sudden seems to shudder. The shadows flicker and meld together, reaching outwards. The sound of dry fall leaves blowing in the wind, a wail of a thousand dying worlds ricochets off the walls. Then nothing. Billy scrunches his eyes shut against the sting of tears. Fuck, of course it didn’t work. Story of his life. He called for help and just like always it doesn't mean shit. No one is coming to save him.

“Well well well. Certainly been a long time since someone summoned me like that. Very old school.”

Billy’s eyes snap open, the surprise and adrenaline enough to fight the heaving weight of his limbs to raise his head. And there, perched on his shitty milk crate shrine, sits the most beautiful boy he's ever seen. He's got hair the color of soil after it rains. High cheekbones and full lips, milky white skin dotted with a constellation of beauty marks. Billy didn't know what he expected but it certainly wasn't this. The boy god is dressed in a swanky leather coat the color of charcoal with pants to match. Eyes like an oil spill, inky black and endless. With a good look at Billy, they narrow dangerously.

“I thought I fucking told you not to touch this world. You want a repeat of last time?”

Whatever deity he summoned looks pissed as hell. Did he not do it right? Maybe the items weren’t good enough. That would be just his luck. He's so confused he almost doesn’t notice it right away. The shadow slowly working it’s way through his body has stopped, retreated a little even.

“I-... I don't know what you’re talking about. Please, there's something wrong with me. Something got put inside of me and I need it out. Please, help me.”

Billy hasn’t begged since his Ma was takin her last breath in that damn hospice bed. Didn't see the point when it always got you nowhere. But now he can't make himself stop. Cuz he's never been this scared before. The things this monster inside him wants him to do. It's so strong, like he’s fighting a steam roller. He's got no hope on his own.

The boy sitting on his best leather jacket stills. Cocks his head to the side slightly, considering. Then those pretty pink lips are spreading out into a gleeful smirk. Slides off the shrine to settle on his knees in front of Billy. Reaches out his hand to cup Billy’s jaw gentle enough it makes him want to cry.

“You can't get a good enough hold of this one can you? Interesting. Tell me trouble maker, what's your name?”

That voice, deep and ethereal, seems to echo from all around him. He can feel it vibrate in his bones. He wants, no, needs to answer.

“Billy. Billy Hargrove.”

The boy smiles now, all gleaming pearly whites. If Billy looks long enough reality starts to flicker. And for just a second all he can see is teeth sharp like knives in a Cheshire grin. There for a moment and gone in a flash. The hand on his jaw tightens just the slightest fraction.

“Well Billy Hargrove. You seem to find yourself in quite the predicament. That parasite sucking on your soul is an old acquaintance of mine. He's one nasty little shit.”

If a brain washing shadow monster could feel indignant he’s pretty sure that’s what's happening now. Whatever was hijacking Billy's mind has curled up somewhere tight, sunk it’s teeth in deep. Cornered like a threatened animal.

“Please, I’ll do anything you want. I can’t… I can’t fight it. It's too much.”

There’s enough tears leakin down his face that it's soaking the front of his shirt. The boy is giving him this look, almost amused. The longer he holds Billy’s jaw the more the monster losses his grip, and Billy is ready to do anything at this point. Because that thing stuck to his brain wants him to find people. Feed it people. Wants Billy to drink all the chemicals in the supply shed at the pool. Told Billy that if he tried to fight it would take Max first and he can't let that happen.

The boy seems to come to a decision, grabs Billy’s hands to help him shakily to this feet. He doesn’t let go even when they’re both standing.

“You know there’s not many who can fight his hold for this long. I'm impressed.”

He steps forward until his chest is practically pressed up against Billy's. He smells like ozone and smoke, bottomless black eyes trained on stormy blue. Reaches up to tangle his fingers into Billy’s curls, sending tingles across his scalp. Smiles wider at the small noise that escapes Billy's throat.

“I'll help you Billy Hargrove. But in return, you have to do something for me.”

Billy's nodding before he can even really register what’s being said. Anything. He'd do whatever this pretty boy asked as long as he keeps touching Billy like this. Gentle, with a reverence no one has ever bothered to show.

“I need you to kick this little shit back into the hole he crawled out of. Can you do that for me Billy? I wanna see how your story pans out trouble maker. Wanna see what you do when someone gives you a chance.”

Billy nods again, breathless. The boy chuckles, the sound saccharine. Like warm honey dripping down his spine.

“Gunna have to use your words baby.”

Billy swallows, the click of his dry throat loud in the warm personal bubble they’ve created.

“Yes. Yeah. I’ll do it. Whatever you want pretty boy, please.”

It comes out a whisper but the boy hears it all the same. The boy smiles bright, pulls Billy forward. Soft warm lips press against his own and Billy is floating. He's never been kissed like this before. Slow and deep, the boy's tongue pressing in to curl and slide. Stuff him full. Billy's shaking for a whole other reason now. Reaches out to grip the boy's coat, cool to the touch where Billy is burning. Fire rushing through his veins, and he's already so close just from this. Whimpers brokenly into the kiss.

The boy pulls him in impossibly closer, slots his thigh between Billy’s legs, pushes up up up. And Billy is right fucking there, grinds down as he swaps spit with an old god in his shitty bedroom with the peeling yellow paint and the door that locks from the outside. Can feel the tell tale tingle spreading behind his navel.

“ ‘m gunna cum! Fuck, more please!” Billy mumbles curses into the kiss, breath hitching as his balls draw tight. The boy smiles against his mouth, yanks his curls back to bite into the meat of his neck and Billy’s gone, pulsing rope after rope of cum into his underwear.

“Oh my- .. Fuuuuuck. Yes! Uhhhnn!” He's panting like a dog as he slumps forward into the boys shoulder. Gentle fingers card through his hair as aftershocks zap up and down his body. A kiss is pressed behind his ear, a soft warmth flooding his core. He can't feel the shadow anywhere.

“So good for me sweet thing. Makes me want to keep you.”

It's said so quiet, like the boy doesn’t intend for it to be heard. Billy presses his face into his neck. There's no heartbeat under the boy's skin.

“You could. I want you to.” Whoever this is, whatever he is, he came for Billy. Answered his literal cry for help when no one else did. He doesn't know what he has to offer but he wants to give this impossible boy everything.

The boy in question hums. Brings Billy's left hand up to kiss the back of it. His skin feels hot under his lips, bordering on uncomfortable. Like stepping on sun scorched pavement. When the boy pulls back there’s a tattoo on his hand. A strange design that looks vaguely like a compass. It's the same mark as the one on the middle of the rune sitting behind them.

“I haven't given my mark to someone quite so special in a while. Try not to disappoint me Billy Hargrove.”

The boy goes to pull away but Billy still has his hand clenched tight on his coat. Panic wells up in his chest. Doesn't want to end whatever this is quite yet.

“Wait! What’s-…what's your name?” Which is a valid question he thinks. And probably one he should have asked at some point before he started grinding his dick on the guys leg. Oh well.

“I've had many names, none if which would hold any significance for you. Call me what you want trouble maker. I'll be there when you need me.”

Billy believes him. Then between one blink and the next the boy is gone, tendrils of dissipating smoke the only evidence he was ever there. A deep voice whispers from nowhere and everywhere.

“Ask your sister about the monsters in the woods.”

On the shrine the only thing that remains is the rune, both his gifts having apparently been accepted. Billy gives a hysterical bark of laughter at the thought of some higher being listening to Fleetwood Mac somewhere out in the void. It gives him an idea. He drags his lips across the fresh mark on his hand, mumbles into his skin.

“Thanks Stevie.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I... I would... I would love to see Jameson testing Jake some more... I mean the drabble of him demanding Jake let him do things for him for food was... good...

Your wish is my command, my love

CW: Noncon/dubcon (nightmare, semi-explicit), noncon/dubcon touching and kissing, internal dehumanization, flashbacks, survivor initiates spice and is rejected, conditioned behavior, trauma response, knives, blood

More salt-copper-sweetness than sugar and vanilla, now, Nanda’s voice is rough with his breath hot against the pet’s ear. It’s a warmth that covers him, inside and out. 

It presses against the underside of the pet’s skin, and he opens his mouth to pant, sure that the blood will come back out from within him when he does, that he’ll spill Nanda’s voice back at him, a waterfall of the touch and tension and twist leaving him to fall like an offering or a plea at Nanda’s feet.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” Nanda asks, licking at the shell of his ear, and the pet shivers, all his awareness stretched between the hot tongue on his skin and the cold blade of the knife, the flat side pressed against his ribcage on one side.

Each is a promise, and the pet wants both to be kept.

“I-I...” His own voice is weak, snap of twigs, rosemary boiled in water until the flavor is gone. He shifts, kneeling somewhere that he can’t remember, a small room in a small house on a small street in a town where everything is named for the glory of the man he saved her from. There’s a folded paper on a desk and if he can only look, he’ll know, he’ll know why and where and when. If he can only look-

“I thought it might b-be difficult-... ah!”

Nanda’s hand, rough palms and calloused fingers, curving around the back of his neck over his collar, jerking him closer, and he forgets the note and the room and the town and there is only Nanda, there has only ever been Nanda and the pain. There are metal cuffs around his wrists, his favorite ones that scratch him and sting perfectly for hours after they’re done, keeping his hands behind him, just touching the small of his back with his wrists and his knuckles brush even lower. 

“What might be difficult, pet?” 

Oh, there’s the sugar, the slow melody of vanilla and egg. He loves how his owner says what he is, he has to love it, he was told to love it and there is no love but this one, no life for him but the custard voice of the man who cuts him to ribbons until he begs for more.

The pet’s mouth opens to pant as the knife is turned, Nanda’s motions slow and controlled, and the bright light of perfect pain sparks inside him as the knife draws a line. His skin opens like silk for the blade, and he moans, dropping his head forward onto Nanda’s shoulder, listening to the sound of his laughter like a spoon cracking the crust on creme brulee. Sugar, and fire, and blood.

“That... that it’d be difficult... mmmmn, fuck-... what with y-you... being dead.”

Nanda goes silent, shifting one thigh between the pet’s legs, pressing kisses into the soft, short shorn hair with bald spots from Robert’s muzzle, humming softly in thought. His thumb rubs, ever so gently, at the pet’s nape while the knife slips a little deeper.

The pet whimpers, rocks, ruts helplessly against Nanda’s leg, turns his head enough to lock at the soft skin of Nanda’s neck the underside of his jaw. Blood trickles in a welcome hint of sensation down his side, over the flat space just inside his hip. 

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” Nanda murmurs, fingers twisting into his hair, pulling it up and back enough to see the pleasure-drunk haze in the pet’s eyes, watch him bite his lip to muffle his whimpers and moans as he rocks in an erratic rhythm against the expensive fucking tailored pants Nanda is wearing. “To leave me like that.”

“You... ah, mmmh... fuck, you left me.”

“Look at you.” Nanda’s voice is a whisper again. The knife dips, swirls lazily through his skin like an artist pulling color across canvas. It presses in just a little too deep (not deep enough) and the pet throws his head back, briefly breaking Nanda’s grip, back arching into a perfect bow as he cries out. Nanda’s hand pushes between his legs, then, too-warm and not warm enough, firm grip curving around him, stroking with the same lazy slowness that he has with the knife. “What is it like, to love the pain?”

The pet swallows, the knife digs and digs digs into soft skin along his belly, drops down to his thigh, blood wells up swift and absurdly brightly red there. 

“It’s... it’s hell,” He whispers. “I hate, ah, ah, ah-... I hate this.”

Nanda’s laugh breaks apart like a mirror, shatters into a thousand bites of sweet blood, drips over his mind like oil. If he was kneeling before, he’s on his knees again with his face pressed down against the cool concrete floor of the specialty room, legs spread, and his back is heat and blood and pain. 

Nanda’s hands are on his hips, gripped tightly enough to leave the bruises he will kiss later, as he murmurs, “We know all about coming back from the dead, here, don’t we, J-”

Jameson wakes up.

There’s no gasp, no dramatic sitting-up-in-bed like in the movies. In one moment, Nanda’s voice murmured a name he can’t remember as the pet’s body gave way to his demands and in the next his eyes are open to pitch-black darkness and the soft sound of his roommate’s breathing across the room.

The pet’s-...

Jameson’s body shudders, shivers roiling under his skin. He is hard and throbbing, and one of his hands brushes down over his ribs just to make sure his fingers don’t slip through slick blood. He breathes in through his nose, heart pounding, and looks across the room.

The barest hint of moonlight through the window gives him enough to see Allyn by. Their hair spreads light red and thick around them, the blue light of night turning it all slightly eerie and haunted. The rounded lines of their face, the soft relaxation of their mouth. He wishes Allyn would bite him hard enough to make it bleed, and then pour their rain-voice over him and tell him he’s good. He wants their hands on him. 

He wants someone’s hand on him.

He reaches under the pillow and grabs his collar, keeping his fingers over the buckle to muffle its clinking, and pulls it quickly on around his neck, choking on a sob, on his rage, on how badly he needs to be cut apart until he feels taken in ways he wants no one to ever take him again. 

The constriction is soothing. He’s safe.

He’s safe, here.

He’s so hard the slightest brush against his boxers feels like he could finish just like this, just from the memory of Nanda’s voice whispering are you ready for me, pet?

A different voice, sonorous and droning, are you ready to leave the darkness and come back into the light-

False memories. Stop. Leave me alone. He bites his lip until he feels blood break free, but it’s not enough.

Jameson pushes the blankets down - he’s pouring sweat, cold but it doesn’t make him feel any better - and sits up. His feet settle onto the cool smooth hardwood, as old as the house, and he stands, stumbling to the door. He thinks-

He thinks, water.

A drink of water.

Rub one out to the memory of a dead man, then water, and back to bed.

The bathroom door is open. The light is on. He almost stops, but he knows Nova never turns the bathroom light off if she uses it, she says it’s bad luck, he doesn’t ask but she says it anyway. Everyone thinks he fucking cares about their shit here. He doesn’t.

He just needs-

water-

touch-

to be bled by someone who tells him he is a good boy-

The big guy who owns this place is in the bathroom. Jameson stops in the doorway, staring at his back. Muscles ripple under mostly unmarked skin, the slight curve of waist and small of his back. Jameson pictures his own nails digging into the skin, the soft red welts he could leave there, lines to mark him. How Jake’s hands could leave him bruised in all the best places.

How easily he could force his legs apart or shove him up against a wall and hold him there, hands around his neck, thumbs digging into his jaw on either side. How Jake’s voice would sound when he moaned, when he buried himself inside, when the pain between them was perfect, like it had been with Nanda, like it can be again.

His heart is still pounding, thumping so loud he’s sure Jake can hear it, pouring adrenaline in his veins he tells himself is lust and not fear of how deep this runs.

He moves.

Jake’s eyes must have been closed, whatever he was doing, because he doesn’t see Jameson coming, and he jumps when his hand lays against his back, turning quickly around. He’s so tall, and strong, but there are no bruises from him on the pet’s-

on Jameson’s skin.

“Hey,” Jake says, voice low, river under rock, wearing what seems eternal slowly away. His eyes drop to the collar buckled tightly around Jameson’s neck, and he takes in a breath. There’s no surprise, there. He’s seen this before, they’ve seen so many pets, but none like me, Jameson thinks, almost desperately. Not like me. Not like this. “What do you-”

Jameson backs him into the sink and grabs his face in his hands, pulling him down, forcing their mouths together. It’s less a kiss than a challenge, and Jake makes a sound of muffled uncertainty before his hands slide up to Jameson’s shoulders, and he thinks, yes, make it hurt-

Jake shoves him back and away, holding him at arms’ length. “No.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Jameson snaps, trying to twist free of the grip, but Jake’s hands are strong. “I want you. I want this. Fuck me!” He shivers in pleasure as he pulls too hard and feels a burst of pain that goes right between his legs, his already nearly painful erection seeming to throb even harder. Being hurt hasn’t felt so good since Nanda died.

Since he walked away-

“I said no.” Jake shakes his head. There’s a stubble along his jaw, and Jameson hates Kauri suddenly for getting the redness on his skin where the stubble scratches even though Jameson never does, not anywhere, not on his inner thighs, nowhere at all. Hates how they smile at each other. Hates that Kauri doesn’t feel like this, not anymore, and Jameson can’t imagine it will never stop for him. “You know I won’t ever touch you that way.”

“I want you to!” His voice cracks, he’s desperate, and when Jake lets go, just for a second, Jameson grabs his hand and shoves it down, so Jake can feel how hard he is, rocks forward against the heat of Jake’s palm. “See? I want it. Please, fuck, please-” His eyes are wide with need, and fear - of himself and Jake and his mind and his broken betraying body. “Please, I’m good, please-”

Jake’s hand jerks back with a hiss and he moves away. “I. Will. Not. Fuck. You. Listen to me. Just talk to me for a second-... I need you take in a deep breath, I think you are reacting to a reminder of-”

“Oh, fuck off! If you won’t fuck me, get out of here so I can take care of my fucking s-self.”

God damn it, his voice is weakening, he feels like he’ll collapse under the weight of death he’s walked away from or caused by his own hand. He slumps down onto the ground, onto the bathmat next to the tub, and puts his hands over his face. 

There’s a pause, then Jake again. “Just-”

“Just fucking go!” His eyes burn bright and hot, his breath hitches. Still desire runs up through his nerves and won’t let him go. “Get out! I hate you! I should have stayed with h-him, I shouldn’t have left, I should have been good and good and good and good until, until, unt-til-”

There’s a whisper at the door, Jake’s low murmur in return. Jameson hears, tell everyone I’m handling it if they ask, stay out here. Make sure Allyn goes back to their room, just in case. 

Just in case what? In case he hurts them? In case-

He came in here so he wouldn’t. 

Oh, fuck, what if he hurts Allyn?

A pause, and then the click of the door closing. Jameson looks out from behind his fingers, only to find Jake slowly sliding down to sit with his back against the door. 

“Talk to me,” Jake says softly. “What happened? Did you have a nightmare?”

Jameson’s tears break free, then, burn down his cheeks like a volcano is pouring liquid fire into a city below and leaving wreckage and empty air in the shape of bodies behind. He chokes on a sob and curls up around himself, shaking his head, again and again. 

He can’t stop crying, and Jake doesn’t stop him, only waits. 

He nods.

“Okay.” Jake’s voice is low. Fresh water on his tongue, a snowmelt waterfall by the side of the road. He laughed, didn’t he? He held his hand out to feel the icy water slide through his fingers and sink into the thawing earth below.

It doesn’t snow here.

Why won’t his mind stop inventing memories that aren’t his?

“What happened in your dream? You don’t have to tell me, only if you want to.” Jake’s voice, low and calming, doesn’t stop Jameson’s tears but instead it opens him up to them, he cries the same way he bled, helpless to stop. 

“M-My-... my first-... I was w-w-with him-”

“Okay.” Jake hesitates, and then asks, softly, “Can you tell me what you were so afraid of that you put the collar on?”

Jameson doesn’t look up. He keeps crying. Eventually, though, he manages to answer.

“M-myself.”

---

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump  @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @wildfaewhump

[kiyokoxd]

« A knife against the throat »

fandom ; bungo stray dogs

content ; enemies to lovers shit? i have no clue, we gay today

includes ; oneshot/drabble???, fem!chuuya x reader, fem!reader, royal!au, assassin!au?

warnings ; knives, sexual tension 😳, slight swearing

note ; i finally decided to sleep yesterday but NO, this idea kept me up all night, kind of.. for 2 hours but still. I have no fucking idea how princesses work but here you go

It was night and you were about to get to bed. Being a princess could be tiring, it didn't seem so but it was when men tried to pester you all the time even when you showed no interest in them. People trying to show you the 'right' way and act like a proper 'women'.

The night was the only time you got to be alone with your thoughts and that's why you appreciated it so much.

But tonight, you weren't exactly alone. You had a gut feeling that someone was inside, not that you minded since you had a few lessons of self-defence on your own.

But before you could do anything, you felt someone pinning you against the wall instantly with a knife towards your throat.

'Ah, fuck, what an amazing day..' You thought as you rolled eyes, still slightly shocked but as usual, not giving a shit here. Better to be kidnapped or dead than to be here, anything as long as it wasn't torture.

You felt their body press against you, the knife's edge collides against your skin. You swallowed hard and felt the blade press even closer.

You tried to take in the details, it was a she. A female assassin perhaps, she was quite short with a petite body yet had curves and was extremely strong, she had striking orange hair kept in a pony with striking blue eyes which glared at you. If this woman wasn't trying to kill you right now, fuck she was pretty.

"Stay still, I won't hesitate to you slice your pretty little throat and let you bleed out"

You wanted to give a small comeback, but the words wouldn't come out of your throat. You took more details in as you realised, she was the prettiest woman you had ever seen. Hot too actually. Oh yeah, no wonder you never liked men.

Her face was covered with a mask to hide her identity and she wore a black hoodie, just like any assassin would. She was quite familiar, you had heard of her, the rumours had already spread around you to know exactly who she was.

You knew she wouldn't actually kill you, you seemed like some type of bait. You were a princess, and so you said exactly what you said next.

"Do it," You smirked, "I dare you. You already have a price on your head for being an assassin, now you can have one for killing the princess"

"Try me" The assassin snarled and blinked, which gave you an opportunity and so you took it.

Grabbing her arm, you pulled your knife from the sheath of your thigh and spun her around which made you exchange positions. Now her back was to the wall and you were against her.

"I must say, red would suit you more" You teased as you pressed the knife against the fair skin of her throat.

You grinned mischievously when you noticed her surprised reaction because of what position you were in.

"Try me~" You pressed the blade a little harder for emphasis, drawing a tiny drop of blood.

The assassin actually had the nerve to chuckle, "If you wanted to pin me against the wall princess, all you had to do was ask"

You blushed at the remark but your eyes grew darker, "Enough games honey, tell me why you're here"

– ; FEM CHUUYA FEM CHUUYA AAAASJKHDK

~ ; @bsdparadise , @shadyteacup , @dazais-death-wish , @whorefordazai || @missrown , @xmellows , @greenshirtimagines , @alittlesimp , @dazaisusedbandages , @explosion-queen , @misschuuyasimp

anyways! reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe and take care <3 // writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize! the reblog button is always there for you to share :)

[katsukikitten]

It's hard to see through the sticky wet droplets that fall from above your brow, from your lips and cheeks. You huff, blood splatters the floor at the feet of a woman dressed in an old fashioned black kimono. Her fox mask askew on a rare occasion. 

"You broke her, you BROKE HER!" You screech, small frame shaking from fading adrenaline and flashing memories of cold steel and even colder eyes. This was too much, way too much for your seven year old body to handle. But you would do what you must to survive. 

The woman turns towards you, her blue eyes iridescent even in the low light.

"No child, you broke her. You were just going to let her kill you." She shrugs as if it weren't such a heavy statement.

"I'm- I'm her weakness, she's better than me, SHE HAD TO!" A stammer that grows into a deafening scream. 

"No my dear, she always has and always will be your burden." 

You wake in a cold sweat, alarm blaring and your heart stutters in your chest, knives instinctively woven into your fingers. 

"An old memory. A dream." Soothing words from a shaking voice, knives never faltering as you lower them, slipping them back onto your person. You rise, peering out the window to see the city blanketed in snow, heaps of it as more fall from the sky. The sidewalks cleared in such a half assed way you were sure they would just turn to ice instead, the piles in the storm drain already turning a mute grey. 

You hated the snow, it always brought up bad memories and the biting cold made every scar you owned throb. Ebbing in memories you wished you'd forgotten.  Instead you get ready for the day pulling on your hero suit although you didn't have to work the overtime today, you guess old habits die hard. Two weeks had passed since Bakugou offered you that side job. He paid you enough that you wouldn't have to worry about your sister's bills for the next month. 

Still Christmas dinner couldn't come soon enough. 

You lock the apartment and push through the biting air, face begging for a reprieve as you walk into the icy wind but it's not as if you could walk to the agency backwards. 

Bakugou and Kirishima wait outside of the agency building for you, Bakugou holds out a steaming coffee as Kirishima offers a warm smile. 

"You're late." "Just on time." They speak over each other before Bakugou gives Kirishima a glare. 

"We're patrolling the fucking shopping district today." Bakugou shoves the coffee into your hands as you grit your teeth, trailing behind the two as Bakugou sets out the pace. You let your eyes wander, snow clinging to their hair as Kirishima wears next to nothing, his dumb ass costume having sleeves for warmth. You roll your eyes before they fall on Bakugou. Normally you can smell the spicy burnt sugar wafting off of him in troves but the wind chill is dangerously low for someone who relies on sweat as their weapon. The snow comes down thicker, the flakes a puffy white that sends you miles away before a gut feeling brings you back into the present. You grab onto both of the men, straining your ears to hear over the bustle of the city. Something isn't settling right but they don't seem to be on high alert. Maybe your nerves are fried from the dream. 

Your concentrated look doesn't go unnoticed by either party looking over their shoulder.  Bakugou shoves the two of you into a side alley to stay out of the way of the hustling streets since you're just standing there. You seem to be off your game, you're more subtle at letting them know about danger without alerting civilians. 

"Oi. Spit it out." Bakugou crosses his arms as he stares you down. You blink away the rage, the wind whipping through the side alley making the three of you shiver. You grab onto Kirishima, placing your palm on his sculpted pectoral before explaining. 

"Just some buffs for the day. Your unbreakable will be 65% harder and you'll be lighter on your feet." Kirishima gives you a concerned look as you reach for Bakugou who tries to resist. 

"Don't need your fucking help." 

"Yea?" You hiss, "What good are you if you aren't sweating moron?" 

You yank his arm to you, pulling at his sleeve to get to bare skin, pressing your warm fingers against his cool forearm.  You send him a knowing glare. 

"Gonna feel like summer for you today sweaty palms." You shove him away and he thinks to swing at you. Kirishima diffuses the situation. 

"All day buffs? Isn't that a strain on your quirk?" Kirishima was always concerned about you.

"I'll be fine. You know I'm at a place where a lot of my own personal buffs and debuffs are idle." With a snap of your fingers a little display appears in the air thanks to your support bracelet. Reminding the two men of a video game, your stats out there for them to see. The screen rolls through them fairly quickly. Bakugou can only catch a few as the text moves at a rapid pace. Poison resistance 85%, Stab resistance 98%, weapon pulled from body closes wound 50% faster, returned weapon caught or pulled from body 100% hit rate, deadly intent. Your stats disappear as quickly as they came. Bakugou knows your quirk's ability comes from experience, he thinks of the ones you have maxed out and let's his eyes linger over your face. Over the muted slashes and his stomach churns from concern, suspicion. How would a "petty thief" come across a blade and return it enough times that they could never miss? It surely wasn't in the time of your forced hero work, he has yet to see you take anything more than a surprise punch. 

"Are we fucking done? We got extras to babysit." Bakugou growls stepping out onto the sidewalk and into a nest of paparazzi. 

"Dynamight, over here Dynamight. Is it true you're dating your partner?" 

"Is it Red Riot or Rouge?" Another reporter shouts. Screaming out question after question putting Bakugou under rapid fire. 

Cameras flash as you can practically hear Bakugou's blood pressure increase ten fold, he inhales sharply to scream but Pro Hero Red Riot saves the day. 

"Guys we're on the clock, please save this for our designated interview dates." He smiles listing the dates and times. You wonder how they collected here so quickly, scanning the crowd for a nosy bystander that may have tipped the tabloids off with your location. 

But your eyes lock onto something far worse. 

In the crowd is a woman with auburn hair and icy blue eyes, dressed in an all black kimono. She smirks and mouths "Finally" to you before she throws her deadly ice darts, dipped in shining poison yet to be added to the government registry. 

But how could they know when you helped her make it. Working on instinct you yank Kirishima forward by his steel face mask until he is doubled over before you pull Bakugou into the same position by his belt of winter grenades. One ice dart sinks into your shoulder while the other nicks your throat but it's not as if it matters. Mithridatsim was your best friend growing up. 

A small box flashes in the top left corner of your vision, a status only you can see

WARNING! MORE EXPERIENCE NEEDED: LAST ADMINISTERED DOSE OF POISON X HAS BEEN SIX MONTHS, PLEASE DO NOT CONSUME ANYMORE TO INCREASE LOST RESISTANCE AND GAIN EXPERIENCE.

Fuck! How could you forget that her special blend of poison required exposure every two months?! Hero work was making you too soft, making you wonder just how many other skills were deteriorating from lack of repetition and experience. 

But that was a problem for another day. For now you growl, yanking the men down further to keep their eyes off of you as you give chase. Following her deadly speed with ease, thankfully she is headed out of sight from civilians and paparazzi although it spells trouble for you. 

Or maybe it spells trap. 

She throws another set of ice darts, you dodge them all but one that sinks into your stomach. You grip onto the ice, pulling it from your skin when a warning pops up  

LIMIT EXPOSURE, REACHING LETHAL DOSE, PASSIVE BUFF ACTIVATED, HEALING RATE REDUCED FROM 50% TO 30% DUE TO POISON X, RETURNED WEAPON HIT RATE REDUCED TO 65% DUE TO WEAPON TYPE, COLD RESISTANCE INCREASED TO 55%

WOULD YOU LIKE TO TAKE A CHANCE?

The question flashes as you push forward, following her step for step. You loved and loathed that question, it could increase your chances of the poison clearing instantly, heal your wounds perfectly and return your hit rate back to its max level. 

Or you could utterly "fail" the chance roll earning you double the pain and debuff.

The closer you were to whatever magic number your quirk decided, the better your chances. 

Another set of darts that you barely dodge. You grind your teeth, hero work was definitely making you too soft. 

WOULD YOU LIKE TO TAKE A CHANCE?

"Yes!" You growl as your quirk activates. It announces to you the size of the "dice" and the numbers to avoid as you give chase. 

PASSIVE BUFF DEACTIVATED "LUCK OF THE DRAW" FOR CHANCE ROLL, DIE SIZE 70, NUMBERS TO AVOID CRITICAL FAILURE 1 THROUGH 50, NUMBERS TO HIT FOR CRITICAL HIT 72 THROUGH 75. ALL NUMBERS IN BETWEEN THE CRITICALS WILL INCREASE BUFFS AND DECREASE BODILY HARM BY 15%. 

ROLLING DIE NOW.

In your mind's eye a giant die flashes in your head as numbers blur together while it rolls. 

50! CRITICAL FAIL, DAMAGE INCREASED BY TWO, POISON RESISTANCE REDUCED BY 15%, TEN MINUTES UNTIL BLACK OUT  

THANK YOU FOR TAKING A CHANCE! 

DOUBLE OR NOTHING? 

You swat away the temptation as a copper taste begins to coat your tongue, spitting red into the snow. You return the damn dart anyway, lucky enough for you it sticks into the nape of her neck but the ice is not strong enough to sink deeper. Finally she takes a left into an alley and you follow before the mouth is closed off by ice.

Sealing the two of you into an icy tomb. Snarling you exchange fists, hoping to wear her out before you lose consciousness, as she was never good at hand to hand, unlike yourself. 

Who lived for the up close and personal. 

PASSIVE BUFF "UPPER HAND" ACTIVATED, MELEE AND CLOSE COMBAT SKILLS INCREASED

You rear back your fist, landing it straight into her jaw, causing her to fall back onto heaps of trash. You pin her, pressing one of her ice blades to her throat. 

"What are you doing here Fox?" You hiss, and she smiles in delight. 

"Could ask you the same little ‘hero’!" She laughs and it's haughty, bringing up now bitter memories, "How far you have fallen sister." 

"Tch, this was not my first choice." You fake smile, pressing until you draw blood just to make it even. 

"Did Madem send you?" Even saying her name makes your stomach churn while Fox rolls her eyes. 

"Who else would send me to fetch their golden child?" She shrugs, using her quirk to make another cold weapon as you're distracted. Although you have the upper hand she still has enough room to sink another ice dark into your side, causing you to grit your teeth. 

"You're the fucking favorite now. What more does she want?" 

"You're her favorite, you both are. She wants a complete set." She purrs and it feels as if her ice is freezing your blood. Vision blurring from your rapid heart rate, from your rage and the venom. 

"What the fuck do you mean? What about her?! She is fucking unwel!" It echoes around in the ice and she smiles, playing you for the fool you were. 

"Exactly as I said. I wouldn't count your twin out just yet. You know how Madem lives for backups." She winks, as you feel exasperated. The poison coursing through your veins, your vision tries to spot but you push through.

"I'll let you go just this one Fox but if I ever fucking see you again-" She interrupts. 

"Please, you know the rules. Don't come home empty handed. Plus what you do to me will be far more mild than what Madem can think of." She spits blood onto your face, you bare your teeth and sweet drips onto her kimono.  You were running out of time. 

"ROUGE!" Bakugou shouts in the distance, earning a smile from Fox below. 

"Wow bold of you to keep the name." She laughs, "Well your weakness works in my favor. What a dream it would be to be captured by your boyfriend. Then I could tell him everything about me. About you." 

"You'd snitch? Just like that?" 

"Wouldn't you do anything to keep a loved one safe?" Her words sink deeper than any dagger, any ice pick, she's ever thrown. 

She's right. 

"ROUGE!" 

You would do anything. 

Huffing you do what you hadn't in well over a year and although you'd done it thousands of times. It never got easier. You press the blade deeper, letting it slice into her throat as a red line follows in her wake. She looks up at you with a soft smile, relief flooding her features as sweat prickles your brow. 

WARNING BLACK OUT IN TEN SECONDS, POISON X WILL BECOME LETHAL IF ANTIDOTE IS NOT ADMINISTERED WITHIN THE HOUR. COUNT DOWNS STARTS NOW :10,  59:59

With shaking hands you set the already melting blade into her hand, jumping over the other ice wall deeper into the alley as you hear heavy foot falls come your way. 

You fall into a heap yourself, pressing your hands into your wounds, tempted to attempt to activate double or nothing. Although it could kill you instantly with the status you were in now. 

A part of you hopes it does. 

7

The ash blonde blasts through the icy walls, spotting you in an instant. When he sees the perpetrator dead, his stomach churns as he reaches you. Your clammy to the touch and your support bracelet is flashing with an alert for a trusted on looker. 

5

PLEASE IDENTIFY YOURSELF 

It yells as Bakugou shouts his name. A little hologram of you shows up before your voice pours out. Silently you're thankful that you could tinker with the item enough that should you come across something from your past you could intercept some information. 

Or at least manipulate in your favor should you be rendered non verbal as you are now.  

3 

"It seems an especially strong poison has been introduced into my blood stream. The antidote will be elderberry tea, which can be found at these surrounding locations. Please do not take me to a hospital, by the time they identify the poison I will be long gone….I'm talking to you Bakugou. Get the tea. If I pass out, force activate one of my idle or passive buffs. Specifically Adrenaline high… Trust me, you're going to have to..." 

The world fades to black without any warning as you float in what feels like non existence. Probably the best sleep you'll ever get even when it's short lived. Like it is now. 

"Fuck." Bakugou hisses as the stupid translucent you blabbers on and on of ways to activate this dumb ass, complex, and mysterious as fuck quirk you had.  He thinks of how the mini you emphasized pain would be a trigger to activate the idle buff. He grips onto your forearm, thinking of doing a point blank blast. Best case scenario you'd have his palm burned into you for all eternity, worst case scenario you lost your whole fucking left half. 

"Fuck! FUCK!" He doesn't want to hurt you but he has to. He thinks of the limited time you have as an ominous timer floats in the air from your bracelet. He tries slapping you across the face first, nothing. Your cheek barely reddening as blood oozes from your wounds. Gritting his teeth and choking on his honor he hits you again, this time with the help of his quirk to add some force. 

When that doesn't work, his sadistic side comes out, fueled by his desperation and his gloved fingers subconsciously find the wound in your throat and shoulder.  Thinking to exploit it in order to rouse you. He lets out a low hiss as he plunges his fingers into the wounds, digging deep into the one in your shoulder. 

PASSIVE BUFF "ADRENALINE HIGH" ACTIVATED. 

Your eyes snap open, rage fueling them as you act on instinct, slamming your forehead into Bakugou's hard enough that it bruises both of you.

"OI FUCKING! I'M TRYING TO HELP!" He shouts, forearms popping as heat rushes up his spine from your landed hit. He pushes back his hair, rubbing his sweaty forehead before baring his teeth at you. 

"What the fuck?!" He snaps, "Who was that? Why is she dead?" 

"Another time yea?" You say weakly, lifting your wrist so he can read the time, "The tea still has to steep." 

You stand but wobble on your feet as warnings flash in your minds eye and thankfully not on your stupid support bracelet. Much to Bakugou's disdain, he needed to know what he was working with, not blindly trusting you. Especially not now with growing suspicions. 

ADRENALINE HIGH OVERRIDES DAMAGE AND POISON EFFECTS FOR THE NEXT 10 MINUTES COUNT DOWN STARTED 09:59

"Dismiss." You spit blood and the information fades away. You stumble like a drunk towards the mouth of the alley, avoiding your fallen sister as your mind races. 

"She wants a complete set." 

"Fuck." Is all you can manage thinking of your actual sister, hoping she was safe within the confines of her own prison. That needed to wait. Right now you needed that elder berry tea.  The closest shop carrying the product was several blocks away and at this rate you'd never fucking make it. 

Bakugou catches on, scooping you in his arms.

"Hold on tight Princess." He growls, propelling himself into the air to land a few store fronts away from your destination. 

"Can't believe you're dragging me down." He hisses, fully taking over holding you to him. He squeezes a bit tighter. Your stomach flips and you blame the poison. 

"If anything I'm bringing your image up. Imagine the paps seeing this bull shit. Headlines like 'Bakugou, the knight in shining armor saves the day.' Or some horse shit like that." You weakly tease, he glares down at you. 

"Tch. Fuck off. They'll find a way to twist it." 

"Well your mom will see it for what it is." You squeeze tighter around his throat, nosing the crook of his throat. You feel his laugh through his chest. 

"Yea and what's she gonna see?" 

"You saving me dumb ass." You pull at his hair and he glares down at you. 

"Great, now she'll force me to marry you. Is that what you want bitch face?" 

"I'd rather die first. Plus you wouldn't be able to afford my dowry, ass hat." You tease, all he can do is roll his eyes. 

"You're fucking right about that. Now where is the stupid elderberry bullshit?" He growls, waltzing through the front door as if holding you were nothing. 

IDLE BUFF ACTIVATED SLIGHT OF HAND INCREASED TO- 

"Dismiss." You whisper, vermillion burns into your skin, "Next aisle." 

WARNING: LACK OF EXPOSURE WILL CAUSE A LOSS IN EXPERIENCE. SLIGHT OF HAND WILL DECREASE 

Grinding your teeth you reach for an easy snack, shoving it into your shirt sleeve as Bakugou studies the tea. 

"Where?" He snaps, causing you to sigh heavily. You point with exaggeration to the small purple box. 

SLIGHT OF HAND MAINTAINED, EXPERIENCE PREREQUISITE MET, BUFF IDLED. 

You needed to think of a way to turn this annoying "emergency" mode off, but whenever you were in critical condition, the warnings would display non stop. Most of your quirk you had memorized but you had to admit, it had been a while since you last rolled for chance. 

For fun.  

"Grab something for Kirishima, you know how he gets when he worries. You need water too." 

"This ain't a fucking road trip!" He growls but oddly enough he moves to the back of the store towards the drinks. He grabs a code red for Kirishima and an energy drink for himself. You hold onto the cold drinks as he holds onto you and the tea awkwardly. Setting them on the counter fixing a nasty glare at the clerk. 

"R-Rouge and Dynamight wow!" They gush, about to ask for an autograph before ringing the two of you up. 

"Kinda on a time crunch kid." Your bracelet flashes 20:32 before the clerk understand the dire situation. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry. On the house." 

"Doesn't work like that." Bakugou snarls, eyeing you to get his wallet. Little does he know you already snatched it, pressing a twenty into his hands. He glares at you as best he can. 

"Keep the change." You're beginning to think that was his new catch phrase as he makes his way towards the hot water dispenser. Setting you on the counter while he let's the two bags steep per your holographic instructions. He taps his finger impatiently before cracking open his energy drink. 

It was going to be a long day. 

"I'm going to cancel with my mom." He says finally, reaching for his phone, "I'll still…" 

"No you fuck. Your mom expects both of us there. I'm not dying." 

"Yet, bitch face." He places the tea into your hands, "Think she'll be more pissed if you die in her living room than not show up."

He eyes your wounds, noticing the droplets of blood that followed in their wake, how your scent clung to his skin. He contacts Kirishima instead instructing him to get the first aid kit ready at his house. 

"When you're done with your tea. We're gonna get those wounds bandaged." 

"Nah I'll be fine, once the poison status is cleared. My other status will return to normal. I'm kinda like a pokemon." 

"Don't care, as your boss I'm telling you Imma wrap your wounds with Kirishima now drink your fucking tea." He hits your shoulder before a sadistic smile clouds his features, "Or am I going to have to activate your passive 'Adrenaline High'?" 

"Fuck off, I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna pass out with half the cup down." You shove him away from you as his pocket pings. 

"Only pretty sure? You're fucking stupid. You can check that." 

"Tired of my quirk today." You grumble while Bakugou glares at his phone, he turns it towards you, it's from his mother an article titled "Bakugou, the knight in not so shining armor?" Her text is in all caps beneath ARE YOU SAVING HER I SWEAR TO GOD BOY YOU NEED TO WATCH HER BACK BETTER SHE BETTER BE OKAY YOU BETTER BE OKAY

"Guess you'll have to propose to me now." You laugh sliding from the counter, something from around your throat catches his eye now that things have calmed down. 

An odd feeling burns in his chest as goes all the way to his fingers and toes and realization washes over him in waves. He sees a gold chain that leads down to what looks like the droplet of blood. The garner necklace he gave you. 

"Come on Kiri is probably waiting." You nudge, grabbing for Eijirou's soda, your own tea almost finished.  His eyes follow after you for a moment as he tries to figure out why you hadn't taken it off yet, he's never seen you wear jewelry before. 

There is no reason for you to wear it, still the feeling in his chest burns hotter. It makes him feel suddenly proud and oddly possessive. He grinds his teeth, skin popping as he stomps after you, yelling. 

"Don't you take credit for the soda I bought!"

[cuttinqlines]

IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR

                                 IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR I

(richard ramirez [ahs 1984] x reader | mainly implied xavier plympton x reader)

trigger warning; drug use, toxic relationships, mentions of abuse, toxic characters, xavier is portrayed as a major piece of shit for the first few installments, glorification of a serial killer, knives, etc.

disclaimer: i do not support the real richard ramirez in any way, shape, or form. this is simply based on the fictional version from ahs 1984. no disrespect is intended in any way. please, feel free to click off of the fic if you don’t enjoy this type of content. any hate will be ignored.

word count: ?

previous | next

BILLY IDOL blared softly out of the large window, casting an eerie echo out onto the empty street below. The street lights cast a soft glow into the otherwise dark apartment, illuminating your face. You sat alone on your bed clad only in the white lingerie you hadn’t bothered to strip out of. The dark silk sheets of your bed were lazily draped over you, your comforter discarded on the ground beside the bed. You stared up at the ceiling blankly. Your thoughts were racing, a mixture of deep-seated rage and numbness eating at you. The day had been shit to say the very least, with a certain blonde wanna-be actor to blame.

“Fuck,” you muttered out loud, rubbing both of your temples lightly, “I need a bump.”

Slowly sliding your legs out from under your sheets, you stepped down onto the floor. The cold air hit your legs, causing you to let out a barely audible hiss. You could hardly see in the darkness, only making out the faint outline of your vanity that was placed adjacent to the large window. The thought of turning on the light briefly crossed your mind, but you hardly wanted to see yourself in the mirror.

A soft sigh escaped your lips. Your hands fumbled around in the top draw of the vanity, searching for the mirrored tray that was tucked just out of sight. Through the noise of the shifting of the contents of the drawer, a soft thud of shoes against the marble tile sounded. You hardly would’ve noticed it if it had been any other day. You rarely paid attention to the little things going on around you, living only in your own little world. It was harder to get attached that way- harder to get attached to things, to people.

Tonight, though, you were on high alert. All of the hairs on the back of your neck seemed to stand up. You took a step back from the vanity, cringing as the wood floor beneath you seemed to creak. You heard the thud of shoes again, but it was louder. Closer. “Xavier-” you called out, your voice wavering slightly. “If that’s you, get the fuck out of my apartment.”

The sound of a deep laugh filled your ears. It was unfamiliar. You had definitely given away your location, that much was clear. There was a stranger, a criminal, in your home and you had lost the one advantage you might have had. “Guess again, baby girl.”

Chills ran down your spine. The intruder’s voice was sinister. Yet, you found yourself being drawn to it, despite every fiber of your being urging you to hide. It was as if the devil himself had crept in and came to collect your soul. A shiver ran through you. You needed to get it together. More importantly, you needed a weapon. Luckily, your vanity seemed to be full of them. Well, it was full of blunt objects and that was more than good enough for you. Dying was not on your agenda, especially not today.

You took a tentative step forward, careful not to step on the same creaky floorboard from a few moments ago. Spotting a lamp to the side of the vanity top, you reached for it with one hand while the other flicked the lights attached to the gaudy mirror. Most of the bulbs had burnt out previously, you not having been bothered enough to change them. You were rarely home most nights anyways. With three of the bulbs still burning, you would at least be able to see the guy coming, instead of continuing to stumble through the dark.

The sudden light seemed to attract the intruder, like a moth drawn to a lamp. You could see the tops of his shoes stop in front of the door. Nervousness flooded your veins, though you didn’t have it in you to be completely afraid. All of the fear that your body could have possibly held had been taken from you by someone else. Pushing the nervousness now, you took a silent step back towards the wall.

The door swung open quietly, your eyes quickly moved towards the dark figure who had just burst in. His dark eyes scoured your scantily clad body, stopping at the base of the lamp you had an iron grip on. His facial expression flickered from one predator eyeing his prey to amused. He let out another laugh. It seemed to make his face light up. In any other circumstances, you would be enchanted by his handsome features. “Is that seriously all you got? I hate to break it to you, but that won’t be enough to stop the Night Stalker.”

He grinned sinisterly. “You’ll be famous, though. I’m going down in history. Doing the master’s work always gets the headlin-” He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze meeting your face. He studied it for a moment, his eyes feeling as if they were burning holes into your skin. “What happened to your face? Did somebody else get you?”

You couldn’t help but narrow your eyes suspiciously. Was this his version of playing with his food before eating it? Why would it possibly matter enough for him to stop his clearly well-rehearsed speech? Still, at the mention of your face, your free hand carefully went to the deep bruise that had blossomed underneath your left eye. “‘Did somebody else get me?’” You couldn’t help but mock. However, your tune quickly changed when his hand seemed to grip his blade a little tighter and his feet took him a step closer.

“Somebody else got me, yeah. They always do. You’re about to, too. A robbery gone wrong, am I right?” your voice had gone soft, bitterness etched into every word. You knew that you should be afraid and you were extremely prepared to knock him over the head with your lamp, but at least he was someone to talk to. Something that had become scarce in your daily life.

The man took a few more steps forward until he was face to face with you. His eyes met yours more intently than before as if they were searching for something. He shifted his blade to his left hand, slamming his right hand into the wall directly beside your face. He had you boxed in, the smell of cigarettes and cinnamon filling your nose. Your breath caught in your throat. He brought the blade up to your face, dragging his thumb ever so lightly across the bruise under your eye. He brought his hand down to softly caress your face, the blade scraping your skin too lightly to leave a mark. “You know,” he said after what felt like decades, “you look like a fallen angel. Like a flesh for fantasy.”

Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might escape your chest. Every word he spoke caused your heart to skip a beat. He had an intensity about him. It seemed to add gasoline to the fire that was already burning around you. “And you look like the devil.”

“I could never live up to that, but fuck I am trying- It’s the ones like you that make it difficult. There’s so much untapped potential that I can taste it. I can feel your rage, little mama. And it burns. Give it to us.” His voice was hardly more than a whisper now. He brought the blade down until it was caressing your throat.

You dropped the lamp. It landed on the floor with a dull thud and surprisingly didn’t shatter. You couldn’t move now. You didn’t want to. So many feelings were overwhelming you. You weren’t exactly sure what he meant when he said ‘Give it to us’, but you wanted to give it to him. The rage, the numbness, the evil, the ‘perfect’ life that had been eating you alive. You would have thrown it in the fire right then and there, but you held yourself back. “I can’t.”

Annoyance and anger shifted across his face and his right hand slammed into the wall harder. He pushed back, pulling the blade back from off of your throat. He tilted his head towards you, moving to whisper in your ear. His lips grazed against them slightly as he spoke. “Giving in to the rage isn’t so bad. You just don’t know how to be free. I can teach you. ”

He moved away from you, his eyes flickering over to the vanity. The tray of white powder and wads of cash caught his eyes. He took a step towards the vanity slowly. “You can think about it. I’ll find you soon. Satan will show me the way. Tonight though, the devil is owed his dues. I’m taking the coke and cash. Next time, I’m taking you. You know you want to dance with the devil, baby girl.”

Before you could let out another word, he was out the window and off into the night.

[homeformyheart]

no feelings - mason x f!detective (twc)

author’s note: my original intention was to do a post-bakery, heartbreak moment for mason and I started this before the demo updated, but needed to change it since and hopefully it still works. I have no idea if I’ll do a part 2, my original plans don’t spark joy atm, and I was tired of seeing this in my WIPs xD. very minor book 3 spoilers (allusions but no specific mentions). enjoy! *thank you @silma-words for giving this a read-through all those months ago when i was stuck and to @narrativefoiltrope for the parentheses suggestion!

copyright: all characters, except my oc detective, are owned by mishka jenkins @seraphinitegames. series/pairing: the wayhaven chronicles – mason x f!detective (ria knight) rating/warnings: 16+; swearing, angst word count: 1.7k summary: ria wants to end things with mason before she catches feelings for someone who won’t return them. mason isn’t sure what he wants but knows he doesn’t want to give up what they have.

no feelings

mason just stared at the door to ria’s office, the shades obscuring the sight of her but he could still hear the sound of her heartbeat. solid and steady, like her.

he didn’t know why he said what he did. he just knew that she was hurt, even though she pretended not to be. and even though he wanted to talk to her, he didn’t know what he wanted to say.

it didn’t matter though, seeing as how she didn’t seem like she wanted to talk to him anytime soon.

but he couldn’t bring himself to walk away.

he knocked, hesitantly. once. twice.

“come in,” a voice called out, loud to his senses, vibrating ever so slightly.

he opened the door and paused in the doorway, eyes searching hers for permission.

her head rose from where it had been resting on her arms, fists clenching once she noticed him. she lowered her hands to her lap, but mason had no doubt that her knuckles were white.

“what do you want?” she asked, her features stitching together a mask of indifference.

but he could see the truth in her light blue eyes. it was his special skill after all, being able to read people and get the truth from them.

a skill he tried to avoid using with ria as much as possible for some reason.

when did that happen?

even now, as he was holding her gaze, he knew he wasn’t trying to read her. but he could still sense that something was off. and he wanted, no needed, to figure out what it was.

the silence between them grew as ria’s gaze shifted. she looked expectantly at him. “well? if you don’t have anything new to report on the case, you should leave. i have a lot of work to do.”

he shook his head, a force of habit. he really didn’t know what to say.

she glanced away, eyes flitting across the posters and papers pinned to the wall next to her desk, but mason could see the gears turning in her mind. when she turned back to look at him, the pain from before was replaced by a newfound intensity that slammed into him and sent a prickly, but still pleasant, tingle across his chest and down his arms.

a knowing smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as her eyes appraised him, and not unlike the first time they flirted, the motion sent something warm and soothing down south. as her eyes met his again, the warmth turned into a simmering heat and he took a step forward, her darkened irises drawing him in.

he raised an eyebrow at her. while he was no stranger to the constant attraction between them, which pushed and pulled like the tides but always met each other at dusk and dawn, it didn’t seem like the time.

for once, he wanted to talk.

“look, about what i said before,” he started, folding his arms across his chest.

ria made her way around her desk until she was standing in front of him. “you were right. you made it clear that you were only interested in fun, and i agreed,” she shrugged, tapping her fingers lightly on his chest.

his brow furrowed. while he did say something to that affect, it wasn’t what he wanted.

“that’s all this is and all it’s going to be, so i’ll see you later at my apartment?” ria asked pointedly, her lip curling into a smirk.

a frustrated rumble crouched low in the back of his throat. “i never said that this is all it’s going to be,” he snapped, flinching at the volume of his own voice.

ria didn’t move a muscle. her light blue eyes had darkened to a cloudy grey, only a few shades lighter than his own.

“you didn’t have to, sunshine. i’m saying it. so am i seeing you later or not?” she asked, the glare on her face reminding him of the daggers she had hidden under her jacket sleeves.

an uncomfortable itch started in his belly and he subconsciously scratched at the fabric of his shirt, blunt nails digging in harder before he realized the itch was under his skin.

and it was spreading. traveling up toward his chest and out before making its way down his arms. leaving behind a tiny, circular weight in his stomach that he didn’t care for.

he could recognize it for what it was, a form of conflict. swirling counter-clockwise as a hurricane does when it approaches shore. but he didn’t understand why it was there.

what he did understand is that if she wanted to see him, he wanted to see her.

he gave her a slow nod. “i’ll see you later,” he said, hesitating for a brief second with his hand on the doorknob.

he glanced back at her and said softly, “sweetheart.”

~ against her better judgment, ria met mason’s gaze before he left, the murmured pet name on his lips seeming to glide through the air and hit her in the chest. her body slumped back against the desk as he left, energy draining out of her and leaving behind the tempestuous grey look now seared in her mind. his words left an uncomfortable lump in her throat, and she hoped no one else came into her office.

she looked at the clock, a feeble attempt to fast-forward to the end of the day, only for her shoulders to sag at the realization that she basically still had eight hours to go. despite the tension in their earlier conversation and the uncomfortable moments they’ve had since breakfast, ria wasn’t mad at mason.

even though she had stormed out while trying to blink back tears and then he stormed away from her after finding out about bobby, she didn’t blame him.

no, the only person she was fucking pissed off at was herself.

it wasn’t supposed to get this far.

she wasn’t good with feelings. it was always easier to push away any uncomfortable thoughts or emotions by keeping her body physically distracted, preferably with either a partner in the gym or a partner in her bed.

learning how to box and working her way through all the various martial art forms gave her focus after quitting ballet.

(though it did little to quell the feelings of inadequacy caused by things completely out of her control.)

teaching herself how to use knives and rook’s family dagger was a welcome distraction after she was forced to abandon her aspirations to join the army.

(though digging through rook’s old stuff in the attic in desperate protest – to find anything that would tell her he would’ve supported her – only drowned her in the loss.)

flirting and sleeping with every person who showed interest in her and seemed even an inch better than bobby fucking marks.

(though every little fling, whether a one-night stand or a string of awkward first dates, only added supporting evidence to the story she told herself that no one would stick around for her.)

and it was supposed to be the same with mason.

no strings. no baggage. no goddamn feelings.

ria gripped the edge of her desk with her hands until her knuckles turned white. she already broke her first rule of dating: don’t catch feelings.

you can’t get hurt if there aren’t feelings involved, she reminded herself of the mantra that got her out of several attempts at relationships after breaking up with bobby.

but she could still implement her second rule.

~ instead of heading back to the warehouse right away, mason wandered toward the trees bordering the station that offered a shady respite from the scorching sun against his sensitive skin.

the heat was only going to get worse, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet. even in the dark shade of the trees around him, the sun burned against his skin almost as if it were bare. he winced, not even wanting to think about how much worse it might feel if he wasn’t at least wearing a long-sleeved shirt.

they still needed to work together.

he pushed the seemingly random thought out of his mind as quickly as it had appeared, his body reacting viscerally in disagreement to the sentiment.

this wasn’t about maintaining a working relationship with ria.

this was bigger than that.

at least, he assumed, though he wasn’t exactly sure why.

he lit a cigarette, trying to distract from how his shirt is quickly becoming an incubator for the heat. smoke curled upward as he leaned his head back against the trunk of a tree.

he was always in it for the fun. it made traveling around and the downtime between missions more bearable.

he didn’t really care for hobbies and interests the way nate and felix did. and he could only take a beating from adam every so often.

having fun, especially with humans – who were so easy to rile up and even easier to read – made the endless time pass in a way that felt normal. for him anyway.

learning all the different ways he could elicit sounds from them. figuring out how quickly he could make them peak. knowing exactly what to do to leave them wanting more.

he took a long drag of the cigarette, closing his eyes and wishing the burn in his lungs would linger a little longer. it numbed the burn on the outside of his body.

but no feelings. that always took the fun out of things.

that was the rule.

and ria was fun, there was no denying that. maybe even the most fun he’s had in a very long time.

she knew his rule. hell, it was her rule too.

it was the perfect situation for him.

maybe he didn’t want to lose out on such an ideal situation. or mess up the team dynamic.

he dumped the cigarette butt onto the floor and put out the embers with his shoe.

whatever it was, he knew he wasn’t ready for things with her to end.

* * * * * taglist: @kelseaaa; @kat-tia801; @anotherbeingsworld; @babycracker; @writer-ish; @gloynporslen; @sosolenoo; @alyssalauren; @wayhavenots; @pearlsandsteel; @gingerbreton; @takemyopenheart; @mevnraels;

[lumilasi]

.....I can’t draw older looking people very well. I tried to add wrinkles to his face but eh...I need practice. This is more about the outfit anyway. Maybe when I draw close-ups of his face I’ll try a bit harder to make him look older lmao

Anyway, (unfinished) Bio below:

Name: Vincent McCormac

Nicknames: Vinny/Vinnie/outsider (Araknos, lowkey mockingly with the last one), teach/Sensei (Sebastian & Kaspian & Shou.) Cowboy (Haname, jokingly) Gramps of steel (Kaspian, Sebastian, his daughter, jokingly)

(Basically the boys all refer to him as their mentor, Seb and Kaspian just usually use Vincent’s native and call him teach, and Shou uses Sensei.)

Age: 54

Height: 182 cm

A retired Demon hunter from abroad who settled to the lands

Role: Mentor for Shou, and his honorary adopted sons Kaspian and Sebastian

Family: Wife Haname, Daughter Hanabi, Honorary sons Kaspian and Sebastian, Family cat/Wife’s familiar Quinn

Love interest: His wife of course

Friends: Shou, Akiko, the twin telepaths Milo and Silas, Akiko’s mother Kaede, Toshiko’s mother Katana 

Rival(s): Araknos (it’s kind of a frenemy situation)

Powers:

Vincent comes from abroad and has a different kind of demon hunter training to locals, which means he uses more gear than spells, so he has lot of enchanted weaponry like knives, daggers, swords, and spirit energy shooting guns. 

He used to be quite athletic with good stamina, and is still bit of a “steel grandpa” as some people might call him jokingly, meaning he’s definitely in much better shape than average folk of his age. He can still keep up fairly well with the younglings, but does rely on tactics more nowadays to compensate getting weaker due to age.

Teaching skills; he’s a really good and patient teacher who can adapt his techniques depending on what the pupil needs. (Example; With Kaspian it’s lot of hand-to-hand combat, with Shou it was more focusing his spirit energy, and with Sebastian it was more helping his mentality towards his powers)

While more weapons focused, he does have the natural ability to sense spirit and focus his own spirit energy. Unlike local hunters who use it for their spells, he typically charges his weaponry with it.

He speaks three languages; his native, Kas and Sebastian’s native, and of course the local one. (If this was our world, these languages would be English, Polish and Japanese. Kas and Sebastian’s surname was Polish if I recall right, so I’m basing it on that haha)

Weaknesses:

He’s too old for this shit, as he puts it. Basically he’s not as fast and strong as he used to be and can end up being the first one going down in a battle if he’s not careful. 

If he runs out of his spirit energy, his guns that he likes to rely on the most will be useless. He can’t really do any protective spells to shield himself, so he uses talismans for it, and if they break he’s defenseless. 

Basically he’s just stronger than average old man without his gear.

He’s kind of sensitive about his graying hair and generally getting old; this mainly stems from being reminded of his mortality, and how much easier it is for him to die than all the others around him, being the only full human in his family. He’s not afraid of death itself, just the fact that him dying could cause some serious heartbreak to everybody around him, given how much people look up to him, even when they’re technically vastly more powerful than he is. 

Personality:

Vincent is a pretty relaxed, goofy dad who cracks lot of dad jokes and complains about his age light-heartedly. Despite his seeming aloof persona, he takes his responsibilities as a father and a teacher very seriously, putting aside his wisecracking side if the situation requires it. He’s quite good at reading people’s moods and very patient as a mentor and parental figure, though he will also absolutely tease his kids like a proper embarrassing dork dad. 

He’s a very loving and supportive husband, not minding helping his wife with her spell and potion adventures even if they don’t always go as planned. (She’s a witch and not always good with her magic, but she tries her best, and mostly her mishaps aren’t dangerous) He’s not easy to make angry or upset, so if he does get angry you know shit is serious.

BG story:

Vincent traveled to the lands with the two albino brothers Kaspian and Sebastian he’d saved from a demon attack when they were 7, in order to find a potential cure to their demonification curses. During his trip he ends up meeting his now-wife Haname, who rescues them from a large monster (half-accidentally) and she agrees to try and help him figure things out for the boys. Sometime during this time Vincent has a run-in with Araknos, a fight that was caused by slight misunderstanding as Vincent thought he was a demon and not just a half-blood spirit. The fight ends with his wife stopping it, and she points out to Vincent the man is not the monster that had been terrorizing the village, but just a half-blooded spirit kin who happened to have similar traits. Araknos, amused by the whole situation let’s Vincent live as a result. Also out of respect for his wife. 

(they end up having more run-ins later, sometimes ending up in a fight as Vincent was bit more hotheaded when young and felt slighted that he’d have lost the fight had his now-wife not rescued him)

Overtime the two grow fond of each other, and Vincent ends up staying with the two, retiring from his demon hunting and focusing most of his energy to help the twins learn to control their powers, as well as parent his newborn daughter. They also eventually add a new member into the family, a lost and injured cat spirit whose previous family was killed, so traumatized he’d forgotten his name. Vincent names the cat Quinn, and he eventually becomes his wife’s familiar.

Sometime later a young telepath Shou ends up being (again, accidentally) rescued by Haname, and Vincent and his wife decide to help the boy learn to control his powers better, as ultimately telepath abilities also base on wielding your own soul energy, the same way they both use their own, just in different ways.

FUN FACTS:

He’s technically the weakest member of his family, being the only full human. 

Vincent is very chill about his wife and daughter’s shenanigans and is always very supportive of both

Vincent is that dorky dad-jokes telling parent

His rivalry with Jurou isn’t ultimately that hostile, and both have a tendency to defend one another or warn if someone’s planning to kill the other. Vincent was even surprised to hear about Jurou being involved in the theft his pupil’s GF Akiko went through

Vincent named the cat spirit they took in after his cat he used to have as a child, as the feline spirit reminded him of the said cat

[fanficparker]

A GAME OF DIAMONDS AND HEARTS // H.O.

>> CHAPTER SIX

“They agreed with each other violently and disagreed with each other pleasurably.” - A Suitable Boy, Seth

(Frenemies to Lovers! Mob AU! ) Harrison Osterfield x Fem!OC

Word count: 2.13k words

Warning: Swearing, guns, knives.

Synopsis: After the sudden death of his uncle and the eccentric multi-millionaire mafia king Lufian Clarke, Harrison Osterfield’s almost decent life is mostly devastated especially when half of what should be rightfully his fortune is transferred to their immediate rival for reasons he doesn’t know. What’s remaining is him trying to figure out how to deal with this collaboration of two rival corporations that don’t belong together and work on the side of the woman he never knew would ever be referred to as his partner in crime while they are dragged into a mess bigger than what they were trained to handle.

<< FIVE [ MASTERLIST ] SEVEN >>

"Who let you enter my private study?"

Harrison asked, stopping with one step inside his office, fixing the watch on his wrist. His eyes focused on the uninvited guest.

"My ability to walk." A smirk played over Sandhya's lips as she flipped a page in the file she was holding, twirling the ball pen between her fingers. The base of the pen rested below her lip as she lifted her eyelid to catch a glimpse of Harrison's irritable face. And damn he indeed was irritated.

"No one comes here without my permission." He hissed, striding into the centre of the room, staring at her furtively until his gaze landed on the other parts of his office. His office was a mess. Not anywhere near how he left it. His file cabinet was open and at least twenty files were lying on the sofa and a few over his desk. There were two on Sandhya's lap as she sat with her legs crossed over each other, leaning back leisurely in one of the chairs, skimming through the papers. An empty plate and a coffee mug were also sitting on his desk. The mug wasn't even placed over a coaster. He could even see some bread crumbs scattered on the wood.

He barely managed to not lash out at her, clenching his fists. Drawing in a shallow breath, he opened his mouth in an attempt to reason with her but she was the first one to speak.

"Can you log into the system? I need to look up something." She pointed the tip of the pen at the computer placed on his desk. Her voice was far from that of requesting even if she framed it as a question.

Harrison's brows pinched, "Are you serious?!" His voice sounded so pitchy, almost resembling a train wreck about to happen.

"Yes."

That's all? His stomach rumbled with anger. She didn't even look up at him. That bland yes twisted like a snake in his gut. He was past taking orders, especially from her. So, he walked up to her, swallowing his building rage and snatched the file she was holding.

"Hey!" She squealed, trying to take it back as he pushed it over his head and out of her reach.

She rose from the chair, about to grab it when he dropped the file on the floor behind his back, scattering the papers.

"Why would you--"

"Because it's my office and those are my files! And fucking," he seethed, trying to keep his voice casual, lifting the mug from the table, "We don't eat in the study, let alone dump the scraps on the desk. Also, you didn't even use a coaster!" He groaned upon noticing the ring the liquid left on the wood before he settled the mug again on the table, only this time there was a coaster beneath it.

Her eyebrows pulled together, disbelief roaring through her head, "You are worried about the coaster--"

"The white oak---"

"The uncle was murdered in this house and the nephew is more interested in coffee stains." She squinted her eyes, shaking her head.

Harrison bit back a groan. Her words had managed to flip his stomach. He sighed keeping his conduct civil.

"As much as I am curious about Clarke's mysterious death," he spoke as calmly as he could, meeting her eyes, "We aren't even sure if he was murdered in the first place."

"You gotta be kidding me!"

"I am not kidding you!" He bit back, "And anyway, get out of here. I don't like outsiders touching my stuff," he shifted his gaze to the side, hands folded across his chest.

She scoffed, almost scornfully. "Says the one who had no problem sleeping together."

Harrison's neck snapped at the words, his temper reaching new heights. Gritting his teeth, he took a step forward, looking down at her face. "If I had known it was you, I would have never--"

"Exactly!" She snapped, "You didn't know who you were sleeping with, how do I ensure you know about the people working here?"

"That's bullshit."

Sandhya exhaled, failing to reason with him. It was harder than she had expected. So, she tried the gentler way, trying to make her words sound closer to a request, "I need you to give me access to your computer." For no avail--

"What made you think I would do that? You have already seen enough." His hands dropped from his chest and she fought back the urge to roll her eyes.

The last attempt at asking and being gentle, "Look Harrison," her voice was sweeter as if she had accepted her defeat, moving to the last resort, "You have already ruined my Plan A and now I need to know about certain things to come up with a Plan B."

"You really think you're some kind of mastermind in planning? Don't you?"

"Harrison, that was my job back then--"

"Oh. I thought your job was to seduce strangers and sleep with them." He didn't hesitate but when the words finally parted his lips, he noticed the light in her eyes dimming for a brief second, the little grin on her lips fading. His heart thumped in his throat. Perhaps, he went too far.

But what he said wasn't a lie. Perhaps, it was okay. He didn't care anyway, yet his eyes moved to her neck, somewhere-anywhere, away from her face.

Those scars on her throat fell into his line of sight. Fine red lines, shallow, peeking off from her pink hoodie. He hadn't paid much attention before but she looked cute in the outfit, a way he had never expected her to look. Her expression defied the notion though, driving his brain back to the thick air that engulfed them.

Her hand came to cover her throat, gently rubbing across the marks. He swallowed. His eyes flickered back to hers and she averted her gaze to the side. Probably, that was the closest he would ever get at marking her.

He was waiting for a reply, a sharp hit back. Instead, the air between them seemed to hum quietly. Harrison had hit the mark so blatantly, Sandhya didn't even bother refuting it. And that somehow bothered him.

She tore her gaze from him, turning on her heel. He felt the urgent need to cut the silence.

"I don't support the idea of a murderer walking among us." He spoke slowly.

He heard her sigh heavily.

"Well enough," she made up her mind, walking away from him and picking up the file, he had previously dropped, "You live in your protected shell, dreaming about sunshine and rainbows while someone stabs you in your sleep," her voice was still without heat or anger, "But you know what..."

She turned to face him again, eyes hardening, "I don't want to die or lose what I have earned so, I'm going to do something about it."

"Good luck." He muttered, eyes never leaving her figure as she stormed off the room.

***

The day was heavy on Sandhya. Checking up all the records of the people Clarke had ever worked with was more time consuming than she had thought, especially considering how her initial plan of dividing the work with Harrison went amiss.

She had navigated through whatever documents he had in his room, along with Clarke's and had taken the help of Holly to get access to their server. It would have been nicer to have her in person than on a phone but she was indeed helpful, although, Sandhya hadn't found anything game-changing. There was at least a compact list of people she had her suspicions on, though.

The library was bigger than what it appeared from afar. Probably they could shoot a Jurassic Park movie in here. Or Night at the Museum or library or whatever. She had laughed at the thought. She had also walked through all three tiers of the magnificent space, analyzing the delicately carved rosewood shelves carrying books older than time. They even had some of the original manuscripts of the classics. Unbelievable.

But now she was tired. It was over six hours, she was sitting there, skimming through all the information she could get her hands on. The mob business was full of mischief. Interacting with people you should definitely keep a six feet distance from was customary .

She sighed, shutting the library computer and keeping the files aside. Untying her hair and pressing her fingers against the pulsing side of her head, she tried to relax. A gasp left her lips. She bet she saw a shadow move outside.

Her heart stopped for a moment when the lights flickered. There was definitely someone who shouldn't be here.

Slowly, carefully, she rose from her seat, ducking down the table. Then she heard it. Footsteps. She scrambled forward, keeping low, hiding behind a pillar, drawing the knife from her clothes. She waited and waited, breathing through her nose. But no one came for her. And then it hit her.

They could be here for Harrison.

She risked a peek, looking outside the library. There was still no one in sight. The alleyway seemed dark, dead; enough to accelerate her pulse. She climbed down the stairs, one foot at a time, letting her eyes wander around the hall. Stopping and hiding behind an intersected wall, she saw it: A guy in all black, twisting the knob to Harrison's room, the haft helpless in the vice of his grip. He entered inside.

Sandhya swallowed. Her throat felt dry. She only had a knife on herself right now. Protecting Harrison at all costs was a requisite. Even when he was an insufferable jerk.

He was a team.

And she hated teamwork.

She also hated jerks.

Harrison turned in his sleep, lying over the left side of his body, hugging the silk sheets that covered him. His room was pitch black, with curtains all drawn shut. He preferred sleeping in the dark and maybe that was the reason why the silver light shining over his thin eyelids discomforted him. He wasn't a heavy sleeper and little sounds managed to bother him.

He had somehow grown accustomed to the noise his clock made. His mind erratically jumped between disconnected, unwanted thoughts whenever he sensed other sounds in his proximity. Sounds that didn't match the rhythm of his clock.

Noises of shallow breathing.

Noises of out of tune footfalls.

Out of tune...

His eyes flew open, wide, fixed on the dagger that stood three feet above his chest, reflecting the minimal amount of light his window shades failed to conceal.

He tried to kick off his sheets but the dagger lunged forward swiftly like a wild animal. He squirmed, unable to move, waiting for the impact. Only that he never felt the object pierce his body. The guy groaned, his steps faltering backwards.

Harrison unspooled himself from the sheets, quickly switching on the lamp. Leaping from the bed, hands first, he landed on his toes, squatting.

Sandhya's arms were crossed around the guy's neck from the back. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she tried to push him back.

"Don't just stand there!" She cried, struggling to hold the big guy as she pulled him backwards, pressing her forearms against his throat.

Harrison shook his head, jumping forward. His heart pounded in his chest as he hit the man over his shoulder. The guy with his face blocked out with a black woollen mask, wailed, stumbling on his feet. He slammed Sandhya's back against the window, dropping both his weapon and the whimpering girl on the floor.

Harrison tried to catch him but he ran, pushing him back, storming off the door. His eyes roamed at the door and then at Sandhya. He sighed, giving out his hand. Grabbing it, she pulled herself on her feet.

"Don't say it." He mumbled, jutting his tongue out of his compressed lips.

"Told you so." She said anyway, voice so low that only he could hear, flashing him a small grin, more of a grimace, actually. His own mouth twisted but then his eye caught the sight of his window, the shades drawn away because of the rustling. His slight frown turned into a scowl.

"Watch out--" He grabbed Sandhya by her waist, pulling her down with him, capturing her body beneath his as a gunshot blasted the window of his room, crashing, shattering the glass over them.

A moment passed in silence as they tried catching up their breath.

"Are we even?" He mouthed, manoeuvring his eye line back up to her face. She was horrified, her chest rising and falling.

"We'll see..."

____________________

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…TO BE CONTINUED… // COMMENTS WILL BE APPRECIATED.

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[spilledkauffie]

I Feel It Again, The Pull. . .

Pairing: Ben Solo x ForceSensitive!Reader Word Count: 2.4k T/W: intrusive thoughts, physical harm (blood, bruises), death idealisation, fluff at the end A/N:  vent fic, yiiikes! (song I binged)

Please read at your own discretion, Loves! Don’t read if it’ll trigger you! Take care of yourself and your mental health first!

Your visions brought you back to the same place, yet you never knew exactly where you were. It was dark, always dark and you were always alone. There was a stillness surrounding you, but the air was uneasy, wind whipped against you. Small granules of salt scraped across the surface of your skin, if you stood there long enough, you were certain they’d begin to leave reddening scratches; somehow burning while remaining cold. Looking down, you saw the familiar cove of water, it crashed against the rocks methodically, violently. Sea foam climbed the rocks as if they were hands reaching up for you. For a moment the rocks looked soft and frothy, like clouds against a dark background. But when the water receded the sharp points were again revealed. So there you stood.

When the visions had first begun you were scared. They frightened you, even within them you had tried to escape, run, call for help, something. But now it scared you more that you didn’t mind being stuck within them, at times they had seemed better than reality. You’d become familiar with standing on the edge of what you didn’t know, and had given up trying to find out. Crossing your arms around each other, as if hugging yourself, you breathed. This time you didn’t look down, you closed your eyes and swayed with the wind, it was pushing you, calling to you, “come.” You exhaled and let the wind sweep you off your feet, beginning to fall forward--

A gentle, but firm touch brought you back. . . to the marketplace. Your eyes were wide and your breathing was silently heavy in your chest. Turning your head slightly, you met Ben’s face. He looked worried. You suddenly became aware of the pain you were inflicting on yourself; your nails dug deep into the skin of your forearm. Releasing your grip, minorly shocked yourself that you hadn’t felt it sooner, your hand hovered shakily over the place it had just been attached to. Little purple crescents were already forming from where your nails had been. 

Looking up, you hoped you hadn’t been gone for very long, “y-yes?” You asked, feeling as though you’d missed an important question. 

Ben was still for a moment, eyebrows knitting a little further together, before he tried to return to a normal expression best he could, “I just asked if you saw the necklaces?” 

His voice was soft and quiet, sounding like a much softer space you could get lost in. He pointed with the opposite hand that wasn’t touching you to the small little ugnaught holding out a necklace out towards you. She was trying very hard to make the best possible display of the gathered shells.

“Oh,” you followed his point, seeing the small figure stretching out its arms up at you, trying her best to show you the necklace, you exhaled, “yes,” forcing a smile, that you desperately wanted to be real, “they’re so lovely. I’d like to get this one specifically.” 

The child smiled and giggled, overjoyed with her first sale. Rushing back to her parents at the booth with the credits you had handed her, they quickly, but gently, reminded her that she’d forgotten to actually give you the item in her excitement. With a blushed shyness she walked back towards you a little. 

“It’s okay,” you assured her, ironic, those words coming out of your mouth.

She draped the shells in your hand and skipped back to find a new one to showcase for her new found public. You glanced down at your hand, the voice you had heard in your vision spoke again, this time in a whisper, crush them, break them, you don’t deserve something so precious, you never should have taken them from that innocent child— you twitched your head to the side for a moment as if in pain; it was rare that it spoke to you outside of the visions and that still frightened you. Ben’s hand was still on your arm and you felt his hand slip down into yours, softly bringing you to walk with him again. You tucked the necklace safely into your satchel, before you actually did anything. 

“They said it’s the rarest shells in the whole desert,” Ben explained as you walked along, “she made it herself.”

“They did?” You asked, to yourself, wondering how much more you’d missed, “they’re lovely.”

Ben turned to look at you, curious at the repetition that was usually not like you. He noticed the dazed look across your face. Then flicked his gaze down to your arm, where the partially swollen crescents were turning into bruises. Your hand was loose in his, you made no attempt to hold his back. Your head was somewhere else. Ben tried to connect with you, but he just saw darkness, to him it was quiet, he didn’t see what you did and he never heard the voice you heard. He tried again, but nothing. Looking to you for any sign of...well, anything he found nothing. He saw you wince and furrow your eyebrows again.

“Are you feeling okay? You look a little tired,” He asked, no answer, “we’ve been in the sun for a while maybe we should-“

“I’m fine Kylo,” you snapped, faster than you thought about the words. He swallowed at hearing that name again; both of you paused. Lowering your head swiftly, you bit your tongue, slowly until you tasted traces blood. Already you were hurting other people, just as you feared; a sudden longing for that darkened fall came to mind, was that selfish? “Ben, I meant Ben.”

Knowing he didn’t mean to, he gave you a smirk that made you feel worse, “it’s getting late anyway,” he gestured towards the suns, shrugging, “we should head home.”

You nodded, not wanting to say another thing, for fear of knives coming out instead of words. In the beginning you wondered why he hadn’t been able to sense it all inside your head, then you realised no one could ever understand what was really going on inside of you. Methodically, you followed Ben’s steps home, hand still in his. The evening was silent, you kept to yourself as much as possible despite how Ben tried to continually draw you into conversations, you answered in short and insisted it was simple because ‘he was right earlier’ and you were just ‘tired.’

You retired to your shared bedroom early, but as much as you tried to find sleep, it evaded you. Staring at the wall in the dark, you almost forgot to blink, you were so lost in your mind. Darkness came when you least wanted it, but when you actually wanted it as relief it was as if it didn’t exist, only making you long for it further. Knowing it was wrong, you tried to think of all the beautiful things in your life. You realised they didn’t necessarily need you, ‘life would go on, you’d be-, you tried, harder than ever to push the voice back. Your eyes burned from not blinking now, why were you doing this to yourself? 

It was such an effort mentally that it physically affected you; finding your lip quivering and eyes watering you held your breath when Ben came to bed. You felt the bed shift as he carefully as he tried not to disturb you. He leaned over to you, kissing your cheek with a soft, “I love you,” before he turned to settle on his side of the bed.

Exhaling, you blinked. Those were just the words you needed. Hearing his voice saying those words sounded better than any voice in your head could offer. Ben’s words reminded you that you were loved, you were needed, and you were priceless to him. His life would not just ‘go on’ without you. . . 

However, the peace only lasted a moment, the voice still tried to convince you otherwise. A momentary, but vivid, vision pulled you in. The wind was stronger this time, the voice was louder, not a whisper but a scream. Even as you tried to keep your feet steady on the edge it nudged you forward. Snapping back to reality just before the fall, you found sleep to be pointless and abandoned any attempt at it. Getting up, you made your way to the bathroom where you stared into the mirror.

It took the breath out of you. This vision wasn’t over, your reflection wasn’t your own, or at least not how you wanted to see yourself. There was a brewing darkness. The eyes staring back at you were tinged with a glowing amber, ‘come closer,’ your reflection spoke. You felt it, a pull, a physical pull, to the glass. ‘You’re no good there,’ the reflection told you, ‘come,’ you lifted your hand, but stopped; a rescuing “I love you” rang louder for once. 

Before you knew what was happening you heard your name being yelled fervidly. Looking to your left you found Ben, disheveled and out of breath in the doorway. Glancing to the mirror, there was nothing there anymore. You then followed Ben’s glance down to the hand you had in front of you. Your fingers were balled into a fist, it was streaked with red droplets making their way down your forearm. 

Breathing heavily you swallowed, “Ben?” you asked, as if really asking what had happened.

“You’re okay, it’ll be okay,” he immediately rushed to you, only the slightest worry in his voice, “it’s okay.” 

You practically fell into his arms, dazed. He sat you on the edge of the tub and crouched down to your level, dark messy hair in his face. You watched as he gently used the force to pull any glass from your skin, after that he blotted your forearm down before touching you, transferring some healing force into you. The wound healed in no time and you wished the wounds in your mind could be patched that easy. There were tears in your eyes that you hadn’t even felt form, but they were there and they were streaming down your cheek.

“You’re okay. . .you’re okay,” Ben said repeatedly, as he looked up, caressing your hand and pressing his lips against your skin; in truth he was more so assuring himself that you were okay. He let the silence settle before he spoke, “can- can you tell me what happened?”

You avoided his eyes, absolutely stunned that you didn’t even remember hitting the mirror.

“Sweetheart-” he was about to try again, when you softly cut him off.

“There’s a dark violence, a voice, within me,” you explained, quietly and slowly for fear of sounding crazier than you already felt, “I thought it was gone for a while, but it’s back and it’s more powerful than I think I can handle alone.”

You looked to meet his eyes, they were warm, they always were when he looked at you. He didn’t look at you like you were crazy, he didn’t look at you and pretend to understand everything, he looked at you because he was listening. The first person you’d ever met who just listened, so you let him in more.

“I have these thoughts,” you took a deep breath, “I’m standing at an edge, and sometimes I give in, sometimes I stay still, but sometimes it drags me down,” you looked directly to him, “but...this last time, I couldn’t stop it, I didn’t have a choice,” your chest heaved; you felt the tears form this time, and you were reminded how much you hated crying, “I’m scared, Ben,” you admitted, attempting to steady your voice, “I’m more scared than I’ve ever been before.”

He nodded, hand still holding yours, the other resting atop your knee softly, just to let you know he was physically there and so were you. 

“I want to help you, in any way I can,” Ben began, “but I will not pretend to know how to do that.”

You sniffled a little, looking down and nodding subtly, silently thanking him for being honest, instead of pretending he had answers.

“I can tell you how much I don’t want you to take that step though,” Ben lifted your chin with a finger, “I don’t want you to go, you’re still needed here, you’re loved here and,” he lifted his eyebrows, softly smiling, “and maybe I’m selfish, but I need you here more than you know.” 

You shook your head, “that’s not selfish,” suddenly your throat felt tight again, as if the tears were caught there, stopping you from breathing, “that’s just love I don’t deserve.”

Ben hushed a quiet, ‘no, no, sweetheart,’ caressing your cheek as you lowered your face crying. Your forehead pressed down against his, he felt your tears against his cheek and heard you try to soften your cries best you could.

Trying not to cry himself at seeing you in such a pain he could not understand nor see himself, he assured you with his presence, “you deserve more love than you know and even more than I can give, that’s why I need you to show yourself some too.”

You pulled back slightly confused, and Ben continued, “I can’t see inside your mind, but I do know that these visions do not define you,” He brought both his hands to your face, thumbs wiping away your tears, even though they continued to fall, “I know that it is really hard to believe you’re something better than your worst parts, but there’s so much more to you that I want you to see it.”

You didn’t know how to respond, you just stared at him, tear stained skin and wet eyes, reddened from crying. For once you didn’t think about how you looked, because you were feeling something you’d never felt before, a true genuine care, that you’d never even given yourself.

“And that’s what I can be here to do,” he smiled, “to remind you that there’s so much love in you; you need to give yourself some of it. Can you do that, for yourself, for me?”

“I can try,” you responded.

“That’s enough,” he said immediately, “your trying is tougher than you know.”

“Thank you,” you said, voice slightly hoarse from all the previous crying.

He lifted himself slightly, just enough to wrap his arms around you, bringing you closely and softly into a hug. You responded, slipping your arms around him, pressing your face into the side of his neck. The tips of his hair tickled your nose as you nuzzled against his warm skin. You clung to him, and relaxed in his embrace, exhaling a breath you felt had been trapped in you for years. 

He felt so safe, he felt like home.

[love-toxin]

bloodlust; hyun.

a/n: a piece shared for a lovely commissioner❤️

warnings: knifeplay, established relationship, blood/blood kink, injuries, gn! pronouns (but can be read as afab), lingerie, teasing, praise, implied aftercare

word count: 2.1k

“Are you afraid of me?” 

Your immediate answer would have been no, not at all. But that feeling changed when he lifted his knife up to your face, and let you watch how it gleamed in the lamplight that cast shadows over you from the corner of the bedroom. 

Hyun's fingers clenched tighter around the handle, subtly proving to you that he had complete control over what he was doing. You'd seen him use it before, whether it was to slice open the top of a letter or chop up vegetables to use for dinner--he had a way with knives that both frightened and intrigued you. It made you wonder where he had learned those skills from, but you didn’t dare to ask. Hyun could spot your answer brimming in your eyes from miles away, but the revelation didn’t perturb him--in fact, it just made him chuckle to himself. 

“You don’t have to be! I love you so much…”

He brought the blade down slowly to your neck, his movements slow and stilted as if to show you how careful he was being. The smoothness of his gestures didn’t at all mesh with the beaming grin split across his face as he did so, except for the glint in his eyes that you couldn’t help but feel was some kind of wicked bloodlust. How frightening it was to be the rabbit facing the jaws of a wolf, even if the wolf found you so cute he could just eat you right up. 

Your clothes provided little resistance, it wasn't as if you were wearing much by this point anyways--nothing except for the cutesy, pale pink intimates that Hyun loved to see you wear, the lace being the only thing saved from the biting sting of his blade sliding over your flesh. He brought it downwards from your throat, the cuts he made shallow and the pressure light, so as not to hurt you more than you could take, but enough that he could lick his lips as he watched your blood bead at the wounds and start to trail down your chest if he was lucky. It egged him on to go deeper and reminded him to keep his hand steady all at once, and you could see that conflict in his eyes, the sparkle disappearing completely as he got closer to the end of the line--the hem of your little pink panties, dipping softly almost to the point of ripping under the weight of his knife, only for it to be taken away and your breath released from the clutches of your throat. 

It wasn’t fear that stayed your hands until now as he left his marks behind, but the desire to let him explore all on his own and watch the excitement heighten in his expression. You let your fingers brush the collar of his dress shirt now, the top two buttons loosening and falling open of your own volition, and his tie slipped out of its knot until you could pull it off and toss it aside. Meanwhile he seemed to stop and wait, his lower lip prisoner to his teeth as he let you do as you pleased with a purr rising in the back of his throat--and once you had his shirt open enough to press your palms to his warm chest, Hyun chuckled and made another slice just above your collarbone, before lowering his mouth to the cut and laving his tongue over your sweet, delectable blood. He called it ambrosia, you called it blood, but what was the difference? His hands were stained with it from swiping his fingers over your “love marks” as he called them, and he made a show of sucking it off each of his digits while his brown eyes pierced straight through you and pinned your head back against his pillow. 

“You’re blushing,”

He spoke with a smile as per usual, which grew even wider when you turned your eyes away from his blinding teeth, and tried to ignore the saccharine sweetness of his voice when he found something good to tease you with. 

“Are you embarrassed?”

A fuzziness had settled in your head and made it a little harder to think, perhaps due to the amount of blood you’d lost by now. But you had enough sense not to deny his observation, knowing fully well that he would manipulate your body as he pleased until that truth was undeniable. Hyun’s touches down the valley of your chest drew a soft sigh from your lips, and with a nod and a mumbled reply, he grinned even wider as a few strands of loose hair fell into his face. 

"It's just me, you know. Just you and me...and we already know everything there is to know about each other, don't we?"

As if to make sure you wouldn’t forget the presence of the knife, he brought it round to your stomach again and aimed the tip just below your navel, the sharp end digging into you just gently enough that it didn’t quite draw blood. He had a fascination with the substance pumping through your veins, but it was a question all on its own whether he fantasized about slicing open a pocket of your flesh and having a look at your guts as they spilled from your lifeless body. You dearly hoped he didn't want to know you that intimately. But you couldn’t count on it. 

"Every mistake, every flaw, every sour little spot that we hope nobody discovers inside us...every mite of imperfection that makes me love you all the more." 

Hyun’s movements shifted into etching a little shape below your belly, the dribbles of blood left behind trailing downwards to soak into the hem of your poor panties. But despite adoring them himself he didn’t seem to mind, even as you sucked in a tight breath as he closed the curve of the heart and crossed off the last line of the “H” in the middle. It bled enough to muddy the design now, but the scar that it would leave would be so beautiful--and finally setting the blade down on the nightstand, his free hand closed around yours, your fingers interlocking for him to squeeze you tight and hold it against the sheets. 

"We're one in the same...soulmates."

With a hand still spared, he reached down to unbuckle his belt, his shirt soon coming untucked with help from one of yours and his trousers sliding down his legs. Going without anything underneath seemed like it would be terribly uncomfortable, but it didn’t seem to impede him in any way--in fact, by the toothy smile he flashed in your direction, he might have done it all day just for you. And with his clothes now finally shed, he pressed himself chest-to-chest with you and buried his face into the crook of your neck, your squirming and giggles as he nibbled at your soft spots making him twitch with excitement between your legs. 

"Hyun.."

His head bobbed back up to meet your eyes in a moment, the look of adoration etched into his features paired with the slow rock of his hips, and the effort for him to hook his hand under your knee and hike your leg up to hitch around his waist. His kiss took your breath away this time, though it was so easy for him to do so--and the press of his tongue to part your lips drew a moan out of you, which caused him to buck into you again with a little less restraint this time, the swollen tip of his cock stretching the fabric of your panties as he humped the spot that his body demanded he try and enter. By now, you'd become uncomfortably aware of the blood drying between your chests as your wounds started to close, but the stronger Hyun's thrusts became, the more your cuts started to reopen and bleed again into each other's skin. Maybe the feeling turned him on even more, and caused his hips to stutter and his face to flush even deeper--but how could you ever really tell with Hyun? He was such an enigma, and you didn't expect to ever really understand him fully. 

"Stop…"

Case in point. Hyun's cheeks had deepened to the colour of wine, his breath held for so long that he had to force himself to take a long, shaky one. He moaned out the word but yet his body wouldn't stop moving, and you found yourself grabbing at his bicep to try and get him to take a break, even if it was just a little one. 

"Wh..Hyun, what? Stop? You wanna stop?"

"No!" 

He nearly whined his answer out, his face falling to hide in the crook of your neck--he didn't have even a clue of what to do with himself, and it would have been so cute if you had any idea of what he meant.

"Stop...making that face…"

Whatever restraint he once had was gone. His hips rolled into you at a frantic pace and of their own accord, no force present to stop him even when you made the attempt to try and at least move your panties aside, both for your sake and his. His puppy-dog whimpers and ironclad grip on you while he still pinned you down with his body was too much, too much for either of you--

"Gonna make me cum...hah, d-don't make me cum yet, please…" 

--But that had never stopped you before, and it wouldn’t start now. Not while he peppered kisses to your jaw and bit into your skin when the pleasure started to overwhelm him, not while he begged you to slow down even though he was doing all the work....not when he melted into your touch as you stroked your fingers through his hair, and felt his body shudder and tremble fervently before he finally started to relax. His grip on your hand loosened and the miniscule distance between you grew ever smaller as he collapsed, and you could feel already that your panties were thoroughly ruined as you heaved a shaky sigh and let your trembling fade into Hyun’s embrace. Little could be done about your outfit, the sheets, his clothes covered in your blood and his cum drooling off his slit as he shifted away from you, and only then he seemed to realize the mess he had made. 

“I’m sorry,”

The words fell from his lips as he raised his head, but the glowing grin stretched from ear to ear made that apology feel a little less sincere. But no matter, you supposed--when had Hyun ever been sorry for making a mess out of the little angel he loved so much? 

“I’ll get a towel. Can I use the cream, honey? I know it burns, but you’ll need it for all these poor scratches...we don’t want them to scar, do we? Well, not the little ones, anyways." 

Somehow his resilience still shocked you, and you watched with both awe and a twinge of jealousy as he shimmied himself off of you and the bed with ease, before standing proudly in only his blood-stained dress shirt that had nearly fallen off his shoulders, and the rest of his body bared to you before he turned on his heels and meandered over to the bedroom door with a chuckle on his lips. He didn't wait for you to answer and he returned just as quickly as he departed, the ointment in hand for these "special" occasions, and a towel wrapped round his waist that he used to dab what little blood remained off your precious skin. And once he'd left it aside for you to wipe your hands with if you wished, he swiped the knife off the nightstand and used it to slash a cut in your panties, to retire the poor things and slide them off you to toss in the general direction of the wastebasket. 

No words were exchanged as he popped the cap off and dabbed at your wounds delicately with the tip of his finger, every touch so fleeting and delicate that you nearly started to whine at him for more...and even if that were so, he would coo at you with those sweet tones he put on so well, and promise you that you could do all you wanted later--but for right now, you needed to rest. Sleep it all off, forget all but the warmth of his body as you woke up in his arms the next morning, and let all those little cuts fade away...except for one little heart below your belly, with the mark of your lover slashed into your lovely skin. 

[strabbyshortcake]

champy’s charhouse

Gramble and Boots meet for the first time.

tw for mild violence.

Champy’s Charhouse sat smack dab in the middle of a whole lot of nothing, along a lone strip of highway that ran east to west through vast cornfields and strips of forest and swampland. True to its name, the steak was always overdone, but the potato skins were to die for.

Gramble usually went with one or more of his housemates, but Wambus was tired, Triffany was busy with grading papers, Yosie had a cage match tonight and Bronica had plans with her girlfriend already. That was alright, though. Gramble could have a good time on his own.

He borrows Triffany’s car, pulling up in the dusty parking lot as the sun’s about to set. The parking lot is already full of various mud-splattered beaters and pickups, many of which he recognizes. Funny that he could think of himself as a local now and feel a hit of pride about it. The bright orange neon sign buzzes above his head as he walks in, heading right for the bar to find a seat with a good view of the stage. True to form the place smells like burnt meat, but even as a vegetarian, it’s a comforting smell, mixed in with sweaty fur and soil and beer.

Triffany had gotten him into one of her favorite rock bands, the Velvet Knives, so he’d borrowed one of her old band tees to wear for the sets some of the local bands were playing tonight. He settles in, orders his potato skins and a coke, and watches as the first band gets their equipment set up. Once the music starts, everybody seems to be having a great time, clapping or singing along. That is, until the front row starts getting restless.

“This sucks!” calls a bright orange grumpus from the bar several seats down. His buddies laugh, a few of them hurling their own insults to the irritation of the other patrons. Several of them wear jackets with the letters of a nearby college fraternity on them. Rowdy college kids were nothing out of the ordinary though. Gramble was sure they’d be kicked out if they kept on heckling.

The band, in good humor, plays on, finishing their song before the singer decides to address them. “Sounds like we got a couple ornery hogs in the audience,” she says, grinning, showing her fangs. “Well, ain’t nobody keepin’ you here. If you go on squealin’, someone’s liable to shut you up.”

One of the frat kids hurls a bottle. It smashes against the back wall of the stage.

“Hey, now!” the band’s drummer calls, ducking. “C’mon, there’s no need for that!”

The grumpus next to Gramble, who seemed to be a part of that group, grabs his own bottle and starts to move his arm back. Gramble grabs him by the wrist, using his other hand to yank the bottle out of the other grump’s paw. “Cut it out!” he tells them, baring his own teeth. Out the corner of his eye he can see the two coolers the bar employed moving toward the bar. They’re both big, but so are the frat kids…

The guy he’d grabbed snarls, ripping his arm out of Gramble’s hold. He’s got golden fur, and two sets of slightly-crooked fangs. “You want me to throw you instead, pipsqueak?”

“You wanna lose a hand?” Gramble snaps in return. “Quit actin’ like you were raised by raccoons, you goddamn fool!”

He hears glass shatter as one of the other frat kids jumps off their stool, swinging a paw at the cooler who’d reached him. The rest of them seem to take this as a sign to do the same, converging on the coolers with teeth and claws bared. However, Gramble doesn’t see what happens next as the grumpus next to him grabs him under the arms and slams him onto the bar. Gramble yelps, coughing as the wind is knocked out of him.

“You hicks take everything too personal, you know that?” The frat kid growls, looming over Gramble. “Ain’t even worth it to bite you. I’d probably get some kinda disease.”

Gramble kicks him in the chest. He grunts and staggers a little, enough to give Gramble a second to sit up, only for the frat kid to come back and punch him directly in the nose. Gramble sees stars, reeling and nearly tumbling off the bar, digging his claws into the marked wood of the counter to keep himself from falling. Blood dribbles from his nose and lip, bitter and metallic. Hopefully the jerk had cut his knuckles on one of Gramble’s teeth.

Still dizzy from the punch, he feels strong hands seize him by the shoulders and twists around, blindly snapping his jaws shut over frat kid’s arm. The frat kid curses, grabbing Gramble by the neck with his free hand. He digs his claws into the thick ruff surrounding it, either to try and yank Gramble’s jaws off or strangle him. Gramble had let his fur grow long and shaggy around his neck and shoulders and it thankfully keeps those claws from getting in too deep.

“Asshole! You’re gonna wreck my jacket!” he hears the frat kid cry as they struggle together. Maybe, Gramble thinks, he should have thought of that before starting a bar fight. In the darkness of the roadhouse he can see the other kids still embroiled in a brawl with the coolers and several of the other patrons, though it’s impossible to tell who’s on what side by now. Nothing he can see but a lot of flying fur and flashing fangs under the neon lights. He shoves the frat kid’s arm away from his neck, wincing as those claws tear some of his fur out.

A building roar from outside catches the attention of some of the patrons, who extract themselves from the brawl and look towards the door. It’s the guttural growl of a motorcycle, a huge one from the sound, drawing closer until it stops in the parking lot and sputters out. Most of the patrons scurry back to their tables, leaving the frat kids standing by the bar, puzzled and disheveled. The guy holding onto Gramble lets him go so he slides off the bar and falls onto the floor with a thud, knocking one of the stools over.

“What?” he hears one of them grunt.

The doors swing open as another grumpus enters, ducking slightly just to get through the doorway. Even from the other side of the room, Gramble can see she towers head and shoulders above most of the other patrons and is broader by at least half, and these were not small grumpuses. Each thump of her dinner-plate-sized paws on the floor makes the cutlery laid out on the tables jingle musically as she approaches. Her fur is the color of pine needles. The bar lights glint ruby in her eyes.

She frowns down at the frat kids, at their neon orange leader. “Is there a problem, here?” Her voice is a deep, husky growl, the sort you could feel in your ribs. In the bar lights Gramble can see the glimmer of a badge pinned to her leather jacket.

“No problem,” the leader holds his hands up defensively, a cowed smile on his face. She doesn’t even have to bare her own teeth. Her sheer bulk is enough. “We were just havin’ a good time.”

“I know your kind. You’re too stupid to have a good time.” She lashes out, grabbing a fistful of his scruff and dragging him towards the door like a kitten. He briefly tries to struggle before giving up, letting her hurl him out of the roadhouse like a sack of stale hamburger buns. As she turns back to the rest of the group, they sheepishly file out, the one Gramble had bitten clutching his bleeding arm.

“Thank you so much for comin’ by, officer Timberheart,” Gramble hears the bar’s owner (not Champy himself, but his son, Shester) say as he emerges from the office he’d been hiding in. Timberheart, huh, Gramble thinks to himself. So that was her name. It sounds so sturdy. A perfect fit for her.

“Aw, it’s no problem,” Ms. Timberheart tells him. “I was already in the neighborhood.”

“Can I get you anything? Something to drink?”

“Maybe next time, but thanks.”

With the commotion now died down, the conversation of the other guests begins to filter back in as everyone takes their seats again, resuming whatever they’d been doing before the fight had started. Gramble starts to pick himself up but stumbles, grabbing for one of the barstools. Maybe he’d been hit harder than he thought…

The noise gets Timberheart’s attention. She turns towards him, picking up the downed stool as she crouches. Even now she towers at least a good two feet over him when he’s standing. He blinks up at her concerned expression. She’s got a very soft face, now that he can see it clearly. Her eyes are big and gentle, her features framed by her thick, fluffy coat. Her nose is even shaped like a heart.

“You alright there?” She asks him. “Looks like they roughed you up good.”

“Ah…” Gramble’s not sure if he’s still reeling from the punch, but his stomach for sure feels knotted up, and he hadn’t even been hit there. “…y-yeah, I’m alright. I tried to stop one of ‘em from throwin’ stuff at the band. He didn’t appreciate it...”

“Good of you to try.” She grabs a handful of napkins from the counter, handing them to him. “Here, get yourself cleaned up. I swear, these out-of-towners think they can just swagger in here like they own the place, cause a ruckus and then leave when things start to get a lil’ too spicy.”

Gramble presses the napkins to his bleeding nose, noting with a twinge of disappointment that she’s got a gold wedding band around one of her fingers. Ah, well. Nothing stopping him from getting to know her. “I dunno how some folks can act like that… Like they were raised by wild animals.”

“That’s a little unkind to wild animals, don’t you think?” She chuckles. “What’s your name? Haven’t seen you around, I don’t think.”

“Oh, it’s… I’m Gramble.” Sniffling, Gramble smiles, hoping there’s no blood still on his teeth. “I guess I’m kinda new in town. Been livin’ here for about a year, now.”

“Gramble? You’re a friend of Wambus and Triff’s, ain’tcha? They said they were entertainin’ some sorta house guest when I saw ‘em a while back. Anyway.” She offers him a massive paw, one he could easily fit both his own in with room to spare. “Name’s Beautricia, but everyone just calls me Boots.”

Gramble accepts the paw, giving it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you, Boots! I hope I’ll see you around?”

“Oh, you will.” She smiles, showing just a hint of her fangs. “Take care now, Gramble. Enjoy the rest of the show.”

[syilcawrites]

Angry confessions,,,like accidental angry confessions,,,confessing angrily,,,

a/n: hello it’s been a while but I finished!! I kind of based it off of “are you in the clouds or the rocks right now” hope that’s okay huhu.

summary: Link.exe stops working because Zelda accidentally confesses to him in the midst of a heated conversation :~)

ao3

a carved heart on the back of your hand

Link hates the rain.

It wasn't supposed to rain today, but it did, and now everything is ruined.

Zelda wrestles her wrist from his grip once they stop at a nearby run-down house; his right hand is still trembling and it feels like his muscles and tendons have been ripped from his left arm. It's better than feeling nothing at least—he can still feel the fabric of his sleeve against his skin. Link rolls his shoulder slightly, wincing. It's not broken.

She sighs out with an irritable huff, and he hears the Hylian Shield he gave her earlier clatter between them.

"Why did you do that."

He shrugs as he stares at the broken stone wall in front of him. He can't stop shaking his leg. "We should wait," he says quietly.

"I'm ready. You even said I was ready!"

"Why do we have to rush this?" He braves a glance back at her, and it's just as bad as he thought—she's fuming—face red with her chin held high and her lips twisted into an angry frown. She wants to rush back into things—rush back into correcting Hyrule, to make up for all those lost years. He gets it. Of course he gets it; it's exactly how he felt when he first woke up. There was a sense of duty he knew he wanted to follow through with even though he lacked any of his memories.

"There's a centuries' worth of responsibilities I have to catch up on. And to survive in this Hyrule of today, I need to learn how to carry my own weight." Zelda looks away from him, her frown deepening as she crosses her arms. She squeezes her eyes shut for a brief moment before she glares up at him. "And you—" The anger returns to her face as she takes a step toward him. He flips around to face her completely, holding up his hands in slight defense. "Do not jump in front of me like that again. It was completely irresponsible of you to rip the shield from my arm."

It was dangerous, even he will admit that. He knows she's capable—her precision with parrying is nothing short of amazing—but Guardians who could still slither around were different from the ones who were immobile.

And when it crawled on top of an empty body of a decayed Guardian, it aimed down directly at her forehead. Which isn't anything new, no. It always aimed for the head. That's how it usually goes, and he knew that. He knows that. But what if the Guardian slipped because of the rain? And then just like that, it could've hit her in the chest, arm, leg—whatever. It could've hit her.

Last-minute parrying is probably one of his least favorite things to do, but his legs were already moving through the sluggish mud and his mind was trailing too slow behind his feet.

Guardian, rain, Zelda.

Those were the only three words chasing each other in his mind at that moment. And the next thing he knew, he had the shield in his arm, the Guardian had toppled over, and Zelda was yelling at him.

He doesn't regret doing what he did.

"It was the rain's fault," he says. The rain got into his eyes, his ears, his nose.

"What rain?" she asks, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. "It wasn't raining."

"It was raining," he trails off, unsure now.

Was it raining?

"Link, you know that I love you, but for Hylia's sake!" Zelda exclaims, narrowing her eyes as sharp as knives. "What you did was extremely, unfathomably—and might I add ridiculously—reckless and dangerous."

Love. Not loved, but love, as in a I love you right now kind of love.

"Wait, really?"

"Yes really!' she exasperates, groaning as she rubs her temples. "Sure, Calamity Ganon is gone and the Guardians are a bit weaker now, but that doesn't erase the high threat that they still pose."

"No that's not—" Link quickly averts his gaze to her feet. Wait—he's supposed to be the triforce of courage. He shifts his gaze back up at her, and it takes every inch of his strength to maintain eye contact. He's been through death—he almost lost his head to a laser beam about five minutes ago—so this isn't… it shouldn't feel worse, but it does.

He gulps.

"You love me?" His stomach flips. He wants to drag the words that he has haphazardly thrown out into the wild back into the deepest parts of his mind, because now she's looking at him with a very, very weird expression: mouth twisted, eyebrows strained, nose scrunched.

And his voice sounded scratchy, so scratchy when he said that. He needs water, but there's no water near them because they drank the last of it early afternoon before they made their way to Hyrule Field. Outskirts Stable should have some… or maybe—what was closer? Riverside? But Akkala has the best water, so maybe he should go there instead. She did say how it tasted cleaner than other areas. It would be quick, in and out within two seconds tops if he used the Sheikah Slate. It's Autumn and the days are shorter and—

Link pats his hips frantically.

The Sheikah Slate is attached to Zelda's hips. They've been switching off, and of course, of course she has it today.

Link exhales. This is a-okay, shrug it off. It's not like she'll bite his fingers off if he asks for it—the both of them are probably really parched right now anyway since they just ran for who knows how long. And he knows Zelda, she'll definitely realize how perceptive and practical he's being with his proposition, and let him go swiftly without much argument.

"Are you thirsty?" he asks confidently, breaking the suffocating silence between them.

"Excuse me?"

"I can get us some water in East Akkala Stable, if you give me the Sheikah Slate."

"Well, I suppose so…" She unhooks it from her hip slowly, fumbling with it a little when it catches onto the metal of her belt. "Oh—!"

Link quickly reaches out for it before it can hit the ground—but Zelda does too, and then their hands touch. Link draws back immediately, and the Sheikah Slate smacks against the face of the Hylian Shield before bouncing off onto the broken pavement they're standing on. Link almost slaps his cheeks—their hands always brush against one another. Why'd he react like he got shocked by an Electric Wizzrobe?

"I'll be right back," he says quickly, swiping the Sheikah Slate up. His fingers hover over the screen as he licks his lips—how does he turn on the screen again? Tap it once? Twice? Five times? If Hylia is out there can she help him remember, please?

"Three times."

"Huh?" Link snaps his head up.

"Tap the screen three times to open it up," she mutters as she picks up the Hylian Shield from the ground, her eyes still on him.

"Thanks," he says, staring back down at the blue-lit screen. Akkala, upper right. Click the glowing icon and press yes. He looks back up at her, and she's situated herself under a part of the broken house, with the shield resting against her legs and a hand placed against the sheathed dagger attached to her hip. "I'll be quick," he promises, as the blue light begins to eat away his vision of her.

Zelda's face scrunches up like she's about to burst into tears.

He blinks, and instead of seeing her torn face, East Akkala Stable sits in front of him. And now he's definitely sure it's raining because this time he can feel a light, cold drizzle pelt against his skin. "Idiot," Link whispers as he tussles his bangs with frustration.

He just needs to be away for a second—it's hard thinking clearly when he's with her for some reason, and it's even harder trying to mask his emotions around her. In all of those memories, he was as stiff as a plank of wood. Even he couldn't read his own expressions when he remembered them. And sometimes he can manifest that part of him back, but with Zelda…

If he lingers too long in that feeling of emptiness, he knows he might stay like that forever. Most of those memories were filled with quiet conversations and sad smiles—he doesn't want to create more between them.

Link pulls out both of their water pouches as he nears the nearby spring reservoir, opting to avoid the stable altogether—he sighs again as he crouches down, sticking them into the water. The bubbles rise and burst with that awful glugging sound. He pointed out how weird it sounded to Zelda one time, and they both watched the pockets of air float and pop to the surface of the water as if it was the greatest thing in the entire world. He figured that the simplicity of it mesmerized the both of them. It seemed like she appreciated it when he pointed out random stuff to her—it's what initially drew her out of her half-dazed stupor for weeks after they defeated Calamity Ganon.

He sits by the water for an extra twenty minutes after he finishes filling up the water pouches, just soaking in the light drizzle dripping down his hair; leaking into the seams of his clothes, until he can feel it soaking into his skin. The rain washes away his thoughts.

He really hates the rain.

When Link returns, he finds her stabbing into the edge of some random piece of log with her dagger, a little ways away from the worn-down house. He can't tell if she's stabbing it out of anger or out of pure concentration. He raises an eyebrow as he comes closer, noticing that she's not actually stabbing it, but carving something.

"Zelda?" he calls out. She jumps at the sound of his voice but doesn't turn around.

"You're back already?" she asks, briefly glancing over her shoulder at him after a heartbeat. If she thought he was quick with his water trip, then she really was in the zone. "Wait—don't come closer."

He pauses about ten lizalfos' away from her, holding both of the water pouches in his hands. He watches with growing curiosity as she continues to stab and jab at the piece of wood a couple more times before she sheaths her dagger back. She rips something out of the log—hard enough for her to fall down onto her bottom, and Link instinctively takes a step forward with an arm slightly outstretched to her.

"Hm." She stands up as she looks back at him again, her expression troubled. "Why are you drenched from head to toe?"

"It was raining," he says, pressing his arm back to his side, "actually raining this time." He jogs over to her to close the distance between them. A humorless smile quirks upon her lips as she turns around with her arms behind her back.

They stand there awkwardly for a few moments.

"Well?" Zelda eyes his hands.

"Oh—" Link almost hits her arm as he quickly extends his hand out to her.

"Thank you," she says, grabbing it. She stares at the lip of it before holding out her other hand to him. "You said you lost that rock during the fight with Calamity Ganon?"

Link furrows his eyebrows together.

"The… that one rock you found on Death Mountain. The heart-shaped one. You called it your good luck charm?"

Oh, right. Somewhere in the midst of flying up in the air and running everywhere like a madman around Calamity Ganon, his heart-shaped pebble had fallen out from inside of his Champion's Tunic.

"Well," she says, tightening her fist, "I'm sure this is certainly not the exact way it looked. A craft such as wood carving takes years and years of practice, so this is the best I can manage." She still hasn't opened her fist—in fact, her knuckles have gone white. "You know that I always put my best efforts into whatever I am doing."

Link nods, waiting for her to drop the object into his palm. "Everyone knows you put your all into everything you do."

With a sigh, she opens her hand, and the small object falls into his palm with a light thud. It's a crudely carved heart-shaped piece of wood. It looks more like a weird hexagon, but at a certain angle he can see the heart in it. It looks nothing like the heart-shaped pebble, and that's exactly why he loves—

A short laugh escapes his lips before he realizes it.

"I'll make a better one once I get more practice!" she insists as she puffs out her cheeks. "I don't want your luck to run out, so just keep it for now."

"No," he says, running a thumb against the unevenly rough surface of it, "this one's perfect."

"Perfect? You insult me Link," she scoffs. Wisps of hair escape from her carefully pulled back braid, framing around her cheeks. Absentmindedly, she brushes it away from her skin, but it keeps falling back into the same position.

He wants to cup her cheeks, but both of his hands are occupied.

"I—" They both begin, pausing. Zelda purses her lips, but she keeps her gaze level with his eyes.

"I love you too," he blurts out before she can say anything, and presses the wooden heart against his fluttering chest. Red blooms onto her cheeks immediately—it's faint, but there. Maybe it's from the cold, since the wind picked up two minutes ago.

Her surprised expression melts into a soft smile—a smile with her lips slightly parted, carrying a sort of gentleness that is usually masked by the weariness of the world.

It's one of his favorite smiles.

[phoenixyfriend]

The MILFnevka AU

Once again something that was brainstormed en masse on the GG fanworks server.

I was... very much spearheading this one, but I dragged in @professorsparklepants for a lot, because Anevka, as well as input from @fenerismoon, @purronronner, @gelpenss​, and @whirlibird. The original conversation took place mid-September of 2019.

AU where Tarvek's side of the family squeezed in an extra generation or so.

Aaronev was still Lu's generation, but he had Anevka young, and she was an only child who was already an adult by the time Lu disappeared. As a result, Aaronev let her married before she ended up in the machine (because he wasn’t desperate yet), and he couldn't risk drawing the attention by the time Agatha’s gen is being born.

So instead of being Tarvek's SISTER, she's his MOM.

Anevka formed her own faction, separate from the Aaronev and vaguely aligned with Terabithia’s.

She insisted Martellus and his branch hang out with Tarvek because being an only child is lonely, and also it keeps Tarvek out of his grandfather's sights and vague plans of body-hopping.

She is a Protective Momma who is a little TOO down with murdering anyone who threatens her child.

Agatha: you're just going to listen to your evil mom? Because no offense but that's worked out really bad for me so far. Tarvek: She's not EVIL, just... Valois... anyway the Baron knows what she's like and mostly he just rolls his eyes and tries to keep her away from Queen DuPree.

Anevka is definitely the mom that uses her position as mother of the king/heir to stockpile as much power as possible and control everything behind the scenes. Tarvek is currently trying to undermine this and wrestle back control as secretly as possible.

Wine mom with eighty hidden stabbing implements.

When Agatha is discovered, Anevka still kills her dad, but it's not like she can steal Agatha's voice in this AU, so she just settles for aggressively matchmaking her with Tarvek.

Anevka's managed to rein her dad in, mostly, because she's a powerful spark with an Undefined Husband who nonetheless has enough good connections to cause a ruckus if he finds out about the Summoning Throne, and he's too sparky to wasp.

This did lead to his early death and no siblings for Tarvek, but not before Anevka managed to fight her dad down to ONLY trying to throne the girls who were legitimately likely to be Agatha.

And then Agatha's in Sturmhalten and Anevka's just like. Well. Time for plan A. And kills her dad.

Regarding Gil...  She kinda wants to pat him on the head and tell him to try harder.

I'm not wholly convinced Tarvek got kicked off of Castle Wulfenbach, depending on how Anevka married and decided to approach things. She might have warned Tarvek to AVOID stealing information, even, if she was worried about Aaronev trying to do something.

Less "do whatever you can to help us gain power" and more "do whatever you can to stay out of Sturmhalten."

Tarvek: My mom is a bitch and I love her so much

Klaus hates it when Anevka comes to CW because she acts like some unholy cross between Lucrezia, Terabithia, and Zantabraxus and she keeps hitting on his top enforcers but with knives and pretty dresses.

Unstoppable Divorce energies

Anevka: Do you like my new dress? Klaus: Your bodice is far too low cut, please stop visiting me dressed like my ex. I'm the same age as your father. Anevka: I know, it's really fun to watch you suffer as you fail to resist the urge to tell me to put on a sweater.

Tarvek: MOTHER YOU'RE EMBARRASSING ME IN FRONT OF ALL MY FRIENDS PLEASE STOP HITTING ON THE BARON AURGH. Anevka: I'm not HITTING on him, I'm trying to make his face turn puce. Anevka: I am, however, hitting on Von Pinn. She looks like she knows how to have fun. Tarvek: MOTHER.

Tarvek, to Gil: the baron can't be your dad, he's old enough to be your grandfather. Gil: He’s at a solid age for both.

Anevka and Klaus have zero actual attraction to each other but there's definitely A Dynamic that's eerily reminiscent of his relationship with Bang, with slightly less "I did a violence, be proud of me" and slightly more "I did a sexy and/or politics, be proud of me."

Tarvek: I have a problem. Gil: What's up? Tarvek: All of our friends want to fuck my mom. Zulenna: I don't. Tarvek: That's because she used to put you in time-out when we were five.

Anevka is prime Dangerous Widow material. She didn't actually kill her husband but a hell of a lot of people think she did.

Seffie thinks her Auntie 'Nevka is the COOLEST

Anevka having an intermittent fling with that "darlingly stupid young hero, Tryggvassen" makes me laugh way too hard and also dips into my nonsense love of Otharnevka.

At one point we did sidle over into “what if Single Father KB tho”

Like they met at some point on vacation while the kids were still kids, which does lose us the “Anevka aggressively ships her kid with Agatha” thing, so I’m not sticking with this but there’s some hella fun tidbits.

Anevka: Guess what. Klaus, very tired: What. Anevka: I'm getting married. Klaus: Again? Good for you. I hope this one lives longer. Anevka: He has the same name as you. Klaus: Get out of my house.

KB isn't a widower, things are just complicated and everyone blames Lu. There's time travel involved, of course.

"So your daughter--" "Sister." "...how--" "Just... just blame my mother."

He's LEGALLY Agatha's dad, maybe? Their dynamic is parent-child. Just, you know, as far as blood goes...

Anevka wants KB to help her bag Othar again. KB thinks she means finally killing him. Anevka: I might. Haven't decided yet.

Overall, though, including KB is too complicated without undermining the entire premise I want. Which is mostly canon but Anevka is Tarvek's embarrassing, mysterious, prone-to-assassination mother.

Seriously though, the entire attraction here is Anevka having the Dangerous Widow Whom No Man Can Tie Down vibe

She's a solo act. Some flings, sure, but overall? Chaos. Refined, elegant chaos.

Anevka as Bang’s sugar mom was suggested. We were obviously all on board.

Bang doesn’t need a sugar mom, but it makes the vein in Klaus's forehead throb, and that's very important.

Bang absolutely tries to get Tarvek to call her “mom” while she’s ‘dating’ Anevka. One time he does call her that and it throws her for SUCH A LOOP because no wrong.

Anevka occasionally daydreams of a world where she could have both Othar and Bang at the same time without them IMMEDIATELY trying to kill each other. Only occasionally, though, she has evidence to plant and blood to spill.

BACK TO ANEVKA SHIPPING HER KID WITH HIS POLITICALLY-APPROPRIATE CRUSH.

Anevka: Oh look, my future daughter-in-law. Tarvek, tired: Mother, she doesn't like me. Anevka: Whyever not? You're clever, handsome, politically apt, charming, sensitive, heir to a throne, you are EVERYTHING a maiden could wish for. Tarvek: You just think that because you're my mom. Agatha: No, no, she's not wrong. You're just not someone I trust. At all. Especially since you say you've been a honeypot before. Anevka: See? A simple hurdle, dear, I'm sure you could whip him into shape in no time. I could even loan you the whip. And the harness, perh-- Tarvek: MOTHER.

Anevka sends Tarvek out with Othar for “field trips.”

It’s great!! Multi-purpose! Absolutely helps boost Tarvek’s image if he’s associated with Known Hero, gets Othar out of her hair for a little bit, sometimes he can be pointed in a direction that’s useful to her.

Othar refers to this outings as “stepfather-stepson bonding times.” Tarvek absolutely hates it. Detests it, really.

Somehow something goes wrong and like 50% of the time and he ends up getting accused of murder, probably.

It’s so unfair. Especially since of the two of them, Othar is more likely to murder than him. (It’s because everyone knows what those Valois types are like, and Othar is a hero.)

Gil: What's so embarrassing about your mom? Your mom's nice. (To me.)

She gives him head pats and lollipops. His own dad certainly never gives him head pats OR lollipops.

Anevka: Well I WAS going to push him towards dear little Seffie, but he seems to be quite enamored with YOU, darling. Tarvek: Mother, PLEASE stop getting invested in my love life.

Anevka’s job is to meddle, he’s lucky she isn’t drawing up contracts and going Full Arrangement.

I also love the idea of Anevka having one of those "sunshine embodied anime mom" smiles as she says "Oh Tarvek, dear, look at all your little friends!"

She's genuinely enthused but Klaus is heavily disturbed by Anevka smiling like that.

"Is she going to sacrifice them?" "Uh, no, it isn't Sunday."

Human sacrifice is actually garish and passe these days, haven’t you heard?

Just imagining one of those Stately Child and Parent portraits with Anevka and Tarvek here.

When Tarvek was born, Anevka has an "I've only had my son for an hour and a half" moment... and then just shrugged and rolled with it.

Anevka "Hot Mom" Sturmvoraus is one of the MANY banes of Klaus's existence, but she's definitely one of the friendliest on the list... as much as he may resent that, at times.

Anevka: Is the Baron in? Boris: Actually... [Crashing noise] Boris: He just left. Anevka, pulling on the rocket boots she stole from Othar and heading towards the broken window leading to the outside of the ship: That's alright, I'll catch up.

(I love how Anevka's name just lends itself so well to AU portmanteaus.)

Anevka definitely susses out Gil's identity but she doesn't actually DO anything about it other than angling for Useful Connections.

She's always telling Tarvek to bring his friend along, and Klaus doesn't want Gil anywhere near that family but he doesn't want it to look like he has any particular interest in Gil.

Imagine Klaus actually encouraging Gil to persue Agatha with the idea that it will put some distance between Gil and "that damn woman and her spawn." Anevka for her part is pushing Agatha towards Tarvek. Meanwhile the three of them are working it out between themselves.

She just has This Energy, folks:

Tarvek: Oh no. Theo: Whats the matter? That's your mom, right? Tarvek: Oh NO, she's wearing her 'NEWLY WIDOWED BUT OUT ON THE PROWL' OUTFIT Theo: ????? She hasn’t been widowed- Tarvek: SHES AFTER THE BARON AND I'M GOING TO DIE OF EMBARRASSMENT, THEO

The one thing here is that Anevka's not into Klaus and he's not into her but by GOD is she going to fuck with his head about it.

She’s just doing this for the Big Dick Energy of trying to Get Baron Wulfenbach.

Embarrassing mom of the deadliest degree.

Tarvek: YOU’RE GOING TO RUIN MY LIFE. Anevka: Don't be so dramatic, let your mother have a bit of fun. Besides, he's not expelling you anymore, is he? Tarvek: I almost wish he was-

Also Gil and Tarvek reconciling early on due to the immense power of being Embarrassed By Your Parents.

Anevka and Klaus getting increasingly bitchy at each other at dinner, and Tarvek and Gil are just. Bright red and glowering at them.

They’re DESTROYING their COOL TEEN CRED.

Tarvek doesn't ever wants to marry a woman who has been married before, not because of some weird distaste of so-called "sloppy seconds," but rather that he's just scared that they're going to be like his mom, and planning to kill him for his money.

Tarvek, waking up in the middle of the night: What if they really do get married and I have to have Gil as a stepbrother. Tarvek: (screams internally for a few hours)

Anevka is also that Sailor J contouring video

While Otharnevka is... this thing

Some more relevant Vibes: Divorce Court Half-Mourning Upper East Side Widow

Everyone always assumed she had murdered her husband. It was a natural assumption, but ultimately wrong. She had had plans in place to kill him if the need arose, but in the end she hadn’t needed them.

Most people grossly underestimated how complicated it was to arrange for someone to be t-boned by a semi carrying flammable chemicals.

Othar as Anevka's second trophy husband and Tarvek's annoying stepdad has a very specific energy.

That energy is at least 20% "the lovebirds take anniversary honeymoons every year" and 60% "Tarvek hates being in the room with them because they're gross and embarrassing."

This is partly fun because Othar being Tarvek’s stepdad is... a lot.

But honestly, I'm also just enjoying cougar Anevka with Trophy Husband Othar. They're actually in love!!! BUT. Cougar with a trophy husband.

Anevka makes sly comments about Othar and Klaus having sexual tension.

Also I have headcanons about NB Tarvek and like

I think she'd be supportive up until the point of "you want to be Storm King, don't you?"

Less "this isn't natural and you shouldn't be this way" and more "this is going to cause you trouble due to social norms."

"Keep it under wraps until your throne is secure, then you can come out in a blaze of glory." No dresses in public until you're king, then do whatever you want. After all, “Your Majesty” is gender neutral.

Anevka caught Tarvek playing dressup in her closet one time and just criticized the color relationships.

And you must try to avoid wearing that particular shade at all, my dear, it really doesn't look imperial.