#asked him and he said. do you remember where the trachea is

[hearty-an0n]

how am i supposed to label on the diagram where the trachea is if the digram is of the abdominal cavity

[eldritch-spouse]

HI MOMMY- i mean pinnie, uh, hello, so like do you remember this little thingadooo https://www.tumblr.com/eldritch-spouse/696860216754569216/i-absolutely-adored-that-part-in-the-morell-nebul?source=share well ok so i was thinking bc i'm a hoe, uh, like c-can we get this? in writing?? pretty pls with like, 20 cherries on top of a mound of whipped cream??? only if you're up to it tho cause i know ur busy and stuff but im a little whore for pumpkin cream pie it's my absolute favourite dish ughghghghgnjfgnjkedjnf

[I'm not good with follow-ups/alt scenarios, so this'll end up being less interesting. I don't think I can do the whole team at once rn. You can call me that.]

Fem reader. Based on this ask.

TW: Sadism; "Mystery" partner/Sharing; Body horror.

You should have thought twice about the time at which you started this. Really, your original plan was to somehow catch all of them on break, but you weren't early enough for that.

By the time the elevator doors opened and you went in, guiding Patches' naked, headless body by the hand, only two of them were there. The jester, and the mimic. You don't know either of the two very well... The orange and purple doll-thing is something you've been told to stay far away from, and the other is not that talkative, stalking around the garden area more often than not. They work together however, you've seen it before.

Well, you figure they'll do just fine.

With a slap to the green monster's ass, you send him tumbling forward and wave at the two freaks, who were previously merely having a conversation, before stuffing yourself into the elevator and racing to Patches' lab, where you left his head. He can't see who you've chosen after all! It's part of the game.

Though you do feel a bit guilty about leaving him with an unabashed sadist and a deliberately feral monster. Eh, he can take it, he's dead after all!

" Are you ready, my little pumpkin pie? " You coo, scooping his gourd head and nuzzling it.

" W- Who's grabbing me? " The dullahan mutters.

Something mean shines in your eyes when you set him down to start undressing. " Guess. "

" ... Did she seriously just do that? " Vinnel starts, already biting back some laughter while the pair observes Patches tremble, hands covering his junk.

Sybastian offers a shrug, pointing at his head as if to imply you have a few screws loose.

" What do you reckon she gets from this, hm? " The jester floats around his coworker pensively.

" ... Punishment? " Syb guesses.

" You think, dingus?! I wouldn't be surprised if he was hard right now! In fact- " Vinnel bats Patches' hands away from his privates, the dullahan jumping a bit. As predicted, the monster had already chubbed a good bit. " See? What a teeerrible punishment, he totally isn't into it. "

Sybastian rolls his eyes at the attitude.

" Tch, perverts. "

The performer swipes his tail into the undead's ankles, sending him tumbling to he floor, hard. Both of them watch Patches struggle like a worm, trying to get up, though Vinnel quickly kicks him back onto his stomach.

" Alrighty then! A toy's a toy- I call dibs on his neck holes! "

The mimic isn't even surprised, prowling behind the green monster to take a look at the goods. Vinnel does exactly as he said, grabbing the dullahan's neck none to gently and jerking it closer as he kneels on the carpeted floor. Clothed fingers circle the rim of the undead's bare neck teasingly, all it takes are a couple of seconds of flirting with his trachea for Patches to start heaving and squirming. He must be trying to cough, but not a single sound is coming out, how odd.

The shifting does annoy Sybastian, who roughly grabs the dullahan's legs and spreads them, eyeing the bobbing length between them. Vinnel forces one of the undead's hands towards his concealed erection, only having to move it back and forth for a couple seconds until Patches gets the memo and takes over, trying to decipher the deformed slime's hidden cock. The jester leans into the motions and hums, watching what his coworker's up to.

The mimic's huge tongue claps out of that large chest, flattening against the scientist's belly and stealing one long, gross lick from belly button, to cock, balls and ass. A thorough slobbering if ever there was one, even the undead shudders.

" Grooooss! Hoo hoo, bite him! " Vinnel titters, carefully adjusting his mask so that a goopy mouth can be barely exposed, already dripping a runny black liquid the moment his own crooked tongue slides out.

The thing, black like molten tar, hovers in the air for a fraction of a second before Vinnel roughly jams it in Patches' esophagus. It's disgusting, terrifying, the way he feeds more and more of himself into the other's body, flirting with areas that make the poor undead jerk and try to escape, contracting around the jester's sloppy tongue hard enough to make him moan in glee. It would be better if Vinnel could hear the dullahan gag or try to scream, but he's not complaining. Vinnel chuckles wetly as he bobs his head back and forth, adding heft to his movement inside the other. Globs of his slime separate and fall to the floor, others slide down the length of his tongue and accidentally enter the undead's trachea, likely causing horrendous discomfort. Not that it matters to either of them, it just means he'll squeeze tighter.

This assault causes Patches to flinch back onto the mimic's insistent tongue-bath, and, incidentally, his pearly teeth. Sybastian doesn't care if the dullahan cuts himself, savoring the monster's odd flesh as much as he does his girth. It's when Sybastian moves on to the puckered prize above that his front teeth drag across the dullahan's throbbing member, and Patches trembles like a leaf in the wind, probably expecting his dick to get promptly bitten off at any moment. It's curious though, Sybastian swears he's leaking even more precum now. Although the mimic is hard against his cloth, he doesn't touch his hardness for the time being, more focused on forcing as much of his fat clapper as he can inside the undead's ass.

Meanwhile, Vinnel gurgles in satisfaction, hips bucking faster into his headless coworker's faulty rubbing and compressing the dullahan's neck to create and even tighter vacuum around his tongue.

He wonders how the loser is doing, wherever the fuck his head is right now...

" Hhr- Ngh-!! "

" Those aren't words, try again... "

Patches enters another violent fit of coughing and gagging. Some form of conjured drool running down his chin, tears welling up in his sockets.

You suspect someone's using his throat pretty hard. Hm, they must be really pent up, you hope Patches pleases them well. Your fevered motions on yourself stop. " I'm bored here, tell me what's happening. "

" Hrk- Inside me! " He wheezes for breath, before it's stolen from him again. " Ch- Choking! " His eyelights roll slightly.

" Where? Someone fucking your throat? "

" B-Both. "

" Both holes? "

Patches tries to nod, forgetting his body isn't there, ending up making a vaguely affirmative noise that morphs into a screaming-moan. " Ghff- Big-! "

Neither of them were small, you imagine he must be getting quite the workout regardless of which one's claimed his ass.

You giggle, pleased by the drunken look on his features, lowering yourself back over his face so you can continue to grind on the dullahan. " Keep me updated, baby! " The more Patches cries and groans, the more you coo at him, rewarding him whenever he can gather enough wit to lick at you.

" See? You're such a good fucktoy, such a sweet guy, helping all your coworkers de-stress- This should be your only job, right? " He gags, whimpering what you think might have been a plea for god. " You ever talked to Admin about that? "

This goes on for a while, you start getting into the motions, fucking his face almost viciously, each little pathetic vocalization only making you burn with need. As soon as you start feeling the tingles of an approaching peak, gasping in pleasure, Patches makes a garbled noise beneath you, followed by a desperate inhale.

" GAH- A- Another one! Phf- Fuck! "

Oh. Oh, this you want to hear.

Peeling off his green pumpkin head for a second, not without admiring the strands of slick clinging to him, you stroke his cheeks. " Yes? Tell me everything, firefly. "

Patches takes a moment to steady his breathing, apparently having his throat finally released. " There's- " He pants. " Three of them. "

" Oooh, who's the new guy? "

" C- Can't tell. Mmfff- Oh ffuck meee... " He yowls, like the true bitch in heat you're so proud of.

" I'm sure they will, it's what you're for anyway. " You're pretty sure he keened at that. With a cackle, you part your folds over him and revel in his wanton staring before you lean back and resume using his angular face.

" No no! I didn't come here to join your disgusting little fornication fest, unhand me! "

Belo's squawking is swiftly ignored by both the jester and the mimic, who quickly and forcefully disrobe the angel. If he really didn't want this, he'd already have them writhing on the floor, neither of them care that he likes to play hard to get.

" Oh shut the fuck up, you stupid whore- " Vinnel spits, fingering the furred monster's slit as soon as Syb's got that black suit down his legs, grabbing greedy handfuls of his pale ass. " You heard us, didn't you? You want to have a bit of fun too, hm? Doesn't he, Syb? "

Belo blinks and trembles, length steadily slipping out when Vinnel pulls his digits back, wiping the wetness on the angel's own fur. The mimic makes an odd chortle. " Yes. "

Patches is writhing on the floor, trying to recover from the thorough tonguing he just received on both ends. Getting up proves itself easier said than done. And though he has no idea what's happening, the jester decides to fill him in. Sparing Sybastian a mischievous grin, the two monsters nod to each other.

Vinnel zooms off to grab Patches like a ragdoll, lifting him and walking towards the mimic, who holds Belo from behind, licking at his neck while he forces the angel to walk forward as well.

Once angel and dullahan meet, Belo's pink cock pressing against the dullahan's rump, both get what's about to happen, the undead jumping in place. " Buh- But just what do you think you're doing?! " Belo's melodious voice cracks.

" Ugh, are you that fucking dumb? " The jester and the mimic switch places, Vinnel using a spare cloth in his vest's pocket to tie Patches' hands behind the angel. " You'd be surprised how tight he is, just easy enough for a loser like you though. "

Sybastian nods, grabbing the undead's legs and lining him up perfectly with Belo's dick. Vinnel hums a ditty playfully, stroking down the guard's pretty wings before cruelly plucking one. Belo squeals and lurches forward, giving Sybastian the perfect moment to impale Patches on the other's erection.

Both shake and sway in shock, Belo making choked moans, visibly throbbing as he's hilted by the mimic's doing. Patches' back knocks against the angel's chest, and everyone knows he's crying out like the shameless slut he always is.

Sybastian doesn't really care what the performer's up to when he moves away, merely tearing his loin cloth off to stroke both his and the dullahan's girths, each rock forcing Belo to move inside the dullahan, creating a lovely feedback of friction. " Mmmrr- Move! " Syb growls when Belo refuses to do anything. Even Patches squirms and bucks as if unsatisfied.

" Nn- D- Don't you dare make d-demands of- AH! "

Out of nowhere, Vinnel throws himself at the angel's back, forcing everyone forward against Syb, who purrs happily. " Whooopsie daisy! Hope I didn't miss anything good. "

" B- Bastard! " Belo grits out, knees weak.

Even though the guard refuses to thrust, the jester behind him does most of the work, pistoning through the suit in a steady rhythm that keeps everyone stimulated. Himself enjoying humping at Belo's fluffy body, and Patches getting the best of both worlds as he's stuffed and frotted against. The mimic's tongue flops out while he grunts his satisfaction.

The performer begins giggling manically when he brandishes whatever he was looking for a while back, this very sharp-looking throwing knife. Everyone there sort of tenses a little, as trusting Vinnel with sharp objects is about the same as giving a chainsaw to a ten year old. Both Belo and Syb calm down when the jester poises the blade on Patches' chest, noting the instant rise in his heaving chest.

Against the undead's expectations, Vinnel quickly slashes at his thighs. Fast but deep and merciless, like his skin is mere butter. It's one of those days where the undead doesn't have much blood to offer, merely dark green droplets streaming out, disappointing the jester. At random intervals, he's cut mercilessly on both legs, often in tandem with the others' thrusting. Inflicting harm on the squirming monster apparently has Vinnel huffing, insistently grinding against Belo.

It culminates in the jester releasing a snarled expletive, plunging the knife straight through the dullahan's body, right beneath the ribs. The force was jarring enough that even Belo trembles, as if the weapon would somehow go through Patches and stab him as well. Nonetheless, it does the trick, making Vinnel cling to Belo while he cums in his own suit, panting.

Patches has been teased this entire time, not allowed to reach orgasm by Sybastian, who would pull him slightly away from Belo before the undead could reach his climax. It must be frustrating, but the mimic is unempathetic, only now squatting to lewdly lick at the area where Belo thrusts in and out of Patches, servicing both monsters while pumping his own length to a speedy finish. Judging by Belo's clipped whines and Patches' inability to hold his weight properly, they'll both join in no time.

Vinnel sits back, clapping and whistling at the show, apparently in a post-nut high.

" Mmmmake it stop- Ughn- Make it stop, please! "

You roll your eyes. Theatrics. Not once has he used the safeword.

" Make what stop, pretty boy? "

You've long since coated his cute face in your cum, now just lovingly wiping your loser stalker's head while you hear him cry and scream senselessly. They're getting really rough with him, it's a good thing he loves it.

" 'S too much, too- Too much- " He babbles, gasping and heaving, having difficulty breathing again. A while back he yelled his lungs out, could it be that they're stabbing him again or is it just that he's a dramatic little thing?

" I'm sure it is, but you're a big boy, right? You can take it. " You kiss his tears away, smiling.

" Jus wanna come- I just wa- Wanna come so bad- "

Yes, you're surprised he hasn't yet. Then again, his coworkers probably know he's a quickshot by now. Makes sense they wouldn't let him have it so easily.

" Well, I'm sure if you beg them enough- Oh, that's right, they can't hear you, can they? " You click your tongue, feigning genuine surprise. " Guess you'll just have to take what you're given. "

In a couple of moments, Patches makes the cutest face, sockets widening and mouth trembling when he's finally, finally given his sweet mercy. You're not sure how to classify the sound that comes out of his mouth, this high-pitched cry that clips off abruptly, like he really has no air left to finish it, before his eyelights flicker out and he garbles a series of pathetic whore noises, shouting your name amidst a myriad of curses in a different language.

You laugh openly, clutching his head close and showering it in tender kisses while he babbles and drools. " Awww, lookit you!! So cute... " He can barely meet your eyes, apparently only now getting hit with some shame. " See, I told you they'd let you come. "

" Hhng- 'M tired... "

" I bet you are. "

Moments pass as the undead winds down, with you gently holding him.

" H- Hey firefly? " He starts.

" Hm? "

" I can't walk... "

You snort, getting up. " Don't worry, I'll get dressed and then we can fetch your body. "

What's left of it.

[artemisia-black]

If Orion had lived to see Sirius go to prison do you think he would’ve left him in Azkaban?

Oooh anon I have thought about this one alot.

First, I think the Blacks would need him to comply and be who they want him to be before they agree to help.

Second, I also think Sirius very much felt like he deserved Azkaban and only attempted escape to save Harry from Peter. He even says in the Shrieking shack that he as good as killed James and Lily indicating the depths of his guilt. Additionally he’s just there to kill Peter and eliminate him as a threat not to hand him to the authorities to clear his name.

Perhaps Orion may try and free him but I don’t see Sirius going along with it.

I have a scene in my Voldemort free AU fic Dog and Deer where Sirius is arrested and the Blacks try and “help” and this is his reaction which I think would also stand in canon:

So you’re just here to give me this information?” Sirius asked, eyeing his brother suspiciously.

Regulus’s ears went red, and he shifted from one foot to another.

“Father may be willing to protect you,” Regulus said hurriedly.

A bark of bitter laughter erupted from Sirius’s chest. And for the first time that evening, rage bubbled through the numb horror inside him, causing Sirius to remember the feel of Regulus’s trachea under his fingers.

“Clearly, Crouch isn’t the only one monopolising this situation,” he spat, his arms shaking with anger.

“Sirius-” Regulus began, but Sirius cut across him.

“How fitting that Father and I’m also guessing Grandfather,” he paused to allow Regulus to nod.

“Have sent their little messenger boy to tell me to either come and play the role of their puppet or rot in prison.”

Regulus’s hands had curled into fists, and a muscle was ticking in his jaw; nevertheless, Sirius placed his forehead against his.

“The dementors can have me; at least they are upfront about being soul-crushing fiends,” he hisse

[kaibutsushidousha]

Memory in Children: Mechanical Choices (Sagrada Reset 3) - Chapter 2: Android Girl (August)

[INDEX]

Sparrows hopped close to her feet.

Haruki Misora sat on the park bench, following the sparrows with her eyes.

August 13th. 3 weeks after summer vacations began. Haruki had made a habit out of visiting the small park on her way to and from school. Waiting for Kurakawa Mari to appear at any moment. There was one thing she always thought about while sitting on this bench.

(Am I capable of understanding human emotions?)

It's been something over a month that Haruki has been searching for emotions. She believed that if she didn't understand Mari's and her mother's emotions, she wouldn't be able to understand Mari's question.

But she couldn't find emotions anywhere. Not in the library, not in the movie theater, not in the box filled with her old toys.

She remembered that she had emotions at age 5, back when she tried and failed to save that cicada. But she lost them somewhere along the process.

(How do I find my emotions? Does Asai Kei know where they are? Wait. Why did my line of thought lead to him? Among the students my age, he's among the ones with the narrowest emotional range.)

Before she knew it, the sparrows by her feet had flown away. Haruki was looking at the empty ground. She's been in the park for almost 30 minutes. She figured it was a day Mari wouldn't be there.

(Is Mari's absence sad?), she asked herself.

(It isn't.), she immediately answered.

She stood up from the bench and walked away. The unmanned swings entered her sight. (What would a person with emotions be able to feel looking at this? It's just a piece of playground equipment. Part of the background.)

She left the park. That's when she heard Mari's voice.

"Miss.", she said. She ran to her from the other side of the street. Instead of sporting her usual smile, she was panting.

"Miss, help."

(Oh, she's sad now. That must be it.)

"What happened?"

"I need to escape. They'll catch me. I won't be able to see mom again."

(What? All I could gather was that she's running away from something.)

"Understood. We'll escape.", said Haruki.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The two ran, holding hands, in the midsummer heat of 4:30 PM. The sun was still high up in the sky.

Haruki headed toward where there was more pedestrian traffic.

They found a fast food store in the business district and dashed inside. The restaurant was crowded enough. They wouldn't be easily found there.

They sat on a window table where they could keep watch of the street, and there Haruki breathed heavily. She sucked the chilled air of the air-conditioned restaurant into her heated trachea. She worried that the chilling sweat would give Mari a cold.

Haruki asked a question amidst her panting.

"Who were we... running from?"

Mari didn't answer. She only shook her head.

"Why are you being pursued?"

She shook her head again.

(Does she not know the situation she's in? Without knowing it, I don't know how to solve it. Should we find a police officer? Should we call her mother?)

While Haruki was mulling over it, Mari began to speak in a quiet voice.

"The black suit people told me mom left."

"Are they the ones pursuing you?"

"It's my fault. Because I'm fake."

That wasn't an answer to her question. Haruki gave up and instead paid closer attention to what the girl was saying.

"The real one is dead, so I can't be here. Mom probably left because I'm fake."

Real. Fake. She remembered the story Asai Kei told her. The girl named Kurakawa Mari died 7 years ago.

Mari's face contorted. She was crying. Haruki understood that before the tears started rolling. She cried as she grabbed the hem of Haruki's dress. Her grip was very weak. That was the strength of someone asking for help.

Haruki looked around her. From the window, she found men in black on the street. Three of them as far as she could see. Probably more outside her view. They were stopping to peek inside every shop along the way, but they were getting closer.

She abruptly took Mari's hand and stood up.

"Look outside the window. Are these the men who are after you?"

Mari wiped her eyes and quickly nodded.

(They'll find us if we stay here. But how long can we stay on the run if we leave? How long we'll need to keep running?)

She thought about Resetting.

Mari was crying and it was full of men in black outside. She wanted to redo everything. But then she remembered Asai Kei's words.

ー You using Reset without me is pointless. Your Reset won’t stop the girl from crying.

(I know that much. I'll repeat everything. Reset doesn't solve any problems.)

ー If you’re trying to make that girl happy, don’t settle for a method. Never stop thinking about what’s the right thing to do. Break your limits to go beyond those rules of yours.

(I am thinking. All the time. But I can't ever get a good idea. What am I supposed to do? I don't know what can get Mari to smile.)

"Miss."

Mari clinged to Haruki. She saw a small blue envelope in her hands. She had seen this envelope before. Souma gave it to her and she gave it to Mari.

ー Think of it as a good luck charm. Open only when you really need it.

(Right. Mari put it in her pouch that day. That pouch she's always carrying on her shoulder. Did she keep that envelope on her this entire time? Was she hoping that it would come to save her?)

"Let me see this envelope, please."

She didn't believe there was any point in opening the envelope. It was as meaningless as a Reset. She was sure this wouldn't save her.

(But I have nothing else to rely on. If this doesn't work, we escape somewhere else. We'll keep running until we're caught, and then we'll Reset. It's pointless but I don't know what else to do.)

Haruki ripped the envelope open. There was a sticky note inside.

It contained a row of numbers separated by hyphens.

This is what Souma said when she gave it to her:

ー Then you have to say your wish out loud. That’s what will get it granted.

Haruki understood what she meant.

Next to the numbers, the name "Asai Kei" was written in beautiful letters.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

At that moment, Kei was lying on his bed, reading an old mystery novel.

He bought this one ages ago. He read only the beginning and left it to gather dust on his shelf. It was the kind of book that he didn't exactly dislike but didn't feel like reading further.

Chapter 2 ended with someone dying, and when he was about to flip to the next page, he heard a knock on his door.

It was Nakano Tomoki. He could tell from the sound of his knock.

Kei stood up and opened the door.

"Phone for you, Kei."

Tomoki handed the cordless phone to Kei with a cheeky grin.

"Ok, thanks."

Kei took it and pressed the green button. With the same smile, Tomoki barged into the room.

Kei heard a voice as soon as he put the phone to his ear. It was Haruki Misora.

"Is Asai Kei on?"

"Yeah."

(Feels weird to be called by my full name here.)

"I have a favor to ask. I want to help Mari. Please cooperate."

He reflexively lost his smile.

"Explain the situation."

"Mari is being pursued by several adult men. We need a definitive way to escape them."

He wasn't shocked. The girl going by the name Kurakawa Mari was a questionable figure. He was ready to accept anything that could happen to her.

"Have you already called the police?", Kei asked.

"Not yet. I'll do it immediately."

"No, it's best if you don't."

They still didn't know if the public interests were on Mari's side.

"We'll talk more when I get to you. Where are you now?"

"In a shopping district not too far from school. Southeast of it."

Kei closed his eyes and recalled her location.

"You're calling from a public phone, right? Is it the one by the convenience store or the one by the drugstore?"

That commercial district only had two public phones.

"By the drugstore.", Haruki answered.

"Do you know the bus stop to the west of where you are?"

"I don't."

"See the byroad to your right? Go in there and take the first left. When you're out in the main avenue, you'll see a bus stop."

Kei looked at his room clock. At the same time, he recalled the bus schedule.

"A bus heading east will appear in 2 minutes. You can make it if you run. You'll find me 3 stops later."

"Understood."

She hung up immediately after saying this.

"What? You got called for a date?", asked Tomoki, still with the same cheeky grin.

"Almost. I was called for an elopement."

"Wait, really? Making the best out of your teenage days, aren't you?"

"I want you to come with me."

"Huh?"

"There are two girls there."

Kei tossed the cordless phone on his bed.

And then he smirked.

"C'mon, no time to waste."

"Oh. I've never seen you this proactive."

"Of course I am. A girl asked me to save her. It's our duty to do everything in our power."

Nakano Tomoki answered with a smirk of his own.

"I don't know what's going on here, but you're completely right."

The conversation came to a close as the two finished putting on their shoes.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pedaling at the best speed they could muster, they arrived at the designated bus stop in 10 minutes. Kei's bicycle didn't belong to him. It was Nakano Tomoki's father's bicycle, which Kei was authorized to use whenever he wanted.

"Two girls, right? And one is Haruki?", asked Tomoki, catching his breath.

"Of course."

"And the other is Souma?"

"No, it's a girl you don't know."

"Is she cute?"

"Sure. Cuter than Haruki."

Tomoki whistled. He was always good at making noise.

"Well, Haruki is a real cutey herself. She's just weird, that's all."

"Really?"

Kei never thought of Haruki as cute. "Pretty" was the better word for her in his opinion. Wholly pure, unsullied, and undistorted. Pristine.

They soon arrived at the bus stop.

Haruki got off the bus taking Mari by the hand. Both wore one-piece dresses. Haruki's was a pale aqua, and Mari's had a large checkered pattern split by a wide diagonal line.

"That's the other girl?", whispered Tomoki upon seeing Mari.

"Yeah. Isn't she cute?"

"I can't deny it, but I prefer bigger boobs."

Haruki found them and sprinted in their direction. She opened her mouth but didn't know what to say, so she closed it without a word. That gesture felt very human.

Kei smiled.

"Hop on the back. We're getting out of here."

"Understood."

Next to them, Tomoki asked Mari her name. She hung her head without saying anything. Like she was too tired from all the crying.

Kei began pedaling the bike with Haruki in the back seat. The chain spun more loudly than before. It was past 5 PM. It wouldn't take long before sunset.

Tomoki was next to them, with Mari on the back seat of his bicycle.

"Where are we going?"

"Anywhere less obvious than a bus stop. Would your house be a good first place to stop by?"

Haruki's hand touched his back. Kei took notice that this was the first time Haruki touched him. It had the warmth of a human hand.

"Haruki, can you explain the situation?"

"You don't understand it."

"You call tell us just the parts you know."

Haruki Misora began telling the story.

She met Mari in front of the park. She was being chased by men in black suits. They told her that her mother left because she was fake and not real.

Kei had already pieced together that much. This girl had the same name as the Kurakawa Mari documented to have died. He had theories ready for why she needed to take regular exams, who was chasing her, and why her mother didn't love her.

"When is your last Save?", Kei asked.

"Two days ago, after 9 PM", she answered with a quieter voice than usual.

(She did keep a Save. Perfect.)

His next question was for Mari. It's a question that would hurt her. He didn't think it was right to further scar a traumatized child.

(But I'm more than used to casting away my principles.)

"Mari, were you created by an ability?"

She didn't answer. Behind Tomoki, the girl looked almost straight down.

"I'm pretty confident that your mother gained an ability when the real Kurakawa Mari died. The ability to create a child identical to the dead Mari. And you're her creation, right?"

Mari subtly nodded.

He could feel Haruki's hand getting tenser on his back.

(I must have asked this cruel question just to shake up Haruki's emotions. I'm sure of it.)

Souma Sumire's words resurface in his head.

ー Who is the android?

(I obviously don't believe that Souma predicted this whole situation when she asked the question. That would have been ridiculous. But Kurakawa Mari... This girl is the product of an ability... An artificial human lookalike.)

[coolbeanzeaglbones]

Fanfic chapter for the one where bones suffers cw for torture and blood and i hate this, but i think i wrote the torture scene good

Eaglebones tried to get away from the scary doctor man, but a big hulking man that, if he had a kinder demeanor, would remind him of Crash, grabbed him from behind and squeezed him to his chest, “Let me go!” He yelled, trying to step on the man’s foot, “What do I do with him, Jake?” The scary doctor man face palmed, “Tie him up, you asshat.”

Bones struggled like mad, trying so desperately hard to get free. He vaguely remembered the lonely feeling this room emanated, the pain.

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose, “Oh my gosh, just knock him.”

“No!” Bones yelled, still struggling.

Jake put a hand to his chest, “Ooh, got claws, do ya?” He strode over and grabbed bones under his chin, gripping his face so hard that his teeth cut the inside of his mouth, “Listen to me, and listen close.” Bones cut him off, “It’s ‘Listen closely’ you freak.” A flash of anger flitted across his face, “Don’t correct me.” He seethed, balling up his fist and driving it into eaglebones’ gut. Hard.

The breath left his lungs, making him double over. The big guy wasted no time with dragging him to the electroshock table and hefted him up, tying him down to the table with the leather straps.

Jake leaned over him, staring into his face. Bones wasted no time in spitting in his face. Jake looked at the bloody spit and wiped it off of his face. Without breaking eye contact, he licked the saliva off his hand before backhanding eaglebones across the face, “I’m not even going to put the thing in your mouth. Bite off your tongue.”

Bones felt anxiety rising in his chest as he heard the high pitched whine of the electricity powering up. It reminded him of his guitar powering up, something he missed severely.

The big dude put the cold electric shock thingies on his neck, “How many volts should we start with? 90? Maybe a hundred?” He sounded so excited.

Then there was a click and bones felt the electrical current flow through his body, tightening his muscles, pain flowing through his entire body. He felt his neck starting to burn. He couldn’t breathe. He felt like his chest was tightening so much that his skin might break and he would die.

He tried so hard not to scream, but he couldn’t help it. He let out a strangled cry, the reflexive tears brimming in his eyes.

He remembered reading somewhere that tears had natural pain killers in them, that’s why you cry when you’re in pain.

He gritted his teeth, just waiting for it to end. He was trying to not give them the satisfaction of seeing the pain he was suffering.

Finally, after what felt like hours, but was more accurately a few minutes, it stopped. He panted hard, finally able to breathe again. Jake came back from behind the counter, tsking, “Hmm, new thing, go get charlotte. She has a knife.” The big guy ran off, leaving them together, “So, how’s your day?” Jake asked in a polite tone, as if he was making small talk at the bus stop.

Eaglebones glared at him, “Oh you know, it was good before I had to leave my friends.” He said, forcing politeness just to spite him.

Jake’s eye twitched as he crossed the room and grabbed the electrodes, pressing them into the burns on bones’ neck, “You deserve this.” He said, pressing so hard that they were hitting his trachea, cutting off his breathing, “I hope you know that if you tell your friends, we will come for them and kill them in front of you and then kill you, Comprede?” He nodded, knowing full well that he was lying.

Jake smiled, taking the things off his neck, “Good, good.” The door opened and the big guy came back with another lady, “You needed this?” She held up a knife, twiddling it in her hand, “Ah, charlotte! Yes yes, come in.” He wrapped his arm around her waist, “You would like to christen the first cut?” Bones began struggling, but he was tied down, “No, come on, please. I don’t understand why you’re doing this.” He begged.

The lady jerked her head, “Steve,” her time was commanding. The big guy, Steve, pressed bones’ face to the side, exposing his neck, aggravating the burns. He felt something cold on his neck, “What should I carve? A face? Maybe a smile?” Eaglebones started to panic.

Before he could even sense the severity of his panic, he felt the knife dig into his neck skin. Steve had his hand over his mouth, so his scream muffled. Blood began seeping into his shirt, his eyes teared up.

His scream turned into a groan of pain.

Then the door opened and everyone turned to see an actual doctor. His eyes were wide as he stared at the bloodied up patient.

This was his chance, “Help me, help me please!” He shouted and Jake pressed his head back into the table, “Psychotic.” Was all he said, “We’re fixing it.”

The doctor nodded knowingly, “Ah, carry on.” He left.

The three of them turned back to him, “now, where were we?”

[reverend-dog]

Sweet Memory

Everything hurt.

Alison shifted to relieve pressure on one hip, and groaned.

“Honey?” a voice asked. “Can you hear me?” A voice Alison knew. A voice that had no business speaking to her with such concern.

Alison heaved her eyelids upward and waited for the fog to clear from her eyes. Her ears did not deceive. “Jordan,” she croaked. The name chafed her parched throat, but she managed to squeeze out “What’re you doing here?” before she dissolved in a coughing spasm.

“Oh,” Jordan cried, and snatched a jug with a flexible straw from a bedside table, “here!” As she held the jug patiently, waiting for the fit to subside, she digested the question. “What am I doing here?” She smiled. “Silly, where else would I be?”

The room rocked and spun like a carnival ride, and Alison lay back, gasping. She wrapped her lips around the straw as Jordan held the jug close, and gulped. Cool water slid down and soothed her irritated trachea. She slid her eyes sideways to regard Jordan. “Oh,” she replied, “most anywhere else.” Details of the room crept into Alison’s awareness. “A hospital,” she noted. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” Jordan’s face strained in anxiety. Alison noted lines around Jordan’s eyes and mouth. Not deep, but they hadn’t been there before. “You took a surfboard upside the head. Lincoln, bless him, caught you and towed you in. You were non-responsive, so Dad insisted on bringing you in.” Her brows furrowed, and the corners of her mouth drew down more. “What…” Jordan paused and bit her lip. “What do you remember?”

Events rushed back to Alison’s memory. She sprang to a sitting position, and braced herself on the bed rails. “The crash!” she cried. “Mom and Dad!” She flicked wide eyes at Jordan, uncaring in that moment for the nature of their relationship. “Where are they?”

Jordan’s face reflected pain, though not of the body. “It came back to you,” she breathed. “Oh, baby. They --”

“Don’t!” Alison snapped. “Don’t call me that!”

Jordan recoiled as if physically struck by Alison’s words. “I – I’m sorry,” she spoke just above a whisper. “Mom – my mother insisted that we take you in. She actually went to court for it. She said it was our responsibility, even if the other driver was at fault.”

Alison pulled her eyes away from Jordan’s face, and squinted into the dark grey depths of the television that hung from the wall. “We were going home after the tournament,” she mumbled. “We heard sirens, then… there was a bang, the car shook.” Her eyes opened wider. “Mom – she must have been knocked out by the impact, her head was just limp. Dad was trying to steer. He yelled at me to get down, and I was fighting with my belt when everything just – stopped.”

Jordan stared at Alison, eyes wide and terrified. “And after?” she whispered. “What do you remember about after?”

Alison shook her head as her temper ignited. “No!” she growled, and scowled at Jordan. “What are you doing here? What are you --” She jabbed a finger at Jordan, “of all people, doing in my hospital room? Since when do you give a flying fuck about me, except for how much you can torture me?” She sat up straight. “Is that what this is? You heard about the accident, and somehow snuck in here?” She shook her head, anger staving off vertigo. “I knew from experience you’d kick a person when they’re down, but this is low even for you!” She grabbed the control unit off the bed. “Where’s the call button?”

“Wait!” Jordan begged. Urgency, unfamiliar but apparently genuine, sang clearly enough in her tone to make Alison look her way. Tears streamed down Jordan’s cheeks, following the tracks of the lines that Alison did not remember being there. Jordan dug in her pocket and hauled out a phone. She tapped the screen, then offered the device to Alison. “Just look,” she implored.

Still glaring, Alison took the phone. She glanced at the screen, blinked, and stared. The timestamp on the image claimed it had been taken a year later than the last date Alison remembered. Herself and Jordan, arms hooked over each other’s shoulders, Jordan’s free arm extended out of frame to hold the phone. They wore matching shirts, tour shirts for Alison’s favorite band. The year displayed on the shirts was the same as the timestamp.

Alison swiped the screen, and another photo appeared. The timestamp was a few months later in the same year. This time, the two of them grinned in front of Cinderella’s Castle, accidentally photobombing a proposal in the background. The third picture showed Alison and Jordan in complementary gowns, corsages adorning both their wrists. Somebody else clearly had held the phone, since both her and Jordan’s hands were interlaced.

Alison swiped more. Other people showed in some of the pictures, most of them unknown to Alison. She recognized some of the locations, but knew she had never visited some of them. And in all the pictures, she and Jordan, together, best friends… or more. The last picture clinched it: the two of them, tousled, sated, smirking, in a disheveled bed.

“What is this?” Alison whispered to Jordan.

“The car that hit yours,” Jordan told her, “was stolen. My dad was in pursuit. Mom and Dad… they didn’t know about --” Jordan’s voice cracked, she choked back a sob, then met Alison’s eyes again. “They didn’t know I’d been bullying you. When it came out that you had no next of kin, Mom insisted we foster you.”

“You must have loved that,” Alison retorted.

“I hated the idea,” Jordan confessed. “The last place I wanted you was in my house. I was scared shitless you’d call me out to them.” She chuckled. “I couldn’t believe my luck when you came out with amnesia.”

Alison’s scowl deepened. “I see,” she spat. “You took advantage of the situation to convince me we were besties, so your parents wouldn’t find out the truth.” She shook her head. “You are such a piece of shit.”

Jordan nodded, eyes downcast. “I know. And you’re right. That’s how it started. The doctors insisted we not tell you anything about the crash. They warned that forcing the memories before you were ready might make things worse.” She lifted her gaze again, and Alison blinked at the ardor that shone in Jordan’s eyes. “Then as things went on, and we spent more time together… it was like meeting for the first time.”

“Literally, for me,” Alison noted with acid in her tone.

“Before,” Jordan continued, “all I saw you as was a target. You weren’t even a person. But the way you were after the crash… you were still you, your same personality. But something, I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I just couldn’t keep on like before. For some reason, I even felt guilty for everything I did. At first, I thought of it like a second chance, a way to make up to you for it. But it was also because, if or when you learned what happened to your parents, I didn’t want you to be alone for it.

Jordan offered Alison a smile. “I didn’t mean for it to go as far as it did. You surprised me when you came on to me.” “I came on to you?” Alison cried, eyes wide.

“I held off,” Jordan claimed, “I didn’t want to take advantage of you, especially with the chance of you remembering.” She smiled again. “But you were just so damn charming, and sweet, and yes, seductive!” She shrugged. “You wore me down.”

Alison wanted to deny it. The pictures could be fake. Jordan might have sneaked into her room for the ultimate bullying. Mom and Dad might be elsewhere in the hospital, nursing their own injuries. One press of the call button, and the whole thing would be exposed.

And yet….

Something stirred, deep inside. Not a memory, but a feeling. Something tender and soft, warm and cuddly. Alison gazed at Jordan, at time etched in the corners of her eyes and mouth, and at the way her eyes met Alison’s. Jordan was not that good an actress.

“How long?” Alison asked.

Jordan smirked, and choked on a laugh. “Sorry,” she offered. “For a mad moment, I was tempted to reply, ‘Fifty-seven years.’” She dragged in a deep breath. “Three years.”

Alison stared. “We were in our senior year,” she whispered.

“I know,” Jordan acknowledged. “If it helps any, you already had enough credits that you didn’t need the finals.”

“I was going to go to college,” Alison murmured.

“You did!” Jordan told her. “I mean, you are.” Her head tilted. “You don’t remember anything since the crash?”

“Remember?” Alison shook her head, “No. But,” she searched Jordan’s eyes, then lifted one hand to touch her face. “Feel.”

Jordan’s mouth stretched in a wide smile. “Oh my god,” she sighed, “oh, thank god! I was so scared!” She clapped a hand over Alison’s, trapping it against her cheek. “I’ll help you!” she promised. “I don’t care what the doctors say! I’ll help you remember this time! I love you!”

Alison moved her fingers under Jordan’s hand, caressing Jordan’s cheek. “I believe you,” she said, then chuckled. “Hopefully it won’t take another three years.”

[apoptoses]

OKAY a preview of said fic, in which armand is performing an upper GI endoscopy on daniel (don’t worry, there’s a point to this and it involves the blood, they’ll get there):

But there’s the matter of the screen to deal with first. Daniel presses the heel of his palm against his cock and looks at the image.

It’s a bizarre sight. Obscene enough Daniel’s eyes go wide and his blood rushes beneath his skin.

His esophagus is a delicate shade of pink, spider webbed with minuscule veins, and it seems to contract with his every breath. He watches with fascination as Armand’s gloved fingers wrap around his throat and squeeze, and on the screen his esophagus is deformed by the action. Just by pressing on his outsides Armand has the power to reshape his innards. If he squeezed hard enough he could crush Daniel’s throat entirely, and the act would hardly take Armand any effort at all. 

Daniel shudders with the idea of it. His fingers clench in the heavy cotton fabric of his jeans.

“Do you remember, Daniel, when I placed the speculum inside of you?” Armand asks as he drops the camera down another inch. “It’s unfortunate I had no camera then. If I had then you would know just how very similar in appearance your esophagus is to your anal canal.”

Daniel’s face is aflame, even the tips of his ears burn with it. When Armand drops the image of the inside of his hole, cranked open by the speculum, straight into his mind his hand flies up to grip Armand’s wrist in attempt to ground himself. If he doesn’t get ahold of himself he’ll choke or, even worse, moan.

“Your trachea would be quite different, of course. It would be ribbed and rigid. But your esophagus is lined with the same squamous cells as your anus and so it’s the same type of slick, smooth tissue,” Armand continues, voice as bland as any professor repeating a lecture, and it only serves to make Daniel more aroused. “No wonder they’re both a pleasure for me to touch. Swallow, Daniel, you’re beginning to drool.”

The command is tacked on so casually Daniel almost misses it. He goes to wipe at the corner of his mouth where he’s suddenly aware his saliva is running down his chin but Armand bats his hand away. He takes a piece of gauze from the tray and in act so humiliating and affectionate Daniel’s eyes prickle with it as he dabs the mess from Daniel’s skin.

He’s hard now, embarrassingly so. If he glances down he can see the line of his cock beneath his jeans. Another minute or two and there will likely be a wet spot there where he’s beginning to leak, and that makes Daniel squirm on the bed. The paper crinkles beneath him, a disarming noise in the otherwise quiet room.

why is my response to extreme stress always to write medical kink in which daniel gets pushed to his limits

[squigglywindy]

Whumptober Day Five

Title: Every Whumpee's Needs

Prompts Used: Running out of air

Warnings: Asthma Be Annoying, but that's about it. There's a lil 'ah no death has come for me' moment, but it's just Drama (and it do be like that sometimes). Oh, horribly medically inaccurate treatment of asthma (don't try this at home it's like exactly the opposite of anything that could ever help)

Whumpee(s): Sky

Whumpometer: Like a two? I mean he's not having a good time but he was never not going to be okay

General Notes: Some of you know of my love for asthmatic Sky (projection who? Where? I don’t see any projection here…). Somebody made a bad call and I was allowed to make the rules; and I said a flower can be a bronchodilator if I need it to be

Sky: I can take anything you throw at me

Also Sky: *sprints three yards* Hold on I need a minute

And I felt that in my soul. And my lungs. Anyway, this one’s pretty chill. I wrote it at like three am and didn't really proof-read, so uh...have fun

It wasn’t a hard fight. They’d been through so much worse so many times, but alas, an easy fight wasn't always a good time.

They had been walking for a long time. There had been a small incident with a fire and consequential smoke. After that, it didn't take much. One more spin attack to take out a pesky keese and Sky knew he had participated in exactly one activity too many.

The vice around his lungs was subtle, at first. Like a single hand curling around his chest, squeezing and making it just a little bit harder to pull in a breath. But that hand tightened quickly, and the next breath he jerked in drew the eyes of everyone around him.

“Sky?” Twilight asked, concern clearly lacing his tone.

Sky waved him off half-heartedly, bracing a hand against a tree and dipping his head slightly, jerking in a breath that felt like it barely brushed the tops of his lungs. Somebody’s hand found its way to his shoulder and he couldn’t be bothered to check who it was. It didn’t matter how many times he pushed himself to breathlessness, it would always come with this undercurrent of panic. He knew he needed to breathe; but he couldn’t breathe. That would always be just a little scary, even if he had consistently gotten through it before.

He eventually flicked his eyes to the mysterious figure to find Four, who gave him a tiny smile and tugged on his arm, leading him to a stump and pushing him down.

Sky tried to thank him, but the breath he drew to do so caught halfway down his trachea and turned into a cough, which did absolutely nothing for his lungs, which felt like empty plastic bags, bound together by a rubber band.  He planted his free hand on one knee and leaned forward, twisting in a way he remembered helping in the past; but a series of coughs disrupted his plans and he was left wheezing, hand still curled around Four because the last thing he wanted to do was let go.

He heard Four talking, didn’t register the actual words, but looked up when Four pressed Sky’s hand to his chest, taking a deep exaggerated breath in a very sweet and helpful display of how he had completely misread what was going on.

“C’mon Sky, you can do it,” Sky tuned back in as Four rumbled quietly, so utterly calm because of course. They were the heroes of courage. One of them spiraling after a battle for one reason or another wasn’t exactly unheard of. “Deep breath, do it with me.”

Sky tried to listen, he really did, but it was always going to be a lost cause. He wanted to explain that their methods wouldn’t work, that they just had to wait it out, but if he had the air to do that then he wouldn’t have to.

“Hold on,” Hyrule pushed his way to the front of the cluster of Links, elbowing his way between Time and Warriors. “I think I know what’s going on. You're calm, aren’t you, Sky?”

That was a stretch, but Sky nodded anyway because it would put them on the right track. He finally released Four in favor of bracing himself to lean forward, wishing he’d listened to that voice in the back of his mind telling him to give them a heads up just in case. He hadn’t wanted to, and so now he was stuck; surrounded by eight oblivious incarnations of himself with not a molecule of oxygen to his name.

Hyrule nodded and snapped his fingers in victory. “Wild, you grabbed a ton of those orange flowers when we were in my Hyrule, right?”

It was an utterly ridiculous question, and Wild proved it when he nodded eagerly and stepped forward, pointing his slate toward the ground and tapping away until a veritable heap of bright orange flowers tumbled to the ground.

“What’re you doing, arranging his grave bouquet?” Legend snarked, earning a swat on the back from Time.

Hyrule shook his head, either not noticing or not caring that the question was asked in jest. “The air in my Hyrule’s pretty bad,” he revisited a point that was painfully familiar to all of them. “Lots of people have trouble with their lungs. These help.” He grabbed a flower off the ground and crouched in front of Sky. “I’m going to crush the pod in the middle and it’s going to send up a puff of spores. When that happens, you’re going to inhale for as long as you can and then hold it for a second. Got it?”

Sky was pretty sure Hyrule was talking nonsense, and he wasn’t all that clear on what a spore was supposed to be, but he nodded because he trusted Hyrule and he badly wanted air.

Hyrule brought the flower up under Sky’s nose and gave a reassuring smile. “One, two, breathe.” He crushed the pod, and as promised, a vaguely yellow cloud erupted. It went against every instinct Sky possessed to intentionally suck a cloud of what was essentially pollen into his respiratory tract, but the very fact that he could inhale it was a miracle in and of itself, so he went for it.

He tried to hold it as Hyrule had requested, but the act of inhaling had disrupted his lungs in the worst way, and he dissolved into a coughing fit after a few seconds. When he recovered, he jerked in a breath and actually felt it hit somewhere in his chest. It wasn’t perfect, or anywhere near as deep as he would like, but it was there. “Woah,” he croaked, wincing at his own voice and forgoing further attempts at marvelment in favor of focusing on his semi-functioning lungs.

Hyrule smiled at his reaction. “You pick up a thing or two, living in a polluted wasteland. Don’t do that,” he reached out to snatch flowers away from both Wild and Wind, who had gathered up handfuls and were eyeing them a little too eagerly.

“What do your other flowers do?” Wind asked hopefully.

“Nothing you should be inhaling,” Hyrule shook his head and waggled a finger. “Wild’s a bad example; don’t put stuff in your body and see what happens.

“You did it to Sky,” Wind grumbled, crossing his arms and stalking off to kick dejectedly at a clump of grass.

Sky drug in one more breath, genuine excitement growing when it reached all the way to his stomach; entire chest feeling the effects of the first effective breath in too long. “Do those always work?” He asked, clearing his throat against the scratchy pitch of his voice.

Hyrule nodded. “As far as I’ve seen. Do you not have something like this in Skyloft?”

Sky shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

Hyrule smiled. “Well, it’s a good thing Wild was prepared to start a conservation colony in case we need to repopulate the planet in the event of total extinction. We’ve got plenty.”

“If we ever get home, I’m planting these on the surface,” Sky decided, refusing to believe that he could wreck the entire ecosystem. He had no reason not to believe that he was supposed to be responsible for introducing Miracle Flowers to Hyrule the whole time.

[blackypanther9]

The Spook - Loki x Reader (Marvel x Fnaf Crossover)

WARNING!: Mentions of corpses, talking about how someone got murdered, stomach emtying AND MORE ! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED ! Who can't stomach this, don't read it.

Part 5 – The Saferoom and missing children

Loki just then remembered that Dominic, nor Destiny knew where the Saferoom was…. So how did she….?

“How did you find the Saferoom ? You were just on the run.”, Loki said.

She looked up at Loki and scoffed.

“There was a very big slit and I followed it. The Wall I pressed on also had some traces of being moved. I just tried my luck.”, she said.

Loki looked at her. Something wasn’t right, but he stayed silent and nodded.

“It smells horrible here…”, Dominic said.

“I agree.”, Thor says.

Destiny followed the smell and found another door.

“Guys ?”, she called.

They all came to her and saw it too. Destiny tried to open it, but it was locked.

“Weird…”, Dominic mumbled.

Destiny huffed and rammed her shoulder against it and as that didn’t work, she kicked the door down.

CRACK !

“Ack !”

Destiny lost balance and fell down.

“Fuck !”, she cursed.

Dominic rushed to her.

“Destiny ! Are you okay ?! Your knee just cracked as loud as ever !”, he panicked.

“I am fine.”, she hissed and stood back up, limping into the room.

“I am not very familiar with how human bones act…, but I doubt that they crack and cause you that much pain when they grow out of place…”, Loki whispered to Thor.

“You smell something fishy here ?”, Thor whispered back.

“I do. Just be careful…”, Loki whispered back again.

Thor nodded.

“Ho…ly….shit….”, was all Dominic uttered, before he covered his mouth and left the freshly kicked open room.

They heard him puking somewhere in the Saferoom. Destiny just stood there, frozen in place. Her flashlight was on, but Loki, neither Thor, could make out what was in that room. All they did know was that it smelled even worse since the door got opened.

Loki decided to dare and walk into the room and what he saw, shook him to the core.

Corpses. The whole room was full with decayed and still rotting corpses of children ! The smell hit Loki’s nose extremely now and the smell and the sight he had, made him feel nauseous. The next second he ran out of the room and puked.

Thor wanted to step in too then.

“Don’t-“, Loki coughs, ”Don’t go in there !”

“Why ?”, Thor asked.

“The whole room is full with corpses of children. Not a nice sight and smell.”, Loki coughed out.

Thor stared at Loki in horror.

“Who would do such a horrible thing ?”, Thor asked.

“I don’t know.”, Loki said.

“Not who…better WHAT.”, Destiny said coldly.

She was still in the room and looked at all the corpses, inspecting them. You couldn’t even recognize one of the dead kids anymore.

Destiny then tapped onto something that was on her arm and glasses appeared. They were over her eyes in an instant and then the glasses roared to life. It scanned every child’s face and then soon identified them.

After a while she let the glasses inspect and recreate their full bodies. It analyzed a lot in a few seconds and showed Destiny their most highly possible deaths. After she was done she came out of the room and sat down.

“They all are identified as the missing children.”

“Didn’t you say only 5 went missing ?”, Loki asked.

“No. I said as the FIRST 5 went missing. I never said that they were the ONLY ones.”, Destiny said.

“Tell us more.”, Dominic said.

“Well, some kids got a merciful death, others a gruesome one. All of them were once reported missing and they never came back and ended up reported dead in the end.”

“How nice were the merciful deaths ?”, he asked.

“Decapitation, stab right through the heart, skull, cutting the main artery at the neck and stabbing a certain part of the stomach.”

“The gruesome ones ?”, Thor asked carefully.

“…….Cutting you apart piece by piece, strangulation, ripping your gastrointestinal out of you, like your esophagus or trachea, multiple stabbing, slowly bleeding out, drowning, poisoned food, starvation, dehydration and……getting springlocked.”

Dominic winced at that last gruesome murder method that was used on them.

Loki and Thor looked at her weirded out.

“What does that mean ? Springlocked ?”, Thor asked before Loki could.

Destiny looked at them.

“You don’t want to know.”, she growled out.

With that she stood up and paced the Saferoom.

“We need to light this place on fire.”, Dominic said.

“I know that ! But first we need answers !”, Destiny barked.

He was silent, knowing this was his plan and she was right.

“What do we do now ?”, Dominic asked her.

“I guess sleep. We can’t do anything else, really… Not tonight.”

They all agreed and slept on the cold floor, all but 2.

Loki and Destiny.

Loki didn’t feel safe at all. He had a feeling like someone was watching him. He was also scared of his dreams, that he would be punished with. They weren’t good ones anymore, since he ended up at Thanos.

Why Destiny was awake though…who knows ?

Maybe she was paranoid, has trouble sleeping, also gets nightmares….or maybe something else would come to hunt her if she closes her eyes in that very building they were in.

Loki didn’t know she was awake, but he felt that someone was awake. He was worried. Something is wrong with Destiny and Dominic looks a bit suspicious too. He had a very bad feeling.

And that means something, like always.

DANGER.

Masterlist Here !

[strawwritesfic]

Brock Rumlow x Female!Former SHIELD Agent!Reader: Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Fried

Summary: All old flames grow cold eventually–Excepting, of course, yours.

Rating/Warnings/Tags: T (bad language, torture, physical abuse, beating, brainwashing, post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier)

Fic Trade Prompt: “Don’t make my job too easy~ ;)” Plus, I got to pick the character to write for this time around.

Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Fried

You awoke with a start in complete darkness with one hell of a headache pounding through your skull. Where you were and how you’d got to wherever that was you didn’t know, but it didn’t feel like you’d come along willingly. A multitude of invisible cuts stung up and down your body; your stomach felt as though it had had its contents punched out of it recently; and maybe you couldn’t see to confirm this, but you were pretty sure your left eye was swollen shut. Worst of all, every cell inside of you felt dry and hot and buzzy, as though you’d spent the evening before playing test subject for a new line of Tasers.

But what had happened mattered very little in comparison to your present predicament. You could catalog injuries once you were definitely safe. It didn’t take long for you to decide that your current location wasn’t that. Straining your ears, you heard nothing. No hum of electricity. No faint whir of a security camera. No chattering from anyone keeping guard. Eerie, you thought, until you decided to stand up…

…and found your arms clamped tightly to a couple of armrests. You had not realized that you were sitting down in an actual chair until you were unable to lift your wrists. Try as you might, no matter what angle you used, the restraints wouldn’t budge. Your ankles were in a similar state. Gritting your teeth, you mentally prepared to dislocate the bones. Nothing you hadn’t done before, but never a pleasant prospect. On the count of three. Three…two–

“Good morning,” came a deep voice from another corner of the room, “sweetheart.”

The sudden appearance of someone in your cell was not what caused you to freeze. No, you only stopped your attempts to get loose because you recognized the voice. You squinted into the dark. Still you could hear no breathing, see nothing further than the pitch black two inches from your nose. But then again, this man should have been a ghost.

“Brock?” you asked, voice raspy. Sounded (and felt) like you’d been smacked in the trachea, too.

A rumble of laughter answered you, but no footsteps. “I don’t go by that name anymore. But it’s good to hear you haven’t forgotten me entirely. Thought you might have, the way you’ve been treating me.”

Those three sentences were all it took to force the shock out of your system and flood it instead with frustration and anger. You clenched your fists into useless balls, rattling your cuffs as you did.

“I haven’t been treating you any way,” you said. “Not since INSIGHT. Not since Hydra.”

You glared in the direction from which Brock’s voice had issued, but still you could see no sign of him. Wherever you were, there were no windows. He had to be there, though; you hadn’t heard him move away or out. Sure enough, when he spoke again, he sounded close by:

“Don’t pretend that you leaving had anything to do with either of those.”

“Oh yeah? And why else would I leave you? Because you’re such a wonderful person, I’d be a fool not to stay?”

This time, the silence that stretched out after your final question lasted long enough for you to start wondering if Brock really was in there with you. He always did know how to stay silent and still–a boon working as the head of STRIKE–but even he had to shift sometimes, even he had to breathe. Maybe he had an intercom rigged up. You tried to hold your breath to listen for him again to no avail. Then you did hear a breath, a long, rattling almost laugh.

“Oh, I don’t know.” A click sounded just before the room was flooded with light. Your eyes snapped shut to avoid the pain that surged through your already throbbing head for what little good that did. “How about this?”

It took you a few seconds to force your eyelids back open. Sure enough, your left would hardly move. Through what remained of your field of vision, you could not see much through the sudden haze of light–not much outside of a dark shape in the corner of the huge room, that was. You blinked, and the figure came into focus: a dark-haired man sitting against a wall of security deposit boxes, and wearing thick, dark armor. As soon as your gaze reached his face, Brock grinned.

“Normally I wear the mask.” He stood, gesturing to a helmet sitting by his feet. It, too, was black, but with a skull blasted across its face in white paint. Then Brock kicked the mask to the side and strode purposely over to where you were clamped to the chair. “But I don’t need to wear it for you. No secrets between us, [Name]. Isn’t that right?”

Up close, you could see his features better even through your damaged eye. However you looked, you definitely looked better than Brock. His face was a twisted mass of reddened flesh. As you took his new appearance in, he drew closer, leering down at you. You shrank away, but all this did was make him chuckle.

“I thought so. Couldn’t stand to be with someone so ugly, could you?”

You swallowed thickly. “I didn’t see that before I left.”

Brock laughed again. “You’re a damn shitty liar. Always have been. You think I didn’t know? You think I was deaf and dumb under all those bandages? You think I had any delusions that my girl would stay by my side after Captain America demolished a building on top of my fucking face?!”

His voice rose in volume and intensity, and with each sentence, he thrust himself further into your personal space. You made yourself stay in place, though your heaving chest betrayed your fears.

“I left because you were working with Hydra, Brock,” you said, willing your voice to stay even. “Because I don’t want to be with a terrorist–”

“Terrorist!” he shouted, and for one blessed moment he stepped away from you. Unfortunately, he was soon back and closer than ever, his nose practically pressed to your own. “I’m a mercenary, sweetheart. I work for the highest bidder, and don’t you go pretending you’re not just the same as me.”

“I’m not like you. I don’t work for Hydra. I don’t work for SHIELD anymore either. I’m doing real work, good work, with the–”

“With the Avengers. Yeah. I heard.”

Despite his claims to have already known about your present employment, Brock appeared put off by the news. He turned away from you, pressed his hand to his mouth, and shook his head. You took advantage of his distraction to again attempt to get at least one hand out of your shackles. Too bad they seemed to be made for someone much, much stronger than you.

And then Brock was back, smiling so widely that his eyes turned to half-moons inside their scarred lids.

“I was good to you, wasn’t I? Brought you flowers, like a good boyfriend. Took you out for dinner. Walked you home from work, cuddled with you at night, bought your goddamn tampons! And what did it get me? What good did any of that do?”

To that you had no proper response. All you could do was stare, captivity momentarily forgotten in the light of the dawning realization that your ex-boyfriend had gone completely insane. Yes, Brock had done all of those things for you, for years. You had been happy with him for all those years. You had thought you’d been lucky to be with the guy that headed STRIKE, one of SHIELD’S golden boys, the most handsome man in the whole organization. All the same:

“I don’t date Nazis,” you snarled.

“Is that what you think I was? A Nazi?” Brock shook his head, but then seemed to drop the subject, his mind wandering as his dark eyes traveled up above your head. “Never let the higher ups take you in, either. Wasn’t like they didn’t want to. Good enough to be an Avenger, Agent [L Name]. Could’ve had you conditioned by someone who knew what they were doing, and we would have never been in this mess.”

“What mess?” you asked, if only to keep Brock talking. A little further, and you thought you might have a chance of dislocating your wrist just enough to slip out of Brock’s restraints.

Brock said nothing.

“Brock,” you said once more, “what mess?”

He seemed to only then remember you were there. His eyes drew slowly down until he was staring right into yours, seemingly oblivious to your desire to get free. “

Tell me you still love me, [Name],” he said, sounding almost normal.

“Excuse me?”

“Tell me you still love me,” he repeated. “Tell me you still love me, and none of this has to happen.”

“None of what has to happen?”

“Just tell me that you’ll take me back! The rest of it doesn’t matter. Just tell me that you still love me!”

You mustered all of your energy, looked Brock dead in the eye, and spat in his disgusting face. He froze.

“The man I fell in love with was just that��a man.,” you said breathlessly. “What are you? Some burnt shell, that’s all that left. Not even enough courage to take me on face to face. You’re pathe–”

One thickly gloved hand shot out viper-fast and put your jaw in a vice grip. Brock’s lips pulled back into a snarl that gave way to another laugh that raised the hairs on the back of your neck.

“Careful, [Name]. I brought you here to kill you. Don’t make my job too easy.” He winked, a gesture that you did not return. His smile faded as his fingers gripped your chin even tighter. “Either you’re leaving here mine, or you ain’t leaving here at all.”

“And what is that supposed to mean? You’ve been babbling since you got me here. Tell me what your plan is, if you’re so proud of it.”

He considered you for a long moment–too long. Your jaw ached; you could feel his fingers pressing bruises into your skin. At last, he released you, then gestured up to where he had been looking only a few minutes before.

“You’re sittin’ in a real special chair, darling,” he said as your own eyes traveled upward.

Your heart gave a great thud as you realized exactly where you were. You’d seen the Winter Soldier’s files, and unless you could get out of there, you were screwed.

“Brock–”

“See, this here bank’s a front for Hydra,” Brock went on as though he couldn’t hear you. Who knew? He was far gone enough that maybe he couldn’t. “But they dropped it like a hot potato after Rogers fucked over Project INSIGHT. Once upon a time, they used to strap Cap’s old war buddy into this and fry the living daylights out of his skull. Only saw it done a few times myself, but how hard could it be?”

“You wouldn’t.”

His new, predatory smile returned. “Wouldn’t I? How do you know I haven’t already done it? That’s what this setup is for, after all. Memory loss. And I want you back pretty damn bad.”

He had a good point. Your head definitely felt like it had been put through the ringer–but unless a lot more time had passed than your body could account for, you still had all your memories. In fact, you had enough memories to know that you weren’t about to beg this man for your life.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” you said in as dangerous a voice as you could muster.

Brock ignored you, walking over to where a very obvious lever had been installed near your chair. Before you could say anything more, he pulled it, and your chair–Bucky’s chair–shifted slowly backwards. The mechanism above your head jolted to life, then drifted down toward your head. Only then did Brock answer you:

“Who’s gonna come for you? SHIELD? Don’t make me laugh. They know about us. They’ll think you were in on it all along. A Nazi terrorist, just like you said. Always spouting the company line. And the Avengers?” Here he did laugh. “Think they got better things to care about than where you slipped off to in the middle of the night. Never got in the habit of staying in one place too long, did you?”

He was right. He was right, and what was worse, begging was beginning to seem a better and better option the longer the whirring in the chair went on. You rattled your wrists, rattled your ankles, arched your back to strain with all your strength against your bonds, but nothing moved or loosened. Of course it didn��t. This machine was built for a super soldier. What were you compared to Bucky Barnes?

Brock Rumlow’s haunting laugh started up again in nearby. His hand reached out to press your shoulder back hard against the backrest.

“Don’t worry so much, [Name],” he said. “I might not have the finesse to pick and choose what you forget, but it’ll all be over soon either way. When you wake up, we’ll either be back together or–well, you’ll believe that we are when I tell you. I’ve got big plans for us. Real big plans.”

You opened your mouth to retort. How, you didn’t really know–but any possibility of a retort vanished the very next second. All that came out of your lips was a scream as the surge of electricity from HYDRA’s brainwashing device slammed into your head. You opened your mouth again, and let out another scream. Brock chuckled one last time before he gave your shoulder a final squeeze.

“Welcome back to the dream team, [Name],” he said, but Brock Rumlow had vanished from your thoughts. The whole world had vanished from your thoughts. If you weren’t lucky, neither of them were ever coming back. Everything from there on out was pain and order, order and pain.

[sceyth]

➖ @nightmarefuele ,

lose shelter by becoming a body under the dark. as a padawan, the light made of her a hangnail, an in-between. but the dark has arms. it has a belly, like she does. it has a heart. she brought to it herself, and it cloaked her in this. the force became a sallow branch in the cold, and she slipped down its limb. thump-thump, thump-thump, keeping her nightmares company. she tasted a kiss in the back of her mouth. she rode up a ledge to breach the hours. she could’ve stayed like this. foreign, stirring through gauze, the salt from the sea. but her hands remembered where they’d been. she yearned, then, for the beach, and sunrise. osha sifts silt and sky, feeling her skin like a sponge. in places, her pores fill: when a wave crests toward her purview as she descends, and the rocky horseshoe strand below calls out, needing to cradle her. when her saber hand twitches in the nerves, still unsure whether she needs cradling, too. in others, she chafes. the bag he left understanding her newborn fingers’ charged grooves. her sister’s dark clothes hugging her hips. his eyes swimming somewhere, bathing her in colors. her trachea keeps a stain from the cooking he left her to suppress the arithmetic of sadness brooding in her throat. she still feels his shoulder, her cheek. his hips, her legs. his neck under her blade’s tongue and why she didn’t put her own there instead. he shouldn't shock her, when she finds him. the way her eyes happen further than her head — the flow of muscle down his arms, the hook of vertebrae inside his nape, every easy thing about how he stands — should. ( and maybe, maybe. ) “ how do you do that? ” maybe he can feel her touch. “ that thing, where you disappear. ”

"morning," his face was an easy smile.

"teleporting," he answered, flipping carefully through ancient pages for some arcane thing. "by calming the mind and visualizing a destination, you can move through time and space, using the force." he glanced up, without squinting, letting all of the sun into his eyes, "to manipulate the force is one thing, osha, but true power lies in being able to alter the fabric of reality itself." he spoke as if with someone else's words.

qimir returned to the book, handling its corners with an almost perverse delicateness. "aing-tii were the first to practice it, or so they say. it's a rare ability. there aren't many documented cases. some vanish into thin air, like me. others..." he looked at her again, "appear and disappear in a mist, like your mothers could." he watched her for a moment, how—if—the light would change the way it reflected in her eyes.

"i'd offer to teach you, but you already know how to do it. you've done it before. in the helmet. your mind moved through time, into the future. all i can do is help you focus, so you can bring your body along next time." there was a small, pleased grin on him. he looked down, flipping a few more pages, finally stopping when he found what he was looking for.

he stared at the page for a beat, tongue pressed to his teeth out of habit. it was no mystery or wonder that qimir had never been one for rituals or religion. the jedi were in abundance of it. codes and rules and laws. sanctity and striving and symbols. he never did understand their way of worshipping hope and faith. how could they clutch onto hope without embracing fear? how could their faith mean anything if they fought the basic human instinct to despair? he asked once, and received scars instead of answers. it was hard to take any ritual seriously after that.

but now, despite what he had said to mae, he agreed with her: osha being alive changes everything. symbols began to matter. for once, he wanted something to be sacred, and promised to himself that he would strive to protect it. was this belief? what did he believe in before her? "there's this ancient sith ritual," he handed her the book. the words were archaic, he surmised they wouldn't mean much to her, but the illustrations were clear. "the texts say it's meant to bind two together. force user to the force, wielder to saber, master to pupil, one to another. but really, it's about focusing your power.

i've never done it," he admitted without shame. "but i've seen it done. i believe it will help you focus. it's... intimate. the sith have always believed in holding your terrors as close as your dreams." he produced a small, pointed blade of pure obsidian from his waist cloth. he turned the handle towards her, inviting her to begin or walk away.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The General (part 5.5): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: a negotiation goes bad, you learn a lesson from a rake, and you receive a long awaited reward. 

wc: 1.8k

tw: nsfw because nudity, adult thoughts, and maybe a little touchy-feely? 

masterlist

“Moving the camp works like this,” Kaori begins, lacing her fingers through your hair as you sit on the floor after dinner. “Master Geto will send Gojo and Haibara ahead with a modest squad. When they arrive upon a town, they negotiate with the elders. Should they agree to let us set up camp among them, Master Geto will scout out fields and open land to reside in. Usually, the village will send a peace offering and they will accept it, then Master Geto will send for the rest of the camp to join him. However, as we inch closer to the Imperial Palace… the more willing villages are to put up a fight to wait for Imperial forces.”

“And if they fight?” Kaori shudders, closing her eyes.

“Master Geto will wipe the entire village out in one night. It hasn’t happened in many months, but the last one…” Kaori drifts off, but you know what the implications were. “Anyways, you should put these on. Master Geto is waiting for you outside.” She motions toward a small pair of umanori and a hakamashita, and you cautiously pick up the white and black fabric.

“What is this for?”

“Just meet him outside when you’re done.”

_______________________________________________________________________

You find Geto sitting in the field where you previously watched him spar with Gojo, and as you approach, he tosses blades of grass aside and stands to greet you.

“Why are we out here?” you ask, and Geto crosses his arms over his broad chest.

“I told you I would teach you how to fight,” he laughs. “Now I’m making good on that promise. Stand tall, warrior.”

“Wait, is this really necessary?” you retort as he knocks your chin high with a finger.

“I’m going to be away for a time, and I need to know you’ll be well prepared should something happen.”

“You mean you’re not taking me with you when you go off to the next village to scout?”

“I…” he pauses, frowning. “Hold your hands out.” You do so, and he presses your palms together between his massive hands. “Feel that warmth?” You nod, feeling the spike in temperature on the backs of your hands, and he lets go. “That’s pure energy. You need to know how to harness it properly to fight well.”

“Energy?” you question, but he proceeds with his speech.

“First things first, do you know how to fight with a rake?” He hefts a rake off of the ground and tosses it at you, and you barely catch the instrument, fumbling around with the wooden handle clumsily.

“No,” you moan, and he claps his hands together, smiling in the dimming light of the sun.

“Try to swing at me with the prongs.” You swing away, trying to catch the General with the sharp end, but failing miserably as he dodges your attacks easily, sidestepping and weaving around your failing efforts.

“It’s too heavy,” you pant, feeling a dull ache in your arms.

“We won’t move on until you get me with the prongs or the sun goes down. Either way is fine with me,” he announces, and you groan, hefting the rake again.

Once the sun goes down, you find yourself on the dirt ground, face sticky with sweat and grime. Geto stood above you without so much as a scratch, hands on his hips. You look up at him in disdain, hoping that he would drop dead right where he stands, but not anticipating his next move. He hoists you over his shoulder, draping your torso across his back and your legs across his chest.

“We’ll work on this again tomorrow, little one. You gave a great effort today.”

“What does swinging a rake have to do with pure energy?” you pant, and he chuckles.

“The rake is just a tool. When you can swing it with precision, you’ll have enough strength and dexterity to handle the energy within.”

“Seriously? You had me doing arm exercises this whole time?”

“Yes and no,” Geto answers, pushing the flap of the tent open and walking inside. “But let's take a bath and go to bed. I know you’re feeling tired.” You grumble when he sits you on the bed, your entire body screaming in pain as you try to lay back comfortably.

“I suspect Kaori is asleep, so I’ll go fetch the hot water.” With that, Geto leaves, and you lay in the bed, eyes glued to the ceiling of the tent. Fighting, negotiations, emissaries… How much could you fit into a day? You long for the lazy days and nights spent reading by the window, the long afternoons that would stretch on forever while you and your mother cooked, the sound of the brushstrokes as your father worked on a painting. You long for home, and for a whole month, you’ve stuffed it down to avoid the misery. But now, there’s nothing left but the memories of how things used to be.

You don’t realize you’re crying until something wet runs down your cheek and to your earlobe, finally dropping onto the sheets beneath your head. When the first tear comes, it’s quickly followed by the second tear, and the third, fourth, fifth, until you can’t keep track of them anymore. And you’re sobbing - but it hurts to cry since you were already in pain, which causes you even more grief. You’re crying so hard that you don’t hear the soft footfalls reenter the tent, nor the sound of a water bucket being placed on the ground. It isn’t until you’re pulled up into strong arms that you realize Geto has returned, and you’re being held by him.

“Did I push you too hard?” he asks, lips next to your ear.

“N-no, no…” you choke out, trying to catch your breath. “I j-just miss... h-home.”

“Mmmm…” he hums, reaching up to stroke your hair. “You will see your home as soon as I can manage safe traveling conditions for you, little one.” You nod into his chest, the fabric rubbing against your forehead and nose. “Come on; can’t let the water get cold.”

You immerse yourself in the hot water slowly, the steam and heat rolling up your body and relaxing your frayed muscles. As you bathe behind the curtain, you hear Geto shifting about and wonder if he’s going to join yo--

“I’ll be right there to help,” he calls out, and you sink lower in the soapy water to preserve your modesty. When he appears, your eyes follow him cautiously as he sits beside the tub and gathers the soap in his hands. When he sees your submerged figure in the tub, he laughs, running his free hand through loose black locks.

“You remember, I’ve seen you completely naked before.” The mention of this reminds your ass of the punishment it received - on your first day in the camp, no less - and you grunt once, squinting your eyes at him. He dips his hands into the water, and he plucks out your right leg, smoothing soap all over it before beginning a slow massage down your calf and up to your thigh. You jolt at the contact when he reaches the midpoint between your thigh and your core, and Geto instantly lets your leg go, the water splashing on his hakamashita.

“Sorry,” he whispers, and moves to the other side, taking your left leg out of the water. When he reaches the same spot on your other leg, you don’t jolt, but you do curl your toes, your leg muscles sighing in relief as he places your left leg back in the water. Geto does the same movements with both arms, then turns his attention to your back, where you feel the most pain. You moan as he kneads into your shoulder blades, releasing tension you didn’t even know you had.

“Your hands are huge; I didn’t think you would be able to do this with precision,” you mumble and he huffs a soft laugh.

“You’d be surprised at what these hands can do.” When the double meaning hits you both, you stiffen and Geto clears his throat. “Anyways, all I have left to do is your neck, if you’ll let me.” You shake your head yes, and he runs his fingers up the sides, pressing around your trachea and spine with care. You moan again when you feel fingers dance along the tops of your ears and down your chin.

“Geto…” you breathe, and upon realising you just said his name out loud, you inhale sharply.

“I’m here,” he replies huskily, lips to your ear again. You shakily exhale, closing your eyes as your pulse quickens. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need…” I need your hands all over me. “... to get out.” You get up immediately and step out of the tub, dripping water on the rugs as you grab a towel and pad to the other side of the curtain.

What are you doing?

You firmly shake your head, knocking the images of Geto splaying you out spread eagle on the bed from your mind. You towel off quickly, dress in your night clothes, and climb into bed, pulling the sheets over your head as Geto comes around the curtain. This wasn’t the plan. Falling for your captor wasn’t in the plan.

When you peek over the sheets, you see Geto working on his maps and plans at his desk, hunched over the parchment. Whether it’s your poor judgement or impulsivity, you don’t know. But the fire inside of you quickens your exit from the bed and moves you to where he’s sitting with his back to you, the dragon on his shoulder twisting about in circles. When you stand beside the General, he looks up in surprise, his black eyes catching yours immediately.

“Y/n, wha--”

You plant your lips firmly on his, and at the contact, the pen drops from his hand and he moves to cup your face, tongue probing at your bottom lip. You open your mouth for him and feel his tongue slide inside, seeking… searching, and he brings you close enough to straddle him in his chair. When he pulls away you’re both breathless, panting softly. The evidence of his arousal is pressed against your thigh, but you can’t focus on anything else except how the kiss felt and the fact that you want to do it again.

“Y/n,” Geto whispers, touching his forehead against yours and closing his eyes. “Please, have mercy on me.”

“What do you mean?” Your fingers touch his swollen lips and he presses a tender kiss to them.

“You’re about to make me into a beggar of a man, and right now, I can’t… I can’t have you like I want to.”

“What?” Your confusion is evident, and he opens his eyes and presses a hand to your cheek.

“I should explain when you’re less tired.” He stands, still holding you against him and carries you back to the bed, laying you there with a tenderness you had never really appreciated before. When he tucks the covers around you and presses a kiss to your forehead, you realize everything will be as it should be. “Sleep now. I’ll explain everything in the morning.”

You drift off to sleep on the heels of his words.

_______________________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @jotazinha @just4readingfics @mxhi @sammytamaki​ @brownskinnedgirll​ @keelyshayee​ @leanne-tamashi​ @vabybizzle​ @amaris9

[siriusmydeer]

Hello! How are you? From the touches ask game can I request hand holding 30, kiss 9, and touching 27 with james potter please? Thanks in advance

the art of his eyes

james potter x gender neutral!reader

summary: your first kiss with james.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: mutual pinning, kissing, mentions of stomach pain, mentions of self doubt/insecurity

prompts: brushing against each other, linking fingers together for a second, first kisses, pulling the other one towards them

his eyes were delicate.

they were almost a cerulean sea of blues that was carved into a canvas, similar to an italian renaissance painting from decades ago that had reappeared in a museum only for the finest arts.

they were fragile, almost like beauty could be seen through his eyes. yet they were utterly angelic.

perhaps that’s why he was just your best friend.

as much as it clawed at your mind it didn’t cease you from gaping upon them for hours if you yearned for it enough. yet, the most you could obtain was a glimpse of even the slightest shimmer of cobalt blue.

from the time you were young, james had you completely enveloped around his finger just by his lingering words. the ventures of your eyes prominently beating carmine hearts that only increased from the duration of your friendship.

there were only particular moments that he could have your heart palpitating like it was your final day to stride around. distinctly when he had wiped a tear that was streaked upon your cheek, when he brushed your hair away from your face after the wind was particularly difficult, and the times he had cradled you in his arms whilst smearing a minuscule kiss along your brow bone after a hard day.

your trudges were deep, and exceedingly slow. your mind was attempting to decipher how much longer you could walk around while procrastinating before you went to find the gryffindor. your eyes desperately trying to venture into that cerulean sea of blue.

just in time as you were trudging down the courtyard, the birds finally making an appearance with their faint singing. the cocky gryffindor sauntered over to you in a disdaining manner, his brunet tresses laying messily on his head from the frequent gusts of wind mangling everyone's hair.

“hey,” he spoke breathily with a smirk, craning his neck in your direction. his brow creased at the daze contortion on your face, snapping his fingers once in front of your eyes to catch your attention.

“james, hey,” you said with a startle in your voice. you held a hand over your heart for a moment, sighing once with a faux smile before turning your head back in your previous direction.

it was the first saturday after the easter break had finished and students had left their homes after dreadful goodbyes from their families. students were desperately marking down their calendars for the weekend to arrive after completing their loads of homework from the previous week, the weekend excused for clamoring hogsmeade or the courtyard.

he continued to trudge with you in silence towards your destination, a normal contingency between the both of you so your adamant lack of speech wasn’t concerning him. but the boy had a handful of words that he was waiting to say, almost hoping they wouldn’t come out disorganized due to his immense trepidation.

as you both were continuing to stroll over to the clearing of grass both you and james had spotted in the duration of your third year you felt the brush of his hands against your own. they feeling was prominent yet faint, like a ghost who suddenly could touch. a minuscule moment where his fingers looped around your own, his frigid pinky finger colliding with yours. his other fingers following in a small dangle against your hand, and suddenly his touch was gone.

your breath took a sudden hitch in your trachea, stopping in your place when you realized you had been standing in your place of destination. he looked towards you once before contorting his body in front of your own so he could face you, “james.” you muttered.

at the deaf hours of the stygian night you had pondered how obvious you were concerning your feelings to the point where it could’ve brought you a churning pain in your stomach, and most times it did from the number of sparks and butterflies wandering freely in your abdomen at the thought of the gryffindor. little to your knowledge people had already thought you were a couple, the kind of couple that cuddled in private whilst your head was tucked under his neck and your hair tickled at his chin, the kind of couple that said their, i love you’s before class had begun.

“you’re being strange. why?” you quizzically inquired craning your neck upwards into his direction. your eyes finally deepening in a void the azure and cobalt blues swirling together to make only the peculiar bunch of colors in one glimpse of an eye.

“i was talking to padfoot, and—“ he paused for a moment to form his words that he was almost jumbling over to find. “i need to do something.” he finished by running his finger up to the point of your chin while the pad of his thumb ran across from your searing skin, holding your view in place to look at him. the swirl of his irises gliding over your figure with ease. it was like his gaze had a hold over you, freezing you in place. his heart was doing continuous somersaults, it rather felt like the palpitating muscle was about to scramble out of his chest in such a hast manner.

“do it, then.”

he breathed a heavy sigh the decision weighing on his mind, his thumb coming into contact with your distrait jutted lip. the smooth planes of your lip flicked down for a moment revealing the carmine skin that laid beneath. 

your breath hitching once more from his hands carving into the side of your waist as well as the apple of your cheek. your mind attempting to determine what was happening, the absentee of his words made it difficult to determine if he had been finally doing what you had waited for.

your intuition was confirmed when his lips were delicately placed against your own. he had planned to kiss you, but he didn’t plan for it today rather procrastinating the decision. he had planned to kiss you since he saw the stretch of your smile and his mind deciphered that he needed you way more than platonically. his conversation with sirius while the raven-haired gryffindor was almost pleading on the bend of his knees to ‘get his girl.’ was the tossing coin that landed on his answer.

his lips were smooth, fragile even, like you would break if he wasn’t delicate with you. there wasn’t a need for a rush. his heart only further clamouring in his chest when he felt the smoothness of your velvet-textured palm placed on his cheek, the pads of your fingers hitting the hair that was rooted onto the nape of his neck. your fingers had further melded into his jaw like it was meant to fit, similar to a puzzle.

the grip he had on your waist was only tugging you closer to the sculpting of his torso, fitting into the brunet's body with ease.

you pulled away, unaware of the time that had passed for the duration of your kiss. your hand still placed on his cheek, he nuzzled his nose into the palm of your hand. he placed a diplomatic kiss to the flesh before melding his cheek with your palm. the crimson burn arising to your balmy touch as he gazed upon you, every tranquil detail of your face. he wanted to memorize your image so every time he felt like he was in an abyss of emptiness he could remember the grin placed upon your face at this very moment.

“i could kiss you forever, y’know,” he whispered faintly. you could feel his midriff heavily respiring, a grin now dancing on his face whilst his cheek lay tilted in your palm.

“no, but i do now.”

taglist: @kittykylax @ronbrokemyheart @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @msmb @five-cups-of-coffee @emmaev @serenitywilderness @artemis1orion @miss-starkov @siriusbarnesslut @inglourious-imagines @i-love-scott-mccall @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @kirascottage @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul @slytherclawbitch

[sopafa]

Paraplegic Douxie! P3

Previous part / Next one

Douxie started drowning.

It was past lunchtime and Archie was alone in the room without a soul around to do something. He familiar was down asleep when he felt it, the body on where he was resting started moving and some gags were produced by his human troat. Archibald woke immediately, and the horror surrounded him when he saw Douxie, with his eyes still closed drowning in front of your eyes.

Some muscular spams moved his abdomen, and the tube inside his mouth made difficult his breathing. Archie didn't think it twice and punched the bottom of the wall to call for assistance, the dragon did everything to stay calm while his familiar couldn't breathe, and with some tears in his eyes, he screamed with all the force of his longs to Barbara, hoping that she could do something.

It was a matter of seconds for a couple of doctors to rush into the room, that Archie barely had time to hide behind the door.

On the nurse halfway, Barbara was talking with her son and the trollhunters team about the situation. It has been four days, and yet the wizard hadn't woke. That's when he heard the commotion and turned around to see her partners running into Douxie's room. Jim saw the color drown from his mother's face and before giving him time to react, she was already running to the Wizard's habitation.

"Oh, no..." Was everything that Jim said.

====

The intubation was the worst thing that Douxie had ever experienced. He couldn't breathe, his head was spinning, and his body felt dizzy, his eyelids felt like he had a pair of weights dangling from, and then nausea.

Luckily, some good soul removed the tube from his trachea, so he was able to breathe again. The bad part is that his body had tried to expulse the tube by himself, so the accumulation of gags did their work and, before he even knew it, he was already cover in vomit.

His body retched making his abdomen hurt, but Douxie had no strength to even move his face to avoid slop more liquid over him. A pair of hands ran fast to his face to clean him right away. Douxie made his major effort to look at them, but he was so tired, that a simple hum was the only he achieved babble before starting throwing up again.

He felt miserable, he didn't want that anybody saw him like this. He felt shame, he had probably stained the person next to him with his body fluids and he wasn't even able to look at them in the eyes.

"It's okay- it's okay." A soft voice said just on his side. It was comforting and calm.

A wet towel was gently pressed on his face and began to wipe him, while more relaxing comments were spoken by that calming voice. He tried to look again, it took him a couple of minutes, and an insane amount of will, to finally open his eyes, but after a few fail tries, he finally succeeded. That hair and that eyes could only belong to one person.

Ms. Lake, he tried to pronounce, but the only thing that came out of him was a groan.

As he expected, the bedsheets and part of Ms. Lake's uniform were covered in puke, but the doctor didn't seem to care, she was still looking at him with that warm smile.

"How are you feeling?" Barbara removed some hair from his face. "You had a long surgery, and it looks that the anesthesia didn't make you feel very well".

"'R-" The wizard tried to call for his familiar.

"He's okay. He's in here, like the rest."

Douxie fought to not close his eyes.

Maybe he was exhausted, maybe it was the drugs, but he could not keep himself awake for more time.

Once the doctors were out of the room, and only the Trollhunter's mother and the familiar were in, they share a warm smile in silence. The beeps of the monitors and the numbers on the screen showed that Douxie was stable, and his heart race was normal.

"He is going to be fine." Barbara said petting the cat.

He is going to be fine.

====

"Douxie's body was rejecting the intubation" Barb explained to the team a couple of hours later.

"That's something bad?" Toby was afraid to ask, but nobody else had the courage to.

Instead of bad news, a smile grown on the woman's lips before she started talking again.

"Actually, it's completely the opposite, Tobias. When the body rejects the help of the breathing tube, is because it can do it alone, so the tube isn't helping anymore, and it's treated as an intruder. We kept the tube to compensate for the right lung collapse, Douxie's lungs needed help doing their work, but it seems that they are doing better know"

"So, he is fine now?" Steve questioned with hope.

Barbara shook his head "He is better, but he still needs time".

====

When Douxie woke up for the second time, two days after, the analgesics were almost done. The sheets of the bed, as his gown, had been changed, at least, and his low groans captured the attention of both medics that were talking in the room.

Barbara rushed to his side and took his hand. With her motherhood aura, she looked at him and asked:

"How are you feeling?".

It took a moment for to Douxie realize where he was, and still, he tried to sit up. A big mistake, because of the moment he moved, his chest ached like hell. With a low groan, he put a hand to the place that hurt while Barbara helped him to lie down.

"Easy," She said before he tried to straighten again. "You have 3 broken ribs and had a collapsed lung. You really scared the guys out there" The second doctor -a male that Douxie didn't even care to read his name- stayed on his place a few steps of the door.

Hisirdoux didn't even try to move anymore. Instead, he sighed and asked how the rest was doing. Barbara rolled her eyes before telling him "They are fine, they had already received medical assistance, no one else is hurt... bad hurt" she corrected herself, and told him that he has been asleep for almost six days.

Douxie did not know how to react.

On a hand, it was not the first time he slept for days after a fight. On the other, it was the first time that that happened to him after meeting the Guardians of Arcadia, and he hasn't had the opportunity to tell them that fact.

Douxie disconnected himself for a moment, thinking about that. Should he told the rest that it didn't matter and was a collateral effect of using a lot of his magic? Or- wait, had he used a lot of magic on the battle? He didn't remember.

Hisirdoux sank deeper into his thoughts before he realized it. It was something simple, almost imperceptible, but he tried to accommodate under the sheets. The problem was that he couldn't.

He looked at his feet.

Barbara notices that and removed her hand from Douxie's. The redhaired ma'am looked concerned to her companion, both medics shared a serious look. But Douxie didn't even realize it.

The wizard was still looking at the blanket, there was something off.

He tried to move his fingers, but nothing.

His feet, same.

Slowly the color of his face faded, and his breathing started cracking.

His hands became fists.

"Douxie..." Barbaria tried to start.

"I- I don't" Jim's mother's heartbreak with the boy's voice. "I don't feel my legs"

Hisirdoux looked at Barbara with fear and terror in his eyes, she could see his body shaking and his voice hung by a thread.

Barbara didn't knew how to told him. She was supposed to be the one that told him the truth, but at that moment, she couldn't do it. She tried to act professional, and serious, but she couldn't because in front of her eyes there were nothing more than a poor scared child with no family, holding his sobs and asking her for help, because he couldn't feel his legs.

"Hisirdoux" Dr. Velazques approached the bed. "You suffered a very complicated accident. You fell for over 100 feets, to a car's hood. On the impact, you broke 3 ribs that occasionated the lung collapse. Also, you have some other injuries caused by the same fall, like a twisted wrist, a slight concussion, and a fracture on your spinal discs."

"A fracture? So it is not broken?" Velazques nodded, a sigh of relief was expulsed by Douxie's mouth.

"Unfortunately-" The blue-haired man looked at the doctor again. "A fracture on that zone causes irremediable damage to the nervous system. Your spinal cord was compromised, and we had to make surgery to stabilize it."

"It is fine now, right?"

"After we embed metallic bars to your spine. Yeah."

"But, why I can't feel my-"

Barbara took Douxie's hand.

"I do not think that you are understanding. Hisirdoux, we can't fix the damage to the nervous system. Your legs, hips, everything from the L5-down is paralyzed. The fall had caused you something that we call Paraplegia"

"What?-" He squeezed her hand.

"Douxie-"

"Even with rehabilitation, there is no guarantee that you would be able to walk after". Hisirdoux's heart broke.

The wizard would never walk again.

[hotchnersbiitch]

Hands of Another

A/N: I’m absolutely in love with this request. I hope you guys are too!! Buckle up my friends, its a long one. 

Request: @jojosgirlkat1dluvr

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Reader 

Category: Angst and fluff 

Warning: kidnaping, violence, cursing 

Word count:  2,003 ~ 8min

-

“Good morning good lookin,” Derek says cheekily as you walk into the bullpen, you chuckle as you make your way to your desk, Derek close on your tail. 

“Good morning Derek,” you say with a sweet smile setting your bag down on your desk before flattening down your blouse. 

“I need everyone in the briefing room, we got a case.” Your boss Aaron Hotchner says sternly as he walks into the meeting room. 

“I’ll see ya in there sweet thing,” Derek says with a smile before turning to head to the briefing room, classic Derek you thought to your self. You would never admit it out loud but you had the biggest crush on your coworker and close friend Derek Morgan. You knew better than to think that you had a chance with him, you were nothing like the other girls he has dated in the past. There’s no way in hell he’d ever look at you as anything more than friends. You walk into the briefing room sitting next to Spencer. 

“Hey, Spence.” You say as you sit down patting his back. 

“Hi Y/N.,” he says with a smile as he hands you the case file. When you open it you couldn't help but cringe. You knew this was going to be a tough one. 

“Our unsub is abducting women in St. Louis Missouri, between the ages of 20 and 30, he tortures them before killing them by strangulation. He’s dumping the bodies behind local hospitals.” Hotch says explaining the case to his team. 

“It’s almost like he’s feeling remorse by dumping them outside the hospital,” Emily states looking at the crime scene photos. 

“How would that show remorse, they are already dead the hospital can’t do anything,” Derek says. 

“He thinks that by dumping them at the hospital gives them a ‘chance’ to be saved. He is clearly feeling remorseful after the fact.” You state before Spencer joins in. 

“It is not unusual for unsubs to drop their dead or nearly dead victims outside of healthcare faculties, it makes them feel less guilty by thinking that they are going to be able to be saved making the unsub feel like he’s almost doing the right thing.” Spencer elaborates and you nod in agreement. 

“Either way we have a killer on our hands and we need to hurry before he kills again. Wheels up in thirty.” Hotch says before walking out of the room. 

“Let's go catch this guy team.” You say before heading to your desk to get your go-bag and head to the plane. 

When the plane lands in St. Louis you and the team head straight to the police station to get to work, the whole team knew there wasn't much time until he strikes again. There wasn’t much done besides addressing the profile and checking out the crime scenes. 

“This guy is good Hotch.” You say standing next to him as you both survey the scene.

“Yeah, but we’re better. We better head to the hotel, there's not much we can do, and we're running out of daylight.” Hotch says in his signature authoritarian voice.

“I’m going to stay behind and look around some more, we are missing something, I just know it.” You say, your boss lets out a sigh before nodding, he knew better than to argue with you. You were just so passionate about every case, you could never sleep on a case until it was solved. Hotch gathered the team, before everyone left Derek came up to you. 

“You comin’?” Derek asks placing a hand on your shoulder, you could almost feel yourself physically melt under his touch. 

“No, I told Hotch I’m going to stay behind and look around some more. There's something here we're missing, I’m going to find it.” You say and Derek chuckles, shaking his head. 

“I know you will, you're good at what you do. Be careful, call me when you get to the hotel okay?” You smile a soft blush forming on your cheeks at his sweetness.

“Of course,” you say before Derek walks off and your team heads to the hotel for the night, leaving you alone with the other officers that were still cleaning up the scene. You walk around the scene surveying different areas behind the hospital. By the time you made it to the other side of the building the cops were gone, they offered to wait but you insisted they went, you had your gun and your SUV was only a few yards away. Besides, you weren't afraid of this guy you knew he was a coward.

 You walk up to a dumpster, you don't remember you or anyone else checking it out earlier you went to step up to look into it when you felt something cold press your back. 

It was a barrel of a gun. 

You closed your eyes knowing exactly who it was, your unsub. 

“T-take your gun out and put it in the dumpster. N-now!” the man demanded, you knew better than to argue with him. 

“Alright, alright,” you mutter as you slowly pull the gun out of your holster before reaching up and dropping it into the dumpster. 

“I’m going to l-lead you to my car, you scream or try to run your d-dead.” the man stammers out, he was nervous you figured he would be, this isn't what he's used to. He’s becoming bolder you knew he would kill you if you resisted him. He pushes you to the car jabbing the gun into your back to hurry you up. Once your in the back seat he pistol whips you, then everything went dark. 

Back at the hotel, Derek was waiting for you to call or at least text him to let him know you made it to the hotel. It wasn't unusual for you to stay behind at a scene, you always felt like you could see things clearer when you were alone. And most of the time it did work, you'd discover something you missed before, it was almost like a sixth sense to you. Derek nervous about your whereabouts got up and went to Hotch’s room knocking on the door, he promptly answered looking tired as always. 

“Did Y/N come and get her hotel key from you? She hasn't texted me she's here yet so I didn't know if she got her key and maybe fell asleep forgetting to let me know or something.” Morgan explained, Aaron could tell he was worried. 

“No, she did not. Call her.” Hotchner ordered feeling much more alert now at the fact he didn't know where one of his agents was. 

“Straight to voicemail Hotch, this isn't like her,” Derek said running his hands over his head. 

“Gather the team...now!”

You woke to ice-cold water being poured over you, you gasped and quickly sat up shocked. You looked up and saw the unsub standing over you, an evil smile on his face. Out of nowhere, he yanks you up by your hair, you yelped in pain, you tried to fight back but to no avail. Your hands and feet were bound, the man laughed before dropping you on the floor, you take in a deep breath, you didn't want to fall apart in front of the man. You didn't want him to know you were scared and make him feel powerful. 

“My team is going to find you!” You yell but only to be silenced by being kicked in the face, you could taste the blood in your nose and mouth. 

“No they won’t, you're all too stupid to find me. I sat there and watched you all search the scene and no one even noticed me. You'll end up just like the rest of them.” He says that evil smirk still plastered on his face. 

“Fuck. You.” You state looking him dead in the eyes, his face filled with pure rage at your words. He immediately started beating you, kicking you in the stomach and back repeatedly, stomping on your head, punching you in the face. You tried to take it for as long as you could but the pain was becoming too much, tears started running down your face, mixing with your blood. The man smiled grabbing you by your face making you look at him. 

“Not so tough now huh? Bitch.” he said before spitting in your face and kicking you in the head, you were out like a light. 

You were awakened again, but this time by the man's hands around your throat. You panicked, this was it, you were going to die. You didn't know how long you were out or how long you have been here. Hours? Days? Weeks? You had no idea, all you knew you were scared and wanted out, you tried to squirm under him but he only tightened his grip on your throat. So tight you could feel your trachea being crushed under his grip, you felt like you were about to pass out.

“FBI! Step away from her!” You instantly recognized Aaron's voice, thank god. Your relief was cut short when the man ripped you off the floor and put a blade against your throat. You were gasping for breath your eyes wide as you stared at the wonderful team before you, they were your family, you didn't want to die in front of them. 

“Let her go!” Emily yelled stepping closer to you and the unsub, bad move. The man pressed the knife harder against your throat, he was about to drag it across your neck before gunshots rang out and you fell to the floor again. Derek rushed to your side cutting off the rope that was keeping you bound together, you were still gasping for breath from almost being strangled. 

“MEDIC! I NEED A MEDIC IN HERE NOW!” Derek hollered before looking down at your battered face. 

“You're okay pretty girl, you're gonna be okay.” He said tears stung in his eyes, you started crying clinging to him as EMTs rushed to your side loading you on to the stretcher. 

“Morgan you ride with Y/L/N and we will meet you at the hospital,” Prentiss instructed and he nods running after you, getting into the back of the ambulance with you. Derek held on to your hand as the EMTs addressed your less serious wounds and hooked you up to a morphine drip. 

“I knew you guys would find me.” You say your throat feeling incredibly sore, Derek nods kissing your knuckles, you blushed but you didn't care you were in pain. 

“I wouldn't ever leave until we did. I promise to make sure you're never hurt at the hands of another again. I promise.” Derek says tearing up, you were honestly quite shocked at his reaction.  

“Derek, why are you so worked up. It is okay, I’m okay. They got me hooked up to drugs, I feel better already.” You say with a small chuckle trying to lighten the mood but Derek didn't budge. 

“No Y/N I’m serious. I love you so much and I’ve been too much of a coward to admit it to you. Then he took you and I was so worried I was never going to be able to tell you how I really felt.” He says tears now streaming down it his cheeks, you were flabbergasted at his confession, you started crying too squeezing his hand that was still holding on to yours. 

“I love you too Derek. I’ve been afraid to admit my feelings also.” You say softly and Derek smiles kissing your hand. 

“I’m going to protect you, I'll never let anything like that happen to you again. I promise.” He says standing up in the ambulance and placing a soft kiss on your busted lip before sitting back down. You just smiled at him, you knew he would. At that moment you knew that Derek would love and protect you to the best of his ability, and you promised to do the same for him. 

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH7

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 7: Resurrection Overture (VII)

You couldn't see the difference between day and night in the Village of Dusk. Qi Leren walked in the street and walked towards Dr. Lu's clinic.

After the task in the Holy City, Dr. Lu should have survived—he was still unconscious after being detoxed from ingesting the Nightmare Witch’s poison-medicine, so he was sent back to the Lord’s castle by Qi Leren, perfectly avoiding the chaos in the late hours of the night and once again winning the dangerous task. Qi Leren was convinced that his luck level was off the charts. He couldn't even envy him.

When he came to the door of Dr. Lu's clinic, Qi Leren was vaguely excited. He didn't know how Dr. Lu would react when he saw that he was still alive.

He raised his hand and knocked on the door, and there came Dr. Lu’s faint voice: "I’m going to the grave today, you can’t see the doctor."

Qi Leren kept quiet and knocked on the door.

After knocking for a while, Dr. Lu on the other side became angry and opened the door to denounce the guest who was harassing the doctor. He suddenly saw the smiling Qi Leren standing outside the door looking at him. His face went white with a scream: "Ghost!!!!”

Seeing that the door was about to be thrown closed, Qi Leren flashed sideways into the house and angrily grabbed Dr. Lu, who was about to run. "What happened to your face? Who hit you?"

Dr. Lu, who was black and blue, covered his face and refused to let him see it. Qi Leren pulled him up like a carrot and angrily demanded, "Look, I'm still alive! Come on, who bullied you?!”

Because Dr. Lu looked young, Qi Leren never regarded him as his senior. He usually took special care of him when doing tasks together. Now, he had been bullied like this in the few days that he couldn’t see him, which made him angry.

Dr. Lu completely ignored the second half of his sentence, stared at him for a moment, and then rushed to touch his neck.

It was warm and had a pulse. Dr. Lu cried with a "wow", hugging Qi Leren to death with a strength that he didn’t know he had. Qi Leren was scared by him and wanted to throw him off, but when he heard him cry he became heartbroken and softened, standing patiently as he waited for him to calm down.

When Dr. Lu finished crying, Qi Leren's shirt was soaked, and he wondered where he’d gotten so many tears.

"I saw your body with my own eyes," Dr. Lu said with a stuffed up voice, his nose and eyes still red.

On the contrary, Qi Leren poured water on him like a master: "I was dead, but I had a resurrection item that allowed me to come back after seven days. I didn't say anything about this, and I made a mess."

Dr. Lu complained bitterly: "Do you know how long I cried?! I cry when I think of it. I'm so sad. I also wanted to clean up your things for you, but there was no key to your house and the door couldn't be opened. I had to cry and go home, I was so ashamed."

Although he has known Qi Leren for a short time, it was a friendship established in a dangerous and terrifying world. Seeing his best friend die, Dr. Lu, who was already full of feelings, was very sad. After the completion of the task in the Holy City, he had followed Ning Zhou to evacuate the residents, and the Holy See’s staff took the living residents away from their hometown. He and Ning Zhou had returned to the Village of Dusk. Ning Zhou was in a bad state along the way. Dr. Lu didn’t dare to cry. When he got home, he had seen the training menu Qi Leren had before, and then got into bed and cried for a long time.

He didn't really feel the deaths he had experienced before. He only felt as if he was playing a game that was too realistic. It wasn't until he saw Qi Leren no longer breathing as he was buried in the tree tomb that Dr. Lu had realized the cruelty of the world.

"Well, don't be sad. You haven't said what happened to your face?" Qi Leren looked at Dr. Lu's face carefully. Dr. Lu's forehead was swollen and covered with an ointment, and his mouth and chin were cracked. It looked miserable.

"I... I fell..." Dr. Lu whispered.

Where would Qi Leren believe this: "You fell all over your face?"

"Really." Dr. Lu showed him his sleeves and bruises on his elbows. "I was born with an uncoordinated cerebellum, poor balance, easy to fall when running, and failed in all sports."

Qi Leren remembered that Dr. Lu mentioned it to him before. At that time, he didn't care. He thought it was an excuse to be lazy.

"Can this be cured?" Qi Leren asked seriously.

"Ah, I’ve been treated? I can just use [Doctor’s Orders], it doesn't hurt anymore, that is, the bruises haven’t returned," Dr. Lu said after a pause.

Qi Leren was distressed yet amused: "I mean, can you cure your coordination problem?"

"No, but more exercise will still improve it some... I’ve also been exercising recently, that is, the training regimen you gave me before... I just always fall, but now I’ve thought of a solution of wearing more clothes when I go running, so when I fall it doesn’t hurt. It's just too tiring, I’ve never been so active in my life," Dr. Lu complained, and secretly glanced at Qi Leren. "Anyway, I’ll work hard and won't hold you back. Oh, my [Doctor’s Orders] have also been upgraded. Now the treatment effect is better. I’ll still milk you in the future. Tanks like you who die particularly easily need a reliable healer like me."

Knowing the cause and effect, Qi Leren was really angry and amused, and lastly he was a little touched. For a long time, he had positioned Dr. Lu's role as a healer who could find 100% of the task items and counterbalance his own luck value, so he didn't expect him to help in battle. Now it seemed that his death had had such a big impact on Dr. Lu. In fact, Dr. Lu had grown a lot more than before.

The two chatted for a long time, and Dr. Lu also carefully told Qi Leren what happened after his death, especially about Ning Zhou. Dr. Lu was very happy to learn that Ning Zhou could come back in a month at most. He accepted the fact that his best friend was gay and he was eager to teach him prostate massage skills that could make even straight men fly up. After being shot down by Qi Leren, Dr. Lu gave him a look of "peerless martial arts will be lost".

Qi Leren was hungry, too. He pilfered the delicious cupcakes Dr. Lu hoarded and ate his meal under Dr. Lu's resentful gaze.

"Those are my favorite ones... I waited in line for three hours to buy them." Dr. Lu wanted to cry.

"I just died and you were in the mood to line up to buy cupcakes, confiscated!" Qi Leren ate two of them and thought they tasted really good. No wonder they were so popular.

Dr. Lu looked at the cakes with a flat mouth amid his grief: "I was going to take them to your grave to offer them to you."

"Oh, I'll take them." Qi Leren smiled and smashed half a cupcake, stuffing it into Dr. Lu's mouth. "Well, you eat it too. It tastes really good."

Dr. Lu, who is good at buying, said happily, "As long as you don't die, I’ll buy it for you every day."

"Bah, don’t say something so unlucky! I don't want to die again," Qi Leren said.

"But you always die when you use S/L Data," Dr. Lu poked a knife in his sore spot.

“……”

The two men hurt each other for a while, and Qi Leren became tired. Because Dr. Lu had no extra bed at home, he ruthlessly robbed Dr. Lu of his bed. Heedless of the fact that Dr. Lu, who had been robbed of the bed, was whining off to the side, he fell asleep rolled up in the blanket.

He had another nightmare.

In his dream, he returned to the church at the top of the old site of the Vatican and stopped in front of the huge stone door.

He held out his hand to push the door open, and his remaining reason screamed at the top of its lungs telling him to stop, but in his dream he was ignorant and fearless and bravely pushed open the door.

The deceiver is watching him with a charming smile.

Blinded by shock at that moment, Qi Leren had no time to take in the smile on Su He's face. He actually laughed with no malice, only a hint of ponder and ridicule, just like a human watching crickets fighting to the death in a jar, watching quietly, wondering which one would win.

Once upon a time, Qi Leren didn't quite understand why Su He always had a calm and casual attitude, as was the case when he first met him. While he and Dr. Lu were extremely nervous, Su He remained composed. Because for him, this was just a cricket game. How could a chess player who could overturn the chessboard at any time be afraid because of the thrills on the chessboard?

Qi Leren dreamed of his death again.

His throat’s trachea was cut, and the pain of suffocation and the weakness from blood loss brought back to him with the dream. He crawled desperately on the cold ground, every inch of distance exhausting him, and his will constantly collapsed as he was tortured by death. He couldn't persist and gave up...

"Qi Leren, Qi Leren wake up!"

Qi Leren suddenly sat up, short of breath and in a cold sweat. Dr. Lu sat by the bed and looked at him anxiously: "You asked me to wake you up at this time... You seemed to be having a nightmare."

"...I'm fine." Qi Leren wiped the cold sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. "Is there any water?"

Dr. Lu poured him a glass of water.

Qi Leren gulped, slow to come over from the nightmare. This dream reminded him that Su He might already know about his resurrection, and he might make another action. He had to be careful that Du Yue wouldn’t leak the Nightmare Game. At the end of the day, this was actually his fault. If he was making the arrangements now, his first choice would be to ask Chen Baiqi that if anything happened to him, she should give his letter to the Courthouse’s Prophet.

It was a pity that when he wrote the letter, it was during the time when he accepted the role of "Red". At that time, he and Chen Baiqi weren’t very familiar with each other, and he didn't like the Court, and he didn't even know about the Prophet. Naturally, he couldn't be as thoughtful as he was now.

He could only mend things by getting a contract from Chen Baiqi for Du Yue to sign, swearing that he would keep this secret.

His appointed time with Chen Baiqi was coming. Qi Leren got up, put himself together, and walked towards Chen Baiqi's home.

-----

Editor’s Notes: I love Dr. Lu so much 😭😭😭 He’s like an awkward parent who texts you about a cute cashier that he thinks is gay after you come out to him because he’s trying too hard to show that he’s supportive

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]