#being horrified of what they've turned into

[maegalkarven]

Thought about June's bad ending too much and now I'm sad.

He is essentially what Gortash wanted to be; the ruler if not of everything, then Baldur's Gate at least.

He is the perfect Chosen of Bane and a widely known hero at the same time. The man who stopped Kethetic Thorm, defeated his own evil nature and dismantled the cult of Bhaal, the man who defeated the Absolute.

The famous savior, their new archduke.

And the loneliest person in the world with only the God of Tyranny to keep him company.

[sunderwight]

SV fic where Luo Bingge discovers that Shen Jiu had a long-lost half-brother or something, and subsequently decides that he's going to infiltrate the minor sect which this "Shen Yuan" belongs to in order to get close to him and then indulge in revenge fantasy 2.0 when it inevitably turns out that Shen Yuan is like Shen Jiu (i.e. a horrible abusive scum teacher).

So Bingge uses some magical object or technique or other, makes himself look like a scrawny 12-14 year old, then puts himself in Shen Yuan's path in hopes of convincing the man to take him on as a disciple. The idea being that after Shen Yuan abuses him, Bingge will be justified in reenacting his Shen Qingqiu Revenge Arc again and maybe finally feeling some closure about the whole thing.

Yes, this is a very deranged plan. No, no one is going to tell the emperor of the three realms that. Bingge also wants it to be clear that this has nothing whatsoever to do with his recent escapade in an alternate universe, except that he was inspired to find Shen Jiu's relative as a consequence of that. But he's absolutely sure that this guy is going to turn out just as rotten as his brother, given the opportunity. That is definitely the only reason he is doing this!

Flash forward about four years. Bingge's retainers are begging on their knees for him to actually come back and do some administrative work. The harem is running itself at this point and they're all very terrified of the situation with Liu Mingyan and Sha Hualing (i.e. ruling with lesbian iron fists) and whatever the heck Ning Yingying is up to (no one is certain but it's something). The outer provinces are rebelling. Mobei Jun's somehow found another weird human surnamed Shang to cavort with, except this one is basically running admin for the entire northern kingdom now and no one's even sure if they're fucking or if it's some kind of mind control situation or what.

Bingge is annoyed. He doesn't have a good explanation for why a bunch of demon lords would be showing up on the doorstep of Tiny Cultivation Sect to beg him for anything. They're going to spoil his cover! And they're interrupting his schedule! It's already four o'clock and he hasn't started on Shizun's dinner yet! Shoo! Get lost!

Anyway, eventually some of his demon followers get desperate and dramatically kidnap him. Shen Yuan is horrified and grieved when it seems that his precious disciple, so like white lotus Luo Binghe from the novel, has been captured by demons. He tries to track the assailants down, but they've covered their tracks too well. In the end, there's only one path left to him to pursue: taking this matter to the protagonist!

Yes, the protagonist! Because the thing is, Shen Yuan noticed the similarities between his disciple and the book character he so admired. Not only that, but he did manage to glimpse Bingge one time from afar. It wasn't anywhere near to a real interaction, but it was enough for him to notice the strong resemblance between the protagonist and the mistreated little lamb who showed up at his doorstep. A resemblance for which there can only be one explanation:

Shen Yuan's disciple is one of Binghe's kids!

Yes, he had it figured out since fairly early on. Not only was there a resemblance, and not only were their dispositions quite similar, but also the boy showed a lot of signs of some demonic heritage. Shen Yuan was just working up to broaching the subject, partly because he had been trying to avoid any direct or even indirect interactions with the emperor, and partly because he... became somewhat reluctant to part ways with his student. Sue him! He got attached! And anyway, he knew how missing child plots usually went. There was probably someone in the harem who was out for his disciple's blood, and it wouldn't be safe to send him back into that mess until he was strong enough to look after himself.

But as is inevitable, the plot seems to have reclaimed Shen Yuan's student all on its own.

He just... needs to make sure that it isn't a tragic outcome. It seems it falls on him to make the emperor aware of his son's survival, and subsequent peril, and help launch a rescue!

Which also means approaching Luo Binghe in person, which he knows is very risky indeed, due to his connection to the infamous Shen Qingqiu! He'd been avoiding the protagonist at all costs for that exact reason.

But if it's his only hope of rescuing his disciple, he will simply have to take the risk, and hope that enough time has passed that Luo Binghe doesn't read too much into a shared surname and a passing resemblance. Or that restoring the emperor's long-lost son to him will be worth seem lenience for the crime of being connected to Shen Qingqiu. Maybe if he's lucky, he will even be allowed to continue visiting his disciple! (Ha, yeah right! More likely, Luo Binghe's going to take his head for hiding his own kid from him for so long!)

Anyway, cue Luo Bingge running around swapping between his Emperor and Disciple forms, dramatically trying to orchestrate a situation where he can fake the emperor's death and go back to the sect with Shizun as his disciple, or something, only for it all to blow up in his face because Shen Yuan keeps flinging himself between Bingge and potentially fatal threats that could plausibly kill him???

[sleepyc63]

ruffles!!! :D

i regret to inform you all that the bubblfruit pants did not make it into this rendition of rivulet. i sincerely apologize (they can still wear them as pajamas or something,,, just too much detail to draw)

as always story under cut :D

Rivulet was born in a tropical area, but their family moved up north when they were a pup, so they don't remember much of it. She's been best friends with Saint her whole life and begged her parents to take them in after their mother passed (it worked! They're adoptive siblings :)). She also has ADHD, and has very intense RSD.

Rivulet was always very interested in marine life & anything to do with water, and they've been told since they were young that they'd make a great athlete someday. She was on every track and swim team throughout school, and was a highly valued member of her teams. In her late teens, she was offered something she couldn't turn down -- a scholarship at a sports-focused college down south. Even if it meant leaving her childhood home, she was more than happy to accept.

They have now graduated college and are now working as a mechanic to pay off their loans and start a life for themselves. They still live with Saint, but have moved out of their parent's home. She's worried her parents will want to move back up north (her younger siblings are not fans of the new scenery...) but she figures even if they do, they'll always come back to visit.

Since coming to town she's made a few friends, her closest friends being Monk and Moon. She's also developed a massive crush on the mailscug, Spearmaster. They're horrified to confess, though, since they've never been in a relationship before. But no matter what happens, she'll always have Saint to help her through it :))

---

@churrorat-art

[oatmilk-vampire]

Birthday Blues

Read part 2 here.

Steve hates his birthday.

He knows he may not be the only one who gets "birthday blues" but he feels like it's a lot deeper than just the blues.

When he got closer with Eddie and learned of his own shitty upbringing, he thought it'd be a bonding moment for them. Eddie has to hate his birthday too, right?

Wrong.

Despite Eddie’s mom dying when he was only six, and Eddie’s dad being a deadbeat, leaving Eddie on his own before Uncle Wayne took him in, Eddie loved his birthday.

The Munsons may not have been rich but Wayne always did his best to provide Eddie with new(er) clothes, or dice, or guitar picks. A new album or poster for his bedroom walls. Maybe even his favorite food at the diner--something they didn't do often as they usually survived on box cereal and spaghetti-Os.

And when Al Munson finally rolled into town conveniently around his only child's birthday, well he'd give the sort of shitty, low-commitment gift only a father could give.

And Eddie looked forward to it all the same. One or two shitty presents in six years is better than none when it comes to his father. He'd take what he could get.

So, when Eddie's birthday comes and goes and Steve gets invited to his and Wayne's get together with the kids, and then a later party with the members of Corroded Coffin--well of course Steve goes. And he showers Eddie with love and meaningful but still kinda pricey presents, because he can. And he wants to. Despite the merciless teasing he endures. The look on Eddie's face makes Steve feel like he's the one that got the greatest gift of all.

This, of course, all falls apart when Eddie points out Steve's own birthday must be coming up, and he's right. And because he has no tact he announces in front of everyone who realizes in horror that they've gone years of knowing Steve and celebrating his birthday exactly zero times.

Steve's equally horrified now because now everyone is tripping over their feet desperately trying to make it up to him with cakes and ice cream and movies and handmade cards and weird action figures Eddie probably would have liked better.

It's only after Steve gracelessly accepts all of their gift-giving, and fends off at least three panic attacks and two migraines that he has to put on his bitch voice and scream that the only thing he wants for his birthday is to be left alone.

And like usual, the kids do not listen.

Until Eddie steps in. He makes them go, Robin too, even if she is pissed about it. But they go when Eddie assures them that Steve probably just feels a little overwhelmed right now and needs some space.

He's close to leaving too, knowing he may have made a mistake and should probably get out of his hair... But then Steve starts crying and Eddie has to stay.

It's not loud or ugly, just these little, tiny pitiful things like Steve is trying his damnest to not cry. Like the act of tears falling would kill him.

Eddie cautiously slides next to his shaking form on the couch, careful not to jostle him too much.

He bites his lip as he experiments with placing a hand on Steve's shoulder.

Steve tenses under his touch until Eddie speaks,

"Stevie, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. None of us did."

His parents were hardly around. Never gave him practical toys he wanted, just whatever they thought a boy should have to shape him into a "proper young man", if they thought he needed toys at all. No parties. Ever. He briefly wanted to throw ragers when he realized he was old enough and his parents wouldn't be home, they never were, but those made him feel even worse so he got used to spending the day like any other. All alone in a big, empty house. Not a home.

Eddie continues to rub soothing circles into Steve's back as he lets it all out, explaining his woes as best he can through a sore throat and runny nose. Eventually he pulls Steve into a proper hug-turned-cuddle until his breathing steadies and he isn't shaking anymore.

"I'm sorry." Eddie holds his breath, hoping it doesn’t trigger another panic attack.

"No--don’t be. Thank you."

"For what? Making you cry?"

"For caring enough to bring it up, even if it was a lot. But mostly for being here, after. Just..."

Steve didn't have to finish his sentence. Eddie knew what he was trying to say.

Thank you for staying. Thank you for holding me. Thank you for loving me.

"Always, Stevie. I'll always be here for you."

Steve squeezes him, and Eddie squeezes back once, twice.

He doesn't say it, but Steve understands.

Happy Birthday... I love you.

[jordanstrophe]

Abandoned Whumpee

[Previous]--[Masterlist]--[Next] CW: Taken, whumper medic/forced medical whump, stitches, blood loss, defiance, restrained

The last thing whumpee saw was blood leaving their body

... And nearly all of it.

They flicked their eyes open; they were laying on a table with a light beaming on their chest. Whumper was standing next to them rummaging around equipment and didn't notice them awake.

Whumpee silently stared with a horrified gaze. They could see the gloves whumper wore, drenched and dripping with blood. They tried to climb off the table as quietly as they could, but something snagged their wrists as metal clacked together.

Whumper heard the sound, spinning around as whumpee was frozen almost half-off the table. "Easy, easy now. You just got a lot of stitches." Whumper softly spoke.

Whumpee plummeted into sheer panic. They tried to sit up, but a weight around their chest strapped them down.

"Oh no no no, take a breath, we're almost done." Whumper tried to soothe. They grabbed whumpee by the hip and pulled them back to the center of the table. They tightened the strap around whumpee's chest and gave the binds on their wrists a tug.

"Wh-y ... Why are you do-doing th- ss... Le-let me go-" Whumpee heaved. Whumper touched their forehead as whumpee flinched and squeezed their eyes shut. They hoped when they opened them next, whumper would be gone.

They ended up not being able to open them at all.

.........

.........

Whumpee could barely blink awake. They felt numb.

They were laid on a stretcher in an infirmary; their enemies infirmary, nonetheless. There was a blanket tucked around them as whumpee frantically ripped it off and pulled their shirt up. There were perfect stitches and a well dressed wound on their side. Their right arm had a silver handcuff that bound their wrist to the bed.

Whumpee let out a long, drawn-out sigh. What had they gotten themselves into...

"How do you feel?" A voice asked.

Whumpee looked up; whumper's head was poking out from the side of the divider watching them. Whumpee almost gasped, but managed to clench their jaw instead.

"That's a cute expression. Really though, how do you feel?" Whumper came out and crossed their arms.

"You saved me." Whumpee hissed like an accusation.

"Yes, you're welcome. How do you feel." Whumper repeated more sternly.

"Why would you save me? You ... You of all people. We're enemies. You were supposed to kill me on sight." Whumpee narrowed their eyes.

Whumper sighed and dragged a hand down their face. "You still don't understand..." They sat on the bedside as whumpee tried to jump off, but the handcuff held onto their wrist. "Is that all you think you're worth? Nothing but a sacrificial cattle? A lamb for slaughter?"

"-Yes! Yes I do!" Whumpee shouted over them. "My sacrifice was worth it to me. Because I stayed back, my team is safe now. Safe from you." Whumpee snapped and leaned in. "You lost."

Whumper stared with a raised brow; they were mostly surprised whumpee had the energy to throw a fit.

"You know, you're not the only one they've left behind." Whumper shrugged. Whumpee cocked their head to the side without taking their eyes away.

"Every time we corner your team, one person always gets left behind. It's sad, really. Your team's been getting picked off one by one if you think about it. Was it your turn to die?"

Whumpee swallowed past the pit in their throat. "Look... If you saved me just to get information out of me, then I'm terribly sorry, you've wasted a lot of your time. You know I'm willing to die for them, so either get it over with, or let me go." Whumpee spoke behind clenched teeth.

"Let you go?" Whumper belted out laughing, "My darling little lamb, that would be the same as killing you!" They wiped a tear and put a hand on whumpee's knee.

"What's that supposed to mean." Whumpee swatted their hand off.

"Then let's say I let you go. You go running back to your team, they see you alive, intact and... Well, they'll assume you gave them up." Whumper pulled the blanket back around whumpee and tucked them back in.

"-And then, they'll kill you."

Whumpee's face went blank, both fists clutched the blanket, their eyes didn't cry, but glossed like they wanted to. They wished whumper was playing mind games, but there was truth in it. Their team would assume they were compromised and whumpee was the cause.

"Regardless if I left you or took you, you're dead to them. You wouldn't be welcomed back; would be one of us." Whumper poured a glass of water and nudged it into whumpee's hand. They barely reacted, they were far gone in their own thoughts.

"Now I'll ask you one more time."

"How do you feel?"

[Masterlist] - [Next]

@parasitebunny @starzabove @frog-hat-fa-ggot @morning-star-whump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @mommymarichatfurever​  @isita-torrrres @tobiaslut

[moodymisty]

Hi there! Big fan of your primarch fanfic, and I have a Guilliman request. (Because I am obsessed with this man.) I would love a Guilliman + FemReader fic where our favorite calm, reserved primarch goes FERAL after seeing his lover hurt or threatened. Bonus points if said lover finds it surprisingly sexy and NSFW times result. Thank you!

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: therhxkffkfkfkf I love angry Primarchs

Relationships: Roboute Guilliman/Fem!Reader

Warnings: I didn’t do full nsfw but it is sort of handsy and lewd, I just thought it flowed better I hope it’s saucy enough for you, Groping, Grinding

Guilliman's boots touch the planet's surface, and he hears his men follow moments after. They had insisted they follow him, and he allowed it only if they wouldn't slow him down. He'd leave them behind if they did.

"Lady Guilliman is in a separate part of the fortress with her retinue,” An Ultramarine says, keeping up with his strides. “They've already cleared a good portion of the area. They said she was hit with some shrapnel, but she insists she's fine. They agree it's a just a flesh wound."

To hear that negotiations had dissolved into a firefight had been nothing short of a nightmare. He knows his men will have no issue with this, but he fears a stray bolter round nicking your much softer skin, or something worse.

"Where is the instigator of all of this."

His men exert slightly more effort that usual to keep up with Guilliman's enraged strides, a few bolter shots being fired for cover as he walks without a care.

"The planet's high lords? They've apparently barricaded themself at the top of the fortress with antitank weaponry. The men were focused on securing the area before pursuing them given that they’ve trapped themselves." Guilliman knows that's the correct choice; However in the blinding fire of his anger he doesn't care in the slightest.

"We are going up there. I'm going to rip them apart."

One of his men looks up at him with a furrowed, confused brow, but doesn't comment; Guilliman notices. He supposes the anger he's feeling is foreign to them. Perhaps if he was injured, they might feel something close to what he is feeling, though still abit different.

Guilliman storms through the massive fortress with little issue, stomping out leftover, separated groups of enemy forces along the way. While equipped with strong firepower they were at the end of the day baseline humans, and stood no chance against not only Astartes, but a primarch.

Once Guilliman arrived at the peak of the fortress where the high lords were hiding, including the one who had instigated this by shooting directly at you, Guilliman barged in with little care.

The High Lords were absolutely horrified, stuck like fish in a barrel with a primarch and three of his astartes. They presumably hadn’t expected the primarch to care so deeply about one person, willing to tear everything asunder just for them.

"You are all going to pay for what you've done to her. Now you get me."

Guilliman’s return to you was more than a blessing, after so much chaos. While logically the denizens of this planet stood no chance against the Ultramarines, the fear of being still hit by something and killed was always present.

Afterall you had already been nicked by some shrapnel, but the cut had largely stopped bleeding by now.

Guilliman turns to his men as he enters. Not before quickly approaching you however, silently looking you over before picking you up into his arms.

“You know your orders. Let us conclude this mess.”

They give him respectful nods and take their leave, ready to do the work they were made for.

You however are taken by Guilliman and guided back to a thunderhawk, one that brings you back to the Macgragge’s Honour within what feels like moments. It’s deathly silent the entire time, and you can feel Guilliman fuming. His anger fills the air, mixed with the intensity of a primarch aura that can make most falter.

He fumes and boils in his armor the entire time he pushes you towards his study, which surprises you. You would’ve thought he’d send you right to the apothecary, but perhaps he doesn’t see the need. You don’t either, the cut isn’t even bad enough to need sealing or bandaging.

The moment he closes the door you feel his emotions bubble over, watching him clench his fists tight as he punches the wall. It gives way underneath his fist.

“They think themselves strong enough to try and attack m-“ Guilliman stops himself, turning to you.

There’s a small smattering of blood on his cheek and the collar of his chestplate. You feel your heart skip a beat, and not for the reasons you might assume.

“Your heart; Are you afraid still? I… That wasn’t my intention.”

Guilliman hesitates. The last thing he would want is to make you fear him the way so many others so. Primarch voices are loud and his stature in full armor looms over everyone else in the room like-

Guilliman pays more attention and realizes that your breathing is also heavier, your face looks warm, and you can’t look him in the eyes. You look at his chestplate instead of his face, hands wringing. Had it been just these clues, Guilliman might not have figured it out, but when he smells the lightest, sweet scent that he finds oh so familiar, one that he’d also smelled in the Thunderhawk but brushed it away as nothing, he realizes why you’re so flighty.

You weren’t just scared, you were also aroused. By him.

Guilliman had recently learned that you enjoy it when he throws his weight around with you; When he pushes you down, pulls at you, throws you onto your shared bed. But he hasn’t realized that his angry, defensive nature might also trigger this in you, and make you silently beg for him even so soon after you had been in danger.

Perhaps it’s his innate speed, but it feels like a blink before he throws you onto his desk and places his hands on either side of your body. His lips smash against yours, your back arching as your own hands grip the collar of his armor.

“Robout-“

His kisses are so rough and demanding, you can already feel your lips becoming puffy and well kissed only moments later. His tongue brushes along your bottom lip, as one of his hands moves to grab your thigh. He pulls it away to force your legs to part, giving your to press that same armored hand against your clothed sex.

The unyielding feeling of his cold armor so suddenly against you makes you hips writhe, trying to push harder against it. Guilliman can feel you mewl in his mouth, hot breath fanning across his skin.

He didn’t know how to feel about how his aggression, his protection, makes you so wet and wanting for him, but he knows he can’t deny the way it makes his cock painfully throb against his own unyielding armor.

“You enjoy this too much,” He growls against your lips, pushing his fingers and palm harder against your cunt through the fabric of your clothing and listening to you cry for more. With how large his hand is, he can cup the entirely of your clothes cunt with ease. “So many are afraid of a Primarch’s anger, but you…”

The desk creaks underneath his hand, teeth catching your lip roughly between his teeth as your legs kick uselessly. Everything feels so cold against you even through your clothing; His armor, the desk, the air. You can’t stop the way you shiver.

But you still want more, your cunt throbs tensing around nothing and yearning for him to fill you the way only he can. Your hands pull at his armor, unable to move it or him even a fraction, but he can tell you’re doing it.

Guilliman however suddenly pulls away, removing his hand from between your legs.

“I need to remove my armor. I will be back.” You look up at him wide eyed and shocked, cunt still throbbing.

“You’re leaving? I-“

“You will wait here until I’m back. Do not move,”

He starts rounding the desk, watching with dark eyes as you lay on it spread out just for him; Clothes wrinkled and asunder. An image he’s had in the recesses of his mind for awhile, and he’s glad to have it come true.

“If anyone tries to enter tell them that I am not here, and I forbade them from entering.”

The last thing he wants is for anyone else to see you like this. You’re splayed across his desk, no one else’s. You want for only him, you yearn for the way he does whatever it takes to keep you safe.

With that Guilliman leaves you alone to strip away his armor, leaving you to boil in his study alone with the feeling your underwear wet and sticky against your skin, as you wait for him to return.

[gotham-daydreams]

So with friend!reader, when the batfam's obsession switches to them...personally I would never believe the batfam actually loves me, especially if I suffered at their hands. To me, it'd just be another trick to get me away from their original obsession. And if I ever did believe them? I would be terrified. If their obsession can switch once, then it can definitely switch again, and if I get kidnapped by them, I'd just constantly be on edge, waiting for them to become obsessed with someone new, and to kill me when that happens. Lots of potential for angst...

Agreed! And that's what I love about it too, especially as, again, when things do turn- you already have a pretty solid idea of what you're getting into and it's horrible.

I mean, can you imagine how uncanny it is? To see these people who were threatening your life, career, and basically anything they possibly could (which, considering the Batfam, is everything) - now not only act all buddy-buddy with you, but actually start to treat you like a human being??? Hell, maybe even more depending on the person. The real trick is trying to figure out if they're using you to get even closer to their obsession, trying to get you away, or both... they've always been hard to read, and now with their attention shifted to you, well, that definitely hasn't gotten any easier- at least you could tell when they were being outright malicious or not.

Then again, seeing is believing, no? But that may not even be enough, since, again, the reader in that scenario is basically an 'almost' victim of the Batfam. I think the really horror of it all is when they completely disregard or do away with their previous obsession. Either to 'prove' themself to you, or for some other but equally insane reason. Hell, it could even just be because they want to spend time with you instead, but considering the situation? They may as well have said something completely crazy.

And that's what I love about it! Once that switch comes, all of these little things that seem fine, minor, and or ridiculously small from an outsiders perspective (or even just, in any other situation besides this one) are now seen in a completely different light. Things that may seem or look innocent and nice, now have a whole new meaning to it as you know what it really means, and that is horrifying. Like, what do you mean that all of these psychos are my responsibility now? What do you mean that they feel as if they can't even live without me being in the room with them, or at arms length? What do you mean that they are my problem now? And not because they're trying to use me to get close to one of my friends, but rather because they want to spend time with me now? What happening to them hating me????

I feel like it'll definitely get to the point where you just kind of hope their obsession with fall on someone else, and you'll hopefully be able to take that opportunity to escape and just get the hell away from these freaks-

But imagine the horror when a small, threatening yet innocent thought creeps into your head that they won't. And as time passes... well... you're not exactly proven wrong. Especially not when you try to pull away and move on, only for them to pull you back, and rip away those closest to you just to have you. (totally not partially 'foreshadowing' by the way)

Though you are right!!! There are tons of potential for angst, and general conflict!

[witchymadness]

☆-《The Stakes pt. 2》-☆

[A/N: Part 2 to this fic, no proofreading, we die like dumbasses. Might do a part 3 :DDD. Also, Lilia is speaking Sicilian while (Y/N) speaks Italian.

TW: angst, character death, mentions of assault.

P.S. you get this pic of Patti for compensation.]

(Y/N)'s eyes fluttered open, arms wrapped around Lilia's waist. The latter was muttering something in Sicilian. "No, nun li pigghiari-- (No, don't take her--)"

"Amore, stai bene? (Love, are you okay?)" (Y/N) whispered, rubbing Lilia's arm.

Whimpers escaped Lilia's mouth as she began to toss and turn, taking (Y/N) aback. (Y/N) felt something enveloping her, an almost fuzzy feeling that left the hairs on her arms standing.

All of the sudden, the window of their shared quarters burst open, a gust of wind blowing through the air. (Y/N) thinks that maybe her mind was playing tricks on her but the resonance through the atmosphere seemed as if it was... "Amber?"

"NINE OF SWORDS!"

And then all of the sudden, everything stopped.

"Lilia! What happened, amore?"

"What... What did happen?" She held her head and an eye closed, pain shooting through Lilia's skull. Leaning against (Y/N), she tried to catch her breathing, matching her rapidly-paced huffs to the sound of her lovers own steady ones.

(Y/N) both curious and afraid, slowly shook her head. "Nevermind me, darling. It was probably just a nightmare."

Lilia nodded as (Y/N) pulled their windows shut once more.

"Come, my love. Let us sleep."

As Lilia's eyes started to flutter asleep, and a chaste kiss was given to the Countess, (Y/N) sat there awake.

She knew about Lilia's magic, the very essence of it, even if it remained unspoken between them. The horrors of Lilia's youth locked the truth of her being into a mere memory. It is, after all, what drew (Y/N) close to Lilia, the breadth of her magic surging through the air from the very moment they've locked eyes.

And (Y/N) had far too long feared that her nature, the horrifying hunger that (Y/N) battled with would push her love away. But she knew Lilia was bright, and she knew that there was more to her lover.

They both kept their identities at arms length at the fear of losing themselves and the other. They were two peas in a pod, creatures of the night; living life unlike those around them. They greet death like an old friend as she rains down upon the men around them.

Bathed in moonlight, they did so in the nights that they were together. The Divine Mother bore witness to their dances under her favor, and but the stars serving as their audience.

(Y/N)'s skin crawled at the idea that the lady of life was upon her doorstep once more. And if it was so, Lilia was too adamant, too stubborn to let her in.

Vampires, unlike witches, toe the line of life and death. They were a conundrum in Life's grandiose game, their lifeline like a wine flowing from water. One could say that Death despised them. A corpse they would not be able to take with them.

These thoughts lulled the woman to sleep, holding the witch with her wild curls close to her.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

"(Y/N), my love. It is time for breakfast." Lilia whispered, lips resting on (Y/N)'s forehead.

"Just a moment more, darling." (Y/N) hummed, the thoughts of last night dissolving into nothingness.

"The Sun."

"Oh, yes, darling. The sun is indeed... Beautiful. But I'll be terribly busy with the preparations for the ball today."

(Y/N) forced her eyes open with a yawn, checking to see if her little white lie had slipped through Lilia's watchful eyes. But the girl only stared at her, confused.

"I... I suppose so, amore." Lilia let out a small, nervous chuckle. "Right, shall we dine then?"

(Y/N) nodded, fear creeping up upon her. And beside her, Lilia stared blankly at their headboard, wondering what prompted (Y/N)'s sudden answer. Could it be that she... No, she willed her powers away. How could it?

"Andiamo, amore mio?"

"Noi, amuri meu."

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

"Marchese Girardus de Medici," Greeted a dashing young man, his hair a dirty ash blonde thay would've struck any maiden through the heart. Alas, he was another of Lilia's suitors she'd have to entertain through the night. "Piacere di conoscerti, mia signora. (Pleasure to meet you, my lady.)"

Girardus took Lilia's hand, kissing the back of it while keeping his eyes trained on the woman. Only a polite smile was returned to him, however, as her eyes flashed across the ballroom to a woman lurking in the shadows.

"Il piacere è tutto mio. (The pleasure is mine.)" She half-heartedly responded.

Smirking, the lad guided Lilia to the middle of the ballroom. "You look beautiful tonight, m'lady."

"Thank you, Marchese." Lilia responded with grace, all the while gliding effortlessly through the floor.

Her smile dropped as she looked over to the corner where her beloved had once stood, only to find it empty. "Marchese Girardus, if you would excu--"

The marquis cut her off, pulling her frame towards him feverishly, as if Lilia was a bunny to escape his cold, wolf-like grip. Lilia squeaked at the sudden movement, panic setting in as she couldn't sense (Y/N) anywhere.

"But Lady Lilia, the night is still young, 'no? Allow me to get to know my wife a tad longer."

The woman squeezed her eyes shut, disdain coating her tongue.

"(Y/N), no!"

"I must insist, dear Marchese. I really do need to find Lady (L/N)--"

Girardus chuckled, his breath tickling Lilia's ear. "Oh, her? Slippery little minx, your friend, huh? So unlucky, we would have wed if it weren't for her parents' sudden death. But alas, karma comes to those deserving."

Deep breaths. Lilia took deep breaths, letting what Girardus wa saying about her beloved and her family slip past her ears. Desperate to find the Countess, she turned to her refuge.

She divined, calling out to the Divine Mother herself. Her veins burned with amber, the power enveloping her. Through Girardus' incessant pestering, only visions of what was to come broke through.

Lilia could only see, a sharp blade, piercing her chest. Her own wails, begging the perpetrator to stop. It was all that Lilia could. She knew what was to happen. She told (Y/N). But it changed nothing.

"Good thing, I'm glad that I would not have a family of freaks to carry with me. Rumours had spread amongst our kingdom, and to those around that they were monsters; killed by their own subjects after they had fed on them."

"She tasted delicious, though. I would've given it to her, you know." Girardus' hand went lower. "Little whore had it coming, but she just had to scream and ruin our moment."

"You wouldn't do that, would you, m'lady?" This time, his hand had landed smack dab on Lilia's ass.

Just then, the voice she had been dying to hear, slipping through the noisy ballroom. "Let go of her, Girardus."

"I was just getting to know Lady Lilia. Do not tell me that you are jealous, (Y/N)?" Girardus bellowed, garnering the attention of crowds.

(Y/N) snatched Lilia's arm, pulling her close. She had no intentions of duking it out with the man and instead laid her gaze upon Lilia. "Are you alright, darling?"

"Unhand the lady this instance!"

Lunging forward, he grasped his sword, unsheathing it from his side and pointing it at (Y/N). She had managed to dodge it, pushing Lilia to the side.

Gasps fill the air as (Y/N) had suddenly disappeared, instead a small bat had taken form.

"You foul creature," screamed Girardus. "Come down here this instance."

Lilia sat on the floor, frozen. She couldn't believe what she was seeing, confusion yet relief flooded her. Just then, a vision, her vision of (Y/N), took over her. Finally, a full picture had laid itself out in front of Lilia. The hand holding the knife belonged to... Her father.

"(Y/N), no!"

Against all logic, (Y/N) threw herself down beside Lilia, transfiguring into her own body once more. "My love, I'm here."

"Do not harm the lady, loathsome beast. And I might just grant you a merciful death."

"(Y/N), no. Get out of here, please, amore. He's going to--"

Time slowed as (Y/N) looked at Girardus approaching, while Lilia looked behind her as her father, determined, marched forward with a dagger in hand.

She had to change fate.

A loud scream echoed through the ballroom.

A faint ray of yellow sent the king flying, landing on the table containing the feast laid out for the joyous night.

But alas, fate cannot be changed.

Girardus' sword pierced through (Y/N). He let out a victorious laugh. "The monster has been killed!"

Cheers filled the ballroom, celebrating the fall of the horrendous beast, Countess (Y/N) de Medici.

"And now," he huffed. "A witch amongst us. Princess Lilia de Calderu, surrender or you will be next."

She looked at (Y/N)'s almost lifeless body, a tear escaping her cheek. She pressed a kiss to her forehead for the last time before letting out a blood-curdling scream. It sent beams of gold throughout the ballroom, allowing Lilia to jump off a broken window from the impact of her magic.

She was falling.

Using what was left of her energy, she pushed herself up, flying. Only the bright full moon guiding her path.

[leashybebes]

i'm going to chew my own arm off, that magical realism thing from this morning on four hours of sleep is invading my brain and i do not have time, but now i'm imagining the breakup in this context, how buck saying he feels comfortable because tommy feels comfortable and tommy freaking out because what if? i will very likely not get around to writing this thing properly so in case, here's the contents of my brain

He's certainly never done it to Evan deliberately, but when he was younger it used to happen by accident that the feeling he'd clumsily pushed at people was the vague feeling that things were good - that they felt good - when he was around. He knows he's never done it on purpose, but what he's wanted this whole time was for Evan to be comfortable and it turns out he was so damn comfortable that they've stumbled across this huge, sudden scary thing that he doesn't know what to do with.

Thinking god, what if he did and this is where it's led, and if he didn't, what if he does because he wants to keep Evan so much, wants it more than he's ever wanted anything, more even than he wanted friends and a route out of the house as a child. He wants and he wants, and apparently Evan wants too, and it's the most terrifying thing that's ever happened to him in a lifetime of being afraid.

And if there's one thing Tommy Kinard has known his whole life, it's that his father's son cannot be a good man. There are other things that make him go, but the sudden, horrifying knowledge of how easily he could change those things is what makes him stay away. It makes him stay away for three miserable months in which he keeps it together and he goes to work and he goes to the gym and he aches for every single second of it.

And he really is his father's son - dad's a dog demon and there's more than a little of the canine in the way Tommy pines. Like a faithful mutt he'll curl up every night on the grave of his relationship, except the metaphor gets a little muddled because he's the one that killed the relationship. And just like dear old dad, he killed with fear, only it's his own, not something he's inspired in someone else with his bark and the threat of his bite.

But maybe he'd done it, even just a little, and if he hadn't maybe he would, some day. Both feel equally unforgivable.

Later, when they've fought their way back to each other, Tommy will find the words to tell Evan exactly what had made him so afraid, and Evan will look at him like he's an idiot.

"Seriously?" he'll demand and roll his eyes. "Tommy, I'm such a little shit with you. I'm so much. I think if you were gonna mind whammy me into anything it'd be to take it down a notch or five, not...whatever the hell you think you did."

Made you like me, Tommy will think.

Tommy will catch Evan's arm and pull the words out one by one because they communicate now, they are open now, they tell each other exactly how they feel now, and it's healing and important and a pain in the ass a lot of the time but this one will come easy as he tells Evan, "Hey. I love exactly how much you are."

Evan's eyes will go soft in that way Tommy has been half in love with since the first time he saw it, and he will say, "I'm so happy with you," and the precision of the wording will make Tommy's heart turn over in his chest, will be the latest in a long line of things that pulls honestly out of him hand over fist.

"I thought I made you like me," he'll say.

"You didn't make me do shit," Evan will say, and he'll kiss a smile onto Tommy's face. "I just like you, dumbass."

[phantom-dunce-writes]

Ok so like imagine a human x monster relationship where the human takes the monster in for whatever reason and accidentally do things that imply courtship to the monster but at the same time reject any of the steps the monster takes in the courtship. For example

Human makes food for monster

Monster: ah a normal step in courtship I shall take the next step by bringing home a successful hunt! *brings home a deer they killed"

Human: *horrified* why would you do this?!

Monster: ????

Or

Human *brings monster things they ask for* (things that would be seen as rare or difficult to obtain by monster standards)

Monster: what capable potential mate! I must prove myself similarly. *leaves human random things they found*

Human: where the fuck are all these rocks coming from? *throws them outside not knowing that that is a sign of rejection*

Monster: no! those rocks must not have been good enough! I have to prove myself as a good mate!

Idk I like the idea of the monster being so confused but trying so hard to live up to the incomprehensible courting standards of the human, only for the human to turn tomato red once they find out what they've been doing to the monster.

[oneforthemunny]

blood soaked tears |mafia!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: eddie gets hurt, and continues to hurt himself. you're not staying around to watch.

bad description holy shit, but if you remember from the old blog (rip) this is the angst you wanted lol. also my first fic (not repost) since starting this blog!!! a long angsty one so buckle up!!!

contains: 18+ minors dni, mafia!eddie au, blood, guns, eddie is shot and hospitalized, language, fighting, mentions of eddie's dad (derogatory), angst, angst, ANGST

You knew.

You knew from the first shrill of the black landline on your desk. You knew from the quivering sigh on the other line. You knew from the rasp in Hopper's voice, the urgent tone that he desperately tried to mask as calm when he told you, "It's Eddie. He-He's... You need to get down here. He's in the hospital."

The twisting gut punched sensation that sent a shock through your nervous systems, senses tightened with fear and shaking with every fear-filled step of your strappy heels clacking fiercely against the pavement. You could barely grasp your key to turn the ignition, all quivering hands that fumbled, a white knuckled grip on the wheel of the Porsche, the car zipping and gliding through the streets of Hawkins with ease.

Eddie had bought it for you for the speed. Told you how pretty you looked in your little sports car, how much he loved watching you drive and go fast. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably, bile rising thick in your throat at the thought. You didn't want to see the state Eddie was in. You weren't sure you could bear it.

The drive to the hospital was filled with racing thoughts, consuming anxieties that whirred and raced through your mind. What happened? Are the other boys ok? Oh God, who's going to take care of the dogs? They're still at the house and need to be let out. Did anyone tell Wayne? Should I tell Wayne? I need to call him, maybe the hospital will let me use their phone.

What if he's dead?

That sickening, ringing question that only got louder and louder, deafening you with the cruelty of the words. The harsh reality that you very well could be facing your worst fears. You didn't want to think about life without Eddie. You couldn't.

You couldn't imagine not waking up next to him every day. Not feeling his sweet kisses in the morning. Never hearing him hum lowly in his chest, swaying with you in the kitchen. Being without that beautiful laugh that bubbled out of his chest, shook through his body and always left him with a dimpled smile that radiated over to you filling you with warmth. Never hearing him tell you he loved you, or holding him, or watching him throw toys in the backyard with the dogs.

You couldn't do it. You wouldn't.

The fluorescent lighting of the hospital did nothing to help the eery feeling that settled deep in the pit of your tummy.

Hopper's gruff voice stopped you, calling your name before you could get on the elevator, tunnel visioned and determined though you didn't know where you were going.

"Hop," You hated the way your voice shook, frail and wobbly; afraid. "What's going on? Where is he? I-Is he ok?"

Hopper sighed slow, heavy, a horrifying sign to you. "They've got the west wing on the second floor cleared for him." He said lowly, eyes scanning around. "We can talk up there."

"W-What happened?" You asked. The lights were getting brighter by the second, you were sure of it.

"He got hurt." Hopper said slowly, vaguely, nodding towards another officer while his eyes still scanned around. He was looking for a threat.

You passed two other men in the waiting room, inconspicuous waiting patients- but you'd seen them before. They worked for Eddie. They were here for backup, you knew enough to know that. The realization made you sick.

Hopper pushed back the restricted area, past the bustling nurses and doctors all scurrying with medical equipment, to the back elevator. The emergency elevator for staff only.

The elevator creaked, stopping with a low thud in front of you, craning open with an ominous groan. You could barely move, barely will your brain to tell your legs to get on, much too consumed with the terrorizing what-ifs.

Hopper looked ahead, spine straightening as the numbers climbed. The other officer moved his hand to his holster, gripping his gun as nonchalantly as he could, but you didn't miss it.

"Is he dead?" You asked, your own voice surprising yourself.

The other officer turned to Hopper, eyes cutting carefully to monitor his reaction. Hopper didn't turn, kept his head pointed forward, eyes trained on the doors. "No."

You could feel your shoulders fall in some sort of relief, muscles quaking at the release in pressure. The chime of the elevator accompanied the low groan of the doors parting for the three of you to step off.

The hallway ahead looked like something out of your worst nightmares. Dim and dark, flickering with lights and all together abandoned. There were men by the elevator, men by the doors, posted down the secluded halls. They all looked at you solemnly when you passed, eyes falling down in sorrow.

Gareth's mess of curls passed by the small, narrowed window of the closed door, once then twice, pacing furiously.

"Gareth?" His eyes flickered towards yours when you entered, wide and red-rimmed.

Jeff lifted his head, hands folded and placed between spread legs, head hung low with defeat. Max looked angry, furious, those steel eyes cutting and calculated; she was planning her revenge already. She was always so good at considering every step, carefully considering the best outcomes with optimal damages. It's why she was one of Eddie's closest 'goons'. He always laughed when he called her that.

Your chest ached at the thought, knowing you wouldn't hear his laugh today.

"What happened?" You asked, eyes darting from him to Jeff to Max. "I-Is he alright?"

"He got shot." Max snapped bitterly. You knew she didn't mean to be so biting, that she was angry and hurt; maybe even scared. "They got him in surgery right now."

You paled at the thought, lifeless and hopeless feeling leaving your frame and slithering down your body chillingly. The ringing in your ears returned, a dull screech that made your head spin.

Jeff called your name lightly, brown eyes drooped with pain. These were Eddie's closest friends. His most trusted friends that watched their friend get shot. He wasn't a boss to them, wasn't the mean scary mafia man who put a chilling fear into anyone with a look. To them, that was their friend; and they watched him get shot.

"He got shot in the chest." Jeff said slowly, a shaky exhale that he tried to hide, ducking his head back down.

You swallowed thickly, looking from Hopper back to Gareth, eyes begging for someone to say it wasn't true. To tell you he'd be ok. For Gareth to cackle and tell you, "Munson's had way worse, don't even sweat it," like he did when Eddie had to have stitches from a stabbing.

They didn't this time.

Instead, they all held the same solemn look in their eyes, scared and unknowing.

"They said they won't know if it hit his heart or-or a spinal chord until they open him up." Gareth swallowed, hands clenching to hide the shake in them. "He, uh, he lost a lot of blood."

You exhaled slowly, a shaky breath you didn't know you were holding, ribs feeling like they might cave in entirely, crushing your lungs- your heart.

"D-Do you think he'll be," You willed your voice out of your throat, shuddering breaths that threatened to escape with the tears you held back. "Is he going to be ok?"

No one answered you.

Downcast eyes that refused to meet yours, a thick, uncomfortable tension that lingered in the air, deafeningly loud over the buzz of the air conditioning in the small area.

***

The doctor came shortly after Wayne had arrived. Eddie's uncle sunk into the waiting room chair, knee bouncing furiously, those familiar brown eyes hard and trained on the wall.

No one spoke. No one knew what to say, what to do. That was the worst part, the waiting. Gareth paced, Jeff barely looked up, Max plotted, and Hopper tried to multitask- calling Rick and checking reports, huddled by the phone.

The anxious man still in powder blue scrubs stood before you, voice wavering while he told you Eddie's condition, throwing around the word critical and coma, two phrases that rung in your ears, piercing and loud.

Eddie laid lifelessly before you, a million beeping machines monitoring his condition, a wide tube shoved down his throat, ribcage expanding and falling sharply. Thick lashes that rested neatly on his cheeks. You were always so jealous of how long his lashes were, so beautiful framing those puddle eyes you adored. The dried blood around his mouth and nose, caked on crimson that made your stomach twist.

You'd never seen him so still. So flaccid and rigid, covered in a hospital gown, too colorful for anything Eddie would normally wear. He was never this idle, not even in his deepest sleep. His body twitched, lugged arms that weighed heavy on your body. He'd snore, drool, settle in his sleep; show some signs of life and movement. You used to whine and shove him off you, snap at him the next morning for hogging the blankets.

You wish you could take that back now. You'd let him have all the blankets, you'd let him drool in your hair, drop a heavy arm on you, snore in your ear all night; you'd do anything to have him be ok. Anything to be home in bed with him.

Wayne's shuddering breath startled you lightly, pulling you out of your fixated trance. "Boy," He grumbled, jaw clenched tightly. "What have you gone and done now?"

The doctor told you to be patient, that it would take time. It would be a slow recovery.

The silence crept back into the room, now filled with a background symphony of beeps and crinkling machines to lull out the sound of your dread and pain.

You and Wayne sat side by side, chairs huddled up by Eddie's bed watching him, the rise and fall of his chest, slow and calculated. Both of you scared to look away. Afraid if you did, it might stop.

***

"Missy, didn't I tell you to go home and get some sleep?" Wayne's gruff voice poured through the room, warm and grizzly, a nice contrast to the sharpness of the machines you'd grown used to.

You huffed playfully, folding up the blanket and tucking it in the chair next to your makeshift cot. "I wouldn't be able to sleep at home anyways." You muttered, rubbing at your eyes.

It had been a little over a week since you'd arrived, scared and skittish with that sinking feeling of impending doom. It still hadn't left, consumed your insides and left you queazy, but Eddie had started to improve. The doctors came in with positive reports daily, praises of his condition on the incline. The day before, you and Wayne watched Eddie start to twitch, eyelashes fluttering and moving a tiny bit in his induced sleep.

It made you grin. A little sliver of hope that was returning back to you. Wayne had laughed with you, pulling you close into his side in a comforting hug. "Y'know I always worry 'bout that boy not gettin' enough sleep. Guess on the bright side he'll be pretty well rested now."

You could make jokes now.

Now that Eddie was getting better. Now that they were taking the tube out and pulling him off the heavy sedatives. Now that his beautiful brown eyes were groggily staring into yours, letting you give him water on a sponge to wet his tongue.

"Hi, sweetheart," Eddie's slurred finally, voice cracking and rasping from the tube. The doctor told you he'd be sore from it for a while, a little foggy while the drugs wore off too, but even in his haze his eyes held that same warming light of adoration when they looked at you.

Lips trembling and chest tightening, you flung yourself carefully into his shoulder, heaving sobs that wracked through your whole body, muffled into the scratchy material of the gown. Eddie held you still, even in his loopy state, he comforted you lightly, calloused hands rubbing up and down your spine slowly.

"Don't ever scare me like that again, Eddie," You sniffled, watery and choking on your own sobs. "Thought I lost you forever."

"Can't get rid of me that easily, baby." Eddie droned, a lopsided dimpled grin and heavy lidded eyes that made you swoon. "I'm tougher than that."

And he was. He really was. You knew that he was, his friends did, Wayne did, Hopper did, the guys who did this to him certainly did; but you also knew the doctor's orders.

Dr. Montgomery had let Eddie go under one condition: rest.

Bed rest, sleep, antibiotics, and nothing extreme at least until the stitches healed.

You'd been absolutely buzzing with excitement when you brought him home, carefully commanding the dogs when you walked in, willing them down but letting them greet Eddie with excited wags. You'd set him up in the guest bedroom on the first floor, the stairs too strenuous for him now.

"Baby, I'm fine." Eddie moaned lightly, arm wrapped around you for support. "I wanna sleep in my own bed, please."

"The doctor said-"

"I'll be fine." Eddie sighed lightly. "Please? Just help me up the stairs. I'll go really slow and careful, ok? Just please, sweetheart, I wanna sleep in my own bed with you." Those brown eyes rounded, melting into you so sweetly, you couldn't possibly say no.

So you helped him up the stairs, Gareth and Jeff aiding you to make it as painless as possible. Eddie sunk into the silk sheets, freshly washed and scented with that detergent you loved so much. You hadn't let the housemaid clean the sheets until he was better, too scared to lose the scent of him that lingered on his pillows.

You slept better than you had in days, Eddie's hand grazing your hip, your waist, your cheek. Tearful whispers and shushed kisses shared under red bedsheets, promises of better days ahead, and you believed there would be.

Until the next day.

Heavy lids, still bleary with sleep, watched Eddie through blurry vision as he grunted softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "W-What are you doing, honey?" You muttered, rubbing the palm of your hand over your eyes. "Tell me what you need. I'll get it. Y'don't need to be moving a lot. You'll tear your stitches."

Eddie smiled softly back at you, dressed in his black button down, black tailored Armani slacks, chains and rings; his work attire.

"Go back to bed, sweetheart. I'll be back in a little bit." Eddie whispered, a normally soothing tone that left you rigid instead.

Spine straightening, eyes blinking you looked at him carefully. "Eddie," Your eyes scanned over his frame. "You-What do you think you're doing?"

Eddie paused, slowly looking over his shoulder at you. "Baby," He started, that same tone he used when he was trying to soothe you; when he was about to tell you something you wouldn't like. "I gotta go to work."

Your heart stilled in your chest, a fluttering stop that left you breathless. "Are you-Are you being serious?" You blinked. "Eddie, you just got fucking shot-"

"It's nothing strenuous, baby, I promise." Eddie's quick reply came with a heavy sigh. "Jeff and Gare will be with me, and Rick made sure I was doubled up with his guys-"

"-You just got out of a coma!" You screeched, sitting on your knees, fully awake and furious. "A coma! You're supposed to be resting!"

"I will be." Eddie replied, calm and smooth, like you were arguing about something minuscule. "It's just meetings. Just planning-"

"-Eddie, you almost died." You choked on the word, that constricting around tears and fury.

There was a chilling silence, thick and ominous that settled between the two of you. Eddie's jaw flexed, eyes piercing into yours with a familiar look of fear. It always came across like a challenge, but you knew better; knew him better.

"I'll take it easy, I promise." Eddie's response was nonchalant, brushing off any of your fear and discarding it meanly away. "I'll be back soon."

Your heart raced uncomfortably, that familiar rising panic that you felt days before running through the hospital. "If you leave, I won't be here when you get back." Your heart thumped in your ears, chills shaking down your body. Eddie's hand lingered on the knob, stilling but not turning towards you.

"I swear to God, Eddie, if you walk out that door, I won't be here anymore. I'm not letting you kill yourself. You can't go back now, it's too soon. You-You'll get hurt." Your voice cracked, lip wobbling. "You're hurting me."

Eddie whispered your name, defeated and tired, eyes pleading with you like you were in the wrong. "I'll be back soon." He whispered, those thick lashed framing his eyes.

You swallowed back a sob when he shut the door, the click of the lock far too loud and heavy in the silent room. Tears rimmed your eyes, blinding your vision and spilling down your cheeks. Your heart ached, even as you waited, determined he'd come back. Sure he'd come through the door and apologize, smother you in kisses and apologies, rest like you'd begged him to do- like he'd promised he would do.

But he didn't.

The room stayed silent and still, the dogs watching you carefully from their beds, your eyes unmoving from the frozen doorway.

Unlike Eddie, you were true on your word.

He'd only been gone an hour and a half, rushing through the meetings at the warehouse, securing plans and leads before barking orders and coming back home. His chest ached, stitches healing and stretching uncomfortably, and he was tired, head still foggy from the medication.

All Eddie wanted was to go back home, pop a pain pill, and curl back into bed with you. The guilt of leaving you was eating him alive, but he had to go. Sure, Jeff or Gareth or Max could have covered the plans, he knew they were more than capable, but Eddie needed to do it; had to, for himself. The fear of getting swapped out and replaced for another was festering and stirring in the pit of his stomach.

Eddie called your name, a little surprised that the dogs didn't greet him. Instead, they were seated outside the bedroom door, whinging and whimpering pathetically to get in.

"Baby?" Eddie's brow furrowed, lips pressing together. "Don't tell me you're still mad at me, kitten. I told you I'd be back soon, I just had to finish a few-"

He didn't find you in the sea of red sheets like he imagined. He didn't find you in the bathroom, or the closet, or the living room, or anywhere. He didn't find your car gone, clothes missing, nothing out of the ordinary, but yet, he didn't find you.

Instead, he found a letter, neatly tucked in an envelope by your bedside table, scribbled words in your handwriting on a tear soaked card that tore his heart out, filled him with dread and fear and anger- not at you, at himself.

"Gareth!" Eddie thundered, sending the dogs into a frantic frenzy, barking and growling viciously.

Gareth pounded up the stairs, eyes wide in fear and alert. Eddie's tear-filled eyes met his, jaw clenched in anger. "Find her." He muttered. "Find her right fucking now. That's everyone's top priority."

"Ed, what-what hap-"

"-I told you to find her!" Eddie roared, the vein in his neck thrumming and protruding out fiercely. "Right now! Fuck!" He hobbled towards the stairs, gripping the steel banister for support.

"Ed, wait, seriously, you can't be acting like this, alright? I'll find her, but if you tear your stitches she's gonna be so mad." Gareth said calmly. He was used to this kind of attitude, exploding and chaotic, but he hadn't seen this side of Eddie in years. Hadn't seen him this scared in years, not even days ago when he was bleeding out in his arms.

"You better fuckin' find her, Emerson, you fuckin' hear me?" Eddie growled, chest heaving and ringed finger jabbing towards Gareth.

"I will, Ed, I will." Gareth held his hands up, backing away from Eddie carefully. "I'll find her just-just relax, ok? I'll find her."

***

Two days.

It had been two days of Gareth, Jeff, Max, and everyone else on Eddie's payroll searching tirelessly to find you. It wasn't until a traced call by Hopper that Eddie had his answer.

The gravel of the Forest Hills Trailer Park flew out under the tires of the Bugatti, speeding towards the familiar back lot. Eddie gripped the wheel tight, barely throwing the gear into park before he was stepping out, bounding towards the steps.

Wayne was already at the doorway, holding the screen door open with a hard glare. "Thought that doctor told you to rest?"

"Where is she?" Eddie ignored him, eyes mirroring his uncle's in a rivaling gaze. "Huh? Where's she at, Wayne?"

You stood, hidden from your place in the kitchen, peeking around the corner carefully. You could barely see Eddie's curls, wild and frizzy, clearly mussed from his hands tugging and pulling at the locks- something he always did when he was stressed.

"Thought that doctor told you to rest." Wayne repeated, stepping out on the front step. "Thought your girl told you that too."

Eddie swallowed hard, desperate to keep his emotions contained. He'd worked so hard for so many years to train himself to maintain his composure, keep his cool. "Wayne, please, ok? Please let me see her-"

"-Ya know, I hoped she was lyin' to me, boy." Wayne continues, heavy work boots clacking against the creaking step, shifting his weight with a low groan. "Thought for sure you'd be followin' your doctor's orders. Thought you'd actually want to be gettin' better after all that, might be different from your Daddy."

Eddie stilled at the mention of his father, a cold chill running down his spine at the comparison. Wayne never spoke of his brother, especially never to relate his son to him.

"You know, that girl in there called me in hysterics twice." Wayne held up two fingers, eyes slotting towards his nephew. "Once to tell me I needed to come see you, that you'd been hurt. No one else thought to do that, only her." Eddie swallowed, guilt bubbling higher and higher into his chest.

"Then she calls me to tell me you're already back out. Won't listen to the doctor, won't listen to her, too stubborn to let yourself heal after you promised her you would." Wayne could see Eddie's eyes blinking, watery and red-rimmed yet wide and watching his every move.

"I can put up with you doin' a lot of shit. Pretend not to know what them skulls on your arm mean, not talk about the obvious; fine. But I didn't raise you to be a liar." Wayne bit, jaw grinding in fury. "'Specially not to the ones you love. The ones who dropped everything to be with you. That girl in there loves you. Didn't leave your side once in that damn hospital." His finger pointed back towards the trailer where you stood, gripping the counter, hidden from their view.

"I-I know." Eddie stuttered out, a deep breath releasing from his nostrils slowly. "I love her too-"

"-Do you?" Wayne snapped.

There was a chilling silence that hung between the two men, thick and heavy, you could feel it all the way inside the trailer. Your heart twisted at the question, squeezing even harder at the potential answer.

"Don't you dare," Eddie's voice was low and gravely in his chest, catching in his throat. "You know I love her, don't you dare-"

"Don't you." Wayne sneered. "I ain't the one who's hurt her, that's you, Ed." You could see Eddie flinch through your tear soaked vision, recoiling at the harshness of his uncle's words.

"I-I didn't mean to-" Eddie stuttered, labored breathing and trembling words falling from his lips. You'd never seen him so frazzled, so emotional this way. So scared.

"Don't give me that shit." Wayne snapped, shaking his head. "You walked out that day, and you knew she didn't want you to go. You know who that sounds a lot like?"

Eddie didn't answer, neither did Wayne, the answer clear on both their faces. Eddie's father was reckless, too, so careless it ended up with his mother dead. Eddie swore he'd never be that stupid, the selfish, yet here he was. Acting exactly like Clint.

Eddie could feel his chest constrict, heaving heavily at the thought. The familiar aching burn of tears squeezing his airway, filling his lungs and throat and nose in the most uncomfortable way. Tears filling his eyes that he tried to will back, knowing once they started they wouldn't stop.

"Please," Eddie rasped, voice too unsteady for his own liking. "Please let me see her."

You could feel your own breath hitched, catching in your throat with a strangled gasp. You moved closer, trying to see Eddie through your own watery vision.

Eddie's eyes caught onto the figure moving slowly towards the doorway, lips pressing together at the sight of you; red rimmed eyes and cheeks that shined wetly even in the cloudy, sunless skies. He did this to you, fuck, he was just like his dad.

"Fuck, 'm so sorry, baby, 'm sorry." Eddie's voice wavered, heels of his hands pressing into his eyes, desperate to keep his leaking tears hidden.

Wayne turned back to look at you, lips pressed together lightly. You wiped your own eyes with the back of your hand, looking at him gently. "Can you... just give us a moment?" You asked softly. Eddie had turned, shoulder stuttering, hands running down his face.

Wayne nodded, eyes cutting back towards his nephew. "I'll be inside if ya need me." He patted your shoulder lightly, comforting, the same squeal of the hinges on the tracks before the door fell with a heavy latch.

You padded carefully towards Eddie, watching him intently with his back still turned. "Ed," You cooed lightly, stopping behind him. "Eddie?"

"I'm so fucking sorry." Eddie breathed, still not turning towards you. "I-I was scared that Rick would have me replaced or-or that the guys might see me as weak, and I-I shouldn't have..." A strangled cry tore through the air, his shoulders dropping low and shaking, chocolate curls cascading to block his covered face.

"Eddie, calm down, honey." You said softly, hands running over the silk material of his shirt. He was still dressed from before when he left for work, a little crumpled.

"I-I'm sorry." His eyes flashed to yours, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, streaming down to his chin. "I'm so sorry."

You reached for him instinctively, holding him close to you, mindful of his stitches though he didn't seem to care. Eddie clung to you, head dropping into your neck, shuddering breaths and shaky sobs mixing with soft apologies and watery promises.

You found yourself huddled in Eddie's old bedroom, pressed into the poster covered wall so the two of you could fit comfortably on the twin bed. His mess of curls, wild and tickling your cheek and chin, his cheek rested on your chest while you ran your nails soothingly through his hair, scratching at his scalp. The two of you stayed there for the week, Wayne and you swapping off on cooking, cleaning Eddie's wounds, making sure he could heal properly.

Eddie promised you, tucked under the quilt in his old bedroom, that he'd do better, he'd take care of himself for you; he wouldn't be like his dad. You whispered back your own vows to not leave him again, silent apologies passed to each other in between loving kisses and longing stares.

[blu3-ja3]

Hi so! Here's a bit of setup for my Cursed Gotham Story... Actually good father Bruce Wayne cause I say so.

So everything is normal for Bruce's backstory, has a happy childhood blah, blah, blah, until his parents are murdered. Travels the world young and becomes Batman once back from his travels, being trained by the league of assassins and Ra's Al Ghul. He becomes the vigilante at 16, developing a non-lethal style of fighting over the next 2 years before he goes to the circus. Dick's family is murder, Bruce at 18 adopts Dick who's 7. I like the idea that Bruce is still a little new to the vigilante stuff, like he's only recently given the mantle of Batman and befriended Commissioner Gordon.

Dick is definitely still murder vengeance Robin to start, like Dick is the most feral Robin and I will always stand by that. Kid is a menace to the goons of Gotham and is absolutely horrifying, more so than Batman himself. Like maniacal laughter while bouncing around performing amazing feats of acrobatics. Nothing to flashy but the kid has a lot of energy. Bruce forms the Justice League and keeps up play-boy himbo Brucie Wayne. Also I think Bruce homeschooled for a bit until Dick was like in his early tweens then Bruce realizing Dick has no friends and has him forms the Teen Titans.

So those two stumbled around as Batman and Robin for like 9 years, Dick's 16 and Bruce is 27 when Bruce adopts Jason who's 9. Dick and Bruce have a discussion about Dick passing on the mantle of Robin and him becoming his own vigilante. Grayson gets some time to decide and Bruce even tells him he doesn't have to give up the mantle or even keep being a vigilante. They compromise and come up with the Red Robin mantle while Dick decides on his path.

Jason is killed by Joker when he's 14, Bruce(32) nearly kills Joker but Superman stops him. This is part of the reason Gothamintes dislike Supes cause wtf do you mean you're stopping him??? Anyways Dick(21) stops vigilanting to grieve his little brother and asks Bruce to stop as well. Bruce continues being Batman not stopping for a moment. Bruce has a 'public' closed casket funeral for Jason after a few months of Robin's death, claiming he's been killed by illness hence the not showing for events as the Wayne's. Gotham is grieving cause they've lost Robin to the Joker and Jason Todd - Wayne to illness.

Timothy Drake at 7 (Tim is smart it's well established) finds Dick Greyson and begs him to stop Batman or help him because he's nearly killing people. Dick is dismissive so Tim goes to Bruce himself and tries to convince him after months of murderous Batman. Bruce gives Tim the mantle of Robin and still doesn't properly address his grief. Dick with the help of Tim and Alfred convince Bruce to stop for a bit. They all agree to the conditions that they'll step in and help Gotham in his absences as Batman. Barbra Gordon(20) becomes Batgirl to help Dick as Batman and Tim is still Robin.

Bruce leaves to travel, meets Talia outside of the LoA by chance, they have a small relationship then an argument causing them to break up. Bruce is back in Gotham after a few (5-6) months of travel. Dick becomes Nightwing after handing the mantle of Batman back over to Bruce. Tim is kidnapped at 9 and turned into Joker Junior, Bruce officially adopts Tim after the Drake's give up rights not wanting to deal with Tim's recovery. Barbra is paralyzed by The Joker and Jim Gordon learns about the Wayne's. Superman yet again stops Batman and Nightwing from offing Joker, Harley Quinn willingly goes through rehabilitation at Arkham after what happened to Tim.

Barbra at 22 becomes Oracle, Selena Kyle and Bruce Wayne start their relationship. Tim takes up the mantle of Robin at 13 after a lot of recovery. Stephanie Brown is Robin during Tim's recovery. Cassandra Cane(14) becomes Black Bat when Stephanie Brown(12) becomes Spoiler after Tim becomes Robin again. Duke Thomas (13) becomes the Signal (Daytime Bat!)

Damien at 8 appears at Bruce Wayne's (40) with Talia is carrying a freshly revived Jason(22) whom she stumbled across while coming to Bruce for help. Talia explains to Bruce her father's plans to possess Damien's body. She also explains how a few months before she took her planned leave Jason kinda stubbled into the picture. Talia was nursing him back to health before Ra's just dumped him into the Lazarus pit. Now he needs to be cared for and Talia is in too much danger to help him.

Bruce takes in both boys, Damien and Jason are out for a few months as they both recover. Tim(15) is asked if he'd like to become Red Robin, while Damien becomes Robin. Tim agrees and goes on patrol with the rest of the bat family around Gotham. Jason is still recovering but helps Barbra with being the Oracle.

SO! This is my rough background for the Batfam for my Cursed Gotham story! Jason's story is the one that changed the most but there's a reason for that... I'm excited for this!

Everyone ages when we pick up in our story.

Bruce: 40

Dick: 29

Jason: 22

Tim: 15

Damien: 8

Stephanie: 15

Cassandra: 16

Duke: 14

Barbra: 38

Jim: 68

Alfred: 70

Cursed Gotham Masterpost

[genderkoolaid]

hey i’m sorry to bother you but what are some warning signs that someone is a terf? i would very much like to be out as gender-fluid at my small town southern school (surprisingly supportive) but the school nurse had that “fallen sisters” book on her desk :( i don’t want to put myself in danger and i don’t know if she was reading it because she’s a terf or because she was curious about what was in it. thank you for your time!

Quick note: a lot of transphobes are not TERFs; they don't subscribe to the movement of radical feminism. But especially right now TERF ideas have become more widespread, since a lot of transphobic people turned to TERF speakers and authors for support. But that's also because a lot of TERF ideas meld very nicely with traditional patriarchal ideas (like the idea that the gender binary is required for safety of women). Things like "trans men are manipulated girls suffering from misogyny!" has gotten really popular recently, but in the past your average transphobe would probably be thinking more along the lines of "huh what a freaky dyke" than assuming it's the patriarchy's fault trans men exist.

Anyways! That's all to say that someone might use transphobic or radical feminist rhetoric without being a radical feminist themselves. Here are some things to watch out for:

Use of "female" and "male"; in medical contexts I tend to give people more grace, but if she's really insistent on sex language that's a red flag.

Highly concerned with pushing womanhood on students AFAB; if they're a TERF this is less likely to look like "pink and bows" and more likely focus on Female Power, uteri and menstruation, and identity with womanhood as a feminist act itself. Comments like "remember you can dress/act however you want and still be a woman!" can be well-meaning but they can also be a subtle way of trying to prevent GNC students from thinking about transitioning.

Fearmongering about the effects of HRT (especially T); educating about all possible effects is important, but if she focuses on negative effects, treats them as horrifying or more dangerous/common then they actually are, that's a red flag. Especially when it's tied to reproductive ability. Same when it comes to surgeries.

If she believes ROGD (rapid onset gender dysphoria) is a real thing, she's transphobic. If she doesn't use that term she might talk about transness/transmasculinity being a social contagion or trend, something young girls are pressured into (esp. by misogyny/lesbophobia), even if this is dressed up with "obviously SOME trans people are real but there's just too many now!!"

Of course, any kind of weirdness around trans people in locker rooms/bathrooms is a major red flag

If she does end up being transphobic, since you mentioned your school is supportive you might be able to tell the admins about that and have them back you up. If there are other trans people at your school, definitely ask them if they've noticed any transphobic behavior from her (you can ask cis folks too although they may be less aware of what subtler transphobia sounds like)

[astracora]

Turning Point - Part 7

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Angst, Loss of Arm, Lots of emotional struggle with disability.

Word Count: 5202

Written: 15th January 2025

Notes: Pre-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. I got nothing to add here other than this one came out of me like an emotional waterfall and as an emotionally repressed person just like MC is... WOOF... Enjoy??? I think I got one more chapter for this specific thing, but I'll see when I write the last bit. (Sylus-centric to end where it started!)

Now Playing: Parachute, By Kyndal Inskeep

Masterlist AO3

<- Previous Finale ->

The first time going out with Tara, you had waited for the moment she looked at you. You waited to see something in her eyes that indicated she was disgusted, or horrified, or bothered by you. Waited for when you extended a hand, to recoil.

It is the kind of feeling that is insulting to her, because Tara has never offered you anything other than warmth and affection. She has been by your side, ever since you joined the Association. Chatting with you on breaks, checking in on you after you lost your family. Bringing you snacks, sending you texts.

So it should not have surprised you, that when you see her at the station, she sprints over, and wraps her arms around you. For a moment, you can feel her tremble, before she pulls away, your hands in hers. Feeling the warmth of Tara's skin through the prosthetic sensors. The twitching to your fingers, the hesitation, before you carefully tighten your fingers around hers.

Her hand doesn't leave yours as she tugs you this way and that, as you walk around shopping. The intention is abandoned, the hunt for gifts becomes second to letting her energy carry you.

It is not unlike the way Rafayel grabbed your hand to lead you forwards. The heat and comfort of someone's presence making the noise drop away a little. The world calm, your anxieties settle. Like you're wrapped in a blanket.

You end up with bags of things you're helping Tara carry, clothes and accessories she'd gotten excited over. Things she'd wanted your help picking out. The normalcy of it all so at odds with every part of your life. Bringing you back to days in college when you weren't chasing the sensation of being alive with blood on your fists, and bruises on your skin.

As rare as those were.

"So." Tara starts, through a mouthful of a crepe, so full of cream, she gets some on her nose. "How has it been with them?"

Your feet almost stop, thankfully her hand pulls you forwards, still tightly held in yours. It must be the tilt of your head that makes her laugh, as she rubs at her nose with her sleeve.

"Xavier said he was staying with you to help. Along with that artist you work with, your doctor, and Skye?"

You're glad Xavier knows how to lie, and that for once he didn't use it with you to keep secrets. You're not sure if you would have put money on him not dropping Sylus' name in casual conversation, simply because he was sleeping at his desk. Ignoring piles of paperwork.

"Yeah, they've been really helping." It's an understatement. They've pulled you back, and given you room to walk forwards. Steadying hands offered when you stumble, and warmth in your chest where it had chilled.

"I always thought you'd date Skye."

The statement is so startling you drop one of the bags, panicking to retrieve what has spilled over. Releasing your grip on Tara to put her stuff back.

"Oops." You can hear the music in her voice as she teases you, crouching to help, before you can stand again, bags held in your hand. She retrieves the metal one back into her own, and offers you some of the crepe.

You're sure it's sweet, but the heat of your cheeks and your embarrassment make it hard to tell what toppings she even put on it.

"Nero thinks you'll date Xavier." This time you choke, turning your face away to not spray her with cream, so she finishes off with, "and Simone is voting for Zayne. Shame we haven't met Rafayel yet, no one has his betting pool."

"You have a betting pool?" You exhale, swallowing down the coughing and rubbing at your throat with your full hand.

"Not officially." She this time wraps her arm around yours, leaning against you, and nibbling at her treat again, "We just find your friends funny."

Friends.

You look away and force one foot in front of the other, "Better not put down too much money, I don't think you'll get good returns."

"You're not interested?"

"That's- that's not what I said."

You aren't sure anyone could meet them, could know them, and not be interested.

"So you are?"

"Tara…" It comes out much the same way Zayne speaks to you, like he's exasperated and isn't sure what to do with you.

"Come on, we're friends!"

"We are."

"So talk to me."

"I've never thought about it."

"Ever?" She doesn't look like she believes you, eyes wide and shocked, like the idea of you moving through life alongside them without thinking about them like that is baffling to her.

It's not a lie… not entirely. "I've…" you sigh, looking down at the hand in yours before you're offered a bite again, as you chew, you feel the slight heat of it and the strawberry on your tongue, "I've never felt like I had time to think about it. Not in college, not now."

Always chasing some reason. Some meaning to be alive.

Some way to leave a mark that matters.

Chasing the pain in your limbs to remind you you're there, standing there.

"There's always something more important to think about, I've never had the time to sit down and think about anything like that." If you had thought about it, it was quick, and affirmation that you shouldn't. Shouldn't get attached to someone. Let them get attached to you. Waiting on that timeline that could be too short to grasp with your fingertips.

No one should have to deal with the grief of being left behind by you.

"What better time to think about it!" You're pulled to a bench, under an artificial tree covered in sparkling golden lanterns, Tara sits and then stares at you. Expectant, glittering eyes, bright smile. She catches the light and glows, and it's a reminder that she is far more an angel than you deserve to care for.

So you sit, to bask in the warmth of her, and place the bags down to free your hand, to offer her one of the bottles of ice tea you bought.

She swaps you for the crepe, but does not release your hand, like if she does you'll run away.

It's not an unfair assessment. You do feel the crawling up your back like you want to bolt. A cat wary for loud noises.

She's begun to learn your habits well. Like everyone else who has decided you are worthy of keeping around.

It is disconcerting to be seen, and known.

You think about the first time Caleb found you after you ran away from home, crawling under the husk of an old tree, to find you curled up with snacks and a threadbare blanket. Tears streaming down your eyes, not wanting to go back. You didn't want to go back to the hospital anymore.

He always found you. No matter where you ran.

You weren't sure anyone was ever going to find you again.

"Come on," She nudges you, with a pretty smile and bright eyes, "Why wouldn't you think about it?"

"Tara, I don't even know how long I have." You look away when you say it, sinking your teeth into cream, and stare down at the floor. Ignore the twitch in her hand, ignore the eyes that try to flit to yours.

Ignore the loss you'd feel if you had to let go of her hand.

She turns her gaze back to the bottle in her hand, takes a moment to twist the cap with her teeth, spitting it into one of the bags. "Neither do I." She finally says, and you look at her. The irritation must come through, because she blinks.

"It's different."

"Is it?"

The question in her gaze is earnest, and you aren't sure how to answer, it is…. Isn't it?

"You almost died. On a mission. In a building as it crashed down around you. You would have died, if hunters didn't come. If you hadn't sent me the warning." She tugs your hand so you have to hold her gaze, even if it hurts to see the tears shining there, "It wasn't your heart, it was wanderers. We almost lost you, because of an everyday job you do."

You think about the metal through your shoulder. The pain as you tried to struggle against it. Desperate to keep fighting, as the Myst swung its battleaxe down at you. As you saw moments flash before you, and the dark pulling you down into the abyss.

You think about the ticking clock you can't see for your heart.

Is it different?

"Everyday, we fight wanderers. Everyday a mission could be our last one. What better time to think, than when you're not staring down a monster?"

When you don't speak, Tara tilts her head, watches as you stare at the floor, "I'd miss you."

This time, it is a jolt, like a knife, right into your chest, looking at her as she says it.

"I'd miss you, if you disappeared, if you died. I'd miss you, every day. I'd probably have to stop myself from messaging you. Stop myself from seeking you out at work. I've already had to stop turning to your desk to speak to you, because you're not there."

A ghost, lurking in the memories of others. Isn't that what you feared to become?

"Then you-"

She shakes her head, "Do you wish you'd never know Caleb?"

"No!" It is venomous, a snap, a snake's bite. It rips out of your chest quicker than you can control, and it trembles at the edges.

You would go a million more days losing Caleb, if it meant you could have him in your life another day. That if you could repeat the last time you saw him, you would drag it out, even knowing how it ended. That you'd seek his spirit out, the one who brought you home when you curled in the rain and cried for something no one could ever give you.

You miss him everyday, but not knowing him… you don't think you'd be here. Not sat on this bench, not talking to someone who cares for you, who would miss you.

You think you would have finally given up. Broken beyond repair and drowning in the waves of feelings you couldn't grasp with your hands.

You would never have gotten a second chance, or a third, or a fourth. You would have sunk beneath and faded away.

"No. I don't."

"So why would anyone else see you differently? You're worth knowing, and loving, for as long as we get the chance to."

It is the grief of losing that accompanies the joy of loving. You think about memories spent with Gran and Caleb, of times you found value in waking up another day. That when you are stuck and struggling, you think about his hand reaching out for yours. Reminding you of what it means to live.

You think of Tara's hand, grasping at yours without end. Refusing to release you, for as long as she can. The tether and the reminder, that no matter what she will take your hand.

You think of Xavier's fingers dancing over the metal, testing the grooves and marvelling and the sensations that erupted.

You think of Rafayel's warmth in your palm, his fish darting through your fingers as you stretch and flex them.

You think of Sylus' grip grounding you, reminding you how to stand on the ground and find your feet.

You think of Zayne's ministrations, keeping your straps from digging harshly into skin, to keep you safe from the outside and the inside.

You think of Nero's notes in your bedside table. Of Simone's messages on your phone.

You think of Jenna's concern as she told you to rest, once taken as a dismissal, now repainted as concern. That the time it took did not matter to her, just that you did come back ready.

It is a mosaic or a jigsaw, littered across a messy floor. Pieces lost, and hard to find. You can clean and claw for them, but you will continue to find more. Things that were small, that kept you standing, things that seemed pointless but have buoyed you against your knowledge.

Large rocks in a river, or pebbles along the shore.

Her head rests on your shoulder, unconcerned with the metal through your clothing, even though you're sure it's not comfortable. Instead she just stays there, looking down at the hand she has joined with hers, "If they're anything like you, or me, it doesn't matter how long it is. So you should tell them."

Tell them… "I don't know what to tell them."

"Well that's easy, you're head over heels."

"Tara!"

"It's true!" "Where did you even get that from?"

She laughs, "You don't look at yourself in the mirror, everyone else sees it. The way you light up." You're not sure that's true… Xavier 'lights up', you… do you? She watches the furrow in your brow and smiles, "I suppose you wouldn't notice. You're too busy running forwards to stop and think, huh?"

"I stop." You huff, "Sometimes."

"Alright then, how do you think you feel?"

You're not sure you're ready to investigate that. To query it. The idea of looking deeper and seeing what Tara sees.

Then what?

You tell them, and watch things change?

Friends is good, friends is fine. If you don't mess it up, they won't leave you behind and keep walking. If you say something stupid, what if they leave. How would you even tell them?

"Are you happy with them?" She knows you well enough to dig deeper, with questions that pierce through the noise.

It's an easy answer to find, "Yes." There is no world where you are not happy with them. You think even if it ended in tragedy, you would seek them out, and care for them. Just like Caleb. Just like you would with those you have decided to love.

"It's not just… happiness. It's-" A sigh escapes you, the heat in your cheeks as you turn your face away so that Tara cannot study you as easily as she normally does. Seeking out changes in your expression to understand you. You're not sure how she has come to understand you so easily in a year of companionship. "It's like being whole. Pieces that come together to remind you of who you are. When they're there, I feel more like myself. I feel safe, and solid, and stable. Like the ground isn't going to drop."

It rips up your throat, the feeling of an emotion you struggle to process, the need to let it out in a sob, a feeling of worrying at the edge of the cliff. That you are staring down the drop, and you're not sure you don't want to fall.

Gentle fingers wipe at the corners of your eyes, and squeeze at your hand, and you lean into it, "It feels good. I'm scared of it feeling good."

"Hey."

"What if I lose it Tara? If I tell them and they turn away, or they leave?"

It's a home waiting to crumble into the sea, or the flames devouring the edges or the foundations. You've watched one go, can you set fire to the one you're still rebuilding?

She pulls you to her chest and strokes your cheek with her hand, releasing yours so that she can ground you in her arms. Other hand soothing circles into your back. "I can't tell you what they'll say, I wish I could, but I think you should talk to them. I may not have met your artist friend, but I know how the other's look at you. Even if you haven't opened your eyes to see it, alright?"

"It's really bad timing." You sniffle, trying not to cry harder and wet her shirt, or get snot on her.

Her laugh is soft against your cheek, "We'll always have bad timing. Can you really say if you die tomorrow, you'll be satisfied?"

You think about the hesitation to reach out and touch back, the wavering in your movements, and the need to close gaps. The feelings of lying awake next to Rafayel or Xavier on the bed, watching eyelashes flutter over cheeks. Of Sylus' fleeting touches and glances, that he never pushes like you'll run from him if he does. Of Zayne's clenched fist when he thinks you don't notice, as though he's holding himself back every moment.

You think about what you wish you could do for and with them. A home built with the people you love.

Love.

You're not sure you're ready, but you're not sure you'll ever be ready. To face the abyss and leap. Like it will catch you.

Somehow you think it will.

"Just think about it, at least a little. You deserve the chance to have a life that doesn't revolve around being a hunter."

You want to laugh but it will come out wet. Time spent not chasing a value in what you can provide, it feels a long way away with the chains around your ankle, and the beast that slumbers only to awaken in your lowest moments.

Except… when it purrs. With those who hold you and care for you.

"Thank you." You squeeze Tara's hand against your cheek, straightening a little to look at her. You see the tears glowing in her own eyes.

You wonder how many people you have hurt while you were standing looking over the cliff.

You want to make sure you never stand there again, and remember to turn around when they call for you.

"Always, remember. Always."

Always.

—----------

You think about your talk with Tara, wavering on the edge of opening your mouth, until you panic and shut down. You have been stuck inside of your own head, unsure how to start a conversation. You spent weeks debating and wondering and thinking.

In between daily progress, returning to your usual training, finally able to feel your body function the way you'd like it to.

In every empty moment, you think about them.

About the question on the tip of your tongue, that is barely even a question, 'I love you'. Unsure and wavering and scared to be voiced.

When you finish training with Sylus, you escape, lest your spout out something stupid and have to watch pity enter his eyes.

You finish runs with Zayne and avoid his checking hands when he queries if you are sick, because you cannot hold his gaze even more than normal.

You avoid sitting with Rafayel for long periods of time, because the soothe of his work makes you want to tell him things you're worried to say.

You cannot face Xavier when he joins you for a nap, because you feel your hand reaching out to touch his cheek.

It is like a dam has broken, and the feelings you have spent too long ignoring, lest you have to face them, have come to the forefront. Reminding you every moment, that you are sitting on a need and a feeling that wishes for nothing more than to be aired.

It is nothing you want to share, you think. You are happy where you are, they are here.

They won't always be here. This moment, it pulls away, and you are more capable every day. You wait for the moment that they tell you, that they will go their separate ways.

That you will stop entering the apartment to see them. That your home will become cold again, and you will have to deal with the acknowledgement that you are a coward.

It is a new type of countdown, but no more terrifying. You know it does not mean they will disappear, you will see them, you will be able to meet them… they have never disappeared on you for long.

You think you have grown far too used to their presence as a constant, that the idea of the loneliness of the cool apartment is no longer a familiar balm.

You're sure you used to be fine alone. Yet now, in this moment, you wish to never be alone again.

So as you avoid, and run from them, out of control of your own body in a way you've never been before, you move through the days.

Until you finally get approval to return to combat training.

You meet Jenna, Tara, Simone and Nero at the door of the Association.

It is worth everything, you think, that coming to the Association, seeing the four of them, feels like settling back into place. Not unlike returning to that apartment with the four people you love most around your table.

"Took you long enough." Simone laughs, wrapping her arm around your shoulder and pulling you into the building. You stumble a little, before catching yourself. The laugh that barks out is greeted by a smile from Nero and Tara. "Thought we'd all get old waiting for you to get your ass back."

"Is that anyway to treat your favourite resonator?"

"You're the only one we've got, so you'll do I suppose."

You poke her with a metal finger into the side, happy when she laughs again at you.

"I'll give you the entertainment factor though, Xavier was proper grumpy without you."

Nero nods, serious, "She's right, he kept heading to your desk to sit at, even though you weren't there."

"Like a sad little bunny!"

"You really enjoy teasing Xavier a lot, huh?"

She shrugs, "Before you came around the man didn't react to a single thing, now he's blushing, laughing, getting grumpy with kids who want to be your partner? I'm having the time of my life."

"You lot behave yourself, I'm aware you're excited, but we aren't here to chat." Jenna cuts in, extending her hand to you, her face is even, but as you shake her hand, she smiles, small and quick, "Welcome back. We'll be seeing if you can keep up with combat drills for a while, then when I believe you're ready, you'll be back on missions."

The feeling you have is probably akin to the feeling a bird has when it takes flight. It's the same feeling you had when you got accepted as a hunter. The first day you were assigned to UNICORNS. It is excitement, and fear, and thrill.

You're back where you belong, where you can do what you should be doing.

You are ready to keep moving forwards.

Simone returns to her work, but Nero and Tara assist with drills. You are handed a gun, to practice with your aim.

It is not a weapon you prefer to use, but it is a basic skill that hunters require. The more weapons in an arsenal, the better chance you have in the field.

You can't really lift your claymore easily anymore. When you try to lift it over your shoulder, it pulls and tears. You waver and you shake, and drop it back down. Irritable and frustrated.

Your sword is familiar, you have kept training with Xavier, so that it does not hinder with its movements. It is fast and easy to keep your movements with.

Your efforts with each of them has kept you from falling too far behind. Your hand has a proper grip, and you find comfort in the process.

You run through each drill Jenna hands you. When you fail, you stand back up and try again, you focus on the movement, on the action and you keep trying. You keep the rule your doctor has drilled into you. Fail five times, stop, try again later.

When you face wanderers for test, you learn you are missing your mark with the gun, unbalanced with it, but your sword strikes true. Easy to judge the weight and the feel of it in your grasp.

You pause, and you fight, and you train.

You come back day after day, you face down the hoard of emulated beasts, and you learn how to move the way you did.

You fight, and you fight.

You repeat, come home, exhausted and full of flames, and then repeat the process.

It is a day that you are heading back to complete another test that Jenna has devised, bruise on your cheek, just over a scar near your eye, that you are held back by a hand on your wrist. Rafayel with his hands behind his back, head tilted and a grin on his face, "I have a surprise, guess the hand."

Your laugh is unbidden, and for a moment you think again how beautiful he is, before you stuff it down. Reminding yourself, not to say something stupid, "Is this a trap, if I pick wrong will I be sleeping with the fishes?"

He huffs, "You're only allowed to sleep with this fishie!"

"Raffy!"

He tilts his head to the other side, he leans in closer to you, eyes sparkling, "Pick."

"Left."

"Are you sure?"

"I haven't got x-ray vision, so yeah, no more sure than I'd be of right."

He moves his hands in front of him, and on both of his palms rests a long, beautiful, black curved dagger. It is intricately carved, you turn it over to see feathers falling through snowflakes, a fish dancing on the edge of a star. Your fingers tremble as he places it in your hand, tightening along the handle.

"You needed a new signature, and you always liked mine."

It is the feeling up your throat, the need to cry, to sob. Every time they see you, you want to run and to bask. To lie against their beating hearts and beg them to never stop.

It rests in your hand, your grip tightens around it and it feels like it is part of you. Thrumming under your senses. Beating like a living heart in your hand. A vivid reminder of what you have to keep fighting for and with. "I love it." You manage, through the tight throat and the wet mess of tears as they rush from your eyes.

Fingers chase away your tears again, reminding you that it is not wrong of you to feel and to struggle, as long as you face forwards.

"Thank you Rafayel."

He shrugs, huffing but there's no venom in it, his lips quirking at the edges, "Wasn't just me, you've got to stay safe, and alive. Always come home."

Home.

As long as your heart beats, you think that he, Xavier, Zayne and Sylus are your home. The place where your pieces feel like they fit again.

You want them to know, you want to tell them that they are where you belong. You want to believe that with the dagger in your hand, you can protect it and them. A future where, even if it ends before you want, you will always cherish it.

That the grief is worth the joy, and you want to believe it is the same for them.

"I'll see you tonight."

It is a promise, and as you smile back at Rafayel, whose eyes brighten like flames in the night, leading you home. You promise yourself you'll take the step.

—-----

The dagger rests comfortably in your grip as you push. It is sharp and quick, and you dispatch the practice wanderers with the kind of violent glee you often get when you find the drive to push and flare.

When there is something to fight for on the other side. The rage that carries you past your hatred of EVER. That pulled you into Sylus' lap with the gun in hand.

That you will keep snarling if it means you will end up victorious.

It is the knowledge that you have something to protect, this world, Linkon, your friends, the people waiting for you at home.

It is the feeling of finally flying, the feeling of resonating with Caleb when you were a kid, and feeling the gravity leave, as you floated up holding his hand. As you laughed as you span. Pulling him as high as you could before the connection dimmed, or Gran caught you both.

Catharsis that reminds you that there are moments when your heart is light. Even as you cut through the arm of a knave, and kick back at a wyrm.

As you stand in the training ring, victorious and pleasantly sore. As you remember why you pushed through every night your arm didn't work as you wanted. As you struggled against the tide.

It is the acknowledgement of months of work to process and fight. It is the gleam in Jenna's eye as you achieve, and remind her why you were here in the first place.

That this is what you can do, that this is who you are. Every contest, every trial, everything. If you fail, you stand again.

"Well," Jenna starts, stepping over as the emulation stops, her hand extends again, but this time her smile is there at the start, "Let's get you back on missions."

You almost jump forwards, almost grab her hand far too tight, before Tara comes out the side, a streak of vivid energy to tackle you. Leaving Jenna's hand floating in the air, before it covers her mouth, so she can push down the laugh.

"Tara. My bruises."

"They'll heal!"

Nero and Simone watch, he offers you a nod, while Simone grins, "All those long times staring at these horrible wanderer emulations, ended up worth it huh?"

"Horrible? They're a skillful recreation of accurate wanderer behaviour! The stud-"

"I get it, I get it. They're great, super realistic." She snorts, kicking at the floor with the toe of her shoe, "They even splatter."

"An accurate recre-"

"Nero, can you go file the report with Andrew, he'll need to know."

"Yes Captain."

Before he goes he nods at you again, "Glad you're back, I have so many notes. The new Lumiere show had Arbiterwings!" You barely get chance to respond, because Jenna raises a brow and he darts off. Before she can give him an order again.

"I swear, he's been biting at the bit to tell you about his new show, we told him he could message you, but he said it wasn't the same." Simone steps over, pulling Tara off you finally.

"Hey!"

"Two minutes is too long, you're acting like they died!"

"Some of us have a lot of feelings."

"I have a lot, right now I'm hungry, we've been watching for hours."

There's another smothered laugh, as Jenna straightens out, "Alright you three, you're done for the day, go find Nero and get something to eat." She looks at you, "You can start next week, you'll keep doing drills to ensure you keep on top of your physical state, and keep up with your medical checks."

"Yes Captain." The salute is familiar, practiced, even with the cool metal against your forehead.

Whole.

And you're more than sure of the scar pulling at your lip, as your smile rises to your lips.

You will fight for the future again.

[kunikame]

# PURPLE LILACS !

[10] - a sudden.. !! | prev. | m. list | next

ace trappola x fem!reader smau

! warning(s) : cussing, sebek gets stepped on (literally), death mention, not canon compliant turn of events for plot, crowley, no beta we die like ortho shroud, love u guys btw

! w/c : 761

and so on a sunny wednesday lunch break you find yourself sitting at your usual table, surrounded by your fellow first years. you spot jade a few tables away, menacingly glaring at some poor unfortunate student, and send him a quick wave when your eyes meet.

“–nd i kid you not he genuinely folded. so like the great person i am, i used the newly placed hallway carpet.”

“ya stepped on him?!” a few droplets of apple juice land near your plate. you shoot a quick look at epel, only to see the rest of the table doesn’t look much better, since he spat all the juice in his mouth out at this newfound piece of information (read: blackmail material).

deuce sighs in his seat to your left, “yeah, he did. i had to watch malleus’ face go from perplexed to absolutely horrified in the span of barely 5 seconds because of him. thought we were gonna die.”

epel finds this unfathomably hilarious. sebek, however, has not spoken in the past 10 minutes, despite usually being the loudest of the group. you feel a little bad for him– the poor thing has just been staring at his plate with a scarlet face this whole time. yet just as you open your mouth to try to console him, lilia appears out of seemingly thin air, hanging upside down directly in front of your face.

“hey faestie!~ a little bat told me the headmage has something important to discuss with you! you best hurry before he changes his mind, kuhuhu~”

and just as swiftly as he appeared, he also vanished. where his face once was, you now see the horrified eyes of jack and epel, and sebeks full face for the first time today.

you turn to the right to glance at ace with an eyebrow raised, silently asking if they've done anything bad without your knowledge. he shakes his head, fluffy ginger hair flying with the motion, and gives you a concerned look (which seems a little out of place on his face when directed at you, but you quickly dismiss the thought).

“i’ll be fine,” you say, slowly getting up from your spot and cleaning up your mess, “it’s probably just another unpaid job he wants me to do. i’ll see you guys later.

“with all due respect, what the fuck?”

crowley lets out the most offended gasp you've ever heard, “that is no way to be speaking in my office! this is unacceptable behavior! but since i am so gracious, i shall let it pass, because you have clearly not yet processed my generous offer.”

you heave an exasperated sigh, the seven know you're tired of this, “if i heard you right, you basically just said i have magic? like, actually? you're joking, right? i mean, come on, i've been here for like half a year and the only magic i can produce is manslaughter. be so for real with me right now.”

crowley's glowing eye twitches (at least, you think it does. it’s really hard to tell, honestly) “yes, that is basically what i said. see, the carriage did not bring you here by mere accident, despite it being through..”  he pauses, taking a seat in his gigantic chair, “unfortunate means. if it brought you here, it means it sensed something within you. so i’ve had some tests run in the background, and as it turns out, you do have a magical affinity, it just seems to be suppressed.”

you fall into the chair opposite him. whether it was because of your knees giving out from pure disbelief, or just because of how tired you are of everything, you're not really sure.

“.. okay, so what does that mean for me?”

“it means you can use magic once we figure out how to unlock it. it means you can continue studying here as an actual student.”

you blankly stared at the wall, thinking your choices through thoroughly.

you can't go back to your world unless you want to be dead, so having a place to stay would be great. if you had magic it would certainly make life, and your classes, much easier. you would no longer have to rely on grim or the guys to protect you in case of an overblot, either. it sounded great, overall.

“so? what will it be?”

your eyes slowly moved from the window to crowley's glowing ones.

your parents would feel more at peace knowing you could protect yourself in a foreign world (if they remembered you, that is).

“alright. let’s do it.”

## ❝ after the events of the phantom bride wedding, ace started wondering whether he still had the ability to charm girls. he hasn’t thought about anyone romantically in years, hasn’t really flirted with anyone either, what if he’s gone out of it? perhaps it’s time to put his talents to the test; with the person who hates him most, no less. if he can charm her, he can charm anyone. ❞

#TAGLIST ! : @solxima @gabirii @lunavixia @y2unagiz @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @borlining @verity-moon @myunghology @doughnuts-eater @lifeless-bug @babygurlenthusiast @shirishere @xopeach @stormyovent0aster @bontensbabygirl @ars-tral @wrathy-mcwrathface @sinofthesloth @skeet-2 @everettelz @sakuram1nt @shatiyuh @ambigrueity @junebunny06 @norylight @dyedracoonhair @persm1net @meowbuscompany @sugarrush-blush @oopsie-daisy-doo @yuumei-strawberry-shortcake @jaiistg // ask/comment to be added/removed! (if you’re in bold i can’t tag you)

[threepandas]

Bad End: Witness

"Specimen '873 is starting to disappoint me. He was showing such promise. These numbers, however?" My keeper muttered to himself, distaste painting his face as he watched the feed in front of him. "Unacceptable for a battle class. He might as well be spare biomass at this point."

He was supposed to be wearing his glasses, not holding them. They may have been called "reading" glasses? But they were not, technically, just for that. They also had a blue light filter. Helped with headaches and eyestrain. He just hated wearing them because he thought they made him look old.

A God Forbid ANYTHING remind him of the passage of time.

He did NOT take it kindly.

I managed to avoid THAT landmine by virtue of having witnessed his receiving them. An "incident" that resulted in his head slamming against a screen. Protocol demanded he get checked. In the process, they discovered his eye sight was declining. It was a... bad day. I brought him things to break and stayed very, very quiet.

He bounced back fairly quickly, though. Once the arrogant researcher who had arranged for the incident to even OCCUR? Tried to come lord his "weakened old man" status over him. It was one thing to "accidently" let the battle class get unfettered access to weapons before loyalty train. But to be dumb enough to step into his lab, call him weak, and gloat about it?

Dr. Raghnall Periculum was many things.

But "unwilling to bludgeon a man to death with the nearest object" was not one of them.

He was dangerous like that. Murderous. It came and went like shifting storms, all you could really do was learn to read the triggers. Get good at knowing when to back up. When to hold really, REALLY still. After all... this was a lawless, immoral place. No one here could or WOULD stop him.

They were all just as bad.

Gritty Sci-Fi Otome games are... a lot less fun to LIVE. To be honest? They are actually pretty horrifying. Traumatizing, really. Hellish. As in, I am pretty sure this is a futuristic version Of Hell (but that is a personal opinion). I regret EVER playing a single damn one. But... BUT? I CLING to the knowledge I gained from it. So I can not regret it completely. Because through them? Through KNOWING this world?

I KNOW this will end. KNOW we will be free. That these monsters will pay for what they've done. The epilog promises a golden age. A beautiful, peaceful dawn after this long and terrible night, filled with horrors. I just... I just have to survive. Hold on. Keep my head down and pray.

I may be trapped in hell, but I'm not broken.

We will be Free.

I have SEEN IT.

Sometimes the greatest defiance is just refusing to die. Just keeping hope alive. I... I can do that. May not be able to fight my way out. Not smart enough to hack or sabotage these nightmares. But I can stay alive. I... I can do that. Bear witness, that someday I may stand against them in trial. Record. So no one is forgotten.

It doesn't feel like enough. I feel tired and angry. Hateful and small. But for the sake of my sanity? I make myself feel nothing. Compartmentalize. I've... I've become unfortunately quite good at it. Good at a lot of terrible things. Like placating. Making myself small. Being invisible. A retail smile. Being one with the furniture.

See, just like the poor souls on the screens in front of him? I'm a Clone. Of who? I have no idea. None of us do. They use old DNA databases. From when it was first commercially available, I think. Like those ancestry tests. Here it was squirrelled away, kept for later use. Which... was us.

My template has been dead for centuries, I think. Or perhaps? She would have considered herself my mother? I hope she would have, strange as I turned out to be. We are all children of the dead. It'd be nice to think they'd have wanted us.

Dr. Periculum's cup lifts lightly as he take a drink, more focused on his work then anything else. That heft is about midway point. I've discovered if I begin brewing now, it will be done by the time his cup is empty and he wants more. A glance at the closest screen gives me the time. Food too, is a good idea.

He likely won't eat it. But if it's there? The chances are higher. And when he comes out of his focus, it'll be available. Less chance of him getting irritated by hunger.

On a well practiced route through piles of notes and projects I know better then to touch, I quietly make my way to the coffee machine. Begin another round of abomination the caffeine tar. It is, quite honestly, a wonder he hasn't accused me of trying to poison him to a heart attack.

A few granules of salt, a bit of cinnamon, some expensive fatty creamer, aaaand? There. Unholy bitterness gone. "Just" a cup of liquid tar so potent it could make a rhino taste time.

I also grab one of the meat pies and put it on a little paper plate.

Ah... what has my life become? That I am so well practiced in make snacks for a monster? Picking them up, I don't dare answer that. That way lies madness. Don't think about it. It can wash out in therapy. After. Because there WILL be an After. There HAS to be an After.

Careful steps and...? Just as I estimated. He just ran out. I nearly silently tap the paper plate down to the edge of the table then slide it forward, with-in ease of reach, but not too close. Then I swap the cups. Go to step away. Only to freeze. As, out of the corner of my eye, I see one of his hands briefly leave his keyboard to make a nearly dismissive "one moment" gesture.

Stay put. Don't move. I'll address you when I'm done with my, more important, thoughts. I feel the flash of fear, of panic, but let it go. There is nothing I can do. I will be hurt or I won't be hurt. There is no use suffering twice, through speculation and fear, I remind myself. Force my mind empty and pleasant. Retail smile. Happy to serve.

He finishes. Leans back, dissatisfied with some project or other, and finally slips on his glasses. Gestures imperiously for the cup in my hands. I do not question of course, merely hand it to him. He takes it, passes it to his other hand, and sets it aside. Then, casually, leans slightly over and wraps a thickly muscled arm around my waist. Dragging me off my feet and into his lap.

"You know, girl? B-21873 really was, actually quite promising. I was starting to think I'd keep him. Decent speed, good stamina, excellent problem solving. His test scoring was exceeding all expectations. Really thought I might have gotten you a little friend to play with. A gaurd so I could send you out on some chores safely. But no, he just HAD to be a failure." He said, leaning forward to grab his cup.

I was crushed awkwardly close. Could feel every moment. Acutely aware of his woody and sea air cologne, the coffee on his breath as words were spoken far to close, the beating of a heartbeat I could feel against my arm. Hyper aware of him. Why was I in his lap? This felt dangerous. I should not be in his lap.

Between sips, he turned his head and pressed his lips to my temple, not kissing... somehow worse. Just... just breathing me in. Slow, deliberate, and deep. Like savoring a scent, a sensation. The subtle back and forth, as though rubbing his lips against my hair. Enjoying the feeling against sensitive skin. It could almost be a cuddle on any other man. It took everything I had not to shudder.

"Unlike you of course. You pet, could never disappoint me. If these rejects tried even half as hard as my perfect darling girl? The world'd be a better place." He paused his almost nuzzling. To simply rest his head against mine, pulling off his glasses so he could tuck his head closer. His breathe was hot against my ear. His voice gravel and distain as it spoke of others.

"It's disgusting. Like they don't even try. We spend countless resources breeding, feeding, and training them... for what? Failure? I'm starting to think those bastards are deliberately sending me bad specimens."

Every word he said was horrifying. I could not cry. Dare not. But my heart screamed for those poor souls. They were just kids. Trapped in hell. Tortured from birth. Disposed of when they no longer met some arbitrarily impossible anime standard. If I turned my head, even slightly, I KNEW, I would be faced with screens of untold suffering. Feeds of "testing". So called training. Autopsy reports and datapoints.

Lists of who... who had been deemed "not good enough".

Who were scheduled to become "recycled biomass".

But if I looked? I would weep for them. And that? That was dangerous right now. Right NOW? I had to be pleasant company. A child's doll to be dragged around. No thoughts, no differing opinions. Preferably no opinions at ALL. Just warm and huggable. Soft. A beloved pet who serves coffee and brings things when told. Endure. I just... I must simply ENDURE.

The night will end. Dawn will come. Believe in her.

J-Just empty your head... and Believe In Her.

An alert pops up. I can hear it on a screen somewhere behind me. Dr. Periculum turns his head to look, reaching for his snack. Freezes. Then, a sharp bark of laughter. It's violent, like the strike of a lightning bolt, jostling me. The ones that follow just as harsh. He's not a man that laughs often. And it's not a kind sound.

Filled with schadenfreude, his laughter is like the vicious barks of hunting hounds. The shots of a weapon. A short and harsh to the ears sound, over and over. Delight in the suffering of an enemy. The fall of a rival. It strikes through his body like seizures. Making him lean forward to read. Brace against the desk, tighten his grip around me, widen the brace of his legs.

Glancing up, his eyes are alight with manic glee. His grin is vicious.

He looks Feral.

"Well, well, WELL! What do we have HERE?! Is that Jack ANDERSON'S facility I see? Mr. 'Master of the genome' himself? Looks like SOMEONE got AHEAD of themselves! Ha!" Raghnall cackles spinning his chair so I can see the screen. Leaning back to grab his cup and toast with it. "Look what we have here, pet! Some fucking KARMA! I knew that little shit wasn't worth the paper his degree was printed on! See this? THIS is what happens when you can't control your own damn compound!"

"Rest in PIECES, you worthless little SHIT!"

I sat. Frozen. As Dr. Periculum laughed and laughed, his mood viciously pleased. Because... because I recognized that facility. Chapter Two. There was an animation that played. The... the BREAKOUT! Joy filled me. Like the first rays of dawn. That was HER. S-she was OUT! Free! She DID it! Oh god... oh god she was COMING! It had finally BEGUN!

I caught myself. Barely.

My eyes felt a bit wet so I disguised it with a fake yawn. I dare not show empathy. NEVER show empathy. Keep it guarded like diamonds in your chest. If he thought, for even a moment, that I empathized with anyone but him. CARED about anyone but him? They wouldn't last the hour.

And it would be the longest, cruelest, hour in existence, as they died.

You make that sort of mistake exactly ONCE.

"Ah~ todays a GOOD day. And you know what we should do?" He hummed, nearly a coo as he spun us almost lazily around on his chair. In whimsical circles like a bored child. "We should celebrate. Ding dong, the fuckers dead~ HA HA! Not to mention? It's been entirely too long, pet, since I've spoiled you rotten. We should get a cake, hmm? You want a cake? Lil treat? Sweet lil treat for my girl?"

"I could get you that new dress I've been looking at. Bet you'll look like a classy lil princess, won't that be nice? Can even make it match the trackers I'm finishing up! No more uncomfy collars when we go out! Just pretty lil bracelets, ain't that nice?"

I force myself to smile. Nod. Ignore the fear and anger, the humiliation and helplessness. It's not time yet. Bid your time. You will LOSE your chance for True Freedom if you give in to your anger. Your hurt. Patience, THEN strike. Remember! Chapter two! There are FIVE.

It is COMING.

He stopped spinning, planting his feet on the floor. His manic grin softening. No less unhinged, less full of teeth, but perhaps the closest a man like him could come to loving. His eyes obsessive as the roam my face. Cataloging everything.

"You know, pet? You really might be might greatest creation. Best thing I've ever made or done. Anyone wants you? They'd have to pry you from my cold, dead hands. I'd burn EVERYTHING down. Kill just about EVERYONE." His voice was the sort of whispered confession meant for churches, not the heart of this hell he had built. It felt unholy. Dangerous.

Exactly like him.

"Once I figure how to take humanity to it's next stage? Reverse aging? Heck, even stop it. I promise, pet. Gonna take you with me. You're coming along for the ride. Straight to the end. Heat death of the universe. Well become GODS, pet. Live forever and a day. Bet you can't wait, huh?"

"Don't worry. The futures going be BEAUTIFUL. Just you wait."