#but 10 minutes cannot pass without someone screaming SOMETHING | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

al1x00 · 2 months ago

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⚠️CHAP. 10 SPOILERS⚠️

THE WAY I SCREAMED WHEN I SAW THIS OMFG I'M NOT READY FOR OPIN TO END😭😭

EXCUSE ME "TW SUICIDAL THOUGHTS"?!?! WHO TF IS TRYING TO BLOW THEIR BRAINS OUT MY GOODNESS.

Love how I'm totally chill on the blood and gore part like yeah that's usual Katy™ stuff, you get used to it after reading TF🥰🥰

DAMNN HOBIE'S ON FIRE HE'S GOT NO MERCY ANYMORE. Also I love how you described the factory and the way Hick's office/balcony is placed very high up because he own the place and all that jazz because it just makes him the picture perfect image of the asshole he is LMAO

YAYY WE GOT KARL TOO THE WHOLE GANG IS HEREEE

WHOA WAIT A BAG OF TNT?? That's not gonna go well, is it..? Even if they do manage to bomb the factory, TNT is a very effective and quick explosive so if they aren't fast enough to get away someone might get hurt yknow

Hicks and his shit aim strike once again and fail😌 that man cannot land a single bullet on anyone, not even a couple of horses.

WTF HOW DID HE NOT DIE? ISTG IF HOBIE DOESN'T GET TO KILL HIM

Honestly if R was to look at Hobie and see him kill men so effortlessly while balancing only on one side of his horse they're gonna get married on the spot, like RIGHT FUCKING NOW.

Hobie lost his last whip and said "Fuck it, let's make an instrument of torture out of the new one" And I bet that shit hurt like hell.

"Everyone thinks he should be dead by now" ONE OF THE REALEST THINGS YOU WROTE YEAHH TERMINATE THAT ASSHOLE

YESS HE GOT THE DEATH HE DESERVED NO MERCY FOR HICKS

I always make sure there aren't any symbolism or anything in the paragraphs before I continue reading the chapters so I googled what do alligators symbolize and there many different versions of it. One said they symbolize inner strenght and power so I gues that could work with the power Hobie held in that moment right before he decided not to spare Hicks and let him suffer but it also says they symbolize finding solace in the present which I don't think Hicks got while he was getting eaten alive and ripped apart💀

WAIT IT'S BEEN A MONTH SINCE THE WHOLE THING HAPPENED? A WHOLE MONTH PASSED FROM THE DAY HICKS AND CROSS FOUND THEIR FARM?

OKAY WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK HAS HAPPENED. HICKS TRIED TO KILL R BY THROWING HER DOWN THE WELL? IT'S WORSE THAN ANYTHING THEY'VE DONE TO HER BEFORE WTF HE DESERVED THAT HORRIBLE DEATH.

"A graveyard full of Cross’ ancestors lies just a few ways away from the gazebo." He's gonna join them soon if he doesn't stop with that attitude🥰🥰

R thinking about Hobie everytime someone does something that he would do just hurts so much because R doesn't even know if he's alive or not at this point. She has no way of escaping or getting any source of information about him or Riri and the others and it's so fucking sad. It's hurting me so much I just need to see them happy and healthy once more😭😭

R IS BEING A GIRLBOSS I LOVE ITT

“Look at me just like how you look at him.” Okay just one more thing to add to the list of reasons of why I hate Cross so much🥰🥰 Out of all the things he's done and said this is probably one of the most disgusting EVER.

KATYY WDYM BOTH HIT THEIR TARGET?!?!?! IS R DEAD? NONONONO I CAN'T TAKE ANOTHER SAD ENDING AFTER TF THIS BETTER BE A FUCKING JOKE

DAMN R GOT SOME AIM THAT BULLET LEFT A BIG ASS HOLE THROUGHT HIS STOMACH

...Katy I swear to god if R dies I'm gonna sue you. DON'T GIVE HOBIE ANY MORE TRAUMA HE ALREADY HAS PLENTLY AND EVEN MORE TO SPARE.

“A life lived without you isn't a life well lived, remember?” Bye don't talk to me for five business days.

KATY YOU HAD ME FOR A SECOND I THOUGHT THEY BOTH DIED IN THE FIRE OH MY GOODNESS I WAS ABOUT TO THROW A FIT I WAS ALREADY SOBBING MY EYES OUT BUT THEN I WENT ON AND I WAS LIKE "WAIT A DAMN MINUTE-"

THEY GOTH DUCKIESS AND BUCKY AND CHERRY HAVE LITTLE KIDS NOW I'M SOBBING OMFG

AND COWS TOO

AND CLOVER HAS HER PUPPIES TOO OH MY GOD IT'S SO CUTEEE

God really must have favourites because how the fuck did R survive that bullet right under her ribcage? Like sure there was a possibility but holy shit R got lucky. NOT THAT I'M COMPLAINING OFC

HELLO?? BILLIE AND MONA CANON IN OPIN?? AAAA I'M LOSING MY SHIT I'M SO HAPPY THAT THEY'RE ALRIGHT AND CONTENT IN THEIR HOUSE AGAIN.

God this has been so bittersweet. Words cannot describe the utter whirlwind of emotions that I had throughtout this chapter and story overall. It has made me cry, laugh, cheer for the characters and have loads of sympathy for them, so much that sometimes I felt it to the very soul. I can safely say that this fic goes onto the podium with BDAS because the sheer amount of effort you put into this has not gone unnoticed, you've outdone yourself again like you always continue to do and I'm SO SO proud of you for writing something as beautiful as OPIN. I am not ready to say goodbye to our favourite outlaw and cowboy😭😭 (I will not say goodbye to him yet, he'll have me in a chokehold until the end of time)Honestly I could go on and yap about this for hours and hours (and I probably will because OPIN deserves it) but like- the intricacy of the storyline, the well done backstories and the way you gave each character a different moral and point of view is just 🤌* chefs kiss * YKWIM?? I will never, EVER, shut up about how R and Hobie were like complete strangers all over again when they found eachother after all those years, how they feared of the consequences of loving somebody, but in the end the only thing that mattered the most was to get back into eachother's arms and stay with the other until the end, no matter if the flames got to them or not; the fact that they were gonna die together in that fire and they were totally fine with that just because they had eachother will always cling with me. They way they both learned to love the other despite all their flaws and the how the horrible things that happened shaped them, but their love was stronger than anything else, stronger than a man and his whole bullet factory that went against two people who just truly loved eachother in the purest and most genuine way ever. They fought with claws and teeth, because they had both everything and nothing to lose, just to see the other one last time before everything caught up.

Alright I won't write more on this but I will return with another yapping session soon so expect a huge message in your inbox LMAO but thanks again for everything Katy!! LY LY LY❤️❤️❤️

Dead Man's Hand

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 11.5k

Tags: Use of Y/N, sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), Cowboy AU, wild west AU, CW food mention, CW vomit mention, CW blood and gore, CW guns, TW violence, TW abuse, TW suicidal thoughts, TW death.

A/N: if there are any warnings that I've missed please tell me so I could add it in.

This chapter tackles dark themes, read at your own discretion.

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

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CHAPTER 10 >>>

The pungent, acrid and hot air of metal and gunpowder brings Hobie back in time as he slams open the steel doors to the factory with a harsh kick. Machinery whirs, and twists, sharp steel dancing to the beat of the flames as it turns molten iron into instruments of death.

Hobie roams his fury-filled eyes around the factory, green flames flicker in those eyes, finding grime coated faces of strangers staring back at him and his posse. One glances their dark eyes towards the upper level of the factory where a balcony is placed. Where Hicks would look down with contempt, and would scream at the overworked employees to hurry production. Hobie knows it all too well, the factory mirrors the one back home. In the middle of the balcony sits an office with frosted windows that bear Hicks’ name. But the man is nowhere to be found within the crowd.

“If you're not Hicks, get the fuck out.” He doesn't need to yell the command, for everyone turns to run outside towards the back exit where half of Miguel's gang lies in wait; and Hicks' lackeys lay dead on the soft muddy ground.

One running and hiding away amidst the crowd catches his eye with the same face as one of the men who buried him all those years ago. “‘cept you.” With one swift raise of his six shooter, smoke billowing out, a hole now sits on the man's torso where his heart should be. “Hicks, better get down ‘ere or my people will blow this place to the ground.” Hobie steps over the bloody body, crimson coating the sole of his boots. “Rainin’ bullets don't mix well with a room full of explosives.”

There's no movement nor a whisper in the entire factory save for the fading sounds of the machines slowly shutting off. He catches a glimpse of a shadow behind a closed frosty door in the upper level of the factory. It was quick and sudden, if not for Riri's gentle nudge towards the movement, he'd think he was seeing you again for a brief cruel moment.

“Ri, Karl, come with me.” Hobie emerges behind the blackened air from the large machines. Three sets of boots thumping silently as they bound upstairs.

He reaches the door, back on the solid wall and away from the glass. Riri stays on his right, shotgun cocked and ready while Karl checks his bag of TNT on Hobie's left. As he moves to open the door, a bullet pierces the glass, shattering it into sharp tiny pieces. A shard nicks Hobie's cheek, but he ignores the throbbing pain as blood trickles out.

“You're still alive, you little shit?!” Hicks yells, shooting blindly at the door.

The trio stays still and waits for the opening. A click echoes in the quiet, and clouds of gunpowder float through the air. Hobie and the others take their opportunity. Karl lights a stick of dynamite, chucking it inside the room and then ducking down to cover his ears. Hobie doesn't waste time, leaving the safety of the cover, he twists to face the door, shooting at the flying TNT— effectively blowing it near Hicks while Hobie holds onto his hat so that it doesn't get blown away.

The explosion causes Hobie to stagger backwards, if not for Riri pulling him back to the side, he would've fallen off the railings. Sulfur fills the air as they cough, puffs of grey smoke clouds the entire office space.

His ears ring, a sharp high pitched sound that he's awfully familiar with. He gives Riri a thankful nod, which she replies with a smug smile and a raise of her eyebrow. Hobie takes the lead, flicking his eyes towards Karl, who gives him a thumbs up, and with his hair all messed up from the explosion. Satisfied that his group is alright, he enters the fray. Smoke giving way to him and his raised gun. Shards of glass crunch at his feet, singed papers lay burned on the floorboards as embers flicker out in the air.

As the smoke clears out and the hot air of the south enters through the broken windows— Hobie finds no one inside the room.

“Fuck!” As he yells into the emptiness, a horse neighs outside, hooves running frantically away while bullets fly and ricochet. He immediately looks down, finding Hicks half burnt and riding away. “Like a fuckin’ roach.” Without thinking ahead, Hobie vaults from the window, softening his fall with a roll. Landing, knees aching but intact, he whistles for Bucky.

“Hobie, what the fuck?!” Riri and Karl simultaneously scream out, but Hobie's already running while Bucky follows right behind him.

Once Buckeye trots next to him, Hobie grabs hold of the saddle's horn to swiftly lift himself up on the saddle with a quick pull. No one's going to stop him, Miguel already considers Hicks dead just from the look of determination behind those green eyes.

Hobie leaves everyone in the dust. Bucky neighs wildly, huffing and puffing as he tries to catch up. “Hicks!” Said man turns on his saddle a few ways ahead, arm raising to aim and to shoot his gun. Bullets whizz past, hot air passing by as Hicks misses every single bullet.

Hicks’ scalding flesh makes him keel over in pain as his blood drenches his horse. “Shit!” He kicks roughly, his horse whines before speeding off.

Bucky gains speed, catching up to Hicks whilst he reloads. But of course, his hired guns finally catch wind. A handful of them appear from the side, trudging from the muddy swamp with alligators lurking underneath, and riding towards the bumpy road where the main chase is happening.

The rival posse hollars and hoots, sneering smiles and guns aimed at Hobie. Riri and the others are still catching up to him, so he's left alone to defend himself and Bucky. With fury fuelling him, he has everything to lose so he'll shoot through all of them like a hot knife through butter.

While the mercenaries leave the line of trees, Hobie enters the thicket, swerving to the side, using the large and sturdy trees for cover. The ground may be soft and muddy, but Hobie and his loyal horse have been in dozens of situations like this. The swamp might've slowed them down but it doesn't stop them as splintered wood flicks and flies while his enemies continue to shoot at his swift horse.

A bullet comes too close to his head, piercing a hole in the brim of his hat. He clicks his tongue, annoyed at the damage. Patting Bucky, he takes his foot off one of the stirrups to bring it to the safer side where no bullets could come at him. With two legs on one side, hand holding on to the saddle horn and reins, Hobie rides sideways, hiding his body while peeking over and shooting with calculated aim as Bucky runs back towards the path. One by one, the mercenaries fall off their horses with his bullets pierced through their bodies. The road is coated with their blood, leaving trails of rubies for his posse to follow.

Miguel trots closer, shooting at what remains of Hicks' men. The gang hoots at the sight, adrenaline rushing through their veins, and blood heating up from the violence.

While Riri and Karl have their eyes on Hobie, who now sits upright on Bucky, they kick on their horses and off they go, riding side by side with Him. Hicks panics from the sheer volume of horses running after him, with his last bullets, he aims at Bucky's leg.

Hobie beats him to the punch, quickly thrashing his whip made out of jagged metal wires, tearing the skin off of Hicks' arm apart when Hobie pulls hard at it. Hicks screams in sheer agony, tumbling and falling off his horse into the moist ground, soil entering his burns and mouth. When the dust settles, he looks up to only see the end of Hobie's gun.

It's silent in the marsh as the sun shines on his gun; frogs hum in the distance, gators trill when they smell meat while Hicks' labored breathing quickens. Hobie has his gun digging into Hicks’ skull, skin red and angry from his burns. Half of his face has melted into a mess of meat and bones, left eye barely opening from his melted eyelid. A pungent smell permeates from his oozing wounds, clothes torn and burned to ash, and ankle twisted at an angle. Hicks’ hands are buried halfway into the ground as he sinks down to the muddy plains.

Everyone thinks he should be dead by now, even Hicks himself, but death won't grant him the sweet release just yet— not until Hobie takes what he is owed.

“My, don't you look pretty, Hicks.” Hobie doesn't smile nor smirk at the sight of the man who buried him alive five years ago. A man who now kneels before him, disfigured beyond recognition, feeding the soil under him with his own suffering.

“F-fuck y-y-you.” Hicks' lips tremble from the unimaginable pain. “I w-will not b-beg.” He manages to curl half of his melted lips into one final sneer. “Not l-like how you did.”

“I don't want you to beg, Hicks.” Hobie digs the metal harshly, skin ripping and tearing like paper from under the gun. “I need to know where she is. You're dyin' anyway, your last words might as well be somethin' useful.”

Hobie's cold words makes the man scoff that quickly turns into a painful cough. “No. Didn't your old man tell you that revenge is a f-fool's game?”

“This isn't revenge, this is retribution.” Hobie tilts his head, looking behind Hicks where a pack of gators trill and show themselves under the green swamp. “If you tell me, I won't let the gators eat you alive.”

“Wha–?” Hicks' slowly turns his trembling head, skin painfully tugging with every movement. One of the gators snaps its maw, warning with its sharp teeth. The entire gang hears this grown man whimper from fear.

“They look mighty hungry, Hicks. Better hurry up.”

“You'd t-take me away from them?”

“No, I'd put you out of your misery before they get to you. Something you didn't give me back then.”

Hobie can practically see the rusty cogs in Hicks' head turning. “...alright, just don't let them eat m-me.” His burns flares up as he doubles in pain.

Hobie makes the man raise his head with the barrel pushing his chin up. “Sure.”

“She's at the big white house near Blackwater, just west of the r-road. You can't miss it.”

“You lyin’” Hobie doubts the information when he gave it to him too fast. Jaw tightening at the thought of you being so close yet so far from his reach.

“No, I'm not.” Hicks hears the unmistakable sound of the reptile crawling closer. “It's the truth.”

Riri flicks her eyes towards Hobie, leaning close, whispering lowly at his ear. “I know the place.” Hobie doesn't miss the hard look in her eyes. “He's not local, that place is well hidden, he wouldn't know that only the locals know about it.” She glares at the sniveling man, “It's ways away from the road he's talking about. Fucking far from it. Easily missed if you're not familiar with the place.”

Hicks figures out what she's whispering when Hobie's anger flares, hand tightening around his gun. “I'm telling the truth, Hobie. It's there and she's waiting for you! I promise! She's the one lying!” He points a crooked finger at Riri.

“Thought you wouldn't beg.” His fate is sealed with the gators. “Technically you did lie.” Hobie drops his arm, gun aimed away from Hicks. “Off you go with the gators, boss.”

“No, no, Hobie! Please, I'm sorry!” Hicks tries to grab at Hobie's leg, but Hobie kicks him down on the ground and on his back. He tilts his head back, meeting face to face with a ten foot alligator that seems to smile at him.

His screams echo around the marsh while Hobie and the others get on their horses. He watches the gator death roll the flailing Hicks on the muddied ground until the wailing stops completely.

Hobie leads the pack away while he leaves behind the sound of tearing skin and bones cracking under sharp teeth. And all he could think about is you, and how he could've had a good life with you.

—

Draped in chiffon and stab silk, iridescent blues and purples dance along the fabric as light hits it. Expensive fabric that hides all the aching blemishes on your flesh by the same men who claim that they are doing it for your sake, that it's the only way you would obey.

Your hands are tied behind your back with Cross' hand wrapped around your wrists in a sickening grip; preventing you from moving. You shine under the southern sun, all gold and frills but none of the happiness behind your sullen and dull eyes.

For a fleeting moment in those months you were with Hobie, you had peace. You'd stay there forever if you could, if only the world had granted it to you, instead of the pain that it brought down upon you.

You could've had a good life together.

It's been a whole month since the last time you saw Hobie alive. A whole month without hearing his voice, without his loving touch; and a whole month with the same family who has hurt you in every possible way they could. The image of Hobie buried under the rubble of your shared home spirals you over the edge once again. You've cried, wept and sobbed some more, but nothing has helped. You feel like you've died right next to him. You wish you had.

Meanwhile you have a wound that was never meant to be healed inside you. A wound that was momentarily healed, until you were brought back to the reality of your dreaded life.

You instinctively run your finger around the gold band around your finger, finding the unfamiliar diamond instead of the simple gold band that turns your face even more sour at the scalding heat that turns your heavy dress into an oven. You had the foresight to hide Hobie's ring the second you had a chance. It now lays underneath your floorboards waiting for you.

There's a heavy feeling in your chest, grief running along your heart, plunging your very being into darkness. It was like that day five years ago, you have no knowledge of him alive, no way of knowing if Hicks ended him. It's an awful case of déjà vu.

Both men stand beside you, as if they're meant to guard you. The estate stands behind you, its large shadow looming over you. All Its white marble and columns stand tall, doors that don't creak, windows pristine and gleaming— but you'd rather have the pile of ashes you once called home.

This place lacks a heartbeat.

You flick your tired eyes over to the well beside the estate, your body shivers from how cold it was inside, when you sank into it like stone the first time Hicks threw you inside. It's a miracle you didn't break your neck, in that moment, you wished it had.

A carriage arrives from a distance, horses galloping along the road towards the estate. Wispy cypress trees sit around the path, parting way for the dirt road leading to the house. Its soft leaves dance in the wind, leaves fluttering by as you watch the carriage get closer and closer.

“Remember to smile, we can't lose their money.” Hicks grabs the back of your dress, yanking your neck down for emphasis. “Don't be a bitch like last time or you'll get the well tonight. And I heard it'll be cold tonight.”

“I'll be in my best behavior, uncle.” Your glare towards the rich couple exiting the carriage says otherwise.

Hicks only gives you a stern look before letting you go. Cross loosens his grip for a moment and you immediately take your hands in front of you so he couldn't hold you again. You haven't spoken a word to the man you call husband since you arrived at the estate. Your defiance got your bedroom door locked from the outside for now but was taken apart for the first week of your stay. Showing you bare to the entire world, revealing to the world that you're his.

The woman clad in gold and gemstones huffs, flinging away a fly from her painted face. “God, I hate this humidity.”

“This better be good this time, Hicks.” Her husband takes his tophat off, wrinkling his nose at the scent of heat and damp marsh.

“You won't regret traveling for this, Mr. Burnell.” Hicks sucks up to the man. “My, don't you look lovely, Mrs. Burnell.”

She giggles, hiding the blush dusting her cheeks with a fan. “Oh don't be such a gentleman, Hicks.”

“Stop sucking up to my wife, Hicks.” Even though his smile tells you that it's a joke, his tone says that he's completely irked by your uncle. Perhaps this has happened before.

You roll your eyes subtly, Cross’ jaw tightens as he shakes hands with both guests. “It's a pleasure to have you both today.” He says flatly.

“An honour.” Your tone is tight, lips turned into a strained smile.

“I remember you,” the male Burnell smiles faintly at you. “And you too,” he points at Cross. “I was at your wedding, what a wonderful ceremony.” You clench your fists tightly around your lace gloves, almost tearing the fabric.

“Oh I also remember!” His wife claps, “your gown was lovely, and the deviled eggs were to die for!”

You laugh, a sound more akin to a scoff. “I should've had some back then.”

Mr. Burnell reaches for both of your hands, holding you gently as you make a face at him that doesn't quite reach the man's full understanding. “I'm sorry about your aunt, we sent flowers to the funeral. I hope it was to your liking.”

“I wouldn't know, I wasn't there.” You swallow thickly.

“Oh poor dear,” The woman touches your cheek, and you flinch away. She coos as if you're a child. “You couldn't even bear saying goodbye.”

“Sure,” you slide your hands away from the man's hold, and then you take her hand away from your skin. “That's why.”

Hicks inhales deeply, “why don't we go to the gazebo? Tea is being served there.” He takes their attention away from you.

“We came all this way and you don't even have lunch for us?” Mr. Burnell raises a thick brow, his wife agrees with a nod.

“We did.” Cross finally speaks through gritted teeth. “It got cold.” The couple flares their nostrils in annoyance.

“This place was hard to find.”

“You had us waiting for two hours. Hardly an excuse, Mr. Burnell.” Cross doesn't back down from the older man's stare.

“W-what my associate was trying to say was that— we didn't want to serve you all cold beef! No one likes cold beef, correct?” Hicks tries to save the day, but they don't respond. “There's deviled eggs in the gazebo.” That seemed to work as they followed Hicks towards the blue gazebo behind the house.

Cross yanks you back to his side before you could get far. Your chest tightens, threatening to stop your breathing as he whispers towards one of the estate workers to prepare a batch of deviled eggs immediately. The second they leave, you glare at Cross, refusing to touch him even though his fingers dig into your arm.

“Don’t run, Y/N.” He says for the umpteenth time. You would run, and you had a few times while you're with him. But you were only met with your cheeks burning into the shape of his palm, and his hired guns dragging you back inside the mansion with their lassos tied around your ankles.

“I can't even breathe in this dress, moreso run in it.” You try to take your arm back but he stops you with his nails dragging along your sleeves.

“Be good, be fucking obedient. Don't be impossible like you always were.” His green eyes remind you so much of Hobie that it taints his image in your mind. You refuse to let it fog his image.

“I am not a dog, Cross.” You fight back, why shouldn't you? You have nothing to lose now.

He comes close to your face, jade eyes reflecting the fear in your expression, breath wafting over your face. “Then don't act like one.” His eyes pass over your face, finding fear laced in between the creases of your expression. His tone softens, one that sends shivers down your spine. “Why don't you call me by my real name? Cross is our last name, Y/N. Can you call me—”

“No.” You yank yourself away even if it means that his fingers drag along your arm in a manner that makes your skin run cold.

The next thing you know you're sitting next to Mrs. Burnell, who swallows down deviled eggs like its water. The entire table is set all prettily, blue laces sitting under white porcelain, utensils draped in silver, and chairs soft whilst the gazebo with lilacs growing on the roof acts as your shade. A graveyard full of Cross’ ancestors lies just a few ways away from the gazebo. Withering gravestones left unattended, and overgrown grass drowning each of the carved names. It leaves a heavy presence in the back of your mind.

The fork in your hand shakes, silver shining in the sunlight bearing down behind you just as when a pair of red cardinals fly next to the gazebo. The murmurs of the marsh echoes around the estate, gators trilling a few ways away, birds chirping and cawing right next to croaking bullfrogs. You're surrounded by green with a dash of greed as Hicks continues to suck up to the rich prospective partners.

A hand cups your own, and for a flicker, you thought it was Hobie's calloused hand gently holding onto you until his nails jab into your palm. Cross gives you a hard look, gesturing for you to eat instead of staring blankly at the cakes in front of you. With a mocking smile, you take a glass of cold orange juice on your right, condensation drenching your ungloved hand. You don't break eye contact as you gulp down the entire glass, making the Burnells look at you with pinched brows. For the final touch, you exhale loudly as if you were thirsty beyond belief.

Hicks chuckles nervously, eyes darting from you to the rich couple. Cross is fuming silently, letting your hand go limp on the table. An employee comes to your side, refilling your glass as everyone at the table stays in awkward silence. You can't help but puff out your chest with pride. Hobie would've loved to see that. Their faces would be worth it for the wrath you're about to face.

Mr. Burnell clears his throat, “as I was saying, we can't give twenty thousand for only ten percent shares. It's daylight robbery, Hicks.”

“Oh come on, Quentin, you've known me for a long time!” Hicks plays the ‘old friend’ card, a trick you've seen one too many times. “You know I can be trusted, and that ten percent will go higher once we've had our foothold here in America.”

“I do know you, that's why you can't be trusted. Even her aunt knew better when she gave the company to her.” Burnell pauses, bespectacled eyes staring at you briefly. Your lips curl up into a smirk. You probably don't have to work too hard in sabotaging this one. “Besides, that was back when you were the leading manufacturer in the UK. There was a guarantee, now you're here in a country that is practically shitting bullets by the buckets.” He leans back in his seat, “face it, you old dog, there's no profit here for you.”

“He's right,” His wife enters the conversation, dabbing her mouth daintily with a handkerchief. “Why did you even move here in the first place? I heard the company was doing badly back home but not that bad, right?”

Hicks coughs, drinking from his glass, stalling from answering. Cross has had enough, he leans on the table, elbows right next to his untouched plate, white suit unblemished.

“Because I'm here.” He takes your hand, making a show of it for the Burnells. He's using the ‘I love my wife’ card. Surprisingly, it's only the second time he has used it on the rich and stupid. “And my wife deserves to be with her husband, yes?” The couple looks at each other, then returns their attention to you as you try incredibly hard not to vomit all over the table. “I've…ignored her for far too long while I'm always here tending to my own business.” He clasps the back of your hand with his free hand. “We were deeply saddened by her aunt's passing, but I saw a silver lining. Taking the tragedy and turning it into something better by bringing her and her family business here to my home so we could finally start having our own family here without the dark cloud looming over us.” He was right about one thing, your aunt was a dark cloud looming over everyone. Cross leaned close, pecking your hand chastely. “Right, love?”

You close your eyes to prevent yourself from heaving out what little you've eaten. “Right.” Tone small and disgusted, you have the sudden urge to stab his eyes out with a fork. For a second, your mind gives you that exact image. Seeing his blood spurt out from his sockets and spraying on the deviled eggs.

For some reason, even with the disgusted look on your face, the Burnells' hard exterior softens. The missus clutches the pearls on her chest as if she just heard the most romantic story, and the male Burnell nods along with a fond smile. “You two remind me of my first marriage.” His wife chuckles, you frown, eyebrows knitted together as Cross plays along to his concocted story.

They continue their negotiation with more enthusiasm. Hicks pats Cross gladly on the shoulder, already drafting up a contract on a piece of parchment. Thankfully, Cross has let you go. Free to wipe your hand on your dress. You replay the last minute in your mind, like you're stuck in the moment he touched you with his dry lips upon the same hand you used to cradle Hobie's face with.

The conversation fades into the background, a thought passes you by, one that you're too grief stricken to see until now. Why is Cross even helping Hicks? He has the money to fund whatever the factory needs, he doesn't even need to be in the conversation. He has nothing to gain from this. He already has you, so why does he seem so desperate to get this partnership?

Then it hits you, he's as bankrupt as Hicks. Hicks, who drove the company to the ground with his moronic decisions the second your great aunt was in the ground. And Cross, there was never a day in your short marriage with him that he wasn't out gambling his family fortune away, or going to exotic places you've only read in books. When he doesn't have his hands on you, he's at the nearest pub or the derby races, betting everything in his pockets. You always just thought he had that much money to lose. But you were wrong. And the only reason you're here is because of the money your parents have set aside for you, money that is tied up with the company or what is left of it— the company that you own and have the last say in. Until your name isn't written in that contract that Hicks shoves in your face every morning, they have nothing.

“You have nothing.” You blurt out, you don't regret it immediately.

“Excuse me?” Mr. Burnell says, offended.

“Not you, I know you have money.” You place your elbows on the table, chin propped up on your scarred palm. “I was talking about my dear uncle and beloved husband.” Your words drip with venom and sarcasm.

“What are you saying?” Mrs. Burnell asks, concerned, either for your well being with the two men or for the money she almost lost.

“Shut it, Y/N.” Hicks says through gritted teeth, eyes warning you.

“Don't tell a woman to shut up, Hicks.” Surprisingly, Mr. Burnell defends you. “Speak, girl.” And there goes your respect.

“They don't have anything.” Cross tries to yank your hand back but you quickly tug yourself away. “Hicks is lying, the company is losing money, not gaining it. Production has been down since they moved here, probably because Hicks doesn't know how to run a company.”

You continue your tirade without missing a beat. “He was a manager before marrying my aunt, but he was a shit manager. If not for Peter—” you inhale and clear your mind. “All I'm saying is, he's asking for a scapegoat for the debt collectors, not a business partner.” You flick your eyes mockingly towards the seething Hicks. Meanwhile, Cross sits quietly, you're afraid but you have to continue. “I retract my previous words.” Hicks inhales with relief. “It's not probably, it's definitely.” He stutters, trying to save face but you continue. “He's overworking the workers and because of that there's more mistakes. More mistakes means more bullets that come out a little crooked. That's good, if your targets swerve to the left.”

“She's lying!” Hicks laughs shakily, fists slamming down on the table. “You know how women are? She's hysterical because of her aunt's passing.”

You scoff. “You said it yourself, Mr. Burnell, you don't trust Hicks.” All eyes are on you. Your words fill you with pride, Hobie would be proud. “As for Cross, I wouldn't even trust him with my coin pouch.”

The Burnells seemingly believe you, heads turned slowly towards Cross and Hicks, eyes boring holes in their foreheads. “Looks like we wasted our time. You're right, honey, we should've gone for the Winchester instead of this clown show.”

“You believe me?” You ask, bewildered. “That quick?”

“We passed by the factory on our way here, that's why we were late.” Burnell answers back. Already taking his belongings to leave. “We saw the horrid conditions. We were naive to believe that it was like that because you're still getting used to the transition.” He helps his wife up as Hicks follows behind the couple. Cross stays behind silently while you stay with the Burnells in hopes that they'd take you with them. “Thank you, girl.”

“You're welcome, c-can I—” The couple gets in their carriage, eyes blinking at you. “Can I come with you?” You sound like a child, voice trembling in hope that they'll say yes. “Please.”

Hicks chuckles incredulously right next to them, but his eyes grow dark at your request, a warning. Cross appears behind you, green eyes hidden by the shadow of his hat, lips clamped into a fine line.

“What for, girl?” Mr. Burnell asks, “We don't need any more bootlicking. We're not giving you the money for the factory.”

You flex your fists on your sides, eyes darting in between Hicks and Cross. Heart thumping, you have to try. “I don't— it's not that. I don't need the money. I—”

“So you do have the money for the company then? Why bother asking us?” The older man cuts you off, scoffing while his wife rolls her eyes. “Kids these days, so greedy.” He gets in the carriage, following his wife.

“Wait! Please!” It's too late as they run off in the distance. In your desperation, you start to run after them. But before you could go far, Cross stops you with his arms embracing you from behind. “No! Please come back! They're hurting me here—!” Your flailing stops when Hicks steps in front of you with his gun raised.

“Do you have any idea what you've done?” He clicks the hammer down, finger right on the trigger. “You've doomed us.”

With tears in your eyes, Cross holds you against him tighter. Chest aching, breath stolen from you. “No, just you!” Yet, you continue to fight. You might've lost hope a long time ago if not for Hobie. Hope that you'll get out like last time, hope that Hobie will be there waiting for you. But there's a part of you that just wants to let go. Looking over your shoulder, you're met with familiar green eyes that used to fill you with calm. “And you.”

“I should shoot you right here.”

“Do it then. But you can't because without my signature you're fucking broke!” With a cackle, Hicks yanks the back of your head, taking you from Cross' arms, dragging you towards the well. Body scraping against soil, you try to scratch at his hands but it doesn't deter him as his anger fuels him.

“Fucking bitch, you keep ruining shit!” He yanks you to your feet, and then pressing your front to the mouth of the well while pushing you down harshly, making you look down at the depths.

You yelp, sharp rocks digging into your stomach, eyes forced to look down at the deep dark well. It's cold down there, you wonder if this is what it felt like for Hobie back at the farm. Staying quiet, your hands grip the sides to keep your balance, a bead of sweat falling down and leaving ripples as it hits the stagnant water.

“What, no begging or screaming and crying this time?” Hicks latches on your hair tightly, scalp burning from his hold.

“I've gotten used to the dark. You won't hear me begging ever again.” Your voice echoes down to the bottom. “You can't hurt me anymore, not in the way that matters.” Releasing your hold on the sides, you lean closer to the edge. Expecting the cold embrace and the familiar weightlessness, it doesn't come.

There's a scoff above before you're let go. “I have to correct your fuck up.” He seethes, giving your leg a swift kick as you lay your head on the stone. “Deal with her.”

“I'm not one of your employees, Hicks.” Cross challenges him.

“She's your fucking wife. You discipline her while I go to the factory. As for you,” he flicks the shell of your ear. “Your name better be on that contract when I get back.” You hear their continued bickering whilst you even out your breathing. Just like what Hobie would tell you.

After a rustle of clothing and dress shoes thumping on the ground, you fall on your knees, still clutching the well. Face hidden from Cross, he sighs, hand reaching towards you. Feeling the sickening familiarity of his hand wrapped around your arm, you instinctively flinch away.

“Why couldn't you just obey, just this once?”

You heave, furrows knitted in anger. Looking over your arm, your glare sends goosebumps up his arms. “I'm not one of your hounds.”

“Then why do you kneel like one?” The sun behind him engulfs his entire form, turning him into a breathing shadow.

“Go fuck yourself, Cross.” You shakily stand up while avoiding his gaze. Walking towards the house, you clench your fists until you feel your blunt nails leave pin pricks of crimson

“I'm trying here, Y/N. You're making it impossible.” He yanks you back, neck craned to the side to look at you. “I'm holding back but you're not making this easy.”

“You sound like this is all my fault.” You still avoid his eyes, forgoing to look at the tree behind him. “I'm not the one who gambled all your money away. And I didn't force you to marry me.” His fingers pull you closer.

“Look at me.”

“Fuck you—” you try to escape but he's stronger.

“Look at me just like how you look at him.” He forcefully turns your head with his hand burrowing into your chin.

With apprehension, you chuckle, a cracked dry laughter. Your eyes slowly move to the green eyes in front of you. “I'll never look at you like that. Nothing you do will make me look at you with the same love I give to him.”

Cross swallows thickly, jaw tightening. “Why him?”

“It felt right. We share the same heart.” It's the first truth you've said in a month, and for once you smile genuinely. “I'll always love him, remember that.”

He inhales, and you wait for the impact.

“Sir?” The housekeeper asks from the side, hands wringing in front of her. “Is everything alright?” Her brown hair shimmers in the sun like copper, lips turned into a fine line.

She reminds you of the former housekeeper that tried to help you by taking your letter addressed to Hobie. Cross found out about it, you haven't seen her since then.

“We're alright, Belinda.” Cross lets you go, leaving a mark on your arm. “Fetch me my hunting rifle.”

You leave with haste, hands shaking as you hitch your skirt up. You can feel his sickly green eyes on you, like a shadow that envelops you whole.

You've crossed the line, and you fear that this is the end for you.

—

Pacing around your room, you walk around and hold your breath. It's like waiting for the gallows, waiting for the bullet to hit you. Hobie's ring is back on your finger instead of what Cross gave you on your wedding day, which is the exact same one you left on the bedside table when you escaped. You twist it around your finger as the room shifts and twirls in your vision.

The room is finely decorated with daffodils painted on the walls, gold fixtures on the ceiling with painted deers trotting overhead on fields of green on the ceiling. The room looks like it used to be a child's room. A pale blue bed sits in the middle of the room, draped in a satin canopy. It's a stark contrast to the room back at the farm, all wood and none of the gilded walls. But you'd choose that a hundred times over if given the chance. Especially if Hobie's there waiting for you.

You feel like you're slowly disappearing into the walls.

Your eyes have been glued to the door as you chew your nails. You'd lock the doors from the inside if the locks weren't instead bolted from the outside. Tears brim at your eyes, but you refuse to let it go as you sniff. You miss your home, you miss the smell of dew in the morning. You miss Clover and how she cuddles on your side. You miss Cherry and Bucky and your afternoon rides with them. You miss him, you miss Hobie and how he holds you gently, how he talks to you about things. It's him talking so you'd listen and speak with him until the sun decides to sleep. You miss his voice telling you that everything will be alright.

You wonder if everything will still be alright when you hear heavy footsteps outside your door.

Cross doesn't knock, and you wait at the foot of your bed, standing straight, eyes forward and daunting despite your fear. If he shoots you through the door now, would Hobie be there to greet you on the other side as darkness engulfs you one last time?

This house will be a tomb. Your tomb.

The door doesn't creek as Cross opens it. “Hunt with me, just like old times.” He has a rifle strapped to his back, suit traded in for his haunting gear, still clad in white leather. Your eyes flick over to the two guns on his belt. If only you could take it from him. Or at least one.

“Giving me a gun? Do you think that's wise?” You cross your arms over your chest, clearing your throat so he doesn't notice the shaking of your voice.

“Why? You'd shoot me in the back?” He asks chidingly.

“In a heartbeat.” You say without even a hint of a joke. “What's even out there, Cross? What are we hunting down?”

“A deer.”

“I don't think there are any deer out here.” A dangerous silence hangs in the air, choking you as he stares deeply at you. You inhale, swallowing down your fear as best as you can. “If you give me a knife instead, I will stab your eye out. Killing other things won't keep us from killing each other.”

He clicks his tongue, hand on the gun like he's mocking you. “Take the dog instead.” Taking the leash off his belt he holds it out for you. “A dog for a hound. At least this one is loyal.”

“Which end of the leash is the hound?”

“What do you want, Y/N, hm?” Tossing the leash harshly, he stalks closer, and you flinch back. A doe caught in the coyote's eye. “I broke your heart, I get it. Do you want me to apologize to you?”

“My heart? That's the only thing you haven't broken yet.” He stops a few feet away from you, yet still too close to you. “You broke my body until I could barely recognize myself anymore. My arms bear the shape of your nails, my scalp remembers the sharp tugs of your hands.” You exhale as a tear falls down your cheek. “Hobie broke my heart, but he pieced it together, piece by tiny piece.” You point at him repeatedly. “You, you broke everything else.”

“If this is about your aunt—”

“Fuck you! This isn't about her.” If this is really your end, you don't want to leave without saying the words you've been meaning to say out loud. You tremble for a second before grinning with tears in your eyes. "I'm glad she's gone. Her hold on me is gone.” You chuckle breathlessly, sighing loudly. “There I said it. It's like a boulder has been lifted off my shoulders.”

“Y/N,” there it is, the patronizing tone he uses on you. He's about to guilt you into something you haven't had a hand in, or chastise you like a child.

“Stop being so fucking delusional, take the blinders off for one fucking minute.” The fire in you latches on you. “This is about you and how you hurt me the second you brought me home after the wedding. You knew that I never wanted to marry anyone else, and that my aunt and Hicks hurt me back home. And instead of helping me, taking me away from them, you joined them.”

“I got you out of there. I married you.”

You laugh without an ounce of humour, clapping wildly. “Well thank you very much, Cross!”

“I tried for a little while, Y/N. But I'm your husband, and you continued to disobey so I had to go to them, ask them for advice.” He walks closer, you stop him with a hand in front of you, as if it will shield you from him. You've tried that once, it didn't work.

“Nothing you do will make me forgive you. I hope you drown in your guilt if you even have an ounce of it. I hope you lay awake at night thinking of how much you hurt me. I'd rather die than forgive you.” Cross steps forward with an unreadable expression, and the back of your knees hits the bed as you try to get away. You eye the gun, you fear that you won't keep your promise to Hobie.

The world already ended for you when Hicks killed him.

Cross tries again. You think it'll be the last time he will the second he walks closer to you, so close that you can see yourself in his eyes. “Sign the papers, Y/N, and everything will be over.”

“You know the second I sign it, Hicks will kill me.” Your eyes wander towards his unlatched gun.

“I won't let that happen.”

You laugh in his face, “Sure, but you'll let him hurt me. Might as well sign my death warrant instead.” Standing back up, you inch towards him bravely despite your instincts telling you to shield yourself. You have to get that gun. “I–I tried to love you at first, and remained optimistic in this marriage.” His eyes are on your face, irises darting over your lips while you sneak your hand towards his gun belt slowly. “Even indulging my idiotic childish whims of what a marriage could be like. But I couldn't, not when you hurt me just like they did. Only because I didn't love you like how you thought I would.” Your hand finds the cold metal, fingers wrapping around the handle. “For a second there I thought you'd be my saviour, when in fact it was the opposite. You joined them instead. You were just as bad as them.”

You stand toe to toe with him. You hear a glass breaking downstairs, and then the smell of something familiar. Snatching the gun quickly, you aim it at his stomach, steel meeting flesh. You feel the same sensation against your chest.

“I love you.” Cross utters, finger right on the trigger.

“I've seen love, this isn't it.” With your cold words, you shoot.

Both guns go off.

Both hitting their targets.

—

The sun is just beginning to set, orange peeking from the horizon, hues of pink and orange blanketing the three men. Each inhale from the cigarette perched in each of their lips has grey smoke filtering through their lungs. They should be guarding the front door like they were hired to do, instead they chainsmoke their way out into an early grave while hiding behind the estate, facing the vast green marsh that hides their debauchery from the rest of the world.

“You hear any cryin’ last night?” The one with an auburn beard asks, his rifle leaning against the wall right next to him instead of in his hand like it was supposed to be in.

A dark haired man answers, belching out smoke while crouched on the ground, eyes narrowed at the whispering willows. “Yeah, i think the stable boy wasn't lying, there's a fuckin' ghost here.”

“You two think it's a fucking ghoul or some shit?” The third one replies with a scoff, blonde hair peeking out from his hat as he takes a swig of moonshine.

“Yeah,” The first two responds, spine tingling when a cold breeze passes through them.

“It's the boss’ wife, not a ghost, you morons.” As the yellowed haired man responds, a bright flicker of light appears in between the willow trees. “What the fuck?” The two men next to him follows his terrified gaze, cigarettes falling off their lips.

The light moves, as if it dances in the wind. It flickers, brightening up into an orange glow before turning yellow once again. The three outlaws move from the wall, eyes glued on the mesmerizing ball of light.

“Fuck, it's a swamp ghost—” the one with the red beard gasps, choking on his own blood, frantically trying to stop his neck from gushing out ichor with a knife stuck to his throat.

The other two only had a split second to react before a sharp knife slashes at their exposed necks. They mirror each other, shirts stained with red, palms coated in warmth and crimson while they frantically try to stop the bleeding. They croak and creak out, eyes managing to fall upon hazel eyes, and one with his face covered in soot. They both hold a glinting knife, blood still trickling down from the steel.

Miguel leaves from his hiding place in the thicket, eyes flicking briefly towards their twitching forms before returning his gaze at the ball of light. He nods to Riri and Karl, who stand above the corpses. And then he gestures with his gloved hand, giving the warm light a small nod.

The light comes closer, footsteps echoing as boots sink in moist soil— appearing behind the darkness of the trees and into the fading light of the sun. Hobie's face is revealed behind the light with a lit cigarette in between his lips, shadows dancing around the fury behind his green eyes hidden by the brim of his hat. He inhales before flicking the cigarette away, falling into a puddle. More appear behind him, trees and bushes parting before the dozen men and women following in his steps.

“Karl, light the oleander for me will you?” Hobie tosses the bag of pink flowers in Karl's waiting hands. And then he takes his knife back from the auburn haired corpse, wiping it on the grass before sheathing it back on his belt.

“D’you think that'll work? What if she gets caught in it?” Riri whispers, gesturing for the gang to crouch down and hide beside the wall where the trio were last seen smoking.

Hobie drags one of the bodies, hiding it behind the bushes while the rest of the gang help with the other two. He follows Riri, blood rushing in his ears, adrenaline pumping through his veins at how close you are from him. It's only a matter of time before you're back safe and sound.

“She knows the smell, she'll cover her nose.” His voice doesn't waver, but his insides are turning and twisting inside him. He can't fail. “As for everyone, cover your damn noses, and protect your eyes as much as you can.”

“This won't kill us right?” Karl weighs the bag in his hands.

Miguel checks his bullets beside him, giving Hobie and Riri a once over if their weapons are lacking. “At most it'll make us sick and itch. Right, Hobie?”

“Just don't inhale it directly.” Hobie yanks his bandana up to his nose, fitting it snugly. He notices his hands shaking, closing his fists tightly, he cannot fail. A month of tracking you down can't end with him failing to save you, he can't lose you. “You know what to do, Karl. Ri go with him.”

“Hobie,” she clasps the back of his fist. “Be careful, alright? If you get hurt, call Roberto, he'll treat you.” Inhaling sharply, she pats his cheek. “Get her back but don't die on us, alright?”

Hobie couldn't look directly at Riri, “She goes first, Ri.”

“I know, that's why we brought Roberto with us, remember? He's the doctor, he knows what to do and…what to expect, if need be.”

Hobie nods, staring at his family. “Thank you for backing me up, I owe you. All of you.”

“Don't die and we're even, Hobie.” Miguel pats Hobie's bicep before heading to his designated position.

“What he said,” Karl smiles brightly, fist connecting to Hobie's clenched one gently. “Also if I don't return from this, Robbie's gonna fucking kill you, man.”

Hobie cracks a smile. “Yeah, I know. Try to stay alive for the both of us then.” Karl makes his way towards the front while Riri staggers behind, still holding onto Hobie's hand. “Just like Valentine, right?” Riri smiles, hiding her trepidation behind her bandana. He fixes the cloth over her face carefully, tugging it over her nose and ears. “Keep that snug.” She could only nod, eyes brimming with tears. “Don't die on us too, Ri.” With a quick embrace, she leaves, following behind Karl who was waiting for her.

Hobie takes a second to breathe. He has done things like this a hundred times before, but never with you on the line. He can't leave without you like last time. He won't cower behind wooden walls like last time, he's not gonna stand here and tremble and rot and bleed. He's going to get you back. He knows he will.

There's a gunshot echoing inside the estate just as when a glass window breaks, signaling the beginning of the end.

—

The house falls and chaos reigns. They tried to stick to their plan of using stealth, but of course someone saw them and alerted everyone in their presence. Karl got the oleander thrown inside the halls, puffs of pinkish fumes swell out from the bag. Hobie sees the result of it as black smoke turns the estate into the pits of hell. Hobie's eyes waters but he continues to strike anyone who wasn't on his side. He throws his spiked whip towards someone who tried to shoot at Karl, the barbed whip rakes and breaks skin as he tugs and pulls until the man falls down next to his shredded flesh.

Screams echo around the estate, his posse lets go of the innocent unarmed employees while the others aren't so lucky the second they aim back.

They try to fight their way inside, finally thinning the outlaws outside as flames trickle from the burning bag towards the velvet curtains. Embers climb up until they hit the ceiling, fire licking at the once white walls, leaving burn marks in its wake.

A few of the hired guns surrender after recognising Miguel's gang, some were fools who tried to shoot them down but his allies were in greater numbers. More experienced, more bloodthirsty than the hired guns.

All the winning cards are in his hand, all he needs to do is play them right.

“Miguel!” Hobie yells while he and three others try to push through the main doors that refuse to budge open.

Miguel, who was currently brawling with a man taller than him, grunts when a fists harshly connects at his jaw. Hobie curses under his breath, without wasting a second, he aims and shoots. Gunpowder fills his lungs once more as the burly man falls on top of Miguel in a thud.

Hobie stalks towards Miguel, he shoots someone who was aiming at him on his left, his bullet doesn't miss even without him looking at the target. He grabs the body by its vest, yanking it off Miguel.

“Get up,” he reaches for the breathless gang leader, hazel eyes smiling at his old friend.

“I had that, Hobie!” Despite his broken nose, Miguel is back on his feet the moment he takes Hobie's helping hand. “Retirement, huh?”

Hobie shakes his head with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Fuckin' retirement.” Reloading his gun, he goes back to the locked doors with Miguel now in tow. “On three!” His shoulders meet with the oak, “one!” Miguel nods next to him, bracing himself on the door. “Two!” A few more join in, ready to push the moment he says, “three!”

The doors burst open, splintering wood scattering, smoke coming out into the fray. Hobie meets with Sheriff Lee's eyes before a bullet hits him directly on his shoulder.

“Fuck!” He falls on his knees, clutching his wound as blood seeps through his fingers.

“Should've left when you had the chance, Mr. Brown!” Lee taunts, reloading his hunting rifle, giving Miguel enough time to drag Hobie back outside and placed behind the wall. “Come back here, murderer!”

A few shots ring out, both parties exchanging bullets. Your face appears in front of him before it’s replaced by the doctor's face. He needs to get you out quickly before the oleander takes hold. Hands tie a bandana around his wound, Hobie stands up the second that the cloth is tightened.

“Keep that on!” Roberto yells above the booming gunfire. “I’ll fix you properly right after this!”

Hobie nods, blinking the haze away. Miguel shakes him awake while avoiding his injury. “Lee's down! We'll handle the rest down here, we heard that she's upstairs.”

“Okay,” Hobie inhales and exhales, I'm almost there, love.

When the bullets stop flying inside the now bullet ridden manor, he steps foot inside. Glass crunches at his feet, eyes darting and alert from any surprises. He sees bodies littered on the marble floors, both from his side and Lee's. The sheriff lays under a pile of broken vase, eyes wide open, fingers still enclosed around his gun. The smoke thickens, and he hears blasts reverberating around the house.

Miguel's posse storms the place, pocketing whatever shines inside the house. A few more bullets are shot from deep inside the walls, but it's clear who's the winner. Hobie just wants you back.

Just as when he's about to climb the winding stairs with his throbbing shoulder, he sees a man stagger out from a room. “Is that—?” The bloodied man in the hunting gear trips and falls off the railing, plunging down right next to where Hobie's standing.

Cross lays on his own puddle of rubies, a gaping hole in his stomach instead of his insides. “H-help me,” Begging, he looks at Hobie with his bloodshot eyes, reaching towards Hobie's leg with his broken hand. “She's upstairs. Y-you can have her.”

“Is that him?” Miguel asks, and Riri appears from the side. Eyes watching the wounded man. Hobie nods, eyes never leaving Cross.

Hobie aims at Cross' head, seething. “She is not a thing to be had.” His aim stays true, but he shakes his head, lowering his gun down. “Nah, I'll let her bullet kill you.”

Miguel smirks, while Riri and him have a silent communication. “Don't worry, Hobie, we got rich boy.” He takes out his lasso from his waist, crossing the distance towards the dying Cross.

Riri gestures for Hobie to continue up the stairs. “Go! We'll be waiting.”

With a grateful nod, Hobie runs up the stairs towards his fire and his light. His heavy footsteps echo, breathing staggered as he thinks of you. What if he finds you in the same condition as Cross? What would he do if he sees you bleeding out? So he runs despite his own injuries, to see you again, to hold you again.

He follows the blood trail once he gets close enough, instead of your smiling face greeting him back, he stares at your body covered in crimson. Soft blue bed sheets stained with dark rubies. Arms spread on the bed as you lay on the soft mattress with your eyes unblinking towards the ceiling.

Hobie calls for you, air sucked from his lungs with every step he takes. He reaches for you, tears turning you into a watercolor painting in his vision. Red and blues blending into a watery picture.

You feel like you're in the bottom of a well, staring up at your aunt's sneering face. Your breathing is labored while the bullet is stuck in your chest, right below your ribcage. There's no pain, no feeling in your fingers as you see Hobie's face appear from above. Head perfectly lined up with the deer antlers painted on the ceiling.

“Found the deer, Cross.” You murmur, eyes hazy, lips barely opening.

“Stay awake, love.” Hobie's hand trembles as he rips his bandana off to stave off the bleeding by plugging the wound. You cry from the sudden pain, hands flying towards his wrists. “‘m sorry, ‘m sorry.” His tears flow down your cheek. “This'll be over, I need to carry you.”

“Hobie?” Your eyes focus on his face, meeting with his viridescent eyes. “Are you real?” Nails dig into his flesh, you sob, fingers shaking whilst you reach for his face. The pads of your fingers brush along his jaw, stubble returning you back to reality. “I'm so s-sorry, I should've told you.”

“None of that.” He holds onto the back of your hand, letting your palm rest on his cheek, lips brushing along your wrist. The matching rings reflect the growing fire ebbing towards the room.

“It h-hurts, Hobie.”

Sniffing, burning wood enters his lungs, sobs threatening to pull him down to you. “I know, I know.” He wipes the tears and the sweat off your forehead. “But we need to move, love, there's a fire and I need to carry you down.”

You gaze at his green eyes, sorrow and grief twisting and turning behind them. They remind you of home, of Clover, of Cherry and Bucky. And you remember your promise to him, an impossible promise that you will try to keep. But if it means that it's his end too, you have to break it. For his sake.

You grip his shoulders, Hobie notices how weak your hold on him is. “Okay, okay, carry m-me down.” There's a taste of copper in your mouth, lips coated in the bitter taste.

He nods, wiping his tears with his sleeves before sliding his hand behind your back, finding your warm blood sticking to the bedsheets. “I got you.” Whispering against your crown, he lifts you up mere inches away from the bed before you scream in agony. “‘m sorry!” He cries into your hair, your grip weakening even more.

“W-we can try again.” You slide your palm to his nape, “try again, Hobie.”

Hobie flicks his eyes towards you, the light behind your eyes is starting to dim. “Help!” He yells in desperation at the door, in hopes that someone comes bounding up the stairs. “Riri! Miguel! Anyone!”

Your heart breaks, “Hobie, Hobs.” Patting his chest, it's getting harder to breathe. “L-leave. Leave me here.” Hobie's already shaking his head. You smile softly at him, the best you could do despite your body dying. “You have to, you can't die here.”

“And you do?” He cups your face, “we still have forever to go, remember?”

He doesn't want you to come back as a dream anymore, or a shadow embracing him from behind; or a pain in his chest when he hears your name in his mind. He doesn't want your ghostly kiss to taste like ashes on his lips.

He doesn't want you to go.

“I'm sorry, I can't keep my promise. B-but you still can.” You weakly push down at his nape to feel his forehead against yours one last time. Your eyes are starting to close. “Live for me, would you?”

“No, please.” His palm slides right above your heart, feeling your heartbeat slow down. One last time, he yells for help. His throat burns as the ceiling above is engulfed in flames. No one comes to help. “I have to break my promise too, love.”

“Don't, please.”

“A life lived without you isn't a life well lived, remember?”

You accept death in his warm embrace. “I'll see you in a bit then.”

Flames engulf the room in its fiery destruction. Paint melting off the walls, wood and glass cracking under the pressure. And yet, he still holds on to you, lips pressed on your cold lips in a fleeting goodbye.

“Hobie!”

—

In the middle of nowhere sits the remnants of a farm with clovers growing all around it. Vines snaking along what remains of the farm house, and in those vines, pink hydrangeas grow and thrive amidst the cinders. And behind those darkened wood sits two graves with clovers growing on top of the soil. Two names are etched on simple limestone graves, they bear the same last name and same date of death.

Many travelers pass through the place without ever knowing the story behind the two graves. Seasons come and go, flowers bloom and wither. But only a few ever knew what used to stand on the emerald farm. What used to grow, what colour the house was, and who used to live in it. Stories were whispered and told but only a few truly knew the story behind it, few who came and visited and placed flowers on each of the graves.

And in those few, only three of them know that the once abundant farm where two graves were dug right under an oak tree, are empty.

The stories and the graves were enough to fool anyone left that wants to hurt either one of you to turn back and lament.

The true story lies behind the northern border, where pine trees grow up to the skies. Where snow and ice envelops the whole place. Where the two names etched on the gravestones in the empty farm now live.

“Stop bullyin’ your brother.” The dappled foal yelps, trotting away from his much bigger older brother. The dark horse with white splotches turns his bright blue eyes towards Hobie, huffing and puffing like an annoyed teenager. “Don't huff at me,” great, now he's the one talking to horses. “Go tell your dad not to have any more kids. Not my problem, junior.” The young horse rears, running towards the barn where Buckeye and Cherry sleeps.

Hobie leans on the fence, watching the sunrise on his expansive land. Horses and foals run around freely, feeling the cold gust of wind in their manes. A few sheep roam the grounds, while a pair of cows chew their way towards the fences. Snow-capped mountains rise up high in the background, white snow dusted along the rocks like sugar. While the trees dotted along the mountainside makes for the perfect scenic view. He pulls at his jacket closer to himself, fur tickling his nose as he breathes out puffs of smoke from the cold temperature. Winter’s coming, he can feel it in his joints as another breeze rolls in. He smiles in contentment when the air carries the sound of ducks quacking from their coop, and the smell of morning dew passing by. No more does the smell of fiery gunpowder graze his senses, and no sounds of bullets firing ringing in his ears.

He keeps his hat snug on his head, Clover runs by with her litter of puppies tugging along. And he feels you before you arrive by his side. A smile tugs on his lips, hand already reaching for your waist.

“What are you thinking about, cowboy?” You flutter your eyelashes, chin placed in his shoulder.

“That I have it good, too good.”

You give him a tender smile, leaning to kiss his jaw. “None of that. This isn't too good for you, you deserve all of this.”

“Too early to wallow, huh?” Hobie wraps his arm around your waist to pull you closer, and then he twists around to face you fully, back leaning on the fence, admiring you in the bitter blue of dawn.

You find penchants on his sternum, nose nuzzling his scar. “So fucking early.” He laughs, music to your ears.

“Hard to get used to, huh?”

“Kind of, it's a good feeling though, waking up.”

“You feel okay, right?” His palm pats your chest gently where a scar lies. “No breathlessness? Nothin'?”

You sniff at the cool wind, “nothing, I'm fine, Hobie.” You cup his cheek, jaw rounded at the edges, scruff tickling you, he looks as if time hasn't passed. “Nothing to worry about.” He leans towards your touch, fingers bracelet around your wrist gently, lips meeting your skin. “You okay?”

“Never better, love.” His green eyes twinkle, free arm pulling you impossibly closer. “Especially today.”

You tilt your head playfully. “What's today exactly?”

“Cheeky,” he pokes your side. “You know what day it is.”

You feign realization. “Ah! I remember now, Riri and the gang are coming over.”

“Yes, and?” He grins, biting his lower lip, jade eyes crinkling at the corners. Seeing the matching rings on your finger and his own makes him smile wider.

You suck in your teeth, acting like you're thinking. “It's Bucky's birthday?” Hobie rolls his eyes with a chuckle, and you finally relent. “I know what day it is.” You lean away, taking out a letter addressed to Hobie from your pocket. It's filled with affectionate words, loving thoughts and everything in between. It's a love letter just for him. “Happy anniversary, Hobs.”

Hobie's chest fills with a sense of belonging, heart full with his love for you. He keeps the letter in his coat pocket, right above his heart. “Happy anniversary, lovie.” He pulls you back, you giggle as your palm hits his chest, fingers snaking up to his nape to guide him towards your waiting lips.

“Forgot something, cowboy?” You say against his lips, and he nudges your nose with his own.

You feel something grazing against your chin, and when you flick your eyes down, you see a letter written in his hand, addressed to you. You tamp down your excitement, snatching the envelope, giving it a peck and tucking it inside your jean pocket.

“Never, read it together like always?” He pecks your warm lips once, then twice before indulging himself in your warmth.

“Yes,” you utter, breathlessly. “But inside, your tea, and the girls are waiting.”

Hobie chortles, kissing you again before reluctantly pulling away. “They're awake?”

“They smelt breakfast.” You inhale, letting his sandalwood and mint scent waft over you with ease. “If you hurry, there might still be some left for you.” You begin to walk away, hand grasping his palm.

“Alright, just one more then we'll go.” He pulls you back to his chest gently as you giggle atop his lips. He kisses you like he did all those years ago.

In the middle of nowhere, his story begins. And in the middle of nowhere, his story ends with you.

A/N: Thank you so much for sticking around this long! Our beloved cowboy is finally happy and at peace 🥺 If you loved reading OPIN please consider reblogging ❤️

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separatist-apologist · 2 years ago

Note

acotar characters at the beach? who’s building sandcastles, who’s caught in a rip tide, who’s burnt half to death, who hates sand?????

17. Amren- Refused to go.

16. Azriel- trapped under an umbrella, wearing ALL BLACK, scowling. He hates sand. It's course and rough and irritating...and it gets EVERYWHERE. He's posting a tweet as we speak about winter being the best season.

15. Rhysand- lost his designer sunglasses in the ocean within the first five minutes. Demands everyone stop what they're doing to look. "RHYSAND THERE ARE PEOPLE DYING" yells Nesta from her beach chair. He never finds them, joins Azriel beneath the umbrella.

14. Gwyn- TOO PALE. Sunscreen every thirty minutes or the worst sunburn you've ever seen in your life. Only came to read, wore a long maxi dress. Cannot be cajoled to get in the water. Complains about the heat the whole time.

13. Eris- Puts one toe in the water, SCREAMS something touched him, and joins Gwyn/Azriel/Rhysand under the umbrella. Also lathering himself in a thick layer of sunscreen every half an hour. Lower on the list only because he brought alcohol and spends the rest of the day shaking up margaritas and slowly getting everyone very, very drunk. When called out, declared ice has water in it, therefore he is doing everyone a favor.

12. Elain- brought a very cute flamingo floaty to lounge on, immediately is dragged out to sea. Doesn't realize it until friends on the beach are little dots in the distance and has to be rescued by the coast guard. Is a good sport about it, and afterwards agrees to lounge in the shallows, carefully watched by the others. Great tan. Very drunk at the end of the day, pukes in the water and sobs she's ruined the fishes home.

11. Emerie- Came to sun tan and sun tan only. SPF 15, proudly declares she doesn't burn. She doesn't, which is an affront to Eris (and God). Literally stunning- WHY ISNT SHE SWEATING? Sticks out leg to trip Cassian when he runs by, and vaults a beach ball so far down the beach it is only ever seen in their dreams.

10. Feyre- too much time spent cajoling Rhys to come out of umbrella. Does shots with Mor before deciding to get into water. Caught in a riptide, also has to be rescued by coastguard. Spends rest of day with Mor, doing shots and dancing until she passes out in a chair.

9. Jurian- Can't swim, thinks it'll be fine as water is only knee deep. Panics IMMEDIATELY. Gets drunk later on and wades back into the water to fight it personally.

8. Lucien- bronzed and handsome and utterly unable to stand in the waves. Immediately toppled to the ground when a mild wave catches him about the ankles. Has to be rescued by a gasping with laughter Cassian. Spends the rest of the day helping Cassian dig out a sand castle, hoping to rival that of Tarquin. Also gets too drunk and dehydrated but instead of crying, he merely takes a three hour nap face down in sand while Nesta uses sunscreen to paint dirty words against his back.

7. Tamlin- Brought a guitar and built a fire despite ABSURD heat. Wants to sing Wonderwall. Everyone but Rhysand protests, only because Rhys is so drunk he decides to sing the harmony. Someone "Accidentally" breaks guitar and Tamlin leaves early. Only person to remain sober.

6. Nesta- also suntanning with Emerie. Immaculate make up that does not budge. Reading filthiest beach read with a book cover that makes it clear this is a reverse harem. The only person aware of what Eris is up to, passes out water to her sisters and her mates. Everyone else forced to suffer.

5. Mor- Set up very cute cabana and thought to bring a stereo. Only person enthusiastic about judging sandcastle contest. Actually swims in ocean without being absurd though is stung by a jelly-fish for her trouble.

4. Cassian- KING OF SANDCASTLE. WATER? THERE WAS WATER? Comes in second place but still has a good time. Sand volleyball game at dusk, drinks his weight in tequila and is strapped to roof of the car in order to get home. No sunburn, only tanned God.

3. Helion- Third place sand castle but points for trying. Commandeers Elain's flamingo and lounges in the shallows all afternoon with Rhysand's sunglasses on his face. Convinces half of the group to take off swimsuits at night, doesn't mention the moon is bright enough everyone can see EVERYTHING.

2. Vassa- Loves sand. Buries herself up to her neck at one point, doesn't even mind when Jurian gives her massive sand boobs. Only person who thought to bring sand toys, spends half of morning throwing bright balls into the water for others to dive after.

1.Tarquin, lord of the sea. Shows off dolphin form and half my followers fall to their knees (I SAW YOUR TAGS ON THE MONSTER POST). NUMBER ONE SAND CASTLE, truly a work of art. Created it with no help. Swims like a God. Drinks like a fish. While everyone else goes home, he merely sleeps on the beach.

#loving all the tarquin appreciation lately #I FORGOT FEYRE WTF #anyway this list is correct like always #it is hard being the only correct person in the fandom #my curse to bear

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redrobin-detective · 4 years ago

Text

because I could not stop for death

because I could not stop for death / he kindly stopped for me / the carriage held but just ourselves / and immortality ~ Emily Dickinson

Danny Fenton was dying, properly this time.

Somehow, in the back of his head and in his worst nightmares, he knew it would end this way: bleeding on the floor of his parents’ lab where it had all began. He was so hot he felt like his skin was on fire, blood and ectoplasm were dripping all over him and his lungs and heart were working overtime to try in vain to keep him alive a moment longer. He’d imagined at the time that there would be more screaming but death, in the end, was turning out to be a quiet little affair. A lonely table set for one.

“Danny, Danny come on, you-you gotta slow down your breathing, just relax, for me, please,” Sam moaned, more than making up for his lack of noise. She was shaking and touching him all over, his chest, his face, his hair. Normally she jumped right into action but she had to know, deep down, that there was nothing she could do. All that was left was to watch her panic and cry, it wasn’t his favorite image.

“Vlad!” He heard Tucker scream cry into the phone, “please it’s Tucker, Danny’s dying I think. The Fentons had some new invention, something about his core, please we don’t know what to do!”

Ugh Vlad, he was probably going to be so happy Danny was on his way out. He wasn’t looking much forward to his last images being his archenemy gloating. Tucker hung up and reached down to grasp Danny’s hand so hard it hurt. “Don’t worry dude, Vlad’s coming. He knows so much about you half ghosts that you’ll be fixed up on no time.” Right, Danny was already dead. If calling Vlad, feeling like he did something, helped Tucker move on then he’d deal with it.

Danny tilted his head to the side where Sam’s fingernails were carding through his hair. It was getting harder to see with the blood pouring out of his eyes but he looked at her, and tried to memorize her face. He’d never been able to tell her how much he loved her, that any day spent with her was a blessing. Tucker too, his best bro and a part of his soul. His best friends in the whole wide world, through thick and thin. God, he was going to miss them.

“Glurk,” he said, trying to convey those feeling but the fluids in his mouth and airway made it impossible. “Blerh.”

“Shh shh shh,” Sam soothed, “it’s okay, don’t try to talk.”

“Daniel!” He heard Vlad’s voice shriek as he materialized in front of the portal. Sam and Tucker were violently pushed out the way. Danny wanted to be angry at his loved ones being taken away in his final moments but anger was for the living, he barely had the energy to breathe. This death was too long and too short all at once. He made eye contact with Vlad who all at once lost the frantic edge to his tone and and instead knelt on the floor. “Oh my dear boy. What did they do to you?”

“What is going on?” Sam demanded, shoving her way back in. Danny was glad, he could see again like this. “Why aren’t you doing something!”

“There’s nothing to be done,” Vlad said in a flat, monotone, he picked up one of Danny’s hands and patted it gently. “His core is dying, it’s like a ghost’s heart. It contains their very essence, it is from which everything they are comes from. If Jack and Maddie somehow disrupted it then there’s nothing anyone can do to save him.”

“But he’s human too,” Tucker defended, grabbing Danny’s other hand. His human warm skin burned but the contact felt so good, he twitched his fingers closer to his friend’s. “He-he doesn’t need a core, he’s already got a heart. So, so he doesn’t have powers, we can do normal again.”

“You-” Vlad hissed before taking a calming breath. “The accident that made Daniel like this irreparably altered him. His core was as much a part of keeping him alive as his other organs, without it, his body is shutting down.” Vlad turned down to look Danny in the eye and saw true, genuine grief in those hateful red eyes.

“I cannot imagine the agony you are going through, I’m so sorry. I’d say it will be over soon but,” a hitch that sounded almost like a sob if it was coming from anyone other than Vlad. “But you’ve hovered on the edge of death for years, son, and you’ve always been such a fighter. You have minutes at most but those minutes are an eternity when you’re suffering.”

Sam and Tucker’s sobbing blended together in the background, Vlad was saying something with a miserable, stunned expression. The swirling of the portal in the background seemed louder than anything, louder than his heart beat pounding and pounding as it ran it’s last race.

“Daniel, Danny,” he focused his eyes back on Vlad who had a stubborn, unhappy set to his brow. “Do you want me to make the pain stop? An ectoblast to your chest will end your life instantly.”

“Don’t you dare touch him,” Sam shrieked, coming back into view and looking like she was trying to fight Vlad off. “You do anything to him and I’ll kill you!” Tucker just sat and stared at him, like he too was trying memorize Danny’s face.

“It’s a mercy, Samantha or do you want his last moments on earth to be drowning on the blood in his lungs.”

“Sam, he has a point. I don’t- I don’t think we can fix this.”

“No! No we always fix things, I’ll do it myself if I have to!”

Danny’s vision was starting to go, more black than anything else. He closed his eyes and readied himself for the inevitable.

“Time Out,” Danny opened his eyes and found he was no longer in pain. He was standing up and apart from where he’d previously been lying. Sam had her hands in Vlad’s face and the older hybrid was snarling something at her. Tucker was midmotion trying to stand up, presumably to get Sam but the three of them were frozen in the moment. Danny turned and found Clockwork floating, looking very out of place in his parents lab. “Good evening, Danny.”

“You that short on cash that you work part time as a grim reaper?” Danny quipped out of habit. He looked down at his body and grimaced a bit, that wasn’t a pretty sight. No doubt traumatizing for Tucker and Sam. God how were they going to explain this to his parents? “Gonna ferry me across the River Styx? I don’t have two pennies but I think I have a bloodied $10 on me.”

“You’re core is dying and you have 17 seconds left in this world before all your organs give out and finish the process you began when you turned on your parent’s ghost portal,” Clockwork explained as he changed into child form.

“O-okay,” Danny said shakily, trying to be brave even when he was so, so scared. He was going out whether he wanted it or not but he refused to leave crying. “Nice of you to come say goodbye then but, uh but unless you have something to say then you should let me go back. No one knows better than me that you can’t outrun death. Thanks but I’m uh I’m ready.”

Clockwork stared at him for a bit, not sure how long, time was weird like this but he changed forms a few times. “You’re quite the remarkable young man, Danny Fenton.”

“Uh thanks,” Danny added, once more looking at his body which had, according to Clockwork, a 17 second expiration date. “What’s going to happen? Am I going to become a ghost? Does heaven or hell exist for someone like me?”

“I don’t get to decide what happens, I merely see options,” Clockwork stated easily, taking his time. “If you die naturally you’ll become ghost, a mere shadow of who you are now and one who would fade fairly quickly. You don’t have strong enough anger or regrets to tie you in the real world for long.” Not great but okay he supposed, hell for his friends and family though. “You could let Plasmius deliver his mercy kill, destroying what’s left of your ghost core and ensuring you do not come back.” Better, probably won’t help the Fruitloop’s instability but he can’t save everyone.

“That one comes with it’s own caveat but I’ll get to that in a moment,” Clockwork explained. “There is a third option where you get up off the floor and walk away.” Danny blinked then looked back at his body which certainly wasn’t walking anywhere but into a plush casket. Clockwork opened his hands and the Ghost King’s Crown materialized in his hands. “If you accept your claim to the King’s Cown, it will revitalize your core and your life would be saved.”

Danny blinked.

“By sealing Pariah Dark, you won by proxy and established a legitimate claim to the throne. The Zone has been without a king for millennia, most have forgotten the old rules. Those who remembered were not too keen on a half-ghost child assuming leadership and kept you in the dark. If Plasmius ends your life then your claim transfers over to him, which he is aware of. It had been his plan all along to trick you into defeating Pariah so he could steal the Crown from you at a later date, a much easier opponent.”

Danny’s mind was overloaded with information, he didn’t know what to focus on first. He stared at his 17 seconds from death face and tried to process it all. Crown? Claim? Vlad?

“Of course,” Clockwork tutted, “he didn’t plan on your dying and in such a gruesome fashion. If he kills you and takes your claim, he would spend his remaining years ruling the Ghost Zone in a just, controlled fashion for your memory. He destroys all the stable portals and keeps the ghost and human worlds separate.” Clockwork became and old man and titled his head, “it’s not a bad timeline, all things considered.”

“And if I take it?” Danny asked quietly.

“You’re compassionate, brave and motivated, you have all the makings of a revolutionary king,” Clockwork smiled. “The Zone would experience and unprecedented era of peace, there would be positive interactions between human and ghosts for the first time since life and death split into two. Your name would spoken with reverence for the rest of time.”

“But I don’t want to be king,” Danny frowned.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Clockwork stated. “Which is why I am giving you the choice. If you pass peacefully there will be no one to claim the Crown and life will continue on, ghost attacks and all. If Plasmius kills you, he becomes an effective but unmemorable king. If you take the Crown, you can get the chance to tell Sam and Tucker how much you love them.”

Danny rubbed at his face, he didn’t want to die but he’d be sealing away his entire future with a move like this. He didn’t even know if the Crown would let him go with death, maybe he’d die and be stuck as the Ghost King until his core finally gave out lord in who knows how long. Eternity was an awful long time to carry such a responsibility. He couldn’t bring himself to ask, too afraid of the answer.

“Is there ever a timeline I became an astronaut?” He asked instead. Clockwork hummed, seemingly unsurprised by Danny’s non-sequitur.

“Yes, in one of the few universes where you never walked into the portal. You never go into space what with human politics putting a halt on the programs but you work for NASA. You leave Amity Park at 17 and don’t come back save for your parents’ dual funeral.” He paused and Danny felt read down to his very bones, “from the moment you became half ghost you were always heading for this moment. The circumstances varied but it always came down to you and the Crown. Time is straining to continue, to see how this drama plays out. Will you accept it and all the joy and grief that comes with it?”

Danny looked over at Vlad, still mid-sneer but there was a scared desperation in his face. He and Vlad sniped at each other all the time but Danny didn’t really hate him and he didn’t think Vlad did either. Leaving him alone, plus making him be king was a heavy burden to put on his enemy.

Sam and Tuck probably wouldn’t recover from this, he’d put them through so much already but he just knew that they’d never be the same. Could he do that to them? Take the easy way out and leave them to suffer? Mom and Dad didn’t deserve to come home to a dead son, the truth would come out and they’d never forgive themselves. Jazz certainly wouldn’t, she was 2 states over at University but he could already hear her angry, grief-stricken screams.

Death, death was quiet. It was quiet and merciful and sad, but it was also easy. And Danny Fenton had never once taken the easy route. He reached out and took and the crown before shakily placing it on his head. He gasped, throwing his head back as his core swelled, taking up residence once more right next to his heart. Clockwork smiled, looking like the cat who ate the canary.

“The Crown of Fire, pardon me the Crown changes with each core, the Crown of Ice is now yours as is the Zone. Your reign begins now but so too does the rest of your life. People are waiting for you. Time in.” Danny slammed back into awareness on the floor of his parents’ lab, the floor he’d almost died on twice.

He sat up as cold radiated off his body, causing frost to crawl down his arms and along the floor. Sam, Tucker and Vlad, who’d been frozen up until now, jumped back to life. There was a new, familiar weight on his head that he didn’t dare acknowledge.

He squeezed his eyes shut and said a silent goodbye to a quiet, normal life. It wouldn’t be all bad, he could be happy like this but the Crown still felt like a iron manacle around his neck. But he got used to the ghost powers, he could get used to this too. Maybe one day he won’t look at the stars and say ‘what if?’

“Danny!” Sam shouted, throwing herself into his arms soon followed by Tucker. Their warm weight, their relieved sobs, their shaky breaths in his air, now this was something worth living for. He squeezed them tightly.

“But how dude, you were at death’s door!” Tucker asked, still not letting go.

“You accepted the Crown,” Vlad said evenly, “I wasn’t aware you even knew about your claim. Who told you?”

“You don’t know everything, Vlad,” Danny sighed, sitting himself upright. Ugh his shirt was covered in blood and ectoplasm. He needed to trash these clothes before his parents freaked. And find a way to hide the floating ice crown on his head.

“Even an old man can be surprised every now and again,” Vlad said wearily. He stood up to his full height before startling Danny by dipping down to one knee. “Then allow me to be the first to welcome my new king and wish him well.”

“I thought you wanted this,” Danny questioned.

“I do, I did,” Vlad said, unusually off balance. “To be quite honest, I’m not sure how to feel about it but, right now, I’m just immeasurably happy you’re alive, little badger. Now I best be off, enjoy your kingdom, my liege, I’ll be sure to come bother you some time soon.” Vlad disappeared in a swirl of pink leaving just him, Sam and Tucker still clinging to him.

Danny may have a kingdom, a job he didn’t want and his whole life decided in a spur of the moment choice, but he also had something very important. He squeezed his friends tightly.

“I love you guys, thank you for being my friends even though I have the worst ideas for activities. Dying? On a Sunday night? How lame is that?” Sam laughed, a bit hysterical but it was real and it made Danny feel weightless.

“Don’t do that again, buddy,” Tucker breathed into his shoulder. “So you gonna explain what just happened and why you’re apparently the Ghost King or something?”

“Yeah, yeah I will but let’s get changed first. Mom and Dad will be home soon and I think I’m going to need to have a conversation with them about my new job.”

#danny phantom #i was watching forever phantom and said 'i should kill danny' and then i fucking didn't #im obsessed with ghost king danny as end game #Im not sure this is the route I would want to go but I want him to end up woth tje crown #its bitter sweet bc its a *lifelong (possibly afterlife) commitment that he didnt get a choice in #he will be happy and he will be a good king but it wasnt his choice and he'll always regret it a little #i love clockwork but he's a bit shady and will always work in favor of the timeline #anyway happy fucking sunday bitches #have some homemade angst #also i typed this directly in tumblr and almost hit the power screen on my computer instead of backspace #god was trying to stop me from publishing but i overcame #Only did one quick edit Im too tired to care anymore #lmk if you want it on ao3

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guqin-and-flute · 4 years ago

Text

[I am once again giving you an unrelated fanfic. Have some Modern married Xiyao.

Potential CW: poor anger coping skills?, very brief mention of suicidal ideation in internal dialogue. It's an errant thought and he doesn't actually mean it]

Jin Guangyao is upset. What's more upsetting is that he doesn't know why he's upset--this lack of information rankles him more than the feeling. He's used to feeling badly. That's how life is. But without a name, there is nowhere to file it away neatly. It is easier to ignore the sharp sting of a newly noticed cut than this fucking awful malaise that has apparently decided to settle over him with no rhyme or reason like he's some stupid idiot in an artsy French film, slowly choking down filtered cigarettes on some rusty balcony against a sunset or something.

That's not what he does. He is efficient. He is useful. And when he is like this, he is not.

And he still doesn't know why. And the fact that he cannot categorize and escape this has the ennui sliding slowly into a slow boil of tooth grinding fury.

Had it been the morning traffic? The fact that the library had emailed to inform him of a delay on his inter-library loan? The fact that his overpriced coffee was just a tiny bit burnt? The fact that Zixuan had taken a sick day today and so had not brought the soup his wife had promised Jin Guangyao for lunch? It shouldn't be, because these are all so horrifyingly trivial.

He has a tension headache beginning to string itself along his temples. He hates that the receptionist has a perky goodbye ready. He hates that the sun is shining so brightly. Then, he hates that the shadows of the clouds when they pass make things look grungy and dull. He hates that there is a flap of leather from his steering wheel that has peeled up in the back from his picking and he can feel it rubbing against his index finger as he stares, white knuckled and unblinking into the brake lights ahead of him as this bubbling pique crescendos as slowly as one of Xichen's beloved classical music pieces.

In fact, one is playing on the radio, softly, just within hearing range. The quiet, shrill edge of violins makes him want to kill something. Maybe himself. There's a bridge coming up in half a mile. He, very sanely, presses the button on the dash that turns it off instead of doing any of those things. The thought of Xichen has a voice of reason suggesting that he might meditate, while trapped here, 10 minutes from home.

Instead, he jabs a button on his fancy, stupid steering wheel with this thumb. An attentive computer noise beeps. The sudden noise in the relative silence of the car makes him dig his nails into the leather. "Text A-Huan," he snaps.

"Okay! What would you like the message to be?"

Jin Guangyao is going to find whoever programmed this faux-friendly robot voice and make them watch him drown their entire family in a toilet. "I. Hate. Everything."

Beep. "Okay! Your message reads; 'I hate everything'. Send?"

"Yes, send," he seethes before it can fully finish.

There is no plan to this. None at all. He just needs something real to sink his metaphorical teeth into. A reasonable anchor to reality to tell him whether or not he's being stupid and terrible for no reason at all.

Even though he already knows that he is.

The response returns in 43 seconds. Jin Guangyao had been counting. The cheery beep sounds just as the very stale green light turns yellow ahead. He presses the gas. "One message from A-Huan."

The light blinks red while he is only 1/4th of the way through the intersection. The lead car of the adjacent left turners beeps and he bares his teeth at her because he isn't fucking invisible, he's in a high profile gold Lexus and she had definitely seen him fucking coming. He stabs the button that makes the car read him the message.

"'Oh no. Bad day? Want to call? Blue heart emoji'," the female robot voice chirps in a butchery of his husbands words and no, no, he does not, because, at this point, it would simply be a minute long sustained scream of rage over literally nothing at all. He should have kept it to himself and found a quiet place to throw rocks at a wall or something until he wasn't such a repellant time bomb.

He does not reply because if he hears that robot voice again, he's going to commit vehicular homicide. And being arrested would not calm him down.

Finally, traffic parts and he pulls into his driveway--he notices how the bush on the side of the house's branches are creeping up to scrape the window of the kitchen and makes a mental note to send a curt text to the landscaper about his pruning habits. Why are they paying him several hundred dollars a month to let a stupid bush get unruly enough to damage the paint on his window trim?

When he slams his door shut, he hears a loud CLACK that announces that he has just closed his seatbelt in the door and lost the last tenuous thread of his temper. Heaving the door back, he plants his other hand up on the black plastic next to the window and smashes it shut again with all of his strength. Repeatedly. CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK--Chunk.

Breath hissing between his teeth, he jerks his suit jacket straight, loosens his tie and stalks to the house. The garage door groans to life behind him. Xichen had been watching.

Perfect.

He's nowhere to be seen when Jin Guangyao slams through the backdoor like a vicious thundercloud, which is good and probably intentional, because it allows him to wrestle off his shoes, jacket, and tie in privacy. This does nothing to release any pressure, because it must be intentional wrestling--controlled and confined so he doesn't pop off a button or rip a seam or scuff the shining black leather. Now he's seething in their immaculate, state of the art kitchen, hating how the cold tile feels against his black dress socks and the fact that it smells like tea. Which is stupid. Because he likes tea. But not right now.

Stop being a piece of shit, he snarls at himself. You've already probably fucked up the car and Xichen doesn't deserve this. He balls up his fists so tightly that the bright pain from his nails sinking into his palms leaks up his arms. Be better.

He has no idea how to do that because he has no idea what is wrong.

Reason says to steer clear of Xichen until he can get a hold of himself and behave like a fucking adult. And in the early days of their relationship, he would have. He had. Whenever he got like this, he would shut down or not have inflicted himself on Xichen at all with a smooth lie, and no amount of prying would get anything useful out of him because he would not be a bother. There had been Talks. Long, extensive Talks about trust and love and wanting to take care of him. He had even believed some of them. That's how they can be married, now, years later--Xichen knowing just how close he is to this at all times. How thin his veneer of manners and pleasantries actually is. (He can't truly know, though, can he. If he knew how much none of it makes sense, there is no possible way someone as kind and intelligent as him would choose to stay.)

Xichen would purse his lips if he said this out loud; somewhere between exasperation and sad fondness. Jin Guangyao doesn't tell him, anymore. Most of the time because he doesn't actually think this.

This is not most of the time.

Yes, reason says that he should suck it up and become a human being before burdening Xichen.

But his husband has long, cool hands and soft eyes and a brilliant mind that can solve any problem just by holding it and maybe he just wants to be small and angry and ugly and pathetic and selfish in the comfort of his own home while someone reminds him that there have been, in fact, good things that have happened in his life and he had been, at one time, happy--believe it or not.

And if nothing else, it compounds his streak of bad decisions.

The smell of tea intensifies when he reaches their room. The curtains are drawn. It renders the deep, dusty blues of the bed spread and the armchair black and the aged gold accent pieces muted, except for where the warm light pouring from their open bathroom door paints them bright again. Xichen sits on the edge of their bed in the soft, expensive loungewear Jin Guangyao got him for his birthday last year, one ankle on his knee, watching him with eyes just as soft as he had been expecting. A mug of tea is tucked into his hand and a plate with round, lumpy shapes sits by his hip. Beside that lays spread out the absurdly oversized and absurdly soft heather gray shirt that Nie Huaisang had gifted to him as a joke but was, in fact, one of Jin Guangyao's guilty pleasure sleep shirts.

With his perfect voice and his perfect logic and his perfect way of being the only good thing on this entire, worthless planet, his husband says, "I think you need to scream into this pillow."

'This pillow' is, in fact, one of theirs, dark blue with a thread count that was higher than any savings he ever had in college, perched on a bundle of blankets that is the perfect size to throw himself upon like a sulking romance heroine. He hates it. Hates that this is known, that this might help.

So he fucking does it. He deliberately stalks around the bed, climbs up, smashes his face into the pillow and screams as loudly as he can. With every single ounce of rage in his body, curling him up like the shriveling of a raisin in fast forward, like the curling of a scorpion tail, like throwing up, wringing every last scant molecule of oxygen out of his lungs.

When the sound peters out and he has to drag in another breath, he curls tighter, the claws of his hands reaching over the top of the pillow to fist in his hair. It presses the plush of it firmer over his face and bites it until his teeth ring with dull pain, and his jaw aches and his head throbs and his eyes sting. His scalp burns from the pull on his hair and his throat is raw and tight.

Tearing himself away, finally, he gasps in a gulp of cooler air. Xichen has turned so he is now cross-legged at the foot of the bed, watching him with a mix of calm and understanding sympathy. "Lay down?"

There is a ragged, hollow hole in him that still has scraps of rage clinging to it like disgusting lichen--but the visceral, all consuming hate seems to have been absorbed by his pillow. So he lets himself roll sideways, eyes closing. Xichen gets off the bed--Jin Guangyao assumes, wearily, that he's putting down the tea mug and hopes that he uses a coaster--and then returns by knee walking up the bed to his side. Then, those cool hands he had been hoping for pick open the tiny hard buttons of his shirt. Each pop releases a a tension across his skin and he feels that he can breathe easier with every one.

Jin Guangyao can hear him breathing, slow and measured, through his nose and thinks that it's probably the most comforting sound that he's ever heard in his entire life--now that he's willing to be comforted. Able to be. The reminder of Xichen's continued existence is the only sound he will ever need to be calm again.

The button up is abandoned in favor of undoing his belt--breath, more of it, infiltrating him deeper and deeper--popping the button on his slacks, tugging them down his legs in a warm slide. The quiet clink of it being tossed somewhere. A closing quiet as Xichen leans in and presses his smooth lips to his forehead. Then the corner of his eyebrow. Then the bridge of his nose. Different points and planes of his face like he is unlocking a combination that will open him up and allow him to purge the rest of the awfulness that lingers.

What it mostly is is exhaustion, now. "A-Huan," he groans--whines. Ugh.

Before disgust at himself can settle in, his husband takes this as the invitation for what it is and kisses his mouth, gentle and slow. Jin Guangyao moves his mouth back, halfheartedly, mostly parting his lips to allow him access to do whatever. But all he does is kiss him chastely. Lovingly. He tastes like green tea. Then, Xichen murmurs against his lips, "Would you like a bath?"

He vents a negating grunt, lolling his head back and forth. Baths are so much work. Even when Xichen offered to wash his hair or read to him or even join him, you still had to keep it hot, you had to endure cold when you left, get yourself dry. Too much change, too much sensation and movement.

He should be shaking himself awake. He should be apologizing for his terrible, pointless mood. He should be trying to kiss him back, love him back, pay him back. Thank him.

Xichen merely lifts his hands and presses the heels of his palms into the hinges at Jin Guangyao's jaw, inexorably grinding the tension out of them. Jin Guangyao allows himself to melt. When those cool fingertips slide into his hair, he lets them tug him upright, so Xichen can slide off his button up and slip him out of his undershirt. He shivers against the chill of the bedroom air, but he doesn't feel a surge of utter hatred for the sensations so, well, that's something. In no time, Xichen has coaxed him into the oversized shirt, removed his socks and bundled him up against the padded headboard, tucked into Xichen's side.

Jin Guangyao allows this. He allows himself to allow the blanket to be tugged up over his bare legs, Xichen to tuck the warm mug of steaming mint tea into his hands, and wind his fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and takes in a deep, shuddering breath before sighing it all out. Xichen's fingers rub soothing circles across his sore scalp.

"Open?"

He cracks one eye to see a cookie hovering at mouth level. It's too dim in the room to properly tell what kind it is, but because Xichen has been perfect in literally every other way, he simply obeys and bites down. Browned butter and sea salt and semi-sweet chocolate ooze across his tongue and the instant spike of sugar satisfaction warms his chest. Jin Guangyao chews with utter contentment, swallows, and opens his mouth again.

"Good?" Xichen's amused voice vibrates warmly through his chest as he indulgently feeds him another bite.

"Mm. Very. Did you make them?"

"I did, earlier today. I just got lucky with the timing." His nails scrape oh so gently across his scalp. "How are you doing?"

Instead of answering, Jin Guangyao blinks up at him and his sweet, kind, ridiculously gorgeous face that is graced by a light smile and a gold edge light from the bathroom.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Being terrible."

"You're never terrible."

"I was today. I think I fucked up the car."

Xichen chuckles, smile crimping to a knowing press. "I saw. It won't be a big deal. We'll deal with it later."

"...Thank you."

"Of course, A-Yao. Do you still hate everything?"

"Mm-nn." He snuggles down deeper against his ribs, looping an arm around Xichen's warm waist. He has the best husband in his arms, his dark-sweet scent is in his nose, chocolate on his tongue, and 1000 count sheets against his skin.

What is there to hate?

#I was in an exceptionally bad mood #so therefore I projected it onto JGY and made Xichen make it better #because that's what writers DO #There is no plot at all except my own journey of being in a better mood. I am now. But it is also 4:20 am. Oh well. You do what you can.#my stuff #my fic #xiyao #lxc #jgy #text #xiyao fanfic #completely unedited because that's how it goes #it's an errant thought and he doesn't mean it #brief suicide mention

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monstersdownthepath · 3 years ago

Text

5e Otherworldly Patron: The Mother of Filth

scratching squirming skitter gnawing swarming stalking slither clawing wasting breeding dripping screaming rotting feeding sickness dreaming

Something is wrong with you. There’s this itch, this... foulness you cannot alleviate. You picked it up from somewhere, something, someone, and it hasn’t lessened in the time you’ve had it. A persistent cough, a rash you cannot get rid of, some sour taste at the back of your throat, some crawling within your ears, or nose, or behind your eye. It’s something, it’s there, it won’t go away. An illness, you’ve told yourself. A simple disease. It will pass, you’ve said, it will pass in time.

it has been years.

Years of this. These symptoms, these rashes and sores and blisters, this coughing and sneezing and aching and fever. It’s made you pitiful. No one will look at you anymore, not directly. They’ll talk to you, yes, but only if you talk to them first. Sometimes, though, they’ll act like they can’t hear you. Many of them don’t even seem to notice as you move towards them, silently standing aside to let you pass without interrupting whatever they were doing. Sometimes it seems like they don’t even know they’re ignoring you.

Maybe you’ve started taking advantage of that, maybe you cannot stand it, but once you realized it was happening, something in you changed. Your sickness became worse, the symptoms more pronounced. Nothing could alleviate them. And then, a... thing formed inside you. A lump or a weight in your belly, or your chest, or your head. Now that it’s here, it feels... strange. It’s not comforting, but you feel it’s natural. Like this was supposed to happen, some logical progression of whatever foulness has seeped into you. In a way, you feel like you expected it. Maybe you were even waiting for it.

Now, in your fevered dreams, you swear there’s something else in them with you. Something trying to communicate with you. There are no words you understand, merely feelings. Ideas. Sensations. Some sort of... directions or instructions. In your addled mind, you’ve found yourself wondering: just what would happen if you followed them?

EXPANDED SPELL LIST The following spells are added to the Warlock spell list for you:

1st: Grease, Ray of Sickness

2nd: Web, Blindness/Deafness

3rd: Stinking Cloud, Feign Death

4th: Greater Invisibility, Giant Insect

5th: Cloudkill, Insect Plague

-Miserable Pity

By 1st level, you’ve already lived with this illness for years. It’s made you an unapproachable creature, a leper, something that mortal minds view with a mix of pity and fear; others will interact with you if you interact with them, but most of them will unconsciously avoid looking at you, listening to you, and especially avoid touching you.

This does have its benefits: Once per short or long rest as a reaction to being targeted with an attack or a spell attack, you may force the attack roll or spell attack roll to be made with disadvantage by momentarily revealing your pitiful nature. In addition, this pity largely prevents you from suffering penalties when interacting with other living creatures, as they subconsciously refuse to notice how much the sickness has taken from you. In their minds, while you don’t appear healthy, you at least resemble a functioning member of society. Undead, constructs, and most animals can see through this aura; aside from verminous creatures or well-trained mounts, animals will often refuse to approach you, shrinking away unless pressed into the interaction, which could have consequences. Certain other creatures, such as Fiends or Celestials, may also see past this aura of pity as well at the DMs discretion.

-Averted Eyes

This subconscious ignorance of your presence has an additional benefit: At 1st level, you gain proficiency with Stealth. If you are already proficient, your proficiency bonus for this skill is doubled.

-Scratching Squirming Skitter Gnawing

inside you feel them inside chewing eating everything else that would hurt you. they’re your allies, not your enemies. Certainly, it may have hurt at first, it may have been repulsive at first, but they’re here to help. They’re here to provide for you, protect you.

At 6th level, your body plays host to grotesque parasites that conditions you to things far worse. You’re bolstered against foul elements, if only because there’s less of you to affect. You become resistant to Poison damage, have advantage on saving throws to avoid becoming Poisoned, and you are unharmed by any disease you contract, though you still bear their symptoms and contagious diseases you contract remain contagious. Diseases you contract never heal on their own.

-Swarming Stalking Slither Clawing

Some days in the past you’ll wake up to find a rodent or roach perched on your chest. Now, though, there’s significantly more. Vermin crawl within your clothes, skittering across your skin, nesting in your hair. They mean you no harm, nor will they cause any. In time, you may grow used to them. You may love them as they love you.

At level 10, each time you complete a short or long rest, vermin will gather onto your person, attracted by the call of your illness. They move to shield your body from attacks, granting you temporary HP equal to your Warlock level. While you have any temporary HP from this ability you have resistance to Necrotic damage. In addition, verminous creatures (such as rats and mice, centipedes, flies, spiders, etc) will never willingly attack you unless you cause them harm first.

Your Miserable Pity ability keeps others from noticing your vermin coating just as easily as it kept them from noticing your pox.

-A Mother’s Love

New life. That’s all that it is. New and beautiful. Others call it Filth, call it garbage, or waste, or even worse: A plague, an infection, a cancer. They can’t understand; this isn’t a plague, it’s a blessing.

At 14th level, the Mother gives you a grand gift. A piece of her manifests within you, a tumorous growth that partially emerges from an unobtrusive location on your body, such as your stomach or back. This bloated thing alerts you to incoming danger and can even take hold of your spells for you should your attention falter. You gain Blindsense out to 10ft, able to sense hidden or invisible creatures within that radius. In addition, if your concentration on a spell is broken, you may use your reaction to re-establish a hold on the magic, as though your concentration was never lost. Once you do this, you must complete a long rest before doing it again.

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INVOCATIONS

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Hacking Cough Prereq: Mother of Filth patron

As an action, you can share your misery, retching and coughing upon a creature within 10ft of you. That creature must succeed a Constitution save versus your Warlock spell DC or become poisoned for 1 minute. A creature poisoned in this way may make a Constitution save at the end of their turn to end the condition, but they take 1d4 Poison damage on a failure. Once you’ve used this ability a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, you must complete a long rest before doing so again.

Scrounger Prereq: Mother of Filth patron

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and you have been desperate for a very, very long time. You gain proficiency in Constitution saving throws, and can consume rotted or diseased food and drink without suffering any consequences.

Record of Roaches Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, Pact of the Tome

Your Book of Shadows is replaced with an unnerving, chitin-covered tome. While in possession of this tome, you may conjure a swarm of ravenous roaches in a 10ft cube within 30ft of you as an action. This space is difficult terrain, and creatures entering it or beginning their turn in it take 1d6 magical slashing and 1d6 Poison damage. This corrupted space lingers for 1 minute, or until you use this ability again. You may use this feature three times, and regain all uses after a long rest.

Dripping Blade Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, Pact of the Blade

Your pact weapon becomes coated in a layer of toxic grime. A creature damaged by your pact weapon takes an additional 1d6 Poison damage. If you critically strike an enemy with your pact weapon or strike a creature who is not aware of you, that creature becomes infected with Sewer Plague, which incubates and progresses as normal.

Fecund Familiar Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, Pact of the Chain

When summoning a new familiar, instead of choosing an empowered familiar from the Pact of the Chain, you may instead summon two of the following in any combination: a spider, a rat, a bat, or a cockroach (use the statistics of a crab). Both of these creatures are your familiars and share a mind split between multiple bodies. At level 10, you may maintain three familiars at the same time. At level 16, you may have four.

Filthy Friends Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, level 5

Sometimes they were all you had. As an action, you may command vermin from your surroundings to a single point within 60ft of you that you can see, summoning either a Swarm of Insects or a Swarm of Rats in that space. These swarms will obey your mental commands until brought to 0 HP or until 1 minute passes, at which point they disperse. Once you use this ability, you must complete a short or long rest to do so again.

Tatterdemalion Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, lvl 6

Over the course of a long rest, you can construct a piecemeal armor for yourself from rags, scavenged leather, and broken metal bits. Wearing this makes your AC equal 10 + your Constitution modifier + your Charisma modifier. Only you or another Warlock of the Mother of Filth can benefit from this armor, and it may be enchanted as normal armor can be, if you desire.

Pernicious Poison Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, lvl 7

Poison damage you inflict with your Warlock spells and abilities does full damage to creatures with resistance to Poison, and upon reaching level 12, your poisons deal half damage to creatures immune to Poison. In addition, once per long rest, you may use your bonus action to select a single creature within 100ft that you can see, infesting them with insidious Filth. That creature loses any immunity to the poisoned condition it has and gains vulnerability to Poison damage. At the start of that creature’s turn, it may make a Constitution save against your Warlock spell save DC to end this effect.

Don’t Ignore Me Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, lvl 8

If they won’t look at you, you’ll take advantage of it. Once per turn, you can deal an extra 2d6 damage to one creature you hit with an attack if you have advantage on the attack roll. The attack must use a finesse or a ranged weapon. You don't need advantage on the attack roll if another enemy of the target is within 5 feet of it, that enemy isn't incapacitated, and you don't have disadvantage on the attack roll. At level 12, this damage increases to 3d6, and it increases to 4d6 at level 16.

Vermin Lord Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, level 10

You can cast Dominate Beast at will as a 5th level spell without expending a spell slot, but only to control verminous creatures (an insect, arachnid, or rodent Beast with an Int of 2 or less). This control lasts for 10 minutes and requires no concentration from you, but you may only maintain control of up to 5 creatures at a time (a swarm counts as 1 creature). Controlling a new one ends the oldest instance of the effect. You cannot target the same creature with this effect again until you complete a long rest.

Retching Wretch Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, level 10, Hacking Cough

Your Hacking Cough’s range becomes 30ft. Whenever you successfully poison a creature with Hacking Cough, choose one of the following options:

Clawing, Gnawing: The creature is wracked with muscle aches. As long as it is poisoned, it takes a -2 penalty to Strength and Dexterity-based attack rolls, skill checks, and saving throws.

Dreaming, Screaming: The creature is afflicted with a terrible delirium and fever. As long as it is poisoned, it takes a -2 penalty to Intelligence and Wisdom-based attack rolls, skill checks, and saving throws.

Plaguebringer Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, level 10

You add Infestation and Contagion to your list of spells known. These are Warlock spells for you, and do not count towards your total spells known. You may cast Infestation as a bonus action so long as you still have temporary HP from Swarming Stalking Slither Crawling.

Contaminate Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, lvl 12

As an action, you can will the Filth to well up from the world around you, choking the ground and air. The Filth coats a 30ft radius around you with noxious gas, slick muck, and crawling things, transforming it into difficult terrain for everyone but you. Any creature besides you moving into or within the area takes 1d8 Poison damage per 5ft it travels. This supernatural muck lasts for 24 hours before fading away. You may use this ability once, regaining its use after a long rest.

Wasting Breeding Dripping Screaming Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, level 15

The lump or weight within sups upon your flesh and blood in amounts so minute you likely won’t even notice, but it’s always hungry for a more substantial meal. If you take slashing or piercing damage from an enemy adjacent to you, you can attempt to feed it by using your reaction; a Swarm of Rot Grubs erupts from the wound into the space of your attacker, and the swarm immediately uses its reaction to attack them with advantage.

This Swarm of Rot Grubs is friendly to you and any creature you designate as an ally, and will follow you telepathic commands. If left without orders, it will crawl towards the closest living enemy it can perceive to attack them, or to the closest pile of carrion within 30ft. After 1 minute passes, the swarm is too consumed by hunger and turns on itself, dying messily. Once you spawn a swarm in this way, you must complete a long rest before it can be done again.

Sire of Stagnation Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, Contaminate, lvl 20

Patches of Filth created by Contaminate last until cleaned up by an outside force, such as a massive storm, powerful magic, or the concentrated efforts of a group of people working for 12 hours. Each day the Filth patch remains, it spawns a swarm of Filthbreed Vermin (roll 1d6; 1: swarm of rats, 2: swarm of insects, 3: swarm of maggots, 4: swarm of spiders, 5: swarm of scarabs, 6: swarm of rot grubs). A Filthbreed Swarm creates a 5ft patch of Filth otherwise identical to the one spawned by Contaminate when it is slain, requiring a concentrated effort to clean that takes 4 hours.

At the DMs discretion, more powerful Filthbreed creatures may arise from especially massive patches of Filth.

Hive Mind Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, lvl 20, Vermin Lord

You may maintain control of up to 25 creatures at once with your Vermin Lord ability, and the effect lasts indefinitely until dispelled. They no longer receive saving throws.

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Fun author’s note: Going to make a more generic version of this Patron later to fit into other people’s sessions without relying on my cosmology; you can indeed just use this creature as a different spirit of pestilence and filth, but I’m also just creating a Horseman of Pestilence-esque patron later as soon as I’m more inspired which shuffles a bunch of stuff already present here around while adding some new, more obviously vile options.

#original concepts #d&d homebrew #dnd homebrew #5e homebrew #tw: disease #tw: body horror #tw: parasites

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soyeahitsmiddleearth · 4 years ago

Text

Return Her pt.8

The dreams persist and continue to get worse, but they can't know about these supposedly prophetic night terrors... especially after what you've just seen.

It seems that your promise of a kiss really did motivate Bofur, because not even 10 minutes later are you all reaching the other side of the lake.

As soon as it's put to shore and you all file out, Bofur looks to you expectantly and taps the side of his face.

You, being as you promise, waste no time and leaning down and pecking his cheek gently, giggling at the way his cheeks reddens slightly and a huge smile breaks out on his face. It's pretty cute, you have to admit.

"There you go, now no more complaining about not getting a kiss, okay? From now on there will be no negotiations." You tell them decisively, adding afterwards, "I will distribute them when I see fit."

Bofur nods happily and goes back to the boat to grab some of the supplies, meanwhile Kili looks at you with a frown, "But what about me?"

"I told you already, you got one."

"Yes, but I can't remember it! Surely that isn't fair." He complains, glancing over at his brother and Bofur who are taking things out of the boat.

"It's not my fault you can't remember it." You shoot back, stepping around him to take your backpack out of the boat.

Kili stares at you for a few moments with the same displeased expression on his face before grumbling out, "It's not fair."

You glance back at him again while you put on your bag, sighing internally before stepping back and pecking his cheek very quickly. "There! Now no more complaining or I'll go right back to Bard-"

They don't even let you finish your sentence before they're all yelling, "No!"

It seems you've gotten your point across.

---

The journey to the mountain is long and horribly arduous, and you can tell that it's taking a toll on Kili since he's begun to sweat and his breath is coming out in shallow pants.

When you notice this you skip over to Fili and jump in front of him, successfully making him, and everyone else, halt their trekking.

"Y/N? What are you doing?" Fili asks, looking up at you with furrowed eyebrows.

"Fili, dear, your brother is struggling an awful lot over there. I think we should take a break so he doesn't, like, pass out or anything."

Normally, they would argue with you and tell you you're being too sensitive and worrisome, but with all the things you've been right about recently, Fili concedes and nods his head in agreement, "Alright."

A huge smile breaks out on your face when the first answer isn't 'no' for once, and right away you clap your hands together excitedly and pat his shoulder, "Excellent."

"We can rest beneath those trees for shade, and Oin will change his bandages." Fili states decisively, looking up at you with a small smile on his face since your joy is rather contagious.

You drop your hand from his arm and bound over to the trees he pointed out with a new vigor fueled by the desire to take a freaking break.

Right away you settle onto the ground and take off your backpack, patting the spot next to you when Kili limps over with Fili and Bofur on either side of him (incase he collapses or something). Oin walks over much slower and with less enthusiasm, though he does appear to be pretty pleased about having a break too.

Kili sits down next to you without hesitation and stretches his legs out in front of him, looking over at Oin wearily since he doesn't much want anyone to touch his still healing (and very tender) wound.

"I'm going to need you to lay down, lad." Oin tells him once he takes a seat, pulling out some things from his bag (supplied to him by Bard and Tauriel) like more stuff to wrap his leg and some cleaning stuff.

The brown-haired dwarf sighs shakily a and slowly begins to lay back, fully intending to stretch out on the hard, dirty ground.

"Ah, wait." You tell him quickly, scooting closer and offering your lap up as a pillow.

He, of course, doesn't pass up the offer and settles himself down with his head resting on your thighs and a way too pleased expression on his face.

Oin chuckles lightly before going business mode and carefully removing the wrapping Tauriel applied to his leg, careful not to hurt the young dwarf as he does so.

You reach up and card your fingers through his hair gently, looking over at Oin's calculated and gentle movements with a slight frown on your face. On the bright side, at least it's not horribly infected anymore.

Kili hums appreciatively when your nails scratch lightly at his scalp, the noise bringing your attention back to his face.

You smile half-heartedly and ask, "Does it hurt at all?"

"Only a little." He replies easily, folding his arms to rest on his stomach while he waits for Oin to finish up. "Don't worry, I will be fine." He assures, practically reading your worry ridden mind.

"I-I know, but..." You trail off as you glance over at the scabbing and hideous hole in his leg, biting your lip lightly while you think over your words, "You were so sick..."

"Careful there, Y/N, or I might begin to think you're worried for me." There is obvious humor in his voice, and from the smile on his face and the way Fili and Bofur laugh they all think it's funny; but you only look at him sourly.

You reach down and pinch his nose none to gently, replying cooly, "Oh don't even joke about that! Obviously I was worried. We all were!"

"Yes, but we didn't all cry." Bofur teases, leaning back against the tree with his hat covering his eyes.

You glare over at him quickly and stick your tongue out, feeling your cheek heat up despite your attempt to remain cross and nonchalant.

"You cried?" Kili asks quickly with wide eyes, forgetting all about the uncomfortable sensation of having Oin cleaning his arrow wound.

"No!" You deny it with no small amount of embarrassment and indignation, pointedly avoiding looking at Kili since it's not the most dignifying thing. "I did not. Why would I even cry anyways? You were only writhing on the ground... screaming and practically sobbing any time any of us even got close to you..." It's not a memory that you want to hold onto for long, but what really gets you about it is how vividly you can remember his pained screams and agonized yells.

"Y/N..." Kili mumbles quietly, glancing over at his brother and Bofur who are looking at you with sympathetic expressions on their faces.

"Oh, shut up! This isn't even about me, so worry about yourself." You huff, pulling on the ends of his hair lightly before saying hurriedly, "Look! Oin's all done! I'm going to take a nap, now." And with that, you push his head off your lap and immediately lay down with your head on your bag, covering your face with your hood and wrapping your arms around yourself.

Kili sits up after you shove him off of you and looks at your curled up form with slight annoyance, speaking with a bit of humor to hopefully ease your tension, "Oh sure, go and push me off, thank you for that."

"You're welcome, dearie." You reply without hesitation, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your lips in spite of the slight sadness creeping into you mere seconds before. "Hush now, I'm sleeping."

He snickers at that but doesn't bother you anymore, so Fili speaks up and tells everyone, "30 minutes should be enough time for a break."

Nice.

---

There is only black when you first open your eyes.

You cannot see anything, though you can hear the crazed yells of a man.

He yells of the Arkenstone.

Of treachery.

Of distrust and wanting to keep something safe.

You feel a weight on your wrists suddenly, and when you look down you see transparent chains binding you to a throne, and more clearly this time you hear, "My key. My charm of good fortunes."

And then that voice turns angry and you hear a vicious yell, "Throw him from the ramparts!"

The black makes way for a blinding light, and when you look up everything around you shifts.

The light dies upon you and you feel an emptiness spread from your chest throughout the rest of your body.

Now, everything is gray.

The sky, the stone all around you, the blue-tinted ice beneath your feet, everything.

Very slowly you turn, eyes meeting that all too familiar sight of a raging battle below and a grand castle settled upon the Lonely Mountain.

The screams from the awe-inspiring town meet your ears once more and are very faint until suddenly it all stops.

Now all you hear is silence. A horrible, deafening silence that stretches out all around you.

And then, oh so softly, comes the broken, "No..." Of a man witnessing something truly dreadful. Something that, still, you cannot see.

Your body moves upon it's own accord, turning with a careful and painstakingly slow rotation, and once more you're met with the sight of Thorin, Bilbo, and Dwalin all staring ahead with matching hopeless and devastated countenances.

There is no other sound even when you see their mouths opening as they scream and cry, for the only thing you can hear is the painfully loud roaring of complete, deathly, silence.

You try, oh you try so hard, to look toward the source of their anguish, but like the night before your head refuses to abide by your wishes, and it's not until your vision zooms in automatically on that white hand and the chest of whoever this person holds that you can move.

You turn your head up to catch a glimpse, just a quick peek, at the face belonging to whoever this person is, but the sun blinds you mostly still and all you see is messy, braided, blond hair.

You know that hair.

Then you're back on the ground, looking down at the limp, bloodied body of somebody else, a gaping hole in their chest and a blur of brown hair and a short beard in your peripherals.

You know that figure.

In contrast of your dream from before, this time you get more than a quick look at someone getting stabbed in the chest, for you see a broken figure of someone laying lonely on ice until the soft sound of someone running towards you both reaches your ears.

You want to see who it is, and you try very hard to clear the haze and see their face, you and kind of get what you were wishing for.

His eyes are all you can see but still you know who it is.

You know .

Then your eyes fall upon Bilbo.

"Why are you just standing there?" He yells, walking up to you, seeming so much bigger than he actually is as he grabs your shoulders in a bruising grip. "Why didn't you do anything? How could you just watch them die?"

You shake your head and try to defend yourself, but when you open your mouth to reply, you find that you can't speak, and your cheeks begin to feel hot as tears run down them with record breaking speed.

"You could have stopped this!"

Once more you shake your head no and try to push his hands from your shoulders, but the hold stays and his yells grow louder.

"Wake up."

What?

"Y/N, you need to wake up! It's only a dream!"

You jolt awake and your eyes snap open quickly, your gaze flickering around above for a moment as you try to make sense of what's around you.

The first thing you see is the confused and very worried faces of Fili and Bofur, and the first thing you feel is the hotness of your face and the dampness of your cheeks.

Then, you see Kili and Oin just behind them, and your throat feels hoarse as your heart throbs painfully as the dream replays behind your eyes and the the hints that littered throughout your terror come back to you.

The realization you come to makes you sick to your stomach, but you push down the bile and sit up slowly, entangling your hands into your hair and putting your head between your knees as you try to force away the unpleasant nightmare.

Vaguely you feel a heavy hand pressing against your back and rubbing slow, soothing circles between your shoulder blades as you try to calm your breathing and rub away the tears staining your cheeks.

You stay in that position for a small while, until all the crying is done and over with and you can form a proper thought once more.

When you slowly sit up normally once again, you meet the worried stares of four others and immediately feel quite a bit worse.

"I'm fine."

The words leave you before you can even think of any explanation for what just happened, but truthfully after what you just saw you're not so sure you wanna share that with anyone else.

"Clearly you aren't." Fili challenges without hesitation, his eyebrows furrowed as he observes you carefully, "Your dream was distressing enough to make you scream and cry in your sleep, which isn't something that happens very often, especially not for any normal night terror."

You look away sharply and weakly shrug your shoulders, avoiding all eye contact. Not even wanting to see them after what you'd just witnessed in your unrestful state.

"Y/N..." Bofur mumbles your name sadly, reaching out to place his hand on your shoulder gently. "What has you so sad?"

"I-It was just a stupid dream." You insist once more, shying away from his gentle touch. "It's nothing..."

"It's not nothing! Why won't you tell us?" Kili asks sadly, adding after, "You've always told us before."

You shake your head slowly and say much softer this time, "Please... I don't wanna talk about it. Let's just go, okay?"

None of them seem to much like the idea of dropping it and heading out, but the clock is ticking and you all really need to get going before nightfall.

"Alright, alright. We will not force you to discuss it if you do not wish to." Fili tells you softly, wrapping his arm around your shoulders despite your hesitance to touch any of them. "We'll get going, and hopefully the hike will help your head to clear."

A relieved sigh leaves you and you nod your head quickly, "Yes, thank you."

---

Your spirits lifted after a little while of walking, and you actually found that you no longer feel so upset anymore.

I mean, only two thing from your odd dreams has actually happened, and those are things you already vaguely knew would occur anyways. You decide that it's nothing and you should just forget about it, especially since they're right in front of you now.

Some small talk with Kili and Bofur made helped you to forget, and Fili gave you a couple of encouraging and sweet words too that Oin backed up with a big smile and a confirmation of his own.

Suffice to say once you all arrived at Erebor, you were feeling much better.

And your happiness only multiplies when you find everyone still alive and kicking inside of that mountain.

Kinda.

Bilbo approaches you all before anyone else, and the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, "Stop! Stop! Stop! You need to leave. We all need to leave."

You look at him weirdly and reply in confusion, "What are you talking about? Bro, we literally just got here?"

The hobbit shakes his head and shoots back, "I tried talking to him, but he won’t listen."

This time Oin speaks, and he's just as freaked out and confused as you all, "Wh-what do you mean, laddie?"

"Thorin! Thorin. Thorin, he’s been down there for days." He takes a breath, still walking backwards while you all push forward, before continuing, "He doesn’t sleep, he barely eats. He’s not been himself, not at all. It’s this…it’s this place. I think a sickness lies upon it.

Your eyebrows furrow and you scratch the back of your head lightly, "That doesn't sound right..."

Fili looks distracted suddenly, and you follow him with your eyes as Kili asks, "A sickness? What kind of sickness?"

As soon as the younger dwarf says this, his brother rushes down the stairs while Bilbo calls after him, "Fili? Fili!"

You all rush after the blond dwarf, he's acting so strange all of a sudden, and that's when you see it.

A sea of shinning and shimmering gold before you, huge jewels and golden goblets, a room of beauty beyond belief, and a single dwarf standing amongst it all with a cape of fur and a shiny crown to match.

"Gold. Gold beyond measure, beyond sorrow and grieve."

Oh, yikes, that's kinda...

He notices you all looking, which makes you even more concerned that he's speaking to himself like that, and then bellows in a welcoming voice, "Behold, the great treasure hoard of Thrór." After he says this, he throws a piece of gold or something and Fili catches it, then he continues, "Welcome, my sister’s sons, to the Kingdom of Erebor."

Now, you're no mathematician, but something here ain't addin' up.

"Right... well this is all cool and fun and stuff, but where is everyone else?" You ask loudly, successfully gathering everyones attention onto you.

Thorin, not very surprisingly, seems to not know where they are, so Bilbo pipes up, "Follow me."

You all do except for Fili who stays behind with his uncle.

Please, god, don't let this get out of hand...

#the hobbit #reader #the hobbit fanfiction #fili #reader insert #kili #bofur #oin #the company x reader #return her pt. 8 #return her #fili x reader #kili x reader #bofur x reader

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jinpanman · 4 years ago

Text

Vampire’s Wine

pairing: vampire boyfriend!jungkook x fem human!reader

word count: 1.4k

genre: 18+, fluff, slightly nsfw, established relationship

warnings: this whole thing is a disgusting bloody mess and not in the way you think. menstruation talk - from the use of hygiene materials to the smell of period blood, jk loves period blood - oop., casual conversation about sex and genitals

summary: You decide to brave the mystery that is menstrual cups. Jungkook is intrigued to say the least.

a/n: i needed a break from all my long af fics. u can blame my brain. u can also blame Jess @shelive-shelove for telling me to write this. and for helping me pick a member to write about - but then again, she always picks jk. also @joonie-mono kept judging me so now that it exists she has to read it. :-)

The simple matte black box sits on the bathroom counter and it’s incredibly intimidating despite it just sitting there. You pick it up and open the case to reveal an equally black menstrual cup sitting on top of a black pouch. A slip of paper falls out when you open it and you pick it up.

Greetings Y/N! We’re so glad you’ve decided to become the owner of a BLAKD cup. We understand some people don’t want color stained cups so we went ahead and…

You toss the card to the side and pick up the cup and turn it around in both awe and trepidation. There’s a knock on the open door but you don’t bother to look up.

“What’s that you go there?”

“JK honey, tell me. How am I supposed to stick this up my nether region?”

Jungkook snorts and plucks the cup from your hand.

“Well, my dick is bigger than this and you do such a good job taking it all in so I know my baby can handle this small thing.” He pats your cheek lovingly

You squeak and swat his arm away in disbelief. “Jungkook! I swear! You—that’s different! I’m not horny when I’m trying to stick this-this monster inside of me.”

He laughs and quickly covers the little distance between you, pulling you flush against him.

“First of all, that’s an insult to my dick because this,” he waves the cup in front of you and you roll your eyes at him “is no monster. Secondly, maybe we should get you horny first so it won’t be an issue.” He wiggles his eyebrows and licks his bottom lip in anticipation.

You scoff and push him away, taking the cup back from him.

“I need to figure out how to stick this up my very unaroused vagina, so please go and do your vampy things and leave me alone for a few minutes.”

He merely shrugs but of course your boyfriend who must know everything about everything asks, “But babe, what’s wrong with what you usually use?”

Ah, now that’s a good question. You’ve used pads and tampons for so long and frankly you are so utterly fed up with the mess that is Aunt Flo.

“Jungkook, you won’t even understand even if I told you.”

“Try me.”

You raise a brow but proceed anyway. “Well they stink, for one.”

“False. I love the way you sme—okay, sorry. Go on.”

“Pads are so annoying especially when you’re sweaty and they stick to your butt and somehow you always end up bleeding everywhere except on the pad! And then tampons! Just the general scare that it’ll be stuck there for too long or it’ll poison you or that you’re actually not bleeding as much as you thought you were and you’re dry af and it gets so uncomfortable to take out!” you voice dies out, nearly out of breath because you failed to pause after each sentence. Jungkook watches you with amusement painted throughout his face and relaxed posture resting against the counter.

Your chest is heaving but you continue after taking a few short breaths, “Period panties are okay but I’d like some extra insurance y’know? Also everything is so fucking expensive! Tell me why we’re being paid to tend to something we absolutely cannot control? I fucking bet you if men had periods, they’d free bleed every month and expect everyone to be okay with it. But because we’re women we have to hide it because it makes—”

Jungkook breaks you off mid-tangent kisses you and grins. “Had to stop you before you start ranting for a whole 10 minutes and then forget why you were talking in the first place.”

You return the kiss and give him an appreciative smile. Most people aren’t into the “kiss someone to get them to shut up” but in your case, you appreciated the kisses because one, Jungkook gives the best kisses and two, you really would go off forever if he didn’t shut you up.

“Thanks, baby. Now please leave,” you say before shoving him out the bathroom and locking the door behind him.

After what felt like (and probably was) two hours you are finally out of the bathroom, feeling so utterly defeated and exhausted. You had gotten it in, but at what cost? Both your hands still reek of blood despite scrubbing thoroughly for several minutes with soap. Your thighs are aching from squatting for so long as well. You plop down on the couch beside your boyfriend who’s occupied playing some rando shooting game on the PlayStation. He inhales deeply and shoots you a quick glance. You give him a questioning look but he doesn’t say anything.

After his match, he leans in close to your stomach and takes another big whiff. You’ve long passed being surprised at how much Jungkook likes smelling you. You’d think he was a werewolf or something. Not that you’d tell him that because you were not in the mood to be dicked down just to “prove a point.”

“Hm? You don’t smell like you normally do?”

“Huh, I’m honestly shocked considering how much I bled all over my hands and thighs.”

“Careful, Y/N. You might make me horny,” he muses as he enters another match.

“You’re gross.”

“So, what does the blood just… sit there?”

“Mm, yeah. The cup keeps it all inside and when I take it out the blood will be there.”

“Tell me when you’re gonna take it out, okay?”

Without breaking eye contact with the television screen, he tilts his head to plop a quick kiss on your forehead. You pull a blanket over you and watch on as your endearing thousand year old boyfriend destroys the hundredth controller because he’s still very much a baby vampy and sometimes he forgets his own strength.

“Ohhh my goood this is so fucking weird,” you mutter in disgust.

Here you are, at the end of a full day of doing absolutely nothing, squatting in the tub once again. This time, instead of sticking a foreign object up your vagina, you’re trying to pull it out. You finally have a grip on the stem and your thighs are screaming at you but you fight through the burn because no way in hell are you gonna risk dropping your cup in the toilet bowl. The several guides you found on the internet said it helped to use your muscles to push it out.

“Okay, here goes nothing.”

You push and you eventually feel the suction giving way. A few drops of liquid spill out over your hand and you grimace at how warm it is. You finally pull it out from inside you and you lift it up to inspect the contents of the cup. God it was startling how warm the cup is. It was both disgusting and fascinating to see how much blood you can bleed within half a day. And the best thing—it doesn’t smell! You’re done being weirdly fascinated with your blood now. You’ve definitely been with Jungkook for too long. You hold the cup away from you and tilt it to pour down the—

“NNOOOO!!!! STOP Y/N!!!!”

Your boyfriend stumbles into the bathroom and you watch him with absolute befuddlement as he inches closer to you with crazed eyes.

“Baby,” he reaches out to you, “what were you just going to do?”

“Um, pour out my period blood?”

“Baby!!” he practically whines and kneels beside the tub.

“...Yes? Jungkook?” You’re at a complete loss for why he came bursting here in such a hurry.

“I thought I asked you to tell me when you were gonna take it out.”

“I’m sorry hun. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. I’m just taking it out?”

“Babe.”

“Mhm?”

“I’m a vampire.”

“Mhm.”

“And I’m your boyfriend.”

“Okay.”

“Are you really going to make me say it?”

“Jungkook, I don’t even know what you’re talking about so if you could just tell me, that’d be great.”

He groans into his hands and peeks at you through his fingers.

“I wanna drink it.”

Oh, for god’s sake. You restrain yourself from rolling your eyes at him. You weren’t ignorant to his obsession with blood, especially during that time of the month. He was a vampire, after all. This was a whole new experience though with nearly an ounce of your blood right in your hand. Before you can second guess yourself, you hand the cup to your very pouty boyfriend who takes it with a now huge smile gracing his face.

He brings the cup directly under his nose and takes a quick whiff. You wrinkle your nose in distaste. And then he lets out a deep, guttural moan. He flicks his tongue in the pool of blood then promptly empties the blood into his mouth. A normal person would not shiver at the sight of their boyfriend drinking their blood, but you’ve long resigned the fact that you were not normal. Your eyes fixate on the trail of blood that missed his mouth and now fall down the side of his mouth to his chin. You swallow in sync with Jungkook who hands you back the empty cup.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks. “Please never stop using this cup. It is the greatest creation of the modern times… Next to the internet. Also don’t ever drain your blood anymore. Give it to me. Save the ocean.”

“You absolute dork,” you laugh and continue your downward gaze of his body. That’s when you see it.

“Oh my god. Jungkook. Did you… baby are you horny?”

#jungkook fanfic #btsghostie #vampire jungkook #jungkook fluff #bts fanfic #f:vampire's wine #i'm so sorry #also black menstrual cups do exist #omg you guys tell me to stop re-editing this every 10 minutes

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btsqualityy · 4 years ago

Text

Heaven Sent; Part 7

Jin x Reader

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Warnings: None to note.

Jin did not expect himself to be in this position eight months after the death of his best friend. He hadn’t expected to even lose his best friend in the first place, but he really didn’t expect to have developed such strong feelings for the widow that he left behind either.

He thought that for the circumstances, everything was going as well as it could. You and Jin had been taking things slow but they were still moving along well, Aera was doing good and didn’t seem to mind the increased amount of time that he was spending with the both of them, and Jin wasn’t feeling as guilty about having feelings for you anymore. Well, at least until you started ignoring him.

“It’s been a month and I have no idea what the hell I did,” Jin groaned as he threw himself down onto the sofa at Hobi’s house, where he had met up with his friends for their annual movie night.

“Have you tried talking to her?” Jimin wondered.

“Did you not catch the part where I said that she’s been ignoring me?” Jin scoffed. “And it’s messed up because we were doing good, or at least I thought we were.”

“Well, maybe you should try a little harder,” Jungkook suggested. “It’s obvious that she makes you happy hyung.”

“She does but I can’t and I won’t push her,” Jin stated firmly. “She has enough going on, I can’t push my shit onto her.”

“Hyung, you having feelings and communicating those feelings wouldn’t be pushing them onto her,” Namjoon lightly chastised. “Your feelings are just as valid as hers.”

“But she lost her husband.”

“And you lost a bestfriend,” Hobi interjected. “I know you’re trying to be considerate but don’t discredit your own feelings hyung.”

“It’s different,” Jin tried to say.

“Different relationships maybe, but the pain is the same,” Jimin shrugged. “Maybe that’s what it is. Maybe she’s just now realizing what her having feelings for you means.”

“But that’s still not fair because Jin hyung is hurting the same too,” Jungkook spoke up.

“Have you been honest about your feelings with her hyung?” Hobi questioned and they all looked at Jin.

“Yeah, but I always hesitate because I don’t want to scare her,” Jin confessed. “And hell, I’m still conflicted about my feelings myself. I really like Y/N-ah. I love spending time with her, she’s funny, she’s so caring, and she’s gorgeous but I can’t help but to feel like I’m sneaking behind my best friend’s back.”

“Hyung, I’m gonna say something and I don’t want you to think that I’m being disrespectful or anything but you need to hear it, alright?” Namjoon said and Jin nodded. “You cannot continue to put the feelings of someone who’s not even here anymore over your own. You deserve to be happy and if Y/N is who makes you happy and she feels the same way, then you have the right to pursue that.”

“But,-” Jin tried to say but Hobi cut him off.

“But nothing,” Hobi cut him off. “Joon-ah’s right. I know it’s hard hyung but from what you told us about him, I truly don’t think Hae-il would be completely against you seeing Y/N. Especially if it meant you caring for her and Aera in his absence.”

“You think?” Jin wondered and they all nodded their heads.

“You have to talk to her hyung,” Namjoon said. “If for nothing else, then for closure for both you and her.”

“Agreed,” Jimin and Jungkook replied at the same time.

“You guys are right,” Jin sighed. “I’ll talk to her. I just have to....figure out how to do it.”

..................................................

Month eight was admittedly the worst you had felt since Hae-il had first died, and that was saying a lot. Although it was grief that you felt with Hae-il, it was guilt you were feeling with Jin.

The rational part of you knew that you shouldn’t be avoiding Jin, and you truly didn’t mean to let an entire month pass without talking to him about things. It was just.....easier to continue to put the conversation off rather than face the uncomfortability of having to tell him that you thought the two of you should just go back to being just friends; especially when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

In order to help get your mind off of things, you had been trying to make sure you spent extra time with Aera. Although she hadn’t explicitly said anything about missing Jin, you knew that she probably did. Also, you just felt like you needed to.

“Can I go play Mommy?” Aera asked excitedly, bouncing up and down as she pointed to the playground. The two of you had been on a walk to go get ice cream, but Aera got distracted by the shouts of the other kids playing.

“Sure, but only for a few minutes and then we’re gonna go get ice cream, alright?” You told her and she nodded happily before running off.

“Be careful!” You shouted after her with a small smile, moving over to a nearby bench and sitting down to watch over her. You had only been sitting down for about two minutes before your phone started to ring, so you pulled it out of your pocket and smiled at seeing Yoongi’s name.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Hey, quick question and please say yes,” Yoongi begged, making you laugh. “You backed up the design plan of that house that we’re working on on your computer right?”

“Yeah, I did,” you said. “But wait, wasn’t Tae supposed to do it?”

“He was but he didn’t and I needed it,” he huffed. “So thank God you thought to back it up because I sure as hell didn’t.”

“Well, you know the password to my computer so knock yourself out,” you shrugged.

“10 and 7, I’m in,” he announced victoriously. “Thanks Y/N-ah. What are you up to?”

“I was taking Aera out for ice cream but she saw a playground and you know how that went,” you giggled. “So I’m sitting on a bench watching her.”

“Oh yeah, you’re never gonna be able to get her to leave,” he chuckled. “Are you there by yourself?”

“Yoongi,” you groaned, knowing exactly what he was insinuating.

“I’m just saying Y/N-ah, I wish you’d just talk to that man already,” Yoongi told you. “You’re not making things any easier by avoiding him.”

“I know but I just can’t have that conversation with him,” you admitted. “Feels like I’ve had way too many hard conversations this year.”

“That is very true but you need to do it,” Yoongi replied. “You’re both grown adults and avoiding him would be childish. Besides, we all know the real reason why you won’t talk to him.”

“And what’s that?”

“You still have feelings for him, you just feel bad for having said feelings,” Yoongi stated. “And I could still deck your punk ass mother-in-law for coming at you like that.”

“Yoongi!” You chuckled. “She had a point.”

“Maybe so, but questioning the love that you had for her son wasn’t the way to go about it,” he scoffed. “So like I said, I could still deck her.”

“As tempting as that is, it wouldn’t solve anything,” you giggled.

“You’re right. You going and talking to Jin would do that,” Yoongi said.

“Yoongi, you know I can’t,-” you began to repeat for what felt like the 1000th time but you were interrupted by a shrill cry of your name.

“Mommy!!!” You heard Aera’s voice scream and your heart instantly leapt up into your throat.

“Yoongi, I gotta go!” You said, hanging up the phone and jumping up, sprinting over to the playground and leaping down to the sand. You looked around wildly, until another cry of your name made your head whip over to the left where Aera was laying underneath the monkey bars.

“Oh my gosh Aera, are you alright?!” You questioned as you ran up to her, falling onto your knees as you lifted her up and hugged her to your chest.

“I-I f-f-fell off o-o-of the mon-monkey bars,” Aera sobbed into your shirt.

“Does anything hurt really bad?” You asked her as you began to check her limbs, silently sighing in relief when you didn’t see any signs of major injuries or blood.

“N-Nooo,” she drawled and you knew then that it was probably just the scare of falling that was hurting her more than anything else.

“Oh Love, it’s ok,” you tried to soothe her, rocking her gently in your arms. “You’re not hurt too bad so it’ll be alright.”

“I want uncle Jinnie,” she sniffled and you froze at her words, not expecting her to say that. However, you quickly recovered.

“How about we get some ice cream like we planned on doing earlier?” You suggested. “You can get two scoops.”

“Really?” She wondered as she looked up at you with teary eyes, and you nodded with a small smile as you reached up to wipe those tears away.

“Come on Love.”

..................................................

The amazing thing about kids was that it was relatively easy to redirect their attention whenever you wanted to. This time, the medium cup with two scoops of strawberry ice cream did the trick for you, as Aera happily sat at the table with you in the small ice cream shop eating her treat.

“Feeling better?” You wondered after taking a slurp of your own vanilla cone, chuckling at how eagerly Aera nodded her head in response.

“Yeah, it was scary,” she confessed.

“It was,” you agreed. A few seconds of silence fell over the two of you then, with Aera eating her ice cream and you trying to figure out how to ask her the question that had been floating around in your mind since she fell off of the monkey bars.

“Aera, can I ask you a question?” You wondered, waiting for her head nod before continuing. “Do you miss Jin?”

“Yeah, a lot,” she replied with no hesitation, which instantly made you feel bad. “I miss seeing him.”

“I’m sorry that you haven’t been able to see him more, it’s just....complicated,” you tried to explain to her.

“Grown up stuff?” She guessed, which made you laugh.

“Yeah Love, grown up stuff,” you confirmed.

“He reminds me of Daddy,” Aera admitted quietly and your eyes immediately began to get misty with tears.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she said. “He plays with me and makes me laugh and makes me feel special, like Daddy used to.”

“He does,” you smiled. “Aera, would you mind if Jin was around a lot? Like, all the time?”

“Like how Daddy was?” Aera wondered and you shrugged.

“Kind of,” you nodded.

“I would like it,” she stated firmly. “He’s good and makes us laugh and helps us be happy.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” You sighed, because hearing your daughter’s opinion was the exact push that you needed. “Alright Love, I’m gonna fix it so that he can keep making us happy, ok? I promise.”

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drakewalkerfantasy · 4 years ago

Text

The Truth of Pain (Tatum x F!MC)

Summary: The Truth will come out eventually, but are they ready for it? And what will happen when truth will be out. Will they be able to protect each other or will they be torn apart?

Words: 3465

Rating: T

Warning: none

Authors notes: I really hope you will enjoy this. Please let me know if still want to be tagged and what I can improve. I hope you will like this chapter, it’s not what I initially planned and I really didn’t have much time to proofread and make it perfect and I hope the next part will be better

First part: The art of Foreign Affairs

Second part: The Secret of Foreign Affairs.

It was 8 o’clock sharp when Tatum heard Demarco’s worried and slightly panicked voice over the radio, informing the team he couldn't locate Claire. Slightly cursing and grumbling under his breath he pressed his fingers to the ear piece, thankful that even though he was off duty until later today he had connected to the radio in time not to miss the message.

“Copy that,” he replied through the gritted teeth, checking for any messages from Claire, but as he suspected there were none. “Demarco, leave it with me. I will find her... No… I don’t think that backup is necessary.... Yes… No... Wait in her suite. Demarco, this is an order,” said Tatum before disconnecting.

Heavily he moved to the door peeking outside. Cursing, when he saw three guards standing in front of Blaine’s door. His body ached with every step he took while he walked toward there, stopping in front of the guards. His impression - unreadable, knowing that even though he made friends with some of them they still will do their job, which meant not letting the bodyguard of the enemy's country into the room.

“Let me in,” requested Tatum, his hand already moving to the handle to push the door open only to be stopped by one of Hayes’ bodyguards.

“Mendoza, you know it’s against the protocol.”

“Claire is there and that is against the protocol either. So I'm not going anywhere till she leaves with me,” grunted Tatum.

“She isn’t there. Don’t you think we would know if she would be with Hayes? Unlike Rutherland’s bodyguards we know where our charge is...”

“How convincing... wasn’t it him, who was almost expelled a few weeks ago for a security breach... or wasn’t it him, sneaking away from you whenever he wanted? And wasn’t it him you lost in Rutherland few months before the start of the semester?”

“At least he never was spotted with his pants down with some mystery lover,” guffawed one of the bodyguards’.

Lucky bastard. thought Tatum narrowing his eyes, feeling how his fists clenched from the memory.

“Don’t make me…,” seethed Tatum, feeling the need to punch something. He knew that he could trust Claire, but Blaine... he wasn't so sure if he could.

After 10-15 minutes of heated conversation Tatum firmly moved one of the bodyguards’ aside groaning from the pain that the effort took him, but finally getting inside the suite followed by Ardona’s bodyguards. Moving as quickly as he could toward the bedroom.

“Mendoza, you cannot just enter like that,” hissed one of the bodyguards’ trying to reach for Tatum to stop him right outside the door.

“Miles, just try and stop me,” he seethed, whirling around with an angry glare in his eyes before throwing the door open and marching inside without another glance back.

The blood roared in his ears when he walked inside, but even through the rage that was boiling his blood he still could hear two gasps and exclamations following his entrance.

“Hey,” exclaimed Blaine, when the door opened hiding a smirk behind a shocked expression. “Didn't your mother teach you that you have to knock before you enter?” he asked, while making a show from the way the covers slipped from his naked torso, while another pair of hands firmly held onto her half not letting it slip even an inch lower.

“Claire, stand up,” roughly said Tatum, ignoring Blaine. His eyes unmoving on her, while hers widened and moved around the room looking anywhere but him. Guilt? Fear? he thought, knowing that even if it was, it still wasn’t what everyone would assume happened. He knew her well enough to know as much. Regretting the way how his own voice sounded, rougher than expected, sharper then it should have been. And knowing that she thought he was angry with her, but he wasn’t. He was angry about the situation, about the fact she was ready to cause another scandal, only to stir her mother's attention from him. He was angry about that, but not on her... never on her.

He could see how the blood drained from her face, when their eyes finally met, and a silent conversation trespassed between them.

“What are you doing here? I thought Demarco is on duty?”

“I knew you would do something reckless the second he informed me you weren't in your suite. God... What were you even thinking? I knew it was a bad idea to sneak out to him. Why would you even think of something like that?”

“Don’t you see why? Apparently, someone in my security details is a snitch, who passed information on us to my mother. So I needed someone who isn’t you to see me with Blaine so my mother wouldn’t do anything to you and would think her plan is working whatever her plan even is.”

“But you ARE with me...”

“Yes, I’m. But she shouldn’t know it. She should think I’m with Blaine and was all along.”

“You are stubborn.”

“But you still love me.”

“Yes, I do,” murmured Tatum in a voice quieter than a whisper, with a tender smile.

“Nothing happened,” simply stated Blaine stirring them both from the conversation they had, not even noticing that they had one. The one where they didn’t need words to have, and the one they mastered through years of friendship. Blaine’s hand placed under his head on the pillow watching between Tatum and Claire before looking behind Tatum at his bodyguards on alert. “You three can leave and close the door behind.”

“But Sir,” tried the bodyguard Claire remembered from their visit to the children’s hospital a few weeks ago.

“It’s an order,” said Blaine, waiting for the door to close before moving his gaze back to Tatum. “You can relax. I know Claire is in love with someone else and this someone unfortunately isn’t me. It doesn’t take a genius to put 1 plus 1 after the photo we all saw yesterday to realise that she isn’t interested," his eyes fixed solely on Tatum who still was looking at Claire the smirk playing at his lips and his voice taunting, "but I guess even if she would place a billboard in a Rutherland’s capital’s city square declaring that she is in love with that person or would scream that from the tallest tower in city this person still would be either blind or stupid not to get a message and still doubt her. So if this person even for a second could think Claire is capable of cheating, this person doesn’t deserve her.”

“Blaine, don’t...,” said Claire quietly, her gaze still holding Tatum’s, knowing that he didn’t think even for a second that this was what had happened. But also knowing that deep down he was still jealous and hurt that she was ready to play the game her mother would want her to play. Still doubting if he even deserves her and that hurt.

“I...,” he tried, swallowing thickly. His eyes meet Blaine’s knowing that he is right... he doesn’t deserve her, and even not because he could think for a second she could cheat on him. He knew she wouldn’t, simply as this, he just knew. But the voice of her mother mixed with the voice from his past whispering that 'never say never' was louder than that, and he could do nothing to silence them. “Claire, please...,” softly said Tatum, his eyes pleading with her, watching how she slipped from under the covers letting them slide from her body. The summer dress is still on her body with the slightly lowered straps to make her look nude. His eyes moving to Blaine, who followed her, the low rise jeans still snugly around his hips.

“I see you tonight,” said Claire to Blaine, her hand brushing Tatum’s passingly on the way to the door, sending a million of sensations through him. His finger hooking with hers just for a split second squeezing it slightly before letting go.

“You shouldn’t say that in front of him or he will think you are planning an escape route already and will triple your security details, ” laughed Blaine putting on a t-shirt with a wink.

“Blaine!!! I meant you picking me up at 6 for our date,” laughed Claire before she left Blaine’s room with Tatum just a step behind.

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

It was already 6 in the evening when Blaine knocked on the door. The bouquet of pink roses in his hand and a charming smile on his face. Tatum lowered his gaze feeling how uncontrolled spark of jealousy coursed through him, watching Blaine bending lower to press a soft kiss to the back of Claire’s hand lingering for a moment longer before handing her flowers. Wanting to be the one who would take her on the dates, who would bring her pink roses just because she loves them so much and to be the one who would hold her hand in his. He could see how Blaine looked her over with a smirk, his voice lowered to a loud whisper, still holding her hand.

“You cleaned up nicely.”

“You look not as bad yourself,” smiled Claire before meeting Tatum’s gaze, reading in them just how good she looked and how much better this long beautiful blue gown with a bare back would have looked on his bedroom’s floor. The single thought and the heat in his gaze, the one he masked behind the mask of stony expression sent a rush of desire through her, making her pulse race and for a tiny blush to colour her cheeks. “Ummm,” she cleared her throat, snapping her gaze back to Blaine’s. “So where are you taking me?” asked Claire, accepting Blaine’s hand to help her out of her suite.

“Where would there be fun in that if I would tell you?” he teased her in reply, leading her to the limousine that waited for them, while Tatum took a deep breath following them side by side with Blaine’s bodyguard. His body still hurting, but he went forward ignoring the pain, knowing that any second of him being distracted by it may cost Claire’s safety and he couldn’t allow it.

The drive to their destination wasn’t awkward, even though Tatum felt how the tension in his body intensified every time when Blaine lowered his voice beckoning Claire closer to him and whispered something that made her blush. Protectiveness and something resembling a spark of jealousy made his own body shift closer to Claire’s. Every nerve in his body was on alert and aching. Knowing that that was a dangerous move to do, a reckless one, but he still couldn’t resist it, feeling how Claire’s hand found her way to his behind their backs. Her body shifted just slightly cloaking the view of their intertwined fingers. Her thumb running gently over the bandage covering his knuckles, squeezing his hand and not letting it go until the limo stopped, meantime still taking the part into her flirtatious conversation with Blaine.

Tatum could feel how her hand slipped from his the moment the car stopped, but not missing the last squeeze of her hand with a light tremor in them. His hand squeezing hers before finally letting it go, not missing the nervous expression passing over her face clouding her smile just for a split second. And he instantly knew why, when his eyes fell to a crowd of photographers readying their cameras just outside the limo.

“God,” mumbled Claire, swallowing heavily. “I know that they want us to be seen together, but did they really need to invite this many paparazzi,” nervously asked Claire.

“No kidding,” whistled Blaine before offering his hand to Claire, lowering his voice to a quiet whisper. “The good thing about going out with me is that I don’t give a damn about these sharks... and another good thing is... I don’t really think they even expect me to behave knowing my reputation or that I will not try to sneak away,”chuckled Blaine with a wink.

“But...”

“No but’s. Do you trust me?” asked Blaine bending closer to Claire, his voice soft and gentle against her ear, not giving a damn for a sharp pointed look that Tatum threw his way.

“I do... but our bodyguards may get in trouble for that and I... I don’t want that to happen,” finally said Claire with a sigh and a worried expression.

“Not if we play our cards right,” winked Blaine. “That involves delivering exactly what our parents want... they don’t expect me to sit at some stuffy restaurant and behave myself. They expect me to run off with a beautiful girl, sneak away from our bodyguards and paparazzi, because everyone knows that everything I do for cameras is to piss my parents. And if I do something secretly... It means that it’s real and something I care deeply about. So why not enjoy ourselves far away from that farce and give our parents exactly what they want from us?”

“The show...,” the realisation downed at her. “The show, that is believable enough for them to get what they want... us together likeable to the public, creating a rumour that it’s real and not PR company your parents and my mother try to pull off thereby setting up even more of the population against them. Blaine, are you sure that they will not get in trouble,” asked Claire, subtly looking at Tatum who grunted while getting from the car, holding the door open for them and waiting for Blaine and Claire to follow him.

“I give you my word, so... are you in?”

“I...,” spoke Claire, chewing at her bottom lip still contemplating her answer before finally saying. “Fine... I’m in. But if anything happens with T...”

“Nothing will happen with him," interrupted Blaine. "And I promise you will not regret it,” he whispered with a smile before helping Claire out of the car under the intense glare from Tatum. And as soon as Claire and Blaine stepped out onto the street the camera flashes blinded them as reporters started to shout questions at them.

Blaine’s hand gently placed on the small of Claire’s back, leading her through the crowd with the help of their bodyguards, noticing that despite the best effort from Tatum he could barely stand, grunting every now and then when some of the most insolent reporters tried to get past him. His teeth gritted, taking a shaky breath before requesting yet another reporter to back off, his hand now and then gripping his side before continuing to clear the path for them.

The questions that were asked, and ignored with flourish by Blaine and Claire, were the same she used to hear for the past couple of days. Most of them about the scandal, some about the feud between their countries and her mother’s political career and what that could mean to her. And some, as everyone hoped would be, the questions if Blaine is that same mystery lover that everyone is talking about. Carefully Blaine led them through the crowd toward the restaurant that was supposed to be their date’s location, meantime thinking of the quick escape plan for them until one of the reporters asked for proof that they are together.

Shakily Claire turned to face Blaine, feeling how her heart was pounding quickly in her chest. And he could feel how her body tensed under his hand. Her eyes widened slightly, and her hands curled around the lapels of his suit jacked neither pulling or pushing him away. And by the look in her eyes he instantly knew that she felt like a deer caught in a headlights. Her breath elevated, while her eyes sought someone behind him, locking her eyes with this person. Blaine’s hands gently grazing the bare skin of her back, trying to soothe her with his touch. His face lowered to hers feeling how her breath hitched in her throat and she swallowed. His lips just inches away from hers wanting to kiss her, but first wanting to make sure that she was okay with it even though he knew this is part of the deal. At least that was what she asked him to do.

The voice of his father rang in his ears: Do something you are finally good at. Date the girl. Kiss her and make her forget about this mystery lover of hers. Make her look good and pretty. Sneak off to make it seem real to you. And probably then you will at least make something good of yourself.

And if that girl wouldn’t be Claire he would never agree to that but in that case he couldn’t say no. But now, he wasn’t sure if this was such a smart idea after all as he liked her, more than he probably should, and more than he liked anyone else since that night only a few months ago before he got here. Trying to push the thought away about the annoyingly sparkling eyes, the same shade of chocolate brown as Claire's, but with the different sparkles of silver and gold swirling in them.

“Are you sure you are okay with that, if not we can go for a hug,” he asked with a concern lacing his voice, watching her nod and swallow.

“Yes... I... We need to do the whole show... you know for mum... for that to be believable. I’m sure my friend...,” she choked on the words trying to meet Tatum’s stoic expression, who was standing just a few feets away from them. But he made a hell of a job not to meet hers. She sighed in defeat. Not buying even for a second, that this didn’t impact him as much as it did her. Knowing him way too well not to miss a fire burning in his eyes, and the way how his fists clenched. “I’m sure he will understand,” whispered Claire, lowering her eyes.

“Okay,” he said, softly pressing his lips to hers without waiting for another invitation. His kiss was gentle and warm and leading, but it wasn’t Tatum’s and it was all she could think of. And she knew that he could feel it too. His lips lingering against hers for a moment longer as if savouring the feel of them for the last time before finally pulling slowly away. Pulling her in a tight embrace shielding her from the press so they wouldn’t see her tears. After a long heartbreaking moment she gently pushed him away finally putting on a forced smile, the fake one as fake as this date is... not knowing if he ever will have anything real.

They could hear how the press shouted their approval taking pictures, making the bodyguards get themselves busy with the amount of paparazzi trying to take a better shot of the happy couple, and as on cue Blaine saw an escape route. Quickly, he leaned to Claire nodding toward the narrow alleyway just behind the restaurant, stirring her away from the crowd until the freedom seemed so close and Claire could feel how she finally could breathe again, finally not suffocating by the amount of attention from the press.

“Where do you think you are going,” ceased someone through gritted teeth, when Claire felt a firm but gentle hand gripping her forearm. She instantly gasped and whirled around to face no one else but Tatum who was glaring at Blaine.

“Busted,” shrugged Blaine, letting go of Claire’s hand and nonchalantly leaning against the wall of the building.

“Care to explain?” seethed angrily Tatum.

“We are ditching my bodyguards and I’m taking Claire somewhere where she will be able to enjoy her meal. Not so pompous as this place. Care to join us?” Smirked Blaine. “And no worries we will be back before the opera.”

“Opera?”

“Yes, they are sending us there and we definitely need to be seen there...” shrugged Blaine before looking back to see if anyone else noticed their absence. “Dude, we don’t have much time so either you go with us or we go without you,” said Blaine looking behind the corner.

“Tatum, please,” softly spoke Claire.

“Claire, it’s unsafe,” tried Tatum before she stopped him with the press of her fingers to his.

“Tate, if you will go with me… with us it will be the most safe place I can be without paparazzi breathing down my every step. Please, Tatum. I need it, I really do.”

“But what about his parents and your mother,” finally asked Tatum.

“This is exactly what they would want for paparazzo to think, that this is real. And this exactly for what we are going. So my question stands are you coming with us? Or will stay behind, I’m good either way.”

“Fine… I’m coming."

Tagging: @choices-bound @jamespotterthefirst @mercury84choices @k2624 @thefrenchiemama @choicesreal @starrystarrytrouble @boneandfur @walkerswhiskeygirl @sophxwithers @ramseysrookiex @suitfer @gardeningourmet

#tatum mendoza #tatum x mc #tatum x f!mc #foreignaffairs #choices foreign affairs

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tvpeongsstuff · 4 years ago

Text

Supreme Emperor Obi-Wan Kenobi (part 3)

Palpatine's imperial guards were also unconscious when Obi-Wan made his way up to the emperor's chambers. He had ordered the commanders of the storm troopers to accompany him, and to organize some of their men and the medidroids to carry Sidious and Vader up to the office with them. He had noticed the passed out imperial guards on the senate floor. However, he had not expected that all of Sidious' bodyguards would be unconscious. He was glad that there would not be a fight but wondered if they were all sith. And there the knowledge was, in his brain, as soon as thought.

The guards were not sith or darksiders. Instead they were soldiers, men, who had been chosen by Sidious for their height and lethality. Then he had molded them through dark side practices, with no one to answer to but his own perversions, into his own creatures. More than half of them were cyborgs, not as bad as Vader or Grievous but still more machine than man. Nearly all had had their vocal cords removed. He had tortured these men and steeped them so completely in the dark side that when Vader pulled all the dark energy into himself they had been knocked out.

Obiwan would have to deal with all the unconscious people soon. He suspected that either Vader would drain them until they died or he would suck them dry, forever cutting them off from the force. He directed the storm troopers to put the two sith down on the ground. The two medidroids that had traveled with them all the way to the office were buzzing around all the bodies on the floor.

"Are any of these men going to wake up anytime soon?' Obiwan asked the droids. "No? Good! Do a complete scan and give me the details. Do not administer any drugs to any of the unconscious people in this room," Obiwan paused thinking, "This order must be implemented for all of the unconscious people in the building. Make sure that every medic knows that at this time only the storm troopers are to receive medication. They are to treat the physical injuries of every other person with bandages only. I repeat no other group is to receive medication. And, unless someone is in danger of dying without it, only use bacta on the stormtroopers."

Obi-Wan did not know how drugs would affect the hold Vader had on the darksiders. He did not want anyone to wake up before he could get them properly secured. To that end, Obi-Wan turned to the storm trooper commanders in the office with him. In the force they felt familiar but muted. He did not want to raise his hopes. "Take off your buckets," he commanded.

As they complied, he steeled himself. "What are your orders, Supreme Emperor Kenobi?" said Cody. "Cody," gasped Obiwan. And, it was Cody, he looked around, and Boil, Appo, Driven, Marks, Sweet, Genna, and Dave. Men he had lived and served with. Was there something there of their old personalities? Their real personalities? "Cody,' Obiwan said again. "Do you remember me?"

"Yes Sir," replied Cody, "and I must say that I am glad that you are no longer a traitor." Obi-Wan wanted to scream at him. He wanted to make him understand that he had never been a traitor. No Jedi had been. No Jedi, but one. Back to the matter at hand.

Obi-Wan began, "Order 66 has been cancelled. Are you holding any Jedi or force sensitive captive? They are to be released from custody. Any on Coruscant are to be brought here immediately. I want to speak to the ones who are being held off planet. In the meantime, arrange untraceable transport and food for them. Also find travel companions for any who are too young to travel by themselves. And, get enough binders for all of the unconscious people.

You there," he said turning to one of the medidroids. "How are your patients?"

"I am ZT-57. The patients are unconscious but otherwise their vitals are good." said the droid. "Five of them have cybernetic limbs and hardware throughout their bodies. Four also have an implant that is injecting an unknown stimulant into their bodies. One has the implant but it is not currently injecting the stimulant."

A stimulant!? Obi-Wan turned to Sidious and the information was there. His imperial guards were fitted with a device imbued with dark side energy and spacemeth that would trigger rage and aggression if the emperor were ever threatened. It was one of Sidious' back up plans to keep power. They would battle to the death and feel no pain.

It must have been triggered when Sidious collapsed in the Senate, Obi-Wan figured. But, Vader was pulling the darkness from the solution which knocked the guard out. And, apparently, Vaders' actions were more than enough to overpower the stimulant. Obi-Wan wondered if he could allow the inquisitors to be treated with medication if Vader's pull was that strong. But he decided not to risk it until he was sure that they were secure.

What about Vader? Vader's device injected a special concoction of spacemeth and sithstimulant into Vader twice a day. One early in the morning to give him energy to get up and go. And, another at night to keep him working and focused. All told, Vader probably got no more than an hour or two of rest a day. "No wonder he was still sleeping" Obi-Wan thought.

He could not have the drug waking Vader up and stopping this. Obi-Wan reached out with the force and found and broke all the devices in the building. He would have the medidroids remove them from the men at a later date. Right now, it was enough that they were not going to wake up. Especially as he had a more urgent use for the medidroids.

"ZT-57, I need you to run a level 5 brain scan on the storm troopers. They have biochips that need to be removed." Obi-Wan said.

"Sir?" Cody sounded confused.

"Commander Cody. Have you carried out the orders I gave you earlier?"

"Yes Sir," he replied. "There were only 5 Jedi on planet. They are being brought here as we speak. They should be here in approximately 25 minutes. 6 Jedi are being held in facilities off-world. You can begin calling them in 15 minutes.."

"Why 15 minutes?" Obi-Wan interjected.

"They are to be cleaned up and given food and water. I thought you would prefer that their needs were met before you talked to them. I am in the process of arranging companions for the younglings. I thought that you would prefer it if the companions were not clones or officers of the empire. We have 2213 binders."

Obi-Wan did not ask him to explain further. He could only imagine what had been done to the captives. The initiatives that Cody took on his own gave him hope that the man he knew in the war was still there.

"Do you want to know why I am removing your biochips? Obi-Wan asked with a smile.

"No Sir," the commander responded promptly. "Good soldiers follow orders."

Obi-Wan felt sick.

"Scan done." said ZT-57. "We have the location of the biochip and can begin removing them as soon as you are ready."

"You will do the surgery here and now. Can it be done under local anesthetic?" asked Obi-Wan.

"Yes Emperor. Are you sure you want us to carry out brain surgery in the imperial office? I cannot be sure that the area is sterile. These are not optimum conditions for surgery!" The medidroid sounded worried but Obi-Wan did not care. Unless...

"Will the men be permanently injured in some way if you did the surgery here?" he asked.

"No Emperor," the other droid said quietly. "We can do it. Just know that it is not without risk." At Obi-Wan's look, he continued, "There is a 0.0004% chance that doing the surgery here might lead to infection of the wound."

"I'll risk it. Are the biochips in the same place in all of the troopers?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Yes Emperor," said ZT-57.

"Send the location of the biochips to all of the medidroids in the building. You will operate on Commanders Cody and Appo now. How long will the surgery take?"

"We will have to shave the area, then sterilize it, before we can do the surgery, So about 10 minutes." said ZT-57

Ten minutes? In 10 minutes Obi-Wan would know if he had his friends back. He would know for sure if the biochip had destroyed the men they were and replaced them with automatons that did not question orders and found it easy to kill children.

He could barely stand the wait.

#Supreme Emperor Obi-Wan Kenobi #au #fic #fanfic #fixit #star wars #obi wan kenobi #commander cody

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animeheadspace · 3 years ago

Note

hope I ain’t to late- if so then feel free to ignore this!

for the matchup:) I’d like a Tokyo rev char.

- my personality is pretty chaotic, I’m a huge ambivert and socially awkward- mostly with new people or just random,though sometimes around family members N friends,rarely. When I’m feeling talkative I’m a huge chatter, pray that I’m not talking about a anime or manga I read,because honey, ill go on for hours. Other times when I’m feeling quiet, I just sit and do my own thing. with friends I can be so extra and dramatic,some times well all the time I crack flirty jokes and VERY flirty nicknames,mainly to get my friends to laugh! I like seeing people in good moods,negative ones just like bummer. Leading into Ive been told i can’t read between the lines or I’m oblivious- which leads to a lot of my friendships ending. I’m also pretty like quick to change things, my mind just races everywhere. I can get pretty angry,depending on what it is. I can handle it the right way, walk away,not speak on it and be nice. But if it bothers me, I’m a whole bomb,I will explode on someone and not hold back, which is more of than often what I do,but I know when something aint worth it. Though I do a lot of extra stuff, I’m shy- I can’t even talk to a cashier without stuttering Or just wanting someone to help. (like they ask me ‘speak up’ I CANT JUST GIVE ME MY STUFF’). But mostly I’m called weird, which is because of my view points on things, more about someones style, or what people like in relationships. laziness is me, i will cry if I have to get up and do anythin… I will procrastinate to the max. I’m also very understanding and supportive, I try to be the best help and listen, I hate judgmental people, I feel like everyone should be able to speak there mind and feel comfy. Which I expect back for me :).

my likes/dislikes - I like food- more sweet foods! indie/alt music, editing n writing! Chatting with close friends, oversized clothes, and monsters (the energy drink.) anime n manga, deep talks about personal issues (I just like to get it out,with someone I trust ofc)

now some things I dislike, BUGS. I hate them to the max, I will scream,run. Any type of bug,even a ladybug,I’m gone, really loud noises (like yknow them cars with loud engines? Or like a sink disposal , those sounds bother me.), hot weather, bullying, people who think they can talk to someone however, and lastly people who eat,with,there,mouth,open. LIKE CLOSE UR MOUTH JESUS. my love language is Quality time. I’m not really big on like touching n stuff, I wouldn’t mind it,yknow if the other person is into it, but certain times, I just cringe at it. Hand holding and stuff cool,but cuddling i cannot do unless Im tired. I will give 10 minutes to cuddle before I need to move around. I JuSt nEed Movement and I’d be too awkward. But like I said, if the person wants it, I’ll try. (If i like em enough JDJDJDJJD)

pass time activities, learning piano, I’m trynna practice my writing alot more! Tho mainly watching YT.

My appearance! I’m around 5’2-5’3, it think more to 5’3 though, I’m very close In height to someone 5’4,but there is a pretty noticeable difference. I have medium length black hair, in the front, my hair is orange/darker brown from the top (FROM A FAILED HAIR DYE ATTEMPT) they call me splotch bc it literally is. Splotch on my head fading to black👁👄👁. I have dark brown eyes! I have a kinda chubby face, chubby cheeks :> my body is curvy, with chubbiness ( insecure go brr-) which I like to hide in oversized clothes. Thick thighs save lives 🦵🏻🦵🏻

my pronouns are she/they!

I hope this is good,make sure to drink water bub!!!

hi! you aren’t too late, so dw about that…thank u for participating <3

ah, so you get the king of them all, sano manjiro. you included so much here and all the arrows point to mikey!! yall definitely met in a dorayaki shop. he was in front of you in line, attempting to buy his share with the change he had in his hand, but it was obvious that he didn’t have enough. you walked forward, a little bit embarrassed, and paid for the rest of mikey’s dorayaki with what extra you had on you - you share the love of dorayaki and what kind of person would you be to deprive another of sweet food? and mikey was shocked. he was so unused to people doing nice things for him, caring for him, that he asked if you wanted to share his dorayaki with him after leaving the cashier. you shook your head, pointing to your own dorayaki in your hand, but before you knew it, mikey had already shoved half in your mouth, awaiting your reaction. your mouth closed around the sweet cake and your eyes gleamed, despite your previous attempts at telling him you didn’t want it. mikey laughed a bit, and decided that he was never going to let you out of his sight.

obviously, you share his love with sweet food and snacks. his favorite activity to do with you is to go food hopping throughout tokyo, trying out new stuff with his hand in yours. mikey absolutely loves it when you fill up your conversation with whatever you’re obsessed with at the time - as someone who is canonically an introvert, mikey enjoys it when someone can talk to him casually in not an overbearing way. you always try to put a smile on mikeys face, especially after knowing about what happened to his family, and mikey couldnt be more appreciative of your kindness. he loves your weirdness, and never ever puts you in a situation where you feel uncomfortable. mans is literally leader of toman, a feared fighter known throughout tokyo and then he eventually becomes leader of bonten?? yeah, no one is touching a single hair on your head without his permission. he likes your hair too - he thinks that it definitely fits your personality!! he couldn’t care less about your chubbiness, instead choosing to see the real you through your passions of writing and playing the piano.

i think mikey is just as scared of bugs as you are though (cue draken coming in and rescuing the both of you). and i also think that mikey’s bluntness is just something you’d have to get used to, but you know that mikey would never intentionally hurt you. when whatever happened to emma and draken, you know happened, you became the sole tether he had to love, and you made sure to shower him with it every single day, telling him that he was enough. you even worked with takemitchy too to ensure that mikey could get the help he needed. yeah, he may have still formed bonten and consequently was paranoid about keeping you safe, but at least he wasn’t easily influenced by kisaki’s manipulation tactics - you help save hinata. mikey is complicated, but you’re there for him, and he knows you’re there for him too, which leads me to believe that everything will turn out perfect for the two of you.

hope you liked it!! also btw, im obsessed with your blog imma be participating some time soon 💕💕

#animeheadspace matchup event

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horrorslashergirl · 4 years ago

Text

The Lurking One: A Shadow Horror Story

Authors Note: Decided to write a story for my newest Slasher OC, Shadow. People seem to really like him, despite him not having a face claim. lol

Warning: 18+ for horror, gore and torture, plus add in trauma

Words: 2.4k words

It was one of these late at night study sessions for the ones that slacked during the year and had to catch up with what they lost; Giula was one of them and she cursed herself for letting her time be filled with sorority activities and parties.

The Northeastern University campus was empty save for the security guard; Guila being the only student who was currently in the library catching up to a project that was due to tomorrow. She could have done it back at the sorority house, but she knew the girls would distract her and tempt her with other activities such as preparing for a college festival that was in two weeks.

Her grades were more important than social activities that would print into her status, not to mention her parents who had a talk with her about the fact that college wasn't a gateway for drinking and hooking up with guys.

Guila sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, checking the old antique clock of the library.

10:35 PM

Her gaze moved back to the tons of files and books on the wood desk she was sat at. She just finished the project, but she needed to revise it to make sure everything was perfectly done. The grade for this project was important and she wasn't looking for another discussion with her parents and the headmaster.

She will look it over in the morning; she needed to be fresh tomorrow for the presentation and looking like a crackhead in front of the judges wasn't a pro in the book. Putting everything back into her bag neatly, she pulled her hair out of the tight ponytail, letting her auburn locks fall freely down her back, almost to the hips.

Walking out of the library and locking the door; thank God the old library lady was a sweetheart and left the keys for her to close. She walked down the hallways and taking the old victorian ascensor to the low floor. Before she could exit the building she stopped by the cubicle of the security guard, handing him the keys.

"All done for tonight, dear?" Arthur asked, taking the keys and setting them on his desk.

"Well, finally so. I will have to own Mrs. Hariot for leading me the keys to the library." Giula told the old man with a smile.

"Ahhh...She's an angel among here. Trust me, it was her pleasure." he old the girl, sitting back down at his desk, a copy of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen was on the desk.

"Have a good night without incidents, Sir." Giula told the gentleman guard who nodded.

"Nothing ever happens around here. Kids nowadays don't read books anymore, so I don't think someone will try to break into the library." Arthur joked, making Giulia giggle and nod, although feeling a little by what he said.

"I suppose so. Good night." the girl waved off, stalking towards the exit.

"Likewise, dear!" Arthur called after her, going back to the classic novel.

As she opened the door, a chilly air hit Giulia in the face, making her wrap her arms around herself. It was definitely colder than when she got in the morning here. It was earlier spring, the days warm, but the nights reminding that the winter just recently moved away.

She was wearing a white button-down with dark blue jeans and some ballet flats that made her legs all shaky; her light brown cardigan not helping at all. She couldn't wait to get back to the sorority house and bask in the warmness of her bed and away from the coldness of the night.

It was just a 20 minutes long time walk to the house, but it seemed like much more to her now that she was all alone and shivering like a hairless cat.

Mentally, she cursed her parents for not letting her drive, always scolding her that she wasn't ready. Overly protective parents and their old school mentality always made Giulia feel like she was still a baby. She was 22 and in the second year of college for Christ's sake.

She couldn't wait to finish college and get a job; Oh the dream of having her own apartment and not having to deal with doll-like girls who owned Porches all because of their wealthy daddies. Now thinking more about it, she was the only one who didn't have an overly rich family; maybe the girls kept her because she was the only one who was first to clean a mess, make breakfast when the others were hungover.

The streets were all deserted, none was outside, most people here being locals since birth or college students who basked in cheap beer and gossips at this hour.

This neighbor that gave off hostel-like vibes made her skin be covered in goosebumps, smelling a faint scent of weed, beer and hearing the music blasting from the apartments above. The police wouldn't come to stop the noise, since there was none to be bothered by the hypnotic beat.

Guila could feel eyes on her, but every time she turned around to take a look there was none, just the slight wet streets and alleyways that adored this place. Each time she passed one, she would halt her walking, afraid two big clawed hands will brisk her away into darkness.

She rolled her eyes as a guy from above cat-called her, probably drunk off his ass, and his girlfriend a few feet away from him at the window making out with his best friend.

Boston really was filled up with these types of students, getting great opportunities and throwing said blessing out the window because of blinding hormones, and the idea of being young means I'm indestructible.

'Just 10 more minutes and you will be home.' Giulia thought to herself, but it quickly went off the window as pain shot through her scalp, before she knew it she was dragged into the darkness of an alleyway.

One strong arm wrapped around the middle section of her waist, but the other moved to her neck, feeling the prickle of something cold against her neck; a blade, a knife, something that was indeed sharp.

"Scream and you can say arrivederci to your precious vocal cords." the person that held her spoke, voice raspy and very eerie, definitely a male.

"P-Please...Don't kill me." Giulia whispered, afraid that if she raises her voice too much, he won't keep on his promises.

"Shush now. I heard that line all too many times and it gets very monotonous." the man spoke right by her ear, running what she assumed was a scalpel over her cut, not slitting her throat, but surely making a small cut to show that he wasn't playing games.

She was panicking, her breathing getting more on the hysterical edge, then she did the first thing she could think of. She kicked him in one of his shins, making him groan, but he didn't back off. He did throw her in the opposite direction of the alleyway against the brick wall. Giulia grunted and whimpered as she hit the ground right into a puddle.

Her hazel eyes looked up and she felt terror strick her as he stalked over to her wet and bruised form, like a panther ready to pounce on its prey. She could scream, but the music from the apartments above was so loud she wouldn't have a chance in someone hearing her.

One cold leather-gloved hand wrapped around her neck and he slammed her back into the wall, showing so much strength that got her the image of him snapping her tiny neck like a twig.

"That was some dirty move you put up there, little wench. Although I am a very patient man." he whispered, and now that he was in front of her, she could make out what he looked like.

He was wearing all black, probably a very expensive tailored suit with a scarlet red tie, not even a glimpse of skin was shown. What really caught her attention was his vintage-looking fedora and the creepy raven like a mask.

A doctor purge mask? She heard of them from her brother who was very into history.

"W-Who are you?" Giulia choked, his hand tightening around her throat at the question.

He hummed like he was deep in thought.

"I think the public eye has birthed me as the Shadow." he answered her question.

It took only a few seconds for Giulias eyes to widen and her body to tremble. She heard on the news about him; the unknown brutal killer, never seen, none to survive to tell the story and how they described his murderers on television.

The killer known now as Shadow chuckled at her horrified face.

"Ahhhh....So you heard of me. Good. I hate to explain information to someone who cannot even work their brain enough to avoid someone dangerous." he mused, making the young woman whimper and cry, then she began to swing her legs in an attempt to hurt him.

Only for her head to be slammed multiple times against the brick wall until her vision blacked and she fell on the dirty ground by the pristine black Oxfords he was sporting.

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

The lightbulb above flickered to life and Giulia opened her eyes, looking around like a desperate animal caged, or more like chained by her neck, a metal collar digging into the skin of her neck and creating red and purple marks.

Her doe-like eyes looking around and stopped on the black-clad figure.

The Shadow.

"Ahh...I'm glad you're awake. I might think I hit your head too many times on the brick wall. I usually prefer drugging my victims, but you were acting like too much of a mindless animal." he began to spoke so fluently, calm, like everything that was going on was a normal occurrence for him; like discussing the weather over a few drinks.

The man was laying some tools neatly on a metal table; surgical tools, like scalpels, forceps, scissors, retractors, and clamps. Giulia felt a bile form in her throat, starting to tug on the heavy chain that was bounded against the concrete wall; no luck.

"Let m go, you fucker!" she screamed and in an instant, her back meet the cold wall, gloved hand grasping her jaw tightly as the leather beak of the mask brushed against her face.

"You smell putrid, although there is that faint strawberry scent of your perfume." he commented, fingertips digging more into her jaw and making her whimper and sob.

In his free hand, he held a pair of surgical retractors and her eyes widened when he forced her mouth open, one finger pulling her upper lip to expose her pearly white teeth and pink gums.

"You have a nice set of teeth there. I adore your canines especially." he whispered, then he grasped one of her canines with the retractor, tugging on it and forcing a pain-filled scream from Giulia; the next twin teeth following.

Her tears filled eyes looking as he held both canines between black covered fingers.

"Very impeccable indeed." he murmured, going back to the table.

The metallic taste of blood and sterisol filled her mouth, scarlet dripping down her chin.

She knew this was far from over as his thumb run over the shiny scalpel.

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

Giulia didn't know how much time has flown; one month, maybe two? She hadn't seen the light of the day in so long and she wished dead would overcome her.

She was in so much pain; the things Shadow did to her. First the canines, then her fingernails went off and when she spat on his mask she thought she was going to die as he poured acidic fluid down her scalp; her beautiful long hair was just a burned memory.

Dead was supposed to come, but the sadist treated her wounds like an expert at the hospital, only to remind her that death was far away from her.

Then the begging, telling him what she will do anything, even getting on her knees and possibly giving him new ideas. His words were absolute humiliation.

"I know what you're implying, ignorant wench." he told her as his gloved hands were running down her naked hips, then he left her.

"I'm not a rapist, darling. Never found any fascination with taking someone against their own will in that way. I prefer my slave to be willing, but you're not. So I advise next time you keep these sick fantasies to yourself." he told her, mocking and making her feel even more stupid.

She caught glimpses of him doing awful things to the other girls; one of them skinned alive and every muscle on full display.

"You're just too perfect, aren't you?" he told Giulia, making her a confused mess.

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

She did manage to trick him when he was busy piercing her earlobes multiple types, having to bite her tongue as she stole the keys to her chains.

Then when he found her moving down the hallways; she almost got her leg blown off when he used a shotgun after her. She had opened the door to the exit and was meet with the night. Running through the forest, looking behind her over and over.

Her luck was finally getting to the principal road and a car passed by, getting in, and again she was in danger. The old man tried to rape her, but she was brave enough to jump out of the car when they were in town.

After 30 minutes of limping around the streets, she finally spotted a police car that was patrolling.

Interrogations followed, but she always spoke the same words, too traumatized by the events.

'He is tall and in all black. He doesn't seem human. No human could do this. He pulled all her skin off like she was a rabbit. His voice, makes me wanna throw up, it's so raspy it makes me wanna be deaf so I cannot hear it anymore in my head. What he did to the other girls...I cannot describe. He said that I'm perfect. What was that supposed to mean?'

Her parents were devasted when they found out about everything that happened and her mother fell on her knees crying over and over when she finally saw Giulia face to face.

The worst was that she could no longer be let on her own; nightmares, voices, aggressive outbursts, and feeling like she was constantly followed. She was scared of her own shadow.

When the police found the whereabouts of where Giulia was held everything was gone, not even a spot of blood like there was none there in the first place.

Why clean it all up if Shadow wanted the bodies to be found in the first place?

Needless to say...Nights in Boston weren't safe anymore.

#The Shadow #Serial Killer #Salem #Boston #Horror story #creepy story #original characters #slasher oc

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heauxplesslydevoted · 4 years ago

Text

Fresh Start - Prologue

Ethan x MC

Summary: After going through her own personal trauma, Dr. Naomi Valentine packs up and sets her sights on Boston. But a new job in a new city comes with its own set of challenges and drama.

A/N: I honestly have no idea why this plot popped into my head, but where we are. Part of this chapter borrows from Ethan and MC’s very first encounter in chapter 1, with some very minor tweaks.

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged. And enjoy!

Tags: @fanmantrashcan @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @writinghereandthere @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @theeccentricbibliophile @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @kaavyaethanramsey @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @mal-volaris @whatchique @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartwriting @mvalentine @nooruleman

~v~

Don’t get married at 19, they said. Don’t spend the best years of your life tied down to someone else, they said. This will be the biggest mistake of your life, they said.

They were all right.

If you would’ve told Naomi that her husband of 9 years was going to cheat on her with his receptionist and knock her up, she would’ve laughed. But fate laughed harder.

She’s Naomi freaking Valentine – thank God she never changed her last name. She’s brilliant, she’s an attending at one of the best hospitals in Washington D.C, and she comes from one of the most prominent families in this city, but none of that even matters. Because it’s Friday night and she’s currently at home, watching trashy television, crying into her couch cushion.

At first there was the unbridled rage that threatened to consume her from the inside out. Leading up to the divorce, she felt like she was always on the brink of exploding. She wanted to kill her husband, his stupid mistress, his slimy divorce attorney, and anyone else who dared cross her path.

But now that the divorce papers are signed, now that all of the air has been deflated from her, all she feels is overwhelming sadness.

Divorce sucks. It’s a pretty well known fact, but everyone else feeling the same way doesn’t negate her feelings. She’d rather get split down the middle and turned inside out than ever go through something like this ever again. She’s strong, but she’s not strong enough to endure this type of battle more than once.

She’s too wrapped up in her own feelings, she doesn’t notice the front door of her condo opening and closing. But the sound of heels clinking against her wood floors is enough to pull her out of her own thoughts.

“You weren’t answering my calls, darling.”

The vivacious voice of Dorinda Valentine booms throughout the condo. Naomi looks up and sees her mother standing a few feet away. She has Tupperware in her hands.

“Yeah, I turned my phone off.”

“I figured.”

“What’s in the Tupperware, mama?”

“I made you some chicken stir fry. I think it’s safe to assume you haven’t eaten anything today.”

It’s a correct assumption. On any other day, Naomi would devour anything her mother put in front of her face, but now, the thought of food makes her stomach turn.

She shakes her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“You’re a doctor, Naomi, you know better than anyone that you should be eating.” Dorinda stares at the tall bottle of vodka on the coffee table. “And just because vodka is made from potatoes, it still doesn’t count.”

Naomi doesn’t respond. She just turns her head and burrows further into the couch.

Dorinda stands there for a few moments, observing her daughter. It’s a depressing sight, one she isn’t used to. If she could take the pain from Naomi and somehow transfer it to herself, Dorinda would do it in a heartbeat.

“Okay.” Dorinda drops her purse to the floor and sets the containers down on the coffee table. She walks to the couch. Grabbing Naomi by the shoulder, she roughly yanks the younger woman. Naomi rolls over and drops to the ground with a thud.

“Mom!” Naomi looks at her mom with a scowl. “Why did you do that?”

“It’s been 2 weeks since you and Daniel signed the divorce papers. I have given you plenty of space and opportunity to mope around in the dark, but I think it’s time for the pity party to end.”

“2 weeks is not nearly enough time to simply get over the past 9 years.” Naomi argues as she stands up and dusts herself off.

“I know you’re hurt–”

“No offense, but you and daddy have been married for thirty years, and last time I checked, I don’t have any half siblings conceived within that time, so you cannot fathom my hurt, so you can just skip over any platitudes that might be brewing.”

Dorinda raises an eyebrow. “You’re upset, so I’m going to ignore your wildly inappropriate and condescending tone, and give you a one time pass.”

“I’m sorry,” Naomi murmurs, flopping back down on her couch. She averts her mother’s gaze because she can feel the older woman staring daggers at her. “I’m just very...out of sorts these days, like I’ve been hit by a bus and then put on a rollercoaster.”

“Now I may not understand divorce, but I can empathize with what you’re feeling.” Dorinda sits down next to Naomi.

“I know everyone thought I was crazy to marry Daniel in the first place, and I’m so sure there's no love lost on your part, but I really went into this with the best intentions. And I thought he did too.”

Dorinda runs her thumb across Naomi’s cheek, collecting a falling tear. “People suck, and life is full of crappy people who do crappy things. And I’m sorry that you had to be a victim to one of them.”

Naomi chuckles humorlessly. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I’m sure it feels like the easiest thing in the world to curl into a ball and stay holed up in this apartment, but you are so much stronger than that. And Daniel Thompson does not deserve the right to reduce you to this. If you want to mope on this couch for the rest of your life, then you do it on your own accord, not because of him. But in my personal opinion, I think you’re too wonderful to become a piece of furniture.”

“What do you suppose I do?” Naomi challenges with a shrug. “I don’t how to do anything other than be his wife.”

“Well, that’s not true at all. But first, you’re going to take a shower, crack open a window to let some fresh air in, and then you’re going to do something that helps you vent. Rip a pillow, scream, scratch Daniel’s face out of his pictures, whatever you want. And then you and I are going to sit on this couch and have a very good cry. And I mean an all out, snotty nose, puffy eyes, sore throat type of cry.”

Getting off of this couch sounds like a feat within itself, one that Naomi doesn’t know if she has the strength or energy to do.

“That’s the first step,” Dorinda says, playing with a strand of Naomi’s hair. “That’s the hard part, but once you do that, I promise it gets easier. You just have to trust yourself and put one foot in front of the other, okay?”

A heavy silence falls on the room and Dorinda waits on bated breath for her daughter to respond. She’s never seen Naomi like this, the life completely drained out of her.

Naomi’s voice comes out small and unrecognizable, but she answers nonetheless. “Okay.”

~v~

One month passes and things finally start progressing for Naomi. She won’t say her life is back to normal, but she’s no longer glued to her couch, so her family considers it a win.

It’s a nice day, so Dorinda forces her to leave the comfort of her apartment and spend the day with her family.

“One of your father’s friends is coming over, so be nice,” Dorinda scolds, passing her daughter a handful of silverware so they can set the dinner table.

“Oh God, mom if this is some politician asking for a donation, I can’t–”

“No politicians,” Dorinda interjects. “Naveen is in Baltimore for a few days, so we invited him to have dinner with us.”

Dr. Naveen Banerji has been friends with Naomi’s dad for as long as she can remember. While Naveen was doing his residency at Sinai Hospital in Baltimore, Steven Valentine came in for a broken arm, and they’ve been close friends ever since, even when Naveen had to move to Boston.

Naomi adores the older man, and it doesn’t hurt that he’s one of the best doctors in the country.

“Why didn’t you just lead with that?” Naomi asks.

Dorinda shrugs. “I wanted to see if you could leave that apartment of yours without external motivation.”

“And I did,” Naomi says. “I want a medal.”

“And I want a private island somewhere in the Caribbean.”

There’s a knock at the door that startles them out of their banter. Before either one of them can reach the door, Naomi’s dad beats them to it.

“Naveen, you old man!” Steven greets. “How are you?”

“If I’m old, you’re ancient!” Naveen shoots back with a chuckle. His eyes fall on Dorinda and Naomi, who have joined them in the foyer. “Dorinda! You’re as lovely as ever.”

“Naveen, it’s so wonderful to see you again.”

“And Naomi, I haven’t seen you since your med school graduation.” Naveen sizes her younger before hugging her. “Gosh, I can’t believe you’re so grown up now. What happened to the little 5 year old who used to quiz me on the periodic table?”

“Hi, Naveen,” Naomi greets brightly.

“It smells delicious in here. Don’t tell me you made a huge fuss over me, Dorinda.”

“What? It’s not every day we get to see you.” Dorinda takes Naveen’s coat. “Go sit down, you’re here just in time. Dinner will be out in 10 minutes, tops.”

It doesn’t even take that long, and soon the Valentine family plus Naveen are all gathered around the dining room table, passing around bowls and platters of food.

“So Naveen, I heard you got a promotion recently and you’re now the Chief of Medicine at Edenbrook.”

“Yeah, my days of practicing are over.”

“Do you like the job?” Naomi asks.

Naveen nods. “I love it. I have more free time, which is a plus. And there’s still so much to do, so it fuels the adrenaline junky in me. What about you, Dr. Valentine?” He smiles. “What’s it like being an attending?”

“Demanding,” Naomi answers.

“Any interesting cases recently?”

“No.” Naomi‘s girl scrapes across her plate as she awkwardly shuffles her food around. “I, uh...I’m on a personal leave right now. I haven’t been to the hospital in weeks.”

Naveen knows all about the nasty divorce, so he nods sympathetically and doesn’t press the subject. “You were chief resident last year, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She’s being modest,” Dorinda says. “She was at the top of her cohort.”

“Of course she was.” Naveen takes a sip of his drink, but his eyes are still trained on Naomi, wheels turning. “How do you like the hospital you’re working at?”

“It’s good.”

“Do you think that it’s the best fit for you? Are you being pushed to your limits? Are your superiors still checking in with you? You’re an attending now, but they should still care about your development.”

Naomi feels overwhelmed by the onslaught of questions. What is this, a job interview?

“Slow down Naveen, what’s with the interrogation?”

“What? I care about you, and I care about your potential. I just hope it’s not being wasted.”

“It’s not,” Naomi assures him.

“You know, there will always be a standing invitation for you to join the team at Edenbrook,” Naveen tells her.

A wide grin forms on Dorinda’s face and before Naomi can respond, she does. “She accepts!”

And that’s when the lightbulb turns on above Naomi’s head. She glances from Naveen to her parents. “Did you guys set this up?”

Naveen raises an eyebrow at the question. “What do you mean?”

“Did my parents ask you to come here and give me a job offer?”

“No, I’m here because I have a conference to attend in Baltimore tomorrow, so I thought I’d drop in. No one asked me to give you a job offer. You’re intelligent, you’re compassionate, you’re a good doctor, and I wouldn’t be a very smart Chief if I didn’t at least try to poach you for myself.”

“And she accepts!” Dorinda continues.

“Mom, stop it!” Naomi scolds.

“You’ll get a chance to work with me,” Naveen adds. “You’ll get a chance to work with Dr. Ethan Ramsey, my protege. We’re a level 1 trauma center, and Boston is a gorgeous city.”

The last thing Naomi needs right now is a new job in a new city, not while her life is in complete shambles. Besides, her entire life is in DC. It’s where her entire support system resides. Functioning without them sounds daunting.

“I really appreciate the offer Naveen, but that is definitely a lot to take in and consider.”

“Of course, I understand. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, nor do I expect any sort of answer.” Naveen sighs. “How much longer are you going to be off of work?”

“A few more weeks.”

“How about you come to Boston, and at least check out the hospital?” He suggests. “No strings attached, and you can stay at my lake house because I’m hardly ever there and there’s tons of space, so someone should enjoy it. At the very least, I think seeing it will at least be a fun experience and a nice vacation.”

“If I say yes to the trip, can we pause this conversation for the rest of the evening?”

Naveen nods. “I think that’s a fair exchange.”

“Then you have yourself a deal.”

Naomi relaxes and slouches slightly in her seat. When she gets home later on, she has a mission to complete: research the hell out of Boston and Edenbrook Hospital.

~v~

Boston is a beautiful city full of history, culture, and interesting attractions. Naomi appreciates the hustle and bustle of the city life, and the fact that everyone is always on the go – a vast difference from the quiet and serenity of Naveen’s lake house in Plymouth.

And Edenbrook is an entirely different beast. It is much larger than she expects, as the pictures don’t do it justice. The building is at least 7 stories tall to her naked eye, sleek and modern.

Naomi silently marvels as she watches doctors and nurses bustle around, chatting quietly amongst each other.

“Wow.” Is all she can say.

“She’s a beaut, isn’t she?” Naveen asks rhetorically, smiling at Naomi’s childlike wonder.

“This hospital is amazing,” is what she finally settles on when words finally come back to her.

“Follow me, we have an unofficial tour to go on.”

Naomi follows Naveen through the hospital. She struggles to keep up as she tries to memorize the complex layout, because this hospital is large and built like a multi-level maze.

Naveen rattles off information and fun facts as they pass through the pediatric department, they stop to stare at the newborns in labor and delivery, all small and wriggly, and they even manage to sneak into the OR to watch Harper Emery perform a craniotomy, something Naomi compares to a religious experience.

“I can’t believe I just watched The Harper Emery perform surgery!” Naomi squeals with delight as she and Naveen step out of the gallery and leave the OR. “Please tell me that wasn’t a dream.”

“I didn’t peg you for a surgery fanatic,” Naveen teases.

Naomi scoffs. “I’m not, but I respect Dr. Emery. You don’t have to be a basketball fan to appreciate that Michael Jordan is one of the greats.”

“That’s a fair comparison.”

The two of them continue their leisurely stroll around the hospital, making their way to the internal medicine department.

“This is where you’d spend a good chunk of your time, if you wanted to work here, of course.”

“Is it a large department?” Naomi asks quietly. There are a few patients filling out paperwork ahead of their appointments and she doesn’t want to disturb them.

“It is. We have a lot of doctors here so you can spend that extra one-on-one time with your patients, and you aren’t just rushing them out the door to get to your next appointment.”

“That’s good to know.”

Naveen’s pager goes off and he checks it before sighing. “The life of a Chief is never dull. I have to go take care of something downstairs, but I’ll be back as soon as possible. Do you think you can occupy yourself in the meantime?”

“Of course.” Naomi shoos him away. “Take your time.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

Naomi watches as he walks away, until she can no longer see him through the crowds of people. Once he’s truly gone, she continues her slow stroll through the halls.

Edenbrook seems like an amazing hospital and a great place to work, but she’s not sure if she can see herself staying.

Can she really pack up and move more than 400 miles away from her entire family, and the only life she’s ever known? And is she the type to run away when life gets tough? What will everyone say? “Oh, poor girl gets left by her husband and had to flee the city.”

But what’s stopping you? The little voice in her head asks, and it’s technically right. She looks down at her left hand, zeroing in on the ring-less finger with a deep tan line, a very prominent reminder of what’s definitely not waiting for her back in DC. No husband, no kids, nothing but an empty and quiet condo.

When she filed for divorce, Naomi swore to herself that running off to city hall to get married would be the first and last wild and impulsive thing she’d ever do. And taking a job offer on a whim in Boston is teetering dangerously close to that “wild and reckless” category.

But she’s pulled out of her thoughts when someone gasps loudly beside her. Whipping her head around, Naomi watches as a middle aged woman falls out of her seat and collapses onto the ground.

That sends the waiting area into a frenzy as fellow patients panic and crowd around the woman like she’s some sort of zoo exhibit, and nurses try their best to assess the situation and ask for help.

“Everyone, step back!” Naomi orders, a serious expression covering her face. “I’m a doctor!”

Before Naomi can even reach the woman, another doctor rushes over, kneeling down beside her. He lifts her wrist and pressed two fingers to it.

“Her pulse isn’t weak. She’s unresponsive.”

His face scans the crowd and Naomi inwardly gasps as she realizes that it's Ethan freaking Ramsey! In any other situation, she’d be freaking out and fan-girling over him.

He spots her and points. “You. Get in here.”

Naomi bites down on her tongue and resists the urge to get snappy with him. She’s not a puppy that can get summoned on command. But she remembers that a woman’s life is on the line and her own hang ups can wait.

“Right away, Doctor!”

With practiced ease, Ethan lifts the woman up and places her on a gurney that’s been rolled over by a nurse. Within seconds, Naomi is at his side.

“What was she coming in for?” He asks, hoping someone can answer his question. “Did she fill out a form yet?”

A nurse clears his throat before answering, “No, she had just walked in.”

That’s not the answer Ethan was hoping for and he frowns. “If we don’t figure out what’s wrong with her fast, she’s gonna die on this gurney.” He spares a quick glance at Naomi. “Check her B.P.”

A nurse hands Naomi a blood pressure cuff and she slips on around the woman’s arm. After pumping it a few times, she checks the numbers. They’re horrible.

“It’s plummeting. She’s hypotensive,” she explains. “We’ve gotta get fluids in her, now.”

Ethan nods, agreeing with the assessment. Another nurse sets up an I.V. while Naomi checks over the woman once more. She notices a bruise on her elbow, one that wasn’t there a minute ago, and her fingertips are turning blue.

“Doctor, look at her fingers,” Naomi says, getting Ethan’s attention. “I think it’s a sign of low oxygen saturation.”

Ethan raises an eyebrow. “You think or you know? We really don’t have time for the guessing game.”

“I know,” Naomi assures him, her tone coming out rougher than she intended. She’s not a fan of being second guessed, especially by someone who specifically requested her to assist.

“Good. Did you notice the bruise?” Naomi nods. “A bruise forming that quickly suggests that this woman is a hemophiliac.” Ethan slides his stethoscope from around his neck and hands it to Naomi. “Check her lungs, quickly.”

Naomi does what she’s told and takes a closer listen to her woman’s lungs.

“Nothing on her left side, and the right side is struggling. She’s going to suffocate!”

Oh God, how did she get roped into this? This was supposed to be a relaxing vacation away from all of the stress of her life, now Naomi is watching a woman suffocate to death.

Dr. Ramsey isn’t having the same struggle as she is, as he remains calm, though everyone around them is on high alert. “We’ve got a Code Blue,” he says, his voice steady. A nurse hands him a bag mask and he starts delivering air to the woman.

Naomi watches as he does that, trying to remain calm. She closes her eyes and attempts to steady her thoughts, and figure out what’s wrong with the woman.

“Hey, either help out or leave, but I don’t need you here doing nothing,” Ethan says, interrupting her thoughts.

Naomi flinches a bit at the interruption, but she continues thinking. Low oxygen, hemophilia, deflated lungs. What could it possibly be?

As she’s going through the options, it hits her. “It’s a hemothorax!”

Ethan nods, confirming the diagnosis. “A blood vessel ruptured…”

“...and it’s blocking her lungs from expanding any further,” Naomi finishes. She looks around. They’re in a crowded waiting room, not the OR. “But we can’t do anything here!”

“There’s no time to get her to the OR, we’ll have to do an emergency thoracotomy to drain her pleural cavity.” Ethan points to a nurse. “You! I need a chest tube and a scalpel, now!”

A nurse rushes over immediately, placing the items in Naomi’s hands. She barely has time to register the fact that she’s about to perform an emergency procedure on an unconscious woman, and she’s not even supposed to be in doctor-mode today before Ethan is lifting the woman’s shirt

“We’re gonna need a local anesthetic to–”

“We don’t have time for any of that!” Ethan snaps. “Do it now, or she’s going to die, and it’ll be on you!”

Naomi gulps and wills herself to calm down. Her pulse is racing and she can hear her heart beating in her ears.

But she breathes deeply. She doesn’t have time to panic, not when there’s a life on the line. She steadies her hand, and makes the incision at the woman’s rib cage.

“There you go, nice and easy,” Dr. Ramsey coaches. “Now insert the tube.”

Naomi insets the chest tube into the incision. Slowly but surely, the blood starts draining out of the woman’s chest, and she gasps, breathing again.

The woman, now conscious again, mutters something unintelligible, but she’s alive and that’s all that matters.

“We...we did it.”

The older physician ignores Naomi, instead turning to the nurse that’s been helping them. “She’s stable. Get her into surgery, but she’s stable.”

“Right away, Doctor.”

The nurses take the patient away, while the crowd applauds them for the heroic save. Eventually the crowd disperses, everyone going back to what they were previously doing.

The relief that floods through Naomi’s body is all-consuming. She hasn’t felt this euphoric in a long time. And to experience it with someone as amazing as Doctor Ramsey only elevates things. Doctors can only dream of working with him, and she actually got to do it, even if it was on a whim.

Maybe working at Edenbrook isn’t such a bad idea.

She turns back to Ethan, a giddy grin wide across her face. “Doctor...that was…amazing!”

“You’re right. It’s pretty amazing you didn’t get her killed.”

That takes the wind out of her sails almost instantly. “Wait, what?”

“Your examination was slow and superficial. And your scalpel technique?” He scoffs in derision. “Amateur at best.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Naomi asks. “I’m sorry, I’m not at work today, this entire situation threw me for a loop, and a waiting room definitely isn’t a proper setting to do any of what we just did. And if I’m so amateur at my job, what prevented you from stepping in at any time since you’re so much better than I am? Because if my recollection is correct, I did most of the work, while you stood there like some glorified overseer.”

“You’re the one who yelled out that you were a doctor. I wanted to test your mettle.”

Her blood boils in her veins at his words. So this is why they say never meet your heroes. Because they turn out to be righteous assholes.

“My mettle is just fine. You say it’s a miracle I didn’t kill her, I say she’s alive because of me. And another thing, I don’t need you testing my mettle when a patient’s life is on the line. Next time, save the little power trip.”

Ethan’s nostrils flare at her words. No doctor in their right mind has ever spoken to him like this. He stares down at the woman, almost a foot shorter than him, and she’s staring up at him with just as much intensity. “Now I don’t know who you think–”

“Naomi, there you are!”

Ethan’s tirade is cut short by the sound of Naveen’s voice echoing through the halls. He looks up to see his mentor and boss headed towards them.

“I’m sorry that took longer than expected Naomi,” Naveen says once he’s finally close enough. He looks her up and down. Her blouse and pants are ruined, covered in that woman’s blood. “Hue hat happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine Naveen,” Naomi assures him. “It’s not mine. And it’s a very long story, one I’ll tell you once I’m out of these clothes.”

“Very well.”

Ethan watches as the two of them casually converse. He’s known Naveen for well over a decade, and not once has he seen or heard of this woman. How does Naveen know her well enough for them to be on a first name basis?

“You two know each other?” He asks, interrupting their conversation.

Naveen nods. “Oh yes, we go way back. Ethan, this is Dr. Naomi Valentine. Naomi, this is Dr. Ethan Ramsey.”

Naomi gives Ethan a tight smile. She’s no longer in the mood for pleasantries. “Charmed.”

“Likewise, Dr. Valentine.”

“Naomi here is from DC, and I’m trying to convince her to come to Edenbrook,” Naveen explains. He knows better than anyone how much Naomi admires Ethan’s work. Maybe he’ll be able to help him convince the younger woman to accept a job at Edenbrook. “It’s so perfect that you guys met and became acquainted, because I actually think she’d be an excellent addition to the diagnostics team.”

Ethan’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at that statement. “What?”

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #open heart #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #my wriitng

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virgil-is-a-cutie · 5 years ago

Note

Alya salt Alya and class (except Chloe and sweet tomato Nathaniel) destory Marinette's sketchbook but shes doesn't care cuz it was 4 the class and consequences happen (based on unmaskedagain fictattered remains and broken dreams(yours not mine))

Screwing Up (You Did, Not Me)

This has light salt cuz I'm too lazy to to continue. If y'all want a sequel tell me.

Marinette hums as she put her sketchbook of her designs in a metal box with a lock in it. She had bought the small vault after Chloé copied her hat design.

Chloé still winced and gave her a sheepish smile whenever they hanged out at the bluenette's room.

At least she showed she regretted it honestly.

She was glad she got the steel box, it was something she was glad she got once Lila came into the picture. She lost trust in her ex friends a week after Lila came back since they easily followed Rossi without taking into consideration what she was saying.

Sure the class have only known her for two years, but surely they've heard about her the four years that she's been at Dupont since moving from America at the age of 10 years old.

They acted like friends, but they honestly saw her as someone to only do stuff for them.

At least some did a commission unlike others in the class. That made it easier to have separate sketchbooks for the class really.

She puts a white sparkly sketchbook in her backpack since Sabrina and her had been discussing the designs for the school play that she and the rest of the theatre class were going to put on.

At least the theatre teacher commissioned her early on and Sabrina and her discussed with Marinette on what the style of the costumes they wanted for the play.

Mylene had been kicked out of the theatre club as well the class after they witnessed her verbally assaulting Marinette, who had been ignoring the shorter girl by listening to a P!ATD song. Mylene had protested, but Sabrina had ripped Mylene a new one. She may not get along well with the bluenette since Chloé and her became friends with the bluenette, but she didn't believe Marinette deserved to be treated harshly.

She wore a baby pink sundress with a black motorcycle jacket with pink flowers stitched into it and pink combat boots with spikes on them.

She had started to hang out with Gina more now and her outfits have changed a little because of that.

She fixes her hair in a side braid before grabbing a granola bar and a yogurt cup before grabbing her school bag before heading to school 40 minutes early. She had a small breakfast meeting to get to before class started.

She met with Sabrina and the theatre teacher in the theatre classroom to discuss any alterations and last minutes things needed on the classroom, which were not needed much to Marinette's relief.

So when there was about 10 minutes before class was set to start she went to her locker and put up her small make up bag that just contained eyeliner and light pink lipstick and a few nail polish containers. She noticed she was missing a white sketchbook with the design of a rainbow poop emoji, but she shrugged it off.

It wasn't that important. Well it was, but only for her class really, the classmates that deemed it a right to use up her time among other things for free things that she really believed they didn't deserve.

She hums listening to I Write Sins Not Tragedies as she walked to class, softly mumbling to the beginning of the song.

Nathaniel was pacing back and forth outside the classroom, he noticed her and tried to talk with her, but Chloé grabbed his hand and questioned him quietly as to what was worrying him.

A few of her classmates had a shameful look on their faces while a few smirked smugly at her or snickered as she walked passed them on her way to her seat in the back.

She frowns upon seeing shredded paper on her desk, but realization struck her when she saw the cover of the sketchbook her ex friends ripped up.

Nathaniel and Chloé watched from the door with a nervous and worried look on their faces.

She shrugs and sings along to the song softly as she takes a picture of it, grabs the cover of the sketchbook, saving it into her backpack.

For fun reasons only.

She then sent emails to whoever she needed to before grabbing the shredded paper and throwing it into the trash can that was beside the corner in the back. Making sure to clean up the mess well in her desk, and goes over to the front of the. She wanted to see their faces as she told them that they all screwed themselves over.

Well... a few of them did really.

Nathaniel tried to gently grab her shoulder, but she waved him off with a soft smile. She took off her headphones, music blaring loudly out of it as La Devotee played out.

She turns back around before groaning and pinching the bridge of her nose before smiling widely to the class.

Her ex friends were very much surprised, they thought she would be crying, or screaming really. Even Lila was a little shocked at the biracial girl's reaction to seeing her ripped up sketchbook. She wanted the Chinese Mexican American girl to at least cry.

They thought the the

"Aren't you.... aren't you at least a bit sad dudette?" Nino asked weakly.

He wasn't close to Marinette anymore because of Lila, but he knew that Alya went too far in destroying the bluenette's sketchbook.

He was honestly debating on breaking up with her ever since she started to beg for more dates and tell him to drop their younger siblings off with Marinette, who he knew was possibly too busy to even do so because the bluenette always had her schedule in order.

Marinette breaths in deeply and makes a praying gesture with her hands as she does this before giving them a toothy and wide eye grin.

A very wide toothy grin with wide eyes that sorta freaked out a few of her classmates. Possibly even Lila.

"I cannot stress this enough... but y'all fucked up, pendejos. Pinche brutos," she said slowly as if to let them understand as if they were children.

Which they were, but more on the teenager part really.

Everyone gaped as the small petite bluenette cursed at them. Lila blinked in surprise before smirking smugly, hiding her smirk as she dipped her head low.

"I would be, but not really. Ya ni me va importar ese cuaderno," she says with a small tilt of her head.

Everyone in the class blinked, except for Nathaniel and Chloé. Sabrina stepped in a second later and paused to take in what's happening.

She was about to speak when Chloé shook her head, making her frown, but she stayed quiet.

Marinette raised an eyebrow, "don't really care for that sketchbook really. It wasn't at all tan importante. Not at all that important to be frank with y'all."

Everyone blinked in shock at what they heard the bluenette say.

"What do yo-"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOT IMPORTANT?! IT WAS YOUR SKETCHBOOK!" Alya screeched as she stood up.

Lila flinched and winced at the yell since Alya sat very close to her.

"It was a sketchbook yes, but not one that would break my heart if torn," the bluenette said with a shrug which shocked the class.

"Wait what," Nathaniel asked in shock making Mari lightly giggle before giving the class a shit eating grin.

"The sketchbook with all the designs that are worthwhile and deemed good are locked away at home in my room. I stopped bringing it to school a month after the hat contest," she said as she looked at her nails.

"The sketchbook with a rainbow poop emoji is for this class specifically. Specifically for the class members who demand for things for free, as well as class representative things."

Everyone in the classroom frown.

"What do you mean demand? We commission you for almost a lot of things," Ivan asked curiously.

He may have stopped being friends with the bluenette, but that didn't stop him from paying a commission early than necessary for things he needed since not many stores carried his size.

A few others nodded since they always commissioned the bluenette as well order a box or two full of pastries from the bakery when they wanted to bring a treat to the class that they have Marinette bring. However, only a few froze and sunk in their seats little at the implication.

Marinette raised her eyebrow at him and gestured with a nod towards Mylene, Alya, Kim, and Alix who all just sunk down in their seats from being called out.

Lila raised an eyebrow at the people who got called out.

Rose frowns as well did the rest of the class, "wait... hold up-"

"Wait... did you all four expect Marinette to make your stuff for free?" Nino asked in disbelief.

"It's just that she desi-"

"It doesn't matter if she's a designer Alya. Marinette may not be our friend anymore, but even if she was it doesn't mean to take advantage of the fact she designs clothes and other things," Rose said with a disappointed look on her face.

"Wait-"

"Don't worry to those who commissioned me, I have your commissions on a separate sketchbook and you all did the commission online so you're all good. I just need to work on them so that they can be finished in the intended date."

"THAT'S NOT FAIR! WHY-"

"Césiar she is wasting time on making things that you and the other three useless beings don't bother to commission that make her waste tons of material just to make your useless asses things that honestly none of the four of you really deserve to have made," Chloé bit out icily with a glare.

"But it's just small things! A dress here, a jacket here-"

"Yeah posters really," Kim interrupts Alya.

Chloé raised an eyebrow and smirked widely as she stepped towards her ex friend.

"Adrien, do tell how much a custom made design does your dear old dad charge someone."

Adrien blushed and mumbled softly.

"I'm sorry what?"

"$9,000 and that was for a simple black pantsuit with a a red rose stitched in one pocket," he said out loud. The blonde shaking a little, he had arrived a minute before Nathaniel so he didn't know what was going on until the commotion started.

Chloé hums and looks at her manicured nails.

"My mother would charge up to $3,000 depending on the 'simple' dress Alya asked for really. Up to 20 grand for the dresses Alya and Mylene basically demanded from you unless she had to hand sow herself," she said with a smug grin to the two girls that basically demanded Marinette to make them skirts among other things really.

The two girls paled as they realized how much money they basically would've saved if they hadn't ripped up the bluenette's sketchbook. Even if they basically demanded it to be made by her.

Alix paled as she realized that she demanded Marinette to design her a suit simply because she hated dresses. That would've cost her so much more than a simple measly $100 that she had somewhere really.

"B...but I need a dress for a date with Ivan!" she gasps out with wide eyes.

"So do I! I need a new skirt!" Alya growls out.

"Yeah too bad so sad, but you two are not going to get anything because my commissions are already full really," Marinette said.

"B...But the school's basketball's team needed new uniforms!" Kim out.

"That is a ridiculous thing you had asked of me Kim, even your basketball couch was appalled that you asked that of me," Marinette said with a raised eyebrow to her ex friend.

Kim blushed at the realization of what was said, "but-"

"Either way I gave him the number of a really nice cousin of mine, Carrie Ross-Snell. She does design for a living, but it's more of a hobby in the side to be honest. She doesn't mind really," she mumbles the last part.

"She gave him a good price really," she said out loud.

She really was going to have to thank the stars that Sue had used the bunny miraculous to have Carrie be placed in a new home when born after The Blood Prom occured. At least Fu saw it fit for the girl and her boyfriend see their error of their ways and wanting Carrie to have a happy childhood. Which led her to be adopted by Ms. Desjarden.

Their future P.E teacher. Who later married her uncle Chris.

Thank god Master Fu had been in a America for a short while when that happened.

At least Carrie was raised with love and was cared for. Even if she was still a very shy person.

"Either way I can't work on all the things that were on that journal, there were too many last minute demands you forced on me. They're gone, as well as the other things that were on that sketchbook," Marinette said with a shrug.

"W...what about fundraisers you promised to help?!" Alix screamed out.

The bluenette raised an eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips, "I never promised anything at all Alix. You and Kim bitched about wanting help and that's it. I just told y'all good luck really," she told the now embarrassed two.

"B...but my outfit for Kitty Section!" Mylene cries out.

"Can't really work on it, it wasn't a commission, although the rest of y'all didn't commission for anything so I don't really have a reason to work on anything," Marinette said with a shrug.

The members of Kitty Section nodded, but then everyone who commissioned her froze. She had her schedule she stuck by so they knew she was already swamped and all internally groaned.

Those who never commissioned her didn't think what the matter was but remembered how much they had to have paid if they even ever asked for a commission.

They paled after that remembering what Adrien said.

The others internally groaned remembering that they had a few things they knew couldn't be worked on because they forgot about them.

Marinette shrugs, "I also had a few of the class representative things there, but oh well, can't do those anymore. As well a few things that only a few other people asked for."

Everyone frowned, but shrugged it off really as the bell rang for the school day to start.

Ms. Bustier walked in and sighs before looking at Marinette with a soft concerned look before sighing.

"During lunch class we will decide the new class representative. Marinette unfortunately has to pull out due to reasons," the teacher said with a weak smile.

Marinette smiles brightly at the teacher before going to her desk.

"What a shame, we could've gotten to go see Luther Inc. and Oscorp," she says to herself, but she said it out loud for people to hear.

All of them heard and felt their hearts break at what they just heard.

The class will soon realize that those who destroyed Marinette's sketchbook for the class fucked them all over.

Because not only did it have things for class representatives and such.

It had their schedules and other important dates that Marinette always believed and told them were very much important for them.

Something they honestly believed wasn't until the last minute and caused them to feel dread at the thought of them forgetting something or anything they had scheduled.

All because Alya and the other three decided to tear up Marinette's sketchbook.

The wrong one at that.

#class salt #nathaniel and chloe are safe #so is sabrina

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