#can anybody hear me its so dark and cold

[lonniemachin]

more art of mayday with her #real uncle ben or i blow this website sky high

[pikslasrce]

alienating my mutuals and followers by periodically refusing to blog abt anything other than a 2009 album nobody cares about

[dwaekkicidal]

𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: '𝖱𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖨 𝖶𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖸𝗈𝗎.' ༄࿔ L.K.

⤷ Dubcon/Noncon | Knife Play | Spanking

♱ word count: 2.3k

♱ warnings: this has darker content!! dont like? dont interact: dubcon/noncon, fem!reader, ghostface!minho, reader switches up during the ending but during the smut minho has control, knife play (1 small nick and he carves his name into readers back but its shallow), light mentions of blood, spanking, p in v with no prep or condom (be safe about this irl pls), open ending?

♱ notes: this was so self indulgent because im slowly becoming obsessed with slashers again 🥴

not properly proofread! i will go through it later in the day after i sleep <3

Kinktober Schedule

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

The cabin you were staying at was eerily silent as you sat in the dimly lit living room. It was a rental that you had planned to stay at for a week to spend your vacation off of work and it was absolutely beautiful during the day. Though, the forest surrounding it combined with the knowledge of just how far the nearest area with people made for a rather scary experience during the night time.

Part of you was on edge as you made your way past the floor-to-ceiling windows towards the kitchen and chills ran up your spine as you stared out those same windows only to be met with complete darkness. Not even the moon was enough to cast light on the tall trees.

‘Maybe a glass of water will help.’ You had been tossing and turning in bed for hours before you gave up and settled in the living room, only to discover that there was no signal on the TV. You were lucky to have even 1 bar as you opened your phone to check the time; 2:46 AM.

It wasn’t a horrible time to be awake, but the promise of sleep would have helped with the paranoid itching in the back of your head. Anybody could break in and nobody wouldn’t know until it was too late. And even if you knew, you were a long way from any means of help-

A sudden creak in the floorboards catches your attention. Your neck snapped towards the dark hallway, then again to the huge windows as your heart raced. The Airbnb host stated that it’s an old house so it’s known to make many noises, so ‘It was probably nothing’. You repeated this to yourself over and over again as you chugged the rest of your water and turned to clean the glass, hoping the distraction would help with the anxiety.

But just as your hand wraps around the tap handle, another creak is heard and a hand wraps around your mouth. Another slides around your front and pushes a long kitchen knife against your neck. The intruder uses his whole body to roughly push you into the counter and your heart drops as you let out a scream in surprise.

The feeling of the cold counter is almost soothing as his deep, nearly robotic, voice meets your ears. “Haven’t seen you around here before… If I take my hand off your mouth, you won’t make me angry and scream for help, right?” He slides the knife along your neck, nicking the skin there slightly as a warning.

Your lack of a response makes him chuckle and he traces the tip of the knife along your cheek, “It’s not like anybody will hear you anyway, but I wouldn’t want this pretty face to get hurt. So what do you say?” You nod as best as you can in this position and let out a quiet sob when his palm releases your face.

“P-Please…Don’t kill me.” Your plea comes out in a quiet whisper, hoping the hushed voice won’t upset your attacker. If it does, he doesn’t let it be seen in the slightest.

“Shhhhh” He tuts at you and rolls his hips forward, rubbing his hard-on against your ass and forcing your hips farther into the countertop. The pinching of your skin between your bone and the marble top makes you hiss in pain, but he ignores you and rubs your hip with his now free hand.

“Let’s play a game~” He doesn’t give you time to respond before he flips you around, wrapping a hand around your neck as he roughly pins you to the counter again.

You’re finally met with his face- or what would be his face, but is instead a long, white ghost mask that would be comical if you didn’t notice the feeling of a drop of blood running down your neck from where he nicked you.

“I’m a little stressed out, so I’m gonna fuck this sweet cunt of yours. If you play nice, I’ll let you live. But if you act like a bitch, I'll kill you!”

The joyful tone in his voice causes your skin to crawl and you let out a quiet sob of fear at the deadly ultimatum. Your choices are quite slim, and you can’t deny the ache that’s starting between your legs, so you don’t take long to nod in agreement.

“Mmmm… Smart girl. Let’s get this off of you then, yeah?” He tugs at your pajama shorts and finally moves the knife off your skin, giving you just enough leeway to move around and pull your shorts down. Once they’re far enough down your legs to drop to your ankles on their own, the unknown man behind you spins you around and immediately pulls your shirt up and over your head.

He sighs almost dreamily against the mask and you watch his head tilt down as he takes in your naked torso. You can feel his stare on you for a while longer until his head tilts further and he’s met with the sight of your pretty panties- the ones that are keeping him from his “prize.”

He curses under his breath and snakes his empty hand to the back of your neck. He grasps you tightly and uses his grip there to lead you to the huge windows, pushing you against them roughly.

“What a pretty piece of ass you got here, baby.” The hand on your neck moves down in favor of grabbing a handful of your ass cheek, landing a teasing slap there as he finishes his sentences. “Might have to go home with you- make you my little pet.” You moan both at the implication of him following you home as well as the delicious sting on your ass.

The masked man chuckles darkly and lands a harsher slap on your other ass cheek. “Call me crazy but I think you like that idea. Hmmmm? Wanna be my little kitty- my little toy for me to fuck whenever I feel like it?” You were starting to get too comfortable, and he seems to realize it. So he brings you back right to where he wants you by sliding his free hand around to your tummy. 

The occupied hand runs the sharp side of the knife around your back, leaving shallow lines that you can’t quite make out. But none of that matters. Not when he’s sliding his hand into your panties, rubbing his gloved fingertip through your soaked folds.

You’re almost thankful that he can’t tell through the gloves, but the stinging pain of the knife almost carving into your skin is diverting your attention from the rough circles on your clit. Thankfully, though, he finishes his “design” faster than you thought he would.

The feeling of a thick finger entering you grabs your attention, making you moan loudly and buck your hips against his hand. A muffled laugh is heard through the mask and his voice is husky as he speaks again, “Gonna be good for me and let me fuck this pretty pussy now, yeah?”

You don't respond right away and he pulls his finger out of you, pinching your clit meanly. “I asked you a question.” His partially wet glove comes down harshly on your ass and leaves a red mark in its wake.

You let out a squeak at the pain and apologize profusely before responding to him. “Y-Yes!”

“Good girl. You almost lost the game there, baby.” He laughs to himself and you watch in the reflection of the glass as he brings the knife down between your thighs. Part of you is horrified at what he might try, and the other part is rather aroused at the possibilities that run through your head.

But he shuts them all down when he slides the dull side against your thigh and leads it to your underwear. He runs his hand along your spine and leans you forward, pushing your ass out for him as the knife dips into your underwear- dull side up.

With this he slices downwards in one swoop, slicing your panties and causing you to gasp in surprise. You can almost hear the smile on his face as he shushes you and slices one of the sides next.

Your arms shake as they rest against the cold glass of the window and you sit there helplessly as he rids you of the ruined fabric. Once you’re left completely bare, he whistles in satisfaction and leans back.

His hand squeezes your ass cheek appreciatively as the hand with the knife rests at your hip, itching to touch you as well but knowing better than to let his guard down so easily. No matter how well-behaved you've been for him so far.

“Such a pretty thing. I really should keep you to myself.” He hums and bites down on your ear. You hear the knife get tossed beside you onto the wood floor before one of his hands slides into your hair, tangling with the strands there and tugging your neck backward. 

All of a sudden the sound of metal hitting wood meets your ears and you see the knife lying on the floor, a couple of feet from where you two stand. Then his hands are removed from you for mere seconds as he hooks his thumbs into his pants and pushes down, hurriedly shoving his boxers down alongside his jeans.

The sound of his jeans hitting the floor makes your thighs clench and he takes notice immediately. He coos from behind you and you can almost hear the smile on his face through the mask as he slides himself through your folds a few times, teasing you and testing how far gone he’s got you.

Your desperate grinding gives him the only answer he needs and he finally pushes in, groaning at the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him.

“Shit… You feel so good.” The cool plastic of the ghost mask meets your shoulder as he lays his forehead down against it.

You can’t hold back the whine that builds in the back of your throat and your nails scratch into the glass as much as they physically can as he starts to move already.

“P-Please…” You’re not so sure what you’re asking for. Maybe it was mercy. Or maybe, just maybe, all those months of research about some local town's serial killer were finally paying off.

But who needs to know that? The man behind you is completely oblivious as he pulls his hips back just to drive them back into you. You barely remember it yourself from the way his tip, thick and pulsing, rams into your G-spot.

So much so that you can feel your orgasm sneaking up so much sooner than it usually would. It eventually wracks through your body like a train as the hand in your hair tightens, holding you close to him as he slows his hips to a slow grind.

“Fffuck.. Tight little cunt, baby. But I’m not done just yet.” He picks up his pace once more and uses his free hand to caress your hips, squeezing the flesh there appreciatively before landing a slap against the same area.

He soothes it with another rub, though short-lived before his hand finds its home on your ass cheek. There he lands a series of slaps paired with his muffled moans as you clench around him incessantly.

The hand in your hair finally releases its grip only to find another on the back of your throat again. He uses this one to hold you in place, keeping your cheek pressed flush against the window as he fucks into you with no care.

He continues to use you like his personal fleshlight as he grunts behind you, legs shaking from his oncoming release. The same release that is left deep in your walls, swimming around before dripping out onto your abused folds.

You both moan in unison as you cum around him again, whining at the sharp thrusts that were meant to fuck his seed further into you.

He finally pulls out once your cunt is done milking him and he pulls out a phone from his jeans, snapping a quick photo with flash on before laughing to himself behind his mask.

While he’s occupied with his delusions, you decide it’s time to make your move. 

You push his chest lightly and watch as he collapses onto the couch, head tilted up at you in amusement while his arms settle on the back cushions.

“Yeah?” His voice is deep and breathy, it goes straight between your thighs and you almost moan at simply hearing him like that as well as the confident stance he’s taken. But you have a mission on your mind.

One that includes rushing to pick up the knife from the floor and not giving him a chance to respond before you’re straddling his thick thighs and pressing the knife to his throat.

His arms stay in place on the cushions and he huffs out a laugh in pure amusement, waiting patiently for you to make your next move.

What he didn’t expect was the grinding of your now leaking cunt on his now hardening cock. He moans lowly at the feeling and goes to rest a hand on your hip, only to be met with your hand slapping it away and the other digging the knife into the skin of his neck. Karma.

“I won your game fair and square. So let’s play my game.” Your hand reaches up under the mask and tears it off his face. 

He’s not sure why a potential survivor seeing his face doesn’t worry him. But when his tip catches onto your clit and you hold the knife steady against his neck, he thinks he’s just fallen in love.

Taglists: (red=can't be tagged)

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[northsoulss]

2.30am - alessia russo

(a/n : recycled this from one of my older fics lol)

tossing and turning, alessia rolls around, trying so hard to get comfortable before realising she is wide awake. she shakes her head, hoping its just a momentary thing before closing her eyes again, forcing herself to fall asleep.

we all know how that will go. it doesn’t work and alessia finds herself frustrated, wishing so badly she could sleep as soundly as you.

she peels her eyes open, finding it difficult to adjust to the darkness that surrounded her. she turned over to see your back facing her, small movements of your head, and the rising and falling of your chest was telling that you were in deep sleep.

alessia's lips quirked upwards, hand reaching out to caress your cheekbone, the only part of your face peeking out of the blanket. you sighed contently from her touch, sinking further into the blanket, shielding your face entirely from her.

she giggled silently, giving you a light peck on the top of your hair before moving to the edge of the bed, feet lying flat on the cold floor. “what time is it,” she whispered to herself, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to make herself fully awake.

looking over to the clock that was on the bedside table, it read ‘2.30am’ with a red glow. she was lucky she was off the next day, if not she would rather knock herself out with the closest object on your desk.

creeping her way to the kitchen, she flailed her hands, moving them haphazardly to try to find the light switch. when she turns it on, she wishes she never stepped one foot out of the bed. she could be cuddling up with you right now, but instead, she decides that baking would be a better option.

“shit, it's so bright.” she grimaces, rubbing her eyes once more, trying to get rid of the fuzzies in her line of sight.

she walks to the kitchen island and squats down to get a tray, still unsure of what to make to pass time. unfortunately, she got distracted, thinking about what she would do on her off day, causing her fingers to slip, making the tray crash loudly.

“fuck.” the harsh metallic ringing caused her to freeze like a deer in headlights. she quickly picks it up and sets it on the countertop, and freezes again when she hears the bedroom door creak open.

you creep out of your room groggy as fuck, armed with your physics textbook, fully expecting to see masked men with bags full of your items; but instead, you see alessia with her hand pressed firmly onto the kitchen countertop, a sheepish grin on her face.

“what the hell are you doing? it's late.” grumbling, you clumsily make your way to her, taking her hand and trying to drag her back into the room. instead, she stays rooted to the ground, a pleading look in her eyes.

“what?” you question, knowing fully that she wants to do something, but since she woke you up, a little bit of teasing ain’t gonna hurt anybody.

“let’s bake?” she waves the tray in the air enthusiastically, eyes sparkling. you caved despite how your warm bed was calling for you, wordlessly reaching up to take the flour from one of the cabinets.

“alright, what are we making?” she lights up even more, like the human version of the sun. she breaks out in a huge smile before pulling you to her and squeezing you in a bear hug.

“thank you, baby! also, we are making choco chip cookies.” she presses multiple pecks to your lips, muttering another quick thank you before taking all the necessary items to bake with.

“can you pass me the chocolate chips?” you stretch out your hand without looking at alessia, only to feel her chin on your palm instead, a cheeky grin plastered on her lips. you couldn’t help the amused smile that crept onto your face — she was just so cute, you wanted to squeeze her face.

you gave in to your cuteness aggression and squished her cheeks together, earning a grunt from her.

“okay, okay. have your choco chips.” she hands you the packet before going back to mixing the cookie batter, a love-sick expression creeping on her face the moment she had her back turned to you.

the night went on with the cookies nearly getting burnt, nearly burning your hand taking out the cookies from the oven, and spilling flour nearly all over the kitchen that alessia promised she would clean the day after.

you both collapse onto the couch with a glass of milk in hand and freshly baked cookies on a plate at the coffee table. “thank you.” you hear from her, turning to your right to look at alessia, her eyes curved and dimples showing.

“what for?” she pretends to think before capturing your lips in a sweet kiss, rubbing small circles on your knee. she pulls away too quickly, kissing your forehead and stuffing a cookie into your mouth which you gladly accept.

“for everything.”

©️northsoulss 2023, all rights reserved.

[danger-bird]

"Obedience suits you, sparrow."

Ok,ok... listen....hear me out....... This story has been buzzing, festering in my hippocampus since yesteday, and now that I had time I slammed it out on a keyboard. It IS my OC-incert, so it's not technically an Ais x gn!reader, but I did avoid names in case a few crazy eyes, possession and a light sprinkle of amnesia is no biggie... Have fun, okie byee❤️ *scampers off , hides in their cave*

“Obedience suits you, Sparrow.”

Their small talk turned into a teasing banter quickly enough. They’ve been having a sneaking suspicion his worrying about them “almost dying again, running into a Soulless, or another roughneck”, is just him finding excuses to spend more time together. Not that they mind - even with his escorts, the walks always end too quickly.

They bark out a laugh as they turn a corner, slipping into the twisting backstreets behind the Wick. The night is cold, moonless - there are very few people outside, walking around the city.

“Since when? Either way, blind obedience is no fun - I thought you liked a challenge.”

It would be pitch black if not for the light seeping through the windows of the houses lining the narrow alleys. It’s dark – but not dark enough to miss the smirk stretching over his face.

“I do. Making it a challenge, then?”

“Do you want me to make it a challenge?” - they tease and peer up at his face, waiting for a reaction. His expression shifts somehow, but they can’t quite place in what way. He looks at them quietly, not saying anything, so they shift their gaze ahead and shake their head with an exhale, a light smile on their lips.

“Sparrows have been given wings to fly, Ais. I’ll never give you obedience like this.”

He gives a weak smile that drops immediately. His expression is unreadable. They hurry a few steps forward, trying to avoid his unnerving gaze.

He slows down, feeling his thoughts rippling at the edges, unfurling like a loose-knit cloth. His consciousness gradually sinks backwards as he quickly loses sensation in his skin, his hands, his face. The realization hits a moment too late.

Numbly, he can feel another presence emerging forward - a looming darkness casting an impenetrable shadow over his mind, wrapping its sticky tendrils around hazy thoughts, a horrible dread reaching forward…

In an instant, a sharp pain splits through his head, his awareness violently yanked forward like being pulled out of water. A low chime reverberates through his mind, overwhelming his senses… and keeping only his thoughts in focus, drowning out any other to barely a whisper.

“You can’t just take someone’s free will. You certainly can’t have mine. You can earn loyalty, my friendship… but that’s not the way to do it.”

They turn back to look at him, eyes radiating an unnatural shimmer: the color of blazing hot sunlight beaming off of molten gold. In the dim alleyway, their glow is bright enough to cast a light over their face, making their solemn expression that much more unsettling. Any other voices are now nothing more than a muffled babble. Their quiet, serene voice is stretching and twisting, almost splitting in two as it barely coalesces into an audible sound. Despite that, their words ring loud and crystal-clear in his head.

“A good heart means nothing without conviction… and a heart without conviction cannot be helped by anybody. Until your heart finds the conviction to seek out its own goodness, don’t come looking for mine.”

They turn around and take a few steps forward, stopping right before turning a corner and speaking quietly, still facing the street ahead.

“…Loyalty is not the same as obedience. It’ll do you good to learn the difference.”

They disappear behind the corner of a building without so much as looking back. The alley suddenly feels cold again, a drift whistling through the narrow streets between buildings and pouring onto the main street ahead. The dim light from a lone lamppost on the corner shivers before flickering out completely.

.

.

.

When they enter the Wet Wick, their head is swimming, unable to remember what happened after the alarming sense of unease washed over them back there. Mind still hazy, they drag themselves to the bar when Leander calls them over, Kuras keeping an eye on them as they approach.

[genloss-confessions]

New campfire analysis. Guys guys guys. Niki genloss, oh boy do I have a whole lot of feelings on niki genloss. My brain isn't working well enough right now to comprehend and then express the entire weight that carries with niki's character being squished and squeezed down into "nice" after being shown as emotional and having more depth than just that. However, I can express how Niki's death made me absolutely sob internally because oh my god. My mind sometimes tries to like recreate how the scene must've gone down in the booth, like where she was shot the first time and what angle the puzzler must've had his gun to shoot her like that, and then how she fucking screamed for help and begged for anybody to help her because she was still alive bleeding out onto the floor struggling to move. "It's cold," so what if I threw something. And then how she was put down like an animal. In the live when the puzzler goes to shoot her to kill her, its heard as only one bang but the flash from the gun kind of flickers, probably a light thing, but I hc that puzzler had to shoot her twice to kill her because he didn't hit a vital area as his second shot (In the founders cut the bang happens twice so I think it was meant to be two shots for the kill.) So, the way I see it is that she got shot once in the abdomen somewhere nearing the left or right side rather than the middle area, and then the second shot was to somewhere directly below where the neck starts and then another shot to the neck, which kills her. Another thing I have that applies to the hc that the gun went off three times is that before niki dies and the sound of the gun goes off she screams, so when she gets shot below the neck it doesn't immediately kill her, so she has time to scream, and then the third shot kills her. Or or or, when shes laying on the floor screaming for help she keeps talking about how dark it is (which makes me wanna end it all) so her screaming before the actual bang could be her seeing the door open with puzzler, gun in hand, purple light behind him, being the last thing that niki ever sees. Or just combine the two together, she sees puzzler, gets shot, screams, and then dies. Last hc I have (maybe not last) is that when the gun first goes off the sound does so much damage to her ears that she goes deaf, which is why she keeps screaming out the same things and not really paying attention to what any of the others are saying. Also her questioning tone throughout each plea for help. Guys. guys. guys. this scene? unfiltered? I might end it all imagining it. (Unfiltered generation loss save me.) Guys if you just stick to the "she doesn't see the light when she dies" theory(?), think about how Niki died(was put down like a damn animal. I'll never let that metaphor go) in a pool of her own warm blood, most likely unable to feel its warmth because her body was slowly shutting down and becoming unable to retain heat while bleeding out, unable to move and in the cold darkness for her last moments, or she stared down the barrel of a gun held by a man she could barely see, still cold, still unable to hear anything, still unable to move like a deer caught in the headlights. Niki died cold, quiet, and in the dark, every sense taken away from her in the blink of an eye.

"It's cold. I don't know what's happening. I can't see anything." -Sincerely, the anon who ranted about puzzler and the religion thingy. (I had to reveal myself because Niki Genloss.)

.

[chocolatecake47]

Ezran hates that they are at the banther lodge right now. 

He’s well aware how that makes him sound. The spoiled child king, spent his entire childhood in a cushy castle and now he was complaining about sleeping in a cabin. Others had just lost their loved ones and he was moping. 

But it wasn’t that the banther lodge currently held this ominous chill in the air and it felt like ghosts where creepily lurking in every shadow. It wasn’t even that Ezran couldn’t stop replaying the last time they were here, all those years ago when they had come to get Callum’s cube. It was just too vulnerable. There weren’t multiple winding hallways leading to his room or a million guards wandering the premises, the sound of their boots clicking against the stone.

Here anybody could easily smash a window and come kill him in the dead of the night without anyone noticing. 

Well thats not true, he thinks kicking rocks where he’s pacing back and forth on the grass. He still has a million guards always hovering over him. And between Callum, Soren, and Rayla it would be a miracle if someone who even looked at Ezran the wrong way got off the hook. 

Even though he'd been so angry, they had been so overprotective lately. Ever since the castle, his castle, his home - 

Ezran takes a sharp breath and his hand clenches into a fist at his side. He came out here even though it was cold and windy not to think about that, not to dwell on it for the millionth time. 

But it was being rebuilt and until then, staying here was going to have to do. 

The castle wouldn’t be the same though. There wouldn’t be his old nursery, and Callum and his old shared bedroom. His parent’s room, that had been his. Callum’s office, the council room, the kitchen, all those passageways he used to hide in, everything was gone, all those crevices of his home, all those cherished memories- 

burned and destroyed and lost to the raging fire and smoke. 

Ezran stifles a sob and kicks a pebble hard enough to send it flying a few feet away. 

“Can’t sleep either?”

He almost jumps out of his skin when Rayla appears beside him, her hair shining in the dark. 

He scowls at her but in a way so she knows he doesn’t mean it. “You scared me! You and your silent footsteps.”

“What can I say, I’ve still got it.” Rayla smirks but then it fades into something softer. 

Ezran quickly looks away.If Rayla starts looking at him like that he’ll break down before he knows it. 

She sits down on the grass, glancing up at the star-littered sky. Ezran waits. 

“Its okay to be upset you know.” 

Sudden tears pop into his eyes at those words. He rapidly blinks them away. "I’m not upset.” 

Rayla hums. Its a lie and they both know it but she doesn’t push. 

Silence lingers between them for a few moments, the only sound being Ezran shuffling back and forth.

“When we were in the bookery in Lux Aurea and Callum was doing his research stuff, your aunt and I had a conversation.”

He finally glances at her curiously. “How did that go?”

Rayla’s laughs a little, a soft huff. “A bit weird at first. She apologized for trying to kill me last time we were here and then threatened to do so if I hurt Callum again.”

Ezran smiles despite himself. “That sounds like Aunt Amaya all right.”

“But then she told me that part of loving someone was trusting them with the burdens you carry.”

He wasn’t expecting to hear that and he goes completely still as he connects the dots. “So the coins?”

She hesitates, clearly worried about continuing this topic or not but then her jaw sets and she nods. “Yes, like telling Callum about the coins.”

He braces himself, tension mounting in his shoulders.

“And maybe like you telling me what’s on your mind right now?”

He sighs, slumping down onto the grass. She instantly scoots closer to him, her leg bumping his.

There is another silence, this one heavier. 

“You know, you’re not a spoiled brat for not liking the banther lodge right now.”

Her voice brings him back to reality and Ezran’s breath catches. How did she know?

“We’re not on vacation or something. Your home literally burned down.” He can feel her looking at him. “That’s a reason to be upset if there ever was one.”

“If I was upset every time I had a reason I would never be happy.” The words crawl out before he can stop them. 

She gives a quiet hissing intake of breath. “Ezran its okay to,”

“Its not okay! I have to be strong. I always need to be strong. Because if I’m not, what kind of king am I!” Its a louder outburst than he means and his insides flare in white-hot hurt.

She goes quiet. Ezran does too, pulling at the grass in embarrassment, ignoring the sting in his eyes. 

When she speaks next, her voice is soft, tentative. “I know how you feel. But you know there is more to being a king than endless strength. Nobody can be strong all the time.”

He gives a unintentional little snort, swiping at his eye. “That sounds funny coming from you.”

She laughs too. “Yeah, I know. But I’m going to try and be better about that. I think,” she hesitates for a split second, “I want to learn that I don’t always have to be so strong."

Ezran looks to her. “Callum will help you. Remember that you don’t always have to carry the world.” 

She hums, a fond little smile on her face and Ezran would have giggled at her expression any other time. “He’s good at that huh?”

The moonlight reflects perfectly on her face, sharpening her features and casting a starry glow on her snow-white hair. She's his sister, through and through, even when he’s mad at her, and Ezran is well aware how beautiful Rayla is, inside and out. 

“I’m sorry Ezran.” 

“For what?” He asks, brow furrowed in confused.

“For not being more for you. For not stopping more the night that,” her strained voice dips into a whisper, “the king died.”

“You’re literally the only reason that I’m still alive Rayla.” He grabs her hand - partly out of desperation and partly out of comfort - and flips it over, running his finger over the scar on her wrist. “I owe you my life.”

She smiles at him but he can see the slight sheen of tears. “You don’t owe me anything.”

He ducks his head wordlessly, knowing if he speaks his voice will crack. 

She laces their fingers together. They sit there, just breathing until she breaks the silence again.

“I’m proud of you though. For all of it. For making the choices you’ve had to make lately and for having such a good head on your shoulder.”

Something stabbing and painful twists in his chest but he tries to ignore that and snickers mirthlessly instead. “You’re proud that I’m the reason that hundreds of people died? Again?”

“You are absolutely not the reason. Not this time. And not last time during the battle either.” She says firmly, and he feels her fingers stroke the side of his face, flicking away the tears he hadn’t even noticed had spilled. “Being a king is damn tough. And everything you have done has been to protect your people.” 

Her voice softens again. “I never want you to forget how amazing you are.”

“I’m not amazing. I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time.” The truth of that sentence rattles him and he lets out a dry sob.

“Oh love, come here.” She pulls him closer to her, enveloping him into a hug by wrapping one arm around his body. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. You don’t have to figure it out alone.”

Tears he can no longer stop fall onto her lap and he buries his face in the crook of her neck. “What if it isn’t?” He splutters. “What if everyone hates me forever?”

“Nobody hates you sweetheart.” Her own breath hitches, ghosting lightly over the top of Ezran’s head. “And it is going to be okay, you know why? Because you don’t let things like this beat you down. You keep going, you keep bringing an example of peace, even when it’s easier not to.”

He clutches her arm, focusing on the warmth and feeling of her fingers running through his curls. 

“You know why you are so strong?” She whispers.

He shakes his head, a particularly strong wind seeping into his bones. 

“Because you keep hoping, even when it hurts.” 

The words punch Ezran right in the gut. They sear through him, burning hot and sharp in his stomach, crushing the last strands of his composure. 

 He finally breaks down sobbing, his chest heaving, his body shaking. Rayla kisses the top of his head, rubbing her hand down his back even as it trembles. 

They sit there for how long, Ezran doesn’t know, but until he sucks in a harsh intake of breath and is able to unbury his face, letting it rest delicate against her collarbone. 

“Better?” 

He half shrugs. 

“It will get better. We’re going to figure it out.” She reassures him, and the note of confidence in her voice makes Ezran desperately want to believe it. 

Another strong wind ruffles through his hair and he shivers. 

“Do you want to sleep with us tonight?” She asks. 

It’s a gentle offer, one that allows Ezran to back out without any pressure, but he can’t. Doesn’t know if he wants too.

He nods feebly, swiping away the last of the tear stains with his sleeve. 

“C’mon.” She pushes herself up, grabbing his hand and pulling him with her. 

When they get to the bedroom she wastes no time in smacking Callum’s leg to scoot him over. 

“Wha-whats going on?” He mumbles sleepily, and Rayla airily shoves his other leg. 

“Nothing. Just Ezran. Move your arms.” 

Callum obliges, obviously still more than half asleep and Ezran almost laughs. 

“You and Callum are in the same bed?” He teases, just for that sense of easy-going normalcy, and she turns bright red. He laughs for real this time. 

“I’m happy for you guys.” He means it and he can tell she knows that in the way she smiles at him, lifting up the comforter so he can slip in next to her. 

“Thanks.”

He exhales deeply, his eyes already feeling heavy as he leans his head against her shoulder. She tucks the blanket around the both of them and Callum shifts beside him so his body weight is pressed against Ezran’s back. 

“I’m glad,” a yawn cuts him off, “I’m glad Callum decided to be smart for once and get back together with you.”

She laughs quietly and Ezran felt a warm feeling buzz in his chest at the sweet and comforting sound. He liked making Rayla laugh.

“I’m back with more than just Callum. I got Soren, and my pretty cool little brother back too.”

He mumbles a reply, the words getting heavier on his tongue as he snuggles deeper into the comforter.

“Thanks Rayla.” He hesitates for a quick second, toying with what he wants to say, but then pushes it aside. “I love you.”

She exhales slowly, the truth of the words settling into the dark like a heavy blanket. “I love you too sweetheart.”

 The last thing he registered in the back of his clouded mind was her lips pressed against his forehead and the comfort of being warm and cuddled before he was fast asleep.

[chaussetteblanche]

just like the wind - VII

summary: the Fellowship begin their journey in Moria word count: 1'623 warnings: none

“We now have but one choice.” Gandalf voices your thoughts, words echoing in the mines hauntingly. Frightened and agitated faces are revealed as he lights the orb atop his staff, basking everyone in white light. “We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world.”

After your eyes have adjusted to the cool light, you look up to see Legolas as the owner of the hand you’d been holding. You untangle yourselves with small, shy smiles. Your stomach does something strange, but you blame it on the mines. Silence reigns, and even the smallest of sounds can be heard. You hear every intake of breath clearly.  “Quietly now,” continues Gandalf, “It is a four-day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed.” The wizard starts walking and the rest of the Fellowship follows in silence. Frodo hands you back your cloak with a small smile, thanking you for having lent it to him. You return the smile, grateful to be able to find some warmth once again. 

You find yourself next to Aragorn as you walk, following behind everyone else. You pull your cloak around you, shivering slightly in your wet clothes. 

“I thought you had drowned,” Strider admits quietly, eyes trained on the path ahead of you. You swallow, unsure of what to say. “It was Legolas,” he continues, “He said you could still be saved. We dived in immediately. The water was freezing, and I thought that if you hadn’t drowned, then maybe you’d succumbed to hypothermia. You were still as Legolas carried you into the mines and white as snow. By the Valar, Alice, I was so scared.” He coughs after his voice breaks.

You aren’t certain as to why he is telling you this and you ponder your words before speaking.

“Thank you, my friend,” you breathe. “I would have hoped that the first time Legolas held me would be more romantic, but it is the way of things, I guess.” You try to lighten the atmosphere with a joke. There was no use in dwelling on the past, it could not change the present or the future.

“Alice, I am being serious.”

“So am I, I would have wanted a candle, maybe-“

“You could have died!” he hisses, grabbing your elbow to make you look at him. You stop in your tracks. In the dimly lit hall, you can barely make out the fear shining in his eyes. You know he worries about you, as you do him. But this look is new for the both of you. The two of you had never been faced with near death like this before.

“Aragorn,” you speak softly. “You could have died as well. So could have Legolas, or anybody else. This is what we signed up for. We knew the risks before joining the Fellowship. Today, it happened to be me. Tomorrow, it may be someone else. This is something we must be prepared for at all times. We cannot dwell on what may or may not have happened.” You place your hand on his shoulder. “There is nothing I would have done differently, you know this. Thank you for saving my life.”

He nods and starts walking again.

“You would have done the same for me.” True. “But I wasn’t alone, Legolas played his part.” You squeeze his shoulder. Feeling he needs to be alone with his thoughts for a while, you quicken your face until you join Legolas’ side.

Legolas picks up on your shivering in an instant, frowning in concern. “My lady, you’re freezing,” he notes as he unfastens his cloak and drapes it around your shoulders. You look up at him with slightly wide eyes as his warmth and scent envelops you. You decide that your new favorite trees are pine trees. “You must be too, you dived into the lake as well.” You go to give him his cloak back, but he stops you. “I do not feel the cold as you do.” You drop your gaze to the ground as you walk. Being a half-elf had its perks, many of them. It also had its downsides, which painfully reminded you of your human genes. 

“Thank you,” you speak earnestly. “You are most welcome.” “I do not mean just for this, also for saving my life and for everything else too.” His eyes trail over your face and you feel the tips of your ears burn. “It has been my pleasure, my Lady.” “I think it is time you would call me by my name.” Your shy gaze meets his surprised dark orbs with a smile.  “Only if you promise to call me by mine.” “I promise, Legolas.” You like the feel of his name on your lips.  “Then I shall call you by your name, Alice,” he smiles. Your name rolls off his tongue easily, enchantingly. You want to hear him say it again immediately.

The Fellowship enters a large cavern. You watch attentively as the wizards rests his hand upon a rock with dark, silver veins running through it. 

“The wealth of Moria was not in gold, or jewels,” he explains, “but in Mithril.” He tilts his staff down towards the pit behind you. You all turn to look down, faces illuminated by the light emanating from the depths. A vast rock wall drops deep, down below, illuminating row upon row of ladders and scaffolding, old and dilapidated, disappearing into the mining shafts below. Merry leans forward slightly to look closer, but Pippin puts a warning hand against his chest. You gaze down until the light disappear, surprised by such beauty and handicraft in the Dwarf world. You’d heard of Mithril, of course, but had never wondered how it was extracted or produced.

“Bilbo had a shirt of Mithril rings that Thorin Oakenshield gave him,” Gandalf remembers.

“Oh, that was a kingly gift,” muses Gimli, impressed. You do not know what relation Dwarves in general have to Mithril, you only know it is extremely precious and rare.

“Yes!” agrees Gandalf, “I never told him, but its worth was greater than the value of the Shire.” You see Frodo send him a bewildered side-eye and bite back a smile.

You resume your walk and climb up some incredibly steep steps on the side of another cavern. Vaguely, you wonder how Dwarves and their little legs were able to move up such steep stairs. You send Gimli a look and find him doing alright. You slip and nearly lose your footing when a warm hand presses against your lower back. You send Legolas a thankful smile over your shoulder as you press on. Pippin slips too but is caught by Merry. 

The flight of stairs leads to a crossroads in the mine. The doorways loom before you, tall and imposing. Gandalf glances between them, looking puzzles. 

“I have no memory of this place,” he admits quietly. He takes his hat off with a frustrated huff. You send him a disbelieving look, panting slightly from the stairs. Aragorn catches your eye, and you share a glance. Sighing, you sit down on a large stone. The rest of the party follows your lead, taking the chance to rest. Legolas sits beside you, stretching out his legs. Pippin and Merry start bickering. They stop when Frodo stands to look down into the cavern below you. Seeing a small figure leaping from stone to stone in the dark, he startles. 

“There’s something down there!” he cries to Gandalf. 

“Gollum,” the wizard states casually.

“Gollum?” Frodo’s eyes are wide as he gasps.

“He’s being following us for three days, now,” you speak, impressed Frodo hadn’t noticed. You figured everyone knew, even though no one had mentioned it. By the lack of surprised features around you, only the Hobbits had not noticed.

“He escaped the dungeons of Barad-Dûr?”

“Escaped? Or was set loose? And now the Ring has drawn him here. He will never be rid of his need for it. He hates and loves the Ring, as he hates and loves himself. Sméagol’s life is a sad story,” Gandalf sighs. “Yes, Sméagol he was once called. Before the Ring found him, before it drove him mad.”

“It’s a pity Bilbo didn’t kill him when he had the chance!” Frodo spits. Gandalf sends the Hobbit a sharp glance. But before he can say anything, you sit up, shaking your head.

“Pity? Frodo, it was pity that stayed Bilbo’s hand.” Your brows furrow in frustration at the Hobbit’s ignorance. You force yourself to stay calm. “Many that live deserve death, and some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them?” Frodo looks down at his feet silently. You soften your tone: “Do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. Even the very wise cannot see all ends.”

“My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or for ill,” says Gandalf. “Before this is over, the pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many.” 

You lean your head back against the wall against, your shoulder touching Legolas’. Closing your eyes, you listen to Aragorn and Boromir’s quiet conversation. A few moments later, Gandalf looks at one of the doorways with a newfound hope.

“Oh, it’s that way!” he exclaims. You smile in relief as you get to your feet.

“He’s remembered!” rejoices Merry. The Fellowship begins its descent of the dark staircase behind the doorway. Gandalf puts his hat back on.

“No, but the air doesn’t smell so foul down here.” The wizard rests a hand on Merry’s shoulder: “When in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose.”

[bolton-buried]

I had the strangest dream while I was in the Strid. It’s probably nothing, but I can’t get it out of my head.

I don’t believe in prophetic dreams, but I’m writing it down anyway. Maybe this will help me fall asleep.

I’m in an empty space, a plane of plain white that goes on forever, so I pick a direction and begin to walk. Then jog. Then run through the emptiness, looking for its edge. Then I fall forward through it, tumbling head over heels into the ground that should have been there until

I land in darkness. A single bulb above my head flickering out, and suddenly I don’t know if my eyes are opened or closed. I reach forward across the cold stones of the floor, crawling with the fear of something being in the dark with me. Then I feel it

An insect—or something with skittering legs crawling on my skin. Then another. And another. The lights come back on just in time for me to see hundreds of centipedes and cockroaches crawling over me. I try brushing them off, but they keep coming. So I dig into the wall with my fingernails, pulling myself through the dirt so tightly that the bugs cannot follow. I dig upwards

And emerge in a trench, ankle-deep in blood and surrounded by men, shaking and shouting and firing across the field. A grenade falls in front of me, and I stumble backwards into a pool of blood before hearing it go off. When I stand

The walls are metal and sterile other than the blood filling the room to my waist. Cuts of meat in shapes I still can’t recognize hang from hooks—but there’s a staircase leading downwards. I follow it down, and open the door into

A hospital hallway. I hear the telltale sound of heart monitors beeping and slowing down, then stopping. The nurses all look at me like I am being mourned already. I try to shout that I’m not dead, but they silently hand me a clipboard. I won’t read it. I bolt to the door

And emerge in an empty street. It is London—I can feel it, but without the crowds. Without anybody. My feet echo on the ground as I start to run again. Desperate to find someone, anyone but the mannequins in every window, I run to

The Magnus Institute. But it’s wrong. The two windows in the front are round—the panes tinted green and the building itself looking at me with the same eyes as Elias Bouchard. Once one of them winks, I turn and run

But the mannequins from the windows are now in the street, all frozen in place as if they are real people and not plastic and rubber. Then their heads start to turn to me along a seam in the neck. They begin a jittery, stuttering walk towards me from all directions, so I pull up a manhole cover and drop to

A bunker. There’s a television, boxy like they were in the 60s. Numbers flash in the static between images of a world in ruins. There’s enough food in the bunker to last me for years, I know, but the TV won’t turn off, won’t stop showing me that nothing remains of the world I know. I open a hatch that should lead deeper into the bunker, but instead step into

A sewer, full of brightly-colored iridescent fluid, and in every direction the tunnels split and split and split in an infinite pattern. I begin to run down them, and think I could be running forever, lost in the glowing colors and endless patterns, when the tunnels let out

In front of my childhood home. I’d know it anywhere, all my memories, packed away in neat little boxes ready to come with me through the rest of my life. But then the building is ablaze. Photos of my youth, everything I’ve ever loved gone in an instant. I want to save it, but someone stands in the doorway

My father, holding a rifle. He starts charging at me and I run, stumbling over branches and roots in the small wood. A shot rings in my ears louder than his accusatory screams, then I stumble

Into white string, laid out between the trees. In my scramble to move forward, all I do is twist myself into the threads, helplessly trapped in a way I’m only just now seeing. Then a hand reaches from below with a pair of scissors. It cuts the thread and I fall

Into a river, flowing swiftly. I close my eyes, no longer afraid; no longer in need of fear. The current pulling me along is a guiding hand, the water a frigid embrace that says it will hold me as tight as it needs to keep the other horrors at bay. I do the closest thing I can to embracing it back, and take a deep breath in.

[visceral-reject]

Hi! I recently dive deep into the rabbit hole of your amazing works! I'm impressed by your dedication and work!

Lately, A strong wave of nostalgia washed over my mind and I was wondering if you could write another prompt about HABIT, a darker one. I want to leave further details as a free choice, as that the final result..would be something you never tried before while writing about him.

I don't know how much this is making sense, but...I'm happy you're bearing with me! Thank you so much for your time and understanding! Take care of yourself, your health, eat well, drink well, sleep well! With the best regards and admiration,

-Yours.

a/n: oh my I love getting asks like this ^^! If darker is what you want, then who am I to deny? Something I haven’t written is certainly a broad spectrum but I’ll do my best to deliver! Best wishes to this anon! If this is shorter than wanted I do apologize I’ve been in a mental rut for a while now. a/n #2: this was a harder write for me, seeing as I put my own experiences. If you or anybody you love is experiencing any domestic abuse/suicidal thoughts or actions, please seek immediate help.

TW: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, heavy violence, blood, gore, abuse, If you are not within the right mental frame do consume media like this please do not click read more. I wish you all the best.

His cackle could be the only thing heard despite the distance between the two of you. You’d been running for what seemed like hours, with thick globs of blood burning your eyes, whether it belonged to you wasn’t your main focus. It was some sick game, a game in which you played into like a willful pawn. You thought, that in some way he could love you again if you stayed, if you kept your mouth shut about this. About all of this. The murder, the torture, the sickening shit that lingered within his mind. These type of things were something only a mind as sick as his could concoct, you swear it. It started off slow, it really did. The sudden roughness, the manhandling when it wasn’t called for, then that morphed into the cutting. You can still recall the first time feeling the cold steel of his knife glide across your skin, and it cut so easily, like butter. He, Evan, HABIT- whatever its name was, would tend to them, kissing your tears that spilled from your misty eyes away. He made an effort to praise you then, to congratulate you on making him “so fucking proud”. ‘What a load of bullshit’ you’d think to yourself. Trees and fallen limbs only served to hinder your progress, but the fleeting chance of escaping this monster proved more tempting. This wasn’t your fault, you knew that, no one deserves to go through something like this, but the pit in your stomach told you that you should’ve left when it started, should’ve seen the warning signs. You’re nearing the edges of the forest now, better hurry.

Gasps for air could be heard throughout the house, it echoed down the empty halls that were devoid of anything attached to its previous owner. The only light was pouring from the bathroom, where you and your capture were. His grip upon your hair was tight, leaving your scalp burning. Snot and tears poured down your face as he dunk your head into the water-filled tub, your hands pushing the edge in an attempt to find some kind of leverage against the man above you. Just as your lungs began to burn, you were pulled from the water once more, a sickening cackle permeated from the brunette above. His eyes were dark, lined with malice and hate. Habit muttered something, but in your current state you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You pleaded, begged him to let you go for what seemed like hours now, and all you got in return was a swift plunge into the water once more. Globs of snot rolled from your nose as your lungs begged for oxygen. With your vision hazy, brain reduced to mush as Habit shook your head. You wish you could hear the shouts escaping your once lover’s mouth, but your mind wouldn’t allow it. Dissociation had become your haven during times like this. It was the only way you knew how to survive. Habit threw your head down, scalp burning with the sudden release of his grip. You wanted to thank whatever higher being there was, but you learned long ago that no loving god would allow anyone to experience this. No merciful deity would hear someone so clearly in desperation and despair crying and turn a blind eye to this!

You’d lay awake that night, your bedding cold and a stark reminder of what was once the perfect image of domesticity between the two of you. Habit didn’t sleep much anymore, leaving the bedroom the one place you were truly ever alone. One, two, three, four you’d count the indents within the popcorn ceiling, doing something, anything to keep your mind away from the burn that still lingered within your lungs. Why? Why why why did it have to be you. You did everything right that you could think to do, so why? This existential limbo you’d find yourself trapped in, this cycle of abuse. Why? You knew the answer. You knew it like the back of your hand. You, ever so hopeful you, held onto hope that somewhere between those layers and pools of hate, hope that Evan was still there. Hope that your once doting and happy lover would suddenly form at your feet and kiss the bruises and burns away. Turning to gaze out of the dusty window, pale light spilling into room.

Still.

Everything was so still.

Your hand toyed with the damp hem of your shirt, frayed thread getting caught between your broken nails. You should be crying, running towards said window and finding your own escape; yet you couldn’t. Couldn’t bring your shaky legs to that window. Not when…you didn’t know why actually. The sinking feeling that Evan was never coming back was beginning to cement itself within you. The knowing that this, this cycle was your new reality began to emerge as you turned your head back to the ceiling.

This was it.

There was no light at the end your tunnel, not without the grace of dying to achieve it.

You sighed, and with shaking legs threw your body over the side of the cold bed. There’d been a bottle of pills on your bedside unknown of their usage. He put them there to taunt you, you were sure. He called you weak, stupid for believing he’d ever give a fuck about a useless meat sack like you. You cringed, remembering how demeaning it was to feel his spit land on your face, how degrading. With a trembling hand, you reached for the orange bottle. A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. All fear, anxiety, and anger melted away as you opened the bottle.

This was you taking back control.

This was your last chance to save yourself before everything you loved and held dear about your person. This was escape.

You made solace as you held down vomit, every instinct telling you to run to that bathroom and throw your stomach up. You fought, like you always did. This was your running to that window.

This was escape.

[herosplatling-replica]

Cold Glares, Cold Shoulders

General - Post-Possession Arc, 2,220 Words

The Guardian of the Ebony Backwoods is looking for pain meds. Edega is looking for a fledgling who doesn't want to be found.

[ Author's Note: I ended up writing this the other day, and felt like sharing it since it was directly stemming from the art I did of GEB threatening edega, ahah!! many thanks to @sirwow for both the concept and for letting me have Wally cameo in this, it's a lot of fun thinking about GEB's dynamic with the rest of the hospital! ]

The Guardian was taking a stroll around the hospital grounds when it heard it: the rising voice of Doctor Edega, and the sound of rushing footsteps.

What could be happening at this hour?

The Guardian stuck its clawed hands in its pockets, leaning out into the ward to listen for the noise. It sounded like an argument. They weren’t sure what about, but anything involving that man with the clipboard meant it wasn’t good.

Making up its mind, GEB strode down the hallway. She could barely catch the glimpse of a blur making its way into one of the closet nests – a blur of yellow and blue.

Oh. Wally…

The young intern had made his displeasure known to the Guardian, and had a tendency to refuse any help it tried to give him. GEB had no idea how to alleviate the situation – and to make matters worse, it was now saddled with this dragging feeling Jay had told it was called ‘guilt’. It was rather annoyed with the whole idea of the emotion.

There would be no going into the nest to comfort the fledgling, then. GEB craned its head, listening for Edega’s voice. It seemed like he was coming this way – in search of Wally, no doubt.

GEB huffed quietly, taking up a guard post of sorts next to the closet door. It didn’t like Edega, especially not after the lecture the man had given the Vessel after the possession catalyst incident. If he had to blame anybody for what had happened, the doctor could’ve at least pointed the finger at the Guardian, no?

It made itself comfortable, leaning its back against the wall of the hallway. The Guardian spread its dark wings around itself loosely in a clear defensive stance. The footsteps got louder, almost stomping in anger as the doctor turned the corner and met her piercing gaze.

In an instant, the man with the clipboard’s march came to a halt. Doctor Gabriel Edega’s eyebrows raised, before the man put his arms behind his back.

“...The Guardian of the Ebony Backwoods, I presume?” he asked finally, strolling up to GEB. She glared at him in response, but nodded. “Hm. It’s rather unfortunate we meet at last at a time like this.”

“Pardon?” GEB ground out in response, raising an eyebrow.

“I needed to speak to a subordinate – but that isn’t important anymore.” Without missing a beat, Edega pulled the clipboard back up, flipping to an empty page to take notes. “I presume Doctor Birde isn’t present with us when you are… at the wheel?”

“Hmph.” GEB turned its nose up at him, but decided to humor the doctor regardless. If it could give Wally time to recover, that was fine. “We do not always see what the other sees. There are times when I must rest, and when The Vessel is asleep. So to answer your question… currently, no. The Vessel is resting, and cannot hear you.”

Doctor Gabriel made a thoughtful hum at that, and wrote what it said down. “And… the ‘Vessel’ is what you call your host.”

“Yes,” The Guardian sighed out, pulling one of its clawed hands out to examine the talons. “I had assumed Doctor River already told you all of this, given the questions he had for me.”

“It’s still good to confirm these things,” Edega said. He paused for a moment, tapping the pen to his chin. “What are the limits to what you know of each other, between the Guardian and the Vessel?”

“I know everything about her,” GEB drawled out, checking the sharpness of its nails, “and she knows sparse about me. Only what I have told her.”

“Can you give me an example?” Edega huffed.

“…Hm… An example.” It pretended to think on it for a moment, before lifting itself from the wall to loom over Edega with her wings. “Oh, yes. I can think of many examples.”

Gabriel stared up at her, his eyes widening for a moment.

“I know you accused My Vessel for the injuries sustained by the interns. I am aware of how you have worked the interns to the bone. I know that you are making children work here. I know you have a cat.” It squinted at Edega, not missing the twitch of irritation in his eyebrows. GEB grinned, flaring its wings behind her head in a threat display. “I know a lot of things about you. And you, like The Vessel, know very little about me.”

GEB stepped back at once, tucking its wings to its sides as it leaned against the wall again. “Now, does that suffice for a good example?”

Gabriel grumbled something under his breath, before nodding. “Is the aloof manner you, or Doctor Birde?”

“I cannot possibly understand what you mean,” GEB murmured, shutting its eyes. “If you refer to the protective nature, that is Me. You have seen what it looks like when I am not present. It is rather obvious which one is at the wheel, no?”

That gave Edega pause, before he scribbled something down, reading aloud, “Paranormal entity’s personality is huffy and confrontational… subject not keen on sharing details about itself.”

“I would use ‘defensive’ over ‘confrontational’, Gabriel.” GEB huffed out, leaning its head against the wall. It tried not to laugh at the glare Edega gave her. “Now, I should remind you that I, the Guardian, surface when the Vessel is in pain. Would you happen to have migraine medicine on you?”

The doctor sighed, checking his pockets. “...I do not appear to have aspirin on hand, no.”

“Would you be a dear and find some for me? I was on the way to ask Doctor River and found you instead. My head’s spinning.”

The look on Edega’s face soured, but he tucked his clipboard under his arm and nodded. “I will get some aspirin for you. Hopefully that will… make you a little more open to talk. Stay here.”

GEB huffed again, but made no gesture to move. At that, Edega stalked down the hallway in the direction of his office.

The Guardian tucked its arms into itself, sighing as it watched Edega leave. For a moment its gaze drifted back to the closet door, before shaking its head and staying put. The fledgling wouldn’t want an interruption, even if it’s to tell him the coast is clear…

Regardless, GEB tapped its claws on the wall idly, as if to signal that it was alright to come out. There was no response, so it let out a quiet sigh as it waited for Edega to return. If the Guardian were to leave now, that would risk the discovery of their nest – and by extension, Wally’s hiding spot. The Guardian couldn’t have that happen, regardless of whether Wally was in there or not.

It drummed its claws for a second longer and, when nothing happened in the closet that it could pick up on, crossed its arms again. Any minute now, that man would return, and she’d have to put up with him.

There was a gentle stirring in the back of their mind as Jay awoke, blinking at their collective surroundings before metaphorically turning over in bed, pulling the covers back over.

Why are we in the hall with fluorescent lights, the Vessel whined groggily. It hurts.

I am aware, GEB huffed internally, but one of the fledglings needs Us here to distract Edega.

Huh? Edega? That got the Vessel to lift herself up a bit more, as if one was hovering over GEB’s shoulder to spectate. What’s going on? Everything okay?

We need to just stand guard.

GEB’s head wings flicked up at the sound of footsteps returning in their direction. Here he comes.

Don’t say anything stupid, Jay mumbled in their head as she got comfortable.

No promises.

“Unfortunately I could not find aspirin,” Edega’s voice drawled out, “but I did find some extra strength acetaminophen. Will that suffice?” The doctor rounded the corner, holding out what clearly looked like a used bottle of Tylenol.

“Tch.” GEB frowned, resting its chin on a clawed hand. “Did the budget cuts extend to the pharmacy as well?”

What did I JUST say, Guardian? Jay sighed.

“Pardon?” Edega raised an eyebrow, but the twitch in it told GEB that it had struck well.

“It seems like standard practice for a hospital to have a pharmacy, no? Or does this one not have a pharmacy? I would think that it would be required to have a pharmacist on-hand to work on getting the patients their medication so they may swiftly recover.”

When Edega didn’t respond, GEB turned its nose up at him. “There is no need. I will ask Doctor River instead, given how you failed to find anything.”

“Just because you’re unsatisfied doesn’t mean you can just-”

“Oh?” GEB tilted its head, flaring its wings out again. “To use the word ‘unsatisfied’ would imply you have some. Do you mean to say there IS aspirin, but you opted not to find it? Almost as if it was on purpose?”

That shut him up fast. GEB couldn’t help but grin widely, narrowing its eyes at Edega. “Perhaps you can get away with neglectful care with the other patients, but not with Me. I know how this hospital is run. While I do not have the clearance to get such things on my own, I know where they’re kept. This opened bottle could have something other than acetaminophen in it, and you know the risk associated with that, should complications arise. Am I wrong?”

Gabriel’s face paled at the Guardian’s words, and it chuckled at the display.

“That’s what I thought. You could probably get away with negligence on someone who didn’t know what these pills look like, but I have Jay’s memories of working here to go off of.” It leaned in at Edega, pulling one of its hands out of its crossed arms to wave its claws at him. “Now, get out of my sight. I tire of you. Off you go.”

He was furious – of that, GEB was certain. Yet Gabriel didn’t say anything more, and took his leave. Surely now he wouldn’t bother her again while she was at the front?

You totally got him, Jay admitted, but he’s absolutely going to take it out on me later.

Nonsense. He knows now that I see what you see, he knows he must be careful with what he says around you now.

If you say so, Jay sighed. Now if you’re done, I’m gonna go back to sleep til the aspirin kicks in.

I am. He will not bother us again anytime soon, I don’t think. I will speak to Doctor River to get the pain medication, so please rest.

Cool, Jay murmured in their headspace, retreating to the back once more. Guardian hummed thoughtfully to itself as Jay settled back down, falling asleep.

…Maybe I should go now. Surely Wally would not want me to-

Right then, the door to the nest creaked open a crack and the young intern’s brown and blonde hair poked out of the closet. Wally’s eye met GEB’s gaze, and for a second both of them froze in their tracks.

Go.

Go, you don’t want to make him feel threatened.

Move.

The Guardian tried to, but found her feet were stuck as if sinking into wet concrete. Its wings tucked back, trying to make itself look a bit smaller – it had just been threatening Edega, after all.

Wally simply watched for a second, his eyes flicking around the hallway to see if it was safe.

“He should be gone now,” GEB finally spoke up, and managed to wrench herself out of the freeze response as she spun on her heel. “Sorry to bother you,” she managed to say before setting off in a brisk walk down the hall.

If Wally had a response, GEB was too busy trying to settle its racing heart to hear it. It still felt guilty, and there was this crushing feeling of regret every time that it locked eyes with the young intern – a reminder of how it had failed by pushing the Vessel’s body too far.

…I can… try to remedy this some other time. The nausea from the migraine is starting to get to me…

As it made its way down the hall to River’s office, a small orange foam dart caught GEB’s eye, discarded on the floor. Is this what started the fight? Then again, Wally had a habit of regularly shooting foam darts around the hospital. It was likely left from long before Edega began to look for the intern.

The Guardian stopped in its tracks, staring at the foam dart for a second before finally making up their mind. They’d return it – just, not personally. If Wally knew GEB was the one taking them back, there was a chance he’d take offense to it, so something more lowkey would be ideal.

It sighed to itself as it plucked the orange dart off of the floor, briefly turning it in its claws before stowing it away in one of their coat pockets.

It won’t even begin to make things up, but…

It’s a start, right?

With that, the Guardian continued on its walk, trying to shrug off the cold sting it felt piercing its heart.

[osleeplessflowero]

L.O.VE And Justice

a somewhat satirical bad sanses reader insert fic

Chapter One: Nice To Meet You

Ao3 Link < Fic Masterpost < Next Chapter >

Content Warning: Violence

A dark, empty void.. 

There’s no hint of light anywhere. Only the darkness that surrounds you, threatening to swallow you whole. You hear echoes of voices calling out to you, before fading into silence. 

You feel weak..cold, too. As you fall further and further.. 

Your arms are extended in front of you, as if you were reaching for someone. But no one is there.

Your vision is blurry. You’re so tired.. you can hardly move. 

A light comes into your view as your eyes slowly squeeze shut..

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP- 

Ah yes..your alarm clock ruins your dreaming yet again. You feel around a bit, your vision still blurry from tiredness, until you finally find it, lightly hitting it to make it stop beeping. Such an annoying sound..at least it does its job. 

You sit up, yawning and rubbing your eyes with your hands, getting up and going down the hall towards the kitchen to make breakfast.

“Oh, I almost forgot-” You mutter, walking back into your room, grabbing a hairclip off of your nightstand and carrying it with you back to the kitchen. There’s a gem on it shaped like a heart, or rather a SOUL, your soul to be more specific. 

This gem is your most valuable belonging, being that it is directly linked with your Soul, and if something were to happen to it you would be in grave danger. 

You walk into the kitchen, quickly making and eating breakfast, then go into the bathroom to shower and fix your hair. 

It’s time for work..yaaay.

You change into your work clothes, exiting your house and getting in your car, playing one of your favorite albums and lip synching to the lyrics of the first song you hear. You wave at a small monster child that’s smiling at you from the back seat of the car next to you. They wave back excitedly.

It’s been quite a few years since monsters returned to the surface, after their ambassador Frisk freed them. A child did all of that on their own! Quite impressive, really. 

At first a few humans were uneased by the presence of monsters, but the more they interacted, the more peaceful and casual things became. Nowadays there’s countless monster-human friendships and other relationships, and everyone gets along pretty well. 

A peaceful life in a peaceful town with kind people..well, they’re kind most of the time. 

“WATCH IT, YA HEATHEN- ANYBODY TEACH YOU HOW TO DRIVE? CAUSE THEY DID A POOR DAMN JOB!” An older man shouts from the window of a car in front of you, looking back at you.

You roll down your window a bit more and shout back. “WHY DON’T YOU TRY DRIVING AT A NORMAL PACE FOR ONCE, GEORGE-”

“DON’T YOU TALK TO ME ABOUT MY DRIVING!”

“I’LL TALK TO YOU ANY WAY I WANT TO- God every day with this- EITHER MOVE OR GO FASTER YOU OLD SNAIL-”

“SOMEONE OUGHT TO TEACH YOU SOME MANNERS, RESPECT YOUR ELDERS!”

One of these days you’re going to snap on this man and it won’t be pleasant. Unfortunately, this is an everyday occurrence.. He’d better not make you late for work. 

A few minutes pass by and you finally reach your workplace, walking inside quickly. Don’t be late, don’t be late, don’t be late!

You sprint for the elevator, thankfully making it inside with some of your coworkers. 

Made it.. 

You lean on the wall, distancing yourself from the others to let out a sigh.

The other people in the elevator chat with one another, and you simply stay to yourself scrolling on your phone, not really in the mood to talk so early. 

Same old news, same old gossip.. Not much goes on around here. It’s so boring..

You step out of the elevator after the others, making your way to your desk and sitting down, staring blankly at a monitor in front of you. 

Times like these make you remember your highschool days.. 

After you were given your gift, you were able to use your magic to help those who needed you most, stopping injuries before they happen, or fighting off some delinquents, or rescuing someone from a high platform- those were the days..every day was interesting, something new was always there to be found around the corner. You were a hero!

But as you got older the troubles around you seemed to lessen and lessen to the point where you weren’t needed to help. 

You are grateful people are safe and can handle themselves, but at the same time that leaves you with nothing to do! You wanna have opportunities to get back out there in the field, using your magic for the greater good. ..Despite how selfish that may be.

But you’re stuck in here..with a shitty, boring office job, and magic you can’t use. If only there were some conveniently timed chaos..

You stare out a window, waiting, but ultimately nothing happens. 

“Damn..no comedic timing.” You mutter to yourself, turning back to the monitor and switching tabs. 

Minutes pass incredibly slowly as you work, typing out information to send to higher-ups. The usual stuff..nothing too exciting or out of the ordinary.

This is all the day will bring..

The same thing, over and over and o- 

Windows are heard shattering nearby. 

You stand abruptly as the door to the room you’re in is completely destroyed from some kind of blast. 

No way.

No fucking way. 

This is it! Your chance! There was (delayed) comedic timing after all!

Now now, this is no time to celebrate. Now is the time to think of what to do next.

You quickly move to a safe hiding place. 

“alright, everyone!” A skeleton monster steps forward, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. His eyesockets are empty, a strange black substance staining his face. There’s a bright red target on his shirt. He seems like bad news..

“here’s how this is gonna go down. you can run, hide, whatever. but in the end, you’re still gonna die. if you decide to fight back, well.. give us a good show.” He smiles with malice as he glances around the room, sending a chill down your spine. Definitely a monster with high LV.. You need to be careful with how you approach this scenario.

“let’s just get this over with, killer.. i’m sure nightmare wants to head back soon.” Another skeleton stands in the doorway behind him, leaning against the side of it. He’s wearing a blue hoodie like the other’s, except his hood is up. You can’t really make out his face too well from your current position. He seems to have a more tired demeanor. 

“yeah yeah, i know. wait, where’s horror? he was supposed to come along for this one-” 

“you know him. he hates working with us, remember?” 

“yeah, that's true.” 

While the two of them talk, you take this opportunity to crawl into the next room over where thankfully no one else is.

“Justice, Give Me Strength!”

The hairclip on your head glows a brighter shade of yellow, its magic beginning to surround your body. You allow it to consume you, lifting you off of the ground for a moment. The magic swirls around and forms into your now updated costume, having mixes of yellow in it. A hood forms on your back. The rest of it, well..we’ll leave that up for interpretation. 

You land on the ground, hugging yourself. 

"I missed you, old friend. I wish the moment I could’ve felt you again wasn’t during a crisis.” You mumble quietly before lifting your hood up and sneaking back into the other room.

People are freaking out, running around and dodging attacks that come their way. 

“Get to safety!” You call out as people make their way outside.

“now ain’t this interesting..” The skeleton with the target over his shirt turns to you, twirling his knife around in his hand. “got ourselves a wannabe hero.” His grin stretches menacingly as he stares you down. 

“Leave this town- attacking innocent people is unforgivable and unjust.” 

“like hell are we just gonna listen to you.” 

“i’m gonna make sure horror’s okay. you got this?”

“go on ahead.” 

The hooded skeleton leaves. 

The other skeleton turns back to you, throwing a sharp bone and killing a civilian who tried to run out of their hiding spot. He didn’t even look away. He just kept what you can assume to be eye contact with you, considering there are no lights in his eyes.

A chill goes down your spine.

“if you want me to leave.. why don’tcha make me?”

He points his knife in your direction. A silent threat. 

You hold up your hand, imitating a gun with it. 

“If that’s what it takes, then so be it.” 

His grin widens as he looks at you, just waiting for you to make a move so he can attack and get this over with. 

A yellow light emerges from your index and middle fingertips in the shape of a small sphere, before it surrounds your hand. Once it does that, it takes its form into a physical object: an actual gun. 

It has little heart shaped symbols on the sides, the trigger being a bright shade of yellow to match your overall color scheme. 

You point it at him, right between his eyesockets. 

“Let’s dance, skeleton.”

He charges at you with his knife held high, and you shoot. But the moment your heart shaped projectile is about to reach him, he..disappears? 

“What-” Was all you could let out as he knocked you to the side with the handle of his knife, dealing a small blow to your HP. 

How the hell did he hit you that hard? 

You get up, pointing your gun and shooting at him again. He immediately jumps out of the way, seeming to phase in and out of existence with each shot. How is he pulling that off?

You watch from the corner of your eye as everyone makes it outside, before jumping out of the way of a knife slash. 

Figure out a solution..anything..something that could work-

That’s it!

You aim your gun again and focus, shooting and waiting for him to phase out, before shooting the knife out of his hands the moment he reappears. 

“fuck-”

You shoot at him again as he holds out his hand to summon his knife back to him, not giving him an opportunity to think. 

“you fought like this before or something? seems you’ve got experience-” He finally pulls his knife back to himself, slashing at you. You lean back to avoid his strikes, which results in the glass of the window behind you to shatter, falling onto the ground below. It’s a really long drop.. 

“Something like that. I’m used to getting rid of punks like you-” You shoot at him again. Maaaybe you should try adding some new weapons to your arsenal for scenarios like this..If that's possible-

“huh, if that’s the case.. why haven’t you already gotten rid of me, then?” 

He slashes his knife towards you, you jumping out of the way. You shoot at him again, him dodging before sending a bone your way and catching you off guard. You fall out of the space where the window was, holding onto the ledge with your free hand and holding up your gun with the other. 

He stands over you, his foot just beside your hand. 

“a shame we couldn’t fight longer. but i’ve got business to attend to, so let’s cut this short, kay?” 

You shoot at him again abruptly, hoping to catch him off guard, and he slightly shifts to the right. COME ON-

“maybe i’ll meet you in another timeline. see ya!” He grins and waves before kicking your hand off the ledge, resulting in you falling.

Gotta think of something, gotta think of something, THINK OF SOMETHING YOU’RE GONNA DI-

.

.

.

Someone stands on the street below, bashing the heads of civilians in with a massive thigh bone. 

He has a grimace on his skull, a large crack visible on the left of it. His coat slightly sways in the breeze, large blood stains visible on his sweater beneath it. A bright red eyelight glows, visible at even a distance. 

“why’d i hafta get stuck killin’ these humans- of all the places i have to go. i fuckin’ hate this job." 

He swings the bone around again, killing someone else. 

“humans and their cozy lives on the surface with these other monsters who didn’t hafta go through a lick of suffering- must be NICE-” 

Another hit as he puts the thigh bone over his left shoulder, stepping over a few bodies and walking ahead. 

Civilians cower and flee at the sight of the large skeleton and the corpses below him, screaming out as they run to other locations. Too bad that won’t save ‘em..

A faint scream is heard from above. 

He raises his head, confused at just what that sound i-

BONK!

Something heavy lands on top of him, causing both him and the foreign object to tumble to the ground.

“Ah fuck- I think I might’ve broke something- ow-”

“what the fuck-"  

You sit up, looking down at the skeleton on the ground beneath you. This skeleton has a large crack in his skull. That must be painful.. He has a single, bright red eyelight that takes up most of his socket. He..doesn’t look too friendly..probably working with those other skeletons from before.

“Uh..hiya, sorry for the sudden introduction, haha-”

He immediately raises the thigh bone in his hand, you jumping off of him out of the way just in time. 

“great.. another one to deal with. and this one’s chatty.” His grimace stretches further. 

You hold out your gun, the cape of your costume flowing out behind you.

“So, you workin’ with those two dorks back there?” 

“don’t associate me with them.” He stands.

“Strike a nerve?” You shoot at him, and sure enough, he dodges in the same way “Killer” did. Do all skeleton monsters have this ability? You’d never met one personally before so all of this is pretty new to you. You hope this isn’t something you’ll have to get used to..

He charges at you, thigh bone raised. You take note of the fact that there are no bones in the ground around here..maybe he doesn’t want to use magic and relies on that thigh bone. It could be to your advantage..it’s a heavy weapon. Heaviness means slowness, right? At least, it should.

You shoot at him, jumping over some broken glass. Little yellow heart shaped projectiles going everywhere but at their intended target. 

He raises the bone and swings it at you, only barely missing. 

You move back out of instinct before tripping over some office supplies that fell out of the window from earlier, falling onto your back with a thud. 

He looms over you, his bright red eyelight burning. He swings the bone again as you crawl backwards, shooting at him with one hand and moving with the other. 

During this time, you decide to [CHECK] him. 

High LV..Only 1HP? You’d kill him with a single shot! That must be why he’s learned to be so good at dodging. One hit and he’s down for the count. 

He holds the bone up to shield himself against the bullets before slowly walking towards you, taking his time. 

You move quickly away, trying to find something.. anything to distract him long enough to get away and think of a plan so you don’t actually have to kill him. Come on..come on-

“bad aim? that’s a shame. that’ll get’cha killed.”

“Sorry, but dying isn’t really on my schedule for today.”

He raises the bone again, preparing to strike. You back up a little more and find..a stack of paper? Well, you did just fall out of an office building. It’d have to do. You tear the plastic off of the stack.

You wait until he’s looking, then throw the papers at his face, getting up and running off, hiding behind a nearby building.

“what the fuck- paper? Seriously?”

“yo horrorrrr- did you get ‘em?” Killer jumps down from above, landing right beside Horror. He scowls at the shorter skeleton, holding the thigh bone above his shoulder.

“they threw a fuckin’ paper stack at me and ran off.”

“huh?-- so that means they got away..looks like we’ve got a game of cat and mouse.” He grins, spinning his knife around.

“or, and just hear me out..we could actually do what we were sent here for and carry out the mission properly.”

“you’re no fun, dust- we’ve gotta have a little bit of spice.” 

“What the fuck is taking you all so long? I expected you to be done by now.” 

You peek from your hiding spot, looking over the new skeleton in the area. 

He’s tall, (though to be fair, all of them are taller than you.) A black and green inky sort of substance covering his bones. He appears to be melting in a way, though the substance never seems to fall off of him.. There are tentacles emerging from his back, wriggling around in different directions. From his body language you can assume he’s a bit annoyed right now. 

“oh- heeeey, boss- we were just working actually-” Killer points fingerguns at him. 

“It seems to me like you’re doing a whole lot of NOTHING.” 

“would be doing something if that stupid human would quit screwin’ around.”

“A human is what you’re having problems with? Haven’t you killed several versions of that child? Why is this scenario any different?”

“they have a justice soul, boss. which means they have a gun, and dodging is a biiit of a pain in the ass.” 

‘Boss’ lets out a hum of acknowledgement. “Whatever, let’s just get out of here. We’ve spread enough panic through the area and standing around is wasting time. It oozed with positivity before..he’s been here.”

“you got it!” Killer gives him a thumbs up. Dust simply averts his eyes, Horror glares at the ground. 

“This would’ve been easier if you actually worked as a team, you know.”

“like hell am i working with THEM.”

“rude!”

“well, i don’t blame him for not liking us.”

“He- e- e- ey- Are you- ou idiots done in here? I’ve got business to ta-ake care o-of in this universe and I doubt you want to be in here when it ha-a-appens.”  [Hey, are you idiots done in here? I've got business to take care of in this universe and I doubt you want to be in here when it happens.]

A more colorful skeleton appears from a white, pixelated portal. What’s up with all of them showing up? How many are there?!

His voice has a sort of glitchy effect, causing his words to slightly distort. His bones are black, his face having dark blue marks over it. His eyesockets are red, eyelights being yellow and blue. His teeth are also yellow. You can’t really see his body from where you’re standing, plus the fact that it’s mostly obscured by the portal, but you can see that he’s wearing a dark blue scarf over what looks like a suit jacket of some kind that’s over a red sweater. 

“Yeah yeah, we’re leaving. Wasn’t much to find in this universe anyway. What’s important is that his influence is gone..”

“Then hurry u-u-up and get out-t-t, Nightmare. I’ve got shit to do.” He shoos them away with his hands. ‘Nightmare’ opens up a portal, shoving the other three inside. 

You start to lower your weapon, but accidentally pull the trigger, sending a projectile right towards him.

He just stops, holding out his hand and..catching the bullet between his fingers. He turns to you, bright green eyelight focused. It looks as if he’s staring right through your soul, sending a chill down your spine. 

And then..he crushes it, letting the bright yellow pieces hit the ground before entering the portal himself. 

You stare forwards in shock, closing your mouth since it was wide open. He just- broke it- just like that- without even giving it another THOUGHT- 

Well..no time to worry about them right now, they’re gone and that’s what matters. It’s time to clean up the damages and find any injured.. 

What did that one skeleton mean about “business to take care of”?...

“Please- someone get me out from here-” 

You immediately run towards the civilian shouting for help. You’ll dwell on all that later. Something tells you this won’t be the last you see of them..you need to make sure they won’t kill anybody else. 

The rest of your afternoon is dedicated to helping those who need it and making sure that damages are repaired safely. As soon as you get home, you de-transform and walk into your room, collapsing face first onto your bed and removing your hairclip. You trace your hand over the heart shape, staring at it.

What a day… You hope that tomorrow won’t be as exhausting. 

[egipci]

Vertigo, 1999

(for @wincestwednesdays)

What they have in common is they're loud, and they talk too much. That's what Dad used to say. Nine out of ten hunters have no fucking idea what they’re doing. You put four of them in a room together and you get twelve tall tales and intel that’ll set you back three days. Not that he spent much time with any one of them. There was a time, back in the beginning, he'd take on a job with a guy, say, someone Bobby knew, or he'd just run into a random dude on the scene, and they'd try to crack it together, talk theories, or they'd do interviews, bad-cop-good-cop, that sort of thing, and right in the middle of it, no matter how it was going, he'd turn to that other guy and suddenly remember he hated all of them. He'd tell me about that stuff. That's why he roped me in soon as he could. He didn't like anybody else. I don’t know how he stayed friends with Pastor Jim as long as he did. There was a fight once after Jim offered to take his confession, but they got over it eventually. Sometimes I wonder what the two of them would say about your praying. I still can’t do it. I couldn’t do it the first time you died, and I can’t do it now. I try to meditate, for Lisa. She says you can think of anything or nothing at all. So I close my eyes and I think about Wyoming that one winter.

There were hunters there too, and they warned us. You were in the car, and I was with Dad in a convenience store on the edge of Indian country. We were questioning the cashier. Mostly Dad was doing the talking. It was a two-stall restroom kind of joint and he'd backed me up against the sink and put his hands under my shirt so I was still in that warm stupid daze I could never tell you about. He was asking about the missing girls, if any of them had stopped by before they'd disappeared, and these two guys who knew him from somewhere came up. Right away he couldn’t stand them. They asked what we were there for. You could tell they were really freaked. They said there was something out there. A god, maybe. They could feel its strength and nothing else. Of course Dad didn't believe them, and that was all that mattered. 

Anyway, here is the part I keep replaying: he's walking ahead of us and it’s getting dark fast. It hasn't snowed yet but it's cold enough he let me wear his jacket. You and I are about the same height, so I got my arm around your shoulder, your neck in the crook of my elbow, and I'm dragging you along, and you're squirming and being a bitch, so we're lagging way behind, and I'm saying stupid shit to make you laugh, trying to make you feel better, and you’re trying hard not to crack up. Then you elbow me in the gut and you stop walking, so I stop, and I turn to look at you. The trees are humming around us, all the way down to their roots. At least that’s the sense I had. We never found anything out there, so I never brought it up again. I never asked you. But the way you looked at me. You said my name, and you looked into my eyes then at the bottom half of my face, and when we finally set up camp you slept outside the tent. I slept with my head sticking out so you wouldn’t be alone. Something bit you first and then bit me. That night we stayed up staring at the sky. What I wouldn’t give to feel us so small again, to hear you naming the constellations.

[iso-calamistra]

On dark knighthood.

I thought I was getting better, you know. After the dragon ripped the Echo out of me, I stopped receiving its visions. Some part of me did appreciate the break— I don't know how long it had been since I'd spent a full day in control of my own head. One day where time and space and aether are all lined up, like they're supposed to be. I thought I was keeping that streak going.

I thought Fray was really here. That was stupid of me.

I should have realized it was too good to be true: somebody doing everything I cannot do, saying everything I cannot say. All those wretched thoughts I blocked out. The only person who knows how much time I've spent washing the blood off myself. (Note: It is so much time. Every day, so much. I stopped, like Fray said I should, and I realize now that people do not laud my deeds; they laud themselves for shirking the work. Their noses wrinkle at the smell. They don't want to know.)

Nobody has ever understood me like that before.

Of course he's not real.

Not as real as I thought, anyway— I still don't understand it. I don't understand why he comes and goes, but when he's gone, I miss him. Isn't that funny?

Sometimes I sit there, in that corner on those steps, and wait until the cold takes the feeling out of my limbs. I wait to hear a voice. His, or the other one, I don't care.

I wish I was part of him, and not the other way around. He doesn't deserve the things I do to myself.

If Tataru or Alphinaud or Haurchefant or anybody else left on this star who cares about me ever finds this rotten piece of parchment, they'll think know I've gone off the deep end. I don't want them to find out, not yet. Who do they

Fray asked me if I wanted to leave everything behind. I don't want    I can't    I don't know how.

I can't be the one to make that decision. He's the one who does things like that. I wish he'd just take me with him, or leave this weaker half here to waste.

Not sure I can write anymore. Words don't go brain to quill. Mixes up on the paper. Brain won't shut up.

The only thought is the same one all day, all week: one foot in front of the other, over and over again. To the ends of the world, and back again. Time has no end. Over and over again. Over and over again.

[thetangibleghost]

Them: what's wrong with you you

me: you wouldn't believe me if I told you

them: no- I would!

me: My parents are zombies, but my dad's also an orangutan. He told me he was a dragon. my mom has never been outside, but also she locked me in a tower like repunzel. I saw a doctor who was a fish and once I saw a fish suffocating to death in a sink. it was breathing so slow, didn't have any energy left. takes hours. and it said to me that no bodies life is ever perfect, that everyone has scales and sharp pointy teeth, it told me that it only just a little worse for me because my hair is dark brown and my eyes are too big for my head. Then it died and I ate it's flesh and it tasted good. I used to have a pet snake, it never spoke to me but I would catch it saying things to my brother. now we're both older and he denies this ever happened, he says our lives were normal. My mom's dad is from south Africa, I have one of his teeth. I had two mother's when I was a baby, they each have birth to half of me and then put the sides together, but half was a girl and half was a boy. My step dad tied a ribbon around my throat and then my wrist and then another around the door knob. He told me I could lock the door from the inside if I wanted too. My destist asked me why I wasn't singing, he said he loved to hear me sing. everyone always loved to hear me sing. I want to sleep on somebodies couch but they're too normal, and my parents were zombies so I leak discussing green and brown rot. everyone tries to be fine with it at first, I think they really manage to trick them selfs. but they run out of thread to see me back together with when the tugging pulls me apart. I'm saying this all as I pack up my things because my father is a fish and my mother drinks her coffee with cream and sugar and my grandmother gave me a blanket and she told me about a field with a rock in it and my step dad told my uncle that his head was falling off and my siblings have different names and different faces and my arms don't reach the other side of the room when I stretch them out. The birds are learning English, they think they can save us. "have you tried taking walks in the sunlight?" "have you tried finding a new mate?" "have you tried turning off those big huffing machines?" "that's what I would do I would try" and I always listen to the birds I've always listened to the birds. I just want to be good. I want to be lovely and warm and caring and weightless like a body in the ocean. I want to be findable and stable and clean. I want to be so clean. but I havn't showered in a few days, I keep forgetting. Do you think hell is warm like blood and cum? Do you think the light from the fire reflects off the eyes of your loved ones? Do you feel that? or is it cold, or is it nothing? I don't really have the authority to say I've never been to church if I'm being honest and I don't want to. I think if God were real then the windshield wouldn't crack when rocks hit it. I think the small things matter like how the cricket chased its own antenna shadow because it was going crazy. I think that if God were real he wouldn't save anybody, he'd be petrified, mortified, frozen solid in horror. I think if God were real he would shit. I don't mind if the reflection isn't quite the same as the reality it's ment to show. Light beams are imperfect, the atoms dance too and fro. I think that fish was dead. That flower was dead too. The sand shifts because it's easy, a million tiny ways to be uncomfortable. You should start laughing now.

[touyastearss]

Quid Pro Quo (Professor! Zeke x Student!Reader)

WARNING: age gap, professor-student relationship (reader is legal), manipulation, noncon, typical blackmail situation, smut, oral, humiliation

///

“This isn't good enough. See me in my office later, Y/N.”

A familiar shade of red stains the page as your essay is handed back to you. There's crosses thrown across the page and entire paragraphs circled in bright red, small, with barely legible notes scrawled beside them. You can't read them, but you don't need to. You know what they say. What they mean.

Your heart thumps against your chest. You want to cry.

— —

You wait until late in the evening. The last thing you’d want is for anybody to stumble across the two of you. The grounds are silent, save for the rustling of the leaves in the trees as you walk towards the old building, and there are few lights to guide your way. But you know the route by now.

The oak door gets bigger and bigger until it looms over you, rooting you to the ground as you allow yourself a minute, like every other time, to prepare. To leave, to argue, to run. But the cold of the wind pulls you from your trance. You have no choice.

You don’t knock. He’s expecting you. He doesn’t even look up when you enter, silent at his desk, the scratching of his pen the only noise in the room as he writes. His jacket is off, hanging from the back of his chair, and his dark tie hangs loose around his neck. It’s a complete contrast to his put-together looks throughout the day; pristine, perfectly ironed suits and a smile. Now the top buttons of his shirt are loose, and you can see the dip of his broad chest as he leans over his desk.

You clear your throat, stepping forward into the room a little further.

“Sir.”

He looks up at you, finally, nonchalant as ever as he watches you close the door. He leans back against his chest, watching you through the rim of his round glasses. They glint as he speaks.

“Y/N. Can I help you?”

You don’t know why he does it. Why he makes you come here, makes you stand before him and grovel at his feet, all while he acts oblivious. It’s so unnerving, so sick.

He raises an eyebrow, leaning back into his seat and reaching into his pocket. The cigarette he pulls out is the same expensive brand he always smokes. He places it between his lips, balancing it as he watches you, expectantly. You swallow the lump in your throat.

“I’d like to speak to you about my grade.”

You don’t miss the flicker of amusement in his eyes as you speak, but it’s gone quickly with a puff of his cigarette, the smoke clouding round his face. He waits a moment, like he always does, and then speaks.

“I’m afraid the grades you’ve received are non-negotiable. I can’t give out any special treatment, Y/N. You know this.”

He waits, silently. You want to cry. His gaze hardens for a split second and you know you’re keeping him waiting too long for his liking. He enjoys a game, but he gets bored quickly.

“Please.”

He doesn’t speak.

You hate him. You hate him so much. You hate your parents for making you attend university. You hate chance for its unfair ways. You hate the way he touches you. You hate yourself for letting him.

“Please, Sir.” Your voice breaks, a singular tear trickling down your face as you avert your gaze from his face. There’s no smile, just a cruel, satisfied smirk at the way your body recoils from him as the words pass your lips.

You refuse to look as you hear him stand from his desk, watching as he leather Oxfords get closer until they're right in front of you, and you can smell the lit cigarette.

“Don’t cry, Y/N,” he cooes, voice soft and quiet in the silence of his office. His rough fingers come to rest on your chin, turning your head to face him with mock gentleness. “Pretty girls shouldn’t cry.”

He’s so close. You feel trapped. You’re drowning in a mixture of his cologne and smoke, a smell you’ve scrubbed from your skin countless times before. His thumb strokes your skin gently, and his touch sparks goosebumps on your skin. He lets out a soft hum, as if he’s so horrifically torn by the decision he’s about to make.

“You're putting me in a difficult situation here, Y/N.”

He waits a second.

“But maybe I can make an exception for you."

One more.

"You’ll just have to do me a favour in return."

He speaks like it’s the most gracious thing. Like he’s some saint. Like he's not bullied you into this corner countless times before. Like he won't do it again. You want to scream. Instead you meet his eyes, ignoring the soft smirk that forms on his lips.

Your line comes out weak, hopeless.

“I’ll do anything.”

— —

He likes to take it slow at first. You don't know whether the drag of his hands across your skin is for your enjoyment or his. You could take a lucky guess. The minutes he spends touching your skin set you on edge, eyes flickering to the door as images of the two of you being caught flood your brain. The risk is high, it makes you sick. He loves it.

He likes to tell you that what he's doing is for the best. That he's so much older than you, that he’s so much smarter. Surely only a Professor could know what was best for their student? He whispers praise and filth into your skin and tells you that you’re so good for him. That you listen so well. Like a good student. A good girl.

He likes it when you're beneath him. When you stare up at him with teary eyes and a helpless look on your face as he sits you on his desk. He parts your legs forcefully to step between them, guiding your head towards him. You don’t want to react to the feel of his rough palms travelling between the material of your skirt to the top of your thighs, but you can’t help but gasp as they enter you, curling and prodding at your walls.

He likes your skirt to stay on. The way it falls across your skin when he fucks into you, the material creasing beneath his grip on your thighs. The wood of his desk bruises your stomach with every thrust forwards, his thick fingers gripping your tits through the material of your shirt. You leave with bruises that never seem to fade.

He likes your reflection in the mirror that he fucks you in front of. Likes the way your nervous expression morphs into pleasure as he has his way with you. The way fear flickers across your eyes every now and then as you come back to your senses, the way it’s gone with the light pressure of his thumb on your clit. Your body shakes in his hold and he can only admire how perfect you look as you take his cock. So cute.

When you’re on the floor, knees pressing uncomfortably into the hard oak panels as his cock pounds into your throat. Your nails dig into his thighs and your whines are silenced as you gag around him. His own grunts are always loud, and he lets out a deep, guttural groan as he releases into your throat, pulling out just in time to taint your skin.

He likes you to say thank you, afterwards. To pick yourself up and ignore the shake in your legs as he places a light kiss on your forehead. To leave without a word.

And to return, as always, the next time.