#crack my head on the pavement blood everywhere

[godspouse]

i’m still like :o i hav a boyfriend n i love zem n ze likes spending time with me n doesn’t make me feel bad for existing as i am and ze sends me gn texts even if ze’s half asleep n ze knows the names of the stuffed animals i keep on my bed bc i send zem selfies including them and ze has the cutest smile n nose n prettiest eyes n um. i like this person ! so much. love zem. lots. AND ZE LIKES ME BACK? i feel like this

[coffehbeans]

G/t WAC Day 21

Add a Chapter to one of your older fics

Better late than never! This took a while to edit but I'm happy with the result. Juhren and Sunflower are my oldest g/t ocs, I've written their first meeting a thousand times before, but lost most of the writing when my old phone broke. This time, I've reimagined their scene, so I'm excited to show y'all how these two had a really rocky start. Hope you enjoy!

Warning for mild descriptions of violence and death.

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

Run.

Run.

Run.

A branch caught on her hair and she fell backwards. Her head throbbed from pain. She scrambled up. Dirt caked her back. 

Run.

Run.

Just keep running.

Don't look back.

Twigs and leaves snagged on her skirt and ripped holes in it. Heavy thuds echoed in the distance, in the burning village she left behind. The remains of a roar were carried by the wind as she ran faster, out of breath.

"They're here. Sunflower, they're after you." Alba had said.

"Just run and don't look back."

She passed through trees, stumbled on roots, twisting her ankle as she cried out in pain. But she continued. 

Get away. As far away from them.

Run. Run. Run.

Run.

....

She heaved, slumping down by the base of a tree. Her heart thumped inside her, pounding so hard she thought it'd break through her chest. Sweat and dirt covered her and blood dripped from her head, golden blonde hair disheveled and full of leaves and sticks.

Her shallow breathing slowed down, the forest sounds became measly chirps of birds in the distance.

The feeling inside her started small at first, like a knot in her throat, an invisible lump forcing her to cough. The coughs got louder and harsher, throat burning from the motions. She spat on the dirt.

Then a tear fell. One. Two. They fell in successions as she hiccupped and leaned over the earth. She held down her whimpers. She can't be heard. She can't be seen. Yet the sobs still came out from her trembling lips. Sunflower clutched the dirt and curled up on the ground, letting out a constrained wailing.

The houses crumbling apart. She saw it. She saw someone's terrified face before being crushed underfoot. Blood splattered everywhere. The screams, so many screams suddenly cut off as teeth closed in on them, splitting them in half. She looked up, the stone walls of houses already collapsed. She looked around, and bodies scattered across the cracked pavement, limbs distorted as bones protruded from the lifeless corpses. The beasts screamed and laughed, kicking and stomping over everything they could find.

Then the guards from the capital came, and one flew past her, and he looked at her with those haunting, glowing eyes, widening in realization.

It could see her lack of kiira. It could see what she was.

"A human! There's a human in here!"

The flying cavalry would not get to her yet, as they were busy containing the rampage, Sunflower knew that. But it's already too late, too dangerous, and there's no safe home to turn to anymore. Alba clutched her hand tight and sneaked her out of the burning orphanage, giving her a bag of supplies as if she had prepared for this years ago.

"Run, Sunflower. Run. Follow the map I gave you, and run."

Sunflower didn't have time to hug her. Didn’t have time to say goodbye to the director and the kids. She didn't even know if they're alive.

All she knew was to run, and go to the point marked on the map.

Sunflower dried her tears and got up on shaky knees, hissing when her weight leaned on the sprained ankle. Stumbling forward, she breathed heavily from the strain, clutching her bag tight.

No matter what. She had to run. And seek help from someone she did not know. "She" would know how to help her, Alba had said. "She" would keep her safe.

So Sunflower pushed forward, even while her vision got blurry, and even when she didn't notice her body falling limply to the ground, as her vision turned black.

....

"Juhren, look!"

Sunflower came running to the clearing of the forest. Their clearing. Juhren wondered what would they do today when he saw her coming excitedly towards him, golden hair flowing in the wind. Would they climb a tree again? Would they play hide and seek? Or would Sun like to hear one more of his stories from the outside world?

He smiled when she stopped in front of him, her tiny frame two heads shorter. Her green eyes shone from glee, and her hands were folded behind her back as if she was hiding something.

"What's this?" - Juhren leaned his head to the side, smirking when he saw what she was hiding. - "You know you're bad at surprises, right?"

Sunflower backed away and pouted. - "Not fair! You're no fun!" 

Her pout disappeared as quickly as it came when she brought her hand forward.

"I just wanted to gift you something since it's your birthday today!"

She motioned for him to come closer, and Juhren leaned over in front of her, round eyes looking curiously.

And with a jump, she put the flower crown over his head.

"These are special flowers that never die! If it wilts, you only need a bit of water and they'll bloom again!"

Juhren took the crown from his head and looked at the tiny blue flowers with wonder.

"Woah..."

Sunflower beamed. "Do you like it?"

He put the flower crown back on his head, glancing down at his best friend, a smile on his face. She knew how much he liked plants. She picked that special type just for him. His heart fluttered with joy.

"I love it! Thank you, Sun."

"Yay!"

Shu hugged Juhren tightly and he giggled as she hung on him like he was a tree. With a mischievous grin, he lifted her from the ground and she yelped as he carried her like a sack of potatoes.

"Hey! Put me down!" Sunflower squirmed and laughed, failing to sound serious.

"It's not my fault that you're so light!"

"It's just you that keeps getting taller!"

....

She woke up with a jolt. 

Sunflower sat up, her head pounding against her skull. She clutched it with her hand, recoiling when dried blood rubbed against it. Is it too serious? She hoped not. The sky was covered by towering sequoias, a few rays of sunshine passing through the dense foliage. Her heart rocked faster inside her.

I was knocked out for too long.

She got up, struggling under her buckling knees, and trudged forward with that sharp pain on her ankle. Her head thrummed annoyingly, but she had to keep going. She'd get help from Alba's friend, and then she'd be able to rest. Sunflower walked faster through the forest, stumbling, and flinching from the pain, yet she continued forward. 

I won't die here. I won't die, I won't die.

I won't die.

She repeated this inside her head, focusing on the leaf-covered path ahead of her, the sound of birds and the rustling of leaves going unnoticed by her ears.

Until heavy thunder resounded around her.

Sunflower turned stone cold, her eyes widened and panic bubbled up inside her chest. She darted her head. Left. Right. Behind her? No. In front of her. The steps were getting louder, faster, closer, multiplying in intensity and – oh god, there’s multiple of them – and coming in her direction like a fleeing herd.

She cried out and ran, the pain in her ankle all but forgotten. Behind a tree? Inside the bushes? – The steps got so intense she struggled to keep on her feet. Sunflower ran aimlessly until – There was a hollow by the base of a tree. She ducked inside it and crawled as far away from the entrance as she could, vision obscured by darkness. She covered her arms and legs with mud and dirt, hoping and praying it was enough to hide her scent. Her gut twisted and turned.

If this didn't work, she would die.

Tears scurried down Sunflower’s face, burning as they traveled on the cuts of her cheeks. She pumped air in and out of her lungs, covering her mouth with a trembling hand, smelling the scent of mold and dirt. Don’t cry. Don’t scream. Don’t make a noise. The thundering got louder and closer, but she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t move.

Booming steps followed by ugly laughter echoed above. Sunflower muffled a scream, eyes shooting wide open. There were too many. The nordem were all around her. The earth vibrated with each step, and their deafening voices ringed in her ears. She curled up further, hoping the tree bark would engulf her and swallow her whole.

They chatted about raiding a village as if it was a walk to the market. Bile rose in Sunflower's throat, burning rage threatening to consume her. All that carnage, just for fun?! No. She can't get mad now. Just keep still and they wouldn't find her. Just keep still and –

"Hey, do you smell that?"

"Now that you mention it, the air has some scent to it."

Her eyes threatened to pop from her sockets. Shaking hands, reach for the dirt, scrub it over your skin. They can't hear you – Their hearing is too good – They cannot hear you moving. She picked another clump of mud, shaking so much half of it fell, and rubbed it on her other arm. They can't smell you, they can't –

"I've never smelled a scent like this before." – a gruff voice thundered.

Sunflower's hairs turned up to their ends. It was right outside. She could see its boots in front of the opening. Just stay still. They won't find her. They will walk away. Just stay still.

"Must be an animal."

"Or a different type of kiirian." Another nordem sneered.

“I suggest we look for it.”

“First one to find it gets to keep it.”

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe. Sunflower gagged as air escaped her lungs. Her head was banging against her skull. They won't find her they won't find her they won't –

"What are you doing here."

The nordem flinched at the sound of a new voice. It sounded younger than the previous ones, yet just as loud as any other giant, with a gruffness to it.

Not another one! Sunflower scooted away from the hollow’s opening; eyes tightly shut.

"And what do you think we're doing, brat? This is our patrol route!"

"This area has already been covered up." - the younger yet deep voice replied. - "the next patrolling places are supposed to be over there. If you don't wanna miss out on the 'fun', you should head out the other way." – it said matter-of-factly.

A series of growls bellowed above her and she covered her ears with shaky hands.

"Fine! Let's do what the boy says for now."

"Tsk. If there's nothing there..."

"But be careful, kid." – the deepest voice of the group rumbled lowly. – "if what you said is a lie, then you know who's the first person that's gonna hear 'bout it."

Silence.

Sunflower froze. The multiple nordem left, only one remained. The deafening silence stretched between the sequoia trees, and she sucked in the humid air from the hollow. Sunflower cut her whimpers off with a clamped hand over her mouth, holding her breath. Hot tears dampened her hand.

A step. Another one. The earth shook. Don't make a sound. Don't make a sound. Bile rose in her throat. The meticulous, slow steps banged against the floor, making trees creak in protest and the leaves on the ground to rise and fall. The earthquakes got louder. It was coming closer. She thought she would vomit. Her vision blurred, her stomach churned, her head pounded each time the heavy steps collided against the soil and – No. It couldn’t have found her. It couldn’t but –

The truth dawned on her. If the other nordem could smell her, then this one could smell her too.

Her eyebrows raised in horror.

"I know you're here."

Sunflower pressed herself deeper into the the tree, heart hammering against her ribs as if begging to escape. It knew. It knew she was there, and the thought suffocated her inside. Was it taunting her? Sunflower couldn't breathe. The air came scarcely in her hurting lungs and tears dripped on the bruised hand that covered her mouth, mingling with dirt and blood. Closing her eyes, the sickening nausea grew deeper. She'd faint if she kept this up. But she couldn't. She wouldn't. No. Sunflower would not die here. She can't. So she forced herself awake.

Maybe, she still had a chance to survive.

The steps grew closer, each impact seemed to reverberate through Sunflower’s very bones. A relentless drumbeat that echoed in her ears. The ground wielded to the beast, trembling beneath its feet and causing dust to rise and itch inside her nostrils. She quivered so violently she couldn't keep her shaking hand pressed against her mouth.

When the earthquakes stopped, her source of light was covered by shadow. The hollow's entrance. 

It was right in front of it.

"Come out."

A deep and powerful voice rumbled inside her ears and a shiver crawled up her spine. Sunflower moved her neck to the right, turning her head towards the entrance.

Her breath caught in her throat.

An eye. An orange eye with slitted pupils fixated on her with an intensity that froze her in place. It could see her. It could see her entirely. Her heart tried to break free from inside her bones, hands going cold as tears dripped down her face. She didn't try to contain her sobs anymore as they escaped from her throat and wracked her frame.

"I'll ask one more time. Come out."

The reverberating voice boomed with an even tone. No emotion could be seen from its eye. It commanded her with confidence, knowing that she had no other choice.

She had no other choice.

No. There must be a way. Sunflower turned her back to the eye and dug her nails in the tree wall. She gripped her knife with both hands to steady her shaking and hit the wood repeatedly. She could create a path. The hollow was small. The creature couldn't reach her. It won't reach her. The wood groaned as Sunflower made a dent into it, hitting the tree harder and harder with desperate grunts. She can get out. He won't reach her. She won't die. She can't die.

A deep sigh sounded outside. A gust of wind blew on her back. She shivered, but continued. Just keep going. Trembling hands wielded the knife, creating a fist-sized hole in the tree bark.

Something small fell to the ground next to her with a tap. She flinched. Turning to her right, she saw it: a white seed, as small as a pine, sank under the earth.

What is that?

Thorns sprouted from the dirt and shoved Sunflower away from the tree wall. She yelped and scrambled up, but another branch emerged from a seed and pushed her away. Screaming, she crawled back towards the spot, digging her boots and her hands between the plants, but they formed a wall in front of her that pushed and pulled until she fell, sending her to the entrance. Towards the nordem.

The roots forced Sunflower to face it, watching that unexpressive orange eye grow as she came closer. She writhed and struggled in vain, the vines pushing her with a force that no common plant could, thorns cutting her arms and back and dragging her forward, even as she dug her boot in the earth and pushed back against it with all her strength. The eye got bigger and bigger as she approached it, slitted pupils shrinking as it focused on her. She shook her head from side to side.

"No! No!! PLEASE!! –"

The eye was gone. A calloused palm appeared in her field of vision. No matter how much she struggled, the vines wouldn't bulge. She was dumped on the awaiting hand as it curled around her waist, trapping her in a loose fist. Her stomach plummeted as she was raised in the air, wind blowing inside her ears. Even if she was trapped, even if her heart wanted to leap out of her, Sunflower fought, feet dangling underneath her. Her arms were free and she clawed and punched the hard skin, yet no matter how much force she used, not a single scratch was made on it.

The motion stopped and she encountered its face, seeing the pair of eyes that stared at her without an ounce of emotion. She shivered under the nordem's grip, sobbing, pounding her fists against its hand.

"No! I beg you! Don't kill me!!"

The nordem opened its mouth to speak, but choked on its unspoken words. The forest got silent as Sunflower wavered up and down. The stillness and the shaking of its hand made her open her tear-stricken eyes, looking up.

The giant stared at her with widened eyes, its irises darting left and right. Color drained from its massive face as he looked at her like she's a ghost.

The contrast of its expression made her catch details of its features, a sickening nausea growing in her insides.

The orange eyes. The tanned skin. The short, spiky auburn hair.

Her body froze solid, her eyebrows shot up, dread and recognition flashing through her eyes.

No. No. Anyone but him – !

The nordem's lips trembled as it opened his mouth, exhaling over her. Sharp teeth appeared as it spoke, and the pang in her chest stung harder.

"...Sun...?" It whispered; doubt laced its deep, booming voice.

"Juhren..." - she quavered back his name.

...

Time was running out. His chest got heavy as each breath seemed harder and harder to take. His change would be today. He's sure. He knew that his eleventh birthday would be the last he'd celebrate with his friend.

He'd never see Sunflower again.

He stopped by the clearing where they always met. She wasn't there yet. Juhren tightened his grip around the flower crown necklace, its delicate petals protected by a square glass casing. Would he even be able to use it anymore? Would he even be able to see his friend's gift? He kneeled and steadied his heaving breaths, heart beating faster and faster as minutes tickled by and as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. Everything hurt. From his bones to his muscles, even the simple movement of breathing made him clutch his eyes shut in pain. If he let himself unchecked, he'll grow. Just keep himself together, until he can see Sun. Until he can say goodbye to her.

Why was she taking so long?

Just when the thought of leaving crossed Juhren's mind, he saw Sunflower walking towards him. Hugging a book with a tight grip. Her face somber and serious.

"Sun? What happened?" - he said in a trembling, gentle tone, hoping it'd hide the pain he felt deep inside his bones.

She threw the heavy book on the ground in front of him and opened it with a forceful motion. Her eyes were glinting with anger. For someone so small, she looked terrifying. Dread sank deeper in him.

What was going on?

"Look at it." - she pointed at the page.

The book showed the nordem.

His heart sank and his mouth went dry. The pain under his joints screamed louder as if reacting to the information.

She found out.

Sunflower found out what he is.

"Why did you hide it from me?!" She shouted at him, cowering as bitter tears streamed down her face.

"Sun, wait! I-I can explain-"

"NO! I trusted you!!" She cried out.

Sunflower trembled as she shook her head incredulously, tears scurrying down her face. Juhren reached a hand out to her. She was so much shorter than him now. How would she react when...?

As he thought, it's impossible. She'd be terrified. She would never…

Sunflower shouted at him again.

"W-was that your plan? Lure me out so you could kill me?"

"No! I'd never do anything like that!

"Liar!"

Sunflower walked backwards towards the path where she had come from. She sobbed loudly, her face a mix of sadness and anger. Juhren wanted to run after her, to hug her and say he'd never hurt her. Ever.

But she was right. He lied to her.

The pain in his heart grew stronger.

He didn't deserve to see her anymore.

Sunflower's face changed to betrayal. She turned her back to him and ran away, not before saying those two words that would stick into his mind like weeds in fertile soil.

"You're a monster."

...

He uttered her name and went silent, the grip around her loosening slightly. That previously unexpressive face now had guilt charging its monumental features. Sunflower found that ironic. The feelings from those bygone days felt like a distant memory, its wounds all but healed. But now that he was before her, gigantic and menacing like every other beast, she couldn’t help but laugh inside at the absurdity of it all. That pitiful face didn’t match him. Didn’t match the likes of his loathsome kind.

Sunflower looked down and smiled bitterly, her downcast eyes focusing on the flesh all around her.

"It's like I've said that time..." - she mumbled. Her hometown flashed back in her mind, the visage of those animals destroying it with joy in their faces. Sunflower wondered if Juhren was there, grinning alongside them in their bloodthirsty rampage. Her heart grew heavy.

"…Guess you're really a monster after all."

Juhren sucked in a breath and the fear inside Sunflower resurfaced all the way back with a chill down her spine. Oh no. Did she say too much? But just as Sunflower flinched and closed her eyes, a powerful gust of wind blew around her as she was brought down to the ground.

Sunflower scrambled up, backing away from the nordem that stood up and towered over her. Craning her neck up and up and up, Sunflower felt cold as she took in Juhren's massive height. Gosh, he looked unrecognizable, his appearance no different from the beasts she saw. He became just like them. His torso was covered by the leather strap of his shoulder armor, black pants tied by a leather belt, with multiple bottles of seeds attached to it. On his back he carried two axes that were as tall as a house. The only recognizable features, the hair and his eyes, turned obscure as his face stretched out far above her. He became emotionless like before, the stillness making her think he’d step on her in cold blood. 

Just as she was readying herself to run for her life, he spoke in that thunderous voice. Not a trace of the voice she remembered.

Sunflower knew for certain, this nordem had no trace of the friend she once knew.

"You're right. I am."

Her eyes widened and her lips trembled while she stepped away, her neck almost breaking from looking so high up.

"Go."

That powerful command snapped Sunflower out of her shock and she didn't give a second thought before bolting to the opposite direction, even as her ankle throbbed and she stumbled, running as far as her legs could take her.

She was right. She was right from the very beginning. Their friendship was a mistake. She knew it was back in that day. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Then why, why? Flashes of their childhood, their bright smiles as they played together, all the things they talked about, all the things he showed her – Why? The tears dried as she ran faster. Was all of it a trick? Was all of it fake? Did none of that matter to him? Are the nordem so despicable once they grow that they dismiss any memory they’ve made with those smaller than themselves? She trusted him. She trusted him. That feeling of betrayal resurfaced, the healed remains of that buried wound aching deep inside her chest.

Yet a lingering thought, albeit too small for her conscious mind to notice, slowly but surely stilled its place deep inside her:

Why did he let me go?

Sunflower looked behind her. But when she saw that the large silhouette was nowhere to be found, she turned forward, the drifting thoughts all but gone.

And she ran. Never once looking back.

…

It's been a while since she disappeared in the woods. Her smell vanished from the spot ages ago. Yet, for some reason, he expected to recognize a blur of green and yellow somewhere, as if she had no sense of self-preservation. Only that for her to return to someone like him.

He’s still so naive.

Juhren looked down at his hand, clenching and unclenching it as if a phantom of her was still in his grip. The annoying knot inside his throat didn't want to go away, and that dull ache settled its place in his chest. He sighed, closing his eyes. Opening them again.

And turned around, back to the way he came from.

[vallxlkzal]

So keep my crooked translation from Ukrainian to English just because someone was interested. I hope that this translated text will be at least somewhat similar to the original. I'll leave a link to the original below:

💔🥀Part one🥀💔

I can't take it anymore, my breath is ragged, the blood in my ears is pulsing with a frantic heartbeat, and my legs... My legs are carrying me as fast as they can in the most frightened state. This sudden burst of adrenaline now seemed to me the most difficult test, although I had never felt anything like it, I think, in my entire life. I was scared, and lonely, and very, very... Scared! Horror is all that consumes me right now because…

It chases me. They. I counted four of them, as far as the current situation allowed. Four... People? Entities? I don't know what it is, but I definitely saw that they were dressed the same as me, but it was a mistake to go closer to them. Oh, sure, I even forgot how hard their sticks hit me on the head and that now warm blood is flowing from under my hair and my favorite hat is very, very red, but I still tried to save myself — so much I wanted to... Live ?

I was hit for the first time. I am — Wally Waldini... What did I do wrong, why did they do this...

I can't anymore. It seems that I have already flown around the entire night city — and everywhere was closed, and the streets were abnormally empty. I didn't know where to ask for help. And... Oh, what the... What is this?!

My reflection in the window of a store struck me so that I stumbled and fell. My magic walking stick, though not working for some reason, fell from my trembling hands and for the first time in my life I felt complete... Helplessness? I am completely, completely defenseless lying on the cold pavement.

I saw them in the shop window. More precisely — myself. I was just like them! Completely, completely similar, but I was not laughing and having fun, but was bleeding and was very scared. And for some reason I suddenly felt cold and I realized that I was alone in an unknown city, in an unknown pixel universe, I hadn't slept, I hadn't eaten, and my clothes were wet... I must have been beaten in other places and... I have there was no time to take a closer look. I just fell into striped hands in some dark park and barely escaped their icy embrace. The deformed faces, the static crack of the lightning, the supernatural strength and the intimidating smile of these "Wallies" had to warn me immediately. They laughed, pulled me by my sweater, by my hair, by my hat, by my stick, chirped something about "the perfect morality experiment" and held one of their stick to my throat, listening to me gasp and try to call for help. Several times I passed out and they eased the pressure to choke me again.

And then they let me run away and started chasing me.

— Hello! — I heard a familiar voice from afar and, leaning on the night lamp, which for some reason began to flicker, I tried to stand up.

These... Wally? Um... These strange people who looked like me were coming from all four directions, trying to surround me, however, picking up my stick and swinging, I quickly tried to get around them. They seem to have been toying with me in a very cruel manner, and they also seem to possess the magic of the sticks, and...

They seem to be leading me somewhere. They are not allowed to run in all directions, but only in some. Thus, even more bloody and frightened, I found myself in front of the fence of some building. These Wallies took me out of town, to some country private house, and I had no choice but to climb over the fence and knock on the front door, mercilessly ring the doorbell and shake the surveillance camera.

— Please, open it! Is anyone home?! Please, they are near!

The light in the house turned on and the four strange people remained behind the fence, looking at me with a smile, and then abruptly disappeared in a bright flash, as soon as I heard someone coming to the door.

Surprisingly, they let me in and I fell on the floor exhausted, finally covering my eyes. The last thing I heard was the sound of a loaded gun, and the only thing that went through my mind was: "Am I going to be killed?"

I woke up not in a hospital bed, but tied to a... Chair? In a dark room? And... Some man in another part of this enclosed space was standing and just watching. It was difficult for me to see his face because everything was floating in front of my eyes. I was tired, beaten and had no energy for anything.

— Finally I found you, — this man had a very cold tone of voice that would have made me laugh before, but now just made me panic even more. Breathing started to become erratic and breathing became difficult, so difficult...

— Waldo.

I didn't know who the man was talking to. To me? Surely I should have tried to talk too?

— N-no, you're confusing me with someone... I'm Wally... I... I don't know how I ended up here, it's an accident, I got lost... I need... Help.

The man started to laugh for some reason. And laughed so long and hysterically that I was already mentally digging my own grave.

— A very strange game, Waldo. A very strange prank, — he came closer and bent down, but I still couldn't see anything in front of me because I was sick. — Very crappy disguise. What is it? Blood? Whose? WHOSE?!

Why is this man yelling at me anyway? What did I do wrong?

— M... My, sir... I-I was beaten... Four people and... They look a lot like me. I don't know why... I need... Police...

— Well, you bastard, then you came to the police. Right into the hands of the detective. Finally.

I gave the man a frightened look and tried to understand what he meant. Is he a detective? Who was he looking for? Me or those... Four...

— At first I wanted to see you behind bars, but now... I will destroy you with my bare hands.

— Wait, please, what have I done? Why? What universe have I entered?

The detective, if I understood correctly, bent even lower to my face level, and my bloodied lip quivered in panic as he gave me a grim and irritated look.

— What do you mean by "what universe did I get into"? — at last I was able to see him a little better, as the half-dark, and in all probability the basement, room allowed: a young man, to my surprise, with a piercing gaze and, probably unironically, a loaded pistol aimed at me. This is such a mess. I haven't run into such problems yet.

— I... I understand that you have confused me with... Those four people, but I assure you, I swear, I am not them. My name is not Waldo, but Wally Waldini and my best friend Wenda and my dog ​​Woof and I were just going on another interesting adventure, then something strange happened and... I woke up in this pixel world!

The man, or rather a young man, just like me, listened attentively, keeping his eye on me. Is it like some night terror where someone thinks I'm a criminal and ties me to a chair in the basement?

The Detective lifted my lowered head by my chin... Don't joke about two chins, please, I'm not in the right state... I still didn't understand what this person felt for me and why he was looking so passionately into my eyes. This situation was very stressful and frightening, so I didn't even notice how I started to cry. His eyes narrowed and he continued to look at me with an appraising look, touching and pulling my blood-sticky hair. Now he pulled this new black hair especially painfully and looked at my neck. If only I could guess what he want from me this time??

I really wanted to sleep and my eyes were half closed from it. I had absolutely no strength for anything. I had the impression that something was wrong with my body — it was too heavy and it was also difficult to think and resist. People call it "fatigue", but I'm not exactly human. I'm just Wally and such things used to be very far from me. I have never felt so tired before.

Only now did I realize that Wenda was right about me. I really liked danger and risk, and this time it punished me painfully. Wenda, Woof... Please save me.

***

Meanwhile, from the perspective of the Detective, everything looked so interesting and crazy that he himself did not believe it. Well, how can you believe this: you are looking for Waldo, you don't sleep many nights, decipher his riddles and collect, as if a collection, new and new brutal murders... and he comes to you one night and falls at your feet? One day the Detective already had dinner with one of Waldo's doubles and, although he was cheerful then and did not fall on his feet, he was just as close. But not as close as now.

The Detective tightened his grip on Wally's hair, listening to him whimper. Oh, the Detective knew how Waldo could deceive. And that the "fear" in his eyes now is just part of the show. What did he come up with this time?

The Detective mused, looking at the strange marks on Wally's neck. Dark, almost crimson. As if someone tried to squeeze this fragile throat with a strong stick. And squeezed with a very fierce force. Couldn't Waldo strangle himself?

— What is on your neck? — asked the Detective for some reason and did not even notice it, but Wally answered: "Those four people who look like me tried to strangle me."

For some reason, the hand let go of the black hair, and doubts and questions crept into the head. Many questions. This time the Detective noticed Wally's tears, really noticed, because Wally in Waldo's body still felt like the good guy and didn't have the maniac vibe at all if you talked to him closely. However, his body, his face, his voice — everything was like what the Detective was looking for all along. He was looking for Waldo — a murderer and just a rabid scumbag, and he came across Wally from the books and cartoons, who got into their universe? It sounds stupid, but if Waldo knows how to travel through time, then it shouldn't cause any doubts, right?

It was strange to see someone crying who always laughs and slips out of your arms at the last moment, who does not allow you to sleep normally and keeps you in a nervous tone forever.

— So you mean to say you're Wally... Waldini?

— Y-yes... Yes! That's right... This is my first and last name...

— Then why don't you look like Wally?

— I don't know! Maybe because it's a more realistic pixel world? I have not been here before! Wizard Whitebeard didn't give me any directions about this place, and I probably shouldn't have gotten here, but I did. My magic walking stick... it doesn't work anymore.

Wally bowed his heavy head and fell silent. He didn't say anything more, didn't answer any questions and only trembled, cried, moaned in pain, because probably he still had a headache, a throat that was squeezed and a body that was mercilessly beaten.

The Detective dared to take the only step in this strange situation: he untied Wally, took him in his arms and really led him to the bedroom, putting him on the bed. Yes, it was dirty with blood and dirt from the dirty clothes of the strange striped guest, but that is not so important. Wally really wasn't trying to hurt or hit or laugh maniacally like Waldo. Wally curled up and lay quietly.

— Okay, Waldo... I mean Wally, how can I help you if you say you left the pages of the book and the TV screen? I'm looking for a murderer and a notorious criminal who looks a lot like you. And you are either lying to me, for which you can pay bitterly, or you are telling the truth.

Wally let out a tired breath.

— But despite all that, I still have a hard time believing you.

— Okay, Detective, then I have just one question for you.

This particular phrase made the Detective tense up, immediately sitting down next to him and holding Wally's hand so he wouldn't run away. Waldo also said so in the restaurant. And he said he would leave a big tip later and leave quietly. Now, however, the Detective has nothing to lose.

— Why did those four people who look like me drive me into your house? They could kill me, but they let me run when I could, and calmly walked when I, leaning on my stick, could no longer do it, but only swayed from side to side from fatigue and fell?

The Detective thought in silence. This is a really strange plan. What does Waldo want this time and most importantly — WHERE is he now? Damn it, HERE he is — in the Detective's arms, literally in his bed, lying and not moving.

— Well, Wally, he and I have... A very strange relationship.

— Listen, Detective, this is all, of course, somehow strange and wild, but I don't want to be in this world anymore. I must have been sent here to help you, but how? I saw that... Entity, if you can call it that. That's your Waldo. I saw him as closely as you see me now. And for the first time I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help you. I don't know anything else...

While Wally was talking, the Detective was having flashbacks. All this time he tried to catch Waldo, even shoot him, put him to sleep. Faced with Odlaw. But seeing Waldo so close, calmly looking at him and listening to him was incredible. However, he is too kind, his questions are too naive and his fear is suspiciously realistic.

— If only Wenda was around, she would tell me what to do... — Wally said sadly.

— The same.

— What?

— The same, I say.

— Mr. Detective, please explain...

— Wenda was my wife. Waldo killed her. I want to kill Waldo. You look suspiciously like Waldo, but you say you're Wally. Did you solve the puzzle?

Wally turned to the Detective and for some reason was genuinely, uncharacteristically indignant. Now this striped wonder looked like the striped wonder that sat on the bench on a fine clear day and could be seen in the scope. The Detective grimaced.

— You would see yourself in the mirror, ew...

— I don't want to see myself in the mirror, Mr. Detective. I already know that this pixel body doesn't match who I really am, but let me get one thing straight... Wenda is my best friend and she doesn't have a boyfriend... She's alive.

— Well, maybe YOUR Wenda doesn't have one from your measurement.

— I don't mean to offend you, but wouldn't Waldo be upset if you were Wenda's husband?

The Detective smiled bitterly for the first time, patting Wally on the head and thinking that it would be a good idea to offer this guest a wash and give him a first aid kit.

— No, Wally, because Waldo... He... Never mind.

— I understand everything, Detective, but please don't transfer your feelings for Waldo onto me.

The Detective realized that he wasn't just holding Wally all this time, he was stroking him, touching him, playing with his hair, and just being too close. To be honest, he didn't believe a word Wally said, but he didn't want to miss the chance to have this criminal, as he thought, in his hands. It had been so long and so longed to finally find him that the Detective really forgot about the question "why did they bring me to your house?"

Because the Detective's mind was enveloped in an intoxicating haze around the dreamy morning park, where Waldo playfully beckons with a thin finger and disappears at the last moment; because the Detective's mind is surrounded only by the striped tapes of danger alerts, forensics and hot pursuits. Because...

— Detective, can you even hear me? Detective?

— Huh?... Yes, I hear.

— Help me, and I will try to help you, even though I am afraid. However, maybe this way I can find my lost way home.

"Absurdity, nonsense, crazy nonsense and poor senselessness," — thought the Detective, and said something else:

— I agree.

🥀💔🥀💔🥀💔🥀💔🥀💔🥀💔🥀💔🥀💔

[growling]

There was eleven of us, we lived in the lake... For breakfast, mother cut wind, I didn't know my father, as he perished of liver cancer, when he died in a tragic car accident, after self-immolation at uncle Eugeniusz's name day party. Uncle Eugeniusz was taken by the NKVD in '59. No one complained.

We were all part of hordes and plundered the area. Konin, Szczecin and Oslo were in flames. We also played in construction sites. Sometimes one of us got hit with a reinforced slab, sometimes not. Whenever our foot got impaled with a stray nail, mother cut it off and said with a smile, "you, kurna, got another one, yeah?" She didn't tremble with fear that we're gonna kill each other like that. She knew that we're all going to die eventually. No one complained.

Seasonal diseases were fought by grandma. To combat tuberculosis, scurvy, tumors and polio, we used urine and moss. The doctor visited us, unless at grandma's - for the moss and urine. We went to the woods whenever we wanted. We ate berries, which were previously pissed on by foxes and roe deer. We ate death caps, which were defecated on by rabid bisons and martens. We didn't have hamburgers - we ate wolves. We didn't have chips - we ate ants. There wasn't coca-cola back then, there was bear saliva. There was frog period blood. No one complained.

Whenever our neighbor caught us stealing apples, he punished us himself. Lime pit, knife, hunting rifle - it varied. The neighbor didn't get offended over the stolen apples, and neither did father over replacement in parenting duties. Father and the neighbor drank beer in the evening - as always. Then father came back home, and on his way he took another child. Children then were littered everywhere. On lawns, in drainage ditches, by bus stops, under trees. Just like how today are littered candy bar wrappers. There weren't candy bars back then, but children were laying everywhere. No one complained.

During summer, we climbed on top of the skyscrapers, and weren't monitored by adults. We jumped. Nobody, however, got splattered on the pavement. Everyone could fly and no one needed any special lessons in order to learn this skill. No one also complained.

During winter, some father arranged us a sleigh ride with his old fiat, and always sped up during turns. Sometimes the sleds got caught against the trees or fences. Then we fell. Sometimes that moment a jelcz or star drove by. Then we died. No one complained.

Bruises and scrapes were a normal occurence. Just like knocked out teeth, ripped open stomachs, sudden lack of an eye or amateur amputations. The school pedagogue didn't send us to the family psychologist because of that. Nobody informed us how to dial a number to the police (then MO) to snitch on our parents. The belt was then a teaching aid, and from aid, nobody had yet died from. Aunt Janinka repeated, "better a spanking than breakfast". No one complained.

We made ourselves soups from mazut, asbestos and Ludwik. We also ate crack, fingernails of strangers, animal remains, sandpaper, chemical fertilizers, thistles, aphids, cow fetuses, fish feces, kogel-mogel. When somebody got stung by a bee, they drank 2 glasses of milk and pressed it with a cold frying pan. When somebody choked, they drank 3 glasses of milk and pressed it with a heated frying pan. No one complained.

Nobody went to the dentist every month. Cavities are tasty. Whenever someone swole from an aching tooth, we played catch with their head. We had one dental filling for the eleven of us. Everyone wore it for 2-3 days in a month. No one complained.

We were young and tough. We refused car rides. We just ran after it. Our dog was tied to the trailer hitch with a steel stable and ran next to us. And no one was bothered by it. No one complained.

We were raised by gamekeepers, old witches, escaped prisoners, collegues from juvie, janitors and priests. Our mothers birthed our siblings normally - at work, in reedbeds or at the balcony. Almost all of us survived, only some of us didn't go to prison. No one finished studies, but everyone found work. Some of them started their own families and are raising their children according to psychologists' recommendations. That's sad. Currently, there is more candy bars than children.

We, the children from our lake, love our parents for how they then didn't yet know how to "properly" raise us. It is thanks to them that we spent our childhood without sweets, respect, a warm dinner, sense, and some - limbs.

No one complained.

[voraciousvore]

The Half-Blood Giant (16/51)

***Contains soft, fatal, unwilling vore***

Chapter 16: Dangerous Predator

While Chester and Jackie were navigating through the unfamiliar world of the giant town, their third uninvited hitchhiker came to, in a deserted alleyway next to a dumpster. He fell a significant distance out of the portal and hit his head on the bricks, so he had been out cold for a while. He sat up with a groan, cursing under his breath as he ran his fingers over the painful lump on the back of his skull. He fixed his blond hair and stood up, dusting off and straightening out his black clothes. 

He had no idea where he was. He surveyed his filthy surroundings with his icy blue eyes, massaging his temple absently. The odor of garbage blocked out other scents, but even so he couldn’t smell anything familiar: no grass or trees or flowers, only concrete and bricks. He stepped out of the shadow of the alleyway into the bright sun and squinted around him with confusion. He was in an urban area, but the place was a wreck: buildings crumbling into disrepair, cracking pavement, litter and squalor everywhere. No vegetation or greenery anywhere, just stark white and industrial gray and dead brown. He curled his lip with disdain.   

He sniffed the air again, and an unmistakable scent hit his nose. Human. Not the same human he was chasing after, but tempting nevertheless. He couldn’t pass up such a rare opportunity. He followed the scent down the block, passing a few giants as he went. He noticed the giants here looked mean and feral, but were significantly shorter than him. He was at least a head taller than most of them. He wasn’t interested in other giants, though. He had a singular purpose: Find the source of that delicious scent, and fill his belly with wriggling delight.  

The aroma was wafting from a window on the second story of an apartment building. The blond giant scaled the rusty fire escape on the side of the building and nimbly clambered over to the window. The window was cracked, so he slid his fingers under it, forced it open, and slithered inside. From the smells within, he could tell the human was alone in the apartment. The living space inside was a mess, with trash and filth permeating the space. Mold grew on the walls, giving the air a damp, mildewy scent. Jacques ignored these details and stalked over to a hamster cage in the corner of the room, on top of a dresser. 

The hamster cage was furnished with everything necessary for a small rodent, including wooden shavings as bedding, a wheel, a water bottle, a plastic house, and a food dish. The giant knew there was no rodent in the cage, however. He wrenched open the wire door and lifted the plastic house. A startled cry rang out as he snatched up a human in his fingers and pulled him out of the cage. 

He regarded his struggling prey with mild disappointment. The human, a man, was scrawny and malnourished, with scars from abuse all over his body, and his ribcage and pelvis visible beneath his stretched, pasty skin. He was caked with dirt, naked except for a harness with a big metal ring on the back. The giant picked up the man by the ring and dangled him in front of his frosty eyes. With how dirty and underfed he was, he probably wouldn’t taste as good as that appetizing human female... 

“Who-who are you?” the man stammered. “You’re not my master…” 

For some reason, the giant felt inclined to answer the insignificant creature’s question, if only because he wanted more information. “My name is Jacques,” he snarled coldly. “What is this place? We’re not in the Land of Giants, nor are we in the human realm. Where are we?” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand-”  

Jacques shook the human roughly, making him yelp with fear. “Hmph. Guess you’re of no use to me. Farewell then.” He opened his mouth, preparing to drop the human inside. 

“Wait!” the man shrieked, flapping his arms and legs in the air. “Aren’t you going to at least give me a pill first?” 

“A pill?” Jacques raised an eyebrow.  

“Yeah, one of those human pills.” The tiny man pointed to the dresser next to the cage, where a human-sized pill bottle was sitting. “M-m-master usually gives me one of those before he eats me, s-so I don’t die. It protects me from digestion.” 

“Huh.” Jacques lifted up the pill bottle, which was ridiculously small to him, and scrutinized it. “That’s interesting, but I don’t care about keeping you alive.” He dropped the pills in his pocket and popped the harness off his human prey. “You look as if you’ve outlived your usefulness as it is,” he growled. 

“What? No! I can be useful! I’ll do whatever you want!” the man implored, but Jacques didn’t care about his pathetic pleas. He dropped the tiny man onto his tongue and closed his jaws around him. To his surprise, through the crust of filth, the human exploded with flavor on his tongue, tasting like juicy, crispy bacon. He rolled him around in his mouth, washing him off in his saliva so he could take in the purity of his flavor. The man cried out and writhed weakly, but as a prisoner who had been eaten more times than he could count, he understood the futility of fighting back. There was no escaping his fate. Jacques swallowed and sighed with immense gratification as he felt the human squirming down his throat. His pleasure intensified as the man entered his stomach, fighting with desperate energy in a last-ditch effort to get out. A pleasing fullness bloomed through the giant’s belly, with the human’s thrashing like an internal massage. Finally, he was able to indulge in his natural prey. 

He slipped back out through the window and lowered himself to the ground floor with agile grace. His innards felt amazing. If even a ratty, ragged, half-starved human tasted as satisfying as that, and felt so splendid in his belly, he couldn’t imagine how the experience would be for one that was fresh and healthy. Jacques had eaten his share of humans, but they were few and far between, and he always craved more. 

He sampled the air again, engaging his olfactory senses to their maximum capacity. Far off in the distance, carried by a light breeze, the scent of more humans came to him. His salivary glands tingled with anticipation—not just for fresh living meat, but for the thrill of the hunt. He reached into his pocket and rolled the miniscule pill bottle between his fingers. Being able to capture a human and eat it as many times as he wanted was an alluring concept. He wanted to try it out. If he found a human that was especially flavorful, he might consider keeping it alive. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get home, but he didn’t care much either: This was his paradise, the ideal hunting grounds full of succulent prey. With his belly full, he’d be very happy. 

Chester and Jackie were unaware that they had been followed into the alternate giant realm by a monster. While Jacques was on the loose, Milton led the couple to his abode. He unlocked the door and strolled in, watching his feet habitually as he walked to make sure no human was on the ground nearby. “Millie, darling! I’m home!” 

“Over here!” a squeaky voice called back from the human suite of rooms, no bigger than a shoebox to a giant. Millie emerged from the human bathroom, appearing radiant in a cute yellow sundress that made her crystal blue eyes pop. She waved with a smile up at her giant lover. His heart swelled with love for her. He crouched down and swept her off her feet, raising her up to his lips and peppering her with soft kisses. She giggled and blushed at his passionate affection, kissing him back as best she could. 

“Millie, I’d like you to meet our guests, Chester and Jackie.” Milton turned around, holding his hand out with Millie perched in his palm so she could be seen better. He showed her off like she was a dazzling, priceless treasure that he was proud of—which, of course, she was. “This is the love of my life, Millie.” 

“Hi, Millie!” Jackie waved politely in greeting. Chester scented the air, and his green eyes gleamed. Millie went deathly pale upon beholding Chester. With her traumatic experiences, she had a sixth sense for dangerous, man-eating giants, and this particular giant made her nerves scream with alarm. His bright eyes, like a beast, were ravenous with hunger. She had no doubt that he had eaten humans before; the fact that he had a human wife was immaterial. He was a threat. 

To make matters worse, Chester wasn’t the best with social niceties and keeping his mouth shut. He simply didn’t know how to read the room. “Why, she smells like vanilla!” he proclaimed, thinking his words to be a compliment rather than a blaring red flag. “I bet she would taste great, like ice cream!” He smirked and winked at Milton, who stared back in shock. 

“Chester, you idiot!” Jackie hissed, elbowing him in his torso. He glanced down at her, confused. 

Jackie’s admonishment came too late; the damage was done. Millie’s entire body was wracked with a shudder, and she collapsed in Milton’s hand with a choked whimper. Milton retracted his hand to his chest and Millie scampered to safety, pressing herself into the folds of his shirt. She huddled up against him in a compressed ball, shaking uncontrollably, hiding her face in his shirt. Milton felt the patch of fabric moisten with tears on his skin. He cupped his hands around Millie protectively, concealing her from view and holding her snugly against his chest.  

“Shhhhhh. There, there. It’s okay Millie, I’m here to protect you. You’re safe,” he cooed. He massaged her back with his thumb to help calm her down.  

Chester covered his mouth with his hand, eyes wide, when he recognized his blunder. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I meant no harm.” Milton shot him a glare, unamused, before taking Millie into the seclusion of the kitchen away from Chester, continuing to murmur words of comfort. Chester sat on the living room couch, hunching his shoulders with his hands in his lap. “I didn’t mean to upset her,” he told Jackie despondently. 

“I know you didn’t, Chester,” Jackie said, rubbing the palm of his hand. “But sometimes you need to consider how scary you are to a human.” 

“I was trying to be nice,” Chester continued. “I assumed that giants here ate their partners, just like I eat you. And I figured she was used to being around giants, since she’s dating Milton.” 

“I don’t think it’s as common a custom here,” Jackie pointed out. “Do they even have magic here?” 

“Probably not,” Chester admitted. 

Milton consoled Millie, holding her close to his chest, in the kitchen while he began cooking beef patties for dinner. He figured feeding Chester fresh red meat might help to relieve some tension. Millie finally began to calm down as she listened to her lover’s immense steady heartbeat and breathing. Milton always made her feel safe. “Sorry,” she sniffled when she regained her senses. “I had a moment.” 

“It’s okay, Millie,” he assured her in a soft tone. “It’s not your fault.” 

“I should apologize to that other giant... Ch-Chester...” she stammered. “I probably offended him, or upset him-” 

“No,” Milton interrupted. “You have nothing to apologize for.” He stroked her again with his thumb, gazing down at her curled up in his hand. “You’re fine. He’s the one who should be sorry.” He frowned. Inviting Chester over was a mistake. Milton was a kind gentleman, and always tried his best to be accommodating to others, but he drew a hard line when it interfered with Millie’s peace of mind. “I’ll ask him to leave.” 

“No, no,” Millie intervened. “You don’t need to do that. I’ll be okay. Really. This giant is a friend of yours, right? As long as you’re nearby to watch over me, I’ll be fine.” 

“Are you sure?” Milton didn’t look so happy. Even so, Millie nodded. She gave him a weak smile and his expression softened with tenderness. He touched her face with his fingertip, brushing her chin and cheek. “Alright.” 

He flipped the patties as they sizzled in the pan, then rejoined Chester and Jackie in the living room for a few minutes while the food cooked. Chester hung his head and averted his eyes, so as not to scare the sensitive human, looking down at Jackie instead. “I’m feeling better now,” Millie announced, the hint of a quaver remaining in her voice. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.” 

“Sorry, Millie, that I’m such a boneheaded moron. I promise I don’t bite,” Chester apologized, sinking lower in his chair. He was obviously feeling awful for upsetting her. 

“It’s okay,” Millie said, her voice faint. There was an awkward silence before Milton left the room to serve up dinner, taking his girlfriend with him. Chester sighed. Jackie gave him a reassuring pat on his thumb. 

Since Milton had lived with humans for years, he was skilled at crafting human-sized food portions in spite of his incredible size. He loaded up a big plate for Chester, giving him two burgers, since he knew what a glutton the giant was. Milton had seen Chester demolish the donuts and cookies at their Maneaters Anonymous meetings without shame, as if his insides contained a bottomless pit. Sometimes Milton had to hold him back, since Chester didn’t seem aware that eating all the food intended for the whole group was rude. Milton liked Chester as a person, but the man had his flaws. He couldn’t help but view him as a lovable idiot, well-intentioned but socially lacking. 

He set the table, making sure Millie sat as far away from Chester as possible. He placed himself in between her and the guests. Chester strolled into the dining room, sniffing greedily. “Ooh, that looks good!” he proclaimed, setting Jackie down in front of her meal. He began wolfing down his burger as if he hadn’t eaten in years. Milton sat in his spot, with Millie close to his elbow, and dug into his own meal with more refined table manners. 

Millie peered around Milton’s gigantic arm, observing Chester eat with apprehension. Chester, always drawn in by small prey movements, glanced her way with his cheeks stuffed. He swallowed the great mouthful and turned pink, realizing how he must look to a frightened human when he was stuffing his face like a hog. He made an effort to slow down and eat like a normal person, taking smaller bites and chewing thoroughly before swallowing. Millie appreciated the gesture. She could tell he was trying his best not to scare her. 

Chester polished off the first burger and picked up the second. He gave a sideways glance to Jackie and imagined shoving her in with the patty. She sure would taste good in his burger. Then he could eat the other human for dessert. He could picture covering her in chocolate fudge and whipped cream, with maybe some chopped nuts. She’d be like the cherry on top of a magnificent sundae. Heck, based on her scent, he probably wouldn’t even need the ice cream. He could just slurp her up and gulp her down whole, a perfect little sweet treat. He wondered how Milton resisted eating her. 

Chester wiped the drool off his chin with the back of his hand and took a bite of his burger. He repressed his desires with some difficulty, forcing down those impulsive, hungry thoughts. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t just eat Jackie in front of that other human. He would scare the living daylights out of her. He flexed his jaw and ate the burger without Jackie. He could control himself. He just needed to hold out a little longer. 

He made polite conversation with Milton throughout dinner, inquiring about the school and trying to learn more information without making it obvious he wasn’t from this realm. He didn’t address Millie, so as not to make her nervous, but she did inject herself occasionally into the conversation when she had something to add. Milton’s presence seemed to give her strength. Chester thought to himself that they were a good match for each other. 

After dinner, Milton showed them off to the guest bedroom. Once he was sure Chester and Jackie had everything they needed to be comfortable, he bid the couple goodnight and retired with Millie into the master bedroom. Chester closed the bedroom door, undressed, and laid supine on the bed, dropping Jackie onto his bare chest. It had been a long day. 

“You did good today, Chester,” Jackie praised, massaging his chest with her hands. 

“Despite terrifying that poor woman?” Chester said, raising a brow. 

“Well, that wasn’t good. But you didn’t eat anyone. I know how hard it is for you to resist. I’m proud of you.” 

Chester chuckled and curled his hand around her lovingly. “Thanks.” He thought to himself how lucky he was to have Jackie. She was probably the only human in existence who understood him. 

Chapter 17

Chapter 1

[writingamongther0ses]

7 People, 7 Snippets

Rules: I think you give 7 snippets of your WIPs and tag 7 people? I think?

Thanks for the tag, @at-thezenith and @writinglittlebeasts!

Heartbeat

"That... wow." Liza shifted uncomfortably. "Wow. That's awful." The detective sighed. "Yeah. To be frank, Miss Dorado, that's why I'm here. Paired with the recent death of Kyle Burton, my-" "I'm sorry?" Woodhall blinked. "Excuse me?" "You said Kyle was dead. Last I checked, he was still among the land of the living." The detective sighed. "My apologies. It seems nobody has told you yet. After he was released from the hospital, we took him and…"

Treasure Triplets

They frowned. “Um...from when I know, Bill offered Becca and Ella internships. But when they got there, turns out the internship was for one. At the end of the week, one of them would be forced to leave.” Jesse took a sip of their coffee, wincing at the memory playing across their face. “Both wanted it and the only thing escalated into...a pretty bad fight between them.” “Harsh words?” “Fists.” Harrison winced, seeing where this was going. “Yeesh.” He was lucky that he only had an older brother. He couldn’t imagine a fistfight between female triplets. “And let me guess. Terra got stuck in the middle.” “Yep. Then they found out Bill was a crook and from what I heard, Terra just kinda...snapped? I can’t blame her if she was dealing with that bullcrap all week. She ended up threatening him.” Jesse scratched their cheek. “At least that’s what he’s claiming. All I know is that she yelled at him.”

Heartbeat

A quiet noise nearly made Jordan startle out of his seat. He relaxed once he saw the concerned brown eyes. "Oh. Hey Little Bird." Liza Dorado, nine years old, held up a yellow lunch box. "Snack time already?" She bobbed her head in a nod. He chuckled, picking her up and setting her on the desk. Once he was sure she was secure, he turned and grabbed his own lunch bag. Together, they pulled out their snacks- Jordan had a Go-Gurt and chips, while Liza had what looked like homemade tortilla chips and salsa- and started eating.

Arcane

"Henry?" Her husband was making an unconvincing show of pretending to examine the spice rack. He had discarded his vest, coat, and ascot, leaving him in an untucked shirt and black pants. He was barefoot, and his auburn curls were sticking up. It was a type of disorder she was unused to seeing. "I was just coming down for a cup of tea," Emma said gently, shutting the door behind her. "I thought I heard a noise-" He turned. His eyes were red, tear tracks visible on his cheeks. "Oh, Henry."

Bad End

The silence was broken by something batting at her ankle. The sound came rushing back as Mary Arden looked down. It was a cat. A black cat, with one little white splotch at its chest. It blinked big blue eyes at her before batting at her ankle again. And anyone who knew Mary Arden knew that she was an absolute sucker for cats.  She let out what could be considered an undignified "Awww!" as she scooped the little guy up.  "You are really thin, little man!" she cooed, feeling his ribs underneath his fur. She headed to the door as she continued cooing. The cat seemed to be more interested in her hair, batting at it. "Let's get some food into you!"

Bride of Loki

 "She flat out pounded you against the pavement, that's what she did!" Runa said. "Something you said set her off and her arms went all tree-like and she freaking shoved her fingers-" Asta hit her twin over the head. "Sorry."               "We were pretty sure you were dead. There was blood everywhere and you weren't moving." Asta said, spreading her hands out, probably to show the amount of blood. “Kari started freaking out and the doctor said you were dead but then you…” She clasped her hands together. “It looked really gross-” Runa hit her twin over the head. “Ouch! Sorry.”

Bride of Loki

I don’t want to see what she hides from me. He looked up just in time to see her jump. There was a huge crack as she landed on the base of the statue. Then Siv straightened, aiming a toothy grin at him. “Yes.” Like the others, she had changed.

I'll tag, with no pressure, @ink-fireplace-coffee, @writinglyra, @eternalwritingstudent, @hyba, @radley-writes, @akindofmagictoo, and @ashen-crest.

[fullpenguincupcake]

The Enemy Within: A Supernatural fanfic +18

The fluorescent light buzzed above Ethan Kane’s head, casting a sickly yellow glow over the motel room’s faded floral wallpaper. He stood by the window, tugging absently at the collar of his worn leather jacket. Outside, the Nebraska town was dead quiet, save for the occasional rumble of a distant truck on the highway. The room smelled like stale cigarette smoke and despair, fitting for a place where people came to disappear.

Ethan’s fingers traced the edge of the photograph on the cracked wooden desk. A family of three, smiling under a streetlight. The wife’s face had been ripped off, her husband gutted, and their child—a little girl no older than six—disappeared without a trace. The crime scene photos were worse, but he didn’t need to see them again. The blood patterns, the ritual marks carved into the walls, they all told him the same story. Something inhuman had been here. Something ancient and powerful.

He folded the photo and tucked it into his pocket, his jaw tightening as he turned away from the window. His boots crunched against broken glass on the floor—leftover evidence from the last guests who hadn’t made it out alive. Ethan wasn’t afraid of dying, not anymore. But he hated this part of the job: the waiting, the tension that coiled in his chest like barbed wire.

The door creaked open behind him, and he spun instinctively, hand reaching for the gun holstered at his side. His trigger finger twitched when he saw the figure standing there, silhouetted by the dim hallway light. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an aura that made the air feel heavy, like the sky before a storm.

“Don’t shoot,” the man said, his voice low and smooth, like velvet scraping over steel. “I’m not here to kill you.”

Ethan didn’t lower his weapon. “You don’t look like housekeeping.”

The man stepped into the room, and Ethan’s breath hitched. Piercing blue eyes locked onto his, unnervingly calm. There was something about them, something otherworldly that made Ethan’s skin prickle. The guy looked human enough—dark hair, sharp jawline, a black trench coat that probably cost more than Ethan’s entire wardrobe—but there was no mistaking the faint shimmer around him, like heat waves rising off pavement.

“Name’s Cass,” the stranger said, tilting his head slightly. “Cassiel.”

Ethan’s grip on the gun tightened. “An angel? In Nebraska? What the hell are you doing here?”

Cass raised a brow, unimpressed. “Same thing you are, apparently. Hunting.”

“Not yours to hunt,” Ethan shot back, anger flaring hot in his chest. “Humans bleed just fine on their own without celestial meddling.”

Cass’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though his eyes stayed cold. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing about hunters.”

Ethan bristled, taking a step forward. “You got a lot of nerve walking into my investigation like you belong here.”

“Your investigation?” Cass echoed, crossing his arms. “You think you’re the only one who cares about what’s happening in this town? This isn’t some half-assed demon summoning. Someone’s killing humans to reclaim power. And if you’d bothered to look past your own ego, you’d realize you’re way out of your league.”

Ethan’s cheeks burned, but he didn’t back down. “And you think you can do better? Angels haven’t exactly been angels lately.”

Cass’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, the room seemed to grow colder, the air crackling with tension. Then, just as suddenly, the tension broke. Cass sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. You want to play this game? Let’s play. But don’t come crying to me when your stubbornness gets you killed.”

Before Ethan could respond, a deafening roar shook the building. The walls trembled, and the lights flickered violently before going out altogether. Ethan barely had time to register the sound before the window beside him shattered, glass flying everywhere. He ducked, shielding his face with his arm, and cursed loudly.

When he looked up, Cass was gone.

Shit.

Ethan scrambled to his feet, pulling his gun from its holster. The motel room felt smaller now, claustrophobic, with the darkness pressing in from all sides. He reached for his flashlight, but before he could switch it on, a shadow moved in the corner of his vision.

“Looking for me?” Cass’s voice cut through the silence, closer than expected.

Ethan whirled around, flashlight beam landing squarely on Cass’s chest. The angel didn’t flinch, his blue eyes glinting in the harsh light. Ethan opened his mouth to tell him to watch his goddamn back, but the words never left his throat.

A guttural growl ripped through the air, and the ground shook beneath them. Ethan stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the desk. When he looked up, his heart sank.

The rogue angel loomed in the doorway, its massive frame blocking out what little moonlight filtered through the windows. Its skin was pale and cracked, glowing faintly with a sickly green hue. Blood dripped from its fingertips, splattering against the floor with a wet thud. Sharp teeth gleamed in a wide, predatory grin.

“Found you,” it snarled, its voice dripping with malice.

Ethan raised his gun, firing without thinking. The bullet hit the creature square in the chest, but instead of hitting flesh, it ricocheted off, embedding itself in the wall behind it. The rogue angel laughed, a sound so unnatural it sent shivers down Ethan’s spine.

“Is that all you’ve got?” it taunted, stepping closer.

Ethan’s mind raced, trying to think of a plan. He glanced at Cass, who stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the creature. The faint shimmer around him had grown brighter, his presence filling the room like a living flame.

“Cass!” Ethan barked, desperate for any kind of help. “Do something!”

Cass didn’t move. Instead, he tilted his head, studying the rogue angel with an eerie calm. “You’re bleeding grace,” he said softly, almost conversationally. “It’s killing you.”

The rogue angel’s grin faltered, its glowing eyes narrowing. “Shut up.”

“No,” Cass replied evenly. “You’re burning out. Even if you kill us both, you won’t survive much longer.”

Ethan didn’t understand what was happening, but he could see the effect Cass’s words were having on the creature. The rogue angel took another step forward, its movements jerky and erratic.

“Stay out of this,” it growled, its voice cracking.

“Make me,” Cass said, his tone as smooth as ever.

For a moment, it seemed like nothing would happen. Then, with a deafening roar, the rogue angel lunged.

Ethan reacted on instinct, diving out of the way as the creature barreled past him. He hit the ground hard, pain shooting up his side, but he ignored it, scrambling to his feet. He grabbed his knife from its sheath, ready to fight, but Cass was already moving.

The fallen angel stepped forward, his trench coat billowing around him as if caught in an invisible wind. His hands glowed faintly, runes appearing on his skin like tattoos coming to life. The rogue angel hesitated, its glowing eyes flickering between Cass and Ethan.

“Choose,” Cass said, his voice commanding. “Fight me, or run.”

The rogue angel snarled, its body trembling with rage. It chose poorly.

Ethan’s breath hitched as the rogue angel lunged at Cass, its massive frame cutting through the dim motel room like a shadow come to life. The air crackled with tension, the faint hum of celestial energy filling the space between them. Ethan tightened his grip on his knife, his eyes darting between the two beings locked in a deadly dance.

“Cass!” he shouted, but the fallen angel didn’t turn. His focus was razor-sharp, his movements fluid despite the creature’s erratic attacks. Runes glowed brighter on his skin, their light casting eerie patterns across the cracked walls.

The rogue angel snarled, its jaws snapping inches from Cass’s face. Ethan’s heart pounded, a mix of fear and something else he couldn’t name—something hot and primal that curled low in his gut. He hated this feeling, hated how helpless it made him feel, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding before him.

Cass sidestepped the creature’s strike, his trench coat swirling around him like a storm. His hand shot out, fingers brushing against the rogue angel’s arm, and with a sharp crack, the creature stumbled back, howling in pain. Its glowing eyes flicked toward Ethan for a brief moment, and for an instant, he felt naked under that gaze, as if the monster could see every secret he’d ever tried to bury.

“Stay back, Ethan!” Cass commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. “This isn’t your fight!”

Not my fight? Ethan clenched his jaw, resentment simmering in his chest. Like hell it isn’t. He wasn’t some bystander, some fragile human waiting to be saved. He was a hunter, damn it, and if Cass thought he’d just stand there and watch while the bastard almost took his head off…

Before he could think better of it, Ethan surged forward, his boots slamming into the fray. The rogue angel swung wildly, its claws raking the air where Ethan had been a second earlier. He ducked, his body moving on pure instinct, and brought his knife up in a smooth arc. The blade connected with the creature’s side, sinking deep into flesh that sizzled and smoked upon contact.

The rogue angel screamed, a sound that scraped at Ethan’s nerves like rusty nails. He yanked his knife free, ready to strike again, but Cass was already there, his presence commanding and unyielding. The fallen angel’s glowing runes flared brighter, their light almost blinding, and with a single motion, he shoved the rogue angel back, sending it crashing into the far wall.

“I told you to stay back,” Cass said, his tone sharp but not unkind. His blue eyes met Ethan’s, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them. The intensity in those eyes was overwhelming, a mixture of anger and something softer that Ethan couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah, well,” Ethan retorted, his voice rough, “looks like I’m making this my fight now.”

Cass’s lips twitched, almost like a smile, but the expression was gone as quickly as it appeared. The rogue angel was stirring, its massive form shifting as it pushed itself off the floor. Its glowing eyes fixed on them, fury burning bright within its hollow sockets.

“Stay close,” Cass murmured, his voice low enough that only Ethan could hear. “And whatever you do, don’t look away.”

Ethan nodded, though the command made his stomach twist. He didn’t like being told what to do, especially by someone who—what? Wasn’t even human? But as he moved to flank the creature, his pulse quickening with each step, he found himself oddly comforted by Cass’s presence. The fallen angel was calm, steady, a counterpoint to Ethan’s own frantic energy. It was strange, how easily they fell into sync, despite their differences.

The rogue angel charged, its roar deafening. Ethan dove to the side, rolling to avoid its massive claws, while Cass stepped forward, his hands glowing with celestial energy. The runes on his skin pulsed, their light growing brighter with each passing second. The creature tried to dodge, but Cass’s movements were precise, calculated, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent the rogue angel stumbling backward once more.

“Now!” Cass barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Ethan didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, his knife aimed at the creature’s exposed flank. The blade sank deep, and this time, the rogue angel’s scream was tinged with desperation. It lashed out, its claws grazing Ethan’s shoulder, but he gritted his teeth and held on, driving the knife deeper until the creature finally collapsed, its glowing eyes dimming to ash.

For a moment, there was silence. The motel room seemed to hold its breath, the only sound Ethan’s ragged breathing and the distant hum of Cass’s fading runes. He straightened, wincing as pain lanced through his injured shoulder, and glanced over at the fallen angel.

Cass was watching him, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped closer, his movements measured and deliberate. Ethan tensed instinctively, his bodyprotest ing to the proximity, but he didn’t move away. Couldn’t move away. There was something about the way Cass looked at him, something that made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Cass said finally, his voice soft but laced with warning.

“Yeah?” Ethan challenged, his voice rough. “Why’s that?”

Cass didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against Ethan’s injured shoulder. The touch was fleeting, almost accidental, yet it sent a jolt of awareness through Ethan’s entire body. Heat pooled low in his belly, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

“Because,” Cass murmured, his voice dropping dangerously low, “you could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

Ethan swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. “I guess we’ll never know, will we?”

Cass’s eyes darkened, the blue seeming to burn brighter in the dim light. Without warning, he closed the distance between them, his body pressing lightly against Ethan’s. The fallen angel’s scent invaded his senses—something clean and otherworldly, mixed with the faintest hint of smoke. It should have been strange, wrong even, but instead, it felt like coming home.

Ethan’s breath hitched as Cass leaned in, his lips brushing against Ethan’s ear. “You’re reckless,” he whispered, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down Ethan’s spine. “But I suppose that’s part of what makes you… fascinating.”

Ethan’s pulse raced, his brain struggling to keep up with the rapidly escalating situation. “Fascinating?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s one way to put it.”

Cass pulled back slightly, his piercing gaze locking onto Ethan’s. There was something in those eyes—something raw and unfiltered—that made Ethan’s heart pound harder. The tension between them was palpable, a living thing that crackled in the air like electricity.

“Tell me, Ethan,” Cass said, his voice dripping with temptation, “what would you call it?”

[neutron-stars-collision]

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 1 - Nocturnal Animals

Masterlist; Chapter 2

Summary: Desperate for a scoop (and a pay rise), you scout Gotham for anything of interest. When you cross paths with the mysterious Drifter, you decide to use the chance to spark up a fruitful cooperation.

Warnings: Swearing.

Author's Notes: ... Hi *waves*. Yes, that's a new series because it seems like Rob's characters tend to make themselves at home in my head. I wanted to develop Bruce a little more and this idea came to exist quite quickly. Reader is a journalist in need of a topic, Bruce is out on the streets... and the rest is history :))) Slow burn as always since that's my specialty (apparently).

I hope you'll enjoy this introduction and I'll greatly appreciate feedback!

The only pretty thing in Gotham during the fall was the way neon lights reflected in the puddles of the alleyways and street corners. The myriad of colours and slogans tinted the darkness with a sense of something bigger than the wet tarmac and slippery pavement slabs. Only, that light did not get everywhere, creating niches in the city’s fabric, where no ray of hope could ever permeate. That is where the crime skyrocketed, no matter the season. That is where scoop and intel were found. Conveniently.

Adjusting your hood for the umpteenth time, you frowned as another cold drop of rain slid inside your coat. In October, even waterproofing hardly did its job; especially one four years old and long past its prime. But it did not matter. Your eyes restlessly scanned the surroundings, mindful of anything that could be of interest. Because while murders in Gotham were hardly the breaking news type novelties, a serial killer on the loose, seemingly connected to the city’s elites, was quite the concept. A case to crack and the potential of a pay rise. Something you could not deny yourself, considering the tightness of the pockets and emptiness of the bank account. In short, you needed to find something worth writing about. Something worth covering by the GC1. Or else… No.

There was no time for that. Having made it to the docks, you stopped, hiding underneath the roof of an abandoned warehouse. The last victim had been found here, stabbed multiple times with an unidentified weapon. Potentially – a meat hook. Which did sound lovely, you had to admit. Having left the apartment that evening, you were led with the idea that maybe back at the crime scene, you could discover crucial evidence everyone had missed. Now, drenched, tired and disheartened, you realised how wrong you were. There was nothing left aside from the rain, the murky water by the docks and the foul stench of trash and urine. The police had cleared everything.

With a resigned sigh, you took a quick round of the area, taking photos with your phone. Apart from a few unidentified objects lying on the ground and rusty spots you could hope was the residual blood, there was nothing.

“Fuck,” a soft curse escaped your pursed lips, ringing out in the quiet alleyway.

Finding absolutely nothing meant another stressful debrief in the morning. And you have had enough of those already. With the mind half-focused on the idea of heading back home and drowning the sorrows in a glass of cheap red wine, the unmistakable roar of the chopper pierced the ambience and made you look up.

At the sky first, using the instinct whole of Gotham had acquired throughout the last few months. Because once the signal had been lit no one could rest easy, watching the shadows with anticipation of what came next. But tonight, the light was off. The masked vigilante, the Bat-Man, Vengeance… there’s been many names and even more theories about his identity. No one knew when he appeared or when he left the scene. Having heard rumours, you held your breath until the black motorcycle appeared on the horizon. It was not him. Or at least it did not look like it was.

Your target parked the vehicle on the opposite end of the warehouse spaces. You observed, hidden in the shadows, as the man took off the black helmet and stood up, quickly pulling up a black hood over the head. He was moving with purpose, throwing a non-descript backpack over his shoulder and heading towards the abandoned building. With curiosity, you watched as he kicked open the chained door and disappeared inside with the clank of metal. Now that was a way of investigating you had not thought of yet…

For a moment, you wanted to follow him, to satisfy the curiosity as fast as possible and (hopefully) get some answers. But then reason kicked in, with yet another sigh, you backed into the shadows, waiting for the stranger to return. After all, no one sane would leave a motorcycle like that unattended for too long. Once he appeared fifteen minutes later, you were ready. Keeping away from the light, you skirted around the area and approached him without making a sound. A handy chat-up line on the tip of your tongue:

“Visiting the crime scene, are we?” once the man looked up at you with surprise evident in the abruptness of his reaction, you grinned.

Even with the flickering streetlights, it was hard to make out his features. You could see sharp edges of the jawline, slightly crooked nose and wide eyes, their intense stare intriguing.

“Who are you?” his voice was hoarse as though he was not used to speaking.

The sharp edge to the vowels told you the stranger was not easily intimidated. Yet your appearance was unexpected. His lips were pursed as he stiffened, clearly bracing himself against what would come next.

Perhaps he was the case you could crack…

“I could ask the same question, Mr…?” leaving out the opening, you waited for a beat before adding in a faux disappointed tone, “I see. Well, I can’t blame you for snooping around this case is quite the sensation” making sure to drop the bait, you watched him closely.

There was no apparent reaction. The man threw a nervous look towards the alley’s exit and then glanced back at you. As your eyes adjusted to the half-light, you could see more of his face. The chiselled features and fascinating eyes drew you in despite caution. Yet you still did not know who it could be. He did not look like your usual thug or a drophead, and you would bet he was not one of the Falcone’s. So… who?

“What do you mean?” your internal ruminations got cut short with a simple question.

The enticement worked. Pasting on a mysterious half-smile, you stepped closer to the stranger and lowered your tone to a confidential whisper:

“The usual… Corruption, Gotham’s finest… perhaps some revenge to trigger it all and… boom” with pleasure you noticed that the man seemed transfixed on your story “Here we are. I wonder who’s next” it was a simple deal, two people wanting something out of the conversation.

A game you were willing to play. Even if to understand more about the case and the mysterious drifter. Something shifted in his eyes, acceptance replacing the previous uncertainty. An agreement had been reached without either of you laying out the terms. Feeling an inexplicable rush of adrenaline, you awaited the question as the man thought hard. Once he looked up again, you allowed yourself to stare at him intently as he asked:

“Do you think the killer is after the people in power?” the innocence in his voice made you throw a cheeky grin to the mix.

For whatever reason, you felt like extending the conversation if he was willing. The rain and damp clothes faded into the background as you eyed him closely, thinking on the next move:

“Sure looks like it. You’ve been mapping the area from the roof, weren’t you?” it was the obvious conclusion, so you decided to run with it, “Found anything good?”

The more you observed him, the less everything made sense. The dark streetwear, muddied motorcycle, and how he moved, like a fighter, a nocturnal animal. Yet he did not seem dangerous like a criminal. Before you could run on with the ideas, the man replied:

“I’m not sure” the hint of caution made you frown.

‘Not sure’ wasn’t an applicable answer. Ignoring the pang of disappointment, you bated your eyelashes once your gazes locked and chose to voice the let-down:

“That’s a shame, I could do with some scoop” slight reveal of the identity in hopes he would follow.

But it was for nothing.

“You’re a journalist” it was his turn to measure you coolly.

Mindless of the interest burning bright, you raised an eyebrow, mirroring his judging stance with an aura of theatricality:

“That wasn’t a question,” another telling stretch of silence, making you add with the familiar tinge of bitterness “Yes, one of the hyenas, as some say” the cold had caught up, making you shiver and helping to make up your mind “Well if you don’t want to help me, I better get going” you sized him up one last time, the traitorous part of your brain hoping you could meet again.

Why? Because if there was anything you loved more than a good scoop, it was a mystery. A puzzle to crack. Something to motivate and drive you forward. He was an enigma you wanted to decode. With a parting shrug, you moved to turn away just as he spoke up:

“You shouldn’t be wandering out alone at this hour. It’s dangerous” oh.

That was new. A personal touch to an exchange of information between strangers. Turning towards him again, you noticed with a surprise that he reached up to remove the hood. As the streetlight hit his unobscured face, you tried hard to look away yet found yourself unable to. There was something hauntingly beautiful in the blue of his eyes and the tightly set jaw. Pain written onto the features that could not be wiped off with a mere smile.

But one could try. You scoffed, choosing to armour yourself in humour to deny the maelstrom in your head:

“And the sky’s blue” the repartee waiting for a punchline you delivered while looking the man point-blank “Or black,”

It could have been an illusion (or wishful thinking), but his lips twisted in the faintest of the smiles. There was no time to verify it. In a flash, he was putting on the helmet and turning the engine on, disappearing with a spray of water from the puddles.

Alone again, you grinned. There might’ve been no intel, but there was something else found tonight. A different sort of mystery.

***

Closing your umbrella with a groan, you pushed open the door leading to GC1 headquarters. The complaint was always the same – how come a leading tv channel in Gotham doesn’t even have an automatic set of doors? Funding cuts apparently.

It has not stopped raining since last night, puddles deepened, and the mood grew dense as the city descended into yet another circle of seasonal depression. As with most things, even that was extreme here, making an ordinary citizen keen to commit murder if it meant having one cloudy day without rain. Sometimes you did consider doing just that. And today was not any different. Your steps grew heavy as you neared the office, your mind unable to focus on anything that was not him. The stranger. It made no sense. But he was there every time you closed your eyes, every second you drifted away from reality. As though in a dream, you passed through the familiar maze of cubicles, knowing the path to your desk by heart. Only once you reached the spot, falling into the chair with a groan, you did acknowledge the surroundings. Sophie, an acquittance of convenience occupied the cubicle next to yours, her keyboard clicking with aggression. A scowl on her face. With curiosity, you peeked over her shoulder, an innocent question accompanying the movement:

“What are you working on?” noticing a fat pile of newspaper clippings on her desk, you frowned.

With so many current affairs and scandalous murders, barely any attention had been given to the past. Yet it seemed like that was precisely what Sophie had been assigned. She acknowledged your appearance with a nod before flipping through a couple of pages without attention:

“A column about Wayne. I know, I know, the man’s a cryptid, but-” she waved a hand dismissively as you cut right into the sentence, unable to keep the surprise from your voice.

“What? The Wayne?” the intonation that once used to make you laugh, now commonplace in your dictionary.

Because, yes, theWayne was a cryptid. And yes, writing about him was a task nearly impossible given he appeared in public once a few years.

Ignoring your paralysis, Sophie threw you a sceptical glare and picked up one of the clippings, putting the newspaper directly in the line of your eyes.

“Yeah. The boss said it’s been long since-”

As soon as your gaze landed on the black-and-white photograph on the page, everything faded into the background. He did not look the same when wearing a crisp white shirt and a tailored suit, but there were no doubts left in your mind. Even if it made no sense whatsoever. Mindless of Sophie’s protests, you tore the page out of her hand to examine the photo closely. Same features, same dark hair, same eyes. But-

“That’s Bruce Wayne?” your hand shook as you set the clipping back on her desk, aware of the waver in your voice.

“Yes, why- You look like you’ve seen a ghost” Sophie fixed her curious eyes on you, noticing how blood drained from your cheeks.

Without giving it too much thought, you got up from the chair and picked up the bag you had just set on the desk. There was only one thing you needed to do. Everything else be damned.

“I did” grinning at her puzzled look, you waved your hand, “Bye, gotta go” without waiting for an answer, you set upon the journey back through the maze.

Work had to wait. The blue eyes flashed before yours as you took out the phone and checked the next train that would take you to the Wayne Tower.

***

The initial bravado wore off when you approached the tower, gaze landing on the massive steps with apprehension. At the very top, you could see the heavy wooden doors with a brass knocker and a more modern doorbell button with a golden plaque above. As though massive letters on the top of the building weren’t enough. You took a deep breath as you eyed the fortress, unable to concoct a plan that had any chances of working out. Because another thing everyone knew about Bruce Wayne was that he never allowed any visitors. And yet you also knew that you could not give up, having joined the dots. A final long inhale. Let’s wing it. What could go wrong, eh?

As you reached the set of doors on top of the staircase (and rolled your eyes at the said plaque), you plastered on a confident smile on your lips and pressed the doorbell button. The ringing pierced the silence, making you involuntarily flinch. Maybe it’s a mistake? The doubts descended over your mind as your feet started itching, legs shuffling to fulfil the fleeing instinct best they could. With half the brain already eager to bolt, you barely registered when the door creaked open. In the newly created gap, stood an older woman in a weirdly old-school maid uniform. She eyed you closely, never losing the pleasant smile that seemed fixed to her face.

“Good morning, Miss” her smile widened as she asked the innocent question, “What brings you here?”

A good one, you had to admit. Stifling the increasing uncertainty, you beamed back, rushing out the words one after another:

“Hi… I, um- I’m here to see Mr Wayne” your tongue stumbled over the surname, unused to the sound.

Never in a million years, you would have expected it to happen. And yet there you were.

“Have you got an appointment?” her smile faltered as she increased the scrutiny, hand tightening on the handle, ready to slam the door in your face.

Only one way out of it.

“No… But he’ll know who I am” hopefully “Think he’ll be happy to see me, actually” an addition to charm the woman into letting you in.

The logical part of your brain knew that he would not be happy. Quite the contrary, probably. But that did not change the needs. So, you strengthened your back and took an experimental step forward as though already confident of the outcome.

“I’m not sure-” she hesitated, the pleasant smile nowhere to be seen anymore.

C’mon. Another step towards the door, one hand reaching out to touch the wooden surface. A likeable face expression put on like a mask. Seeing a shadow of conflict pass through her face, you added:

“Please?” the puppy eyes that had earned you a few ins when it seemed absolutely beyond the realm of possibility right on hand.

Before you had to search the arsenal for more weapons, the woman replaced the uncertainty with a weaker version of the lovely smile as she took a step back from the doorway.

“Oh, all right” she opened the doors wider for you.

A passing desire to hug the woman had to be abandoned for now.

“Thank you” instead, you gave her the brightest grin available and took the liberty of having a look around the hallway.

The interior did fit the expectations with stone pillars, a wide mahogany staircase and hand-embroidered carpets laying on the floors. But it was evident everything had long expired from its glory days. Upon closer examination, you noticed the chinks in the balustrade and the old stains on the carpet. Mr Wayne did not care much for his family’s legacy. But then, you knew better than anyone that material objects did hardly matter when contrasted with life’s tragedies.

“Here, Miss,” your thoughts had been interrupted with the woman showing you an entrance to a vintage elevator, “Mr Wayne is upstairs in the study,” she added as you stepped into the cabin.

She shut the metal crate and pressed one of the buttons on top of the list. The elevator creaked to life and began a slow ascent with the accompaniment of metallic clutter. With curiosity, you studied the floor plan, noticing how only the upmost levers seemed to be in use, for the buttons were worn out from the regular touch. The elevator could also go below the ground floor, but the levels lacked numeration, adding to the interest and occupying your mind with possibilities until the cabin came to a standstill with a groan.

Your stomach was tied in a knot before you even stepped out of the elevator. And for a good reason, as you soon understood. There was barely time to register the surroundings as your eyes got drawn to the gothic arches and large windows showing the cityscape of Gotham laid out beneath the tower.

“Dory, who is this?” the familiar voice rang out from the side, making you whip around in a flash.

Two discoveries: the woman’s name is Dory, and Bruce Wayne doesn’t enjoy having surprise guests.

You did not dare wait for her to introduce you, instead took a step closer to the man and grinned with the simplest of questions:

“Remember me?”

Sure, hope he does. Using his moment of hesitation, you let your eyes wander over Bruce, immediately noticing the dark circles underneath the bloodshot eyes and scarred forearms, revealed by the old, oversized t-shirt. He was not the man you saw in the newspaper photograph an hour ago. It was the stranger you talked to the previous night. Seeing the flash of recognition in the blue eyes made you release a shuddered breath.

“I didn’t think you’d remember me” Bruce shot you a glance before motioning for Dory to leave the room.

He seemed much less confident without the veil of anonymity and darkness, protecting him from knowing stares and judgement. The awkward movement and slouching posture nothing like the man you met less than 24 hours beforehand. But it was the assumption that got you, emitting an honest scoff you did not bother hiding.

“Oh, come on… How could I not?” you stared him down with disbelief, the head still soaking up the reality of the situation and recalibrating to fit the new needs.

With a start, you noticed a flash of surprise in his eyes before he turned away, staring at the cityscape. The wall had been put up, and there would be no more peeking. For now.

“What do you want?” Bruce’s back tensed as he asked the question, apprehension and frigidity filling every syllable.

Immediately you understood what it was – a public persona, the Bruce Wayne everyone thought he was. Cold, rich, and distant. Only, you knew that was not the whole picture. The memory of his faint smile from the previous night flashed before your eyes as you offered him a one-word response:

“Information” that simple.

You were not sure what that came from or why it became the reason for your rash decision to visit him. But it seemed to make sense. And that was better than giving up.

Because forgetting didn’t sound like a viable option.

“Isn’t that your area of expertise?” the sharp edge in his voice was accompanied by a side glance full of disregard.

As though he wanted you to surrender and leave him alone. Little did he know of stubbornness and persistence… Using the room as your stage, you quickly closed the distance to Bruce and placed yourself in the line of his sight to accentuate that he would have to listen. A sweet, knowing smile on your lips:

“It seems like it’s yours too,” you threw the remark, pushing onwards before he could think of a rebuttal, “Never in a million years I would have guessed it. The prince of Gotham scouting the streets at night and investigating the crimes. And yet” with interest you observed as his confidence wavered and he dropped the gaze to stare at the floor.

You had lied out the issues perfectly. Now was the time to reveal the terms. But before you got that far Bruce raised his head and began:

“If you want money-” the contempt in his voice did strike a chord, making you frown and drop the act for a split second.

Karma for negotiations with the rich bastards, huh? For a moment, you wanted to scoff and tell him where he can put that money in the plainest of terms. However, you still needed him to agree and cooperate. So, instead, you offered him a warning glare and replied in a measured tone:

“Don’t be a jerk, Mr Wayne. I just think it’s no coincidence we’ve stumbled upon each other, and we could use it to our advantage” noticing the glimmer of curiosity in the blue eyes, you allowed yourself another step closer, resting your hands on the back of a dark wooden chair “Here’s what I suggest: you’ll let me work with you, we’ll share the intel and whatever tips we get our hands on” it probably sounded better than it could function.

To hell with reason. There was that rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins again. Making everything brighter and sharper. Because if it worked out… You did not dare hope that it could. To keep your hands from shaking, you gripped the wooden frame tighter, awaiting the response.

“What will I get from this?” this time, Bruce’s voice was devoid of spite.

In its place, you detected genuine interest and determination. Although it was difficult to admit, you were not that different. Each driven by their own needs and ambitions, desperate to make it work, no matter the cost. Alone.

Your mind got stuck on that word, making your mouth follow its logic by saying:

“A friend?” warily, you met his gaze over the table; his walls were up yet you could still see a shadow of recognition “And a promise that I won’t pry into whatever it is that you’re doing. I won’t write anything about you or our cooperation. It’s going to be our secret” concluding the pledge breathlessly, you knew the earnestness could not be hidden from your eyes.

It was there, making your heartbeat speed up and your hands shake. You never believed in destiny or fate, yet somehow, everything that happened since last night felt like it could be one of those. Like a plan devised by someone else in charge. An opportunity you did not dare let go of easily.

“All that for information exchange?” Bruce’s question caught you by surprise as he added, eyeing you closely, “You must be desperate,”

It was his time for scrutiny, a chance to take apart the protective armour and see what you were made of. You met his inquisitive gaze, showing a degree of loneliness in your eyes and the extent of dedication. Just so he understood. And then you shrugged, letting a genuine smile bloom on your lips:

“Aren’t we both?” not expecting an answer, you allowed yourself a longer look at his face before throwing the conversation off its profound grounds “Listen… It’s not like I’m trying to bribe you into a marriage of convenience or other such bullshit” on its own accord, the thought entered your mind.

Marriage of convenience? Now that was an idea you’d rather not delve into. Where the hell did that come from? Sure, he was not a dapper gentleman you always expected him to be, but he certainly was not ugly either. Stop. Ignoring the urge to shake your head and stop the ridiculous train of thought, you found a distraction in the subject of the mess.

There it was again, the not-quite-smile from the previous night. As soon as you spotted it you grinned, feeling an inexplicable sense of triumph deep within your heart. Because it did seem like he was capable of smiling, and that discovery alone felt like a victory.

“I’m glad” Bruce rolled his eyes, evidently trying to distract you from the observation.

He still had a lot to learn.

“Me too, sweetheart” your smile widened as he visibly froze at the nickname, “So… what’s the verdict?” there was no point in dancing around the subject.

You relaxed the pose, making it seem like you did not care, all the while holding in a breath and feeling the pulse speed up in the veins. Everything depended upon it. Or it seemed like it did. Bruce met your gaze warily, conflict visible despite the veil in how he had caught the bottom lip between the teeth, worrying the fragile skin. Despite yourself, you glanced at his mouth, feeling the warmth spread over your cheeks because of the act of looking alone. It had been too long.

You mentally slapped sense into your brain exactly when Bruce broke the silence:

“Fine,” he spared a final look at you before wandering off to gaze out of the windows.

A clear signal. Despite the cold response, you grinned, unable to process the feelings filling every corner of your mind. You would make the best out of the situation. You had to.

“Great,” letting the quip slip, you added, “I’ll talk to my sources about the docks’ case, and I shall be back” there was a promise in the sentence that you could not deny yourself.

Even when knowing that it was only you that felt excitement at the prospect.

“Fantastic,” Bruce sighed heavily, for once not hiding the myriad of feelings aroused by your suggestion.

He still had his back turned to you, expecting your imminent exit. You did not want to disappoint, so one last, selfish look had to do. Your eyes slipped over his form, the broad shoulders and the worn out clothes, looking out of place in the grand study. And yet all of it was his, the master of the house personified. A mystery to crack.

You could not deny yourself the pleasure as you turned towards the lift, aware you could not even see his reaction. It did not matter.

“Don’t worry, you’re gonna love it, darling” glee made your heart summersault as you stepped into the cabin with a final remark, “I’ll let myself out,”

For once, the rain outside did not matter.

[lostinanothersmemories]

darlin and “let me go” for the intense vine thing

Oh no… :(

Warnings: major character death, mentions of blood

Vampires aren’t very warm, they don’t need it either. Sam’s never needed the warm blankets even when he was alive. He ignores how cold they are. Pulls them closer as he wakes from dreamless sleep. “Mornin’ darlin,” he tries to stir them opening his eyes to find them already looking at him. “Cold morning isn’t it? I should make you some coffee. Maybe in a bit though, I just want to lay with you.” He rests his chin on their head leaving no gaps between their bodies. “You know it’s a bit rude to not respond.”

“Am I supposed to play along Sam?”

He pulls away just enough to look in their eyes, “You aren’t making much sense.” They only nod. When he gets up and makes them a cup of coffee he doesn’t hear footsteps approaching when he turns and finds them sitting on the counter. Looking at him again. He offers the cup but their hands stay folded in their lap, so he resigns to set it beside them. “Frederick was gonna make his way out today. Bright was still on the fence about going.”

“Going where Sam?”

He turns to the stove, “I should make some food I know you can’t feed yourself without me. Wouldn’t want you to get hungry.” He starts on the food breaking eggs with practiced ease moving across the floor with grace. Singing to the soft country song playing from his cracked phone. Neither remember when it was picked up from the concrete. The cautious knocking at the door comes and goes without a response. Until theirs a wiggling of the door knob pushed open by the prince of the Solaires. Vincent steps in backing away from the kitchen when he looks at it. “Sam?” He looks up from the plate he’s carefully organizing the food on, “When did you get in here? You shouldn’t be here. They-they don’t want to see people.” Looking around he panics without the sight of them sitting on the counter, instead seeing plates upon plates of food going bad after being made. “Go away you are make them leave get out!” He’s pushing his friend out the door before he can get a word in. When he takes a breath and turns around life returns as normal. The finished dish is placed in the sink and will be cleaned later.

“Vincent seemed like he had something he wanted to say.”

He swings around at their voice leaning against the wall looking at him but so close to the door. With a sigh he goes closer locking the door, “Wasn’t important.” He looks down only to find them gone again when he looks up. Going deeper within his home he finds them watching him from the couch and he lets out a breath of relief. “You can’t scare me like that.” They follow him as he walks around the couch sitting beside them to take their hand. He doesn’t pay attention to the knock at the door but for the first time they look away. He flinches with the sight, eyes shut cold on hard pavement blood too much blood blood everywhere the healing isn’t doing anything the healing has to do something. He sees their eyes again as they look back at him.

“You should go with them.”

He already shakes his head, “I belong here with you.”

“I’m not here Sam”

He blinks away the tears forming in his eyes, “Of course you are. Right here with me.”

“David would be comforted by you being there.”

He pushes off the couch walking away, “I’m staying here with you. I’m not-I’m not leaving you.” Passing them as they stand in the door way of the bedroom, passing them as they sit on the counter of the kitchen. Freezing when he sees them leaning against the front door.

“You have to let me go Sam.”

His eyes flicker from them to the doorknob then immediately fall to the ground, right before his knees follow the route. Kneeling on the ground before them. “You know it’s not your fault.” They follow his lead kneeling in front of him with the first smile he’s seen from them since-. “You could write English papers on my fatal flaw. Always so eager to handle it myself.” They tuck a strand of his overgrown hair behind his ear. “Just don’t follow my lead. Promise me. Promise me Sam, you won’t force yourself to feel alone.”

“I promise.”

They tilt his head up with no strength behind those fingers. “There’s my good boy.” They glance back to the door and he flinches again. Rising to their feet they reach for the door handle but freeze looking back. “You made me happy Sam Collins,” without looking they unlock the door once more. He watches them leave, he watches them leave less bloody then they did the first time.

He dresses how he knew they would like, well but comfortable. In black but a flower in his hair their favorite from Freddy’s garden. Two young but growing vampires by his side. He takes the offer when David asks if he wants to go with their stone alone. He doesn’t talk to them. Rests his hand on the rough rock and rereads the name he rarely called them. Forces himself to read the last date. And places the flower atop.

[overplannedbutunnamednpc]

Hey proseman! It's timeline time!! Legacy: 8, 15. Sarril: 6! And then be nice to him with a 7. And did you think you'd ever get an ask from me that didn't have Ecstasy in it. She's your sexy, sexy albatross, bitch. Ecstasy: 4, 12

oh bitch i know you love her dont you worry you’ll get your ecstasy time. dyke looking ass :/

also since i’m answering this 2 years late i’m not doing sarril fksdfhskdj i’m prioritizing my tiefs instead. war is hell (war is my inability to reliably write).

Legacy:

8. The timeline in which they gain everything they want, except the thing they wanted the most.

(TW in this one for fucked-up hell stuff and the pretty much unprovoked goring/murder of a low-tier devil who can’t fight back.)

It’s hot, in the Hells. Even for something like Legacy now is - she’s still changing, and she’s somewhere in between tiefling and devil, that amorphous middle that means she’s still hot. All the time.

Zariel doesn’t really trust her yet, but that’s okay. It turns out that her grandmother is still surprisingly warm, even down here, and Legacy is just as soothed by her talons in her hair now as she ever was up top.

It turns out that there’s still plenty for a devil’s lackey to do, even if they’re not trusted, especially when they still have the same amount of power as they did when they were - alive? on the Material Plane?

Legacy hasn’t figured which she is. “Dead” and “alive” aren’t exactly the same when you’re no longer really where alive people go.

The fact is, it no longer matters to her. When she’s finished transforming - perhaps Zariel’s left hand while Baba is her right - she’s betting she cares even less than she does now.

Anyway, it’s hot. It might be hot for a long, long while. Still, she could have it worse.

Two of the imps - what were their names? - Drogmud and Golvan, or something like that - are bothering one of the lemures. Legacy doesn’t know its name, and she probably never will.

Drogmud and Golvan - okay, that’s definitely isn’t right but it was definitely a D and a G - flit around the mass of flesh that resembles a head, poking sharp fingers into it and drawing blood. They’re giggling, a harmony with its quiet pained moans.

Down here, things are simple. There’s a hierarchy, easy enough to learn and easier still to understand - the ones on the bottom get crushed, the ones on top get power.

Legacy’s on top. She enjoys Zariel’s palace and Baba’s attention (Bheyd in front of Zariel, and Orias everywhere else) and the fact that she’s not being ground under boots.

There’s a dim memory, from up top, of a large tome and the word lemure. The footsoldiers of the Hells, the bottom of the ladders. Dying over and over again in an endless war.

Legacy’s only died once. Twice, arguably. She remembers the terror of it. The cold, the dark. She can’t imagine doing it for eternity, without any letting up, without any hope of promotion, just slow oozing over cracked pavement, babbling gibberish in Infernal. Laughed at by even imps. Bleeding for the bad humor of two devils that don’t ever get much bigger than housecats.

Golvan pokes again, this time getting one of the lemure’s eyes. It makes a truly pitiable sound and finally smacks at the imps that have been bothering it this whole time.

Legacy watches it miss. But that doesn’t matter.

Legacy watches the imps descend upon it like locusts. Teeth and claws turn the lemure to meat, the gibbering mouth of it shrieking in pain, wordless and pleading.

That could have been her, she knows, without Baba. Her horns have started to branch and they’ve started looking bleached, and there’s nubs in her back of growing wings - they itch like hell - but she could have been... that. She’s lucky. She has what she wanted.

The lemure finally gives up, shrieking turning to choking. The imps leave the flesh before it starts to dissolve, bored now that their meal isn’t fighting and complaining. That lemure will, over a few days, rejuvenate wherever its remains are thrown out and be right back to where it was before - bothered by imps, or maybe torn to shreds by demons, later. One of the nameless masses. Never promoted. They could have been the most evil person in the Material Plane or simply have made one too many bad decisions, and they’ll be here forever.

And that could have been her. If she hadn’t stayed with Baba, if she had passed up the power she has now, she’d be the one watching the tiefling see her ripped apart, asking for help and getting none. She wouldn’t be the one watching.

No, this was the right decision. Power is - this is what she wants.

She should get back to Baba.

Legacy kicks the wet flesh as she passes it, and barks to the imps, “Clean up your own messes, or you’ll join them.”

She doesn’t look back to see what they do with it.

15. The timeline in which they let a chance go by.

There’s a lot of noise on the docks at this time of day. This part of Os Kvelya is a little crowded, because the Lower Docks’ streets aren’t quite wide enough for the volume of people they serve. Legacy’s always wondered how deliberate a choice it was, if some city planner ever decided they could go just a little narrower to fit in one more tiny apartment on the block.

Still, even with that noise, there’s an easy way to figure out what is and isn’t normal. The normal noise is like a low drone, occasionally shattered by sharp noise from only a couple feet away as a mom cries out a name to keep her child nearby or a worker gets berated for getting in late. Normal conversation. Normal day in the docks.

What isn’t normal is a scream like that.

A scream like that gets attention, and more importantly, gets Legacy’s attention.

She makes her way to it immediately. With a scream like that, something’s happened, and with a scream like that, there’s something for someone like Legacy to do.

She’s not the first one on the scene, unfortunately. There’s a crying woman - the source of the scream, probably - and a dead body. More than that, there’s a group.

Some albino wolf sniffs at the corpse as - going off the veil and the authoritative shouting Legacy had just heard - a Gravedigger and a city guard start their own investigation.

Legacy pauses. Considering.

Chance lets the world pause, too, to let her decide.

She steps back with the crowd. Bad luck that she wasn’t there first, but she’s not getting involved with a Gravedigger et al.

The world turns on.

Chance takes another path.

Ecstasy:

4. The timeline in which they knew beforehand of something they would have prevented if given the chance.

Raini’s meant to leave today, for the Hells.

Ecstasy isn’t going to let her. She knows better. There’s some... sixth sense she has, who the hell knows where it’s from. Maybe it’s another gift of Asmodeus’, the same way the horns and tail are. Maybe it’s that damned gun, still draping over her shoulders and whispering her own voice in her ear.

Either way, Raini’s meant to leave today.

She’s deeply asleep when Ecstasy sneaks out of bed. Ecstasy’s very good at sneaking, and after a night like last, Raini’s not stirring anytime soon. Maybe that’s the only reason Ecstasy’s doing this.

No, there’s more to it. She knows, somehow. If Raini goes to the Hells, she won’t be coming back. Not dead, but - gone. Ecstasy knows the same way she just knows Infernal.

“Arvest,” she hisses, shaking the bundle belowdeck. “Up, now.”

Arvest, confused but compliant, follows Ecstasy up to the deck, the sun only just starting over the horizon, like it’s considering just going back to bed with everyone else. “What do you need, Captain?”

“I need a Sending,” Ecstasy tells them. “And I need you to mess around with it.”

Arvest blinks slowly. “How?”

“Listen. I need you to send this to Cylthia, okay? And make yourself sound like Raini, or as close as you can.”

Arvest holds up a finger, then fishes out a wire. Ecstasy lets them work. They usually mess with their material components when they need to mess with a spell. They consider it for a second, bending it around and pinching the end of the loop so it’s a little pointed. The ends of the wire get twisted together, then Arvest holds it up. It looks a little like a feather. “What’s the message?”

“Cylthia,” Ecstasy starts.

The feather vibrates a little and almost echoes, Raini’s voice, Cylthia.

“I’m not coming to Hell.” not ... Hell. “I know we talked, but I'm enjoying my retirement. Bring someone from the B team and apologize for me.“ retirement ... team ... apologize ...

Arvest does their thing, then tilts their head. Cylthia responding.

“She’s confused,” they report. “At least, more or less.”

“Send back.”

Arvest holds up the feather again.

“What's confusing? I was clear, I'm not going. Take Dezon or something. Leave without me. I don't want to explain to four more people. Go.”

Arvest goes silent again. “I think she bought it.”

“Okay, good. I don’t think she can cast Sending to check, so. When Raini doesn’t teleport in, they’ll take it as legit.”

Ecstasy avoids Arvest’s questioning, disapproving look. Raini’s not going anywhere. Raini’s going to sleep through their meeting time and teleport to an empty room. By then, the other Motherfuckers will already be in the Hells, and Raini won’t be able to get to them.

She’ll be incensed that Ecstasy didn’t wake her up, and when the story comes up, furious at the lie, but she’ll be here. That’s what matters. That’s all that matters.

12. The timeline in which they had a person in their life when they needed one the most.

Here’s the thing about Ecstasy. She had everyone she needed. Her parents were great, her childhood was fine. She became one of the most feared slash respected ship captains in the world. What does she have to complain about? Where does anyone get off, saying she needs someone?

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m just so thirsty, says the voice in her ears. You can’t imagine. She will need a funeral. Isn’t this a small price to pay for the power I give, though? It’s your own fault, you fucking forgot, didn’t you? I get so thirsty, I warned you. Wipe the blood out of your nose. I’ll drink that too, don’t think I won’t. If no one else is around.

Ecstasy considers throwing the gun into the ocean beneath them. But that won’t fix the corpse behind her. It probably won’t stop her making another, either, it’ll just make them harder to kill.

She’ll need another first mate.

“Ecstasy?” comes the voice from behind her.

It’s not- it’s Raini, not- Ecstasy recognizes the voice, anyway. One of the ship passengers not cooling to ambient.

“What?”

You sound angry, says the voice. Sing-song.

“What?” Ecstasy asks again, angrier.

She turns. Raini’s got her hands up. “Excuse me. You’re the one brooding over here.”

Ecstasy glares. For a woman who’s been here a sum total of five times, Raini’s kind of an uppity bitch.

“What,” she repeats.

Raini crosses her arms. “When are you moving her?”

“When I’m ready.”

“She can’t stay on the deck forever. Get someone to bury her. Hell, I’ll do it. I used to be in a temple.”

Ecstasy, despite herself, despite everything in her head right now, is surprised. “You were?”

Raini rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to sound so surprised. Yeah. I’ve got it.”

Ecstasy finally flicks her eyes to the body. The blood probably won’t stain the deck - it’s treated - but. But.

“You need to take care of her,” she finally says.

Weak.

“I’ll bring my coworkers, minus Lent. They’ll take her off.” Ecstasy gets the impression Raini is trying to be nice.

“Bring Zize,” Ecstasy says. “I’m - I don’t want this anymore.”

Coward.

“Alright. Sure. You’re the captain.” Raini looks to her too. “You’re... are you, you know?”

“No,” Ecstasy says. “But thanks.”

[honeydarlings]

Can you please write a one shot about yandere!All Might in his hero form stalking the reader (knows their schedule, habits, etc.) and in his mind, he’s just protecting them? Then later on, he notices the reader isn’t back home at their usual time and finds them hurt after being mugged in an alley way. Perhaps he takes them back to his place to fix up their wounds and when they want to leave, he won’t let them since he’s overprotective.

First request !!! I hope you like it !!

I'm Doing this for You

TW || Stalking, kidnapping, manipulation, drugging, gore and violence.

7:30pm, you walked through the front door to your apartment. Right on time, as always. Whenever you got home after work you would tie your hair back just to get it out of your face as you started cooking dinner. All Might loved the way you looked with your hair back, he got to see more of you. He sat atop a building right across from your apartment window with a pair of binoculars. Everyday he watched you. He would watch you wake up, take the train to work, eat lunch, return home. Almost everywhere you went he was watching. “7:45, you always turn on the radio.” The hero mumbled to himself as you turned on the small radio sitting on your kitchen counter. He smiled, happy to know your every move. At first he was unsure about following you, worried he would be found out by you or another hero. But then he realized he was doing this for your sake, to protect you. It’s a dangerous world out there, especially for someone as delicate as you. As 8:15 rolled around so did your dinnertime, you sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. “True crime.”He muttered. True crime indeed, you turned on one of your favorite true crime shows as you began to eat. Suddenly All Might’s phone buzzed, startling him a bit. “All Might we have a situation downtown, we need you here” The text read. “Damn.” All Might huffed, couldn’t it wait until after you went to bed, so he knew you were safe?. Another text came through, “It’s urgent.” He scowled and got to his feet, leaping off, leaving you all alone.

8am. He barely made it, watching you wake up was one of All Might’s favorite things. Your messy hair and groggy face. You were so damn adorable, he couldn’t help but smile. Everything you did was absolute perfection to him and he wanted nothing more than to stay by your side and keep you safe. You departed for work, walking to the train station. All Might following close behind, leaping from building to building. He made sure that you safely boarded the train before going off to do hero work. After all, even though it tore him up, he couldn’t watch you all day, he was still a hero.

By the end of the day, All Might was exhausted but he still rushed to get to your window to watch you come home. 7:30, on the dot. He sat, staring at your front door. It didn’t open. He felt a pit form in his stomach. “Maybe they’re running a little late.” He reassured himself, trying to stay calm. He waited five more minutes, still no sign of you. The panic had now settled in, All Might quickly stood and raced to find you. He followed your exact route to the train station, you weren’t there. He scrambled to the small library where you worked and peered through each window, you were nowhere to be found. He quickly made his way to the train station, checking every shop. He had never felt like this before, he had never been this panicked fighting villains or saving others. He reached the alleyway you always cut through and was met with a sickening display.

You were sprawled onto the pavement, covered in bruises and blood. Soft whimpers escaping your lips. A tall lanky figure stared down at you with a led pipe in their hand, your bag in his other. “What the hell is going on here.” All Might boomed, trying to maintain his composure. The figure looked up at All Might with fear and then took off in a sprint, dropping the led pipe but still holding your bag. “Bastard.” All Might growled, chasing after him. It didn’t take long to catch up to the criminal, seeing as All Might was much faster and could cover more ground. He grabbed the thief’s shoulder and pulled him downwards onto the pavement. He landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him. All Might made sure that he was out of your sight, then picked the man up by his head, gripping it tightly. He started to squeeze. The man screamed, clutching All Might’s massive hand trying to pry it off. “You are lower than scum.” All Might snarled as his hold tightened. A crack rang out through the alley. Blood started pooling out of the man's eyes, nose and mouth as All Might continued to squeeze. Another loud crack followed by silence as the criminal's body went limp. Blood and teeth were splattered onto the ground as the man’s corpse hit the pavement. The blonde hero shook drops of blood off his hand then wiped the rest off on the corpse's jacket.

All Might returned to you, your bag in hand. “Are you alright?” He asked softly. You slowly shook your head, unable to get any words out. “Please, let me take you back to my home, I can patch you up and keep you safe.” He gently wiped your tears from your cheeks as you nodded. He smiled and picked you up bridal style. “You don’t have to tell me what happened yet, we can wait until you’re all fixed.” You nodded again, clutching his chest. Once the two of you reached his house was when you managed to speak up. “Thank you, All Might.” You said in an almost whisper. The hero’s stomach fluttered, you were so damn cute! “Of course, anything to keep you safe.”

He walked you through his massive mansion, up the stairs and into his bedroom. He set you down gently onto his large bed. The sheets against your bruised skin was like heaven, you’ve never laid on anything softer. “Wait here while I get my medical supplies and something to drink, I shouldn’t be long.” All Might said as he exited the room. You laid in silence, still trying to process everything that had happened. You were mugged, some creep attacked you with a led pipe and took your bag. Good thing All Might showed up when he did, if he was even second later you could have been killed. The thought made you shudder. You looked around his large bedroom which was surprisingly empty. Nothing except a bed, dresser and a TV mounted on the wall. You were still trying to process the fact that you were inside the number one hero’s home. Does he give treatment like this to all civilians he finds injured? Your thoughts were interrupted by All Might entering the room holding a tray with painkillers, bandages, tissues and a tall glass of water. He set the tray down and grabbed the tissues. He lightly brushed the soft paper against the semi dried blood that gushed out of your nose earlier. “Is it broken?” You asked. “No, but pretty close. You’re lucky I showed up.” He said. He sounded stern and a little bit angry. “Here, take these. I’m sure those bruises are hurting.” He said handing you three small pills and a cup of water. Without hesitation you swallowed the pills with a big sip of water. All Might continued to work in silence as he bandaged your hand, suspecting it to be sprained, and cleaning out the scrapes that covered your hands and knees. As he worked you started to feel dizzy. All Might noticed as your wrist went limp in his hand. “Feeling sleepy, y/n?” He asked. “H-how do you know my name.” Your speech was slurred as your body relaxed into his bed. He brought his hand up to your face and caressed your cheek. “Y/n, sweetheart. That’s not important right now. You should rest. I’ll finish patching you up.” Suddenly all the worry you just felt went away as you drifted off. “You’ll be safe here, y/n. Safe with me.” All Might whispered as he gently kissed your forehead. “I’ll be back in about an hour, my dear.” He stood and planted a kiss on your limp hand. He picked up your bag and fished out your keys. He sighed and shrunk down to his small form, leaving his house and catching a taxi.

The blonde hero stood outside your apartment fiddling with your keys, trying to find the one that fit into the keyhole. “Bingo.” He muttered with a smile as a silver key slid in perfectly, unlocking your door. He stepped into the darkened room and inhaled. He couldn’t believe it, he was in your house! It smelled just like you. He rushed to your bedroom excitedly. He stepped inside and grinned. The whole room just screamed “you”. Even your bedsheets reflected you. All Might grabbed a suitcase laying on the floor and began to pack things for you, inspecting every single one. He smelled every shirt and sweater. After a few minutes he closed the suitcase and was about to head to the bathroom to pack more but then he noticed something on the top shelf of your closet. It took no effort for him to grab it, seeing as he was still massive, even in his small form. A small All Might plushie, a soft shade of pink dusted his face as he held the stuffed toy. You were his fan. He toyed with it before gently placing it in the suitcase. He then made his way to the bathroom grabbing your toothbrush and toothpaste placing them in a plastic bag and then inside the suitcase. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. 9:01. “Shit! They’ll be waking up soon!” He rushed out of your front door, quickly locking it behind him. Once he reached the street he changed back into his muscle form to get to you quicker.

You slowly opened your eyes. You were still in All Might’s house. Why would he keep you here for so long? Footsteps quickly approached the bedroom. You groaned and sat up, still groggy. All Might burst through the door. “Ah you’re up! How did you sleep? Feel better?” He questioned as he rushed to get by your side. “I slept well, and I’m feeling a lot better, thank you.” You smiled. “I should probably start heading home soon though. It’s really late already and I have to work tomorrow.” You swung your legs off the side of the bed and tried to stand. All Might jumped in front, knocking you back onto the bed. “I can’t let you do that, y/n.” You stared up at him, wide-eyed. A pit formed in your stomach. “What the hell do you mean?” You shouted, instantly regretting when you did. “I can’t let you leave. It’s way too dangerous for you out there. I’m the only one who can keep you safe.” You tried to stand again only causing All Might to push you back down. “Please listen to me y/n. I’m doing this to protect you!” You were too scared to move anymore. “Wh-MPH!” All Might pressed his thumb over your lips, shutting you up. “The only place that you’ll be safe is here, with me.” Tears stung the corners of your eyes. He pulled his thumb away, letting you speak. “You’re scaring me.” You whispered. All Might’s face fell. He was scaring you? “Darling, I’m so sorry. I just want to keep you safe! Isn’t that what you want? To be safe? To be with me? I planned everything out! Here, I’ll show you!” He ran out of the bedroom only to return with your suitcase in hand. “I packed all your clothes and I even brought your All Might plush!” He held up the small toy, smiling wide. You started sobbing. “I want to go home. Please just take me home.” You choked. “Darling. I don’t think you’re in the right headspace right now. You’re still a bit woozy from the sleeping pills. You can’t possibly be thinking straight right now. How about you sleep on it again and then we’ll discuss this again in the morning?” He picked your legs up and placed them back on the bed, pulling the soft sheets over top. You were frozen with fear. He kidnapped you. He drugged you. “You’re a monster.” You whispered as he placed a kiss on your forehead. “It might seem that way right now darling but, in time, you’ll see that I’m doing all this for you. We’ll speak more about this tomorrow.” He smiled and left the bedroom, locking you inside. He had you now. And he would never let you go.

(This was so fun !!! Feel free to request as much as you like while they’re open !!)

[thebookreader12345]

Memory Lane

Pairing: Adam Ruzek x reader

Summary: Y/N gets severely injured on the job, and throughout her time in and out of consciousness, she recalls the memories that she's shared with Adam throughout the years

Requested: No

Warnings: slight swearing, mentions of getting shot

Word Count: 1,718 Words

One minute, I was fine. The next, I was on the ground, clutching at my shirt which was stained dark red with blood. It wasn't supposed to go down like this. It was a simple exchange, money for drugs, but everything went sideways when a patrol car intercepted the meeting. That was especially bad news for Adam and I seeing as neither of us had on bullet proof vests.

"Y/N!" Adam shouted and hooked his arms under my armpits before dragging me behind our car. Gunfire echoed around us, but the only thing I was trying to focus on was Adam. "5021 Ida. I need an ambo to the south block of Union. We're in the abandoned lot near the factories. My partner's been shot."

"Copy that 5021 Ida. An ambulance is 3 minutes out," the dispatcher replied.

"Adam," I murmur.

"No, Y/N, don't talk," Adam ordered and pressed his hands onto my wound, which caused me to wince. "Save your strength. Everything's gonna be okay."

"I've been shot in the stomach and I'm lying in a pool of blood," I whisper and clutch Adam's arm. "It's not cool to lie to me when I'm dying."

"Hey, you are not going to die on me. Not here, not now, now ever," Adam said. I nodded as my vision started to blur slightly, and I began to lose my strength. My grip on Adam's forearm loosened and my hand fell slack to the side, hitting the rocky gravel pavement. I could feel my conscious fading away, and it took everything in my power to keep my eyes the slightest bit open. Adam noticed my sudden silence, and when he realized that my eyes were staring to close, his face was flooded with worry. "Keep your eyes open, darling. The ambulance is almost here. You can do it."

I wanted to be strong for Adam, but it was getting hard to stay awake. My brain was begging me to close my eyes and get some rest, and I fought the urge to lose consciousness for as long as I could, but that didn't last forever. I felt my eyes flutter shut, the last thing I saw being Adam's distressed face. It was weird though, being unconscious. Everything was black, and there was no light in sight. That's when the black disappeared though, and suddenly, I was reliving the time Adam and I first met.

Flashback

"Here are the papers you requested Trudy. All 26 of them," I declare and place the stack of papers on the front desk.

"I'm impressed," Trudy confessed. "I didn't think you'd get it done in time."

"Hey, we may be short in the bullpen, but that doesn't mean I can't get my own work done quickly," I say.

"Speaking of being short on people, Al's brining in the new recruit now," Trudy spoke and nodded behind me. I turned around just as Al bounded up the front steps with our new rookie trailing a few steps behind him.

"Hey, Al," I greet my co-worker. "Who's this?"

"Y/N, this is Adam Ruzek. He's going to be our newest team member. And Adam, this is Y/N L/N," Al introduced. "She's one of the members of Intelligence."

"It's nice to meet you," Adam admitted.

"Yeah. You too," I reply.

"So, are you gonna be my partner?" Adam questioned.

I laughed softly. "Sorry, but I'm partnered up with Antonio. You're stuck with Al."

"Oh. Al was telling me about you on the ride over so I just figured..." Adam trailed off, a slight blush rising to his cheeks.

"He's cute. I like him," I tell Al.

Al chuckled. "I figured you would."

"Well, Adam, it was nice meeting you, but I've gotta get back upstairs and finish some more paperwork. Al, would you mind buzzing me up? My print hasn't been working lately," I explain.

"Sure. Ruzek, I need you to stay here and fill out some paperwork with Sergeant Platt. She can let you up when you're done," Al said.

"Got it. Again, it was nice meeting you, Y/N," Adam voiced.

Flashback Ends

When I slightly regained consciousness, my eyes cracked open the tiniest bit, just enough for me to know that I was in an ambulance. I could hear the sirens echoing on the street outside and feel the bounce of the wheels as they drove on the concrete road. I could also feel Adam squeezing my hand as a paramedic tended to my wound. But all of that disappeared in a matter of seconds as I slipped away for the second time that afternoon. This time, I was brought back to our first kiss.

Flashback

"No way! That never happened," I object and laugh.

"Yes it did. I swear. My dad walked in on me and my girlfriend at the time making out," Adam claimed.

"That must've been so embarrassing. I would've hid from my parents for a month if that happened to me," I say.

"Yeah, well, I was a teenager, and they provided me food and shelter, so I couldn't exactly avoid them," Adam joked.

"Well, this is me," I murmur and gesture to the apartment building a few yards up. Adam nodded and pulled to the curb, parking his car to let me out. Just before I could exit the car, Adam stopped me.

"Let me walk you up," Adam spoke and climbed out of the car. I shook my head, a small smile playing on my lips, and exited the car. I slung my purse over my shoulder and joined Adam on the sidewalk, and together, the two of us walked up the stairs of my apartment complex and stopped at the front door.

"I had fun tonight," I confess and turn to face Adam. "We should do this again sometime."

Adam nodded. "Definitely. But uh, before I go, there's one more thing I have to do." And with that, Adam leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. I smiled against his lips and moved my hands up to cup his cheeks, which caused him to wrap his arms around my waist and pull me closer. I could taste the faintest bit of beer on his lips, and it went surprisingly well with the wine flavor that was still occupying my tongue. The kiss only lasted for a few seconds, and I was a bit upset when we pulled away from each other. "I couldn't leave without giving you a goodnight kiss," Adam admitted. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Night, Adam," I reply.

Flashback Ends

This time, when I came to, I was being wheeled into the ER at Chicago Med. I had an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth to help me breathe, but that didn't help much with my labored breathing. Through my squinted eyes, I could make out a few people hovering above me, but I couldn't seem to hear what they were saying. Along with Adam and the paramedics, I saw Dr. Rhodes, who was wheeling my stretcher in the direction of the elevators. I didn't stay conscious for long, and when I drifted off, I was seeing another memory.

Flashback

"Y/N, can we just talk? Please," Adam pleaded. I ignored his pleas from where I was seated on the floor against the bathroom door, and leaned my head back against the wood. Tears fell from my eyes and slid down my cheeks, but I didn't even bother wiping them away. "Y/N? Come on. Let me in."

"I don't want to talk to you right now," I murmur.

"Y/N I..." Adam trailed off for a few seconds. "I'm sorry, okay? I know that it was reckless of me to jump in front of that bullet but-"

"You could've been killed, Adam," I interject.

"But I wasn't," Adam countered. "And I'm not even hurt. The vest stopped the bullet. I'm okay."

"I get that, but what if you weren't?" I propose. "What if the vest didn't protect you? What if you had been seriously hurt? I can't live without you, Adam."

Adam sighed from where he was standing on the other side of the door. "You will never have to live without me. I'm never gonna leave you, Y/N. I love you so much."

My breath got caught in my throat at Adam's words. We had never said 'I love you' to each other before. I sniffled and stood up, using the back of my hand to wipe away the tears that had remained on my cheeks, and then I opened the door. Adam was standing a few feet away from the door, and he looked up when I exited the bathroom. I took a few steps forward and hugged him tightly, burying my face into his shoulder.

"I love you too," I breathe out.

Flashback End

My eyes opened slowly, and I cringed at the brightness of the room, closing my eyes again. After a few seconds, I opened my eyes again, blinking a few times to get used to the light. A small groan slipped past my lips as I tried to move to a more comfortable position, and that alerted Adam, who was sleeping in a chair next to my bed, that I was awake. He rubbed his eyes and sat up straighter, his hand automatically gravitating to mine.

"Hey," Adam muttered, his voice laced with sleepiness. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, I hurt everywhere," I reply. "But I think I'll be okay."

"You uh, you had me worried for a bit," Adam confessed and squeezed my hand softly.

"Don't worry. I don't plan on going anywhere any time soon," I admit. "But I do plan on taking every measure to make sure I don't get shot ever again. It hurts like hell."

Adam chuckled. "I will do everything in my power to keep you out of harm's way."

"You know what else you can do? Get me a cup of Jell-O from the cafeteria," I tell him.

"Deal," Adam said and stood up. "But I'm also gonna grab Dr. Rhodes on my way back so that he can check up on you."

"You're the best boyfriend ever," I exclaim. "I love you."

"I love you too," Adam responded and leaned down to peck my lips.

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

Tag List:

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[joannasteez]

𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: EZ Reyes x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Mature Themes.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.7k

Credits to who made the gif @angelreyesgirl

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @my-rosegold-soul @appropriate-writers-name @est1887 @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @brownsugarcoffy @elektriknachosss @queenbeered

Let me know if you’d like a tag!!!

✞

Your annoyance was simmering, daring to merge into the depths of some irreversible state of agitation. The engine of the classic Dodge Charger RT in your possession had, with incredibly poor timing, began to knock. The unsavory noise resonating into the thick air of the street, stilled heat of the day pushing back the regular ebb and flow of the Santo Padre streets to make way for the obnoxious sound of your engine. Your head was spinning, dazed by the bitter humidity and a steady brew of fear trembling in your fingers to dance just under the surface of your skin. The classic car was given by your father, who'd gotten it from his father, the mass of glistening matte black metal of significant value. If the engine failed, you'd be reduced to tears, wading in the dread of some existential crisis.

Your grandfather had had this car for twenty years, the imprint of his essence etched into the leather seats, and when he became grey and withered, he relinquished it to your father for another fifteen years, till finally, it was yours.

You pulled over just as the last knock sounded, the tremble in your fingers worsening. Your eyes welled, sure to leave a soft red glassiness. The need for air consumed you, the space to walk freely about, a puff of smoke or two maybe.

The pavement was hard under your feet, slam of the door accented by vexation. You picked behind your ear, that nicely rolled spliff safely kept and waiting to be lit. The lighter in your front pocket an easy grab, the flicker of orange a short friendly blaze as it singed the paper. The pull you took was slow, measured, as if to savor this minuscule moment of stillness that lived among others not so still. Not so peaceful. With release, you blew into the air, dried eyes taking in the vast blue of the sky. The never ending expansion blurring your vision as your mind sifted through slim courses of action. If you could just get the car to your garage, then you could figure the battery out on your own, saving time you didn’t have on a mechanics trips you couldn’t afford. All you needed was a—

"Need a boost?"

"Yes". The answer was so quick, it nearly gave you whiplash. The tension in your bones dissipating as you got rid of the sizzling flame around your spliff.

The stranger spun his car from its position just beside yours, the hood of it now facing yours head on before he turned it off and got out.

"Thanks so much for this".

"No problem. It's a nice ride you got, don't really see too many classics rolling around Santo Padre much", he said, eyeing the shine of the paint job. His fingers skimming the hood before he lifted it. "Where'd you get it?"

You step closer to him, a grin stretching your lips at his admiration. The RT was your pride and joy, the height of your ego bursting through to rise above some invisible ceiling whenever folks gave it compliments and stares of approval. "My dad had it for a while, gave it to me when he couldn't keep up with it anymore".

With a nod, he retrieved the cables from his trunk, the wide stretch of his back shifting just under the white fabric of his t-shirt to reveal the curve and ripple of muscles. They traveled down his arms, the bulge of them mixing with defined veins that ran across thick powerful looking fingers. He stretched one of those hands out toward you.

"Ezekiel Reyes".

You considered his hand for a moment, slipping it into your own as your eyes racked him with all the subtlety you could muster. It mustn't have been enough because that innocent friendly smile he gave you had turned into something more knowing. He knew you were checking him out but he didn't mind much. "Y/N".

His thumb skimmed the back of your hand just before letting go, turning his attention to attaching the cables to both cars properly. You minded his movements with the cables closely, triple checking the order in which he connected them with a hawks eye, a concentrated intensity that your dear old Charger RT deserved. Abruptly then, like the quickness of a blink or some single strike of lightning, a thought came to you. "Wait, not Reyes as in Carniceria Reyes?"

"Yeah it's my pops shop",

"Felipe's a real sweet guy. It's not everyday you can look through a deep book collection while the butcher cuts up your dinner". You paused, giving the beauty of his face another glance. "He should've warned me though, never told me both his sons were so handsome".

"You met Angel", he stated, a low dip in his tone. Was it disappointment?

"A couple of weeks ago. He was passing through when I stopped by to pick up somethings. He's a real charmer your brother, but I wouldn't worry. I don't think he's messed up your chances just yet", you flirted.

The assurance produced from him a toothy grin. "I'm not worried".

Silence took ahold of you then, anticipation of the moment charging the pressure in your chest to fall straight to your gut. ‘Please work' you whispered while swinging the door wide to slide into the warm leather of the drivers seat. With the key in the ignition, you twisted your wrist forward, a huff of relief puffing from your chest when the engine roars to life. You close the door quick, that relief bubbling under your skin, your head sticking out the window.

"Thanks again Reyes".

He stepped to the window, those warm endearing eyes taking in the summer glow of your face. His tongue slipped just over the plump flesh of his bottom lip. It was a rosy color, the curving dip of it enticing. He liked the way you said his last name.

"It's no problem".

You put your RT in reverse, backing away from his broad body. "See you around?"

"Maybe", he called.

You speed off, the rev of the engine blending into the ebb and flow of the town once again. Existence dipping into the horizon.

✞✞✞✞✞

You'd saw him again at some hole in the wall you frequented at. The smooth slow tempo of some classic 70s song strumming through the stereo to seep into your ears richly like fresh honey. The atmosphere was subdued, the short clinks of beer bottles and incomprehensible murmurs of frivolous conversations sating the air. It was the perfect place to think, to allow your mind to wander directionless through the never ending abyss of happenings and circumstances that had presented themselves down through the week. You made idle chitchat with the bartender about a laundry list of things of no particular significance, small smiles and light chuckles ringing from you both every now and then.

The night was going good, till you felt a creeping touch just at the low end of your back.

"Let me buy you a drink". The voice was rusted, withered by too much tobacco.

You held up the beer in your hand. "I've got already, I'm good".

This guy was tipsy, blood red creeping into his eyes, body swaying just the slightest bit. "Don't be like that, let me buy you another".

"I said I'm good", you asserted. The coolness of the bottle creating a tingling sensation in your hand. You'd crack it over his head if he touched you again.

"Sorry I'm late, everything alright?", another voice asked, but this one you knew. That deeply textured tone wrapping sweetly around your senses. You tore your irritated gaze set on the almost-drunk guy, softening it as you took Ezekiel in. He looked slightly different, refreshed it seemed, or maybe it was just his barbered hair. A Mayans kutte rested over him, comfortable like a second layer of skin, the black leather accentuating the swell of his muscles. You'd have to figure out later why your eyes diverted to them so often, they were becoming a hindrance to your thinking.

"Everything's good now", you played. Giving him a light peck to the cheek to sell the story. His arm wrapped around you in what appeared to be some reflexive reaction, all natural like he'd done it countless times before. When he realized Ezekiel wasn't leaving, the guy swayed away in true tipsy fashion. Mumbling incoherent things with a griped attitude. Ezekiel took his chair, the proximity of it in regards to yours making the point of his knee knock and slide the smooth plain of your jeans. You watched him take a glance over the bar before he called for a beer.

"Thanks for that".

"No problem", the corner of his lip turning up. "Seems like you've been needing my help a lot lately".

"Don't flatter yourself Reyes, this is just a coincidence".

"Any reason why you're at a bar alone?"

Your face screwed up in a show of confusion, but you could guess quickly the reason for the question. "Any reason why you're at a bar alone?"

He sipped at his beer. "Outside gets loud sometimes y'know, hectic. It's quiet in here. Good place to think".

"Exactly".

"A little unsafe for you though no?" And there it was.

"Everywhere's unsafe for me Ezekiel, I'm a woman. I mean I couldn't guarantee safety in my own home if I wanted to, but that's just how the world works". You paused, mischief rising in your face. "Don't worry though, I've got a little surprise for anyone who wants to test their luck".

"Oh really".

"Yeah, you men are dangerous out here. I gotta be prepared always".

His brows furrowed. "That's a bit of a big generalization to make".

"But if it's true it's true. Name one thing a man doesn't get dangerous about. Doesn't even have to be rejection", you say, turning to fully face him.

He considers the question for a moment, staring into the color of your eyes as if he'd find the answer in them. "Love".

"A man who loves, whose in love, would do any and everything, no matter how mad the shit is. He'd risk lives, his life even. If that's not dangerous then I don't know what is".

A speck of something lit in the hazel of his eyes. As if your words had brought to the present some memory buried deep within the grave of his soul. What you said hit rather close, closer than expected. "Who is she?"

"Doesn't matter, it's in the past".

"Humor me".

His jaw ticked before he spoke. "Her names Emily, but that shits all just history now. Doesn't matter". He turned the focus from himself. "What about you. Whose going all reckless about you".

"Who says he exist"

"You just did, I never specified who in particular".

So much for playing dumb. "His name is Jason".

"Sounds like an asshole".

You snort, the teasing of a headache coming as you thought on the insufferable man that was Jason. "He is. He's got that weird alpha male thing about him. Has to be in control of everything, doesn't know when to leave well enough alone".

The muted energy of the bar rose between the two of you, each taking quiet sips of your beer. You took notice of the way he surveyed the room from where he sat. That golden gaze sifting through the space and over bodies with quick ease. He was assessing, the gears in his head turning, calculating and considering every and all the possibilities of danger. It reminded you of someone.

"How long were you in for?", you ask.

"How'd you know?"

"You've been on the defensive since you sat down, lookin’ everywhere like someone's gonna up and shank you for no reason. My cousin was the same way when he got out, always looking over his shoulder". You shrugged. "Grew out of it eventually.

His eyes were a bit sullen, as if the truth would scare you. "Eight years".

"He was in for fifteen, and that prison shit is unbelievable, I mean the stories he's told me are crazy". You laugh suddenly at a memory, the resonance of it making him smile in admiration of the sound. "He did this thing for a while when he got home where he'd only have one knife, one fork and one spoon in his kitchen and I swear it was the funniest shit".

The smile falters, his body shifting awkwardly in the bar stool, embarrassed. 

"Oh my God Reyes don't tell me you've been doing the same thing".

"In my defense I live alone".

"But what if you have a special guest over, you'd be a sorry ass host", you tease.

"If you wanted to have dinner with me then just say that".

You force away the heat daring to rise in your cheeks. "We have to take a trip to home goods before I even consider a dinner with you”.

You both give hearty laughs, till the vibration in your pocket pulls your focus. With a quick slip of your phone, you realize how fast time had gone on. “Shit I gotta go, but it was real nice seeing you again Ezekiel".

"It was good seeing you too".

You press your hand against his patch, laying a sweet lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Make it home in one piece for me yeah".

"I have to. You might need me again".

"I'm counting on it".

✞✞✞✞✞

You were a joke it seemed, the universe and fate in a gaming mood, as they were using you as a source for their own amusement. Commissioning their faithful associate to do the heavy lifting of masking their scents. The two of you were at the right place, at the right time again, what a damn coincidence. Before the present week, you'd never even seen Ezekiel's face, just learning of his existence a week or so before that, and now you'd seen him twice in a matter of days. This night being the third.

He was surrounded by men who donned the same kutte as him, curious eyes swimming through the sea of bodies as they did in every other setting, till they met yours. He came to you without a second thought, eyeing the tight leather of your pants and how they clung to your thighs. The cropped cut of your vintage top revealing skin he longed to touch. Since the first time he saw you his mind raced with thoughts of your voice, visions of your lips touching his skin again, plaguing his body with the desire to have you.

You stepped away from your group of friends, meeting him half way. "You're just stalking me at this point. Not that I mind".

He clutched the openings of his kutte, that signature grin lighting his face, even with the casting over of the nights darkness. "Something told me I'd see you again. How's your RT?"

"Good, resting in my garage. I've been kinda scary about replacing the battery".

"Why?"

"I'm good with cars don't get me wrong, but something about fucking it up just makes me sick. It's a lot of history behind that car. I don't wanna destroy it".

"Understandable", he nodded. Noting the caution behind your words, the way you spoke with such passion and care about the thing you loved. It was endearing.

The heavy crunch of gravel and sand tore through the beginnings of some silent stare, an undeniable enticement brewing. It was Angel.

"I see you met this asshole already", the older Reyes said.

"I'm not an asshole Angel, just 'cause I turned you down".

He sent a smirk your way. "You didn't turn me down, we made a mutual decision that you couldn't handle me remember?"

"Right. That's exactly how it went".

A call sounded through the dewy air of the night, signifying the start of a race. You started toward a cherry red car.

"That's me", you said. In regards to the call.

Ezekiel was confused, intrigued. "You racing?"

"Yeah, the mustang", you called, strutting over to your 1970's Mustang, adding the slightest dip to your hips. Giving the brothers something to admire, before dropping low into the leather seats.

With a quick twist, the mustang roared to life, the rumble tearing through the air, growling like a fierce rolling thunder through hazy storm clouds. Another car pulled up on your right, the blue electric color of it dazzling, clashing against the fine cherry red of your own to deliver a sweet contrast for the eyes that watched on in excitement. A woman, with a dangled bandana in her hand, set herself between your car and the other, whistles of admiration thrown her way as she gave the summer evening crowd an alluring smile. At the point of her finger you revved your engine, adrenaline pumping through your veins, rushing from your chest to pulse under your skin. The leather feel of the steering wheel was smooth, the grip you held to it steady. With the downward pull of her hands she set both cars to race and you pulled your mustang swift into the night.

The road before you was a muddled darkness, the outward spreading glow of your headlights stabbing it and tearing it apart as your wheels took a glide against the smooth road. At the mark line, you shifted your car into reverse, whipping left, back into drive, soaring back down the road to where the crowd watched and waited. Their rigid bodies of anticipation lit by your headlights, bellowing screams waning under the busting sound of your revving engine. Your mustang tore through the finishing mark, the tingle of victory surging through you.

Pulling back up to the crowd, you rolled your window down, a slim roll of hundreds placed in your hand by the guy who’d set the race up. You showed up to win and now you were done.

Ezekiel and Angel were a little ways away from your car, your voice carrying over to them. "A little party at my place. You and your guys are cool to come".

They both nodded, heading to their bikes when Angel answered after you. "We'll follow you".

Ezekiel swung his leg, resting on the seat of his bike as he buckled the helmet over his head, his fingers gripping the ape hangers, feeling the vibration of the engine as he followed the sleek vibrant red of your car. The afternoon he met you, he'd been turmoiled, plagued with the natural uncertainties that came with being a member of the MC. That new patch stitched into the upper corner of his kutte had bought a sense of pride and belonging he hadn't felt in forever, it gave him drive, fueled his determination, but as the saying goes, all that glitters is not good. Expectation deceived him, the reality of all things made clear. And that reality was shoveling makeshift graves for men whose names he couldn't even remember, but he remembered yours. Committed himself to it like the loving kiss he gave to the jar that held the remnants of his mother every time he stepped a foot into his fathers house.

He found you flustered, out of yourself with anxiety in the dimming light of the afternoon, and then at the bar, body rigid, eyes wired and ready to do your worst to a guy who could barely keep his posture straight, and now he was following behind you, backing his bike toward the sidewalk that laid just in front your home.

Upon entry, the knock of the speakers bled a thumping bass that pulsated through the floors. Your home had seemed to expand with every new corner that came into view, the walls pushing back to make room for the swell and scatter of bodies. Sweet smells mixed with more pungent ones, the hazy aroma of weed slipping past him as he walked further into the house. A hand placed itself at his side. It was you.

"Can I get you a drink? A beer or something".

"Yeah a beer is cool".

You intertwined your fingers with his, leading him to the kitchen where the sound settled some. Beer bottles clinked, the air releasing as you opened them, handing one over to him.

He gave a quiet "thanks" before sipping, eyeing the way your lips wrapped around the top of the bottle to taste the liquid. They looked soft, full and alluring. He redirected his gaze before the temptation overtook him to do something impulsive that had the prospect of unnerving you. His eyes flitted to the side of your face, an illustration about two inches or so etched into your skin. He hadn't noticed it till now.

You could feel him staring as you tasted the beer, the heat of it tingling your skin. "It's a dagger".

He reached forward, thumb skimming over the finely crafted design, it was a professionals work. With the simple touch of his thumb, your nerves were riling, heat rushing to pulse under your skin, he could feel it. It drew him closer, lured him in. "Did it hurt?".

"Like hell, but when you've felt more painful shit, tattoos like this don't really compare". You lifted the hem of your top some, bringing his fingers to feel the raised skin there. Four inches or so worth of a healed gash rested under his considerate touch. "Got it when I spent a year and a half inside. Grand theft", you admitted.

The reasoning behind telling him wasn't sound in the slightest bit, but what was reasoning when Ezekiel had awakened such dormant feelings inside you. With those beautiful, sunny colored eyes and the warm hand caressing your side, you were liable to tell everything. Truths you hated and dark secrets that laid deep inside your past. You reached up to lay a kiss to those pouty lips, the feel of them mesmeric, dazing. Fulfillment burdened itself onto you, finally you'd got a taste of that rosy pink bottom lip, and now your body was calling for more. Begging for it with such longing that you licked your way through his mouth, his tongue acting in kind. It was slow and all consuming, his body pressing you into the counter to surround you.

"Come with me", your voice airy. Breathless. You lead him to the back of the house. Your room first on the right. A gasp left you when your feet left the floor, body in his arms as he laid you against the fresh feel of the sheets. You kicked your shoes off with ease but the discarding of other pieces left behind a sinking feeling, a pressure forming in your chest to push down straight into your gut. He was glorious, the plains of his skin bound by rich thick tanned muscles and long veins. The dilation of his pupils darkened the air around him, physique imposing. This is what you’d wanted, Why were you feeling so anxious all of a sudden?

"What's wrong?"

Your body had raced miles ahead of your mind and now you were trying to catch up. "I don't know, I just... I feel..."

"Nervous".

"It's sounds so stupid when you say it out loud".

"But it's not, It's natural, and I'll do whatever you want me to do. Whatever makes you feel comfortable baby".

He sounded so sure of it, it made you believe him. You laid against the pillows, beckoning him with the outstretch of your fingers. "C'mere".

He obeyed, body atop yours, your legs wrapping loosely around his waist as your head tilted up to give those lips another kiss. It was messy this time, fueled by desperation, your tongues slow to lick as they tasted each other's. The remnants of beer still there. He took hold of your lip, sharp teeth pulling before he kissed his way down to the heated flesh of your neck. There he sucked, bombarding your skin with pressure causing your hips to grind against the coarse fabric of his jeans. The thin cotton layer of your underwear leaving you to erupt with a fresh wave of need. He feathered kisses down your body, pushing your legs up and apart to open yourself for him. A shudder drove down your spine, that soft wide tongue of his licking so close to where you needed him. He peeled away your underwear leaving you bare before him.

"Talk to me baby. What do you need".

You could hear the pulse of your heart in your ears. "Take care of me Ezekiel, make me feel good".

He hummed, loving the airiness of your voice. So drenched with need for him you were. He was methodical despite the desire boiling in his blood threatening to burn through his skin, so he'd settled with toying with you for now. Giving that sweet glistening clit teasing licks. They were measured, the constraint of them existing solely to wreck you, to kill your resolve completely till you were reduced to in-apprehensible words filled with air. The wide-ness of his tongue felt so good, your nails running over the faded part of his head as your hips drew tight circles.

The teasing, the game of it all. He didn't know but you loved it so much. "That feels so good baby, so good", you praised.

Your words were disembodied, wandering in another plain of existence as they rolled off your lips. Your senses were bursting at the seems, and then reborn again to erupt on impact when he sucked against your sensitive nub, lapping your slick salaciously. As if he'd been starved for years, only just finding you now. The line of your spine arched, waist swiveling, grinding to meet his wet tongue. A low "fuck" fell in the air as your felt the rise of your impending release. With taut, rough fingers he hooked at the back of your knees, pushing them into the sheets. The action opened you completely to him, no choice but to surrender to his will and the feel of his lips as he drew you closer to the edge.

"Please, I'm so close", you whimpered. Vision splotchy, thump in your ears intensifying.

He sucked at you again, holding his lips still as your body shook. Quivering against the sheets. He reverted back to soft licks, tasting as you rode the high.

He rose when you settled, eyeing the heavy rise and fall of your chest as he did away with his jeans. "You Ok?"

It took you time to register the question but when you did, you threw a pillow at him. "You just sucked the soul out of me, don't ask me that damn question".

He laughed, watching your eyes dim in bliss. You hadn't noticed, but he'd done away with his underwear as well, the weight of him causing the bed to dip as he came up to where you laid. His thick fingers rolled you over, setting your face to rest against the pillows as your hips raised in the air to rest against the hot flesh of his length, the veined skin laying along your slit. You moaned in anticipation, pushing back against him.

He gripped your cheeks, spreading them to see the quivering flesh of your opening, the flushed pink shinning in the dim light of the room. His tongue slipped against his bottom lip again, reveling in the taste of you as he pushed in. He groaned, and you gave a single fleeting "yes" , the thickness of him giving a delicious stretch, rigid length hot as he pushed and pulled in and out of your depths in a slow manner. Wanting to test the waters same as he did moments ago before building you back up again. The squeeze of you made his chest tight, head swimming with delirium.

"You feel so good mama, so tight around me", he groaned.

His thrust were dizzying as they picked up to set a steady pace, your hips rolling and pushing to take him deeper. To reach that place in you that would force your vision to blur and be replaced by disfigured stars. You reach to lay a finger at your overstimulated bundle of nerves, rubbing the soft slick flesh with lazy pleasuring circles that spurred the knot in your gut to grow. A single tear fell to dampen the pillow, your depths tightening at how full you felt, at how unrelenting the stimulation of his strokes were.

The sharp drive of his hips made you go rigid, the vice like grip you formed around him causing him to fall into his own high. Pace going all slow sloppy to ride out the blissful feeling.

He pulled from you, both your body and his collapsing against the bed. His face formed with satisfaction, a beautiful buzz running through him. "You know what this means right?"

"What", you asked.

"We’ll have to see each other around more often now".

[supremeinlilac]

Greiving for something not lost

Sally Mckenna x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Canon death, mentions of suicide, grief, slight mention of nsfw activities but it’s literally nothing.

A/n: Here’s the exchange gift for @cissa-calls , and I hope it’s not too dark for you :/ I researched a lot of Greek Mythology because you said you enjoyed it so it’s based around a myth, although as always I got carried away so it ended up only being a small portion. I hope you like it :))

Instead of taking the direct route to the Cortez, you idled down the backstreets of LA, one hand stuffed deeply into your pocket as you scuffed feet against stones on the path. It did little to clear the fog in your brain after yet another argument with Sally, it was always too loud in the city and you seemed to never be able to silence it enough to think.

Sally had promised you, time and time again that the next job would be the last, and you clutch at the hopes that each time she’d be telling the truth. Each time you’d fumble with fingers against the hem of her jacket and beg her to stay, and she’d pry them off and tell you not to follow her.

“The Hotel Cortez is not a place for you babe,” she’d say, and then she’d be gone.

Usually, you’d accept that, and would wait by the window for glimpses of her silhouette along the street when she’d returned. Your heart would thrum in protest against your ribs almost painfully until you’d see her safe again. This time, you’d both cried and fumed. Neither understood the other, neither wanting to admit that they feared what that meant.

Your other hand held a small spray of white anemones, and an apology scribbled on paper. You had to rehearse it before you met with her again, she seemed to be able to sense when you weren’t genuine. You’d wanted flowers of a darker colour, they were more Sally, but had had to settle with that of purity and innocence. Not Sally at all, but you were still too proud and stubborn to stalk around more shops to find the perfect gift for her when you’d both been in the wrong.

The detour meant you’d probably find your girlfriend already high, stumbling aimlessly around rooms with that grin on her face that always made you want to kiss it off her. No doubt that tonight would end as it always did. Possessive and passionate in your shared bed. Sometimes you wouldn’t even reach it. Sorry with Sally was always spoken through sex.

The thought of apologising through kisses and softly idle fingertips had your pace quickening, and the guilt heating up within you. You didn’t like fighting with Sally, and you sure as hell didn’t like what you fought about, but you loved to bribe her back to you this way. But as you turned the corner to the hotel, the guilt in your stomach dropped into that of dread, and a lump formed so quickly in your throat that you felt you would choke on it with what you saw.

Aphrodite had warned Adonis about the dangers, just like you had Sally, and yet, here they both lay. It was as if her body blurred into two with your tears, two lovers, separated by the cruel twist of deaths knife in a hollow chest.

You seemed to be able to do nothing but stagger towards her, vision smoky and you prayed it was a dream. That you may stir in the sheets beside Sally, and she’d reach to still your tremors like the silent hand of a god against the rumble of an earthquake. Be still my love, do not fear what can not hurt you. I’m here, reach for me.

Now, you wished for something as merciful as a dream.

Her face paled to grey as you neared, and the world seemed to fall away. Passers by seemed unaffected as hurried feet carried them home, anxious to block out the city with thick blinds and gentle music. Your despair willowed to nothing, a commotion simply on the other side of the road wasn’t a rarity. The city had seen it all before.

It turns out the Hotel Cortez wasn’t a place for her either.

You felt like throwing yourself to the ground beside her, bare knees scraping against the harsh pavement, yet you’d welcome the pain beside your lover. White noise filled your ears, and only the blaring of car horns could cut through its insistent ringing. You couldn’t even hear yourself crying for help to anyone who might listen.

Her eyes were wide, glassy and pleading, but you saw no life in them. The glass gave way to murky water and it was clear you’d reached her too late. Defeated, you crumpled beside her, flowers forgotten in leu of pressing lips to her temple and whispering the apology as if it may be heard by her soul and it might return to her body. To you.

You wanted to close her eyes with gentle fingertips but feared that if she stopped seeing you then it would be the end. That it would mean she was gone.

A flower sprang where he lay, hours after Adonis’ death, a deep crimson anemone that bore the shade of his blood. Born from the sweet nectar from Aphrodite’s hand, the wildflower bloomed. Beautiful trauma.

The flowers on the ground by your side seemed to wilt, sensing the sour odour of deaths passing, they hung their heads in mourning and shrank into their petals. Heavy with grief. White anemones turned red under the suns dying love, its light bowing behind the buildings so it may pretend to have not bared silent witness to souls divided.

Aphrodite pleaded for her lover’s life in the underworld, so he could be with her once again in life. You would have plead as she did, knelt and sold your soul for Sally to be returned. You would have done as Aphrodite did, if you thought it would help. If you thought that someone could see your pain and render it pure enough to grant the impossible.

In the real world, there are no gracious second chances for such a fickle thing as love.

And now, it seemed that the Hotel Cortez would be her place, tied to her always in death.

You stayed by her side until the coroner arrived to take her away. You couldn’t cry, instead just watched through eyes of steel as the back doors of the van were slammed obnoxiously, ringing in your ears long after it had pulled away and been lost to the traffic. You vaguely registered someone’s hand on your shoulder, a soothing motion, talking as if underwater, muffled and unintelligible. You felt like you were barely clinging to driftwood on an unsettled sea, each swell of a wave bigger than the last.

In shock- you heard someone say. Suicide. That broke your haze.

When you’d got home that night, the silence had screamed at you. It had been too quiet to sleep, and you ached for the way she’d blast music loud enough to warrant the neighbours complaints the next day, so you’d have to bake horrendously in the kitchen cookies as apologies. Or when she’d strum against her guitar and the gentle tones would pull you from your work and into her lap to watch her fingers manipulate the instrument into art.

You craved the shrill laughter of Sally when she’d prank you childishly, how she’d pull you towards her and you’d see how joy creased her face beautifully. You’d always want to make her laugh and brush the pads of curious fingers over the dimples formed and make her shy away.

You’d never hear her song again, you realised, blinking away tears when the guitar propped in the corner caught your eye. Chest heaving painfully, you half wanted to grasp it by the neck and slam it against the ground over and over until anger diffused and you could cry into its shards. The other half, the winning half, wanted to pick it up and set it against you, ghost fingers over its strings so the thrum was barely audible. She’d played this tune, taught you this tune, and you vowed you’d never forget it. Fingers in her shadow, you ran them over the smooth wood, eyes closed and head back on the sofa.

She was everywhere in the apartment, and it only served to remind you that she was also nowhere.

The suffocating hands of her absence pressed against you, a ribbon of blackened ash around your ribs, until they threatened to crack under its pressure. Was it possible to miss how she hurt? Your lover, with her wild hair and glassy eyes, you could see her as she was, you would drunk in how she would move. Dancing slowly in an empty room, as if the world were watching her.

Wild hair was born to writhing snakes, and you feared to look directly into her eyes now. Death had claimed her as its own, and you refused to accept her insistent fate. She’d return. You’d look into her eyes and see that of your lover, and not of Medusa. Lungs of stone, how could they swell to receive the gift of a breath without her beside you?

Now you drowned the guilt, drunk in its depths instead of in her eyes.

Stuck in endless loops of questioning what if. What if you hadn’t taken the detour, what if you hadn’t argued, or if you had made her stay instead of letting her leave the apartment? Would she still be alive?

It wasn’t your fault but oh, how that option seemed so sweet in this moment. To be swarmed with an actual reason to hate, how it would be easier than the reality. You’d rather have yourself to blame than have no one. Responsibility for actions you weren’t even sure of. Questions unanswered by police, that would remain unanswered because the only person with the solution was gone. What had happened?

The pressure seemed to build up in your head, an unbearable thickness of thoughts that had nowhere to go but to force themselves down your throat so you’d choke on them, and the feeling of sickness would resurface. They’d swim in your gut like parasite and never still.

It was worse at night.

Distractions were less and your emotions ran so far above you on blackened clouds, so out of reach that you doubted you’d ever be able to wrestle them back into submission. Would they eternally be dancing in mockery and pulling at marionette strings in your limbs? A shell of your former self, only held up by unpredictable emotions that could burn you with their ice just as much as their fire.

After your first day back at work after the incident, you’d returned home exhausted, wanting nothing more than to collapse into yourself on the sofa and cradle one of her jackets. You forgot the lock the door on your way in, and remembered hours later, after the sun had drooped once more that you needed to lock yourself with your thoughts again for the night.

You reached into your handbag, searching for something that seemed menial now, and instead your fingers curled around her packet of cigarettes. You stopped, hand still in the bag, and your breath caught painfully in your throat.

It had been the first since that night, raw and salty tears that burned your eyes red and blurred your vision. The kind of crying that wore you to nothing within minutes and had you clutching bony fingers to your chest as if to pry open ribs and reach your lungs. You couldn’t breathe.

Everything caught up with you, and you felt as if you were falling alongside her, scrabbling to find purchase against nothing. The rational side of your brain knew that you wouldn’t crash to the ground, but you couldn’t help but be brought back to her side in that moment, a whirlwind of emotions that you couldn’t control, circling your head in a way that made you dizzy with your grief.

Her pale face, mottled with the tears of her death invaded your mind, the blood staining the pavement. Suddenly you felt hot with it, as if the sticky blood was covering you, pulling you to drown. You could smell its invasive metallic scent, almost taste its musk in your throat with every breath. It was thick, and you were clawing at your arms to try and wipe it away. It was everywhere, and then it was nowhere, and you wondered why you’d been tricked by grief in the first place.

Shaking, your fingers had flipped open the packet and picked one out. You didn’t smoke, yet trembling hands found the lighter and lips found the filter which already had a smudge of red on it. Almost as if Sally had gone to light it but changed her mind, discarding it back for later use. She never used it again, now it was you that drew in an unsteady breath, drawing the panel door to the side as you took the rest of the cigarettes onto the small apartment balcony you both shared to smoke them, alone.

There was really only room for one person out there at a time, yet you and Sally would huddle together on the nights when the city would keep you awake, and she’d wrap pale arms around your waist and nuzzle her chin into the crook of your neck. Passing her cigarette back and forth you’d overlook the streets below and watch the living.

You’d both used to wonder what it would be like to lead the lives of those people below, those on their way to work before the sun even surfaced over the horizon and set its path for the day. Working before the pair of you had even been asleep. The banality of their routine, oh, how you both pitied them. They’d work boring jobs to pay the rent for the whitewashed walls they’d come home to each night, eat the same meals at the same time, prepared by wives wearing lines of age, deeply set in valleys on their faces. These people always looked older than their years, tired and worn from work and children born to save a marriage already lost.

You’d used to pity them, yet now, you craved the intimacy of a boring life with someone you loved. You’d rather the predictability of this life than the one you had now. Nothing.

On the balcony, you smoked all the remaining cigarettes in the pack. Usually, you didn’t smoke, but you did, just to feel close to her again. Curling your fingers around the butt the way that she used to, and blowing the smoke out, watching it furl and twist into the cold night. You craved the warm roughness of her hands.

She’d kiss you with the lingering taste of those cigarettes, and you’d grown addicted to it. Still, once you’d finished the packet, you’d found yourself unable to rebuy them.

Slowly, you forgot its essence. You felt like you were forgetting her.

In the news, you waited for them to show a photo of Sally, one detached from everything she’d grown to be, beside a headline of death. The low hum of the city news was background noise to your grief, and you ached for someone to care enough to tell about her passing. For weeks, there was nothing. There was nothing and then there was everything, all at once, and in that moment, you knew that you would’ve preferred the nothing.

They said she’d jumped.

They hadn’t known her, and they said she’d jumped.

How dare they when you’d screamed at them until hoarse that she would never, that she promised she would never? The quick solution, one that wouldn’t raise questions, or demand the precious funds of the very system she’d been cheated by, to fork out for justice. She was an addict, they’d said. Painting the sky above her head an angry black, with clouds that swirled with viscous intent. She was a junkie, and therefore the answer was simple.

Death had been an inevitability with a life like that, habits like that. A person such as that.

You wasted grief on your anger, long nights where you’d clutch the phone to your mottled cheek with whitening knuckles, cursing everyone who’d rendered your love unimportant. You’d fall asleep on hold to police that had no more answers for you, no more pitied excuses and apologies for a loss they knew nothing about.

And it was on one of those long nights, when you sought for comfort that could be not offered by the living, that you reach for the memory of the dead. Running fingers deliberately slowly over the clothes that hung in the wardrobe, fingering through her dresses on the railing before slowly closing the door again, leaning against it and sinking to the floor.

You’d opened all her drawers that night, some for the first time. Spritzed her dresses with her perfume that still stood on the mantle, revitalised Sally in the apartment with her smell. It was as if you were back to then, when she’d return from work, stroppy and tired, yet still reach for her perfume and generously sprayed the air that she’d then dance into.

Picking one of her band shirts out of the drawer, you slipped your shirt off and replaced it with hers. It was soft cotton, the one she’d most frequently sleep in, and it brought you warmth like her hugs used to, arms enclosing you and grounding you in moments of fear.

You slept in it that night. Telling yourself that that would be it and then it would return to the drawer. But one night stretched painfully into three, and you found yourself unable to sever the small mercy you’d given yourself in wearing her clothes, the attachment to her that only you would know when you walked the street. No one else knew the chain you wore were hers, the boots, the dress. No one knew sally because there was no one left to know.

It had been a year since that day.

You’d woken with a headache and turned over in bed, wanting to shelter yourself from the day with blankets, sleep until the moon shone and the day turned into the next. You knew you could do that, but guilt had you pulling on the covers and groaning as the sunlight poured like liquid through the slit in the curtains.

It was going to be a long day. You already felt tired.

Pulling one of Sally’s band shirts over your head, you traipsed sluggishly through the apartment, purposefully ignoring the mess, like she would after a night of drinking. Not that it mattered today. You unhooked Sally’s oversized jacket from the peg and slumped it over your shoulder. Today was the day, you’d decided. You were going to visit her grave.

In the past year, you’d planned to visit her grave on several occasions, but avoided it at the last second. You couldn’t stand the thought of Sally trapped there, tied to the soil when she should be dancing upon it with you.

Sally couldn’t be tied down to a single place, she moved freely, without reign. It was how she liked it, and how you’d learned to love her. Labels had never been her thing. And now she was labelled on stone, with a corny phrase that she’d hate, with a date too early, a life too short. Sally deserved to be free.

She was the wind, unpredictable and changing and wild, she would go where she pleased and return on the breeze. Sally would’ve hated being buried, and yet through the selfish need to have a real place to visit her, she had been. You can’t capture the wind in bare hands, can’t collar it or tame it and make it beg. It controls you and you have no choice but to concede to it.

That was Sally.

Even now, a year later, you found yourself faltering. The gates of the cemetery loomed ahead of you, and your hands bunched at the material of your pants nervously. You could feel it calling, begging almost, for you to simply reach out and push the gate open with a metallic creak of protest. To visit the place you’d always avoided.

But just as you always did, you lost your nerve, sighing and peering down the road for a reason to be drawn away. For a distraction, even just for a moment. An excuse to gather your thoughts just enough to face your lover.

A corner shop caught your eye, with the newspapers in the windows just begging for customers. How convenient. Stuffing hands into pockets, you strode over the road with new purpose.

Dragging yourself down the claustrophobic aisles in the store, you distracted yourself with exited colours on packaging, picking items of shelves and replacing them further down the aisle. You didn’t care for tidiness today.

When a shop attendant asked you if you needed any help, you gave him a sad smile in appreciation and picked up a small bunch of white anemone flowers, her flowers. Last year, they’d been a peace offering, this year, an apology. The employee shuffled along again, and you set your eyes down to the floor.

Flowers in hand, you made your way to the till, placing them delicately onto the counter and fiddling for coins in your coat. You hadn’t planned on buying anything, so neglected to bring your wallet. Luckily, this was a coat you’d not worn since Sally’s death, and she was a fan of keeping loose change in the deep pockets.

“Is that everything for today?” the woman behind the till chirped with the voice of someone with long experience in public services. It cried out in tired falsity, in ‘how long have I left on my shift?’ It was a line well-rehearsed and overused.

Just as you were about to nod in answer, your eyes caught the tobacco cabinet behind the bored check out assistant. “What brand?” She asked pointedly, and you stared dumbly past her. Had Sally ever bought cigarettes from this store? Shaking out the thought from your mind, you answered her, asking for Sally’s brand and quickly paying and leaving.

Outside the shop, you held the package tentatively in your palm, fingering at the packaging as she used to when she was nervous. She’d wrap a tune with her chipped nails against the boxes edge, and you’d coax it from her, and dip her under the moonlight in your arms. Now, holding the cigarettes held no comfort for you, feeling both foreign and familiar, it left you aching for her.

Still, you found yourself unable to visit her grave. It was all too real to see where she lay. You needed something tying Sally to you that wasn’t so physical. You laughed to yourself. How ironic it was, to force her into a grave for something so trivial as to have a place to call her resting place, only to find yourself too weak to face your choice.

Instead, you took a left, and then another, and then a right, and continued until you could no longer smell your own fear in the air with the concept of her grave. Deeper into the city, where the pollution stained white houses grey, you could breathe clearly again. Guilt will consume a person, clog their lungs with it until their breathing is laborious and the weight drags them down into their thoughts.

You’d walked this route before, one year before, with white anemones and an apology in hand. You’d never gotten to tell Sally what you’d wanted, but perhaps you’d take her the flowers, and smoke her cigarettes in the window where she’d fell. You’d tell her what you didn’t get the chance to.

The hotel was just as you remembered it, flickering neon 34w`lights that read ‘Hotel Cortez’, and the eery alleys and parked cars that seemed to be in the same position as the year prior. It was as if time had paused, hotel residents left their cars and had never returned to them.

You weren’t really aware of yourself in that moment, feet leading a silent path as you found yourself stuck in a memory. When you reached the place you found her, your feet faltered, and you couldn’t tear your eyes from the paving.

The pavement was clear, physically untainted, and any normal pedestrian would question your loitering. But although it appeared to be clean, you know because you’ve seen, you’ve remembered. The pain that would still remain, deep in the cracks of the paving stone, no matter how much scrubbing the clean up team undoubtably did after Sally’s body was removed, they couldn’t remove. They couldn’t fade the scarring, or the feeling of death that overcame you when you stared at the place she’d laid.

Someone bumped your shoulder as they passed on the street, muttered remarks about people standing in the middle of the street, and you raised your eyes to watch them walk away. When you looked back at the stone, the connection to it had been lost, and you found yourself unable to re-enter the trance you’d been in.

Pressing through the hotel doors, you left the light of the sun behind, left the living, and joined the death of the dusky lobby. Wondering through its room, you imagined Sally doing the same, with confident strides and a purpose. It was a nice place for downtown LA, you had to admit, but you couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that came with it, of being watched by invisible eyes in the walls. The feeling one gets when you visit a place where death rules over occupants.

You looked up to the next floor, and swore you saw a flash of an animal print coat moving behind the barriers. No. Must’ve been the lighting change from coming inside.

A woman pointed you towards the bar, and you nodded towards her. Did all visitors come for the hotels bar? She seemed to know exactly what you needed, tired eyes searching for something not quite there.

In the bar, you drank and you smoked and spoke with the woman behind the bar who must’ve noticed the void behind your eyes. She didn’t question you, why you were alone, just slid extra drinks across the table with a wink and a smile. You didn’t return it, opting for a grateful grimace instead.

All of a sudden, the smell of Sally’s perfume seemed to melt into your senses, overpowering that of the cigarette, and the liquor, until your head swam with memories linked with its scent. You didn’t remember spraying it this morning, and it confused you. It was so strong, and real. It didn’t seem like your brain was tricking you with its musk, like it so often would with a silhouette against the apartment window.

Suffocated by Sally. You drowned in its poetry.

Searching for its origin, your eyes roamed the bar. It was real, you figured. Turning on the bar stool, your eyes met those that you thought you’d forgotten, and you found they were exactly like you remembered. Sally stood, leant against the wall opposite you, arms folded at her chest yet wearing cheeks stained with tears and widened eyes. You scrambled out of your chair, and the world fell away from you. You didn’t even try and catch it when she was next to you.

You palmed at your eyes, begging yourself to wake up from what must be a dream. Despite knowing she wasn’t real, you ached for your mind to stay in this fantasy so at least you wouldn’t be alone. Removing your hands, you felt yourself lighten. Sally remained still, unmoving yet she was closer that ever. You could reach and brush against her cheek if only your arms would cooperate.

“Y/n?” she breathed, in that choked up voice, and you were falling again.

As if trapped in a dream, you startled awake with the feeling of cool fingers massaging against your scalp. The room was foreign, and it smelled like her. Foreign, yet startingly familiar as if you’d been there before.

Sally was curled into your side, and your breathing laboured again. You didn’t understand how she was here, you- you buried her. Sniffling broke your doubts, and Sally adjusted her head atop your chest. When you wiggled beneath her, her sniffs turned to coos, and her fingers in your hair and clutching your top were soothing at your cheeks.

“I love you, I’m here,” she flustered, worrying her lip between teeth, and you could see the moon in between buildings outside the window. It watched you with bated breath and shone onto her pale skin until her tears seemed to shine. “Say I love you Sally.”

Sitting up against the pillows, you caught her face in your hands, cupping it so she couldn’t move away as you remembered the outlines of her eyes, lips, the curve of her jaw and cheekbones. “I love you,” you found yourself admitting, tears welling in eyes that couldn’t believe what they were witnessing, “are you real?”

“I’m-” Sally started, faltering as if she didn’t quite know the answer either. “I’m here.”

You wanted to apologise anew, whisper the memorised speech that you’d spoken to her that night, but the words seemed to catch in your throat, sharp like the barbs from barbed wire were caught against the delicate skin. Instead, you pulled her in to brush lips against hers, testing slowly if they actually would meet and not melt through what your mind was making up.

They did meet, and you muffled a wail against hers, all the pent-up grief for the woman you were now kissing resurfacing. Fingers clung to her coat, which was still soft beneath your touch, and you pulled her closer to you. She cried, and you cried, and hands met to brush them away.

“I missed you baby.”

You didn’t stop to think about what it meant that she was here. Focusing only on her hands linked firmly in yours, and how she deserved to feel the taut string of a guitar again. You’d bring it to her, and she’d play her song. You’d hear her voice and feel the vibrations of her throat against your lips as she sang.

You’d do it all again.

Time you thought was lost was now frozen, suspended in a single heartbeat. She hadn’t aged a single day, and yet her eyes showed more trouble than you’d ever seen. You couldn’t wait to return and kiss away her worries, reintroduce yourself and love her and be loved like you both deserved. But for now, you were content to simply exist in her presence again.

You wouldn’t take her for granted.

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[wdwmarveldisney]

Monster

Pack x fem!reader and slight Stiles x reader

Summary: Reader loses control of her powers during a panic attack and ends up accidentally barely hurting Stiles. She ends up seeing Stiles and Scott when being chased by the company she had escaped from.

Masterlist

A/N: So the reader has a mix of powers like Eleven and Wanda. I’m a massive Marvel fan and I just finished season one of Stranger Things and was in the mood to right so here you go. I’ll probably write one for marvel too.

Shouting.

Just breathe.

Screaming.

Just breathe. Just breathe. It would be okay, you'd be okay. Your nails dug into your palms piercing the skin but you were numb. You were trapped, as if you sat in the corner of a dark damp room as you curled into a ball and held back tears. It was like someone had thrown you into this dark, terrifying place and twisted the lock shut and no matter how loud you screamed or how hard you banged at the door, nobody came. Your breathing was uneven and your vision was blurring. The small, deep gasps of your breath sounded as if you were about to pass out. Your eyes were filled with such nervousness and almost fear that anybody who made eye contact would surely be greatly concerned for you. But nobody would make eye contact with you because they were too busy arguing. Shouting.

"She's dangerous! You saw what she did to the guy back there! She killed him Stiles!"

You didn't mean to, you didn't mean it. You thought back to everything, training and discipline and the rules, the punishments. The small cupboard where you were trapped whenever you'd mess up, the killing animals, the focusing your powers to stop people's hearts, snap their bones, empty their lungs. You didn't mean to kill him but he knew. He knew everything about how you were raised, what you had done, what you were forced to do. He knew the people you hurt, you killed. He was taunting you, messing with you. It had built up, like it was now, and a switch was flipped. You eyes glowed purple and suddenly his neck had snapped. But you didn't mean to.

"It was protection Scott! He was trying to kill her!"

"Stop it," you whispered, voice shaking but they couldn't hear you. Everything seemed to close in, slowly depriving the room of oxygen. You felt as if the four white walls were dragging themselves forward and surrounding you to the point were your body ached from the pressure of having to squeeze yourself close. You was quick to bury your face between your knees to try and drown out any colour, any shadows, any movement, any shout. "Stop, stop it. Please stop," You sobbed, shaking as you rocked slightly on the couch, the blood from your palms staining the knees of your jeans. You looked up, eyes flickering purple every now and then as they continued to shout.

"She murdered someone!"

"It was self defence!"

"He said she'd killed before, that she kill again! She can't be trusted!" Scott was right. You couldn't be trusted. You were dangerous and out of control and you were a monster. And now you were tearing apart the pack unintentionally. "Stop it, please, stop," You noticed Lydia look to you along with Kira and Liam. They seemed to know just how on edge you were, worry but also hesitance etched on their faces.

"We don't know that, we don't know who that guy was!" Stiles shouted and you shot up, hands faintly glowing the same shade of purple as your eyes. Tear marks stained your cheeks and your whole body shook in fear as the power coursed through your veins. Stiles and Scott still didn't notice, too engrossed in the argument to spare a glance. The rest of the pack, however, noticed. They backed up, trying to subtly get the boys' attention. But that didn't happen, they didn't stop. "Stiles, face the facts-"

"STOP!" You voice was distorted, hair flying back in the blast. A wave of purple mist hit the group, all of them stumbling back and a couple even falling over. Windows smashed, walls cracked, shelves tumbled, belongings falling everywhere. You fell, collapsing to the floor from where you had been floating inches off the ground. You shook slightly, looking round at the scared teenagers as you eyes flickered again. You breathing became uneven once more, a knot tightening and n your chest when you saw the blood dripping from Stiles' nose. With a sharp intake of breath, you fell back against the sofa and stared at your shaking hands in fear. You'd hurt him, how could you do that.

You couldn't be trusted.

You were hurting people.

Murderer. Monster.

"I'm sorry, I didn't- I don't- hurt you, I'm sorry," you stood slowly, watching them flinch in fear as you looked at them all. Stiles seemed to be the only one who wasn't terrified, quickly getting up and carefully walking towards you. "Hey, I'm fine. See," He wiped the blood from his nose only for more to fall. He went to take another step forward but you shook your head, backing away towards the door, "Don't. I didn't- please don't. I'm- monster, I'm sorry," the door had flung open, the purple mist from your hands, and now at the door, fading away as you stumbled out. You managed to get down the steps and onto the pavement when you heard the calls of your name from all of them. Knowing they were following, you spun round with your hands held out. The mist not only surrounded your fingertips but had made a small wall between you and them. One hand stayed aimed towards them whilst you looked around for some kind of car or transport and with a wave of your hand, a bike had flown over to you. Looking back to them, your eyes met Stiles' as you spoke, "Don't,"

Your hand fell as the wall disappeared and you wiped your bleeding nose as you hopped on the bike, starting down the road shakily.

-

Run. You just had to run. Either you run or they get you and you were not going to let them get you. In hindsight, running in the forest barefoot with your ripped and ragged clothes wasn't a good idea. You could feel twigs and thorns pierce your skin but you didn't stop. You cringed every time a leave crunched or a stick snapped but you didn't stop. You could hear their shouts in the distance and with one last quick glance over your shoulder, you saw the flash of a gun and sped up.

Reaching a road, you let the panic settle in as you watched them catch up. About to continue down the road, you heard the blue jeep before you saw it. Scott had opened the passenger door and heard to the back as he called for you, "Get in!" Looking at the guns that were aimed at not only you but the jeep too, you shook your head. Stiles got out of the jeep and began to make his way over to you, Scott just behind him. "Come on, we'll get shot!" Shaking your head again, you watched the soldiers surround you before watching one man step forward ever so slightly, Dr Smith. "Test subject 095, come in and these boys won't get harmed," you glared at him, eyes glowing purple as you got into more of a fighting stance. "Liar,"

He took another step forward, hand by the gun he had at his waist, "Come back peacefully, that's all we ask. I'm going to make you better again, you're sick," You didn't dare look to the boys next to you instead focusing on the approaching van they'd no doubt take you away in. You watched two more soldiers leave it and let the power freely surge through your veins. "Liar!" You screamed, hands moving fast as the soldiers' eyes flashed purple and they aimed their guns to the doctor now. He held his hands up in surrender as you marched forward. "Don't shoot me, I'm the only one who can make you better," With a shaky breath, you leaned forward and being able to see your glowing eyes reflected back to you didn't faze you. "Mercy," you growled, waving your hand to make the soldiers snap out of it and willingly leave. You knew none of them were in control when working for the company, all being forced to work there. You'd have to help at times, keep them under control that is.

The doctor's hand dropped and you waved your hand to cuff his hands. Nose scrunching at the feeling of the fear in your veins, you pushed it down to pick up a gun and press it against the man's back to force him into the van. You watched as he reached for his pocket as pull out the syringe and with a heavy sigh, you dropped the gun and took a couple of steps back, "No," You brought your hands up and watched as you lifted the van, making it fall onto his legs after tripping him up. He screamed as you turned, feeling the blood drip from your nose and ears, coming face to face with a shocked Stiles and Scott. "That was...awesome!"

You smiled sheepishly almost at Stiles' comment, glancing to a grinning Scott. The werewolf's expression fell as he met your eyes, "I'm sorry, I didn't realise and I was wrong. Can we be friends?" You nodded quickly, a grin taking over your face as you rushed over to the jeep, jumping into the back. Both boys climbed in too, watching as you moved your hands over your scratched feet and legs, the skin sewing itself together it seemed. You then reached up to wipe the blood from your nose on your already red stained wrist but Stiles passed you back a tissue with a quick worried smile. Nodding in thanks, you wiped your nose then you wiped the blood from your ears, glancing down to your ruined clothing. The jeep started up and you remained silent as you fiddled with your fingers.

"Sorry," you mumbled slightly and saw both boys look to you. Scott sighed and shook his head, "No, it was our fault," due to a pointed look from Stiles, Scott changed his words which made you smile, "My fault. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions and I'm sorry," you nodded in understanding before leaning forward to speak to Stiles, "I hurt you, sorry," the boy shook his head, sending you a gentle smile. You worried he wasn't going to accept your apology but he chuckled slightly, glancing to you, "I'm fine," he looked to your lips and with a small shrug, lent forward to peck them making you both grin like mad. Clearing your throat, you ignored the blush in your cheeks as you watched him smile widely as he faced the road. "Promise?"

"Promise,"

[ivyyreid]

greek tragedy

description: breakups are hard. but you usually don't completely change who you are and start killing, right?

category: angst

tw: mentions of self harm, eating disorders, breakups, knives, mentions of stab wounds, death, suicide, blood, men, guns, self-loathing, one-sided love.

masterlist

sometimes, i don't know what haunts me more.. the memories of you... or the happy person i used to be.

--

two years and two months ago.

spencer came into the bullpen with a gleam in his eye. a shy kind of happiness. the kind that makes you blush, and makes you embarrassed. the kind that makes people feel like kids again.

vivian came in with the same smile. the same red on her cheeks, the same glint in her eyes.

they both felt like kids again. happy, and in love.

they held hands under the table in the conference room. everyone noticed. and everyone smiled a bit more, knowing that two happy people are now making each other happier.

the night before, vivian and spencer had kissed in the rain under the stars. after an eternity of falling for each other, they finally gave in.

when they came in the next day, vivian's blonde hair seemed a little more golden, her eyes a little more warm. spencer's face seemed softer, and relaxed.

they played in the park, and watched nineties movies, and ate thai on the roof while watching the stars. all with the biggest goofiest smiles on their faces.

because you're nothing if not crazy when you're in love.

two months ago

blonde hair stained brown.

pink lips turned red.

a realtionship gone sour.

they broke up last week. they stood in the rain once again. but this time the rain didn't bring hope, and a new start. this time the rain fell, tainting the blue sky gray.

the girls heart shattered onto the pavement. pieces on the sidewalk, pieces in the grass. pieces being washed away by the rain.

no one knows what they said to each other, how it ended.

all they know is that the cuts on vivian's wrist are fresh, and that the numbers on her scale have rapidly declined.

she came into work on monday, her golden blonde hair painted dark brown, her young pink lips stained blood red. everyone stared, except spencer. she stared at no-one, but spencer.

she was there for a day after the breakup. maybe two. long enough to know that someone else had already brought a gleam into spencer's eyes. that someone else was already making him happy.

no one saw her after that. she left quickly and quietly. one day, her desk was personalized and filled with framed pictures, the next it was empty and bare. you could say that her desk matched her heart.

now, she lies on the floor of her bathroom. head pounding, rivers of red seeping onto the tiled floor.

one month ago.

seven men stabbed twice in the heart, all dead, over the course of two weeks. all left with red carnations.

the bau accepts the invitation to take on the case.

vivian watches the news coverage announcing the bureaus involvement, a smirk dancing on her face as she applies a new coat of lipstick.

one week ago, at the bar.

the bar is full of bodies. bodies against bodies. dancing, sweating, living.

the tall brunette, with the red lipstick and cold eyes slips off her coat, revealing the small black dress underneath. the heartless predator.

a drunk mans eyes follow the woman's every move. analyzing her every curve, watching the way her lips part. he sets down his glass and walks over. the unsuspecting prey.

he makes his way through the crowd, licking his lips as he nears vivian. her blonde hair, now turned brown, and her blood red lips enchant him.

her finger plays with her straw, spinning it around in her drink as she makes eye contact with him. she tilts her head slyly, and smiles a bit. egging him on.

"jonathan," he says, standing over her.

"cleo," she responds, flipping her dark hair over her exposed shoulder. she stands up, hand on his tie, and leans forward to whisper seductively in his ear:

"let's get out of here, jonathan."

three days ago, at the bau.

"we have a new body," hotch announces as he walks into the room. he pins a few pictures to the board. the first, an image of a smiling man. dark brown hair, dark eyes, and a square jaw. the next few are the body. dumped carelessly in an alleyway. two stabs to the heart, and red carnations scattered onto the body.

"woah," emily says, concern lacing her voice. "that makes fourteen bodies now."

"she's devolving," morgan adds. "speeding up the kills. her last kill was only one day ago, she's getting more dangerous. but she's also more likely to slip up."

the team nods to this, each thinking their own separate thoughts. eventually, they will all come to the same conclusion. the same suspect. but they won't share their ideas until it's too late.

the teams profile:

the unsub is female.

she recently suffered heartbreak, and has a newfound prejudice against men.

she changes her appearance each time. wigs, makeup, etc.

she stabs each victim twice in the heart, which must mean something.

she leaves red carnations at each scene, which means "alas for my poor heart, my heart aches," in some cultures.

she is highly intelligent, driven, but also depressed and self-loathing.

she is likely to have self-inflicted wounds, and possibly try and kill herself.

one day ago, vivian's apartment.

vivian stares in the mirror, and the woman in the mirror stares back at her.

a blonde wig is tossed carelessly on the floor, and boxes of colored contacts join it.

these objects are supposed to be able to change who you are on the outside, but to vivian, they're crushing her even more on the inside.

she doesn't recognize the woman in the mirror. the dark straight hair, red lips, and hollow eyes. the woman in the tight dress and heels.

she looks down, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over her face. this isn't the girl that spencer loved. she isn't the girl that spencer loved anymore.

and then she looks back up, and her heart stops. because there she is.

the girl in the mirror has long, wavy blonde hair and sparkling green eyes. her eyes are full of life, not hollow and lifeless. her lips are pink, her cheeks flushed, her face innocent. her sundress hangs perfectly around her frame, and underneath her bright converse her socks mismatch.

the girl that spencer loved. the girl vivian stopped being when spencer stopped loving here.

the image takes vivian's breath away for a second, and a tear slips down her face, but she doesn't stop staring at the reflection, hoping that if she stares hard enough the girl will die and leave vivian alone.

her stare turns into a smirk. smirking at the innocent, dumb, oblivious girl. laughing silently at her.

the girl was oblivious to the heartbreak that awaited her. the emptiness that would creep into her soul.

the girl that was so blindly in love with the man that didn't care for her, even though he acted like he did.

maybe she was still in love with him. just a bit. even after he broke her heart, she still loved him. but she also hated him.

fuck spencer.

a couple of hours ago, bau.

vivian's face is front and center on the tv. her blonde hair, green eyes, and large smile.

the team sits around the table, shocked at the conclusion they came to.

vivian, their ex-coworker who always seemed so perfect and happy, is the unsub? vivian killed fifteen men?

they may want to deny it, but they all know it makes sense.

she broke up with spencer and completely fell apart. she quit her job. spencer says she was angry and sad and completely broken, hence the hate towards men. and the killings started around the time her and spencer broke up. even the number of stabs on each body makes sense. two stabs for two years her and spencer were together.

they're all shocked, but most can still talk, and move, and discuss. spencer is just frozen.

how could vivian have killed someone?

forty-five minutes ago, vivian's apartment.

spencer looks around the apartment, flashlight held and gun drawn.

when he used to come over, the apartment was homey and life like. plants would hang from the ceilings, and would sit on shelves. books were scattered on tables, and the floor to ceiling bookshelf would be disorganized. she used to have pictures of her and the team, and of spencer everywhere. but now it's bare, and empty. if spencer knew any better he would think no one lived there at all.

the team does a quick search, clearing all the rooms before gathering again in the living room.

"she's obviously not here, but she knows that we know it's her. she's been wanting us to know." derek says, and glances at spencer. "spencer, is there anywhere she liked to go, anywhere close?" he asks, and spencer furrows his brow.

"the roof! she liked to watch the sky!" he says suddenly, and hotch nods. the team climbs up the flights of stairs to get to the roof, which at first glance appears to be empty, until spencer notices a woman sitting against the chimney.

"spencer no way, she's armed man," derek says as spencer moves forward, but spencer tells him it's ok. he knows her. she has no intention of hurting him.

vivian stares at him, a tears falling down her face. spencer sits down next to her, eyes widening when he notices the knife in her hands. pointed at her own heart.

"vivian..." he says cautiously, taking in her died hair and red lips, "this isn't you. put the knife down." at this, vivian collapses into a fit of sobs, trailing mascara down her cheeks.

"i'm so sorry spencer," her voice is shaky and she's crying, but she keeps the knife pointed upwards towards her heart.

"please vivian just put the knife down," spencer whispers, his voice cracking a bit.

"i can't spencer, i have to do this," she sobs. "i killed....i killed so many people and i can't stop myself and i still love you but i hate you and you broke my heart but i have to do this spencer."

the boys eyes are sad, because deep down he knows he can't stop her from doing this. but he'll still try,

"please vivian, i-i love you," he pleads, but vivian just shakes her head, and laughs through her tears.

"no you don't spencer," she whispers, smiling a bit. "but it's ok. you will never have to hurt the way you know that i do," she says, and spencer knows whats coming. her grip on the knife tightens, and in a flash she jams it into her heart, gasping a bit as it deepens.

"no!" spencer yells, as she slumps and collapses. blood trickles from her lips, and her tears spill from her eyes. but still, she smiles. because it's finally over.

her final breath isn't sad, it's relieved. because she doesn't have to suffer anymore. the sadness, pain, and anger is finally gone.

spencer is tearless. her death was shocking, sad, but it was truthful. maybe she deserved it, even wanted it, but spencer knew she was going somewhere where she was happier.

happier without him.

as spencer stares at her body, laid out on the concrete, he sees the girl he loved. the blonde hair, sea green eyes, and the innocent face.

innocence, purity.

and all he can think about as she's wheeled into the ambulance, covered by the blanket is who she used to be. who she really is.

the beautiful, happy girl.

maybe one day, in another life she'll find true love.

who knows?

all anyone knows is that the day that her heart poured a red river onto the concrete, she started over. she began anew.

and maybe that was better for everyone.