#drawing a good ribcage and also a hole that looks how i want it to are both quite hard apparently

[wizisbored]

What does nimona look like when she comes back to ballister, since she probably isnt human looking with how she wanted to get back fast.

i have been trying and failing to draw what she looks like for days eventually ill get there but for now a description

(cw body horror)

at first shes just a cloud of pink fog with white eyes shining through, but she pulls herself into her teen human form before shes really ready to so she can greet him. she only manages to properly form her right eye, the other is white and stuck open. a lot of her ribcage is exposed (from the front at least), hollow, with a pulsing white light inside that ballister and ambrosius conclude is just what her heart looks like. she is absolutely delighted to realise that from certain angles she can see her own liver through the hole in her chest. im less certain on her limbs but im thinking her forearms have stripes and banding of raw pink areas and brown fabric kinda melded into her skin (a lot of her clothing is just kinda melting into itself and her), with more pink patches up her left arm. its uncomfortably easy to see how the two bones of ther forearm twist over each other. her legs im still not sure of but i know they're bretty bad, worse than her arms. her skirt only really formed as strips that look more like sinew stretched between her thighs. some pieces of her chainmail are detatched from the rest and just attatched to her body like scales.

despite how fucked up she looks none of it really hurts - the raw pink areas are a problem because they basically didnt form skin but ballister and ambrosius keep them bandaged - shes more just exhausted, weak, and hungry. im considering her maybe feeling something like growing pains from time to time. regenerating after being exploded is not easy, and especially when you probably should have stayed in pink fog form for quite a bit longer.

[cullen-collective]

No AO3 for now. ya girl's on her phone writing fic like a HEATHEN.

Ben's garage was... strange.

His dad had a dimsum and dumpling restaurant that they lived above on Main Street, and half the garage was filled with marketing materials and old steamer baskets. There was a full size cardboard standee of a man dressed as a bao bun who was clearly Ben's dad waving at me from the corner.

"Yeah," Ben said, following my eye line, "he's also dressed as a potsticker and a soup dumpling." He shrugged, nonchalant. "We're the only place in town, it's not like we needed the publicity."

The rest of the space was filled with music equipment: amps, instruments, and cords.

It had been three weeks. I had taken a week to think about joining the band. A week of music immersion therapy. I'd asked my mom to send my bass and amp to Forks. She'd been excited, and I'd tamped it down by telling her to cool her jets, I wasn't going to play stadiums any time soon. By the time I'd messaged Ben, I was feeling the stirrings of the old feeling of bass in my bones, drums in my ribcage.

It helped that Ginger-vitis hadn't been back to school the entire time. Angela and I had started calling him that behind his back. I mean, we'd probably say it to his face, only he'd been too chicken shit to show it around school for almost a month.

Not that I cared. Except to be happy I was rid of him.

"We practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays," Ben continued, striding around to sit at the kit in the back. "And we usually get to play at least once a month in Port Angeles. Rick calls us when they don't have anyone booked." He nodded at my bass, in the case on my back. "The others will be here soon, and then we can see how you fit."

I nodded. I'd been practicing since my bass arrived, and I felt good about my skill level. Angela slipped me Closing Time's set lists, so I knew a few of the songs they might want to hear. Angela told me they got that name because Rick, the owner of the bar in Port Angeles, started calling them that because they would go on any time, even for five minutes at closing.

The garage door rumbled open, slowly revealing Tyler Crowley and Tara Galvaz, each holding a pizza box.

"Sorry," Tyler said, eyeing me up and down, something glinting in his eye that I definitely did not enjoy. "Lauren was working the counter at Cheesy's and she made me answer like a billion questions about homecoming."

Tara, I'd noticed, was stoned out of her mind like 80% of the day. She looked clear-eyed now, staring at her keyboard with an intensity that I thought might set it aflame if she kept it up long enough. I liked her, though. She was in my bio class and I had taken to putting my paper on the edge of the desk so she could copy me. She was smart, never getting them all right and drawing suspicion.

"Hey, Bella," she said, her eyes drifting over from the piano to mine.

"Hey," I said, a small smile growing without my permission across my lips. "Did you guys wanna eat first?"

Tyler shook he is head. "Nah. We'll work up an appetite." He flashed a roguish grin that made my stomach turn. I knew for a fact that he and Lauren Mallory were in the on-again phase of their off-again, on-again relationship.

I could handle Tyler being a jerk though, if it meant I got to play.

I unstrapped the bass and lifted it out of the case, plugging it into one of Ben's amps and tuning quickly.

"I'll count us in," Ben said. "Do you know 'Somewhere I Belong'?"

A hole ripped open in my gut. A hole I'd been trying to close over the last three weeks. I took a deep, shuddering breath.

No more, I had promised myself. He didn't get to take any more from me. He wouldn't take my chance to play. I could do this. So what if this was his favorite? So what if I'd learned to play it because of him? So what if it felt like my chest was caving in on itself?

I could do this.

I nodded.

Ben counted us in, and I did it. I played it perfectly, adding in the flair I'd developed over the months I'd spent playing it while thinking about him. I could swear, it even felt like I could feel him watching me, like I used to on our Skype dates.

"Whoa," Tara said when we were done. "Brainiac can actually play."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not a brainiac, Tara, I just already covered half the stuff we're doing in Bio."

Tyler clapped me on the shoulder. "Whatever you are, you've like, got it." He rolled his shoulders back, shook his sweaty hair off his face and turned to Ben. "Let's do another."

Ben's tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth as he thought. "Can you sing?"

"I mean," I started, apprehension filling my gut, "the bucket carries the tune."

"We learned 'Call Me When You're Sober' last week but Tara can't hit all the notes." He nodded over at Tara, who grimaced. "Do you know it?"

I almost laughed. I had been brutally rejected and lied to for months. Yeah, I knew it.

I nodded.

"Okay, let's go."

The song started, and my mouth opened, and I -

I just sang.

It wasn't perfect, it wasn't Amy Lee, but I did it. I felt it, too. I could feel my frustration and anger and hurt from being abandoned flowing out of me like water.

When we finished, the three of them were staring at me like Tara stared at her keyboard.

"So," Ben said, after several minutes of complete silence, "let's eat. And then let's discuss the set list for the gig at Rick's in two weeks."

do it. write it. do it

Say. Less. 

*

There’s never anyone actually interesting in these chats. 

There’s me, who actually wants to discuss music, the way it feels, the lyrics’ poetic meanings, the way the drums crash like they’re my own heartbeat. And then there’s guys who might want to discuss that, but are probably here for the other occupants of the forum: girls obsessed with band members. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against them, and I fully understand geeking out over Pete Wentz (although I’ve always been more of a Stump girl) or Gerard Way or even Chester Bennington. I just keep having to switch to new forums when it’s clear that no one else wants to talk about the music, but instead have guys who claim to look like Adam Lazarra scam the email addresses and photos off those girls. 

Which brings me here, to another new forum chat, scrolling through older posts about who drums harder: Travis Barker or Mike Kinsella, as the chat scrolls by on the right side of the screen. I was mindlessly scrolling, mentally agreeing or disparaging the opinions of other posters, too scared to comment. This site was pretty neat, and the account I’d had to create to post comments and chat had spaces for a list of my favorites, which I’d happily included. It also had a little bio, which I’d filled in with my name and age, as well as one of my favorite lyrics.

I kept one eye on the chat as it went, keeping up with the current discussion of how best to cut your bangs. I typed up a quick note that the best way to cut your bangs was to see a local hairdresser so you didn’t end up with Buffy season three bangs instead of the side-sweep you wanted. 

Emo-ward: But is it really, truly in the spirit of punk rock if you don’t cut them yourself?

HellsBells: I think to be a real punk, you’d probably need to like different bands. To be alt, you can visit a salon or resign yourself to botched hair. 

Emo-ward: Seems like the majority is going to choose the second option.

HellsBells: Well, sometimes we must suffer for the cause. 

Emo-Ward wants to send you a private message. Accept. Decline. 

I was stunned. No one ever requested me. My cursor hovered over “Accept”, my finger twitching. My mother, as scattered as she was, had always warned me about being too open online. What if this was like, a forty-five year old man who preyed on kids in chat rooms? What if it was a serial killer? What if it was someone from school trying to humiliate me? What if it was a kid from school who wanted to humiliate me and also did a little serial killing on the side? 

Okay, I was being ridiculous. I knew nothing about this person. Hell, I hadn’t even looked at their profile. So I right-clicked the name in the chat and opened another window to his profile. Like mine, the profile had no picture, and instead had a graphic. It was Gerard Way but his hair had been edited to be bright green. I snorted, remembering my own, which was Britney Spears edited with a scene girl haircut that this chick in my Western Civ class had emailed to me as a joke after seeing the Ataris CD in my portable player. The name listed was Edward, the age as 16, and he had a lyric on his profile too. 

“Watching from the floor.”

I recognized it, small as it was. It was from “Dear Maria, Count Me In”. I was a little surprised. Great song choice. 

It seemed he wasn’t too sketchy. 

I went back to the original page, steeled my nerves and hit “Accept.” 

Emo-ward: Do you really have time in your veins? 

My tongue pressed to the inside of my cheek. If this really was a sixteen-year-old boy, I was in trouble. He had just referenced the lyric in my bio, (from “Understanding In A Car Crash”: “It starts and stops and starts and stops again.”) and made it a joke. I had to one-up him. 

HellsBells: Yes. I am also a pen.

Emo-ward: Where are you from, girl with time in her veins who is somehow also a pen?

I smiled at my screen. I couldn’t help it. He was kind of funny. 

HellsBells: Forgive me, sir, if I’m not very specific. I’m from the Southwest. You?

Emo-ward: Well, miss, I will follow suit. I’m from the Northwest. 

There was something about the way he wrote that made me want to trust him. Maybe it was that we had similar chat styles. Although… My mother had always said I talked like I was sixty. What if he was sixty?! Edward is an old man's name. 

HellsBells: You kind of talk like an old guy, you know that, right?

Emo-ward: That’s because I’m 104. 

HellsBells: Wow. You use the internet pretty well for a senior citizen.

Emo-ward: They had us take a class. So, what’s your favorite album right now?

I smiled. Funny, and hopefully not an old guy. 

HellsBells: Will you stop talking to me if I say Take This to Your Grave?

Emo-ward: Only if you stop talking to me for saying mine is Meteora. 

HellsBells: Only if you tell me your favorite song off the album is Numb. That’s where I draw the line. 

Emo-ward: While that song isn’t my favorite, it’s pretty good. Anyway, the actual favorite is Somewhere I Belong. 

I thought about that for a minute. I liked that song, but I hadn’t listened to it a lot. I’d have to give it another go. I had Meteora around here somewhere. I found the album in my bookshelf, put it in my portable player, and put the headphones on. I skipped to the right track, and let it play while I answered. 

HellsBells: Not that you asked, but mine is Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes.

Emo-ward: Aggressive. I like it. 

I burst out laughing. Out loud. In my house. On a school night. At eleven. 

“Bella?” my mom called from across the hall. “Are you on the computer?” 

Shit. “Uh… no?”

I heard Mom start giggling. “Go to bed, kid!” 

“Okay!” I grimaced at the screen. No way I was ever going to hear from this guy again. But… I had to try, right? He was funny, and he had great taste in music. 

HellsBells: Well, grandpa, if you can get the orderlies at the nursing home to let you use the computer on Friday, I’ll be here. Until then, I’m not an adult and have to deal with things like school nights. 

Emo-ward: I’m sorry about that. I never sleep, so my school nights are exactly like regular nights. I’ll be here. 

I shook my head at that, holding in a giant smile. You know what, fuck it, I let the smile loose. It wasn’t like he could see me. And I let “Somewhere I Belong” play on repeat until I fell asleep. 

[crowfootwrites]

The Boyfriend | Part II [Taza Romero x Fem!Reader]

Y'all! I did it! I wrote a second part! I actually sort of struggled with the setup of this, but once I started writing the angry, angsty shit I was like, "OH, WE IN BUSINESS." So, please enjoy.

Warnings: language; family drama (arguing); attempted physical violence; pregnancy | Words: 1,734

Part I of The Boyfriend

“What do you mean he wants to come see your motorcycle?” you asked, panic rising in your voice. It had been a few months since the ill-fated family dinner, and aside from a few texts asking about work, you hadn’t heard from your father. So, you assumed his motorcycle chat with Taza had just been polite conversation.

Taza glanced at you across the kitchen table, his full fork of frijoles pausing halfway to his mouth. His eyes softened when he saw the concern in your expression.

“Relájate, mi amor (Relax, my love). He doesn’t have to come here. I can meet him somewhere else,” he said calmly. He watched as your head dropped into one of your palms on the table and the other rested on the top of your very noticeable baby bump. He paused, then put his fork back down on his plate.

“(Y/N), maybe this would be a good opportunity to tell them,” he started, keeping his tone gentle. “I know you don’t want them involved. I understand that, and I will do whatever I can to keep things the way you want them.” He reached across the table to rest his palm against your knuckles. “But the baby will be here in a few months, and hiding it from them is just drawing out the inevitable.”

Emotions rushed over you. You knew that telling them didn’t have to mean anything more than that; Taza would protect his family no matter the cost, and if you didn’t want them involved, they wouldn’t be. But the prospect of having to deal with your mother filled you with a deep-seated dread. You knew she wouldn’t approve. And you didn’t need her approval, but your relationship with her had always been messy and complicated. And some part of you still wanted her to accept and respect you. Angry tears sprang to your eyes, which made you even more frustrated – the pregnancy hormones made you feel like you were losing your mind.

A tear dripped onto the wooden surface of the table and Taza was immediately out of his seat, tugging you out of yours and wrapping you in his arms. He smiled at the feeling of your belly pressed between the two of you.

“Hey, abejita, está bien (little bee, it’s ok). We don’t have to do anything that will make you uncomfortable,” he murmured against your ear, rocking you side to side slowly. He rubbed circles on your back as you regained your composure.

“No, you’re right,” you said with a sniffle. “We need to get this over with.”

Taza’s lips pulled into a wry grin. “That’s a wise choice, I think.”

***

“Ok, I think everything’s pretty much ready,” you told Taza as you flipped the final tortilla on the comal. He came to stand beside you and pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“How can I help?” he asked as you pulled the tortilla off with your bare fingers and tossed it into the basket, waving your fingers as the heat sank into your skin. He laughed and gripped your hand, blowing gently on your scorched fingertips.

You couldn’t help the affectionate tears that collected in the corners of your eyes. In an effort to keep you as comfortable as possible, Taza suggested hosting dinner with your parents on the ranch. You would be on your own turf and could call the shots. If anything got ugly, Taza promised that he had no qualms with making your parents leave. To your modest relief, you also felt a little more like yourself today, like you’d happily tell someone where to shove it if they upset you.

“Just being here with me helps,” you mumbled, tucking yourself into his arms.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” he said quietly. The two of you lingered like that for a moment, enjoying the calm embrace before the storm you knew was about to happen.

And sure enough, a moment later, the doorbell sounded. Your eyes jerked immediately to Taza’s. You struggled to discern if the rolling in your stomach was pregnancy-related or anxiety-induced as perspiration collected on your palms.

He ushered you onto the back patio, helping you to sit in the worn wooden rocking chair before heading back inside to welcome your guests. You listened nervously for the creaking of the front door, which was quickly followed by the drifting voices of your mother and father.

You pulled yourself out of the chair, straightening the soft cotton of your dress over your bump, just as Taza stepped through the door. He came immediately to your side, schooling his features into a calm and neutral mask, tossing an arm around your shoulders. Your father was the next through the door and you bit back a grin at the series of emotions that passed over his face in the span of just a few seconds. Confusion, certainly, and shock, but then pride and excitement and finally, unbridled joy.

Time seemed to slow down as your mother stepped towards your father, her confused gaze traveling from your father’s face to you, eyes widening as they landed on your belly. For the first time in your life, your mother was speechless. She stood on the threshold of the patio door with her mouth open as your father rushed towards you.

“Oh, my baby girl!” he exclaimed, pulling you into a loose hug around your bump, kissing your cheeks delightedly. He turned immediately to Taza, pulling your boyfriend into a strong embrace, clapping him heartily on the back.

“Congratulations, you two! This is wonderful news! Oh, goodness, I’m going to be a grandfather!” he announced in wonderment as he pulled back, turning to his wife, whose eyes were still glued to your stomach.

“Dear?” he asked her, cautiously, but with a hint of something firm in his voice. It was something you had never heard from your father before. You wondered fleetingly what that was about.

His voice seemed to snap her out of her trance. Her eyes met yours and she smiled tightly. “Congratulations,” she forced out and you noted acrimoniously the clenching of her jaw.

Your eyes narrowed. Your heart sank with her false smile and immediately, resentment scrambled into place to protect you. You suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to haul off and smack her, but you quickly chalked that up to hormones. Probably.

Intent on making this a pleasant evening for your completely delighted father, you turned away from your mother with a withering look and plastered on a smile, motioning for everyone to take a seat at the table laden with food you had spent most of the day preparing.

Dinner was an awkward affair. Taza sat beside you, his hand never leaving its reassuring place on your thigh, as the two of you answered your father’s abundance of questions.

Baby Romero is due in November.

We’ve decided to wait to find out the sex.

We don’t really have a preference as long as they’re healthy.

Your mother’s eyes bore holes into you, but she remained silent, except for one question, manifested tersely into the space between the four of you. “Are you going to get married?”

“We haven’t really talked about it,” you replied, surprising even yourself with the strength in your voice. Your mother blinked at you, her expression disappointed, but she said nothing, returning her gaze to her plate.

When everyone had finished eating, your father clapped his hands together and asked Taza if they could take a peek at his Harley.

Taza turned to you, searching your eyes. “¿Estarás bien a solas con ella (Will you be ok alone with her)?”

You nodded at him with a wily smile. “Yo sé dónde están todos los cuchillos en esta casa (I know where all the knives are in this house).”

A loud, deep laugh belted from Taza’s chest as you stood and began collecting plates. You could see him shaking his head out of the corner of his eyes, motioning your father towards the garage.

You were standing in front of the sink, rinsing dishes when you heard the clicking of heels behind you, your mother coming to stop across the counter. You waited with bated breath for the inevitable confrontation, your stomach in knots.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked finally, a bitter edge of hurt creeping into her voice.

You looked down into the sink, realizing you were white-knuckling a spoon. “Why would I?” you demanded. “The last time I saw you, you made it very clear that you don’t approve of Che.”

“I just want what’s best for you!” she insisted, her hands clenching by her sides.

“You don’t know what’s best for me! I’m not you!” You slapped the faucet off and grabbed a kitchen towel to violently dry your hands, coming to face your mother completely. You watched as her eyes flickered quickly to your belly and then back to your face, the sight seemingly fueling her fire.

“I do know that you have no business having children out of wedlock with a man who’s twice your age,” she snapped, stepping closer to you, and your body reacted to the perceived threat, your heart thundering against your ribcage, heat radiating from your face.

“You don’t get to make those decisions for me! Che is the best partner I’ve ever had and he’s going to be an incredible father. Which you would know if you even gave him a chance, but you won’t. You refuse to accept that this is my life, and I’ll live it however the fuck I want!” You could hear your volume rising, but you were beyond controlling it. By the end of your rant, you were screaming, inches from your mother’s furious face, her eyes glinting and her lips set into a scowl. Suddenly, Taza was running into the house and coming to a stop behind you, pulling you gently away from your mother while your father tugged your mother away from you.

“I can’t believe I raised such an ungrateful bitch,” your mother spat, and you swung. Luckily for your mother, Taza had pulled you out of reach, and your fist missed her by several inches.

“Get out of my house!” you hissed, struggling against Taza’s arms, angry tears staining your cheeks.

Your father, looking appropriately mortified, dragged your mother out of the front door and into their car.

Part III of The Boyfriend

[neovisioned]

♡ꜜ out of my league﹫mark lee

out of my league - fitz and the tantrums

pairing : mark x reader (f)

genre : tiny angst, fluff, smut with some plot, bestfriend!mark, college!au, best friends to lovers.

warnings : weed, making out, fingering, unprotected sex, praising.

word count : +4k

synopsis : your best friend Mark Lee tells you all the things he believed, you were always out of his league.

Mark Lee has been in love with the same person for as long as he could remember. It's something he took some time to understand, days to wrap his head around. 

Where do you draw the line between deep friendship, platonic love between friends and a connection running deeper, a love that seeks more than the label "friends" ?

Laying on your bed, his right hand throws a tennis ball in the air, easily catching it while his left hand hold the rolled up paper between two fingers.

It's a shame, the smoke he's blowing out of his lungs is probably sticking to your bed sheets, ones he noticed you washed the moment he dropped his body on your bed.

Soft rose fragrance, traces of an exotic fruit he can not pin point, though Mark is sure he could recognise the perfume of your detergent between thousands of others.

Heavy sigh, smoke escaping his lips like a dragon dissolving in the air, heavy eyelids closing in front of his brown irises. He really should stop smoking, Mark thinks. It's a black hole in his wallet, it is not that good for his health and fuck, does it makes his mind wonder.

Correction, Mark should stop smoking around you. Because, whenever he does, his mind might search in the deepest, darkest folds of his brain for a new topic, he'll always, forever, come back to you.

Mark Lee has been in love with you for as long as he can remember.

It's something he's been aware of for some years now. It's crazy how he can pinpoint the moment his mind clicked, the moment he put two and two together. He can still visualise the moment his heart went from a friendship he'd die for to a love he'd die for, one so strong he, himself, was dumbfounded by his years long blindness. 

It happened right before prom, second to last year of high school. Mark Lee remembers when you stepped out of your father's car (he doesn't trust any other boy but Mark, he insisted on driving you to your school's dance).

Pretty deep blue dress, it's his favourite colour on his favourite person. You did not do anything special to your hair, only added a bit more makeup. Though, it's not your appearance that made everything click, you've always been pretty, it wasn't the first time your friend noticed.

Rather, it's when your date shows up. It's when one of the school's popular kid shows up and makes you dance that he understands. He wants it to be him so bad. He wants to make you twirl, he wants to make you laugh.

Mark understands it isn't just him being mad that you're not answering your phone, it's love. Jealousy, green monster eating away at his heart when he wonders if you're still with him, it's a hand tightly wrapping around the muscle when he wonders if you're going to fall into someone else's arms.

Mark remembers it, it was five years ago. Late summer night where he stayed on his phone for too long, love sick kid scrolling through pictures and pictures of his prom waiting for a text from his best friend.

He didn't say anything, maybe Mark was a bit of a coward, and you were out of his league.

“Mark ?”

From all the things you best friend loves about you, if he had to pick, it'd be the way you say his name. No matter the intonation, no matter the context, the men loves the way it sounds coming out of your lips.

He thinks he won't ever get enough of it, it's intoxicating, makes him think he has the prettiest name after your own. 

Eyelids slowly open, tired smile stretching his lips. You're steading in front of your bed, freshly showered, hand turning your small projector on. 

“Hm ?”, he doesn't bother answering with words, humming softly. His head turns to the side, following your movements around the bedroom he knows like the back of his hand.

“This one or...That one ?”, you ask, playing with your remote to show your best friend two animation movies you both saw too many times.

“First one.” You've noticed over time, his voice always gets deeper when he smokes, brown eyes always get a shade darker. 

“Alright, baby chose.”

Ah, correction. If there's one thing that Mark loves, it's the pet names you give him. So natural, honey filled, he wished you meant them. 

Baby, babe, darling. He loves it all, he wants it all, he wants you all. 

Unaware of his thoughts, you finally crawl up next to him, the shirt you're wearing as your pyjamas riding up, Mark takes another hit at that. 

Familiar sound of Netflix resonates in your room as you take yet another remote and turn your lights off, before gesturing towards your friend. You're not an avide smoker but, you infale the smoke a few times before giving the rolled up paper back to the brunette. 

Mark knows what's about to happen, whenever your movie night has a bit of green, the movie gets long lost behind while you two would rather speak about anything and everything. After years of friendship, you'd think you two would've took and turned every subject under the pale moon but, Mark definitely did not expect this. 

Hands free, he crushes the cigarette on the special painted bowl you have for him, Mark also loves the way you have some things for him on your house as if he lives with you. 

Your right hand is quick to find his left hand, an old habit your have. Your fingers stretch against his own, comparing sizes like kids flirting, swinging your hands from left to right. Your arm easily gets tired by holding your hand up in the air like this, but the warmth of Mark's hand and the way his fingertips rough by his guitar strings brush against your palm every now and then feels like home. 

“How do you know when you're in love ?”, your voice's soft, mindlessly humming to the song in the animation movie Mark chose. Is that the topic you decided to bring up...? Mark's hand stays still for a moment, following your own hand's movement as he thinks for a while. 

“Don't give me that “You just know” bullshit.”, you mumble when he stays quiet for a bit too long. 

“But I think you do, just know. I think it's different for everyone.”, he starts, speech slightly altered by the green herb intoxicating his mind. 

“How is it... For you ?”, you ask. See, you know Mark had some crushes here and there, but you don't think he has ever been in love or, at least, he never told you. 

“It's... Loving the way they say your name, wanting to be with them as much as possible. It's... Craving to be as close as possible.” and unconsciously, his fingers wrap around yours. 

“It's finding happiness in their joy, sharing their sadness. It's small things like memorising the perfume they wear and what food they dislike.”

The brunette stays quiet for a moment, heavy eyes look upon your locked hands in the darkness, chest light, mind foggy. 

“It's them feeling like home.”, he finally says. 

Mark smiles to himself, you do feel like home, you make everything feel like home. From the way you have a pillow and the way you keep a toothbrush for him, to the way you always feel so warm and safe. 

Thankfully for you, the lack of light hides the small blush creeping on your cheeks. 

Mark doesn't know, you've been in love with him for years, though you've been aware for a bit longer. His confession takes your breathe away with a heavy sigh, you squeeze his hand. 

“I was in love with you.”

Was, you take the safe route as the words fly out of your mouth before you can even understand. Even if he's shocked, you can play the past card. 

“I was in love with you too.”, silence doesn't last long as Mark let's out as well, eyes on the movie even though he isn't paying any attention : his favourite line just played and he didn't even let a giggle out. 

The words make your ears ring, skin burn red, heart beat against your ribcage. He was too...? He was. He isn't anymore. 

“Why didn't you tell me ?”, you breath out, turning to the side. You use an elbow to support your body, you dare look at your best friend's face. 

It's crazy how he still have the still has the same baby face you've always known, the same pretty eyes and the same smile, his jaw got sharper with years and voice deeper and yet, he's still the same. He's home. 

Mark, him, doesn't dare look at you for a second. Before he does, soft eyes looking directly into yours. Why didn't he tell you ? He knows why, he has a list of reasons why and another list of reasons why he should've told you he'd rather not think about right in this moment. 

“You're out of my league.”, he breathes out. You can read your best friend like a book, you know he is not joking when he tells you so. And yet, you can't wrap your head around the idea. 

“I— What, no !”, you're almost whispering and screaming at him at the same time, getting up to sit on your knees. He was out of your league, he has always been, you never—.

“You were—. You are out of mine.”, you tell him, almost dumbfounded. For a split second, it feels like someone's finally giving you the dream you've always wanted and, the moment it touches your hands, it slips through your fingers. 

Can you be nostalgic of something you've never even experienced ? And yet, your mind grabs onto a single thing. Present tense, you're still out of his league, he still thinks so. 

In his semi-high state, the brunette chuckles out, as dumbfounded. 

You wonder if there are feelings still unknown to humans because this, the pull you're feeling at the strings of your heart and the lump in your throat combined to the angering heat taking over your body aren't emotions you're used to feeling at the same time. 

“Hey, what's wrong ?”, your best friend asks, an arm wrapping around your neck to pull you closer. You're sure it's supposed to be for hug, one you'd happily accept if you weren't in this very situation. Both forearms stop your body from colliding against his, Mark frowns. 

In another situation, he'd be able to read you like an open book and, maybe he's thankful he isn't completely sober right now. If he wasn't slightly high, he'd be as red. 

“Are you...Are you still in love with me ?”, you ask. It's almost a whisper, one Mark is sure he would've caught if it wasn't for the almost silent scene going on in the long forgotten movie. 

Is he still in love with you ? Yes. His mind screams a loud, obnoxious yes. His body screams another loud and obnoxious yes and yet. Yet, Mark stays silent for what feels like minutes. He knows he is, he's sure of it, he doesn't know if he should say it. 

Yes, yes, yes. 

“Yeah.”

To be in love with your best friend, to confess your love after years, decades, even. 

Such a simple word and yet, it hangs in the air, you can almost make it out in the slight darkness of the room. When Mark has the ability to put words on how he feels, you can't put anything on what goes on in your brain and body when he says the simple truth. You think your heart might fall out right into your best friend's hand, if he did not already have it. Your mind twist the word again and again just to find a fault, a break, a rupture. 

There isn't none, he's in love with you. 

There's another few seconds where you stay silent. You decide actions speak louder than words. Where Mark pulled you into a hug, you pull him into a kiss you've been craving for years. 

Carnal need sleeping deep in both your minds, it doesn't need much to be awakened, burning a fire louder than hell's. Your lips touch his. Its shy, hesitant but, when Mark's arm tighten around your neck, no words need to be spoken. 

The sweet, innocent, childlike kiss turns desperate in matter of seconds. Your best friend pulls you closer, closer, closer. He catches your leg between his, pushes your chest against his to the point where you can feel his heart hammering.

Lips move in harmony, common rhythm is quickly found and, you whine the moment he pulls away.

“Tell me.”, he breathes out against your lips, it's a desperate plea for something he had been waiting to hear, something he thought he'd never hear. “Say it.”, it's demanding, greedy. You give in easily.

“I'm in love with you.”

There's a weight pulled out of your chest, you'd chant it again and again if you could. You'd scream in if you could, you'd breathe it against his skin.

The brunette pulls you into a bruising kiss, he pours his soul out, hand cupping the back of your neck.

If this is a dream, Mark is determined to not let it go. Using his body at his advantage, positions are reversed, the brunette quickly towards over you. You switched you could turn the light back on but, the colourful lights of the movie dance against his jawline and shine against his wet lips, you decide your best friend looks like a painter's muse.

“There hasn't been a single day where I haven't thought about you.”, he breathes pretty words against your skin, taking his lips from your mouth to your jaw. It's loving, deep kisses, each to mean something.

“There hasn't been a single day where I haven't thought about being more to you, wished we were more.”

More, more, more. You want more too, you need more too. You refuse to let go now.

“We can be, we can.”, it's frantic. You cup his face with your hands, bringing him closer. “Spent nights thinking about what we could be.”

It makes flowers bloom in his chest, he isn't able to take his lips away from your skin. The tip of his nose digs in your cheek, he inhales deeply. Oh, how he loves the soap you use.

“What did you see ?”, he asks, lips peppering kisses down your neck, hand gripping your shirt. You're quick to pull it up above your hips. First wanting to completely pull it off your body, it seems the brunette isn't patient enough.

His lips leave your neck to your tummy, butterfly kisses here and there until he stops to your panties.

“Us. Together. Living tog—.”

Your sentence's quickly cut off by your best friend, maybe a lot more now, pressing his tongue flat against the fabric of your panties.

If you weren't aware of how wet you were getting, you sure were now.

“Living together, yeah ?”, he asks, bringing his face closer to yours again right after disregarding his shirt somewhere. There's a few seconds where you pose, shamelessly taking in the men's figure. 

Forehead against yours, his digits run along the line of your underwear. He's as nervous as you are, as shaken up as you are yet, you two have never been more certain of one thing that doesn't need to be said anymore.

Mark bites down on his lip, you almost hear tje mechanism in his head twisting and turning to find the right way to ask you.

You beat him at it anyways, nodding as your arms wrap around his neck.

There's one thing you'll never tell him, you spent night dreaming about a future and other were filled with thoughts of his fingers.

The guitar player had pretty hands, even prettier when they wrapped around the neck of his guitar or when he picked as some strings.

“'was too scared to tell you.”, he says and, you'd tell him you know. You know exactly how it feels, the fear of rejection by the one you've know you're entire life. You'd tell him it doesn't matter now that you now if you could. 

His fingers stop you from articulating right, index and middle finger greedily collecting the wetness between your folds, the brunette doesn't wait much longer before pushing two digits in. 

“I—Mark.”, there it is, a moan of his name that intoxicates Mark more than any other drug. Pupils grow wide, ears greedy to hear more. It's him, him managing to make you moan so softly in the dead of the night, him that has you wrapped around his finger. 

“Fuck, say my name again.”, it's another desperate plea, say his name again so he knows it isn't a vivid dream he's going to wake up from, say his name until it's the only thing rolling out of your tongue. 

You easily oblige when he starts moving his fingers, slowly yet, in a way that quickly had you gasping for air.

There's nothing rough in his actions, expect from the way his teeth gaze at the skin of your neck before softly biting down just to sooth to spot with his tongue afterwards. 

It's agonising, like he wants to make sure he maps out your body to remember it perfectly after tonight. His fingers curl and drag against your walls, he remembers how and where. 

His free hand creeps under your raised shirt, quickly finding your chest as his mouth finds your again. 

There, he catches every sweet sound you make like he doesn't want any body else to hear them, tongue tastes yours as they lazily battle. 

“Shit, baby. Just like that, god.”, when you think Mark couldn't get any better, his fingertips brush against a spot that has your hips raising up, slowly rocking against his hand. 

“Right there ?”, you nod frantically as he does it again and again, lazily fingering you whilst he lets your hips grind against his digits. 

“So fucking pretty.”, it's a murmur once he detaches his lips from your own, wet and red by the exchange. 

It's not the first time Mark calls you pretty but at this very moment, it's different. 

His wrist twist the right way just as he's about to pick the pace up and the familiar feeling grows alongside the flower blooming in your chest as Mark whisperes sweet nothings into your ear. 

He can feel it, the way your walls clench around his fingers, it has his cock throbbing in his sweats. Carnal desire to feel you wrapped around him as his fingers speed up until you come undone around them. 

It's a mess of his name and profanities you hope your neighbours aren't hearing. 

“Want more, want you.”, you babble once you come down from your high, sweat collecting around your hairline, chest irregularly raising up and down. 

When Mark seems to take too long to process your words, you take matters into your own hand. 

A moment, Mark struggles to find his words and the other, his back hits the bed with a soft gasp. 

He's quick to raise with his elbows, almost having whiplash when you sit down on his lap after taking off your ruined and soaked panties. 

“Let me help you with that.”, there's a slight shyness in your voice Mark decides he'd die for when your clumsily work on the strings of his grey sweats. 

Unspoken words, soft silence when you look into his eyes and help him push the fabric down his thighs. The air is thick, your heart beats harder and harder, your chest swells when Mark pulls you closer by your hips. 

“I've been in love with you.”, he starts as you raise, lining your core with his hard member, one your eyes lingered on before he opened his mouth. There's a pause, your lips part as to say something when you slowly sit down, but no sound comes from your mouth when Mark's leaking head pushes inside. 

“For so— so fucking long.”, he uses the last bits of air in his lungs to let it out, voice cracking when you sit inch by inch. 

You wonder how you went so long without telling him, telling him you love him feels too good to take it back or ever again. There's a slight part of you wondering where you'd be right now if you told him sooner but you're quick to push it away. 

Both hands cup his face as you bring him closer for a kiss as you fully settle on his lap, though the exchange doesn't last long. There's a beautiful groan coming from the men in front of you just as you moan out from the sensitivity, the fulness. 

Mark's red lips fall open the moment you start moving up and down on him, eyes rolling back the slightest bit like he forces himself to look at you as you ride him. But, when his groans turn into moans, the brunette hides his face in the crook of your neck, arms tightly wrapping around your waist. 

You don't think your can be any closer, chest against chest, your mouth to his ear as he mumbles about how you were made for him. 

Up and down, up and down, your legs start burning but you keep moving on top. 

“Fuck, I love you.”, it slips out when his hips meet yours halfway, not that you can say it, you swear you won't stop doing it at any given occasion. 

Mark answers my sucking on your neck, probably drawing blood as he more boldly snaps his hips against yours. 

You find the same desperation as when he was kissing you, carnal need wanting to be met, he fucks into you just like he means it, switching between deep and slow to fast and short snaps. 

For the second time, you feel it tighten, knot threatening to burst at any moment. If you aren't moaning, your mouth hands silently open and thankfully, Mark can tell you're getting close by the way you're clenching around him. 

“You're doing so good, so so good for me.”, voice almost unrecognisable, the way you can feel every vein and the way he pulse tells you he's as close, if not more.

“Come with me.” 

After years of tuning your body to his voice, it follows the command almost immediately, there's a few seconds where the brunette snaps his hips, slowly, deeply, right before letting a draw out moan against your neck. 

It's the last thing you hear, the way he moans you name breathlessly against your skin before you follow right behind, coming right around him like he hoped so. 

Moans and body against body sound abruptly stop for heavy breathing and soft whines, you blink a few times, forehead against Mark's baked shoulder. 

He smells like the apple shampoo he almost wears, he feels like home when his arms tightly wrap around your body and rock from side to side, almost lolling you to sleep. He feels safe, familiar, comfortable. 

And, right before you fall deep into sleep, you hear him slightly chuckle at his second favourite movie line. 

© NEOVISIONED l NO REPOSTING OR TRANSLATIONS ALLOWED.

[teeztheflag]

─────────────────────

Ateez! Reaction to getting intimidate with you while the members/ a member are/is in the same room

warnings: some of them behave like fu*kboys/di*kheads, argument, disrespect, alcohol, strong language, suggestive, teasing, doing unholy things in a church

a/n: this turned out so dumb I am sorry anon but I finished it lmfao also they’re more like teasing? because I cannot get my head into people fu*king in front of others and not caring about it 😂

─────────────────────

k i m h o n g j o o n g

Hong Joong always has been a mixture of someone who liked to show off his girl and keep her to himself so you weren’t really shocked when he started to kiss down your exposed neck at a gathering at their mansion that night.

First you were really flustered and giggled but the sexual tension quickly arose when he took a good hold on your hips from behind breathing hotly down your cleavage.

You gulped unsure of what to think about the situation and gasped when you saw Park Seong Hwa standing at the other end of the room a glass of wine in his hand and a mischievous smile on his face.

Was he watching you?

You frowned trying to stop Hong Joong in his motions but quickly realized that he already saw the other one seemingly enjoying the scene.

You turned around and hurt took over your features.

„I am not a cheep whore Kim Hong Joong. Whatever you and Seong Hwa have going on don’t ever dare to involve me in it again.“ You hissed out trying to push away the tears and stormed away.

─────────────────────

p a r k s e o n g h w a

Seong Hwa‘s birthday was known to be the biggest event of the year in his hometown. As the bachelor always threw the most outrageous and glamorous parties it was his friends this time that wanted to prepare something special.

They booked you: a student with little to no money but good dancing skills on the pool.

You started your show and even if Seong Hwa first wasn’t into the idea at all while he sat down in front of you on a single chair the moment he layed his eyes on you his heart skipped a beat.

You personated everything the young rich loved; you were so beautiful he got flustered and tried to hide his reddening cheeks.

The dress on you was way too short and the show went on with the cheering from his guests that the young bachelor zoned out completely by now. He felt himself shuddering and becoming nervous when the young lady started walking to him with confident steps but a deer like gaze.

You sat down on his lap your arms casually wrapping around his shoulders and he cursed lowly at the sweet scent you gave off when you leaned down to whisper in his ear.

„Happy Birthday, Mr. Park.“

You were about to dance on him when he stopped you in your tracks and you were panicking if you did something wrong. Seong Hwa looked you into the eyes and clenched his teeth.

„I swear you don’t know what you’re doing to me right now so stop.“

„Y - you’re joking, right?“ But the desperate look in his eyes told he was more than serious about this.

─────────────────────

j e o n g y u n h o

You just couldn’t look away. It was always something you wondered about. And not only you... definitely your whole circle of friends.

You really didn’t want to look but your gaze just seemed to magically find its way down to Yun Ho‘s crotch where - wait a sec. Is it what you think it is?

Gosh, you had a drink too much. When you looked up you weren’t really sure anymore if this was the reality but on the other side of the room on the couch Yun Ho caught your gaze and suppressed a smirk.

Since it was embarrassing you quickly averted your gaze back to the movie hoping the two of you would just forget about the incident.

„Another round? I am getting shots!“ The others agreed and you got slightly nervous when Yun Ho came back with a tablet and handed everyone a shot.

„I am suggesting brother shots because we’ve all been so busy lately!“

„Why do you sat down next to (y/n), then? Very calculated don’t you think.“ Jong Ho eyed the latter suspiciously and Yun Ho sent him a kiss.

You were so dizzy that you were thinking about what brother shots were again when Yun Ho already linked your arms and drank. Right in the moment you remembered he already placed a cherry tasting kiss on your lips.

You couldn’t hold yourself back to lick the remaining droplets off while Yun Ho watched you eagerly.

„How does it taste?“

You frowned at him still progressing what a wasted night this was. Suddenly Yun Ho wipes away the last droplets off with his thumb and brushes it also over you bottom lip.

Your mouth opens but no words seem to leave your lips while he smiles mischievously.

„G-good... too good.“

„Ah, you want another one?“

You debate and your gaze drifts to the others around you but they seem much too intoxicated themselves to notice.

„Yes.“ Yun Ho chuckles and you close your eyes waiting for his lips to finally touch yours again. When a cold material instead meets you your eyes shoot open and you see Yun Ho laughing at you.

„I meant another shot, (y/n).“ He winks and you roll your eyes pouting at him for getting the wrong ideas...

─────────────────────

k a n g y e o s a n g

Yeo Sang‘s family and yours were good friends since ages and it was a must to attend the sunday‘s service together.

Like usually your families sat next to eachother again but Yeo Sang tended to sit next to his friends in the last row this day. Just when you went up to get to your parents a voice stopped you.

„(y/n)! Come sit with us!“ You turn around and see San smiling at you and also the other boys were together. You just grew close to them a while ago and you didn’t see a reason to say no.

When you realized Woo Young made place for you between him and Yeo Sang your mood quickly changed. You frowned at the boy exactly knowing what you told him a month ago when you were drunk - that you had a crush on Yeo Sang since forever...

Problem was... Yeo Sang probably has been asexual or simply ignoring you for his own sake. As you expected he didn’t even greet you but just relaxed further into the bench.

The service started and the boys next to you seemed to fall asleep one after another while the priest was really into his game. You also weren’t the biggest fan of it but you knew how to be respectful.

It was time to pray with your eyes closed when you suddenly tense up. Your eyes immediately shoot open and your gazes drifts to the site where Yeo Sang is watching you intensely.

You are frozen and not able to move a muscle while he digs his hand further into your tigh. You quickly look around to see if someone notices but stop when you hear a giggle coming from right next to you from Woo Young.

Yeo Sang starts to draw slow circles into your skin and you recognize how warm his hand feels against your exposed flesh. You don’t know how to put it but your body tells you to invite his touches rather than scold him and retrieve his hand...

When he leans down you flinch and close your eyes uttering the last words of the prayer hoping to not die at how hard your heart beats against your ribcage.

His breath tickles the hairs on your neck and you can smell a strong perfume coming from him before he whispers.

„(y/n)... you’re a little whore squirming like this in a church...“

─────────────────────

s o n g m i n g i

„Well, a bet is a bet.“

„Min Gi, you aren’t serious about this? I thought it was a joke! If I knew you would be a dick I wouldn’t have obliged!“

Min Gi let’s out a laugh and drags you back inside the karaoke room where your friends were partying like there’s no tomorrow.

He sat you down next to him and brought his arm over your shoulder to keep you close so you couldn’t escape. He side glanced your form and smiles to see your arms crossed and a pout adorning your face.

„Cute.“

„What?“

„Oh, nothing. Just enjoying the view.“ His eyes turn into crescents while he grins at you.

Times flies by and you know your boyfriend good enough that he wouldn’t let his price slip. So when your food arrives everyone gasps when you start to feed Min Gi like he was the king of South Korea.

„Damn, what the heck are you two doing?“

Some couldn’t control their laughter and you feel like sinking into a hole of embarrassment when Min Gi explains that you just realized how he should be really treated.

Everyone knew you were sassy and didn’t take any shit and so it has also been with your boyfriend. Min Gi loved to tease you endlessly and he knew that having you serve him in front of your friends was something you wouldn’t like. He took it as a revenge for you making him jelous the last week and a dangerous glint appears in his eyes thinking back to the evening.

„Mh, my love. I have some sauce on my chin...“

„So what?“

„Lick it away.“

„You are unbelievable!“

─────────────────────

c h o i s a n

San always has been an affectionate person that needed a lot of attention from his s/o. You on the other hand liked to stick to simple holding hands in public and a little peck here or there but nothing too exaggerated.

San knew you were shy but sometimes he couldn’t hold himself back to tease you openly so people would see who you belong to. No, that wasn’t the only reason he liked to show off he was just fully engulfed in your form and needed to touch whenever he could.

This caused you scolding him from time to time when he did inappropriate things in the different areas.

For example in a car. With Jong Ho and Seong Hwa in the back. You were standing at a red light when you felt San‘s hand sneaking up your thigh leaving a tickling sensation in the process. The boys were tired but you were sure they were still awake in the back.

Quickly you try to retrieve San‘s hand but his grip just strengthens and the nerve this boy has! When you glance to him he’s just sheepishly looking outside acting like he does nothing. He always messed with you inside his car but this time it was worse because there were your friends in the back!

„San!“ You whisper-yell to your boyfriend who looks up to you for a second before leaning in to your side.

„What?“

„Stop!“

„No!“ Then he leans back and when you try to forcefully pull his hand back you’re suddenly with a clap to your thigh leaving you flushed and aroused because of the mixture of pain and pleasure.

„Mh... are we already there?“ Oh, Jong Ho probably actually fell asleep.

„Five minutes.“ San ignites with a big smile to the back.

After you drop off the two San suddenly locks the car and leans over so his arm is around the lean of your seat. Out of reflex you lean back clearly intimidated by his posture but also confused what he wanted to do now.

„Did it hurt, baby?“

You shyly nod and your gaze falls to your lap where you’re playing with the hem of your skirt. San’s tongue pokes out to wetten his bottom lip and a low chuckle leaves him.

„Can you whine like that for me again when we’re home?“

„San!“

─────────────────────

j u n g w o o y o u n g

Jung Woo Young meant danger; that’s what everyone knew. You couldn’t deny the fact that he intrigued you beyond everything that was appropriate... meaning you fantasized about the boy way too much. Everything about him was perfect.

If you just could have a taste of his lips once in your life... It was just a little joke and daydreaming for you; nothing serious. And maybe his image also helped you to relieve some stress in lonely nights but really nothing more.

Although you didn’t expect this houseparty to be too spectacular things actually spiced up when you saw the boy and his friends entering the party. You suddenly felt more excited and thanked god you decided to join your friends this night.

You saw Woo Young quickly being accompanied by a girl and immediately your face fell. Dammit... Just stop dreaming of somebody you will never have!

„(y/n)?“ Oh, yes! You were currently playing beerpong and it was your turn. Well, if you didn’t get the boy you would at least just win this game. And you did. With a big crowd around you the other girls cheering for you because you won against the best of the boys in this game.

With a big grin and clearly tipsy by now you dragged your friend inside to dance accompanied by the others. You swayed your hips, laughed and had a lot of fun. Until you felt someone’s hand sneaking around your waist to level your rhythm up to his.

You turned around and saw no other than the Jung Woo Young eyefucking you shameless.

„What are you doing?“

„Getting revenge for my friend; but in my own way.“

You look over to Yeo Sang the one you just managed to destroy and see him winking at you from afar.

Your eyes quickly drift to Woo Young’s chest and you mumble to yourself. „This would be more like a prize...“

Woo Young is able to hear your words because instead of you he didn’t touch a single bottle tonight and because of that he decides to take things a little further. Suddenly the boy leads you out of the crowd upstairs to a secluded room where he’s quickly placing hungry kisses over your exposed collarbone.

You’re feeling like paralyzed both of the boldness and the pleasure.

Your eyes open wide when you hear a chuckle coming from the other side of the room and you frown seeing Yeo Sang sitting casually in a chair enjoying the show.

„Like you said. Your prize and our revenge.“

─────────────────────

c h o i j o n g h o

Another one of those boring business nights with Jong Ho and you were quickly deciding to roam around the big mansion you landed in this time.

Gosh, how rich was his boss again? This house looked more like a palace to you and made you again wonder; what the hell was Jong Ho even working?

You turned corner after corner and whined knowing you got lost.

„Dammit... I am so stupid!“

„Here you are. Mrs. Choi we‘re missing your presence!“

Choi san comes out of the dark with a smile on his face and a hand tugged into his pockets. He looked ravishing but you guessed he already knew that by the way he always held himself. For you, San was a friend. A good one because he helped you and your husband in more than one way.

You puffed out some air and rolled your eyes. „What could be so interesting that you would need me?“

„Tsk, always so sassy... Jong Ho is currently leading in the game you should join us.“

„How much?“

„That’s for you to find out.“ A chuckle leaves you and with quick steps you get to San and link arms so he can guide you back.

The room was dark and huge with a single poker table in the middle where only three very young and dangerously looking gentlemen were still deeply engulfed into the game. Woo Young who stands next to the table winks at you and you try to hide the uneasiness he’s causing you every time with his little flirt attempts.

Hong Joong and Yun Ho still played with Jong Ho and being the bold human you were you emerged the table with confident steps and sat down on Jong Ho‘s lap to make your presence very clear to everyone.

Jong Ho immediately maneuvered his hands so he could sneak one of his arms around your waist and adjust your position; what the hell...

You were practically sitting widespread on his right thigh now but Jong Ho only seemed to be interested in the game.

They played silently while the others were casually getting drinks from the bar. You on the other hand were busy in understanding the game and Jong Ho‘s cards. You shuffled your body and position from time to time trying to not put too much pressure on your husband‘s thigh.

After a while with a lot of struggling Jong Ho groaned out annoyed and gave your hip a squeeze only to push you down on his thigh stronger than before.

„Fuck!“

All eyes were on you immediately and you know you shouldn’t have teased him so much...

„You want to distract me or put on a show for my friends?“

You were flustered beyond everything and just looked down to hide the embarrassment. „Neither.“

„Neither what?“

„Neither, sir.“ It was only a whisper but everyone clearly heard the word coming out of your mouth.

Jong Ho smiles triumphantly at the others knowing he not only won the game when he shows his cards but also that he would teach you a lesson in a few minutes.

[secretlysheikah]

Blood and Bowstring 

Well well well, I have something special for all of you! To celebrate getting to 200 followers on this little angsty blog of mine, I have decided it would be fun to write a little something for you all to enjoy. Its not very long, But I hope you like it! 

Thank you all so much for supporting me and my writing! I don’t know where you all came from, but I am so happy you decided to join me. Thank you!

Start Here:

Wild as he was now called was still wary of the eight other heroes, but that was to be expected considering his past. Wild had spent his adventure alone, and even now, after his adventure was done he often found himself wandering Hyrule alone. It felt freeing, not having to answer to anyone but himself. But now, being around this large and rowdy group, he realized just how lonely he had been. He still wanted to have privacy, felt the urge to wander, but as a whole he didn’t mind the others. The various Links hadn’t been together for long but Wild could feel the tenuous bonds of friendship beginning to grow between them.  

It had been about three weeks since Wild had been... Recruited? Asked to join? Added to the group, and there had been a bit of a learning curve. He had to learn how to fight in a group, which was a pain and he couldn’t just wander off anymore without being rounded up (by a wolf of all things) and then getting a lecture for his trouble. The chain, as the youngest of the group had dubbed them, had a mission, a dangerous one and it wouldn’t be good if he got lost or hurt when he wandered. Thinking of their mysterious mission Wild honestly didn’t really know what that they were supposed to be doing. Besides traveling between the different eras of Hyrule and fighting powerful monsters there didn’t seem to be much direction as of yet. Wild was pulled from his thoughts when a voice piped up from across the camp.

“Who do you think is the best archer?” Wind asked from his place next to the fire. They had just finished dinner and everyone was chatting amicably as they relaxed. This question had the group pause in their collective conversations as they pondered the question. 

“Well I don’t want to brag, but I have shot keese from a far distance before.” The one called Warriors said proudly adjusting his blue scarf before he mimicked shooting an arrow.

“A keese? Are you kidding me pretty boy, how about something actually impressive,” Legend scoffed and was playfully jabbed in the side by the brown haired boy. Wild tried to recall the name of the other boy but found he was drawing a blank. 

Wild had struggled with the names of his fellow heroes for a while now, there were some names he was able to remember easily. Like Legend, the distinctive pink in his hair made it easy for Wild to remember his name. Well that, and the fact that Legend often came off as a standoffish prick with the ability to cut your pride in half with a sentence also helped. Wild struggled to recall the name of the brown haired boy for a moment longer until it popped into his head. The boy’s name was Hyrule, soft spoken and kind, Wild liked him. Hyrule was a wanderer like himself and with the few interactions they had Wild knew he found someone to take with him if he ever had the urge to explore the new terrain.   

The conversation quickly escalated from there with everyone trying to one up each other with more outlandish stories from their adventures. It was terribly amusing and Wild had an urge to join them but he decided to sit this one out and just observe. While he was getting used to the others, he still found that he didn’t want to offer too much information about himself just yet. It would be better to have an element of surprise just in case things turned sour. 

Warriors as it turned out was quite the story teller, he boasted about feats that had no chance of actually being true. Though Wind did come up with some whoppers of his own. The conversation continued on, and Wild found that the most impressive story was told by Twilight. He claimed that with a special mask and some enchanted arrows he was able to take out a whole camp of bulblins (whatever those were) from over a large field length away. Not to be outdone Wind was quick to jump in and Wild had to hide an amused laugh when he claimed that he had to shoot a sea monster in the eye while trying to sail through a storm and a whirlpool all at the same time. 

“It was nuts! I could barely see through the rain and the flashes of lightning!” Wind said, jumping to his feet and dramatically acted out the scene. Out of the corner of his eye Wild noticed how Legend winced slightly whenever Wind described the lighting. Curiosity burned inside him and he wanted to ask about it but one look from the red clad hero stopped that line of thinking before it even got started. Wild looked away quickly when he realized with dawning horror that he had been staring but it was too late, he had been caught.

“What about you Wild? Have anything to contribute?” Legend sneered and Wild felt his heart freeze. All eyes turned to him and he shrunk down under the weight of the stares. He hated having so much attention on him, it made him uncomfortable. Wild tugged at his hood. He thought about pulling it on hoping it would release him from the crushing weight of their stares, but he found he couldn’t get it to lift up. He could feel heat rising to his face, his scars began to burn and he rubbed at them in a vain attempt to quell the ache. Wild could feel his breaths growing quick and he longed for escape and fresh air. Luckily a voice sliced through his panic and he felt the eyes of the others shift away from him. 

“Hey, It’s okay if you don’t want to share, we have plenty to go off of already,” the smallest hero, Four said, drawing the attention of the others off of Wild. He gave the other hero a short nod in thanks and after a moment of awkward tugging managed to pull the hood up and over his head. The weight of it calmed him slightly and he took special care to ensure that his face was hidden in shadows. 

“Have anything specific in mind, Four?” The soft spoken hero, Sky asked with a sleepy yawn and a stretch. Wild felt himself slouch and he pulled his knees up towards his chest so he could rest his arms on top of them. He was curious despite himself, and he wanted to know what the others considered impressive. 

“Well there was the lizalfos that he shot through the eye. That was pretty impressive given the fact that, from where he shot, there was barely enough clearance to see, let alone fire,” Four said matter-of-factly. The others nodded in agreement and Wild felt his eyebrow quirk up. He remembered that, it wasn’t a hard shot in his opinion, anyone could do that. He kept quiet though when Wind began to speak.  

“OH! And remember the moblin he took down? He shot three arrows at once!” Wind added excitedly and the others murmured excitedly. Wild hardly considered that impressive, though he supposed he hadn’t seen the others do something like that before. As they continued to chat Wild still felt the tight coil of anxiety twisting around his gut. His heart thudded hard against his ribcage and he worked on calming it while he continued to listen to the others rattle off more examples of his archery prowess. 

Even with all the eyes off him he still couldn’t stop himself from wanting to shrink down into a ball. He chided himself for being so weak, they were just talking about his archery skills. Though he could hear a distant bell of familiarity ringing in his mind. This whole situation felt very familiar in the worst kind of way and for some reason it made him very anxious, like he was being judged. In a way he was being judged, but it was all in good fun, he knew that. So why did he feel like he was about to get punished?

“Did you have any training?” Someone asked and Wild could only manage the barest of nods. The ringing in his head became deafening and he felt his muscles beginning to lock up. He could tell the others were still talking to him but they might as well have been miles away. His gaze became fixed on a point somewhere in the distance as everything began to fade into the background noise. He knew what this was now but there was nothing he could do to stop it. The memory was already pulling him away from the world and everyone in it. He took a deep breath and let himself fall into it. 

************ 

Link felt the painful vibration from the bow string as the arrow was loosed. It landed with a solid thunk into the target making a tight grouping at its center. His fingers ached, his back muscles pulled and cramped painfully and his arms were little better than chu jelly. At the shout from his commander Link stood at attention ignoring the pull and burn in his back as he did so. Back perfectly straight and rigid and eyes staring straight ahead he schooled his face into a flat emotionless mask and waited. His commander walked up to the target followed by one of his subordinates and together they studied his handy work. Link could tell by their posture that they weren’t satisfied with his shooting. His fingers gave a painful throb and he felt something warm pool at the tip of his middle finger.   

“Sloppy work,” the commander scoffed as he ripped one of the arrows free and eyed the hole left behind in the target. Link felt his mouth press into a firm line but he said nothing. 

“I agree, this is worse than last time,” the subordinate commented blandly as he too pulled another arrow out from the target and examined the fletching. Link felt his heart begin to sink, he knew what this meant. They had already been shooting for over three hours now and his fingers were little better than raw and bleeding skin. 

When they had begun with his archery training Link had been excited. He always had an interest in archery after watching the older soldiers practicing in the courtyard some years ago. But after a few rounds of shooting, his fingers became stiff and sore. His arm that held the bow had already begun to bruise and his shoulders had burned. 

There had also been little in the way of actual instruction, instead they had just handed him the bow and a quiver of arrows and showed him how to stand. Other than that he had to figure it out on his own and he would have been lying if he said he didn’t find it difficult. Though taking into account his lack of instruction he thought he was doing fairly well. His superiors on the other hand had made it clear they weren’t happy with his progress. By the time they were finished shooting for that day Link couldn’t curl his index and middle fingers and his arm had such deep bruising that just the fabric of his shirt rubbing against his forearm caused pain. 

It wasn’t until later that night around the dining table with the other soldiers that he learned that archers were meant to get braces to protect their arms and a special tab to help protect their fingers against the bow string. He found himself without words when he learned this new information. So he kept his head down and pushed his food around his plate, his apatite forgotten in the swirl of his own thoughts. At his next practice he asked his commander why he wasn’t given a guard and a tab and was met with a hard glare and a sneer. He was told in no uncertain terms that he must learn to feel the string of the bow before he would be allowed the luxury of a guard and tab. That day he was forced to practice archery until the sun went down, and it was the first time his fingers bled.  

From that point on Link had made it a point to learn as quickly as possible so he could earn his gear. But after months of practice that left him with bleeding fingers and bruises he found he always fell short of his commander’s impossible standards of perfection. Every missed shot led to fits of rage and even when he honed his skills to the point of out shooting his fellow knights, it never was good enough. A scoff from the commander’s laky brought his attention back on the task at hand.  

“Blood on the fletching, how disgusting,” the subordinate sneered as he handed the offending arrow to the commander. With a disgusted look of his own the commander ordered his subordinate to gather the rest of the arrows as he made his way back over to Link. He steeled himself for the tirade and surreptitiously wiped his hand on his pants and hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to get the blood out of the fabric later.   

“sloppy work Link, you can do better than this,” the commander said as he brandished the arrow in front of his face for him to examine. There was only a small smear of red on the white and blue feathers, but it was enough to be noticeable. 

“Look at this mess you left on this arrow, disgusting,” he said as he leaned forward and got into Link’s face. His breath smelled rancid and Link had to force himself to keep his face neutral in the face of his commander’s anger. 

“Not to mention you can’t even manage to hit the target’s center! You’re at fifty paces, a toddler can do better than that!” He bellowed and Link felt spittle land on his cheek. Link could feel a tight ball of rage coil like a snake in his gut and it was a challenge to keep his silent mask firmly in place. 

“And you call yourself the hero. Pathetic. How can we trust the fate of Hyrule to a hero that can’t even hit his target?” He asked and Link was sorely tempted to snap back. Instead he only blinked slowly, and let his eyebrows raise ever so slightly. The commander straightened and looked down his nose at him. His subordinate trotted up next to him and handed the arrows back over to Link. He took them mutely and placed them back in his quiver and waited for the next round of shooting to start. The subordinate looked at his hand and made a face at the small smear of blood that Link had accidently left behind. 

“Honestly can’t you keep your failure to yourself?” He drawled as he leaned forward and wiped the offending blood on Link’s shirt. Link felt the something snap in his chest and without thinking words tumbled out of his mouth. 

“Maybe if I had something protecting my fingers I wouldn’t leave my ‘failure’ on you,” Link hissed and as soon as the words left his mouth he knew he had made a terrible mistake. In one swift movement his commander shoved the subordinate aside and whipped the arrow across Link’s face. Pain bloomed across his face as the fletching on the arrow made a fine slice across his cheek. He felt a welt beginning to rise and before he could straighten the arrow was brought across his face once again and this time he felt the arrow snap from the force. He could feel a new welt rising along his jawline and tears welled up in his eyes from the stinging pain.

“How dare you speak out of turn! You are meant to be seen not heard!” The commander roared, tossing the arrow aside and fisting Link’s shirt in his hands. Link forced himself to make eye contact, staring down his commander’s rage with all the spite he could muster. Link watched as the commander’s eyes flared with renewed rage and he was flung off his feet. He hit the ground hard and before he could recover he found the tip of a blade at his throat. He couldn’t stop his eyes from widening in shock, this was a new level of rage and a small part of him wondered how far his commander was going to take his threat. The look of malicious glee that spread across his commander’s face sent a chill through him. 

“Not so uppity now are you. On your feet,” He commanded and Link slowly began to get to his feet, his eyes trained on his commander’s face. His breathing was heavy and Link watched for any change in body language that might indicate an attack. The tip of the sword followed him as he moved and when he was finally upright the tip of the sword traced the welt on his cheek that was left behind by the arrow. 

“I should have you whipped soundly for this insubordination,” The commander said softly as the tip of his sword once again found the soft skin underneath his chin. Link had to force himself to regain his neutral mask and he raised his eyes to meet his commander’s cold gray eyes. Link could handle a lashing, it wouldn’t be the first time and with his track record he fully expected to receive more. But the look in his commander’s eyes made him think a lashing would be a kind alternative to the punishment he was about to get. Link felt his heart begin to race against as he felt the tip of the blade come to rest against his Adam’s apple. After a moment of contemplation his commander smiled and removed the blade from his neck. 

“You know, you caught me in a good mood. Since you seem so determined to earn your guard and tab, you will shoot these arrows until your form is perfect.” He said with a small smile. Link felt his fingers give a painful throb at his words but he refused to show any weakness. With a curt nod and a determined glare Link inclined his head and reached for an arrow. The commander and his laky smiled evilly and moved off to the side allowing Link to knock and pull back his arrow to take aim. Link’s arm throbbed and blood dripped off his fingertips but he refused to make a sound, refused to show any signs of discomfort as he let the arrow fly.

******

The memory slowly faded away and Wild felt himself come back to the clearing. His fingers ached with the memory of the past and he had to force himself not to suck in a deep breath when he remembered he was not alone. Slowly he let his eyes wander around the camp. The others were still chatting about archery and looking around it seemed that none of them noticed that he had mentally disappeared. Wild bowed his head slightly and thanked Hylia for that small mercy. He knew he couldn’t hide his condition forever but he didn’t want the others to know just yet. A part of him feared they would toss him away if they realized he was broken in a way that couldn’t be fixed. 

As casually as he could he brought his hands together and felt along the inner knuckles of his right hand. Thick calluses lined his middle and index fingers where the bow string would sit when he drew arrows back to fire. He wondered how long he had to shoot in order to earn his tab that day, if he ever earned his tab that day. A phantom ache throbbed through the joints of his fingers and he massaged the pain away absently. Wild was so engrossed in his thoughts he completely missed how the hero of Twilight watched him out of the corner of his eye.

[the-marvel-ous-hobbit]

To Slay a Dragon: Ch. 4

Summary: Radagast and Wargs.

Word Count: ~5300

part three || part five

Morning sunlight aggravates the pounding behind my eyes as I stare at the leafy canopy above the trolls’ campsite. The glare holds me captive as effectively as the burlap encasing my body. Each breath draws the smell of rich, damp earth into my nose. Garbled voices drift past my head, mingling with the birdsong. It might almost be peaceful, if it weren’t for the agony radiating from my shattered ribs.

I still can’t believe we made it through the night unscathed, broken ribs aside. I should be grateful the trolls in this land are as stupid as they are ugly. If it had been three of Skyrim’s trolls, we wouldn’t have been so lucky—especially with Kili throwing himself blade-first into a fight without a second’s thought. Idiot. I should be angry with him—the fire devouring my chest is basically his fault—but the relief at seeing the sun rise drowns out any sense of ill-will.

A vision of wide green eyes flashes in my mind, reminding me of the reason I jumped into that troll’s path. I’ve never reacted like that to save anyone before—instinctively, without a shred of rational thought. A sure-fire way to get yourself killed—or, in my case, seriously injured. But if I hadn’t, if Bilbo had been on the receiving end of the blow that knocked me flat, would we have survived the night at all?

I let out a slow breath through my nose, wincing and struggling to believe I just watched the same Hobbit who was scared to leave his armchair stand up to three fully grown trolls with barely a quiver. He saved my life.

Maybe Gandalf is onto something after all. Perhaps there’s no need for me to leap to Bilbo’s rescue. But something within me seems determined to protect him. If I were to give any thought to it, I might say it’s because I’m trying to make up for something.

I cram that thought back into its box and firmly jam on the lid. Not today.

“Hello?” A curly-haired silhouette blocks the glare from the sun. I blink, forcing my vision to focus. “Are you alright?”

Bilbo’s question fans the fire in my chest. Metallic warmth floods my mouth as I clamp my teeth down on a whimper. I have to get something to fix my ribs before I pass out. I squint at Bilbo, at his mussed hair and concerned eyes, teeth gritted against the pain. There’s no way I can even stand in my condition, let alone walk to get my pack. But the thought of someone else touching my possessions feels like a hand squeezing my insides.

Don’t be so stubborn.

The voice is as familiar as my own, and my heart aches to hear it, even if it’s inside my own mind. I can picture the exact expression on his face as he says it—the long-suffering exasperation on his hardened features contradicting the endless patience in his soft eyes. I swallow thickly and force myself to speak.  

“I need—can you bring my bag?” The words climb up my throat, emerging in a hoarse whisper.

Bilbo’s brows knit, then he nods and disappears from view. I let my head drop back amongst the leaves and close my eyes, praying Bilbo doesn’t possess any tendencies to snoop. I doubt he would understand half of the things I carry with me, but they’re all I have in the world, and I’m not very good at sharing.

Snatches of conversation reach my ears across the campsite—the Dwarves discuss the night’s events in breathless, excited tones punctuated with bursts of raucous laughter. Their familiar noise is a welcome distraction from my laboured breathing and the bile rising in my throat.

Bilbo reappears, clutching my pack between his small hands. It’s half as tall as he is, and the breath whooshes out of him as he sets it on the ground beside me. Before I can fully register the next problem, he ducks his head and reaches to untie the sack. Even after weeks on the road, he still smells vaguely of lavender and sweet tea underneath the dirt and sweat. He fumbles a little with the knots, tongue poking between his teeth. His breath is warm on my neck, chasing spiders down my back. My fingers curl around an invisible blade.

I close my eyes and force my breaths to slow. This is Bilbo—he’s half my size and unarmed. Never mind that, he saved my life not an hour ago. Why would he go to the trouble only to pull a blade on me? The idea of him wielding a blade is almost laughable—this sweet, innocent creature doesn’t have a violent bone in his body.

But he’s not innocent. No one is.

A twig snaps. Opening my eyes, I see Bilbo standing several feet away, hands folded behind his back. He doesn’t meet my eyes, gazing off towards where a few of the Dwarves are wrestling in the dirt. The vice around my chest eases, but only slightly.

I struggle to sit up, my ribs barking their protest. I could just ask him to get what I need from my bag, but I’ve already defied my instincts one too many times today. A face flashes before my eyes—a certain red-headed Nord who would repeatedly test my skill and patience by seeing how easily he could filch my possessions, and grin widely at my frustration when I failed to conceal them properly.

The lump in my throat returns, thick enough to choke on.

After a bit of fumbling, and with my teeth clenched hard enough to hurt, I manage to retrieve my prize. The glass vial is about the size of my pinky and contains a deep red liquid. I yank out the cork and drain the liquid in one swallow. The potion burns down my parched throat, hits my sternum and blooms outwards like a mushroom cloud. Bones shift and crack, knitting together behind a fresh surge of agony. A whimper escapes through my teeth, and the pain subsides. Cool air fills my lungs, and they expand joyfully inside my newly-healed ribcage.

Bilbo’s wide eyes dart between my face and the empty vial. “What was that?”

“It’s medicine.” I kick the sack off my legs and wiggle my toes inside my boots, flinching as blood surges to the deprived muscles. “Of sorts.” Bilbo’s eyes shine with more questions, but he looks away, fiddling with one of the shiny gold buttons on his waistcoat.

With the pain finally gone, my gaze drifts to the three large figures across the campsite. Gandalf is busy examining the statues—he raps one smartly with his staff like a schoolteacher disciplining a student with his cane. The troll’s stone eyes stare off into the trees, forever oblivious. The dagger still wedged in its thigh glitters like a ruby encased in a halo of sunlight.

Leaving Bilbo and his questions behind, I roll to my feet and cross the glade to retrieve what’s mine. The Blade slides from the stone with no resistance, returning to my hand like a loyal pet. As its familiar weight settles in my palm, something else previously absent slots back into place in my chest.

Footsteps approach through the bracken a few feet from me. The slow, deliberate steps can only belong to one person. I duck behind the statue as Thorin emerges from the trees and strolls towards Gandalf. Though he’s half the Wizard’s height, he does his best to look down his nose at him.

“Where did you go to, if I may ask?”

“To look ahead.”

“And what brought you back?”

“Looking behind.”

I swear if I roll my eyes any harder they’re going to get stuck. Maybe Gandalf deserves some credit for saving our hides, but it’s also very possible this entire thing was somehow his fault. Thorin gives a barely perceptible nod of thanks, despite the tightness around his eyes that echoes my sentiments.

“Nasty business,” Gandalf mutters, glancing up at Lazy Eye. “Still, they’re all in one piece.”

Thorin doesn’t miss a beat. “No thanks to your burglar.”

Gandalf raises his chin. “He had the nous to play for time. None of the rest of you thought of that.”

Thorin looks sheepish for all of half a second before he sighs through his nose. “And what of the Elf? For a supposed dragon-slayer, she wasn’t any help at all. She almost got Kili killed.”

My breath freezes in my throat, my fingers digging into the statue beside me hard enough to hurt. Gandalf holds Thorin’s gaze, their expressions a perfect contrast. Thorin’s thick brows form a harsh ‘V’ over his eyes, his chest rises and falls a little too rapidly.

“I made my reservations regarding her clear from the beginning,” Thorin growls. Each word is like a fist driving into my gut. “If any of my kin are harmed because of her—”

“Our agreement still holds.” Gandalf’s voice is perfectly flat, mirroring his placid expression. “You may seek retribution as you see fit, as promised.”

Thorin nods his assent, and the conversation moves on. My pulse pounds behind my eyes. The Night Mother’s breathy whisper hisses inside my mind, repeating the words of the contract she burdened me with over a year ago. The Blade twitches in my hand, yearning for blood.

Why did I let him live?

With some effort, I shove the Blade into its sheath at my waist and stagger across the clearing on heavy legs. Curious eyes drill holes in my back, but I keep my gaze fixed on my feet. Crouching by my bag, I dig through the contents, hyper-aware of the steel pressed against my thigh.

It shouldn’t bother me, knowing that Gandalf and Thorin have an agreement about my death, as though they both expect me to betray them. At one time, I might have applauded their foresight. But after all the effort I’ve made to repress my assassins’ instincts—the same ones drilled into me by the very person who haunts my every step—I ought to be granted some kind of reprieve. I thought I’d left the distrustful glares and concealed blades on Skyrim’s grey shores. How naïve I was.

Curling my shaking hands into fists, I force a lungful of air in through my nose, hold it, and slowly release, my eyes shut tight. With each slow breath, the heat gradually subsides.

His approach is silent, but I sense Bilbo’s presence before he speaks. He hovers behind the pale curtain of mud-smeared hair brushing my shoulder—I tuck it behind my ear and turn to look at him. The gold buttons on his waistcoat gleam as he bounces on his toes.

“I wanted to thank you,” he says.

I blink at him. “Why?”

His nose twitches like a rabbit’s. “I saw you save my life. I may not have much experience with adventures or fights, but I do know a thing or two about manners.”

With my hands tucked inside my pack, I slowly uncurl my fingers. “You saved my life too. We’re square.”

A tentative smile brightens his face, and he offers me a slight bow. Against my better judgement, I smile back. He strolls over to join the Dwarves—they’re getting ready to move off. Upon reaching them, he turns and waves at me, beckoning. I nod, motioning for him to go on without me. My eyes dart to the troll statues. Thorin and Gandalf are nowhere in sight.

I inhale one final time and push to my feet, swinging my pack onto one shoulder and my hunting bow onto the other. My fingers brush the hilt of the Blade, and something inside me stirs, sending a thrill through my fingertips. Perhaps I will fulfil my contract after all.  

*

The trolls’ cave is located further into the trees, and is easy enough to find. The stench is ungodly—even standing outside the entrance, it’s enough to make my head swim. Gandalf leads Thorin and a few of the others down into the darkness, whilst the less foolhardy among the company remain out in the fresh air, taking stock of our situation and the gear we left back at the farmhouse.

I don’t feel much like talking to anyone—my thoughts are muddied by lack of sleep and snippets of the exchange I overheard between Gandalf and Thorin. I feel Bilbo’s eyes land on me repeatedly as we wait for the others to return, but I don’t dare to look at him. I don’t trust myself to control my expression, and if Bilbo finds out about my decision, he’ll go running straight to Gandalf. Wizards are far too unpredictable to engage in a fight. It’s just common sense to avoid confrontation with people who can bend the laws of nature to their will. The only thing to do now is pray for a quiet day of travel once we’re finished here.

“Bilbo.”

As if on cue, Gandalf looms out of nowhere like a wraith. I roll to my feet, alarmed at his silent approach, but he doesn’t even glance at me. He’s gazing down at Bilbo with a strange intensity, holding a sheathed dagger in one bony-fingered hand.

“Here. This is about your size.”

Bilbo stares at the blade like it might bite him, but eventually takes it. In his small hands, it’s about the size of a sword.

“I can’t take this.” Bilbo’s voice is a breathy whisper as he holds the dagger back towards Gandalf. The Wizard fixes him with a look that immediately ceases his uncomfortable shuffling.

“The blade is of Elvish make, which means it will glow blue when Orcs or Goblins are nearby.”

Bilbo’s eyes widen, as though Gandalf is trying to gift him a live snake instead of a magic Elvish dagger. “I have never used a sword in my life.”

“And I hope you never have to.” The Wizard echoes my thoughts, low and sincere. “But if you do, remember this: true courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one.”

A cold sensation spreads through my gut. I turn away before my face can betray me. If the Wizard can read minds, I’m done for. I suck in a breath, forcefully shoving my fantasies of murder into some deep, hidden recess of my brain. Gandalf’s attention doesn’t stray from Bilbo, but I won’t be fooled.

I pause, lifting my head to examine the forest. The trolls’ cave is enclosed by a circular wall of rocky slopes, with only one way in and out. It’s actually a pretty smart place to hide a treasure hoard. Upon first arriving, I scanned the surroundings for potential threats, and was satisfied nothing was waiting to ambush us. Now, a rhythmic pounding that can only be footsteps approaches from beyond the safety of the rocks and trees, heading in our direction.

“Something’s coming!”

Thorin’s yell bounces off the trees, and the Dwarves swarm like agitated bees, readying weapons and moving into defensive positions. Bilbo stands frozen, clutching his new dagger with white knuckles.

“Stay together!” Gandalf draws a blade from inside his robes and strides towards the Dwarves, leaving Bilbo and me alone.

Bilbo turns away from the chaos and gingerly draws the dagger from its sheath. It’s simple but beautifully made—the blade elegantly curved and engraved with delicate designs. The hilt fits perfectly in his hand.

Just like that, the only harmless member of the company is equipped to kill.

Before I can get caught up in the opposing emotions, I cross to his side and we hurry towards the others. Branches crackle and snap in the distance, growing louder at an alarming rate. Footsteps pound the earth, too numerous to count.

Something big bursts out of the undergrowth mere feet from our defensive circle. It skids to a stop in a spray of leaves and dirt. I blink once, twice, a third time. For a moment I think I’ve inhaled Gandalf’s secondhand pipe smoke, because what I’m seeing cannot possibly be real.

“Thieves! Fire! Murder!”

What fresh lunacy is this?

“Radagast!” Gandalf lowers his sword, a smile lighting his bearded face. “It’s Radagast the Brown!”

Wonderful.

*

Radagast the Brown presents a bizarre picture, even by the standards I’m accustomed to. He’s both similar to Gandalf—tangled grey beard, scruffy, mismatched brown clothes, massive brown hat, mage’s staff—and wildly different—Radagast is several inches shorter, somehow even more deranged looking, and has bird shit in his hair. As the two of them converse in barely-audible murmurs, I swear his hat moves. A quick glance around at the Dwarves’ expressions—which range from curiosity to fascination to poorly-disguised disgust—confirm I’m still not hallucinating. I might almost feel better if I were actually going mad.

As the two Wizards wander out of earshot to continue their conversation, movement catches my eye. My gaze is met by eight pairs of liquid black eyes belonging to the large brown rabbits tethered to the sled Radagast crashed in on. The biggest one regards me with a tilted head and twitching whiskers, each of us unsure what to make of the other. I wait for it to open its mouth and speak. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if it began reciting poetry.

Across the clearing, Radagast is speaking rapidly, gesturing wildly with his hands and Gandalf has become a silent grey statue. I catch snatches of words I don’t fully understand—‘Dol Guldur’, ‘Necromancer’, something about giant spiders and spirits of the dead. Bilbo sits beside me and peers into my face, eyebrows knitted. The air practically vibrates with unasked questions.

Radagast concludes his tale, visibly trembling and clutching his staff so tight it’s in danger of splintering. Gandalf reanimates, offering a pull on his pipe. Radagast instantly relaxes as a puff of herbal smoke wafts around his head. Gandalf leans closer to him, and Radagast fumbles beneath his filthy coat, producing an object wrapped in brown cloth.

The temperature plummets as Gandalf unwraps the sword. Bilbo goes tense beside me, and the Dwarves’ quiet chatter falls silent. A palpable sense of wrongness pervades the clearing, turning my blood to ice in my veins.

“That is not from the world of the living.”

The words settle around my shoulders like a heavy cloak. I’ve had dealings with creatures beyond the mortal realm—those experiences are scorched into my memory, and I’d rather not repeat them, thanks ever so.

Gandalf’s frown deepens as he examines the thorn-like blade, but he rewraps it after a couple of heartbeats. The dread dissolves and my breaths come easier, but the warmth fails to return to my body.

A low, chilling howl cuts through the silence.

“Was that a wolf?” Bilbo’s eyes dart between the Wizards and the trees. “Are there wolves out there?”

“Wolves? No, that is not a wolf.”

Am I to infer from your tone it’s something much worse? Excellent.

An enormous, four-legged shape crests the rocky slope behind Bilbo. The creature is easily three times the size of a wolf. Its yellow eyes regard us for a moment, saliva dripping from bared fangs as long and sharp as the Blade in my hand. A growl rumbles up its throat, and it leaps. Thorin’s blade slices into the back of its skull, but not before it takes down an unfortunate Dwarf with its massive front paws. A second beast appears atop the rocks behind Thorin, and an arrow zips past my ear, thudding into its shoulder. Knocked off balance, it tumbles down the slope and is met by a mighty swing from Dwalin’s hammer.

“Warg scouts!” Thorin yanks his blade from the twitching body. “Which means an Orc pack is not far behind.”

“Orc pack?” Bilbo’s voice echoes my own disbelief. How did I not notice a pack of Orcs on our tail?

Gandalf advances on Thorin, face like thunder. “Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?”

“No one.”

“Who did you tell?!”

“No one, I swear!” Thorin’s eyes dart to me, then back to Gandalf. “What in Durin’s name is going on?”

“You are being hunted.”

Brilliant.

“We have to get out of here.” Dwalin’s gruff voice is tinged with fear, his tattooed, knuckle-dusted fingers tightening around the handle of his hammer.

“We can’t, we have no ponies!” Ori skids down over the rocks behind us, Bifur on his heels. “They bolted!”

Another spine-chilling howl echoes in the distance. The Dwarves glance at each other, gripping their weapons tighter. Bilbo’s eyes are wide and frightened in his pale face. I hope Shadowmere has found somewhere safe to hide—he’d never abandon me, but he’s also not stupid enough to take on an entire pack of Orcs.

“I’ll draw them off.”

I turn to gape at Radagast, at the fierce determination blazing in his eyes and the bird shit caking his hair. Are all Wizards in Middle-earth completely insane?

“These are Gundabad Wargs,” Gandalf protests. “They will outrun you!”

“These are Rhosgobel rabbits!” Radagast’s tone is utterly serious, and his eyes gleam beneath his ridiculous hat. “I’d like to see them try.”

I need a lie down.

*

Radagast might be a complete lunatic, but those rabbits of his can really run.

Beyond the trees, an area of open grassland littered with enormous, jagged boulders and smatterings of tall pines extends for several miles in every direction. Crouched behind one of these boulders, the company and I watch Radagast careen recklessly across the plain, a dozen Orcs on his tail. I can’t decide whether to stare at the bundles of furry lightning pulling the sled, or the pack of baying Wargs with Orcs astride them like horses. The sight is equally horrifying and morbidly amusing.

“Come on!”

Gandalf’s yell draws us away from the safety of the treeline and out onto the open, where Thorin quickly takes the lead. Ducking behind boulders and weaving up and down hills, we work our way across the plain as fast as the  Dwarves’ short strides will allow, accompanied by a distant chorus of barks and whoops.

At least one of us is having fun.

Several times during our flight, the Orcs cross directly in front of us, though always at a safe enough distance that we don’t draw their attention away from the Wizard and his rabbits. Each time, Gandalf ushers us in a new direction with only a brief pause. At first, the zigzagging back and forth seemed nonsensical and fuelled purely by fear, but there’s a deliberateness to it. Clearly he has a plan, but I’m not sure whether to be relieved or nervous.

We scramble over more boulders, and Radagast’s sled cuts in front of us again, the Orcs even closer on his heels.

But something’s wrong. There’s one missing.

Thorin ducks behind another boulder, and the rest of us pile in after him. Beneath the Dwarves’ panting, I hear snuffling, low growling and claws clicking on stone above us. Craning my neck, I catch a glimpse of matted brown fur and glistening teeth—one of the Wargs is pacing around on top of the boulder. It’s so close I can smell the musky, wet-dog stink of its fur and the rotten stench wafting off its rider.

Further down the line, Thorin nods at the bow in Kili’s grip. Kili’s eyes bug, but he slowly draws an arrow from his quiver. In a burst of movement, he leaps away from the rock, twists and shoots. A snarl, and the Warg lands almost on top of us, half-crushing its rider beneath its bulk. The Dwarves ready their weapons, and the wounded Orc meets the business end Dwalin’s hammer. The others launch into the fray, hacking and smashing with no finesse whatsoever. Bilbo remains by my side, his blade quivering. Howls and screams echo across the plain, deafening and endless.

The Orcs charge straight for us.

“Move!” Gandalf yells. “Run!”

The adrenaline sizzling in my blood urges me faster, despite the burn in my legs reminding me I’m exhausted and out of shape. Small rocks and grassy knots threaten to snap our ankles with every step, but there’s no time to pay any attention to my feet. The Wargs are unbelievably fast and show no signs of slowing.

I lose track of how long we spend running to and fro across the cursed plain, screeching to a halt and abruptly changing direction every time a Warg blocks our path. If the landscape were flat, we would have been run down several times over. Still, the Dwarves’ short strides are no match for the Wargs’ loping gait. Though their speed and stamina is impressive, it’s not enough to outrun our pursuers.

“We’re surrounded!” Fili crashes through the grass as two Wargs crest the hill behind him. There’s at least one in every other direction—they seem to rise from the earth itself, forming a loose circle around us. They’re too far away to attack, but close enough to prevent us making a run for it. Desperate faces cast about every which way, searching in vain for an opening.

“Here!” I usher Bilbo towards another rock—our only salvation in an otherwise open and vulnerable position. The others hurry towards us as the Wargs stalk closer.

“Where’s Gandalf?”

“He’s abandoned us!”

Impossible. He was here a moment ago, and there’s nowhere to hide, and no way he could have slipped through the circle of Wargs. He’s simply vanished.

Looks like here is where we make our final stand.

“Hold your ground!”

The least I can hope for is getting to watch Thorin get eaten.

Gandalf’s voice rings out behind me. “This way, you fools!”

That’s just rude.

Unseen by everyone except Gandalf, the ground beneath the rock opens up to reveal a tunnel, presenting us with an underground escape route. I can’t see what’s at the bottom, but whatever it is can’t be much worse than a dozen ravenous Wargs.

Thorin hops up onto a rock near the entrance and ushers the Dwarves inside. A Warg breaks formation to lunge at him, but is cut down by an Elvish blade wielded with deadly skill. A growl ripples through the enemies’ ranks, and they close in faster. Below, I can vaguely hear Gandalf counting the Dwarves as they slide into the tunnel.

“Five… six…”

I turn to look behind me. Kili’s dark hair whips in the breeze as he launches to arrow after arrow towards the Wargs and their riders. Some hit their mark, others lodge harmlessly in the ground. His rhythm is slowing. The nearest Orc sneers at him. I yank the bow from my back and unleash an arrow. Kili shoots me a startled look, but grins and swiftly nocks another arrow. The bow hums in my hands. My arms burn with the effort, but still the Orcs keep coming.

“Kili!”

My shout is echoed by Thorin’s, and we bolt for the tunnel. I shove Kili ahead of me, hot breath on my neck and the stink of must and rot in my nose. Kili disappears, followed closely by his brother and Thorin. I barely have time to slow before the ground dips sharply. My knees and shins bark as I land awkwardly in the dirt. I lie there, winded and unable to move, staring up at the roof of the small cavern and waiting for the Orcs to follow.

The sharp blast of a hunting horn is the last sound I expect to hear. Dust rains down, dislodged by thundering hooves above. Arrows zip through the air and thud into flesh, drawing screams from the wounded and dying.

Something heavy tumbles down the slope, sending up a cloud of dust. Weapons clatter as the Dwarves jump to attention, but they’re threatening a corpse. Thorin bends to retrieve the arrow lodged between the dead Orc’s eyes. His face twists into a scowl.

“Elves.”

I barely manage not to roll my eyes at his tone as I pick myself up off the ground and dust off my trousers. Something twinges in my knee—an old wound that never healed properly—but a quick inspection confirms no new injuries. I glance at Bilbo—he’s pale and trembling, but otherwise unharmed.

In the ensuing silence, Dwalin’s gruff voice echoes from the back of the cavern. “I cannot see where the pathway leads! Do we follow it or no?”

“Follow it, of course!”

As the Dwarves move off, Gandalf murmurs, “I think that would be wise.”

I’m almost too tired to wonder what he’s scheming at.

The tunnel morphs into a deep, narrow cleft bordered on both sides by towering walls of solid rock. In some places, it’s barely wide enough for the Dwarves to squeeze through, let alone Gandalf and me. My palms sting, scraped and bleeding from bracing them against the rock. All things considered, it’s a small price to pay after the day I’ve had. Exhaustion envelopes my brain in fog, burying any thoughts concerning Thorin and his impending demise. It’s actually a relief.

Also, I hope Radagast is all right.

The sliver of sky visible through the crack above fades from blue to purple, and shadows engulf our path. The Dwarves’ chatter lapses into silence. A faint but noticeable hum builds in the air, lifting the hairs on my arms.

Ahead of me, Bilbo stops. Slowly, he turns to look at me, then at the Wizard behind us. “Gandalf, where are we?”

The Wizard glances between us. His blue eyes gleam unnervingly in the dimness. “You can feel it.”

“Yes. It feels like…” Bilbo glances at me, and I nod. With less focus on where I’m putting my feet, I can taste metal on the back of my tongue. “Well, like magic.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Gandalf says softly. “A very powerful magic.”

A voice bounces off the rock walls, reaching us in a stifled echo. “There’s light ahead!”

With a glance at Gandalf’s placid, unreadable expression, I follow Bilbo towards the smell of fresh air and the soothing sound of trickling water. The tunnel opens into the pleasant evening, and my jaw drops.

We emerge onto a small outcropping overlooking a deep valley. A settlement nestles against the opposite cliff face—white walls, golden roofs and delicate arches shimmer in the light of the setting sun, surrounded by lush greenery and vibrant gardens. At least a dozen waterfalls gush from the rock into the river far below. The heady scent of a hundred different flowers fills my nose.

As I gaze down at the valley, warmth unfurls in my chest and seeps into my muscles, spreading through my limbs and pooling in my fingertips and toes. I catch myself smiling like an idiot, and quickly pull myself together before anyone can see. But I can’t squash the comfortable peace that has settled over my body.

Home. This place feels like home.

“The Valley of Imladris,” Gandalf announces. “In the common tongue, it’s known by another name.”

“Rivendell.” Bilbo’s smiling face glows in the soft evening light as he gazes out over the scene. He seems transfixed, his small body trembling slightly against my arm. The Dwarves shuffle about on the platform, restless and unimpressed.

“Here lies the Last Homely House east of the Sea.”

Thorin rounds on the Wizard, his face a thundercloud. “This was your plan all along,” he growls. “To seek refuge with our enemy.”

“You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf snaps. “The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself!”

Bilbo and I exchange a glance. A laugh bubbles in my throat, and I bite my tongue to stifle it.

“You think the Elves with give our quest their blessing?” Thorin asks, voice tinged with something almost desperate. “They will try to stop us.”

“Of course they will,” Gandalf says. “But we have questions that need to be answered.” He raises his chin slightly. “If we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with tact, respect, and no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me.”

What could possibly go wrong?

@moloko-tyan ; @bluelinkmp  ; @inumorph ; @psychomanias   

[magioftheseas]

Palliate

For @i-demand-a-hug and @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Biting taken from here.

Rating: T+

Warnings: Vampirism with all the implications you’d get from a story still rated T+.

Notes: This is a continuation for Pariah, written for 2/2 also known as the in-game day Akechi and Protag-kun confirmed their love in Persona 5 Royal. But also with Vampire!Akira because lmao why not. However, it’s kinda angsty. Have fun.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

“It’s not a problem, right?” At one point, Akechi had asked that with a perfect and plastic smile. Head tilted, eyes crinkled, a smile emphasized with only soft curves. Not a flash of teeth—until now. “Right, Kurusu?”

The raw Akechi Goro was still such a sight to behold. He wondered if he ever doubted that for a moment. He supposed he should at least be glad for the scarf wrapped tightly around the neck. Somehow, his teeth still ached.

The words before had been like poison.

“Can you stay a bit?”

He knew from the second he asked that he made a mistake. And Akechi’s reaction—

The Detective Prince was perfect and plastic. Always offering a smile. Always assuming an act of innocence even when tucking his hair back to expose his throat. The image of charm, graceful on the line between friendly and intimate. It had only been those eyes that indicated his danger. A soft and sweet front—but there was no hiding that sharp and intelligent stare.

A stare which is now just a glare, lips pulled into a sneer.

“This sentimentality isn’t going to cause problems, right?” Any sweetness that could be gleaned was dripping with sarcasm. Ah, has Akechi always had sharp canines? Maybe that was just projection. “I can trust you to cooperate, yes?”

And, then.

“It’s not a problem, right? Right, Kurusu?”

Of course it’s a problem, he wants to scream. It’s been a problem since the day you shook my hand.

It’s been a problem since the day you came back with a godforsaken cocky fucking smirk.

I’ve been stuck on you like a parasite from the start.

“You didn’t answer the question,” is what he says instead.

“It’s a stupid question,” is Akechi’s blunt response. “What do you expect to get from continuing this?”

“I...” You speak so detachedly. “It’s the last chance I’ll get to taste you.”

With just the right stare of his own, Akechi stills. It’s not like a deer in headlights, not yet, but Akechi does stiffen when Akira strides towards him.

“You knew,” he said. “From the start. And you were curious. You always pressed so close, acting so innocent. If we were both normal humans, that’d be one thing. Maybe I could brush it aside.”

“Even if you were a human, you wouldn’t be normal,” Akechi said, clipped. “But, you’re not much of a vampire, either, are you?”

He’s not. But he can still practically taste the memory of Akechi’s thumb pressed against his fangs. Akechi’s grabby little hands. On his teeth, on his back, on his shoulder. Akechi, who knew and still acted like that.

Akira grips the damn scarf. Akechi doesn’t stop him, but he doesn’t rip it away. The fabric gives under his grip, but he doubts Akechi will care about a few extra wrinkles in the folds.

“You’ve never even bitten a human before,” Akechi said next, and those sharp blood-red eyes bore into him. Reflected back is an unwavering shadow. “I didn’t need to confirm it, although the lack of bite marks on any of your merry gang of thieves did strengthen my conviction. They always showed their wrists and necks without a hint of restraint—how comfortable they were around you.” Akechi’s long lashes lower, and there’s still no falter. “You look at me differently. Full of surprises, aren’t you.”

His thumb hooks into the scarf.

“Let’s not talk about that.”

With that, he pulls, pulls, pulls—

--

Until Akechi is standing in the attic, staring him down. The scarf has unraveled a little, but the fabric sticks to his throat like a flimsy shield. He has thin bedsheets that would provide more of a defense.

Haah.

“I would have been fine just admiring from afar,” he finds himself saying. “But then you had to go and get yourself killed.”

“And now I’m back,” Akechi says, too unimpressed to muster up a smile, no matter how sardonic. “Don’t you feel indulged?”

This is only the start of that.

He leads Akechi to the bed, seating him, keeping him upright. Tugging at that scarf until, finally, Akechi’s pale neck was exposed.

At the laundromat, I wanted nothing more than to pull you close and sink my teeth in. Just to see if you were really alive, I thought to myself, because I couldn’t believe my ears which picked up not only your voice but your heartbeat.

And what a frantic heartbeat it had been! Even now, it’s beating fast in spite of Akechi Goro’s stoicism.

When fighting you, your heart raced so much that I worried it would come beating out of your chest.

Akechi sighed, tilting his head. His eyes closed, and resignation washes over his features.

His heart is still so agitated.

So much so that Akechi does flinch when a hand comes around the side of his neck.

It’s human to fear death, Akira thought. With his other hand, he plucked off his glasses to set them aside.

“I did find it strange,” Akechi commented suddenly. “Did Maruki not know about your condition?”

“It’s not something I go around telling people.” Not a very good attempt at lightening up the mood. Come on, Akechi, you’re better than this. “Very few people figure it out on their own, too.”

Akechi’s lips pull into the straight, thin line.

On impulse, Akira leans in close to kiss the corner of them. That gets Akechi to jump.

“What,” he growls. “The hell—”

Akechi freezes completely when a fang nicks his jaw. Locked in place. Just like that. His heart pounds against his ribcage, not calming even as Akira rubs his sternum with his thumb.

“Afraid?” he asks. Even if he meant to be teasing, his breath comes out in a chill against the other’s ear. “I don’t want to hurt you. Even if I should.”

Traitor. Killer. Tease. You’re as dangerous to others as you are to yourself.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeats. “Which makes desiring you a bit of a problem.”

Akechi does blink.

“Goro,” Akira sighs against him, and the spell is broken.

Akechi’s gloved fingers weave through his hair and yank without mercy. And Akechi is the one to bite him hard on the neck, hard enough to draw blood.

“Ah,” Akira mumbles blandly.

His teeth are sorta sharp.

And they dig in so fiercely, too. Grinding in frustration.

How human.

“Oh, Goro,” he murmurs, holding him close, pressing him closer. He feels the tension in Akechi Goro’s shoulders get tighter, precarious like a rubber band holding the blades together. “Please, please stay with me.”

Akechi bites down harder than before. When he pulls back with that defiant glare, his lips are speckled with the same shade of crimson as his eyes. The wound stings, blood beading along the surface. Wiping that away with his thumb, he smears it against Akechi’s mouth. Strokes his puffy lower lip, and kisses him.

Gently. Mouth closed, even when Akechi nips at him.

“You spineless piece of shit,” Akechi breathed harshly, huffing. “What the actual fuck are you doing?” His fists ball up in his coat. “Are you going to bite me or what?!”

He pulls at Akira’s hair, his stare narrowed.

“Well?”

Akira runs his fingers through the other’s hair in return. The soft caramel strands don’t even get tangled. Akechi is still so particular about his appearance regardless of the world’s state. Akira thinks about pulling, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

“Well?” Akechi repeats, hissing. “What are you doing, Kurusu?”

“How did my blood taste?” he finds himself asking.

“It tasted like shit! What’s your point?!”

Shit, huh? Yeah. Vampire blood isn’t appetizing at all. Appetizing—

Then, something happened.

Akechi bit his own lower lip. Like before, he bit down hard. Hard enough to draw blood, which dribbles down his chin. Immediately, Akira leans in to catch it on his tongue.

Fuck.

He laps it up and tastes Akechi’s vicious smirk with it.

“Goro, you...” Cutting himself off so that his lips can close around that hole in Akechi’s lip. Akechi shudders against him, but he’s still grinning wildly, amused to the point of a soft puff of laugh scraping its way out between his teeth. “God.” Akira wanted to laugh, too. “I hate you.”

“Kurusu—”

Akira nuzzles into his neck and doesn’t wait another second before sinking in his teeth.

“Kurusu,” Akechi pleads, voice strangled. “Kurusu...”

His pulse is fluttering like a trapped bird. Fitting, isn’t it? For all that aggression, Akechi Goro is still vulnerable like any other human, like any other living creature at another’s mercy. And he tastes so great, warm with a hint of spice.

“Don’t you feel indulged?” Akechi had asked then, and he only whines now. He really had no idea—did he even imagine? “A... Akira...”

Warm and alive—there wasn’t a doubt about it, especially with the way Akechi squirmed when a hand slipped under his coat—

“Enough,” Akechi gasped out. “T-That’s enough, Akira.”

--

He applies a bandage to the bitemark but tells Akechi that it shouldn’t take long to heal.

“It’s not a replacement for proper treatment, but my saliva does have healing qualities,” he says, handing Akechi an opened water bottle. “Don’t move around too much...”

“I know the standard procedure for dealing with blood loss,” Akechi snapped. He takes a swing before Akira can stop him. Even if he chokes a little and swallows it down wrong, there’s not much to do besides let him be.

Akechi’s glove has been rolled up a little. Akira’s fingers twitch when he notices.

“With that, all is settled?” Akechi asks, lips wet with his grip on the bottle tilted. “Are you satisfied?”

Fuck it. Just what does this guy expect when he asks?

“We’re not taking the offer,” he says as he takes that hand with the unruly glove. Rather than smoothing it down, he traces the vein of his wrist. Once, twice, each stroke harder against the skin. Until he leans down and kisses that pulse. The flutter is enough to make his lips tingle. “That should be enough.”

“You’re not the type to go behind someone’s back, for better and worse,” Akechi sighed, and he turns away rather than pulling his hand back. “I can trust you. Don’t disappoint me.”

Akira’s grip on his hand tightened. He thinks of biting both of Akechi’s wrists, to let blood drip from them like severed puppet strings.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Akechi didn’t look at him. He refused, only giving a polite nod.

[p-artsypants]

Arcadia or Bust (16) Corner of Main and State

"Yeah, so mom…we made it to New Jersey, and we're all safe...but the Heartstone isn't really...impressive. So, we're bringing what we found home. See you soon!" In Which Arcadia welcomes back it's underground citizens, Jim gets used to mundane life as a Troll, and drama seeks them all out like a magnet.

Ao3 | FF.net

I’m rewatching Trollhunters, because it’s been like a year since I watched it, and the more I listen, the less the plot of Wizards makes sense to me. Don’t get me wrong, I loved it, but there’s some lore and continuity issues. That being said, I’ll continue to write this story using Trollhunter’s lore primarily, with a sprinkle of Wizards and 3Below lore as I see fit. :)

—

Jim had been through a lot of trauma in his life. At least since becoming the Trollhunter. But nothing was as jarring as looking down to his chest and seeing his ribcage, muscles, and heart beating. 

They had taken the amulet from where it was nestled, and in return, left the gaping hole wide open, oozing with blood, and exposed. Could trolls get infections? Because humans certainly could, and this was just asking for infection. 

He had been lying here alone for a few hours now. It was hard to tell exactly how long in the vast passage of time while drenched in pain. 

When Colonel Kubritz appeared at his side, he wasn’t even surprised. Had he fallen asleep?

“How do you get this to work?” She bit. In her hand, she held the cleaned amulet, and it glowed, aching to be back with him. 

“You can’t. You have to be chosen by it. Even if I die, it will pick someone else. And it might not be you.” 

She slapped him for that, but it looked like it hurt her more than him, by the wince on her face. “Don’t give me that crap. Tell me how to work it!” 

“Just speak the incantation inscribed.”

“We already tried that.”

He shrugged. “That’s all it is.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Teach me to use it, and I’ll let you go home.” 

Jim sighed. It was pointless, but he may as well try. 

—

Claire rang the doorbell at the designated house. 

A surly man opened the door. “Yeah? What do you want? No solicitors! Unless you’re a girl scout…no, you’re too old. Are you with the tamale lady?” 

“Hello sir, I’m not here to sell anything, I actually came to ask about the car you had totaled a few days ago.”

“Are you here to hunt down that devil that flipped my baby?!” He gestured to the smashed in car in the driveway. It looked drivable, but one bump away from death. 

“Not quite...I’m actually here to fix it.” 

“Fix it? You want to fix that? My mechanic couldn’t even fix it! And you want to! What are you, 15?” 

“17, actually.” 

“I doubt you have the experience for this, little lady.” 

“Oh, I’m not a mechanic, I’m a sorceress.” 

“A what now?” 

“Sorceress, a witch! Do I have permission to fix your truck?” 

“Girlie, if you can fix my truck, I’ll owe you a huge favor.” 

“I was hoping you’d say that!” With a little skip, Claire went over to the truck and rested her hands on the hood. “Ad initium redire...” Her hands glowed purple, and pulsed against the metal, making it groan. Then it began to twist and crunch, popping out dents and welding pieces back together. 

The old man stood in shock as his beloved truck knit back together, and when she was done, it was in perfect condition. 

“How did—where did you—?!” He rounded the car, circling it like a vulture. “It’s perfect! You even took out that bump from years ago! You’re a miracle worker, girlie!” 

Claire fell on her butt on the driveway, dizzy and winded. “Glad to help.” 

“You alright?” 

“Just a little winded. I’m still getting used to using magic, especially without a staff. It’s exhausting.” 

“Well why don’t you take a seat up on the porch instead of the road? I’ll get you a beer.” 

“I’m seventeen.” 

“You’ve earned it!” 

Claire chuckled to herself and climbed to her feet. She followed the man up his steps and took a seat on the porch swing while he went inside. 

Only a minute later, he returned with beers in hand. “Here you are darlin’. Summertime ale. I’m partial to dark ale myself, but my neighbor got me this pale ale. It’s pretty good! You have a favorite?” 

Claire took a sip and tried to hide the grimace. “I don’t really get to drink very often, unless it’s a special occasion.” 

“Right right, we’ll keep it our little secret. Now then, I owe you a favor. You just saved me a whole chunk of change and a basket of anxiety. You must have something in mind since you offered?” He suddenly sat up straight. “Oh god, you don’t want my soul do you?” 

Claire snorted. “No no, you can keep your soul! Don’t know what I would do with it anyways...You know the boy that damaged your truck in the first place?” 

“I only saw a glimpse of him, that blue devil? What about him?” 

“He’s actually my boyfriend, and he’s really very sweet and usually not like this. But he was...fed something he shouldn’t have had and it made him go berserk.” 

“Crying shame.” 

“I’ll say! So the army came in and took him away! They wouldn’t listen to us at all!” 

“So what do you want me to do about it?” 

“We are going to run a campaign to get him out. Hopefully, if we get enough attention on the issue, they’ll let him go.” 

“Oh, I gotcha.” 

“So if you could just...spread the truth around town? He’s actually the one that stopped that troll invasion back at the beginning of summer.” 

The man looked surprised at that. “No kidding, that was him? Well, he’s a local hero! He’s been talked about a lot since then! Sure I’ll set the record straight! What’s this kid’s name?”

“Jim Lake Jr.” 

“Got it! Don’t worry, I’ll bring it up at the lodge, and the rotary, and the chess club...”

—

The phone was ringing, he had been successfully patched through. Strickler sat in his office after hours, wanting to make the call as private as possible. 

“Stricklander, I haven’t heard from you since the fall of the Janus order. What reason have you called on me?” 

“Can’t I just call an old friend to catch up?”

“You? No.”

Walt cracked a smile. “Fine. I need a favor.” 

“Changeling to changeling, or school principal to army general?” 

“The latter, actually.” 

The man on the other line laughed. “Color me intrigued.” 

“You know of the human Trollhunter, correct?”

“Just what you wrote in your dossier, a human male, 16 years old, lives in Arcadia Oaks, California, turned half-troll by the wizard Merlin. Responsible for the death of Bular and Gunmar. Quite a remarkable young soul. Is there anything else to know?”

“He’s been captured by the United States Army.”

The man let out half a chuckle. “Captured? What dumb trouble did he get into?”

“His deadbeat father left out some cocaine for the boy to find, he thought it was trash, and ate it.”

Distantly on the other line, there was laughter, a strong bark of laughter that lasted far too long. When he came back, he was calm. “How unfortunate.” 

“He’s a good kid. Why would there be a kilogram of cocaine in the trash anyways? I fail to see the humor in the situation.” 

“Of course. So, I assume, he went on a rampage following his meal, and then attracted the attention of some of us?” 

“So you haven’t heard about it?” 

“Not where I’m stationed. But give me a moment.” The line went silent, only a very distant and quiet tapping of keys on a keyboard being tapped. Then the man returned. “I’m glad you told me about this. This incident hasn’t been reported to our database. That shows evidence of misconduct. Did you get the name of the commanding officer responsible, by chance?” 

“Colonel Kubritz, I believe.” 

More typing. “Area 49-B.”

“That name was also passed around.” 

“Technically not my jurisdiction, and since she didn’t report it, I’m not supposed to know about it.”

“I’m afraid you will officially know about it soon.” 

“Oh?”

“His friends and family, myself included, are going to put on a protest for his freedom. Drawing attention to the situation.” 

That echoing laughter was back again. 

“It wasn’t my idea, in case you were wondering.” 

“I know, you wouldn’t come up with something so bold. Regardless, go ahead in through with it. I’ll make sure whatever protest happens gets brought to my superior’s attention, and then I will take it from there.” 

“Thanks. I will owe you one.” 

“Oh come now, Walter, we Changelings that survived the Fall of the Janus order have to stick together. Besides, I heard rumors that you’re caring for my familiar?”

“He’s still in the cradle stone, and the moment. One baby at a time, for now.” 

“Then we’re even. Besides, this is the most interesting thing that’s happened in a while. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

“Your kindness is refreshing. I’m glad Gunmar didn’t eat you.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“We’ll be in touch then, Samuel.” 

“Of course, Walter.” 

—

“How goes the car repair?” Asked Merlin, as he met up with Toby and Claire in the park. 

“Ugh, exhausting. First I stopped at the mechanics, and they’re still backed up with fixing other cars. Apparently, Gunmar’s army did a number and backed them up for months. But they gave me the names of all the clients who got totaled from Jim. I had to hit the scrap yard for four of them, and I just finished another two in driveways.” 

“How many does that leave you with?”

“Seven more,” she sighed. “How goes the road work?”

“It goes. Now come along, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He didn’t wait for them to follow as he turned and started walking away. 

Sharing a dubious look, Toby and Claire quickly caught up with him. He led them to a bookstore, where a young man was sweeping outside. 

“Hisirdoux, my faithful and loyal apprentice—“

“You're damn straight I’m loyal!” He shouted. “Where have you been? I’ve been cleaning tables for the last 900 years!” 

“Calm yourself boy, I’m here now, aren’t I? And I need your help.” 

“Finally! What is it? Just say the word!”

“I need you to go with Miss Claire Nuñez and help her restore recently smashed vehicles.”

“What?”

“Or, you can repair street damage.” 

Douxie crossed his arms. “What is this? I saw what happened! There were trolls, and evidence of Morgana! And now you need my help? To clean up, several months later?”

“That is correct.” 

“Why didn’t you call for me back then?!”

“I forgot.” 

“You forgot? About me?”

“Oh come now, don’t take it personally. I was busy trying to prepare the Trollhunter to fight Gunmar. And get my magic back from Morgana.” 

Douxie seemed to become more sympathetic at that. “Morgana stole your magic?” 

“Yes, but it’s all in the past now. Everything is fine. Well, not really. Seems that the US Army has declared the Trollhunter as a menace to society. We must get the trust of the city on our side if we are to get them to trust us, and agree that his capture is unjust.” 

“Please,” said Claire. “We need all the help we can get.” 

Douxie sighed. “Alright. Afterwards, you’re training me again.” He gave Merlin a hard look. “And no amateur magic either. I’ve been doing the same drills for 900 years. I think I’m ready for more advanced work.”

“Oh, you will be. Starting with helping Miss Nuñez field her shadow magic.”

Douxie looked at her, in awe. “You’re practicing shadow magic? Truly?”

“It’s a recent development…”

“She took Morgana’s Skathe-Hrün, and wielded it without any training. Because of that she has a tether to Morgana in the Shadow realm, who has been teaching her ever so slightly. I’m not allowed to train her, but she could use the guidance of a Wizard in the physical realm. Do you understand Hisirdoux?” 

“I do, and I’ll be happy to teach her…I’m just…I’ll need a moment or two to digest the sentence you just said.” 

“Well, don’t take too long, we have a Trollhunter to rescue!” 

—

There was a heavy knock on the door, which was never a good thing. Especially nowadays. 

Still, Barbara went to the door. 

Standing there was Detective Scott and James Lake Sr. 

“Does this belong to you?” Asked the detective. 

“I don’t claim him, no.” 

Her almost ex-husband smiled at her, pleadingly, “Please Babs?” 

“What is he even doing out? You arrested him!”

“About that…” Detective Scott winced. “We don’t have enough to keep him on.” 

“What!” She shouted. “He confessed in front of a bunch of people!”

“Which would be helpful if we had a case for a trial. But as it stands, he doesn’t actually have any drugs on him. And we don’t have a confession on tape. So…we’re shit out of luck.” 

“Oh come on Louis, you know the cocaine came from him! Where else would Jim have gotten it from?” 

“Look, the chief’s not thrilled that we didn’t arrest the guy responsible for trashing the town, but we’re supposed to arrest someone else without evidence?” 

Barbara threw her hands up in the air. “With probable cause!” 

“That doesn’t work with drug dealers. He’s clean, Barbara. All the blood tests came back clean too.” 

“Ugh.”

The house shook slightly, and Barbara felt the floor bow behind her. “Is there a problem, officer?” Asked Draal. 

“Nothing you can help with, Draal. Thank you.” Barbara sighed. “James is not being charged.” 

“But he is a criminal, this degenerate flesh bag poisoned the Trollhunter! He should face banishment for his crimes!” 

James withered a little with the glare Draal gave him. 

“Well,” said Officer Scott. “Maybe you can keep an eye on him from now on. If you have evidence that he is dealing, like physical traces of cocaine on the premises, call us. But for now, there’s not much else we can do.” 

“This is ludicrous.”

“I know, I’m sorry Barbara. How is Jim?”

She frowned. “You haven’t heard? The army came and collected him from the hospital!”

Louis sputtered. “The army came?!”

“Yes!”

“Where were they when Gunmar was terrorizing us?” He scoffed. “Again, sorry Barbara, I can’t help you here.” 

“It’s alright. We’ve got a plan.” 

“Love to hear it, but I’ve got to get back to the office. I’m sure Toby will tell Darci, and she’ll tell me. Good luck!” And he left James on the porch. 

“Babs, I’m sorry…” 

“Save it.” Barbara scoffed, but allowed him in the house. 

Draal never took his eyes off the man. 

“Well, you’ll be happy to know I have no more supply. And after Rudy found out what happened to my last Kilo, she’s not getting anymore for me. So…”

“I’ll have to thank Jim for keeping a kilogram of Cocaine off the streets of Arcadia. We have a fairly low rate of drug use around here, and we don’t need you to ruin people’s lives.” 

James sighed, knowing he had dodged a huge bullet by being let off the hook. He’d rather deal with his wife than with his ex-associates in jail any day. “I think I’ve still ruined people’s lives anyway.” He walked into the living room, only to halt at the signs on the table. 

Release Jim Lake Jr. 

Justice for Jim

Let Lake Go!

“Babs, what is all this?”

“That’s part of our plan to free Jim! I’m friends with the councilwoman, and she suggested that we campaign for his release. Bringing a lot of unwanted attention onto his capture will stir the government to let him go!”

James jutted out his jaw, a sign of barely concealed rage. An expression Barbara had grown very used to in the last few months. “So, you’re going to put his name—my name in the news? You’re going to broadcast what city we live in?” 

“Yes.” 

He whirled on her, grabbing her arm. “Babs, people are looking for me! Horrible, mean, and ruthless people! If you put his name out there, they’ll know where to look!” 

“All the better! Then they can come take you off my hands!” 

“You don’t understand! I owe them a lot of money, and they’ll take it anyway they can! That includes extorting you, Jim, and whoever else they connect with me!” 

Draal stepped in, removing his hand from Barbara’s arm. “This house is under my protection. If anyone dare tries to enter, they will be dealt with swiftly.”

“You don’t know what these men are capable of.” 

“I assure you, I’ve decimated armies of flesh bags in my day. These men are no different.”  

Barbara smiled. “If you’re really that scared, I hear Vermont is lovely this time of year.” 

James just narrowed his eyes, before storming out of the room.

—

The first rally took place from 3pm to dusk, starting from after school, and leading up to when Trolls would be able to participate. Granted, it was only a handful of people, but standing in the middle of downtown did garner a lot of attention. More than a dozen people walking past had stopped to ask about the cause. They were then given a short synopsis of the situation, as it pertained to them:

“Jim is a 16 year old student who was chosen by the trolls to be our protector. He willingly gave up his humanity to defeat Gunmar the Black, the monstrous troll that attacked the city at the beginning of the summer. Now, he looks like a troll, and was sabotaged to go into a rage and damage the city. The US army took him away without a trial! He’s a hero to the city, and deserves fair treatment!”

Reactions ranged from: 

“Oh, he stopped that thing?”

To:

“Oh my god! He’s just a child!” 

Overwhelmingly, there was no negative feedback, at least in person. But it was only day one. 

—

“This daylight...is it significant?” The colonel asked, as she circled his table. 

“It’s just a name.” Jim lied. “A sword with a name is stronger than one without.” 

“Interesting. Interesting indeed. According to my notes, trolls turn to stone in daylight. Any correlation there?” 

So she already knew? Then what was the point? Was she just playing with him?

“I’m the Trollhunter, and I fight bad trolls. It would make sense to name my sword after something they’re afraid of.” 

She hummed. “And what about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“Are you afraid of daylight?” 

“Why would I be?” 

The colonel laughed. “Oh Jim Lake Jr. You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met. You are honest and forthcoming with truths that work in your favor. You freely told me of your transformation, and of your victory against a Troll tyrant. But now that I’m edging on the topic of your weakness, you clam up and give me vague answers. I can do this all day, beast. What does daylight do to you?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t do anything to me.” 

“Really? Even as a troll? That’s interesting.” 

“It’s fortunate.” 

“I would say so. Though, now you’ve got me curious. These burns on your skin…where did they come from?” She dragged her fingernail over one of the dark marks.

Jim winced. “I don’t know. I wasn’t aware in my rage state.”

“Then you won’t mind if I find out for myself?” She crooked a finger towards the shadows. Jim could hear the creak of wheels before a lamp with several fixtures was wheeled forward. 

“Oh no…”

“UV lights, all different wattages. Let’s see what works the best, hmm?”

—

ARCADIA TRIBUNE

Justice for Jim

By Nadja Chamack 

Who is Jim Lake Jr. anyway? This is a question I asked myself as I drove downtown three days ago. No doubt, you’ve seen the crowd of students and teachers holding signs on the corner of Main and State Street. It’s pretty hard to miss, quite honestly. Among the students, there’s also Councilwoman Nuñez, and resident Troll Mascot, ARRRGH! Signs range from ‘Justice for Jim’ to ‘Free our Lake’. 

But who is Jim Lake Jr.? And what happened? A precursory search on my end showed only a scant few facts. Jim is a student at Arcadia Highschool, in his Junior year. He was nominated as Spring Fling King last year, and played the part of Romeo in the school play. His criminal record seemed pretty clean too. A misdemeanor for scratching a rental scooter was all that showed up. But hey, who hasn’t done that?

So I went to the source, his family and friends campaigning for him. On Saturday, the group was downtown, campaigning all day long, so I had the chance to interview each and every person about why they were there.

Turns out, Jim Lake Jr. might be the most amazing person in Arcadia. 

From his mother, Dr. Barbara Lake, I learned that Jim is an Arcadia native, born and raised here. He enjoys cooking gourmet food, working on his vespa, and acting. 

Oh, and he’s the first human Trollhunter. 

What? You’ve never heard of a Trollhunter? Me neither. But Barbara and Blinky, another resident Troll, gave me the scoop. 

You all remember that night at the beginning of the summer that we all promised not to talk about? Well, I’m going to talk about it. In fact, I’m here to give you all the answers you’ve been craving. 

Many months before that fateful night, a new Trollhunter was chosen, after the previous one had perished. “The Trollhunter is chosen according to his mettle, by the amulet of the Trollhunter, as created by Merlin, the wizard of Arthurian legend. Jim was chosen after the fall of Kanjigar, his predecessor. Jim is the first human to be chosen, also the smallest and weakest. But, he was the first to defeat Bular, son of Gunmar!” Said his mentor, Blinky. None of this made any sense to me at first, though it was said with great enthusiasm. 

It turns out, the trolls that we’ve gotten used to seeing around town, mostly ARRRGH, are ‘good’ trolls. The bad trolls, ‘Gum-gums’ are what invaded our town and destroyed my car. The Trollhunter’s whole job is to fight off these bad trolls, and gnomes, and goblins, and everything else that goes bump in the night. And so he did. The Gum-Gums invaded from the ‘Darklands’, being led by a fearsome troll named Gunmar the Black, the Skullcrasher, the Dark Lord…he had a lot of names, and it was obviously a bad dude. Gunmar had plans to invade the whole world by blotting out the sun, a.k.a the eclipse we saw. And he would have gotten away for it too, if it weren’t for those meddling kids! 

Mainly Jim Lake Jr. and his friends. 

And how does a sixteen year old defeat a couple millennia old, bloodthirsty, all powerful tyrant? With a fancy sword? Close. With some magical armor? Closer. By giving up a part of his humanity and becoming a half-human, half-troll hybrid? Now you’re getting it! Yes, to protect Arcadia, to protect us, Jim Lake Jr. allowed himself to be changed. You may have seen him around town. Blue skin, big horns...okay, I just described most of the trolls that are around here. 

“Jim works the night shift at my store,” said Stu Harding, owner of Thrifty Furnishings. “He’s a very hard worker, and always willing to do the heavy lifting that is hard for the other employees to do.” 

“Despite his appearance, Jim ultimately decided to attend school,” said Principal Walter Strickler. “After the school found out about why he had missed so many days of school, they were willing to move him onto the next grade to be with his peers. He was a good student before all this, and he fought really hard to keep his grades up regardless. We felt he should still have the opportunity to graduate. We were looking forward to having him on our football team, and in our spring production of Beauty and the Beast.” 

So what happened to Jim? And why is there such a big campaign for his freedom?

Well, the truth is that Jim is a victim of unfortunate circumstances. In more ways than one, obviously. Trolls eat our trash. That’s why Arcadia has such a small carbon footprint! (Be sure to thank ARRRGH next time you see him!) And this trait was adopted by Jim too, when he was transformed. 

“He just picked a bunch of items out of the trash. Cans, an old sock, and what looked like a VHS wrapped in duct tape,” said Jim’s best friend, Toby Dolmzalski. “It was a normal lunch for him. But right in the middle of gym class, he turned crazy town banana pants and took off! I had never seen Jim act like that! Ever!” 

After an 8 hour rage through town, Jim collapsed and was taken to the hospital for evaluation. It turns out what Jim had ingested turned out to be a kilogram of pure cocaine! 

At this time, it is unknown where the cocaine came from, or if it was planted purposefully. (Seriously, who throws away a kilogram of cocaine?)

But the damage that Jim caused was extensive enough to catch the attention of the US army, who has taken Jim into captivity from the hospital. No trial, no rights, they even took him while he was unconscious. His friends and family have not heard from him since. 

“I’m so worried,” said girlfriend, Claire Nuñez. “He was injured from the battle with Gunmar, and didn’t completely heal. In the hospital, he was covered in burns from the sun. I have no idea if they’re caring for him properly, or dissecting him like some creature. But he deserves so much better than this. He saved our town, he saved my life, and the life of my baby brother. That’s why we won’t rest until he’s home!” 

“Not bad,” said ARRRGH, long time friend of Jim. “Good troll have bad days, best trolls have worse days. Jim need some good days.”

Couldn’t have said it better myself, ARRRGH. 

Friends and family of Jim are asking everyone share #JusticeforJim on social media, hoping to get the attention of someone in charge. All the damage caused by Jim has been repaired, and there were no casualties from his attack.  

Of course, the whole ‘troll’ aspect of this story has to be a local legend. So when sharing it to social media, kindly leave that part out.   

—

“C-Bomb!” Mary shouted from the other end of the hall. She came running and almost crashed into Claire and Toby, holding her phone up in the air. “My twitter feed is blowing up, girl! Look at all of this!” She held the screen up so they could see. 

“Citizen abducted by the government, is this China or North Korea? Neither! It’s the US! #JusticeforJim” 

“Imagine if this was your son. So sad, and so scary! #JusticeforJim”

“This is real life, not science fiction #JusticeforJim” 

“Whoa, where did these all come from?” Asked Claire. “What did you post?” 

“Did you know Snapper Karr did a report on it!?”

“Snapper Karr? From KTTV in LA?” 

“Yes! Thankfully, he left out the whole troll thing. I’ll send you a link. In his story, Jim is just a kid that has a rare genetic disorder that makes him look different, and so the government took him away!” 

Claire winced. “This is…kind of spiraling out of control.”

“I don’t know why you’re worrying, Claire,” said Darci. “We want people talking about Jim getting abducted. It doesn’t matter if the world outside Arcadia doesn’t have all the facts. They still know he’s been taken away without a trial, and that’s all that’s important. Besides, Jim doesn’t want the whole world knowing about Trolls, right?”

She nodded. “As long as this works, I’ll be happy.” 

“And sensationalist stories like this blow up for like a week, and then they die out and are forgotten. This won’t last.” Mary waved her hand. “It should work long enough to get Jimmy Jam out though.” Then she squealed. “OMG you know what we should do?! We should totally have a welcome home party! Or-or a parade! Like they have for veterans!” 

“Mary, I don’t think—“ 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it! You’re not the only one with ties to the city!” And she hurried off, texting frantically. 

“What’s up Claire? I would have thought you’d be ecstatic the hashtag went viral.” Asked Toby. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I am happy. And I’m happy that Snapper Karr chalked the troll thing up to local legend or superstition…but I can’t help but worry that something bad is going to come out of this.” 

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a gut feeling.” She scoffed and went to her locker. “It’s dumb, don’t worry about it.” 

No sooner had she said that, did Strickler appear. “Claire, Toby, come with me.” 

“What?” 

“I’ve already spoken with your teachers, now come along.” 

Claire and Toby shared a look, but followed regardless.

—

They were led to the parking lot, where a black van with tinted windows waited, a huge red flag, if there ever was one. 

“Umm…” said Toby. 

“Don’t worry.” Strickler assured. 

A man in an army uniform stepped out of the driver seat. “Walter, good to see you again.”

“Glad to see you as well, Samuel. And thank you for following through with your promise.” 

“As I said, this is the most interesting thing to happen in a while.” He glanced at the two teenagers in attendance. “We’re just waiting for his mother, correct?” 

“She should be here soon.”

Toby muttered to Claire, “Who’s Jorgen Von Strangle over here?”

“No idea.”

And just like that, Barbara pulled into the parking lot, haphazardly parked, and ran over to them, still in her scrubs. “I came as soon as I could! We’re going to get Jim?!” 

“What?!” Screamed Toby. “We’re rescuing him?!” 

“That is the goal,” the man answered. “I’m General Samuel Attila. I’ve been given authorization to intervene in this situation, given that this project, whatever it is, hasn’t been officially recorded. But, bear in mind, you may not like what you see. We may be bringing home Jim, or just his body. I don’t know. So if anyone is uncomfortable with that idea, I suggest you stay behind.” 

“I’m going,” Said Toby. “No matter what.” 

“Me too,” said Claire. “It’ll hurt, but I want to know what happened to him.” 

“Alright, then let’s hurry. The facility is about an hour away.” He ushered everyone into the van, which had two front seats, two benches along the walls, and a gurney in the middle. As soon as everyone was buckled, they headed out.

“Hey, if you know Mr. Strickler, does that mean you’re a…?” 

“A what, Toby?” Asked Walt, with a hint of amusement in his tone. 

“A…man of culture?”

“Yes, I am a changeling.” 

Toby exhaled. “Okay, it’s like super hard to ask that question when you don’t know who knows, you know?” 

“I owe the Trollhunter a debt of gratitude for stopping Gunmar. After he ate the entirety of the Janus order, we the few that weren’t present for his return stayed in hiding. Had Gunmar taken over the world, my death as a traitor would have been slow and painful. We were thinking about sending him a thoughtful gift basket, but I think this is more fun. I love to bully those in lower ranks. The fleshbags get a few pretty badges and think they’re invincible. I love watching them cower!” 

Toby leaned closer to Claire. “He was so nice and helpful, I was beginning to wonder if he was actually a changeling.” 

“Same! But I actually feel better knowing he’s got ulterior motives, and that they have nothing to do with us.” 

“Have you heard from Nomura lately?” Samuel asked Walter. 

“She was in Arcadia for a while. She helped with the fight with Gunmar. Right now, I believe she’s on her way back from New Jersey.” 

“New Jersey? What was she doing out there?”

“After Morgana and Gunmar destroyed the Heartstone, Jim and Blinky went in search of a new one.”

“Oh, yes. I forgot there were rumors of a source in New Jersey. Did they find it?” 

“Yep,” said Claire. “But it wasn’t very big, so we brought it back to Arcadia in a truck. The rest of the tribe is making their way back on foot.”

“Ah, that explains it.” Samuel nodded. “You’re both very lucky. Not many Changeling’s are allowed in Trollmarket.” 

“Now that Gunmar’s out of the picture, I’m sure you could visit too!” Toby exclaimed, before getting elbowed in the gut by Claire. 

“It’d be nice to see it once. I’m sad I didn’t get to see the Heartstone in its glory, but such is life.”

The rest of the ride continued in relative silence. Strickler and Samuel spoke to each other, mostly catching up. But Toby, Claire, and Barbara were far too anxious to keep up with the conversation. 

There were no windows in the back of the vehicle, so there was no way of knowing where they were. From the front, they looked to be in a weaving forest trail. 

Then there were huge cement walls in front of them. 

Samuel pulled in the front gate. 

The man at the gate didn’t look up from his computer. “You’re not authorized to be here.” 

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t recognize your vehicle, so I know you don’t have clearance.” 

Samuel sat up a little straighter, glaring at the soldier at the gate. “How about you scan my badge first, and then tell me if I have clearance, Lieutenant.” 

The soldier gave a little shrug and reached out for the badge, his eyes widening as he caught a glance at the four stars on the man’s shoulder. “Oh.” 

“Problem?”

“No, sir. I just…I don’t need to scan your badge, you can go in.” 

“Thank you. At ease soldier.” 

Toby held back a snicker.

“And, let Colonel Kubritz know she has company.” 

“Yes sir.” 

“As you were.” 

The gate rolled open, and they pulled through. 

It seemed like Samuel’s message was received pretty quickly, because the woman that had taken Jim was waiting for them, flanked by soldiers with strange weapons. 

“Stay in the car.” He told everyone, before getting out. 

“I was not aware of any sort of inspection. You are not my commanding general, and therefore not welcome here. This facility holds highly dangerous equipment and confidential projects.”

“Stand down, Colonel. I am here on behalf of general Adele. I’m here to recover Jim Lake Jr. General Adele will be speaking to you about your discharge.” 

“What are you talking about?” She demanded. 

“You kidnapped a teenage boy from a hospital. Surely you didn’t think that wouldn’t go unnoticed? I have video evidence of you leaving the hospital with him.” 

“He’s not a normal boy—“ 

“I’d say so! His whole town is hailing him as a hero for saving them from an invasion! I thought this facility was for research on protecting Earth from invaders. And you’re punishing a boy for saving a town?” 

“He also destroyed it. Don’t give into their little campaign. Jim Lake Jr. may have done something good once, but that doesn’t stop him from being a monster.” 

“I was just in Arcadia, Colonel. There is no damage. There’s no lawsuits against Jim Lake Jr. There’s not even any pending arrests.” 

“I have video evidence of his destruction!” She barked. 

“Then let the local police handle it.” 

She growled, then commanded her men to stand down. “Fine. But if he does this again, no one will stop me from taking him.” 

“Actually,” he clarified with a smirk. “You’re being discharged. So you won’t have any means to take him again.” 

Her mouth opened in shock, as she fought to find an argument. 

But he was a general, he was above her. 

“Now, Jim Lake Jr.?” 

She grumbled something and started off towards a big central building.

Samuel was quick to beckon the others out of the car to follow him, and headed towards the same building as Kubritz. 

When Barbara reached them, she spoke, “you didn’t hurt my son, did you?” 

Kubritz didn’t even look at her. “I don’t have to share information with civilians.” 

Claire clenched her fists in anger, a black haze coming over her hands. 

But Toby simply patted her on the back to ground her. 

Colonel Kubritz led them through the research facility, ignoring their questions. 

They reached the room Jim was being held in, and she entered her code to open the door. 

Of course, Jim wasn’t the only thing in the room, being surrounded by specimens of all sorts of living creatures, but he was right in the center, with a spot light right on him. 

“Jim!” Claire shouted first as she ran to him. 

The poor boy was naked, lying on his back and strapped to the table with thick iron bonds. His wound from Morgana wasn’t the worst on him anymore, as he was covered in blackened burned spots. The spot that had the amulet was now just a hole in his chest, that went right down to the ribs. Claire could see his heart beating, and his lungs moving, thank god. 

“Jim...” she cried, seeing the carnage. 

“What did you do to him?!” Toby shouted at the Colonel, but she didn’t respond. 

“Honey? Jim? Can you hear me?” Barbara asked, as she assessed the damage. 

His eyes opened ever so slightly. “Mom? Is that you? Are you...really here?” 

“Yeah kiddo,” she wiped some tears from her eyes. “It’s me, I’m here. Toby, Claire, and Walt are here too. We’re going to take you home.” 

His smile was just a hint, and he stated, “I’m tired.” 

“I’m sure you are. We’re going to get you fixed up!” She turned to the Colonel. “Get me a gurney or a wheelchair!” 

She scoffed. “I don’t take orders from civilians.” 

Samuel interceded. “Then get me a soldier who isn’t completely incompetent! If you’re going to continue to endanger the life of this young man, then I suggest you get out of my sight before I endanger yours.” 

The Colonel didn’t waver, though a tremor went down her spine. “Lieutenant!” She called. 

A man hurried into the room, standing at attention.

Kubritz just gave a roll of the eyes. “Follow whatever order the general gives you.” 

“But—“ 

“No, I’m done.” With one last glare to Samuel, she added, “I'll be sending my evidence to General Adele, then we’ll see who’s the one putting the nation in danger.” 

“Go ahead, I’ve already given my report.”

She growled at him, turned and left without another word. 

The lieutenant just stood at attention in front of Samuel instead. “Orders sir?”

“Get someone to fetch the gurney from the back of our van, and send for the medic! And get someone to get these shackles off this kid!” 

“Sir yes sir!” 

Meanwhile, Claire stood right by Jim’s side, holding his hand, brushing the bangs away from his face and combing his hair with her fingers. He had a pretty strong fever. 

“You’re going to be alright Jim. We’re going to take good care of you.” 

“I’m…cold…” He breathed. 

Barbara found some vinyl gloves nearby and got to work examining her boy. “I don’t know about the Troll half, but this tissue looks alright. I don’t see any infection yet, or any tissue death. Of course, we need to get this covered immediately.” 

“Where’s the amulet?” Asked Walt. “That’s what’s missing.” 

“The amulet!” Barbara addressed Samuel. “His amulet, we have to find it!” 

He nodded, “we can’t let these psychos have it. They have no idea what magic it possesses, even without being the chosen wielder.” 

Only a beat passed before the army medic came with the gurney, and another soldier came with a crowbar to undo the shackles. 

“Lieutenant, we’re looking for an amulet that came with Jim. It’s what’s missing from his chest.” 

The Lieutenant blanched. “I don’t know anything about it…I can ask the Colonel?”

“She won’t tell.” 

The shackles fell free from Jim’s limbs, but he didn’t seem to register it. 

“Alright,” said Barbara, “Let’s move him onto the gurney. We can worry about the amulet later.” It took everyone to lift him and carefully slide him over. Then, he was covered up to his stomach with a blanket. 

“You’re going home, Jim. Mi amor, you’re safe now.” Claire whispered, kissing his forehead. 

“Hmm…” Jim weakly groaned. “…for the…glory…” But before he could finish, he fell back into sleep.

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die, Chapter 8

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 8)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Roman and Logan reconnect. Remus and Virgil find some common ground. There are too many secrets--but the royals finally expose a big one to the Crofter brothers: the one that ultimately led to Logan's imprisonment and the destruction of their family.

Meanwhile, Janus is looking for some information from his treasure trove--and Patton is more than happy to provide it to him.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and future Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: I’m nervous about this one, ‘cause it sucks? But I also don’t care cause there are cuddles for my fave ships and I do what I want.

I am, however, SO SORRY FOR THIS TERRIBLE CLIFFHANGER, but the next chapter will come out much sooner. Promise. XD

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1033, A.A.

Logan asked Virgil to leave. With murder in his eyes, Virgil acquiesced.

And when the door clicked shut...they were alone.

For long moments, the silence was deafening. They sat there, staring at each other—Logan seated on the edge of the bed, and the king with the blankets pooled around his waist, bare chested and staring at Logan as if...

Logan's mouth suddenly went dry as his heart seemed to grow in his chest, swelling to the point that it compressed his lungs against his ribcage, preventing him from drawing breath.

Silently, Roman extended his hand, palm up. It took Logan abruptly back to the visitations in his dreams, anchored by the feel of human contact he thought he had only before imagined. The reality of it was so much more, so intense—so necessary he could hardly stand to think about it.

And yet, with the king's silent offer, Logan was helpless to resist it, reaching out to slide his hand into Roman's. Their fingers meshed with the ease of experience—through dreams or through the history that had been stolen from him, Logan could not say, but that alien ecstasy of skin on skin felt so right it hurt.

“I have dreamed of this for so long.”

Logan looked up from where he'd been staring at their joined hands, spellbound. For a day now, he'd been in the presence of his Green Man, seen his true face, but this was the first time he'd actually been alone with him since...

“So have I.” he confessed. “Every time you came to me.”

Roman blinked, confused—then a light went on behind his eyes, making them snap with something electric and so alive it made Logan's chest tight.

“They...were real.” he realized. “I wasn't dreaming.”

“You were, but... we were inhabiting the same dream at the same time.” Logan explained softly. “Knowing who you are now, it's unsurprising. Conduits cannot use the magic within them, but it does make certain forms of involuntary magic possible—such as dream walking.”

“I've never done it with anyone else before.”

Logan frowned. “That is unusual. If that was the case, the ability would be consistent.”

He paused, then felt something in the core of him tremble with...a feeling he could not name, even reluctantly. It was light and fragile and enormously powerful—and Logan wasn't totally sure if it was good or bad.

“Did...did we share dreams...before?” he asked hesitantly.

Roman smiled, sad, tremulous, and hesitant in his own right.

“It's...a complicated thing to explain.” he confessed. “I don't have all the answers.”

“Do you have any?”

“I do. If you want them.”

“Why would I not want them?” Logan asked.

Something slid through Roman's eyes, dimming their light, and it ripped through Logan with a fury that had no root, no real cause.

Only that something dared to darken his demeanor, and with terrifying clarity Logan knew he would even destroy himself were he to discover that he was the cause of it.

“Because I'm a royal?” he pointed out. “Because my family did this to your people...because I did this to you?”

“Falsehood.”

Roman smiled, and Logan felt suddenly powerful. He felt...he felt, with no anchor for any of these feelings. It was deeply disconcerting—and it was also intoxicating.

“Hearing that again is almost as comforting as hearing you call me an idiot.” Roman laughed, squeezing his hand. “I missed it.”

Logan felt dizzy with the gaping hole in his chest, the warmth of Roman's touch—the world, every breath, every second that ticked by, it all suddenly felt like too much to hold inside of him. If he could remember, maybe he could bear it, maybe he could handle the things that his fingers and his heart seemed to know as he clung to the king's hand and stood on the edge of a chasm of years that stretched between them with no memory of how it got there.

“I do not remember,” he managed to choke out, “but...I think I did, too.”

“Oh, Starlight...”

Roman pulled him forward, and suddenly Logan was being held, cradled against acres of bare flesh and solid muscle. His lungs were filled with the scent of warm cotton and sweet skin, tinged with something that reminded him of fresh earth and damp stone—not the rank stone of the dungeons, but granite and petrichor, fresh from a gentle, cleansing rain.

Logan could not have stopped himself from clinging as Roman held him, not even if he wanted to—and he didn't want to stop.

“Tell me?” A question, whispered against his shoulder as he was held in strong arms and drowned in the warmth of safety and affection.

Roman did not hesitate to open his mouth and start talking—and he kept talking until there was nothing left.

Until Logan finally knew everything.

********** 1022, A.A.

“Okay, wait, so—familiars are human?”

Logan laughed—one of the greatest sounds in the world, as far as Roman was concerned. It was rare as diamonds, soft as a whisper, and always so filled with bright, gleaming emotion that it made him happy even if he was having the worst possible day.

Roman lived for his laugh—among other things. Logan's eyes, Logan's intelligence...Father called it that 'special age,' told him that he'd started noticing how certain boys made him feel when he was thirteen, but this wasn't just...

Logan was younger than him by two whole years—it might as well be decades. Besides, Logan probably liked girls, and oh yeah, he was a Weaver. Being one of the Necromata was one thing, but Weavers were revered among his people. Even if liking a necromancer wasn't a crime, Logan's family wouldn't want him to have anything to do with an outsider like Roman. He'd learned that much in two years of friendship with him.

Two years of hiding how he really spent his afternoons away from the tutors. Two years of learning the truth about how good and kind and generous the Necromata were...how good and kind and generous Logan was.

“Yes, familiars are human.” Logan replied, sweeping the flat stone marker of the grave they were tending. “Virgil—my little brother, the one I call Stormcloud—is my Spider, the keeper of the Loom of Memory.”

Roman risked peeking out from under the hood of the cloak hiding his face to follow the tilt of Logan's head to the eight year old boy on the other side of the open field. He was small and slight, with a shock of black hair like Logan's, save that his gleamed blue-black in the sun where Logan's shone with the most subtle red-brown hints of dark cherry wood. When he faced them, beaming up at the massive redhead that Logan had identified as their grandfather, Roman could see that Virgil's eyes were dark compared to Logan's startling blue.

Over the last couple of years, Logan had gradually shared the True Names of his whole family with Roman. Outlaw was his grandfather, Josiah. Rainbow was his pari, Talyn. Joan was his geni, Elliot. He'd trusted Roman with that knowledge...but Virgil, his little brother, the person Logan loved more than life itself (and possibly more than jam tarts), he'd protected.

Until now. Now, he'd let Roman in all the way—in more ways than one, given where they were.

While Logan finished sweeping the headstone clean, Roman watched the countless other families among Logan's tribe attending similar areas just like they were. Some were cleaning other graves, others were scouring the ground for signs of unmarked ones, others still were tending the trees in the open field that needed pruning or fertilization to grow healthy and strong over the graves they stood as markers for.

The Festival of the Forgotten that came every autumn was a day Roman had only ever known as one of solemn remembrance for those who had fallen to the Animator's slaughter a thousand years ago. He got dressed up in his formal attire, stood by Father's side while he gave speeches at the palace memorial, and basically spent the day being as quiet and unobtrusive as possible.

Logan had treated the whole thing with open disdain and offense when Roman explained it to him—then told him what the real Festival was all about.

The Festival wasn't happening for a week yet, but the Necromata were already preparing. For Logan's people, it was a week long celebration of the dead that involved hard work and loving attention. The field they were in had once been a graveyard in the time before the Animator, and many of the dead who lay in repose below the earth had been lost to time. Some had no names to be remembered, others had no lineage to go after them, still more were buried carelessly without even a marker to their name.

The Necromata took custody of these dead, trying to give them remembrance even if they couldn't give them names. All week, they carefully cleaned the field up, tended what few graves they could identify, looked for others—and at the end, had a giant party full of food, music, and drink. They decorated graves, left offerings for the departed, and kept the forgotten souls company with laughter and song. They would soak the earth and the air with enough joy and celebration to ensure that these lost ones would have comfort enough to take them through the year, when they would do it all over again.

Roman had been humbled by the true story of the Festival—and so Logan had invited him to attend. Both the party, and the stewardship of the dead.

“Familiars enhance the power of their necromancer in different ways.” Logan continued once Roman had given him his attention again. “A Black Dog has their Wolf, who acts as their spirit guide through their visions. A Reaper has their Raven, who helps them take the pain away from those they heal or release—and a Weaver has their Spider, who spins the fibers for the Loom of Memory. When a Weaver reaches the Loom, it's very much like the real thing: a visual representation, where a soul to be resurrected is mounted like a half finished tapestry, and the Weaver completes it with the connection he has to his Spider.”

“What does the fiber represent?” Roman asked as Logan stepped back, dropping his broom and moving to crouch before the worn headstone while Roman quickly followed suit. “The fiber your Spider spins?”

“Focus. Virgil gives me his focus to aid me in retrieving the memories I need to restore the soul to life. With his mind working in tandem with mine, it's like I'm weaving with a shuttle wound in spider silk, and it allows me to finish my work much more quickly. It ensures the tapestry lasts longer once it's taken off the loom before it unravels...before the soul I raise to life slips away again.”

Roman didn't like the way Logan's features fell a little at that. Ever since his Warping, Roman knew that Logan was troubled by the idea that there were people he couldn't fully resurrect—those not meant to die, he could save, but those whose soul had slipped through the opening in the Barrier carved for them at the moment of their death? Those were temporary—and the few times he'd half restored a soul like that as part of his training lingered with him.

Knowing he could say nothing to comfort him, instead Roman turned his attention to the smooth granite surface before them.

“You said this grave was new, right?”

Logan nodded, shifting to kneel while Roman remained in his crouch—and with hardly a care, rested an arm on Roman's knee so he could lean forward and peer at the gravestone. The touch made Roman's heart flip in his chest, but he tried to focus on the task at hand.

“Grandpap discovered it last year while they were digging out the roots of a dead tree. We replanted it over there to better mark the site because the stone's been worn so flat.”

Roman frowned, reaching down to run his fingers over the stone. “This poor person will never have a name now.”

“Sadly, no.” Logan agreed, reaching down to lay his hand against Roman's atop the stone. “Whatever epitaph was on this stone was worn away hundreds of years ago—“

“What's that?”

Roman, reluctantly, slid his hand out from under Logan's to run his fingers along the base of the stone.

“See this ridge? There's something beneath it...here, help me...”

The earth was damp, and for a moment Roman was left to dig on his own, fingers sinking into the loamy earth at the base of the stone. In truth, it was fun—feeling the grit under his fingernails, the ache of muscles as he clawed at the dirt.

Only when he started to uncover a broader base on the stone did Logan move to start helping him dig.

After about five minutes, they had exposed a second, broader slab beneath the stone. This one, heavily covered by dirt, seemed to be part of a larger piece that appeared to just...keep going.

“This isn't a headstone.” Logan realized. “It's a burial vault.”

Roman nodded. “I actually know what those are—big boxes for dead bodies, right? So they don't rot in the dirt. For the coffin to sit in!”

“Correct.” Logan murmured. “What's more, it's not buried all that deep. Perhaps, once upon a time, it wasn't buried at all.”

Roman thought about the last burial vault he'd seen—that of an adviser in his father's court council. He hadn't been buried in the royal mausoleum, being of common birth, but he'd been given a special place in the surrounding cemetery: an above ground burial vault, bearing the royal seal and just beneath it...

“This isn't a headstone.” he realized aloud, furiously going back to digging.

“That's what you said—”

“No, I mean this part! The crest of the royal family sits here, not the epitaph! We have burial vaults like these in the palace cemetery, and the name is always under this piece! Help me, Logan—we can find out who this is!”

Glancing to the side, he was pleased to see Logan adjusting his glasses, a restless sign of pleasure as he crowded closer to Roman's side.

“If the name was not exposed to the elements before it was buried, it might still be preserved.” he agreed.

“So we can help them?”

Logan nodded eagerly, making Roman grin. He was so happy, and it warmed Roman's heart—but so did the fact that they might actually be able to give some poor, forgotten dead necromancer back their name. The fact that Roman, himself, was helping to do this thing for one of the Necromata, an heir to the throne helping these good and caring and generous people that just wanted to make sure that the dead were remembered...

It gave him so much hope for the future. Logan gave him this hope by letting him in.

That was the moment Roman knew...

Refocusing on their new task, Roman began to dig in earnest. Logan shifted to reach for the broom, trying to scrape away the earth from the stone vault with the end of its handle. Gradually, they worked down a couple of inches until the edges of a very clear engraving became visible. First the frame, then what looked like...

“Numbers. These may be the dates of birth and death, if this person died Before Animator.” Logan murmured, jostling Roman in encouragement. “Keep going.”

Voices buzzed around them. The cool autumn air stung Roman's nose. His fingers were sore, cuticles caked with dirt. Logan was pressed securely to his side, digging tirelessly alongside him.

Time stopped. Nothing existed but the two of them, crowded close and digging, all heavy breath and exertion and movement, bumping and jostling in a strange rhythm that blurred the line between where one ended and the other began...

“...Roman.”

Roman blinked, shaking his head. He glanced at Logan, who'd gone ashen as he stared down at the inches of earth they had uncovered.

With a start, he realized they had finished. There, in worn but very clear lettering, was the epitaph of a forgotten corpse. Beneath the confusing dates of birth and death, there was a name.

Reading it, Roman could feel the blood leaving his face just as it had left Logan's.

“This...cannot be right.” Logan murmured.

“No, it can't.” Roman agreed softly, flopping artlessly back on his behind. Logan collapsed with him, half across Roman's lap, with Roman too stunned to fully take it in. “You said this was a burial ground for the Necromata.”

“It is.”

Roman met Logan's gaze, something sick and panicky forming a lump of ice in his throat.

“Then why, in the Seven Hells, is one of my ancestors buried here?”

**********

1033, A.A.

Few things in the world scared Remus—but that scrawny little necromancer fucking terrified him. The cadet wasn't much better, mostly because they were brothers.

Remus was smart. It was a problem, had been his whole life. For all that he knew, easily and quickly, there were few things he really understood, important things like personal boundaries and courtesy and the difference between things that were fascinating and things that were disturbing.

Brothers, however, he understood. Which was why the cadet was so fucking scary: look at either one of them wrong, and the other would take your fucking head off to defend them.

So Remus stayed in the shadows, watching the pipsqueak stomp around outside Roman's suite like he wanted to get caught by some other member of the palace guard, cursing just loud enough to be heard but not understood, vibrating with tension and so furious the air seemed to ripple around him with heat waves rising from his skin.

“Why is your brother alone with mine?”

Scary as the situation was, Remus found some deeply satisfying pleasure in watching Virgil Storm leap about six feet into the air with fright, choking on the scream he fought to stifle.

“Shadow's Balls, you miserable son of a bitch, what the hell are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?” he spat, clutching his chest with both hands.

Remus shrugged. “Hey, not my fault if you don't have the nerves for guard duty, toy soldier. Should've tried hiding in the kitchens instead. The wash boys bring the dungeon prisoners their daily meal.”

“I'm not guarding anything.” Virgil shot back, turning to glare at the closed door of Roman's suite. “I was sent away. By my own damn brother—doesn't remember shit, and he's still treating me like a little kid.”

“He's your big brother—that shit doesn't change with age.” Remus huffed. “Ro Ro's got a half life on me, and he makes use of ever second of it.”

Virgil looked at him strangely. “A half life? I thought you were twins.”

Remus shrugged. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“Can you speak in anything but sarcasm?”

“Can you address the crown prince with a little respect?”

“Not when I've seen the kind of people you sneak around with. Cadets pull a lot of graveyard shifts.”

Damn—the game of questions was just starting to get fun. The toy soldier wasn't just cute, he was feisty and totally lacked any fear of the throne. That was a problem, because Remus was actually starting to like the little shit.

“You're lucky I'm into that.” Remus quipped, but finally rolled his eyes and leaned back against the opposite wall of the corridor. “Fine: we're half-twins: identical, born one hour apart on the cusp. Roman came at eleven and I came at midnight. We celebrate our birthdays on the same day to hide that fact.”

Virgil went eerily still—and Remus's estimation of the kid went up a couple notches because of it.

“You do remember I'm Necromata, right?” he asked slowly. “Everyone in this castle knows you and your brother are both well versed in the ways of necromancy. You know what we can do with half-twins.”

Remus sobered, wondering for one irrational second if he'd been wrong. Wrong about the scrawny necromancer, wrong about the toy soldier, wrong about the limited amount of sense Roman had in his thick skull...

“Does anyone else know?” Virgil asked in the silence of Remus's brain spinning away from him.

Remus shook his head. “No, and I intend to keep it that way.”

“...you gonna kill me, Highness?”

Remus rushed him then, pinning Virgil to the wall with a hand wrapped around his throat.

“Only if I have to.” he warned quietly. He could hear his own heart beating in his ears, but it was slow, steady, far too calm. He could already imagine those gleaming dark eyes going flat and dead, that lovely pale skin going ashen as he choked the life from him, hear the bubble from his lungs as they gave up their last breath...

He'd do it. He'd sleep easy. He wouldn't regret a thing.

Not for Roman.

“I'm a little brother, too.” Virgil reminded him quietly, breathlessly—and for one split second, as Virgil reached up to wrap his hand around Remus's wrist, gentle but firm, he was kind of breathtaking. His pulse was jumping in his throat, every exhale was shaky and his lips were parted as he sucked down oxygen...

Remus let him go, but he didn't move away. He couldn't quite make himself, not when he suddenly felt like swallowing the terrified little spider whole.

“No one can know what Roman really is.” he whispered. “No one.”

“Make you a deal,” Virgil shot back, “you protect my big brother, and I'll protect yours.”

Remus narrowed his eyes...but it was what he wanted, after all, so he offered Virgil his hand to shake.

“Mutually assured destruction it is.” Remus agreed. “Can't trust a royal and all.”

Virgil had just wrapped his hand around Remus's when he blinked, startled. “I...yeah?”

Laughing, Remus shook his hand firmly, and let the world fall away for just a moment. His grip made it easy: firm, warm, strong.

“You're right about us, toy soldier: Roman and I? We're both pretty into necromancy. That means we know more than most about the royal family—at least I do. Roman...I'm not quite sure what he remembers anymore.”

“About what?” Virgil asked.

Remus released Virgil's hand, then sighed and shifted to press his back against the wall, sliding down to sit on the ground.

“Park it, Storm. There's a few things you need to know about my brother...and yours.”

**********

1022, A.A.

“It has to be a mistake.”

“It's not.” Logan insisted, reaching up to tug at his mask—he would have adjusted his glasses if he'd been wearing them, but he couldn't with the domino that covered his features, heavily adored with thick black feathers. Roman reached up to stop him before he could remove it.

“Can't be rude to the dead, can we?” Roman chided gently.

That got a smile out of Logan, despite the circumstances—almost as good as his laughter, and once again the spirit of the evening swept over him.

Five days had passed since the discovery in the graveyard. Earlier in the day, this day, he'd done his duty: donned his formal dress, stood beside his father, pretended to be solemn and respectful while, all the while, he'd been vibrating with excitement for this.

The final day of the Festival—the final night.

The real Festival, an actual festival with music and food and costumes. The Field of the Forgotten was now clean and well cared for, lit up with torches and free floating luminaries. There were tables laden with food and drink and plates and cups—large for the living, smaller ones for graveside offerings. It was a celebration of life lost, a gift to the dead.

And the costumes—they were so much fun, and yet even these carried meaning. Roman hid his face behind a domino adorned with white feathers to Logan's black, and rejected his name to call himself Muse for the evening. Because these souls they honored no longer had names or faces, forever lost to time, the living hid their own with masks and costumes, gave up their true names and identities for the night out of respect.

It was magical, all of it. He enjoyed himself, drinking sparkling cider and eating meat skewers, burning his mouth on sweet-searing phoenix taffy, wrapped in wax paper printed with tiny black skulls. He even pocketed some for later, vowing to enjoy them slowly and remember the forgotten as he let the cinnamon tingle sting his tongue.

He celebrated instead of mourning, gave his own joy to the forgotten dead for a year, and for the first time dreamed of being king one day instead of crown prince so he could show this to the citizens. After all, they would understand if they knew—how much the Necromata cared about the dead, how hard they worked for those who were gone because it made things so much better for the people that were still here.

They weren't messengers of death, they were guardians of life, and one day Roman would set them free. He'd show everyone...he'd watch Logan stand beside him before the whole kingdom and smile when he realized that he was no longer feared, but loved. Just as he deserved to be.

Smile like he was smiling now. At Roman, because he stopped him from removing his mask, and for one really stupid second, Roman almost hoped Logan would...maybe reach for his hand or press against his side like he had earlier in the week, huddled before the final resting place of Thomas Roman I.

Roman's namesake. Roman's ancestor.

“Can we be sure?” Roman asked, the brief euphoria stolen from him as they walked side by side, trying to be discreet about returning to the grave in question. “I mean...what's the likelihood that a necromancer would name their child after a king? It's done, you know.”

“Not among our people.” Logan insisted with a shake of his head. “The royal family are our oppressors, have been for generations. As much as it pains me to say it, my people view the royal bloodline much as the population at large view necromancers. They are cutthroat, bloodthirsty, power hungry demons that will stop at nothing to see every single one of us destroyed. No parent would ever do that to a child.”

Roman felt a little like he'd been punched in the gut, but he said nothing. Logan wasn't great with feelings—better, a little, since his Warping, but it always made him squirmy to try and confront them, in himself or in anyone else.

“I want to change that.” Roman replied quietly, vowing he'd say no more on it.

“Falsehood.”

“What?”

“Falsehood.” Logan repeated, as if he hadn't just called Roman a liar. For a second, Roman wondered if he'd done or said something that...oh, gods, did Logan know how Roman felt? Was it bothering him that badly? Were they—

“You will change that.” Logan pressed on before Roman's thoughts could spiral any further. “This is simple fact.”

“Lo—er, Starlight, I appreciate that you have so much faith in me—“

“It's not faith, Muse. It's fact.” Logan insisted, stopping in his tracks. “This revelation is confusing, life changing...dangerous for what it could represent, but the facts are thus: your ancestor is buried on sacred Necromata ground. For generations beyond the Animator, we have taken great pains to ensure that no outsider has ever been interred among us for the simple reason that necromancers cannot be resurrected because we have no souls—it would be sacrilege to allow a resurrection to disturb the rest of our dead. This can mean only one thing: the royal family is either of our tribe, or of theirs.”

“Whose?”

“The Lazari.”

Roman's stomach dropped clear through his shoes and into the sacred ground of the Necromata. “Seven Hells, do you think that's truly possible? W-w-what about the Animata?”

Logan shook his head, then turned to keep walking. They were nearly at the grave—the pair of them had hastily covered up the name they had unearthed, pressing the dirt flat and scattering some leaves to make it look like nothing had been disturbed.

“The Animata are not necromancers—not all of them were even fully human, given their twin souls. It would be easy to resurrect one of them. No, the only other creature it could possibly be is a Lazari.”

“But they're a myth—they're not even real.”

“Myth to you, theoretical to us.” Logan replied as they reached the grave. Sitting in front of the tombstone, he beckoned Roman to join him. “The Lazari are, essentially, an evolution of Weavers. They cannot merely recall the dead to life, they can change the fate of the dead. Their power is such that they can weave a soul not from memory, but from the Spider's Thread. They can change fate.”

Roman fell silent, staring down at the careworn tombstone before them. Reaching out, he ran his hands over the smooth stone that once likely bore a royal crest—the crest of his family, above the name of his ancestor.

“How can you change fate?” he asked softly, forcing himself not to look at the boy beside him. Not when he felt so...weird. So full, like his lungs were being crushed against the inside of his ribcage by his heart and his soul, and everything he was feeling.

He wanted to not be of the house of Sanders. He wanted Logan to not be of the Necromata. He wanted to live in a world where nothing separated them, where one day he could court Logan as proudly as his own father had courted his dad, as proudly as his dad had courted his mother...

Roman wanted, wanted, wanted in that moment, and he was afraid to look at Logan...suddenly afraid of what would happen if he did.

“Knowledge.”

Logan's quiet utterance nearly stole his resolve, his head twitching, but remaining down as Logan continued.

“Knowledge is how. It is an incomparably valuable, multi-purpose tool that is instrumental in identifying and solving any problem.”

He paused—then Roman felt his hand on his shoulder.

Don't don't don't don't don't...

Roman looked up, and found Logan meeting his gaze with a look that briefly stole his breath.

“If you're worried about getting hurt? Then seek knowledge. It is our greatest weapon...and our greatest defense.”

The words felt oddly weighty, like he was trying to make Roman remember something for later. That, or...

He couldn't give the feeling words, and so he didn't. He held it inside himself, embraced the crushing weight against his lungs and the way his entire body felt too small for his bones.

“And the Lazari would be a pretty powerful weapon—especially if they were members of the royal family.” Roman mused softly.

A necromancer on the throne—if it was true, it could destroy his family. However...

It could save Logan's people. If the world knew that one of the royal family had been a member of his tribe? Maybe the Necromata could finally be free to live in the open, free and unafraid.

Looking into Logan's face, Roman realized there was no decision to make.

“Where will we find it?” he asked finally. “This knowledge...the knowledge we need to prove it, one way or the other?”

Logan fell silent at that. He still had that strangely intense look in his eyes, high color in his cheeks—and at some point, his hand had found its way off Roman's shoulder and down to mesh with Roman's fingers.

Roman's face felt warm, and the world felt kind of spinny.

“We start with the king.”

**********

1033, A.A.

“What're you thinkin' about, Janny?”

Janus drew a deep breath—not quite a sigh, but very close to it, not over Patton's question but his own inability to function properly.

He should be looking over the shoulders of his lieutenants, currently investigating the king's death. What he was doing was walking through the North Gardens in the dark with Patton, their hands firmly linked together between them. Patton even went so far as to swing them occasionally, making something deep in Janus's core twist in a manner that made his baser impulses nearly impossible to control.

“Nothing I can discuss with you.” he replied.

“Oh, wow. You're telling the truth—it must be bad.” Patton breathed.

Janus squeezed Patton's fingers, uncertain if he was trying to reassure Patton or himself.

“You have no idea,” he admitted softly, “and if I get my way? You never will.”

There was no immediate answer as Janus scanned their surroundings, double and triple checking to make sure they weren't being spied on. He was well aware of the fact that Logan had already absconded with the cadet—his brother, now that was never going to stop being funny to Janus—and could give a damn. He knew Logan well enough to know he'd be careful...he had to admit, reluctantly, that Storm was a damn capable soldier...and by holding up the pretext that the prisoners were safely ensconced in their quarters...

He could steal this time with Patton. Stealing, sneaking, taking things he had no right to, things that didn't belong to him.

“You're gonna ask me things again, huh?”

Janus stopped dead in his tracks, looking at Patton sharply. Patton, the gods love him, was just smiling that smile he always had when he told Janus things that Janus didn't ask for, much less the things Janus did make a point of requesting.

“That's not why we're out here.” he replied instead of rebuffing Patton's assertion. It felt more important, even if it wasn't...

It wasn't.

Patton giggled—actually giggled at that—and wrapped Janus's hand in both of his.

“Janny, I asked you to spend some time with me, remember?”

How could Janus forget that desperate plea, wide eyed and beaming through the tear tracks that lingered on his cheeks after he was done crying in Janus's arms earlier, done warning Janus about what was happening to Logan in another part of the castle? How could Janus have ever said no?

How could Janus admit that, even if Patton hadn't asked, Janus would have come anyway—just because he couldn't stay away?

“You couldn't possibly know I wanted to...ask you things, as you put it.” Janus pointed out.

Patton stepped closer, looking up into Janus's face from his diminutive height. The moon was nearly gone, but its few stray rays caught his mop of curls, forcing Janus to ball his hands into fists to resist the urge to touch one.

But, of course, because Patton still held one of his hands, he only succeeded in holding on tighter, sending a ripple of warmth and softness through Janus that ought to be more troubling than it was.

“I always know.” Patton pointed out gently. His dark blue eyes were black in the low light, his face shining and open and so dazzling it made his very bones hurt with the primal dragon's urge to grab him and hide him and claim claim claim mine mine mine...

Patton sank to the ground, tugging gently on Janus's captive hand. Janus followed—but rather than sit on the ground as Janus did, Patton got to his knees and immediately deposited himself in Janus's lap with a merry giggle that Janus swore lit up the garden if only for a heartbeat.

Janus let go Patton's hand, wrapped his arms around his waist instead, and felt the dragon in his bones settle back to sleep.

“You always know.” he finally echoed with a sigh and narrowed eyes that did nothing to taint Patton's bright smile. “Fine, I want to ask you things.”

Visibly pleased with himself, Patton rested his hands on Janus's shoulders, shut his eyes, and took a slow, deep breath.

“Okay. I'm ready.”

Janus gave Patton a gentle squeeze, taking a deep breath of his own.

“I need to know how to kill the necromancer.”

Patton didn't move or speak for a long time. Janus just held on, waiting.

His eyes slammed open—solid, pale sky blue and glowing faintly in the dark instead of the impossibly dark shade Janus knew so well.

In hushed, faraway tones, Patton spoke...and Janus listened closely.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Ten Sides (Part 9)

A fire rages within her, one that is much more powerful than she has managed to produce today. She wishes that, that fire would come forth. She wishes that she could stop making an absolute fool of herself in front of such a formidable foe. He smiles at her, encourages her. It is patronizing, really.

She lets the flames die in her palms, not that there is much to extinguished at all. She finds herself a large rock to sit upon and rubs her hands over her face. What is wrong with her? She is calm, mostly. She is free. There is nothing to hack at her chi and chakra points. So why can’t she just do it? Why doesn’t it come as naturally as it always has?

She thinks that she knows the answer but, Agni, she can’t bring herself to admit it…

“It’ll come back, Azula.” Aang promises. He makes a lot of promises and he doesn’t deliver. She lightly gnaws on her lip. That isn’t fully true; he had promised to break her free. But he has also promised to help her mind mend, promised to help her get back to herself physically, promised to fix her…

She can’t rely on him to fix her. She doesn’t want to. Agni, it would be humiliating if she did.

But her fire isn’t fixing itself and she is making little progress on fixing it. “We’ve been at this for nearly a week!” She complains. “Why haven’t I made any progress at all?” She’s an embarrassment, a perfect picture of squandered potential.

“You’re trying too hard.” Aang answers.

Azula goes rigid.

“You can’t force your fire out. You have to feel it.”

And that’s just it. She can’t, not like she used to. A connection has been severed and she doesn’t think that he can give that back. “Forget it.” She mumbles. She would rather cease firebending altogether than stare at such pitifully meek bursts.

“Forget what? Firebending?”

She nods. “I’ll find something else…”

“Y-you...I can’t belive you!” He throws his hands up. “You were so upset about your firebending being gone that you wouldn’t even move. I had to carry you...and now you’re just not going to use it?”

“It’s useless, Avatar.” She scowls. “You wouldn’t got to battle with a broken sword, would you?”

He opens his mouth.

“No. You’d find yourself a new weapon that actually works.” She hisses. But how many weapons has she gone through. All of her sharpest are gone. Her mind and cunning, her confidence, her fire…

“So you’re quitting then?” He asks. “It isn’t like you to quit.”

She laughs, the pitch of it is startling and uncanny to even her own ears. “I’m. Not. me.” She doesn’t know how many times she has to remind him of this. She is very sure now that Azula had died in that facility and this semi-lucid husk is what has come to fill in the vacancy.

He crinkles his brows. “I don’t believe that.”

She quirks a brow.

“Sometimes you are. Sometimes I can see it really clearly, that you’re still you. Other times...right now, I can’t.”

Neither can she. She fixes her eyes straight ahead, staring off and at nothing at all.

“So that’s it? You’re done for today?”

She is done for...for who knows how long, really. Perhaps for good. And perhaps she should muster up the courage to prevent herself from sinking any further. If Azula has died, why shouldn’t the lingering remains of her…

.oOo.

Looking at her, slouched over and dull-eyed, it comes to him what is missing. He supposes her aura was a potent indicator it is almost entirely brown now where it isn’t spotted with grey.

Confidence. He is almost certain that that is what it amounts to. That is what is missing; what the old Azula had that this Azula does not.

The fact of the matter is, she is uncertain. Riddled with conflict and turmoil to the likes of which he doesn’t think he can possibly fathom. Not without having someone like himself endlessly tinker and fiddle with his spirit for months on end.

“You can’t just give up.”

Her body shifts as she draws in a very deep inhale and seems to deflate even further as she exhales.

“How are you going to beat Sangyul if…”

“Maybe I don’t want to beat Sangyul.” She replies softly. “Maybe that’s what you want. Maybe I just want to forget about him entirely. What would it do for me anyhow?”

He begins to speak but she lifts a hand. And suddenly he wonders if she is right, wonders if it really is he who wants to take vengeance on Sangyul. Wonders if he has lost himself just as much as she has. Really, it would serve him right. It would be the justice that Gyatso had warned him about; in doing damage to her, he has unravel himself.

“You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself.” Aang nearly shouts. She flinches ever so slightly. He needs to stop feeling sorry for himself. “You need to stand up and start practicing your bending again.”

She is tense twice over but she does stand. “You need to fix me first.” She jabs the side of her head. “You need to fix what you’ve broken.”

“Azula, I…” He trails off. “Your spirit energy stabilizes itself. As long as I don’t touch it, it reverts…”

“Elasticity fades with age and overuse.” She pauses. “With misuse.”

He feels a twinge, likely of annoyance, possibly agitation. He is tired of taking the blame for this. Tired of receiving no credit despite doing everything he can to help. “So you want me to tamper with your spirit energy again?”

Azula swallows, he sees a little more fight leave her body. “No.”

“Then what do you want from me? Because it sure sounds like you want me to get into your head again and make some adjustments.”

It is back, if only for a moment.  “Stay away from my spirit energy, Avatar.” She scowls.

But he sees it. He sees the spark and he pushes. “Ya know what, no. I’m going to do it.” Her eyes widen and he takes a step closer. “You want me to fix you, I’ll do it. I’ll touch a few threads and tug a few strings.”

“Stay away from my spirit energy.” She repeats, lower. Cooler.

“What are you going to do, Azula? How are you going to stop me?” He closes his eyes, he is well aware that this can go one of two ways. As the words leave his lips, he hopes to Raava that she won’t shut down, “You can’t firebend.” His stomach lurches as he lifts a flame of his own.

He waits for a strike that never comes. Her eyes train on him and her breathing comes heavier. His tummy flops again and he lurches forward. He doesn’t expect to crash into her. He doesn’t expect to send her to the floor. Come on, Azula... He very nearly mutters. He has her pinned. He should really let her go. But it was there. He saw it. He saw that spark. He presses his thumbs to her forehead. He can’t remember much else but he wakes up on the ground.

His ribs sear white hot and moving is mighty awful. He touches his hand to his ribcage. The cloth is charred. A good hole burned through it. He gives a pained moan as he forces himself up right. He lumbers towards the lakeside and falls to his knees. It is a good burn, he smiles, a very good burn.

He isn’t as good as Katara but he patches himself up enough to be okay. Only then does it occur to him; Azula is gone.

[palace-of-wonder]

New Little Mini-Fic! Got a bit bold this time, haha.

Got some inspiration from @yandereaffections. Love your blog!

This is a yandere gender neutral reader x oc, cause I rarely see any yandere self inserts x s/o. Warnings: Sedating, non-descriptive mention of gutting, kidnapping. 

With a shaky exhale, you look around the woods, picnic basket in hand. WIth every step you take, you feel as though your heart slams harder into your ribcage as you search for the one reason why you’re out here instead of staying inside when it’s raining. Sure, it’s not raining that hard now, but soon the sky will be pouring.

Of course, that’s the plan. Because when it rains, that’s when she is out.

You can remember her clearly, seeing her on a rainy day like this. And now you’re well prepared for her now.

After trekking about in the woods, the pattering of drops gradually increasing their intensity, you soon see a figure in the clearing, sitting a few feet from the lake. For a moment, you simply stand behind the trees, transfixed by the creature in front of you.

Her dreadlocks crown her head as she looks up at the sky, the orange mock in peeking from them as they reach out for the droplets. Of course, the more you look the more she appears inhuman, with her antlers curve from her forehead, then curve into themselves slightly, almost like a buck’s. This is also paired with both her drooping ears where more humanlike ones should be, and as her where her knees should be, legs fit for a fallow deer meet almost just below your knees. She truly is a sight to see, and for a moment, you almost lose your nerve. 

No. You refuse to stop, not after this work. With an exhale, you step out into the clearing, acting just as surprised as she did when she looks over, her ears slightly pricking up in surprise.

“Oh! Uh, hello,” she stammers, her lips quirked in a rather forced, nervous smile. She seems to stand up, and for a moment your heart drops.

“Um, sorry for intruding on you, I wasn’t aware of there being anyone else here. I was just about to have a picnic, but it started to rain,” you say, lifting the basket slightly to draw her attention to it. She tilts her head slightly, intrigued. “Oh, would you like something from here?”

“Uh, are you sure?” she asks, though her eyes still trained on the basket. Got her.

You smile a bit, nodding. “It’s fine. I don’t mind sharing some food. And, maybe some company in this rain would be fun.” You walk over, sitting beside her. She smiles again, though it’s less forced, but still a bit skittish. You place the basket between you two, smiling at her reassuringly. “So, I have sandwiches, fruits, mini bags of chips, honey, and pudding. Also some lemonade and water. ”

She looks back up at the sky as she thinks, droplets dripping down her nose and cheeks. “Mmm, I’d like a fruit with honey. Banana, maybe?” She asks hesitantly, looking back at you. You nod, reaching into the basket. “Lucky for you, I have a bowl with banana slices. I was actually expecting a friend, but they bailed on me. Lucky me, huh.”

She lets out a titter, relaxing slightly. “Certainly. Being stood up while caught in the rain? Fortune seems to be your strong suit.”

You smile again, your heart pounding a bit harder than usual hearing her giggle. You hand her the tupperware holding sliced bananas along with the honey jar, the honey dipper included. As you grab a cup of pudding, grabbing some plasticware, you watch her from the corner of your eye.

She opens both the tupperware and the jar, placing the container of banana slices on her lap. She slips a couple of the fruit in her mouth as she dips the honeycomb-shaped end of the dipper stick into the sweet viscous liquid. Drizzling the golden treat onto the slices, she smiles to herself as she tastes them. You use your spoon to hide your smile, once again thanking the research you gathered. You noticed she had a thing for sweets whenever she would lap up the sweetness of the honeysuckles from bushes or the occasional dessert she swiped from unsuspecting picnic goers.

“Thanks again, these are actually good. I’m Karth by the way,” she says, a bit of honey on her lower lip. You resist the urge to wipe it off as the pink tip of her tongue swipes the liquid bead into her mouth. Now you ignore the urge to chase it with your own.

“Uh...you have any more?” Karth asks sheepishly, rubbing her neck. You pretend that you were minding your business earlier, looking down and seeing that she was completely done with the banana slices. “Ah, I have a peanut butter sandwich if that’s alright with you.” A nod signifies her approval as you exchange the empty container with a sandwich. You then grab a sandwich of your own, this one being a ham and cheese. The two of you eat, looking up at the cloudy sky as the raindrops make small ripples in the lake. It’s quite peaceful, honestly, the world more somber, but with a sense of serenity. You inhale and sigh softly, smelling the rain on the grass and trees.

You look over at Karth again, and she looks pretty drowsy. Of course, she seems to not want to mention it and toughen it out, though it’s obvious since her eyes are pretty droopy and she seems to want to just conk out against the tree. “Uhm, you alright?”

“Mhm,” she hums, scooting herself into the clearing more so the cool droplets could wake her up a bit.

“I could keep watch, y’know. I don’t really have any reception, and I have a blanket I was going to use before the rain,” you offer, pulling it out. “It’s not that thick, but it’s probably large enough for you to wrap around in terms of layers.”

She thinks about it for a few minutes before she agrees, allowing you to wrap the blanket around her. As you sit down, you notice a slight weight leaning on you and resting on your shoulder. As you look down, you see Karth resting her head on you. You chew your lip slightly, cursing mentally as you feel your heart speed up ten times over. You continue to look forward, before you are sure that she is truly asleep, before you carefully scoop her up in a bridal style, ensuring that she’s secure in your arms. After a few minutes, you reach your car. You prop her up carefully against a car to unlock and open the back door. You’re not worried of her waking up, since with the sleeping pills that were crushed and mixed in the honey, she won’t be waking up for a bit.

Gingerly placing her into the backseat, you close her in, then hop in the driver’s seat, heading into your town 45 minutes from the woods. Every now and then, you glance at the rearview mirror, looking at her sleeping form. You can’t stop the smile twitching at your lips. It’s pretty much done now. You have her.

Pulling up to your house, park the car. Turning it off, you exit the vehicle and carefully carry your little doe to your home. Opening the door, you transport her  to the spare room that you made her own, laying Karth on the bed. You remove the damp blanket off of her and grab a towel, drying her off slowly. You then pull the cover over her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Your heart skips a beat as she smiles slightly in her sleep. You use zip ties to tie her hands and legs together, using multiple so in case she rips one off, she’d be too exhausted to open the others. 

You then lock the door, closing it and stretching. As you head to your room, you hear thunder from outside. Huh, looks like you got in at the nick of time. You get into your bed, falling asleep as the thunder rolls and the rain pours.

--

When you wake up, you’re met with… a sight.

There she is, Karth. She’s asleep, that’s for sure. 

But she’s in your room. In your bed. With a couple of stretched out zip ties hanging from her arm.

….Well, this is something. You sit up and stumble out of bed, noticing just how disoriented you are. Like, more than average. You head into the bathroom, turning the light on to see your disheveled face. Looking around the counter, you notice your sleeping gummies are closed rather haphazardly. You open them and see that it wasn’t a lot that were missing, probably two or three. You head back into your room and grab your phone, checking the time to see it’s almost 12 pm. Well, that puts one thing in rest, but how did she escape the room?

You step out into the hallway and dash to “her”room, where you see the door with a rather nasty hole in it, splinters decorating the floor. You should’ve been able to hear that last night...except for the fact that it was thundering loudly. Perfect. Stepping inside the room, you see that there were gashes on the wall, and a couple of hoof marks on the doorway and floor. So she kicked her way out. Smart.

Well, if she escaped the room, why is she still here? And why in your room? Entering, you notice Karth waking up, rubbing her eyes. She sits up and sees you, smiling sleepily. “Hey, I guess you’re surprised, huh?”

You slowly nod, not really thinking. “How...how did you resist the sedatives?”

“I was pretty much in and out of it. Really gouged up the walls and all that,” Karth replies, leaning back against the bed. Still very calm considering she just escaped the room her captor had prepped for her.

“Why are you...here then?” you ask, though your mind screams for you to shut up and enjoy this.

“Well, I figured that since you’re oh, so infatuated with me, to the point of kidnapping me without even knowing if I’m secretly hostile and I actually lure humans in in order to gut them senseless,” she trails off, a rather wicked glint in her eyes, “I decided to stay, since I’ve never seen a human who had saw me and didn’t decide to run off or try to shoot me down.”

You smile rather deliriously, nodding. “Oh, I’m glad. Thank you.”

Her smile drops a bit. “However, we must have a deal.” She straightens up, looking you in the eye. “You will have to actually get me to like you. Y’know, romance me, court me, if you will. And if you fail, I will have to dispose of you.”

“What?!” You protest, stepping forward. “But doesn’t that seem a bit unfair? After all, it’s not my intention to hurt you, far from it.” Well, unless she were to push your limits. But that was before you realized you weren’t in control.

“But do you not think that it was unfair of you to trick me into being sedated and kidnapped?” She counters, tilting her head. You look away, knowing the answer. “But if I’m being nice, I suppose you won’t have a set deadline. I will tell you when your time is up.”

You nod, though it still feels grim. That means it can be a month, year, or even tomorrow if she was feeling rather vicious. And you can’t say you blame her.

To woo the predator in prey’s clothing, for an unknown amount of time against you. What fun.

[ramheavenandhell]

Virginity For Sale

AN: Another fanfic that was heavily inspired by a porn flick. To my defense, the bottom in the clip was a really cute twink and I honestly was imagining Rick and Morty the entire time I watched it. I'd put a link of that clip here, but I'm afraid, it was deleted already. (Also sorry for posting nothing last week and for posting late this week ^^') Warnings: Rick/Morty smut, prostitution, first time, hands-free orgasm, anal sex, also a bit dark and angst-y Summary: Until a week ago, he hadn't even known that this was a thing. That Ricks on the Citadel were paying good money just to take a Morty's virginity. But it was very real and he was here right now and about to lose his…

Virginity For Sale Hastily he sucked in each breath of air as if it were his last one. His heart was racing so fast as if he was running a marathon. "You're such a cute little thing…" Warm breath ghosted over his ear and he could feel the vibrations of the deep voice travelling through his entire body. The tip of a finger, trailed feather light over his soft skin, tracing invisible patters over his chest and stomach. A whimper escaped him when it reached one of his already stiff nipples, circling around it before flicking the sensitive nub and forcing a loud moan from his pink lips. Face reddened by his embarrassment from the sounds that he emitted, he clamped a hand over his mouth. "Don't do that. I want to hear you…" A twist of his nipple was accompanying the whispered order, eliciting another loud moan. "…I wanna hear every little sound you make." Shyly, he nodded and lowered his hand again, his fingers twisting into the soft material of the downy pillow. The petite brunet was completely naked, safe for a black bow tie that hung around his neck. All of his clothes were strewn on the floor of the expensive suite, white shirt, black jacket and dress pants already long since forgotten. His ribcage rose and sunk with each hasty breath, the fingers that were stimulating his body not really helping him calm down. He half laid on the sheets of the luxurious bed and half on the body of his…customer? Master? He still wasn't sure what to label the man who had paid for this one night. Sweat ran down the soft curves of his body, gathering as tiny pools in the grooves and his member was already fully erect and begging for attention. He hadn't been touched there yet safe for a few teasing pumps in the beginning of this game and he just wanted to reach down, relief himself of the tension, but he wasn't allowed. "No touching, Morty! If anyone touches your dick, it's me!" He had whimpered in response, but he had to obey. Even though he still felt ashamed to be even in this situation and almost regretted agreeing to all of this, he really needed the money. And it was really a lot of money that was involved! Although he knew that he wouldn't get as much as his "customer" had paid when he had bid in the auction for his virginity, it was still a hefty sum that would keep his head over water for a while. Honestly, he hadn't even realized how much of a big deal this whole thing was until he had been led into this luxurious suite and looked through the windows with panorama view – being able to oversee all of the Citadel from this high place. No, actually the huge scale had already begun to show itself when he had been told to shower, was given clean and expensive-looking clothes and then led on the stage, looking around the huge hall and down at all of those rich and fancily dressed men, who began to bid on him as if he was just a piece of meat. Expensive meat, none the less, as he had listened in shock at how much they were willing to bid for this one night with him… The auction winner wore more clothes than he did right now, still clad in his white shirt although unbuttoned, merely his tie gone and resting innocently on the nightstand. He did have the audacity to pull off his pants and underwear though, his naked and slightly hairy legs intertwining with Morty's own. For having the money to "waste" it on something like this and having worn such a fine business suit, it was obvious to the teen that he wasn't just some blue collar worker Rick, but someone who stood in the higher ranks on the Citadel. Probably some kind of CEO, if Morty had to guess. Another gasp escaped him as he felt the fingers again – this time cold and slick – gliding over the pucker of his back entrance. It was all just so surreal. Until a week ago, he hadn't even known that this was a thing. That Ricks on the Citadel were paying good money just to take a Morty's virginity. But it was very real and he was here right now and about to lose his… "Ahh!" He couldn't help but squirm as a lone slim finger suddenly slid into him. A hand stroked reassuringly over his stomach, massaging the muscles that had tensed up in reaction. "Relax, sweetheart…" The gentle touches and the sensual voice did wonders to his body and Morty slowly relaxed again. It was okay. It was only this one time and he would never have to do this again. He would never get to see this Rick for the entire rest of his life again. And it was probably going to be over sooner than he'd expected. …as much as he tried, these thoughts did very little to calm his still jittering nerves. Again a moan as a second digit joined the first, slowly sliding out, then back in again, rotating against the tight muscles. The fingers spread in a scissoring motion, trying to open him up more, moving more insistently against his insides and Morty didn't know any more if he wanted to move away or closer towards them. "Hmm~ you're so tight and hot. I can't wait to be finally inside you." The hot whisper against his ear send shivers through the brunet's fragile body. Movements became faster, displaying the Rick's growing impatience and before Morty knew what happened, three fingers were thrusting in and out of his orifice. When they eventually retreated all together, he unconsciously whined, suddenly feeling so empty and his hole clenched around nothingness. The next moment, he felt ashamed of himself again. He really shouldn't be enjoying this so much, it was just business after all. If it wasn't for the money that he so desperately needed, he wouldn't even be here right now. With a face as red as a cherry, he looked down as the Rick rearranged his legs, forcing him to spread them wider as he placed his feet to rest on the man's thighs. Now opened up and granting the other better access, the elder positioned his cock at his entrance. 'This is it…' Morty thought with a strange mix of fear and excitement as he felt the pulsing head pressing against his pucker, his heart hammering wildly against his ribcage. A brush of lips against the lobe of his ear was his last warning. "Deep breath now." "Aaahn!" Morty flung his head back as the Rick entered him the next moment in a single thrust. Instinctively, he clamped down on the intruder, his body trying to force out the foreign object, which did not belong there. Morty gasped for air, tiny tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Thanks to the preparations, the pain wasn't that intense, but it was still there. Soft kisses were peppered over his cheek. "Shh, shh, sweetie." Again, the gentle gestures combined with a hand that was stroking his thigh, helped him slowly relax again. Taking deep breaths, he felt how his insides released their tight grip on the hot flesh. The Rick almost purred and the boy moved his head against him like a grateful cat that was nuzzling against its owner's hand. "Good boy…" The low murmur sent another wave of heat through Morty's body. "…still halfway to go…" What?! Again, the brunet threw his head back as the other entered him the rest of the way with another powerful push of his hips. "Uuuhnn!" Tears streamed over heated cheeks now. He felt so full, the other filling him in a way that he couldn't put into words. It was as if the length was penetrating him more than should be possible, as if Rick was invading far deeper and the girth stretching and filling more than just his body while he was nestled balls-deep inside. As if they had been joined on more than just the physical plain when he had forced himself so intimately inside him. Thankfully, it wasn't as painful as the initial entering, but it still felt uncomfortable as his walls tried to accommodate to the silk-covered steel. Again, he was reminded that he wasn't alone in this and once more lips brushed over his glowing cheek. "So good…you feel heavenly, Morty…" The praise made him feel hot and cold at the same time, gliding through him like a melting piece of butter in a heated pan. One of Rick's hands reached for his cheek and angled his head so he could engage in a kiss with the younger. Morty didn't resist. Somehow, it felt like he had lost. Lost a battle of some sort. But, he decided that he didn't care anymore as he gave himself completely over, succumbing to the other's lips and tongue. A muffled whine echoed through the spacious room when the elder decided that he had given them both more than enough time and began to move, drawing out a small distance only to push back in again. Rick quickly set a rhythm, opting for a decent pace that wasn't slow, but also not too fast or hard yet. Whatever kind of discomfort Morty may have felt before was quickly forgotten and he groaned in the other's mouth, being a little surprised when Rick answered in kind. They continued to make out passionately for a while until the elder separated from him again, stopping his movements to reposition the younger a little. Morty wondered what that was about, but practically screamed as the other began to fuck into him again. Bright dots were flashing in front of his eyes, the slight shift allowing the other to touch a spot inside him that literally made the teen see stars. Rick stuck to that angle, driving inside the tight heat again and again, and slowly made the brunet go insane. The foreign feeling of having that pulsing flesh move inside him had been odd, but also strangely good and arousing after he had gotten used to it. However, this was on a different level. Having this one special spot touched was so amazing that he couldn't describe it, the closest equivalent to it was probably like being jerked off from the inside. Also, he noticed that he was quickly approaching his orgasm and released another whining sound. Morty tried to hold on, the fingers that were still buried in the soft pillow clenching tightly, his other hand leaving light scratch marks on the skin of Rick's hip. He was so close, all he would need was just one small touch, but he wasn't allowed and Rick wasn't touching him, denying him this relief. Still, he felt like it became too much and not knowing what else to do, weakly tried to squirm away. His attempts were halted and Rick firmly pulled him back into his next thrust. "Naaaahh!" Morty's back arched slightly, his moan laced with surprise as hot wetness suddenly spilled over his abdomen, his hips giving another jerk. In disbelieve, he glanced down, confirming for himself that he had just ejaculated. Just how? Rick hadn't even touched him! Morty hadn't known that this was even possible. Still, the urge to give himself a few relieving squeezes was there and without even thinking about it, his hand wandered to his still angry red cock. The moment that he brushed against the heated flesh, long fingers wrapped around his wrist and pulled the hand away again. The silent command "Don't touch!", rang loud and clear in his head with the action and as he let his limb be guided back to its former place against Rick's hip without resistance, he didn't dare to disobey again and obediently stayed there this time. The elder was still thrusting into his now hypersensitive opening, his movements having slowed a little though. Eventually, he halted altogether and showed at least an ounce of mercy for the poor boy, grasping the sensitive organ that still begged for contact. With strong and deliberate strokes, he milked the member, forcing out the last droplets of cum that dribbled on Morty's abdomen to join the rest, the boy moaning weakly as he did this. Rick let go of his length, his dick flopping back to rest on his pelvis and to the brunet's surprise he was still half-hard – or maybe he was getting hard again already? A part of Morty expected the other to start moving again now, still being aware of the hot presence inside him, but he gasped when he felt slim fingertips instead. With hooded eyes, he watched how Rick played with the small puddle of semen, slowly smearing it over his quivering stomach and all the way up his chest. "Ahh…hah…" The teen couldn't help but moan softly again from the teasing touches, his body trembling like a leaf. He lost sight of the fingers when they left his skin and rose higher, but he could hear the unmistakable sounds of the elder licking and groaning afterwards. "So delicious~" Again, a wave of heat shot through the younger's body from the praise and the thought of the other tasting his cum and —god, just why did he have to do that?! "Haaaah!" Rick began to move again, his thrusts quickly gaining speed. It was apparent that the elder was beginning to get impatient, seeking his own climax now. So, his fingers dug into the teen's hip and soft thigh, hard enough to leave bruises, as he rutted into him. Also becoming more vocal now, his heavy grunts and moans entered Morty's ear and the difference was so drastic from the gentleness before that the teen felt as if he was suddenly in bed with a wild animal…which didn't deterred his arousal in the slightest though. The teen was getting louder now, too, practically screaming as the elder's hips repeatedly slammed into him, deep and hard, and hitting that one spot again. As if he would still need the incentive, fingers wound around his again fully hardened length now and stroked it in a matching rhythm to the thrusts. Morty knew he wouldn't be able to last long like this, his cock drooling precum like crazy and slicking up his shaft and Rick's hand, aiding the pumping movements. "Fuuuck… so good…for me…" Hot breath fanned over his ear and cheek as the other cursed. He could only whimper in answer. "Hngh…hah…aaah! R-Rick…I…uhnn…Oh god!" The hand that had previously been twisting the pillowcase held tight onto the other's arm that had slithered behind his neck as Rick was searching for better leverage. His other hand was reaching around the elder's back as he tried to meet the hammering motions. He felt so hot and was so hard, it was almost painful. "R-Ri—AAAAAAaaaaahhh!" His back arched sharply and the back of his head dug into the pillow as his seed spilled over his sweaty chest. He could feel his insides spasming around Rick's hardness, the rhythmical squeezes triggering the elder's own orgasm. A powerful and deep thrust and Morty called out once more as the head of Rick's cock jabbed into his prostrate again, forcing another spurt from his dick as hot liquid spilled inside him. The elder rode out his orgasm. Another hard thrust, releasing more of his cum inside the teen while more jizz shot onto Morty's chest. "Uhn!" It almost became too much for the brunet, each strong thrust feeling like a climax on its own now, as if the waves of pleasure would never ebb but only rise higher to swallow him whole. …and then Rick stopped, buried as deeply as he possibly could, emptying the last he had to give. Heavily, Morty collapsed back on the bed, panting as if he suffered from an asthma attack, his mind not yet entirely returned from its journey to heaven. A pained whimper escaped his mouth as the other withdrew from his hypersensitive opening and the body underneath him shifted to lay down more comfortably. Silence followed, safe for the gasps of the bed's occupants. As cum dribbled from his used hole, Morty felt this strange emptiness inside him again. He began to worry his lower lip out of habit, feeling the awkward atmosphere return that he had first felt when he had entered this room and didn't know what to do or to expect. Just this time, it felt even heavier than before. His sweaty body began to shiver as it cooled down to room temperature, which wasn't that high in the air-conditioned suite. Trying to hold back a wince, he rolled over to sit up on the bed, looking for his clothes to get dressed again. "You don't have to leave right away." Rick's voice interrupted his careful scanning of the floor. "The room's already paid, so you can stay the night. If you want. I don't really care." The teen could feel the nonchalant shrug, before the other also got up to raid the mini-bar. He turned to watch how the older retrieved a small bottle from the fridge, opened it and swallowed its contents in one go. Then his eyes wandered over the mattress and crumpled sheets. This bed was certainly better than what would await him back in Morty Town and even if he was going to get quite a hefty sum of money now, who knew when he would ever have the chance to spend a night in an actual suite again. Rick placed the empty bottle on the nightstand next to his tie and grabbed the remote to turn on a giant flat screen TV as he got back into bed and drew the covers over his body. His disinterest clearly showed that he gave zero fucks if the boy would decide to stay or leave now. In fact, he was acting so indifferent about it as if this hadn't been a big deal for him at all, as if these auctions were normal for him and he bedded a virgin Morty every week. …Maybe it really wasn't such a big deal to Rick, but it kind of felt like one to Morty. Even though he knew that he should feel about this as uncaring as the other. He looked down at the sheets again, spotting the stains that were slowly drying up to crust on the otherwise pristine bedspread, pondering. "…is it really okay if I stay the night?" "Eh, sure." Rick didn't even look at him. "You were a good fuck and the bed is big enough for two. And as I said, all of this is paid already, so would be kind of a waste, right?" Giving a slight nod, the brunet turned around again and crawled under the covers, drawing them up to his nose. He closed his eyes and blended out the sounds of the TV, feeling so alone right now despite the other's presence. It should be okay for this one night, Morty thought and exhaustion took over, guiding him slowly into the land of restless dreams. After all, he already lost, so there was no point in fighting anymore…

[elementalwriter67]

The Void Chapter Eight

A/N: Fair warning these are going to start getting longer and longer so buckle up kiddos. Also from now on every post I make with the void up until chapter eleven I think will be the rewrite, making a new post for the chapters is just easier than scrolling back through to find the original. And one more thing yes there is a tag list for this! And for those of you who asked me and I haven’t been tagging the simple answer for that is I just kept forgetting with everything that’s going on in my life so I apologize, I am however going to remember from now on cause I’ve written it down.

Pairing: (eventual) Jason Todd x Reader

Word Count: 8956

Chapter One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven part one, part two

Tag List: @clea-nightingale, @wittedhat, @reclusive-chicken-nugget, @undertheredhood

Summary: The Void is a hellish place filled with screams that echoed throughout the place at all the hours of the night, and where pain is a very close friend. You’ve spent your entire life in the Void, having been there since you were ten and you’ve just recently gotten a new cellmate… Who’s a little more hopeful than you are that either of you are going to make it out of this place alive. Though you have to admit that maybe his hope is rubbing off on you because you slowly find yourself hoping that the two of you do get out of here.

Jason gasped as he scrambled back, his body running on pure instinct right now as he backed up until he hit the wall. His gaze jumped around the room searching for the guard, for the danger, that was supposed to be there but wasn’t there. That, however, didn’t stop his heart from beating furiously against his ribcage, his breath from coming in short panicked bursts, and his mind from swirling around in a maelstrom of emotions and thoughts as he struggled to figure out what was going on.

He didn’t know where he was, what was going on, or what had happened to you. He didn’t know what floor he was on if he was in the basement or not, hell he didn’t even know if he was still in the fucking Void or if they had moved him to a different building or not. He didn’t know what was going to happen to him, didn’t know if he was being kept here until the guards came and got him for some sort of sick public execution thing, or if Dr. Roberts was waiting to punish him, or if Dr. Roberts was just waiting to kill him or not. More importantly, he didn’t know where the hell you were. All he remembered was the fact that the two of you had been hiding in the room from the guards when they suddenly burst into the room and he had tried to get over to you and then nothing, just blackness as to what happened after that. He had no idea if you were alive or not if they had shot you dead right there. He knew this wasn’t the first time that you had tried to escape and he knew that they didn’t like it when the prisoners tried to escape, they would have shot you dead. Oh, gods, you could be dead right now and it’s all his fault. If he had just waited like you had told him, if he had just waited until he was fully healed, if the two of you had just had a little more time to plan this whole thing out, if he hadn’t decided to stop to write that fucking message to his family then the two of you wouldn’t be in this position in the first place! Then you probably wouldn’t be dead! The two of you would probably be out there right now running from this place and going somewhere safe, somewhere where your life isn’t constantly in danger, someone where you would be happy, gods why did he have to be so fucking rash?! No. No, he couldn’t think about you that way, like you were dead because you weren’t dead, you couldn’t be dead he just needed to think about this logically that was all. Yeah. Yeah! There was no way you were dead because for some reason the people here needed you, you were important to them, there was something about you, something that made you different from everyone here and that’s why they hadn’t killed you yet, after all, how else would you have been able to survive for this long in this fucking place if they didn’t need you. Right? Right. So, you were fine, you had to be fine, you were fine, you were fine, you were fine, you were fine.

Jason latched on to the mantra like it was a safety blanket repeating it over and over again until his heart started to slow and his breathing started to even out as he pressed his back against the wall using it to ground himself in the moment. He kept repeating it until everything started to calm down until he could think clearly again until his head was no longer a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions and he could breathe without feeling like there were a thousand pounds of dirt pressing down on him. Closing his eyes Jason took a couple deeper breaths revealing in the feeling of having a free chest before he opened his eyes and finally realized what exactly his situation was.

Metal cuffs were wrapped around his wrists and ankles with thick iron chains attached to them that disappeared into four separate holes in the ground. His brow furrowed in confusion as he raised his arm, the chain giving easily allowing him to move without any restrictions.

“What the hell?” Jason muttered to himself as he stood up from his position, the chains moving easily with him. He looked down at the holes in the ground as he slowly started walking the perimeter of the room, the chains giving easily allowing him to move however he wanted even as he punched the air suddenly trying to see if the movement would cause the chains to lock up but they didn’t.

“Huh.” He mused as he stared at the chains trying to figure out if he could break the chains or somehow slip out of them. Jason jumped suddenly when a loud ear-piercing scream sounded from somewhere nearby and the familiarity of it struck deeply in Jason’s mind and he froze where he was trying to hear the scream again. He didn’t have to wait long as the scream came again and he flinched, guilt welling up inside of him, he knew exactly who that was and as another scream sounded, he felt anger well up with the guilt. He glared at the door his hands clenched into fists as he glared at the door just as two guards walked into the room with him and he growled at them.

“Oh, good you’re awake. This is going to make our job so much more fun.” The first guard said as he stepped further into the room, the door slamming closed behind his companion who stopped just beside the door.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” Jason asked and a wicked smirk spread across the first guard's face as he looked Jason over.

“Who?” The guard asked and Jason glared at him, the smirk on the guards face only growing as he watched Jason’s reaction.

“The girl I was with. Where is she?” Jason asked again, his voice almost a growl as he clenched his hands stopping himself from charging the guards right now.

“Oooooh, you mean that (Y/N).” The first guard commented and Jason opened his mouth to say something else when the second guard spoke up.

“That slut is getting what she deserves for trying to escape again.” The second guard said as he pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against and moved to stand next to his companion. “Just like you will be.”

Jason growled deep and low as he bared his teeth, every fiber of his being was screaming at him to attack the guards, to beat them until they were black and blue, until they were unrecognizable, until they were nothing but a bleeding and broken mess. But he couldn’t. The main reason being the chains around his wrists and ankles the second reason being the fact that both of them were carrying loaded weapons, and there was a good chance they could probably draw and shoot him before he could get close to them. So instead he fought back the urge to fight them as forced out his next question.

“What are you doing to her?”

“Oh, it’s not what we’re doing to her. No, no, no it’s what Dr. Roberts is doing to her.” The first guard commented and Jason tensed as another scream echoed throughout the room.

“And by the sounds of it, I would say that the good ole doc has moved on to using that whip of his, damn shame he decided to use it now I was hoping I would get to watch as he whipped that bitch back into submission.” The second guard said and Jason felt his blood run cold both at what he had called you and at the sound of another scream. For a couple of seconds, Jason stood there in complete silence, the anxiety and guilt of the situation threatening to drag him under but the anger and rage keeping him afloat at the moment as he glared at the guards.

“Tell him to stop,” Jason ordered his voice hard and eyes shining with a barely controlled rage. The guards stared at him for a couple of seconds before they burst out laughing, doubling over at the waist as they wheezed. Another growl escaped Jason as he watched the two guards laugh.

“Tell him… tell him to… tell him to stop?! Can you believe this guy?! Oh, my gods, that’s rich! That’s fantastic! I didn’t know you prisoners could be so damn funny!” The first guard wheezed out as he whipped none existent tears from his eyes.

“Sure, well tell him to stop when we decide we want to actually die.” The second guard commented before he continued to laugh with his compatriot. Jason stood there, body tense and eyes hard as the guard’s laughter bounced around inside his head taunting him, laughing at him, mocking him.

“I’ll kill you!” Jason shouted as he charged forward without any warning or any forethought on his end as he charged towards the guards his teeth bared and his hands gripping one of the chains fully prepared to choke one of the guards to death.

“No, I don’t think you will.” The first guard said as he calmly pulled a remote from his pocket and just as suddenly as he had been running forward Jason had stopped. He stood there for a second confused as to what was happening and he was just about to take a step forward when his arms were suddenly yanked behind his back and his feet were pulled out from under him and he hit the ground with a hard smack and the next thing he knew he was being dragged back across the floor. The concrete scraped against his bare arms as he was dragged back struggling and trying to break his thumb so that way he could at the very least slip one hand out of the cuff but with the position that the chains had yanked his arms and legs into it made it impossible to break his thumb so he could slip the cuffs.

“No! No! Let go of me! Take your fucking ass-kicking like a man!” Jason shouted as he was dragged back until he was resting over the holes in the ground with his arms and legs bent behind his back as he laid there struggling and vulnerable for the guards. The two guards chuckled as they walked up to him, peering down at him with victorious smiles on their faces as they watched him struggle.

“Now why would we want to let you up when we know that a) we are so much more powerful than you-” “and b) when it’ll be so much more fun to have you completely at our mercy for what we’re about to

smile down at him. Jason glared up at them snarling with a fire in his eyes because he wanted nothing more than to fight them both right now.

“When I get out of here, I’m going to tear both of your fucking faces off and then I’m going to burn this place to the fucking ground,” Jason shouted at them as he struggled against the chains trying desperately to get a limb free but the angle was all wrong for everything he was trying to do.

“Big words coming from someone who’s currently restrained against the floor.” The first guard said as he stared down at Jason that a victorious smile never leaving his face as he watched Jason struggle.

“Why don’t you let me up and I prove just how big those fucking words are.” Jason countered and the second guard leaned closer to him smiling evilly as he got closer to Jason.

“And why would we want to let you do that when we have you right were, we need you for what we’re going to do?” The second guard asked him tilting his head to the side and Jason glared at him, not at all intimidated by the act that these two were trying to play.

“And that would be what exactly?” He asked and the guards shared a look before the two of them looked back at him smiling evilly.

“Why for our revenge of course. You didn’t honestly think that we would take the fact that you had killed several of our comrades lying down, did you?” The first guard asked him and Jason smirked confidently as could be as he looked the two of them in the eyes.

“Think, no. But I did hope that you would all take it lying down like the bitches that you are.” Jason commented and that got the desired response out of the guards as they both glared at him.

“Shut that whore mouth of yours!” The first guard shouted as he kicked Jason in the side, the steel toes of his boot digging in right between his ribs. Jason grit his teeth biting back a groan of pain as he tried to keep his face a neutral as possible, he wasn’t about to give these assholes the satisfaction of seeing him in pain. Especially not when he could hear you screaming from down the hall or from wherever you are.

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Jason asked a bitter chuckle in his voice as he looked up at the guards and the seconds' guard’s eye twitched and the next thing Jason knew there was another foot being dug into his ribs. He had to fight back another groan of pain as his ribs began to throb from just two of the kicks, this was going to be a long, long, day.

“We said shut up!” The second guard said as he kicked Jason again before he could say something sarcastic. Jason barely managed to stop himself from groaning and instead turned it into a cough as the guard's second hit landed directly in his stomach.

“And what if I don’t want to?” Jason countered and the guards shared a look two matching smiles spread across their faces as they looked back at him.

“We were hoping you would say that.” The first guard said and the next thing Jason knew he was being kicked repeatedly by the two guards each kick landing either in his ribs or in his stomach. Jason fought against his chains trying desperately to break free so he could at the very least curl up into a ball to protect his organs, though at this point he wasn’t sure it would do any actual good. After two or three more kicks the guards finally decided to take a step back from him the two of them panting heavily as they stared down at him their eyes burning. Jason grimaced as he shifted with the limited space, he had his muscle aching and screaming in protest at the punishment they had just been put under and the position they were being forced to keep.

“Had enough yet subject?” The first guard asked and Jason glared at them. Turning his head to the side he spits at the first guard’s feet, a mixture of blood and saliva. The first guard smiled viciously as he brought his foot back and kicked Jason once again in the side causing him to cough instead of groan in pain.

“Tell you what I’m feeling a little generous right now. So how about we strike a deal hm?” The first guard asked as he started walking around Jason clearly still trying to be intimidating. Jason watched him pace in and out of his line of sight, pretending to debate on whether or not he would take whatever deal they offered.

“What sort of deal?” He asked and the guard stopped walking a large, toothy, grin spreading across his face as he whipped around to face Jason clapping his hands together as he did so.

“Oh, I was hoping you would ask. I propose to you a deal if you simply apologize for what you did to our comrades, we’ll stop punishing you as hard as we have been, don’t agree to our deal and well we’ll step it up a notch.” The guard said and Jason eyed him for a couple of seconds before he started chuckling softly and it wasn’t long before it had turned into full-blown laughter as he threw his head back, laughing very much like the guards had been earlier.

“Shut up.” The second guard growled out in warning but Jason continued to laugh his whole body shaking with the force of it, and for a brief moment the guards thought that Jason may have lost his mind. That after spending only a month or so in here that the doctors had finally managed to make him snap, but as he continued to laugh, they realized that wasn’t the case at all and that realization only served to make them angrier.

“I said shut up!” The second guard shouted as he pulled his pistol from its holster and backhanded Jason with the handle. Jason’s head snapped to the left, the laughter dying instantly on his lips as he stared at the wall for a couple of seconds before slowly looking back at the guards. There was a tense moment of silence as Jason and the second guard stared each other down before the first guard finally broke the silence.

“Are you going to take the deal or not you psychopath.” The first guard stated his voice hard and his hands clenched into fists at his side as his partner held his gun up high fully prepared to pistol-whip Jason given the opportunity.

“So, let me get this straight, you two chuckleheads, want me to apologize for killing a couple of your buddies? You want me to apologize to you after everything that you guards have done to me, too (Y/N), to every other person in this hell hole?” Jason asked and a small smile started spreading across the guard’s face as he looked at Jason, his chest puffing out like he thought Jason was actually going to take his deal.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I want you to do.” The guard said and Jason stared at the guard for a couple of seconds before looking towards the second guard and the pistol that he held and then looked back at the first guard.

“Then to that I say, get fucked,” Jason started his voice full of a silent sort of rage and the first guard’s bravado disappeared in an instant as he looked towards his partner.

“Hit him again, and don’t stop hitting him until this fucking brat apologizes for what he’s done!” The first guard shouted and the second guard raised his hand high before bringing the butt of the pistol crashing into Jason’s jaw once again.  Jason remained strongly silent even as the guard landed blow after blow to his jaw, to his body, even after he felt one of his rib’s breaks, even after he was sure he would be black and blue for days to come he remained silent. He remained defiant of them as he stared them in the eyes and refused to give them the apology they wanted, or the screams that they were craving. He would not be broken by some low-level sissy guards no matter what they did to him he would not allow them to break him. Especially when he knew he had to make sure he lived through this just so he could apologize to you for everything that he had put you through.

~Arkham Asylum Gotham City~

It had been a week since Dick and Roy had told the others that Jason had gone missing and it had been a long, long, long week for the whole family. The first week had simply been information gathering, it had been Bruce, Tim, and Babs scouring every inch of the internet searching for any trace of Jason online. While Dick, Roy, Damian, Cass, Steph, and Kate split up to search the city and surrounding cities searching through Jason’s safe houses to see if he was actually hiding out in one of them and was just ignoring all of them. But all of them hit the same dead-end which was nothing, there was no trace of Jason anywhere that they looked. Which is why Bruce is currently walking through the hallways of Arkham Asylum, in his full bat get up, heading towards the most secure part of the building with commissioner Gordon following at his heel looking for the better part weary about what they were about to do.

“Not to, question your abilities here Batman, but are you sure this is a good idea?” Gordon asked as the two of them turned down a heavily guarded hallway the two of them passing armed guards as they went.

“Yes.” Was all Bruce said as they stopped in front of a thick steel door with a solitary window in the middle of the door and a slot to slide trays of food through. From the other side of the door, they could hear the sounds of maddened giggling that built up and up until it was full-on cackling.

“Well, well, well if it isn’t little batsy watsy! What brings you all the way out here?! It’s not just to see little ole me is it?!” The crazed voice of the Joker asked from the other side of the door and suddenly he was standing there in the window his head tilted to the side and his eyes as wide as the grin on his face as he stared out the window at the two of them.

“Oh, and you brought our favorite friend! Commissioner Gordon! Now it truly has been a long time since I’ve seen you, tell me how’s that daughter of yours doing?” Joker asked his head tilting to the other side and a look of mock concern crossing his face that was quickly replaced with a look of glee when he saw the rage flash across Gordon’s face.

“Listen here you- ““Gordon.” Bruce interrupted him before he could say anything. Gordon looked at Bruce before sighing.

“Right, I’ll just be over here then,” Gordon grumbled as he turned and walked back around the corner. Though he would never admit it Gordon was glad that a lot of the questioning Batman did with this psycho he did it alone, the Joker always rubbed him the wrong way. There was a long moment of silence as Joker and Batman just stared at each other, Bruce waiting to make sure that Gordon wasn’t still listening on the other side before he stepped up to the door.

“So batsy watsy what brings you all the way out here to visit little ole me? Don’t you have bigger fish to take care of now that I’m in here?” Joker asked as he leaned against the door with his arm above him so that his hand was dangling down and Bruce kept a straight face as he stared at him.

“What do you know about the Void?” Bruce asked his voice emotionless as he stared Joker down. Joker was silent for a couple of seconds before he tilted his head to the other side a large hyena-like grin spreading across his face as he looked at Bruce.

“The Void? Why on earth would you ever want to know about those pencil-pushing scientists?” Joker asked.

 “What do you know about the Void?” Bruce asked once again, ignoring his first comment and Joker was silent for a couple of moments, just starring at Bruce before the pieces seemed to connect in that demented little head of his. The Joker suddenly slammed into the door his face pressed against the glass.

“Now, why would you want to know about the Void? They’re so far under your radar that you shouldn’t even know about them. Unless… unless one of yours was taken by them…” Joker trailed off watching the barely their reaction of Bruce, the twitch of his jaw and the flashing in his eyes that had the joker laughing as he stumbled back from the door.

“Oh! One of them was, weren’t they?! One of your little birdies was finally caught in the cat’s maw, weren’t they?! Oh, that’s fantastic! That’s glorious! You thought I was bad with your little pet birds! You better kiss this one goodbye for good, cause you’re never going to find the body.” Joker’s tone dropped as he pressed his face back up against the window and Bruce glared at him before turning and walking away leaving the man to cackle madly to himself. Bruce ignored Gordon as he tried to ask what happened and instead walked immediately passed him and out of Arkham entirely disappearing into the night.

“I hate when he does that,” Gordon grumbled as he crossed his arms and stared at where Batman had just been.

~Lower East Side of Crime Alley~

“Does anyone have eyes on Scarecrow?” Dick asked as he stood on the rooftop near the abandoned warehouse that they assumed was Scarecrow’s hideout for the time being.

“He’s inside,” Damian responded from where he stood on the rooftop that was to the east side of the warehouse.

“Is he alone?” Dick asked and there was silence for a couple of seconds as Damian scanned the room through his inferred binoculars.

“Yes, it looks like he’s testing new chemicals,” Damian reported in and Dick nodded.

“Two guards at the main entrance and then two guarding the entrance to Scarecrow’s office, and more goons milling about on the bottom floor some armed some not,” Roy stated from where he was standing next to Dick, his fingers tracing over the screen in his hands, controlling the fly sized drone he had shot into Scarecrow’s hideout. Dick hummed as he looked at the building watching as goons walked in and out of the front door.

“How do we want to do this thing? In through the front or is there another point of access?” Dick asked the two of them and they were both silents for a moment before Damian spoke up.

“There’s a window that leads directly into Scarecrow’s office. If you want to do this without a fight Grayson, and ensure that we’ll be able to question Scarecrow without any interference or him escaping the window will be our best option.” Damian stated and Dick was silent for another moment before nodding his head.

“Alright, we’ll go in through the window. Robin stays there I and Arsenal are on our way.” Dick stated and Damian made a noise of agreement before Dick looked towards Roy who was already pocketing his bug.

“You think he’ll have any actual information for us?” Dick asked and Roy shrugged as he pulled an arrow from his quiver and removed his bow from where it was collapsed and hanging from his waist.

“No idea, but for his sake, I hope he does,” Roy started his voice firm and leaving no room for argument as he walked to the edge of the roof and jumped off firing his grappling arrow as he did and swinging over to the roof that Damian was on. Dick perused his lips at the inclination in Roy’s voice and while he didn’t necessarily agree with the idea of torturing Scarecrow for his information, he certainly wasn’t opposed to the idea right now. As Dick landed next to the two of them whatever conversation they had been having ceased and they both looked at him.

“You two ready to go.” He asked and the two of them nodded as they ran and jumped the three of them crashing through the window all at once and with their weapons drawn. Scarecrow jumped back away from what he had been working on and looked up at them.

 “Oh, it’s just you three,” Scarecrow said his tone sounding almost bored as he returned to what he had been doing before they busted into his office. The three of them stood there starring at him in shock.

“What? No running away from us? No shouting for one of the hundreds of goons that you’ve got scattered around the place? No trying to kill us? No snarky comment about how we apparently don’t know how to use a door?” Roy asked, gesturing with his hands as he spoke looking around at the others to see them looking just as confused as he did.

“No, I’ve been expecting at least one of you to show up for some time now though I’ll admit I thought it would be much sooner and that it would be Batman himself who came not his children and their friend.” There was a hint of a disgusted sneer in his voice as he looked over the three of them but didn’t stop what he was doing.

“What have you done with the Red Hood?” Damian all but growled out as he drew his sword, pointing the tip of it at Scarecrow who looked down it completely unphased by the threat. Sighing Scarecrow stepped back from his desk and fell back into his chair.

“Take a seat, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Scarecrow gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. The three of them looked at each other confused as to how easily this was going but neither of them made a move to actually sit down and Scarecrow rolled his eyes but didn’t make a comment.

“Alright if you’re so willing to talk then let’s start with what exactly it was you were doing with the Red Hood that night,” Dick said as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“And why exactly we can’t seem to find him or get in contact with him,” Roy added on.

 “A couple of weeks ago, before that night actually, I was contacted by a couple of people from a place called the Void. Now admittedly I don’t know too much about the Void itself only whispered horror stories of the place and tall tales that the other villains have told but I do know they’re not exactly the kind of people you want to get yourself mixed up with, they’re worse than the Joker.” Scarecrow explained and Dick furrowed his brow in confusion.

 “If they’re so undesirable then why did you work with them?” Damian asked, never having lowered his sword.

 “… They were offering me something that I greatly needed, the two missing chemicals for a new grade of fear toxin that I’ve been working on, I couldn’t very well say no to those ingrates those chemicals are extremely hard to come by.” Scarecrow explained to them and they all gave him a deadpanned look.

“I am no proud of what I did but I will not take it back just because you disagree with me, but needless to say I don’t have your Red Hood the Void has him and no before you ask I have no idea where they are hidden all I know is that they have him and may I suggest you start trying to find them before there’s nothing left to find,” Scarecrow commented and they stood there in grim silence for several moments before they launched into their next questions demanding to know everything that Scarecrow knew about the Void and who else might know about the Void.

 “We’re leaving the alley where Jason disappeared, all we found were smashed bits of our trackers and his helmet nothing else.” Steph’s voice sounded over the coms just as they were leaving Scarecrow’s office.

“Joker offered me nothing too,” Bruce commented and Dick shared a look with Roy and Damian before pressing his fingers two his ear as they walked away from Scarecrow’s hideout.

“Well, then it’s a good thing we got a lot of things you guys are going to want to hear,” Dick stated.

“Everyone returns to the cave; Dick tell us what you learned,”  Bruce ordered and the three of them started moving.

~The Void~

You groaned as you forced open your eyelids fighting against the fuzziness that had filled your head as you struggled to wake up from the drugs that they had pumped into you. Blinking a couple of times, you stared blankly around the room not fully realizing where you were mainly because you couldn’t exactly see where you were. The world was far too blurry for you to make out anything more than the wall and the harsh white lights shining above you. Slowly you started to regain your vision and as the world started to come back into focus your heart stopped beating for a solid several seconds as you realized what exactly your position is.

You were suspended in the air spread eagle by thick metal chains and cuffs, the rusted metal of the cuffs digging into the delicate skin of your wrists. You winced when you gave your hand an experimental move the action causing the rough metal to dig in even more into your wrist, and the same thing happened with your foot.

 “I knew it! I knew it! I fucking knew it!” You shouted as you clenched your hands into fists. Righteous anger overriding the fear over the fact that you were about to be punished. You knew it! You fucking knew it! You knew that if the two of you tried to escape that the two of you would be caught and you would end up getting punished for it, you knew it! You knew that this would happen! If that dumbass had just kept fucking running then the two of you might have been able to escape from this hellhole but no, no he had to stop and do some stupid thing on the computer. And now here you were chained up in the air, dried blood caked to your body from where you had been shot, waiting to be punished all because Jason couldn’t fucking wait until the two of you had a better plan and because he just had to use the fucking computer. If you made it out of this alive, more importantly, if he made it out of this alive, you were going to fucking kill him so help you, god. You were going to be the death of that man and if you didn’t kill him you were going to punch him so hard, he saw the world upside down for a solid fucking minute.

“Oh goody, goody, you’re awake.” Dr. Roberts said with a smile on his face as he walked into the room being flanked by two guards who stood at the door emotionless and with their hands clasped in front of them. At the sight of Dr. Roberts fear immediately chased away the anger at Jason as your eyes widened and you stared at him terrified as he approached the wall to the right of you.

“I was so worried that I was going to have to start this session off with you sleeping, but no instead you’re awake which is going to make this so much more fun.” Dr. Roberts said as he pressed his hand against the wall and a pin pad appeared and with his other hand, he typed in a code that revealed a metal tray with a variety of tools each one worse than the last. A shiver ran down your spine at the sight of the barbed wire covered whip as you remembered the feeling of it tearing into your skin ripping away muscle and flesh and leaving you aching and burning for days after. A sick smile spread across Dr. Roberts face as he picked up his first tool, a simple hunting knife that he tucked into the waist of his pants before walking up to you. 

“You know my dear I am so ashamed of you right now. I thought we had taught you better than this? I thought we had finally managed to beat the rebellion out of you? Where did we go wrong? Did we not hit you hard enough? Did we not burn you bad enough? Did we not scar you bad enough? Tell me, my dear, where did we go wrong with you?” Dr. Roberts asked as he looked at you waiting for your response but you knew better than to actually answer. Answering just meant that everything got so, so, much worse than they already were. After a handful of seconds, Dr. Roberts sighed as he shook his head and pulled the knife out of his waist.

“Not feeling like talking my dear? Ok, how about I make it easier for you to talk. You answer my next question and depending on what your answer is I will either make this an easier punishment for you or harsher for you, does that sound like a deal to you?” Dr. Roberts asked, gesturing with the knife as he spoke. You remained silent as you continued to stare at him, face an emotionless mask.

 “Excellent! That’s what I was hoping you would say!” Dr. Roberts explained as he started pacing back and forth in front of you still gesturing with the knife as he went.

“Now, my dear, I know that despite what happened yesterday we still taught you well enough that you shouldn’t try escaping from here so I’m going to give you one chance and one chance only to answer this question. Which one of you planned and came up with the idea for this little escape attempt of yours?” Dr. Roberts asked as he stopped walking in front of you starring up at you his voice deadly serious and his eyes hard. You stared right back at him your face still an emotionless mask as you looked at him. This was your chance, you could pin this all on Jason and even though it wouldn’t make your punishment any less bad than it was already going to be Jason would still end up getting punished pretty bad and it would be an excellent chance to get revenge on him without him knowing it was you. And you were almost tempted to tell Dr. Roberts that, to tell him that it was actually Jason who wanted to do this, wanted to escape, planned it all out but you stopped yourself from saying anything. Instead, you continued to stare at him silently for a couple of seconds before taking a deep breath and letting it out as you looked down at the ground.

“It was me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you looked down at the ground and Dr. Roberts was silent for a few seconds watching you before sighing heavily in disappointment as he shook his head.

“Why am I not surprised by that fact? Honestly (Y/N) sometimes I think you enjoy being tortured like this.” Dr. Roberts commented as he settled the tip of the knife against your collar bone and you forced yourself to remain impassive to the knife pressing lightly into your skin.

“But I know that’s not true isn’t that right my dear? Especially with the way that you scream so good for me when you’re in pain.” Dr. Roberts said as he pressed in harder. The sharp edge of the blade piercing your skin and causing a stinging sensation as Dr. Roberts dragged the knife down keeping the pressure nice and even as he drew a thin line from your collar bone down to the collar of your shirt. He was silent as he lifted the knife from your skin and repeated the same mark on the other side of your collar bone creating an ‘X’ on your chest that stung like a bitch but you refused to let that show.

“You know now that I think about it, I think these clothes are going to get in the way of my punishment plans, so let’s get rid of them, shall we?” Dr. Roberts asked as he placed the tip of the knife just under your shirt and in one swift movement, he tore through your shirt tearing it in two. Reaching up he gripped your shirt and tore it the rest of the way off of you, exposing your naked upper body to the cold air. Your arms and legs twitched with the desire to cover up your exposed body, digging the rusted metal further into your wrists and ankles pricking your skin.

“There we go, that’s perfect, now we can truly begin.” Dr. Roberts said as he spun the knife around in his hand and in one quick motion sliced across your skin cutting deep and causing a hot burning sensation to spread throughout your body like fire. You grit your teeth as you fought the grunt that threatened to escape you as Dr. Roberts repeated that movement once again carving another line into your stomach. Your hands clenched into fists as Dr. Roberts repeated that move several other times carving your stomach up. Blood flowed from your cuts as Dr. Roberts spun the knife around once again and walked away from you over to the tray again. A whimper threatened to escape you when you saw him pick up the container of salt and walk back over to you a victorious smile on his face as he poured some of it into his hand.

“Now, this may sting a little… okay, a lot but I’m sure you already knew that isn’t that right my dear?” Dr. Roberts said it more than asked it as he reached up and rubbed his hand against one of the larger and deeper gashes that he had made. Instantly it felt like he had pressed a burning hot spike against your skin and automatically you jerked away from it barely cutting off your scream of surprise as he continued to rub more salt into your wound grinning as he did so. Gritting your teeth, you grunted against the fire quickly spreading through your body and becoming the only sense that you knew. Dr. Roberts did this to each and every single one of your wounds causing them all to burn and sweat to break out across your forehead from the struggle of keeping the cries at bay.

“Well as much fun as that was my dear, I’m afraid it’s still not what I’m looking for. No, I don’t think this is working out as well as I had hoped for, guards reposition her for me while I grab our next toy, will you?” Dr. Roberts ordered more than asked as he walked off behind you and the guards grumbled something under their breaths but neither of them protested as they stepped forward. Together the guards released the chains from the wall catching her as more length appeared for the chain and they moved her so that she was now lying midair, still spread eagle but now at perfect waist height.

“Excellent, excellent, George you're helping me with this one.” Dr. Roberts said and your body tensed when you heard the familiar sound of water sloshing around inside a canister.

“No, no, no, no, please no.” The words were falling out of your lips before you could stop them and Dr. Roberts chuckled.

“Ah there it is the sweet sound of you begging, we’re almost there boys! Soon we’ll have her doing exactly what I want her to do.” Dr. Roberts’ demented smile was the last thing you saw before George wrapped the towel around your head pulling it taunt. The next thing you knew cold liquid was crashing down on top of your face in a seemingly never-ending stream. Your lungs constricted as your body started thrashing, fighting instinctively to get away from the water so that you could breathe, wrists and ankles digging into the cuffs as you fought to break free uncaring of the physical damage that was happening. Finally. Finally, after what felt like hours Dr. Roberts stopped pouring water over your face and the guard tore away the wet towel. You sagged against your chains coughing violently, your body trying desperately to expel water that wasn’t actually there.

“Please… stop.” Your voice came out sounding hoarse and scratchy as you spoke in between coughs.

“Again, so close to what we actually want.” Dr. Roberts stated his voice firm as he motioned with his head and the guard wrapped the towel around your head again holding your head still with his hands.

Water flowed from the can once again covering your face in pressure and sensation that in any other case would have been soothing but in this one, it only made everything worse. Your body once again started to thrash fighting against the pressure of water that it was almost certain of was entering your lungs at this very minute but never made it past the towel, your lungs seized trying to stop it from entering them as you fought against the hands and chains that made it seem like you were being held underwater. As more and more water flowed over your face the burning and tightness in your chest only got worse and worse as you pulled and thrashed against everything until Dr. Roberts finally stopped the can and the guard removed the towel. Once again you were coughing violently in between great desperate gulps of air trying to soothe the burning sensation in your chest but no matter how deep of a breath you took the sensation never went away.

“Again.” Dr. Roberts said his voice calm and collected as he lifted up the can one again and you flinched at the sound of the water sloshing around.

“No, no, no, please. Please stop, please.” You begged them but your pleading went unanswered as the guard wrapped the towel around your head once more and Dr. Roberts started pouring water again. This time it felt like your lungs were on fire from how hard you were struggling to breathe around the pressure and thrashing but no matter how much you told your body that you weren’t actually drowning it kept fighting. Kept acting like you were being held underwater and the scary part of it was that you were honestly starting to think that you might be as the water seemed to keep coming and coming until finally, it stopped.

As soon as the guard had removed the towel from around your face you were sucking in great gulps of air that burned on their way down your raw throat, and you didn’t care that you had tears streaming down your face or that your hands and legs were slowly becoming soaked in blood from how much the cuffs were digging into your skin now. All you cared about was the fact that you could finally breathe. Your reprieve, however, did not last for long as Dr. Roberts nodded once and the guard had the towel wrapped around your head once again forcing you to relive the experience once again. This time when the guard let you go you didn’t even wait to catch your breath even a little before you were shouting.

“No! Please! PLEASE! STOP! STOP IT PLEASE! I'm SORRY!! I’M SORRY!! I PROMISE I WON’T DO IT AGAIN!!!” You shouted as you pulled against the bonds trying to get away from the guard and Dr. Roberts chuckled above purposely shaking the can so that he could watch you flinch at the sound of the water sloshing around.

“Now that’s what I wanted to hear! However, I don’t think I’m done with this just yet though. Cover her again.” Dr. Roberts stated. Panic gripped you causing your already racing heart to race even faster as you strained to get away from the guard.

“NO! NO! PLEASE! PLEASE! DON’T! DON’T!” You scream became muffled as the guard toweled you again and pulled your head back. Dr. Roberts continued to do these two more times after this one and each one felt worse than the last one until you were sure that there was going to be a burning sensation in your chest, and that your head felt fuzzy from the repeated lack of oxygen. By the time Dr. Roberts was truly done you were openly sobbing in between coughs and gasps for air and you hung their tears streaming down your face as you pleaded for him to stop body weak and mind even weaker.

“There we go, that’s what we like to see, our favorite little girl all broken and willing for us.” Dr. Roberts said as he set the gas can a 1/8th of an inch full of water down on the ground purposely making it slosh as he did so just to hear you whimper and see you attempt to curl up in a ball.

“Ah, you truly are a beautiful young woman aren’t you my dear?” Dr. Roberts asked as he caressed your cheek, loving that you were two weak to even move your head away from him as you continued to sob and plead for him to stop. Snapping his fingers, the guards put you back in your original position. Your head lulled forward, pressing your chin against your chest as you continued to sob great hiccupping things as you stared at the ground looking at the pool of blood that was steadily growing larger the more you lost.

“Please… please… stop… please.” You begged him voice weak and hoarse as you looked up at him but all he did was smile back at you.

“Oh, but my dear we’re not done yet. Oh no, we’re not going to be done for a long, long, time not until I think you’ve thoroughly learned your lesson on never, ever, trying to escape from here again.” Dr. Roberts stated his voice dark and promising as he snapped his fingers and he was handed the handle of a whip that was covered in barbed wire. You whimpered audibly at the sight of the whip your body already tensing in preparation for the hit.

“Ready my dear?” Dr. Roberts didn’t wait for a response before he reared back and hit you with the whip, the whip making a loud cracking sound as the barbed length of it lashed out and stuck into you snagging on skin and muscle as it wrapped around you from shoulder to hip cutting across the previous ones and only serving to make them worse. Instantly a scream was tearing free scrapping your already raw throat raw as burning white pain shot through your body like wildfire, a sensation that was only made worse when Dr. Roberts pulled back the barbs of the whip taking chunks of flesh and muscle with it as he did. Blood sprayed from the wounds and Dr. Roberts laughed as you screamed again when he hit you.

“Yes, yes, yes! THAT’S IT MY DEAR SCREAM FOR ME! SING TO ME THE SPYMOPHNY OF YOUR PAIN!” Dr. Roberts shouted over your screams laughing maniacally as he whipped you repeatedly loving the way the whip tore away chunks of skin and muscle leaving you looking suspiciously like swiss cheese.

It wasn’t until hours later, after Dr. Roberts had switched from using the barbed whip to a normal one and then back to rubbing salt into your wounds that he finally grew tired of torturing you that he finally took a step back from you a victorious and self-satisfied smile present on his face as he looked you over. You hung there head lulled forward and eyes barely open as you fought against the pain and the blood loss. Your chest rose and fell in shaking intervals the spaces between your next inhale and exhale getting longer and longer as you hung there dripping blood and fighting the darkness that threatened to consume you whole. Distantly you heard Dr. Roberts say something to the guards but it was all garbled and sounded far away. You blinked slowly as you watched the guards and Dr. Roberts have a conversation.

Gods you were so tired, every nerve in your body screaming at you in pain and every ounce of you wanting nothing more than to go to sleep, to surrender to the darkness that was threatening to consume you. After all, it felt so warm and cozy, it felt so much safer than this world, than this darkness that you had been living in for your whole life, it felt so right to just relax and let it consume you whole to let it take you away from this world. From this hell hole of a life but you couldn’t. You couldn’t let yourself be taken by the darkness, you still needed to hit Jason for what he had done, you still needed to see Jason, you had to make sure that you sacrificing yourself for him hadn’t been in vain. Oh but the darkness felt so nice, so warm, so comfortable, so much like a safe space that you couldn’t help it, couldn’t help but surrender yourself to the darkness and the last thing you saw before the darkness took a hold of you was a guard walking up to you.

As George and Dr. Roberts released you from your chains the second guard caught you with a grunt and as you landed in his arms you exhaled softly before falling completely limp in his arms head lulling to the side as your eyes slid closed.

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: This isn’t a rom-com 15/17

Author’s notes: I’ve been vague about Lilah’s heritage so far with the exception her her being latina, but it made sense to me she would speak her native language with her mom and since I didn’t want to butcher another language by trying to writing in Spanish, she’s speaking  Portuguese here. I put the translation next to it in brackets. 

Summary: Keanu and Lilah meet at the set of John Wick. Rom-com shenanigans ensues

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6  Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Wordcount: 2980

Warnings: just a F-bomb and an anxiety attack.

Lilah should not be missing Keanu this badly. It had only been gone a few of days since he left, but every time she caught sight of the finger-shaped bruises on her hips or the bite mark in her shoulder, Lilah felt like there was a gaping hole in her chest that made her just feel empty and everything else dull.

Lilah wanted to laugh at the irony. For someone who hated rom coms, she sure as hell was going through all the motions. She was this close to watching rainfall from her bedroom window with a sad song playing in the back. Which was sort of pathetic, so she really needed to find something to distract herself.

Good thing she still had the crushing doubt of what she would do to about NYFA and Oxford to keep her occupied. Arthur was being very understanding about her lack of response, but every time Lilah met Dr. Williams, it was the first question out of the older woman’s mouth.

“Do you know how many other candidates would kill for this opportunity?”

“Yes, I’m aware, Dr. Williams,” Lilah sighed, squeezing the bridge of her nose. This was giving her a headache. “But it’s a huge decision and I can’t just make it without thinking it through.”

She could see Dr. Williams wanted to argue some more and she braced herself for the conflict, but it never came. The other woman let out a sigh too and took off her glasses. For the first time in Lilah’s time in grad-school, the woman before her looked almost approachable.

“Lilah, I have been doing this for a while and I haven’t met many students like you. You’re brilliant and I don’t say that lightly. You work hard, you’re good at improvising, you hardly ever complain or say no, something I take advantage more times than I should, and you’re a great researcher. It would be a shame to let that go to waste.” She paused, wiping her glasses before putting them back on. “However, I also know that those same traits will make you succeed at any other career path you chose.”

“They called you, did they?” Lilah asked, twisting her hands together, heart in her throat. “From NYFA.”

“You did include my letter of recommendation in your application,” Dr. Williams said. “I told them exactly what just I told you, but you have to make a choice, dear.”

“I know,” Lilah sighed. “Tomorrow. I promise.”

“Good.” Dr. Williams said with a short nod. “I also expect the new chapter of your dissertation by the same deadline.”

All the way home, Lilah was a jumble of messy thoughts and conflicting feelings, because she had no idea what to do next. She just gave herself an ultimatum to make a decision when she told Dr. Williams she would give them an answer tomorrow. But the truth was that Lilah was no close to an answer now than she was four days ago when Lilah argued with Keanu.

Ever since this whole mess started Lilah became very aware of how ill-equipped she was to make her own choices. She had been doing a reevaluation of her life decisions and how she made them, and it was slowly becoming very clear the weight her parents’ wishes and expectations had on every step she took. Especially her dad.

She remembered being 13 and considering to join the theater club because it could help her make friends, but her dad insisted she joined the debate club instead because it would improve her English and would look much better on her college application. The same happened when she wanted to practice martial arts, but he thought the track team would be better. And that continued all the way to choosing her major for college and deciding on grad-school.

They were rarely obvious commands, it was more like nudges here and there that made Lilah doubt her own choices and start on a spiral of insecurity that was only abated once she did what he wanted, and he praised her for it. How mess up was that? How manipulative was that? Was he even aware that he did that?  

How many times did she settle for something she wasn’t all that into it just to please him? Lilah didn’t even know. And how many times she hid part of herself or her interests, so he wouldn’t be disappointed? Like he was when she decided to go to New York for grad school. That had been quite an epic fight and it left Lilah crushed and crying for days until he relented and allowed her to go. And she knew he only did it because her mother talked to him.

That was crazy! Lilah was 21 at the time. She didn’t need his authorization. She was a damn adult, but apparently, she still acted like a child searching for his approval. Right now Lilah felt like she was in a turning point and one wrong step could mean she would wreck her future beyond recognition and that prospect terrified her.

With a heavy sigh, Lilah closed her laptop and moved to her bed. She wasn’t going to get any work done right now. Not until she finally made her decision and that needed to happen right now.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?” Jean asked, leaning against the doorframe and startling Lilah.

“Sure. What’s up?” Ok, maybe it could wait a few more moments.

Jean stepped into the room and walked up to Lilah, handing her a check before taking a seat on the bed. Lilah glanced at it with a frown of confusion and gasped, looking back up at Jean.

“Wh…?” she trailed off, too shocked to even form words.

“That should cover tuition for the first year, right?” Jean asked, eyebrow arched.

“I can’t accept this, Jean,” Lilah said, trying to give the check back, but her friend just crossed her arms over her chest in refusal. “I know how much you hate the trust fund your parents made for you. I’m not gonna be the reason you go to them.”

“That ship sailed a long time ago, Lih,” Jean admitted with a sigh. “I’ve been using that money to keep Novelsy afloat for the last four months. And anyway, that’s not where it came that from. That’s from the sale.”

“Sale? You sold Novelsy?” Lilah exclaimed with wide eyes, jumping from her seat. “But Jean that was-”

“My dream?” the other woman completed with a little sad smile. “See I thought so too, but I began to realize the only dream part of it pissing off my parents and Novelsy deserve better than that. Who knows? Maybe these new people can do a better job than I did.”

“Don’t say that. You did a fantastic job!” Lilah said, coming to sit next to her and wrapping her arms around Jean’s shoulders, pulling the other woman into a hug. “You could’ve talked to me, you know?”

“You had your own thing happening with film school and Keanu.” Jean shrugged and Lilah pulled away to glare at her.

“No matter what’s going on in my life, I’ll always be there for yours, ok? Always. You’re my person, remember?” Lilah said, her tone leaving no room for argument and Jean smiled and nodded. “So now what? What are you gonna do?”

“Honestly? I have no idea,” Jean replied, her expression turning into a grin. “It’s kind of exciting not knowing.”

“You and I have very different concepts of exciting,” she commented with a chuckle, resting her head on Jean’s shoulder. “But you’re really ok? About the sale?”

“I mean, I’m sad and all, but yeah. It was for the best. They promised to keep all the same staff and structure and that’s the only reason I agreed.”

“That’s good, but I still can’t take this money, Jean.”

“Yes, you can. I did some math of all you the time have helped with Novelsy throughout the years without charging a cent. That’s about what I’d owe you.”

“That can’t be right,” Lilah snorted in disbelief and Jean flashed a sly smirk.

“Ok, maybe I added a healthy bonus too, but still…” Jean took Lilah’s hand in hers, entwining their fingers together. “You’re my person too and you deserve to have a chance to do this. Let me do this for you, please?”

Lilah felt her eyes stinging with unshed tears, her heart beating wildly in her heart as she hugged Jean. she was out of words to tell her friend how much this meant to her.

“I… you… thank you,” she choked, fully crying know and watching as Jean’s eyes welled up too. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Lih.” Her expression opened up into a wide grin. “You’re going to film school.”

“I’m going to film school,” Lilah agreed, her voice a little high-pitched, her own lips drawing into a smile. “I'M GOING TO FUCKING FILM SCHOOL!”

They squealed together, jumping and hugging and laughing and it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Lilah had made her choice.

A moment later, Isaac came into the room, with a confused look on his face but since Lilah was still chanting that she was going to film school, he quickly caught on and joined the celebration. Lilah was breathless from laughing so hard, her cheeks hurting, and she might her twisted her ankle with all the jumping around, but she was so happy that she didn’t care. That was why she missed her mom’s first two calls. She only caught the third.

“Hi mom!” she greeted, signaling Isaac to turn down the music.

“Honey, you need to come home,” her mother said, her voice low and broken and Lilah felt all the cheerfulness draining from inside her. “Jamie was in an accident. He’s in the hospital…”

She couldn’t hear anything else due to the blood rushing through her ears; it felt like her ribcage was compressing her lungs and her heart trying to bust out of her chest. Her knees gave out and if it wasn’t Isaac’s quick reflexes, Lilah would be on the floor. Her phone wasn’t so lucky and she barely registered Jean talking to her mother, finding out what happened.

It had been so long since Lilah had an anxiety attack, so it took her a while to recognize it now. She sat on the floor, head between her knees as she tried to control her breathing and concentrate on something else, anything else. Her nails dug on Isaac’s arms as she tried to count her breaths and listen to what he was saying.

Lilah knew how anxiety attacks worked. She knew it was just her body freaking out because it thought there was danger around the corner. Lilah just needed to wait them out. It might feel like she was dying, but in the end, she would be ok.

It took Lilah about 15 minutes to regain control again and be able to refocus on her friends. Both Isaac and Jean were on the floor with her. She was practically on Isaac’s lap as he was holding her against his chest while Jean sat by her side. Lilah’s face was wet with tears and she had left five crescent-shaped wounds on Isaac’s arm.

“How are you, hon?” Jean asked.

“I need to go home.” It was all Lilah managed, struggling out of Isaac’s hold to get up. There was too much to do and no time to waste. “Can one of you check flights for me? I need to call Dr. Williams and my TA to cover my classes.”

“I’ll start packing your suitcase,” Isaac offered. “You should call Keanu. He’s coming back tonight, right?”

“Shit!” Lilah froze, turning to look at them. She completely forgot about Keanu. About everything else really. “I’ll call him from the cab.”

If someone asked Lilah how she managed to get everything ready and herself to Miami, she wouldn’t be able to tell you. It was all just a big blur to her. All she knew was that a little over five hours after she got her mother’s call, Lilah was stepping through the doors of Jackson Memorial Hospital where she knew Jamie would have been taken. It was the hospital he did his residency and where her father worked and taught.

Lilah knew this place like the back of her hand. Most of the nursing staff knew her so they didn’t even blink when she walked in and didn’t even paused by the reception area, just headed straight for the waiting room outside the surgical center, where she found her mom, Alba, sitting next to Jamie’s mom, Susan, comforting the other woman.

They looked up when Lilah walked in, her mother’s expression turning into one of relief as she let go of Susan long enough to meet her halfway from a hug.

“Que bom que você aqui. (I’m so glad you’re here),” she whispered, her voice wavered a little and Lilah just held her tight, breathing in the familiar scent of lilies from her mom’s skin.

“What happened?” Lilah asked as she let go of her mom to hug Susan, before taking a seat, holding her mom’s hand tight.

“They say he ran a red light,” her mom explained, and Susan let out a loud sob. “A pick-up truck hit his car, driver’s side.” Lilah felt the familiar tightness in her chest and forced out a long, shaky breath. This was not the time for another panic attack. Everyone here needed her. “Your father is with him.”

That much Lilah figured the second he didn’t see him. Technically no family member should be allowed anywhere near the OR, but her father was one of the top surgeons of this hospital and it was very hard to say no to him.

“Foi muito ruim? (How bad was it?)” she whispered to her mom, mindful of Susan. Alba took a deep breath, her hand tightening over Lilah’s.

“(Ruim) Bad.”

Once again, Lilah forced her lungs to keep working, her breath to remain steady as she tried to settle a little better on the uncomfortable couch of the waiting room. The hours dragged by without news. The only sounds in the room were hospital announcements and Susan’s sniffles.

Lilah got tired of the couch and started pacing, trying to work out some of the nervous energy running through her. Every once in a while she would check her phone, update Jean and Isaac. There had been no word from Keanu, but Lilah couldn’t bring herself to worry about that right now.

The OR doors were pushed open and her father stepped out, expression drawn into a deep frown of concern, the lines in his face deeper than Lilah remember from when she visited during the summer.

“They finished repairing his lung and had to remove his spleen. He should be out in another hour or so and head straight for observation,” he announced, his eyes landing on Lilah and his expression softening a little. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi dad,” she breathed out, against the crook of his neck as Frank wrapped her into a tight hug.

“My boy’s gonna be fine then?” Susan asked, her voice raspy from crying.

“He’s not out of the woods yet, but Jamie’s strong and Owen’s the best trauma surgeon I know,” he said with an encouraging smile, but Lilah noticed it didn’t quite reach his eyes. She had never seen her father scared before. “I’m going back in.”

With a final kiss to Lilah’s forehead, Frank turned around and headed back into the OR, leaving them behind. She could Susan on her phone, probably updating her husband while Alba’s fingers worked through her rosary and she prayed under her breath.

Lilah sighed and headed to the reception where she knew there was a coffee machine. She had been up for God knows how many hours and the adrenaline was starting to fade, exhaustion sipping so deep it almost seemed to reach her bones.

Lilah blamed her fatigue for not noticing him right away even though she must have walked right by him on her way to the coffee machine. He stood at the reception desk, carry on by his side talking to one of the nurses. It wasn’t until she heard her own name that Lilah turned to look, recognizing him.

“Keanu?” She called and he turned her way, his brow furrowed with worry.

“Lil,” he walked up to her, stopping just a step away, almost as if unsure if he could come closer, touch her.

“What you doing here?” Lilah asked her astonishment making it hard for her to process his presence.

“I heard about your brother, and I just…” Keanu sighed, rubbing his face. “I don’t know. I wanted to be here for you.”

Lilah felt the knot in her chest rising to her throat as her eyes stung. She closed the distance between them, letting Keanu wrap her into a hug, feeling him kiss the top of her head. She fisted the back of his blazer, fighting against the need to break down. It wasn’t time yet. No matter how safe she felt on his arms.

They stayed there, wrapped around each other until one of the orderlies asked them to move since they were blocking the way. They broke away, but Keanu took her hand, entwining their fingers together and Lilah led the way back to the waiting room. She paused just outside the door in hesitation, before she glanced over at Keanu.

 “This wasn’t how I pictured you meeting my family,” she said with a humorless chuckle. Keanu gave her a soft, reassuring smile and squeezed her hand.

“I know, but it’s going to be fine.”

Lilah nodded and pushed the door open. She really hoped Keanu was right.

x(tbc)x

Go to part 16

Permanent Tag List (give me a shout to be added or removed)

@toomanystoriessolittletime​ @meetmeinthematinee​ @theolsdalova @krazycags01 @beyond-antares @cumberbatchbaps @sgt-morgan @futuristic-imbecile @howtoruin-someones-perfect-day @a-really-bi-girl @fanficsrusz @nonsensicalobsessions @poisonedjoinery @soarocks​

Tag list for this series (give me a shout to be added or removed)

@kindainlovewithkeanu @ficsnroses​

[spearxwind]

tbh i dont do a bunch of things bc i always worry itll get super confusing and this whole setting has essentially been my most experimental one so its gone thru some BIG WEIRD CHANGES but yknow what, i just might. i may not know how to write decently but thats everyone else’s problem 

HELL YE HELL YE

i love siege sm ill get back on that bullshit,,,,,,,,,,,,,, eventually 

this is re: the name stuff so >:3c ill answer the original ask in a bit with all the name lore yeehaw 

i think its been asked a couple times but i honest to god, for the life of me, could not tell you any good tips im trying to learn myself 

figure drawing and looking at anatomy charts definitely helps but i havent sat down to be serious about it yet so what i know is very haphazard :’) one of the most solid tips i can give though is definitely study bone structure. there’s a lot of tips you can get from there, esp for posing and such, but you have to learn them yourself

a lot of people forget that your clavicles are not like, just floating there. theyre connected to both the sternum and your SHOULDER BLADES. your shoulder blades arent just floating there either since theyre attached to the clavicles. it took me so long to realize 

also, your ribcage takes a serious dip in width like, right below the armpit. it’s super compact up top, and the width of your chest from that zone up is your arms + shoulder muscles 

i hope this isnt too vague!! 

he’s totally cutting himself open!! its not damaging to him bc of the whole fake body/shapeshifter nonsense so he can just Do That

also im losing my mind rn anon thats SO FUCKING GOOD and i really want to draw it how,,, i dont have access to my tablet rn but boy when i do. remind me tomorrow i will make it happen 

i did these with a mouse ljkjsldfshjlk sfd whoops but hopefully the point comes across?? that last one is the one i usually do. essentially just.. draw both strips of fabric and point where the holes are (but you can ignore them like i did if you dont care enough) 

these are only two ways of doing them though, DEFINITELY look up shoelace references for this bc theres some really cool ones and also you can make your shoelaces irl look cool too. mine look like a patchwork now