#even as he put pressure on it and price was getting more and more delirious

[natelia-aldelliz]

Price : ... Nik?

Nik : No.

Price : Listen, if... if I don't...

Nik : Don't even. Evac is gonna be any minute now. You'll tell me later.

Price : ...ok. But you'll have to tell me what "zolawtsye" means.

Nik : *snorts*

Price : Oi, don't laugh at my accent, I'm literally dying.

Nik : You'll be fine, I'm here, I'll keep you alive.

(google told me it means 'golden one' or 'precious' btw)

[bluebellhairpin]

No Feelin’

Fantasy AU!Levi Ackerman X Fem!Reader

Part Two - No More

A/N: I’m so glad to be a part of this. I had a lot of fun, and I have always liked the ‘Enemies to Lovers’ dynamic. I just hope this doesn’t got out of the rules - I didn’t actually read them - so if it does .... ‘oopsie?’ - Nemo

Summary: Service to the king became tiring. Someone rose up and became an enemy to the crown - stealing a cured sword, that gives untamable power to the wielder. The Kings Captain finds himself positioned between her and what she wants. 

Warnings: Violence. Smexual tension. Blood. Alludes to Dom!Reader. 

Listening to: ‘VILLAIN’ by K/DA (slowed) - ‘Am I really that bad if l love to make you mad?’

Discord Event Masterlist

Masterlist 

“Take it off. Slowly.” 

“What, this little thing?” You took out the long blade, it’s sheath still hanging at your side. It reflected a matching bright red glow into your eyes, a shine he could see from across the room. “I didn’t think it’d worry you that much, Captain of the Guard.” 

Levi could tell you were just playing with him. Your voice was smooth like honey, and richer than the king’s gold hoard. It sent a shiver down his spine - or maybe that was just the cold in the room? - but your voice paired with your eyes told him that it was not the cold. 

You never used to be like that.

“It doesn’t belong to you.” he said, raising his voice as if that would make you do as he says, “So I’ll say it again - take it off, and give it to me. I may be lenient if you comply -”

“- Blah, blah blah. Comply, do as I say.” You cut him off, twirling the sword around your fingers before the hilt fell back into your palm again. “Doesn’t that ever bore you? It sure as hell bored me.” 

He stiffened as you started walking across the room, passing the columns and getting closer and closer. Leaving the doorway behind and cornering him at the throne. The red sword dragged behind you, metal scraping against stone, and he grit his teeth at the sound. 

It left a glowing red streak in its wake. 

“Surely you know the power this holds,” You smiled as you looked up at where he stood, one of your feet resting casually on the first step up to the throne. “That's why you want it back.” 

“It’ll corrupt you.” He hissed, pulling out his own sword in counter. “‘Blood to bone, and bone to stone; The price of the throne, it will leave you alone’, that’s what the sword says. You’ll never come back from where it’s taking you, and you’ll have no pity from anyone.” 

You raised the blade, studying the foreign language, before tapping your elongated fingernails - to him they looked more like metal talons - along each letter with a laugh. Then your eyes flicked up to his, the crimson color only brighter now that you were closer. 

“That’s what everyone thinks it says, yes.” you said, waving the sword around as you gestured, “But that’s just petty human insight. This was carved by gods, made to be wielded by only the strongest of the worthy. No human would understand what that means.” 

Levi looked down at the weapon, eyeing the words.

“Dare I ask what it does it say?” His words made your grin widen, lips pulling back to reveal sharp canines.

“So curious.” You said, walking up a step with each syllable. “So adorable.” 

You raised your sword to him, and he quickly moved his own to block it - otherwise it would’ve been uncomfortably close to his neck. You stepped forward again, pressing closer and adding more pressure. 

If his own sword didn’t have magic in it, he was sure it would’ve been turned to ash. He could feel the heat from your blade already. 

“So tell me Little Captain, which tunnel did your king use to run away?” He sucked in a sharp breath. Only the royals and their most trusted knew about the passages. And yet you did too. “Ohhh, you are just so cute trying to think on your feet.” You laughed. 

“I’ll die first.” he said, pushing you off with a grate of metal against metal and making you stumble back down a few steps. “You want nothing but power. Just like any storybook villain. And storybook villains always lose.” 

You settled yourself again, tutted at him. 

“And yet I’m the one to draw first blood.” you said, mocking eyes catching his as you watched a slither of dull red drip down from the tip of your sword, “All bark and no bite.” 

He rose a hand, touching his cheek. It erupted in pain at the contact, blinding his right eye. He felt it burning, the heat running through his veins to settle a dull ache in his chest. 

“You’re lucky it wasn’t deep,” you said, speaking as if consoling a child with a scuffed knee, “Deeper than that and you could be out of commission.” 

His own sword lit up, the engraving glowing white as it helped to counter the tainted cells you gave him. The sight in his eye returned first, and he lunged down at you. 

“You talk too much.” he grunted, swinging a large arch at you, pushing you further from the throne and back towards the exit.

“What, you want me to put my mouth to better use?” you countered, catching his legs with your foot and held your sword to his throat. He fell on this back, winded, and his own sword was just out of reach. 

As your sword dug into the stonework, and left a dull warmth at his neck, you stood over him, lowering to kneel on one knee above his torso. 

“For you that would be an honor.” You practically purred out the words, eyes lazy, and any half-minded person would be weak at their knees for such an opportunity. But you weren’t exactly the healthy kind of alluring. Not right now, anyway. 

“You’re a temptress.” He said, hand slowly reaching out for his castaway sword. 

“The best kind.” You leaned forward, head level with his, and only inches apart. 

“I’ll kill you.” He only needed to reach a little further then he’d -

“Ah ah,” your hand shot out, voice soft and hushed like you were telling a secret, and grabbed his wrist, pinning it down, “Nobody can kill me.” 

He reared up, kneeing you in the stomach, and used your moment of surprise to grab his sword, roll you both over, and pin you down in turn. He held your arms down, pinning them under his knees, and held his sword at your throat. You smiled.

“A fire? Very nice -”

“Shut up.” his eyes narrowed, and his sword pressed into your skin, “I could kill you right now. Spill your blood all over the stone pavers. I’ll do it. Slit your throat so damn clean that they wouldn’t even see the cut once they’ve got the blood cleaned up!” 

Your smile faltered, but your eyes darkened. 

“So kill me.” You said, challenging him. “Kill me, and don’t regret it.” 

He looked down at you, jaw clenching, his knuckles whitened as he held the blade tighter. But he hesitated too long. Why was he waiting? Was he showing you mercy?

You jolted your legs up behind him, linking your ankles and hooking them around his neck. Then you slammed down - cracking his head back against the stone - and rocked yourself up between his legs to then wrap your hand around his throat, fingers splayed up onto his chin.

“You should know better than to wait that long, Little Captain.” You brushed your nose with his, looking down at him though lidded eyes. He looked delirious. Like he was only half awake. With a knock to the head like that he should be dead.

You looked over to his hands, finding his sword lit up like the night sky, the energy making the veins in his fingers and arm glow. You wondered how interesting that was - his sword could heal, while yours corrupted. The irony.

“You’re crazy.” he slurred, somehow managing to look right at you despite the fog in his eyes, “You’ll never win.”

You turned back to him, almost laughing into his mouth.

“I already have,” you said, “I have you right where I want you.” 

“Tell me what it says.” he said. 

“The sword?” you mused. Lifting the sword up to rest between you, Levi was lost in a daze between the red metal and the blood of your eyes, both reflecting off the other and making him dizzy. Was he seeing double? 

“‘From chaos to healing, is where to gain the sealing; Where they be kneeling, you’ll have no feeling.’ I have an advantage, Levi Ackerman.” You said, and for a sweet moment he had clarity, but like a dream after you wake it was gone. “Find your advantage.” 

You then stood, letting him go as you trailed your sword down his front before just walking away.

“Then find me,” you turned back to him, “If you’re brave enough.”

[samanthalightning]

She's Got A Date-EoWells X Allen!Reader- Part 8 (Final)

Part VII | Alternate Ending

Summary: Wells comforted you.

Warnings: SMUTTY SMUT. Unprotected Sex (Wrap it before you tap it)

***

A waft of floral scent overcame your nostrils. There were no lights, just candles littered all over the bathroom, the roses scattered all over the floor and in the bathtub. His favorite piece playing in the background, the water's warm, rippling soothing your tired muscles and bones. Oh, and the beautiful view— the man likes it. You thought it was funny. It's like an obsession to overlook things; see how they work.

His definition of romantic night apparently. You came back from the restaurant and stumbled upon this. You decided to abandon every bad thought along with that person. Tonight is supposed to be perfect and you are not going to let a woman who knows nothing about you ruin it.

Except you are.

You took another sip of your bubbly drink in your hand, staring absentmindedly outside while hugging your knees, silently dwelling in misery.

Your world had you all occupied, you didn't even notice that Wells was observing you the whole time from the other end of the tub. Each line that drew on your forehead or your lips pursing, your little huffs, every flicker of your emotion— he saw it. Eventually, he knew it could only go for so long.

He cleared his throat. "Is there something wrong?"

Your head snapped to him, pulling you from your world. Disoriented, you raised an eyebrow.

"I said, is there something wrong?" He repeated, louder and firmer this time.

You shook your head. "No. Everything's perfect," you assured him, forming a faint smile.

You don't want to spoil everything. He did an amazing job and you're the one who insisted on this. But you didn't just think that it would be so hard to shrug off. Perhaps you were just too naive and you're paying the price.

"Then why do you look like that?" He pointed to your face.

Perplexed, you knitted your eyebrows.

"Like what?"

"Like you carry the heaviest burden in the world," he answered.

You rolled your eyes, but frowned. You didn't want to believe him, as that look was more of Barry's than yours.

"It's fine," you murmured.

You heard him exhaled. "Come here," he motioned, curling his fingers.

You turned around and sat in front of him. He quickly planted his lips on your shoulder, as his hands ran smoothly up and down your arms; comforting and assuring.

"Now, the last time you answered that, we had a fight," he remarked.

You chuckled.

"It doesn't matter, babe,"

He sighed again, clearly getting annoyed with you and your answers. Something you found funny for now he knows how it feels like breaking him mildly putting it.

"I saw her, you know," he began. You have an idea— well, more than an idea— what he was talking about.

"Who?" You asked with faux cluelessness.

"That woman from the elevator. I saw her follow you to the ladies' room. Did she say anything to you?"

Of course. You're dating a genius. And it doesn't really take a lot to connect the dots.

"It's not something worth mentioning," you insisted.

You didn't want him to feel the same way about it. And if you're being honest, you didn't want to hear the response to it.

"You keep on saying it doesn't matter, but the fact that it plagues your mind, means it does,"

You huffed. He's got a point. You're doing it again.

"How about you speak and I'll make you feel better?" He whispered darkly.

Chills ran down your spine.

"Feel better how?" You asked carefully.

You felt his hands slipped underneath your arms, the back of his fingers, sliding down your back to the sides of your breast, all the way down to your torso. Your breath hitched, skin started feeling hot and your heart hammered in your chest. He then reached your thighs, and fingers swirled on the skin, inching and inching closer to your inner thighs and quickly spread your legs wide. A jolt of excitement and lust rushed through your system.

"Come on, tell me. What's wrong?" His fingers just inches away and the anticipation is killing you. "You can say it," he encouraged.

You gasped, as you felt his fingers against your womanhood. He started rubbing your bundles of sensitive nerves. Not even meaning to do it, you leaned back to chest, your head tilted to the side, leaving your neck exposed. Wells took advantage of peppering your jaw and neck with open-mouth kisses, sucking on your sensitive spot, making sure to leave a mark.

He increased the pressure on your clit, his fingers moving a bit faster, your eyes fluttering close.

"Or I'll stop," he said huskily, nibbling on your ear. "Do you want me to stop?"

You shook your head frantically as you mewled, becoming overwhelmed.

"Then speak." He ordered.

You bit your lip. Mind is becoming hazy and your breath becomes heavier and heavier by the second. You can't even think straight, let alone talk— although you admit you didn't just want to speak. The silence for a period of seconds showed your hesitation to open up. Wells, being a man of his word, slowly halted causing you to whimper. Missing his touch and what it does to you, you reluctantly relented.

"She told me that you're too old for me," You breathed. As soon you spoke

"I thought that matter had been recently resolved," he whispered to your ears, sending shivers down to your spine. With his free hand, he fondled you with your left breast. He teased the nub, pulling and pinching it harshly. Your senses overwhelmed by the sensations the act does; you struggled to find words and lost the ability to think. But afraid that he'll stop, you force yourself to speak.

"I know. I-I didn't mind it. But—" He interrupted you by sliding a digit inside. He pumped slowly, before adding another finger inside. He curled his fingers inside. Your head lolled back on his shoulder.

"But she said men like you, you'll get bored; you'll get bored and then leave." You panted. "I can't get it off my mind that maybe this relationship has so many obstacles and differences for us to deal with. And I don't want you to leave because I love you so much and— agh!" Your hands flew to the sides of the tub, clamping it as his fingers pumped in a rapid rhythm, hitting that spot. To heighten everything up, he removed his hand from your breast and rubbed your clit that he abandoned a moment ago.

The water stirred as fingers moved and you were sent in a daze. You couldn't speak anymore. That was your last straw. And he didn't seem to care either. Your teeth dug to your lip so deep, they're white, numb, and you almost can taste the metallic taste of blood.

"Harrison, I'm so close," you sounded as though you were begging him.

"Yeah?" He softly asked, but there's a tinge of roughness in his voice. "Good." He pumped his digits faster.

Not so long, your walls clenched around his fingers, your hips quivering, toes curling, and you knew for sure that was it. Your body shake, feeling the tingling pleasure barrelled through you and with a loud scream of his name, you came undone.

Your chest rise and fall, your body dripping with all kinds of liquid. You collapsed and he wrapped his arms around your waist. You needed that. It release some tension and anxiety. It's official: this is your favorite way of opening up.

Your mind no longer fogged, you realized that something was poking your back. Something hard— something throbbing. And that something was him. You flushed deeply, but aroused more than ever. You feel the ache and the slick in between your legs growing. Although that was amazing, you need more. You need him inside of you. You need him to have his way with you.

Blushing red, you moved and took his erection, stroking it slowly from behind. You heard him elicit a grunt and a sigh. You went on for a moment, pumping his length, but he took your hand away and patted your hips.

"Get up," he ordered sternly. Your limbs are shaky, yet you still managed to get on your knees. Wells grab a hold of your hips and still it.

"Are you ready?" You nodded, eager.

"Yes," you whispered.

He dragged his length across your entrance, he rubbed against your clit, causing you to exhale sharply. He then slipped into your sheath warm, filling you the hilt. You both moaned, chest heaving. He gave you time to adjust, lifting your hips to pull out and slip back for a few times. His pace started slow, careful almost, then he changed it quickly. The filthy noise of water slapping bounced off the walls. He gripped your hips, controlling the rhythm, shoving your hips together, your mouth how open in pleasure. He was slowly shedding the control he had, his pace becoming rough, rougher than usual like angry rough. You clamped the sides of the tub, knuckles turning white as he railed from behind. Your eyes rolled back, screaming and begging for more. For him to go faster. Deeper.

He did. And some more. A hand wrapped around your neck to your surprise.

"Is this okay?" He rasped.

He has done this before. Accidentally or instinctively, you didn't know. You never ventured that far as he quickly withdrew when he realized that he did it. You never knew if you liked it. So, aroused and mind hazy, you took an audacious move.

You swallowed thickly. "Yes."

His hold on your neck grew tighter, he buried his face in your neck, he wrapped his free around your waist and harshly shoved your hips against his. With every thrust of your hips, his hold tightens, slowly depriving you of oxygen, making you more and more breathe less and delirious. But oh, you love the way he took control of you. You love the feeling your lungs burning as he thrusted deeper, rougher and faster into you. You then realized that he wasn't losing control. It was you and him taking over you.

"Harry, don't stop! Don't you dare stop!" You exclaimed.

Your velvety walls convulsed around and he let out a deep half-groan, half-moan. Your eyes finally saw stars, your back arched as you orgasmed for the second time tonight.

You thought he was gonna let you take a breather after that, but he didn't. He moved your hips relentlessly, didn't even dare let you go. A third orgasm, followed by a fourth, the fifth. Dear God, he is trying to blow your brains out, as if your state of deliriousness isn't enough to satisfy him. Waters stirred violently, spilling out of the tub to the floor.

Tears pricked your eyes, you were mewling, a whimpering mess, but he took you insatiably, hungrily. His response was grunt, hiss and curses. The high he seems to chase wouldn't be found. You couldn't tell what was pain or pleasure anymore. You were overstimulated, your cunt abused. Finally by sixth time, his pace became sloppily, before stopping and pulling out of you. He didn't even come.

You panted heavily, sweating like crazy. Your poor lungs were incapacitated. This is the first time he snapped like this. You tried wondering why, but you lost the ability to think as of the moment.

He made you turn around. Limbs made of literally jelly climbed on his hips, straddling him. You came face to face with him. His expression wasn't telling him much, sweat covered his entire face. His ocean eyes swirled with a hint of green were expressing such intensity and passion.

"One last." He murmured.

You nodded and let him enter you again. He rocked your hips sensually, passionately, seems like taking his time. Your crescent moon-shaped nails dug on his back and dragged it down. He didn't make much noise about it.

He captured your lips less harshly than he was before. His lips dragged across your bottom lip, before tugging it between his teeth. His tongue roamed inside your mouth, you tried to put up a fight, but he won the dominance. Oh how intoxicated you were with his lips.

Pulling away, he put his forehead against yours, urging you to look into his eyes. Your eyes locked up, staring through each other's soul made it more raw and vulnerable. He was actually expressing it.

It didn't really take a lot for you to orgasm again, and he came with you this time. Ribbons of ribbons of his warm seed filled you and you squeezed, milking him dry. He pulled out of your sore cunt. Your head collapsed onto his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck, clinging like a child. Your eyes fluttered close, you can barely move your own body.

His hand dragged across the line of your sweaty back and the other grazed your neck. The pain suddenly dawned on your system. You have a bruise on your neck.

"How are you?" He asked softly with a tinge of concern.

"I'm fine," you weakly muttered.

"Are you sure?" The concern was more evident now.

"Yes," you mumbled sleepily.

His chest rise and fall, synchronized with yours— or at least you thought. His heart beat is so slow compared to yours. Beat after beat, lulling you to sleep like a baby. Everything quiet down, calm.

"Are you okay?" You suddenly spoke.

He sighed heavily, maintaining the silence you interrupted. Despite your state, you surprised him by swatting his chest. It made him crack a smile, quickly replaced by a frown.

"It's just... All these thoughts about you leaving and me leaving..." he trailed off.

You both found him, stuttering and struggling for words to express it.

"I-I didn't like it. I don't want you even thinking about it, okay?" He sounded so distraught to the idea of it. And so were you.

You nodded, already half-asleep, but you understood it.

He detached you from his body and to make you face him. He cupped your cheeks.

"Hey, look at me." He shook you awake, until you opened your eyes. He stared at them solemnly. "I am not leaving you. Ever." He declared to you.

"Promise?" You softly asked.

"I promise."

"I love you," you whispered to him.

"I love you too,"

The next day rolled on, and it was a nice day off. You felt separated from the whole world for a day. Room services, laying all day on the bed, despite Wells' constant insistence of doing some work. You remember everything from last night. His promise made you feel more confident about you two. If that's not enough, he made sure to give you a speech about it as well.

Instead of a first date, it felt like you two are on a honeymoon, experiencing marital bliss. Despite being sore as hell, it didn't stop you both from having sex on every corner, surface and crevices of the hotel room. You felt bad for the ones who are going to clean this room.

Wells was kind enough to have someone get you some pair of clean jeans and a decent shirt to change in before you leave as there's work tomorrow.

You entered the cortex with a cup of coffee, a bright smile on your face and limping legs.

Caitlin, Cisco and Wells were already there. You figured you'd sleep in a bit for... recovery.

"Good morning, guys,"

"A good morning to you too, Miss Y/N Allen." Cisco greeted you with an odd tone.

You furrowed your eyebrows, but laughed it off and ignored him.

"How was your weekend?" You asked them.

"My weekend? It's fine. How about yours?" Caitlin said with the same tone as Cisco.

You started to notice that they weren't both looking at you, instead focused their computer and typing loudly like maniacs.

"Fine." You muttered, baffled. You turned to Wells, who gave you a shrug.

You were confused, but brushed it off as you plan to tell them the truth. You began fiddling with your fingers. You and him shared a look as he moved towards your side. He nodded stiffly, and you turned back to your friends, still rapidly typing, and sucked in a deep breath of courage.

"Uhm, guys, we have something to tell you. You see, Dr. Wells and I are—"

"Dating?" Cisco cut you off.

You blinked, stunned. "What?"

Cisco clicked something in his keyboard and pointed to the TV behind you. You spun around and your eyes went round. It's an article from some gossip blog. An article about Wells and you.

‘Harrison Wells Seen Getting Cozy with A Mystery Woman at The Fiat Last Saturday Night.’

A hand covered your mouth, mortified as you read the rest of the contents, along with pictures of you guys. Apparently, someone had seen you enter the hotel. Then 'cozying up' at the restaurant and heading back to your room, even leaving the hotel. What shocked you the most was how quickly it got attention. You expect people to catch up after like a month of two. Guess that's what happens when you date a man who blew a hole in the city.

Both of you turned around to face your friends. As if mirroring each other, obviously not pleased, looking at you expecting an explanation. Especially Cisco. He even has his arms crossed like a grumpy child.

You were beyond flushed and embarrassed. This is not how you want them to know. These damn paps.

"Guys, I know you're—"

"Angry?" Caitlin inquired. "Maybe a little. But it's your relationship. It's not our business."

You smiled at her appreciatively. You were actually worried they'd get mad.

"Yeah. How long has this been going on though?"

"6 months," you replied.

"6 months?!" Cisco exclaimed. Even Caitlin looked at you in disbelief. "How come we didn't even notice?"

"We were that good."

Cisco shook his head, and you don't know if it's disbelief or amazement.

"So all those nights, the dance instructor, the trainer—"

You purse your lips. "Yup. All lies,"

You thought he was done, but he brought up something. He was rambling on to himself. You thought he was calculating, so you all listened and watched.

"Which means that when I called you and I called him, you were both busy..."

Your eyes widened, memories of events flooding to your mind. You were quick to cut him off, but a buzz from the computer beats you. There was bank robbery at some bank. You all immediately shifted your focus on that, not before looking at Wells in shock that Cisco even noticed, and he merely smirked.

The robbery didn't even last for another 5 minutes as Barry came into the scene. He kicked bad guys' ass and put them in jail. Another save for Team Flash.

The whole day consisted of more crime-fighting and Cisco being still in shock with you dating Wells. You expected it and they took it better than Joe, that's for sure. They're very supportive and respectful and happy for you guys.

The next months were the craziest ones. Everything was going smoothly then next thing you know, you were pregnant. It was unexpected. You were extremely worried and scared. Joe was livid. He didn't like the idea of his adopted daughter getting knocked up by Harrison Wells as he didn't trust him very much. You didn't talk for weeks. You moved into Wells' home and if weren't for Hartley's attack at Wells' place, Joe wouldn't have talk to you.

Soon, you gave birth to a beautiful baby girl and he was the proudest Poppop ever. Barry and Cisco became extremely competitive when it comes to being the best uncle ever. Caitlin was your unofficial pediatrician and you trust her more than the real one. Iris and Eddie were kind enough to babysit sometimes.

You've never been this happy, actually. Everything's lighter and brighter, full of laughter. Everything seems to be in the right place for the first time in your life— with the right person. Him. It feels foreign and amazing. There's no going back from this. You don't know if things could be greater. Nothing bad can happen that would change how happy you are right now. Nothing.

That was two months ago.

You stand there, arms crossed, tightly pressed to your chest. You hold onto your own arms to stable you from shaking. Your red, puffy eyes stung as you stared at him through the glass, his beautiful ocean eyes looking back at you too. They were no longer filled with what you thought was love and mystery. It was just cold and dark.

He stood inside the cell. Yes, stand. After all this time he was just manipulating you, playing you all like pieces in chess. He wasn't the man he said he is. Literally. You still remember how you refused to believe your own brother who said those words to you. That's exactly why you quickly rushed to the pipeline to see for yourself. And they were right.

He was not a caring, nice man he seemed to be months ago. He was a monster. A cold, calculating monster you love. The only man you ever loved that it could deliberately break your heart. And it did.

He couldn't just wipe that stupid smirk off his face, seemingly satisfied with pain you're feeling, the betrayal you were facing—the things he caused. You swore to God you never felt so much hatred for someone you loved with all your heart.

Disbelief and distraught so evident on your features. "How could you do this?" You whispered through your gritted teeth.

He sighed wearily. "Your brother and I, were meant to be rivals, Y/N, " he responded, not feeling an ounce of guilt or remorse.

Your stomach churned in disgust. You couldn't believe you loved this man. You couldn't believe you were fooled into believing he was a good man.

"So, you killed my mother? And tried to murder my own brother? For the sake of your stupid fate, for stupid revenge! You stooped so low and robbed me of everything?!" You yelled at him. At this point you are hysterical; all the chains are starting to break free, and knowing your emotional capacity, you're gonna break.

"It was the only way. I had to get his speed—"

You shook your head, refusing to hear the same excuse from his mouth.

"Was I part of your plan? To hurt my brother?"

He sighed, hesitating. He planted his palm on the glass. He tore his eyes from you, looking down to hide his features. The cocky, evil demeanor seemingly disappeared from his system.

"I never anticipated everything between us to happen. You were so persuasive, and I couldn't resist. My whole plan was just to get my speed, I never imagined that I would get to build a family here with anyone."

Your glossy and red eyes gaze at his eyes, hoping for the last breath of humanity in those eyes.

"Did you even love me? Us?" You croaked.

He stared at you sincerely. And you hated that, because you loved it so much.

"Yes," he said, and you couldn't tell if he's lying. And you had to trust your with what your mind was telling you, because clearly your own heart failed you.

You scoffed. "Now, that's just bull. You manipulated me, Wells— or Eobard Thawne— whatever the hell your name is, I don't care. From now on, you are dead to me, everything you say is a lie and words from a dead man!" You pointed at him with vigor, eager to prove your anger.

"Y/N, you have to understand—"

"Oh, I do. You're a psychopathic idiot who's always been obsessed with my brother. Barry will never live a happy life? You will never live a life. You will rot here forever and I will make sure of it." You swore to him, your eyes looking at him with furious fire that lit up hell.

You turned to leave the pipeline. But he suddenly spoke.

"We're a family now, Y/N. You, me and her. Are you just gonna let that go? You can come with me. We can raise her over there and everything will be—"

Trembling, you spun around.

"We were a family." You stated "Or were we ever? That doesn't matter anymore. Because I will make sure you will never see her again," you declared and strode out of the pipeline with him shouting your name for you to come back.

You watched as the door slowly slid down, closing on him. You were frozen in your stance, your own frame shaking as the tears rolled down your cheeks.

You felt an arm wrapped around your shoulder, clutching you tightly. You knew it was Barry. You turned and collapsed into his arm, sobbing instantly.

He rubbed your back soothingly as you poured down the tears on his chest with you clinging on him tightly.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," he mumbled.

"What am I gonna do, Barry?" you sobbed.

Barry stayed quiet, just heaved a sigh. He felt bad seeing you like this, as he was the one who started the whole investigation, but he didn't regret that he finally caught the bastard who murdered his mother. Only it's in the form of his mentor and his baby sister's boyfriend.

"It'll be fine, okay? I'm here. All of us are, and that's all you both need, okay?" He murmured to you.

You nodded, hugging him tighter, unable to control your emotions and tears.

You thought you truly knew heartbreak, but at this moment of your life you've come to realize that you barely scratched the surface. Everything is crashing down, hitting lower than they ever did before; it feels heart and gut wrenching at the same time. There's no going back from this. You don't know if anything can top this pain. Nothing good can ever erase how utterly broken you are right now. Nothing.

***

This is it, guys! Thank you so much for all the ones who liked and reblogged this story. I am so happy and filled with gratitude that I was able to share and FINISH this story, because knowing me and the 60+ drafts of various stories on my phone, I would have backed away instantly.

I hope y'all loved this final part. I'd appreciate it if you share this and give it some love.

See y'all soon for the next story I can think of.

xxx

[bibliocratic]

Written for Aspec Martin Week – Day 3, Prompt: Frustration

Ace!Jon / Ace!Martin

NB:// this is tagged for internalised acephobia and unhealthy ways of dealing with repression. I've discussed these in greater detail in the tags, or if it’s easier to read, I'm going to put them in the end notes when this goes on A03, so you can prepare yourself more going in if needed.

(If you need me to add tags, send me a message, and I’ll gladly)

You know lots of words.

You don't use them. That's not what they're for. They sit and fizz under your tongue like sugar pills, a crackling burst of flavour like popping candy. You're not so good, are you, with getting the words out. All those words you know and you dredge up seaweed and detritus and plastic from your sea-beds when it's time to speak. The words you want to use stuck between your molars, flattened like stuck toffee behind your slightly bucked teeth. You used to have a stutter, when you were younger, and the poorly-set bone fragments of that linger.

You collect them though. Words. It's easier. You press the petals of them into the back of  your notebooks, line the corners of your nest with them. You like to admire them, the carefully noted lines and lines of obscurities.

Some of them are about Jon.

On earlier pages, you wrote saw-toothed, caustic, mettlesome. Evolving to revenant, indomitable, hallowed.

Your word for Jon at the moment, your most recent, ink-damp addition is lucent.

[lucent (adj), you wrote, meaning: giving off light, glowing, or being clear, translucent]

Since you came to the cottage, Jon's shown you everything. Like he's sworn off anything but an intense, avowed honesty, like if he's not offering you his everything, he's somehow failing you. He shows you all the places he is glass and trusts you to look through.

He sits by the window wearing the biggest jumper you own, and the light patters through him and he has his eyes closed like he's sleeping or praying or giving grace and you think of him as shining.

All of your words, and still you're so prone to lying.

–

You should be used to this.

You are kissing. Jon caught you mid-lecture on the appropriate footwear for the ground this home is founded on, and smiled and there suddenly wasn't any words for you to use at all. Jon has his fingers tangled in your hair, and you have a palm splayed steady at the dip of his back.

He plants a hand on your hip. There is an ossified mass in your chest that's gathering bigger, and it's nerves, it's always nerves with you, the stutter in your soul that never played out.

“You want to...?” he asks, and he glances up at you with a dappling light across his face that follows the streak of his giddy smile, and he looks antic, elfish. The hand on your hip gives a suggestive, implying squeeze. 

You wait for him to add more, but he doesn't, so you lean back down like the submitting bough of a willow branch, distract him with another bruising collision of a kiss and hope it will drive all thoughts from his head.

Finally, you separate. He kisses like he used to talk, like he wants the last word in an argument, so every kiss is chased by a follow-up, a softer imprint like the closing of a wax seal.

His hands work on the top button of your shirt.

“Would you like to....?” he asks again, short-winded,  his breath a little more gone from him than you. He even tries to wink. It's goofy, purposefully, looks silly on him, and all this feels too heavy.

This is not the first time you have done this, but it's never been right before. It'll be better. It's with Jon, you want this with him, you can do this with him and it'll be everything you've always suspected it could be for everyone but you.

You surge against his lips again so he can't see your nerves, you stupid, unfounded, calcifying anxieties, the barriers you keep putting up yourself because you are so terrified of being happy.

“Maybe... not tonight?” you mumble into your shared air. If he pushed, if he asked again, you would. He dragged you from the shoreline, out of the fog, this is the least you can give him. You'd lie on your back, or you'd cover him with your shape, and you'd try so hard to make him happy so he wouldn't notice you not sharing the same. “'m a bit tired.”

Tricky, is what you are. Perjurious. Prevaricating. Two-faced.

You're not tired. The lie makes your tongue swell, like allergies, hay-fever, rigor mortis. Something damningly biological.

These days, Jon is artless, candid, forthright. Everything is a solemn rite, a service he's engaging in that he thought he was unsanctified for.

You are the most proficient dealer in dishonesties you know. It's a growth, down to the bones.

“Alright,” Jon says lightly, like he's not disappointed, like you haven't been substandard, below par, vexing. “Do you want to continue this for a while? Or, you know, we've still not done that jigsaw.”

His easy joy is so bright it shames you. You wish the Lonely had eaten that emotion out of you.

“That jigsaw's not going to solve itself,” you say, and Jon smirks, and moves away but keeps your hand locked in his, and for a while you allow yourself the easy deception of being uncomplicatedly happy.

–

You are a solecism.

It's a useful word. It's all the words you've ever misspoken, all the poorly expressed sentiments, the wrong things you should have said or felt or been, but didn't or weren't. It's the stammer you've got ingrained in the warp and weft of you.

You are in bed, and you are kissing again. You like kissing. The pressure and huff of air. You like holding Jon's head in your hand, stroking the stubbled skin down his chin, the abrasive landscape that travels down. Scar-shiny crags and rises, his personal geography. You like looking at the evidence of his survival. If you scrape your blunt nails against his scalp, he'll take a ragged in-breath; when you press a little harder, nip with teeth against the skin of his lips, he'll sigh and hum. And you like these things too.

You've been kissing for a while now. You've been worrying whether it is acceptable to carry on like this. If you should be doing something more. If you have to.

You are on your side, and Jon has slipped his hand over your hip. Moving it up to the bunching skin circling your stomach. You breathe out shaky, because his hands are algid, nippy – 'God, Jon, you're freezing,' you complain, and he smirks, gives another goofy eyebrow raise,  'are you going to let me warm up then?'.  He moves them again and he must take the noise you make as encouragement, as desired – stop it, you've done this before, it's not so bad, it's Jon now, it'll be alright this time – and traces them further up to skate over the more delicate skin below your collarbone, over your chest.

You know he's looking at you. He rarely blinks these days. He watches because he wants to see you happy, wants to know he's making you happy, cataloguing the things that bring you joy like the words you scribe at the back of your notebook.

You've never told him that you've never caught the art of this act, that you know what he wants, and that it makes your stomach fizz like you've swallowed all the words you can never say, how it's not like the books make it sound, not like all the poetry you wish you could understand. You never feel buzzing, live-wire, heady, champagne-drunk on an overwhelming, delirious passion. You feel anxious, deep-down heartsick, overthinking and second-guessing what you're meant to be doing.

But there are some parts of it that are nice, you guess. And Jon loves you, you Saw that, you see that. And if it's the admission price for all the other things, the hand-holding and kissing and the waking up with him coiled around you like a warm and sweaty bracket, then it doesn't matter, does it, not really. You've borne worse in this world for less.

“Do you want to...?” He says, and brushes his palm over your chest again. You nod, make an encouraging sound, and you don't flinch. You make to pull him closer, so his weight pushes the air out from you, and his knee has moved between your legs, and you don't flinch, and your body shores up its well-hammered armour, and he kisses you again, deeper, wetter, and your eyes clench shut even as you hum an appreciative noise, because you know that this is easier in the dark.

The weight lifts suddenly, pushing back and away.

“Martin?”

“Hm?” you ask, opening your eyes again, unsure as to why you've stopped. Jon is staring down at you, face frowning, and whatever he sees, it has him sit back on his hunches. Hair askew, eyes dark, unblinking. He fumbles around for the beside light.

You sit up slightly. You feel cold again. Frigid. Hyperborean.

“I-is everything ok?” you prompt. Jon's frown deepens like a fissure, and you wish he'd stop looking at you like he wants to solve you.

“Something's.... I Know something's not right,” he says, distractedly, looking down at his scar-seared palms. Then he looks back at you.

“Is everything alright with you?” he asks back.

“Yeah! W-why wouldn't it be?”

“Are you... do you want to do this?”

The heart in you cadaverous. You lean closer because he's too far away, because you don't want to be alone, because you don't like the creeping distress that casts itself across like shadow over his face. He leans back, keeping a distant point of orbit. Perigee. He's close, but not in your atmosphere, he's close but he won't touch you and you can hear your own voice getting pitchy.

“Course I do!”

“Do you want me to take it slower?”

“No...”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, it's not – ”

“It's... you don't seem happy, Martin. There – there's something wrong, I can, I know it...”

“Maybe I don't like you using your bloody mind-reading powers when we're in bed together, Jon,” you snap.

Jon winces.

“I can't exactly switch it off,” he says, obviously hurt.

His eyes roaming over you, peripatetic, taking in all the parts of you you are desperate for him not to look too closely at.

Jon is breviloquent. He doesn't amble along to what he's going to say, he's direct and terse and brief as he needs to be.

“Is this – is this ok?” he asks again.

You realise you're breathing a bit harder. Force yourself to relax, showcase an almost easy smile. Because this is what you're excellent at. Evading. Equivocating. There's not an honest answer you couldn't twist into incomprehension, there's not a simple option you can't complicate because you worry and overthink and fuck it up for everyone else.

“Just nerves, I guess,” you hear yourself say. “We can... let's keep going, I'm sure I can build myself up to it.”

You reach out a hand to his, and he yanks it away. And that, that hurts. Like tearing scab-tissue, like splitting skin.

“Build yourself...” he repeats with a tinge of something horrified. “Martin, you don't have to make yourself do anything, why are you – ?”

“I'm not making myself.” You've started breathing wobbly now, desperate. Why did you have to mess up this performance with him, when he's right here and he wants you, and you can't get through dress rehearsals, never mind opening night because you can't remember your lines, where your feet should stand, what words you need to trot out of your mouth.  “I – I'll, I'll manage, ok, it'll be fine, c-can we just forget this and carry on?”

Still he won't stop looking at you, won't get any closer, and you feel like crumbling.

Jon's voice has dropped soft.

“I'm not just going to forget it. Martin, you're not comfortable, you're not happy, how can I ignore that?”

“It doesn't matter,” you say, “it's nothing, it's stupid, it doesn't matter.”

“It matters to me.”

Adamantine. Headstrong.

Jon pauses in the shallow waters of the awkward silence. He reaches out, and takes your hand. Laces your fingers together, and the ossuary in your chest loosens.

“I don't trust... I don't want to ask you questions,” he finally says. “In case I... well. You know. But I'd like to understand. I want you to feel that you can tell me anything, even if you think it's not what I want to hear.”

You are suddenly so very tired of pretending with him. His brightness keeps finding the cracks  in you you've poorly papered up, and it fills you with something that could be bravery if it didn't leave you feeling so hollow.

“I don't know if I can,” you reply. You sound burnt out, structurally compromised in the yellowing halo of light. You sound ashen, like you've been set on fire.

He clenches the hand he's holding, and waits. He'd keep waiting, you realise. Even if you never said the words out loud, he'd be patient.

“I can't,” you try again – Christ, it's Sisyphean, Herculean, “I can't – it's not, it's not you, although I-I'm sure everyone says that, right, but it's not. I thought, finally with the right person, I could... but it's – I can't. I can't be what you want me to be. I don't – I don't think I want the same things.”

“You mean a relationship?” Jon asks, eiderdown soft. He shrinks in on himself at the idea, but holds his head high, doesn't lose your gaze.

“N – no,” you say quickly, needing him to understand. “No. I-I want that. I want you. I love you.”

“Then what...?” he prompts.

You feel the gravel of the words under your tongue.

“I don't... I don't like it. The – when we – I don't want it, and I know that's not what you want to hear, and I'm sorry, and it's me, I can't just get out of my head and make this work, and I know it must be disappointing....”

“You don't want to have sex?”

You cringe in on yourself as he lays it out. He's always been better at jigsaws than you.

“If you – we can! - it's not, it's not such a big deal, right! Just give me a few minutes, I can work through it – ”

“Martin,” he grumbles out, and he's shuffled closer, captured your other flailing hand. “I don't need to have sex with you. And if it's not something you're comfortable with, then I don't want to have sex with you.”

“It's not about – about being comfortable, it's about making each other happy.”

“I am happy! You make me happy! I don't need sex. And it's hardly making you happy, is it?”

“That's not the point.”

“It is! Of course it is.” He deflates. Reaches up. Wipes your cheek and his fingers come away damp. “Explain it to me. Please.”

You spit the words out like sunflower seeds.

“I've never... I don't, I mean, I-I have, this isn't, y-you know, the first time, but it's not something I-I like, necessarily, a-and I'm not, I don't think I'm made like that. And I know, it's –  it's not what you want to hear...”

“Martin.”

He stops you and you clamp your mouth against the onslaught.

Fractography is the study of cracks, or flaws in a material or structure. It works through observing broken, collapsed, irreparable things and figuring out what final weight snapped its back. It works through observing things unweathered by life, predicting where stresses and pressures might eventually start to form. You are worried Jon will look at you like something due to shatter.

“Martin, I think we need to talk. I think we should have talked before.”

Your voice, miserable, dull with expectation: “If you're breaking up with me....”

“No – no, oh god, Martin, of course not.”

He shuffles closer, lies back down next to you, pats the pillow to indicate that you should join him.

You slide down. He clasps your hands against his breast, and he's so close he's blurry, the air between you warm and dense, your bodies making a cocoon.

“Shall I go first? If that's ok?”

You nod.

“Alright,” he says, and for a second, you just listen to him breathing. “So, I'm asexual. I don't experience sexual attraction to people. Romantic attraction, yes, definitely. I've been in relationships with em, mostly women, a couple of men, and generally they didn't have, shall we say a physical element. But I've been in love. A few times. I'm in love with you, in case – in case you didn't know.”

He says it so matter-of-factly. You can see some of that light shining from the insides of him, incandescent when the words leave his lips.

“And I'd be lying if I said I didn't think you were attractive, aesthetically speaking. But I don't – it's hard to explain, but I don't want to have sex with you, you know, want want. I don't have that urge. But I have been in a few relationships, where I've had sex. Not often, and I don't mind the experience personally, though I can take it or leave it. I like to be involved if my partner enjoys it, and that's – that's what I thought we were doing here. You didn't seem like you were going to make the first move, and  I wanted to make you happy, because I thought it was something that you'd like to do together.  Like doing jigsaws, or or listening to the radio.  I should have – I should have checked. I should have explained first.”

“The word,” you say, dry-mouthed.

“Pardon?”

“The word. What's the … the word you said?”

“Asexual.”

You mouth it to taste the sound. Wonder if you'll write it at the back of your notebook, next to deflagrate and ideoneous.

“That's... that's a new one to me,” you say slowly.

Jon's eyes go lower, go sad. He strokes the dampness from your face again.

“B-but I like kissing,” you say quietly. Because if this word means no intimacy, then you couldn't bear it, the way Jon held himself apart from you before. “I – I like hugs, and holding hands, a-and you know, relationshipy stuff like that. S-so I can't be... can I... those things are all part of it right, so I can't.... And my body, it has – ”

Here, you redden, the stalks of your words knotting.

“– it has r-reactions, i-i-in the mornings, and sometimes if I'm a bit stressed or I can't sleep, I want to, y-you know, sort myself, and that's....”

“These things don't disqualify you,” Jon says earnestly. “It's not something someone will give you a test on. It's personal. It's a personal thing. It's no less valid than anything else. But I want nothing from you that you don't want to freely give. Not because you think I need it, or you think it's the only thing I want from you.”

“Oh,” you say, and for a moment, you have no words left.

Jon waits.

“I don't want to have sex with you,” you manage finally. Small-worded, slipshod voiced.

Jon nods.

“Alright. That's alright.”

“I – ” You try again, and he makes an encouraging expression, and your sentence staggers forward. “I don't, I won't ever want to.”

“That's alright,” he replies.

“Yeah?” you croak, feeling your eyes go blurry with damp.

“Yeah,” Jon says.

You let him hold you for a long time after that. His fingers stroke your back, scrunch and scratch soothing motions in your hair.

“Asexual,” you repeat the word after a long while quiet.

“Hm,” Jon says. “There are some websites, I could show you. When you're... if you're ready.”

“I'd like that,” you say, and you mean it. You make no effort to move.

“There's even a flag,” Jon continues.

“Yeah?”

“Hm. It's pretty cool. Greys and white and purple.  I think I've got some socks with the colours somewhere. One of my exs got me a bi-flag set, and an asexual set. ”

You give a wet laugh, imagining Jon's garish footwear.

“What a striking look,” you tease, and Jon elbows you and responds that it's incredibly dashing, thank you very much.

You linger in this liminal doze for a long time. For once, you feel like nothing is expected of you at all.

“You want to get up?” Jon says, yawning wide, cat-like. “Have another go at that jigsaw?”

“ Let's stay here a little longer?” you murmur. Your t-shirt is starting to stick to your skin. Jon's petting has made your hair go haywire, bed-headed. You don't quite want to let this go just yet.

“Alright,” he agrees, and it's as easy as that.

[lucarioisinthevoid]

hello good sir (sir being a gender neutral term), i'd like to send some p r o m p t s. so i haven't played ucn in a LONG time, but some ideas off the top of my head: toy freddy (would be funny), funtime foxy (cause they're a bitch), n. fredbear and maybe nightmare (cause they're twisted versions of his b e l o v e d fredbear), and maybe foxy+bonnie (cause it's a bitch). just some ideas! also, being a man of culture, i'd like to request some tortu- jk, jk (i'd say sth funny but character limit).

(I will fight you for this ask. I will come to you home and pick you up and fling your body into space and into literal Among Us. My brain was going a mile a minute trying to gather enough coins to get rid of Funtime Foxy, and keep on top of EVERYTHING ELSE- And yet I was still surprised when I finally got jumpscared. Welp, I couldn’t have predicted it, so it’s kinda fun being able to write this now. Also yes, warning for mild torment! I’m just not good at writing it- Oh, also, here’s the AO3 link to the thing: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27687695/chapters/67764007 You can read the whole thing there and I update it there as I do here. You can request over there to, but that’s beside the point)

Be on top of his games. Watch his shows. Check in, but only at the right times. Henry grinded his teeth. It was almost like he had a son again- dear god, this truly was hell, wasn’t it? For a moment he had thought the Helpy robot was joking as he elaborated on what the damn plastic piece of shit’s mechanic was- No. No cursing. He shook his head. That was being petty for no reason. He had a mechanic- and it was a stupid one- but that was better than nothing. It was better than being told “you will die” without being able to do anything about it. For a moment he frowned, a though manifesting itself in the back of his mind. … if he would know there was no way to escape the pain, he would grow numb to it. So whoever or whatever set this up seemed to have a keen interest in- The clock chimed, it was time to play. Instantly he pulled up the monitor. He had been gifted the leeway of being allowed to eradicate one of them- and dear god, he would not say no, not if it was the only chance to give a little bit of payback. He checked on Toy Freddy- a good contender to be murdered- and clicked the door of the- vacuum cleaner- dear god, this would make his brain rot- then he moved on to more sensible things, like checking on Foxy, who was thankfully out, then moving over to gathering coins. Laughter from the door. “Mister Miller… look at you. You seem stressed.” “Why yes, I am quite tense.” Without looking up he closed the doors, opening them up right away. “I have to admit to my distain of the character selection that currently is coming after me. They make no sense, you see?” Another, similarly as deep voice sounded, albeit with a brighter tint to it- “… oh, don’t be ashamed of that, Mr. Miller. They have more distain for you than you do for them.” Once more, doors closed, doors open. He didn’t even need to look. “I can assume that, yes, but that is hardly my issue, is it now? My issue is their reality bending and tedious habits.” For this round he would be stuck on the cameras, wouldn’t he? Once more he flipped over to Foxy, gathering coins and being quietly thankful for the fact that he and Bonnie had not switched places yet. He had to get this done in the first time-warped hour and if he didn’t- he wasn’t sure when exactly the clock would move over and he didn’t want to find out. The nightmare duo was chuckling, so he shortly put the monitor down to look inside of Nightmare Fredbear’s red eyes. “… what are you supposed to be?” “You have never truly understood your own creation, did you…? If it lives… it changes…” “The only nightmare I ever created were the suits and-“ He turned to the other side, spotting the more pinkish eyes shining from that frame. “… you. Are you not supposed to be me?” “I think you can answer that yourself.” Shaking his head, Henry dismissed both of them, closing the doors and opening the camera feed, checking once more on Foxy, helping out Toy Freddy and finally snatching up the last few coins he needed- instantly he moved over to the price corner, ordering one of the silver coins- His eyes darted to the clock- Oh god, only a few more moments before the timer skipped- The pink hellfox was peering out of its cove, grinning widely- a grin that instantly was replaced by an agonized and hateful scream as Henry used the coin, allowing himself for a moment to watch the machine literally being disintegrated into clear silver dust. From the side, Nightmare Fredbear chuckled. “… how cruel.” “This is a dog-eat-dog world. You should not try to inflict onto others what you are not willing to go through yourself.” “Oh? Are you ready for what is coming for you then?” Abruptly Henry started laughing, as he once more checked on Foxy, then moved to Toy Freddy. “What? What is coming for me? Being brought back to Fredbear’s, except this time I am immortal, have inhuman strength and can start honing my ability to move whatever I desire with my mind? What a terrible fate you are threatening me with, Nightmare! I am appalled! How dare you gift me with everything I have ever wanted!” One last time he switched back to Foxy, then deactivated the monitors, assuming it was best to be on Foxy’s camera right away, so when he pulled the camera back up- His eyes fell on the little figure of Bonnie that was now on the table. For the love of god, how could he have been that stupid!? Looking up at Nightmare Fredbear’s red eyes, he saw a bit of bemusement in it- that and a deep, underlaying level of pure disgust. “… will you ever learn, Mr. Miller? Will you ever realize that the resistance you have been met with was not from nowhere? Will you learn that you cursed them?” “NONSENSE.” Henry HISSED. “I considered you smart. I was wrong. The only reason the children were struggling against me because I could not yet accommodate them well enough- propaganda against me and my mission was spread. William seemed to have been just fine with his joke of a family that he had gotten himself in a flight of passing fancy. What made him different?!” There was only silence from the outside, as Henry glanced once more at the figure. Still Bonnie and it wouldn’t change. Muttering more so to himself than to the Fredbear, he stressed his point. “Nature has turned on me for taking what I desired, much like the ocean, the skies and the land has turned against humanity at every opportunity. Even in the different religious texts, humanity and to steal and take with violence what it needed to become what it was meant to be. One god banished the species in fear of them becoming immortal, much like the being itself- another wanted to deny us fire as petty retaliation, because fire brings creation- and it had to be taken back by theft.” Not quite, but close enough. He didn’t want to recount the stories. “… if you want to grow, you have to feed, and if you feed, you destroy. And so, destruction brings new creation. We feed off the old gods and create new rules. Nature does not like to be controlled and abused- all it wishes is to slowly burn itself out. Until nothing is left. But we humans preserve- we are a species who is so defenseless, yet have made it this far, by preserving knowledge, by learning early, early and as much as we can- eventually however it will come to a standstill. You can only learn so much with the time given. Until said time become infinite. Some ills of humanity can only be cured by allowing humans to permanently remain and learn. For that we need immortality.” There still was only silence and he sighed- He had wasted too much time. The Bonnie figure was still there, but he might as well get it over with, he wouldn’t get around him disabling the cameras. Quickly he closed the door to the left side where he knew Nightmare Fredbear was waiting, pulling up the cameras, to Bonnie’s aggressive scream- But before he could really boot the thing up, a giant black paw came from above grabbing the little tablet, cracking it. The Amalgamation was towering over him, black fur and metal broken up by the silver shine of its teeth. Baffled for a few seconds, Henry looked at him. “I… did not hear you.” “The others are not your problem anymore, are they now?” With its vile grin it picked Henry up by the head, an incredibly painful experience, playfully throwing him against the wall with full force- a crack was sounded and as Henry tried to stumble back on his feet, he quickly realized he couldn’t- something was damaged, so badly that the pain was too much- His head was still sharp though, the white pain barely being fended off by his mind trying to figure out how this creature could be HERE- It had been HIM, it was HIM, what would make him want to- Blood was dripping from out his mouth, tasting disgustingly mechanical- “… you… you are supposed to be ME-“ Smiling the monstrous bear-esque beast picked him up, causing another wave of incoherent, glowing pain to wash through Henry, his whole chest being just enough to fill the Amalgamation’s hand. “I was you. We have seen all your thoughts, all your ideas, we have shaped, and we have remembered. You are me. And we crave violence, Mister Miller. Your words were pretty to hear, but we do not believe them. We know what we are- a monster who thinks of itself too highly, an animal unable to resist the siren call of violence and blood. Our creation has not made us better than all the monsters we feared becoming. There is only one difference between us… … I am not ashamed of my needs anymore.” With that he started pulling on Henry’s arm, pulling as the delirious man convulsed under him- Ready to take a bite out of it. “But I do love creation too… and I cannot wait to see what we will turn you into. The brain is moldable, Henry. It does fantastical things under pain and pressure…” His other claw was digging into the human’s head. The other was pulling the now separated arm to his maw, biting down with a sickening, wet crunch. Happily he sighed. The few seconds of Henry’s awareness that were left only wondered quietly if his parts being consumed would mean he would never get them back- The Amalgamation seemed to hear the thought, grinning at him with its now stained teeth. “I will vomit you back… to relieve your horror…” … with that Henry faded.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

I saw this Prompt earlier on my dash: "when whumpee's job was to get info for their friends and now their friends desperately need that info, but whumpee is hardcore passed out/can't stay awake or focus for whatever reason so their friends are forced to hurt them (extensively, ideally) to keep them awake n get important info. everyone suffers" Can you write something like that with Eliot from Leverage? Is there a character that would be willing to hurt him like that?

sure thing, anon! I think Quinn and Tara would totally be willing to do it. They respect Eliot, know he can handle it. Even if it honestly means he’ll pay them back for daring to touch him.

Fandom: Leverage

Characters: Eliot Spencer, Quinn, Tara Carlisle

Length: 1,189 words

Tags: torture, fever, confusion, fear, screaming, broken bones, weak from captivity

"We just need to know where they are."The pale man didn't respond. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed a bit, as he tried hard to string his thoughts together. There was color to his cheeks and forehead, his skin radiating heat. He was dehydrated, and the fever didn't help. Quinn looked over the hitter to Tara, who looked grim."Eliot, you have to tell us right now. They're in danger. Can you hear me?"The hitter's breaths were gradually becoming deeper the longer he laid there. They couldn't let him fall asleep - every second counted. Tara, standing on the right side of the bed, took hold of Eliot's hand. Grateful for the leather cuffs holding him secure, she twisted his broken fingers.Eliot screamed. She hadn't known if he would. If he was in his right mind and not worn down by torture, he would have only growled and glared. But he was delirious with fever, weak from starvation, and in a great deal of pain. His body tensed and he tried to pull away. He tried to look at her, to see who was doing it, but his wide eyes failed to focus."Where did they take Parker and Hardison?"She hadn't let go of his hand, so she could feel how his hands shook. She was glad that she wasn't closer to the retrieval specialist, because this was hard enough without adding guilt to the mix."Where are they?" She gave a warning squeeze to his hand and his breath hitched. He shook his head weakly. Tara let go of his hand.Quinn leaned down so Eliot wouldn't have to work so hard trying to see them. "Do you know where you are?"Eliot turned to him, eyes stilled kind of clouded over. Quinn repeated the question. Eliot didn't answer, but he watched the other hitter intently. Quinn felt worse than he'd expected about doing this. He would pull it off without hesitation, he'd never been a quitter, but he knew how painful and terrifying it was to try and come back after this kind of ordeal. Spencer was the best hitter out there, but that didn't make him invincible. If he could tell them what they needed to know of his own accord, he would, and he'd understand what they had to do now. Didn't make it any easier."We're trying to help, but to get them home, we gotta know where they are. You saw them. You heard where they were gonna be taken. Where are Alec and Parker?""I don't know," Eliot croaked. "I don't know."Tara placed the heel of her hand at his collarbone, which was splotched with dark bruising and probably broken. He winced at the light contact, which sent pain lacing through his chest, but he still watched Quinn above him."You're all we've got. Without you, we can't find them. What do you remember?"Eliot was trying, it was clear, but he was losing focus. His eyelids started drooping as the searing of his broken fingers dulled.Quinn nodded to Tara, who leaned forward and pressed down on the collarbone. Eliot's body tried to arc up at the renewed agony of the damaged bone. He screamed again, this time his voice cracking dryly and going hoarse. The end of his cry nearly sounded like a sob of desperation."I don't know," He insisted, the pressure still there and making him tremble. "I don't remember, I..." His face crumpled a bit, his brow furrowing farther and his teeth showing in his grimace. "Please!" The plea was quiet, hissed out in his agony. Tara let up then. She stepped back, flexing her hands. This sucked.Eliot sighed when the pressure was released. He sank down into the mattress once more."We don't want to hurt you. I know I'm a dead man after this. But you'd still kill me if I let those two get hurt. I know you want to protect them. Don't you want to keep Parker and Alec safe?"Eliot nodded, eyes watering up. He wasn't crying, but Quinn wouldn't judge him for a second if he did. He was barely holding it together himself right now."I swear to you," Quinn placed his hand on the restrained man's arm, "I will get them home. I will keep them safe if you help me find them."Licking his lips, Eliot looked up at the ceiling. He thought hard. His face was passive now, a tear running down the side of his face. As soon as he found something in his muddled memories, he looked back at the hitter above him."They, they're afraid," He offered. "Afraid." He mumbled, trying to hold onto his train of thought. "Moving, they moved 'em, had enough of us just..." This time he hesitated not for a foggy memory, but because the memory was painful. "Payday," He recalled, jolting himself from the recollection. "They wanted to sell 'em, price on her head in France," He spoke quickly. His words halted and he shook his head. "I don't, that's all I know." He tensed, expecting more pain, but none came. He looked over to Tara, who was careful not to move and startle him."That's good, Eliot," Quinn assured, hoping he could get more details without putting him back on his guard. "They're gonna fly them out of the country. How, where did they take them? An airstrip?"Eliot didn't have an answer ready. Sure they would hurt him for not knowing, he looked to Quinn, then back at Tara, his hands shaking again. His eyes were wide. It was so strange to see someone as controlled as him look panicked."It's okay, just think back." Tara spoke soothingly. "They must have said something."He focused once more, ignoring the instinct to close himself off and keep his mouth shut. "P-private airfield," He blurted as soon as he remembered the phrase. "His cousin owns a plane.""Who?" Tara guided."One of, one of the guards?" Eliot finished weakly. His eyes shot to Quinn, anxious that he wasn't giving them what they needed. "He was out in the hall. Not sure. Said they could head out..." He thought hard. What had the man said? "S-... Saturday. Yeah." Eliot blanched. "What day is it?" His voice cracked again."That's today," Assured Tara. "It's 1am, don't worry, we're not too late. We do have to hurry, though." He gestured to Quinn that they had to find that airfield fast, then left the room.Eliot was watching Quinn as he looked down at the too thin, too pale hitter cuffed to the bed."You did good," Quinn promised, "We're gonna find them and bring them home. Parker and Alec are gonna be okay."Eliot nodded, calmer now. He cleared his throat and shifted. "I get it." He nearly whispered, his throat raw. "You had to." He raised his broken hands to indicate himself. "But if they don't... don't make it back, I will kill you." Even though he was bound, weak, and on the verge of passing out, Quinn felt the weight of his words."Understood."

[thorinss]

NEED MONEY. SIGNAL BOOST.

okay so i definitely feel like a piece of shit doing this because my situation is nowhere near as dire as other people on this site who need money. and by all means please donate to those who are in desperate need of extra funds because while i am struggling here, i can probably get by.

here’s a quick rundown of my situation:

(Skip down to the TL;DR section if you want the gist of everything)

I’m a 24 year old Digital Media Production college senior, which is fancy words for film student. I have a full 16 credit course load this semester.

Basically I work three jobs but only one of them is a paying position. The other two are technically internships and I need them for experience and resume building purposes. My classes and the third job are cutting drastically into the hours for my paying job this semester, which means I am getting shitty paychecks until May when the semester ends. I haven’t even received a paycheck since December 22 due to an illness that knocked me on my ass and put me out of work for two weeks.

My next paycheck should be on February 3rd but until then I only have $12.81 in my bank account to live off of until then.

I have a $95 phone bill due in three days that I cannot pay. 

I make $9 an hour, 13 hours per week, with two other unpaid jobs in between, and 6 classes. There’s no way I can possibly afford any of this with my time schedule, which at no point is going to slow down.

TL;DR I am very poor and will continue to be very poor until May. I have a $95 phone bill due in three days and $12 in my bank account currently. 

Right now all that I ask is you donate whatever you can but I need at least $100 asap. There is now a paypal donate button in my sidebar. I know my situation is not dire and there are far worse things happening to people on this site that your money can be better suited for. But I really do need help and if you can spare some cash, I would really appreciate it.

I do not have much that I can give in return but if you donate any amount of money, no matter how small, I will do something for you if you wish. I am on a horrible time crunch with my schedule but I will make you something. I am not the best in any of these departments but it’s all I can offer.

Gifs/Graphics/picspams/edits - just sift through that page and take a look at my stuff. It’s been a minute since I’ve made a proper graphic but I will 100% do anything you want. Just as long as it’s a fandom I am familiar with.

Videos - I can edit raw footage or make a fanvid for a couple/show/character. In the case of a fanvid, please make sure it’s a fandom I am familiar with - otherwise it will be too difficult for me to work with UNLESS you are willing to provide the footage, which is doable but can be a pain in the ass. Here are a few links to my better videos to show you what I am capable of: one, two, three, four, five. In the case of raw footage, you would have to contact me so we can thoroughly discuss what you are looking for.

Writing fic - I am definitely not the best writer and it does take me a while to complete something because I hate everything I write lmao but I will write you some fic if you’d like! I would feel most comfortable writing Shevine, Clark/Lex, White Collar, Star Wars, LotR, or anything else that I am super familiar with. Just talk to me about it and we’ll figure something out.

If you donate and are interested in me creating something for you in return, please contact me via here on Tumblr or by email (joneskr92@gmail.com). We can exchange numbers, email, kik names, or whatever is easiest for us to communicate.

If you are thinking about donating and would like further details about where I am financially or need me to clear up anything, please don’t hesitate to ask! I only included the bare minimum info so I don’t overwhelm everyone.

ADDITIONAL SIDE NOTE (NOT NECESSARILY RELEVANT AT THIS TIME):

My school highly recommends that I eventually purchase a lot of high end industry-standard equipment, which is super fucking pricey. This ensures that I have what I need in order to be successful during the rest of my time in college as well as beyond into the workforce.

I need about $200 worth of school supplies for this semester.

At some point in my future I also have to build a $800 - $1000 computer capable of video editing. A lot of my school projects, as well as my future career, depends on me being able to work and edit from home. I also cannot do freelance video editing work without a computer.

I am also being implored by the school faculty to purchase a nice camera which can range in the $1000 price easily.

This equipment will be used for my school work up until graduation and will still be used after graduation as well, as I intend to be a video editor.

These are not my main concern for the moment but I am including them because there is no way I will be able to afford all of this, even when I am working full hours at my paying job.

SECOND ADDITIONAL SIDE NOTE (ALSO NOT CURRENTLY RELEVANT):

I live, rent free, with my older brother, his wife, and their two kids. I am doing relatively okay in this living situation but unfortunately my brother does have certain characteristics similar to those of our abusive father, whom I used to live with prior to Fall 2015. I love my brother and he is a giant goofball, but with my severe social anxiety and depression, living with him can be stressful. In many instances, he’s the one who unintentionally causes a lot of my anxiety or depressive episodes. He often makes me feel useless or worthless, like a waste of space. He constantly ~jokes~ about how he can’t wait for me to move out and pressures to me to save as much money as I possibly can which, as you can tell, is very difficult right now. He ~jokes~ that if I don’t make good grades and save a lot of money, he’ll kick me out of the house. I understand he wants what’s best for me and I do love him and appreciate him for letting me live with him. But he constantly (and unintentionally - I gotta stress that because he’s not a bad person, he’s just a bit of a hardass workaholic who makes 100k a year and never has to think of money as an issue) makes me feel stressed and invalidates any good work I actually do. If I have $700 saved, he tells me I should have $800. If I get an A- on an exam, he tells me it should have been an A.

Living with him makes me anxious and stressed. While it is nowhere near as bad as living with my dad, it’s enough anxiety and stress to the point where I never feel comfortable in the house.

So, as a second side note, I am trying my best to save up for an apartment so I can live with my boyfriend - who is the sweetest person on the planet and I always feel deliriously happy and safe when I am with him. That is the type of living situation I need to be in for the sake of my mental health and the success of my future. I cannot function properly in a home where I am constantly anxious about not living up to my brother’s insane expectations. I need my own space, with someone I love, where I can take care of myself.

The whole point of this is that any leftover money (if I even get any. I don’t know how any of this works or if I will find any success at all lmao I’ll probably make $4 total and finally be able to afford that cup of grapes in the dining hall) will be set aside for apartment purposes.

Again, if you are thinking of donating, thank you, and please don’t hesitate to voice any concerns or ask any questions. I will be 100% open and honest about anything in relation to this post. 

If you cannot afford to donate, please just share this post so others can see.

Thank you!!!!!!

UPDATE 1/27: you guys are the sweetest and the best and donated around $150 which is more than enough to pay my $95 phone bill this month and have around $50ish leftover for any food or gas money needs. i can’t thank you guys enough. 

i will still be accepting donations for the school supplies mentioned above and apartment savings but none of that is a 100% necessity right now. my priority was the phone bill and that has been taken care of thanks to those who donated.

i will possibly make a new post that just focuses on the school/apartment/living costs but like i said, those can just sit on that back burner for a bit. at least until i see how much money i get in this next paycheck, which should be on february 3rd (next friday).

again, thank you guys so much!!!! i hate doing things like this and my boyfriend found out about it last night and it embarrassed the shit out of me lmao but i love you all and appreciate this so much.

the donate button will remain in my sidebar because i am still going to be struggling this semester but the urgent bill paying shit is out of the way for now so i can breathe again.

thank you!!!!

UPDATE 1/27 #2: I have made a separate post talking about the other financial problems I currently am experiencing. please take a look!

[freehealthguider]

How to save money on your big day

How to save money on your big day

I recently got engaged, which of course means everyone who has ever been married, been to a wedding or watched Love Actually has tracked me down with explicit instructions on how best to plan our big day. The advice varies wildly, aside from one key element: everyone is absolutely correct.

You don’t want your wedding to be too big, as it becomes too impersonal, but you don’t want it too small either, as this is your one big day, and why not make it a large celebration? They use their own wedding as the litmus test for how big or small is too big or small, insisting their day was perfect. To them, it was.

People who talk to you about weddings suddenly become stoic philosophers, offering circular meditations like “it’ll cost what it costs”, “this day only comes around once” and “it will be perfect, even if things don’t go perfectly”. Perfect.

Choosi released its Cost Of Love report last month, which clocked the average price of an Australian wedding at $24,660. MoneySmart has it at $36,200, which jives with most of the anecdotal evidence I’ve heard.

FOR MORE STORIES LIKE THIS GO TO NEWS.COM.AU

Both figures seem unreasonable to me and Choosi’s findings suggest I’m not alone in this thinking, with 90.7 per cent of those surveyed claiming the cost is too high. Yet, that’s the average cost. That’s a serious disconnect between what people think and what they do.

The actual day itself is just one element, too. There’s a buck’s party, a hen’s party, a bridal shower, an engagement party, a rehearsal dinner, a post-wedding brunch, a honeymoon, the flash mob Thriller dance, rehearsals for the flash mob Thrillerdance, hiring someone to choreograph the flash mob Thriller dance. The list goes on.

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It’s not just the happy couple who are feeling the pinch either. For example, the Choosi report states $513 as the average cost of a hen’s or buck’s party. If you have a destination wedding, there are travel costs, time off work, plus those three cans of Red Bull you need to stay awake through the actual ceremony.

In short: weddings are expensive.

An article ran on this website last Wednesday in which a bride spoke of the cost of her Byron Bay wedding blowing out from $35K to $50 large. (Sorry, weddings make me talk like a ’30s mobster.) Despite this 43 per cent blowout, she mostly seemed pleased they didn’t go into debt, rightly stating: “At the end of the day it’s only one day and you don’t want to be having to pay that back for years and years.”

This is true — going into that much debt for a wedding seems like madness. So does spending $50,000 on a single day, regardless of how pretty everything will look after being shrunk into a phone-sized square and washed out with the Nashville filter. In the aforementioned article, the bride referred to herself as a “huge saver”, which just means she prepaid for years and years. It’s the same thing.

My fiancee was given some smart advice regarding the brutality involved in culling a guest list: break the costs down per head, then decide if that person is worth, let’s say, $150 of your own money. This will help separate the wheat from the chaff, but such mathematical valuing of your loved ones could cast a pall over the entire day as you see invisible dollar amounts hovering over the heads of your guests like an energy bar in a video game.

It seems people regard the money spent on weddings as being in a separate currency with a different exchange rate. Flowers are suddenly thousands of dollars, napkin rings are worth dropping half a week’s wages on, and shoes that will be completely covered by a wedding dress are worth the GDP of a small landlocked nation.

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The entire industry is set up to bleed you of money, under the hard-to-argue premise that this is your special day. The amount of pressure put on the happy couple to spend up big is substantial. Cutting corners on your wedding day seems ominous somehow, like a dark distillation of how much you value the marriage itself. It is also an industry where there is considerable pressure to match the weddings of those around you. There is pressure to spend a truckload of money, then to downplay how much you actually spent. Seemingly throwaway decisions take on seismic proportions, as now you are planning a $50,000 event, and so everything has to go smoothly. Not smoothly, perfectly. See how the wind is blowing the tablecloth corners up so the bare wooden legs are now visible? That’s because you were too stingy to fork out $900 on the diamond-plated tablecloth weights.

Now the wedding, and by extension the marriage and your future-children’s job prospects, are irrevocably destroyed.

We won’t be burdening any of our parents for money to pay for our wedding, as it is no longer 1955 (despite what our bridal-twist dance may suggest), but many couples still expect the bride’s parents to fork out for the pleasure of watching some dude in an ill-fitting suit marry their daughter in a church that cost more to rent than their first house was to buy. I’ve known people whose parents took out a second mortgage on their house to facilitate a party for a marriage that lasted just over a year. They’d have been better off investing in ostrich farming, or Nokia ringtones.

Here’s an outrageous fee I’ve only just learned exists. How much do you expect to pay for a wedding cake? Regardless of how high you punted that number in your head just then, it’s actually a lot higher as, according to mywedding.com, a lot of venues “require a cake-cutting fee that ranges from $1-$7 per guest”. Keep in mind, this site is American, making that higher-end figure $9.60. You invite 200 guests and you’re looking at $1920 extra just for someone to divvy up the cake in those tiny, square, fun-sized portions. (Some restaurants do this too and call it “cakeage”, which would be cute if I wasn’t fuming at the concept.) This is on top of the cake cost, which starts at $650 for one of those three-tier types. You know, the one that the guy dives through in the November Rain clip. If I ever see a bride at a wedding glaring furiously at some little kid whining about how he doesn’t want his cake, I will know why.

Doltone House runs a venue hire and catering company in Sydney. They offer a number of reasonably priced wedding packages, one of which includes the hire of a mirrored wishing well and a crystal chandelier. There also seems to be an undue amount of importance placed on the table centrepieces; Doltone offers a consultancy service for this element alone. Not wishing to be outdone, Ava Event Styling offers up a Pinterest board featuring the 642 Best Wedding Centrepieces and all I see are different variations of flowers in kettles, all presented on white table-clothes that look like oversized doilies.

Because weddings seem to exist in this parallel universe that reflects in no way the actual value of items, services become a lot dearer, too.

I have played in bands over the years and worked as a music journalist, so I know how much musicians are paid in the real world. In weddingland, however, a band can charge $5000 for three 45-minute sets. Those are covers sets too, so you’re not paying a premium for the fact you hired You Am I or anything; these are people playing the same 40 songs you hear at any wedding — or any RSL club on a Thursday night for that matter. As Charles Dickens once wrote: “No wedding is so classy that it can’t be spoiled by an off-key cover of the Goo Goo Dolls.” Want a DJ instead? First of all, you know it’s just a guy playing songs off his iPhone, right? Secondly, that will cost you $3000. And he won’t even have MMMBop.

The Cost Of Love report found the main place people cut costs was on a videographer, with 58 per cent of people highlighting this as the area they most scrimped on. The main areas of scrimpage seem to be those that can be replicated with technology: photography, videos, invitations and entertainment were all in the top rung of areas where people cut costs; all of which can be crowdsourced from phone-toting guests, or done through the wonders of email.

Our wedding isn’t for another year or so, which means we have plenty of time to think about what’s important to us. Mainly, it’s people. We’ve already decided not to waste money on things that don’t mean anything to us, while making sure everything is as photogenic and pretty as possible. Luckily, beauty and taste don’t equal dollars. The most expensive weddings can often look garish and cheap, while a simple garden fare with tea-candles and a small group of people who cherish each other can look and feel a million dollars.

At the end of the day, no matter what type of wedding we land on, whether it rains, or hails, or gets shut down by the police because we forgot to put the permit in, we know we will be deliriously happy with the end result. We will arrive separately, and leave married. Which sounds like the perfect wedding.

Nathan Jolly is a Sydney-based writer who specialises in pop culture, music history, true crime and true romance. Follow him on Twitter @nathanjolly

While we’re on the topic, this is Meghan Markle’s daily ritual to combat wedding stress. Plus, a guide to Australia’s best wedding dining destinations.

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