#horror: no we should keep them alive but torment them so they never get the sweet release of death and suffer

[triglycercule]

dust and horror angel and demon themes,,,, they could totally parallel each other...... :3

dust=angel of death described in the delta rune prophecy (self declared) (i DEFINITELY elaborated on this one waayyyy before but anyways dust with a fucked up savior complex SAVE ME SAVE ME.... death is a blessing ass guy. life is torment and he will be the one to liberate monsters from their bodies and with the strength they provide to him be able to take down evil evil creation of pure misery that is the human ✨✨✨ dont worry his evil cackles are to HIDE HIS PAIN of saving everyone....... trust)

horror=demon that dragged everyone in horrortale into hell (as perceived by everyone else) (i think it would be a cool hc if everyone outside of snowdin viewed horror as literally a demon. maybe undyne preaches that. anyone outside of snowdin might be WAYYY worse because they starve for longer and literally take part in cannibalism so they might not have the same sort of mild sanity that snowdin residents do,,,, besides he DID kinda bring them all eternal suffering. kinda. nobody but undyne knows what happened at the core so she could totally just paint the story to blame horror fully)

ANYWAYS i like the possible dynamics this could have :333

dust to horror (please let me kill you PLEASE let me kill you i can end it all so peacefully wouldn't it be nice??? i promise ill make it quick just for you),,, horror to dust (i want you to live and suffer with what youve done i want you to watch all of your choices hit you one day and i'll be there and laugh at you. i'll keep you alive just to keep you suffering ok?)

OR dust to horror (you dont deserve to die you dont deserve to even be hurt by me. not because youre the exception but youre the Exception i absolutely loathe you so youll never get the sweet release of death :3) and horror to dust (just let me die already i dont wanna be here. youre supposed to be a savior right??? an angel?? then why don't you save me already when i need it more than anyone else)

[lildoodlenoodle]

One of the biggest problems and red flags about the whole spider society was having kids be workers for them.

Now I’m not saying the spider society shouldn’t have contacted the younger spiders or even work with them! But the spider society should function as more of a support group and emergency backup type situation for the younger spiders.

There was no reason for Margo, someone who is implied to be like Miles’s age, someone who can’t even drive, to be running an integral part of the society and how they are keeping the multiverse intact. She not only ran it, but if it malfunctioned it was clearly her job and responsibility to fix. When the machine ‘breaks’ and functions while, as far as she’s aware, no one’s in it she’s panicking, even though there would be no real consequences if she just let it run. There was no reason for Gwen, a 16 yr old, to be running around the multiverse alone going on high stakes solo missions(and that’s not even getting into the whole homeless thing). We don’t know yet what Peni’s role is but we have to assume it’s similar in nature and responsibility. That is insane.

Pav is the only one who seems to have a healthy relationship with the society, because he’s not really in it! He doesn’t know the indoctrination canon events yet, we don’t see him going off on solo missions, he gets backup when he needs it and that seems to be it.

For the kids that do know the canon events theory(Margo, Peni, Gwen) I cannot even imagine what must be going through their heads. Who else from their worlds has to die. For Peni, is her last living relative, Uncle Ben, the next person for her to lose? If Gwen returns to her world how long will it take for her dad to die? What other traumatic events have Miguel’s theory dictated will happen to them next? What horrors do they know will happen to them and their loved ones that they aren’t allowed to prevent? Is Gwen destined to die young because she’s the only Gwen we see Alive? And Gwen and Hobie, Pav’s friends, do they know that Gayatri and her dad are both destined to die? Like the mental gymnastics these kids have to go through and the mental torment that goes with it.

And then on top of it, to threaten said teenagers, who you have working for you, with being kicked out and being isolated from the people that are like and understand them is really fucked up. Especially if the threatening is because they are acting like teenagers and not soldiers. If Gwen is sent home, not only is her life put in danger but so is her father’s and they all know it. That is some culty level gaslighting and even grooming. Margo and Peni both are implied to not have good home lives either. The more you think about it the worse it gets honestly, because what goes along with this is we never see any of the adult spiders say anything about this.

Miguel and Jess both saw Gwen’s father, a grown man, try to arrest his daughter with a gun pointed at her. They save her, Jess takes her under wing(and whether they meant to or not) effectively become her guardians. They monitor her with what could essentially be a baby monitor/tracking device. They can control where she can and cannot go. And while understandable to not give a teen access to the entire multiverse they were very much giving her the adult responsibilities of protecting it.

When she does screw up, because she is a child who wants to see her friend, Jessica very flippantly references Miguel sending her home, making me think this is not the first time they’ve had that conversation, which is so worrying. And then they eventually do. They knew exactly what situation they were sending her into and not only did the entire society watch Miguel do it with little protest but didn’t even mention it afterwards. Even if Gwen was a threat they had other options, rather than sending her home, where she could still be safe.

There’s also a lot to say about how Jessica, Peter B., and Miguel handled Miles that speaks more to this pattern of behavior but that’s another post.

In the comics the ‘Spider Society’ got away with this sort of stuff, even having an actual infant just chilling with the group, because the spiders were being hunted. They couldn’t go home or leave the safe space dimension because it wasn’t safe. In the movie that is very much not the case. WHY WERE TEENAGERS WORKING FOR THE SOCIETY!?

[transmutationisms]

sorry to go back to the succession asks, but what do you make of the fact that a major part of the horror of what kendall did to the waiter is that he got away with it? i‘m never quite sure what to think, especially in reference to the real not real and making him fundamentally unable to be as much of a person as everyone else of it all + him ultimately denying it ever happened and this sort of dooming him in the finale

dodds dies because kendall, like the other characters of his social class, doesn't view those below them as real people with lives that matter. after the fact, kendall certainly experiences regret and guilt, but as long as logan is alive, kendall can't come clean (publicly) and so he can't get the catharsis of punishment. this is why he compulsively shoplifts in season 2. fundamentally the tension here is between the class position kendall was born into (culminating in ascension to the ceo position) and the idea of respecting or valuing waitstaff (& other service workers). kendall can do what his father demands of him to become ceo, or he could radically upend his life by, say, confessing to the manslaughter---but he can't do both. so, for seasons 2 and 3 he's walking around with a tormented conscience, though ofc not tormented enough to take precedence over his desire to impress logan and ultimately become ceo.

after he confesses to his siblings, we see in season 4 that this seems to assuage his guilt: if they can forgive him, he must not be that bad a person (again, this goes back to how he values the opinions of others in his class over the actual life of a waiter). so when shiv finally brings up dodds in the finale, it resurrects the old conflict: what she's saying is that kendall did a bad thing, and that this should prevent him from being ceo (this also shows how shiv has faith in the morals of capitalist institutions & power). kendall's response finally settles the conflict. he can't be a person who seeks the ceo role and also be a person who wrestles wirh the moral weight of having killed a waiter; it's a crossroads for him. he sides with his class, throws his hat in the ceo ring, and finally disavows any care or compassion for dodds by simply blocking out the merest acknowledgment of his death.

big-picture, the suggestion here is that no one can become ceo of waystar (which is ofc a metonymic position) without embracing & benefitting from the sort of calculus kendall makes: capitalists' lives matter, workers' lives do not. thus, the roys' persistent mistreatment or (at best) invisibilisation of their staff, servants, &c throughout the series is not some kind of unique moral failing of theirs---it is simply an outcome of the structural factors that create their massive wealth. waystar, which again is standing in for capitalism more broadly, can exist only as a consequence of labour exploitation and expropriation, which is to say that devaluing the lives of workers starts long before kendall's chappaquiddick incident. as long as kendall keeps his class position he will get away with the killing, even though he loses the ultimate crown of becoming ceo. there is no way for kendall to be 'moral' and retain his social power and privileges, because that arrangement is predicated on exploitation and the social logic that rendered dodds disposable in the first place.

[7r0773r]

Don't Look at Me Like That by Diana Athill

Two sayings which I detest: "You must face facts" and "You can't have your cake and eat it." Why must you face facts when almost all of them are intolerable? Apart from the obvious ones like war and the bomb and concentration camps, think of the lesser ones: parents lock children in cold rooms and go away for the weekend leaving them with nothing but some bread and margarine; someone collapses in the street and people pretend not to notice so that they needn't become involved; kittens are put into sacks and thrown into rivers while still alive; a child is tormented by other children because he stammers or wears castoff clothing too big for him. All facts, and I know about them, and they get into my dreams, but how could I stay alive if I spent much time facing them? Even the tiny corners of cruelty and hopelessness which stick into my own life: what would have happened to me, during the time I am remembering, if I had faced them? The fact that I had not enough talent to become a painter; the fact that I was treacherous and dishonest and inadequate; the fact that I could only love someone as treacherous and dishonest and inadequate as I was; the fact that he and I could never be together as we wanted to be. If I had faced those last three facts I could only have ended it, and then I would have had to face the fact of being alone. Who could deliberately dive into the icy misery of being alone? Perhaps I do understand "poor Nella and Mike" when I think about it. And as for not having your cake and eating it, why not when in all those facts there is so little cake? To hurt Dick by telling him about Luigi was something I could not do; but to let it happen, and afterwards to let other things of the same kind happen . . . Only they never were real cake and the dreams grew worse and worse.

***

Doctors are always inadequate for anything but pills. I knew that if anything could make me mad it would be someone rummaging in my subconscious and dragging out all kinds of disgusting horrors—why does a mind have a subconscious if it's not for keeping things hidden? If I had things hidden there I knew better than to bring them out, and anyway I knew what was wrong with me. (p. 168)

***

The most surprising thing about happiness was that it seemed natural. It should have been almost shocking after so many meaningless years and the last months of misery, but day by day it became clearer that it was my element. Like any element it could contain other things while remaining itself. (p 182)

[undiscovered-horizon]

Imagine Sam calling you when Ketch brings Gabriel to the bunker.

Author's note: My boi Gabriel deserves so much better. This is quite angsty y'all

Sam was staring at Gabriel sitting in the corner of the room when Castiel asked him about something the Winchester man has been thinking ever since Ketch brought the archangel to the bunker:

"Are we going to tell (Y/N)?"

Before Sam looked at his friend to give him an answer, he noticed how Gabriel's attention shifted to Castiel for a second. Or, perhaps, it was just his imagination, just a hollow soapsuds of hope - hope, that there was still some of the sassy trickster inside the wreck of a man hugging his own knees, cuddling the cold wall and horrors of his mind. Sam really wanted for that crumb of focus to be real, to keep his faith afloat that Gabriel could still be saved.

"We should," he asnwered as he still stared at Gabriel. Most of all, Sam Winchester felt helpless. But now he had another tought nut to crack. He knew you and that was the problem: he knew you but couldn't begin to comprehend what you will feel once you see what was left of Gabriel. Sam had to venture into lands so unknown he was afraid what would come of discovering them.

Sam's finger lingered above the Call icon on his phone. How does one deliver such news? The memory of your grief after Gabriel's, supposed, death was still raw in his mind, and not something he visited often. Although your heart was still beating, back then you weren't in any way more alive than Gabriel. Sam remembered well the limbo you lingered for a few years and that's what scared him about the call he had to make: wouldn't it break your heart more that he was alive but in such torment no language in God's universe could begin to describe? At the same time, Sam knew he had to make the call, the right choice. He knew perfectly well how your heart is going to break but you deserved to know.

"Hey, Sam, what's up?" You sounded to be in a good mood. Oh, how he hated to be the one to ruin it.

"I, uh-" He wasn't sure where to begin. "This is going to sound weird, (Y/N) but I need you to believe me."

"You've never told me something weird that didn't turn out to be true. Shoot, I'm listening and believing." Sam squeezed his eyes shut when he heard your light giggle. He had to.

"Listen, there is no easy way to say it but...Gabriel's alive. He's at the bunker."

For a moment the line was silent. Truthfully, he expected a gasp, sobbing, maybe even a scream. He wasn't sure what to make out of the lack of reaction. The tense hesitance ended when a short sound announced the end of the call. You never hung up on him, and so Sam didn't know what to think. Were you angry? Upset? Maybe you thought someone was playing a cruel joke on you? You did not pick up the second time he called you. Or the other three times after that.

Sam was so focused on the call with Asmodeus he didn't even hear you enter the bunker. What was more surprising, neither did Castiel. Your presence became known only when you marched into the bare bedroom and interrupted the "negotiations" taking Sam's phone:

"I give you 10 min-"

"How about you bite my ass, Ronald McDonald?" You were clearly angry but in the most primitive way: in the same way, mother gets angry when her children are threatened. Your anger was raw, brutal and calculated, giving you tunnel vision only in red. Asmodeus had the misfortune of being on its receiving end.

"Good, I'll come for him myself."

"If you dare to come anywhere near him, you over-glorified redneck, I will make sure you spit out your vertebrae like a Pez dispenser. Piss off." And with those words spoken, you hung up on the Prince of Hell. "Would have been more satisfying if I could slam it on the hook." You added quietly.

Shoving his phone into Sam's hands, you turned to look at Gabriel who was sitting on the bed. Silence fell inside the bedroom, such quietness that surpassed the muteness of stars. It was hard for you to tell what emotions were inside you, what storms washed away the shore of your peace. Mostly, you felt empty. All of the oldest grieves that gnawed on your heart were brought together, so loud they turned to nothing but static noise, a loud ringing that didn't let you look anywhere else but the bloodied face of the man you loved. And it was horrible, it was horror, it drove you mad the longer you witnessed the remnants of agonies past but you couldn't look away. What if you did and suddenly he was gone again? Like the nightmare that haunted you every night since Lucifer supposedly killed Gabriel? Was it possible you were mad enough to perceive this nightmare as reality? Did your deranged mind prefer to stay in a realm with falsely-alive Gabriel than reality where he was truly gone? Was it easier to love a phantom than to grieve a corpse?

And in this cosmic quietness, breaking the silence between you two (a silence that has been seven years too long), Gabriel spoke the first word he had in so many days:

"(Y/N)?"

Among all the things Asmodeus' wrongdoings made him forget, there was this one word he clung to; one word that gained beauty the louder he spoke it. Those few syllables that his heart couldn't contain inside.

[spencersmagic]

a knife twists at the thought - SR

Prompt: a knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark - Arctic Monkeys

Summary: Spencer is new to this, and the poor boy is terrified

Couple: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid (i picture season 2/3 Spencer but y’all do you)

Category: angst

Word count: 3086 words

Warnings: general criminal minds stuff, mentions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of loss, HAPPY ENDING!!, my 3am writing, tooth rotting love, uhmm spoilers for Orwell’s 1984 (if anybody hasn’t read it), humiliation, Spencer crying and breaking my heart (lmk if you need anything warned or trigger tagged).

A/N This is very loosely based on 2x15 (VERY LOOSELY). I’m quite proud of this one :)

masterlist // 505 series taglist

*****

They say you never see it coming.

When a tragedy occurs, and someone’s life is turned upside down forever, they never see it coming. It just... hits them. Like an oncoming car ramming into a bystander who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No one has time to prepare. In our time-starved lives, there is no place for such a warning.

One day, you just wake up. And they’re not next to you. They’ve disappeared, leaving the stickiest, most unforgettable parts of themselves behind for others to grieve to: the smell of their shampoo in the pillows they used to share, the seconds just as you wake when you still feel like you have them - only to gain full consciousness and realise they left you behind - even the fucking jars, which never seem to be open because he’s just not there to do it.

And you feel your heart breaking all over again as your soul sticks to the parts that couldn’t be erased with the rest of him as he left. Because you needed him, you had him, and now he’s gone. No warning, no letter, no signs which could’ve helped you foresee such a tragedy, because how could he? He didn’t disappear on purpose.

She doesn’t understand why he's so absent. So unequivocally missing. And the person she would turn to to ask these riddled questions isn’t there to answer. Because he’s gone.

But they’re not there yet.

And she feels so close to that feeling - the helplessness, the pain, the empty cups next to her bed because he always carried them to the sink when she was finished with her tea the mornings of those rare days they got to sleep in. Those days when they had time. She can practically touch, with the tip of her fingertips, the waves of pain that would surge over her if he was gone for one more fucking minute.

She has to remind herself, over and over again, like a mantra. He’s not gone yet.

The “yet” at the end of her mantra just breaks her all over again.

She was always the one to tell Spencer “if you worry before something happens, in case it goes wrong, and then it does, you’ve managed to suffer twice through something painful for absolutely no reason”. It usually worked. Needless to say, she felt like a hypocrite right about now.

Because Spencer is gone. And she doesn’t know how to bring him back.

She knows only to watch the monitor, never once blinking, taking in everything that happened in that damned livestream - every word, every sound, every reference. She can only try to hear anything over the whimpers and sobs her love was letting out as he’s tortured by that man. She can only hear the cracks of his knuckles against Spencers soft skin, the same soft skin she had kissed mere hours ago before telling him to “be careful”. Her own way of saying the three little words the couple was too young to hear. She can only see his lips parting, sobs rumbling out of his body as the unsub abuses his frame over and over again - same lips which had kissed her forehead before telling her “i always am”.

Then again, she isn’t sure if its his voice which is filling her head with painful sounds or if her mind is playing tricks on her, memorising the horrifying vibrations coming from his chest for her to ever consider anything else. She hasn’t stopped hearing him since she turned on that damned computer.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever stop hearing it.

**

As a man of great intellect, Spencer always recurred to knowledge to understand difficult occurrences in his life. Burying himself in textbooks, novels, poems, and even music to understand pain, and himself having a life filled with it, he was an incredibly knowledgeable man.

He knew much. But right now, he only knew one thing.

In Orwells’ 1984, as Winston was being tortured (much like Spencer is right now), Orwell described the following:

“Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could only wish one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes”.

And, as a man who had acquired most of his intellect by immersing himself in trivial content in the face of pain, he found himself doing the same thing as the unsub hurt him over and over again, each blow seemingly more painful than the last. As his skin bruised, a causality of his abusers torment, he analysed the seemingly logical quote.

It must depend on the person, he was sure. In fact, a number of factors must be taken into consideration at this statement. For starters, Winston lives in a society incapable of any human feelings. There is only dominance, and those who attempt, in vain, to challenge it. Surely, if he had felt happiness, like the one you feel when the first day of spring rolls around, or like the one that creeps up on you as you look into the eyes of your loved one, surely, he would understand that some things can outweigh pain.

Love.

If Spencer’s mind could make sense of what he was feeling right now, he would understand, something he would figure of were he to leave this damned place, that he was thankful to the Gods, were there any, for having the unsub kidnap him and not Y/N.

Winston hadn’t understood emotional pain because emotions weren’t dealt with regularly. They were discouraged. That’s why he believed that there are no heroes in the face of pain. Because he doesn’t understand emotional pain.

He knew he was suffering. He also knew that Y/N was at the other side of the blinking camera suffering more than he could ever imagine.

**

They say emotional pain lasts 12 minutes. Anything one feels after this would be the aftermath of the cause of the pain in question. Pure emotional pain, the one you practically feel in your chest, the one that says “i can’t think, feel or be. not until this feeling dissipates”.

She had learned this from Spencer.

And she wished it were true. As she watched that damned monitor, she wished that all the venom the unsub was spewing at Spencer, all the verbal abuse, was long forgotten. She wished he could only feel the physical pain. Because the mind is incredibly stronger than the body - it could keep him awake, alive, for just enough time for the team to rescue him.

The entire team had huddled around the monitor around her. She was painfully aware that other people were seeing this. Which meant it wasn’t her imagination. It wasn’t another one of those damned dreams she would have when she slept a little too far away from Spencer’s touch.

They had only been together for two months, but his touch was all that could get her to fall asleep.

She jolted as the unsub landed another slap on Spencer’s cheek, swiftly grabbing his hair for him to look into the camera. He had a cut above his right cheek, just where she would kiss him in the mornings, and bruises all over his neck, jaw and left eye.

“Say hi to your team!” he mocked Spencer, chuckling darkly as he moved his almost lifeless body around for the team to watch in horror. Spencer let out a heartbreaking sob, feeling so vulnerable.

“Why don’t we make this interesting?” he jumped, as if he had gotten an idea. The unsub reached behind himself to grab a pistol, clicking off the magazine safety to put one bullet in one of the eight slots, leaving the other seven free. He pointed it at Spencer’s temple.

Her entire body shook the thought of seeing Spencer’s lifeless body, held up only by the ropes and that sick man’s grip around his curls. The same curls she grabbed as she kissed his face when she wanted his attention.

“I’m going to ask you some questions...” he said, voice dripping with sickening sweetness as he turned the roulette, “and if i don’t like your answer i’ll pull the trigger! Let God decide what I do with you. Sounds good?”. He wanted to humiliate Spencer.

However, Spencer made the mistake of not answering him. He was quickly reminded as the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes, pulling the trigger, a loud bang! sound expanding through the barn.

“I asked you a question!” he suddenly yelled into Spencer’s face.

“Y-yes, Sir” he whimpered, shaking at the ease at which the man pulled the trigger.

“Good, you’re learning”.

**

She experienced it by bits. Hotch’s hoarse voice. “Talk to me Garcia”. “We’ve got coordinates”. Everybody rushing to the SUVs. Tripping over her own feet on the way to the car. Morgan’s voice. The iPad, which still carried Spencer’s whimpers and the man mocking tone.

“I’ve got your diary, Spence” his sing-song voice didn’t match the disgusting man she was looking at. Nothing made sense.

“And I wanna know why...” he drew out the ‘y’ as he looked for something between the worn pages between his hands.

Of course she knew Spencer owned a diary. But she was mature enough to keep her hands to herself and her eyes on her own pages as he wrote on his, eyebrows creasing as he recalled all which he had experienced during the day. His face would twitch slightly at the memories, both good and bad, as he basically described his day word by word.

“...why did you wait until you were 24 to lose your virginity?” he asked in a clear attempt to humiliate and ridicule Spencer in front of his team.

“I-I didn't-” he could barely finish a word before a sob wrecking through his body at the humiliation, chest rumbling and voice wavering. “I didn’t want to lose it before, i w-wasn’t in a hurry” he rushed out. The man brought the pistol to his own chin, tapping it as he thought. “Hmm... I’m satisfied with your answer. Let’s dig deeper, shall we?” he asked as he went back into the pages.

“ooh! This one is new” that sick bastard was having fun with this, completely unaware that the team was less than 5 minutes away from their location.

“Care to read what you wrote three days ago? Right here” he turned the pages so Spencer could read them, though he was painfully aware of that entry he was talking about. His body shook violently. “P-please. D-don’t ma-make me do t-this” he whimpered, body feeling defeated.

“Wrong answer” the unsub said before pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger.

A shriek was heard from the iPad. The SUV went silent.

“He’s alive” she whispered, unable to speak up. “He-” she swallowed. “He’s alive. We’re not there, yet” her mantra became a reminder that she hadn’t been quick enough to help him. She had the tools to save him. Every second she had the knowledge to save him and didn’t was another second she remained impotent at the risk of losing the love of her life.

Spencer’s voice spoke from the iPad.

“C-can you at-at leas-st turn off t-the ca-amera?” he said between sobs.

And it hit her.

What hurt him the most wasn’t the memories he had to relieve, but the fact that the rest of the team would have to hear his most intimate thoughts. His deepest secrets.

He could bare the pain. The humiliation? That broke him.

“Aww” the unsub chuckled mockingly, “are you embarrassed?” he said, slouching down to look into his eyes. “Well too fucking bad!” he screamed into his face, spitting with every word he spewed at him. Spencer’s sobs got louder.

“O-okay okay!” Spencer caved, accepting the journal that got shoved into his face.

“Read, pretty boy” the unsub sang. That son of a bitch was having fun.

“We’re two minutes away, Y/N” Hotch said. Maybe it was he sobs, which were barely audible to herself, having accepted them as second nature after all the heartbreak she was experiencing, but Hotch needed her to be okay.

His own heart thumped into his chest, feeling as helpless as he’d ever felt. Seeing a member of his team - someone he was supposed to take care of, someone he was supposed to keep safe - was sobbing as he was physically and emotionally tortured. But he was painfully aware of the feelings Y/N was experiencing. The sheer fear that was running down her veins at the idea of them running out of time.

After a few sobs, Spencer started reading, interrupting himself occasionally with his whimpers:

“It’s been three months. Today, three months, seven hours and forty-six minutes ago, she did what I didn’t have the courage to do. She asked me out. “I’ve been wanting to ask you pretty much since the day i met you” she had said. Those words keep ringing in my head like a beautifully written symphony, intrinsically designed to make me face my deepest fears. Opening my scars one by one, dissecting them and reaching the simple conclusion that i was a coward.

She didn’t say it, but what she meant was “i’ve been waiting for you to do it, but you never did, so i had to”. We wasted time - a time so precious and sacred - because i was a coward.

I’ve never felt like this before. I never understood a love so deep as to move something so stubborn as the human spirit. I’ve read textbook after textbook, and novel after novel, and still I’ve never learned more than with her. But I was a coward. And i wasted her time. I fear that I still am.

A knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark. It’s impossible for me to ever be enough for her”.

Her heart broke at this confession. Even worse at the thought that he wouldn’t’ve told her, instead inhaling fear and exhaling rejection at every breath he took next to her.

“We’re here” she heard Hotch, looking at her. She grabbed a bottle of water and dropped the iPad, not hearing the teams objections at the lack of vest and preparation and ran into the barn.

She isn’t sure if she’ll ever stop hearing his whimpers. As she runs closer, she hears them louder and louder, decorated with sobs and cries, and small, meaningless replies to his abusers’ mocking words.

She kicked the door down, the loud bang booming across the room, only helping in raising Spencer’s sobs as he feared the sound had been the result of a certain trigger being pulled. As she looks at him, she realises just how much pain he’s been put through.

She remembers Orwells words, much like how Spencer had remembered them mere hours ago. And disagrees, wishing over and over, praying to the Gods that she would be the victim of such atrocious abuse. She wished she could take his pain. Morgan joined her at her side mere seconds later, yelling. “FBI! Put the gun down!”.

Spencer used the last bit of energy to lunge forward, hitting the unsubs stomach with his head, successfully getting him on the floor for Morgan to apprehend. Y/N rushed to Spencer’s side, untying him, as his now nonexistent sobs grew louder and louder, not only at the prospect of getting out of that horrible place alive, but also at the knowledge that Y/N had heard what he had so dreadfully recited.

Spencer collapsed into her arms, crying into her in the same way she was crying into him, and she wondered just how to take away all his pain. So they cried into each other, desperately grasping each others hair, skin, clothes, anything that would make them feel like they wouldn’t have to spend another damned second without the company of each other.

Spencer was the first to break the silence.

“I need-” he stopped, coughing. She reached for the bottle of water she had brought with her because she knew he would need it. She always knew what he needed.

He chugged it desperately, stray drops falling down his chin at his eagerness. He took a deep breath trying to steady his lungs.

“I need to get out of here” he choked out.

She grabbed him under the shoulders, careful not to hurt him - not being successful, realising that there wasn’t much of him the man hadn’t hurt. Y/N pulled him out, sitting down on the grass with him. Their legs intertwined, pulling each other impossibly closer. They kissed, over and over again. Not as an act of any sexual relevance, but as a reminder that they had each other in any way, shape or form. That they weren’t out of time.

The team was certain they would stay there, never letting each other go for another minute.

After what felt like seconds in their time-starved little world, she broke the silence, which had only been filled with their own cries and occasional sobs.

“Spence” she grabbed his chin to look into his eyes. They were dull, red and hooded. He was exhausted. “Mhmm?” he let out, looking into hers. She was his solace.

“How could you ever think you were anything but completely and unequivocally enough?” she whispered the words he dreaded.

But as Spencer looked into her eyes he knew, better than he had ever known anything, that he was enough. And she was enough. He realised that which she had known for the past three months (possibly longer). They fit like two marvellous puzzle pieces.

Her hands grabbed his cheeks slowly, as to not hurt or startle him, pulling his forehead into hers. “Baby, I can’t imagine anybody else waking up to me every morning. You’re so much more than enough”, she planted a small kiss on his forehead before resuming her position. “I’ll remind you every day of the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to believe it”.

And with their eyes closed, foreheads and noses pressed together and legs tangled between each other, pulling each other close, closer - around grass and voices and his abuser pressed into the hood of a police car, they only felt each other. With their shaky breaths, even shakier voices, fearing any words that would leave them in case they triggered a cascade of tears down their oh so vulnerable cheeks, they were more than enough.

***

I hope y’all liked it!! Feel free to let me know by liking, reblogging, or sending me a message :) 

super cool kid taglist: @lady-anon-x​ @spencerreid-mgg​​ @eoupe​ @inlovewithbabygirl​ @galaxydefenderjulia​ @username2002​

[officialleehadan]

In Conflict

All the usual warnings for this series. Morzan is a dark little cookie, and he doesn't pull his punches. If you don't like gore and violence, this one may not be for you.

+++

Blood Fire

+++

“Have you lost your mind!?”

“I should be asking you the same thing!”

“I’m not the one who wants to seek out a crazed blood mage!”

“We can’t keep waiting for her to come after us!”

Keeli and Morzan stood on opposite sides of Shandar’s stone work table, glaring at each other and angry. The fight was a bad one, marked by crackling magic and insults shot over their shared work. Shandar had long since retreated, and even Coré was sick of the argument.

Neither of them were willing to back down, and as a result, the argument had gotten significantly worse.

Keeli wanted to go after Morzan’s mistress. They couldn’t keep waiting for whatever she chose to send after them. It wasn’t like she was likely to just give up on retrieving Morzan, or claiming Keeli as her slave. Sooner or later, they were going to have to fight her or be destroyed.

Morzan felt otherwise. He hated his mistress above anything in the world, but he feared her too and he knew how powerful she was. Worse, there was her still-nameless new student. Morzan hadn’t seen much of the man, but he would not have the same compulsions Morzan did, and was very nearly his equal in power.

It would be a hard fight. Nearly impossible, if they weren’t careful and clever about it. There was every chance it would end in their deaths.

Keeli didn’t think they dared delay anymore. Morzan’s Mistress didn’t know their real abilities yet, or about their bond. It was their best chance to catch her by surprise. Since surprise was basically their onlyadvantage, it would be best not to lose it.

So they were fighting. Their first real fight since Morzan had arrived.

It was a bad one.

“You know what she did to me!” Morzan bellowed across the table, so angry his bloody red magic flared around his hands and left scorch marks on the stone table. “You experienced it from behind my eyes. Are you so eager to find out what it’s like first-hand?”

“You’re acting like we don’t stand a chance against her!”

“We don’t! What will it take to get that through your damned-fool head!”

“We would do fine if you would stop mincing around it and tell me what we’re really up against!”

That was the bulk of their argument. Morzan knew his Mistress better than anyone. Secure in the compulsions she put on his mind, she had never bothered to keep secrets from him unless it was to torment him. That meant he knew all about her tower, and the defenses that waited for them there.

Unfortunately, he was also utterly confident that they would both die badly if they tried to bring the tower down, and so he was resolutely refusing to tell Keeli anything about it. She couldn’t plan an attack until she knew what they were up against, and he knew it. Her own caution was his greatest weapon against her.

Keeli’s temper snapped like a thread, and her own magic woke to battle his. Silver fire burst around her, hot enough to make the air dance and her hair flutter.

“I’ve seen your nightmares!” she yelled at him, too angry to gentle herself. “I lived through them with you! I know what she would do! Do you want me to storm her tower alone! Because she’s going to kill us all if we don’t stop her!”

Furious, Morzan ripped down the shields between them and flooded her mind with horrors unlike even the worst of his nightmares. Blood painted her thoughts and her voice died in her throat.

Someone screamed as dark magic twisted their body into that of a misshapen scorpion, until their mind was gone, and only rage was left.

A woman sobbed out her last breath, skinned and flayed apart with meticulous care to keep her alive until the very end.

Two children fought to the death, armed only with sharp sticks, commanded to battle for the right to survive the night, only to fight again the next day.

Morzan himself, barely a teenager and begging for mercy, huddled at his mistress’s feet as she slowly cut the bones out of the hand of a serving girl who dared to be kind to him.

“That is what she will do to you!” Morzan shouted back as the horror just kept coming. Memory after memory of his cruel mistress’s favorite entertainments. All of them the darkest and worst of a wretched mind. “That is what she will do, while I am chained to the wall and unable to stop her. She will make me watch as she rips your mind and body apart, until you beg for death. Until your mind is a wasteland and all you dream of is the way she smiles as you scream. When she is done with you, when there is nothing worse she can do to you, she will turn you into one of the mageborn and send you to kill those you love.”

He yanked her into his many-layered memories of the mageborn. Of how making them, taking slaves, and travelers, and anyone she could catch and tormenting them, was his mistress’s favorite entertainment. There was no evil she flinched from. No cruelty she did not enjoy inflicting or worse, forcing others to inflict upon each other.

Morzan did not fear his own pain. It was an old friend. His only friend for most of his life.

Keeli’s pain terrified him. She was all he had to lose, and his mistress would rip her apart just to destroy him.

He could not bear the thought of his mistress’s evil touching her. He knew too well that if his mistress ever figured that out, if she ever realized his one weakness, she would stop at nothing to capture Keeli.

If she ever discovered their bond, well, a half-life as one of the mageborn would be a mercy compared to the endless torture of life as a blood-mage’s power-source. They would have just enough mind left to fill themselves with power, only for her to bleed it out of them each day.

“She will do worse than kill you,” Morzan finished, anger all but spent with nothing but cold, terrified dread in its place. “We aren’t ready. She has thirty years of experience on us and a powerful student to back her. Do you think we’re the first to want her dead? None of the many mages who came for her still draw breath. She knows how to fight our kind. She knows how to kill us. We need a better plan.”

There wasn’t much that frightened Morzan, but with the shields on their bond ripped away, he couldn’t hide from her. Keeli sighed as the worst of her anger flooded away all at once and left her sad and exhausted. Rather than speak immediately, she circled the table and tucked herself against his chest, with her arms tight around him. After a moment, he sighed and pulled her close.

“We’ll make a better plan,” she gave in quietly, a little angry still, but able to relent when he was so clearly in the right. “There has to be a way to end her for good. We just have to figure it out, and then she won’t ever be able to hurt anyone ever again.”

+++

Blood Fire:

Blood Mist

Flower Crown Dreams (Subscriber Only!)

Runes Written

Blood Fire

Red Salt Warning (Subscriber Only!)

Hunter Cry  (Subscriber Only!)

Cool Water Bond

Runes Written Gold

Argument Array

Dreamless Sleep

Forget Our Yesterdays

At the Last Moment

Healing Touch

Unbound, Unbroken

Blood Runes (Subscriber Only)

Ink in Water

In Dreaming Promise (Subscriber Only)

Rupture

In Conflict (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[radiosandrecordings]

Thinking about parallels between Jon and Gertrude, specifically in relation to sacrificing/saving. Jan and Daisy. Michael and Martin. Gerry and... Gerry.

Gertrude sacrifices Jan to the buried. It is, from an outside perspective, understandable. One person’s eternal torment for what Gertrude thought of as the safety of the entire world. It’s still one of the moments that freak me out the most in the show, when you realise he’s still alive in there.  Jon says that Daisy is the person who terrified him the most in the world. But he knew what the Buried was like. And he didn’t think anyone should be condemned to that. He risked himself to save her. 

The same with Michael and Martin. Gertrude also thought that sacrificing one life, Michael, would save everyone else. And to her mind she was right. She asks Peter to take them to to Ny Alysund and she leaves him there. Years later, Jonah gets Peter to send Martin to the Lonely. Jon promptly says ‘Fuck that, I’m going in after him, I don’t care if I don’t come back because it’s worth it for him’. 

I’m still not sure why Gertrude bound Gerry to the book, and I don’t think we’ll ever know, but even before that she was manipulating him by withholding information and generally being terrible to him. Jon meets him and could so easily have used him as the Hunters did, as a source of information. Hell, info is Jon’s thing, whatever use the Hunters had for him Jon would have found tenfold. But Gerry told him that it hurts to exist, and Jon said “Okay” and burnt his page because he didn’t want to see someone else suffer for his benefit. 

I think it speaks about their mentalities at large. Gertrude was extremely ‘ends justifies the means’, she looks at the trolley problem and has no qualms flipping the switch to lesser because she doesn’t care what kind of things she has to do to get an end she deems worth it. And while in retrospect we know she was wrong, she did genuinely think she was saving the world. She did deplorable things but I see where she was coming from. 

I think Gertrude can be compared to Tova McHugh from 155 Cost of Living. She sees herself as above everyone else, and she can keep going through life picking one person off at a time so she doesn’t have to be the sacrifice herself, because she’s the only one who knows how to orchestrate it all. This is in polar opposite to Jon. Jon has made mistakes, but he has never once asked someone else to be the sacrifice instead of him. His whole ‘not accepting help’ thing that applies to his self-care, more mundane aspects in S2 are reflected in his horror aspects. He will always throw himself headfirst into the danger alone. He sees himself as the expendable force here, whether that’s due to his lack of self worth (And how he views himself as a monster), or if he just... Wouldn’t even think to ask someone to go into the danger instead. 

[hiswordsarekisses]

BLANDINA: A Martyr for Christ: [Lynette Hughes] The story of Blandina has been preserved for us by the early church leader Eusebius in his book Historica Ecclesiastica. Blandina, a young slave girl to a Christian mistress in the town of Lyons, France in the year 177, struggled to keep the tears from streaming down her face as she watched her brothers and sisters in Christ being tortured one by one, in ruthless attempts to force them to renounce their faith. The tears flowed freely down Blandina's face as she tried not to remember all the horrors of the past few days that came flooding back . . . Day after day, Blandina had been subject to every kind of torture imaginable. Amid ragged gasping she had cried, “I am a Christian. We do nothing to be ashamed of . . .” She had somehow found strength in uttering those simple yet precious words to refute false accusations brought against her and others by non-Christian slaves in exchange for their freedom. She was determined, despite the horrendous tortures, that she would neither make false accusations against others or deny Jesus as her Savior even if it meant death.

As Blandina was tortured, her persecutors muttered to another, “It is a miracle that she is still alive! Her body is so mangled and she has so many hideous wounds that she should be dead by now! We are beaten, what else can we do to be rid of this cursed woman?”

Blandina, her body torn and twisted with unthinkable torture, was lead out to the amphitheatre to watch as a 15 year old Christian boy named Ponticus was being torn apart by wild animals believing under the duress she would weaken at the brutality she was forced to watch. But Blandina courageously prayed to her Lord and called out encouragement and strengthened Ponticus as well as other Christian victims as they endured torture and violent death to stand fast in the faith and trust Christ.

Despite the terror of being whipped, placed on the rack and burned with hot irons, Blandina did not renounce her faith. At last, her persecutors, finding no way to break her resolve, put her in a net and threw her before an enraged bull in the arena, which repeatedly tossed her in the air and furiously gored her. She was then finished off with a sword.

Blandina held on firmly to her belief in Christ throughout her terrible ordeal. She entrusted her life to Christ’s hands and believed that to enter eternity would be worth the torment she had to endure to get there. Her persecutors later admitted that they had never known a woman to suffer so much for so long. There were 48 martyrs among the Christian victims at Lyons but Blandina is the one most remembered. She and her contemporaries are memorialized by a marker at the place of their martyrdom in the ancient amphitheater. You can visit this marker in Lyons , France today.

With Christian persecution on the rise worldwide her story is a reminder of Jesus’ timeless warning in John 15:18: “If the world hates you, you know that it hated Me before it hated you.” We must cling to the knowledge that the grace of our Lord and Savior is sufficient for every situation we may have to face.

Make no mistake, hostility toward Christians in the United States is escalating and we must have the sense and courage to prepare ourselves for what lies ahead, and ask ourselves, “What price am I willing to pay to be faithful to my Lord?” Persecution is a sign that you’re a threat to the powers of darkness, that you’re making a difference for the Kingdom of God. Our kind of socially acceptable, spectator kind of Christianity that provokes no hostility from the enemies of the Gospel is not biblical. We have been granted for Christ’s sake, not only to believe in Him, but to suffer for His sake! "For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it" (Matthew 16:25).

The story of Blandina shows clearly how we are to respond when faced with persecution. As Hebrews 12:2 says; “Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.”

[pleasantanathema]

Graves into Gardens | Reiner Braun x Reader | Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Sins of the Past

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Modern AU, spoilers up to season four, slight manga spoilers (only by including characters met later), captivity, mentions of violence, mentions of character death, enemies to lovers, angst, and eventual smut (don’t worry, it’ll come sooner than you think).

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: As promised, here’s chapter two! Chapter three will take a little longer to come your way as I have a final thesis due in a few days. Also, I promise that I’ll give answers to things that have happened in the past between Reiner and reader. Just gotta wait for the right time to reveal it all. 💕

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

          Reiner laid flat on his back, chest twisting with melancholy as he eyed the lazy ceiling fan. He couldn’t sleep even if he tried, not with the day’s events still so fresh in his mind. Everything happened too quickly, a whirling rush of movements and decisions that left him caught in a purgatory of past and present. When Zeke had kicked your head into the floor, Reiner instinctively put pressure on the trigger of the gun squeezed too tightly in his hand. He wondered if things would be easier if he had taken the situation into his own hands and not let you live to torment him another day.

           Though, he knew the ghost and the guilt would haunt him even more than your living presence.

           That saying was rolling around in his brain, the one his mother always used to recite whenever he’d get into mischief as a child, be sure your sins will find you out.

           Well, they had, and one of his biggest regrets was now asking him about fucking Marco Bott. How long had it been since he heard that name? The Scouts had stopped muttering it even before the boy’s blood ran cold. He still remembered the smell of gun smoke, remembered how Bertie had fallen into his chest and cried at the horror of it all.

           But there was nothing new to be said about that past, yet even still, Reiner feared that you already knew what had been left unsaid.

           He hadn’t even bothered to undress, just let his weight sink into his mattress until his restlessness got the better of him. He knew his agonies would call to be smothered, that his frustrations would lead to him marching down the same hallway to face the inquiries of an equally troubled mind.

           He debated going to Zeke first. He knew his comrades would still be up in the meeting room, sleep and disgust in their eyes. Last he checked in, the Chief had Bertie scribbling on the whiteboard as he threw out all the notions and ideas that they had on how to break you down, on what you could possibly know that would be of interest to them. Reiner hadn’t stayed long enough to watch the black ink dry—he didn’t want them to pry into his time with you. He’d told them just enough: you didn’t give him anything worthwhile other than admitting you might speak if you were fed information from their side as well. When he’d left, the last thing written out in bold letters was a list of lies to feed you.

           Reiner was going to end this shit. One way or another, you were going to disappear from his life again; he was going to throw you back into the sea of the past where you belonged, dead or alive.

           A sick pride boiled inside of him as he saw the shock and fear spread across your pretty face as he threw open the heavy metal door. Good, you should be scared of him.

           He spoke your name with a bitterness he’d become too familiar with, dragging a chair from against the wall to sit directly in front of your iron cage.

           He’d only been gone a few hours, yet you already looked more tired, a little more frail, like if he screamed too loudly you might melt into a puddle where you sat on the floor.

           Too much time alone with nasty thoughts can make you weak, that much he knew all too well.

           He cleared his throat, cracking his knuckles beneath his fist, “Listen to me. You talk now, and maybe I’ll be merciful and kill you quickly before the others get the chance to come pick at your bones.”

           “You know my stipulation, Braun,” he watched your eyes narrow, determination coating your voice, “answer my question and I’ll answer yours. Let me die knowing the truth about—”

           “There is no truth about Marco.”

           “I know you had something to do with it. I kept finding holes in your story, and now that I know who you really are, I have no doubt that there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

           An angry sigh rushed out of his nose. He didn’t know what he was thinking coming back here so soon, why did he ever suspect that you’d ease up on this issue? He should’ve known that all your disdain for him began when that idiot got himself killed.

           “Marco was cute and clumsy, you know that. He was in the wrong place at the wrong—”

           “No, he wasn’t!” you sat up on your knees, shackled hands shaking, “I trained that kid myself. I know he knew how to use his gear; I know he wouldn’t just…he couldn’t have gotten into that situation alone.”

           “You’re running out of time. Stop wasting your breath on something as useless as Marco Bott.”

           He could tell there were more words brewing in your mouth, but you were swallowing them down.

           Reiner leaned his elbows on his knees, burdensome back hunching as he debated what to do here. He watched you closely for a moment, saw how you were constantly shifting your weight, fidgeting with the cuffs around your wrists. Bruises were blooming on your skin, especially around the tender flesh of your fingers where he had crushed them earlier. A vile mixture of remorse and compassion spread down his nerves at the sight of you.

           “My friends don’t know I’m here,” he admitted, observing how your still brilliant eyes looked up at him.

           “I was once your friend, you know.”

           You spoke the words so slowly, so dolefully that he actually felt them begin to pierce at his heart.

           “We were never friends.”

           That much, he knew, was a lie.

━━━─── • ───━━━

          “Reiner,” your tongue pressed against the back of your teeth as you stared into his golden eyes. He felt dangerous, fingers mean against your flesh, digging into your thigh, petting at the column of your throat.

           But you felt protected, secure, your hands threatening to tear at the buttons of his shirt from how tightly you clung to him. You craved a comfort that you’d come to find from being pressed against his body.

           “I’d kill someone for you, I hope you know that.”

           You wondered if the same memory was playing in his mind, behind his older, more noble face. You felt them, the sins of your past, like a heavy string binding the two of you together in this cold room. You knew there were feelings you could tug on, emotions that could have you both tumbling to the floor and wishing that the past could be washed away. But there were too many scars, too many faults that bound you together, wounds that time could not heal.

           And you knew your time was running thin.

           Selfishness reared its ugly head. You wanted to live, you needed to get back to Paradis, back into the arms of the people you loved. You didn’t want to die because of your stubbornness, or out of some forged loyalty that you knew friends would even give up if it meant being together one last time.

           “We know about the arms trading,” you conceded, head hanging low.

           You heard his chair scrape against the floor as he sat to attention.

           “How?”

           You thought about all the carefully considered words that you’d played in your mind earlier. You couldn’t give too much, but you had to lay enough on the table to make yourself valuable, to perhaps make yourself trustworthy. You needed to sprinkle lies into the truth, give a little in hopes of taking a lot.

           “Not everyone knows. It has been an investigative project I’ve been working on with Erwin and Miche…” you sucked in a deep breath, eyes closing, “we only figured it out because it came up as we were inquiring into the legitimacy of the President of Paradis. We’re pretty sure he’s a pawn, that there’s some untouchable group of aristocrats pulling his strings and ruling the nation from the shadows.”

           You waited patiently to see if he had any remarks, but the brooding man before you stayed silent. You could feel the weight of his gaze, scrutinizing, curious, perhaps disappointed that you’d be willing to give away secrets so easily.

           “That’s what you can give to Yeager. Tell him that…tell him that I’m tired of working and killing for a government that I can’t trust, whose true intentions I don’t know. Tell him I’m willing to work with him.”

           “And why would he be interested in that? You’re much more valuable as an information source than an agent.”

           You finally lifted your face to him then, a bold trepidation creeping over your skin.

           It was now or never.

           “Reiner, what I have to say next is something I’ve saved only for you. You can do with it what you will, but I beg of you, be careful with it. This could hurt you as much as it could hurt me in the long run.”

           Part of you expected him to leave again, to bristle at the thought of hearing something he doesn’t want to know.

           But he stayed, brows wrinkling together as he studied you before him. You felt like a beggar at his feet, spreading out all you carried in hopes that it was enough to appease the executioner before you.

           “Tell me,” he demanded, “though I make no promises to keep it silent.”

           You felt your courage implode. You almost wanted to gobble up your information and let it rest inside you forever to be gnawed at by your conscience.

           But if there were any fragments left of the man you once knew, of the Reiner Braun who had once held you so dearly, you knew that he would latch on to your words.

           “Zeke—your war chief—is working with Paradis. He’s plotting something so devious that even Erwin can’t pinpoint what it is, but we are certain he has contacts within the government that go beyond securing weapons for Marley.”

           You took a moment to pause, to let what you were saying sink into that thick skull of his.

           “Reiner, something seriously fucked up is going to happen if we don’t figure out what’s happening. And what’s happening is bigger than us—it’s bigger than all the shit we’ve been through. Help me, or it will be more than just me dying.”

You surveyed him as he straightened his broad shoulders, rolling them like a predator who was examining his prey. You’d just offered your life to him, held it out on willing hands with perhaps irresponsible words.

           You held in a sob as he left wordlessly, leaving his empty chair behind.

━━━─── • ───━━━

           Reiner sat with his arms crossed, trying to keep his face neutral as he watched Bertie haphazardly stretch his long arms across the board to erase of their previous work, writings of threaten Erwin, reveal the past of Paradis, and remove the bucket so she can’t piss all being wiped away from thought. He wondered, for a moment, if his friends were idiots, or just wasting time because they knew he’d wander back into her orbit sooner or later.

           He’d come straight to them, of course, straight to his trusted comrades and announced he’d managed to pry your lips open.

           Sans torture, he had stressed to Galliard.  

           But he had sat on the real information you gave him, letting your confessions about Zeke fester in his mind.

          Part of him wanted to believe you; he’d always been wary of his superior officer, always knew that his cunning and depravity could lead them all down a path of no return one day. But another part of him thought you were toying with him, trying to manipulate his doubts and sow seeds of skepticism into his mind. You’d always been so capable of getting whatever you wanted, always had a charm for subtle exploitation.

          “How can we believe any of this?” Annie berated, lighting a cigarette in the room despite knowing it was against Zeke’s rules.

          “Because we know she’s close to Erwin, close to the brass that runs the Scout Police Force,” Reiner countered.

          “More like she has always been up his ass, probably in his fucking bed too.”

           Reiner didn’t like the image that flashed in his mind, didn’t like the thoughts of the Commander running his hands across your skin, of you tangled in his sheets. He chided himself, worried it was a jolt of jealousy, but at this point, he could never distinguish his emotions anymore.

          “Annie,” Zeke hushed her, finally taking a seat at the rounded table instead of pacing a hole into the floor, “everything she has said adds up. I’ve kept our arms trading as quiet as I can, but if those little rats were going around interrogating congressmen, then it’s very possible one of them squealed on our operations just to keep their puppet president in power.”

          “So, it’s true then?” Bertholdt chimed in, shaking a marker within his aching fingers as he paused from taking notes, “that the government of Paradis is basically a sham.”

          “I’m afraid so.”

          And how do you know that? Reiner wanted to question, wanted to prod at the smug man who was waving cigarette smoke from his face.

          “So, what are we going to do with her?” Reiner finally addressed the elephant in the room, pulling at the last remaining thread to this horrible game they had gotten themselves into.

          “We’ll keep using her, of course. Though I don’t think she will give anything else up so freely. We need to give her some hope that we trust her, that she’s going to live through this little nightmarish web we’ve caught her in.”

          Reiner didn’t like the tone in Zeke’s voice. He seemed too relaxed, too humored by it all.

          It was at this time that Pieck wandered into the room, carefully balancing a crutch underneath her arm. She was carrying that soft smile of hers, leaning against the wall momentarily before also settling at the table.

          “A little birdy told me what all is going on,” she turned her grin to Galliard, whose chest puffed at his recognition, “Sorry I couldn’t make the last mission, Chief, the old leg just couldn’t handle it. But, I do have a suggestion to your little, hm, captive issue here.”

          The room felt tense, everyone focusing on the small woman as her prim cheerfulness refused to fade.

          “Let her free, under supervision, of course. Turn our old reconnaissance mission on its head; watch an outsider from inside our group, see if we can get her comfortable enough to open up again.”

          “Yes, exactly, Pieck!” Zeke let out a hearty laugh as he smacked the table with an open palm, wicked delight brightening over his features. He ran his fingers through his blonde ponytail, like he was settling into relief.

          Reiner felt his heart sink into his stomach, acid tearing at its flesh.

          “And it seems we have just the man for the job, seeing that he magically got the little vexation to open her mouth.”

          “No.”

          Reiner gritted his teeth, jaw flexing at the thought of being your god damn babysitter.

          “Oh yes,” Zeke fished around in his pocket then, pulling out a set of keys and sliding them across the table. Reiner didn’t move, just let the clinking metal fall into lap and sink into his thigh.

          “Go let her out of her cage, let her know we’ve agreed to take up her offer of help, but only if she follows orders and stays in your sight.”

          “Don’t you think a woman is more suited to this?” Annie chirped, carelessly smothering her cigarette out directly onto the table, hot ash settling into the grooves of oak.

          “You already passed on this task, sweetheart. Besides, it seems she might find Braun a little more tolerable after all.”

━━━─── • ───━━━

          And all this, all these words, all this fucking time passed, led to Reiner standing before you once again. His head rested against the rusted iron; grip so tight around the metal bars he worried he might actually bend them.

          He’d relayed the messages, but ensured you that this fucking Zeke business had stayed behind tight lips.

          When he opened his eyes, his vision focused on you, still sitting, an almost dumbfounded look on your tilted, tired head.

          “Thank you,” you whispered to him, a sincerity he wasn’t used to pooling in his ears, dripping down his skin.

          “Don’t thank me yet. There are still long nights ahead of you.”

          Ahead of him, he recognized.

          All he wanted was for you to disappear, to be washed away, but it seemed you were about to become a permanent stain on his life—a living, breathing body to remind him of the past he had left in the dark depths of his mind to rot.

          Be sure your sins will find you out, he mused, looking at a sin that might be too tempting not to partake of.

Next Chapter

[cyclicalaberration]

Unrecorded Histories

Eret is a historian. The server changes so fast that events get forgotten in less than two months sometimes, so trying to preserve it was crucial. Historians are few and far between nowadays, griefing and abandonment and time decaying all documents.

They have only known one other, but he is highly specialized, knowing more about the wastelands of 2B2T than any has cared to know in decades, as the warzone was under constant change.

Recording history is hard on many servers, but it feels that the SMP is harder to record than most. Few people remember more than a decade back, and most information is lost faster than that with the amount of times old builds have been griefed. Eret has been around a long time, and they are still learning new things.

It’s ironic that the one dedicated to preserving history cannot remember their own.

They remember a city of four, they remember white eyes. They remember the smell of spruce wood, coal dust and ozone. They remember the squelch of netherrack, redstone particles, gold. They have always hidden their eyes. They didn’t use to hide their eyes. Conflicting accounts. They remember thunderstorms.

They remember being loved, they remember dancing. They remember singing, and spinning, and laughing. They do not remember more from before the SMP.

They have no problem remembering the smp, the horrors, the hurt. They have no problem remembering the torment. They do not remember the life they led before.

They sit upon the pedestal in their castle, staring as the redstone particles dance. They and Foolish have been searching for weeks, to no avail. They don’t remember. The netherrack is warm beneath them, and it pulses every once in a while. They don’t remember. They don’t even know what they are.

Their glasses sit in front of them. They stare at their reflection, blank white eyes staring back at them. Nobody reacts well to their eyes, only Foolish. Decay creeps up their fingers again, the withering lingering as their hands, their cheekbones, their chest, burn. They have never died to a wither, but they have the lingering effects of one who’s withered a thousand times over. Their joints creak and they massage their hands.

They don’t even know what they are. A hybrid, certainly, but they don’t know what their other half is.

“Okay, now he’s just Herobrine,” echoes through their head, Philza’s first reaction upon seeing their eyes. They can’t shake that name.

They shove their glasses on their face with shaky hands, gloves hiding their ashen fingertips, and clip their cape on, gold clasp gleaming with the crest of their kingdom, a kingdom near dissolved. Their crown sits unworn. They don’t need it where they’re going.

“Eret! Old pal! What brings you to my temple?” Foolish drops the sandstone he was moving, turning to face them, rows of teeth betraying nothing but excitement, emerald eyes shining. The gold beacon on his pyramid spins, and Eret takes a deep breath.

“Hey Foolish.” Foolish’s face falls, and he shrinks down so they’re the same height,

“The withering bothering you again?” Eret nods. There was no point in denying it, the ash was creeping out from under their glasses. They massage their hands again, ignoring the burning in the middle of their chest, the pain where their glasses press on the withering skin, but that wasn’t why they’re here.

“That’s not why I’m here. I just-.” They flinch as another bolt of pain shoots through them, but this time it doesn’t fade. Their face burns and itches and screams in agony, and when it pulses again, they bite their tongue so hard it bleeds, the taste of iron filling their mouth. They’re blind with pain. Their eyes burn, their face burns, their hands burn. They try and speak and they start to cough, each cough sending more pain shooting through their body.

They are sitting down when they can think again. They don’t know when that happened. They can see again shortly after, unimpeded by sunglasses. Foolish is crouched in front of them.

“Old pal, that isn’t phantom pain! That’s active withering! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Withering- usually isn’t that bad.”

“Withering- Withering has a lot of long term consequences! In most mortals, repeated withering can cause cataracts, loss of joint function, temporary paralysis, night terrors, insomnia- Eret, how many withers have you fought recently?”

“I don’t remember- twelve? Maybe? Twelve I’ve used for beacons.” Foolish’s jaw goes slack, and another, smaller, spasm of pain shoots through them.

“Have you properly- of course you haven’t. Foolish, foolish, of course they were gonna be rediscovered-”

“What are you talking about?” Eret looks up at him, trying to climb to their feet on shaking legs. Foolish offers them a hand and they take it, leaning on him.

“Remember when I mentioned the wither cult? We tried to stop it from happening again, destroyed all information we could get our hands on. We were young and stupid, and of course it’d be rediscovered in this area. Lets see if I have the stuff to take care of this-” Foolish’s hand hovers just over Eret’s ashy cheek, just under their eyes- “You just stay here, I have to look for my supplies.” Foolish helps them to sit on the tail of his snake statue, and starts to dig through his chests, muttering quietly.

“There’s not much I can do to keep it away until the withering retreats, but this should make it hurt less, and send it away faster.” Foolish pulls out a tube of what looks like homemade burn cream, but darker, and wipes it over their face, letting them massage it into their hands. “Is there any other decay I should know about?”

Eret nods, dropping their cape and gesturing towards their back. Foolish hisses.

“How long?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Drink this.” He hands them an instant health potion, and then a glass of milk. “Can I help you with this?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, you really outdid yourself old pal. I thought you might’ve learned your lesson, but you really haven’t changed that much.”

Eret smiles, and Foolish stands up and steps back, handing them back their cape. “I have another potion after this, but until the decay decreases, I don’t think there’s much more we can do. So let’s get to the bottom of this memory loss then.”

--

Herobrine is a god. He is a god with empty eyes. He is a god who floats. He is a god who builds. He is a god of fear. He is older than the nether. He saw wither skeletons with their flesh still tied to their charred bones. He saw the river that flowed through the soulsand valleys. He saw the nether in its prime. He is older than Prime. He is older than XD.

He strips trees of their leaves, leaving them twisting, skeletal husks in the dead of summer. He is a mischievous god, a vindictive god, an evil god, a god of chaos. He saw the monuments when they still saw the sun, unflooded and unguarded, still worshipped at. He saw the temples worshipped at, he saw the mine shafts dug. He saw the fortresses built, the strongholds the last ditch effort to avoid the devastation.

He is older than the end.

He is old, and he got bored. And boredom makes gods antsy, makes them stressed, makes them bored. Bored gods are dangerous gods. And Herobrine had been bored for centuries. So it was to be expected that upon his first contact with another being, he caused mischief. He was a bit vindictive, perhaps.

But Steve grew used to him, and Alex grew exasperated, and he grew fond of the adventurers. He couldn’t scare them any longer, and eventually they grew fond of him as well.

Eventually, in their travels, they set up a base. And he built. Alex and Steve would hunt, farm, explore, mine, but he would build. He built cities, villages. And sometimes, sometimes he would strip forests of their leaves, but only if he was extremely, extremely bored.

Finding a child in the nether was the strangest event in a few centuries, but that didn’t say much. Finding a godling was.

He named it Eret. Alex was confused, Steve was adoring, Herobrine would die for them.

Eret grew slowly, as godlings tend to do. They were smart, and fast, and at some point they set out, exploring new areas of the world, and they returned, a totem of death in tow. Eret and Foolish, as he had been named, were close. They were ever so close, and ever so chaotic. Herobrine laughed, when the angel of Death visited to tell him that his kid was interfering with the Blood God’s business.

Alex was less amused. Steve found the whole thing rather endearing.

Eret was home for a while, telling them about a time traveller they met, when they were summoned. They were there, and then they were not, and he had no idea where they went. Steve said they’d be fine, Alex sent out letters to everyone they could think of, and Herobrine sent a letter to Foolish.

Foolish sent him back a letter, saying they were fine, saying they were alive, in a land of XD’s making, a land where he had no power. He didn’t know it would affect their memory.

--

Eret shakes their head, the sand hot against their skin, in shock.

“I- I don’t remember. I’m so sorry, Foolish.”

“You will. In time, you will, I promise. We will figure this out together, old pal, on my word, I will help you. And if you don’t remember, we’ll make new ones. Now,” Foolish slides a disc into his jukebox and bows to them, extending one hand. “Let’s start here. May I have this dance?”

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (12) || atz

The two of you stop outside a dark, smoky cabin.

It’s dark now, the sun having sunk behind the waves a while ago, the moon taking its place in the sky. Shifting shadows are cast in the gloom of the shop, and the dead snakes hanging at the doorway really isn’t encouraging you to go in any further.

You turn to stare at Jongho dubiously.

“To be fair,” Jongho says as he looks over at the eerie, shoddy establishment with equally doubtful eyes. The rickety bamboo frame looks like it could collapse on itself any moment. “It didn’t look this creepy the last time I was here.”

You swallow uncomfortably. “Maybe we should go back-”

“There is no fear in stepping forward, only moving back…” A hiss comes from deep within the shack and you jump, hand clenching around Jongho’s wrist in a vice grip. A bead of cold sweat slides down your neck and you turn to the young battlemaster with a silent plea in your eyes.

He nudges you towards the entrance gently. “I’ll be with you. There’s no need to be scared.”

That does make you feel better about your chances of leaving the dingy building alive, but you still don’t feel very eager to step inside. With Jongho’s hand on your back, you step cautiously into the fortune teller’s booth.

The small space is dimly lit, the only light coming from the flickering stubs of candles on the rough wooden table at the very back. Even as short as you are, you have to stoop underneath many of the strange things hanging from the ceiling. You hear Jongho’s muffled cursing behind you as he bumps into everything and anything in his way, things that you’re lucky to have been small enough to avoid.

There’s a small hearth at the side, coals still glowing red from a recently put out fire. Dried herbs and animal parts lie scattered everywhere on the floor, and to your left you see a stack of wooden cages stacked upon each other, every one holding some sort of rodent or gigantic spider. You inhale nervously and the pungent smell of burnt hair and animal excrement fills your lungs.

But there is no sign of the fortune teller.

You glance nervously at Jongho, who’s dusting the cobwebs from his shoulders. “It seems like she isn’t here-”

“Customers...” You shriek in horror as you see a pile of rags that had definitely been unmoving just seconds before burst into life, wheeling backwards as hysteria washes over you for a moment. Then Jongho catches you from the back firmly with strong arms, and calm washes gently over you once more. You catch your breath slowly.

“We’re here for a reading.” The young battlemaster’s voice is unwavering. You can’t quite make out her face underneath the tattered hood she’s wearing, but you can smell her breath all the way from across the table and see the light reflected in her near maniacal eyes. The fortune teller grins to reveal a mouth of yellowing teeth.

“Sit!” She demands, pointing dramatically a rickety seat in front of the table. You eye it doubtfully, unsure whether that can really hold your weight considering that it looks like it’s on the verge of collapse, but Jongho nods you forward.

Surprisingly, the seat doesn’t shatter under you.

“Fortune favours the fair.” The fortune teller leans across the table to take a closer look at you. You can count every single decaying tooth in her mouth, she’s much too close for comfort. Your skin crawls with goosebumps as you feel her eyes rake across your face.

“Don’t touch him.” Jongho snaps, his unyielding hand stopping the fortune teller in her tracks. She hisses at him, more animal than human, slinking back into her seat like a feline.

You clear your throat nervously, even though you’re honestly terrified at this point. You can feel phantom fingers brushing up your spine and neck and there’s an unsettling feeling in your stomach that feels like a coiling snake.

“You’re a fortune teller?”

“A magician, dearie.” The way she says it, so sickly sweet, sends a shiver down your spine. The room seems to drop in temperature. “It depends on what you want to know.”

“How much will a reading be?” Jongho cuts across her and the woman doesn’t look at him, eyes instead fixated on you. You don’t like it at all.

“You have a pretty face, my sweet.” The old hag croons, stroking your face with bony, coarse fingers. You resist the urge to scream out loud as ice creeps over in your veins. “I’ll give it to you free.”

Then a knife flashes out of nowhere.

This time, a scream does leave your lips, but then you realise that she’s only hacked off the end of your braid, leaving your hair tumbling around your face to above your shoulders in messy waves. Jongho’s hand clenches around the hilt of his cutlass. “One more time, magician, and the next thing getting cut is your neck.”

“You young ones are so skittish, like mice…” The wizened crone cackles as she hobbles to the fire, breaking a few twigs and setting them alight in a bowl. A strange, heady fragrance begins to fills the room, the air seeming to thicken as smoke spirals between you. You cough at the smell and spot the fortune teller sniffing your hair appreciatively.

You try your best to force down the bile in your throat.

With the same dagger she’d just used to cut your hair, she stabs an unfortunate rodent from a cage and you wince at its dying shriek. Its blood splatters across the table and seeps into the wood. You wonder exactly how many fortune and deaths it has seen.

The fortune teller then tears a sprig of dried plant from a bundle of herbs. Mistletoe, you recognise from your many lessons with San. She throws it over the fire and holds her hand out expectantly.

“Your finger.”

“She’s going to take my finger?” You whip around to stare at Jongho in horror, but by then the fortune teller has already grabbed your hand and yanked you forward.

To your relief, she simply pierces the tip of your index and squeezes three drops of your blood into the bowl. Then you hear San in your head lecturing you about the filth and dirt and grime and how you’re going to die from a thousand different illnesses and you shrink back into yourself, trying to clean the wound as well as possible as the fortune teller throws in a few strands of your hair, tucking the rest in her sleeves.

The fortune teller suddenly tosses everything in the bowl into the fire and to your shock, the flames turn bright green. You scramble backwards, nearly falling off your chair, but Jongho steadies you by the shoulders, hands warm against your freezing body.

“Watch.” He says seriously, and so you do.

The fortune teller leans over the fire, inhaling deeply for a long moment. When she speaks again, her voice is soft, disembodied, as if she is underwater.

“Oh nameless one…”

Your eyes fly wide with shock at her first words. How does she know that you have no name?

“Child of the sea… you’re missing something very, very important to you… The secret you keep will ruin the trust you have built...”

Goosebumps prickle on your skin. You thought this witch merely wove fortunes that people wanted to hear, but she seems like so much more than that. Her eyes slowly blink open to stare at you with wide, dark eyes.

“To pass the trial, one must cross into death and awaken in life.” The fortune teller shudders, her arms trembling from the effort of holding her trance. “The biggest obstacle to overcome is yourself… I see a jewel resting in a jar of clay… Clay!”

“Clay?” You repeat after her, puzzled, but then she lunges for you before either you or Jongho can react. Her bony hands grab for your collar in a vice grip, her eyes searching your face hungrily. A scream leaves your mouth as you try to pry her from you.

“Let go of him!” Jongho snarls, but the little shack is too small for him to reach around you to remove the fortune teller's hands. The old woman ignores him completely, fingers stroking at your cheeks and nose haphazardly.

“How beautiful you are.” She breathes almost reverently, completely ignoring your frantic struggling and fear creeps over your skin. “I never thought it was possible, that I would see one like you… One as perfect as you…”

What?

“What are you saying, you old hag?” Jongho snaps, trying to remove her from you, but her grip on you is surprisingly strong.

“Such a new creation, such a perfect work of art!” The fortune teller almost sobs, and at this point terror seizes you. “I can't believe I got to lay eyes on a vessel that has only existed for a moon!”

Your heart stops beating inside your chest.

Jongho stills besides you, deathly silent. “What did you say?”

“Who made you?” She begs you, shaking you back and forth. You simply stare at her blankly, unable to comprehend what she's saying. Made you? What did she mean, made you? As in your mother? The person who had given birth to you?

As if in answer, the necklace you wear around your neck slips out of your shirt, and everything stands still for a moment.

Maybe it’s because you’re so close to the fortune teller, but you see every expression that crosses her face. First curiosity, then recognition, then shock. Her eyes fly open, as if she’s just been struck by some sort of divine revelation and her pupils instantly dilate with raw fear, the black almost swallowing the brown of her irises.

The fortune teller shrieks and yanks her hands back from you as if she's been burned. “You're one of hers! Leave! Leave before she finds me!” You’re too shocked to move.

Hers?

“Let's go.” Jongho urges you, clearly as stunned by the encounter as you are but in control of his wits a million times more than you’ll ever be. But you fight your way back to the fortune teller, who's slumped in a pile of rags against the wall.

“Who is she? And what do you mean by 'who made me’?” Your voice cracks at the last question, torment ripping at you from the inside. What did she mean, made?

“Leave me be!” The woman screeches and Jongho claps his hands over his ears. The people walking past outside must think that there's a murder going on. “I have no wish to meet your mistress!”

Mistress?

Desperation snaps in you. You have no idea what she's talking about, but you need answers to the hundred questions spilling over in your mind.

“Answer me or I'll stay here till she comes for you!”

“You fool!” The woman wheezes, curling into a ball. “I am unworthy of looking upon her face, the one who you have made a deal with, the sea witch!”

Deal.

“What deal?” You snap, furious. The one clue you have to who you are, and she's unwilling to tell you what it is. You made a deal? A deal for what?

Sea witch.

Jongho clearly has had enough of this voodoo talk, because he pulls on your hand a little more insistently. “Come on, let's go.”

“How do I find her?” You shout at the fortune teller, as you're dragged out of the shop. “Tell me!”

The old crone meets your gaze one last time, her eyes crinkling with madness. “You don't find her. She finds you!” She cackles aloud, shaking her head and rocking back and forth like a woman possessed. The glint in her eyes has turned crazed, unhinged, completely off her rocker. On the other hand, her voice remains strong and steady.

“But I'll tell you one last thing, my love.”

You jerk forward, insistent on hearing whatever her last words are to you.

“You will never find what you so desperately seek as long as you live.”

[chimtaesty]

broken souls (pjm!hybrid au)

plot :Helping hybrids is your passion, as a local hybrid center calls you for help because of a abused and broken panther hybrid you pack your stuff and hurry to put him back together.

warnings: death, abuse | 4.9k words

a/n: hi there, it’s been a while huh? I’m finally back and better than ever. I released two stories lately which seemed like a fever dream so i won’t continue them but i hope you are ready to keep supporting my stuff :) I hope you like this story since i spent a lot of time and thoughts on it :)

masterlist

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Am i talking to Y/N?”

“Yes you are, who is this?” 

“Oh, i’m sorry for not introducing myself, my name is Helen Wallis and I'm the Head of the Hybrid Rehabilitation Center Crystal Snow. I’m calling because we take care of a very delicate case at the moment, the issue is that we don’t know how to take further care of this poor soul and I heard that you are an amazing psychologist student who even helped the Seong-girl out of her cruel thoughts. If you could maybe take your time to take a look at this broken boy we would all be really thankful.”

To be honest, this girl didn’t take a lot of work. She was spoiled and upset because a boy in her school rejected her. The only reason this became a big thing was because the parents are influential people. But you would love to help someone who needed your help so you didn’t have another choice.

“I would gladly take a look at him, if you could send me his file.”

“Oh yes, of course. Thank you a lot Y/N, your help means a lot”

You’ve looked at the same three sheets of paper for the last two hours and you can’t believe what’s printed on it. The sentences make you angry and give you the feeling of having to throw up. He was raised on a local farm which turned out to be an underground fighting ring. He had to take drugs. He was raped and had to watch his mum getting killed, the only person on this planet who he loved. He has lost someone just like you, you may be able to connect with him faster than with Seong Hye-Jin.

The speed of your heart beating decreases as you pack the papers back into your bag. The bus rumbles and your stop arrives faster as you expected it to. The building looks nice, it has  a big blue sign on top that says “Crystal Snow Rehabilitation Center”. It’s a short walk across the street to the entrance. As you walk towards the front desk a chubbier in white dressed older lady walks towards you. “You must be Y/N, it’s so nice to meet you. I called you earlier this week” you nod and shake her hand. “Yes, I tried to prepare myself as well as possible, but i’m not sure if he is going to welcome my help. I would say we just give it a try.”

The walk to Jimin’s room is long, there are a lot of doors, hallways and two elevators involved. Before Helen opens the door she turns around and clasps your hands in hers. “I need you to be careful. I couldn’t forgive myself if he hurt you. If something goes south please shout immediately, security is right outside this door. God may bless you” she whispers the last sentence as she turns the key and the door opens. You smile at Helen and take a step in. You never thought much about god or christianity, it’s all a hoax. Where was god when you needed him? 

“Please leave the door open until I say otherwise” you whisper towards Helen and she nods. As you take a look inside the tiny room you are reminded of your bedroom at your parents house. It was tiny but cozy, Jimin might feel the same.

There he is, laying on his bed facing the window. “Hi there, Jimin. My name is Y/N, I would like to talk to you. Is that fine with you?” He doesn’t say anything nor does he move. He’s not ignoring you though, he’s listening very well. “Should i leave the door open?” you ask silently and he doesn’t answer, he turns around to look at you. A thing catches your attention immediately, the big scar across his left eye.

He nods and you nod back not saying anything. “Can i sit myself down over there or should I stay here?” you ask again to tear his attention from the open door, this is no time to do something dumb. “Stay” he whispers and you comply, he wants to keep you at a distance. The spot you’re standing at is a great place to oversee everything you do. “Alright, i’ll just sit down right here” you smile, he doesn’t reply.

As you sit there on the floor he grows more comfortable. The door is open and there is no one who pushes him to speak. You lowered yourself to the ground where he is able to look down on you. “So, Jimin. We both know why I’m here. To be quite honest, these people here don’t really care about you. It sounds harsh but that’s the truth. The only thing they are interested in is rehabilitating you and getting you out of here. They want you to move on and live normally but let’s be real for a second, that’s impossible.” His head snaps upwards to look at you.

“Everyone tells you how great life is and how badly you need to move on. The problem is that after all life ever gave you, it’s hard for you to understand that optimism. Life is shit, isn’t it?” you chuckle and he nods. “I didn’t expect you to say that” his raspy voice fills the room.

You chuckle “What? That life’s shit? Well, it’s the truth.” he nods and suddenly his ears move from being stuck flat on his head to standing upwards, ready to listen to you. “You know, Jimin. I understand you. Life hasn’t been kind to me either. I might’ve not lived through something as terrific as you but it comes close. Do you want to hear it?” he nods but still keeps his head low. You know that sharing hurtful experiences can help you connect to each other. You knew almost everything about him. You know what those horrible people did to him and how he became who he is now but he knows nothing about you. He doesn’t know why you are willing to sit on his floor or why the hell the door was kept open

“I had to kill my father” That catches his attention. His eyebrows furrow as he stares at you.

“Two men broke into our house one night when I was thirteen. I didn’t know what was happening, I mean it was around three am and i was sleeping. My brother was dead when I arrived in the living room, they had almost decapitated him. My parents were restrained and sat up on our couch.” 

I have to breathe for a moment before I can continue. Right in that moment he locked his gaze with me for the first time. We share a quick glance.

“My mum was raped before they slit her throat and I couldn't do anything.I had to stab my dad 28 times. The only thing I remember was them telling me that everything’s my fault. I don’t know what I did nor do I know why my parents had to pay for it. But I moved on. I didn’t forget, not that I ever could forget this massacre but, I try to survive. Nothing can ever bring them back and I know that. I will never see them again and it hurts everytime i close my eyes because I see their lives leaving their bodies when I do but I try to move on. I try to live ” 

I wipe my tears and look at the floor as all the pictures come back. The blood, the bones being cracked and the lives being taken-”I’m sorry you had to go through that” he whispers and a small sniff leaves your body. “Thank you, Jimin.” you whisper back and for a moment there’s just silence. It’s comforting and scary at the same time. It’s almost as if he accepts you now, as if he knows what you feel.

“Do i have to tell you?” you shake your head with a small smile. You wouldn’t mind but every time you have to talk about it you literally relive what happened. You don’t want him to feel what you do now  “No, you don’t have to if you don’t want to” he nods and sighs, a big weight visually leaving his shoulders. “You can sit on the chair, the floor must be cold” you almost laugh. “I’ll gladly. Thank you, Jimin.” You sit down in front of him and he moves back slightly.

“Jimin” you whisper and his head snaps towards you “Yes?” he whispers back. His eyes softly gaze at yours “I need you to know that you’re not alone. What you had to go through is in no way forgettable and I know that you regret many things but you’re not alone. ” he just stares at you until his eyebrows furrow and his chest starts to move faster and faster. You triggered something, something bad.

“You’re lying” he whispers and his nostrils flare and his eyes stare at the floor. “You’re lying like everyone else.” He almost growls at you as you try to deny what he said. “I’m not, Jimin, listen to me!” you plead and you notice the shift. In front of you is no longer the quiet and understanding person he was two minutes ago . He shifted to what those people made him, a broken, hurt and traumatized boy who’s life is a living hell.

Now that they got him out of there he’s held captive in his mind. The horror he had to experience every day is now tormenting him inside his own head and no one seems to understand that.  His eyes grow dark and his body builds itself up and he flashes his teeth in a threatening way. He closes himself off. He’s gone, the soft understanding boy you were just talking to was somewhere crying in a corner of his mind scared of getting attached and being thrown away like garbage.

In a matter of seconds his hands find their way around your throat. He tightens his grip and you find it hard to breathe. Your pleads come out strangled as he lets out a low grunt. This situation reminds you of the night you killed your father. The men strangled you as well while you watched your mum being raped, the only difference here is that Jimin isn’t doing it out of pleasure, he’s terrified to the point where he’s alright with taking another person's life.

The two security men find their way into the room as your legs give in and you two fall to the floor, Jimin didn’t let go though. Your last attempt of staying alive needs to work so you clasp his face in between your hands. You stroke his cheek and give him a small smile. “It’s alright” His eyebrow twitches slightly and in a matter of seconds his grip around your throat loosens and your vision finds its way back to you. You cough violently after you push him behind yourself.

“Miss, please move. We need to move this farrell animal, he’s a threat” you shake your head as you move closer to Jimin “He’s not- cough -that’s why I-cough-I’m here. Pl-cough-Please move outside, thank you-cough.” They share a worried look but do as told and move to their spots outside. Your head hangs low as you try to steady your breathing.

Behind you, you can hear silent but repetitive sorry’s.

You turn around slightly, just to look at him. He now understood what he had done. You can’t blame him for what he did, he was terrified as you somehow triggered something in his brain with your reassurance. “Jimin” you breathe out and his rant of sorry’s stop. “Jimin,this isn’t your fault, okay? I’m not mad at you” You turn towards him and take his hand into yours.

“Do you hear me? I’m not mad at you” he doesn’t look at you as you talk to him. The atmosphere in his room is cold and uncomfortable. His demeanor changed, he feels sorry and you know that. He almost killed you and you’re not upset. It’s something that’s hard to understand, why would someone you hurt still like you? Simple, they are either unconditionally in love with you or know how you feel. They understand the things you went through, the pain you feel, they relate.

“How?” He whispers as his emotions get ahead of him. “I almost killed you, look at your throat” he sniffs and you can’t help but touch it. It’s sore and probably bright red but you don’t really care. “It’s fine” you answer him and he shakes his head “How can that be fine? You were nothing but nice to me and I struck you to the floor to strangle you. If that is fine to you, you’re dumb”

You nod your head “Maybe I am”. You stroke the hair out of your face and get up. “I’ll be leaving now-“It was nice meeting you Y/N, I’m sorry that I hurt you and I understand that you won’t come ba-“Oh, I’m coming back” his head snapped up to look at you. “What?” You chuckled slightly “You can’t get rid of me that easily, we are friends now, Jimin.” He just gives you a star struck expression as you’re almost outside of his room. “I’ll bring you some cake next time”

-

About a week later you again stand in front of the center. You thought a lot about how you could help Jimin and to be honest, you have no idea. The only thing that somehow connects you two is the trauma. There’s nothing that really connects you, you lived a great life until that night, you always had and always will have the privilege of being a human and not a hybrid. Jimin was born on a farm like an animal, raised like one and treated like one.

In your hands you hold the cake you promised him the last time. You open the door just to be greeted with Helen. She smiles at you and welcomes you with a warm handshake “Y/N, how nice to see. Jimin has been asking for you everyday. He told me what he has done and how you treated him. I’m glad that you didn’t run away, he really needs your help” you nod and smile at her “We had a great start actually, I’m positive that I’m able to help him.” she gives you a comforting smile before she answers you “He’s outside, by the pond” you nod and take your leave to the garden.

The garden is blooming beautifully, a lot of flowers and bushes decorate the garden in a welcoming and soft way. Other hybrids roam around the garden as well. Some play together, some stay alone just like Jimin. He’s sitting on a bench in front of the pond while he stares at the water. You clear your throat as you stand right behind him and he’s fast to turn around.

His face shifts to a soft smile as he sees you. “Y/N!” he exclaims happily. He puts his legs down and makes space for you. You thankfully take the spot next to him. The air is thick between you two and you can pinpoint exactly why. He still feels sorry for what he did and you don’t really know how to approach this matter.

“I brought you the cake I promised” you throw into the silence. He doesn’t look, he doesn’t move at all. “I thought you wouldn’t come again” he says sadly. Your head snaps towards his and your eyes lock. “Why would you think that? I told you i would come back” you give back. He shakes his head and finally glances at the cake “I thought you might’ve changed your mind.” you sigh and hit his shoulder lightly. “I would never break my promise, now try the cake” you give him a fork and let him taste it.

“I didn’t bake it though, I’m terrible in the kitchen” you chuckle and he smiles “That’s fine, it’s delicious” he silently eats the cake and thanks you another two times. “How’s your throat?” he asks quietly. You unconsciously touch your throat. “It’s fine, it’s a little bit red” he nods and shoves another fork of cake into his mouth. Just then you notice a red mark on his right hand. They didn’t hit him, did they?

“Jimin, you need to be completely honest with me right now” his eyes go wide as your face grows angry. “Did they hurt you for what you did to me?” he almost chokes on his cake as you ask him that. “Did they hit you?” you ask again and he hides his hand before he tries to explain himself. ���It’s not like i didn’t deserve it.” he stammers. “They are not allowed to do that, Jimin. You should’ve told me right away, I will make sure something like that never happens ever again.” he shakes his head and takes your hand into his. “It’s alright, don’t worry about it.” You give him an angry look “It is not alright, no one should treat you like that” he smiles slightly and strokes the back of your hand.

“I’m fine” and for a moment you believe him. You forget the red mark on his hand and the scar across his eye. You forget what happened to you and what happened to him. You forget the handprints around your throat. The trees and flowers disappear as well as the pond which seems to drain into oblivion. Nothing else other than the beautiful boy in front of you seems to exist. The way his dark hair almost hides his beautiful eyes which are trying to reassure you. The way his bruised hand gently strokes yours and the way this feeling makes you want to cry. It makes your walls crumble.

“Y/N?” his voice tugs you out of your thoughts. His hand wipes a tear from your face “Why are you crying?” he asks quietly. You can’t talk, it’s like someone took your ability to speak.

“It’s alright, I sometimes cry as well.” He lets go of your hand and suddenly everything comes back. Everything is there again and it’s hard to comprehend. Why did it feel nice?

“I did horrible things, you know. You shouldn’t look at me like that” your eyebrows furrow. “Like what?” he looks up at the sky “Like you love me, my mum used to look at me like that” he gives back and you can’t move. “It’s a look that says that you would give me the universe and more if you could. It’s a look which says that you would love everything about me but you won’t, you can’t. I did things that not a single living creature should do. If you knew what i did, you wouldn’t speak to me ever again. You would look at me the same way as everyone else ever did! “ he almost shouted.

You are taken aback, what is he talking about. “Well, what did you do?” he whips around and stares at you in disbelief. “Did you just completely ignore what i said?” you shake your head and smile at him “Do you think I’m like everyone else? I stabbed my dad almost thirty times, how bad can it be?” his face grows angry and he pushes the cake to the side. “One time I was in the ring I had to kill my opponent. The bloodier it was the better, so I ripped his windpipe from his throat. Another time I broke someone's neck just to get fed. Do you even know what it feels to get praised for taking someone's life?”

Without thinking you get closer, your noses almost touched as you did. “Yes, I do know what it feels like to get praised for taking someone’s life. They praised me the whole night for killing my father and later made me bury his corpse while my raped mother had to watch all of it. After i complied with them they slit her throat and left me laying in my mother’s blood while i wanted to die. The last thing they said before leaving me was “That’s what good girls do”, so don’t tell me i don’t know what it feels like. I know how people look at someone who had to survive something like this, I know it damn well.”

For a few seconds you two just stare at each other with wide and teary eyes. The mood is tense. The only thing you can hear is Jimin’s heavy breathing and you trying to not breathe at all. A tear leaves his eye and all of a sudden his lips find their way onto yours. You can’t grasp what is happening, your lips move by themselves. Your hand finds its way onto his cheek and he grabs the back of your neck caressingly. Never has a kiss felt like this, like the whole earth could explode and you wouldn’t care as long as you were kissing him.

But the thought of you two getting caught struck your mind and you stopped.

“W-why, did you stop?” his voice was a faint whisper. He knows why but he still feels the need to ask. “It felt good,” he continues. “We can’t be seen, Jimin” his face falls and he shakes his head “I don’t care” he whispers as you get up. “But i do, if they get a whiff of what just happened i won’t be allowed to meet you anymore.” you gather your stuff as he suddenly grabs your hand to stop you “I want you to adopt me” he almost shouts. You halt in your actions while your eyes widen.

“I realised that there is no person other than you who really cares about me. There’s no one who understands what I’ve been through. Not a single person can relate to what my life has been like. When I’m with you it feels like the whole universe disappears and there’s only you, you pull me out of those cruel thoughts, you take the pain away Y/N. Please adopt me” you can’t move. That’s not how you expected this whole thing to go. Of course you like him, there’s a connection and even feelings you can’t name but, it’s wrong. The way he sees it is wrong.

He sees a saviour who might rescue him from the life he used to live. To be honest, you’re ready to be that, his saviour, but is it the right thing to do, or to be?  “Why aren’t you saying anything? Am i not good enough? Do you want me to change? I can-”No, Jimin. I-I don’t really know if that is how you really feel-”Of course that is what i really feel like, i need you Y/N” he shouts.

You step back with a small yelp escaping your mouth. His eyes soften “I’m sorry, i didn’t want to yell at you” All of sudden two men rush across the garden just to push you away from him “Stop! You’re hurting her” he shouts as you harshly fall on your butt. This is his mother’s death all over. He wasn’t able to get to her and now he’s being held back while they push you around. They grab Jimin and try to get him going but he’s too focused to get to you “Y/N!” he screams and you are fast to get up “Sir, please let go”you shout, much to your displeasure he just blows you off. They push him to the floor getting him ready to be sedated. Jimin doesn’t comply, the only thing he does is shout your name.

You throw yourself to the floor to look into his eyes. His eyes are wide and his face wet from crying “Please, Y/N don’t leave me. I can’t live without you, god please.” he pleads between broken cries. “Jimin, hey, listen to me. i’m right here! I won’t leave you” he cries and cries as he slowly drifts into a deep slumber “I need you” he whispers before he’s completely knocked out.

You once again look at the man in front of you. Is it wrong to love someone you just met? You are no psychiatrist, you have nothing to lose, do you? The only thing you desire more than helping him out of the dark space he’s in, is hold him in your arms. To wipe his tears and tell him that everything will be fine.

-

You thought a lot about him and his pleading about adoption. He would fit, no doubt. You two share one soul. The apartment you live in is hybrid friendly and there’s enough space. Yesterday you got a call from the center asking you to come in and meet Jimin again since his condition has worsened. He hasn’t eaten properly for almost a week, he doesn’t speak or move from his bed and refuses to look at anyone other than you. 

You once again stand in front of the center unsure why you are here. Are you here to end something that never happened or continue something that has potential? You don’t know. But deep down you already know the answer

Helen waits for you at the front desk. She eagerly drags you along the long way to Jimin’s room. You remember the corridors and the two elevators as if you’ve walked those corridors a million times just to get to him. She doesn’t speak since she told you everything on the phone, she just escorts you to his room.

The door opens with the jingle of the keys and your heart breaks as you look inside. He’s curled up on his bed holding the fork you brought with you last week. He looks at it as if it’s a picture, telling him a story.

“Jimin” you whisper. His head moves slightly, needing to reassure what he was hearing. “Jimin, it’s me” you say once again.

He puts himself up on his feet and looks at you. His face seems thinner and his face is puffy from crying. You don’t know how someone could hurt him, how someone could force him to do things he didn’t want to or how someone could kill the one person who loved him. How someone could take everything he had, he ever was. You can’t understand it. You would give him everything. You would give your life for him if you could.

“Y/N” he breathes out. His eyes close and a small smile forms on his face. “I thought I’ll never see you again,” he says. Your body moves on its own as you walk towards him. You almost throw yourself into his arms. “I thought you left me” he chokes out.

“I’ll stay by your side as long as you need me, I told you that before. Don’t you ever think that I’ll leave you” you whispered into his chest. The comforting smell of his sweater grazes your nose. His tail wrapping around your legs in a comforting manner.

“What makes you think that I’m worth your love?” he whispers back and you can’t help but hold him tighter as your eyebrows furrow. “I’ll love you because you can’t love yourself, that’s fine with me.” Tears form in your eyes as his soften.

He sighs and strokes your back “Then please never leave me” he mumbles and you nod your head. “You won’t ever have to be alone, Park Jimin” he smiles and strokes your back as you look at him. “I’ll never leave you. I thought about it and I think it’s the best to have you by my side, I would like to adopt you” you smile. His breath stops for a moment as you finish your sentence.

His legs give in and you both rush to the floor. The dark strands of hair fall into his face and his sobs fill the room and you hug him tight. “You’ll have a home, a place where no one can hurt you. A place for you and me” he nods and you smile back at him

“I never thought that I'd ever escape this. I thought I’ll have to live like this, locked away like a mad person. Alone with my thoughts and what happened to me. But the second you came into my room I knew. I knew that all of this is going to change. That I’ll escape” you nod at him. “The moment I read about what happened to you, I knew that I would do everything I could to save you. I’ll give you the peace you deserve, I’ll love you until death does us apart, Park Jimin”

a/n: i hope you liked it, stop by at my masterlist for more works of mine.

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers Zero Vol. 12 Azusa Mukami [Track 2]

Original title: 鋭利な切っ先

Source: Diabolik Lovers Zero Vol. 12 Azusa Mukami [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Kishio Daisuke

Translator’s note: In the other Zero CDs, it really did feel as if the boys were fighting ‘themselves’ because the voices were almost exactly the same aside from a slightly echo added to the ‘fake’ version. However, Azusa sounds so different when he’s actually talking normal/upbeat, it feels like his enemy is an entirely different person instead. xD I actually really like his normal voice too, especially all the little giggles and noises he makes. It’s a shame he never talks like that in the main series. 

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 2: A Sharp Point

*Rustle*

“Ah...Woah...That startled me...This is my first time...seeing a painting step out of its canvas...Also he looks...just like me...”

( Ehe~ Do I? Fufu~ What a relief. I figured you’d get mad at me for borrowing your appearance without permission. )

Your eyes widen in shock. 

( Ah~ I wonder if I spooked the lady over there? You could say I’m the manager of this place! I don’t have a physical body, so if I don’t do this, I can’t even talk to you guys. )

“A manager without...a physical body...Ah! M-My sincere apologies for entering this place...without asking. I accidentally dropped these drawings earlier as well...”

( Ahー Those sketches are amongst my personal favorites, so I was sad to see them being knocked over onto the floor. However, I happen to be in an excellent mood right now, so it’s all good. It’s been a while since we had visitors after all. On top of that...What a lovely scent. I’m sure you’ll make for an excellent meal. )

“...Eh?”

You flinch.

( Ah...Did I make you worried? Rest assured, she won’t be the only one, I’ll make sure you suffer the same fate. )

“W-What do you mean...? Are you going to...eat us?”

( Yeah, that’s right. The large amount of portraits you saw at the entrance are all of visitors who met their end here. ...Once you’ve set foot inside this museum, you cannot make it back out alive. After the two of you have been consumed, I’ll display your pictures there as well~ )

“T-That’s...troubling!”

Azusa grabs hold of your hand.

“Eve, let’s run...!”

The two of you make a run for it.

*TIMESKIP*

“Haah, haah...T-To think he...eats his visitors...Haah, haah...We should have...never entered this place...Haah, haah...We have to hurry up...and get out of here...before the other me...catches up to us...! Haah, haah...Eh!?”

You suddenly come to a halt.

“What is...this...? A large butterfly is...pinned to the door...? Haah, haah...We can’t get out through here. Let’s look for another exit...”

The painting demon suddenly appears in front of them.

( ...Woah there~ )

“...!!”

( The large pin keeping that butterfly nailed against the door...It’s one of my favorites because of how thin and sharp it is. Even after being turned into a specimen, the butterfly keeps its beauty, so I’m sure the two of you would love to experience it as well? )

“...! I have...no intention of becoming a specimen...”

( Is that so? Then...I guess this will strike your fancy more? )

*Cling*

“...Ah!”

( Say...This knife is incredibly sharp, don’t you think? If you cut with it, lots of blood would come flowing out...It’d make for quite the show, don’t you think? Could I test it out on you guys? You don’t mind, do you? )

He steps closer.

“Y-You can’t...! Doing that to me would be one thing but...I won’t let you treat her badly! Ugh...”

Azusa steps in front of you to protect you.

“Why do you...eat...us visitors?”

( I mean, hunger makes you sad, right? )

“Even if you are...hungry...We won’t become your food...I’m begging you...Please give up.”

( I won’t be the one eating you! The museum is the hungry one after all. )

“...E-Eh?”

( Right, you don’t know, do you? In that case, I have to inform you! ...You see, this museum is a living creature. )

“A living...creature? ...This building is...alive?”

( It sure is! Therefore, you have to feed it! )

The fake Azusa walks up to you.

( Hm...This girl over here... )

*Sniff*

( Smells so lovely, I’m sure the museum will be thrilled. Fufufu~ )

“...! I-I won’t let you...! I definitely won’t hand her over!”

( Why? Why would you be so mean? Do you enjoy tormenting me? Fufu~ That’s not bad either, but right now I have to prioritize meal time... )

*Cling*

( I’ve been honing it well, so I’ll make sure it hurts a lot, okay~? )

*STAB*

“...Ah!”

You rush over to Azusa’s side.

“I-I’m...fine...I’m used to being...hurt after all...Ugh...”

He collapses.

*Thud*

“My body’s...”

( Fufufu~ This knife has been coated with poison, so you won’t be able to move for a while, you know? )

“Kuh...! Eve...Go!”

You shake your head.

“No buts! Just run...! I’ll be...fine, okay? So hurry up...”

He faints.

*Rustle rustle*

( Hehe~ He’s out cold. ...You’re up next, huh? Fufu~ Don’t worry! I don’t want to waste your blood, so I’ll only make a very light cut. ...Goodnight~! )

*SLASH*

*TIMESKIP*

*Cling cling*

( Ahー You’ve awaken? )

You mistake the demon for Azusa at first. 

( Oh no, I’m the portrait! The boy you were with...is next door~ It’d be troublesome if you were to run away, so I’ve crucified you both. (1) )

You try and free yourself from the restraints.

*Cling cling*

( Ah...Why are you screaming? Oh, right! You didn’t like this exhibition floor very much, did you? What a shame, all of these specimen are lovely after all. )

You frown.

( However...Right now, you’re one of them! You’ve also been pinned down, so you have to get along with the other artworks! )

*Cling cling*

( Haah...Why won’t you listen to me? Just look at how good the other works are! Ahー Right! You can barely wait, can’t you? I guess you want to become this museum’s prey as soon as possible! I’m sorry! Did I leave you waiting? I wanted to hurry up and move to dinner time as well. Good thinking, let’s do just that! )

You protest.

( How am I wrong? Don’t worry, I’ve already got everything prepared. Usually, I would just hurl the prey into the canvas whole. That’s how the museum eats them. )

Your face turns pale.

( However, I’m sure you have a special taste, so to ensure the museum gets to eat you at your best, I’ve decided to chop you up finely~ )

*Cling*

( Fufu~ This knife has a very thin blade, so it cuts extremely well. Don’t worry. I’ll properly cut you up! )

You start struggling again.

*Cling cling*

( Aah...! I can’t cut very well when you’re moving around like that...Hm...I suppose I’ll have to keep you in place with something? Oh! Right! )

The fake Azusa picks up a large pin. 

*Thud*

( If I pierce this large pin right through you, you won’t be able to move, huh? )

Your eyes widen in horror.

( Aah~ The tip is sharp and looks very painful, don’t you think? No matter how feisty the prey may be, when you stab them with this bad boy, they’ll behave in no time! Hmm~ Now where to stab you? Your belly, perhaps? )

*Cling cling*

( Ah...Don’t make a fuss. I won’t be able to pierce it through very well. Keep still, okay? )

*Cling cling*

( Hm...Didn’t you hear me when I told you to keep still? The pin’s no good either? )

*Thud*

( Ooh! Right! You wanted me to do this...didn’t you? )

He steps closer.

*Rustle rustle*

( You prefer fangs piercing your skin over a pin, right? )

You flinch.

( You seem delicious, so stopping your movements by sucking your blood would be better, no? Mmh~ Let’s do it like that then. )

He leans in.

( Hmm~ The upper arm...It’s so soft, I’m sure my fangs will just sink right in. I’ll plunge them in deep, okay? )

The demon bites you.

*Gulp gulp gulp*

( ...Haah! Woah! It’s my first time tasting such sweet blood! I only wanted to paralyze your movements, but now I want to suck you dry! ...I wonder how you taste in other places~? ...How about I bite your lips? It’s a tender spot, so I’m sure it’d be painful for you. Fufufu~ Your frightened expression...It’s very nice! Very much so! )

*Sluuuuuurp*

( ...Oh? Does it feel good? You like being hurt, huh? )

*Cling cling*

( Eeh~? Why would you lie? I mean, your eyes are watering. You’re actually eagerly awaiting this, aren’t you? Fufu~ The more painful, the better, no? Don’t worry, I’ll hurt you even more. You’ll be turned into prey soon, so I’ll give you my fangs wherever you want them. )

*Cling cling*

( Ah, ah, aaah...You’re wrists are all scraped up because you kept struggling. Say, does it hurt here? )

You cry out in pain. 

( Fufufu~ It hurts yet you seem happy. Perhaps I should bite right through the scraped skin~? Fufu~ Ah...I’ll loosen the chains just a little, okay? )

*Cling cling*

( There we go...Woah...Hohoho~ The skin has turned red and it’s bleeding slightly. Don’t worry. I’ll soothe it by giving you an even greater pain, okay? )

He bites your wrist.

*Sluuuurp*

( Haah...Hahaha~ Ah. It feels that good, huh? The more you resist, the richer your blood becomes. Fufufu~ Hm~  There’s a delicious smell wafting through the air~ Say...Give me more? You don’t mind, do you? )

*Rumble*

( Wah...!? What was that just now...!? )

*Rumble rumble*

( She’s in pain...Oh no! I have to hurry and rush to her side! )

The fake Azusa immediately moves away, running towards the door.

( Ah...! You stay put here, okay? I’ll make sure to chop you up once I’m back! )

He leaves the room.

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー 

Translation notes

(1) 貼り付け or ‘hari-tsuke’ applies that they are not simply tied up, but also hanging to something. The word is also used to refer to ‘Crucifixion’ after all. It isn’t specified what exactly you and Azusa are tied to, but I assume it’s a wall of some sorts? 

[darkeninganon]

(I told you all I was going to write more Dream torment. Again the design of Dream is based off @winifreyd and their White Enderman Dream design! Warnings for: general angst, violence, blood, gore, torture, bodily fluids, descriptions of injuries, death mentioned, cursing, and dismemberment (a tail). You have been warned.)

Dream jolted awake as the redstone clicked. To anyone from the outside, it would be impossible to hear, but he had been here so long... The popping of the lava was more like static or wind than an actual noise. He was pressed against the back of his cell, muscles sore and stiff; knees swollen and in more pain than they were yesterday, at least Dream thought they were much worse. They were still broken, rendering him immobile. The left side of his face burned even worse too, and each slight movement brought with it the weirdly loud crackling of dried blood. It pulled at his fur and made him feel gross. Then he looked to his hand.

Bones exposed, fingers cut of and a massive amount of blood clotting the wound as best as it could, but it wasn't enough to keep it from bleeding, small rivulets of much brighter blood popping up and he flexed his wrist. He was concerned, but surely Quackity would get bored and stop sooner rather than later. Hopefully before Dream got an infection and succumbed to it.

Dream glared at Quackity as he entered the cell, removing a pair of shears from his picket and swinging them casually. "So, Dream, are you we going to behave today and share what we know with the class?"

Dream growled, showing his undamaged hand just enough to flip off Quackity. The man just chuckled, shaking his head.

"Come on Dream, you'll have to give in some time." He smiled, tapping the shears against his hand as he approached the prisoner. "Don't make me do this, I was nice last time."

"Nice....?" Dream's voice had grown coarse, a growl bubbling up from his chest. "Nice would have been not breaking my knees." Dream wanted to stand, his good hand digging into the wall as he was forced to stay on the ground. "Nice would have been letting me keep my fingers.... You could never be nice, Quackity."

Dream screeched in agony as Quackity's foot connected with his broken knee, causing the prisoner to practically throw himself back and try to crawl away. Quackity planted his foot on Dream's knee again, putting as much pressure on it as he could. "Really Dream? I'm not nice? You aren't nice. You tortured Tommy. You fucking killed him and then brought him back. I know full well Tommy only wants you alive so you can bring back Wilbur." Quackity sighed, ignoring Dream's screaming and attempts to claw his way out from under Quackity. Letting out a disgruntled groan, Quackity sat down on Dream's back, tangling his fist in the literal mane of hair and fur Dream had, retching his head back as far as it would go, waving the shears in front of Dream's face. "Come on Dream~. I'm getting impatient here, and considering that you're never getting out of here, your nails are looking just a little too sharp."

Dream hissed, curling his good hand into a fist. He had to save one hand, after all, he would very much have to repay Quackity after he got out.

Quackity just hummed, taking the shears out of Dream's face as he ran his hand through the mane of white fur. No one but George and maybe Sapnap had ever gotten close enough to actually touch Dream without it breaking into a fight. Now that Quackity was able to though, he realized how soft it was. It felt so nice, even after at least a month of not having been washed or brushed or taken care of... Quackity lost himself a little, just sitting there feeling the soft fur.

Dream lay there, eyes wide as Quackity kept petting him. As nice as it could have been, Dream knew there wasn't any way this could end other than Dream suffering. There was a definitive reason he only let a couple of trusted people touch his fur.

"Damn... This would be a nice coat." Quackity mused, twirling a clump between his fingers before looking back towards Dream's legs. Quackity stopped his petting, reaching out and playing with his tail, which had been thrashing about just moments before. It had the same, soft fur all over it, just much shorter, until it got to the tip where it exploded into a huge, fluffy cloud of hair-like fur. "Hmm... You aren't ever going to walk again... Why do you have this?" Dream tried to look at the man sitting on his back, forgetting that he was missing one eye; "What?! Quackity, don't you dare-" Quackity planted his feet on both of Dream's thighs, pulling his tail taut as he aligned the scissors with the base of Dream's tail. "Quackity, no! Stop!" Dream screamed, his voice ringing off the obsidian walls as he once again tried to crawl out from under the other man. "You can't do this to me! I'll kill you! You WILL regret this you washed-up has-been!" Quackity ignored Dream's rambling. It didn't sound like English or any human language at this point, but that was fine. Maybe this and taking those claws would make Dream want to talk about the book. Quackity couldn't help the smile that spread across his face as he finally cut through the tough muscles and skin that protected the bones. Now that he was to them though, he knew the shears wouldn't be strong enough to cut through them, he'd have to cut between them. Quackity let out a disappointed hum, pulling harder on Dream's tail in an effort to see where the vertebrae separated and he could get at the softer cartilage. The blood only made things much more complicated, and Quackity growled as he was forced to continually wipe away the red liquid.

Tears were once again burning Dream's cheeks, the nails on his good hand shattering and breaking uselessly against the obsidian; while the irritated scars on his other hand opened once again, leaving smears of blood across the floor. It was only made worse by Quackity repeatedly rubbing his fingers against the bones, swiping away the blood and literally adding salt to the wound.

Quackity smiled once more as he finally found what he was looking for, driving the tip of the shears in between the bones. Dream's scream took a turn, sounding more monster than human; and outside the cell, Sam curled in on himself, crying behind his mask. Quackity ignored the continued crying of a monster in pain, ignored the stain that was once again growing down the legs of the prison garb; Quackity's sole focus was on separating this tail from its owner. He continued to cut and tear at the spot, prying the bones apart to get and the bundle of nerves at the very center, once that was cut, taking the tail would be so much easier. He finally caught sight of the little bundle, oblivious to the silence that now weighed heavy in the cell; until he nicked the nerves with the shears.

To say Dream screamed would be an understatement. His whole body convulsed in such a way that he nearly threw Quackity off, a slew of strange, non-words flying from his mouth as he continued to convulse, attempting to spin around in pseudo-death-roll. Quackity hung on, still hacking at the spot with the shears until he heard more cracking than cutting, and the tail finally tore free, blood spattering all over as the new wound became fully exposed.

Dream finally stopped rolling around, gasping as he tried to stand. Where? Run. get out. need to leave need to leave need to leave cannot leave?? Saliva filled Dream's mouth, spilling out as he gasped and tried to speak. He watched in horror as he suddenly vomited, spouting nonsense to calm himself down. A hand tangled in his mane, yanking him away from the puddle of vomit and throwing him on his back, eliciting more cries from the prisoner.

Quackity slammed his foot down on Dream's chest, grabbing his good hand as he brought the shears back up. Dream was forced to watch as Quackity pried his nails from their bedding, taking the time to pry them off each finger with the utmost care so as to not cut them or damage Dream's fingers in any other way.

Sam began rocking back and forth, breathing heavily. He needed to calm down before he let Quackity out, he couldn't let Dream see that his yelling was getting to the warden. His mask hung in his hands, torn from his face in an effort to make sure the lenses did not become clouded by tears. "Hey Sam! We're done here!" Sam jumped, realizing it was silent now. He fainted again, thanks to you. He ignored that part of his mind, pulling his mask on and lowering the lava. Sure enough, Dream was on the floor, convulsing; Quackity held a long white thing in his hands, and there were a number of more puddles all over the cell now. Sam suppressed a shiver, letting Quackity out. That's Dream's tail he's holding. Sam couldn't remove his eyes from it. Aside from the blood at the cut point, the tails was still a pristine white fur. Sam knew Dream cared about his fur, to a point that it could be considered narcissistic. Only Sapnap and George had ever felt if though, at least in detail, and now, seeing his tail removed from his body, a war broke out in Sam's brain. You let this happen, he needs that. He's never leaving, and it looks so nice. You are just as bad as Quackity, you should be in a cell right now. Even after all that you did, his fur still looks beautiful; touch it, touch it now! You are going to get Dream killed, and Tommy will hate you more. You never went this far, it's not your fault Quackity is doing this. Sam let Quackity out without a word, leaving the prison after him. Sam could only wonder what Quackity planned to do with the souvenirs he took.

[senju-sekhmet]

The Leash (Part 7)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death ~5300 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6 Read on AO3!   Disclaimer below the cut! (I updated it actually this time, lmfao)

DISCLAIMER! I’ve split the chapters of as some of them were too long (the last one being +18k, oopz), therefore this comes a little bit shorter than usual! But each of them still should contain a meaningful amount of progress in terms of, y’know. Plot and all. But! It should make posting the chapters more frequently a bit easier. More angst and science here! Other than that: enjoy my very self indulgent work, filled with my own headcanons and angst galore. Let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading!!!! ______ Tobirama couldn’t believe what you had just said. So much so he fell silent after his incredulous outbreak - prompting you to repeat your eerily calm statement. “You need more time. Stretching the intervals will do just that.” His hand on your shoulder gripped it tighter as the message had settled in, slowly, but he retorted before he had comprehend it, really. “Absolutely not!”

You closed your eyes slowly. “Tobirama…”

Your calmness was unnerving him additionally. “Do you even realise what you’re saying?!”, his voice had risen in volume.

Your eyes snapped open again. Your stare was boring into his, the cold hand that had been caressing him fell limply to your chest. “I’m the one who is going to suffer, so I’d say yes,” you stated.

Tobirama’s heart was hammering in his chest again. But this time, it was from fury - the worry from before was shadowed by it easily. The things you were saying - outrageous. “The withdrawal is lethal! I will not allow this, Y/n!”, he was almost shouting now. Hell, were you losing your mind?

Your mien hardened. “It is not lethal right away. The decision to shorten the interval because of potential harms was made by an assumption we have no hard proof of,” you countered somberly. "Maybe it can be stretched."

Tobirama drew his hands back to cross them in front of his chest, causing you to wince as your chakra connection abruptly ended. He merely hissed curtly, but the ire had his chakra swelling already - such a connection would be dangerous to your delicate state now. Besides, it made arguing a lot easier. “We have very good reason to believe stretching the interval is dangerous,” he began, his baritone voice near trembling again. He still couldn’t believe you were even talking about this. “And you are in absolutely no state to take on even more strain, at all,” the sternness was becoming scathing. 

You laid completely still in the bed. His attitude was bouncing off of your stoic demeanour like water on oiled leather still. “Then I’ll need more support. There are ways to do that until the withdrawal becomes too detrimental to my health, then I get the next dose.” 

You made it sound so easy. So simple. Like nothing was at stake here.

Tobirama’s expression fell apart more and more. He could only gaze at you in utter horror. “You’ll suffer miserably, Y/n,” his voice was cracking. Whether it was from fury or shock, he didn’t know anymore. Unable to sit still anymore, he jumped to his feet to stand by your side. “We don't know at all if there aren't more ways in which the withdrawal will harm you! Even  if  we get you through those prolonged withdrawal phases - which we will  not  be having - there is no saying what effects it will have on you - what if you’re taking permanent damage?” He’d never forgive himself if that were to happen - if you became impaired because he did not administer this godforsaken leash on time. 

If you died because of a gamble. He was trembling now.

You gasped almost inaudibly, your facade cracking finally. A wrinkle on your forehead. Tobirama huffed. Just as quickly though, you found your proverbial balance again. “I’d rather become handicapped than dead, Tobirama.”

The statement hit close to home. Only momentarily though for his anger bristled even harsher in return for it. Proceeding like this might just as well kill you, after all. “You’re expecting me to let you undergo additional, intense torment, risk permanent injury, possibly even killing you!”, he intended to make it a question, but as he listed these things, he was almost shouting again. His hands gesticulated out of sheer frustration - every fiber of himself refused even entertaining this idea more; even discussing this was so revulsive he thought he’d stumble over his words until all he’d bring out was ‘no’. “I won’t allow this.” His eyes narrowed as he stared you down, crossing his arms firmly in front of his chest. “We are not doing that.”

Your gaze narrowed in turn. Again, you started to move again to sit up in the bed, each arm by your side hefting your chest up - get closer to eye level with him. Tobirama scowled and took a step closer to your side. “Y/n!”, he couldn’t believe it - just a short while ago he had berated you on resting, and already, you were moving again - plus, you obviously weren’t letting this foolish, foolish idea go-

“Tobirama,” your voice was clouded with fury of your own now. He placed a hand on your shoulder that already wanted to shove you back onto the bed again, but it rested for now. “I know that,” you panted, hissing past clenched teeth. “But you forget that all of that won’t matter if I  die  because there’s none of that damn leash left!”, your voice rose to a shout, hoarse as your vocal chords still reeled from the abuse.

He stared back at you for a moment only, his vision tunneling. The fury was burning under his skin. Each and every single aspect of this proposal was just plain wrong-

“Lie down again,” he hissed strictly, mustering every bit of his control to not shout back at you. Or simply shove you down. Or use more unkind words.

“I will not,” but before Tobirama could shout back at you, your frail hand had gripped his wrist. He felt the tremble in your body from the extortion of sitting up - he knew this must cause you pain, too. But you didn’t give him a chance to speak or start berating you, “Stretching the interval is going to give you - me - us - more desperately needed time, Tobirama. Time is all that matters now!”

He stared right into your eyes which he was positive were glistening now. Distantly, he became aware again of the fact how his heart was still hammering against his ribcage.

“Even if it’s just twenty-four hours, maybe thirty-six,” you finally whispered, letting go of his hand and sinking back on the bed, panting. The little endeavour had visibly cost you quite some energy - but then by now, the delirium phase would start again soon. It was hailed by the weakness. “Think about that logically for a damn second, please,” you breathed.

Tobirama felt the heartache constrict his chest again. Desperately he began to take deep breaths against the feeling, raking a hand over his scalp. Unable to stand still any longer, he turned around. Pacing in front of the end of your bed, his mind was racing while the emotions were surging. He couldn’t possibly allow this. It was foolish, it was unspeakably dangerous for you - and there was no telling if they could extend the interval by a meaningful margin. He’d agree to a terrible amount of agony for you, risk handicapping you - for what?

Time. The reason was time. The one thing he needed. Well, despite the solution to the mystery of the leash. But time would answer that one just as well.

It was a gamble with the highest stake: you. But you were on the line, either way. Either he took the five days he had left and worked nonstop. Or he took this risk, this ridiculously perilous risk, he forced you through a new dimension of hell - and he gained more time. 

He was confident in his skills - but never so arrogant to look in the mirror and think a day - or more - would not matter in cracking the leash. Because they would. Greatly. Maybe not enough to even the odds. But every day you endured longer - he absolutely loathed himself for how logical the whole situation seemed.

Tobirama was seething with rage. Rage about the situation. Your proposal. What this meant for you. Your stubbornness. “Dammit,” he muttered near silently.

Your eyes were on him with a sad look when he gazed back at you, both hands gripping the foot end of the bed. His knuckles turned white. “I don’t want to do this,” he breathed, desperation seeping into his voice, jaw taunt again.

You blinked, a sorrowful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I don’t either, Tobirama,” you whispered, haunted. 

He clenched his teeth. He wanted to say there had to be another way - but he knew, there was none. By all means, if he knew one thing despairingly clear now, unravelling the leash was a staggering task, even for him.

He swallowed the lump down his throat. His head hung low. This was another defeat. “I’ll speak to Hashirama about this,” he finally muttered brokenly, aware of what waited for you next - medically - would well exceed his skills. It wasn’t about mending some damages you had suffered - no, this would be about keeping you stable. Alive. Not that he had the time to supervise you as much as you’d need to, now. Another fact that didn’t sit well with him at all. Not only were you going to very likely be in a critical condition, but he also couldn’t be there all the way through, for every bitter second of it.

He looked back up at you, furrowing his eyebrows forlornly.

“Tobirama,” you called out then, softly. Your hand waved him over, he obliged, slumping down by your side again, still gazing down sadly.

Your hand reached for his and he couldn’t help but notice the fine tremor that shook your arm. It would get so much worse from now on. He took it in both of his, a palm running over your forearm soothingly.

His eye widened slightly when he felt the faintest nudge at his chakra network - you were trying to soothe over his like he had done so often these past few days. The gesture was incredibly touching on the one hand and on the other it was heartbreaking. He closed his eyes and groaned faintly to ease the ache somehow, letting his chakra graze over your network. A chill sensation on his cheek prompted him to open his eyes again. You were caressing his cheek again.

“It’ll be fine, Tobirama,” you whispered.

No, it won’t be. He didn’t respond.

Your mien became more sorrowful again. “Tobi,” you began, the nickname warming his heart like few things could. “Promise me you’ll go as far with this as you possibly can.” Your gaze was piercing. He gasped. “Promise me no matter how much I scream, writhe or whatever - so long as it’s possibly justifiable, you’ll hold off of giving me the next dose.”

His pulse thundered in his chest. This is insane. Nobody should ever agree to this. He didn’t want to. He’d never want to do anything that’d make you suffer.

“Promise me,” you repeated when he didn’t reply right away, firmer now but no less mournful. Your thumb grazed over his cheekbone.

He felt entirely numb when he spoke. “I promise, Y/n,” he choked out, voice broken. His grip around your hand and arm was firm now. Desperate. “But I won’t risk anything,” he added swiftly, “I can’t - I can’t do that.”

“I know. Thank you,” you replied, almost a whimper. Your hand smoothed over his face to reach for the back of his skull, through his hair. With very light pressure, you beckoned him closer. Dazedly he moved again, and a moment later your cool lips were on his in an utterly tender kiss. He couldn’t help the whimper of his own that escaped against your lips. Your hand stroked over his short hair. 

He pulled back only very slightly after, his face hovering over yours. Your eyes were glistening again. His were prickling again, too. “I don’t want to lose you, Y/n,” he muttered.

You gave another smile that tore at his heart. “You won’t. I’ll fight as much as you do.”

He was damn sure you’d fight. In both a sarcastic and wholehearted way.

He closed his eyes and a hand snuck around your chest, under you, while his face buried in the crook of your neck. Your arms wrapped around him. He took a deep breath that nearly turned into a sob.

You kept rubbing gently over his back while he tried to bite down on more tears and sobs. The ache in his heart was near unbearable now.

 _____

As much as he wanted to simply hold you, time was more essential than ever. He mournfully released you not long after and with another warm caress, both inwardly by his chakra and outwardly, he promised he’d be back soon to find his brother and discuss the plan. You on the other hand had become weaker yet again, urging him to hurry even more. The withdrawal would set in soon, and they had to be ready.

Even so, Tobirama decided to make most of the time he had, as well. If you were going to run a high risk, so would he - before he sought out his brother who no doubt was in the Hokage office at this time of the day - past noon - he went to the laboratory again. Three shadow clones - for now. With what little information he had gleaned from Zenji as well as the result from his first experiment, he might as well triple his efforts in trying to recreate the leash. Four times more, once he was involved. Frankly the number was low for him, but they'd be working quite a long time and he well remembered the head-splitting concentration it had taken to even conduct his first experiment in imbuing the basis with chakra.

When he'd let these clones disappear, it'd be tripled. So would the progress, however. He let out a low gruff when they got to work. All he needed to do was remind himself of the strain you'd be shouldering soon. 

He should have done this from day one. But then he didn't have enough information to go with for this to be truly efficient - he hadn’t even known what to do, really. 

Hashirama indeed was in the office, which Tobirama noted was in some disarray. Quite possibly because he had not been here to swat at his brother's hands. His scowl mustered the scrolls that were strewn about, shaking his head.

Hashirama already sighed when he noticed his disapproving glance. "You're not here to berate me I'm guessing," he began, already defensively.

"I have more urgent business, although I will say this office is ridiculously untidy," he frowned, casting a last glance around to find his brother drooping again. Luckily they didn't receive guests in here. Tobirama crossed his arms.

"Yes…?" Hashirama inquired, slumping further into his chair. 

"Y/n … brought up an idea," he began, suddenly finding difficulty in wording this. Proposing this insane plan. His pulse picked up already. He tilted his head to gaze out of the window behind his brother. "We… I need more time, anija. And she thinks we should extend the interval at which she takes what we have left of the leash as much as possible."

Once the words had left him, a weight felt lifted off of his shoulders at the same time it came crashing onto his chest again. His heart. There was no turning back now. He firmly had to believe this was the right thing to do. Like so often these past few days. He simply staggered through the heartache all this caused him and tried to forget about how wrong it was.

Hashirama straightened in his chair, frowning now. His elbows propped up on the desk and he intertwined his fingers. Any of the depressed demeanour was gone. "I hardly think I need to tell  you of all people how dangerous that is, Tobirama."

Tobirama hissed past his clenched teeth. "Tell me something new." He still found himself profusely struggling with all this. "I… even if it's just a day or a day and a half more," echoing your words. He paused, his arms sliding down and fists clenching by his sides. "I can't deny I'd take every damn hour I can get."

Hashirama's gaze was trained on the desk, his forehead wrinkled in fine ponder. "It's that bad," he whispered, half to himself. 

Tobirama remained silent. He needn't supply that statement with more fodder. Him being here - saying the things he was saying - was proof enough of that. Slowly, he crossed his arms again, taking deep breaths. 

That sort of had seemed to become his new mantra. 

Hashirama leaned back in the chair again, turning slightly but still lost in thought. "The withdrawal ultimately is lethal, that much we have ascertained."

Tobirama sighed. The words stabbed at his heart. "Indeed," he replied nonetheless, beaten down. "We have to stabilise her as long as possible-"

Hashirama cut in. "-before the withdrawal becomes too severe. I understand that." He fell silent again.

Tobirama grew uneasy the longer Hashirama did not speak.

When he finally spoke again, Tobirama almost flinched. "I'm not sure to what degree that is possible," he began slowly, a hand rubbing over his chin. "We're already facing the problem of Y/n's chakra overload due to weeks of sloppy care on top of grievous injury, so that is not a good angle to work with. One we will have to use if necessary - even if it means to overburden her - but as a last resort." 

Tobirama listened intently, trying to ignore the rush of blood in his ears. The implications of his brother’s elaborations didn’t sit well with him either, but then what of this did? Therefore he didn’t argue, but just listen.

"It comes down to using every kind of physical aid we have available therefore, mainly medicine. Also other physical aid, but that would be our focus, for now."

"That's not a bad start," Tobirama stated, aware there was more to follow.

Which it did. "Any chakra based methods are our last resort. And we won't be able to do anything for her physical state otherwise, meaning her remaining injuries won’t receive attention." That would set you back yet again - they'd again push the limits of what you could take, even go beyond. And after - after all this was over, you'd face a prolonged recovery to repair those damages perfectly. Tobirama's hands bunched the black fabric of his shirt. 

It was manageable, still. Somehow. Eventually.

Hashirama was not done though. "I'm worried it won't hold very long. The withdrawal effect we have witnessed was intense as such. That was somewhat more than the interval we're at now. And we know the bulk of it seems to stem from the way the victim’s chakra starts to interact with the leash."

Tobirama frowned. Something about that sentence made him wonder - but he stowed it away for later. "So you're saying we can't prolong the dose by a meaningful margin either way?" 

Hashirama shook his head. "I don't know enough to make a prognosis. But…," he sighed. Tobirama knew that sigh. Whatever Hashirama wanted to say next won't sit well with him. Inwardly, he rolled his eyes. It couldn't get any worse at this point, why mince his words? "... there might be merit in sealing off Y/n's chakra, temporarily. As long as the withdrawal sets in worse."

That did strike him harshly. Tobirama sucked in a sharp breath. "That's tantamount to amputation, anija," he rasped out with a slight tremble to his voice, a cold shiver running over his back. 

Hashirama cleared his throat solemnly. "Think of it more as restraining." 

The world was upside down if Tobirama became the one to question Hashirama's methods. "Restraining implies just preventing something - you're talking about taking it away from her completely!", his voice rose in volume as the shock seeped through his veins icily. "A punishment befitting criminals," he added, pained.

It hurt. It hurt so much because -

Deep down, he already knew this was yet another thing they'd end up doing to you, thinking it was best. He'd do better accepting it quickly. Still, in this moment - it was sheer horror. He’d fight it, be disgusted of it… and do it anyway.

Hashirama closed his eyes. " Temporarily, Tobirama. It's worth a try. It won’t stop the withdrawal as it gets worse, because her chakra is just sealed from her, but obviously not gone from her body. But I’m confident it’s going to help prolong the time between the intervals." Of course it was. Logically, he well comprehended this. If he’d sit down calmly, he’d have come up with this on his own, too. It didn't make accepting this easier.

But he had to. 

Defeatedly he heaved a heavy breath. "Very well." He silently hoped you were so out of it by then, you wouldn't feel it as much anymore. 

"I'll speak to Mito," Hashirama announced. "And I will supervise Y/n personally." He rose to his feet already. "When would the next dose be needed?"

"About two hours," Tobirama murmured, feeling numb again. 

"Alright. Then there still is some time." Already, Hashirama began to move for the door. "I'll be in the laboratory. I want to be notified right away if any complications arise," Tobirama announced tersely, “Or when she needs the next dose.” No discussion about this whatsoever.

Time to deal with the problem that was splitting his head, not his heart.

_______     He inspected his shadow clones work when he got back to the laboratory. Not much more than what he had managed before - but they had just started to work. He briefly contemplated visiting you again but decided against it in favour of you resting.

You were in for enough as it was. He resolved to put every single second to use now more than ever given the situation had become as grave. Yet being here again placed him in front of the seemingly insurmountable task again. He still didn’t know how to continue, and what he had gleaned so far served as a vague indicator at best. If he interpreted it wrong, he might end up in the wrong direction altogether. And that meant…

The painful tightness settled in his chest again. He took a moment of gripping the lab bench tightly to breathe through it.

He really only had one shot at this.

Reviewing what he knew so far he was almost completely convinced that the liquid had been imbued with chakra, no particular jutsu involved at all - but rather a complex weaving technique of chakra itself - akin to the way medical jutsu at a very basic level worked. Simply because his first experiment had shown a similar effect in Zenji. Still, he couldn't rule the possibility out entirely, since his experiment hadn’t produced the same effects the leash did. So far concerning the immediate effect of the leash.

But there was also the time component. Because his own experiment had worn off rather quickly in comparison to the original, Tobirama couldn’t help but wonder if maybe a technique was needed after all to make it last longer. A seal, rather, he corrected himself. However that, he judged, would not be as difficult to imitate - it’d have to be a containment seal of inferior quality due to the fact neither he nor Hashirama found any trace of it on the bottle they had brought with them. Anything more complicated would’ve required some ink work.

A relief, albeit a small one.

He still did not know at all how the change of the chakra component between muting and then disrupting the victim’s chakra happened, though. Recalling how different your two blood samples had presented - it made him doubt again if there really was no jutsu involved. This seemed too far-fetched to be accomplished by weaving of chakra alone. Every effect the leash caused - altering chakra flows to a stop, almost, and causing disruption in someone’s network to a point the body reacts, violently and physically - a well-versed medical nin could produce in a like human being with their own chakra. But to imbue a liquid that caused these effects consecutively in a timely manner - for a duration that would kill the victim before they have worn off - it seemed near impossible, the more Tobirama thought of it.

Unless.

He recalled Hashirama’s words from before: the bulk of it seems to stem from the way the victim’s chakra starts to interact with the leash.

Something about that had bothered him. Why would someone go the long way to create a drug that served as a chemical leash due to its withdrawal effect without actually taking advantage of it in interrogation settings? Wouldn’t it be more sensible to let the victim suffer continuously in fact, and not with the belated onset? Sure, the withdrawal effects were lethal at some point - but Tobirama did not doubt for one second that a person who was able to imbue a vial with chakra that changed its effect over time could easily let the uncomfortable feeling of the withdrawal set in sooner and prolong that, shortening the chakra muting phase of the drug. Even scrapping it altogether, really. To immobilize a victim’s chakra was handy for torture, true - it lowered mental defenses. To some degree, anyway - it hadn’t worked with you. Yet… bothering a person with something like the withdrawal effect would do the same just as well. Even for restraining purposes this seemed ineffective: chakra handcuffs or the like would serve the purpose better and longer. A torturer should know how to seal off chakra, too.

It hit Tobirama then.

The leash didn’t change over time. It had not one, but two chakra components: one to clog the victim’s chakra flow, the other to disrupt it.

How had he not realised this sooner? Just as he found a medic-nin might create all these effects in a person, he should’ve realised it would be impossible to do so without actively altering the chakra they were using profusely. Or, multitracking with two different kinds of chakra flows at the same time. He had judged what the leash did was extremely difficult to recreate - but that was because the way he perceived it, it just was not possible. Chakra did not change on its own, someone needed to do it.

He couldn’t help but bark a haughty laugh for being so foolish to think the Stone shinobi had pulled that off. Well, then again he had seen stranger things.

The chakra muting component of the leash settled in and covered up the disruption component until it wore off and the victim began to experience symptoms. The chakra muting component therefore wasn’t intended for torture: it was necessary. Without it, the withdrawal would set in right away, starting to kill the victim. From the examinations he and Hashirama had performed on you during the withdrawal he knew the disruption was incurable in the way toxins might be extracted; that had been a hint to the chakra based nature of the leash. But not just that: it spread through the whole body, seeped through everywhere, making it impossible to be destroyed manually, in a sense. When he examined your blood, he had seen then the correlation of this; the enemies' chakra that had near branded itself to your cells in a most detrimental way. Both the effect it causes as well as your body's reaction were what was killing you during withdrawal.

A cure will have to remove it, Tobirama dismally realised. Somehow.

Though even more dismally he found that new questions arose from these realisations. While he had ascertained there must be two components, he still did not answer the initial question: was it  really  not possible to simply increase the withdrawal effect over time, foregoing the muting component? This seemed extra complicated. There had to be more to it - the only guess he could hazard really was the fact once imbued with chakra, the substance’s effect wouldn’t change. Any shift in intensity in the drug would only happen due to an effect wearing off. And why did the muting effect fade, but not the withdrawal effect? When he first analysed the leash with his sensory skills, the substance appeared so intricately woven, he hadn't even guessed two manipulations happened. Even your blood had not made him guess as much - initially there had been this fuzzy, heavy aspect of it - almost smothering - and in the later sample, it was stingy, like a million hooks that ripped along everything they touched, specifically chakra and its pathways. Why had he not felt both, if there had been two modifications?

Tobirama groaned finally and rubbed a hand over his face. The more he thought about all of this, the more he felt like he was starting to split hairs. He still hadn’t even found out how to weave the chakra in properly. Sighing heavily he released his clones briefly just to let them reappear, equipped with his new thoughts. The exhaustion was bearable as of now given they had not been working long yet, but still, the amount of images, feelings and experience that flooded his mind the moment he broke the jutsu made him stagger a moment.

He was not looking forward to gathering their results for this day.

Cynically he noted more sleep and food might help the issue. But he had no time for that yet.

Time to get to work himself. He began exactly the same as last time; starting to weave chakra he figured would cause the desired effect in a person’s body. Thanks to his added experience the process was a little bit faster, but it still took him - and his clones - a fair deal of time to produce four vials in total. And the concentration required was daunting - he couldn’t allow himself a moment of distraction or the tiny threads might crumble, knot together or frazzle. He might as well try to weave a complex pattern using spiderwebs only, or something of that caliber. The result wasn’t even gratifying: he merely had the muting component woven in, nothing like disruption was added yet. Truth be told, Tobirama was quite worried the delicate structure might crumble if he added more to it.

But he had to, eventually. Still, he had four vials in total now to try it with.

His gaze wandered to the clock. You had exceeded your interval by four hours so far. Which meant right now, you definitely would be suffering - and Hashirama was managing, or else he’d have sent for Tobirama.

If his brother had administered the next dose without him, then so help him whatever power he wanted to place his faith in.

He slipped one of the vials into his pocket. Then, he himself and each of the clones performed a very simple seal to preserve the vials as they were so the chakra woven in wouldn’t diminish over time. With a heavy sigh, he released the three shadow clones - and instantly grasped for the lab bench when the exhaustion hit him. It wasn’t just like feeling tired, worn out. He felt entirely stripped of his last shred of concentration, let alone energy to keep his eyes open. This might as well have been a blow to his head with a hammer, shattering the bone and ringing through his brain. His own chakra levels were not bothered at all - none of this was demanding in chakra quantity. He panted heavily and tried to keep his eyes open forcibly - just a while longer. The experience he gathered was so valuable - he just gained three sessions like this.

The question was how often he could take it.

He lingered a moment longer in order to regain his composure and remember the way to your room again.

Why did he have to remember, though?

Wait. He had his branded kunai in there.

That bad, huh. Tobirama shivered. This kind of blunder really was not like him.

With a low grunt, he placed the vial in his pocket back onto the laboratory rack. He’d conduct his next tests after he rested some. This wasn’t going to yield good results and so he was forced to having only his mood greatly soured by this. He simply had no time for things like… sleep.

Blinking slowly, he forced the last bit of concentration out of him and used the hiraishin seal to teleport to your room.