#hot iron or cold??? killer's would be red iron hot i feel. probably something that happened in smth new with chara

[rottinghouseplants]

Made For Mercy: Chapter 3: Part 1: I See Red

(warning: this story contains sensitive topics)

I pushed my pounding head against the palm of my hand as I sat upright in the bed next to Darling, my feet wrapped around their legs. I glanced at them out of the corner of my eye, they were just smiling at me, watching my every move, like a wounded animal, hoping for mercy. The sight of them was absolutely devastating; the deep purple bruises that lined their body, their bloodied face and torn clothes. The smell of iron and fear hung heavy in the air, and I could feel my heart breaking. "Darling, what happened? I've never seen this many bruises. I don't even know how you're able to walk." They laughed, clutching their ribs, and coughing with every exhale.

"It's not so bad. Just a little sore." They clutched their head slightly, closing their eyes for a moment, blood still dripping out of the open wounds on their face. "I'm a lot tougher than I look." They coughed violently and rested themselves back against the wall of my bedroom. I could feel the rage boiling up inside me, and tears streaming down my face. It was so hard to look at them, not because my feelings had changed, but because of the incomprehensible amount of pain they were in. It looked like special effects, something out of a horror movie.

"You look like you got hit by a car. I think we should get you to the emergency room, please." Darling's eyes widened, their gaze darting across the room as if they were desperately searching for an escape. They shook their head vehemently, avoiding my gaze suddenly. Their hands were fidgeting nervously in front of them, their body language screaming out their fear and anxiety.

I can't," they pleaded, their voice trembling with emotion. "It'll be okay. It's probably just sore like I said. I probably just need rest." They glanced at me with a desperate look in their eyes, pleading with me. "I don't want to go to the emergency room, please. Please, Nyx."

I could feel the rage like a white-hot inferno, searing through my veins and threatening to consume me. "What if something is really wrong?" My eyes narrowed to tiny slits, the icy chill of my anger reflecting in their depths. "You could die. What the fuck am I supposed to do?" I let the tears stream down my cheeks, the sheer despair of those words enough to break me. I crumpled into myself. Weeping softly into my knees, only looking up when I felt their hand wrap around mine with a weak grasp. When I looked up, a soft crooked grin, with a busted lower lip, met my gaze.

"I definitely don't need to go to the hospital. I'll be okay." They intertwined their fingers through mine, "I just need to rest. I appreciate you helping me, Nyx."

"Do you need anything? Are you hungry?" I whispered, my voice completely cracked from the relentless crying. I gracelessly slid my feet out from underneath their legs, and hastily turned to slither off the bed. They reluctantly shook their head and opened their eyes, heavy-lidded with exhaustion, to look at me.

"Wow, you let me lay in your bed and you want to cook for me? On the second date? How'd I get so lucky?" They coughed out a broken laugh, "I think I must have hit the jackpot." I narrowed my eyes and huffed, utterly frustrated.

"I'm serious!" I shot back, my hands clenched into fists on my hips. "And I'd hardly call this a second date, this is a traumatic event." Darling smiled weakly, a twinkle of mischief in their one less-swollen eye, and gave me a knowing wink.

"I know, and I'm sorry. I just wanted to try to make you smile. I'd love some food, but it's not necessary. I might try to wash my face and get some of this blood off before I try to rest." They sat up in the bed slowly, holding one hand against their ribs as if they were trying to shield their wounds. "I have a killer headache, I think maybe some cold water would do me good." I took a deep breath at their sincere plea, and my bubbling anger cooled, turning into a deep sadness.

"I think that's a good idea. I'll make us some soup. The bathroom is across the hall, let me know if you need anything." I turned to make my way towards the kitchen, turning back for a moment in the doorway to look back at them. They struggled to stand, their body shaking with exhaustion, and put a weak hand up to the back of their head as if trying to will away the pain. Tears welled in their eyes and I could see the pain etched in their face. I felt a deep sorrow in my heart as I walked towards the kitchen.

I listened intently as I feverishly chopped the vegetables for the soup on the kitchen counter. Pixel curled up in a tight ball on the adjacent countertop, blissfully asleep, oblivious to the chaos unfolding around him. The soft purring of the cat melded with the running water of the bathroom sink, almost creating a calming effect, like ASMR. I watched the soup boil on the stove, taking a drag of my menthol cigarette while I waited for it to finish. As I extinguished the last ember of the cigarette, a loud clattering echoed throughout my small one bedroom apartment. What the hell was that? I quickly flipped off the stove and threw the butt into the trash can, sprinting to the bathroom. I opened the door with a sense of dread and saw Darling collapsed on the cold, hard tile. No, no, no. My heart sank as I rushed to their side, fear and hopelessness washing over me.

This couldn't be happening. I wasn't going to lose them like this, not like this. The panic had surged through my veins and my body felt frozen. I had to save them, I had to do something. But what? Everything I knew about first aid and safety had completely escaped me; sheer terror had taken hold. People say that in a dire situation, most don't know how they would react, and I was living that truth. When it mattered the most, all I could do was stand there, transfixed in shock. MOVE. DO SOMETHING. For the love of God, DO SOMETHING. Please.

I felt the terror flush through my veins as I sprinted through the bathroom, skidding across the icy tiles and dropping to my knees beside them. I tenderly cradled their head in my arms, pressing my face to theirs, desperately searching for any sign of life - a breath, a heartbeat, anything.

Tears streamed down my face as I cradled their frail body in my arms, the faint sound of breathing barely escaping through what I could only assume were broken ribs. "Wake up, Darling. Jesus Christ, please wake up!" I choked on the bitter words, anger and sorrow wrapping themselves around each syllable. Their hair draped loosely over their swollen, bruised face, the blood had been wiped away but the wounds still remained. The tap still running in the background. "I told you this could happen, I wanted you to go the hospital. Why didn't you listen? What are you so afraid of?" I pleaded, begged for answers from their still, unresponsive form. My heart was heavy with despair and my mind raced with questions, a million thoughts all vying to be heard. I wanted to scream, rage against the injustice of it all, but all I could do was hold them close. I leaned back, pulling them gently onto my lap, still supporting their head in my arms.

The tears streamed down my cheeks, searing my skin with their sulfuric burn as they cascaded down onto the ground. I could no longer contain the sobs that were desperately clawing their way out of my chest. What do I do? I had never been in this situation before, and a fear like I had never known before took ahold of me. "Oh god, I have to call an ambulance," but the thought of leaving them was too much to bear. The fear and doubt twisted and coiled inside of me, creating an oppressive sense of emptiness. Everything had happened so quickly, and this disastrous ending was unfolding before me.

Suddenly, a strained, painful cough full of blood erupted from Darling's chest. Their eyes shooting open violently, sending them straight up out of my arms. I watched in shock as they coughed up small puddles of blood onto my bathroom floor. Desperately, clutching at their chest.

"Darling?" I whispered, my voice barely audible after sobbing. "You have to go to the hospital. I literally thought you were going to die." They turned back towards me, looking at my through their severe black eyes, tears forming and pooling on their waterline. They sat back, clutching their knees to their chest and covering their face in shame.

"I'm so sorry. I can't go there. I need to ask you one more favor, there's only one place you can take me..." They sobbed quietly into their hands, their jaw clenched as they ground their teeth together. "I need you to take me Uptown, to the Feng Building."

I felt my mouth drop open in disbelief and a wave of annoyance wash over me. "You want me to take you to, Victor Feng, the politician?" I turned my head, perplexed by the situation and wounded by the feeling that I was being disregarded. What was I going through all of this for?

"I understand that it doesn't make sense right now, and it may never, because honestly, I wouldn't want to see me after this either. But, I need you to take me there. They are the only people who can help me." They gazed at me, their eyes imploring me with an earnestness that left me shaken to my core. I stood up, and walked out of the bathroom without a word. I walked into the bedroom and began to get dressed, slipping my jacket back on and stepping into my jeans. I returned to the bathroom with a spare coat in hand, handing it gently to Darling as they still sit on the floor. They looked up at me, and nodded. "I promise, that if I see you again, I will explain all of this. I don't care what the consequences are, anymore. I want you to know." I nodded with a sternness and pulled them from the ground, helping them get back into their clothes.

We were silent in the cab ride, I caught several suspicious glances through the rearview mirror from the driver at Darling's aggressively bruised face, but no words were exchanged. A light snow had begun to fall over the city, and as we walked up to the Feng high rise building, it bit at my face, burning the tip of my nose and my cheeks.

The doorman seemed to recognize Darling, and waved us towards the elevator, as we entered the private living quarters, we were greeted by a small fragile framed woman, with almost a doll like figure. Her voice was sharp and icy, slicing through the air like a blade. "Darling, what is this? What happened?" she barked, her cold dark eyes demanding answers.

Darling's knees began to buckle, as he struggled to stay standing. I watched as the woman opened her mouth to say something, but a tall, cold looking man with slicked back jet black hair and an air of superiority walked into the room. His presence filled the room with an oppressive energy. "I got jumped in the Art District, Lily," Darling whimpered, their voice tight with pain. "I need a doctor." The man that entered the room grit his teeth and growled under his breath before slamming a balled fist against the concrete wall.

His eyes narrowed with a ferocious intensity, a blaze of anger burning in his gaze. "Goddammit. They think they can take out one of my best. Lily!" The man roared, the sound reverberating off the walls, his voice echoing through the large penthouse. The small woman before him flinched, her posture stiffening in fear. "Call Dr. Yai! Get her here asap!" he commanded, his tone unforgiving. He swept Darling's crumbling body up in his arms and rushed up the steps on the far side of the room, then paused, turning back to me. His voice was low, yet filled with rage. "And you! Don't go anywhere, I need to talk to you!" He then continued up the stairs, tending to Darling.

I sat down on the large modern couch in front of me, knowing it was probably more expensive than my entire apartment. I stared out of the large windows that lined the wall behind me. The sun had begun to set, painting the sky with hues of orange and magenta, while the city skyline slowly sunk below. I could feel the tension in the air, the palpable fear and anger that had been stirred up in the room. I watched with a strange intensity, as a statuesque young woman in a spotless white lab coat flew through the doors, with a man in light blue scrubs trailing closely behind her. They spoke to Lily in a hurried, yet gentle manner before ascending the stairs. Lily's pacing back and forth across the living room seemed to go on forever, a frenzied blur of emotions and anticipation. The air around me seemed to have frozen in place, and I felt my heart thumping against my chest as I witnessed the unfolding scene. It was as if the entire world had shifted into fast forward, and I was being carried along in a dreamlike state. Was it the overwhelming nerves finally getting to me, or was I slowly slipping into a dissociative state?

Dr. Yai looked down at Darling upon entering the room with her surgical nurse, Brady. "Goddammit, Darling. What did you get yourself into this time?" Frustration and fear laced through her words, she knew that injuries this severe could be fatal if they couldn't access the root of the problems soon enough. The acrid scent of antiseptic and blood filled the room, pushing away the sterile atmosphere. She watched the nurse, hooking up the multiple chords and tubes to the patient. She sighed deeply, inspecting their deep wounds around the face, she could see even without a deeper examination that Darling has obviously suffered a pretty severe nasal fracture, as well as some micro fractures around their right eye socket. Probably some broken ribs based on the bruising and labored breathing, she prayed silently that their lung wasn't punctured by one of the loose bone fragments. She lifted Darling's head gently, inspecting the back of their skull for any damage. The cold, clammy feel of their skin against her fingertips made her heart ache, she knew they were in serious trouble. She gently set their head back down and looked up at Brady, sadness and concern radiating from her face, her attempt at a collected demeanor failed. This was not good, they needed to move fast and they needed to be extremely careful if they wanted Darling to pull through.

"I think we are dealing with a possible cerebral hemorrhage. Along with possibly multiple fractures in the rib cage. This is going to be difficult with the limited resources, but we have to try." Dr. Yai pulled her surgical tray towards the bed where Darling laid unconscious. Brady pulled his gloves onto his hands, checking the vital signs monitor, nervously. Suddenly, the heart monitor began to pick up pace, beeping frantically. His eyes shot up towards Dr. Yai.

"We have a spike, doctor!" He immediately rushed into action, "We have to move!" Fear and urgency made his voice crack, he knew time was of the essence. Dr. Yai nodded, her knuckles turning white as she clenched the edge of the surgical tray. She had to keep her emotions in check, she was the only one who could make sure Darling would pull through.

[schtewpidcupid]

tw: knifeplay, mentions of murder, bloodplay if you squint very hard.

slasher whitney / fpc.....

It was foolish to be in the woods past sunset. You knew that, and usually you would’ve avoided it at all costs - the danger was too great.

But, despite being tired from a late night of studying and a busy school day, and knowing you had plans that evening, when some of your classmates suggested going to the lake you’d readily agreed. It seemed fun and, as of late, large group outings were becoming more common. There was safety in numbers, after all. You’d all stuck close together through the woods, until you got to the relative safety of the lakeside, where everyone had separated into their little cliques or grouped up to play an impromptu football match. You had elected to lounge around near a few students you recognised from your English class, laying back and basking in the late-afternoon sun while you listened to them gossiping. You swore you were only resting your eyes.

When you woke up, it was still, and quiet, and a cold breeze was drawing in from the lake. You’d fallen asleep. That, on its own, wasn’t an issue. The issue arose from the fact that everyone had apparently pissed off home and not thought to wake you to come with them, instead leaving you alone on the shore. 

Walking home through the woods in this town was dangerous at the best of times, what with all the creatures and the human creeps and the bizarre flora. Lately, however, there had been a particular fixation on not being out alone, especially at night - there was a killer on the loose. Even in this town, with its high crime rate and lack of moral decency, it was rare for anyone to be out-and-out murdered: attacks, yes; disappearances, yes; but murder? That was unusual, and the brutality of the crimes was enough to shock even the most cynical locals. The fact that your classmates had forgotten you wasn’t just rude or inconvenient; it was dangerous - more dangerous than any trip through the forest.

You were about fifteen minutes through your journey, alternating between short bursts of jogging and carefully picking your way through the foliage in an attempt to remain undetected, when you felt that you were being watched. That was the issue with sticking to the more well-worn trails, you supposed - there was always some pervert, lurking, waiting to catch someone unawares and take advantage. With a sigh, far too used to this kind of shit, you ducked off the trail and back into the trees, trying to make your way through and relying on the dying embers of late-evening light to guide you. 

It was less than a minute later, already far off the trail, when you were startled by a noise. A dull, heavy thump from behind you. 

Your breath quickened and your jaw set, a meagre attempt to calm yourself, before you took a look over your shoulder and almost immediately started sprinting away, before you could even fully register the figure you saw. Tall and somewhat broad, clad in all black, red horns rising out from beneath a hood, face obscured in shadow - a cricket bat, held loosely in one hand, tapping against the trunk of a tree. 

You run for so long that you can feel your lungs start to burn, heart hammering so hard in your chest that you swear it's going to break through your sternum, your legs aching as you run despite the way you are trembling. You're no closer to town and, in your panic, you realise you must have gotten lost, may even be running deeper into the woods, further away from whatever semblance of safety the dimly lit streets offer. Then, before you realise what is happening, your foot catches on something and you're tumbling, falling, arms out to lessen the impact, thorns and branches cutting into your palms. You try to scramble to your feet but whatever spell had been keeping you going has broken, and you just fall forward again, stumbling, no longer able to get yourself upright. Half-crawling, you try to get behind a tree - despite the dense forest, the thick foliage and the gloom, you've never felt so exposed as you do right now, crouched in your little hiding spot. 'At least,' you think 'I can't hear anything chasing me.'

Then the figure steps out from behind the tree, and-- you've been on your knees enough times to recognise the scuffed, steel-toed workmans boots that Whitney seems to always wear. You feel a flood of relief as you stare at the black leather and maroon stitching, and it must be plain on your face; Whitney huffs out a laugh. 

"Hello, sweetheart," you look up in time to see him throw his hood back and raise his red demon mask, and he grins down at you. "Funny seeing you here."

The cricket bat clatters to the ground, both of his hands grabbing your arms and hauling you back on to your feet before backing you roughly up against the tree. 

"Whitney," you whine. He buries his face in your neck, teeth grazing over your pulse. His mask is still perched atop his head, the hard plastic line of its sculpted lips brush against your jaw. "Whitney, you scared me."

You can feel him laugh as much as you can hear him; the shake of his shoulders, the exhale of his breath against your throat. 

"Sorry, slut," His voice almost sounds genuinely plaintive, "Wasn't expecting to see you so soon. Thought I'd mess with you a bit. Didn't expect you to bolt like that, though. You almost got away," his gloved hands trail down to your waist, the thick leather heavy against your skin through your school shirt, "but I caught you in the end."

Your trembling legs finally give out and you slump back against the tree, arms winding around Whitney's neck to keep yourself upright. He raises his head, fixing you with a predatory grin; he runs his tongue over his teeth and you can see his tongue stud glinting even in the half-light. 

"What am I going to do with you, eh?" One hand draws away from your waist and you whine in protest. The other hand shoves you up against the tree again, with enough force that your arms unlink from around his neck; he takes a half-step back and your hands come to rest pathetically on his shoulders while he regards you with a smirk. You think that this is the longest you've ever been fully clothed when alone with him, yet you feel just as exposed as you would if you were naked. 

It's only when his hand leaves his pocket that you realise it had even been there, that he'd been looking for something in there after he drew his hand away from you. And, evidently, from the object clutched in his hand, he found it. 

A knife. 

He must have seen the brief flash of panic in your widened eyes because he barks out a laugh as he brings the blade to the soft flesh of your thigh, cold metal tracing its way under the hem of your school skirt. 

"Maybe I should start letting you wear underwear again," he says absently, the tip of the knife creeping higher and higher up your inner thigh, "I'd love to cut them off you. Bet it'd be really hot." Your breath hitches at the thought, fingers gripping the epaulettes of his black leather jacket. 

When you feel the knife trace over the slit of your cunt, light as a feather but still cold and sharp enough to make you jolt, you moan out his name, whining with each subsequent pass of the metal against your slick core. He hums in response, eyes flicking up from where he was staring at his hand under your skirt. With a laugh, he brings his free hand up to your face, pushing two gloved fingers into your whimpering mouth. You can taste a tang of iron on the rough leather as you eagerly suck on them, your eyes slipping closed. 

"I've trained you well, haven't I? You're so desperate for me to fuck your mouth," His own mouth is parted and he stares at you almost reverently, watching you moan around his fingers in response. The hand between your legs pulls back, and though the knife had barely touched you, you immediately miss the thrill of the cold metal against your sensitive pussy. He brings the knife up so you can see it, your arousal coating the blade as it glints in the fading light - you aren't sure if your hazy eyes deceive you, but you swear you can see something red pooled around the hilt. Whitney stares into your eyes with a lustful intensity as he brings the blade to his mouth, the flat of his tongue slowly licking your slick from the metal. Your legs buckle, empty cunt clenching around nothing. It's too much, all the teasing and the adrenaline. You're aching for him to fuck you. 

"Good girl," he says, pulling the knife from his mouth and tucking it away in his pocket. He removes his fingers from your mouth, tracing them down your chin and leaving a trail of saliva. You probably look like a complete mess right now. 

"I'll give you a five minute head-start," he says, and you nod.

"Don't make it so easy for me this time, okay slut?"

He steps back and, through the haze of your arousal, you try and run.

[hanniiesuckle17]

Snow Covered Lashes

A/n:  so this is my first ever “collab” and I'm so excitteddddddddd! i hope you guys like this and enjoy! 

Tag List: @woodiegochile​ @mini-meanhoe​ @leggomylino​ @hanstagrams​ @desertofdessert @hoes4hoseok @jeonqqin​ @geminirules​ @crscendoforsung​ @mrsunshine999​ @jisungsjheekies​ @hannie-squirrel00​ @cotccotc​ @kodzu-ken​ @konenichi​ @yangs-jeongin​ @binniebutter​ @orangegyu​ @skzwriternet​

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary:  There's a common saying that whoever you connect eyes with during the first snow, you are destined to spend forever with.

A Christmas tree needs to be bought for your apartment and you have drawn the short straw. Sans your roommate you head out to a local Christmas tree farm to pick out the perfect Christmas tree to brighten up your home with holiday spirit. Fate may have a different plan for you. 

Genre: fluff, meet-cute, winter themed, stangers to lovers au

❅

The clunky door of your rundown car shut behind you as you exited the vehicle. Two weeks before Christmas and there was still no tree in your apartment. Days ago your roommate had promised to get one, but to no one’s surprise they didn’t follow through. 

After searching for an hour you finally found a Christmas tree farm that was still stocked and open. Before you even left the parking lot the sweet strong smell of the timber embraced you. Taking a deep breath you walked through the cold and to the entrance of the farm. The proprietor greeted you with a smile and welcomed you. 

The evergreen trees were propped up in rows creating almost a labyrinth to get lost in. The mulch crunched under your boots as you wandered between the tall giants. While you would love nothing more than to buy the biggest tree here and bring it home, none of these would fit in your small apartment without breaking through the ceiling. You were surprised to see so much greenery left in stock this close to the holidays. 

Ironically, you felt like Goldilocks searching through the rows for the tree that was just right. But, you were determined to leave with a tree even if you had to cut one down yourself. 

You brushed your fingers over the pointy fronds of a tree, trying to imagine it fitting in your living room. Each time you breathed in the brisk smell of the cold mixed with the branches settled in your chest. Each time you breathed out a puff of warm air escaped like a billowing cloud of smoke. 

“Remind me again why we have to get a real tree?” A deep voice said from the other end of the row. Turning, you found a group of four boys rounding the corner. The one with red hair responded.

“Because, it smells nice and there is no room to store a fake one.”

One of the older looking boys huffed, rolling his eyes. “Chan, it’s going to shed everywhere. There will be needles all over the practice room for weeks!” Your eyes fell on the tallest of the group. He was certainly one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. 

His brown hair, looked soft and blew gently in the winter wind. His long fingers shoved themselves into the tan coat he wore. A scarf was loosely wrapped around his neck and his nose was turning pink at the end. He reminded you of a puppy, long legs moving side to side to keep warm. 

“Seungmin, what are you looking at?” The deep voice asked. Shockingly, it came from the smallest boy, with a happy pixie-like face and freckles across his cheeks and almost white blonde hair. 

The handsome boy, Seungmin, had stopped moving and was staring down the row. Turning around, you attempted to find what he was looking at only to find nothing behind you. Was he looking at you?

Pulling your knit hat securely over your burning ears you shook your head and ventured down the next row. “You are here for a Christmas tree. Not attractive boys. Get your priorities straight.” You softly scolded yourself. 

“HEY! GIMME BACK MY HOT CHOCOLATE!” The deep voice shouted from  over the wall of trees. Minding your own business you continued your search and paid the rowdy boys no mind. 

A tap on your shoulder paused your quest for the perfect tree. “Ummm....hi,” Your eyes widened as you turned and found the tall boy behind you. Not only was his voice sweeter than you could ever imagine, but up close his features were even more striking. “You don’t know me....and this might be creepy or serial killer like.....but um...do you want some hot chocolate?”

Looking down, you saw a to-go cup in his hands. Steam rose from the small opening in the lid. You pointed to the vessel before looking up at the boys hopeful eyes.

“Had I not just heard the screaming complaint of your friend, yes that would be a very serial killer move on your part.”

Your fingers brushed over his as you took the cup from his hands. A nervous laugh left his lips and he brushed over the back of his neck. “Sorry, you just looked cold. Felix didn’t drink from it and to be honest, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

The heat in your ears was returning and now spreading quickly to your cheeks. “I’m Y/n.” He smiled hearing your name and his grin grew bigger as you stuck out your hand for him to shake. 

“Seungmin.”

His long fingers wrapped around yours, sending a warm tingling feeling all the way up your arm. “Have you found a tree yet?” You questioned, beginning to walk down the row, Seungmin following very closely behind. You could practically feel his body heat right next to you. 

“Chan will probably pick the biggest one we can possibly fit in our practice room without us getting yelled at.”

“Practice room?”

“Oh,” Seungmin looked at his feet, a bright smile still on his lips. His hands were pushed deep into his coat pockets. “Um....I’m actually an idol. Those are some of my members back there.” 

Your brow quirked up and a mischevious smile played at the corner of your mouth. “Really? Prove it. Sing something for me!” Seungmin laughed and looked around before coming to the conclusion you were alone. He took a breath before a soft melody left his lips with a smile. 

“Last Christmas I gave you my heart. And the very next day you gave it away. This year to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special.”

The way Seungmin sang, felt like it was just for you. “Okay, I believe you.” It was your turn to look down at the ground in hopes of hiding the deep red flushing your cheeks. The singer leaned down to see your face, before standing back up and walking a few steps ahead of you. 

“You’re cute when you blush.”

Catching your lip between your teeth you shuffled to catch up to him, shoulder brushing up against his arm. Just as you were about to speak again, something cold floated down onto your nose. Halting your steps your eyes looked down, unintentionally crossing to see what had lighted upon your skin. Seungmin giggled at your cute expression and brushed away what you saw to be a snowflake.

“Snow?” You questioned, looking up at the sky. 

As if you said the magic word, hundreds of soft snow flurries drifted down from the sky. White flecks floated down to rest on Seungmin’s brown tresses. Your eyes locked and you couldn’t help but think that this was a sign from the universe that Seungmin was someone special to you. 

Hesitantly, the handsome boy raised his hand. “Close your eyes,” Smiling, you did as he asked and waited for what he was going to do next. A gentle touch on your eye lids surprised you, but you didn’t pull away. When the feeling retreated, you opened your eyes to find Seungmin with a shy smile on his face. 

“Sorry....you had snow on your eyelashes.”

You watched him stare timidly at the ground, which was slowly collecting snowflakes. “I thought you were going to kiss me,” You whispered before sipping on the warm sweet beverage.

“I wouldn't do that. Not unless you asked me to.”

“What if I asked you to?”

It was Seungmin’s turn to blush and he shyly adjusted the scarf around his neck. He stepped closer, clearly nervous. Your heart was beating faster at how cute he was being. The boy leaned down and softly pressed his lips to your cheek. If he had moved only a little, your lips would meet his. 

The two of you stood facing each other for a moment, both completely frozen from the innocent kiss that had just occurred. Both his and your cheeks were flaming red and you struggled to find any words. All you could do was smile and take another sip from the chocolate liquid confection. 

With an anxious laugh, Seungmin finally spoke. “So...uh...can I help you pick out a tree?” He asked as the snow around you continued to fall, catching on both of your forms. 

“If you let me take you out to lunch after.”

Seungmin looked up, pretending to think. A tight lipped, but genuine smile lay on his face. “That’s a tough deal. But, I think I’ll take it.” He lifted his hand from the warmth of his coat pocket and reached for your own. Your stomach did flips as his long slender fingers laced themselves with yours. “Let’s find you a Christmas tree!” 

❅

Masterlist

[whumperstorm]

Blood Donor

They were going to have visitors, Elias said, looking down on Jon where he kneeled on the floor of his cell. He nodded in understanding. He’d be on his best behavior then. He wasn’t expecting his master to shoot out a clawed hand and grasp his hair, yanking him off the floor. His eyes stung with the pain as Elias snarled.

“So don’t try anything funny, got it? You’re mine. You will not ruin this.”

“Y-yes sir, I’m sorry sir!”

Elias dropped him and he landed painfully on his knees. “Good.” He smiled a dangerous, fanged smile, before placing Jon’s dinner on the floor and stepping out. The door locked with a screech behind him.

Jon sat back from his kneel and leaned against the wall to eat. Not all that more comfortable, he’d rather be sitting on the tiny cot he was provided by his master, but he’d also like to avoid spilling anything on it and angering Elias’ especially short temper he seemed to have today. He sighed and picked up his plate.

At least his meals were filling and sometimes considered delicious to Jon. “We need to keep you nice and healthy.” Elias had said, “Makes your blood all the sweeter.” Of course, Elias cared not for Jon’s preferences and the comfort of a hot meal was lost the moment he tried to be picky or “ungrateful”. Leaving anything on the plate was unacceptable and called for punishment apparently.

Tonight’s meal was well-seasoned curry, one of Jon’s favorites. He wondered if Elias was attempting to bribe him a bit. What visitors could be so important to put Elias this on edge? He’d brought plenty of visitors before, The Lucas family for one, (who Jon disliked quite a lot. Such a cold, condescending family) and sometimes just Peter himself. On those nights he was left mostly alone. The two of them would eat dinner and feed, then retreat to the lounge to indulge in one too many wine refills. On those nights Elias sometimes allowed Jon to pick out a new book from the library before returning to his cell. Reading was a rare luxury, and Peter always left Elias in a good mood where he was willing to allow it.

Maybe Elias thought that tonight’s guests would cause Jon to consider an escape attempt. Well, he needn't worry, he’d tried that a couple of times already and had been punished mercilessly for it. He had learned quickly that no one cared that he was here against his will. Blood donors were meant to be signed on through legal contracts. Provide fresh blood in exchange for housing and care and the freedom to move around as you wish. Lots of human newly grads or retirees signed contracts and after Jon lost his grandmother, he didn’t have anywhere to go and decided to take on the job. He was unaware that Elias had no intention of treating him like a guest. Locked up within the first week with no one on the outside who would know or care that he was missing. Well, maybe Georgie, if Jon hadn’t royally fucked that up.

The first time Elias had brought guests, he threatened Jon into obedience, but the moment one of the visitors approached him to feed he urgently whispered his current predicament in hope that they would call the cops on his kidnapper. Instead, they laughed. Laughed and fed anyway, before walking right up to Elias and warning him that he had “a chatty one”. Elias had laughed too, but when the guest walked away his eyes locked onto Jon’s from where he sat and the fury and darkness in his eyes sent Jon’s heart dropping to his stomach. That night, Jon learned exactly how the sting of a whip felt on bare skin.

“A shame to waste such delicious blood.” Elias sighed, between lashes. “However you disobeyed me tonight and embarrassed me in front of my guests. I have a reputation to withhold. This little outburst has made it clear I’ve been far too soft with you.” 

There was a pause and footsteps from behind. Jon was sure that his back must be in ribbons at this point. Through his own ragged breathing he distantly heard the sound of something metal being picked up before fire exploded across his back and he screamed. Salt water rolled down his abused skin, washing away the red and leaving agony in its wake. The chains on his wrists kept him from curling in on himself.

 Elias leaned down to whisper in Jon’s ear. “This will not happen again, understand?”

Jon could do nothing but sob as he shakily nodded his head. He was thrown back into his cell after that, lying still on the floor and unable to move through his pain to get onto the cot. At some point a maid entered and bandaged his wounds. It made sense, Elias wanted to punish him, not kill him through an infection.

He tried again, after that. How could he not? He was stubborn, and now he knew he couldn’t trust anyone to help him. He’d have to do it himself. He waited weeks, letting himself heal and obeying Elias as best he could against his own pride. Then when a servant arrived with his dinner one night, he knocked them out with the leg of the table he was provided. He noticed it had been loose and worked at it for days until it snapped. He felt a bit bad for attacking the man, he was probably in a similar situation to him. But he needed to get out of here. He could feel guilty when he was far far away from Elias’ estate.

Unfortunately, he was caught. Of course he was caught. Elias found him right outside the kitchen doors no more than 5 minutes after his escape. Jon had no idea how he would have known, but he did, and Jon only had a moment to glimpse the night sky before he was grabbed in the vampire’s iron grip and yanked inside. He was dragged kicking and screaming back to his cell. Elias’ eyes held the same fury as the last time and Jon’s back twinged. But then Elias took a deep breath and steeled his expression.

“I was unaware that my dinner selections were so unacceptable for you that you’d resort to assault.”

Jon blinked in confusion. “What do y-”

Elias continued over his interruption. “In that case, you can go hungry until you decide to be grateful for what I provide for you.” Elias swept out of the room, taking Jon’s uneaten dinner with him. Jon was left on the floor of his cell, scared, confused, and so disappointed. He had been so close. Yet somehow Elias was waiting for him.

It was two weeks before he was given anything more to eat.

___

Elias came to collect him a few hours after his dinner. He was given a loose-fitting olive green shirt with see-through lace arms and a bronze pair of dress pants. The outfit left his neck and shoulders free to make feeding as easy as possible. A servant braided his hair and tied it up into a bun with a golden pin to keep it in place. Elias always made sure he looked his best for company. The tip of the pin was shaped like an eye, the Bouchard family crest, with an emerald in the center as the pupil. He was then given golden earrings to match.

“Master…”

Elias looked up from admiring his work. “Yes, Jon?”

Jon glanced at him before looking back at the ground. “May I- may I ask who is visiting?”

Elias chuckled softly. “Always so curious, aren’t you? Yes you may ask. After all, you should be prepared to serve them to the best of your ability.” Elias reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of Jon’s face. “I’ve decided to expand my coven; tonight I’ve invited five possible candidates into my home to discuss matters. Quite a curious bunch. I’m sure they will be valuable additions should they choose to join.”

Elias moved away and snapped his fingers. The servant dressing Jon stepped back with a bow and Jon followed Elias out the door of his cell. He was led up the stairs and down the hall to the dining room. Elias gestured for Jon to take his place against the right hand wall. He was to kneel on the floor cushioned by a pillow. Behind him was a simple couch where those who wished to feed would sit. Jon noticed that a book was sitting on the side table within reach. After settling down he read the title on the spine. It was the next in a series he was currently enjoying. Oh Elias was definitely trying to get on Jon’s good side tonight. He would take what he could get while Elias was feeling so generous. Perhaps he was anxious that these visitors would decide not to join. Jon wasn’t about to mess things up and ruin the comfort he was being offered.

Once the night began, Elias would welcome the guests, they would exchange pleasantries before eating their meal, (which included multiple courses and a dessert) then Elias would offer his donor for any who wished to feed. Jon hoped only a few would take him up on the offer. Five visitors meant a max of six feedings and a killer headache in the morning. Jon got comfortable in his place and picked up the book. Either way, he had a while to wait before he was needed. 

When the guests arrived, Jon mostly ignored them at first and kept his nose in his book. There were two men and three women. They all looked pretty different and were most likely not related. The two men and one of the women seemed already familiar with each other while the other two women were attached at the hip. Jon could already see two sets of teeth. One poked out past the hijabi woman’s lips and he saw the other set when the bigger of the men smiled brightly in greeting. Two of the guests in particular,  however, caught Jon’s eye. The second of the men, a slim, toned man with colored hair, and the tallest of the women with short blonde hair and multiple scars. They seemed... scruffier than the rest, and their eyes didn't pierce like most vampires’ did. They were deep and full in a way Jon could just about recognise.

The group talked politely over drinks until the kitchen staff arrived with their meals. From Jon’s place he couldn’t tell what was being served, but it smelled delicious. He realized what was different about the two when their food was served with sterling silver cutlery. It was designed differently to not get confused with the rest. Two of the guests were  werewolves, not vampires. This took Jon by surprise. Elias said he was trying to expand his coven, why would he invite wolves? He had always been stingy about “purity of blood” or whatever.

Jon noticed Elias’ gaze boring into him from the head of the tabe. Caught. Jon quickly looked back down at the floor. The night’s proceedings were none of his business. He let the rest of the conversation roll over him after that. However, he couldn’t help but notice one of the women kept glancing his way. She had arrived with the men and sat between them at the table. Her hair was long and dark, curling past her dark, freckled shoulders. Big, round glasses framed her face and her eyes caught Jon’s attention every time she looked over at him. He couldn’t parse out her expression but he tensed under her gaze. Perhaps she was excited to feed. Elias had said Jon had exceptionally sweet-smelling blood. He tried his best to ignore her, focusing on his book and waiting for dessert to be served.

___

A long wait and four courses later, Elias finally stood. He smiled over his glass of wine as he addressed his guests.

“Now that we’ve properly eaten, I’d like to offer my Donor, for those who wish to feed.” He gestured towards Jon with a sweep of his arm. “Of course, I’ve also prepared a delicious pastry selection for those who don’t have the palate for blood.” He smirked like he was in on some inside joke. Of course, there were two  wolves at the table so Jon supposed it made sense. 

The hijabi woman stood first and Jon set his book down on the table. Elias looked towards the larger man with the dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He shook his head politely. “I’ve recently fed, thank you. Though, I’ll take one of the pastries.”

“Of course.” Elias said. He gestured to the kitchen staff in waiting. “Please prepare four dessert servings.” They nodded and retreated through the kitchen doors.

Wait, four? Jon counted the guests in his head. Two werewolves and one vampire who didn’t want to use him. That left the vamp headed towards him and the lady who kept staring at him and who Jon noticed was now looking at him with a look of… Surprise? Disgust? Maybe she was angry that Elias hadn’t invited her to feed as well. Well, that was his mistake, not Jon’s.

His view was then blocked by the hijabi woman as she went to stand in front of him. She leaned down and… held out a hand? Jon blinked in surprise.

“Basira Hussain.” She introduced bluntly.

Jon stared dumbly at her offered hand before awkwardly taking it. “Uh, J-Jonathan Sims?” He stammered.

They shook briefly before “Basira” smirked slightly and sat down on the couch. “Ah, you must be new, then. Don’t worry, you get used to it.” She then gently grasped his chin to better expose his neck. “May I?”

Jon could do nothing but sit dumbfounded. He certainly wasn’t new, and no one had ever asked permission before. They always took what they wanted at Elias’ request.

Basira must have noticed his reluctance, because she paused, letting go of his chin and resting her hand on his shoulder instead.

“Sims? Are you-” She froze mid-sentence, her eyes locked onto Jon’s back with an expression like ice. What was…

Oh.

His back. 

The whip scars.

“Y-yes!” Jon stammered a bit too loud. “Go ahead!”

Basira jumped slightly at his outburst, glancing between his face and back, before her expression went carefully blank and she sank her teeth into his throat. Jon winced at the sharp pain but it quickly dulled as her vampire’s venom took effect. She didn’t feed for long at all, only long enough to be respectful, before she pulled back and licked her fangs clean. Jon slumped back as the wave of dizziness passed.

Then she was gone, headed back towards the group at the table. The kitchen staff had just returned and were bustling around, setting down dessert options. Jon noted that Basira went the long way back to her seat, passing the group of three. Elias’ angry eyes were currently focused on one servant who missed spilling his drink by a millimeter and Basira leaned down to whisper something in the freckled woman’s ear before sliding past. Her round eyes went wide and she looked over at Jon again.

Jon was getting pretty sick of being stared at in all honesty. He was so confused at this point and his knees were getting sore. If this woman was so horrified by the thought of feeding on him, and now this “Basira” was talking shit about him, could he please just go back to his cell?

But then, the woman did something strange that Jon couldn’t ignore. She looked him straight in the eyes; she made sure he was paying attention to her. Then raised a hand to her face and lifted her upper lip to reveal….

Teeth. Normal teeth. Not the sharp fangs of a vampire or the large canines of a wolf, but blunt, normal, human teeth.

Suddenly the night’s proceedings were very much Jon’s business.

[brucewhite]

See You in Hell | White Winter (BHG)

An unlikely alliance forms.

TW: Fire/burning, some mentions of murder, death, and grief

@frcstedkiss

BRUCE

Eventually, Bruce found his way out of the tundra. His head was spinning. The emotional whiplash of finding out he’d won, and then realizing what he had to do, and then finding out he hadn’t won, and then realizing what he had done, all made his head spin. He wandered around for a long time, clutching Winston’s backpack, and finally fell asleep under a tree in a forested section of the arena.

He woke up disoriented, but could find his wits enough to get his spile in the tree, drink some water, and wash the blood off of his hands. Part of Bruce wondered if he should just give up. He wasn’t sure if he could live with the choices he had made.

But he had made it this far.

He saw a flash of blonde hair in the distance. Bruce would recognize her anywhere. Gliss. At least Tigg wouldn’t be with her— Bruce had seen the Career’s face on the sky last night. But her girlfriend would be angry, and out for blood, Bruce was sure.

He put his hand protectively over his (Winston’s) bag. “Why do you keep trying to steal from me?!” Bruce said defensively. “Can’t you leave me alone?!”

GLISS

Gliss had barely slept through the night. When she did sleep, she dreamed of that final moment with Tigg, and how she never should fallen asleep on her. Everything had been such a whirlwind.

When she awoke, she found found silver parachutes finally finding their way to her. Tigg was right, they hated them together but alone they were pitiful. Of course she would get gifts now.

As she ate her fruit and read her note, a need for violence grew in her heart. All she wanted was to tear everyone apart now. Just to get to the letter that Tigg left her. Who cared about winning?

And so, with her fruit finished, she threw her bag onto her shoulder and skipped, holding the hatchet in her other hand. Before she knew it, she saw the man that started it all. What a delight that he’d be her first kill.

“Baby, it’s the HUNGER games! They don’t just call it that for nothing!” She said, turning her head at the bag in his arms like a puppet and laughing… Loud. “You killed him!! I can’t believe it! You killed that poor man and took his shit! He trusted you!” She shook her head, tsk tsk tsk and crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s cold, fourker. I don’t even know if I could’ve done that and I’m here to merk your ass.”

BRUCE 

The comment cut deep. Reminders of what Bruce had done were everywhere, but it was another thing entirely to hear someone say it out loud. Knowing that this was probably what everyone was saying back at home. That Bruce was a cold-blooded killer, ruthless and unfeeling. Bruce didn't know if that was true. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't numb himself to the guilt and pain. But maybe that was what you had to be in order to with the Games.

It took him a moment to process what was going on, thrown back into his ugly thoughts. But Bruce managed to grab his weapons and scramble to his feet. Did two hatchets give him an advantage (did he even want to use his hatchet on anyone else? He had to, he had to) Regardless, Bruce picked them both up. At least maybe it would look threatening.

"No," he said softly, frozen in a defensive stance. "I... did what I thought I had to do. But you--"

Bruce paused. There was a sound in the distance. Barking. Dogs. Was it the umuluats, back to try and eat him again? Or something worse?

"Did you hear that?"

Behind Gliss, a dog-like figure approached, but it didn't look like a real dog. It was shifting, almost flowing. Another illusion? A ghost? Something worse?

a thin line of red-hot fire started dripping out of its mouth. Slowly, Bruce pointed one of his hatchets at it. "...Behind you."

GLISS

Gliss prepared to think it all through, to give him the comeback of a century with her finger in the air. But then she had heard it too. Was that… barking? Like a dog?

She loved dogs!

She turned around to find a smoke-like image appearing, fire dripping out of it’s mouth. Surely, it would try to eat her. Every nerve in her body said to run but all that came out was,

“TAG YOU’RE IT, PUP!” She called, laughing as she ran as fast as she could right past Bruce. “Might wanna dash, buddy! They got lava breath!”

BRUCE

Bruce could deal with cold. He could not deal with fire.

He had seen the scorched remains of the cornucopia in his wandering, and was grateful it hadn't affected him. But if these dogs were going to set the forest on fire... Bruce was worried.

Without a moment's hesitation, he picked up his things and followed Gliss, running as fast as he could. "What are those things?!" he shouted.

GLISS

Gliss shook her head. “I don’t know! They look like hell hounds!” Of course they’d throw mythological beasts at that. She wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

“We can have to cut to a different section! Any section!” The billowing of smoke was gaining on her bad leg, the leg that had now been sutured by the deceased.

It felt like fire, licking at her leg. They needed to get away fast. She felt another laugh rising in her throat as danger approached. “I don’t think you can kill them!” She said, a smile start and falling. Her mind couldn’t process danger correctly at the moment.

BRUCE

Bruce swung his axe wildly, but it sliced through the dogs without seeming to touch them at all. They looked like smoke... were they actually smoke?

What kind of horrors did the Capitol even have? Bruce had seen so many Games... but never anything like this. He ran harder, ahead of Gliss. "I see water in the distance, come on, that way!" Bruce shouted, glancing behind him. Was that... Was Gliss's leg on fire?

"Gliss, your leg!" he shouted, slowing down. He should have run ahead. Let the dogs get her. But something held him back.

GLISS

Her skin melted like someone took a hot iron to her leg and pressed hard, letting it just sizzle off like hamburger meat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She yelled, reaching out for Bruce. “It hurts! Bad dogs! BAD!”

Her leg all the way up to her thigh just ached like her nerves were shot. “Please don’t let me die!” She screamed, “I’m sorry for stealing the alcohol! I’m sorry!”

BRUCE

Bruce froze.

Please don't let me die.

For a moment, it wasn't Gliss shouting to him.  It was Winston, lying in the snow. It was Vanessa, in the blood rain. All the ghosts that followed Bruce. Would she be the next one? It was the thing he was supposed to do. But it hurt. So much. He could take off right now, but... at what cost? Every day he felt less and less like a person.

And over a little bottle of rubbing alcohol?

"Come on!" Bruce cried, grabbing her arm and pulling her along, away from the dogs. "We'll get to the water!"

GLISS

The second he grabbed her arm, all Gliss could feel was relief. She had felt so alone since Tigg died. She felt broken. But the one act of kindness helped her immensely. She needed it badly.

She leaned on him, running alongside a new partner. At least, for however they had left. Then ahead— water, she used the last of her breath to jump in, still holding onto Bruce’s hand as they popped to the surface.

And then— gone. The smoke, the lava, everything. She didn’t even know what to say.

“You’re not a fourker…” she said between breaths, “But God! That hurt!”

BRUCE

Bruce pulled Gliss out of the water quickly. He had no idea if the water would help or hurt. It was just his instinct. Water was safety. But she was breathing, she was talking, and he hadn't killed her. So it was going to be okay.

He laughed at the 'fourker' comment. "I think I am. But it's alright." They were just on the edge of the forest, and Bruce could still hear the dogs still snarling in the distance. They had to keep moving. "Let's find somewhere to camp..." In the distance, a figure was approaching. Bruce reached for his hatchet. "Stay on guard."

GLISS

Her legs and hip were killing her. A career in modeling was going to be far from view after this whole experience. If she even made it out at all. Though, she wasn’t alone anymore. It helped her sanity.

“Thank you. Regardless.” Still, she shivered as she heard the dogs again. “Yeah, just be careful.” She turned her own hatchet in her hand, following right beside him. He saved her life, she was more than prepared to save his.

[a-collection-of-villainous-aus]

Coffee Shop au part four

(Segment one of three)

If I forget to tag something important please tell me.

(Present day)

(Small warning Acylius does use those he tortures for food for other demons and non mortal creatures to consume so if you have a problem with that then um just keep scrolling I guess ^^; )

What was this…that strange feeling of disappointment at seeing Black Hats chair being vacant; after all he’d only been there twice so it was not as if he was a regular customer, especially as they’d only been open for two days.

Why should the old demon stay until closing time anyway, just because he did it on the first day didn’t mean he’d do it again today, he had no reason to stay…Black Hat had been rather forward though, kissing him like that, not that he was complaining but , he wasn’t one to just play around and be used.

Friends with benefits was one thing, at least you knew where you both stood, and yet still, why did it feel so familiar, an old dream perhaps, after all who didn’t at least have one wet dream about the great Black Hat doing sordid things to your body right.

Especially with tentacles, while wearing priest robes.

Yes he had his kinks, but damn you if you tried to shame him for them.

He huffed, shoulders going slump, no this was ridiculous , feeling sad just because that idiot of a Gremlin just upped and left without so much as a good bye, Hat didn’t owe him anything and he didn’t owe Hat anything either.

Clearly he was crazy, he had finally fucking lost it, thinking of The Great Lord Black Hat owing him a good bye and a kiss on the cheek as if they were lovers, he’d just met the bastard.

No he needed to either relax or worry if the destroyer of worlds was going to ruin his café that’d he’d always wanted with his mischievous downright evil antics.

Acylius was currently grinding up their latest victim, a man who’d been abusing Nicodemus’s workers (don’t worry if you don’t know who that is I won’t be bringing him into this unless I need him for like filler scenes)

Body parts in neat piles on the counter top, ‘pork’ pies were on the menu tomorrow, this was Black Hat’s island so even the people knew some places the menu would cater to demons so if they saw the chalk was in red they knew it was demon cuisine, though of course there was always the daring person who’d ask for it anyway in which a waiver definitely had to be signed.

Hey, wasn’t going to be Acylius’s problem if they decided to off themselves on food that probably wasn’t for human consumption.

This particular man had been a pig and he was serving sow next week.

Vile beings needed to meet a vile end.

This was going to be a long night, he could manage though, at best he could manage on two nights of sleep during the week.

Currently the head of the meat sack was animated and still alive, the man was so far gone he’d reached that point of acceptance that this was happening and nothing could be done, so seeing his body being prepped for pastries and such was more amusing than anything.

“I’m a Legion demon Jake, that’s your name right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, anyway as I was saying I’m a Legion demon in this day and age that means nothing to most unless you are perhaps ancient or still follow the old ways, I have nothing to offer thee Great Lord Black Hat.”

Jake watched as the demon deboned, removed a hand and of his shaved one of his arms before washing it down to make sure all the hair was gone before slapping it into the mince meat maker.

“Last I heard your kind was like some kinda lucky charm right dude?”

“Yes, but he does not need that from me, if we did anything he would be interested in me for all of five minutes and bail, he is all shadows and darkness, I will literally spend weekends in my boxers eating cheese puffs if the week has been hard enough, hardly a turn on for someone like Black Hat.”

Acylius snapped while working on another piece.

“I dunno, some beings like to see their partners being able to feel that chill around them, but hey that’s just my jam you know, anyway stop whining, this guy is old as shit right, you don’t know, your Legion demon shit might actually put a huge boner in his pants.”

Jake taunted, smirking as he watched his killer bristle up, oooo hooo sensitive much.

You know those scenes in anime’s where the other character suddenly gets really tall, shadows where their eyes should be and their hair seems to just be blowing in the wind and there’s that broken glass sound sometimes.

That’s Acylius’s reaction as his mouth turns into a ground out grin that’s splitting wider and wider along where the scars are, ironically that injury is the reason he can smile this wide now when the demon in him starts to show.

Jake was going to die, he was already he dead he knew it so why not torment him just a little more and get it over with

“Awww no I know what it is baby demon, you want a daddy you can suckle on and-

Acylius brought the meat tenderiser down on Jake’s head repeatedly until there was only pulp left, brain matter and blood were splattered across his apron with a few deep scarlet streaks going across his cheek, how brightly the red stood out against the snow white skin.

He was staring at the mess he’d made, panting softly, pupils thin and biting his lip, alright maybe he’d enjoyed that a little too much, he frowned though when he saw the pies had been covered to, well perhaps they would still be salvageable.

Scraping the remains of the head into the bin marked biohazard he pulled the bag out and set it down getting rid of other pieces he no longer required, tomorrow non human waste disposal would be picking up the remains anyway.

Demencia had caught the show and was leaning on the door.

“Looks like you got a little too into that Lulu, sure you don’t want to tenderise me on the surface.”

(NOTE, Acylius’s nick name Lulu was made last year in November 2019 because my friend had trouble pronouncing his name, so I tried to think of a name that he’d only let close friends and loved ones call him and that’s where that comes from, not Helluva boss, just thought I’d point that out as there’s a Lulu world and Loo Loo land)

“Not now Demencia, I’m not in the mood for your jokes.”

Acylius ran his fingers through his hair, regretting it once he remembered oh yeah covered in blood; a shower would definitely be needed before bed.

“Ah I see, so the head got sassy huh?”

Flug, because yes reminder Acylius is Doctor Flug, paused at the backdoor and pouted

“Might have, he also said some very offensive words that I did not appreciate.”

Demmy folded her arms, shaking her head and smiling

“Well you showed that head who’s boss, now hurry up binch I want my cookies and hot chocolate, it’s late.”

Flug lovingly gave her the finger as he walked out the door while telling her she had two hands she could do it herself.

The back alley was dimly lit, not that he couldn’t see or choose to focus his vision to see clearer but sometimes it was nice just to appreciate light that softly glowed and curled around corners to take in the world in all different ways and settings…oh he missed rain, there hadn’t been any in nearly two months now, he missed how things glowed, street lamps became brighter and car lights so red and vibrant against the grey trailing along winding roads of shimmering black.

Perhaps it would soon when the snow had melted, he’d go for a long drive and listen to the rain hitting the roof of his car, patting against the windows, listening to the quiet tick, tick, tick of the vehicle when he switched on the indicator.

Yeah just drive out the middle of nowhere, strip down and run in the rain or just let it soak into his clothes as his breath streamed out in wispy clouds…

Ears twitching he heard a late party of drunks making their way home, he watched them pass by, they were completely unaware of him, if he were perhaps a rabid sort of demon they would be easy pickings, but that was not his game, at least not tonight, there was no scent that told him a wrong doing had been done, just a group of friends heading home for bed.

Snow had fallen in the tracks left by the bustling day life of the people around here and now in the silence he wondered was he lonely, Demencia’s offers had sometimes had been all too tempting simply out of need for comfort and to be close to someone, sometimes it seemed she needed it just as much as he did when they’d just lean on each other and complain about their day.

Looking up he found someone watching him from the shadows, well more saw a pair of eyes, completely yellow, no white to be seen, oranges and reds, as if he were looking at the sun, shivering as a breeze rolled through he pulled down his sleeves, goose bumps rising, a tingling down his spine, just the little things that reminded him he was alive, he was not afraid of what lingered in the shadows, there was no sense of danger.

Perhaps they were a Legion fan , someone caught off guard by his appearance, after all Flug knew his scars could be quiet unsettling to some people…though come to think of it he did sense an air of fear about this being, still they were wide and unmoving.

Really the sensible thing to do would be to just go inside and ignore this creature, yet something kept him there a longing to talk to it, placing the garbage into the bins he smiled just a little

“You know stranger, you remind me of someone…someone I feel like I should know.”

Acylius’s ears lay flat as he heard them softly whimper, it sounded so sad.

“I am sorry, I was not being offensive I assure you, this person I speak of was very kind, at least he was in the dream, I dreamt when I was little , funnily enough a night like this, Mother had locked me out…”

He held one hand in the other looking at them, fingers curling around his thumb

“My fingers were so cold and red I could barely feel them, or the rest of myself to be honest…heh you probably do not want to hear the tired ramblings of an out of date demon.”

“No, please continue.”

There was silence again, that whispered voice, it comforted him, made him feel at ease, this indeed truly was a strange day.

“Mother had locked me out, I didn’t cry or beg her to let me back in, I knew she would not open the door, so I laid down cheek to the snow, despite being almost numb my face burned, my face…”

Tracing along his scars as he recalled the moment could not help but wince

“I had to be careful still they had barely healed by that point, but I remember how good the cold felt on them, red and angry they seemed to only be satisfied when pressed to the freezing earth, I knew that night or at least believed I was going to die and…I was alright with that until I saw a pair of eyes just like yours.”

Acylius took a step forward only stopping when he saw this being step back

“They were gold, I thought they were so beautiful , I thought maybe the angels we were told about were not so bad if they could come for something like me, his claws hands reached down for me but I didn’t see his face, all I heard was that I was coming home with him and his name…his name was…”

Acylius held his head in his hands, scrubbing them down his face

“His name was Cruentus.”

When he looked back at where the eyes had been there was only darkness, the demon in the dark had disappeared so quickly he wondered for a moment if they’d even been there.

No, nope, nope, that dream was not real, that being was not Cruentus, it was all coincidence and he was just exhausted, yes that was it, perhaps he should sleep tonight, or maybe he’d snacked on too much of Jake while he was working, or had too many sugary treats either way, it was pies in the fridge and off to bed.

Opening the back door he locked it behind him, ignoring the fact Demencia was chomping on one of the pies, after all she knew what was in them if she wanted to eat it that was up to her, his mind was elsewhere.

“Mmmm you tenderized this one good, Legs, nice and juicy.”

Usually her friend would react to that name, at least grunt or gently nudge her and tell her not to call him that, something was clearly bothering Acylius.

“Legs?”

Demencia asked gently, placing a hand on his shoulder, only for him to turn and pick her up by the front of her shirt, snarling as he did so

“Do not call me that name!”

Looking down at him, Demencia could really see something wasn’t right here, was he remembering something to do with that name, like it had always annoyed him, but that glare, the disheveled hair and fangs all bared …honestly in another situation he would be hot as fuck…alright she was already thinking he looked hot as fuck but this was not the time or place.

Touching Acylius’s face lightly, she watched as his ears flicked, his breathing was ragged, his eyes returning from being solid blue to having pupils and irises again, her hands were warm and comforting and he found himself leaning into them, lips pressed against her palm…she was there to ground him in his bad moments and he could never thank his friend enough for that.

“You mind setting me down you tree.”

Demencia laughed softly.

He carefully set her back down and pulled her in for a hug

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I would never hurt you, never.”

Nuzzling against his chest and wrapping her arms around him, patting his back

“Hey, hey now, none of that you dumb tree, I know you have gaps in your memory, did you remember why do you don’t like that name?”

“Hate, I don’t just dislike that name, I hate it…all I can hear is someone called Vincent and they make me curl up and die, I have no face only a voice, if I ever heard it…I would know…”

Flug was quiet, taking in just how small she was against him, reminding him how small most were against him like this, his talons formed, slowly stroking her hair, playing with the fuchsia overlay, down to her neck where it faded to lime green, such an interesting choice of colours to wear in ones hair.

“You already know I just appeared back into existence, as if the world itself birthed me, I was somewhere forgotten…and seeing Black Hat today, I think…no it is a stupid notion to think he could see me as anything.”

He kissed the top of her head, thankful that she had not let go, Demencia was the one being who never seemed to be afraid of him, who he knew he could trust and rely on in these moments where memories were trying to break through the surface and suffocated when they could not make it.

“I am a Legion demon, no more than a trinket in the end, I am a nothing in his world and I am okay with that, I have a nice peaceful life and a coffee shop just like I always wanted…”

He sat with her on the counter, as she sat on one of his thighs

“This is just a hug, you don’t need more right?”

Demmy enquired, slightly hopeful because who didn’t want to climb him, honestly, he was an idiot for not seeing he didn’t need to be some grand demon to be wonderful.

“Yes, just a hug…I wish I could say I grew up in a loving home with Christmases like in the movies, that I could tell you my life’s story, talk about a time I scraped my knee when I was small and had a mother who put cute cat plasters on me just because I like cats.”

She listened and let him stroke her hair, it’d always calmed him to pet soft things, so perhaps she might use shampoos that were just a little pricier than she’d usually buy simply to make sure her hair was soft for these broken moments no one else saw.

Even though he was not sobbing, made no notion he was crying, the damp warmth on her shoulder told her otherwise.

“I want to tell you the times my Father took me for ice cream, my first kiss with the person I fell in love with, something…anything, but there’s nothing there.”

She listened attentively until he had nothing left to say, carefully taking his hand from her scalp; Demencia held his face and looked at him

“Damn Sillyus, they really did send you back with nothing more than a leaflet.”

“I suppose, but I have so much to thank you for, when you found me on that street, I only remembered enough to get by, to survive, but you helped me to settle into this time and be a part of the modern world.”

Acylius kissed her forehead before pressing his to hers, eyes closed as he whispered

“I’m so tired of being lost, of being unsure of what I am, who I am, I just want to bake, make coffee and kill people in my basement, I think fortune smiled on me for a moment when you found me, I think I might just give you the world if you asked.”

“Awww come on dude, sounds like a love confession here, I have bills to pay off and knew there was a darker side in me, you’re the Sweeny to my Lovett.”

She teased fondly, lightly smacking the back of his head, smiling as he managed a laugh

“I guess I could agree platonically with that.”

“But honestly Slender Man, babe if you wanted to plant your tentacles and leave your seed in me I wouldn’t say no.”

Acylius rolled his eyes and shook his head, using a tea towel to wipe his face

“Honestly woman you are bloody hopeless.”

“Yeah but you love me all the more for it.”

She grinned punching him playfully on the shoulder

“Perhaps I do, but I am not as hot as you like to say I am, I hide my face, I hate when people look at my scars and pity me.”

Demmy raised a brow and climbed off of his leg, flicking his forehead

“I know you like to hide your face behind glamour and tricks but you’re beautiful even if you don’t see it dumbass, I’m starting to wonder what the fuck happened outside that had you coming back in as if someone stole your last apple crown and there’ll never be another one again on the face of the planet.”

She put the kettle on and took out the upside down pineapple cake; this was definitely a cake and tea situation

“First of all, do not say such blasphemous things, life would not be worth living without apple crowns, second of all…I think, I know I said there’s nothing there but I think I might have had a memory about my childhood involving Cruentus.”

Demencia nearly dropped the mug she was holding, setting it down she turned to face him

“Holy fucking shit, you mean thee fucking Cruentus, Hellhound butler, Hell Knight, works for the brooding clearly wants you to nail his ass Black Hat, that Cruentus…ahh I hear he has eyes like the fucking sun.”

Acylius gave her a deadpan look, hands on hips as he stood, looming over her, trying to look seriously only for it to falter

“You Demmy are just horny on main.”

“So what if I am? Gonna call me a slut like my last partner?”

She swatted away his playfully prodding hand.

“No, I never understood why it’s perfectly fine for men to have as many partners as they wish but seen as something terrible when a woman just wants to enjoy her life the same way, society is mad…also no more jokes on Black Hat you wicked beastie.”

Demencia would be lying if she didn’t admit his ability to shift from one mood to the other sometimes made her head spin, but it was clear he’d needed that moment to talk, shrugging she turned back to the kettle

“Alright, alright I’ll behave at least for now, I mean it’s clear the big bad doesn’t want you, how could he possibly want you…even though anyone with eyes could see he kept checking you out and every single coffee you brought him in hopes your stupid number was on it somewhere.”

Demencia couldn’t help but stifle a giggle at his sounds of huffing and frustration and heard him sit at the table, she did know there was stories, legends really by this point of Cruentus having a son, but you literally had to pour through footnotes and any books that might have had more information had been removed from shelves and privatized under the order of Black Hat himself.

End of segment one

(I'll try and type up segment two tomorrow)

[milktaru]

Santa’s Elf! - Renjun

Theme: fluff, elf au!, the other dreamies are mentioned, merry Christmas yall 🎄💖

Warnings: none 

In which the elves’ coordinator, Huang Renjun, has to deal with a trespassing human on Christmas eve. He was supposed to kick your ass out from Santa’s territory, but will he?

Santa Claus, or as Renjun liked to call him, Mr. Nicholas, was a pretty nice guy. the only downside is that on Christmas eve his boss was especially... stressed. And it was Renjun’s job, as the elves’ main coordinator, to calm him down.

 so, not only Renjun had to supervise toy making, deal with the complaints of the transportation team, and separate some fights between burned-out elves, but he also had to make sure Mr. Nicholas was happy and ready to ride the sleight.

but, after working the whole year in the most stressful environment possible, Renjun would finally earn his (well deserved) day off on the 25th of December.

(later he would thank his vice coordinator, Mark, for taking his place and saving his ass from having a stress-induced heart attack)

and he was too young to have a heart attack and die - only 21 elf years!!!

(literally, have you seen an elf funeral?  it’s rare bitch)

after feeding the reindeers and closing the office doors, Renjun treads his way to his elf cottage.

each elf had one private cottage so at least he did not have to mind noisy roomies. his cottage was cozy and homely and he couldn’t wait to throw his worn-out body in the bed and sleep until the next year’s Christmas.

Renjun got his depressed planning cut down by a very angry cry. 

"I can't believe I just missed my flight!”

his first reaction was to snort. yeah, seems like someone was more stressed than him, after all.

but then, when he looks closely at the source of the voice, he freezes.

oh. no.

you’re definitely not an elf.

in fact, you’re probably one of the first humans he has ever seen (he’s seen humans before, of course, but only on photos)

and that’s... bad. a human on Santa's territory? bad. maximum danger. 

even worse than last year, when he had to deal with the main reindeer suffering from indigestion.

Renjun comes closer to you, being able to be sneaky even in the snowy ground, thanks to his elf training

when he is only 1 foot away from kicking your ass out from Santa's land in the angriest elf way possible, he stops.

you seem to be in between an anger and a panic attack. your cheeks are tear-stained and you look frozen from the cold. your clothes seem way too thin for the amount of snow falling.

meanwhile, you’re too mad and frustrated with the fact that your car stopped in an unknown place to realize someone is staring. you just lost your flight to your parent’s house, and you’re absolutely freezing. 

on top of that, your cellphone has no signal so you cannot call for help. 

you jump when you feel someone touch your shoulder.

“Hey, are you okay?”

the tiny guy who just touched you shoulder asks. you have no idea where he appeared from, but he seems genuinely preoccupied with your wellbeing.

“Aren’t you cold? Are you lost?”

you nod, dumbfounded. Who the hell is this guy?

well, yes, you probably look like a sad popsicle. he doesn’t, though.

his cheeks are flushed and he seems tired, but he seems very comfortable in the snow. you blink twice, taking in his looks. are his ears.... pointed?

“I’m going home, it’s near. Do you want to rest there while you call someone to pick you up?”

maybe because your brain has already turned into cells’ milkshake, you accept the stranger’s proposal.

he is tiny, and so are you, so in the worst-case scenario, you would have to fight like two chihuahuas.

and you prefer to puppy fight than to freeze to death

Renjun leads the way to his cottage, looking back to see if you’re still following him. he didn’t lie: it was very near.

he opens up the wooden door decorated with Christmas bells and invites you in.

he is still confused about why he offered you his home. you’re illegal in Santa's land.

damn, you’re human!! red alarms sound on his head - he doesn’t want to get fired. 

but, there’s something about you that intrigues him. are humans supposed to be this small? and fragile?

do all humans turn on his protective instincts as you did?

heck if he knew

as you sit in silence on his snug couch, Renjun excuses himself to the kitchen.

he comes back with a velvety quilt, which he places on your shoulders, and two cups of hot chocolate.

you take the steaming mug from his hands, thanking him 

you can’t help but notice that the guy’s small house it’s full of Christmas decoration. there is something off about him, you just cannot put your finger on what it is...

he takes a place on the couch next to you but does not say anything. you can’t take the silence 

you’ve read somewhere that if you start a conversation with a serial killer they will shy away from murdering you.

so, to prevent any bad news for your parents, you start nervously mumbling.

you tell him his name, and you tell him the story behind your car breaking. you tell him you hate snow, and then, just in case he hasn’t given up on killing you yet, you tell him about all of your other Christmas experiences.

Renjun listens to all of it in awe. he didn’t know humans had the ability of oversharing.

you seem warmer already, although your nose is as red as his reindeers’. he giggles. it’s kind of adorable, he has to admit it.

“So.... you really like Christmas, don’t you?”

you ask him, taking Renjun out of his mind rambles about your lovely appearance.

he hesitates. it’s ironic, but he doesn’t remember a Christmas in which he really felt happy.

he tells you this. and, because you overshared and your eyes seem so hungry for information, Renjun overshares too.

he tells you all about his friends, not telling you, of course, the “we are magical creatures and employees of the Santa” part. Instead, he tells you he is a manufacturer. 

he goes on talking about Jaemin, a very funny guy from the eastern tribe. the natives of the eastern are known for their sewing skills and are a quieter bunch who like to sit indoors, in front of roaring log fires, making soft cuddly toys for children all over the world.

and then there’s Jeno, his soft friend from the South. in the south, the elves are renowned for their mechanical toy-making skills. they have very sharp eyes and dexterous fingers and can hold tiny pieces and connect several sections at once.

Renjun checks if you’re still listening. you are, so he tells you about Haechan, from the West tribe. in the west, the elves take a more modern approach and manufacture a wide range of hand-held electronic games which they practice whenever their boss is not watching over them.

and, of course, he does not forget Jisung and Chenle, the new interns he is supervising. they haven’t completed their elf final tests yet, so they still haven’t chosen their tribe.

he can’t stop talking, maybe your oversharing is contagious. somehow, he feels comfortable with you.

he shares how much stressed he has been with his work recently, and how lonely he feels. he lets all of his feelings flow out to you, a complete stranger.

in the end, he feels relaxed like he hasn’t felt the whole year.

(even more relaxed than that time Jaemin spiked the eggnog on the elves’ confraternization party)

he wants to tell you this, but he can already see your eyes trying not to close.

your hands almost letting the mug almost slip off.

he’s an elf, but also a gentleman

so Renjun wishes you goodnight and promises to find you a working cellphone tomorrow. he tucks you in on his cozy sofa, taking off the mug from your hands.

you quickly doze off, feeling weirdly safe.

yeah, your parents probably think you’re dead by now.

your car is probably buried in the snow.

and you’re in a stranger’s sofa

and he has told you all about his squad

(it’s a weird squad)

but you’re tired and he is so nice (and kind of cute too), so you let yourself rest

Renjun lets the door of his room open, just in case you need help when you wake up.

he doesn’t even care he didn’t get the immediate rest he wanted-

there is a human in his house and he is breaking many rules

and possibly endangering Christmas

but he also feels kind of proud

yes, there is an adorable little human in his cottage, and she is warm, safe and tucked in

tomorrow he will deal with the consequences

he will find you a cellphone with signal and

hopefully,,,, you might want to stay a little bit longer to have lunch with him???

it’s the best Christmas he has ever had

[killrqueen7]

Fate and Other Fairy Tales

A Worstthrust fanfic for the BRCU (Brandon Rogers Cinematic Universe)

Summary: A look at the events of Blame The Hero from the perspective of two villains in love

This work is also on AO3!

Bryce Tankthrust was never an affectionate woman and would never pretend to be. Growing up in a single-parent household, and with that parent being a highly successful lawyer with a no-bullshit, no fuck-up's, and absolutely no weakness policy, she could count on one hand the times she'd received a hug from her mother and still have fingers left over.

Bryce's mother was a cunt, to put it nicely. She was cold and manipulative toward every human being in her life, including and especially to her own daughters.

She was Bryce's fucking hero.

When Bryce was 7 years old, she met Bobby Best. He was a frail child with a wild temper and possibly the most dysfunctional father-son relationship she'd ever witnessed in all her seven years. The boy was mercilessly teased in PE and despite her desperate need for social validation, she stood up for Bobby against those other brats. In the way that children do, they became friends almost immediately and both, feeling a new sense of companionship and understanding no one else had ever given them, developed an innocent crush on one another; formed by mutual ostracization and strengthened by the hot summer sun.

To this day, 40 years later, Bobby Best was the only person in the world Bryce Tankthrust had ever loved.

Their friendship lasted only 24 hours, but in that time, Bryce had the world in her hands. Bobby made her laugh until she cried and that night, they talked, secretly on the phone, for hours. Bobby looked at her like she put the sun in the sky and she would be lying if she said that didn't make her feel like the most important person in the world.

As they lay in the dewy grass that day, grinning at each other under that hot sun and discussing the philosophy of fate and their every decision bringing them together for this very moment, Bryce made a secret promise; to herself and to Bobby: I'm never going to let it go.

But like all good things in Bryce's young life, the joy and innocence of childhood was short-lived. It all came crashing down around her, when in a moment of pure devotion to her new and very best friend, she'd presented her own beating heart; freshly pulled from her ribcage and held aloft like the precious gift that it was.

Bobby Best, in an admittedly appropriate reaction to seeing such gore and carnage, lost his lunch all over it; tainting both her heart and her entire worldview. A chorus of laughter hammered at her skull; the teacher joining in the act of pushing Bryce Tankthrust to the extreme bottom of the totem pole. You did not come back from something like that.

 Bryce's heart slipped from her slick, blood-soaked palm and landed on the hot asphalt below, breaking in two like some kind of dumbass metaphor. From where she knelt, it seemed as if glitter exploded from the damaged organ, scattered around it along with all of her joy and laughter. Every good and pure thing that made her who she was laid out on the ground at Bobby Best's feet and she was being ridiculed by the rest of their second grade P.E. class.

She only stared at it for a few seconds before standing in a rage and charging her teacher with the very knife she'd used to carve out her very soul. She plunged the blade into Mr. Best's gut several times before turning it on the rest of the class. Despite feeling woozy and weak, Bryce threatened the lot of them and fled, stomping on her stupid broken heart as she ran.

She never looked back, knowing that what she had with Bobby, as wonderful as it was, was over. She had to grow up now; love was for pawns and the easily manipulated. Now, she craved only power.

When she got home early, her mother didn't even question it or the red staining the front of her gym shirt. She simply received a glance and then her sister, that stupid, fussy little monster, began wailing again from upstairs.

"Bryce, will you see what your sister is crying about now? I need to make another phone call." Mrs. Brownstein picked up the landline and then turned her back on Bryce to signal the conversation was over. Helen was her responsibility until mom got off the phone.

Bryce quickly changed her shirt as little Helen cried, her little face wrinkling like an old lady's already. She never stopped when Bryce held her and Bryce was convinced that Helen just didn't like her. So much for girls sticking together.  Bryce was alone now.

Oddly enough, she was okay with that.

"Hearts are a waste of time, " she explained to her sister as she sat criss-cross on the floor with her, Helen sitting up and looking around for something to chew on, "I'll teach you to ignore it. They're just stupid. We're better off with these." Bryce tapped the baby's forehead lightly and then smiled when the little one tilted her head toward the touch.

 _

As Bobby sat in his cell, during the first few years of his sentence, all he felt was rage.

Rage at Bryce for killing his father and destroying any chance he would ever have of making him proud.

Rage at his father for treating him like a stranger in public and like garbage at home.

Rage at his mother for passing away and leaving him with someone who would never love him.

Rage at his classmates for ruthlessly teasing and abusing him.

And rage at himself for allowing all of that to happen.

Bobby swore, as soon as he got out, as soon as he was adopted by a family who actually wanted him, he would find Bryce Tankthrust – the catalyst for the single worst day of his life – and drive a stake through that empty cavity she called a chest.

Some say that there is a thin line between Hate and Love, and for Bobby, that line was nearly microscopic. There were days where he would close his eyes and imagine the sun on his face, the grass on his legs, and her hand in his.

There were nights where he would hear her laughter and see her grinning over at him from across the jungle gym.

All it took was one person to give him a chance. Maybe she did it out of pity or because she knew he would bend the knee and do anything she asked of him, but Bobby didn’t care then. It was the only shred of kindness anyone had ever shown him, regardless of ulterior motive.

“She was so profound.” He wrote out, tears welling in his eyes. “She was my everything.”

Bobby chewed at the eraser of his pencil and frowned at his own words. That was the Bryce he loved. The Bryce he wanted to remember. Except the memory of her rushing his father and driving a blade into his gut was glaring red and dangerous. Dare he admit that he was angry he hadn’t done it first?

No…despite everything, he missed his father. The man was a bastard, but Bobby was completely alone now. More alone than he’d been in his entire life, serving a sentence for a crime that he hadn’t even committed while the real killer roamed free; probably making other boys fall in love with her so she could fuck them over the same way…and never visit.

No, killing her gave him a purpose.

“One day, I will have my revenge on Bryce Tankthrust. She better sleep with one eye open because I’m getting out of here the second a family wants to adopt me.” 

_

As Bryce scowled at the pink and red hearts decorating the walls of her office, the Elmer heart inside her chest grew more and more bitter. Ever since her ex-lover had given her the one gift she couldn’t send back…and then mysteriously “disappeared” after declaring her a, quote, “unlovable, cold-hearted cunt” she’d hated this holiday more than any other.

Baby vomit didn’t easily come out of linen and silk.

His name was Robert and he was…well, he was a baby. And then a toddler. Part of Bryce hated herself for being unable to love the child like the mothers she saw in public. She thought that it might all come together when she held him in her arms for the first time. It was the moment all mothers seemed to speak of with peace and longing, but Bryce felt little more than pride.

She’d made that. A little human with fantastic genes who would never want for anything. But she didn’t feel the tug in her chest or the connection that she was told about. Robert was a stranger to her; and she knew he could feel it.

Her son was well-behaved, it was true, but outside of operating within the same large home, their scheduled interactions were limited. When she had attempted to hold him; to feed him or whatever one did with an infant, he just cried. He wouldn’t stop until Bryce handed him off and that hadn’t changed.

So if she couldn’t even buy his love – with expensive toys, clothing, and food – who else would dare?

This year, like every year before, she hadn’t even received one lousy card. Not even from her precious little Elmer army.

She took their hearts, though. In a way, it was similar to receiving a Valentine several times a month, even if she did use them up and throw them away.

It wouldn’t hurt, she supposed, to hire a boyfriend this year. There were plenty of men who would bend to her every whim; some on speed-dial even, and it would be a charity. Bryce was a woman of authority and fortune and it was good, every now and then, to give to the less fortunate. For a service, of course. She wasn’t in the habit of giving free money.

How much could love be worth? Half a million?

_

Bobby paced the floor of his cell, chewing at his nails as he went over his evil plans once again. He was going to get back at the world for treating him like garbage, tossing him away, and forgetting about him. One day, they would all know the name Bobby Worst and know that it was he that brought about the end of their cruel world. 

And Bryce would suffer with them. More if he could help it. He wanted to watch the life drain from her body and watch as that intelligent spark faded from her deep...chocolate eyes.

FUCK

Bobby slammed his palms against the iron bars and then tried flipping his bed. However, it was securely bolted down; something that had been done to it just a couple months after he was sentenced. He always seemed to forget that in the heat of the moment.

"Agggh it's not fair!" He cried out behind grit teeth and then sank down onto the floor.

And it wasn't. Why would he still be in love with the girl who had put him here and caused him so much pain? Why couldn't he just hate her like any normal person would?

"It's not fair," he muttered at himself, wrapping his arms around his knees and picking at a thread on his striped sleeve.

_

If Bryce still had a heart when she discovered that Bobby had escaped prison, it would have stopped for a moment.

It was front page news and she'd read it on a newspaper on her way into work. Bryce snatched the paper out of an old man's hands and quickly scanned the story with wild eyes.

"Shit!" The old man had gasped, "try me, bitch."

Instead, Bryce shoved the newspaper against his ugly yellow sweater-vest and stormed in to the elevator and then to her office, ignoring the whispers of her Elmer employees and the eyes of her little sister.

Bryce paced the floor and then stood at the window, looking down at the little ant-people below. Just when she was about to take a couple Xanax, the phone rang.

"Ms. Tankthrust? There's a man here insisting on adopting a baby. It's the persistent one."

Bryce nearly crushed the phone in her grip, but kept her voice even and authoritative. "Send him to the big room with the table-"

"The conference room?" The Elmer on the other end asked.

"Yes, whatever. Send him back. I'll deal with it." She slammed the phone down and then rubbed lightly at her chest. The surprise really had done some damage. She'd need a new one if she wanted to be convincing.

Bryce cracked her neck slightly and then went on a search for the fresh hearts, prepared to get this over with.

Then, she would decide what to do about Bobby Best.

_

When Bryce woke up, she was in a cell, lying atop a hard cot. Was this Hell? The last thing she remembered was looking down the barrel of a gun, held by a fucking baby. Baby Elmer; a name she'd decided to keep after stealing him from his true mother.

She didn't enjoy ripping a child from his mother's arms, but she'd been without a heart for nearly a month and it was a struggle to even get out of bed some mornings. She was weak, like a fourth stage cancer patient continuing to breathe out of spite.

In a way, that was exactly what she was living for.

By the time the first Elmer heart was ready, it had to be placed inside her chest cavity by Robert, who begged his nearly comatose mother to stay with him despite having been completely distant from him for most of his little life.

When the heart was shoved inside her chest, it was as if Bryce had done a bump of coke and drank 5 of her favorite double, half-sweet, non-fat caramel macchiato's.

However, she now felt as if she'd been run over by a truck...and then again as it backed over her lifeless corpse.

It felt so similar to the moment when Bobby lost his lunch all over her heart. That crushing, hollowed-out, desperate, clawing, pain.

"Hello!?" She called out, eyes desperately darting back and forth, taking in her surroundings, searching for weaknesses. "Hello, where am I?" She didn't want to sound vulnerable. Even now, she had to remain strong.

 "Hello Bryce," the voice came suddenly from the dark, where a man with platinum hair and a bored expression peered at her from the other side of the bars.

"Hi, would you kindly explain what's happening here?" Bryce gave him her most "pleasant" grin; one that barely hid her confusion and boiling rage.

"I resurrected you," he answered, and suddenly, Bryce knew exactly who this man was, standing there, staring at her with only malice in his eyes and a sparkling notebook under his chin. “With this.”

At one time, he'd been her greatest creation; not because she loved him at all, but because this clone had a heart that would be compatible with her body. He was the first in a long line of Elmer clones who had all...reluctantly donated their very beating hearts.

"I'll be damned, is that my first Elmer?" Her voice sounded almost fond. To say they had a history would be the understatement of the century. "Glad to see you could walk again, and you said that me kneecapping you would ruin your dance career. Oh, how you screamed in pain."

It was true; the removal of an Elmer's heart did not entirely remove the person inside. Some of her creations still held an interest for things like nature, theater, and - god forbid - art. But whatever kept them silent and complacent was fine with Bryce, just as long as they showed up to work on time and made her filthy fucking rich.

Her first Elmer displayed the most personality and had the strongest heart of any Elmer she'd ever made concurrently. She let him keep it, in a rare moment of motherly kindness or whatever, however as he discovered his love of interpretive dance, she could see that the boy was...stifled. He assured her that he was completely devoted to her; "like a son to his mother" (she never put much stock on that) but had tried to run away just a couple of weeks later. To Broadway, or what have you.

When Bryce broke his knees, she felt nothing but vindication. He'd tried to outwit and out-manipulate her.

As Elmer cried in pain, for just a moment, she thought she'd felt something; almost like a vibration or a...tear somewhere in her chest. It was the first shimmer of empathy she'd had since she was seven and it made her nauseous.

That night, Bryce ordered an army of Elmer clones be made and with each subsequent heart she stole, that tiny twinge of emotion faded. She'd "breed" it out of them if she had to.

Bryce watched as hate flashed in Elmer's eyes, a sure sign that things were not good for her.

She was fucked, and not in the fun way. 

_

After escaping prison, Bobby Worst did whatever the fuck he wanted to do. He fucked anything that walked...or crawled as well as various fruits and maybe some things that were not made to be fucked. Whatever, he'd put his dick in anything, because he was Bobby Worst; the absolute worst version of a human being he could ever conceive of. And he'd had a lot of time to think about that.

His diabolical plan was going to turn everyone into the worst versions of themselves. He would simply set off a nuclear bomb and whoever made it out alive would be just as fucked up and shitty as he'd felt for so many years.

And if everything went to plan, Bryce Tankthrust would be caught in the blast. If it didn't kill her, she would become soft, compassionate, and weak. The worst version of herself.

He could only hope she'd been lonely and miserable her entire life, but from the interviews he'd seen, she had more cash than several countries combined and she was never without a man who could dick her down. While he'd been stuck in a cell, pissed off and dreaming of revenge, Bryce had become the wealthiest and most powerful woman in the country, possibly the world.

She also mentioned that he was the skeleton in her closet and for a moment, it seemed like there was something behind her eyes. Regret? He'd replayed that moment again and again, pausing it on her face and searching for anything that said she thought about him.

 Of course, she could have been talking about any "skeleton" in any prison (who knew how many men she’d fucked over). Was he really so foolish to believe she even remembered him? That he was so important for her to regret that day for most of her life?

Bobby grit his teeth as he stared at those cold brown eyes, nearly crushing the remote in his hand. "Suck! Swallow! Set up the computer! I have a message for the world." 

_

Bryce hadn't seen the sunlight in so long. For days she was forced to kill herself and then was brought back only to do it again. She had died in every single way possible and she'd felt fear for the first time since she was a child.

She was strong until she no longer could be.

"No wait stop, Elmer, please, I can't take this anymore!" Her hand shook as she stretched it out to him, begging her tormentor for mercy though she knew she didn't deserve it and probably would not get it.

That audacity made her eldest Elmer pause, walking toward her with a glint in his eye so awful and so evil that she swore he'd adopted her own way of survival. He was enjoying this. 

The momentary distraction - his anger and vindication - was all she needed to snatch the all-powerful "Shit book" and pen, snapping both of Elmer's twig legs once again with the flick of a wrist. Once again, her entire body vibrated with power; power over her enemy, the smallest taste of freedom.

Until she discovered that even godly notebooks of infinite power had a limited number of pages. Oh the things she could have used that book for.

Elmer had had his fun with her and now, they were going to execute her. As she stared down the barrel of the gun in her face, she refused to allow them to see anything. Regret, fear, hopelessness, grief; it all swirled inside her, but her eyes were glassy and cold.

She always thought that it might come to this, though she always imagined the person on the other end of that barrel would be him.

It said a lot of Bryce that she would be happier to have been killed by his hand than to never see him again.

She tried to picture his face, but the only reference she had of him was the smiling face of a seven year old boy and the one very blurry mugshot.

"Last words?" The Elmer holding the gun asked.

Bryce tilted her head back and gave him her brightest, winning smile. "Get fucked, shitbag."

"How eloquent." Elmer said with a stony resolve.

Yet, at the last moment, the door to her lonely cell slid open with a hiss and the execution was called off by the very Elmer who had ordered her death. For now.

_

So there she remained, wrists chained to the walls, waiting for days on days for whenever the world needed her.

They say solitary confinement can break even the strongest of minds, and she had definitely had her weak moments in that cell, wishing even for the torture to continue if it meant having any sort of human interaction.

With her head hung low, she closed her eyes and wondered how baby Elmer was doing in the care of that closeted nitwit, Sam, and his disturbed vampire of a roommate...god, that had to be 17 years ago now. Did he remember anything?

Briefly, her mind wandered to Robert. Her only living relative; her continued bloodline. What would he do with her companies? Her amassed fortune? Was he happy?

In her weakest moment, her mind was stuck on a replay of that day with Bobby Best. The last, beautiful time she'd ever felt anything. The horrible last moments she'd had with him; leaving him heartbroken and confused. She wondered if he ever thought about her, all alone in his prison cell, and if he was still angry with her. She wondered if there might have ever been a chance for them. If he might have broken this door down and slaughtered the Elmer army to save her if circumstances were different.

 Bryce hissed as the stolen heart in her body gave a squeeze.

_

When Elmer rolled back into her cell, followed by a kid who couldn't be more than 29, explaining that the world had been blown to shit and he needed her help, she couldn't help but be amused. How dare he tell her what her purpose was? She knew exactly what she'd been put on this earth for and it wasn't to carry out some bastard's suicide mission. As soon as she was free, she was ripping his fucking heart out and eating it whole, right in front of him and any blonde bastard who tried to stop her. 

But then he dropped the biggest "fuck you" yet.

It was Bobby. Bobby Best. Her Bobby.

Apparently, he was Bobby Worst now - an evil bastard who had escaped prison and done all sorts of mildly horrible things until he finally managed to end the world. Oh, and he was on his way to kill her.

Bryce's snarky smile dropped from her face, and with a force enough to drop a bear, ripped the chains from the wall and stormed out into the bunker.

Unfortunately, the heart in her chest had been long since shriveled and useless and she dropped like a bag of bricks, crying out with the pain. It had taken too much. She wouldn't make it. Not even to Bobby's feet. And she still needed to get that stupid time machine.

"I'm too weak," she explained, clutching at her chest. "I'm gonna need a new heart."

Elmer didn't believe her. "You need to Get. Up."

"I ain't gonna make it 20 yards outside this stupid bunker without dying." She tried to explain. Why would they weaken their only hope?

"Yeah, but what's 'bunker' mean, though?" The kid standing behind Elmer's wheelchair asked...was this guy serious?

"Shut. Up." Bryce demanded, slapping the floor with her palm. "I need a new heart and I want yours."

Elmer just looked bored. "You can have one of the other Elmers'."

"I want yours, Professor X, and I wanna watch it come out of your body." It was only fair. Sure, she'd been cruel to him, but she'd never killed him. Not this Elmer specifically. And he had killed her. Many times.

There was a loud knock on the heavy bunker door, the other Elmer clones announcing the obvious arrival of a guest and working to unlatch and open the door as Bryce and their eldest argued over the possession of his heart.

Time was growing slim. He would have to make a quick decision and that's what she was counting on.

The sudden burst of gunfire made Bryce  jump and duck behind the chair. For a moment, everything was chaos. She didn't have time to stop and think about the voice she'd just heard. She knew it was him. Of course it was him. But she wasn't yet ready to face him. Didn't know if her weak heart could take it.

While Bobby descended upon Elmer in the chaos, Bryce and Blame - apparently that was the kid's name -  slipped out of the door and she earned a pop in the nose for her troubles.

Sure, hearing Bobby's voice demanding to know where she was after years of wondering if he even remembered her was fucking her up a little bit. That, paired with the failing organ in her chest made her a little testy. A bit feral. And it didn't take much for her to snap at Blame about the hazmat suit he was complaining about wearing. When he offered her the Elmer heart in his hand, she latched onto it like a hungry widow spider did its prey, shoving it inside her chest with a shudder.

It wouldn't last long out there, but it was better than nothing. 

_

Bryce was absolutely disgusted with the state of the world. The green assholes she’d met on the outside were even worse than she’d been rumored to be while she was the reigning CEO of multiple Fortune 500 companies. Even the low-income, tattooed heathen she was stuck with seemed like better company. If anyone wanted to know if she’d grown soft on the boy, they could eat a dick and choke on it.

But she did feel a bit bad when they stumbled across the bodies of his friends, giving him a moment alone with them to say his goodbye’s. They were all so young; probably just around her own son’s age. It was a shame, really.

As she roamed the Corn Hole Café, she could hear Blame speaking words of love to his friends and she wondered what it must feel like to lose someone like that, or to care if she did.

“Hey assholes!” Bryce’s head whipped around to the door so fast she rocked a bit in her heels. How the fuck did he find them?

“The lesbian..” She muttered to herself, suddenly regretting not killing her when she had the chance.

“Come out here with your hands up and we’ll fuck you with lube!” Bobby and his disgusting little henchmen laughed to themselves. What was it with villains and laughing like maniacs? 

Rolling her eyes, Bryce made her way back over to Blame, stepping over bodies as she went, but the idiot had decided to antagonize the assholes outside instead of staying quiet and going over a plan.

There was a series of several gunshots and Blame ducked out of Suck’s line of fire, crawling quickly toward the time machine they’d come for in the first place.

Bryce knew what she had to do.

40 years imagining and going over this very moment were thrown directly out of the window. Fuck what Elmer said, this was her purpose. Bobby was her beginning and her end.

“Don’t hurt the boy, Bobby. It’s me you’re after, remember?” She slowly made her way out of the café, putting herself between Bobby and Blame, her hands raised in surrender. She wasn’t even going to try to fight this. “It’s me you nuked this entire fucking planet trying to destroy and yet, here I am, standing like a boner.”

Bobby actually looked…hurt, which was what she was afraid of. Those damn sad fucking eyes - until they filled with rage.

“Nothing ever goes my way!” He cried, every bit as much the pissed off seven-year-old he used to be.

“I got access to a time machine,” She bargained, gesturing over her shoulder, “We can go back and fix all this. Not just the apocalypse but…everything, Bobby.” She wanted that more than she’d ever wanted anything. Standing here, seeing him again, she realized that he was the piece missing from her life; his absence in her life the reason she was so miserable. She hadn’t realized just how fucking much she missed Bobby until he was right in front of her. All she wanted to do was go to him; maybe…hug him. It was all very confusing and uncomfortable. 

Bobby was the one who got away and she had no one to blame but herself. But she had a chance to fix that. To keep him in her life and keep him out of prison. To have him forever.

“I’m sorry, Bryce.” He seemed to hesitate, bouncing on his feet like he did when he was anxious. Did he…have tears in his eyes? “But I waited forty goddamn years in prison for this fuckin’ moment, now I’m gonna skin you like a goddamn pig!”

Bryce was almost disappointed. Not surprised though; prison did awful things to the mind. Bobby was a child when he entered the system; and an innocent child at that. She was the reason he’d grown up that way and he’d had a long time to ruminate in his hate.

She sighed, the smile on her face waning with the ache she felt in her chest. A hollow, awful kind of pain. She knew exactly where this was going. They wouldn’t get a happy ending.

“Well shit, I figured as much.” She turned back toward the café where she’d heard the door creak open softly. “Get out of here now, Blame!”

“Yeah, but what about you, dawg?” How sweet. He was actually concerned about her safety. It would figure that she’d gain some attachment to humanity when she was prepared to leave it.

“This is my purpose,” she told him  and then scooped up the rifle at her feet, pointing it directly at the green man in front of her. He had a knife. He planned to murder her and make it personal.

_

Bobby took a step back, brows furrowed, holding the knife out in front of him warily. He was terrified to admit that his feelings toward Bryce had never really changed. He had missed her and now here she was. Was he prepared to lose her again?

Would she do it? Would she use the gun on him? If her interviews were anything to go by, Bryce Tankthrust was an absolute force of power. She was not to be underestimated or to be fucked with. At this point, Bobby wasn’t sure what to expect.

There were gunshots from the café behind her, where the boy she’d been protecting had disappeared, but Bryce didn’t even flinch. Her focus was narrowed, and it was all on him. The force of it was crushing.

Could he do it? Could he actually take a knife to her?

_

Bryce’s hands tightened and then loosed on the rifle at least three times. No matter what she did, she could not make her finger tighten on that trigger. A heat bubbled up inside her and everything came rushing out all at once. “DAMMIT!” She cried in anguish, dropping the gun from Bobby’s face. “I can’t do it!”

She stared at the ground, ashamed of the guilt; the weakness she felt for Bobby. Even now.

“I thought I was heartless, but there still seems to be people I can’t bring myself to kill.” It didn’t matter what Bobby did to the world or even to her; she wouldn’t take the first shot.

_

Bobby let out a small breath of relief when Bryce dropped the nose of the rifle.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t hurt him.

It almost made him reconsider what he was about to do. It almost made him drop the knife and run to take her hand. To live out the rest of their days as the worst living couple in existence. Almost.

“Well then allow me,”

_

The next thing Bryce felt was the plunge of metal in her abdomen, and then three more just like it. And then heat, more intense than she could ever fathom. There was so much blood and so much pain. She was dying; she'd died enough times to know it immediately.

“You stupiiiiiiid cunt!” Bobby gloated, kneeling over her to laugh in her face. Bryce coughed with the pain, blood leaking from her parted lips. "You call yourself evil. You couldn’t even kill me and I’m a fucking terrorist!”

“You’re right,” Bryce sighed, meeting Bobby’s eyes. She was resigned to her fate now, but that didn’t mean she had to do it alone, “I just need a little push.” Bryce ripped the hazmat suit from her face and took a deep inhale of the radioactive oxygen around them. Immediately, her skin flushed a deep green, altering and corrupting her very cells, turning her into someone who could actually kill the love of her life.

Bryce lifted the blade from her stomach, watching as it slid out of her flesh covered in her blood. Bobby held her wrist the entire time, eyes wide and full of fear. He knew, as well, where this was going.

As Bobby screamed about the deep injustice of it all, Bryce plunged the blade into his torso; once, twice…and then four more times, crying out as if it was killing her too. The pain she felt was much more than just physical. It ripped at her insides and squeezed at her throat. She didn’t want this. No matter what Bobby did to her, she never wanted to hurt him. But to save this disgusting planet, she needed to bring down the very worst of the assholes inhabiting it.

Bryce rolled onto her back beside her childhood friend who was staring up at the smog-hidden sky above them as they both gasped and choked on their last remaining breaths. Bryce watched his face, wishing that he might reach out and take her hand in these final few moments.

“You know what’s crazy?” Bobby forced out between gasps. “Every decision we’ve ever made has led to this moment.”

Bryce felt herself relax into the grass as she laughed warmly. He remembered.

Bryce felt her heart give out when she heard Bobby take his last breath. Her eyes lost their focus and she imagined what life might have been had they been able to start over.

Bobby had once been the most important person in Bryce’s life. More than the son she’d named after him. More than her own living, breathing sister.

In another world, perhaps, Bryce would have taken Bobby’s hand and they would have run away together. They might have fallen in love; genuinely and immensely. She might have become the most powerful woman in the world – president, even – supported at every step by her super-hot, super-villain boyfriend.

In another world, maybe they’d have started a little evil family of their own – she’d always liked the name Delmar (would they even make good parents??). Maybe they’d have a wedding on the roof of a skyscraper and start their honeymoon by blowing some shit up.

Maybe they’d be happy.

And she’d never need to steal a heart again, because she’d already have one freely given.

Author’s Notes:

 I realized after writing this that Helen and Bryce are not actually sisters in this universe but I can’t be bothered to change it. They are sisters in this fic, though it doesn’t really change the story. If you know Helen, growing up with Bryce Tankthrust as an older sister would explain a lot.

Bryce does have a son, mentioned only once and briefly. The biological father is unknown and he does not currently have a name. It doesn’t seem like he and Bryce are close. In my fic, I named him Robert (after Bobby T-T), BUT I have since decided that Delmar Lysol (from Brandon’s video, Family Friendly Halloween) could have only come from the loins and environment of these two fucked up assholes, so he’s their son...in another timeline.

This is NOT a healthy relationship (then again, is anyone healthy in the BRCU??) but Bryce and Bobby are villains for a reason. They’re assholes. To everyone. Everyone in this universe is an asshole (except for precious Sam, I do believe, though he has his moments)

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Skin, Bone, and Scales

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

This is just 75% fire figurative language

Word count: 6098

TW: Blood and pus, minor body horror (as in: sunburns and peeling skin)

———————

“Oh my god, you’re like a tomato with hair!”

The peculiar call caught Anne’s attention as she was changing into better shoes for rehearsals. She furrowed her eyebrows in both complexity and amusement, recognizing the voice as her little cousin. A smile formed on her lips, shaking her head at what could have possibly elicited such a strange comment.

When she walked out to the room they rehearsed in, she quickly realized what the context was and that it made perfect sense.

—

Joan had never been so hot before.

Her skin was baking, studded with blisters and boils along her shoulders and forearms and back like scales, as if she were a reptile and not a fleshy mammal. Her limbs were sacks of hot stones and smoldering embers that she had to drag around with her, and her ears simply felt as if they were lit on fire. Her cheeks, however, were by far the worst. It was like someone was holding hot iron to the sides of her face and wouldn’t let go, no matter how loud she screamed.

To put it simply, Joan felt like a roasted lamb on a spit, rotating slowly above hungry flames. Sometimes, she had fallen into their orange-gold mouths. She could almost feel the flaming tongues licking at her skin.

So, yeah. Joan wasn’t all that comfortable at the moment. And Kitty’s loud, obnoxious comments about it certainly didn’t help at all.

“It’s, like—peeling,” Kitty felt the need to declare openly. She reaches for Joan’s shoulder, but her knuckles get swatted, and she pulls away. “Oh, gross!” She laughed. “Did you put anything on it?”

“That’s not your business,” Joan hissed. The fire that has lit in her stomach flashes higher, and she could almost feel whorls of smoke wreathing out of her nose and ears. “Stop trying to touch me!” She hit Kitty’s hand away again. “And stop looking at me like that!”

As much as she hated it, she didn’t blame Kitty or anyone else for staring- she would have, too, if it were one of them that came into work glowing neon red from head to toe.

“Sorry, I don’t speak lobster!” Kitty laughed loudly and then finally backed down. She spread her hands in front of her in a peace offering. “It's just funny!”

“It really isn’t.” Joan grumbled more to herself than to the girl in front of her.

“I told you to put on sunscreen,” Jane helpfully spoke up from where she was doing some warmup stretches. Joan dared to shoot her a distasteful look.

“I did!” Joan cried woefully.

“Not enough.” Kitty giggled. ”Make sure you do next time! We don't want you animorphing into a lobster!”

Joan scowled at her grinning face and imagined what it would be like to blow hot embers in her eyes. She erased the thought quickly- not because it made her feel bad for thinking something so morbid, but because she didn’t want to give the pink queen that much of her attention.

“Moving on,” She rumbled. Her throat and nose ached in a fierce, raw way as if they had been scraped out with a jagged branding tool. She lumbered sluggishly over to the piano in the far corner and delicately touched one of the cold, smooth keys, almost expecting it to melt beneath her fingertips. When it didn't, she sat down at the bench and considered it safe for her to play. “Let’s begin.”

—

The scaly blisters that are bristled across Joan’s back prickle painfully against her shirt. She wanted to scratch them so badly, but she knew her nails would sink in like a heated knife in butter the second she barely brushed the bumpy skin. It would be a mess of pus and blood that she wouldn’t be able to hide since she was wearing a simple white tank top (she couldn’t bear to have anything touching her shoulders, and white did reflect sunlight, so she thought it would be fine). So, she just had to grin and bear it.

But she couldn’t even fucking grin! Smiling pulled the dry skin around her mouth taut, to the point where it felt like it was cracking and flaking off. She was constantly licking her lips because of this, which set off tiny flames in them each time she did so (and didn’t help at all, mind you).

What’s worse- she felt something welling up within her. It was an uncomfortable sort of sensation like someone had released thousands of fire ants inside of her. It took her so long to realize that this was how she usually felt with a fever because of how hot she already was.

Joan blinked her eyes quickly, suddenly feeling very dizzy. She stared down at her hands resting on the piano keys and thought she saw light grey smoke hissing from underneath her fingertips. She gingerly raised her fingers and saw no damage- she must have just imagined it.

She sighed and scratched her itchy knuckles. A new stinging pain shivered through her tendons at this stupid decision, like thick, globby fire leeches were suckered on her skin and dissolving it into a soupy, gory mess. She squirmed awkwardly in her seat at its oppressive tingling and tried to keep her eyes open, but it felt as if a talon of fire was pressing into the socket, so she had no choice but to squeeze them shut. Sweat beads on her brow from the exertion of her simply trying to ward off the unwanted sensation and right as she thought she started to feel a little better...

Blinding pain.

“Hey, are we gonna get to my song or what?” Cleves had been saying loudly. “I’ve wanted to try out this new move-” And then she slapped Joan’s shoulder in a friendly way.

But it came off as a lot less friendly to Joan.

Flames burst through that shoulder, sprinting fast across her rash and setting the scales ablaze with fresh agony. It welled up in her throat like she was about to vomit molten lava and clouded her eyes with smoky hazes that usually came with near-unconsciousness. Her teeth dug into her chapped lips, cracking them with the pressure, but she wasn’t able to hold back a yelp.

“What the FUCK?!” She cried. She was half expecting fire to come out when she spoke, but no trace of flames appeared in her mouth. They remained deep inside the furnace that was her scorched body.

Cleves grimaced, although there was still amusement glinting in her eyes. She lifted her hand, and a comically pale print was momentarily left on Joan’s bright red shoulder before being devoured by the sunburn. It securely plated its blisters and scales back over the mark, spreading like a crimson wildfire until it was inflamed and itchy once again.

“Whoops- sorry!” Cleves said. She was genuinely apologetic, but it seemed worthless because she was still laughing about what she did.

“Are you- mmmmm.” Joan gave up on arguing, instead of turning to a much better option- grumbling like a teenage fire dragon that just got part of its hoard confiscated by its parent fire dragons for accidentally eating one of the sheep that was supposed to be saved for the fire dragon dinner.

(She didn’t like being a fire dragon. If she were ever to draw Killer Frost as a fire dragon, she knew it would throw a fit or come out of the sketchbook and strangle her with its bare claws.)

“It’s—fine. It’s fine!” Joan finally snapped. She glared down at the piano, not wanting to see everyone else’s expressions. She knew that would be finding this funny, and that made her want to shove hot coals up all of their noses until it turned their faces into a charred, tarry goop and they couldn’t smile or smirk or laugh anymore. “Let’s just move on!”

Her voice was coming out too loud. It was biting, but not in a cold way. It came out in a smooth, warm, sunny way that nobody could take seriously. They saw her as a baby sheep that was trying to bleat at a butterfly in its flower patch.

But she just saw herself as a sheep with its wool on fire.

Smothering, encompassing, suffocating, asphyxiating- the white-gold flames press in on her. She’s a ball of fire, fleece ablaze, hooves smoldered, horns like pillars of pyre. She opens her mouth to scream, and flames come pouring out. Her insides are bloated with smoke and ash, charred and singed, and she can taste their tarry remains on the sediments of her shriveled, black tongue. When she hooked her nails in her neck and tore open holes, thick streams of smog so grey they looked black come floating out.

Joan was screaming, clawing, burning two inches away from everyone’s faces, and yet they were blind to the golden inferno embracing her body.

( “They think it’s funny,” Killer Frost would probably say if it weren’t hidden beneath the hellfire consuming Joan’s entire being. “They think it’s just a little sunburn. Nothing more. But if it were Kitty that was as red as a fresh apple in spring...”)

Her subconscious’ distant words are drowned out by the overwhelming sound of the incendiary. Torches are sent flaring through her nerves like pinpricks of hot needles before extinguishing enough for her to realize she had been playing the piano throughout that entire conflagration.

Somehow.

Joan breathed out a soft, shaky breath. That feverish feeling reignited itself once again- or maybe it’s always been there, and she just hadn’t noticed. At this point, as her brain was melting inside of her skull, she didn’t know much anymore. She was working purely on muscle memory, but that would soon go, too, as her tendons and nerves and muscles would dry up from the heat and become stiff, fragile, prettified remnants of what they used to be.

She gulped dryly, as there was barely any saliva left in her mouth, and it felt as if she had just swallowed igneous rocks. They landed heavily in her stomach and set the bile into an uncomfortable simmer. She began to worry if the lining would catch fire and burn her from the inside out or melt open holes and douse all her other organs in the boiling acid.

Joan swallowed again, and whatever flaming creature had been trying to crawl its way up her esophagus and out through her mouth raked its claws down her throat on its way back down. Then, she coughed and was surprised to not see a plume of ash come out.

God, she needed water. She needed to get out of these clothes, too. Her legs were nowhere near as bad as her back and shoulders, but her pants were rubbing the scarred flesh uncomfortably raw and she would just prefer to have them off.

Joan bounced her knee, feeling miserable. Her skin was melting off of her bones, her stomach was boiling, she was running a fucking fever, she was somehow shivering, and, good lord, was the heater on or something?!

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Joan stood up, wincing as she felt crackles and flickers and pops go off in her legs. She walked on eggshells on the way to the bathroom after calling a break- if those eggshells were on fire and actually pointy lava rocks.

Right about now, Joan would really prefer actual eggshells because, what the fuck, were the soles of her feet sunburnt, too?!

She careened into the bathroom, clipping her shoulder on the corner wall in the process and sending that smoky haze from before momentarily hissing across her vision. She braced herself up against one of the sinks, pressing her palms down on the smooth, cold granite as hard as she could to soak up the coolness, and glared at her puffy, inflamed, red face in the mirror.

God, no wonder everyone was laughing at her.

She was like a poor immolation to the overpowering pyrolatry. A lamb to the slaughter, a ram to the flames, a ewe to the end of a burning knife-

A piece of charred meat in the mouth of hungry flames.

Joan slowly eased herself back, removing all the weight she had been putting on her hands. It felt as if she were rubbing bituminous coals against her palms, so she turned on the sink and let it run over her hands and fingers and wrists. She carefully dabs some of the cold water on her hot cheeks and sighed softly in content. For just a brief, fleeting moment, the stinging seized and was snuffed out by a torrent of coolness.

That lasted for only a few seconds, though. The water ran warm when it dribbled down the sides of her face, much to her dismay. It was stupid of her to think she could even get a moment of comfort.

As if to prove that, Joan’s back tingles again and, this time, she didn’t care about ignoring it. She reached her arm around and under her tank top and scratched fervently at one of her shoulder blades, hoping to relieve some discomfort.

Her efforts, of course, did the exact opposite.

Joan couldn’t help the startled cry that escaped her lips. She ripped her hand away, and it came back wet and sticky and absolutely dripping with pus and blood.

It was as if her touch was heated- the minute her nails came in contact with her shoulder blade, the flesh peeled back, blisters popped, and fluids came angrily billowing out of the abscess like hundreds of wasps from a destroyed hive.

Joan dissolved into pathetic whimpers as tears came streaming free. They were gasoline on her flaming cheeks- increasing the stinging until it felt like holes were being melted open in the sides of her face, and she frantically squabbled to wipe her eyes. The rough brush against her cheeks agitated the inflamed flesh, and it punishes her foolishness by breaking open and spilling its red tears down her face.

Joan would scream if she could, but the hellfire had her by the throat. So she just wheezed like the scorched furnace she had become and let the liquid fire drool out of gaping, fleshy ventilation systems.

What else could you do when in the mouth of an inferno?

———

Anne will admit that it had been her idea to go to the beach, but in her defense, Kitty made it happen. That’s exactly why she had consulted the girl about her idea because she knew nobody in their house could say no to her. Besides, it was going to be alarmingly hot for a spring day in England, so why stay in a house with no AC when you could go swimming? It was a brilliant plan! And it worked out perfectly! Except for the part where Joan fried like an egg in the sun, of course.

But still, in her defense, Anne had no idea the girl was so sensitive to sunlight! She had seen her put on at least ten layers of sunscreen every thirty minutes! How was she supposed to know she would shrivel up and die?!

Oh, who was she kidding? Not even her internal yelling debate could ease the guilt gnawing away at her.

Joan tagging along with them wasn’t her fault- that blame was shifted onto Kitty and Maggie, who were never a good duo when they got together, when they insisted that the “gang had to stick together”- but she still felt bad when she saw the girl’s awful sunburn. It was funny at first, but then she noticed the permanent grimace plastered on her face and the way she stiffly played the piano like she had lit matches dug into her skin, and the situation became a lot more worrying.

It was clear Joan was on edge and uncomfortable- they all noticed that. They just didn’t think of doing anything. A sunburn wasn’t exactly something you could just pop some pain pills for- it took time to go away and let the skin heal itself of the blemish. So, the others just didn’t pay it any mind (even if it was tough not to gawk at Joan’s firetruck red complexion).

Anne tried to do the same. She told herself there was nothing she could do and she should just laugh about it with everyone else, and she was so close to settling fully into that state of mind.

But then Joan called a sudden break and left the room without a word, and Anne was yanked right out of that belief.

Something was very, very wrong.

Now, believe it or not, despite her (slightly aggravating) stage persona, she knew what boundaries and personal space were. And she knew when to not bother a female. There’s several cases of when you shouldn’t bother a woman: when she’s breastfeeding, when she’s on their period, when she’s pregnant, when she’s being cheated on- but especially when she’s in pain and it was making her aggressive.

It’s, in a weird sort of way, like the time she found a stray cat on her family’s property when she was younger. She had cornered the frightened little thing and it arched its spine and hissed at her to stay back, but she was desperate for a pet, so she grabbed for it anyway. Naturally, she got scratched and that night, as her mother was cleaning the cuts, she was told to never approach a scared, cornered animal. It made them more likely to lash out, but if you wait and let them know you weren’t a threat, then they may calm down. And Anne has used this advice since then, and she still uses it with the queens and ladies in waiting when something is wrong with one of them.

Except right now, though. Because Joan has been in the bathroom for half an hour, now, and absolutely no one was batting an eye. Anne knew the girl was more likely to die and turn into a skeleton before anyone decided they wanted to check on her, so she excused herself from the game of Statues that Maria had started and walked out.

Now, Anne has seen a lot of shocking things in her life: the actual proof of Aragon’s divorce, her first miscarried baby’s withered corpse, Henry’s penis....but the musical’s bright red music director hunched in the bathroom with blood on her shirt and face and hands might take the cake.

In the bright bathroom lights, Joan looked a lot worse than she did in the rehearsal room. She wasn’t just red- she was raw.

The easiest way to explain it is to imagine a human being that just got all its skin peeled off and then was stung by at least two hundred bees in very specific areas. Scarlet stained almost every inch of her body, aside from underneath her jaw, amazingly. The burn was lighter in some places and darker in others, but her shoulders and upper back were by far the worst. There, scarlet faded into rings of dark crimson and blotches of maroon, both of which are spotted with tiny red dots, as if someone had crushed up rubies and sprinkled the shards over her to make the menagerie of sunburnt flesh look less like an eyesore. Paper-thin, translucent strips of varying sizes are frayed around the edges of the bigger blemishes, revealing raw pink hiding underneath.

To put it simply, Joan looked like a scorpion without its exoskeleton.

“Joan!” Anne cried in shock and worry. She leaped towards the girl and immediately picked up on the heat coming off of her. It was like standing too close to an active volcano. “Are you alright?”

Joan looked up in surprise. She had just been swaying there with her hands running under the sink when Anne came in. Anne guessed she was cleaning the angry red patch on her cheek, which was still crusted with blood around the edges.

“I’m— I’m, uhh—”

Anne couldn’t even tell if she was blushing in embarrassment or not, but it didn’t matter. Flustered or not, Joan needed some help.

“Honey, you don’t look so good,” Anne said gently. She reached out to grab Joan’s forearms so she could steady her, but the natural warmth from her hands seemed to set fire to Joan’s arms and she jerked away with a soft hiss. “Sorry! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s fine,” Joan whispered. She didn’t snap at Anne as she had done to Kitty and Cleves. Perhaps she liked Anne more than them, or perhaps she was just in too much pain to be angry- Anne couldn’t really tell. “I’m sorry— Everyone is waiting for me, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Anne said. “But forget that right now, alright? You look like you’re about to keel over from heatstroke.”

Joan actually managed to laugh weakly, but it quickly broke off into a keen-like noise as pain flitted across her burnt facial features.

“What’s wrong?” Anne asked. “Aside from, you know,” She gestured vaguely.

“I— I don’t know.” Joan whispered. “I-I think I have a fever...”

“Are you sure you’re not just hot from-” She gestured vaguely once more, but this time with a lot more enunciation in her movements.

“N-no, Anne, I’m—” She’s starting to shiver. Joan was fucking shivering. She reached out a hand to lean against the sink counter. “I— I just-” She pressed a hand to her forehead, breathing shallowly.

Anne frowned in worry at the girl’s inability to explain how she felt to her. Whether it was from embarrassment or deliriousness thanks to the pain, she didn’t know, but she had to do something, so she stepped forward and carefully placed her hand on the back of Joan’s forehead.

As expected, it was burning hot. She wished she could have said that it felt a little warmer than a normal sunburn, confirming that Joan did have a fever, but she honestly couldn’t tell. So, she convinced Joan to help her find the thermometer kept in the theater first aid kit so she could take her temperature.

38.8. That was the temperature displayed on the thermometer and Anne worriedly glanced over it to the weary-looking girl sitting in front of her. When she was caught staring, Joan looked up at her with grey eyes and red sockets.

“38.8.” Anne said, showing her. “I think you may have sun poisoning, love.” Joan tensed and Anne quickly went on, “No, no! It’s okay! That means we know how to treat it!”

“W-we do?” Joan stammered nervously.

“Well. I do.” Anne said. “The things I need aren’t here, but I know we have aloe gel at the house. So we’ll get you fixed up in no time!”

Joan didn’t look too happy to have to go over to the queen’s house in her current state, but Anne managed to convince her to ditch rehearsals early so they would at least be alone for the majority of the treatment.

When they arrived, Anne had to point out the elephant in the room- the stained mess on Joan’s back. She had been putting off calling it out, but now they had to do something about it. And she knew Joan was going to hate every second of it.

“Alright, how much do you like this tank top?” Anne asked Joan, who was sitting on the toilet seat in the master bathroom (Jane’s bathroom. It was technically Jane’s bathroom, but Joan didn’t need to know that. They needed space, and it was big, so Anne could take the fit Jane would surely throw when she found out later). “Because if you can’t move your arms, I can cut it off.”

“I think I can get it off myself...” Joan said although she didn’t exactly trust herself to do that.

Still, she grabbed the hem of the tank top, pulled it over her head, and Anne watched in concern as the skin upon her upper back cracked, contracted, and split open in a way that made it seem like the girl was about to sprout wings. It made her own shoulder blades tingle in discomfort.

“Ow.” Joan whispered. She shoulders shudder, flesh-scales bristling and flaking.

“Okay,” Anne started, looking at the gooey scratch fanned open on Joan’s left shoulder blade. It looked like a tiny pool of creamy pus, which was just barely managing to not spill over the edges. “Yeah... You’re not gonna like this part, sweetheart. In fact, you may hate me after it’s over.”

“Why?” Joan squeaked fearfully, but then she watched as Anne pulled a bottle of disinfectant out from under the sink cabinet. Her face went as pale as it possibly could with the sunburn coating it like a second skin. “O-oh.”

“Yeah,” Anne smiled pitifully. She wets a small rag that she hopes Jane doesn’t use to clean her body with (mainly for Joan’s sake). “Ready?”

Joan white knuckles a towel she had grabbed for grounding and nodded shakily. She couldn’t even be embarrassed over being shirtless in front of Anne, as she was too worried over the pain she was about to face.

The cry Joan makes is heartbreaking. It felt as if burning claws were stabbing and stabbing and stabbing Anne’s heart the longer she had to hear it and the longer she had to be the cause of it. But it had to be done and, after a few moments of flushing out the scratch with disinfectant, she pulled the rag back. It’s now covered in a thin film of yellow-white pus and brown blood.

“Now your cheek,” Anne said. She wets the clean side of the rag and gently lifts Joan’s chin. The claws return to her heart when she stares into the girl’s glossy grey eyes. “Take a deep breath, honey.”

She gave Joan a moment, then pressed the rag to the blemish on her cheek. Joan keened sharply and instinctively shook her head, but Anne managed to hold it still enough to clean her face. She could feel hot tears slip down against her fingers and she finished as quickly as she could.

“There,” Anne said. “All done, sweetheart. I’m all done.” She delicately brushed away Joan’s tears. “Shh, shh... You’re okay. You’re okay, Joan...”

“Fuck you,” Joan hissed weakly.

“I deserve that.” Anne laughed slightly. “I’m going to go grab the aloe vera, alright? And a change of clothes for you. I’m sure Kitty’s will fit you.”

She’s gone for maybe five minutes and by the time she returns, the little blonde fireball she left sitting obediently on the toilet seat seemed to look even more miserable: she was hunched slightly, sunburnt flesh-scales bristling in a painful way along her shoulder blades and upper back. Her eyes are slightly glazed over, reminding Anne of the fever she had, and she was starting to shiver again. Anne just hoped it was because she was shirtless in a cold house.

“Hey, sweet girl,” Anne’s hand hovered comically over Joan’s sunburnt knee, then her sunburnt shoulder, then her sunburnt back, and then she decides to just pat her head. It makes Joan look up at her with a weak smile. It reminds Anne of a picture Cathy once sent her of a lamb grinning. “I brought some water if you’re thirsty.” She frowned when Joan shook her head. She watches the girl lean over to the sink counter and bury her head against her folded arms resting there. “Joan? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” Joan whispered weakly. “Just a little nauseous.”

Oh dear.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Anne said, worry evident in her voice. “I also brought some ice. You gotta stay dehydrated, so do you think you could at least suck on a piece?”

Joan agrees and slips a chip of ice into her mouth. Before she can return her head to its burrow in her arms, Anne asks her to change into the shorts she brought in, so she sheds her itchy pants and gratefully swaps them for the airier bottoms.

“I’m going to put the gel on your back now, alright?” Anne said. “Then you can lay down in my room. How does that sound?”

Joan just nods weakly.

Anne gives her a warm smile, then dips her fingers into the bottle of aloe vera she had with her and gingerly smears it on Joan’s shoulders.

As gentle as she was, it seemed she just about poked Joan with a hot rod.

Joan yanked away with a yelp, nearly falling off of the toilet seat. Anne pulled back, meeting her eyes with a worried glance.

“Sorry. It hurts that much?”

“N-no, it—” It definitely hurt that much. Joan just didn’t want to admit it. “J-just warn me next time.”

“Okay.” Anne nodded. “Here goes.”

She put her hand to Joan’s shoulder again, much slower this time. Her fingers barely touch the girl before she’s curling in on herself like a distressed armadillo.

“Hey, sit still,” Anne said.

“I’m trying!” Joan takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, steeling herself best as she can. “Okay, okay. I’m- I’m ready.”

Still, she can’t help but flinch when the next stroke sears a prickling line across her back.

“I’m sorry,” Joan squeaked when Anne pulled back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” She scrambled up to her feet. “I-I should just go. I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble-”

“Hey, hey,” Anne tried to grab her forearms, but stopped herself from making contact. “You aren’t doing anything wrong. You’re in pain, Joan. You’re going to flinch.”

“B-but I’m annoying you,” Joan whispered. She lowered her gaze, but Anne slips a finger under her chin and lifts her chin.

“You’re not annoying me, honey.” Anne assured her. “I promise. I want to help you. So can you please sit back down?”

Joan nodded and sat back down. Anne didn’t miss the fresh glimmer in her eyes and she couldn’t help but feel so bad about how insecure and nervous the poor girl was.

“Ready, sweetheart? I’m going to start now.”

Joan’s muscles tensed up as soon as the touch came. The balm stings on her skin and in her nose- a sharp, airy scent of aloe. She bites down on her shredded, raw lip, trying hard to stop herself from whining, but a few pathetic sounds still escape her.

“One part done,” Anne said, her voice as soft as her fingers.

Joan just makes a noise through clenched teeth, pressing her face back into her folded arms. Anne’s touch is light, barely there over the biting of the salve. Every now and then, she stops to take more from the bottle, always muttering a quick warning before she continues. She’s going slow, steadily rubbing small circles all over Joan’s shoulder blades. The weird minty chill numbs the skin wherever her hands glide, to and fro, covering every inch.

“I’m almost done with this part, sweet girl,” Anne cooed. “You’re doing so good.”

Beneath her hands, Joan’s flesh was rough and bumpy. It was like rubbing lotion on the back of a horny toad lizard. It was so hot, too, like a piece of the sun was permanently burning inside of the poor girl. Luckily, the aloe vera seemed to soothe the cinders billowing about Joan’s body. The flames licking through her would flicker their way over to the cold, wet barrier and slow down, prodding the goop in a disgruntled manner. And then, they’re smothered by a glob of sharp-scented aloe, wisps and embers flying out in shock before they, too, are put out.

Anne moves to Joan’s legs next, then her arms, and then her neck and ears. Finally, she began to smear the gel onto Joan’s face, hearing her sigh softly in relief as she did so.

“All done,” Anne smiled. “I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

Joan was definitely blushing- Anne could tell just by the way she hunched her shoulders around her neck and looked away shyly.

“Come on. Put this tank top on and then you can lay down. Or you can stay up. Wanna watch a movie?”

Joan nodded. She stood up and her nose wrinkled. She was basically wearing a full body suit of aloe vera.

“I feel slimy.” She said. “Like a snail.”

Anne laughed. Her heart melted at how adorable the girl before her was.

“You are too cute,” She said. “Come on. Put the shirt on.” She tossed a basic pink tank top to Joan, who quickly pulled it on. She saw the fabric cling to the aloe vera almost instantly and Joan’s nose wrinkled once again. “Yeah, it’s gonna do that.”

After quickly cleaning up, Anne led Joan to her bedroom. Joan was hesitant to get into the bed, but Anne assured her that a little aloe rubbing off on the sheets wasn’t going to bother her, so she clambered in after the queen. They end up deciding to watch The Princess and The Frog right as the front door opened and closed from downstairs and several voices filled the house.

Anne expected Joan to get nervous or say she should leave, but, instead, the girl just scoots a little closer to Anne, who leans away in fear of hurting her burns. Joan seems offended.

“It’s gonna hurt if I touch you.” Anne reminded her.

“I don’t care,” Joan grumbled. Her fever and exhaustion was making her adorably grumpy. “Please just hold me...”

Anne’s heart fluttered- she couldn’t say no to those eyes!

As expected, Joan hissed when Anne put her arms around her and pulled her close to her, but then she sighed softly and rested her head against the queen’s chest.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered. “For helping me. I didn’t think anyone...”

“It’s no problem, Joan.” Anne quickly cut off her nervous comment. “I care about you.”

“...I like being cared for.”

Anne glanced worriedly down at the top of the frizzy blonde head resting on her chest. She pulled Joan even closer and pressed a kiss to her hair.

“You deserve it, Joan.” She said. “You deserve care and so much more. Never forget that.”

“Stop it,” Joan whined weakly. “You’re gonna make me cry on you...”

“Cry, sweetheart. It’s alright.” Anne said. “It’s not going to change what I think.”

“Thank you,” Joan choked out through whimpers. “Thank you so much...”

“No need to thank me,” Anne said. “Besides. You have my robe. It’s official. You’re, like, mine, now.”

“Your what?” Joan looked up at Anne timidly.

Anne shrugged. “Niece? Goddaughter? Granddaughter? Robe stealer?” She kissed Joan’s forehead, making her smile shyly. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I like all of those options,” Joan whispered, tucking her head back under Anne’s chin. “But I...I want to be your-”

“Annie!!”

Anne’s bedroom door swung open and Joan lurched away from Anne. She sat up straight, still, staring at the TV as young Tiana goes running out of her bedroom after a frog croaks at her. She doesn’t want to see whatever expression Kitty has on her face.

“What’s up, Kit?” Anne said cooly.

“Oh, I was just wondering where you were,” Kitty said, then glanced at Joan skeptically. Her nose twitched a little, but she quickly turned back to her cousin. “Cathy is cooking tonight. She wants to know if you still want to learn how to make that really good soup she made?”

Anne saw Joan’s shoulders droop just slightly. She quickly makes up her mind.

“Maybe some other time,” She said. “Call me when it’s ready, alright?”

Kitty blinked. She glanced at Joan one more time.

“Alright.”

Then, she’s gone. Joan still doesn’t move, so Anne has to ease her back into her arms, now stroking her hair soothingly.

“I could have left,” Joan whispered.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Anne reprimanded. “I want you to stay right here with me.”

Where you belong.

Joan swallowed a lump of emotion rising in her throat and nodded. She nuzzled closer to Anne, not caring about how it agitated the burnt skin on her nose.

“Thank you,” She mumbled. “I-I...”

“Shh...” Anne soothed her. “It’s okay, sweet girl. No need to thank me or anything. Just relax, okay? If you’re tired, sleep. I’ll be right here.”

Joan felt heat bubble up inside of her, but this time she knew it wasn’t from the sunburn or the fever, rather the heat came from the giddy blush that glows a refreshing pink along her flesh-scales.

“I’m... I’m glad.”

[despair-tummy]

Wrote some milky Byakuy.a Tog.ami

[[MORE]]

Being locked in Hope’s Peak Academy for so long it was only natural they started to grow closer, forming platonic and romantic relationships that overcame whatever motive the mastermind threw at them. Course, when you have healthy people together it’s only natural that physical relations happened as well.

And of course, being as young as they were, their fertility was at its prime and it wasn’t exactly like anyone was going to go ask Monokuma for birth control. So it was hardly surprising that one of them finally fell pregnant, what was rather ironic was it was Sakura, who had warned them time and time again for everyone to be careful whenever they decided to brag about a rendezvous with their romantic partner.

Though it wasn’t like anyone dared to point that out considering she was undoubtedly one of the strongest among them, and considering the father was the most feared biker gang leader in Japan, so everyone held their tongue about the irony.

Now, even with them refusing the motives Monokuma threw at them to try and tempt them to commit murder they still sought a way out of the school daily. Though some were better about the current circumstances than others.

It was hardly a surprise that it was Byakuya who was less than happy that Sakura ‘couldn’t pull her own weight’ as he had bluntly put it. Showing little regard to all the side effects that came along with pregnancy, insisting she was just as capable as before. Had it not been for Sakura insisting for Mondo to pay no mind to him, there might have finally been a murder.

Months passed and she was fortunate enough to deliver a healthy little girl, but even then Byakuya still expected her to be just as capable as the others when searching for an exit shortly after delivery. And of course, there were times when they weren’t searching for a way out he didn’t hold back his comments.

Now wasn’t any different, it was a regular breakfast at the dining hall for everyone. While labour and delivery had gone smoothly, Sakura was still going through the process of recovering and on top of that, both she and Mondo were tired from being first-time parents.

Breakfast was going as smoothly as it usually did, Byakuya’s distaste for everyone normally was kept quiet as long as no one bothered him they wouldn’t be subjected to any comments. But today he couldn’t hold his tongue, had he did that the unfortunate and embarrassing situation he would find himself in next probably would have been avoided.

“Must you do that here?” he said the second Sakura started to nurse once her daughter became in need of food.

“Is there a problem?” Sakura answered, lifting her gaze from the infant to him.

“It’s indecent.”

“It’s natural.”

“At least have the decency to cover up instead of exposing yourself,” he argued lightly, sipping his coffee.

“Considering we’re in the presence of a mechanical bear attempting to get us to murder each other, a serial killer with a fetish for murdering young men, Toko and Hifumi, I hardly see why nursing of all things is something that disgusts you.” Celestia pointed out.

“I hardly see why she can’t do that privately.” he huffed.

“If you got a problem with my girlfriend you got a problem with me,” Mondo warned through gritted teeth, about to get up from his seat until Sakura placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t,“ she warned. “I won’t let our daughter be exposed to senseless violence. If it bothers him that much he is free to leave.”

“Ah, finally someone suggests something sensible,” Byakuya said, getting up from his seat. “I lost my appetite anyway,” he spoke, abandoning his breakfast and leaving the dining hall.

The library seemed the ideal place, hardly anyone went there unless it was Kiyotaka grabbing some textbooks to study or Toko following him and filling up the library with her foul order. But this morning it seemed he had the library to himself with everyone still eating breakfast, he could just read and enjoy a hot drink to pass the time.

Byakuya swore under his breath, remembering he had left his coffee alongside his abandoned breakfast. Not wanting to go through the hassle of making another mug, he decided to return to the dining hall. After all, his original cup should still be a sufficient temperature for him to drink.

Byakuya felt their collective and judgmental stares as he returned, but as usual, he couldn’t care less. They were merely plebeians, beneath him in every way imaginable. He retrieved his cup of coffee and left, returning once again to the library, safely away from those clods.

He settled himself into his usual spot in the library, armed with a book and a cup of coffee he began to read.

It was when he was a fourth into the book he was reading and finished off the rest of his coffee, which was when the odd sensation overwhelmed him.

At first, it was mild, just a small tingly sensation in his chest. Nothing that seemed alarming at the moment, but then the sensation grew. Going to a tingly feeling to pressure, a lot of it. He doubled over in discomfort, both hands clutching his chest.

What was this!? Heart palpitations? No, it felt like it was in his pectorals as opposed to where his heart was. He cupped both of them and Byakuya’s vibrant blue eyes widen as he felt both spots begin to expand.

“Wha-what is this!?”

Byakuya was known for his put together yet cold demeanour, but if someone were to walk in on him now they would find all that was thrown out the window and in its place was a stuttering and panicking mess of a man.

By now Byakuya was cupping his pecs as they grew, as they rounded out the realization hit him... he was developing breasts. But how!? To his knowledge, he didn’t have a medical condition like gynecomastia, and even if he did it was impossible for such a condition to manifest instantly.

But it appeared all the intellect Byakuya possessed couldn’t come up with a feasible explanation as to why this was happening to him. He stifled a moan as his breasts grew, pushing up tightly against the fabric of his shirt. It wasn’t painful, but there was so much pressure. Byakuya bit into his lower lip to avoid crying out from the sensation. Unlike the dorms, the library wasn’t soundproof, and he refused to give anyone a reason to rush into the library and see him in such a state of distress.

He flinched as a button flew off from his white dress shirt, shortly followed by a second one. Revealing a copious amount of soft and pillowy cleavage that rivalled Aoi in terms of size.

It was then finally the growth had stopped, but even then his newly developed breasts felt sore and tender to the touch. Byakuya’s heart kept racing, his face a shade of vibrant red as he stared down at the two soft masses. How...how did this happen!? There was nothing medically wrong with him that came to mind that would inflict such a transformation on him...unless this was inflicted by someone else.

His eyes glanced at his empty cup of coffee. Of course! How could he be so foolish? He abandoned his drink and left it out in the open, anyone could have slipped him something!

“Those useless little-“ he paused, feeling something wet and warm.

He blinked, once again looking down at himself in disbelief. Seeing two damp spots right where his newly developed breasts were. Was he... lactating? His face flushed an even brighter shade of red before his hands curled into fists.

He immediately marched off, though with the amount of milk brewing in his chest and the lack of any proper support made this an uncomfortable task. Byakuya flinched as the milk sloshed in his chest at the slightest movement, every bounce just caused the milk to leak from his nipples.

“For the love of...,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest in hopes that keeping them still would ease some of the discomfort.

With his bust somewhat under control, Byakuya returned back to the dining hall.

“Alright, who did it!?” he demanded, glaring at those in the dining hall.

“What the hell happened to you?” Leon questioned the moment Byakuya lowered his arms, revealing his bust.

“Whoa, you could make a fortune with those things!” Yasuhiro laughed.

Byakuya gritted his teeth, glaring at those who didn’t leave the dining hall. His eyes laid upon Mondo, who sat there with a smug grin on his face.

“You!” Byakuya accused, pointing a finger at Mondo. “Explain yourself at once!”

“Well, what can I say?” he smirked. “You don’t fuck with my girls.”

“There’s...you...” Byakuya stuttered, trying to ignore the ache in his breasts. “There’s no way you alone would be smart enough to pull something like this off!”

“Kyoko might have mentioned something in the chem lab.” he shrugged.

“You...you...” never in Byakuya’s life did he ever think that mere commoners would be able to inflict such humiliation upon him. Of course, it had to be Kyoko to assist the biker buffoon, she was one of the few (if not the only) one besides himself to possess some intellect.

“Uhh... Byakuya?” Yasuhiro interrupted. “You’re leaking.”

He blinked and looked down at his bosom, sure enough, the milk-soaked spots on his shirt were growing. His face turned beet red and he immediately turned around and marched off. Byakuya’s breasts bounce from the brisk pace he walked, he flinched in discomfort. Once again he folded his arms against his chest for support and fled the dining hall and into the privacy of his dorm room.

By the time Byakuya returned to his dorm, his poor dress shirt was soaked from all the leakage.

“What a mess, disgraceful,” Byakuya muttered under his breath.

To be the head of the Togami empire and in such a state.... if this wasn’t temporary he would have to find the antidote, assuming Kyoko and Mondo didn’t expect him to get on his knees and beg. But Mondo was with Sakura and it would be out of character for her to let his suffering go on, she could be reasoned with if push comes to shove.

But for now that all could wait, in the meantime he needed to tidy up and try to look presentable during this predicament. Byakuya took off his blazer and hung it on a chair, next he unbutton his wet dress shirt. Hmp, once they got out of this school he would most certainly be sending the dry cleaner bill to those two plebeians! Forcing them into unimaginable debt for this little stunt seemed like the ideal form of payback until he could come up with something harsher.

He peeled the dress shirt off his leaking chest, he suppressed a shudder upon realizing just how sticky with milk he was. His nipples were red and puffy, leaking with an almost translucent white liquid.

Byakuya frowned, both his breasts were swollen, sore and sagging with copious amounts of breastmilk. He cupped them both again, hoping to better inspect his current predicament and find a way to undo it sooner rather than later. He could only imagine the vulgar comments that would come from Hifumi, Toko and Syo if they caught him like this. He shuddered at the thought, the two (or three of you count Toko’s murderous split personality, Syo) were already bothersome perverts, but if they saw him leaking breastmilk everywhere? He didn’t even want to think about it!

It was then he felt something lukewarm and wet on his hands. He looked down and saw his breast were leaking, not like little droplets. This was much more akin to a miniature steady stream.

Now, normally Byakuya prided himself on being among the most talented when it came to keen intellect and being put on the spot. It took a lot to leave him a panicking mess, and sudden breast development followed by messy leaking proved to be it.

He frantically tried to rack up his brain for ideas, trying to come up with something to avoid making a bigger mess. Milk leaked out from his swollen nipples and onto the floor, with every second he wasted panicking.

“The bathroom!” he cried aloud to himself, the drain in the shower would be perfect!

He rushed to the bathroom, remember to support his bust this time to avoid any painful bouncing. The second he stepped inside he shut the door and sighed in relief. Letting the milk leak freely from his bosom.

There, that would help avoid any more messes. Byakuya’s blue eyes watched intently as the fluid leaked from his nipples, down his soft breasts and down onto the floor and into the shower drain. How long would it take until he managed to drain a decent amount? He refused to have to stay and wait until the milk stopped dripping from his chest when he could be contributing to finding a way out of this cursed school.

What if he could coax some out faster? It seemed like a logical solution and a favourable one as opposed to waiting around. But what wasn’t favourable was how he would have to do so.

Byakuya brought his slender finger to his darken nipple, from there he brushed a thumb against it, coaxing out more milk. His lips formed a straight line throughout the whole ordeal, this just made him feel like a dairy cow as opposed to a man with status, power, intellect and wealth. But it got the job done, he couldn’t complain there.

But even he wasn’t satisfied with his current solution, it still meant this would be far too time-consuming for his standards. But what else could he do?

His teeth gently sunk into his lower lip, there was one more thing he could try... even if it would make him look even less like a dignified heir.

He firmly cupped his left breast, getting a good grip on it before hefting it up and guiding his nipple into his mouth and began to suckle. Right away he was met with a somewhat sweet taste of the milk.

It didn’t taste as disgusting as he thought it would be, but as he continued to nurse from his own breast a new problem arose. What to do with the mouthful of milk he was carrying? Spitting it out and letting it travel down the drain was one idea, but once again it was messy and the act of spitting was disgusting. But what else could he do?

What if he swallowed it? The idea seemed disgusting at first, but the taste wasn’t repulsive. Dare to say... Byakuya liked it. The very thought made him mentally cringe, but the delicious taste was outweighing the weirdness. So without much choice and the pros outweighing the cons, he gulped down his breastmilk.

The second the fluid travelled down his gullet and settled in his stomach he immediately wasted no time following that by a second swallow, a third, fourth and so on and so on.

It quickly became less of a chore to do and more of a pleasurable experience, as much as he hated to admit it. A final milky mouthful and he eventually detached, taking a moment to breathe.

There, that seemed to ease up the leakage... in his left breast at least. The right one was still a mess, giving him little choice but to tend to that one as well. Not that Byakuya could complain, truthfully even with the vast amount of liquid he drank, Byakuya felt like he could stomach some more.

After gently letting go of his left breast, he carefully lifted the other one up to his mouth, latching on he began to suckle again.

Just like before, his tastebuds were met with the creamy fluid that he guzzled down with ease.

Byakuya was beyond pleased with his decision to go into the safety of his dorm’s bathroom, there were no cameras and he could only imagine just how humorous the mastermind would have found this if they saw him of all people doing such a thing.

But each mouthful he swallowed helped erased the thought of even more potential embarrassment. It was when Byakuya was full he finally removed his mouth, taking a second to breathe before licking a smear of milk off his lips.

“That...wasn’t completely repulsive.” that was about as far as he would go when it came to verbally admitting that he enjoyed the taste even if mentally his mind was eagerly looking forward to the next time his chest needed draining. “Perhaps this will be easier to deal with then I thought.”

And maybe he could find whatever he was given in the chem lab when the first dose wore off or when he needed to eventually take the antidote.

[irrlicht-ghostfront]

fireworks to light the sky

Characters: Husk, Alastor, Niffty (mentioned)

Pairing: Husk/Alastor, Husk & Alastor

Summary: They were all gone. He didn’t really remember how they died, but they must’ve died in the bombings. He should’ve died too. Instead here he was, huddling behind some measly cover in a god-forsaken shack hoping he wouldn’t be found. If only the bombings would stop, then he could leave and find his way back to base - but then the noise stops and the red soldier comes in.

A/N: I decided I don’t need to write long stories anymore. If something’s short, it’s good too. So yeah, not much else to say (: TW/CW: PTSD, War mention, Death mention

@saschagemruler

____________________________________________________

They were everywhere.

He could hear them outside and all he could do was huddle inside this tiny little shack and wait for it to be over. He was alone, too. He didn’t quite remember how his team-mates died, but Husk was sure it must’ve been in the bombings.

There was no weapon in his hands.

He must’ve lost it during running away. What would his commander say? Of course, that would require him to make it out of the hot zone alive. Of course, that would require his commander to still be alive. Husk didn’t even know where he was. Hell, he couldn’t even remember what his mission was supposed to be. Had it been to simply check the village? See if there could be a tactical position? He didn’t remember. He didn’t remember.

Not that it mattered now, anyway. With the constant bombings he wasn’t able to scout out anything. The worst thing was – if he got out of here alive, they might give him a medal. He didn’t want a medal. He’s done nothing heroic this whole war.

What good would a medal do? It wouldn’t bring those back that died. Shit, it wouldn’t even honour them. It would simply remind him for the rest of his days that he was an utter and complete failure.

 Boom.

 Fuck that had been close. Were they honing in on his position? But how did they do that? He didn’t have anything. He didn’t have a radio that they could try to track. He must’ve lost that thing too, when he was running away. What a failure. What if his commander had tried to reach him, but he was such a klutz that he lost the one fucking radio they’ve had?

He pressed his head in between in knees. It’d be over soon. If he was lucky, they wouldn’t hit his shelter. If he was luckier, they would hit his shelter. He didn’t know what he was hoping for but maybe – maybe it was the latter. If he died, he didn’t have to go back. If he died, he didn’t have to face the consequences of his survival.

If he just died, it would be over. He would go home.

Home in a casket, yes, but he’d go home.

So maybe he should head outside.

And if he died, the bombings would stop. They’d never come back.

 Come to think of it...

The bombings stopped. There were no more sounds from outside. There went his foul-proof plan. But he wasn’t stupid enough to think the danger’s passed. Oh no. Now, the enemy soldiers would swarm the place to eradicate every survivor.

He needed a weapon – anything to defend himself with. It didn’t matter what it was. It was one way to die by being bombed, but being shot in the head? Or worse, being taken prisoner? What would they think? Stupid Husk got captured and would probably blabber out every secret he knew.

He clenched his jaw. No. No, that wouldn’t happen. He might be a disappointment that failed to die with his team-mates, but he would not turn into a prisoner. He’d die in dignity – as least as much as he could still muster after cowering here in fear.

Husk took a few deep breaths. He could do this. He could get out of this alive. Playing dead wasn’t an option – he wore military uniform. They’d butt his head with the rifle and that would kill him. They wouldn’t waste a bullet on a presumably dead soldier but they wouldn’t take any chances with him either. Most likely, they’d stab him with a dagger too, just to make sure he was dead.

No.

The only choice was to fight and run. There was no honour found on the battlefield.

Here, there was only death. There was no glory, no victory.

There were just dead men that would never see their home again. There were just dead civilians who did nothing wrong but to live in the wrong place.

And back home, nobody would understand.

“Thank you for your service.”

“You’ve done our country a great honour.”

“It’s an honour to meet you.”

And then there was the – the idolising. He balled his fists. There’d be all these little boys looking at soldiers and then telling their mommies that they wanted to be a soldier too. And then their mothers would encourage it and their fathers would tell them how proud they were.

There was no glory in war.

There was no pride in standing on the battlefield.

There was no courage in lying in the trenches, waiting for a shot.

There was only pain, and misery, and death.

And back home, nobody would care about that.

 There.

He heard rustling outside the door. It seemed they finally made it to this little shack. Fine. He’s made up his mind. He’d wait, and then he’d ambush them. He had no weapon, but his fists would need to do. He could do this. He trained for this.

“Husk?” Shit. Shit, how did they know his name? Did they specifically look for him? Why? He wasn’t important, he was just an ordinary soldier. Maybe he lost his dog tag. But that wouldn’t explain why they used his nickname. It didn’t matter. So, they knew he was here. Maybe they didn’t know he was in this particular house. It’d still be okay. He could still ambush them. He peeked from behind his cover. It was just one man, from the looks of it. He had something long in his hand, but Husk couldn’t quite tell what gun it was. Never mind, it needed to leave the enemy’s hand. He looked scrawny, so he’d probably be easy to overpower. Good.

“Husk, why are you hiding behind the couch?”

Shit. Shit, he’s seen him. Okay. No point in hiding anymore. Let him get just a bit closer and then attack. He could do this. He’d still feel safer if he’d at least have a knife or anything. But he could do it. He was a soldier. He wasn’t afraid.

“I didn’t know you were this bad at hide-and-seek, Husker. Is this how you keep letting Niffty win?”

Now was his chance to strike. The guy was close enough. Husk leaped from behind his hiding spot and jumped at this guy’s throat. The guy was pretty tall, but he had the advantage of being the aggressor. He could do it. Just overthrow the enemy, knock him out, take his weapon and book it. He’d find a radio somewhere, maybe even other people from his side.

He managed to knock the guy down, but his enemy was quick to grasp his wrists and turn him flat on his back. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. That didn’t go as planned. He had to fight. He had to fight. So he did. He bucked and wriggled but the guy’s grip was iron-tight. At least they were locked now. That meant the guy wouldn’t be able to use his weapon either. So he could still turn this around and win. Maybe a scare-tactic would work?

Husk looked at the guy’s face – and all he saw was red. Oh god. This guy was so red. Did he kill so many that even his hair got stained with blood? How was he to stand against such a ruthless killer? He suddenly lost all will to fight. He couldn’t expect mercy from this guy. So he bucked and wriggled again, but this time with the intent to just run. Just run anywhere he could; as far away from this guy as possible. Is this why he came alone? Was it because he didn’t need a squad to help him?

“Please just let me go, I don’t know anything, please –“

He never thought he’d resort to begging, but – he didn’t want to die. He was terrified of dying here. They’d hail him a hero if they’d ever knew about him at all and this would never end. Of course, him being alive wouldn’t change a thing, either, but – he just wanted to stay alive, alright?

He still didn’t have a family.

There were still magic tricks he wanted to learn.

There were still gambles he hadn’t taken.

There was still booze he hadn’t tried out.

Was it too much to ask for just one more day?

The enemy yelled at him. At least that’s what he thought it was. Maybe it was him; the little, pathetic soldier that would be hailed a hero after the war. He should be forgotten. He should be forgotten. He should be –

He blacked out.

 When he came to, he was being held. It felt nice. It was a bit cold, but it wasn’t overly uncomfortable. There was a hand on his head too, and that felt quite nice as well.

Husk didn’t remember what happened.

He was...

He couldn’t say.

It felt like there was some sort of fog in his head and he couldn’t clear it out.

“Husk.”

It was Alastor’s voice. Of course it was him. As terrifying that thought was, hearing his voice was soothing right now. If the Radio Demon was here, he didn’t need to worry about anything.

“Are you with me?”

What a strange question to ask. Husk closed his eyes and pressed closer to Alastor. Physical contact was so rare; he’d take every little piece of it he could get. Hearing his heart beat and feel him breathing was oddly satisfying.

“I’m always gonna be with you.”

[blehbleehhhh]

A Princess and a Barbarian Cheiftain ft. EreMika❣️

Hey, Braveheart anon! 💕 I see you! I hope you like it. I'm sorry it took forever to write .-. I pictured Mikasa as a warrior princess so I hope you don’t mind that lol. Please send in more requests! Also, an interesting fact from all the research I did for this one - the word "barbarian" did not have a negative meaning for everyone in the Roman Empire. It was actually used to refer to the people immigrating into their territory and not at all meant to be derogatory. I went back and forth with using historically accurate Barbarian Tribe names and writing in the Roman Empire but then I'd really have a restriction so ehhh, whatever. That's who I'm referring to when I say the "Empire'. Hope you enjoy because this damn thing took ages to fucking write! Shout out to my hubby for helping me with this! This is also a good time for me to introduce a new thing I’d like to try if people actually like it, add a drawing to my fics. Ever since I started writing this one I had a vision of Eren sitting in a chair like that with them both decked out in armor idk, I’m pretty rusty, it’s been a MINUTE since I’ve picked up my pencils, lol. Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys. Yes, there’s smut, there’s angst, don’t think I have to actually put a warning in but someone complained .-.

It's a cold, frigid December morning and Princess Mikasa is on the back of her young horse with sights set on a local barbarian village because her father is finally responding to the violence done by their chieftain, a fierce and talented warrior. Emperor Ackerman wants to establish some sort of a peace treaty with him in the hopes of preventing such acts from ever occurring again, at least attacks that would be under his direction and blessing. The village is hidden behind a tall wall made from wood and what an impressive sight on the other side of the gate - a large, expansive crop field being tiled by farmers, crop animals being maintained for food and wool conveniently located near a tannery, where the hides are made into clothing then sold to villagers, and of course, a stables with a large grazing field for their horses. Mikasa was surprised to see a black smithery where one smith was currently molding a dagger out of scalding hot iron, his shop displaying many goods ranging from weapons to lock keys to horseshoes, all of the items she's seen the smiths make around her hometown. Villagers were minding their own business for the most part and working their trades, some grooming animals, some sweeping the dust out of their shops while children were running around a large tree in the center of town surrounded with dead leaves, giggling as they played tag and tossed such vegetation in the air. The princess gave her trusty steed's meaty neck a rewarding pat down by his shoulders, making his fluffy, dark ears perk up with interest, standing perfectly still as she carefully dismounted to put her stirrups back up into the saddle. Someone she recognized as being one of her father's previous subjects approached and copied Mikasa's smile when he was handed the reins. "Your Elegancy." The elderly man moved to bow respectfully and was stopped with a gentle, kind hand on the shoulder, looking up to meet her eyes with a confused expression.

"Please, that really isn't necessary, but thank you for being so respectful. Just take care of my horse for me, sir, that's all I ask."

"Of course! Some of the best hay in the area!" He turned with a smile to guide the twelve hundred pound animal into a temporary stall, where he carefully removed it's bridle and bit before locking him in behind a short, wooden stall door, allowing the horse to graze on some of their hay. Just like her Uncle Levi has taught her over the years he's been mentoring his young niece, she took in a deep breath to center herself with the advice he'd given her before she left this morning; You cannot make good decisions without a clear mind. Something that he's always insisted and Mikasa has definitely found that to be the case. And so one last time she thought through the steps Levi has constantly hounded into her head, since her parents were always too busy to raise their own child and teach these lessons themselves - the most important being to not let emotions get in the way of negotiations. The largest hut is the one she assumes to be reserved for the chieftain and it's guarded by two barbarian brutes that are definitely not intimidating at least to her, which is why she simply nodded as she opened the old, wooden door. It was difficult to maintain her trademark blank expression when she saw him - someone who doesn't even come close to resembling the stereotype that follows barbarian chieftains. There he sat upon a wooden throne boosted up on three stone slab steps and clearly missing the anticipated grisly bear of a beard in favor of a cleanly shaven, surprisingly handsome face that's framed with pushed back shoulder length, chocolate brown hair, his skin sun kissed from always being outside, and eyes so green that she swore her heart skipped a beat. What was just as surprising to her is that he appears to be about her young age of twenty four, something she didn't expect to be possible given such an impressive reputation. "Eren Jaeger?" Mikasa could feel herself blush when he responded with what she loathes to admit is quite a sexy smirk, her cheeks red already from being in the cold, and she watched his eyes as they clearly sized her up. The young man sat taller in his seat and was genuinely unsure if his eyes were in fact deceiving him because surely one of the princesses wouldn't be a warrior, but based on the armor she's wearing, it's obvious that this ravishing creature fights for the empire.

"Ah, your Elegancy. What can I do for you?"

"This destruction has gone on for long enough and it has to stop, so I've been sent here to negotiate peace."

"Why would the empire give a damn about what we do?"

"We assume that you're the one responsible for that local town being decimated? You know," Mikasa sighed as she crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. "The fifth one this year?" He simply gave her a slow nod and pulled his hair back into a small, low ponytail at the nape of his neck, now flashing an amused grin that she's counting things out for added effect. "Okay, we'll continue. How about all of those castles that have been destroyed? The crop fields bunt? The countless Lords and knights you've killed? I realize someone else could have done this, but you're our most problematic tribe." Eren smiled and nodded his head, leaning his cheek on his fist because she’s simply alluring.

"Oh no, that was most definitely me."

"Why? You have killed so many people! Why?"

"I've been doing it for years now. Why would you get involved now?"

"Because you're out of control! What is the meaning of this?"

"You aristocrats and your stupid government have some laws that tend to be harmful to my people and I simply cannot have that. I refuse to tolerate injustices of any kind when there's something that can be done about it!" Eren leaned forward in his throne as his fists slammed into the wooden arm rests and was surprised when she didn't cower, it seems he won't be getting his way with this one. "Besides, I tend to attack other tribes that fuck me over and I could care less what your father thinks of me."

She simply rolled her eyes.

"What could those people have possibly done to warrant such extreme violence?"

"The most recent village happened after I had attempted to establish a peace treaty with their leader, so I sent one of my best men over. Only his head returned three days later hanging off the horse's saddle."

"I'm sorry about your loss," And then her expression fell sympathetic when she pictured a sight so horrific. "I really can't imagine." His face softened as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Yeah, well, I know you're not here to give your condolences. You want peace with me?"

"That, and I would love to actually give the families of Lords and knights some kind of closure instead of just staring at them blankly -" She paused to take a deep breath when she remembered that day in battle, where a very dear friend was ruthlessly murdered. Nobody could have done anything to stop the blitz attack, because the one who killed him rode past on their horse so quickly that there wasn't any time to respond. And suddenly her face grew as fierce as before. "One of my Uncle's best legionnaires was killed in battle last year with your men. I was there when he was decapitated, Eren, and the killer looked an awful lot like you." In a second his eyes screamed irritation and he sat forward in his throne almost growling.

"Yeah, I know exactly who you're talking about. That asshole was responsible for wiping out half of my men with your Uncle's assistance! Those people had families!"

"He left behind a wife and two little boys!"

"And should you aristocrats decide not to feed these people when they inevitably become poor," Eren smirked as he cracked his knuckles because he knows that his words have made her angry and he finds it extremely amusing. "I'm happy to take them in as I so often do when they wander away from the city. Those two morons back there were originally a part of your father's empire." The girl knit her brows together and growled under her breath because she's all too aware of the empire’s failings when it comes to caring for its people who aren't wealthy. She snarled under her breath and allowed her hands to curl into fists at her sides.

"Why, you gargantuan piece of -!" Mikasa paused and took a deep breath to collect herself. "I'll have you know that he was a very good man and someone you probably could have taken some pointers from!" Those words immediately changed the room's atmosphere and both of them felt it as they tried to intimidate the other with their increasingly heated exchange.

"So what," He rose from his throne tall and definitely commanded the room with such an intimidating presence, smelling of ale and nature. "Because I'm brutal with my enemies, I can't be a gentleman?" The fur pelt around his neck swayed as he slowly walked down the slab steps, their eyes watching each other with mutually fierce expressions. Now, this woman is stunning. Until the princess waltzed in, Eren has never really felt tempted enough to bother with something as distracting as being in some kind of relationship, but she's definitely worth the effort. There truly isn't anything he finds sexier than a woman this passionate, actually cares, and actively pursues justice, hell, the fact that she's so attractive is nothing more than icing on the cake. Her eyes are a beautiful gray-blue and they go so well with long, silky black hair that frames such a slim and angelic face, matching perfectly with her fair skin. Yes, Mikasa certainly is every bit as breathtaking as he's so often heard her described from others that had the privilege of being graced with her presence. But he can tell from her body language that his usual intimidation tactics haven't managed to get things straightened so far and with a glance behind her, he nodded at the two men standing guard at the building's entrance. "You two. Out. Now." His eyes flickered down to hers once more as he reached for a water canteen and brought it to his lips, finishing whatever was left in a large gulp before setting the empty container down on the table. She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed deeply.

"You certainly don't behave like a gentleman."

"Aw, that isn't a very nice way to negotiate, princess."

"I hate being called that. And I'm only behaving this way because you're being an ass. How dare you speak to me that way!"

"Respect is earned, princess," Eren smirked as he slipped his hands into his fur lined pockets, eyes giving her a second once over. "And I have no respect for the empire. You have a failing economy, the taxes are much too high, and you're so lazy that you literally use barbarian tribes to guard your fucking borders! Just what kind of an army is your Uncle running?"

"Well, it's better than a bunch of assholes who rape women, murder innocent people and destroy lands!"

"This tribe doesn't rape women. I've actually had quite a few of my own men executed for doing that. And I don't have people executed unless I think it's called for." Because he was just as passionate about this response, Mikasa reasoned that she's being told the truth when he insists such behaviors aren't tolerated here. "But I won't deny destroying lands, crops, killing Lords and knights, because I did all of that to protect my people. We're fighting for our lives just like everyone else." She briefly looked away with a sigh and pushed her fingers through her hair when she met his eyes once more with a considerably softened expression.

"I appreciate that, Eren, I really do, but if you don't it knock off the brutality, I'll be forced to have you and your men executed."

"Oooh," The young man smirked as he took a few steps closer to her and was surprised when she didn't back away, only flashed a genuine smile he finds to be extremely beautiful, pressing her fists into her sides. How cute. "Is that a threat?"

"No, actually, it's a promise," Mikasa smiled and bit her lower lip as they intently studied each other's eyes, an amused grin teasing his lips because he's never felt so attracted to someone before and boy does he want her. "I already have permission to have you all killed. Hell, I'll decapitate you myself."

"A princess that yields a sword? You are as impressive as I've heard."

"I have a collection." She flashed a devilish grin and cocked an eyebrow, very aware that his eyes are drawn to her lips and she was extremely flattered. Little did she know that smirk he wears is because he's ashamed to have already wondered briefly if she's this playful in bed.

"What's in it for me if I cooperate?"

"You mean besides living?"

"I think you know exactly what I meant." Eren brought a hand to his mouth, itching the corner with his finger as he briefly looked away because he's extremely amused, especially now that she has taken a few steps closer with her eyes still glued on his. They flickered down to his lips, her rational mind quickly being over powered since she's giving some serious consideration to defying Levi's instruction and giving in to this undeniable, magnetic spark between them that neither are really willing to resist. Love at first sight indeed.

"You won't be invaded and we won't destroy your crops."

"While that is appreciated, I'm afraid it's just not enough."

"Any tribes that you struggle with?"

"Yeah," He crossed his arms over his chest as they got closer and smiled at just how much he's truly enjoying this fire she has. "There are a few. Unfortunately, we aren't quite strong enough to deal with them on our own now thanks to your Uncle, since they're many in number and much larger than the ones I've already taken care of." The young woman bit her lower lip as she studied his face, so chiseled and handsome. Even the man she's been engaged to since she was four doesn't look at her like this.

"We can help you fight them."

"You also have a few of my people in custody that I'd really like back."

"Okay," Mikasa smiled as she pushed her fingers through her hair, the strands slowly falling before her eyes. "I can get them out of jail and talk with my father about maybe getting their charges dropped." He just slowly nodded his head in agreement and smirked as he closed the small gap that remained between them, an action that made her cheeks a little rosy.

"Now, that is an interesting offer."

"Well, wait a second, you need to hold up your end," She hesitantly placed a hand on his chest and was relieved when he simply smiled instead of backing away. "All we want is your cooperation if we have to fight other tribes. We may have a large military, but there's only so much border and territory we can cover on our own. The empire has grown quickly and continues to do so." Her eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips, waiting patiently for what she hopes will be good news. So much for not letting my emotions get involved..

"Fine." Eren smiled as she wrapped her arms around his neck and placed his hands on her hips, leaning in slowly to kiss the lips he's admittedly been eying since she walked in. But the door suddenly opened, and they rushed to pull away as one of his men stuck his head in the room to deliver a message having unknowingly interrupted their first kiss. "What is it?" He hissed out of frustration because he was finally about to kiss her after bickering back and forth with palpable sexual tension for almost an hour. Mikasa bites her lip, clasping her hands together behind her back as she impatiently watches him speak with one of his men.

"Sir, our scouts have returned. They determined that the new nearby tribe isn't a threat."

"Yeah, okay, thank you." Eren was already moving to grab her by the waist as soon as the door closed with a mutually playful smirk. "So, like, do you always negotiate peace treaties with yourself? Or am I just lucky enough to be the first one?"

"Luck had nothing to with what's about to happen," Mikasa smiled as she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him closer until their lips were almost touching. "I want you so badly.." She whispered, letting out the softest moan when he finally kissed her, a moment so magnetic, so magical that it truly seemed as if they were the only two people in the world and nothing else mattered but them. The encounter left them both feeling dizzy and that lingered long after he pulled away, her nose slowly rubbing alongside his.

"Maybe we should find somewhere more private?" He breathed to her smile and smirked when she backed away enough for him to see her biting her lip, and he was more than happy to drag her by the hand out the back door so his people don't see them leaving together for the chieftain's private living quarters. Their hearts were already racing once they got on the other side of the door and the tension had reached a new high as she started removing her armor to reveal basic cold weather clothing; several tunics, wool leggings and socks with her tall leather boots. Mikasa chuckled as he wrapped his arms around her waist with a smirk and pulled her into his solid form, sliding her hands along his fur cape to lift it over his head, tossing it on the floor. She crashed her lips against his and jumped up to capture his waist with her legs as they slowly wandered to his bed together, exchanging frantic kisses and carefully laying her on her back. Large hands slide beneath multiple, wool tunics and she was disappointed when their lips had momentarily parted so he could tug them over her head, revealing an insanely slim and beautifully toned body that he was already very drawn to.

"You're fucking gorgeous."

"Thank you.." She blushed as he grabbed onto one of her legs, smiling and watching her eyes while he pulls off her boots, then leggings and socks. Mikasa sat up on the edge of the bed as she reached for his layers of warm tunics and slid them up his body with her hands, which encouraged him to remove them and toss the bundle aside. Her cheeks immediately grew red at the best set of abs she's ever seen as he reached behind her back to loosen her corset until she was able to remove it still in shock - slim, slender, absolutely ripped. "Wow, and you say my body is incredible?"

"That's because it is. At the risk of sounding crass, I've been with quite a few women, and you're just top notch gorgeous. And a tough as hell. Which is even hotter."

"Were any of them good at giving head?" Mikasa grinned as she placed a gentle hand on his bulge and slowly slid it up to tuck her fingers behind his wool pants and sheepskin underpants. "Because I've been told I do.." He smirked as she dropped everything to his ankles and proceeded to gently curve her fingers around the thickness, her tongue lapping at the tiny amount of goo oozing from the sensitive tip. With a low groan he carefully gathered her hair away from her face and watched as she opened her mouth, leaning in slowly to control how quickly she swallows his long length, nuzzling her nose at the base in soft brown hair.

"Fuck, you are good..." Eren chuckled with a simultaneous moan as she gently pulled back with her cheeks sucked in, just enough to add her hand back into the mix so she can stroke with gentle twists of his shaft. She suddenly picked up her pace as she stroked and sucked him in tandem, making his hips jerk with his slightly louder groans and moans. But she was prepared and swallowed his length eagerly once more, content with him slowly pumping into her mouth. "You are literally the perfect girl, holy shit -" He paused when she moaned softly around him and slowly released his length from her mouth with an audible pop, biting her lower lip as she lay back on his bed so he can climb on top. "I realize now what I said just came across that you're only the perfect girl because you give amazing head, but I didn't mean for it to." She giggled just loud enough for him to hear as he began to tug down on her underpants, his eyes watching hers for any sign of hesitation only to find nothing but pure lust.

"You were fine, but thank you anyway.."

"Of course," Eren smirked as he leaned in to kiss her and tossed her underpants aside, their lips only parting so his can wander agonizingly slow down her body. "Now, where were we?" She grinned, blushing furiously as her hips are hoisted up over his shoulders so he can drag his tongue along her glistening slit and she grasped onto both of her breasts, watched him munch away at her sweet spot from above while her body dangles off of his.

"Erenn...." She squeezed her breasts as he stretched his arm down to touch one of her breasts, surrendering control over how hard he squeezes to her. His lips sealed around her clit, suckling in just the right way that caused an almost immediate climax and inspired him to playfully pop his hand on her ass, making Mikasa giggled as squeals with delight, struggling endlessly not to grind against his mouth because he's holding her so tight. "Ohh! Please, please!" She pleaded through her helpless moans and blushed a shade darker when he opened his eyes to hers, slowly pulling his lips off to plant a kiss over the pink skin. He smiled as he carefully lay her down on the bed and leaned in to kiss her, his hand wandering down so he position himself at her entrance. They both moaned into their increasingly passionate smooch as he carefully slipped deep inside the heat, lingering here to let her body get used to him being in there. Suddenly, he was thrusting into her so quickly, that it forced her to tear her lips away, watching his eyes as he absolutely railed her. "Eren! Eren! Eren!" With a most pleasurable cry she clawed at his back, letting out the occasional whimper amidst her helpless moans. And the sight of her clearly feeling satisfied made him smirk, something that she's certain will always make her heart skip a beat. "What?"

"Nothing, you're just ridiculously sexy," He paused when her eyes rolled back in pure bliss and she came hard, slowing his thrusts significantly since he's not quite ready to finish yet. "Seriously, I knew I had to have you as soon as you walked in." Those beautiful eyes opened to his and he offered a heartwarming grin as he leaned in to kiss her once more, thrusting into her deep and slow. She sighed into his mouth, reciprocating his thrusts as she pulled her lips away with a moan and giggled softly, placing a gentle hand on his cheek to touch the prominent dimples she's already loves.

"You look nothing like what I expected."

"What do you mean?"

"You're ridiculously hot.." She grinned as he suddenly took off and slammed into her, his smirk making her belly burn with desire as he stops again, sliding his hands beneath her back to encourage her to roll onto her stomach and she did so slowly, giggling small giggles as he gently pulls her up on all fours by the hips.

"I am?" Eren whispered in her ear as she eagerly spreads her legs for him, his cock still nestled deeply inside. "I'm ridiculously hot?"

"The only other cheif I've met wasn't even close to being attractive. But you are just..." Mikasa grinned when she felt his hands warm hands curve around her slender hips, his kisses slow on her spine and a smirk evident against her skin. "...the complete opposite."

"Last thing I expected when I woke up this morning was a sexy warrior princess to shiw up.” His husky voice whispered to her as he kissed up her back, making the entirety of her fair skin blush a light shade of pink. She moaned at the sound if his voice and pushed herself back against him, making her moan in such a way that he couldn't help but do the same.

"I should have guessed someone as stubborn as you would be a tease.." She purred immediate, pleasurable sounds when he took off and thrusted into her so quickly that neither  could think a coherent thought. She slowly slid her arms out until she could rest the side of her face on a pillow, clawing at the sheets and moaning loud whimpers. "Eren! Eren! Eren!"

"Mikasa.." He whispers breathlessly in her ear as she moaned through her climax, slowly pulling her hips back into his and pushing them forward. "I'll help protect your borders if you let me see you again. I assume you're like most princesses and are already engaged or married to another man, but to be honest, I really don't fucking care."

"I don't either, my fiancé is already cheating on me anyway. He even has a kid with her. Wait, you know I'm engaged to someone else, yet you still want to see me again?"

"I'm sorry," Eren's voice was genuine, soft and husky in her ear. "He sounds like an ass. Why are you so surprised that I want to see you again?"

"I didn't think you felt anything between - ah! aha! ah!" She squealed with delight when he suddenly took off and absolutely drilled into her and she loved it. "Oohhh!" Her hips started to tremble and she whimpered pleasurably, white knuckling the sheets as she bounces her hips back against his.

"I can't get enough of you already! Fuck! You're like a drug!" He moaned with her as he dug his fingers into her hips and guided her faster, sending his lover into an equally euphoric state. "I'm gonna cum!" In one swift movement he quickly pulled out at the perfect time and exploded all over her back with countless groans, hisses, and low moans. Eren held onto her tightly as they collapsed together on their sides and made her the little spoon, both hearts thumping hard against their rib cages. She sighed happily and yawned as she reached her hand up to push her damp hair back, already feeling sleepy from the most incredible sex she's ever had. “Damn, you’re incredible.”

"Mmm," Mikasa hummed with a smile and stretched back against him as he kissed any skin he could readily reach. "We need to figure out how to sneak you into my bedchamber.." His embrace is warm and welcoming as they settle beneath the blankets, basking in the heat coming from the fireplace that's giving the now dark room an orange glow. It's safe to assume that an unspoken agreement has been made between the two and that at least this tribe will no longer be of concern, all thanks to the negotiations between a barbarian chieftain and a princess.

[scribeofmorpheus]

The Rebel Queen (i)

Chapter One: Immolation

Pairing: Poe Dameron x (OFC) Princess Calista Ordell

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | A03

Words: 6k | Warnings: More ramblings of a delusional fanfic writer…

A/N: We finally get to meet our new protagonists and have a little bit of Poe towards the end. I had a lot of issues with this first chapter. I wrote and rewrote it three times before scrapping it and starting again. I was also anxious no one would want to read something that’s 90% OC’s. If you want to read the original version lmk, I’ll add it as a deleted scene. Expanded lore linked below:

Epilogue | About Thesmora

"Always find the courage to stand, my child," a beautiful smile graced over Lenora's timeless features, her hand reaching down. "For as long as you believe you have the strength to keep going, then you will have the strength to keep going.“

Young Calista rubbed at her cheeks, wiping hot tears away as she dusted her trousers and accepted her mother's outstretched hand. The sounds of her brother’s laughter tickling at her ear.

“Remember Calista, just because you got knocked down, doesn’t mean you belong there.” Lenora helped her daughter to her feet, glancing over at the golden shores of the beach, a content look in her eyes.

 Karas the Ancient City on Thesmora…

Ash rained down from the smoke-blackened sky, a shadow cast over the white and gold flag that stood crooked in the courtyard.

Dark purple flowers trampled by lifeless bodies, the polished silver and gold armour of the Royal Guard was covered in specks of uprooted soil and soot.

An explosion in the distance heaving sand and dirt and roots out from the ground.

Princess Calista Ordell stared at her mother's funeral pyre, the flames long since dead. The smoke dancing like a sickly phantasm weighed down by gravity, trapped by the heavy air filled by a melancholy that clung to everything. Today was meant to mark the first day in a hundred days of mourning, but instead it had turned into the first day in a long number of days to be plagued by violence and turmoil.

Calista was numb to the pain. Numb to the distant sounds of explosions and boots crushing over the ancient city’s stone steps. Thesmora had lost a queen and she had lost a mother and on the eve of Lenora’s burial, the planet had lost what little hope there was for peace. Then Duchess Maligma had made a rallying cry. Traitors became patriots, brother took up arms against brother and now Thesmora was under the iron fist rule of a power-hungry tyrant.

Martial law was declared, what was once a monarchy in transition for Calista’s rule, was now a military state ripped apart by infighting and bloodshed.

All it took was one day for the galaxy to change. One day for Calista's life to fall apart. When the First Order unleashed the might of its arsenal against the Alliance, no one had been prepared for the devastation that followed. Seven planets -spinning, revolving, evolving- there one moment and gone the next, billions of lives lost succeeded by a fallout of immeasurable proportions.

Fearing for her people, the Duchess had killed her own sister after she had refused to side with the order. And even though the resistance had destroyed Star-Killer base, they had been too late to stop the panic and fear from spreading across the galaxy.

"Princess," the faint sounds of a trusted voice forced its way into the crevices of Calista’s foggy mind, shaking her from her stupor. "Princess, it isn't safe. We must get you to safety!"

Calista looked up, dazed and confused, eyes red from the salt in her tears. Her protector and long-time friend, Koa Kiddé, grabbed onto her shoulder and shook her fiercely. The wind blew her long silken hair furiously, the sunburst orange ends flickering like an open flame around her face. A look of determination turning her beautiful features stone cold. Her honey-coloured eyes drawing narrower with every wasted second.

"Now, princess!" Koa yanked her to her up.

Calista looked down at her feet planted atop the flower bed and remembered a phrase her mother would always mutter in trying times, "Find the courage to stand."

Koa held out her hand, the other armed with a viro-blade, urging Calista to take it.

Hand in hand the girls ran out of the courtyard and away from the only home they knew. Soldier's clad in black armour filing into the once lush and colourful space, covering it like ants on an anthill. Calista’s crown sinking further into the dirt as synchronised marching lifted the weak soil off the ground.

To win this war they would have to lose this battle.

 Calista’s feet began to blister, her breathing ragged and shallow.

"If we hurry we should be able to catch a shuttle heading to Yotai, from there it will be easy to find ourselves a pilot willing to smuggle us out of the Outer Rim," Koa strategized.

"We won't get far dressed like this," Calista pointed at her ceremonial robes and Koa's Royal Guard attire. "And we'll need credits."

Koa hummed in agreement.

"We have no choice," Calista sighed. "We head for the race tracks and speak with Banden Murray."

"I would rather die than watch you sully your reputation by getting into business with that thug," Koa spit in distaste.

Calista looked around the housing complexes in search of clothes or material left out to dry. She spotted a purple poncho with a hood and pulled it over her clothes, obstructing the royal seal embroidered onto her breastplate.

"That may very well come to pass sooner than you think," Calista warned. "Our allies are scarce, Mokk-Toh has vanished and there are whisper's that Maligma is in talks with the First Order. My options are limited. Murray is the only option."

Koa clicked her tongue in distaste, "the thought of being bantha fodder is more comforting, but you are right. Without resources, we'd be shooting in the dark."

"Then we're in agreement," Calista nodded before heading away from the transport station and towards the race tracks.

 The Shallow Pits…

The sound of pod-racers whooshed past, dust picking up and filling the air with the scent of grease, smog and engine fuel. The harmonising soundwaves of pods whirring in stasis trembled out through the orange and red rock depressions. The stands which were always filled with up-roaring fans were all but deserted. Posters and flyers advertising for a big race blowing about like unattended children.

Calista kept her head low as she manoeuvred through the sparse crowd of derelicts, gamblers, mercenaries and smugglers that frequented the race tracks. A few strange faces would occasionally do a double-take once they noticed her fine shoes didn't match her worn poncho, luckily Koa's frightening glare and imposing demeanour would scare any potential whistleblowers away.

"Hey, hey, hey, only Thessi with invitations are allowed beyond this point," a mercenary held up his hand, guarding the back entrance to the observation decks. He was an inch away from touching Calista's shoulder.

Koa unsheathed her sword with lightning quick reflexes, the heat from the plasma charge bathing the mercenary’s neck in a yellow glow, "Lay a hand on her and you lose it." Koa threatened.

"Stand down," Calista calmed her before looking up at the wide-eyed mercenary, sweat trailing down his neck -the viro-blade still painfully close to his artery. Koa's disciplined stance barely allowing for the long sword to sway.

Calista lifted the poncho to reveal the sigil, "I have a feeling your boss will make an exception about the invite rule."

The merc gulped and hit the wall panel with his elbow. The door opened with a hiss and a gust of air. "Go on ahead."

Koa sheathed her blade, yellow glow subsiding from the mercenary’s pale neck before following after Calista.

 "A visitor to see you, boss," one of Murray's assistants introduced Calista. "And her bodyguard." Koa walked in right after.

Banden Murray was a tall, muscly man with thick hair the colour of tar. His skin paled in comparison to all his compatriots, making him stick out like a sore thumb in this part of town, but he didn't mind that. Murray was more outsider than native, but he had declared Thesmora his home after retiring from whatever occupation he had before.

He was widely respected by the public for being the head of the mining union with connections to various peoples of power. What few beyond the senate seat knew was that he was also an information broker with a vast network of spies who had dealings with both the Resistance and the First Order. Many believed he had amassed this network after the first rebellion ended, though none knew for sure which side he had been pledged to at the time, or if the story held any merit considering no one knew his age. If the lines on his face were any indication, he was probably past his prime years.

"Ah, I never thought I'd see the day when royalty would walk into my establishment of their own volition," Murray smirked as he leaned further into his chair, a multi-coloured poncho draped over his heavily tattooed arm. The only legible tattoo was of a name scribed over his chest: Ashani.  "Please, sit."

Calista accepted his show of hospitality, Koa, however, made it a point to stand in defiance. Murray cocked his head at Koa before bringing his sights back on Calista.

"So, princess," sarcasm dripped from his tone. "How may I be of service?"

Koa's hand balled in a fist.

Calista brushed his brazen attitude aside, "I need a favour."

"Do go on," he encouraged with a wave of his hand.

"We have a contact waiting for us at Yotai who will get us out of the Outer Rim. All we need is safe transport off-world."

Murray chuckled under his breath, "Your contact wouldn't happen to be Senator Kiddé by any chance?"

Calista's eye's flickered to Koa's instinctively, her guardian, in turn, clenched her jaw with a bitter expression.

Murray had gotten his answer.

"I suspected as much," Murray snapped his fingers, ushering one of his drones with a heavily tattooed face to bring a box into the room. "He was taken captive by the Thessi Garrison a few days ago. We were able to… re-appropriate several of the personal belongings he had on him."

"Need anythin' else boss?" She asked, eyeing the two outsiders.

Banden shook his head, the rings on his fingers knocking against each other when he weaved them together, elbows propped up on the table. "I'm told he and several other outspoken supporters of yours are being transported to Illis –to the Cairn- on a shuttle tonight."

Koa's hands began to shake and Calista caught on cue, asking Murray the question that was undoubtedly plaguing her friend's mind, "Any news on his wife, the Baroness?"

"We've heard chatter underground that she fled to the safety of Naboo not too long ago," Banden replied.

Koa's shoulders relaxed slightly upon hearing the news.

"With the senator no longer at our disposal, we may have a harder time getting off-world," Calista said gravely.

Banden let out a low rumble, "Then I suppose its fate that you came to my door." He stood from his chair and walked around his desk, his tall frame leaning against the desk with folded arms. "I know a good pilot. Trustworthy. Man of his word. He can get you where you need to go, for a fee of course."

Calista sized him up, "I suppose you have conditions of your own for helping us?"

"I do indeed," Banden pulled out a lighter and burnt the ends of his pipe, filling the light deprived room with puffs of white smoke. "Wars are a tricky business. Lucrative, but tricky. I believe you'd be worth the gamble though. I can help you, be your eyes and ears on the ground. Pass information to and from. I could be your inside man, help topple this totalitarian regime your devious aunt has erected." A wicked leer pulled at his thin lips.

Calista's fingers began to drum against the chair's armrest, one of her nervous ticks.

"What's the trade?" Koa said bluntly, her voice sharp as glass.

Banden blinked as though he hadn't the slightest clue as to what she was inferring.

"Men like you, you covet one thing: power. How does helping us get you what you want?" Koa took a step forward, challenging as was her nature.

"It's simple. If you manage to overthrow this current uprising and restore balance, I want a seat on the senate… and the deeds to the prison," his steely blue eyes fell back onto the princess.

Calista's gaze snapped to his, their eyes clashing like mud and crystal. "That is no small ask."

"Neither is helping two wanted fugitives escape from the clutches of a power-mad warmonger," Banden's voice was no longer gentle, his lungs sucking in air through his lit pipe. The scent of burning sticking to everything.

"How do we know you aren't in Maligma's back pocket?" Koa asked through a narrow glance.

"I am," Banden admitted freely. "I'm in everyone’s back pockets. The resistance, the order, the cartels… everyone. I even did the odd job for the late queen now and again."

"Lies!" Koa barked, jaw muscles working hard.

"It makes sense," Calista said regrettably. "A man of your connections is an invaluable asset." She stood from the chair, determination pulling her brows together. "I cannot promise you the rights to the prison, Murray. Nor am I inclined to believe you won't just betray us once we get on a ship… but, I can assure you, that once I take my throne back, all of Thesmora will know of your role and perhaps that would be evidence enough for the senators to allow you to slink your way into a seat of power." Even though her words were low and controlled, it wasn't enough to fully flatter the mobster.

"If you succeed, we'll bring this discussion up again at your coronation." Banden held out his hand.

Calista knew she was making a deal with the devil, but she had few good choices left. She accepted Banden's hand tentatively, a new alliance forming under the roof of a desolate betting establishment.

"We'll be needing disguises," Calista informed him.

Banden whistled, ushering a skittish droid into the room. "Cory will handle any of your needs."

"And the pilot?" Calista asked.

Banden chuckled again, "He's down by the docking ramps off-loading cargo. I'll let him know you're on the way and I'll handle any remunerations he may require..." Calista motioned to leave when Banden informed her, "For now at least. There are no free favours in this world. I will come knocking if you live through this." 

"You'll get what you're owed," Calista's voice was smeared with venom, no longer playing the composed little princess.

“Trust me, I know.” Banden returned to his seat, boots resting on his desk. “Oh and princess, if you run into Felix, tell him his loan is overdue.”

The mention of Felix’s name caused Calista’s breath to hitch, the first sign of her level of distress.

 Calista changed into the bright orange mechanic overalls Cory had given her while Koa riffled through the crate with her father's belongings.

"You know," Calista pulled the cloth that separated them. "I think I'd make a good mechanic." Calista tried to smile in the hopes it would ease Koa from her worries.

Koa looked up at her, fishing out a small blaster rifle and holster and tossed it to her, "A gift from our gracious business partner.” She was dressed in tattered clothes. Tears and holes peppering the purple cloak that obscured her viro-blade's sheath behind her back. Black boots scarred by scuff marks.

Calista buckled the worn holster around her thigh and waist, "You don't approve."

It wasn't a question, Koa hadn't tried to hide her feelings about this plan from the start.

"That's why you're the diplomat and I'm the shield," Koa said flatly, her fingers running over the knot-work ridges of an eye-catching necklace.

"It's beautiful," Calista moved closer, tying up her long hair into a professional bun that hid her auburn tinted ends.

Koa held up the chain to the light, the octagonal metal charm scattering the beams of light into an artificial rainbow. "I've never seen it before. I don’t think it belonged to my father." Koa tossed it back into the crate, her hands gripping the edges until her knuckles turned pale.

"Hey," Calista placed her hand over Koa's, urging her to let go. "Maligma won't hurt him, he's too valuable as a prisoner. We'll save him. I promise."

Koa ground her teeth together, before lifting up the box to carry, "Let's focus on getting you somewhere safe."

Calista glanced at their distorted reflection on a polished surface. With their hair concealed and their normal clothes cast aside, they shared a remarkable resemblance. Inattentive eyes would easily mistake them for cousins, even perhaps sisters. Despite their similar bone structure and eye slant, Koa was the more beguiling of the two, with her enviable height and toned build.

Koa pulled an old cap off a hook and fixed it over Calista's head, the brim shielding her eyes from view, "Now you look like a crew member on a pirate ship." 

 The ship hanger housed three star-ships. One was an old Mon Calamari cruiser that looked to be a former warship, probably salvaged by Murray and his thieves after the war. The other was a beaten up rust bucket with only one working engine, parts pulled from it for salvage and left to gather on the floor like a machines graveyard. The final ship was also a relic of the past, but the colourful paint job slapped on made it look a little newer, a little shinier. Bold letters ran across its side spelling out the word Somnambulist.

As Calista and Koa got closer, they heard the odd ramblings of an unfamiliar dialect. A stout, burly man with an extended belly, greasy hair and an unkempt beard was shouting up at someone working a plasma torch. Calista guessed by the grease-stained medals pinned to the man's small jacket that he was most probably their pilot, Odhen Boro.

Murray told them Odhen used to be one of the best pilots on their side of the quadrant, a veteran in the Resistance too, but he had quit right around the time the First Order popped up.

"Don't give me excuses, one-eyed wonder, you said you'd have the tailpipe fixed hours ago!" Odhen shouted up at a small creature standing on a ladder that had been wheeled under an engine thruster, his miniature frame dressed in a brown get-up.

"Is that a Jawa?" Koa leaned close to ask.

Calista hummed in thought, "I've never seen one, but the fiery attitude and loud shouting would seem to back up that assumption."

The Jawa moved his arms frantically about, his voice small and high pitched. It would have been adorable if not for the flesh searing torch he wielded recklessly.

"Yeah, yeah, don't give me that crap. Just get the damn thing fixed," Odhen ran a hand through his beard, curly follicles falling away at the contact. He stared down at the shed hair strands and groaned in disgust. "Great… next thing I'll start going bald."

The Jawa shouted something else and this time Odhen's nostrils flared, "Yeah, well you aren’t getting’ any younger either, pip-squeak!"

"Odhen Boro I presume?" Calista startled the two hot-tempered males.

Odhen scratched at his beard as he tried to place the strange women standing before him. The Jawa sighed and threw a bolt at him, shouting again in quick, unintelligible words.

The pilot grumbled something under his breath before wiping the engine fluid from his fingers onto his less than white shirt, "My mechanic over here tells me you're our haul. The princess and her bodyguard, right?"

Koa kept her eyes fixed on the Jawa, the initial wonder from seeing a new species still working its way through her mind.

"That's Ton-Ton, my mechanic who's living up to his title less and less with more time wasted. His chatterin’ droid is around here somewhere -lookout for anything that rolls," Odhen's voice was nonchalant as he made his way to the entrance. "I'm guessing the princess has never seen a Jawa before?" he asked as he started lugging crates to and fro.

"Uhh," Calista glanced in Odhen's direction, realising he had mistaken Koa for her. "Actually, no. Koa has never seen a Jawa before. Neither have I. I didn't think they ventured out so far from their homeworld."

"Usually not," Odhen grunted as he lifted another crate. "Ton-Ton has a penchant for getting into trouble. You all set?"

Koa walked past them, setting the crate down in the cargo hold.

"I should think so," Calista told him.

"You hear that Ton-Ton?" Odhen shouted out into the hanger. "We're all waiting on you!"

The Jawa replied in his native tongue and Odhen tugged on his sleeveless jacket in frustration, "What do you mean I can't afford a real mechanic? You're supposed to be a real mechanic!"

"Is this thing safe to fly?" Koa asked, staring up at the ceiling and the leaking pipes.

"This beauty hasn't killed me yet," Odhen said passively.

Koa and Calista shared a troubled glance. Their looks were deterred by the rumbling of unfastened items placed recklessly about the cargo hold. For a moment, everyone stood still, watching, waiting. Then the walls of the ship began to shake and the Jawa cried out as the ladder started to roll, his plasma torch falling to the ground and igniting a tarp on fire.

"What was that?" Koa asked, hands held out to steady herself.

Calista kept looking around as the shaking intensified, "They feel like micro-quakes."

"Seismic charges!" Odhen's eyes grew wide as shouted after the Jawa, "Ton-Ton get your scrawny little ass in here, we're about to have some very angry guests!"

The Jawa scurried on stunted legs dragging a red trolley filled with tools along with him, the flaming tarp left to itself. Ton-Ton shouted after Odhen just as the hanger bay’s ceiling caved in and a troop of Elites rappelled down, firing off rounds from their hand cannons. Their black armour forming one uniform black line in the distance.

"Forget about it, as long as we can take off without blowing up, it's not important!" Odhen waved the Jawa into the ship as he pressed the button for the cargo bay doors to close. A plasma round scorching a heated circular hole into the wall next to the pilot. "Hurry up, spanner head!"

The Jawa waddled faster, managing to get on board at the last second, his red trolley banging against a set of crates.

"Can one of you fly?" Odhen asked.

"I trained for three years but only with smaller fighters," Calista said.

"That don' matter, a seat is a seat," Odhen jogged heavily to the cockpit. "Come on."

Just as Calista made her way to follow, she noticed the Jawa pulling Koa below deck. A sign pointing down to the gun turrets was placed right above the maintenance hatch that Ton-Ton pried open with a wrench.

Odhen didn't bother strapping himself in as he flipped switches and spun the Somnambulist to the side so the turrets would face the advancing militia.

"Sit down, strap in and do as I tell you, kid."

Calista slid into the seat, buckling the seat belt. The ship groaned and shook as several blasts bombarded the outside walls.

"Easy there girl," Odhen smoothed the flat surface of the dashboard with his free hand while the other pushed the navigation stick to the side. He snapped on his headgear and tuned the station until the static turned into rapid-fired words coming out in Jawaese. "Stop clogging up the channels, Ton-Ton! I hear ya! It's not like I'm trying to get shot at on purpose!"

Odhen pressed the ignition button and the whole ship thrummed with new life. A spray of blaster fire hit at the windshield, "Hey shorty, try shootin' at somethin' will ya? I can't be the only one doin' the heavy liftin'." He barked into his headset, snapping his fingers at Calista. "Hey kid, turn us starboard to 45 degrees and then push down that switch so our flaps descend."

Calista followed his instructions, breathing deeply through her nostrils so she wouldn't lose her composure. The sound of the ships cannon's firing off was loud enough to send trembles through to her spine. She felt like she was inside the belly of a giant turbine.

Even though the advancing soldiers were out of view, the sound of explosions signalled that several of the Elite's forces had just been taken off the board. Calista squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment, refusing to allow herself to feel any pity or remorse.

"Nice going buddy," Odhen cheered in the headset through shaky laughs. He tried the button for the hanger bay doors but it was unresponsive. Swearing under his breath, Odhen chimed into his headset. "Ton-Ton, I need you to blow up the hanger doors. The receiver isn't transmittin’."

More Jawaese filled the radio and Odhen simply pulled his headset over his ear. Noticing Calista's hand was shaking over the nav-stick he tapped her arm with two fingers. "Hey, kid," he snapped his fingers at her and she pried her eyes open. "I need you to stay focused. You're my co-pilot now. Can you handle that?"

Shaking the thoughts from her head, Calista nodded tightly, screwing her lips into a stern straight line, eyes focused on getting them out of the hanger and towards the horizon peaking over the blown open doors.

The Somnambulist took a hell of a beating as its parking legs folded into the base of the ship, its weight no longer grounded. The force of the attacking Elite's made the ship shake, the old bolts and screws groaning out.

Odhen punched the nav-stick as far down as it would go and the ship burst from the hanger at impressive speeds.

"I need you to keep a steady grip otherwise the torque will pull us into a tail-end spin," he informed Calista.

The ship tilted to the side, threatening to spin out just as he had warned, causing an animatronic scream to burst through the ship. The sound of tires rolling uncontrollably prompted Calista to peek at what was going on.

In the back, a legless droid seated atop another red trolley, rolled from an open compartment and into the stacks of boxes in the cargo hold.

"Woah!" The droid shouted as a crashing noise erupted.

Odhen clicked his tongue, "Damn droid..." He pulled his headset back over his ear. "Hey shorty, you forgot to secure your damn droid!"

In frustration, Calista peeled her headset off, trying to remain concentrated with flying instead.

Odhen raised a brow her way and she simply shrugged.

"He talks a lot."

"I hadn't noticed." Odhen laughed. "Alright kid, I'll take over from here. Hold on, I'm punching us into hyperdrive. Got any requests?"

"Anywhere as long as it's not here," she offered, palms running across her face as she let out a huff.

 The stars raced across the screen like a thousand shooting stars raining around the ship. The Somnambulist had stopped groaning from all the offensive fire and was now groaning from the intense speeds it was flying at. The sounds were similar but also different, less nerve-wracking.

Calista sighed as she stood from the co-pilot seat, staring longingly at the dashboard. There had been a time when the prospect of flying a ship as large as this one would have brought her joy, but right now her heart was too heavy to allow anything other than despair in.

"You aren't such a bad shot," Koa's voice praised out to the waddling Jawa. Ton-Ton said something in his native tongue in response. Koa hummed flatly before answering: "I'll pretend I understood what you said."

"He said he thought you weren't so bad yourself," the animatronic voice spoke out. "I hope I'm not being too imposing but… would one of you help me up? I'd do it myself but I have no legs."

Koa looked to the droid in the cargo hold and walked towards him, disappearing from Calista's view. Following suit, Ton-Ton hobbled over, his arms waving about.

Odhen sighed before pulling off the headset and standing from the seat with much effort, his belly brushing against the dashboard.

"Let's go see what that’s about."

 "I am immensely grateful... Miss?" The droid asked Koa as she pulled him into his trolley. The Jawa pulled out some tape from his long cloak and tried to affix the droids severed torso onto the trolley more securely.

"Knight-Captain Koa'lianu Kiddé." she greeted overly formally. “Koa for short.”

“Knight-Captain?” Odhen mouthed to himself.

"A pleasure to meet you. I am Protocol Droid M8-T7 but my master calls me Watts and so does the Captain," Watts saluted at Odhen. "I must extend my deepest apologies to you both," Watts continued.

Koa squinted her eyes in confusion, "Why?"

"When my mobility device rolled away, I accidentally crashed into your box of personal belongings. I landed on this data chip storage device and crushed its outer casing," Watts held out the necklace from before. "I hope the casing wasn't sentimental to you."

"Data chip?" Koa asked, glancing at Calista with a bemused appearance.

Ton-Ton snatched the necklace from his droids hands before Calista had the chance. His small hands bringing the shiny metal object up to his singular eye, his voice muttering something in thought as he snapped the rest of the casing off.

"Hey, hey," Odhen pointed disapprovingly. “We talked about this. Don't go stealin' shiny things. That's the reason you ended up on my ship remember? Give it back to the princess…“ Odhen pointed at Koa who in turn looked at him with a furrowed brow, “So you can get to work on the lower hull, we may have a leak to fix remember?"

"A leak?" Calista asked frantically.

"Don't worry, the most damage it could do is--" Odhen was halted from his speech when the ship suddenly fell out of hyperdrive, the momentum of the sudden stop forcing everyone to jolt forward and brace onto something for support. "Drop us out of hyperspace. Damn." He finished with a glum expression and a snap of his fingers.

Ton-Ton rambled something, his tone indicating he wasn't about to do as Odhen asked.

Watts, seeing that Koa and Calista were unfamiliar with the ships dynamic, started translating, "Ah, it seems Master Ton-Ton believes I may have damaged the data chip, but he thinks he may be able to salvage whatever was on it if you give him permission."

"Well, Princess?" Koa cocked her head to the side, staring at the hyper-active Jawa. "The choice is yours."

"Princess?" Odhen sounded shocked. "Did you know she wasn’t the princess this whole time?" He asked Ton-Ton pointing at Koa again.

Ton-Ton replied with a dismissive wave as he started tinkering with the data chip.

Odhen gaped at his small friend, "And you didn't say anything?"

Calista knelt next to the Jawa, looking him in his one good eye and nodding hesitantly, "If this data chip was with your father, stands to reason there's something important on it. Play the message."

Ton-Ton pried a panel on the back of Watts's head, moving some wiring around before slotting the data chip into the droid's head.

A hologram of a miniaturised dancing Twi’lek appeared a few feet away, her body translucent and blue. The Jawa knocked Watts on the head with a spanner before shouting at him disapprovingly.

"Oops, terribly sorry, wrong recording," the droid apologised.

This time a new hologram filled the room. It was life-sized, blue and equally translucent yet somehow more alive than the one before.

Calista let out a chocked gasp as her eyes fell on the recorded version of her mother. She was just as beautiful as she remembered and even more regal in her favourite blue gown. Her long hair falling to her elbows, a blue pin the shape of a bird clipping two braids together.

Odhen whistled in the air, his eyes widening as he shifted to get a better look at her face. Koa walked over to place an encouraging hand on Calista’s shoulder.

 "My daughter," the hologram began. "If you are watching this, then it is too late for me. I failed to see my plans come to fruition. Thesmora has always been peaceful, even during times of war and we have taken pride in that. But, I fear we may no longer be allowed to remain a neutral planet in this ever growing conflict. In truth, I do not believe we should.

I watched, helplessly, during the first war that ravaged his galaxy. I had the power to shift the balance and I chose not to do so. Yes, I had a responsibility to my people to keep them safe from the ravages of war, and I did that, but as a result, an entire planet was destroyed and we allowed a force of evil to continue its reign of terror on others.

Now that evil has returned, different and yet the same. My spies tell me the First Order is building a weapon of mass destruction, much like the one the Empire used to destroy Alderaan. I cannot in good conscience allow this evil to grow, I cannot stand back and use the safety of my people as an excuse again. We must declare allegiance. Maligma disagrees, I've never seen her so frightened before. I fear she may do something rash in her blind ambition to keep Thesmora out of this war."

Lenora's chin touched her collarbone as she took a strong and purposeful breath before looking up with steeled conviction and continuing on: "I have entrusted this data chip to Senator Kiddé, he is one of the few I trust unequivocally. The other is with Mokk-Toh. I sent him in my stead to be my voice and negotiate our terms with the Resistance. There is no one else I would trust to carry my words more."

A smile appeared on Lenora's face, "The data chips work as a set. Put them together and they reveal the location of several bomber star-ships intended for General Leia, as a show of good faith. Get this data chip to Mokk-Toh, the two act as beacons once separated. Follow the signal to his location… In case I'm not around to tell you this, know that I love you, always."

 The hologram stopped and Calista stared into her mother’s face for what felt like an eternity, the silence disturbed by Odhen's dry coughing. Koa side-eyed him as he beat his chest, trying to clear his airways.

"Stop the recording," Calista's voice was feather-light.

Watts's mechanical eye stopped projecting the recording. The blue glow dissipating from the walls of the ship.

"Can you trace the location of the other beacon?" Calista asked the Jawa.

Ton-Ton nodded before going to work behind Watts. A spark and fizzle popping out before a new projection painted the room blue again.

Koa walked closer to the map to get a better look at the location of the beacon. Her finger hooked in a circle around her chin as she examined the map further. "I'm not familiar with these co-ordinates but this section of the map looks familiar."

Odhen grumbled when he looked at the map, "I don't know why it would. That's Takodana, a pirate haven. One of the few places free from the Resistance and First Order's squabblin'. It's not governed by the Cartels neither."

"Set a course, Captain," Calista said confidently, no longer kneeling on one knee.

"It'll take us some time since we can't initiate the hyperdrive without blowin’ ourselves up," Odhen rubbed the skin on his neck. "You may want to grab some shut-eye on the way, I'll go make sure we don't fly into any debris. Space is littered with broken chunks since they fired that Star-Killer... Ton-Ton come on. I don't pay you second mate rates for nothin'."

Ton-Ton spoke in his usual hurried tones.

"What do you mean I don't pay you?" Odhen banged on the roof of the cargo hold with a closed fist. "You got shelter over your head don't ya?" Odhen rolled his eyes and headed off. "Pssh, I don't pay you. Maybe I would if you didn't have a stomach the size of a bantha, ever think of that?" He grumbled to himself.

Ton-Ton fixed up Watts' exposed control panel, handed the necklace back to Calista and placed a long piece of piping in the droid's hands before going off to join Odhen in the cockpit.

"Master Ton-Ton says I am to show you two to the crew’s quarters," Watts pushed his trolled using the pipe as a rowing stick. "This way, follow me please."

 The Resistance Base on D'Qar...

Poe was on the ground, his back pressed to a maintenance trolley, a torch held between his teeth as he worked on the modifications for Black One.

BB-8 beeped and chimed in happy tones as he rolled about next to the X-Wing.

Poe pulled the torch from his mouth when he said, "Hey BB-8 can you pass me the '44?"

BB-8 rolled over to the toolbox, clamping arm reaching out from its hidden compartment to grab the spanner but failing to get a grip. The droid beeped worriedly before a set of boots walked up to the toolbox and picked up the spanner instead.

"Here you go, Black Leader," Paige Tico's distinctive vibrato filled the empty hangar bay.

"Thanks," Poe smiled under the X-Wing, his hand reaching out to grab it. "When did you get back?"

Paige tapped her boots on the floor, "A while, I've been spending time with Rose. She worries."

Poe fixed the nut tighter and then dropped the spanner next to the toolbox, "Gimmie a hand?"

Paige wheeled the trolley out from under the jet, tossing him the rag that was on the stool.

"Thanks," Poe nodded, whipping the grease from his hands and under his fingernails.

"Missed a spot," Paige wiggled her eyebrows at the oil stain on his overalls.

Poe dabbed at the dark stains and sighed when he realised they were already dry, "Perfect." He drolled sarcastically.

Paige laughed.

"Don't laugh," despite his serious tone, a smile of its own was spreading across the Commander's face. "This is my second pair this month. The Resistance doesn't have the budget for it." He joked.

Paige rolled her eyes, "Sure, they can afford fancy X-Wing's but not a washing machine."

Poe huffed, dropping the rag in his toolbox, "You here for a reason Tico or just to eye my baby?" Poe patted his jet affectionately making BB-8 chirp and beep, "Don't worry buddy, I can have two favourites."

"Ah, the delusions of men," Paige hummed with a smug look on her face. "And no, you caught me on one of the rare occasions that I'm not trying to pester you into letting me take Black-One for a test run." Paige pointed her thumb in the direction of the exit. "The General sent me, she wants to see you in the CC."

Poe frowned, "You couldn't have gotten to that tidbit a little faster?"

Paige shrugged as she watched him and BB-8 race down the hanger, "Eh, it's more fun watching you sweat for it!" She shouted after them.

When she was alone, Paige allowed her eyes to look over the black X-Wing with a hungry expression. A whistle of appreciation leaving her cheeks as her hands glided over the cold metal. She whispered hopefully, stars in her eyes, "One of these days, baby."

 Poe slowed his pace to a slow jog when he neared the command centre. An overlapping noise of voices and machinery and buttons being pressed bombarded his ears. It was starkly different from the isolation of the hangar bay. Poe was beginning to miss his time working on his star-fighter already. He was also a little disappointed he hadn't had the time to get cleaned up before seeing Leia.

"You wanted to see me, General?" Poe announced himself into the room.

Leia turned and smiled at him, her fingers beckoning him closer, "About time Commander."

The hologram of Maz Kanada died out just as he stepped into the room.

"An old friend tells me that some new allies may require our assistance," Leia informed him. "I need you to gather a handful of your best men and head for Takodana." Leia's brow crinkled as though she had forgotten something important. "Oh, and take one of the ships we salvaged after the incident with Hosnian Prime. Don't want to arouse any unwanted suspicion."

Poe pressed his palms to the table, leaning in closer, "Mind if I ask who exactly these new allies are?"

"Maz didn't say, but something tells me they'll be revealed to you when the time is right."

"Do they know we're coming?"

"That is also yet to be determined."

Poe had to restrain himself from sighing, his head drooping down as he tried to keep his wits about him, dark curls cascading around his face and skirting across the sensitive skin right above his brow.

Lieutenant Connix walked in with a data-pad in hand, "Mission reports, General."

"Have faith, Poe. Things unravel the way they're meant to." Leia glanced over her data-pad, streams of information scrolling past her eyes as she brought her knuckles to bear the weight of her chin while she assimilated the new information.

Poe nodded, lifting his weight off the table as he made for the door.

Leia's eye twitched when she read a section of the report.

"Commander," she called after him.

Poe swivelled in a fluid motion, eyes wide in question.

"Take Ensign Tico with you. Something tells me she could use a change of scenery." Leia smiled again, "And don't dally."

"By your orders General," Poe excused himself from the room and headed for the living quarters to fetch his men and clean the grease off his fingernails.

 To be continued…

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[sweetlangdon]

Reckoning: Part Two (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Notes: AU of the Outpost plot of Apocalypse. A Gray accidentally finds Michael while he’s performing the ritual. Things take an interesting turn.

Warnings: Blood. So much blood. There’s blood in every part of this fic so far. Swearing. Murder. Graphic violence/gore. Blood kink. Knife play. Things get heated, but there’s no smut…yet? (There might be in the future, if I’m feeling particularly brave.)

This fic is currently in progress.

Also available on AO3.

[Repost of a previously published fic from my main blog.]

Part One

He laughed at her. It was a surprisingly pleasant sound, lilting and genuine, from the way his eyes sparkled in the dim golden light. And it was tinged with just enough smugness that she wanted to reach out and dig her nails straight into his throat. Instead, she applied pressure into his wounds until the warmth of fresh blood coated her fingers again. The scent of it was nauseating and inescapable—she didn’t know how the hell she’d be able to explain the red on her clothes if someone found her in a corridor, didn’t know how long it would take for the scent of iron to leave her nose. If it ever would.

That is, if Langdon intended on letting her go alive.

The chances were pretty fucking unlikely now.

Langdon sucked in a breath. She watched the unsteady catch in his chest, the blood still bright and glistening on his pale skin. His eyes closed, his head dropping back into the wall with his chin held upward, long eyelashes fluttering as she dragged a low moan from his throat. It was hard to tell if it had been provoked by pleasure or pain, but part of her wanted to assume both. Another part of her hoped it was all pain—the agony of her fingernails tearing their way through flesh and muscle, his veins purging themselves of every drop of blood.

She didn’t know why she wanted this so badly. But she couldn’t stop; it was like a dam had finally collapsed somewhere inside of her, and he was watching the tidal wave, praying for it to drown her.

“I knew there was something fucked up about you,” she said. It’s always the well-dressed ones. Attractive but deadly. She was distantly aware of the snakes still winding around the antechamber. Their ambient hiss, the wet, sloshing noise they made while they continued to streak crimson across the floor made her skin crawl.

So, what kind of fucked up are you? Satan worshipper. Manipulative bastard. Serial killer?  

…Where the shit had those snakes come from?

“About me?” Langdon still had his eyes closed. A crooked, teasing grin made one corner of his lips upturn. His tone was light, almost soft, and smooth like whiskey warming her chest from the inside out. He sounded almost incredulous, but she knew that it had to be for his own dark enjoyment. It was apparent to her now that he was that kind of fucked up. “I believe you’re the one wrist-deep in my blood, so eager to spill it.”

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same if the tables were turned,” she countered between gritted teeth. “You wanted to kill me five minutes ago.”

Langdon opened his eyes. “It was a suggestion, a possible outcome.” He narrowed his gaze, downcast to where she had fallen slightly away from him. “You’re still breathing, and…from where I stand, it’s you who has the advantage.”

She cast him a sidelong glance. Her thumbs slipped from inside the cuts along his arms, her fingers slick, coated in scarlet as they grasped his biceps. He didn’t even flinch, his cold gaze unrelenting. “But I’m not the one in control.”

“Aren’t you?” he drawled.

He was so fucking infuriating—answering her questions with more questions, playing some twisted game she’d unwittingly been drawn into. Langdon straightened his chin and stared at her expectantly, his pupils wide, the candle flames dancing in the endless black. Like he was piercing her very soul, like he could read every single thought and feeling in the clusterfuck of her mind.

She hated that. She hated him, for toying with her, making her so damn desperate and weak that she’d actually fucking kissed him. Langdon had given in, too, but now she doubted the sincerity of his touch, his mouth on hers.

Probably not. She didn’t think there was anything sincere about this man, except for the obvious gleeful, calculating, mind fuckery.

The knife was still there on the floor behind her in a pool of blood, in that snake-infested pentagram…

“You want me to feel like I am,” she guessed. “Because you know that I could do whatever the hell I wanted and you wouldn’t be in any real danger.”

Langdon’s mouth opened a little, head tilting to one side. A few disheveled strands of hair had become plastered to the blood along his collarbones and the hollow of his neck, but the rest fell across his shoulders. His beauty was maddening to her, too. He was pretty as fuck—sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could’ve inspired paintings and sculptures in another life, smooth, glowing skin and those impossibly blue eyes.

If only she hadn’t seen the black seeping out of the whites of his eyes, shining like obsidian. If only he wasn’t covered in his own blood. She would’ve mistaken him for an angel.

“And what would you want to do?” Langdon dipped his head closer to her, his nose skirting her hair. His fingers flexed from where they were trapped against the wall on either side of him, and although her grip on his arms wasn’t anywhere near vice-like, he didn’t make any sort of effort to break from it.

Her mouth was dry; she swept her tongue across her bottom lip. “What?” The answer came out as a hoarse, annoyed grunt, far less composed than she wanted to be.

“Eighteen months is a long time to hold onto all of that anger.” Langdon’s breath fanned across the side of her neck, his words so close that she couldn’t stop that tremor that jolted through her body. “You have so much of it, don’t you? Can’t decide if you’re better off on the outside than you are in here, wasting away. In here, you’re nothing. They look right through you as if you don’t even exist.”

“Fuck if I care,” she snapped, fingers tightening around smooth muscle. His skin was hot to the touch; an ethereal sort of heat that seemed to curl around him. “I don’t want anything to do with those rich assholes.”

“Really?” He held her prisoner in his gaze again, and a shadow clouded that piercing blue. “It’s slowly destroying you inside, just how deeply you care. Your show of apathy is the only reason you’re still alive.”

Her knuckles blanched as she pushed him into the wall, hoping he didn’t see the tremble of her lower lip yet knowing that it wouldn’t slip past him unnoticed. “Bastard.” She clenched her teeth until her jaw ached, her pulse beating a hysterical rhythm. Langdon was staring down at her again, like her soul had been put under a magnifying glass.

“How many times have you thought about killing them, if you could?”

Her brow creased. “I don’t know.” She dismissed his question with a shake of her head. “Everyone has those fucked up thoughts sometimes, especially down here, cut off from whatever’s left of civilization. It’s not like I’d actually do it.”

“Why?” Langdon’s grin was radiant, something sinister dancing around the edges. “Whatever sense of decency you’ve brought with you from old world didn’t stop you from finally unleashing your anger on me.”

“And yet you’re still breathing.”

He hummed—she couldn’t tell if it was approval, or amusement, or something else. Ice blue eyes flickered to her lips for just a second, considering. She fucking hated the way her body reacted, heat blossoming over her face, betraying the anger she felt. Before she could even think about acting on some foolish impulse again, he averted his deliberate, tempting gaze to somewhere over her shoulder.

“Pick up the knife.”

“No.”

Langdon raised his chin, and she saw that the bloody smudges he’d left there with his fingertips had started to darken. “You’ve been thinking about it since you walked in here,” he said. “Take it.”

She thought about running. She should have—her common sense had flown out the door some time ago, apparently. Now she was trapped in his web and that same fucked up part of her that still found him frustratingly attractive was curious to see where exactly this game was going. She wasn’t naïve enough to think Langdon would let her kill him, but if she wanted to make him suffer, if she gave into those intrusive thoughts, how far would he let her go?

She studied him for a long moment, then released his arms. Langdon stayed pressed to the wall, a faint smirk on his lips, then dropped his arms to his sides with an almost supernatural grace. He watched her, head cocked to one side, as she stepped into the circle of melting candles. She held her breath; she didn’t know why, but it reminded her of that silly superstition they’d had as kids while passing by a cemetery.

The blood was slippery beneath her shoes. Black shapes slithered around her feet, one long, slender tail making an attempt to capture her ankle. She bit back a noise of disgust and shook her foot until the snake veered off in another direction. Lowering into a crouch, her eyes swept over the pentagram—half mesmerized, half revolted. Her fingers curled around the hilt of the oddly shaped knife at the same she heard Langdon’s soft footfalls approach.

He left a fresh trail of bloody footprints and joined her in the circle. She rose slowly from the floor, inhaling a ragged breath. The air was metallic and warm, smelling of fire and blood and candle wax. Sweat beaded down her temples. She felt like she couldn’t breathe; she pulled her attention away from him to the knife in her hand. Candlelight glinted off the blade, and for a moment she stared at the reflection of her own eyes, wondering how the fuck she’d gotten here.

Langdon was still studying her. Waiting. An inquisitive grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he eyed the knife in her possession. She turned to face him until they were chest to chest. The heat of his body leached into her own, a new wave of desire that she couldn’t quite escape coiling deep in her belly. He reached out to cup her cheek, his long, lithe fingers curved around her jaw, his palm pressed to her neck.

She knew he could feel her pulse racing under his hand. Fuck, I hate you.

His grin widened, slowly, as if he’d been reading her thoughts. She didn’t like that, the way he seemed to know everything. Now she was sure she didn’t want to know who he was, but she could make a few guesses that he had some disturbing connections. Those ethereal vibes were as dark as they were alluring.

She gripped the knife tighter so her hand wouldn’t shake. She didn’t look at him while she flattened the blade against his skin, but she felt his heavy gaze on her. The cool metal traced his hipbone up to his abdomen, clearing a path through the drying blood. She felt the rise and fall of his torso grazing her knuckles, his breath far too calm and controlled.

She pressed the tip of the blade to the skin above his navel. His thumb dragged along her lower lip, waiting, maybe wondering if she would, in fact, make him bleed. She wanted to—fuck, she wanted it so badly, to make him whimper, suffer a little. Make him as weak as he’d made her feel.

The blade sunk into Langdon’s skin. Crimson beaded in its wake, spilling in tiny rivulets down his stomach like rain. She’d never cut into flesh with a knife before, but the morbid fascination was still in there somewhere, surprised at how easy it’d been. She heard Langdon’s sharp inhale and saw the shadow of his ribs. His stomach muscles tightened; she pressed her fingertips to his side, the drying blood on her own hands tugging at her skin.

She moved the blade up, just below his ribs, and cut a parallel line. The knife drove a little deeper this time, iron blossoming into the air, Langdon’s low groan rising to meet it. She thought it should have been illegal, that noise he made; she elected to ignore whatever feelings it stirred within her.

She expected him to flinch, to wrap his long fingers around her hand and flip the knife so it disappeared into her gut. It would be so easy, so quick.

Fucking painful. Goddamn it, why hadn’t she run?

Langdon was breathing heavier now, his free hand clenched into a fist at his side. His quiet, panting gasp swept over the crown of her head and she shivered, her veins alight with the power he’d given her. His other hand burrowed into her hair, though the warmth of his fingers across his cheek seemed branded into her flesh.

Langdon threaded his nimble fingers through her dark hair, fingertips massaging her scalp in maddening circles. He pulled just a touch too hard—she couldn’t stifle the moan that escaped her throat in time; it ricocheted off the walls of the antechamber.

She watched his head tip upward, hair spun like gold tumbling down the back of his shoulders. His eyes closed, his expression unreadable and his breath slowing. He’d left his neck exposed, vulnerable—on fucking purpose, she was sure. Giving her a choice. At this point, she didn’t know if she wanted to set the knife or her lips to his skin. The blood had turned dark over the tender hollow of his throat, almost black as the candles burned low around their feet and the light grew dimmer.

Her lips hovered over his collarbone, her free hand sliding up to the cut below his ribs. She dug her thumb in, fresh blood running over her knuckle, oozing under her nail. The room was so suffused with iron that she’d become immune to it. Langdon’s breath caught; she felt the stutter against her chest.

She chose the knife.

The tip of the blade settled on his neck. She saw it—the single, fluid motion it would take, like a bow sweeping across violin strings. Her hand shook.

The high ceiling welcomed the sound of his wry laughter. “Is that what you want?” His voice was low, dangerous, dripping with sin. “To kill me?”

She held her breath. Her eyes closed the same moment a single droplet of blood bubbled up from under the edge of the blade. The air seemed to shift in a single second, too quick to fathom.

She opened her eyes to a dark, vacant room. The candles had all blown out—she stood there, turning around in a frantic circle, her hands empty, the antechamber scrubbed entirely clean as if it hadn’t been a mess of blood and candle wax and snakes just a moment before. The knife was gone, and a cold draft of air replaced the ethereal heat of Langdon’s presence. An eerie whisper prickled at her ears, words she couldn’t decipher hanging around her like an apparition.

She was still covered in Langdon’s blood.

@lastregasolitaria @mylippo @zeciex @lvngdvns @langdonsdemon @yourkingcodyfern @sojournmichael @gabnelson98 @rainbowrosesjas @antichristlangdxn @keavysmithxoxo @artistlunadrayne @codysfallenangels @batgirlbride @mileeyyowens @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998 @gentianea @cryptid-coalition @langdonsrapture @kinlovecody @yuriohoe04 @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean @langdonscurls @jcshadowkiss-blog @frozenhuntress67 @sebastianshoe @dixmond-taurus @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon @queenie435 @holylangdon @weareallevilmotherfuckers @langdonfern @angsty-otters-blog @denaexr @mr-langdonn @micheallangdons @lostin-fern @crazedcatcuddler @satansapostle @monsucre @ritualmichael @fernshorrorstory @queencocoakimmie @bluelancesredswords @theharvestgirloffire @punkysouls @sevenwondr @prettykitten123 @zoebensvn @kylosbabe @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26

[codenamesazanka]

Short Spinner Fic!

Well, more like meta/headcanon turned prose. Sorta. unbeta’d, terrible grammar prob, very on the nose, but I just had to write something that dealt with what we learned about Spinner’s past. 

1,615 words. Set right after Stain got captured, with all that fun stuff about discrimination. 

-

The night Spinner saw the news report that would change his life, he had spent ten minutes lingering outside his landlord’s door, trying to work up the nerve to knock.

From his third floor apartment to her home on the first floor - that short walk took three minutes maximum, but in that time the heat and humidity of the May evening had already made his hair damp and the collar of his shirt slightly darken with moisture. By the dim glow of the streetlight, Spinner tried to use his phone’s selfie camera to see if he looked too bad, but his nervousness at appearing sloppy only added sweat to his sorry appearance. The snickering of a couple of kids that passed by him hadn’t help.

He should be fine, Spinner had muttered to himself, tried to convince himself, shoving the phone into a pocket. He was fine. She wasn’t going to even notice.

But of course she did. When his landlord opened the door, he saw her smile fade slightly at the sight of him; then the curve of her mouth disappeared completely as her eyes swept over his messy hair and landed on his hand that was discreetly trying to stop his shirt from sticking to his skin.

It was only downhill from there.

He had stammered, had tried to keep a smile on his face until he realize he was probably looking like crazy dumbass; then he had worried too much about the appropriate distance he should be keeping (His landlord was a petite woman that barely reached maybe 5 foot, and he was a 6-foot lizard man. Standing too far away would be weird, and standing too close meant, besides the obvious, that he would have to look down at her, which he thought might seem disrespectful).

When he told her about the broken AC, she had asked if he wasn’t enjoying the warm weather, and Spinner had let the silence drag on too long as he wondered what she might have meant by that. Such an innocuous question, but it made his pulse quicken. Was she making a comment that assumed he was more comfortable with heat because he looked like a lizard (answer: no, because he wasn’t cold-blooded; so no, he didn’t like the heat; and yes, he can get heatstroke, so if the AC wasn’t going to get fixed in time for the worst heat of July...)? Did that mean she wasn’t going to do anything about it, if it didn’t seem like a serious matter?

Or was he being paranoid? Insulting, even, for this unfounded accusation?

So the talk had achieved nothing, except maybe giving his landlord an even worse impression of him. He hadn’t even told her about the suspicious grey spots that was covering more and more of his ceiling with each passing day. (Monsoon season sucked.)

Back at his apartment, Spinner opened a can of beer and sat slumped against the wall, using his phone to look up ways to remove the mold himself. He clicked the first link, found himself immediately redirected to a product page that flashed it’s 5500 yen deal at him, and promptly gave up.

That was when he opened his Tweetr feed for some mindless scrolling and saw the internet aflame with news about an attack on Hosu.

-

All day at work, Spinner kept checking for updates on the Hero Killer Stain, so much that his boss threaten to break his phone and fire him. But even that couldn’t clear the cloud of obsession that had developed inside his head.

At first it was simply fun to watch and rewatch the video of him rescuing a kid, how cool it was to see the man escape from the ropes that bound him, zoomed past the Heroes, leapt into the air to take down the winged beast with a single stab to the brain. Those blades and that red scarf, snaking through the air behind him. All in a matter of seconds, and all that not being his quirk. Pure normal human ability.

From there, it was reading the articles that kept coming out - that happened in Hosu, who Stain was, what he had done.

What he believed in.

There was once when Spinner wanted to be a Hero. What kid hadn’t? He dreamed of it. Being able to wear an awesome costume, beating up bad guys and bullies and saving people, getting to be on TV and making lots of money. Heroes were amazing and they could do anything. Heroes had all sorts of different quirks, the only thing that matter being how well they could use their ability. Heroes could be anyone - even mutants like him.

And as dreams do, that faded when he grew up and woke up to real life.

Watching the viral video that someone had made of the Hero Killer, though, Spinner realized Stain kept his dream. Forced it into reality, undaunted by hard work or danger or the law. He saw something wrong with the world and decided to change it. Just like that. It was badass. It was admirable.

It was Heroic.

So how ironic and slightly disappointing it was, that Stain was now called a Villain, that it turned out he was working with that group that attacked those UA kids a few months back. Spinner found the grainy zoomed-in clip of the two guys standing on top of a water tower, watching the chaos in the city below. He found all he could about the UA incident and the man the news named as Shigaraki Tomura.

He was part of this group that Stain joined, and Spinner wondered if maybe, like Stain, he wasn’t just a Villain. Like Stain, he was out to change the world.

-

In the origin story of Spinner, Villain, would be the cup of tea that made a crucial decision for him.

His landlord’s apartment was ten times the size of his tiny one-room apartment, and Spinner felt almost agoraphobic sitting in her living room. This was a proper home, well cared for, housing a family. The last time Spinner had even spoken to a blood relative of his was years ago. He was intruding.

But the landlord had done a surprise inspection while he was at work, and she was concerned about the mold on his ceiling. In his zeal over Stain, Spinner had completely forgotten about dealing with that. Now he got to do a redux of the talk from a few days ago, and he had a feeling this might go even worse.

He never would find out if that was true, nor would he find out what would have been done about the mold. A few words into the small talk that preceded the actual conversation, his landlord’s young son had tried to be helpful and brought tea for both his mom and Spinner. Kid was probably only in elementary school, but so polite. Too much so.

Spinner watched as his landlord shifted uncomfortably in her seat, eyes flickering back and forth from the cup of tea set in front of Spinner, and Spinner himself.

It felt unbearably hot and suffocating in the room.

(Once, a cousin told Spinner that regardless of how much DNA would prove they were human, they weren’t. Not really, not in practice, not to the people they live among. They looked like lizards, so they’d be treated like lizards. Like animals, and you wouldn’t feed your pet using a bowl you would use, right? It’ll be dirty, no matter how much you washed it. That’s why there’s food bowls specifically for your dog, cat, whatever.)

It was much too late to for her to take back the drink without seeming astonishingly rude. Maybe Spinner should help her save face and decline the tea, have the kid take it away. Maybe he can use this as leverage for the mold problem. Maybe--

--he shouldn’t have to put up with this. There were people out there right now, ready to face down Heroes and police and society, ready to create change, ready to take their lives and fate into their hands and shape it to their liking. Stain hadn’t allow himself to be trampled down.

Spinner shouldn’t either.

That was when he stood up and left without a word.

-

The leader was different than what Spinner expected.

In the small private bar that the broker had taken him to, Shigaraki Tomura sat on one of the stools, young and bone-thin, dressed so plainly in simple black shirt and pants. Not quite the criminal mastermind Spinner imagined. Yet all attention in the room was held by him, and he wielded that authority with ease.

“Shuichi Iguchi… Spinner.” Shigaraki spoke and Spinner anticipated each word. “Our fight is for all the right reasons, but the world is going to hate us for it. Condemn us. Try to destroy us. We’ll have to return in kind. We’ll have get our hands dirty, we’ll have to sacrifice a lot.”

Shigaraki shifted his head, and suddenly all Spinner could focus on was that one red eye looking through the fingers of the severed hand on his face, filled with all the same rage and desire and intensity that Stain had. Its gaze pierce through Spinner, making him wince as though he was physically cut.  

Hatred was nothing new to him, though, and he had nothing else in this world than this newfound will. He’d do anything, all for Stain. All for his new comrades. All this, Spinner said out loud.

Shigaraki grinned at him, a smile so wide and vicious and-- happy, that Spinner felt his own face mirror that excitement.

“Welcome to the League of Villains.”

-

So my Spinner goes from a nervous mild-mannered guy trying to live a life, to a terrorist ready to murder kids in like three short days. I should figure out his characterization better next time lol

[mijongsuk]

.mark of the beast

PART TWO of a REWARD SOLO for PROMOTION TO SECOND-IN-COMMAND 

tw: death, branding, mutilation

“To prove that you would die for the gang and more importantly, for me, I had to get a little creative. Because I can’t make you die for me… That’d be fucking nuts. You can’t work for me if you’re dead, can you? I also considered making you cut off your hand or some crazy shit like that but… It’d be messy, and then it’d make you vulnerable and you still might die on me, then all of this drawn out shit will have been for nothing. But! I can’t just sit here and do nothing! One of our very own was a god damn traitor and I have got to make sure that doesn’t happen again. I need someone who is willing to fight for me, not someone who is looking to take me down. Whether it’s because you’re loyal to someone else, or because you want to be on top…” He pauses, a smile forming on his lips though the laughter that accompanies it is full of venom. It’s sarcastic and laced with annoyance, as if the very thought filled him with anger. “Because let me get one thing straight real quick… No one is taking my place.” By the time he finished his statement, the smile was gone and his expression was cold and stern. However, in the blink of an eye, he had bounced back and once again wore a smile and seemed to be playful, finding everything to be much funnier than it actually was. “So then it hit me… A good, old-fashioned branding. Because who the fuck would want to walk around with a Hydrus brand if they weren’t dedicated to Hydrus? Not to mention, it’ll show me that you’re willing to sacrifice something for me, and you’re willing to endure intense pain for me. It shows me where you stand without me having to kill you! A total fucking win-win situation right here. Now, let me just say, I considered telling you that we were going to do it somewhere really visible, like your face. But damn, you’re just too fucking attractive for that. I mean… No one would want to mess with you, that’s for sure! You’d look scary as shit, but that’s not what we’re going to do. I’ll tell you what… You choose.” 

The warehouse floor is wet with blood. 

The bodies of the men Jongsuk executed still lay where they fell on the cold concrete before him, forgotten the moment that the gunshots finished echoing from the steel walls. The crowd around him is restless now, excited from the bloodshed and eager for more. Drifter’s betrayal has wound the members of Hydrus into a frenzy. Spilling the traitor’s blood hasn’t satisfied their lust for revenge, and this execution only incited that bloodlust further. 

If Jongsuk isn’t careful, his body could very well join the others on the warehouse floor before the night’s end. 

He’s all too aware of Woobin and the others scattered throughout the crowd, watching the events unfold with narrow eyes and stiff shoulders. Should things turn south, they certainly won’t be going down without a fight. 

Jongsuk doesn’t believe for a moment that the executions are the only test that King has in store for him tonight. 

He isn’t disappointed. 

The crowd rallies as King announces his decision to prove Jongsuk’s loyalty with a branding. Their cheers do little to help the uneasy curl in Jongsuk’s stomach at the announcement. It isn’t dread or fear settling in-- not really. He’s been hurt worse for less. 

The thought of this many people seeing him vulnerable, though. 

That thought makes him a little ill. 

He isn’t about to back down, though. Lifting his chin, he gives King a lazy grin. “I get to choose, huh?” he says, pretending to mull over his options rather than balk at the branding as so many of the men gathered surely thought he would. After a moment, he tilts his head to bare his neck. “How about right here?” 

Just in case the implication wasn’t clear enough, he even taps a finger against the bared column of his neck. 

It’s nowhere near the reaction that King half-expected to receive from Dante, but he was also aware that his hopeful soon-to-be Second-in-Command was someone that didn’t scare easily. King loved that. A mixture of surprise and amusement overcame him and was visible from his expression, a huge grin forming on his lips. “Holy shit. You’re one ballsy son of a bitch, Dante. I give you the chance to choose… and you go straight for the jugular— literally!”

The crowd grows rowdy again.

This little show may be a public display of Jongsuk’s loyalty to King, but that doesn’t mean that Jongsuk will let these people see him bow.

He’ll serve his King-- he’ll just do it his way.

“You’re fucking nuts and that’s one of the main reasons I wanted you to be in this position. Somehow, you never disappoint.” He pauses, staring at the other male for several moments before quietly chuckling and stepping away to retrieve the iron. “Well, let’s stop bullshitting around and get this done.”

As King nears with the red-hot brand, Jongsuk is sure to hold the older man’s gaze until the leader stands directly before him. After a loaded pause, he tilts his head and bares his neck for King once more. 

His eyes only close as the brand nears his skin. 

The pain of the searing metal meeting his flesh is blinding. Jongsuk’s eyes clench shut tighter as he fights back the urge to scream, refusing to give the crowd the show they so desperately seek. His teeth grind tightly together as a sharp hiss tears its way past them, but it’s the only sound he allows, the only concession. His hands curl into tight fists at his sides. 

It’s over in a moment, but it feels so much longer. 

The pain only surges once the brand is removed from his skin. As air hits the seared flesh of his neck, the pain flares, morphs into a new kind of agony that Jongsuk is careful to keep smoothed from his expression. His jaw remains tight, but he forces himself to open his eyes once more, to raise his chin and meet King’s gaze unflinchingly. 

The leader thought that Dante would have passed out from the pain. Hell, maybe he was even a little disappointed that he didn’t. However, above all of that, he was impressed and incredibly proud. The smile that he’s almost always wearing grows wider as he slightly shakes his head in disbelief. “Wow.” The single word is dramatically and softly exclaimed, filled with awe. “You took that like an absolute champ. What a fucking badass… I still can’t believe that you chose your neck. I almost want to ask that you don’t try speaking… Actually, I will… You don’t need to say anything, just listen. I want everyone to listen.” With his last sentence, his voice is raised as he addresses the entirety of the gang that is gathered around them. “Dante has just proven to us all that he’s loyal, respectful, tough as shit, and probably a little insane… Which I think is incredible. Not only did he accept my terms in an instant without putting up a fight, but he did so fearlessly, and perhaps even a little cockily… And I fucking love that. So, I don’t think I need to tell you all that this is the new Second-in-Command, because I think he’s fucking proven that shit on his own.” Once he finishes, he returns his attention to Dante and beckons for a medic. “We’ll take care of that for you. Welcome to the top, killer. I have a lot of expectations… But I don’t think you’ll let me down.” He pauses, his expression turning sterner as his entire body stiffens. “Don’t prove me wrong.”