#i Cannot keep fucking doing this i am going to crumble into dust. but i literally don't have any other option

[mothbaaalls]

pardon the shitposting today btw I Am Coping

[elliebyrrdwrites]

#23

Sometimes I can only write but a small amount. Regardless.

There’s something beautiful about peeking inside of a mind you care nothing about. With a mind you care nothing about, you can unravel it, like a ball of yarn. The string unwrapping, slowly, quickly. A big ball of mess at your feet and you don’t care because you’re not going to put it back together. You’re not going to knit anything with it. You don’t knit. It’s not your thing.

Regardless, it is something Draco has hidden from most of the world; the fact that he is a Legilimens. He was taught, of course, by his father. Well, at least he had attempted to teach Draco. Where he had failed, Aunt Bellatrix had succeeded. With his aunt, there was no failure. To fail, was a betrayal. To his name, the blood in his veins. To the Dark Lord himself.

But the point was, nobody knew what Draco could do. He knew that if people knew what he was capable of, really capable of, they’d fear him even more. Which was fine, for the most part, but he had needed this job. Not for the money — well, yes for the money — but to keep what he had already earned.

He had earned that inheritance. He had suffered due to his parents choices, mostly his fathers. He watched life crumble around him. He watched himself plan a murder. He watched his parents plan murders. He watched them accept their failures, accept their fate of death or something much worse.

Later, when he had proved to his mother that he was, indeed, not his father, he needed the job because he enjoyed the thrill of coming face to face with life and death. He didn’t just enjoy it. There was a need. A need to remind himself who he was, what he had been through. What he was made of. Granite and blood and mortal.

But mostly, he needed it because of her.

Granger.

She was part of the thrill of the job. The little flame that drew him like a moth, over and over. He was a stupid little moth that was desperate to get near the glare of light, the warmth, and desperate to burn. Burn and burn and die, every day. Every day, he would burn for her and die, wither away into dust when she chose Weasley over him. Every day that she refused to accept what was there, between them, she chose him. And every day, Draco would be turned into dust.

And then she had died. And he realized that all of that burning, all of that withering and dying was all for nothing, because when she woke up and looked at him, he felt her stupid little wings of dust flapping toward him. She was just a stupid little moth, like him, and they were going to fly into each others flame and burn together or die trying.

So, they were moths and he was capable of shredding into minds and destroying them. And she was still standing by his side. Further proving his moth metaphor correct.

She was blinking down at the wizard who wanted to kill him. The wizard who believed in a cause so heavily, that he was willing to take a life. When Draco was just a boy, he had been asked to do the same. But he didn’t because the cause was fucking garbage.

But now as a grown man, he had believed in the cause of Granger’s life. And he had killed for it. Without batting a bloody lash.

“Malfoy, that was completely unethical.” Harry snarled, pushing his seat back. Draco liked this side of Potter. It made him more relatable. But, he still didn’t trust him. “What the fuck am I going to do with him, now?”

Draco touched the back his hand to his nostril, checking for blood. None. “I don’t care what you do with him.” He sniffed. “Throw him in a cell. Let him rot. Feed him to the pigs.”

“Pigs?” Harry almost laughed. But he ran a hand over his face and sighed, looking at Granger, instead. “What do we do?”

She looked up at Harry. Glanced at Draco and then nodded, as if coming to a decision. “Whoever this man is working for is here.” She said, frowning. “We cannot let them see him. Does anybody know we’re back?”

Potter shook his head. “No.”

“Then we get rid of him.”

“What does that mean, get rid of him? I’m not killing him.”

Draco shrugged. He could kill the man, finish the job he started, by ripping his mind apart and then walk him off a cliff. But Hermione was shaking her head. “No, I’m not asking you to.” She paused and eyed Harry. “But, Draco is not going down for this.”

"The man's brain damaged, Hermione. What am I supposed to do?"

"Cover for us! Draco doesn't deserve this. He is being targeted by someone in the department. And for what? For a past he cannot change? For being a good Auror? There is no sensible reason for trying to murder him!" Her voice cracked, the pain of the idea shredding through her, forcing Potter to calm down. To close his eyes and realize what his best friend was asking of him.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Potter sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.” He murmured, staring at the, now mindless, Glendale Roberts. “What do we do, then?”

“We dump him in an alley somewhere with the muggles. He’ll get picked up by their authorities. They will most likely deem him mentally unwell and dump him in a facility. We’ll come back and tell everyone that the assailant was gone before we arrived. That we searched all of Hogsmeade but came up empty handed.” She cleared her throat. “It’s better than a dead body, right?”

Draco smirked. Granger was small, she was sweet. But her heart was big and her love was as vicious as his.

Potter sighed and looked to Draco. “Okay, fine. But when we’re done with this, you two owe me. Big.” He grimaced. “And I’m not just talking about lunch.”

Draco thinks that life with Granger is the opposite experiencing Deja vu. Life with Granger is like experiencing moments of Jamais vu. She does little things like this and, like covering up a crime he committed even though she’s good. Because she’s good.

Because for her, Draco is something — no, someone — worth fighting for.

[pullingheavendown]

time for oversharing.

Keep coming back here, scattering little pieces of myself for myself to find some day, maybe, if we ever think to turn around; if we ever realize the pieces are missing. Bread crumb trail for a starving soul. A red string through the woods for a broken boy toy. (Crue's goddamn journals, 2009)

I used to think I didn't have an inner world, not the way a lot of systems talk about having one. And then pieces started coming back to me: the vivid, borderline lucid, recurring nightmares I would have at times. I would revisit the same places in my dreams. Go through the same motions, with minor variations, always trapped. The world around me would go through some cataclysmic event -- my neighbourhood slowly destroyed by lava we all know is coming but no one thinks to escape. An invading force coming slowly through the city, and you can hear the people in the nearby neighbourhoods being massacred, but you cannot escape; eventually they are at your door.

Eventually whatever it is arrives. Eventually there is no escape. Eventually you wake up feeling hollow, punched through, scared and sick, the details evaporating. You never remember until the next time the dream comes. There's just the fear drilled through you, and that lingers for the next day or two.

The dreams eventually started having a taint to them, like a haunted house. Something bad happened here, I'd think, walking through the same hallways, the same streets, the same particular places some part of me had been trapped in last time. There are a lot of them: some are made up, nonsensical places, like a motel by the ocean that will be flooded and that connects to some underground orca-viewing tunnels, I guess. Sometimes it's a tsunami. Sometimes it's the whales themselves turning violent. Some of them are just places we lived, once: it's the elementary school we went to that gets overrun by lava, or it's our apartment in TO being scaled by monsters while we listen to our neighbours be eaten alive, executed, run through.

My heart is fluttering in my throat and I am just trying to get the words out in some order. Sorry.

Last night was a place I'd only been to once or twice before. Before, they were dream of running: an abandoned, massive, 50 storey hotel that connects to another, mirror building via underground tunnels. Someone always chasing me through them, me trying to use the maze to get away, their relentless pursuit always gaining ground, me eventually trapped somewhere and realizing there is no getting out. Elevators stop working. Staircases become recursive. Whatever thing is hunting me knows this place better than I do and I cannot leave. No doors ever open, it's just hallways and hallways, and...

Last night that hotel fell apart. Last night it was crumbling around us, bombarded by some army. But my sister was there (and I know she was there for the Real Bad Stuff that happened when we were kids), and I couldn't save her. Couldn't save her from the walls falling in on top of her, couldn't save my cats from running away into the danger, couldn't stop staring at the flashing red emergency lights, couldn't stop choking on dust and debris. The whole construct was destroyed. For whatever reason I was carrying around some deformed, half-gremlin looking newborn my sister had just given birth to and I couldn't keep it safe. I couldn't bring myself to leave, either. I just froze, and waited for whatever was going to happen.

(One of the cats, the more emotionally support-animal one IRL, spent the entire night screaming at me. I kept waking up, worrying something was wrong with him, and getting this dream in snatches between shouting fits. I thought he was sick but now I'm wondering if he just sensed something was deeply fucked up with me last night. He does that. If I have so much as a sniffle or an infection, he's all over me until it's better.)

If what I'm remembering about my dad from yesterday is real (it is) -- then I think this hotel, this conjoined monstrosity, was the mental construct we put memories about him in, so to speak. I think the maze of hallways and stairs and elevator shafts was a way to disorient ourselves, to keep whatever's inside those rooms inaccessible. And maybe it coming down around us is a last ditch effort to keep those memories contained, or maybe someone needed it destroyed to finally be free of it. I don't know. No real memories came out of it, just the fear and panic and dread, just this endless heart fluttering sensation in my throat.

All of it started with me having one of those dissociative drop attacks where I just couldn't stay conscious anymore. I just had to shut down, flip that switch, be Gone and let that other deeper subsystem take over, which almost always means being catatonic and "asleep." I think they were drugged a lot. A lot of therapy has been trying to reconnect with them without losing total touch with reality at the same time, because something about that always means they are just... so out of it.

But no rage. And no self-loathing. I'm now so fucking exhausted I want to cry from that alone, and I know I'm using pronouns in the most loosey goosey way possible in here because it's the you/we/I narrator problem we have, but no rage.

Just so much fear. I think the fear was real. I think the feeling of not being able to escape was real. I think the pain of understanding what was happening to us was real. And our brain just shoved it into compartments, which became hotel rooms, and now that the memories are threatening to come back about my dad specifically, it's going to start cracking at the foundations.

Buckle up, I guess. I'm not sure what else there is to do at this point. Buckle up and be prepared for whatever fragments come through the cracks.

...

The memory of my dad was of a time when I (not knowing about his abuse or that he was involved in the trafficking in any way) told him my stepdad had been molesting me, and that was why I never showed an ounce of regret after my stepdad killed himself. I was happy he was dead. And my dad very quietly stood there, and asked if it was all bad?

And in that moment I was so confused as to why he wasn't... anything. Surprised, mad, defensive, understanding, there wasn't anything like that. He just got very quiet, and asked if it had all been bad, and when I just as quietly went yeah, dad, it was all bad, he...

In the first version: he turns around and walks back into the house without a word, leaving me in the field behind his house.

In the new version, he doesn't do that at all. But I think some part of me was left in that field, and I don't want to leave him there anymore. I want him to come home. And if that means blowing up an entire hotel of memories, so fucking be it.

Maybe I should have known better and not told my dad. Maybe I did my best. Maybe I should have realized that he would take that as a reason to hurt me again and reinforce all the training that had clearly been wearing off.

The best version of events is him going quiet and leaving me alone. I couldn't even paper it over with him being supportive or helpful. What a fucking coward of a person.

And I hope his entire house collapses on top of him some day.

[michelangelo-the-cool]

"An idea built the wall of separation between the sexes, and an idea will crumble it to dust." ― Sarah Moore Grimké 

Let’s talk. 

Let’s talk about one of the most controversial topics of 2024. 

Let’s talk about abortions.

And let’s talk about how important they are to humans.

.

Hello! Welcome to part two of my LTMRAR! LTMRAR is where I talk about my opinions, argue about human’s rights, and try to get heard. 

But as of right now, I will be talking about the “cruel” act of not having a child.

Many people can have children, and many others cannot. And some people who can, do not want them. I completely understand this.

Children are hard to care for. They are expensive to feed, clothe, entertain, and keep cleanly.  It shouldn’t be such an extreme thing to talk about.

I, personally, will not be having kids. They annoy me, I do not have the funds to take care of them, and I may or may not be a lesbian.

But there are more than a few ways somebody would want to get an abortion. 

To start off; they may have been raped. There are many reasons people would want to not want this child they have. For starters, They could not be ready, not be comfortable with a kid, be too young, or have their own life threatened by having this child. 

Abortions are not cruel.

They are not inhumane.

Abortions are on of science’s greatest creations and should be valued as much as we can. But unfortunately for us, there is a certain person inside of the election who wants them gone.

This will be terrible for the United States in ways I cannot elaborate on. 

But the election is not something I am here to talk about.

Abortions are not murder. They are not genocide. They are not anything other than a decision somebody can make. 

They may be a good decision. 

But they are never bad.

Men should not make that choice whether you do or do not have that baby. 

It’s yours to make.

And if anybody tells you otherwise tell them to go fuck themselves.

Enough is enough. Stop the war on women’s rights. My body, my choice.

LTMRAR (Part 2/8)

[lovelandfrogispookybear]

19: Grubby Hands

Max's pov

Dark. So dark. Always. Except when HE comes.

I don't think he is real, he only repeats what he's already told me, only looks and moves like how I've already seen him. But it still scares me. And I can hardly hear or feel. I know Lucas is there, I may not be able to feel his hands or hear his voice but I know he wouldn't leave. But I still cannot hear or feel.

Until two grubby little hands hold onto my face. I feel nails carefully scraping my cheeks, and flakes of something like dirt adhering to my skin.

"I know you are in there," a light, airy voice appears.  "I see you from out here. You have red hair. It was soft, but it is crumbly from long time here. You have pretty eyes, even though they cannot see."

It isn't Lucas, or El. It's not Kate Bush either.

"You may not be able to see with your eyes now, but look. I am here," the little voice echoes. My eyes strain, and something comes into sight. Someone.

She is small, light looking. She is pale. Her eyes are big and green and her hair looks blonde with dust in it. Small scars dot her face, and she wears a long white sweater with red and black checkered flannel pants. She has fruit stickers on her cheeks. Her ears look like elves from one of Lucas' DnD things, and her teeth are sharp and pointy like fangs. My eyes drink in all the color and detail; something I have otherwise been void of for what feels like forever. I run towards her, and she takes a step back. I keep going, going and going and going. I want to touch the fabric of her clothes, the softness of her hair and the coolness of her skin. I want to hear her voice, and lift her weight. I want to feel anything, any sort of stimulation again.

"Otto! What the fuck are you doing?"

I hear it. Another voice! This one is Eddie Munson, I know this voice, he wore my Micheal Myers mask.

"Otto, you cannot mess with a vegetative human!"

Dustin! That's Dustin!

"...Max?"

Lucas. Lucas. Lucas! LUCAS!

I want to feel his face, but cannot move my arm. I can feel him turn away.

"Whoever you are, you need to be careful with Max."

I want to interject, to tell him she was trying and did help. But I can't talk or move. A loud crash rings out.

"Behind us!" Eddie screams, interrupting my attempts for words. Something bursts in through the door. I can't see it, but I know it's a demogorgon. A voice that I know is Otto shouts, and slowly turns into the sounds of the demogorgon. I don't know if she was taken by one, but I'm scared because I can't move and people are shouting. I feel jostling, and someone picks me up.

Whoever's holding me is running. Jumping over things, dodging, I can feel every bump and change in motion. Someone flicks a lighter, I can hear the click, followed by the woosh of the flame and heat of the fire. We start running again. Otto's voice is back, laughing as Eddie cracks crappy jokes. I catch another sight in my mind, something tossing Otto in the air and catching her again as she laughs gleefully.

After a few more minutes, we come to a stop.

"Are we back yet?" I hear Lucas.

"My house is about 10 minutes away," I hear Steve from above me. He must be the one carrying me.

"Well then lets get walking!" Lucas demands. In my minds eye, I can see Otto take the lead. Someone swings her around, and ruffles her hair affectionately.

[bakugosbratx]

NSFW 18+ The Assistant— AU Levi Ackerman x Fem! Reader

Warning: 18+ Content. Smut, degrading, cursing, punishment, dom levi, sub reader, bondage, bdsm, some angst, toxic relationship, spanking, cheating, etc.

Words: 3, 673

Check out my other works here

A/N: Me and my irl moot @idfkwtfgof came up with this idea so I decided to write it out. Enjoy this fifty shades of gray moment. I’ve been working on this for over a month 🙃 I’m sorry it took me forever.

Tags: @idfkwtfgof @awilddreamerwrites @peachsenpie

You take a deep breath as you approached the double doors in front of you. Your heart pounded against your rib cage. The silent hallways seemed to be echoing the thumps. Anyone in your position would be nervous too if they had to meet with the CEO of the Ackerman Industries. He was not one to enjoy much company nor request it. His gaze alone could intimidate the strongest of people and you are no different.

Fist resting on the wooden door in front of you, you hesitate, but close your eyes and knock anyway. You did not hear a response as you patiently wait. Instead, the door swings open to be met with the CEO himself, Levi Ackerman. Not a word was spoken, but he ushered you inside his huge office.

Scurrying, you slightly jump as you heard the huge door slam. You are in Levi’s office. Only businessmen and women are allowed in here. You feel not even worthy to be stepping on the same floor these successful people walk on. It could also be the fact that the office seemed spotless. For someone as busy as the CEO, he sure did know how to make a stack of papers seem neat in a stack.

“Sit.” Levi instructed as he strolled over to his desk chair and doing the said action. You looked around the room. Behind Levi is a wall of windows to overlook the city of New York. His desk his a beautiful dark brown that was so clean that you could see your reflection. Along with seeing your reflection, you can see —and feel— Levi starring at you. Meeting his silver orbs, you gulp.

“Do you know why I called you in here, Y/N?” Levi questioned, his tone remaining calm as always. Somehow, this intimidated you even more.

“No, sir, I don’t.” You admit. In all honesty, you are not sure why Levi called you into his office. He waited until almost everyone has gone home for the evening to set up this meeting. You have felt nauseous all day about it. Receiving an email from the CEO was enough to make anyone’s breath hitch, but to have a meeting — alone — with him is enough to make one soil themselves.

“I want to offer you a promotion,” Levi explained, his gaze hardening. “That is, if you want it?”

This is way better news than you expected. Levi has employees for a reason. He always calls the shots since it is his million dollar company, but why get his hands dirty when he can pay people to do it for him? Since no one is allowed in his office without special permission, this seemed a bit off.

“What does the job intel?”

“Well, my company is expanding even larger than anticipated this year. I need a personal assistant. Examining the work you have put in over the years, I decided you are cut out for the job. What do you say?”

You take a moment to contemplate his words. The offer is amazing and would definitely look great on your resume, but working so close to the CEO of the company is quite intimidating. Any bad habits you have developed better end swiftly or else it’s your job on the line. Levi is not afraid to terminate anyone not fit for the job.

“I’ll take it.” You smile, the words flowing out before you could even think any further.

“You start tomorrow. I expect you in my office 8am sharp. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re dismissed.”

Standing up, you straighten out your black pencil skirt and head your way towards the door. Levi’s eyes did not once leave your figure. The way you naturally sway your hips as you walk and the way the skirt hugged your hips just right. His eyes are enjoying the desires most men have yet when you turned to look over your shoulder, his eyes where focused on his paperwork.

You went home that night, excited to tell your significant other about your promotion. He did not even blink an eye in your direction. Instead, he is pissed that you are home later than normal.

“Babe—“

“Where the hell have you been?” He hissed.

“I-I was called into the CEO’s office. I got a promotion!” You stammered, nervous under your boyfriend’s glare. He always made you feel small and his anger tends to send you over the edge. This is one of those many times.

“Why would he have you in there this late? Do you think I’m really that fucking stupid?” He scoffed, shaking his head.

“Babe, I’m being serious. I would never lie to you.” You argued.

“And how do I know that?” He countered. “How am I certain that you aren’t cheating on me? Or even hurt? Are your damn thumbs broken, Y/N? Can’t keep me updated ‘bout what’s going on? I was worried sick about you.”

You let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, babe. I’ll do better.”

Your boyfriend walked over to you, embracing your body into a tight hug. You had so much more to say, but to prevent any further escalation of an argument, you apologized and kept your mouth shut.

The next morning arrived. You woke up extra early to have time to do your hair and makeup, dressed in your nicest attire, and wear the most expensive of jewelry. Since you are going to be around the CEO for now on, you cannot show up to work appearing sluggish. You gave yourself one last look in the mirror, your boyfriend leaning against the doorframe.

“Dressed quite nicely, huh?” He spoke, meeting your eyes through the mirror. You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat.

“I have to be.”

He stayed silent for a moment, his orbs tracing your figure. He hated when you showed confidence. It killed him inside and knowing that other men saw your beauty as well made his blood boil. He just has to ruin it.

“For the circus? Your makeup looks awful and your hair is tremendous.” He scoffed.

You bit your bottom lip. Tears welled in your eyes, but you prevented them from falling. You refuse to let him ruin your confidence. You are a strong woman and his insecurities shouldn’t be placed upon you. It is not your baggage to carry.

You meet his eyes again through the mirror. You feel your confidence crumble beneath you, but you remain strong. Turning around, you brush past him as you stroll out of the bathroom. You ignored him calling your name and demanding you to return. All he could do is watch as you left without even saying goodbye.

You arrived to the business earlier than expected. You have checked your hair and makeup more than once in the car review mirror. You are not necessarily even wanting Levi’s approval, — though he is quite handsome — you just want to look presentable. He is your boss, after all. He is not afraid to fire anyone on the spot. You are no exception.

Inhaling a sharp breath, you knock on Levi’s office door. You hear his approval to come inside and welcome yourself inside. You were not even receive a glance as you closed the door behind you. Levi’s gray orbs never left his monitor screen. You gulp nervously as you proceed towards his desk.

“I stopped to get some coffee. I brought you a tea,” you lay his cup on his desk, “just how you like it.”

He nods, still typing away. This did not help your anxiety at all. Is he regretting his decision making you his assistant? Are you disturbing him? Is he contemplating firing you? Your stomach turned at the thought.

The sound of the printer disturbed your nuisance thoughts. Levi grabbed the piece of paper and placed it on top of a neat stack. He stands up, finally looking at you.

“I have a meeting to attend to in an hour. I need these documents assorted in alphabetical order before then.”

Your eyes fall to the tall stack of papers. You definitely need more than an hour to get through them all. By Levi’s facial expression, you knew he was serious. Levi always looked serious.

“Yes, sir,” you grab the stack and meet his a gaze again, “I’ll get it done swiftly.”

“Good. I’m counting on you. Sit over there.” He orders, glancing at the couches and coffee table in the middle of his office. Maybe it is just your nerves, but his workspace seems bigger than remembered. This did not help your anxiety.

You began getting to work. You thought you are doing well on time, but time seemed to have passed you by. Levi is now towering over you, his unsatisfied silver orbs glaring down at you. You hesitate, but force yourself to meet them.

“Thought you said you would have this done?” Levi recalls.

“I-I’m really sorry, s-sir.” You stammered, expecting the worse.

“Sorry doesn’t sort the papers, Y/N.” He scolds, his silver eyes only being shown through slits.

“I—“

“We will discuss this after my meeting. Until then, I want my office spotless.” Levi continues, cutting you off. He begins walking towards the door and pauses once he reaches for the handle. “Oh and Y/N?”

You look up, meeting the CEO’s annoyed orbs. “Yes, sir?”

“You’re on strike one.” Levi warns. You did not even have a chance to ask questions as his office door slams shut behind him, leaving you alone to sulk in your thoughts.

You tidied up Levi’s office like he requested of you. Every paper went into its appropriate home, cushions are straightened out, rug is vacuumed, and you are currently dusting. This man is a clean freak by nature so there was not much to do. Still, your nerves were pulsating. This is only day one and you are not on Levi’s good side. You are becoming worrisome as your job is now potentially on the line.

The door opening made you jump. You can feel Levi’s silver orbs on you as you dust his bookshelf. He did not disturb you, though, as he proceeded towards his desk and went to work like nothing happened. Curiosity is begging you to speak, but you remain silent and complete your task.

You gather the cleaning supplies and place them back into the small closet. Returning on the guest side of Levi’s desk, he does not even look up from his monitor.

“I’m finished cleaning, sir.”

Levi did not say anything. Instead, he stood up and went to the window. His fingers grazed along the exterior which collected dust on the tips. He studied it for a moment. Your heart stopped as your breath hitched. You did not mean to forget the windows, but they look so clean already. They truly do not need much more cleaning.

“Seems like you missed a spot.” He remarks, turning to face you.

“I-I’m so sorry, sir. I thought—“

“Your cleaning is lamentable. Back to dusting. Now.” He demands, cleaning the dust off of his fingers with his handkerchief.

“Yes, sir.” You reply, gathering the cleaning supplies once again. You sprayed the windows and clean every inch of them until lunch time. Levi was sure to inspect your work before releasing you to go get something to eat.

“You’re dismissed.” He finally speaks. You are quick to collect your belongings leave his office. You stroll the long hallway to the elevator. You are finally alone with your thoughts and honestly, they were overwhelming. This job is very nerve racking and it’s only your first day. You are not making the best of impressions on your boss.

Digging in your purse, you check your cellphone. You have several missed calls and texts from your significant other. A pit in your stomach began to drown your appetite. You know this is going to cause a major fight between you two. A fight you did not want to participate in.

Reluctantly, you call your boyfriend back. He picks up on the second ring.

“Where the fuck have you been?” He hissed, sending chills down your spine. The elevator doors open and you head towards the cafeteria.

“Working. I can’t be on my phone while I’m—“

“So work is more important than me?” He interrupts.

“What? No. That’s not it at all.” You argued, picking up a bag of chips and a drink from the dispensers before checking out.

“Then answer my damn calls, Y/N!”

“I can’t when I’m at work!” You exclaimed. You hand the cashier money before mouthing the words ‘thank you.’ She gave you a worried look, but you disregarded it. This is not the first time that have heard a heated conversation between you and your boyfriend.

You go find an empty table to eat by yourself. The bickering between your boyfriend did not end on a good note as the other line went dead. You slammed your phone back into your purse and forced yourself to eat your chips. You did not even want them. Your relationship is falling through the cracks, you are failing at your job, and you are on the verge of losing what is left of your sanity.

Time really slipped away while you fumed in anger because you are now late to returning to Levi’s office. Tears prickled in your eyes. This is not good at all. Levi is going to be furious. Even possibly firing you.

You raced to his office. You did not even take the elevator as it will take far too long to get to his office. You are panting by the time you arrive and sweat droplets formed at the top of your forehead. Your hands began to shake as your hand rested on the handle. You need to go in there, but your body did not want to move. Your boyfriend is already pissed. You did not want to deal with your furious boss.

Sighing, you forced yourself to go inside. “I am so sorry.” You blurt out as you enter inside. Levi is giving you a disapproving look.

“Take a seat, Y/N. We need to have a talk.”

Following your boss’ orders, you sit in the chair parallel to his. You begin to tremble as you expect the worse. Levi’s glare does not help you feel any less uneasy either. His silver orbs are staring deep into your soul and making you feel small.

“You know you’re on strike three.” Levi begins. You gulp.

“I know, sir. I’m very sorry. I’ll accept any punishment you have in mind for me.” You sigh, trying to remain brave. Levi can see right through it, though. His gaze hardens and he makes his way around to your side of the desk. He folds his arms but does not remove his gaze from you once.

“What punishment do you think you deserve?” Levi ask, hoping you have the same answer in mind as him.

“I-I’m not sure. I’ll take anything. It’s what I deserve.” You admit, a flustered feeling coming across you. Levi studied your features, clicking his tongue.

“Bend over the desk.”

“What?” You whispered, not sure if you heard your boss correctly. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His intimidating glare pierced through you.

“Talking to that lame ass boyfriend of yours must have you goin deaf. I said bend over my desk.” Levi instructs, letting go of your chin once you catch his drift. You do as your told, bending over his desk. You are uncertain what he is planning to do, but the removal of your skirt gave you a pretty good idea. Your cheeks felt hot as your bare ass is now exposed to Levi’s viewing.

“Lace panties, huh? You planned on being put in this position later?” Levi chuckles, his digits playing with the strap of your thong. You bit your bottom lip, not knowing what to say. A hard smack to your bare ass caused you to release a moan.

“I asked you a question. It’s only polite to answer, brat.”

“Yes. It was for my boyfriend.” You confess in embarrassment for more reasons than one.

“Oh, I see. Your toxic little relationship is in need of fixing, but the only thing you have to offer is your pretty little pussy.” Levi analyzes, rubbing his hand on your ass before delivering another slap. You wince in pain, but you mentally screamed for more. You wanted Levi to continue spanking you.

“That’s not it, sir.” You mumbled. His hand landed down on your sore ass once more while the other hand finds refuge in your hair. He pulls it, tightly, bending your head back.

“What really gets me is this mouth of yours. I suggest you use it to tell the truth before I stuff it.” Levi growls lowly in your ear, letting go of your hair to return behind you.

Another slap was delivered. Little melodies of moans escaped your lips that you attempted to conceal. Levi did not comment on it as he proceed with the punishment. Your cunt dripped with your slick. It is begging to be touched, fucked, anything Levi desires really.

A few slaps and a very red ass later, Levi’s digits founder their way inside your soaked cunt. “Someone enjoyed themselves, hm?” He teased, curling his fingers in you. You shuffle a bit, enjoying the sensation he is giving you. The removal of his fingers made you whine in a needy tone.

“I did, Levi. Please fuck me.” You cry, wanting his cock already. He chuckled at your begging, his hand rubbing your red ass then hitting it again.

“On your knees. Now.” Levi demands. You happily oblige before him. He pats your head in approval. “Good girl. You do know how to listen.”

Levi begins unbuckling his black belt. You are practically foaming at the mouth as he slides the leather out of each loop. He sets it on the desk before proceeding to unbuckle his pants, releasing his hard cock for you to pleasure. Your eyes light up at the sight. The tip of his erection is at your lips, ready for you to move forward. Your tongue teases his sensitive head before you let each inch slide in-and-out of your saliva filled mouth.

“Yeah, like that, baby.” Levi praises as you deep throat his length. You choke some, but continue taking all of his cock. Your tongue spends time playing with the veins in his cock while his head relaxes in your throat.

“The cock hungry slut having a hard time deep throating all my cock?” Levi mocks as you pull it out to catch your breath. A string of saliva connected your lips and his cock together as your lust filled orbs met his.

“Not a chance.” You grin, placing his dick back in your mouth. Levi groans in delight as you repeat the same patterns as before. His cock twitches inside your mouth as pre-cum leaks from the tip and down your throat. You gladly swallow it as his cock becomes overwhelmed, releasing his semen onto your tongue. Not a drop was spilled as you milked his cock for all he had to offer.

Pulling away, Levi praises you again. “Such a good little slut you are. Time we give your pussy some attention, huh?”

“Yes, please, sir.” You beg, eagerly. He taps his desk.

“Bend over my desk.” He commands. Following orders, you bend over his desk like before. You arched your back so your ass and pussy is more accessible for Levi. He spreads your legs out more so your weeping cunt is fully exposed. The cold air sent chills down your spine. Levi is already hard again as he stares at your pussy.

Aligning himself, the tip of his cock enters your dripping hole, sliding in perfectly. You moan as he thrust a rough rhythm. His hips slap against your ass and his hands cling onto your hips. You tightly hang onto his desk as he pick up the pace. You sob out pleas for more.

“Better quiet down. Don’t want your coworkers hearing me fuck you like the whore you are now do we?”

You did not even care. You wanted Levi and you wanted him bad. Groans and profanities filled the room from you two as Levi hits all the right spots. You babble incoherent sentences as you start to climax again on Levi’s girth. Your walls clenched on his size and released when he re-enters himself. This does not stop Levi, though, as he chases after his own high.

“Already cumming again, slut?” Levi teases as he is slowly losing himself inside you. He hit your ass again while his dick twitches. “Ask permission next time.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” You cry out, not wanting him to stop. He pulls on your hair again, bending down to whisper in your ear.

“I’m going to fill you up so much that you have to hide it from your boyfriend.”

“Please Levi.” You beg, not even caring anymore. You wanted Levi. You have wanted him for a long time and the feeling is mutual on his end. That is why he hired you, after all.

Levi’s cock could not withstand the pressure anymore. Releasing into the depths of your cunt, he huffs profanities as every drop enters inside of you. You gladly take it as you breathe heavily. He finally pulls out, leaving you a cum filled mess. Giving your ass a gentle tap so you will get up.

“You are dismissed for the day.” Levi grumbled as he situated himself and you did the same. You straightened out your outfit and fixed your hair. You will fix your makeup in the restroom. You proceeded to exit your boss’ office when he called out to you. “Oh, and Y/N?”

“Yes?” You purred, looking over your shoulder.

“Let your boyfriend know you’re my slut now.”

©bakugosbratx

All Rights Reserved

[skelanonymous]

First - Killermare

Words - 3.1k

I decided I needed more happy Killermare, even though I’ve literally written a ton of it. I should write literally anybody else next…>_>

-

Killer entered into the kitchen with a tense back, casually perusing the fridge with a wince. He’d taken a hard hit on the side during the last fight with the Stars. Probably cracked something, but nothing was falling off so he didn’t bother too much with it. His determination would hold him together.

He grabbed the carton of milk and took a swig straight from the container.

“Other people use that you know.” 

“Too bad for them.” Killer turned around to grin at Nightmare. He’d recently gotten into his Boss’s VERY good graces and no broken bones were going to keep him out of it. “Well if it isn’t small, dark, and Lovecraftian.” That got a chuckle, a rare thing to hear from Nightmare. It made his target soul ache something awful, hearing that cute sound and not being able to do anything with it, not nearly close enough to Nightmare to capitalize on the opportunity. 

“As good with words as with a knife, hmmm?” Nightmare stood in his space, touching along his arm unconsciously. Killer tried to keep his mouth in check.

“I’m also pretty good with my hands.” God damn idiot brain, hitting on his fucking god level boss. There’s fucking with people and there’s shooting out of your league. He just smiled through it. “Whatcha need Boss?”

“I’m moving a wing of the library and needed an extra pair of hands.” 

“And you knew how talented mine were, so you came right to me?” Killer slid the milk back into the refrigerator. He leaned back on his left side to keep from agitating the right, elbows on the counter, a picture of relaxation. 

“Something like that.” Nightmare laughed again. Killer held in the pleased sigh, standing up, crossing his arms behind his head very delicately.

“I’m all yours Boss. Lead the way.”

They wandered down the hall directly towards the library, Killer keeping step just behind Nightmare, letting him stare all he wanted without being caught. Those strong thick tentacles swayed around his back, framing his ass for Killer to appreciate along the lengthy hallways. He rarely went over this way unless Night summoned him here.

Nightmare already cleared small sections away, stacks of meticulously organized books littering the floor. He gestured to a pile.

“Start here and work clockwise. I’ve laid it out to make it easy enough for you to do without me babysitting your progress.” 

So began replacing them on the shelves. Killer hid the winces of pain from stooping and bending fairly well, silently moving until he hit a tiny snag. He reached up to place one on a tall shelf when he flinched into the wall.

His body hit the shelves and dislodged an avalanche onto his head. He almost moved away before one smashed into his cracked ribs.

"Son of a fucking bitch!

"Killer!" Nightmare raced over to unbury him. The tentacles made quick work of them, stacking haphazardly off of Killer’s winded form. His hands were on Killer’s forehead in an instant, checking for cracks, diligently looking over him after hearing the cry of pain. Killer groaned angrily when he was cleared off.

“Fucking Blue and his fucking blue attacks. Ugh.” Killer couldn’t sit up, pain still blossoming fresh in his chest. Night paused in looking him over.

“Were you wounded on the last mission?” His single eye penetrated his two, pinning him under it until he relented, grimacing with a gesture to his ribs he’d been carefully avoiding.

“Yeah. Stars got a good hit in on me. Was fine until the book hit it though.”

“Clearly not, considering you lost your usually impeccable balance!” Nightmare’s tentacles wrapped Killer up to get him standing without making him bend the wounded area. “Come with me. Healing magic is easiest when accompanied by intent, wrapping it will make it easier.” He grumbled and took off towards his room, Killer hobbling after to keep up. 

Walking into Night’s room changed the mood. He suddenly felt out of place, surrounded by luxurious purples tones and dark wooden furniture. Night had gestured to the bed before wandering into his private bathroom.

His bed was comfortable. Killer’s nerves ruined any enjoyment of getting into Nightmare’s room, jittery from the moment he was directed to sit on the plush comforters. Nightmare returned with a roll of bandages and an unimpressed look.

“I thought you were smart enough to know how to care for yourself.” He moved in front of him. “Take off your jacket and t-shirt.”

Thankfully Night was too focused on unraveling the bandages and gathering antiseptic to see Killer’s face go red, suddenly very aware that he was in his boss’s room, said boss’s hands about to be on him after a request to undress. He pulled them off smooth and casual, but his grin practically cracked at the edges. 

“What the hell?”

Night’s hands hovered over the cracked ribs, flinching back at the small break that Killer had dislodged from its setting.

“Yeah, it’s not great.”

“Killer!” Night growled at him. “Why didn’t you seek treatment before THIS?!” He gestured to the crumbled ends of the break from grinding against each other. “This is entirely fucking curable! It’s ridiculous you didn’t, at the very least, wrap this!” The growl travelled up his body, baring his teeth at him, tentacles cracking like whips at his back. Killer didn’t move, but his voice took on a nervous edge.

“I’m a dead man walking boss. I’ll just keep going forward until I can’t anymore.” Healing magic was taxing. All of them were terrible at it besides Nightmare, who never offered, only taking over when he was clearly needed. They never want to bother him to ask for it.

“I could’ve fixed this sooner.” Nightmare pinched the bone into place with a click. Killer gasped in pain. He wrapped it tightly, uncaring about Killer’s harsh pants while doing so.

“We only take it when you offer. None of us wanna annoy you.” Fuck, he was so falling out of Night’s good graces for this. After he worked so hard, some dumb break was gunna take him back to zero. He fisted the plush comforter. “Your time is important.”

“To whom, when you dust from accumulating injuries that I can’t see?” 

“The multiverse I guess.”

“The multiverse doesn’t give a shit about me or my time. This is all I have.” Nightmare pinched his nasal crest after finishing. “You serve me, but I cannot do this alone. Your lives are valuable to me. I thought you, especially, would know this Killer."

"Why do ya say that?"

"Because of how important you are to me." Nightmare's hands grew warm with gathering magic, mending now that everything would heal correctly. "All of you are valuable, like the supporting beams holding the castle aloft, but you are more integral. You are the center pillar. As my right hand, as long as you stand, I have faith in my ability to recover. I believed you to be my most valuable asset, but if you’re going to just let yourself turn to dust, then I’ll-”

“No!” Killer’s soul snapped into a heart shape, eyelights flickering in time to meet Night’s inquisitive gaze. “I’m not dusting on you just like that.” He grabbed Night’s warm hands away, taking them up in front of his startled cyan face.

“K-Killer?” He brought them up and kissed the phalanges as one would do to their king.

“If you’ll continue as long as I am by your side, then I’ll remain with you until I die.” Killer’s sockets went half-lidded, struck by the emotion his inverted soul let in, his silly crush amplified ten-fold by Nightmare’s faith in him. He’d never seen his boss look so confused, eye wide and frantically searching Killer’s. “What’s wrong boss?” 

“You-I’m...what’s-why all-”Killer’s hands had long since gained a mind of their own. He slid wordlessy off the bed into Night’s space, silencing him with a casual touch on the cheek, fondly caressing the bright greenish glow. 

“Shouldn’t have told me I meant so much to ya cuz I’m gunna take that to heart.” Then he swooped down to kiss him.

Killer pressed their teeth together firmly, tilting their heads to line up for deepening the kiss. He relaxed into it, holding Nightmare close while getting a taste, slowly touching and teasing Night's tongue with playful flicks. He could feel the very hesitant kiss back before they parted for air.

"Feeling shy Nightmare? Don't worry. I'm bold enough for the both of us." 

Killer laughed into the next one, leaning into it to force Night's response, groaning at the feel of the shy tongue in his own mouth. He could feel his small partner shaking in his arms when they broke apart.

"Killer…" It must've been awhile since Nightmare got with anyone to sound so needy. 

"I'm here. Wanna have some fun Nightmare?" He whispered it into Night's ear, smiling at the trembling he could still feel against his ribs, lost in the heady feeling. Night devolved to breathy pants, which Killer dove into before he felt tentacles lay solidly against his chest to push him back.

"Killer, wait, I can't-I'm not prepared for this." Night's flushed face told a different story, but he didn't fancy being killed.

"I've got lots of patience. I'll just make you feel good until you are." Killer's mouth slid down to Night’s neck, sucking on the bone to the high pitched whines, sending all his thoughts south, ecto eager to form at the slightest provocation. His haze broke under the Night's firm push out of his space. 

"Killer, stop." 

His back connected with the bed, wincing from his still (though much less so) wounded bones. The rejection stung worse.

"Sorry boss." That HURT, knowing he'd fucked up pretty royally. God, he'd forced himself on Nightmare right after he'd been given a shred of attention. He was such a fucking idiot. "I'll keep my hands to myself." His eyelights poofed decisively. He almost couldn't bear to look at him, but he needed to see Nightmare's face at least once.

Night hadn't stopped shaking. His tentacles attempted to hide him from view, face fully blushing, head still tilted away from the fresh mark Killer had left, noises leaking unfiltered from his trembling body. 

"S-s-sorry. I-I c-can't handle it-t. Too much." Killer grabbed his shirt and hoodie from where it lay beside him.

"I'll leave you be. Maybe annoy Horror or something, I don't know." Anything to not be here. Playing it off would make it easier to take, even if it meant no second chances with Night. He slid his clothes back on. "Come find me when you got the next mission lined up."

A tentacle wrapped around his ankle before he took the first step.

"Why are you leaving?" His voice was airy, light, breathless.

"I'm a dick, but not that much of one. I went too far, I'll give ya some space for a day." He shrugged, a drop of hate splashing on the floor. He'd describe his emotions as 'in shambles.'

"I don't want space. I just need a minute."

"I don't know Boss. Shouldn't rush that kind of thing." He could stomach taking advantage of people outside of this castle, but betraying the ones inside it, those who guarded his back and knew where he slept (and cared about but he'd never tell them that), it turned his mood sour. It ate at the pit of his stomach and it’d eat through him entirely if he didn’t get the fuck outta dodge.

"What thing?"

"Being assaulted, harassed, whatever you wanna call it. And being the person who forced themselves upon ya, don't think I should be here." He tugged at his ankle again, but Night hadn't relented.

"Killer, I didn't stop you because I didn't want it." He avoided Killer's eye roll.

"Uh-huh." Killer really didn't want to resort to cutting off the tentacle. It wouldn't hurt him, but it'd suck and prove he was an asshole, so he pulled harder. "Say I believed you. Then why?"

"Killer, I…" Nightmare looked like he wanted the carpet to swallow him. "I've never kissed anyone."

"...What?" He stopped struggling against his restraint. "There's no way. You're telling me, five hundred years of existing, and you hadn’t had your first kiss?"

"Yes." And Killer commited a cardinal sin without thinking.

"But Dream definit-" Is fucking Ink or Blue or Cross or all of them, he wanted to say, but Night was quicker.

"I am aware." Nightmare's glare was potent, but Killer's confusion was denser. "But he is lovable, unlike me."

"You're lovable." It slipped out in-between all the mental gymnastics. He wasn't sure he wasn't being fucked with still. "So you haven't…" How to phrase this delicately, he wondered. "...slept with anyone?"

"Killer, I haven't kissed anyone. Why the fuck would I have slept with someone?"

"You gotta know how unbelievable this is." Talking wouldn't reassure him, so Killer leaned down into Night's space again, stopping just shy of his teeth. "You're telling me that someone as fuckable as you's been ignored all this time?" Nightmare's single eye widened with the flush. Killer smoothed out his tone, dropping it low to hold him at the edge of his words. "Nice juicy peach you are, no one's tried to pluck you up? I can barely look without salivatin'." He lapped at his teeth, careful to keep his hands in safe places. He wanted to see how inexperienced Night really was without ruining his chances forever.

Nightmare's tentacles laid limp behind him, all the tremors coming from his real form, whose hands had raised to snatch at the shoulders of his hoodie, gripping tightly when he caved under the languid licks at his mouth by letting Killer in.

Patience led this one, Killer carefully taking over every inch of Night's mouth. The slower pace served to work up his partner faster. Nightmare's calmness abated, tentacles waking up to come and clutch at Killer's form, Night crawling onto him, transforming the kiss into a frenzy of desire that Killer surrendered to, as long as Night was leading the way. The tentacles touched plenty of hot spots, but he kept his own hands on innocent ground. Night's confidence could crumble under too much of a good thing.

"Take a breath, Nightlight." Night shivered against him after breaking apart, so much sensation his body was unaccustomed to. "I gotcha." Killer rubbed soothing circles into his back.

"I can see how that could escalate." Nightmare finally got out. It made him laugh. 

"Yeah. It's pretty easy to get carried away." He kissed the top of his skull before laughing again. "You give handsy a whole new meaning though."

"Sorry." The sweet little monster in his arms barely resembled his boss, hiding his face by burrowing into Killer's chest. 

"Don't be. It's pretty hot." His lewd grin made Night blush again.

"I would've thought my corruption would be the ugliest and most disgusting part of me." He punctuated it with said appendages undulating behind him.

"Boss, I just kissed the fuck outta you and I've never known you without it. Trust me, not a deterrent." Killer stroked down one to make Night's spine curl. "If you learn how to use ‘em right, they're pretty useful in the bedroom."

"Don't call me Boss when we're like this." Night whispered softly. His face caught between a glare and something soft, he was starting to come back to his senses.

"That might be too much power Nightlight." He grinned at the tiny glare. "How was your first kiss then?"

"Nice." Nightmare sighed as he sat up, unfurling all the aching limbs. The usual persona rebuilt itself. But now, Killer knew how easy the composure was to break. "I'd like to repeat it sometime."

"I'm all yours." He'd never get sick of that face if Night was willing to let him see it. They rose together from the floor, Night reestablishing the space between them.

"I'll have to talk to the others about not bringing injuries to me. Time spent on them is not time wasted." He straightened his sweater, presentable before opening the door. Killer choked the urge down to mess it up again. “The idea that you would’ve rather lost a rib than speak to me is absurd.”

"Yeah." They better not take his catch. Fuck them.

"I'm not going to kiss them Killer. The sour look is atrocious on you." Night's brow raised. Caught red handed. Killer laughed.

"Can you blame me? I know the kind of filthy degenerates who live here; I'm one of them. I don't want 'em to take a bite outta you." Subconsciously, he shook his sleeves to feel the weight of his multiple blades.

"You act as though there are many vying for my affection. People used to throw rocks at me for walking by their homes, and now they try to kill me. I'm not surrounded by suitors." He said this while walking down the hall towards the still upturned library. His strides were confident, power inherent is his manner, carried with a royal grace that Killer could only ape with minimal success. The only reason he wasn't swamped with competition was everyone had been too chickenshit to make a move. 

"Ya also thought I wasn't interested and nothing has ever been less fucking true." He pushed his luck a little further, stepping in front of Nightmare to kiss him quickly. The chaste thing was almost too much considering the shakes. "I'll just keep doing it if ya don't say anything."

“We need to reassemble the library.” He huffed through, walking by with weak knees, Killer trailing just behind. “This wasn’t an invitation to touch me at all times.”

“Only some of the time then?” 

“Shut up.” He humored the request once inside Night’s treasured library. 

Back to quietly organizing, clockwise, his talented hands flipped them onto shelves with ease now that he wasn’t hindered by aches. It was quick and effortless like it should have been the first time. He’d begun humming by the time he placed the last one, not expecting the hand on his shoulder but welcoming it as he had earlier the same day. Night silently pressed something into his palm.

“I trust I don’t need to explain.” Killer’s fingers closed over the silver key, smiling and spinning it on his pointer while leaving the now neat library. Guess his league was a lot wider than he thought. It wasn’t an invitation to his bed, but the invitation to his heart was just as good.

“Gotcha loud and clear boss. See ya soon.” 

-

They CUTE.

[illusionsofdreaming]

lay down your ghosts;

Notes: Hey would you look at that, more angst for our favourite MC.

Ft. Cale

It's been three days.

Three days since they last heard from you. 

Three long days of replaying the memory of the shock and surprise on your face when the ledge you were on crumbled apart and the storm of smoke and dust swallowed you whole. 

There hadn't been time to cancel the teleportation, hadn't been time to reach out, hadn't been time to regret. You were gone. 

Just like that.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Immediately Choi Han and the others prepared to return, but Cale pulled them back. 

Not now. Not like this.

Not when their enemies have surely swarmed the area after their narrow escape. Returning immediately would've put more of them at risk and Cale would not permit that.

He told them he trusted your abilities to survive. He told them to believe in you. High profile searches would only put you more at risk by alerting their enemies that you were missing. (He hated how clinical it sounded, hated how his thoughts remained clear even when it felt like all the blood in his veins was being drained away.) 

A plan was quickly hatched and under a cloak of Invisibility to hide their tracks, Choi Han, Beacrox and Ron took on the dangerous task of returning to enemy territories to scour the ruins for signs of life. As much as he wanted to join the search himself, someone had to stay behind to reassure the young ones, and though it hurt to admit it, Cale knew he would only hinder rather than aide their search efforts. The last thing he'd want is to jeopardise their chances of finding you.

Cale was sure you weren't captured. Their enemies would've flaunted the fact had that been the case. And you weren't dead, for even the combined efforts of their best fighters and assassins, no body was found. If you managed to escape, they all knew you'd lay low and play it safe until you could find a way back or contact them, to reassure them of your status. 

No news is good news. This he kept reminding the others, kept reminding himself, even when every passing hour felt like a dagger was being twisted further deeper into his heart.

(You could be injured, crippled or trapped and slowly withering away. There are so many different ways a person can survive and remain in a state worse than death, but he didn't tell them. He couldn't share his morbid nightmares and thoughts that continue to haunt his waking moments.)

(Perhaps he had damned you after all when they didn't return for you immediately.)

Three days.

Three days.

Cale's beginning to realise he's going to have to call off the search. The thought itself drained all the energy from him and he retired to his room earlier than usual, waving off questions of concern. 

"I'm fine." 

In the silence of his room did he finally allow himself to drop the facade. 

The memories swarmed him like water rushing from a broken dam and he lurched towards his desk, overwhelmed by the onslaught of thoughts he'd kept back until now.

"Fuck." He kicked open the alcohol stash by the table and settled down to drown away his miseries. 

For the first time, he cursed his strong alcohol tolerance which impeded his attempts to blur the day's horrifying details from his mind.

It was useless. His records would never let him forget. Not his past, not the people he's failed, not you- another broken record to add to his repeating list of nightmares. The ruins have nothing more left to give, either you've left on your own or have been moved by others. Worst case scenario, you're too deeply buried and have probably been crushed by the weight of the rubble. Sooner or later, an empty grave will be erected, because the longer an unanswered question remains, the worse it'll hurt. Some closure must be had for the people who stay behind. It's the same old drill all over again.

The bottle smashes into the opposite wall, the sound of broken glass was jarring and he glared at the red stains that dripped down.

Where had he miscalculated? Had he gotten too arrogant after having successfully smacked his enemies in the back? Had he gotten lax? 

His face remained remarkably dry for all the stinging in his eyes. An ugly feeling was building in his gut that clashed with an irrational fury that boiled in his chest. He felt so much and didn't know how to deal with it, except to drink and drink and drink - until the nauseousness took over and the world swam, until the burn in his throat became hotter than the sting in his eyes.

Eventually, he stills, the alcohol in his bloodstream finally kicking in to rein in the maelstrom of emotions in his being. For having felt so much in the last few hours, the numbness was both a balm and a curse.

"Wow, you look like shit."

He breathed out a dark laugh and immediately reached to pour himself another cup.

At least he could still talk to you in this moment of weakness. He missed doing that. "I am trash after all." he mumbled.

He looked up, squinting against the moonlight to find your silhouette occupying your favourite spot on his window ledge. The familiar image sent a pang of agony through his chest, and he took a deep drink. It was one of the many spaces you had carved out for yourself over months, and now that you're gone, he found it unbearably empty. His drink addled mind couldn't define your features in the darkness and was only capable of providing a shadowy form of yourself. But perhaps that was for the best, your disappointment would've hurt too much. 

If only he put more effort into dreaming your ghost, perhaps he could convince himself that you're really there, frowning at him as you tend to do whenever he uses that term. 

"You keep calling yourself trash. You know it's quite insulting to us who chooses to follow you."

He laughed bitterly. "And look where that got you." He threw back his cup.

The wind sighed through his open window, carrying your voice to his ears. "It's not your fault."

"I know." He wasn't looking for consolation. Wasn't looking for forgiveness either. He just...

He wished he could offer more to your phantom, but in the end, these illusions are as fragile as his current mental state. A way for the human brain to deal with grief when it becomes too much. It'll never be the same as talking to your real person, but he wasn't ready to banish your ghost by debating 'what could've been's.

"Cale."

Part of him considered ignoring it, entertaining his delusions can't bode well for his sanity, and the truths he wanted wouldn't come from a false imitation constructed from his memories of you. 

"Cale."

Weak. He looked up, watching with wary eyes as your ghost stood from the ledge, outlined in silver from the moonlight, painting a visage so unreal, it made the breath in his throat catch. With every step that brought you closer, something in his chest shuddered on the verge of breaking. Something didn't feel right. 

He frowned. Do ghosts limp?

Finally, only the table separated him and his phantoms, the air in the room felt light. Cale felt dizzy, nauseous as he stared, wordlessly, up at you. 

Cold hands held his face, fingers brushed lightly under his eyes. He took in everything, dirt, blood, bruises and all. Shakily, his hand rose to touch the hand on his cheek. 

"Hey," you cracked a tired smile and suddenly, the tears that had been absent abruptly burst forth. "Don't write me off just yet."

He surged from his seat, so violently that his chair crashed backwards and the sound made you flinch- vaulted over the table, reached for your face, with perhaps too much strength as you winced, but he had to make sure- His eyes drank in the sight of you, his fingers smudged the dried blood under your ears -you could be suffering from a concussion, your wounds need to be dressed properly to avoid infection- and he realises he's dissociating because his brain cannot process the fact that you're here, you're alive, after three long forsaken hellish days, in his arms.

"Shit." he breathed out, dropping his forehead on your shoulder as he held you to his chest.

"Yeah." You agreed, and he almost wept when he felt your arms around him, rubbing his back gently. "I missed you too."

He choked out a laugh and squeezed you tighter, and because he can, because you're here, he held you and kissed you until your lips went numb.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Madness, pt.2

Madness, pt.1

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Sigurd/Blaeja (mentioned, alluded?)

Summary: So, I wrote a sequel to Madness, I really don’t know what to put in this summary. This takes place in the expanse of a few months/year, but hopefully the pace of the time passing is clearish in the story ;)

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Mentions or allusions of death, mentions or allusions of abduction/kidnapping, mentions of (hypothetical) rape, and I don’t really know what else. Does blood kink count? Cause, subtle blood kink.

A/N: First of all I want to thank all of you for the amazing reception to Madness. I am so thankful, and so humbled you guys like my writing and this story. Really, thank you so much for your feedback, your kind words, and your support. Means the world.

Second of all, I’m sorry it took so long to get the sequel out. I wasn’t exactly planning one but ngl, I have fun writing these two, and I hope this doesn’t dissapoint. Love ya! <3

Putting up the act of being dragged a hysterical, frantic mess of a woman all the way from the docks to the King’s dungeons was not that difficult. You had kept the nervous energy within you ever since you accepted getting on that boat, and finding a release to it was…cathartic, in a way.

The King’s bodyguards that kept firm hands on your upper arms as they took you to the prison that will be your home for who-knows how long don’t push or shove you into the cell, making you wonder how many people are truly aware of this ruse.

The moment the door is closed, the moment you are safe behind the iron bars and away from the crown and its reach, you cannot help the laugh -hysterical, hoarse, crazy laugh- that leaves your lips, that breaks its way out of your lungs.

You are free.

You lay on that cell for so long you forget to keep track of the time, but small little laughs leave your lips every once in a while, as you lean on the tips of your feet to look out the small window, into the foreign sky.

Free.

You laugh again, shaking fingers enclosed around the iron bars, and you hear a shuffling sound behind you.

“These people say I’m crazy. I wonder what they’ll have to say for the Princess that laughs at her own imprisonment.” King Ivar states, squaring his shoulders and standing tall on the other side of that cage door.

You smile, “You did it. You promised, and you did it. You got me out of there.”

“I keep my promises,” He states, resolute, before continuing, “Any other woman would be terrified, not delighted, at being on a Viking’s cell.”

You shrug, “Maybe they are right, maybe I am crazy.”

The King considers you in silence, clear eyes piercing as they take you in, and after a few heartbeats, shakes his head minutely.

“No, not crazy.”

____

You have learned more and more of these Norsemen’s language, and in turn you’ve taught King Ivar more of your own -it didn’t surprise you when he ordered you to teach him, saying when he negotiated with Alfred he didn’t want some meddling translator-; and you’ve learned of their traditions, and their Gods, and their honor.

Heartless, Godless, nothing but barbarians; they used to say. But you’ve seen the mothers loving their children like any Christian would, the faithful honoring their strange Gods in their own way.

They know nothing but bloodthirst, they care for nothing, love nothing; that’s what the soldiers used to whisper to terrify the maidens. But these are a people alive like any other, and yes, they are cold and harsh and brutish, but if their King is anything to go by, they are as capable as humanity as any other.

If you believed their tales, which you never truly did, thanks to King Ecbert’s lessons; it would have all still crumbled to dust and lies before your eyes as you grew closer and closer to the man that ‘abducted’ you.

All their tales of cruelty and ruthlessness and bloodthirst, they are more than true, of course; but they forget to tell of the awkward gentleness with which he holds your hand and presses absent kisses to it; they forget to tell of the cautious vulnerability that shines in those pale eyes when the sun sets and it’s just the two of you and your secrets and your promises; they forget to tell of the shuddered breaths over your lips, the eyes that fluttered closed when you lean close enough, that fill you with warmth to your very core.

They forget many things. Hopefully, they forget to tell about you, too.

Let you be forgotten by those people that killed your mother; let you be forgotten by the God that never looked upon your family with none of his mercy; let you be forgotten by the boy you may have cared for but never loved, not like this.

You spent a fortnight -maybe?- in that cell. It didn’t surprise you, a believable claim that you willingly came with King Ivar to Scandinavia would mean the leverage to return you to Wessex would be null. What did surprise you, though, was that you were very often visited, almost every day, by the King.

He is a fascinating man, he was to you since that first moment. He never ceased to be, even now, after months of secrets and pried truths and reluctant vulnerability and him.

Shortly after, you were allowed more performative freedoms, and it didn’t cost you much to put up an act that slowly waned and disappeared that you feared, hated even, the heathens that took you captive.

You’ve seen the ashen faces of those who returned from battle against the Vikings, you’ve heard the tales of the women that trembled at the memory of the raiders, you’ve known of their fame ever since your mother was gifted her uncle’s head by one of these Norsemen.

It is not hard for you to imagine why a woman -a sane woman, maybe- would fear them. And so, the act is not hard, the ruse is not difficult.

And let them think the King broke you, let them think a poor maiden was stolen from her home, let them think you long to return to your home, let them think you feel nothing but cold. In the meantime, you will be free, and safe, and growing to love a King that gives you nothing but warmth.

____

“I want to learn how to fight.” You tell him one evening, as you watch the sun set over the distant waves, and hear the training warriors somewhere near the longhouse.

He hums at your words, lifting your hand and absently pressing a kiss to the back of it before he asks, “Why?”

You offer a shrug and a small smile as you retort dryly, “A Princess, alone and surrounded by savages, she should have some means of defending herself?”

The King offers a side smile at your jest, and it feels like a tiny victory. Always does. It always has, ever since the first time you saw him, you don’t even remember how long ago.

“I could let someone teach you.” He finally drawls out, slowly, meticulously.

You cannot mask your enthusiasm, you realize too late, “Really?”

“For a price.” He clarifies.

“I wouldn’t expect otherwise. What is your price, my King?”

But he shakes his head, “That secret is mine to keep for now,” Lifting his eyes to yours and knowing he won, King Ivar insists, “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes!” You say quickly, surprising even yourself.

“Are you su-…” The King starts, even as some strange softness teases at his expression. You realize that you have startled him, and somehow that makes the excitement bubbling in your chest greater.

“Yes!” You interrupt, biting your lip and offering a sheepish shrug in apology when he glares at you, “I’m sorry, but yes.”

“Sit down, no one is going to train you now.” He chastises, but you know his tells by now. And the gentle tug of his hand on yours to bring you closer again is not even needed for you to understand he wasn’t ready or willing for you to part form his embrace. You concede with a breathed laugh and a smile that you press against his own lips, and rest against his side with a sigh.

“Thank you.” You whisper, so quietly you barely hear yourself.

“Hm. You know, I never convinced myself you aren’t at least a bit crazy.” He muses, with what you know -but he’d deny to his grave- is a soft kiss pressed to the crown of your head.

____

“Fuck!” You gasp out, Ubbe’s sword a hair’s width away from your neck, “Shouldn’t there be…wooden swords, or something?”

“Don’t you trust me?” The Prince asks around a smile. You answer with widened eyes and pushing his sword away from your neck with your own.

“Not when you hold a blade to my neck, my Prince!”

The Viking laughs, genuine and young, and you find yourself smiling back. You both assume your positions again, even if you are certain you are one sneeze away from being gutted.

“Why did you want to learn anyways? Aren’t you West Saxons supposed to sue for peace instead?” Ubbe starts as he guides your arm through a motion to break out of a block.

“I am Mercian, but yes, we do prefer talking.” You answer, focused on following his indications.

“Then why learn to fight?” The Prince insists.

“I want to be able to defend myself.”

King Ivar calls your name from behind you, a greeting and a demand of your attention as he approaches you and his brother. You turn around, and he inserts himself into the conversation you were having with Ubbe,

“Defending yourself also includes not starting fights you cannot win.”

“Ladies don’t start fights.” You shoot back quickly, side smile on your lips.

You hear him snort a laugh and your smile widens.

“But you do,” Ivar says, just as you deviate with your sword Ubbe’s attempt to strike your leg. “For someone so…”

Pushing back against the other son of Ragnar, you interrupt him.

“Don’t say small.” You grit out as you turn around, fight on pause.

“Small,” He supplies anyways, emphatically. He looks maddeningly delighted when you furrow your nose in annoyance, “You surely seem to love starting fights.”

“If by ‘starting’ you mean not letting you get away with-…”

“Get away? You get the last word every time I e-…”

“Brother, Princess,” Ubbe calls out, eyeing you strangely before motioning with his head, “Training.”

You nod, getting your focus back into place, and try getting used to the unfamiliar weight of the shield in your hands as you face the bearded man again.

Ivar’s voice cuts into your thoughts again, and your concentration evaporates along with your patience.

“Why are you standing like he does? You are half his size, you can’t mimic him and expect good results.”

You face him with gritted teeth, “Well, if my teacher did something other than berating me I could-…”

“You asked for my help.”

“I…shut up,” You sentence, turning back to Ubbe and correcting your stance to something you feel grounded and able to move on. The older Prince looks at his brother, considering, and then takes the shield from you. You let go of it with ease, but still question, “My Prince?”

“He’s right. You are small.”

“Thank you.” You sentence dryly, and the other man chuckles in response.

“I mean we can’t have you fight like you would in the front lines. Instead, fight like you would in an ambush.”

You shrug, because you have no idea what he means, and let him guide you through the movements.

____

You know what he’s going to say before you even hear him.

“Again.”

“Everything hurts.” You groan as you sit up from the cold dirt.

“I don’t care,” Ivar is quick to retort, and you have a feeling he can sense you rolling your eyes, because a taunt is quick to follow, “You Saxons may stop when you are in pain, but Vikings don’t. Again.”

Gritting your teeth and letting one or two curses in your native language leave your lips, you stand up and lift the sword. Prince Hvitserk smiles, hands toying with his axe as she studies you for a moment.

For once, you attack first, slashing towards his side, but the wooden hilt of his axe stops the movement. Not hesitating, you pull back and try again, making the Viking take a couple of steps back.

He breaks the block with a twist of his weapon’s hilt, making your sword slide off and your balance weaken. The victory is his as he raises the great axe over his head with a yell, but you lift the sword, stopping him even as you are forced to grab the blade with your free hand to give more strength to the block.

Blood pours from between your fingers and sharp pain follows, but you keep your attention on Hvitserk and wait for the moment you see him decide to push instead of retreat and attacking again. When his strength focuses on his upper body, like he did to you many times before, you place your boot on his inner thigh and kick outwards.

The force of your kick sends you stumbling back, but you catch yourself. The Viking falls down in his back though, and with enthusiasm you hold the tip of your sword over him. Victory.

You allow yourself a small smile, and Hvitserk shoulders his great axe as he stands up, fight over.

“You are getting better, Princess.” He praises gruffly, and you thank him with a nod.

Whatever dignity you tried gaining with the composed gesture is blown by the way you cannot seem to stop the excited pitter-patter of your feet as you walk back to Ivar.

“Did you see?” You ask. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so wide, and you could swear a little bit of your enthusiasm gets to the King, who smiles at you somewhat softly.

“He went easy on you.”

“I know that.�� You answer with a roll of your eyes.

“And you are bleeding everywhere.” Ivar points out, signaling with his head to your hand. Reminded of your wound, you bring up your fist but Ivar is quick to catch it in his own hand.

You open your palm to see a cut running down your palm and similar ones -although not as deep- in your fingers. Your eyes follow the trail of a thick drop of blood that slithers down the side of your hand to your wrist.

Apparently, Ivar’s eyes followed the same droplet, for he moves your hand to his mouth and quickly licks off the offending drop.

“Ivar!” You chastise, tugging softly at the braid at the back of his neck, stopping his tongue from continuing trailing maddeningly the skin at your bloodied hand. He laughs, his eyes darkened when he looks up at you, and you cannot deny the rush of heat that look sends through you.

“I like it when you call me that.” He says, side smile still bearing the mark of your blood. You have the errant, traitorous thought to kiss the stain of blood off his lips, and because you can, because there’s no shame in lust or love, you lean down and do exactly that.

The metallic taste of your own blood on his lips makes you wonder if you could convince him to forget there’s a kingdom past your bed if only for a few hours; steal him away so he can think, taste, or feel nothing but you, so you can think, taste, or feel nothing but him.

Instead, trying to gather your wits and keep your voice even, you answer, “It is your name.”

“But you also call me ‘my King’,” He says, hand still holding yours and moving it so that he can see the wound more clearly. You keep your eyes on his profile, and find yourself startled when he suddenly looks up at you, head cocked to the side. Thankfully he doesn’t notice your eyes tracing the shape of his lips, and instead asks, “And you don’t really mean that, do you?”

You huff a laugh, “You are King of Kattegat.”

“But am I your King?” Ivar insists, eyes narrowed.

“I…” You start, stopping yourself when you realize you have no quick answer to give. You are not Viking; but you also have sworn no fealty to no king or kingdom, not since the ruse of your ‘capture’ was started. Still, you give him his answer in a soft voice, “No.”

He seems almost pleased, his smile turning more sincere when he states, “Call me by my name from now on then.”

You agree with a nod, the only answer your lips give is a smile, before you lean to speak by his ear. You will never cease to be delighted at the wonder mixed with desire that darken his eyes whenever you remind him of how much you want him.

Turns out stealing a King is way easier than you thought. You needed only a whisper in his ear and a sway of your hips.

____

“You are getting better,” The King starts that night, and you turn your attention to him with a smile. The people have months ago stopped staring at the crazy Mercian Princess, and the whispers about how happy she looks even as a captive have quietened; and for the first time since your mother died you have felt safe and comfortable. King Ivar continues, “For a Saxon.”

“You could just compliment me, you know.” You offer with a side smile.

The King uses the hand he holds in his -he always does, he always finds a way to be touching you and your hands seems to be a preference of his- to tug you closer where you sit on the bench next to him, and it is with a breathy chuckle that you find yourself pressed against his side.

He considers you for a few moments, before leaning close to your ear and whispering, so low only you can hear,

“You are a maddening woman, you know that?” His fingers intertwine with yours before he continues, “A maddening, infuriating, crazy woman. The most beautiful and fascinating woman I’ve ever met. The woman I…”

His words die, because they always do. Even if they always do, even if he has never admitted anything, even if he has never said he cares for you, or loves you; your heart still skips a beat every time you dare hope he just might.

But because you’ve grown to know him, to understand, you do not feel pain anymore. You let yourself believe he loves you when you feel his hand reaching for you in the dead of night, as if to make sure you are still there; you let yourself believe he loves you when you are the last one to open your eyes after you make love and find his eyes on you, his expression that of wonder and peace, you let yourself believe many things.

And so, you give the answer to the words he hasn’t -can’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t- say,

“I love you.”

As always, as every time you tell him of your love since that first time, Ivar’s expression softens, his shoulders drop, as if you bring relief to a part of him you don’t notice is always on edge.

Because he has his tells, and he knows by now you know of them.

And when you tell him you love him and you are alone in the safety of his -your? You don’t remember sleeping anywhere else- room, his eyes close and his lips pull into the smallest of smiles, soft and content.

And when you tell him you love him in the great hall, like now, he drops the tension in his shoulders and claims your mouth, sealing the words against his own lips as if to prove they are real, they are true.

He has his tells, and they betray that even if he does not dare say the words, he does feel the same.

____

You wake up at an absence in your bed, and missing Ivar’s warmth you sit up. You find him sitting by one of the chairs near a window, his hand by his mouth and a furrow in his brow. His eyes are intent on a map of England he keeps on a nearby table, and you realize what kept him awake without needing to hear a word.

“Word from Winchester?” You ask, getting out from under the furs but only moving to the foot of the bed, where you sit with your legs underneath you.

“Mhm. Alfred demanded proof you are safe, and the letter you sent was enough. But, since you are safe, he asks now that you are returned to him. In exchange for Lindsey.”

“Lindsey? Ivar, that’s-…”

“It’ll allow me to take over half of Mercia, I know” He doesn’t seem thrilled at the idea, even if he showed you, you don’t know how many moons ago, that having free access to that region would give him a great advantage. “And Alfred knows too. He knows what you are worth.”

And so the reminder of what this deal entails -your return- falls on your stomach like a dead weight. Of course, of course show could you forget? A Princess stolen in exchange for a ransom to be paid by those who want her back, a while of freedom bought until the offer is made, and if the offer is enough, you’ll sail back to Alfred and need another way to get away from there. One King walks away with new lands, the other with a bride.

But you remember those days spent in Winchester, before he was King, before Blaeja was Sigurd’s wife, before you were his ‘prisoner’; and you remember him asking what if he didn’t wish to return you to Alfred.

You remember that, and you remember every day since; and so you hope, and taking a deep breath and steeling yourself for the response, you ask,

“What will you do?”

He considers you in silence, with cold, calculating eyes. But with a grunt, he throws something he was holding in his hand and takes his eyes away from yours. You startle, but say nothing. You don’t think there’s much -if anything- you can say.

Tension is written all over his form, and after a few calculated breaths, he meets your eyes again.

“Marry me.”

“What!?” You squeak. He calls you a mad woman then comes up with these ideas.

But Ivar settles with calm, with certainty, in his madness. Like when you’ve seen him plan an attack, you realize he has thought of the alternatives, the outcomes. And, like in strategy, like in chess, he has certainty in what the next move must be.

He stands, using the crutch to move closer to you and sits next to you on the bed. His hand runs through your hair and settles comfortably at the back of your neck.

“I took a Princess from him, but he won’t take a Queen from me.”

“W-What are you saying?”

“They won’t make Queen of Wessex and Mercia a woman that was made wife to a Viking, much less Queen of Kattegat.”

Your heart beats madly in your ears, you feel like one of those trapped rabbits you saw the hunters bring back. You only look back at him with a knot in your stomach and wide eyes.

“And Lindsey?”

“We’ll threaten to send you in pieces if he does not send those papers, if he doesn’t concede. When he does, we’ll announce we’re married. They’ll think I stole you away and forced you, but they won’t be able to take you away, since we’ll be husband and wife.”

“In the eyes of your Gods. It will be nothing but pagan nonsense to the church. They’ll annul it, claim I was raped and so I am still fit to marry Alfred.”

And in the blink of an eye you are back in that hidden room in Winchester’s palace, sneaking thanks to Blaeja and her Prince to meet with the man that promised to steal you away; exchanging ideas and hopes on how to make this work.

“We’ll marry before their God too.”

He says it certainly, with no hesitation. He truly thinks of it all, doesn’t he?

And you wish you could say yes, you wish you could accept and finally seal your future away from England’s hands. You truly do, but…

“No,” You whisper, feeling the tears threaten at your eyes. The moment the simple word leaves your lips, you have another man standing before you. Closed off, with an edge of cruel madness shining in his gaze. “I’ll find another way. I won’t marry you for a business deal.

With a snarl of anger making his nose furrow, his jaw tighten, the King lets you go. You stand on shaky legs and walk a few steps to where he used to sit, eyeing the map of the land that saw you be born.

The land that might see you die, if they give you no choice but to return.

But Ivar calls your name, and interrupts your dark thoughts. It is the uncertainty where before there was strategy, the vulnerability where before there was confidence, the softness where before there was steel; what makes you turn to him with a new kind of tension taking over your body.

“T-Then marry me because I love you.” He whispers, a twitch in his expression speaking of how unmoored he is, how uncomfortable with the confession, with the possibilities it opens before you. With the power it gives you.

It should thrill you, to know you hold power over him. He has held power over you for so long, he has had your love for so long, it is only fair you have his heart in exchange. But the fear you see shining in his pale eyes startles you, softens you, breaks you.

So you step closer, so close he can reach up with one rough hand and set his touch at your waist -he always finds a way to be touching you, he always does- and he does, his eyes following his hand before meeting your own again.

“This is madness.” You whisper, and his lips curve into a smile, because he understands, he knows.

And the answer leaves your lips as easily as your feet jumped into that ship, and you whisper your yes against hungry lips, forgetting there’s a world past the two of you.

____

So, that is it! Hope you liked it, and hope you didn’t mind the lil Persephone’s abduction imagery sprinkled about, I am way too invested in Greek mythology atm for it not to show in most of what I write lol.

Btw, Lindsey is a region in the Kingdom of Mercia, here’s a map in case you were curious :)

Would love to know what you think, and thank you so much for reading!

[jaskiersvalley]

so wolves (the animals) show affection to humans in specific and structured ways - if you aren't high enough "ranked" as it were in the pack, you wait until those above you get a chance, essentially. what if witchers are like that and they WANT to show affection to jaskier but they CAN'T because geralt hasn't done it yet and they're like "please tell the bard you like him so i can tease him please i'm going mad" meanwhile jaskiers like "why do they just stand there glaring?"

What a delightful idea, Nonnie! Though I’ll put my hand up and admit I don’t know current theories on wolf pack structure and the like so please brace yourself for a liberal dose of artistic licence that’s about to come.

As was tradition, Jaskier and Geralt went their separate ways for winter. It wasn’t that Jaskier didn’t like Kaer Morhen but he couldn’t spend months on end with four surly witchers in a crumbling old keep that they hated and adored at the same time. No, Jaskier liked his creature comforts and at least his home didn’t have drafts, a library that held more than mouldy old tomes about poisons. Plus, there were people around him, those who appreciated his music, his wit and company. That wasn’t to say that the witchers didn’t but there was a hug difference between a grunt that could mean anything along a spectrum of “play that again and I’ll gut you” to “if you don’t play it again, I’ll gut you”. Jaskier thrived on the feedback of others and quite liked being showered in praise. Then again, who didn’t?

So Jaskier returned home and so did Geralt. He made his path to Kaer Morhen, greeted his fellow wolves as always and settled in for a long, harsh season. The old keep needed a lot of attention and it kept them busy for weeks on end, trying to patch holes in the roof, fill up the cracks in the walls. It was a thankless and never ending task. But at least it was mindless work that allowed them to burn off energy without having to think, no worries or fears about messing up.

On a bland, dark night, Geralt woke from his slumber to a deep rumble and his bed shook. His mind flashed back to the attack of Kaer Morhen and he jumped up, grabbing his sword and igni already warm in his palm as he barged out of his room. He found Eskel backing out of his room, debris in his hair. Before they could talk, the whole keep gave a violent quiver and dust, along with small chunks of stone showered them.

“The keeps coming down!” Eskel growled and, despite all sense, he dashed back into his room.

“Fuck.” Geralt did the same, gathering as much of his meagre possessions as he could. Armour, weapons and potions had to come first. He took a longing look at some of the trinkets Jaskier had given him but knew he couldn’t grab them safely. So he turned, heart heavy and ran, Eskel behind him. They got to the stables for Roach and Scorpion, the horses were panicked and stamping their feet, whinnying in distress.

At least Lambert and Vesemir were outside too by the time they managed to wrangle their horses. From the courtyard, they watched as a tower toppled, crashing through the roof of what had been the pantry and kitchen.

“We need to leave,” Vesemir said. “It’s all collapsing.”

Even as he spoke, cracks appeared under their feet. None of them really remembered much of the next couple of minutes, four witchers and two horses running along a snow laden pass, too focused on surviving to care about twisted ankles or cuts from bramble to cheeks. It was dark, only the moonlight from the clear sky illuminated their way and even with their heightened senses it was a perilous trek. Behind them there was an almighty crack and rumble. Turning as one, they watched the last of Kaer Morhen topple. There was no more home for the School of the Wolf.

“What now?” Lambert asked, sounding more lost than any of them had ever heard before.

They knew they couldn’t stay, winter was too harsh, they didn’t have the resources or the equipment to survive in the remnants of Kaer Morhen. Witchers weren’t welcomed to winter in courts, even taverns were skittish. To house one witcher was almost too much for most. Four of them under one roof was never going to happen.

“Jaskier.” Geralt said and moved to the front of their group, Roach’s rein in hand. “Follow me.”

They walked. Through bitterly cold storms, knee deep snow, pelted by hail, they kept moving. Whenever they encountered a town or village, there was always movement in windows, people curious to watch four bedraggled witchers slog through the elements, dressed in a way a mortal man would have succumbed to winter’s harsh chill already. Yet nobody offered them refuge or even a meal.

When Lambert’s foot got caught on a root and twisted, he ended up being lifted onto Scorpion’s back and they kept going. No mage or healer would see them. Finally, Geralt was leading them down a path to a mansion that looked so warm and inviting, none of the witchers could even imagine going near it, let alone inside. Yet that was where Geralt was headed. He knocked on the fancy door, water frozen into the mess his hair had become. They waited, not daring to hope that maybe someone would answer their call.

The door swung open and a butler looked over them with disdain. However, he stepped aside and gestured them into the warmth.

“Please wait here,” he instructed. “I will fetch you the standards.”

Watching his retreating back, Lambert wriggled to sit down instead of leaning on Eskel. He plopped down with a thump and tipped his head back, appreciating the warmth of being indoors.

“Standards?” Vesemir asked?

“For those in need,” the butler replied as he returned. “We don’t turn anyone away without some help at least. Food and furs.”

“No.” Geralt shook his head. “We’re here to see Jaskier.”

“A lot of people come in the hopes of seeing the master. Everyone wants to bask in his fame.”

“Tell him his wolves are here,” Geralt snapped. He stared down the butler and pulled his medallion from under his cloak, flashing it like some badge.

“I’m afraid that witcher or not, I still cannot permit you more than I would anyone else who comes to ask for help.”

Teeth bared, Geralt lost his patience. He turned towards the stairs and bellowed, “Jaskier! Jaskier get your arse down here!”

There was a clatter from somewhere within the mansion and the sound of rushing feet.

“Geralt! Geralt! You’re here!” Jaskier skidded into the entrance hall, slightly out of breath. “You’re all here! What happened?”

It took Geralt a moment to look over Jaskier, take in how cosy, happy and well he looked. Behind him, the other witchers stared too.

“Kaer Morhen’s gone.”

A hand to his chest, Jaskier took a dramatic step back. “My poor wolves. You had to traverse the continent in such harsh conditions. I am so sorry. Though I offer you shelter and the opportunity to call my humble mansion your new home, you are under no obligation to accept.”

He looked at the other witchers behind Geralt who were all glaring at him and Geralt. That wasn’t a good sign. Maybe Jaskier had missed something or had already managed to offend them within a minute of opening his mouth. That would have to be a new record.

“Geralt,” Eskel wasn’t whining but he was definitely pleading. It was echoed by Lambert who was tugging at Eskel to be helped back up onto his feet.

“Oh!” Jaskier looked over. “You’re hurt. I’ll get a healer over right away.”

Maybe that had been the issue, Jaskier should have been paying more attention. But then even Vesemir joined in with an annoyed “for fuck’s sake Geralt!” that made zero sense.

“What’s going on?” Jaskier asked but didn’t get a verbal answer. However, he was wrapped in two solid arms, still cold from the outside and Geralt was pressing his face into his neck.

“It’s good to see you again,” he murmured to Jaskier and stepped away. Instantly, Vesemir was there, offering his own much more respectable greeting. He was all but bowled out of the way as Eskel and Lambert fought each other like excitable puppies to bundle into Jaskier’s embrace.

It would have been a lie to claim Jaskier understood but he realised that he was Geralt’s first and foremost which gave him some kind of hierarchical right. In the end, Jaskier decided to not worry about it. His concern was making sure his wolves were set up in new, warm and safe rooms, that they were well provided for and Lambert’s ankle was properly healed. While his mansion would never compare to Kaer Morhen, it was maybe the fresh start and a happier place to spend winter for his wolves.

[dalishkadan]

wip MONDAY because fuck rules

i was tagged by @thedashingcaptainweird to post a little snippet of something i'm working on. i wanna keep my gift fics close to my chest for the moment, but here's a little new vegas thing that i need to finish one of these days. i tag @dreadfutures, @a11sha11fade, and @rakshadow.

With his help, I had. In Zion I had learned, I had healed, and while it wasn’t complete, I was well on my way, firmly on the path, eyes now wide open to see where I was going. And though I didn’t want to admit it, that path took me out of Zion, out of the canyon, right back to the Mojave. There I’d left unfinished business, business I had to address before it was too late. The conflict was only brewing, threatening to boil over as the Legion and the NCR all vied for control over Hoover Dam and New Vegas. As much as I wanted to turn my back on it and forget everything, the guilt of abandoning the Mojave to its fate would have hung on me heavier than anything else, and I knew it. We both knew it. This parting, it was inevitable, an eventuality, the culmination of everything I’d become since I stepped foot here.

So then why was it so hard to leave?

I knew why. I just didn’t want to admit it. Not out loud. Not to myself. To put words to it would be to make it real, more real than it already was, and if it was real, that meant it could be lost, that it could crumble to dust in my hands, nothing more than sand to be swept away in the swift desert wind. And that … that I could not bear.

Joshua’s hand settled on my shoulder. “You cannot tarry here forever, Zelda.”

Nodding, I whispered, “I know.”

In one moment, he squeezed my shoulder, and in the next he’d spun me around and pulled me close, his broad chest making it easy to hide the way my eyes watered, tears threatening to spill even as I clenched my jaw and willed them away. I didn’t want to say goodbye, and so instead I told him, “I’ll come back. I promise.”

“I know you will, I have faith in you.”

He squeezed me that much tighter for just a moment before he loosened his grip, pressing something cold and hard into my hand. Looking down, I gaped as I saw his pistol, A Light Shining in Darkness, the metal of the barrel gleaming in the sunlight that filtered in through the open windows. This close, I could see the etching along the side, a phrase in another language that I couldn’t understand but that he’d once told me read, And the light shineth in darkness and the darkness comprehended it not. He’d wielded it as long as I’d known him, never parting from it once, and as I looked back up at him, I shook my head. “I can’t take this.”

Those brilliantly intense blue eyes felt as if they pierced my soul as he said, “I cannot accompany you, Zelda, we know this. And if I cannot personally ensure your safety, I want some assurance that you will be well looked after. This is the only thing I can send in my stead, the only thing I trust other than myself to keep you safe.”

All resistance in me crumbled under his gaze as I nodded, taking the .45 from him. In return, I unholstered Maria, the 9mm I’d taken from Benny’s corpse, pressing it into Joshua’s hand as I promised, “I’ll be back for this.”

With the way the skin around his eyes crinkled, I knew he was smiling underneath his bandages as he nodded. “Indeed.” Leaning down, he pressed his covered lips against my forehead. “Can you do one thing for me in the Mojave?”

“Anything,” I breathed.

Stepping back, he fixed me with that fierce regard. “Send my regards to Caesar.”

I couldn’t hold back a grin as I reminded him. “I am a courier, remember?”

[a-pretty-nerd]

Rebellion

Tomura Shigaraki x AllMight!Daughter!Reader

Chapter 2

Premise:

When The League of Villians discovers that AllMight has a daughter, they are quick to snatch you up and hold you hostage. Shigaraki had a careful and thought out plan, but that was before you got there. Now you're in the mood for some not-so-healthy rebellion.

Word Count: 1,567

Warnings: Kidnapping, mommy/daddy issues? Fictional politics? Future chapters will include NSFW content and violence!

A/N:

I cannot describe how much fun I'm having writing this. Like I'm genuinley having a blast with this concept. The more I learn about Shigaraki for, "reseach purposes", the more I fall in love with him as a character. He's so complex, that character development, GOD! That charactet design, FUCK! The exploration of the complexities of mental illness from trauma and grooming, DAMN IT! He's becoming an anti-hero and I 👏 AM 👏 HERE 👏 FOR 👏 IT👏 Anyways, Don't forget to check out my Patreon! ❤

Chapter 1 Chapter 3 

You passed out again. Dehydration. 

You woke up in a sleeping bag. Your wrists and ankles bruised slightly from the restraints, but free. You laid there on the floor, looking over you noticed a few bottles of water and a granola bar. You took down one bottle in a matter of seconds before discarding it and starting the next. A horrible aching pain in your head raged on as you took in your surroundings. Light trickled in between the cracked of the barred-up window.

Your heart began to race as you began to sort through your options. Could you manage to escape through the window? Or were you on a second or third floor? Maybe if you asked to use the restroom, maybe there was a window there where you could get a better look.

Poor All Might, he must be so worried. Did even know you were missing? Of course, he knew, it wasn't like you to be out all night and gone in the morning. He'd probably called Mom by now, she's probably on a plane already. She's going to be furious.

After you finished a second bottle and the snack, you stood. You felt better. Not good, but better. You made your way to the door and knocked.

"Hello! Is anyone there?" You called.

"The doors open!" A new voice answered. The door let out a harsh creak as you opened it. It let out into the living space you had been in before. There, the majority of the villains surrounding you earlier sat around. You looked up to the figure that stood, leaning against the wall closest to the door.

"You're new." You mumbled.

"My apologies, Miss. I believed I was absent when you first arrived. I'm Mr. Compress." His sing-song voice reached out from behind a mask.

"A pleasure." You groaned back. "Why is the door unlocked, aren't you afraid I'll break free?" You asked the room. They all turned to look at you.

"I doubt you could fight all of us at once." The red-eyed man had the hand again.

"Bathroom?" You asked. Mr. Compress pointed you in the right direction and you walked off. The only window in there was way too small and too high up to help you. You finished your business and washed your hands before looking at yourself in the mirror. You looked tired and worn out.

You shuffled back into the living room and found the group lounging around. A Tv played the news non-stop. A few of them were passing the time by playing games on devices.

"I'm sorry...Who exactly are you?" You spoke to the room.

"Wow! You really are clueless!" The girl mused.

"Don't you follow hero news?" Patchwork asked. You shrugged.

"I never really paid attention to what was happening over here. All I know is what Dad has told me. He's mentioned 'The League of Villians' a couple of times, but I guess I wasn't listening. Hero news back home is, different."

"You know of All For One, don't you?" The red-eyed man asked without taking his gaze off the Tv.

"Yeah. You're his associates, or something aren't you? Like his henchmen?" A few chuckled.

"You can call me Toga!"

"Twice!"

"Spinner."

"Dabi."

"'Henchmen'...hehe. No, I wouldn't say that." Red-eye stood and began making his way closer and closer, holding a bottle of water in his hand. Careful to hold a finger away from it. "There is nothing I hate more than heroes. This wretched society that rewards such self-serving narcissists." Closer. "We seek to destroy it." Closer. You're backed against a wall now. You watched him place his last digit down on the bottle. It began to crumble before shattering to dust in his grasp. "My name is Shigaraki Tomura. You can consider me, All For One's heir. The future King of Villians." He came so close the wrist of the hand on his face rested dangerously close to your chin. His red eye stared down at you. Your heart raced.

"Oh yes. I've heard of you." You whispered.

"Good." He hummed before turning back and taking his seat again.

"How could you let this happen!?"

"I didn't know this would happen! She's strong, she's an adult now! I thought she could handle herself!"

"She's just a kid! She could be dead by now or worse!" Your mother cried. Her fists firmly slammed on the table where your father sat. Policemen and detectives scattered about the apartment. When you hadn't returned after a few hours, All Might went down to the gym. He found your bag, but no sign of you. First thing he did was call the police and then your mother. She arrived less than 24hrs after receiving the call. 

“Please Ms. L/N, we’re doing everything we can. We’ve got the best team in Musutafu looking for her.” Detective Tsukauchi was the second person he called. He felt better knowing his friend was on the case, he had faith that if anyone could find you, it was Tsukauchi. 

“Everyone knows if a victim of kidnapping hasn’t been found in the first 24hrs its hopeless! How could you be so sure about this?” 

“I understand your frustrations ma’am, but we already have reason to believe we know who took her, and motive. At this rate, we’re just trying to track down their location.” 

“Its the League isn’t it? They’re using her to get to me aren’t they?” Your father sulked in his chair. His eyes fixated on his hands which sat in his lap. He shook with fear, rage, disappointment, all targetted at himself.  He took sole responsibility for your kidnapping. Your mother fumed across the table from him, arms crossed, and nails digging into her arms. 

“Don’t beat yourself up, we’re going to find her,” Tsukauchi assured him. Your mother sat there, gritting her teeth as she gripped her phone. 

“I have to go.” She spat as she got up. 

“Huh!? You’re not going after her yourself are you?” 

“No. I sent for Xavier, Y/N’s boyfriend as soon as I arrived. I’m going to meet him at the airport.

“Boyfriend? Y/N never said anything about a boyfriend.” Your father watched your mother walk towards the front door as she threw her jacket over her shoulders.

“Yes, well, there’s a lot about her you don’t know, Toshinori. I’ll be back.” 

“What’s it like in America?” 

Toga asked with a wide smile as you sat with them. It was odd, they seemed entirely unbothered by you walking around doing your own thing. The front door was right there, you could have made a run for it. You knew that was a bad idea. They knew, that you knew, that was a bad idea. 

“Oh, it’s alright, I guess.” You sat on the floor against the wall beside her. 

“I heard heroes work for the military there,” Dabi noted. 

“Yeah, they are. Back home, heroes are organized into ‘Military aids’, or ‘police aids’. Meaning, if you want to be a hero, you have to choose between working for the military, or independent police forces. A lot of heroes go into police work because it allows heroes to be community-focused. But Military, that’s where the money is. If you want to be a hero celebrity, that’s where you work.” 

“Yeesh, there aren’t any independent agencies?” Toga asked, pulling her legs to her chest. 

“I guess the police offices work like hero agencies do here. It’s just a group of people who are authorized to use their quirks to ‘keep the peace’.” You used your fingers to create air-quotes. 

“You don’t sound too keen on the idea.” She pointed out with a sly smile. You sighed. 

“I know things seem bad here with heroes, but in America, it’s worse. The system was built so that people wish flashy quirks get the best out of life. It’s created a highly militarized country that only cares for those who have something to offer it. If you can’t serve your country, you’re considered trash.” 

“I’ve seen the anti-hero marches online. Things seem really out of hand over there. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a league over there too.” 

“It’s not anti-hero, it’s anti-military. If we could take away the idea that we’re supposed to serve the system, then heroes could be held accountable for their actions as individuals, not part of a flawed system. When you give these people so much power, they ultimately abuse it and leave the rest to rot.” 

“You sound like a villain,” Dabi smirked. You sighed, having realized how loud you got. You were passionate on the subject. You spent your college years working to analyze and fight against the system. The system your mother so willingly played into and encouraged you to do the same. The system that killed your friend. 

“Maybe here things are a little more simple. But back home not everything isn’t so black and white.” 

“It isn’t here, either.” Shigaraki groaned from his place on the couch, facing away from you.

Taglist

@craftybean13 @babayaga67 @imjustverable

[cupsofsuga]

Hello! This is the anon from before (the dolt who sent in a request not knowing they were closed), if it's okay, can I please ask the yanderes when or what moment did they know that YN was destined to be with them? Or rather, when did they fall obsessively in love with them?

send me an ask! - X

gif creds - X

thank you for sending me an ask, wildflower!

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊𝐉𝐈𝐍

━━━ Just shy of 15! As the horrors of high school advanced in ridden leaves and hot apple cider, Jin found himself longing for a lost lover. His sublime-drowned blossom; his honey-infused summer. Y/N L/N, the beauty whose face adorned every love song to cease to exist. You had drifted apart from the beginning of middle school and had left Jin to long for infinity and your breathless romance. God, he just misses you so much. So much, he has truly forgotten what it means to feel anything. He can't pray violence on those who stole you away, he can't beg to the stars for his flowerchild to return home. He must sit and welter within this eternal, empty ache. And as the school bell sings its song, he feels it. There you were, blowing bubblegum with your California heart, just on the corner of the sidewalk. There you were, so feverish and real. Therein, Jin feels his heart bloom under the early September sky. With you, he can finally feel.

❝ Jesus, what are you doing to me? It’s like you’re in my veins and I can’t escape you! ❞

𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈

━━━ At the café! Vulgar poison stains Yoongi's throat as hours pass by like Autumn winds. There are no words to explain this loneliness— dependent like bloodstains and velvet silence, but before the silence of eternal nights swallows him whole, you in your pink moonlight, effervescent glow catch the young boy off guard. Yoongi chokes on his cherry bubblegum, feeling his heart elate with the blood of June. He is flustered, fascinated, in every means enthralled with a single stranger. Yoongi couldn’t put his finger on what was just so… captivating about you. Eye-to-eye contact is ethereal enough, but he pleads for these neon feelings to be mutual. He wants to reciprocate all the delight, euphoria, and sunlight you have so generously gifted him. Whether that’s by slaughtering this planet till we are nothing but dust or littering his studio apartment with crumbled sheets of failed poetry, he’ll do it in a heartbeat. Yoongi would do anything and everything for you.

❝ Oh, my Y/N, I swear… If stars could speak, you’re name would be whispered throughout this entire galaxy… ❞

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊

━━━ Walking home from school! As the boy jumps into rain puddles with his damp, yellow converse, an alleyway stripped on sunlight stands before him. Hoseok then ventures into the darkness, right before the finding you, a black sheep who laughs in amusement at his fear. Now, he had presumed you to steal his lunch money or force him to do your homework, just like the rest of the junkies, but he had been greatly mistaken. You offer him a seat, as well as a swig of the cheap whiskey you kept at your knee. With that smile— oh, that laughter. Hoseok had found warmth in the silver-stained, cold moon. You, the blossoming of delicate lilies, robbed him of his heart with that sultry smile and rough voice. He is stunned into adoring silence, for there is no way someone this beautiful is talking to him, let alone acknowledging his existence. Life is no longer saturated and instead filled to a brim with hallucinations and nymphs. Life is now bold.

❝ You’re so… pretty… Gosh, I really want to kiss those bruises all over your knuckles. ❞

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍

━━━ In the library! Namjoon visited the estate frequently in hopes of catching sight of the purple swan who somehow possessed the strength to soothe the cracks and clots of sorrow that bathe within his heart. There was always that alluring essence you possessed, but god, finally talking to you? It’s like lullabies against whispered starlight; melodies of unspoken folklore in the light of Summer. Oh, it is everything to drown in you. This dull life Namjoon has endured has finally been given light. And this man is willing to bleed himself dry if it means keeping the loss of twilight within his possession. He longs to be the one that can see the roots of your smile, to taste the tears of your eyes in July, to find just how far the depths of your soul may reach. It is endless, this battering heart of his. As you speak words of petals and angel’s feathers, his heart faints for what seems like the millionth time since he had first laid eyes on you. You have gifted him berries in winter’s embrace, gifted him meaning in a sea of soul’s dust. At last, you have given Namjoon life.

❝ I am still stunned into silence by just how special you truly are… How do you do it? Be so incredibly beautiful in a world like this? ❞

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍

━━━ At his father’s meeting! You sparked up a conversation, complimenting Jimin on his judgment of books with daylight within your irises. Just with that small act of kindness, so much joy grows within him at once, he fears his bones may shatter under the weight of it all. He has found an enchanted garden as he gets drunk off the hazy pink skies and nymph’s songs. He tastes cotton candy within your expression, manifested cupid’s kiss within the depths of your soul. Jimin has found the pure heart of an angel within you, a single stranger whose fate has been declared by a single compliment. From staying up till 4AM crafting a scrapbook littered with polaroids, loving messages to his lover and souvenirs from previous dates moments (including a single strand of your hair he found on his shoulder once) to redoing a batch of brownies 13 times in a single day all because you said they were your favorite, this boy is desperate to feel his heart elate when you speak your honeyed validation. Jimin loves you and that shall be the end of it.

❝ My sugarplum, your voice itself could make flowers grow! It certainly makes my heart grow, heh! ❞

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆

━━━ The night of the theatre play! Taehyung gazes into your eyes for the sum of the movie and perceives himself enchanted with the war zone of your mind. How you tilt your head like a puppy when you're pondering over a scene or how your lip gently curls when a specific line or shot grips your liking. Oh, you are heaven beneath the mystic moon! As the evening drenched in honey nectar comes to an end, Taehyung trails after you back to your estate. And this was merely a pinprick of the blooming that will occur after. Little did he know of just how sweet this grey life can blossom into. An infatuation, like the first sunrise in the meadow after a heavy winter, flutters through his ribcage. Taehyung is willing to mold and shape himself to become the perfect boyfriend for someone as captivating as you. This may sound generic as every cliche fairytale you’d find etched into golden pages, but every time he looks at you, it’s just - fuck - he can’t imagine living a single second without you. You are addictive and Taehyung cannot seem to let you go.

❝ If someday the moon calls you by your name, don’t be surprised, because every night I talk to her about you. ❞

𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐊𝐎𝐎𝐊

━━━ Town’s sweetheart meets the burnout! It was only supposed to be some stupid school-project, not a star-stained stroll through the ethereal trails of Versailles. You were only supposed to be a fleeting stranger, not a reminiscence of a summer morning’s moonflower in its complete bloom. But, you’re just so warm. Those would be a fool not to fall for such a seraphic soul like yours. The personification of sunshine, the manifestation of Venus. Oh, you are such a dream! This idea plagues Jungkook’s mind with paradisiacal intentions through the depths of midnight. He dreams of the melody of birds and the velvety sound of your voice as he rocks himself into an empty slumber, ignoring the burden of his father and the rodents at school. Although the revelation that he’d wake up alone in his cold sheets lingers within the back of his mind, the idea of awakening to your illuminating face melts any form of negativity. Such a fate engrossed with charm and an angel’s battering heartbeat to wake up with you every morning. Oh, one day. Maybe one day…

❝ I don’t care who calls me greedy, I am a selfish lover. I want you all to myself. Mine, mine, mine! Mine only… ❞

[in-a-cave-with]

#justtonystarkthings

-hugging some chickens and crying 

-monologuing to yourself about how there’s probably no one that cares about you or your feelings as you stare forlornly into the distance

-staying awake for 72 hours making fun inventions that hit you in the face

-getting possessed by an evil robot (multiple times)

-adopting your brain tumor and naming him Anthony

-going forward in time and getting attacked by the future version of yourself because apparently your self loathing is this strong?

-going back in time and attacking the past version of yourself because your self loathing is this strong.

-having really bad coping mechanisms

-forcing yourself to do some morally questionable shit to protect your friends which doesn’t even work and your friends get hurt anyway

-getting beat up by your teammates (multiple times) ((cannot stress enough how many times you get beat up by your teammates))

-flirting with the massive neoplasm cancer organism thing trying to kill you 

-(actually just. straight up flirting with things trying to kill you)

-((“hey i got a nice place you should come by some time ;)” @ the people who have been hunting you for sport))

-being stranded and starving to death in the vast openness of space (which has been a direct source of your trauma for the past 6 years)

-managing to deny the existence of a god when you’ve fought with gods before. but still acknowledging the existence of the devil (because your dad is actually buddies with him)

-thinking you’re dying while you have an anxiety attack

-getting stuck in caves a lot

-having horrific nightmares and visions of your friends dying horrible deaths as a direct cause of your actions

-having a majority of your romantic relationships end with the other person either betraying you or dying or both

-blaming yourself when bad things happen

-fighting your friends over whether or not the bad thing that happened was your fault

-being forgiven for things you don’t forgive yourself for

-HAVING SOME COOL ASS FACIAL HAIR AM I RIGHT LADS?

-slowly dying a painful death from the thing designed to keep you alive and trying to distance yourself from your friends so they don’t miss you 

-alternatively: managing to convince society that you’re a “playboy” when really you’re trying to push away anyone who might get close to you romantically so they’re not sad when you inevitably die of your ongoing heart condition

-alternative alternatively: thinking “what the hell i have brain cancer and like 8 months to live let’s jam” and becoming a superhero

-somehow getting put in very important government positions??? even though the government has (on several occasions) tried to hunt you for sport????

-*sees an opportunity to sacrifice self for the greater good* this is the best course of action what do you mean there are other options that don’t involve me sacrificing myself?

-your mentee that you’d grown to love as a son had just died in your arms, and you were absolutely helpless to stop it. he had begged for you to save him as he crumbled away to dust, all the while clinging to you in a cruel parody of a child embracing their parent. it should’ve been you and not him, you think as you cradle what’s left of his remains to yourself. or maybe living with the knowledge that his death is your fault is yet more punishment for the harm you’ve caused, and some cruel cosmic force has decided that you’re still not done atoning for it. a single tear makes its way down your face, and you think about how much you’ve lost from just his death, how important he was to you, how you didn’t even notice it until he died. you selfishly hope that your friends are still alive, because you don’t know how you’ll survive if they’re gone too.

-getting beat up by a plant. cannot stress how badly you lost to the goddamn plant.

-fucking off to space to hang out with the guardians of the galaxy and getting arrested for space crimes 

-losing yourself in the separate identity you create because the mortifying ordeal of life without said separate identity

-taking over the entire fucking world bc some mind control flipped your moral compass

-(occasionally self inflicted) brain damage

-(occasionally self inflicted) heart damage

-dying

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Angst 1 for Jason? I'm feeling like some sad lightning boi I dont know why but ye

Hello darling Anon! Thanks for the prompt and I hope I did you well🥺 dis is hella angsty

Jercy Masterlist

Jason Grace doesn't have enough fingers to list how many things he's done wrong in the last month.

1. Losing his best friend

2.Losing his girlfriend

3.Being unable to help all the demigod's he's promised

4.Letting Reyna down by not coming back to SPQR

5.Dammit he can't even put on his fucking shirt the right way.

Holding in a scream he tugs it off and flips it so the tag is on the inside. He's proud of himself for not ditching clothing altogether, ditching life altogether. There is so much temptation in taking to the skies and floating for the rest of his days. It's not like anyone would miss him, would even notice he was gone. And maybe it's for the best. It certainly wouldn't be unexpected. For years he's wanted to be anonymous, just another one of the Campers. For years he's secretly rejected his titles as Son of Jupiter, Praetor of New Rome, Slayer of the Black Throne. He shouldn't complain now that he's ignored, unwanted.

There's a knock at his cabin that he pulls him out of his self-deprecating pity hour. Checking to make sure he has his pants and shirt on and his head firmly on his neck he grabs his sword and opens the door.

"Jason!" Will Solace gasps, "Please come it's Nico!"

His heart turns to stone, lungs become useless masses, "Let's go." He manages to breathe, "Brief me on the way."

They sprint through the camp, uncaring of the shouts and greetings coming from every side. They don't have time. It seems ever since they had defeated Kronos the clocks spin uncontrollably; hours are seconds and minutes only exist in the afternoon and nobody knows if one week is seven days or three blinks of an eye, if years are twelve months or a century.

"A breach at the west border. Monsters we've never seen before. They just snuck up on us. Nico's been raising the dead to fight but I'm afraid he's not strong enough yet. Not after the war. He'll burn out soon and they'll overwhelm him." Will gasps.

"How many?"

"Twenty maybe twenty five?"

"You call anyone else?"

The Son of Apollo shakes his head as they sprint around the corner, "Percy is in school he only arrives tomorrow. Clarisse is gone to visit her mom and there's so many Campers in the infirmary. The rest are the little ones."

"How fa—" Jason beholds the scene in front of him and every nerve in his body shut down.

There in the middle of skeletal warriors and black shadows is Nico Di Angelo. All around them are scaly four-legged vipers hissing and spitting. One opens its grossly enormous jaw and snaps it around a skeleton with a sickening crunch. Another skeleton pops up in the exact same place and with a rattling, he supposes is a scream, attacks the monster.

"NICO!" Will screams, trying to catch his boyfriend's attention.

The Son of Hades although dangerously powerful is grey and heaving as if the sheer force of his summonings are turning his own body to it's bony structure.

"Go!" Will shouts at him.

With a nod, Jason pulls his sword out and steps into the ring of the dead.

Gods these things are a hundred times more terrifying up close. Sharp teeth and poisoned spikes on their tales and oh gods jagged claws to top it all off. But he's fought armies before and survived. This will not deter him. So with the force of Zeus and the strategies of Jupiter flowing through his muscles he brings his sword down on the first creature.

It shrieks and his ears ring like a bell clanging in his skull. But the head thumps to the ground and the monster crumbles to dust.

Decapitation then.

He sidesteps the swish of a tail, chopping it off as it goes past. First mistake. Three tails grow back and he knows one drop of poison will be enough to end him. He vaults into the air using the wind to push him as high as possible and then he's slamming in the body of the creature and sawing at its head.

His foot slams into the ground as the monster powders underneath him. Second mistake. His ankle is broken and there's three more of these things advancing towards him.

He bites down a scream as he attempts to walk. It's no use. Stand here and fight it is. Summoning as much lightning as he can, blue eyes sparking maliciously, he looks directly into the first of them and slams five thousand volts of electricity into its brain. Before he knows it's dead he's onto the next. This time he bides his time, let's it come closer and when he can hear its ugly breathing and feel its lack of heat he stabs his sword into its neck and watches it bleed black.

The third monster is clever, it's learnt. But Jason doesn't know. So he gathers all his strength and waits for it to pounce. By now Nico is a few meters away, holding his own but pale beyond healthy. The monster shakes its body, scales rippling in the afternoon sun. It takes one step closer. Jason grips his sword, holds the power thrumming in his fingers. The monster moves again and he swears its smiling.

He turns to Nico, "You good?"

Third mistake. The monster let's out a vile screech and slams into them.

"NICO!" Someone screams. It sounds like Percy Jackson. But that can't be right. Percy is in school.

The creature's tail swipes at the Son of Hades.

Jason can't move as it's claws wrap around his throat.

I can't do anything right, he thinks. Those talons pierce his skin. The world goes black.

***

"He's a fucking idiot."

"Lay off. How was he supposed to know?"

"Maybe if he wasn't so caught up in trying to make friends he would have been able to do something."

"Leave him alone."

"Alright you lot, get out of here. I'll call you when he's awake."

Jason tries to open his eyes, tries to say something, anything. But he feels a prick in his neck and reality fades away.

***

"Is he awake?"

"How long does this take?"

"He had a broken ankle and a slit throat. Maybe a little patience is in order?"

"I still think we should send him back."

"That's enough! It wasn't his fault and we will stop acting like it.".

The Son of Jupiter groans, blinking into the world. Everything hurts. Everything. And the light above his head is blinding.

"What the hell happened?" He rasps.

"You almost got Nico killed is what!" Someone snaps.

He blinks trying to find the source of such bitterness. "I what?"

"What the fuck were you trying to do saying hi in the middle of battle?"

The room finally shifts into focus and he sees three faces staring at him intently, varying degrees of anger and relief in their expressions.

"Well?" Hazel looks at him, "What were you trying to accomplish? Were you actively trying to get him killed? I know you didn't trust him but trying to kill him Jason? I thought you got passed that after Cupid. Nico told me he trusted you."

"Hazel!" Percy Jackson glares at her.

"I'm—" He chokes, "I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure he was okay. I— I didn't know the monster would try to get both of us." He's crying now, red hot tears spilling onto the white sheets of the infirmary bed.

"That's the problem Grace, you don't think." There is so much pain in her voice.

"Im sorry," He sobs, "Is he okay? Is he— is he—"

"He is fine Jason," Will says softly, "He managed to jump back before the tail swiped him. He's actually really worried about you. We all are."

He doesn't know what to say to that. He doesn't even know if he deserves that. Hazel is right. If he hadn't distracted Nico they wouldn't be in this situation. It was dumb luck that Nico managed to get out of the way. If he hadn't. Oh gods, Jason would have been responsible for killing his friend.

With that though he turns over in his bed and heaves straight into the trashcan.

"Everyone leave us." Percy's voice is soft, but there is an unmistakable command in it.

The buzzing of the infirmary hushes as people file out and Will gently clicks the door behind him.

"I didn't meant to distract him," Jason cries.

The Son of Poseidon clasps their hands together and looks into him, "I know Jase. I know."

He breaks down, sobs wracking his aching body. He can't even keep his head up. And the tears are ever flowing. He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't do this.

Percy hops onto the bed and takes him into his arms. They sit there for many moments, the sound of his crying disrupting every inch of the silence.

"I can't do this anymore Percy."

He feels the demigod stiffen and he's afraid he said too much, has pushed another person away. But then his head is being tilted up by a soft hand and he's looking into oceans.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"There is no-one left and I cannot do this alone."

Something sparks in those emerald green eyes.

"You have never been alone Jason Grace. When the world is dust and the gods can once again become mortal, you will find that only one thing still exists."

"What— what is that?" He hiccups.

"Love. You cannot be alone if you have love."

His eyes pool with tears, fall to the floor, "Lies. There is no love."

"You have forgotten my friend what it feels like. And that is no one's fault but ours. We should have been there. Should have helped you, seen the signs. I should have known."

"Why you?"

"Because I know what it's like to have everything you've never wanted and bear the burden anyway. And when I left I added to yours. I'm sorry for that. I got selfish, wanted to know what it was like to live. But that meant you suffered."

"It's not your fault. I just thought I was stronger than I am."

"You are strong. You are so strong because you are still here. You took the nature of the gods and made it your own. Took the burden of everyone in these camps and carried it on your shoulders."

"Thank you," He mumbles, getting lost in the seas, "For saying that. When did you get so philosophical and wise?"

Percy cracks a grin at that, "After Tartarus I started going to therapy. I think you should too."

He mulls it over, flips the idea around in his mind, "Okay."

"And maybe..." The black haired boy pauses, "Maybe you should come with me to Montauk for the winter holidays. I think you could use a break from all the hero stuff."

"Really?" His eyes widen, staring at his friend.

"Really. Annabeth is in Cali to spend time with her dad and my mom and Paul are just going to spend some time at home with Estelle. I could use company."

"Won't you dad like blast me for being in his territory?"

"I'll talk to him," He smirked.

"Okay. That would be great!"

Percy gives him another squeeze and then jumps to the floor.

"Rest easy Grace."

"Jackson," He stops the demigod in his tracks, "Thank you for this. I needed it."

"We are alive Grace, and we are enough." Those green eyes are intense, filled with emotion. "Remember that."

Jason nods and when he finally succumbs to sleep once more, his soul takes a deep breathe and exhales a new beginning.

[saitamaandmanakoblog]

Manako’s PTSD: The Hero Training Test: 1/2

Remember all the fan-made fiction of Saitama and Manako is not in order so good luck with that.

“Hey Saitama do you want to come to Hero Training with me?”

“Nay I’m good, if they give you any trouble call me ok.”

“Ok, bye Saitama, I love you~”

“Love you too Manako.”

Manako hugged Saitama before she went out

Time Skip

Slowly, the Metting Room started to trickle in, and a few attempted to make small talk with the other heroes. She sighed when she realized that the minister is was going to be late.

“Hey, Manako!” Child Emperor grinned. “You’re the one my friend talked about, right? ZombieMan is his username!!”

“Yeah.” Manako smiled softly. “My Username name is FlashLight.” She explained. “He told me to keep a lookout for you. Sorry it took so long. I’m kind of socially awkward.”

“That’s fine, ZombieMan is, too.” Child Emperor grinned. “Is it ok if I ask you some questions, Manako?”

“So, Manako!” The Green hair girl, leaned towards her, cutting off whatever Child Emperor was going to ask. “I have to ask. What’s your Powers?!”

“My… Powers?” Manako blinked. Didn’t they…? Oh. She didn’t tell them. She opened her mouth to affirm that her powers is a literal flashlight when Sweet Mask decided to be an ass and do it for her.

“BL?! Ha! That little Monster’s power is literally a flashlight. She’s basically useless. I have no idea how the fuck she managed to get into A Class.”

“Flashlight?” Child Emperor echoed, confused.

“Gee, thanks a lot.” Manako threw SweetMask a tired glare, startling the blond. “But yeah, I’m basically a Flashlight. I still managed to become a hero same as the rest of you. So doubt me if you want, but just know that underestimating me will not end well for you.” There was a glint in her eye that made the heroes falter.

“I think it’s so cool! A Monster and you still got in?!, you’re incredible!” Child Emperor grinned, taking Manako aback.

“Um… what?” She blinked. She’d been so ready for the teasing and discrimination, already having built the wall around herself in preparation… but… what?

“Yeah!” Dark Shine grinned. Watchdog gave her a thumbs up.

“I think you’re very brave and definitely someone I wouldn’t underestimate on the battlefield. If you could take down those monsters while saving civilians , then you must be a force to be reckoned with.” Metal Bat.

“Though I gotta ask, how did you beat them?!” Child Emperor was literally bouncing in his seat.

Before anyone could say anything else, The Minister strode in, making Manako stiffen. Oh Phew it’s just the Tester guy or TG for short.

( I have no idea what’s the staff’s name is so the random mister guy is going to be the Hero Tester.)

After the TG explain the rules Manako smirked. This was going to be fun.

Flash Forward

Okay, scratch that. This was going to suck. Test Guy had put her up against SweetMask of all people. Manako didn’t know how, but she had a feeling that it was either on purpose, or a ‘unlucky accident’. Either way, her TG looked happy with the matchup. She supposed that Tester Guy simply thought that the two were friends since they went to same zones to help a bunch of random civilians at at that time, but…

Manako was not an idiot. She knew he had weak points and faults just like everyone else. He was just better at hiding them. Can’t look at something ugly—specifically that monster who easily beat up Sweet Mask and the roof started collapsing—and the important sparkles that came out of him? But there is one problem SweetMask has a strong hate towards monsters thereafter was something that could easily pull her into a flashback. (She hated sudden loud noises, but explosions were the worst. She blamed childhood trauma.) She knew this, which is why he tried his best to stay away from SweetMask whenever possible.

That’s why she always stay close to Saitama, she always feels safe around her BFF and Geno since most of the time she just hang in Saitama’s Pouch.

“TG?” Manako asked quietly, making sure none of her heroes would overhear. “I was wondering if I could switch opponents. I know that normally this isn’t allowed, but I have… bad reactions to certain noises, and was going to talk to Mike about working around it at the end of this week.” Manako was trying to be mature about this. She really was.

(Mike is a made up Monster Character in this universe.)

After all, she knew, logically, that this fear of hers is extremely dangerous in the field of heroism. However, that’s what Mike, the counselor, was for. He’d help Manako work through them—even if she didn’t want to talk about anything to the Ant Monster—and then Manako would be cleared to do hero work in those situations.

She was waiting until the end of the week because she knew it could pose the risk of her safety when she go out with one of Saitama’s Hero Work Trip Days, which she does not want Saitama to worry.

TG just smiled down at her. “I understand, Manako, but you cannot always choose what powers your enemies have. Even if it makes you uncomfortable, I ask that you still bear with the exercise. If things start getting out of hand, I’ll stop it.”

He isn’t taking me seriously. Manako sighed. “If that’s your final decision that’s fine by me.” I am in huge trouble!

Okay, so maybe Manako was being a little harsh. But she felt somewhat unfair and considering that the Monster Association. Tried to kill her twice. And yeah, she understood why he’d pared her with SweetMask, and even mostly understand why he thought it’s a good idea, but Monako was still bitter about the whole thing. And considering all that she’d been through, she felt that the minister chose the wrong person to do the test.

When the match started, Manako took a deep steadying breath. “Child Emperor.” The boy looked at her. “SweetMask will come after me. I’ll distract him to keep him in bay. Take this,” she passed him a small canister, “It’s a smokescreen.” He said. “Try to use it on Flashy Flash speed against him.”

“Right!” Child Emperor grinned, taking it from Manako with a smile.

“GO!”

Like a flash, Manako and Child Emperor bolted into the city’s building. As expected, SweetMask met them on the second floor, heading them off.

Manako motioned for Child Emperor to hide as he drew SweetMask attention. “Why do you hate monsters so much SweetMask?, What have I ever done to you?”

“Shut the hell up you Monsters! Why are you in the Hero Association? Are you here to spy on everyone?!”

“That’s what’s got you so mad?” Manako sighed, as she saw Child Emperor sneak up the stairs from the corner of his eye. “SweetMask. This is obviously a huge miss understanding can’t we just talk this out and be friends?.” She watched as the blond flinched.

“Like I’d ever be friends with a Monster reject like you!” He snarled, lunging forward with his all-too-familiar sharp hands.

Manako easily dodged, catching his arm pin it into the wall. It would’ve ended there if SweetMask hadn’t used his other hand to slice her up, but his free legs break through the floor and sending the two crashing to the room below.

SweetMask immediately jumped away and reared around to the offensive.

“So you’ve got some moves. So what!” SweetMask snarled. “You’re still a Monster ! You’ll gonna get killed anyways!”

“SweetMask.” Manako flinched when she hears a huge explosion went off a room above. The smell of the dust that the explosion kicked up and the sound of the ceiling crumbling at the edges of the hole that SweetMask made, but Manako nasty memories rather came right away.

Flash Back

“It’ll be alright, kid.” Aden smiled as she patted Manako’s head. “You’ll make it out of this.”

“B-but i don’t want you to die.” She protested through thick tears. “You can come with me. Saitama is a good friend he can help us.” She flinched at the sound of angry mobs of monsters.

“You know I can’t. Tell Saitama and the others I’m sorry—and stay safe, kiddo. Keep smiling.” She gave Manako a grin before standing up from their hiding place, leaving Manako essentially buried in a safe-hole Aden had dug just for her and the others so they have a chance to escape through the secret tunnels. “See ya in the next life.”

“Goodbye.” Manako smiled as best she could. “Auntie Aden.”

Manako shook his head sharply, barely dodging a blow from SweetMask. He hadn’t had to think about Aden’s death in a long time. The Ant Monsters had run out to draw the Mobs away from Manako’s hiding spot. All she’d managed to find of the ant after was few bloodstained pieces of clothing and some bone,And her minding helmet, That was it.

End of Flashback

“I know you won’t understand this, but there are bigger things for me to worry about than your point of view!.” Manako charged at him, ducking under a angry swings and dodging fierce blows.

Oh sh*t that was close!

The noises and explosion were starting to overwhelm her, and the smell of blood and nitroglycerin filled his nostrils, mixing with the scent of ash and smoke. She found that it made it harder to remember on what she was supposed to do. SweetMask kept using his hands-like glimpses of knifes and swords of the corner of his eyes.

Sometimes, when SweetMask tried to slice her with his hand, she overlapped with the image of the Miners evil boss. His red eyes glinted in malice and amusing glee, and Manako wasn’t sure if that was the hallucination or not.

Don’t kill him. The thought ran through her mind. She had to remember. This was SweetMask , not the Monster Association… not the evil boss… this is SweetMask . She pulled back, restraining herself, fighting against years of instinct screaming at her to do otherwise. She fought at only a small percentage of her power. She couldn’t go all-out. Not against her death coworkers. Not against, a fellow friend . A human child.

The two finally jumped apart to catch their breath as Manako held up his hand (a hand that looked bloody pale and was horribly dry from overuse of the slice hand technique), one finger hooked in the pin on the rope. Yellow eyes glined in bloodlust as they thirsted for his death. “You know what structure of this building is, right? Well, Monster, what’dya think these are for?”

Manako’s eyes widened in startled realization as her vision focused on the present for that moment. “The force of the channels down through the walls to the floor.…”

“STOP! YOUR GONNA KILL HER!” TG’s voice rung out in worry, and Manako heard the familiar voice of Mike in the background. Mikey? What’s he doing here?

“Only if she doesn’t jump!” SweetMask grinned as he pulled the rope pin.

If Manako hadn’t spent a decade time surviveing Saitama training or fighting a unbelievably fast and ludicrously strong Monsters, she’d would’ve actually died.

But luckily for Manako, her reflexes were insane, and she managed to dodge most of the buildings rubbles. But one caught her left leg, burning and piercing the skin. The smell of burned flesh reached her nostrils, mixing with the dust kicked up from Manako’s trap. The scent mixed with blood became unnervingly similar to the scent of a decayed corpse from the Monsters Association, and suddenly Manako was completely gone—she didn’t know where she was.

She was half-sure her mind was playing tricks on herself, but she heard some mobs nearby. She glanced around herself quickly, and slipped into stealth mode, hiding in the best spot she could find. She’d wait out the Anger Monsters—Mike and the others was smart enough to do the same. And if her friends was in trouble, Manako would plan it out. She’d go to help them if that were the case. She made a promise to the gang to keep each other safe, after all. Mike wouldn’t die. She’d make sure of it.

But she also promised Aden that she’d look after herself. So she needed to survive. “You’re doing great, Manako.” Aden’s hand ruffled her head. “You’re doing just fine. Keep your elbow bent a little more, yeah! Like that!”

She violently flung the thought out of her mind—this was no time to think of people long dead.

They will survive. No matter what.

May the Meeting Room

Silver Fang was tired. Not that that was necessarily anything new, per say, but he was apprehensive about Saitama’s friend first Heroics Test. Never once his gut feelings lie, he decided to observe TG’s lesson. It was the man’s first time testing heroes, after all, so he’d likely need a hand reigning in 19 superpowered Heroes.

He entered the observation room with TG and the remaining 15 Heroes as Blast, Atomic Samurai, King, Metal Night ready themselves for their battle. ZombieMan , personally, was against the idea of SweetMask and Manako facing one another (or a battle exercise right off the bat, but he trusted that TG had enough common sense to stop heroes for over doing it).

Something about the way SweetMask had lunged at Saitama’s Sidekick during the test before had rubbed him the wrong way. Though Manako hadn’t seemed phased by the unprompted lunge, ZombieMan could see the way she tensed around SweetMask and the surrounding. He suspected this was a case of trauma or something similar, but with no evidence there was nothing ZombieMan could do about it except do his best to prevent any further altercations.

Warily, he kept his eye on the match before him. He just had a feeling.

“Turn on the audio.” Silver Fang spoke up, startling the TG. He internally smirked—he loved scaring people when he’s on stealth mode.

“Silver Fang. I wasn’t aware that you were observing the Test today?”

“I wanted to make sure you had an extra set of eyes on these 2. They’re a handful.” He explained, and TG nodded.

“Um… how do I turn on the audio?”

ZombieMan sighed before leaning over and pressing the obvious white button with the headphone icon. Honestly, the staff should’ve made him get a teaching degree or at least. teach him in private so he will know what to do.

They listened as Manako handed what she explained was a smoke screen bomb to Child Emperor. Clever idea, but let’s see well her plan works.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long until Manako met with SweetMask , and the results were as hated as ZombieMan had feared.

“Why do you hate monsters so much SweetMask?, What have I ever done to you?” Manako worriedly asked, causing SweetMask bristle in anger.

“Shut the hell up you Monsters! Why are you in the Hero Association? Are you here to spy on everyone?!”

“That’s what’s got you so mad?”. “SweetMask. This is obviously a huge miss understanding can’t we just talk this out and be friends?.” Obviously there’s a lot of context I’m missing, here.

“Like I’d ever be friends with a Monster reject like you!” ZombieMan’s attention immediately became entirely focused on the fight. He had suspected that SweetMask’s record wasn’t as clean as it initially appeared, but 1SRanks has a lot of advantage to hide from the public eye, also noob crushers was very serious—especially for a Monster hero like Manako and Saitama.

ZombieMan also found himself appreciating the smooth form that Manako had, and his obvious expertise with analyzing. She wielded them with experience beyond his years, and ZombieMan wondered where shee’d learned to fight.

Compared to Manako, SweetMask looked like a raging fashion model with graceful and stylish appearance or manner elegance.—powerful, with strong instincts, but a lot of wasted energy and movement. Manako’s movement wasted none, and actually reminded ZombieMan he needs to improve his fighting style a little more on his Weapon.

He tensed when SweetMask cracked a hole in the floor, freeing himself from Maniko’s grasp.

“So you’ve got some moves. So what!” SweetMask snarled. “You’re still a Monster ! You’ll gonna get killed anyways!”

Zim eyes narrowed. This was a personal statement. He knew right there that both of these 2 heroes would need to talk (SweetMask for his anger and fame blindness, and for Manako is low self-esteem and trauma.)

“SweetMask .” Manako flinched as another crashing sound went off, and ZombieMan took a deep breath. He didn’t like the feeling he was getting.

And for a moment, Manako froze. No… ZombieMan’s eyes narrowed. That’s not right. This is something else… But between the shitty angle of the camera and the dust settling, ZombieMan couldn’t name what it was before the Monster snapped herself out of it.

“I know you won’t understand this, but there are bigger things for me to worry about than your point of view .”

Something’s not right. The dust settled and he could see a lot more clearly. Manako’s eyes… they were somewhat glassy and she didn’t look completely there. It was as if she didn’t completely recognize where she was beyond the fight. That worried ZombieMan. A lot.

And then something changed.

It was subtle, and the shift was one that ZombieMan only barely noticed, but Manako went from a sparring fighting style to a fighting for your life style. He caught Manako altering several moves at the last minute that would’ve been lethal (for SweetMask) if he hadn’t changed course. That was when he’d decided that enough was enough. He moved to stop the match before someone got killed, when SweetMask spoke up.

“You know what structure of this building is, right? Well, Monster, what’dya think these are for?”

“The force of the channels down through the walls to the floor.…”

“STOP! YOUR GONNA KILL HER!” TG

shouted over the intercom.

“SweetMask , if you pull that ro—” ZombieMan started, but SweetMask didn’t hear him.

“Only if she doesn’t jump!” ZombieMan felt anger well up alongside his fear as the pin was pulled and a massive crash and explosion took out the building crumbling down.

“Holly Sh*t?! Is everyone okay?!” TG asked, but ZombieMan hit a button on the panel instead while Sliver Fang worried.

“Stop the exercise! Anyone continuing to fight will be expelled.” Silver Fang promised as TG sent him an affronted look.

“I’m going to go check on Manako and The rest. Call the hospital, there’s sure to be injuries.” TG nodded meekly and went to do as told. “Hero Training has been canceled” glared at the remaining heroes , who nodded and planted their feet where they stood or sat. half of them is terrified and the other half is worried if that was of ZombieMan , then good, he’d done something right. Silver Fang though

His heart pounded in worry. SweetMask was leaning casually against a wall, acting like nothing was wrong. While Child Emperor was sitting down on the floor and Flashy Flash was looking at the crumpled building “You are going to wait for me in the minsters office. We will have a nice long discussion on why that was not okay. And the boss wants to talk to you so don’t attempt to go elsewhere, and you’ll find yourself in huge trouble.” ZombieMan glared, and SweetMask straightened in shock and nodded.

Silver Fang stayed with the 3 heroes while ZombieMan looked for Manako

Fubuki and King came down the stairs, worry evident on their faces. “So are they ok?” Fubuki asked.

“Just go back to the other heroes since this test is called while I locate Manako also can you call Saitama.” He ordered, and King and Fubuki did what he had said.

ZombieMan was good at finding people with his analyzing skills—he had to be to find the crooks and crannies lurking in back alleyways at important missions. But it was harder to find Manako for the life of him, finding Manako is really tricky. And that scared him. It wasn’t until he finally caught sight of a few drops of blood on the floor (likely from cutting herself on rubble) that his eyes focused on a deathly still figure hiding in the rubble.

Wide one eyes stared around his environment, as if tracking unseen enemies. She flinched—twitched, more like—at unheard sounds, and her breathing was almost nonexistent.

ZombieMan realized that Manako was stuck in some kind of flashback. “Bright Light.” No reaction.

“Manako.” He tried again, noticing that his friend twitched a little at the sound of her given name.

“Mikey?” ZombieMan blinked. Who the heck is Mikey? He decided not to question it right now. “Yeah, kid. It’s me.” He carefully made his way over to him. “Can you tell me where you are right now?”

“Cave Mineing. I can hear them nearby… Making a break for it would be too dangerous, though. But as long we stick to the plan we can make it out alive. Did you get hurt?” Manako’s voice was scarcely a whisper, and ZombieMan couldn’t help but feel a little heartbroken to see the hardened and fearful look on her face. Just what had happened to Manako in the past? She looked like a soldier in a warzone.

“I’m okay. Listen to me. You’re at Hero Association You’re safe, it’s okay. Nobody is going to hurt you.” He kept his voice calm and soft, and the monsters blinked a few times in confusion. “There’s no one here but our gang?,But… I can hear them?”

“Hear who?”

“The anger mobs of monsters.” There was a pause. So Manako has enemies who are not only human but also monsters? “Mikey? Are the gang okay? Foapy, MooMoo… And Vend?” Are those Manako’s old friends?

“Yeah. Everyone’s okay, Manako.” He rolled with it, calling him Mikey. The monsters relaxed substantially, so ZombieMan assumed it was the right call. “Saitama is here to pick you up.”

“Saitama? But he’s…” her eye furrowed before her eyes cleared up quickly.

ZombieMan carefully placed a hand on Bright Light’s shoulder, and he found Manako’s hand grasping his arm like a lifeline. “Where am I?” She asked desperately.

“It’s Wednesday.. You just started your first Hero Test of Hero Association .” He answered quietly, and she froze for a moment before she melted into his arms.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…” ZombieMan ignored the tears that were soaking into his coat as he held Saitama’s Sidekick . He reached up to his radio. “Silver Fang, I’ve found her. She’s hurt, but nothing life-threatening. I’m taking her to the Saitama myself.”

He then turned his attention back to the obviously traumatized monsters. “It’s all right, Bright Light. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I… I must’ve hurt my coworkers and my teammate I… I’m so sorry…”