#if you don’t want a shirt sent saying how much i want to commit murder and im clinically insane

[lilgynt]

people will talk to me, i will be me, and they are shocked what am i DOING

[well-its-not-human-anymore]

Hi Hi!!!! So I've been following your account for a little while now and I love every single comedy bomb you drop on what you write so I was wondering....

How would the boys react to their S/O who is usually reserved when at the lair, doing a full 180 when at April's? Like they could be April's roommate or something?....

Like crackhead energy, dishing out memes and vines and literally having a duel with Casey about leftovers in the fridge?... Yeah I know it's very specific 💀

I don't know.....the idea just popped into my head but I lack the creativity and comedy skills for that...so I was wondering if you could do something with this?.....

It's totally fine, if not 😁😁

This is... 100% me. I love this and I'm gonna pour my soul into it. Also I have started mentally referring to these as comedy bombs and I refuse to stop.

Also, I hope you don't mind that I wrote these in oneshot form instead of bullet points. It just made more sense for my brain.

TMNT Oneshots

The boys with a partner whose reserved at the lair but an absolute crack gremlin at home 🤣

Donatello

Donnie may have been a man of science, all logic and facts and numbers and things. But he absolutely believed that everyone had three separate faces, you were direct proof of that theory. While the purple terrapin had known you for nearly a year you’d only started dating a month ago and it shocked him that he was still uncovering new things about you. He loved it, sure, but it had a tendency to give him figurative whiplash.

He’d always known you to be calm and collected, maybe even a bit shy. He swore you’d explode if more than one person tried to talk to you at the same time. So it wasn’t an over exaggeration for him to say that your behavior at home nearly made him break his neck.

He was only there to help April fix a bug in her laptop and to confirm your next date, he was excited to see you since you’d had no contact in person for a week because of your schedules. Just lots of phone calls and exchanged text messages. You both missed each other like crazy and your roommate had neglected to inform you that your boyfriend was coming over.

Hers was already there and he was driving you up the wall, you’d never actually thought about committing a murder but Casey was pushing you very close to the edge of snapping. And he might as well have crane-kicked you off your cliff of patience and into the rushing river of “you little fucking shit I’m gonna piss on your grave” below. You hadn’t even heard Donnie come in through the window much less his conversation with April over her computer.

All you knew was that Casey had come parading into your room like a tyrant eating the leftovers in the fridge that you had specifically put your name on. That did it. Your eyes had skimmed over the top of your textbook to meet the asshole in front of you.

“Casey?”

He couldn’t speak through the mouthful he was trying to chew and grunted in pathetic response.

“Is that my cheeseburger?”

You’d never seen a living person imitate a pug’s facial structure so well, the man’s eyes bugged out of his head and he tossed the takeout box on your desk before turning and bolting out of your room. You followed about two steps behind with a bottle of shampoo in your hand. No, you weren’t entirely sure where you’d grabbed it from, all you knew was that it was your weapon. And it quickly became a very messy problem when it missed your target (Casey’s head) and slammed into the wall, exploding on impact.

You didn’t think you’d thrown it that hard.

“April April help help help helpppppppppppppp-'' The two on the couch had looked up during the chase throughout the apartment, Donnie was mostly curious at what Casey was screaming about. Not a lot usually made the guy make that noise. He was then distracted by April grabbing the laptop and passing it to him, she then clambered over his legs to sit behind him.

“YOU UGLY ASS CROISSANT! FUCKING PANINI HEAD- IT HAD MY NAME ON IT YOU DAFT AVACADO!”

Your boyfriend almost went vertical upon watching you tackle Casey to the floor and knee him in the groin. You shook the terrified man under you and slammed him a little harder into the rug.

“Touch my shit again and I’m gonna make the beaches of Normandy look like a goddamn family vacation.”

Then you climbed off of him and stood, brushing your disheveled t-shirt off with a huff. Donnie caught your attention and you raised your head to grin excitedly at him.

“Hi Dove! April didn’t tell me you were coming over,” you practically skipped over to the couch to peck him on the cheek, “I missed ya, are we still on for Saturday?”

He nodded in complete shock, his gaze flitting from you to Casey, who was still wheezing on the floor and clutching his dick.

“Uhhh yeah! Yeah, yep, Still good for Saturday. Uhm, completely unrelated question, where the hell did you learn to grapple like that?”

You shrugged absentmindedly, already walking to the hall closet to grab cleaning supplies for the puddle of shampoo in the walkway.

“Just kinda picked it up I guess? I’ve watched you guys train enough.”

Leonardo

See, Leo had always known that you were hiding something from him. Be it your true personality or some deep dark secret. He wasn’t really in a rush to find out, you’d tell him when you were ready. The leader enjoyed your quiet disposition anyways, you gave good advice and liked to meditate with him, what more could he ask for? What more could he want?

Well, maybe if you got along better with his family, although he supposed that wasn’t your fault, you always had been a bit shy. Even six months into your relationship with him, Leo only hoped that you’d warm up to his brothers eventually. You seemed to do alright with Splinter, that was a plus for the situation. It wasn’t that you were mean or impolite to the others, you were just… avoidant. Distant, quiet, whatever word you wanted to use. You just didn’t seem comfortable at the lair.

He was excited that April had asked to host a game night though, maybe you’d come out of your shell (haha, see what I did there?) and socialize, even for a little bit. They’d all shown up a few minutes early to make sure April didn’t need help with anything, she’d assured them that everything was handled and made sure to inform Leo that you would be back shortly with Casey from your snack run. Mikey had joked that you’d ditched the get together to avoid them but they all knew it ran the possibility of not being a joke.

You unlocked the door and held it open so Casey could get inside without tripping himself before entering yourself and kicking your shoes off. Leo looked up to meet your eyes and you sent him a wild grin, your entire face lit up with amusement.

“Hi babes! Are you ready to get your ass kicked at Monopoly?”

All the poor turtle could do was nod.

“Good. I did grab drinks by the way, April there should be a mixer in the cooler bag, Donnie there’s some of that lemon lime stuff that you said you wanted to try, Mikey, orange crush as usual, Raph I tried to go for Dr. Pepper but they were out so I figured that root beer was a safe second. And Leo they had a new boba flavor that you haven’t had yet so I grabbed one. If you don’t like it then you can have mine, I just have the peach royal.”

Beverages were tossed and they were lucky that their surprise didn’t throw off their catching skills. You and April shared a quick word in the kitchen as you took your coat off and ran a hand through your hair.

After some arguments team captains were decided and Donnie nearly had a heart attack when you picked him instead of Leo or either of your friends. He even went so far as to point at himself to make sure you weren’t joking. You declared that while you loved your boyfriend his morals were too strong to be competitive, Donnie’s were not, he said so himself.

They were all surprised that you’d remembered that conversation.

It wasn’t until halfway through the game that things started getting heated, you and Mikey were nearly jumping across the table at each other. And it visibly took all of your strength to not burst out laughing when he started yelling.

"YOU KNOW WHAT? THIS IS CHEATING! YOU'RE CHEATING! GET ON TOP OF THE FRIDGE!"

April and Casey were snorting into their arms as you got to your feet and walked towards the kitchen, making a poor attempt at climbing the appliance.

"THIS HOUSE IS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!"

Raphael

Raph had always been under the impression that you were never really 100% yourself around him, he knew for a fact that you weren’t when you stayed over. He’d never seen someone so aggressively avoid someone, except himself of course. You were his partner of almost a year and it seemed like you were never going to let your true self shine. However you did seem to lighten up when you were alone with him, he supposed that was normal, but you may as well have been a pair of old earbuds that only work when you held them a certain way at the lair.

He honestly hadn’t expected that to change tonight, not given the text that Casey had sent him informing him of April’s recent breakup with whatever guy she’d been dating. So when he climbed in through the window and saw both you and Casey sitting on the floor in front of the bathroom he really didn’t think that the words out of your mouth would be-

“April you’ve got another twenty minutes of this then I’m ripping the door off the hinges!”

Casey shot you a look and you shrugged nonchalantly before getting to your feet and walking over to your confused boyfriend.

“Hey, sorry about this. Casey only texted you as a last resort if he needed someone to stop me from tearing the door off.”

Raph found that peculiar, “Uh, couldn’t he do it himself?”

The man in question looked up from his spot on the floor.

“Nah dude, they’re crazy. Last time I tried stopping them from doing something they nearly knocked my damn tooth out while screaming, and I quote, “If you put your hands on me I’m gonna fucking rip your face off” and quite frankly I don’t have the balls to test that.”

“No no dude, that’s valid. I wouldn’t either. Babe, why are you so-”

You raised an eyebrow at him over a glass of water, “Violent? I’m not Raph. These two just have little bitch feelings.”

He found it hard not to laugh at that and fifteen minutes later when you left his side to approach the door again it sent him reeling.

“This shit’s temporary April. You’ve got nice teeth and a fat ass, stuff your feelings down!”

Michelangelo

There would never be a time where Mikey wasn’t a prankster with you, it was just simply non-negotiable. You were cool with that and he was aware, he was also aware that no pranks were to be pulled at the lair. So he’d reign it in while you visited, just for a short while. But you’d never said anything about the apartment and Mikey was a creature of opportunity.

Unfortunately Leo talked him out of it and forced him not to pull anything while they visited. The leader was already on edge so when he walked in with the others following closely behind you were the first person to see him. Your eyes caught Mikey’s instantly and you might as well have been telepathic at that moment. But you took one look at Leo’s solid, angry face and seized your moment.

They weren’t at all ready for the scream.

“GET YOUR FUCKIN’ DOG BITCH!”

And they also weren’t ready for Mikey’s response of, “It don’t bite.”

And Leo was not ready for the pillow that got whipped at his face at incredibly high speed.

“YES IT DO-”

So when Leo finally realized that they were yelling at him his mood did not improve at all and in fact declined sharply into a pit of “oh fuck”. And that was how you ended up on Mikey’s shoulder getting dragged away from any sort of repercussion for your actions.

These got a little short near the end but I hope you like 'em and I hope I was able to capture what you had in mind! 😁

-Mars 🌠

[jerrienelock]

Outhouse Kiss - Sheila (Fear Street 1978)

(Couldn’t find a gif of Sheila or the actress Chiara Aurelia who plays Sheila)

***

Sheila, Sunnyvale queen, holds her head high as she saunters across the campgrounds of Nightwing in search of her red-haired victim. Her posse trails behind her, their heads too held high and eyes darting across the way glaring at any Shadysiders who even dared to send a glance their way.

Nick Goode stands ahead of the group, an eyebrow raised and eyes squint while he stares at them. Will catches the eye of his older brother and a relentless huff is sounded as the older boy calls for him.

"Continue on," Will mutters to Sheila and heads off after his brother.

It was just a few hours after the incident of Nurse Lane turning psycho on one of the camp counsellors, Tommy Slater. Sheila finds it ironic. The mother goes insane just like her murderous daughter.

If you were ever to ask her about the happenings of Mary Lane, Sheila would say it's predictable; every Shadysider is bound to snap, being driven by the inability of escaping Shadyside and the curse trailing on their backs. But she doesn't have to worry about such a thing happening in the luxury town of SunnyVale, they have the fortune, the goodwill and the ability to leave whenever they like.

All the luck that her town has, gives all the kids a big head, even her but she would never admit it. It gives them this feeling of power that they use for the opposite of what their town stands for, Sheila uses hers to torment Ziggy an unlucky Shadysider.

Since she had first started Camp Nightwing at the age of eleven, she had found it her duty to make Ziggy's camp life as miserable as she possibly could (Ziggy doing the same back at her.) Until Nick came along with his younger brother Will when she was just thirteen and made a counsellor strike her.

The bullying died down for a short while until it started back up again. But Sheila wasn't the one who re-initiated it, in fact, it was Ziggy with a canoe ore that ended up with the redhead having a black eye and Sheila a split lip.

Sheila thinks that the counsellors had given up on the situation- them not doing anything about it, or just giving Ziggy a strike.

"Sheila," Annie nudges the leader. Sheila tilts her head back to the girl, "Arts and Crafts."

Sheila turns to the cabin and there she spots her victim, sitting at one of the tables. A devilish smirk marks her face, only to drop as she spots you sitting across from Ziggy, your hands stirring a pot.

Her heart skips a beat at just the mere sight of you.

You had only joined camp a year before and Sheila had immediately taken a liking towards you. She hadn't an idea as to why you had pulled her in so suddenly, and she wasn't complaining. It was something about the feeling of her possibly liking a girl that made her have this sort of rush that just sent her in a spiral. It was as if she became addicted to just the sight of you. Just a glance could send her off track of what she was initially doing and she wouldn't be able to find the motivation to continue.

It wasn't until that she spotted you wearing a blue colour wars t-shirt to have her realise that you were Shadyside, but even then the rush grew stronger and fantasies of a possible forbidden love came flashing through her mind.

She hates Shadyside with a passion, but when it comes to you, all that leaves her mind.

Jealousy fills Sheila as she stares on confused, you and Ziggy had never even spoken before so she hadn't a clue as to why you were hanging out with the redhead.

Her jaw clenches and her teeth grit together, "She's got company," her eyes roll as she sees Ziggy laugh, teeth-baring in the process. A sudden smirk flashes across her, "I've got an idea."

***

"They went to Y/n's cabin," Becky informs the group, slipping in through the arts and craft doors.

When Ziggy had left with you in tow much to Sheila's dismay, she had sent Becky to follow where you both were going. And the fact that it was your cabin made the desire for the actions that Sheila was about to commit even more prominent.

Sheila smirks snapping her fingers making Annie and Will (who had just come back from Nick) immediately start grabbing paint cans and spray paints. Sheila does the same tossing them into a black bag.

Will is the one who kicks Cabin Five's door in. The emptiness of the accommodation was a good sign for the group- especially Becky. Sheila tosses the bag on Ziggy's bed and opens it.

"Quick before she gets back," She urges tossing a can of spray paint over to Will, and then to Becky and Annie. "Write anything that comes to mind,"

Will smirks, shaking his can of paint before swiftly painting across the wall, 'The Witch sucks cocks in hell'

"Real mature," Sheila mocks with a hint of amusement in her tone shaking her can of paint.

Soon all across the cabin walls, painted in both colours red and black lie the words.

Monster

Ziggy is a witch bitch

Witch

Shadyside trash

Slur after slur overpowers one another, some more likely to cause damage to the redhead. Sheila takes a step back admiring the work until she is ripped back and pulled out of the cabin by Will. Sheila spots Ziggy jogging over to her cabin, disdain covering her face, a hint that she had seen Sheila and her posse standing in the cabin, and immediately Sheila understood why she was taken away.

She can already imagine the look on the girls face as she reads the graffiti. She can imagine just how she will act, stomp her foot and run out of her cabin to go and tell someone, and that's exactly what Sheila can see. Not even a second later, Ziggy runs out and heads in the direction of Nick Goode.

Sheila pays no attention to it anymore, the jealous feeling in her gut now gone as she heads off to join the start of colour wars.

Colours Wars so far was a bore to the SunnyValer, more than half of her group had been captured and it was only a few minutes after dark. Being the prison guard was not what she had signed up for this year, having to handle a bunch of kids was supposed to be the least of her worries but here she was looking over a bunch of thirteen-year-olds.

"Where is Y/n?" One of the kids whispers to another. Sheila perks her head slightly at the mention of your name. Squinting she questions the girl, "What's happening with Y/n?"

The young girl smiles, "Oh she's the bailer, the person who gets us out."

"What if she's been captured?" A young boy pops up.

"This is the only jail, James. But if she was, Derek or one of the other bailers has to come and get us."

"Wait, there she is! Y/n!" James yells for you making Sheila spin around.

And there stands you at the door of the Arts and Crafts cabin. Sheila freezes, her voice getting caught in her throat.

You step inside, cautiously looking around before settling your gaze on Sheila. You smile at her, "You wouldn't mind if I take my teammates back right?"

Sheila just stares at you, your voice not registering in her head until you usher the group of captive kids out of the building. "Hey! You can't do that!" She yells, rushing out of the cabin to try and stop you.

At the sound of her moving, you yell for the kids to run before turning around, "Yes I can," You say with a laugh and runoff.

"Damn it!" Sheila kicks her foot against the ground, rushing back inside of the Cabin only to see a note lying neatly on the nearest table.

'Meet me in the Outhouse - Y/n'

***

"Y/n, this is so cute," Sheila sighs dreamily, eyeing the rose petals scattered on the floor of the outhouse. "I didn't realise you liked me back," She slowly follows the petals to an empty stall that holds a note, curved, flipped and coated with her name in neat cursive. Curious she picks the note up and reads the words aloud, Look up xoxo - The Witch, automatically her head shoots up and before she can register anything a series of critters is dumped on her head.

Staggering back, a shriek is let out and laughter bellows out of two assailants fleeing the scene behind her. The door to the building slams shut and Sheila is left pounding against the door, merciless cries begging travelling faintly through to the outside world.

Her fists collide with the wood a few more times until she admits defeat, sliding against a nearby stall pulling the insects out of her hair. She sits there for a few more minutes and then the door swings open and Sheila jumps to her feet.

"You came," Your voice saunters through the building, head tilting around the open outhouse door. You smile at the sight of Sheila but frown at the sight of the black beetles scattering across the floor. "Ew," You grimace, "Did they not clean the outhouse today."

"It was Ziggy," Sheila tattletales, her foot crushing one of the critters. You step into the building, shutting the door behind you.

"What a horrid girl," You spit, copying Sheila's action of taking a bug's life. Your eyes scan the bugs for a few more seconds before you spot the rose petals. "The rose petals are quite lovely aren't they."

Sheila raises a brow, "You don't like Ziggy?"

You ignore the question and reach down for a petal and gently place it against Sheila's shoulder, "It matches your shirt," You smile. "Did Ziggy do this as well?" You step into her pushing the camper against the corner of one of the stalls.

Sheila gulps, the action going unnoticed by you, "I thought you did," She mutters and you quirk your eyebrows.

"I did so. Was just seeing if you thought it wasn't," You reach a hand up to her jaw and place your other on her hip. "Do you want to know why I brought you here?"

Sheila nods with the stammer of her heart.

You stroke your nail against her jaw tantalisingly slow, your other hand squeezing her hip gently. You stare into her eyes, soft and delicate searching for the recognition that you felt the same way as her. Sheila gulps as you lean further into her, heart rate picking up when she hears those words.

"I know," You pur watching as her cheeks flush. "I see you flouncing around out of rooms I'm in," Sheila squirms in your grip, her heart thundering against her chest. You drop your head down slightly, inching closer towards the girl. "Your stares, even when you're supposed to be focused on Ziggy," Sheila's cheeks flush deeper, her pink tint becoming more prominent.

"I noticed everything," Your finger travels down her jaw and onto her neck, where the noticeable dip of a sharp breath is taken. "You're nervous," A smirk paints its way onto your face, "SunnyValers are never nervous."

Sheila shakes her head, her trapped voice breaking free of its chains, "I'm not nervous," She says calmly trying to ignore your gentle touch.

You push further against her, bringing your lips to her ear. "Prove it," You husk out and a visible shudder travels through Sheila.

Eyes drop down to lips with her mind in a haze. Sheila raises up in a moment of confidence and leaps her mouth onto yours. Instantaneously you reciprocate, your hand dropping from her chest down to her waist to accompany the other.

Sheila keeps hers at her side, your body weight against her pinning them down. You both stand there for a few more seconds until you move slightly and Sheila is able to move her hands, moving them to land around your neck successfully deepening the kiss for a short amount of time.

The kiss is then broken and a forceful push from you sends Sheila hurtling into another stall. You cling onto a nearby rope and pull sending the bucket holding up top of the roof to dip and paint come hurtling down.

Sheila shrieks wiping the liquid away from her eyes, "Why?" She groans with a hint of hurt.

"You never fuck with a Shadysider," You laugh and then call out for Ziggy who lets you leave the building.

***

Masterlist; Movies

[chaotic-noceur]

so what's the deal with cake?

characters: Echo, Kix, Cody, Wolffe

summary: coming out as ace to cw boys

warnings: asexual reader, probably ooc characters (im out of practice sowwy!)

a/n: yes this is late but we're ignoring that. Happy international asexuality day fwens! @ezrasarm and I decided to drag ourselves out of our own graves to put together a little something so here's part 2 of some ace hcs! [ part 1 here ]

Echo

Knows more about asexuality than you do

You stare at him unblinking as he rambles on about the history of sexuality

“Echo… is there something you want to tell me?”

He fumbles then because he’s not about to tell you that he did some digging when Rex came out to him, it's not his information to share after all

But he also doesn’t see any other reason why he’d know this much information

“Oh, I was just doing some light reading about… sexuality” is what he settles for

Honestly gets so caught up at being able to use the information he learnt that he kinda forgets what he’s supposed to do when someone comes out to him

(he looked it up after Rex told him and he had stood awkwardly, wondering what he was supposed to do)

Eventually the ‘significant other’ part of his brain kicks in and he stutters through an apology

“That’s okay! It’s refreshing to find someone who doesn’t need me to explain it all actually.”

He smiles sheepishly at you before going through the step by step comfort guide in his head

step 1: accept and do not invalidate

“So, you don’t mind?” “Of course not!”

step 2: establish boundaries

Echo does the only logical thing he can think of and makes a list of things you’re comfortable with and things you’re uncomfortable with

“I’m still figuring a lot of that out,” you mumble when you’re a few bullet points in

"Ah, perfect interlude for step 3," he thinks

step 3: reaffirm love

“That’s alright. You don’t have to have all the answers. We can figure it out together.” He turns his head and kisses your forehead gently

step 4: ask for cuddles cuz poor bby is touch starved

“We can still cuddle right?” He says it so quietly you wouldn’t have heard it if you weren’t right next to him

Instead of answering, you pull his onto the bed beside you and wrap your arms around him as you let his head come to rest above your heart

Kix

gave up on having a sex life a long time ago

Is surprised when you tell him but isn’t all that bothered by it

He’s half asleep when he stumbles out of his office, only to walk straight into you

He grips your arm to steady you as you catch yourself

Seeing the state he’s in, you have half a mind to turn around and put it off for another day

Kix being Kix though, senses something's off and furrows his eyebrows before tugging you into his office

He seats you in his chair while he perches on the edge of his desk facing you

You fidget with the edge of your shirt as you gather your thoughts

Kix waits patiently, pulling your hands into his to save your shirt play with your fingers

When you finally tell him, he smiles gently at you before pulling you into his chest

“I love you,” he says as he runs his fingers along the length of your spine. “Nothing’s going to change that. I spent years telling myself that I could never have the happy future that the nat-borns dream of, but then I met you. You made me believe that I deserved love, made me remember that there is still good in the world. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

He plants a kiss to your forehead as he finishes and you tighten your hold around him

“Thank you,” you mumble into his shoulder, relieved at his acceptance. “And I love you too,” you add as you lift your head to press a kiss to his jaw

As long as you keep coming home to each other, you’d be okay

Cody

He’s slugging through paperwork when you let yourself in

Thinks someone broke something when he sees you nervously fidgeting

(it's not the first time the idiots he called family have sent you to report a broken item. He doubts he’s seen the last of it)

Sighs and moves to find the paperwork to file for a replacement of whatever-is-apparently-broken

Starts getting concerned when you stop him, even more so when you tell him to sit down

Doesn’t even bat an eye when you tell him

“You’re… fine with it?”

Shrugs as if you just told him Obi Wan had lost his lightsaber again

He’s never valued sex as much as society deems he should so he doesn’t feel the loss

Sighs when he realises how worked up you got yourself

Takes your hands in his and kisses the inside of your wrist before he speaks

“Cyare, our relationship is more than just sex. If that’s not something you’re comfortable with, then we don’t have to do anything. I fell in love with the person inside, not the appeal of the outside.”

“Commander Cody, are you saying I’m unattractive?”

Has to immediately back pedal and starts sputtering in an attempt to string words together

You laugh and pull him up for a hug, having teased him enough and honestly relieved he isn’t bothered

You stay wrapped in each others arms, enjoying the temporary peace

“So, just to be sure, the di’kuts didn’t break anything right?”

You snort and slap him across the chest

Wolffe

Stays quiet until you finish talking, squeezing your hand reassuringly every once in a while

Is genuinely confused when you ask if he still wants to be with you

“Cyare, you stayed by my side when I lost my eye. I’m not leaving you now because of this. I meant it before when I said I love everything about you, I still mean it now.”

Asks if it’s okay to hug you and envelops you when you nod, tucking your head under his chin

Gets a little insecure because so much of his affection comes in physical forms rather than words

But once you guys have a serious chat about boundaries, he finds ways to express his love without making you uncomfortable

Nose boop and forehead kisses are his personal favourite

Reassures you that it’s okay if you don’t know all your boundaries

Eventually asks you why you were so nervous to tell him

You tell him that not everyone’s accepting of it

“Some people think that we’re broken,” you say in what he can only coin as nonchalance

Your passive tone makes Wolffe grind his teeth together

He instantly wants a list of names of ‘the people who deserve to die’

Is only half kidding about committing murder

Plo doesn’t even try to stop him

Wolffe: roping the pack into his 5 step murder plan

Plo (& Fox): i do not see

You stop them before it goes too far but its endearing to see the lengths they’ll go to for you

You reward all of them with cake when they’re next on shore leave

[izzielizzie]

Rough on the Surface but You Cut Through Like a Knife

summary: When Bronwyn Rojas ends up next to the ever obnoxious Nate Macauley in Spanish class, she doesn’t really mean to hit him with a book. Well, she does, but she doesn’t expect to end up in the principal’s office with him. And she definitely doesn’t expect to find him amusing.

alternatively: Bronwyn hits Nate with a book and a long overdue conversation ensues (AU)

title from Willow by Taylor Swift

I’m about to drop into my regular seat in AP Spanish, my last class of the day, when Señora Trias calls “Don’t sit yet niños, we have some seat switching to do!”

I groan along with the rest of the class and catch Kate’s eye. We’ve sat together the entire year. I don’t even think I know anyone else in my class. She shrugs in a resigned sort of way. Señora Trias is a force to reckoned with, and we both know she’ll never let us stay in the same seats. We follow the teacher’s instructions, and I’m too busy trying to figure out the complicated dance we’re doing - row one to the left, row two to the right, front to back and back to front - that I don’t even notice that I’ve ended up next to a boy in a ratty leather jacket. 

Ugh. Nathaniel Macauley. The school’s notorious drug dealer/womanizer/delinquent/major headache. 

And this headache is smirking at me.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“Nope, I’m all good… partner.”

I hate the way he says that word, it’s suggestive and disgusting and I suppress a shudder, turning instead to the front of the room, where we’re reviewing pluscuamperfecto. As a native Spanish speaker, I can confidently say I have no idea what the heck that is. 

“This is pointless,” Nate grumbles.

“Shhh,” I whisper back, taking a glance at his sharp jaw and deep blue eyes. I’ve known Nate from a distance my whole life, we’ve gone to the same schools since kindergarten, but this is the first time we’ve been so close - or exchanged words - in years.

I look back to the teacher, who’s now going over conjugations. I scribble them down in my notebook as Nate tips his chair back on two legs, rocking back and forth. 

“You’re going to kill yourself,” I inform him.

“Wow Rojas, I didn’t know you cared.”

I scoff and Señora Trias sends us a sharp look. “Señorita Rojas. Señor Macauley, no talking.”

I give Nate a sharp look. “Now look what you’ve done,” I hiss, feeling the reprimand as if it had been thrown at me. Nate just smirks. 

“You’ve never been in trouble have you?” he asks. I ignore him and he barks out a laugh, my silence serving as an answer. “Wow Rojas, I knew you were straight laced but I didn’t know you were that straight laced.”

And we all know you’re not I think, remembering the drug bust rumor Kate was whispering about last week. 

Nate clearly can tell I’m not interested in listening to him, so in the time it takes me to pull out the short novel we’re reading in class from my bag and read about a chapter, Nate doesn’t say a word. When I’m copying down the questions our teacher wrote on the board onto my notebook, he starts talking.

“What’s the answer to one?”

“Solo español por favor!” Señora Trias calls from the front of the class. I give Nate a triumphant look, expecting him to be unable to follow the teacher’s instruction of only talking in Spanish. Unfortunately this is Spanish class. And Nate’s not an idiot. He repeats the question in the correct language, and I decide that I’d be better off ignoring him. 

After a few moments, I can feel Nate leaning over my shoulder. I look over to see his eyes on my paper.  

“Stop that,” I whisper. 

“Spanish only,” he whispers back.

“That wasn’t even in Spanish!”

“Neither was that,” Nate points out. 

I huff and go back to my paper, flipping through my book to find the answer to my next question. 

“Help meeeee,” Nate whispers. 

“Shut up,” I say.

“Bronwynnnnnn.”

“Shhh.”

“Rrrrrrojas.”

My sister once told me about out of body experiences when we were children, and at the time I had scoffed because the supernatural does not exist. But when I close my book - marking my page with my finger because I’m not a philistine - and swing it straight into Nate’s face, I swear I’m not controlling myself at all.

“Would you shut up?” I snap as an unnatural silence overtakes the room. I look around for the first time, meeting stricken faces. Kate’s looking at me like she’s never met me before. 

“Bronwyn Rojas,” Señora Trias says dangerously. I risk a glance at Nate and feel a flash of sympathy when I see a red mark on his cheek. But he’s smirking at me so maybe he deserved it. 

I’m frozen, not quite sure what to say. Señora Trias points to the door. “Principal. Both of you.”

“Both!” Nate and I say at the same time.

“Yes, look at that you’re in sync, no use that rhythm to get to the office.” 

Not the best witty comment around, all things considered, but since Señora Trias looks like she’s ready to commit murder so I let it slide.

“So let me get this straight,” Principal Gupta says, staring at Nate and I, sitting side by side in the uncomfortable chairs in Gupta’s office. “You two were partnered in Spanish class, Bronwyn you were annoyed with Nathaniel, so you hit him with a book?”

Nate tips his chair back and I kick at his ankle. He kicks back. 

“Bronwyn.”

“Yes, sorry. This is correct,” I say. Principal Gupta stares at me. I’ve been getting a lot of stares lately. She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, the secretary appears at the door.

“There’s a problem in the cafeteria,” she informs Gupta, who sighs. She looks sharply at us. 

“I am going to be gone for ten minutes tops. Please refrain from murdering each other.”

I nod vehemently while Nate tips his chair back farther, his smirk growing. I count backwards from fifty in my head just to make sure Gupta is really gone before wheeling back towards him. I push down on the arm of his chair with all my might. Nate crashes to the ground, a look of shock on his face.

“Jesus Bronwyn.”

“Stop tilting your gosh darn chair” I hiss, my face only a few inches away from his. I can see myself reflected back in his dark blue eyes. I look mildly deranged. He smirks again and I raise my hand. He flinches away. Ha. Take that. 

He holds up his hands in surrender, leaning away from me. “Would it make you feel better if I sat on the floor Rojas?”

“Yes, yes it would.” 

Nate slides to the ground, and before I can realize what’s happening, he’s pulling me down by the waist. “What the heck?” I ask.

Nate shrugs. “If I have to sit on the floor, then you do too.” He pauses for a beat. “And your legs look good in that skirt.

I slap his shoulder. “Jackass!”

Nate laughs. “She swears!” he announces to an audience of… no one. 

“Why is that notable?” I ask, self-consciously tucking my legs underneath myself, ignoring my tingling waist where Nate’s fingers ended up under my shirt. 

“Because a minute ago you said ‘gosh darn’ and not even grandmothers would say that Rojas.”

I can feel my face flush, but I cross my arms anyway. My little sister always teases me about how I don’t swear. Not that she swears either. “Is it really a bad thing?”

“Yes.”

I flush more, irritated at myself that Nate’s opinion matters this much to me. He senses that I’m done talking because he looks straight ahead at Gupta’s desk, where we can just make out a picture of her and her daughter.

“How’s your sister doing? Maeve, right?” Nate asks, and I turn to stare at him in shock. My sister Maeve left elementary school with cancer a long time ago. Nate was just starting to know her - they were on the same soccer team - and I don’t expect him to remember her, let alone her name.

“Yeah, it’s Maeve,” I say, my tone considerably softer. Nothing makes me happier than my sister. “She’s okay.”

“She’s in remission right?” 

I turn my body so I’m looking straight ahead at him, a concession maybe. My anger is ebbing, and I’m sort of guilty about that bruise on his face. “She is. Thank you for asking.” Not many people do. 

“You’re welcome.” What he says next surprises me so much I almost miss what he says: “Want to talk about it?”

I look at him for a moment, at his dark eyes and smattering of freckles and his closed off expression, and I can’t help the feeling that he’s being serious. And I don’t know why that’s so off putting.

I shrug, trying to figure out what to say. “It just sucks, you know?” I finally land on.

Nate nods. “I know.” I think back to his mother’s funeral, the dark, rainy morning where he stood in an old suit, his father too drunk to even show up. I kept thinking about Maeve, about how some day I might have to stand in the same place, shouldering the burden of a million worlds. 

I imagine that’s how it feels to lose someone.

I feel the need suddenly, to make those eyes light up so I shift slightly closer to him and pluck at the sleeve of his leather jacket. 

“Hey, remember when we were locked in that music room at St. Pi?” I ask.

Nate glances over at me through hooded eyes, his eyelashes unnaturally long. He nods, a half smile on his lips. “I remember. Sixth grade right?”

“Yeah.” I remember that day like it was yesterday. We had been arguing - much like today - in the middle of a music class, and our teacher sent us to the storeroom to sort flutes until we calmed down or something. But we - and the teacher - had forgotten that the door to the store room door locked from the outside. Nate and I were locked in for nearly an hour, which to twelve year olds, felt like forever.

“It was a pretty good day you know?”

“Really? I thought I threw a clarinet case at you.”

“Well you did,” Nate says. “But you know… it was nice. You’re nice.”

“Aww.”

“But you are violent.”

“Touché,” I admit.

He smiles at me, his eyes soft, and I smile back. I’m about to reach up to touch the bruise on his face when Gupta comes back, breezing through the door like she’s floating. She groans when she sees us. 

“Why are you on the floor?”

“Heat rises,” Nate says with a shrug.

“It’s November."

Nate and I just look at each other and smile. We climb back into our seats, and when he tips his chair back, I don’t say anything. And when I say “gosh” instead of “god” when I’m assuring Gupta that “I swear to gosh I didn’t mean to hit him I’m so sorry” Nate doesn’t even bat an eye.

Truce, I guess. 

Gupta spends ten minutes talking about pressure and how sometimes we cave but if Nate forgives me it’s okay before she lets us leave. Nate and I mockingly shake hands before we get up and it’s… nice. 

The bell has already rung, so we turn in opposite directions, me to physics and him to gosh knows where when he turns to me.

“Hey, want to go to the mall on Saturday? You can buy me a pretzel for my troubles.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll throw something at you?”

Nate grins his Macauley grin. “I think I’ll risk it, Rojas.”

My smile is his answer.

[jimlingss]

Moirai [1]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

➜ Words: 5.8k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

➜ Notes: Isekai is a popular manga and light novel genre in which characters from Earth are transported into a new world.

This is the end.   “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”   The Prince stands tall, the very furrow of his brows jarring against the cold, cordial expression he maintains — the one she had always tried to shatter. All she desired was something other than courtesy. If not affection then frustration or misery. But she supposes that anger suffices.   Anger. The first time he’s ever looked at her with an ounce of any true feeling.   His shadow looms over her, his status powerful as the countless eyes are narrowed in around her — he is as powerful as the people who stand behind him. Every word he speaks booms through the ballroom, a grand timbre that has long replaced the mellifluous violins.    The Prince is as noble as he is righteous. He is the hero of this story.   “You choose to answer your crimes with silence?!”   The corner of her lips curl and cackles rasp from her throat. The noise is discordant and shrill, a mocking irony when it causes him to pull the woman in his arms closer. Even when she’s in this position, downcast head, knees burnt on the carpet, all she does is drive them closer together.   “The only sins I have ever committed was loving you until my last breath.”   “Guards!”   Murmurs spark across the room and the knights armour clank as they approach in heavy steps. She knows these are the last moments. “The only crime I have is looking out for the empire! But you chose her.” She looks upon the girl he holds, the one who has the same contempt on her visage. And as the knights rip her away from her place, she spits venom-laced words, “A lowly baron’s adopted daughter to make your wife. I am the duke’s daughter. I am educated. I am your fiancée—”   “No longer.” He condemns, “You have committed treason. Conspiracy against the crown. Attempted murder. Forgery. Harassment. Using your status to oppress the vulnerable—”   “Let go of me!” she shrieks as the guards drag her down the room. It’s undignified. Degrading.   “—Daring to entangle yourself with the dark arts. And you will answer to these crimes whether you choose to confess or not.”    “Let go of me!” she struggles, yet no one chooses to hear.    Their eyes have pierced into her, those who aren’t scandalized are snickering behind their feathered fans. But in the last seconds, status has no place. She looks to the person who matters most, the one she had spent her childhood idolizing. Her beliefs hold true. He will make a great ruler.   But she will never be the one to stand beside him. She knows now.   That position has long been stolen away from her.   “Everything I did,” she cries, “I did for yo—”   The grand doors slam shut with her pitched screams resounding.    Moments later, the lively music continues, violins and trumpets crescendoing to life once more. As if her life had just not been taken away from her. As if the denunciation was merely an intermission of tonight’s festivities.   Her heinous exterior is shattered by tears that no one would have sympathy for. She is limp when she is thrown into the stone jail cell within the depths of the castle. The knights twist on their heel and she is surrounded in pitch darkness with the sound of a scurrying rat echoing beside her.   The only time there is light is by the dim flame of the torch, a guard accompanying a frightened servant who carries a bowl of spoiled oats. It’s not enough to satisfy the grumble of her stomach, but enough to keep her alive for the execution day. Without a silver fork or spoon in hand, a handkerchief placed in her lap, seated by a candlelit table, she resorts to using her fingers to scoop the food into her mouth.   Sometimes, she thinks they forget about her.   Or perhaps time is simply drawn in darkness. A second made into a minute. A minute is an hour. She is merely left leaning against the molded stone, wasted away and drunk on memories of better places.   Punishment does not come in the form of her stripped title or even her head rolling away from her neck. Punishment arrives in the darkened loneliness. That loss of sanity that whisper she has failed to capture the attention of the only person she ever loved. That she failed to make him love her.   Everything she did, it drove him away.   Every act of love placed distance between them.   Everything.   Liberation comes back with the music of trumpets muffled by the stone walls. “What’s going on?” her voice is hoarse through her parched throat. The servant screams when her arm reaches past the bars to tug on the girl’s dress. Her eyes are bleary as she looks up at the girl. “Why is it so noisy?”   “T-The civil war’s over.” The girl backs away and the celebrations become more distinct with the realization. “The villain is dead.”   The girl withdraws into the cell and cackles rip through her lungs, resounding across the empty chambers. The servant scurries away as the knight huffs out through his nose and shakes his head. But it’s the best news she’s received since she’s been stowed away.    And a smile still graces her features when she is dragged out and jostled by the knights, taken up to where the sun blinds her vision.   “On the eve of the Solar Festival, we rid our empire of yet another villain and free it from treachery!”   There are cacophonous cheers in the crowd. Her eyes are hurt by the sunlight and she shuts them tight. Her legs are kicked and she’s knocked onto her knees, head being shoved against wood. She wishes she didn’t have to face the sun rays. There’s no decency to give her shade.   But the discomfort is over by the blade slicing through the air. She lives and both dies as the villainess — an inevitable legacy.            ❇ End of Royal Romances Chapter 7 -Prince Route- ❇

Headbeams.   Fuck.   You never thought it would be like all those cheesy movies — the third Batman film, Grey’s Anatomy, the Simpsons, hell even Attack on Titan. But nope. They’re right. Time really does slow and your life really does flash by your eyes when you’re in the moment of your death.    But instead of feeling grief for yourself, all you can think about is what an absolute idiot you are.   You really shouldn’t have jaywalked at night. That cheesecake in the fridge was supposed to be yours! And holy shit, your parents are going to be really fucking mad that you died at only twenty—   The truck slams into you before you can finish your thought.   …………... ……….. ……. ….. ... .. .   Strangely, it doesn’t hurt. Maybe because it happened so fast. Maybe the initial impact was already enough to end your life. But you’re left feeling an empty void inside of yourself. An overwhelming agony that this is the end. That you never got the chance to fulfill your dreams, enjoy the fruits of your labour, that you never got to reach the happiness you wanted.   You have regrets.   Not for the things that you did. But for the things that you didn’t do.   But well….you suppose there’s no use in lingering in it.   Death is the end.   This is the end.   ……. ….. ... .. .   “—ook...t ...er...!”   “..hush!”   What?   Why are you hearing noises? Why does your face feel warm?   Are you in...heaven? Some sort of afterlife?! Oh man, you knew you deserved this! Fuck yes! You might have kicked that kid’s shin in the fourth grade and totally lied to your manager that one time that you cleaned the ice-cream machine when you didn’t, but your wrongdoings aren’t that bad.   You open your eyes.   Unusually, your vision is blurred. All you can make out is a fuzzy figure looming over you.   Your mouth opens—   “Waah!”   What the fuck. You can’t speak. Each time your lips part, drool dripples onto your chin.   In a panic, you try to move your body, but quickly find yourself heavy and practically stuck. You cry out and swing your arm, and that’s when your hand flashes before your eyes.   Your pupils focus and you realize that your hand is tiny. That you can barely curl and uncurl your fingers together. Holy shit. Holy fuck—   You’re a baby.   Wailing sobs burst out of your tiny lungs.    You don’t know where you are or how this happened. Your last memory is being hit by a truck!   The figure looming above you comes closer. “What is wrong with her?!”   The woman sounds annoyed, but it’s not like it's your fault. This is just a lot to take in.   Your mouth is blocked by a pacifier being shoved in. Immediately, you spit it out and the woman sighs. “Why is she being so fussy?”   That’s not the issue, lady! Christ, you wish you could communicate with her.   You feel yourself being picked up and she angrily mutters, “If the Devereux household wasn’t paying me so much, I would’ve just thrown you out the window.”   Wait. Say what now? Devereux?    Why does that sound so familiar?   You hear another woman’s voice, one that’s higher pitched and softer. “What’s wrong with little Anastasia?”   “Have you finished hanging the laundry yet?”   “Yes, I have.” You’re being passed on and your sobs subside in favour of a frown. Anastasia?   Anastasia Devereux.   You remember cursing that name out loud before, but where was—   Oh my god. Oh my god! It’s impossible, but the truth is right in front of your eyes. You’re living through it right now. This isn’t a dream. No. It’s your game, Royal Romances.    You’ve been reincarnated into the fictional country of Ashea. And of all people, you’ve been reborn as the villainess, Anastasia Devereux.   You burst out crying again.   //   A man in a coat and frilly shirt enters the room. Your head adjusts to see through the wooden bars of your bassinet, vision becoming clearer by the day. You know who he is without an announcement.   Your father. At least he’s supposed to be.   “How is the child?” he asks the maid.   “She is healthy, your grace. She may be a bit fussy at times, but she sleeps and eats well.”   He hums and leaves shortly after, never once coming to personally see or even hug you.    What an asshole. This entire world is fucked. You’re fucked.   Royal Romances is a love story game between a heroine and several potential matches depending on the route you take. Yet in every route, the main protagonist's rival, the Marquess and the Crown Prince’s fiancée, ends up co-conspiring with the villain and dies because of his crimes. Or exiled. Two options.   And you’ve taken her place.   But now that you think about it, that’s so unfair! You didn’t care much about Anastasia while playing, other than wanting her to get the fuck out of the picture for your OTP ship to sail. But why should the villainess shoulder the villain’s crimes?! If anything, it was him who coerced her! All Anastasia wanted was to be with the Crown Prince! He was the only person who ever showed her an ounce of kindness!   Oh god.   All you know now is that you don’t want to die.   You died too early in your past life.   “Anastasia.” You’re shaken awake from your thick slumber by soft cooing. A quiet woman’s voice calls and when you open your eyes, you’re able to focus on a woman you’ve never seen before but is familiar at the same time. She smiles and picks you up. “Good afternoon.”    Instead of fussing around like you usually would, a triumphant smile spreads into your face.   Fucking finally. It’s the first time you’ve seen your ‘mother’. Maybe she’s just been recovering from the birth these past few months. After all, there’s no way the family would actually just abandon you to a bunch of maids—   “Oh my goodness, Elanor!” A shrill voice has your senses tingling. There’s another woman sitting at the rounded table fanning herself with an orange, feathered fan. “What a lovely daughter!”   “Yes, she really is. She hardly cries.”   Now that’s a big fat lie.   You’ve probably cried a thousand times since you got here. It’s not your fault the maids don’t know how to put you in anything other than scratchy dresses and forget to change your underwear after you’ve shit yourself.   Another stranger approaches you and practically digs their nose into your face. Her floral perfume almost has you retching and spewing out an entire bottle of milk in her face. “She is simply too delightful! She has Herrick’s eyes and your nose.”   “Really now? I think she’s growing up to look more and more like the Duke each day.”   “Oh she’ll grow up to be a beauty. You are truly blessed, Elenor.”   Cordial laughter fills the room.   Motherfucker. She’s just using you as a decor! You’re a prop for her to show off at her tea party! She doesn’t care about you whatsoever.    But fine. You can play along with her. It’s not like you have any choice.   You muster an enormous gooey smile, channeling all the cuteness you know you must have and instantly, several of the ladies swoon. It’s an overwhelming victory! But one that requires a lot of energy when you were just awakened from your nap — and squeezing your butt cheeks results in the grumble of your stomach.   Being a few months old, you have poor control of your digestive system. So it’s no surprise that smiling so hard makes you shit your pants.    Oops.   The lump falls into your cloth diaper and instantly, your mother’s brow twitches.   The stench reaches her nose and the nostrils of the lady intruding into your space who immediately draws back in disgust. But what the hell are they expecting?! You’re a baby! All you do is eat, sleep and shit!   “Edith!”    Your mother’s shrill cry has the maid coming into the room. “Yes, your grace?”   “Take Anastasia.”   She passes you off without even looking and you’re swiftly taken away from the room, hearing the laughter and conversations resume the moment the doors close. So cruel!    “Ugh. I’ve never seen a baby who cries so much,” Edith complains and plops you into the bassinet instead of comforting you. If you had limb strength and mobility, you’d slap her for being so rude.   The younger maid with the higher-pitched voice looms over you. “Maybe it’s because she knows the Duke and Duchess never come to visit. She’s missing the comfort of a mother and father.”   Thank god someone can sympathize with you! As incompetent as Joan is — to the point where she’s checking your pants for the tenth time when you’re really just crying because you’re starving — at least she’s not a Karen.   Clearly, the bar is quite low.   “Well, it’s expected.” Edith steps away to fold the basket of your dresses. “The Duke and Duchess tried having children for years and the only child they have is a daughter who can’t even carry the family name. If it was a son, it would be different.”   “I don’t understand.” Joan rushes to the head maid’s side. “Usually daughters are treasured in noble families.”   Edith looks around and lowers her volume. “Don’t you know?”   “Know what?”   “Keep your voice down! If you say this outside, even I won’t be able to help you.” There’s a pause. “The Duke and Duchess aren’t real nobles, they don’t have any noble blood. The Duke’s late father, Arnold, fought heroically in the war and that’s why the King granted his family the title.”   “Oh…but...what does that have to do with anything?”   “Noble society is different from how we know it, you naive girl. No matter what you do, hundreds of eyes are constantly on you. It’s full of scrutiny and someone in power today might be exiled tomorrow. Having a son would’ve made it easier for the Devereux household to maintain their title and prestige.”   Joan sighs, finally realizing why things are the way they are. She comes to you and leans over the bassinet. “Poor thing. It’s not even her fault.”   She gives you her finger and you happily wrap your entire hand around it. Hell yeah! Finally someone’s feeling bad for your shitty situation.   But the older woman with wrinkles around her eyes scoffs. “There’s no use worrying about her. You should be more worried about yourself. If the House of Devereux fails to keep their power and wealth, we’ll be out of a job.”   Joan hums and pries her finger away from your grasps.   You frown and the next time the head maid feeds you, you puke all over her.    But you know what she said is true. It’s the reason why the real Anastasia felt like she needed to become the crown princess, why she tried so hard to make everyone around her approve of her. Aside from loving the Prince, she was desperate for recognition, desperate to fulfill her family’s wishes, and to maintain her family’s lineage without slipping from the status quo.   But you’re different.   You don’t care about those things. You’ll prove yourself on your own and do whatever it takes to survive.   Quickly. Quickly! You want to grow up and walk on your own two feet so you can protect yourself.   After all, no one else in this house will.   You stretch your arm in the air, curling your fingers together, staring up at the starry mobile.    But it’s hard in the body of a mere infant and you fall asleep in the midst of your exercise session, succumbing to the temptation of slumber with heavy lids.

Four years later.   “Are you colouring, my lady?”   “Nooo.”   You’re writing. And it’s not just anything — it’s battle plans.    To anyone, it’s merely incoherent scribbles, a result of poor motor skills you have yet to refine. But it’s actually your life or death.   You don’t need status or power. Living in the countryside and living fruitfully is good enough. All you want is to live a long, peaceful life.   In the original story, after Anastasia’s eighteenth birthday, she was condemned for countless crimes, thrown in prison and then executed within the matter of weeks. All because of three people: the heroine, the Crown Prince, and the villain.   To avoid the effect, you should avoid the cause. Therefore, you need to do whatever you can to avoid these three!   It’s genius! Truly, if anyone knew how your four year old brain operated, you would be hailed as the next prophe—   “Get ready.” Edith interrupts your train of thought, coming into the room and swiftly shutting the door behind her.   “Why?”   “You’re having lunch with the Duke and Duchess.”   “But I don’t wanna,” you whine, especially when Joan starts collecting the crayons. You stand up before Edith can drag you and you stomp your feet. Why would you want to go have lunch with them when the amount of times you’ve seen them in four years can be counted on both hands.   “Don’t be spoiled. Come here.”   You stick out your tongue instead and the moment Edith’s fingers come to snag you, you swiftly dart and run as giggles squeak out of your body.   “My lady,” Joan sighs, at a loss as well.    The two of them try to corner you, but you dive to the left when there’s a chance.   The original villainess was always quite upright and strict, especially with herself. It’s reasonable considering the way she was raised and the massive burden placed upon her. But kids can get away with a lot more than adults and you’d prefer to take advantage of that while you still can.   “Stop playing around!” Edith finally snags the back of your nightgown and you laugh, still thrashing against her hold until she plops you down on the vanity chair. “You’re such an unruly troublemaker,” she mutters as she grabs the frilly dress you’re about to be changed into.   And just for that comment, you undo the pins she puts into your hair when she’s not looking.   It drives her crazy.   But your little antics are stopped the moment you’re sitting at the dinner table. The height of said table reaches your collarbone and the chair you’re sitting in overwhelms your form. The atmosphere is stiff and tense, your father sitting at the head of the table and slicing into his meat while your mom’s posture is upright and she chews gingerly.    Unlike the maids, you won’t test your luck with the Duke and Duchess. God knows they might send you to some kid ranch for the next ten years to reform yourself.    But you also know you can’t get any cuter than this.   You’ve seen yourself in the mirror — soft skin, big eyes, a button nose and chubby cheeks.   Who knows what puberty might do to you someday, but for now, you’re as cute as a four year old can get. And why not use that as a weapon in your arsenal?   “Momma.” You interrupt the silence and your mother across from you looks up. You give a full smile with teeth, quirking your head to your shoulder and open your arms as wide as they can go. “I like you this much!”   Oh. Hell. Yeah!   You can feel it. You’re totally gonna win them over—   Her head swivels over to the Duke. “Don’t you think it’s time to teach her manners?”   Wow. That’s cold.    Stone cold.   “Edith.” Your father glances over his shoulder and the head maid steps forward. “How’s Anastasia’s development?”   The older woman clears her throat. “She’s a bit wild, your grace.” You glare at her for exposing you like this. “However, she can write the alphabet and read through storybooks on her own. She seems to be a bright child.”   Damn straight. Of course, you’d be able to pick up the language of Ashea quickly. You still have the memories of your past life.   The Duke hums. “Then she can start training to be the crown princess.”   You nearly choke on your broccoli.    But you hastily compose yourself and look up at your father. “What’s that?”   “Don’t ask questions,” your mother quips and the room simmers down to the uncomfortable silence again.   It’s so ridiculous — the very definition of jumping the gun. You aren’t the Crown Prince’s fiancée, but they’re already considering you a candidate before you’ve even lost your baby teeth.   Not to mention, it’s all useless anyway. The original Anastasia never became the princess and you have no plans of even meeting the Prince.    “Do you know what happened in the year 921, my lady?” the tutor asks later on, pushing up his rounded spectacles up the slope of his nose.   You’re slumped over the table, one arm rested with your cheek squished in your hand, focused on twirling the quill with two fingers. God forbid Edith or your mother witnesses your awful posture, but no one’s ever interested enough to sit in on these dumb tutor sessions. They’d fall asleep instantly.   “The war of Winter,” you mumble and the tutor’s eyes light up and he enthusiastically nods.   “Yes! The most momentous moment in the history of Ashea. A great dragon rose from the mountains and in the war of Winter, great King Baek, the light priestess and fierce knights of the royal palace came down the lazy brook from Stoughsby Peaks next to the then Canary district which sold fabrics and spices up until the year 914 when the famine of 914 came—”   The tutor drones on and on.   But one thing grabs your attention. You forgot there was magic in this world.   “Ummm,” you interrupt him in the middle of his tangent. “Did King Baek kill the dragon by magic?”   “Great question. King Baek in the summer of 896, seven years after he was born, started to learn the art of swordsmanship through rigorous training with the fierce knights of the royal place who was then under the rule of King Ennik—”   You don’t know why you asked.   “How do you start doing magic?” you interject again.   “Well, magic is part of everyone and it’s everywhere. But some are more attuned to it than others. It requires vigorous training, the most talented magician was Ruffus Dolores who dedicated his life living in the Magician’s Tower and wrote most of the magical texts we have today.”   You look at him, curiosity finally alight in your eyes. “Can I do magic?”   There was never magic on Earth in the twenty-first century aside from Harry Potter or Twilight, if Edward’s sparkling constitutes as magic. But if it’s anything like those movies, then you’re psyched! You can wingardium leviosa yourself and yeet out of here.   Unfortunately, your excitement is short lived.   “The House of Devereux isn’t very magically inclined,” the tutor says and your eyes dim again. You’re not completely surprised considering Anastasia was never much of a fighter in the game. She just splashed water on the main character’s face a lot and made players like you curse her out. “However, while magic is an inborn talent and comes naturally, skills always have to be honed. There’s still a chance you may have magical abilities. We’ll just have to see as you get older.”   You hum to yourself.   //   Edith pulls the curtains together haphazardly, the moonlight crisp where the gap is and sheds a silver sliver onto the carpet. Joan takes the tray with your finished glass of milk, nearly toppling it over and shattering the glass, but finding balance in the nick of time.   “Goodnight, my lady.”   “Night night.” Your hand peeks out from the covers and you wave.   “Don’t get out of bed or else,” Edith warns in a low tone. “The Duke won’t be happy to hear if you’re found wandering in the halls or sneaking into the kitchen again.”   You giggle. “Bye bye.”   The door shuts, darkness engulfs your bedroom and you count to ten within your head. The moment the seconds are up, you throw the covers off of you and slide off the high mattress.   You come to your desk, grasp the heavy duty textbook off of it and lug it over to the windows.    The enormous book sits on your lap as you lean against your bedpost. The moonlight illuminates the cover and you flip to the magic section at the back, the noise of the pages soothing in the quiet space. Magic — not only is it interesting to you but it could be a great defense mechanism if worse comes to worse. Who knows. It might just add to your battle plans and help you survive.   Your pointer finger underlines the sentences and traces the words as you read the introduction slowly.   After reading, you learn that magic is more intuitive, rather than a particular procedure.    You push the textbook aside and hold your hands out. Shutting your eyes, you try your best to envision light. You try to imagine light engulfing your figure and form, causing your skin to glow.   Peeking with one eye open, there’s—   Absolutely nothing.   Well shit. Maybe the tutor was right. Maybe there is no real magical talent in your bloodline. But there’s no harm in trying to dabble in it a little more.   You conceptualize fire in your brain. And when you look in your hand, you’re ecstatic to see a tiny flame actually flickering in mid-air. Oh shit! It worked!   But it smothers out a blink later.   You try to visualize water next to see if your magical expertise lays within the element. When you open your eyes, your breath hitches at the water droplets floating in your palm. And for once, it doesn’t completely vanish within a second. A grin spreads into your face. But as if Lady Luck wants to slap you, the moment you get hyped, the water splashes into your lap.   It looks like you peed yourself.   “Really?!”   You sigh, ready to give up.   Maybe you don’t have a knack for magic after all.    You turn to grab the textbook, but the heftiness is awkward in your grasps and your thumb slips, accidentally flipping over the next page. The page’s heading makes you stop.    Oh yeah. Dark magic exists.   Might as well give it a shot while you’re at it.   Like all the times before, you shut your eyes and hold your hands upwards. You try to imagine darkness — the similar kind that’s already filled your bedroom, or like the empty void that you were plunged in after being hit by that truck. That abyss of nothing, of pitch black.   Suddenly, you feel a pressure on your shoulders. It’s heavy. Comforting. Eerie. All at the same time.   Your lashes flutter open and your breath is plugged in your nose. Darkness has overwhelmed the room. It bleeds out of you, consuming your form like smoke, the hue of ink spilt on oil. It covers the silver moonlight, erasing the sliver casted on your carpet and what was translucent through the curtains. Exactly like the empty void, the abyss of nothing.    It’s trying to consume you.   There’s a shriek from outside your room. “All the candles just blew out!”   Panic drains blood from your face and you drop your hands, flailing your arms as if you can dispel the black before it wraps its hands around your throat and submerges you completely.   It fades, the moonlight traveling back onto you again and you shove the book underneath your bed.   You’re still shaking as you climb back into bed.   God knows you’re never going to try that again.   //   So you might not have an aptitude for magic after all. But the grief is short-lived after the realization that it’s not a toy or something that comes out of a magical wand for you to fight Dementors with. But there’s still a lot of ways you can protect yourself. You just have to get creative.   “I wanna do that!”    Your nose, forehead and palms are pushed against the glass window as you peer outside.   Joan frowns and peeks out. “You want to go flower picking, my lady?”   “No!”   The useless maid finally looks to the two guards sparring with one another out by the field. “You want to sword fight?”   “Uh-huh.”   She bursts out laughing and you whirl around in irritation.    “I wanna! Pretty please?” How else are you going to protect yourself? If you can’t use magic, then you need to go the melee route and pick up a sword or at least a bow and arrow.   “You would have to ask permission from the Duke himself, my lady.” Joan turns away to make your bed, expecting you to give up. When it comes to asking your parents, it’s too much of a hassle to get involved with them. But this time, you don’t concede.   She’s surprised when you tug on her dress. “Okay.”   The Duke’s study doors are imposing on their own. Without needing to open them, the twisting ornate patterns on the wooden surface are enough to eerily remind you of exposed arteries. It feels like you’re approaching the principal’s office — a nervousness of the impending doom.   You’ve always been careful to steer clear any place your mother or father might be. The study on the third floor, the gardens, their bedroom. And any time you passed, your steps would quiet.   It’s not like you’re scared of them. Frankly, you’re just annoyed at how nit-picky they are.   But you remind yourself you’ve been through worse — you once spent an entire summer in customer service serving food in the twenty first century for god’s sakes!   With that in mind, you throw open the doors.   Joan, behind you, practically flinches.   Your father’s sitting behind his oak desk, quill and parchment in hand, and he looks above his rounded spectacles. You give your most charming smile. “Hi, papa!”   He looks to the older girl and deadpans, “What’s the matter.”   The maid clears her throat, clearly distressed that she’s been dragged into this. “Uh, well, your grace, my lady, uh, she…..well…”   “I wanna do sword!” You tottle towards him and round the desk to come eye to eye with his knees. C’mon, as uncaring as they are, they gotta at least care a little for their daughter, right? You’re too cute to ignore all the time. You flutter your lashes for good measure. “Pretty please?”   The Duke’s brow quirks. “You want to learn swordsmanship?”   You enthusiastically nod. “Uh-huh!”   He stares at you. You stare at him.   The older man sits back in his chair. “It wouldn’t hurt to learn an interesting skill or two. It might make you stand out.” Those two lifelessly said statements alone are enough to make you happy. Even when he resumes his paperwork. “I heard from your tutor that you’re a fast learner.”   You’re surprised the old fart said something good about you, but of course you are! You’re technically twenty four now. Mathematics is truly universal when you can recall the basics and the language is easy to pick up. You’re already dumbing down everything to not make it weird.   “Maybe you’re not so useless after all,” he mutters from the corner of his mouth, no longer sparing you a glance.    You hold back a scoff. Instead, you force a smile and a sweet giggle. “Thank you, papa! I like you too!”   You wonder if this is why Anastasia tried so hard. The only time she gains recognition in her family is when she’s focusing her time and energy into studying and proving her worth. If so, it’s depressing. You wish you had more sympathy for her when you were playing from the heroine’s perspective. But you’re beginning to understand her better and better.    Why she did what she did.   How she became the female villain.   “Fight me!” You point your wooden sword at the knight whose eyes are wide. You bet he didn’t expect to be sparing with a four year old when he was assigned to protect the Devereux house, but this is a matter of life and death for you. “Hurry!”   “Y-Yes, my lady.”   You smile, gripping the handle tighter. He comes up and weakly slashes you and you’re able to root your feet into the ground and keep yourself from stumbling back. He’s obviously not trying very hard, but it’s good enough for now. Slowly but surely, you’re finding a rhythm into things.    In your spare time, you learn the history of Ashea, read books and plan the next steps in your battle plan of avoiding all main characters of the game at all costs. You’ll protect yourself no matter what it takes.   And you’ll survive no matter what happens.

[cayofdreams]

Vengeance = Repentance

PART 1: VENGEANCE

Summary: Reader had bullied Todoroki throughout all his time in high school. Years later, after a reconnection during an after-work drinking session, she goes back to his place, naively unaware of the payback he has planned for her…

Words: 4.1k

Rating: Explicit, Smut (in part 2)

Warnings: bullying by reader in beginning, murderous thoughts by Todoroki, Dark!Todoroki, drugging

(no smut in the first part, just immense build-up)

Notes: I could not for the life of me think of an interesting Todo fic to write. Until...THIS baby popped into my mind. It was actually really challenging and fun to write what goes on in the mind of Dark!Todoroki. I hope I did it justice.

~~~

He hated you.

Sometimes the only reason he had for living was simply to see the day that you’d be six feet under a cold batch of dirt. You’d be all alone down there with no one to control. No one to manipulate. No one to blackmail or threaten.

You’d have no lackey to run around and get you sweet bread from the convenience store. No lookout to make sure any teachers came to catch the abominable acts you committed in the bathroom stall or behind the gymnasium. No rich father to make sure that whatever horrible deeds you committed that were reported were swept gracefully under a rug.

And most importantly, you wouldn’t have him. The target of all your psychological and physical abuse. The one person who constantly fulfilled your insatiably engorged sadistic ego.

“Heyyy~ Shou, can you come here for a sec?” You had called out to your bi-colored haired classmate from the threshold of the class’ door. The twitch in his shoulders in reaction to your voice made you chuckle. Todoroki slowly slid his chair back, making a scratching noise against the tiled floor, and got up. He walked up towards you with his eyes trailing the floor.

“Yes?”

“Ohh! So obedient today, aren’t we? Hehe- It was only a matter of time I suppose.” You smiled your disgustingly innocent smile at him. “I need you to check something for me. It’s important, okay?”

He stayed silent as he watched you move the hand that was behind your back out forward. You had a carton of milk in your hand, and it seemed to have already been open. He saw you put the carton to your nose and sniff harshly from where the opening was before shoving the carton into his chest. A bit of milk spilled out and dripped onto his uniform.

“This milk. It smells kinda funky. I want you to check it for me.”

“…If it smells funny then it’s probably-“

“Did I ask for your cheap opinion? Just do the favor, alright?” You frustratingly squeezed the carton in your hand which made even more milk spurt out and land on your hand as well as Todoroki’s uniform again. “Ugh! Shit! Look what you made me do! From being so obstinate.”

“Sorry…” He took the carton from your hand. It was practically half full now so he wondered why you even still cared so much. But he didn’t ask. He put the carton to his nose and sniffed to try and find a rotten smell to it. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Are you stupid? Not like that, idiot. You’ll never know if its bad if you check like that.” You quickly took the milk from him and raised it in the air. “You have to check like this~” You began to slowly pour the rest of the carton’s contents onto his head, completely soaking his silky hair and ruining his uniform even more. The milk drenched into his shirt and he could feel its cool wetness trickle his skin. “Ahaha! Weeell?? Is it bad or not, Shouutoo??”

There was a loud commotion of hoots and hollers from the other classmates as they watched your tormenting of Todoroki.

“Uwaah!! Milk boy got dunked on again!!”

“Gross! He’s gonna smell so bad later…”

“Dude! Go wash up! You’re gonna make the whole class smell like milk!”

“Krrgh..” Todoroki choked up in frustration, his hands balled into a fist. The fact he couldn’t just punch you right now could drive him to a point of enraged insanity.

The fact he had to let you get away with this over and over again just because of your father’s notorious connections with various government and business groups. He sometimes thought about just killing you anyway and dealing with the consequences. Prison would be more manageable than continuing to live in this same physical plane as you.

He thought about how he’d do it, too. If he would try to do it inconspicuously with poison, or conspicuously with his hands wrapped around your slender little throat. The former lead to more chances of him getting away with it. He could have the pleasure of your death along with his freedom. But the latter…the latter was just too enticing to pass up. Being able to hear your gargled whimpers attempting to beg for your life. Your legs that would try to kick and pry him off your weak body. Your face losing its color as your body is abruptly deprived of oxygen. And finally, his personal favorite, your bloodshot eyes that would be pleading for him to give you mercy before finally greying out.

Yes…the latter would have to do. Time in prison would be a beautiful cost to pay to see you perish under his fingers. The world would thank him later, for getting rid of their waste. Your death would serve as your repentance

But he was weak. Scared. He couldn’t find the conviction he needed to actually go through with it. It made him feel even worse. Maybe you were never wrong, and he was truly as spineless as you treated him.

But he’d get stronger. He had to. He needed to. He craved to.

-------------------------9 YEARS LATER-------------------------

“Good job on closing the deal, Todo!”

Todoroki had felt a harsh pat on his back before a heavy arm was slung over his shoulder by his spikey red haired coworker as he was grabbing his blazer off the chair.

“It was nothing, Kirishima.” He replied coolly but not without a small twinge of a smile.

“Ha! ‘It was nothing’ he says!” The energetic man turned his head around to face everyone else in the office. “Hey! Everyone! Pay attention to this guy right here! You might become the most successful businessman this country has to offer!”

The office chuckled and gave soft cheers for Todoroki, some of them poking fun at Kirishima’s exuberant display of comradery.

“Todo! Kiri! You guys are coming out for drinks, right!” Another one of Todoroki’s energetic co-workers, this time with bright yellow hair, briskly jogged up towards them. “I already invited the ladies!”

“Totally, dude! Where are we supposed to be going?”

“Heights Alliance! That bar has the best drinks and food a guy could ask for. Not to mention cute girls!

Todoroki softly brushed off the arm of Kirishima before putting his jacket on. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Aw! Come on dude!” This time, the yellow-haired co-worker placing his arm around Todoroki’s shoulder. “You alllways bail on us! Come with us this time! Drinks on Kiri!”

“Hey, Kaminari! Don’t decide that for yourself!” Kirishima retorted. “But yeah, man. You should come out. We miss you sometimes, dude.”

Todoroki hesitated as he contemplated his fellow workers’ requests. Honestly, he had never gone out to just...have fun. He would clog his mind with work which was probably why he was successful anyways. He didn’t even know why he was so disciplined when it came to his career. Not knowing what his goals even were. Focusing primarily on work, but for what? To just deny any moments of pleasure or belonging?

Maybe it was time for a change.

“…Alright.”

“Wooo!!! Todo is officially on board!”

The loudness of the cheers of his coworkers rang stingingly through his eardrums but he couldn’t suppress the smile that stemmed on his face.

As he had the feeling tonight would be an unforgettable night.

-------------------------------------------------

Todoroki sighed as he sipped the last of his drink and placed it softly on the counter in front of him. He sat alone as he thought about what he was even doing there. The entire evening basically constituting to watching his co-workers ramble on about various subjects that he could not get the meaning behind. After a while of heavy drinking, that he did not participate in, everyone either went bar-hopping or went home passed out in a taxi. He truly did not understand the purpose of such gatherings and he started to wonder how he’d even fit into society.  

As he thought to himself, the sudden words from the bartender disrupted his thoughts.

“Oh hey, Y/N. Long time, no see.”

The abrupt sound of your name made him widen his eyes and his body unconsciously jolt in the barstool. Was it really the same Y/N? No, it couldn’t be. Surely there were a bountiful amount of people with names that were similar to yours. But he had to check for himself, so he looked up from his empty glass and-

“Haha…Shinsou. Looking as gorgeously sleepy as ever. How are you?”

The sounds of your conversation with the bartender drowned out with the rest of the bustled atmosphere as he glared upon you. Without a doubt, it was you. He could never forget that figure. That figure that towered over him menacingly even though he was taller than you. That figure that just watched from a distance as you sent your delinquent underlings to pummel him into the cold cement. That figure who would bow respectfully to teachers when they dismissed any reports of your lechery. And now that same figure was only a few feet away from him, sitting gracefully at the bar counter as you talked to the unknowing bartender.

His glare locked long enough onto your figure for you to finally meet his eyes. And before he could look away, you had called out to him.

“Eh..? To…Todoroki?” You had softly called out to him. Using his name in a way that he had never heard from you before. Using a voice that harshly contradicted the patronizing tone you barked commands at him with. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”. You were smiling at him. Smiling at him as if he were a longtime friend that you missed connections with due to one of you going abroad.

You had hopped out of the barstool and approached your old classmate, taking a new seat beside him. He looked over at the wall of drinks displayed in front him, avoiding your gazing. “Wow…you’re all grown up now, huh?” You looked over to the bartender raising your hand at him. “Shinsou~ A refill on whatever he had, okay? Make it two actually.” The bartender simply nodded at you before mixing up various alcohol and flavors behind the counter.

“I..I don’t want to drink.” Todoroki shivered at his own statement as he was reminded of the times you’d scream at him for not doing something you’d ask.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s on me, okay? Don’t worry about it.” You had inched your head more over the counter trying to get a better look at him. “Your hair…I always thought it was dyed. But I guess its real, huh.” You reached your hand out to run your fingertips through his silky bi-colored bangs. He twitched at your touch.

What exactly were you doing? Acting so innocent with him like this. Were you just going to pretend like the three-year long trauma you subjected him to was a fable? An illusion? Or perhaps you had minimized the damage you’d done in your mind in order to preserve your own sanity as you took over a new life.

“...Y/N. What are you doing?”

You quirked your eyebrows in confusion at his question. “What do you mean? I just…I just think your hair is really pretty is all.”

Were you faking it? Was this another one of your atrocious jokes? Perhaps within the next minute you’d start cackling at him, asking him how he could be stupid enough to believe he deserved such niceties from the likes of you.

Todoroki looked down and squeezed the empty glass on the counter. “Don’t you…don’t you remember? What you did to me?”

“Todoroki…” You lowered your eyebrows in sorrow. “I-I’m sorry for what I did to you back then. I was indeed…a cruel person. I know you probably won’t accept that…but I still want to tell you. You at least deserve my apology. As cheap as it is.”

He looked over to you, surprised at your apologetic tone. He gazed into your e/c eyes. The very e/c eyes that captured the hearts of everyone around you, yet seethed supremacy and calamity toward him. He had learned to distrust anyone with eyes that resembled yours. The eyes that were now looking at him with…

Remorse. Your eyes were burdening in remorse. As soon as Todoroki saw the guilt that dwelled in your eyes he knew that this wasn’t a joke. That you weren’t pretending to feel these things. The look in your eyes unquestionably conveyed the apology you had stated earlier.

And it was that same look that would ascend an unusual beast that lurked within the visceral regions of his body. An unfamiliar thirst that stayed submerged within him, never needing to be satisfied until now. It gurgled within the depths of his gut, practically wanting to vomit out of his esophagus.

A beast that went by the name of revenge. And it would be so easy to pursue it right now with the plague of repentance beating in your heart.

Todoroki placed one of his hands on yours and squeezed tightly. Your skin was so soft, so smooth. He could never take the time to feel how delicate your skin was when the only touch of yours he knew before was the stinging slaps you’d deliver on his face. But tonight, he’d be able to feel something more, and the touch of his hands on yours only made the beast inside of him grow more and more unruly.

“I forgive you, Y/N.” He tried to state it in the softest way possible, making sure the feigning of the line wouldn’t be discovered. However, he knew you believed him by the twinkle in your eye, signifying an immense weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

“Todoroki…” A warm tear dropped from your cheek to his hand. “Thank you, Todoroki… thank you.” More tears would soon follow and drop onto his hand. He would’ve let go of you if he wasn’t so encapsulated by the feeling of your salty waters dropping onto his skin. As your tears cooled and dried up into his hand, he couldn’t have felt more enthused.

It was only then that Todoroki could take in the beauty that was your face. You looked so elegant like that, with pools of emotions trailing down your cheeks. Maybe if he’d seen this site of you in high school he’d had instantly fell in love. But such feelings didn’t reside in him anymore. They’d been evicted by the lurking beast of revenge, and that beast was craving more of this site from you.

“Two Vieux Carre cocktails” The bartender had placed the drinks on the counter in front of each of you before grabbing something under the counter. “…and a tissue”. He handed the soft fabric to you which made you giggle a bit.

“Thank you, Shinsou.”

He simply hummed a reply at you and returned to making drinks for other patrons that had walked in.

While you wiped away the allure that was your tears, Todoroki sat there, thinking of prolific strategies of how to get you under his grip. Should he just ask you to come home with him? Wouldn’t that be too straight forward? He didn’t know much about social interactions, but he knew asking a woman at a bar to come home with him had its underlying implications. And its not that he was undesired by women; he knew of the colleagues in his office that held romantic feelings for him. He just never followed through with any of them, never feeling anything close to the desires that were brought for him.

He also couldn’t help but feel subconscious about asking you to come home with him. You were the person that so incredibly ridiculed him for three years. You were still the same person who made him believe that no sane person would ever look twice at him. That he was too weak and monotonous to ever make someone feel happy.

Or were you? It seemed that whatever life change you went through caused you to redevelop your entire personality. Maybe you’d be like most the women he encountered in his life and become attracted to him? After-all, he also wasn’t the same person as he was in high school. He’d become stronger mentally and physically as well as much more confident about himself.

“Y/N, would you like to…finish drinking at my home?”

You stopped drying your tears at the suddenness of the question. “Huh?...You actually want me in your home?”

“Only if you want to.” Todoroki squeezed your hand again attempting to signal the desire to have you with him in private.

Blood rose to your nose and you looked away in embarrassment. “…Okay.”

Todoroki couldn’t stop the widening of his eyes at your acceptance. A part of him truly believed you’d call him disgusting before jumping up and delivering one of your characteristic slaps to his face. The heavens knew just how badly that needed to happen. If you’d rejected him, the beast of revenge may have gone right back to where it resided, deep in the subconscious of his mind.

But no, you’d accepted him. And with that, you’d accept your punishment. If you were truly ready to take on a new life, you would need to repent for your old one.

------------------------------------------------------------

Todoroki couldn’t stop the erratic beating of his heart as the two of you walked over the threshold into his house. He was closer and closer to fulfilling the dream of having you within his grips. But he couldn’t be too impatient as this would be the part where he would need to tread carefully. As the two of you took off your shoes, he would continue to watch your every move, like a jaguar stalking its prey.

“Woww!” Your eyes wandered around Todoroki’s living room, amazed at how expansive and beautifully designed it was. “Your house is so luxurious! And polished!” You looked back at Todoroki. “It suits you.”

Todoroki was a bit taken aback by your statement. As far as he knew, you had a rich father who catered to everything your callous heart desired. He was partly the reason behind his suffering seeing as that your father made sure any unpleasantry brought against you was hushed behind a closed door. “You aren’t used to this?” He stepped over to the mini-bar area and reached up to grab a specific bottle of wine.

“Huh?” You followed behind him and leaned against the bar counter, grazing your finger over the refined marble surface.  

“This…kind of house. You aren’t used to it?” He grabbed a corkscrew from the drawer and began to pry off the wine bottle’s cork. “Your father was a rich businessman was he not?”

You scoffed as you rested your elbow on the marble. “My father was in the yakuza. Rich in some aspects, but no businessman.” Your eyes fell from Todoroki to the counter. “And we never got to live in a place anywhere this grand. Especially after he was taken down by the cops…”

“I see.” It made perfect sense honestly. Your yakuza connections would explain the lackeys, the apathy of the teachers towards your lechery, the strange approval of your actions by the entire class. It must’ve been hard behind the scenes having to be the daughter of a yakuza member, but nonetheless it wouldn’t your crimes against his humanity. Todoroki poured two glasses of wine and placed one on the counter next to you.

“Should we…sit on the couch?” You looked towards to main part of the living room, eyes landing on Todoroki’s expensive sectional. “I-I mean…if you want to…”

Todoroki noticed the flustering of your face and couldn’t help but think that if the two of you had met under different pretexts he would surely have made you his wife. But marriage is not what this affair is about. This affair is about satisfying the demon that grew expansively inside of him.

He grabbed your hand and intertwined his fingers between yours as he picked up both glasses with his other hand. “I’d love to, Y/N”.

He walked the two of you over to the couch, waiting until you sat down to hand you your glass and sit closely beside you. He carefully watched as you took sips from the glass, mesmerized by the shape of lips and how you’d glossed them for your night out. They looked so soft and delicate and perfectly matched the dimensions of your face.

But your naivety obviously outmatched your beauty Todoroki thought. How could you so easily drink from the hands of someone who would so obviously want to get revenge on you? Did your newfound personality make you oblivious to the dangers of life? Maybe after wanting to permanently discard the remains of the yakuza from your brain, you decided to look at people in a new light. Maybe you wanted to just see the good in everyone and learn that most people aren’t out to destroy you. It is indeed a true thought; most people don’t want to destroy you.

But most people also don’t subject those around them to abhorrent acts of malice. And for that, your naivety would prove to be one of the worst decisions you’d made in your small existence.

“Your wine…it tastes very good.” You had swirled what left of it you had before drinking it all within a couple more gulps.

Probably the best compliment you could have said in your life. Todoroki had taken the time to make sure every speckle of power was completely dissolved into the wine. He couldn’t taste it himself or get a taste tester of course, so he would have just had to wait until your ultimate encountering to test it. And it worked.

“It was a gift from a friend abroad.” A lie. But a believable lie. “I’m glad you like it.”

You quizzingly looked at his still full glass of wine in his hand. “Why didn’t you drink any?”

“Oh...I- well I guess I am already a bit tipsy from the bar so further consumption would be ill-advised.” He smoothy stated before placing the glass on the coffee table in front of the couch.

You giggled at the statement as Todoroki internally cackled at your gullibility.

“You know, Todoroki…” Your eyes strayed to your lap. “I know this must mean nothing coming from me but…I liked you a lot in high school.” You twirled your index finger in circles on your skirt. “And I know I was mean to you but…I believe that our encounter must have been fate because, well…I still like you.”

Todoroki smiled, a cover-up for the guttural laughter that wanted to burst out of him. He let go of your hand and traced his fingers across your cheek before holding the side of your face delicately in his hand. “That…means more than you’d ever know, Y/N.”

“Shouto…”

He leaned over to give you a peck on the cheek before pressing his lips against yours. Your lips were just as soft as they looked and the gloss you wore provided a sweet vanilla taste. You sunk your hand into the red side of his hair before slipping your tongue in between his lips. Your tongue felt hot in his mouth and Todoroki grabbed your head to pull you deeper into the kiss. He tasted every part of your mouth that he could with his tongue. Your teeth, your gums, the inside of your cheeks. He made sure to leave his mark everywhere in your mouth, foreboding to the marks that would soon be left on your body.

As his kiss got deeper, yours became shallower and lazier. Eventually you pressed your hand against his chest to softly get him to back up.

“I’m sorry, Shouto…” You pressed your hand to your forehead. “It seems…I have a headache…and I’m kinda sleepy.” Your eyelids drooped heavily as sleep seemed to overcome you. “I…should go home.”

Shouto grabbed your head and leaned you down on the couch, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Ssshh…its okay Y/N. You can just sleep here for tonight. I’ll drive you back in the morning.”

“Okay…thankyou, Shouto.” You quickly drifted off to sleep at the finish of your sentence.

When Todoroki felt the heaves of your chest raise higher and lower at deeper levels, he picked you up into his arms, carrying you gently to make sure you wouldn’t wake up. Though that was a rare chance seeing as how he put a little extra power in the wine to make sure it would subdue you. He carried you down the corridor to the door that would lead to your demise. Before he walked down the stairs, he whispered into your non-listening ear.

“This encounter is indeed special, Y/N. But it will be more special to you than it will for me…because tonight will mark my vengeance. And tonight will also mark…your repentance.”

[thetriggeredhappy]

Consider: the scene in the comics where Scout dies, but instead it's Spy who's dying and he actually has the balls to tell Scout the truth face-to-face before it's too late.

consider: this shit is gonna break your heart, anon. dad!spy hours

(warnings for canon-typical violence, extreme character injury, major character death)

-

Just his luck that he’d find himself alone with so many of those ridiculous robots and with his knee so destroyed. He at least managed to take down the one that finally got him.

These tin cans didn’t even know enough to understand how to efficiently kill someone, he seethed. He’d certainly be bleeding out shortly—he was fairly sure he had a punctured lung, among other things, but the blood loss would probably be what did him in—but god, it was taking forever.

He could take some solace in that he at least didn’t drag Sniper to die along with him, had sent him to try and pick off as many bots as he could from the windows. And... well, he was fairly sure he’d been as useful as he could have been in this fight. Helped kill one of the Classic team—two, if you counted throttling his own counterpart—and done some good recon work besides. This wasn’t the most poetic or heroic death, but he wasn’t a fan of poetry and had never considered himself much of a hero, so that was probably fair.

But that stupid robot had ruined his jacket, which he was pretty annoyed about. Not like it would matter in the long run, but frustrating regardless.

God, it was cold.

He lifted his head when he heard the sound of rapid footfalls echoing down the hall, growing closer. Hey, maybe he could trick some robot into finishing him off, at least. Save himself some time and excruciating pain. He would’ve gone for the cyanide tooth, but unfortunately, this was the one situation where he’d jumped for that option a little bit too early. Just his luck.

(God, it was cold.)

Oh, well. Bludgeoned to death by a Scoutbot at least promised to be relatively quick. They tended to go for the head.

He looked up to at least give a snide remark to his more rapidly-approaching death, only for them to get stuck in his throat as the death in question rounded the corner and made eye contact with him.

“Holy shit, Spy?” Scout asked, looking startled and a little out of breath.

“Merde,” Spy mumbled, and was a little caught off guard by how hoarse his voice was.

In a second Scout had taken a knee next to him and was surveying the damage, mouth running at a mile a minute. “Holy shit we were lookin’ everywhere, Sniper showed up because I guess he was dead but now he’s better apparently and he said you two split off for some reason but you’d been fuckin’ kneecapped and—dude, you look like shit, what happened?”

“What does it look like?” Spy asked dryly.

“I mean, I don’t wanna give you an ‘I told you so’ or nothin’ but this is kinda what you get for disappearing and running off on your own all the time,” Scout pointed out.

He almost couldn’t feel the tiny ache of guilt that put in his chest underneath all the other much more life-threatening aches that were also in his chest. “Well, I’d say I’ve learned my lesson, but I think unfortunately I won’t be able to demonstrate any time soon,” Spy replied, and yeah, there was a puncture to his lung. He had to fight hard to hold down a cough, and only because he knew it would sound extremely pathetic.

“Okay, uh—can you move? Okay, you can’t move,” Scout seemed to decide. “Uh, okay, okay so I’ll uh—so I’m gonna go get Medic, and—he’s fast too we should be able to get back here in like ten minutes flat, easy! Just, I guess try and hold your guts in, I’ll be right back with help!”

Considering the amount of injured Medic was likely to be, he very much doubted Scout would be back with Medic in only ten minutes. And considering the way that his vision was swimming and how distorted Scout’s face got towards the tail end of that last sentence, he doubted he would make it ten minutes anyways.

And he found unexpected panic suddenly rising up in his chest at the thought of dying alone, here in a hallway surrounded by broken mechanical parts and acrid smoke. He forced himself into motion despite the way it made the entire room suddenly seem to careen to the left, and managed to catch Scout by the leg of his ridiculous trousers before he could take off again. “Wait,” he croaked. “Wait.”

“I, no, I gotta go get Medic, I’ll take like ten seconds—“ Scout was quick to assure, so quick that Spy realized he was legitimately worried.

“I’ll—“ Spy started, and paused to clear his throat just to give himself enough time to think of an excuse to have Scout stick around for a minute. “I’ll be fine to wait a little longer, but first I had something important to say.”

Scout frowned. “Yeah?”

And he did. He absolutely did. The problem was that this excuse was... hm.

The problem was that this was something he’d been putting off. The larger part of the situation for about 20 years, and then more directly for about six. And Spy thought that surely he would work up the courage to get to it over the course of their employment, only for it to be unexpectedly terminated, and he decided, well, that was that. He would just have to live with it. But then they got arrested and the thought that surely he would get to it over the course of their time in prison, and once again he didn’t, couldn’t seem to force himself into that conversation, not when he was trapped, not when he couldn’t run from whatever outcome ended up happening.

And now he was dying. And for all he knew, Scout was going to die shortly as well. And in most of the ways that mattered, Spy was the only person who could really answer this question, because apparently Scout’s mother had committed to the lie he’d asked her to tell, had continued to stay headstrong on helping to cover up how he’d faked his death. And how was she to know he was really dead, surely Scout would never bring it up—

If he didn’t tell Scout now, Scout would never know.

Scout would go the rest of his life never getting answers about his father.

“Merde,” he mumbled again, slumping back against the wall and squeezing his eyes shut against the way the world was spinning, feeling motion sick.

He heard Scout take a knee again, and after a second he hesitantly prompted him. “Uh, what? What is it? What’s up?” he asked carefully.

Spy forced himself to open his eyes, and was a little startled by how difficult it was. He focused hard on one of his own shoes, trying his best to make the world stop spinning so fast. He swallowed hard to try and clear his throat, steady his voice. It almost worked. “This is very important,” he started with, and forced sharpness into his tone. “So I will not be needing any of your little jokes and quips and interruptions.”

“Y... yeah, okay,” Scout said, and the worry was extremely easy to read on his face, and Spy kind of hated that.

Spy considered his words. “You’ve mentioned before that you never knew your father,” he decided to open with. Scout immediately began to frown. “And... and I never said anything. Even though that was a very brave thing to bring up.”

Scout opened his mouth to reply before remembering himself and shutting it again.

“And I wanted to apologize,” Spy managed to choke, and he kept track of Scout’s expressions in his periphery, finding it easier to hold on to that way than by trying to look at him directly. “Because you’re never going to get the chance to know your father, not really. Not in the way you deserve, and it’s my fault.“

“Spy, what the fuck does that even mean?” Scout demanded, and maybe the anger starting to flood into his voice was fair. “You—what did you do?”

“You deserved to have a father,” Spy said, and it couldn’t have been more obvious that he was dodging the question, but maybe he wanted to be obvious, just for a minute. “A good one, who did all sorts of ridiculous fatherly things for you. And it’s not your fault that you didn’t. You deserved to. You did.”

God, it was cold.

“And he should have been there for you, and for your family,” Spy continued, and felt his stomach lurch unexpectedly, and had to shut his jaw tight for a moment, tight enough to feel his fake teeth aching. “And he should have supported them and been a good father, and your life should have been made much more easy than it was, and you should not have needed to get in fights and become a criminal in the first place, and you should never have needed to sign up to become a murderer in some terrible desert in New Mexico among a pack of assassins and madmen.”

“Spy, I, I should get Medic—“ Scout tried to cut in, moved as if to stand back up. Spy snared a hand in the front of Scout’s shirt, and though he knew full well that he wasn’t strong enough to actually stop Scout in any capacity, he froze up anyways.

“And—and I know that you deserved a real father, and I knew that,” Spy said, “and I know there is no excuse that can ever be given. There is nothing that I can ever say to make it up to you, or to your mother, or your brothers, nothing. And I should have been there but I was scared and I was convinced I was being hunted and I cared too much about all of you to let that happen because of me, and it was selfish—“

“Spy,” Scout said, and it took all the strength that Spy had just to look at him, and there were a lot of emotions on his face just then. He saw realization, for one. Shock, astonishment maybe.

And for the first time in maybe his entire life, Spy decided that he just needed to be honest. 

“I’m your father, Jeremy,” Spy croaked.

Silence. Long, long silence. In the far distance, gunshots and explosions and yelling, soft enough that he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t his imagination.

“You gonna try and say some kind of cool line, now, too?” Scout asked, and his voice was sharp enough to sting, and Spy winced at it. “Some kind of bullshit about how it, it was for my own good? Or that it’s—that you always cared from far away or some shit, that it was better this way? Gonna ask me to fuckin’ forgive you, here on your deathbed?”

“No, I am not,” Spy replied, voice faint. “I know there is nothing I can say to make it up to you. Words are insufficient.” He breathed deeply and forced down the instinct that was telling him to cough. “But I would rather not leave you wondering forever. I thought... this was better than nothing.”

Scout made a noncommittal noise. Silence.

“I get the distinct impression that you are angry with me,” Spy managed.

“Duh, I’m mad at you. Jesus fuck, you have no clue how mad I am at you. But I’m not...” Scout paused to think over his words. “I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at... old you. The you who ran off. And... I dunno. Kinda seems like you hate that guy too.”

“Very much,” Spy confirmed.

“Yeah. I dunno. I guess... I dunno.” Scout paused for a long moment. “And... maybe this is better than nothing, I guess. Because... it’s not the same or nothin’, but... I dunno. At least I know now. And... at least I know what my dad’s like now. That’s something.” 

Silence. Spy managed a nod, but not words.

When Scout spoke again, his voice was uncharacteristically level. “You’re gonna die here, aren’t’cha, Spy?”

“Oui. I have no doubt in my mind,” Spy sighed, so quietly that he wasn’t sure Scout could hear it.

Scout was quiet for a minute. He moved to pull Spy’s hand off of his shirt (not that it was difficult), and for one terrifying moment Spy thought he was about to just drop Spy’s hand and stand up and leave him to rot in some hallway on an uncharted island where he would never be found. His vision was darkening rapidly, and he didn’t think he had the strength to try and stop him again, or that it would even work.

But instead Scout clasped Spy’s hand in his own and held it tight to his chest, squeezing Spy’s shoulder beneath his hand. “Run hell, asshole,” Scout said with the slightest of smiles, and it was so like Scout to be joking just then, to be trying to comfort him just then even if it was in his own way, to find the most indirect, roundabout method of letting Spy know that things were okay. And it made Spy laugh, and laughing was the last thing that Spy remembered.

-

He saw the last of the color drain from Spy’s face, the way the muscles there slowly went slack, and after a long moment he moved the hand from Spy’s shoulder to check for a pulse. He shifted to try again three times, not positive he was doing it right, before realizing, no. He was definitely doing this right. Spy was dead.

He let his own hand drop, then carefully laid down Spy’s.

Man. Twenty-seven fuckin’ years, and he finally finds his dad, and it’s Spy. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Spy would find a way to escape that kind of conversation and never look back, but he was a little surprised that his solution was apparently dying.

...

That wasn’t that funny.

Scout leaned back, scrubbed at his face with his hand, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths. Conflicted emotions. Conflicted thoughts.

Jesus, he should’ve seen it. That dumb dream he’d had back at Heavy’s house when he’d almost died, the stupid jokes Spy kept making about his Ma and the suspicious amount of information Spy had about him, way more than was probably on any official record. And the weird shit Heavy had been saying to him, and all the times Spy stuck his neck out for him when he really didn’t have to—

He didn’t think it was obvious enough for him to guess, but it was definitely obvious enough to suspect.

...So being an asshole ran in the family, huh?

He sat back on his heels.

...His Ma always said they had similar eyebrows. And their eyes in general, apparently. Ears. The mask made it kinda hard to tell.

The mask.

For a few seconds, Scout really genuinely considered taking the mask off.

This was his dad. Ma apparently lost the few pictures she had of him years ago, and this was his only chance. If he didn’t look now, he’d never really know what his dad looked like. Not in a real way. And didn’t he deserve to know? Hadn’t he earned this?

But he couldn’t, and he knew he couldn’t. That was a kind of disrespect he couldn’t stoop to, not even to a dead guy.

He didn’t know why, but he felt himself tearing up.

If he made it out of this alive, he made a promise to himself. He was gonna talk to Miss P—those two were friends, right?—and he was gonna find out more about Spy. He’d hire a private eye if he had to, he’d spend every penny of his Tom Jones money figuring out everything he could. Spy hadn’t given him a lot to work with, but it was something. It was enough.

He wiped his eyes, rocked forward to stand, shook himself. For a second he thought about getting Medic, seeing if he could work his magic, but he’d only seen Sniper for a minute, only long enough for him to say that coming back to life was a one-time deal. He took a deep breath and turned, starting to walk down the hallway. Running off felt wrong just then.

Maybe God was looking out for him, just then, because that meant he hadn’t turned the corner down the hall, which meant he heard the feeble little cough behind him and could turn around, could see that Spy had a hand lifted.

A pause to process.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Scout scathed in the angriest voice he could manage, even as he felt tears leap into his eyes.

[im-someone-i-guess]

@iambecomeyourvillain @black-like-my-soul @blackasmysoul @ghafa-dale @ghafascortana @sankt-nazyalensky @cressjacquine @jurdan-my-beloved @boredbookwormgirl @same-crazy-art-girl34 @alonlyfangirl   @saltyfortunes @writeforjordelia @confused-as-all-hell @moobrvoobl-moobmoob-oobmpoobroom @apple-bottom-jeansx @fatpotatosaysmoo @herondalesunsetcurve @investmentofmyheart @22herondale

The blood that glinted on Mati was the exact vermillion as Nalya’s kebaya. The blade had never looked deadlier, red staining the curves and a man lying dead at Nalya’s feet. She didn’t know the man’s name, or exactly why Babah wanted him dead but Nalya worked under the assumption that her father had his reasons and that was enough for her.

And one would call her a monster for it, the streets of Darah already do but it wasn’t much to fret about. They were superstitious people saying that death blackens one’s soul, cooled one’s heart but Nalya’s body still emitted heat, proving them otherwise. But Nalya could not say the same for her soul, she expected it to be just as stained as her kebaya.

Suddenly she was conscious of the state she was in, dried blood crusting every inch of her, accompanied with the realization that she was in desperate need for a long bath. As swiftly as she could, Nalya got rid of the body, carrying the corpse down the flights of seemingly endless stairs and burying him near the carcass of a cat. If people were to find the body, they would encounter the cat first.

But they would not stop and would eventually find the body- well bodies.

“Nalya Aafiyati binti Cahaya?”

She had thought the sun would rise from the west sooner than she heard Aryan Khajee bin Gelap ‘s rough voice, see his black curly hair or the gold of his skin. But here he was and perhaps when dawn creeps the sun would not rise from the east any longer.

“Ary?” The nickname slipped out before Nalya could think better of it. She had called him that before, years ago when she wore simple clothes, kerongsangs lacking jewels, her hair worn down in tangled strands. It was a time when blood did not stain her fingers, when Mati was not sheathed underneath her kebaya.

“Nalya, do you happen to be enduring your monthly womanly flowering,” he said it like a fact, casting a pointed gaze at the dried blood crusting the hem of her blouse. “I recalled you telling me of how it so dreadfully hurt. Shall I walk you home so you don’t faint halfway there?”

Babah would not appreciate boys walking her home, especially if she was bloodstained and furthermore if that particular boy was Aryan. He wasn’t a threat, to her or Babah’s business but Nalya supposed if he was someone of major consequence, certainly Babah would have already ordered her to murder Aryan.

“You do not have to walk me home, Encik Aryan.” Nalya hurried through the street, longing for the familiar view of her brick red rooftops. She could feel Aryan still strolling around behind her, his steady footsteps bidding off any curious onlookers. A couple walking near dawn was a more acceptable scene compared to a girl walking alone.

“You aren’t asking me questions, Nalya. Are you not wondering about where I’ve been all these years?” Aryan walked beside her now, his black eyes staring at Nalya with an amusement she did not understand. “I was sent away because of you, you know. Mother insists I cannot fall in love with you.”

And Nalya completely agreed with Puan Farhah, they were becoming an outrageous pair of lovestruck teenagers, reckless and without a care in the world. They had already committed plenty of irresponsible mistakes, almost costing both their parents a hefty amount of irreplaceable goods.

“Well, you’re home.” And she was, they had approached the most dangerous corner of Darah, the richest part of the city. Most of the houses were no longer made of wood but rather with stone, brick, and cement. The lands around them were adorned with beautiful flowers, planted with hired gardeners. They were pretty, but the arrangement was artificial.

Like the smile Nayla put on as she turned to Aryan. “Thank you Aryan. Despite my insistence in telling you otherwise, you still walked me home.” Quickly as she could, she strutted home, holding her kebaya down so no one would see the glint of Mati. There were rumours that the Shitabs were going to ban keris knives, seeing one on a young girl would even encourage that law to happen.

“Fifi?” Mother’s voice sounded ever-so concerned, ever-so unreal.

Nalya climbed her way atop the tangga, her eyes counting each petal she passed, the floral pattern catching her interest as it always has. Despite being located in wealthy Kaya, their houses were still made of wood. Father said it was a reminder to their family that despite their slanted eyes, they were still Yalams, they belonged at Darah.

“Habis tu, have you disposed of him?”

It was foolish to think Babah would start with a good how are you.

“Dah Babah, the mission was successful.” And my soul wears another stain, but Nalya said no such thing. She bowed respectfully to her father and made her way to her room.

The lamp had already been lit, multiple matches, tips blackened were scattered on the floor. It was as if a child successfully lit it only to drop the match from the alarming heat. At least the house wasn’t burnt to the ground, Yaqeen would be getting much more than a light scolding from her elder sister.

“Kakak?”

The people of Darah also insist that a stained soul was incapable of loving and if there was one thing Nalya loved, it was Yaqeen Afiyat bin Cahaya, her dear brother.

The boy was lying atop her bed, cocooned under the covers, nested by pillows. Nalya had always told Yaqeen how he was welcome to come into her room if something troubled him but it was late. He should be asleep, should at least be inside his room.

“Yaqeen, why aren’t you asleep?”

The boy emerged from under the blanket, revealing a bloody nose. His whole face was smeared with the dark red, as if he had hastily wiped it. Nalya’s bed was stained too but the bed sheets could be replaced. Money wasn’t scarce.

“I told Babah but he didn’t open the door.” Nalya knew Yaqeen was going to cry, and saw the furrow of his brows. They only appeared when he was trying to keep a straight face, when he was desperately trying to hold back his tears. “He doesn’t want to talk to me, does he not love me?”

Yaqeen got off the bed, making his way across the room to hug her. Heedless of Nalya’s stained kebaya, his shirt was already soaked with blood. His small figure relaxed and he started crying, his body shaking with each sob.

“I’m sure he does, maybe he was busy.” That wasn’t an excuse, it never was but Yaqeen’s sobs eased and his arms wrapped around her tighter. “You can sleep here okay?”

As Nalya went behind the changing screen, peeling off her bloodstained kebaya in favour of a cotton shirt and a kain batik, thoughts swirled inside her mind. She does as her father tells her to, kill those he orders her too but that was business.

Yaqeen was family and you put family first, you always do.

[darylandbethfanforever9]

Devil’s Backbone

Devil’s Backbone

Chapter 6 

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+ 

Warnings: Smut, violence, past flashbacks of sexual assault, descriptions of torture, racial hate and forced abortion. Not Tony Stark friendly.

Relationships: Bucky/OC, Steve/Natasha, Billy/Wanda/Grant, past Clint/Laura. eventual Clint/Yelena and Frank/Karen.

Summary: In the aftermath of the Blip, Bucky struggled to find his place among the world and the Avengers. However, when he is sent on a mission to Madripoor to investigate a young woman, he starts to realize that maybe his past isn’t too far behind him. Co-Written with WalkingPotterGirl14

"It was amazing, you guys. Absolutely." They had been on a video call with Bucky for about fifteen minutes now, starting to get some intake on his trip there and how everything had been going. But up until now, Steve had waited with a raised brow as Bucky described everything he had seen. "That sounds great, Buck," Steve chuckles a bit. "But there was a point of this mission." "Right, uh-" Bucky rubs the back of his neck a bit embarrassingly, chuckling. "Sorry. Sharon just knows what she's doing. I've never seen so much art and so many fancy people all in one sitting. But you're right. Sharon did direct me to the young woman that supposedly took up the Power Broker position." He pulls up photos and splays them onto the screen so they could see it. "I got some of these pictures last night before she left." Steve crosses his arms against his chest, shaking his head. "I can't believe this." "She looks just like Anastasia," Wanda remarks lightly. "See, you think that, but that's not her name – at least the one that she gave me isn't Anastasia. It's Maria Kapitonova. Interesting alias, but if it is her, she's certainly taking a different route than what I'm doing." "Did you learn anything else about her?" "Nothing that we didn't already know," Bucky states quietly. "Sharon told me that she is the one who's taken over the city, but she's dangerous, just as we suspected. She has morals and has laid down some rules but hasn't stopped herself from killing those who against them. Sharon said she's ended at least three so far. Something did sort of stand out to me for a moment though. I was talking with her and she said she moved to Madripoor to escape the cold from somewhere. If she WAS in Siberia, that would make sense." Sam rolls his eyes from where he stood. "There are a lot of cold places in the world, Bucky." "I know, I know, but it's curious, is all I'm saying." Steve sighs but nods. "Alright, at least we have that. You said you'd see her again?" "Yeah, we ah…kind of hit it off, in a way." At Steve's questioning response, he responds quickly. "Not like that, I just - I mean it seems she's willing to meet with me again outside of a party, so it'll be easier to get info." "Right," Steve chuckles, although a bit of him was curious. "Remember that this is a mission though, Buck." Bucky rolls his eyes. "I know, you don't have to remind me. I'll get the info you guys need." There was a loud meowing off screen and Bucky chuckles. "I gotta go. Alpine is being a little minx and wants some food." "Tell him that I say hi!" Wanda says, smiling. "I will," Bucky snickers before nodding at them. "I'll talk to you soon." They wave goodbye to him and he signals off the call, leaving them alone.

Ana lets out a soft sigh of content as she cooks up some dinner. While she did have someone that could cook for her, she preferred to cook her own food – usually for safety rather than convenience. She knew that there were several people who would most likely pay a chef to put poison in there. She wasn't about to let herself go down like that. As she starts to plate up her food, however, she pauses when she suddenly hears a crash from the living room. Quickly, she reaches into her cutlery drawer and grabs a knife, approaching quietly. "Hello?" She asks. No response.

She keeps her guard up as she ventures into the living room to see if anyone or something was in the living room. There was nothing aside from a card box having fallen on the glass coffee table. Luckily, it hadn't cracked the glass. She suddenly saw movement from the corner of her eye and picked up a gun that was in a drawer. Ana started cautiously walking down the hallway where the dining room was, when someone suddenly lunged at her. She moved out of the way quickly as the man jumped at her with a knife directed at her throat. She dodged out of the way as the assassin slashed at her with knife, but Ana used her ballet training to avoid being stabbed. Grabbing her by the hair, she threw him into the wall to slow him down slightly. The man glared at her disdainfully, sneering at her as he pulled out a knife that looked like it could slice her to pieces. "This is called a serbcutter, little girl. My ancestors used this knife to kill enemies of Croatia during World War II," the man taunted cruelty, lunging at her again. She kicked him in the chest, gripping her own knife and stabbed him in his left shoulder. She heard him yell out in pain, as she wrapped her legs around his neck, but he kicked her right knee, causing her to hiss in her own pain. Ana backed away from him as she saw two more of his friends had joined him. They must have come from the back garden to get into the apartment. Damn it. "Three on one…that's hardly fair," she remarked coldly, keeping a fighting stance as she kept an eye on where all of them were positioned. And then, she ran, all the way down. And they weren't that far behind in following her down into the streets.

After feeding Alpine and falling asleep, Bucky woke up to the sounds of fight from across the street. He quickly got dressed before grabbing his gun and his Da Lai knife that Steve had given back to him. It had been his when he'd been with the Howling Commandos. After locking the door, he walked quickly across the street to see what was going on. When he did find what was the cause, Bucky was stunned to see Maria fighting four people, one of whom had a knife and another man that he recognized as Diego, a Flag Smasher. "Hey, isn't four on one an unfair disadvantage?" he called out dangerously, pulling out his knife. His voice caused Maria to turn in surprise, and he sees a slight smile come over her lips at him suddenly showing up. One of the assassins tried to gut him. He kicked him in the face, causing the man to stumble back at his nose breaking from Bucky's kick. "You're pissing off our boss, Kapitonova! She wants Madripoor to be like how the country was before you arrived and started putting down all of these stupid rules for us to follow!" Axelle spat contemptuously, lunging at her with a hunter's knife. He saw Maria sigh in annoyance before punching her hard across the face, using a pair of batons that glowed dark red. They were similar to the ones that Natasha used, only hers glowed blue and not a dark crimson red. He knocked out the remaining one as Maria came over with a slightly bruised face. Her lip was bleeding, and she had a tear in her t-shirt that had blood on it. "What do you wanna do about them?" He asked quietly, nodding at two of the surviving assassins. One of the women was dead. Maria had stabbed her in the throat, severing her carotid artery and causing her to bleed out. "I'll question them…thank you for helping me," she answered cautiously, glancing up at him. He nodded and watched as she picked up their weapons off the floor. He discreetly checked to see if any of them had any identifiable scars or tattoos and got lucky. The woman had a tattoo on her back that had the words 'Elite Hunters' with roses on either side. It looked like it had been branded into her skin. He felt his blood run cold but took a photo and sent it to Steve. Maybe, they could find out who had sent them to kill Maria and why?

Steve had gotten Bucky's message and the attachment of a photo that showed a tattoo. He'd never seen that tattoo before, but Billy, Clint, Natasha, Yelena and Grant were staring at the tattoo as if they'd seen a ghost. "Do any of you know what this tattoo is? Because I've never seen it before, and I've seen my fair share of tattoos," Steve asked curiously. Natasha was the one who answered his question, surprisingly. "I do, and so do the others. It's the tattoo of a secret organization called the Elite Hunters who prey on people by luring them to holiday hotels and spas in countries such as Italy, Czech Republic, and Iceland. They revel in dark fantasies such as murder, cannibalism, and torture of many forms that include fetish pornography and amputation. Only wealthy people run the organization, and it was very secretive…until 2013," Natasha explained gravely, her face showing her disgust. No one in the room could speak. They were all horrified by what they were hearing. Wanda looked like she was going to be sick. Scott had stopped eating his slice of pepperoni pizza, while Sam looked disgusted. "Just gonna put that down," Scott mutters, lowering his slice. "So, what happened in 2014, Romanoff?" Tony asked, causing Natasha to ignore him. Steve shook his head, shocked at the revelation. "After I dumped all of S.H.I.E.L. D’s secrets, the Elite Hunters were discovered by Fury. A lot of victims that had escaped or survived killed the Elite Hunters in revenge, or they committed suicide rather than go to prison for multiple murders," she explained quietly. Clint then took over. "At least three of them escaped and went to hide in Madripoor. These are the only surviving Elite Hunters," he said gravely, as he used his iPad to pull up the images. Three images came up on the large plasma screen. One of a man with light brown hair and cold blue eyes. The next two were of another man who had blonde hair and emotionless hazel eyes that caused Wanda to shiver at his disturbing, twisted smile. The final image was of a blonde-haired woman who looked like she was a model, but she had a demented smile, one that made Steve know instinctively that the woman was dangerous. "Do we know who hired them to kill Maria?" Steve asked concerned. Before she could respond, a furious Thaddeus Ross stormed into the conference room. His hands were balled into fists, as he glared at where Steve was sitting. "Who authorized Sergeant James Barnes to go undercover as a Russian arms dealer in Madripoor!? I made it perfectly clear that the woman was to be terminated as soon as you acquired her location!" Ross shouted infuriated, causing Steve to speak up for his team and Fury. "With all due respect Home Secretary, the young woman has shown no threat to us. I personally believe, as do many of the others, that she is perhaps more like Frank Castle," Steve argued, causing Ross's face to turn an interesting shade of purple that resembled an eggplant. "You overstep yourself, Captain Rogers. As from now, you are no longer the leader of the Avengers due to your behavior as of late and your recklessness in allowing Sergeant Barnes to go on a mission without being cleared by me. As a result, Tony Stark will be leading the team," Ross said harshly, a cruel smile appearing on his face. Tony's expression was one of arrogance, triumph and smugness. "Sir, Steve did the right thing. Who else could he send undercover?" Natasha argued firmly, causing everyone aside from Clint and Sam to stare at her in surprise. Ross's lip curled, as he looked at the young woman who sitting next to Yelena. He wasn't impressed or bothered by her question.

"He could've sent you, Agent Romanoff, or Belova." Natasha's shoulders fall. "Barnes knows Madripoor far better than I ever could have. And he knows Sharon better than I ever did. He was logically the best choice for this mission besides maybe Sam, but even then, he has his duties here. Barnes didn't have further missions that were outstanding that were blocking him from going. I did, and so does Belova." Ross lets out a huff before shaking his head. "Your missions could wait for something like this – either way, it was a bad decision to send Barnes off on this. If it were up to me, I'd bring him back instantly. But that's Fury's area." He glares at him, who doesn't give a proper response, just shrugs his shoulders. "Even so, Steve's lost jurisdiction. Tony, it's your job now." He shakes his head almost in disappointment before storming out, closing the door. Steve feels himself glare at where Tony was. "You just couldn't keep your mouth shut, huh?" "Oh, stop. You're being dramatic. This is what's been going on for ages," Tony states, crossing his arms against his chest. Steve shakes his head and sits down, quieting himself as Tony started to talk, changing the screen at the front. He glances at Nat and nudges her side, to which she glances over at him. "Thanks for standing up for me, Nat." The young woman nods in response, glancing at the ground. He could see she was still uncomfortable with something sitting inside of her. He wished there were a way he could see inside her head and wonder what the hell was going on. But hey, if she were standing up for him, that had to mean something good, right?

"Wait, what happened?" After the big fight with Maria out in the streets, Bucky had instantly gone back to his apartment to tell Sharon over the phone. And she had understandably listened and been surprised when he told her about everything. "It was insane, Sharon," Bucky says, running a hand through his hair. "There were four of 'em up against her. They really wanted her gone. She ended up killing one of them but the others…think she dragged them back to her place to interrogate them." "What did you say the tattoo said?" "Elite Hunters. Don't really know exactly what they are but got a feeling that whoever sent them wants her gone." Sharon sighs from the other end of the phone. "I'll be sure to look them up and find some info – I'm sure you've already talked to Steve and the others?" He nods. "Of course." "Good. Just keep an eye out." There was a beat of silence. "Maybe you should go out and check up on her. This might be the best time for you to figure out more about her. Vulnerable and shit." Bucky raises an eyebrow. "That's a bit manipulative." He could almost her hear shrug from across the phone. "You gotta do what you have to do. Might be your best option right now." Bucky sighs a bit. She wasn't wrong. It was an option. And right now, it really was one of the best he could lean towards. "Alright…you rest up now." "See you, Bucky." He hangs up the phone after that, glancing outside. It seems that she wasn't that far from where he lived. Maybe he could walk around until he found where she lived. He saw the direction she had gone. Maybe Sharon was right. Maybe it was the best time to do it.

The sound of a knife slitting across skin was loud enough for anyone in her penthouse to hear. The scream that followed was enough to make someone cringe. But Ana didn't care. Ana wanted answers. "Now," she says lowly, pushing the man close to her. She could see it was Diego, one of the Flag Smashers from before. "Either you tell me who sent you here, or I can make your time a little more terrible like your friend over there." She points to the other hostages that were now passed out. "I'm…n-not gonna s-say shit!" He stutters. She grabs her knife and stabs it deep into his arm, to which he screams out in pain before dragging it right back up to his elbow. The blood spurts out as tears start to evade his eyes. "No, you gonna play nice?" "It-t's Melina!" he yells out, his voice shaking. She pauses. "She sent us – p-please, we were only doing our j-" She instantly brings the knife up and slits his throat, watching as he bleeds out before falling to the ground. He was no innocent man. This wasn't a job. She knew what Diego had done prior to this. The same with these two. And now, it was done. Melina…god, she was going to murder that bitch. She wipes the blood away, letting out a soft sigh before grabbing a towel to wipe the blood from her face. Before she could start wondering what to do with the bodies, however, there was a beep that came from her intercom. Her brow raises before coming over. Who on earth would be here this time of night? "Yes?" She asks as her finger hovers over the button. "Who is it?" "Miss Maria, you have a gentleman visiting you," her concierge stated from below. "A Mr. Yakov?" She had wondered why he had come out to help her like that. Seems he was a bit more than she had originally thought. But he did aid her in getting these goons…maybe he wouldn't be opposed to helping her now. "Send him up," she responds back, glancing at the mess of bodies below her. She wondered what Yakov would say to this.

She heard footsteps heading up the stairs as she grabbed a towel and wiped the blood from her face. She didn't enjoy killing people, far from it, but she was pissed that Melina Vostokoff had tried to kill her for putting down some moral laws. She was well aware that no one in Madripoor was innocent, but she wasn't going to stand by and allow rape or trafficking or any of that shit. Just because Madripoor was keeping it's lawless ways didn't mean that she was going allow the sickest people to get away with hurting people. Shaking her head, she started getting the cleaning products out to deal with the blood on the floor. She heard Yakov coming up to her soundproof room. And as soon as he walks in, he whistles at the sight of the blood before looking up at her. "Maria, what the hell happened?" Yakov asked concerned, his eyes scanning her over for any sign of injuries. She smiled faintly at his own concern for her, but she gave him a reassuring smile. "Someone wasn't happy with how I run Madripoor with a moral code…so she decided to send three Elite Hunters and a Flag Smasher to kill me. I questioned the Flag Smasher, and he spilled his guts to try and save his life," she said coldly, glaring down at the body of Diego with no emotion.

Over in Bucky's head, he felt his heart pound at her words, as his mind processed what she was saying. Someone, a woman, had ordered a hit on Maria to kill her in a violent manner, but she had fought back and killed all of her would be killers. She was definitely trained in the Red Room. He could tell that she had been trained in that facility. He just had a feeling that she had been raised in the there. God, he wished he could remember more of his time during that period. "Do you know who it was that ordered the hit on you, Maria?" he asked curiously, keeping his voice concerned. The last thing he wanted to do was to make her suspicious of him in any manner. "Melina Vostokoff, that old bitch…I was hoping she died when the Black Widow and Crimson Widow destroyed the Red Room. Well…she doesn't know if I'm dead yet and I intend on sending her a gift," she answered forebodingly, her grey eyes cold as ice. Bucky showed no emotion but privately, he knew Melina's days were now numbered. "Can you help me out here?" She asks him lightly, trying to move the bodies off of the carpet, to which he does. "You know, for someone I just met, you've been quite the helper tonight." Bucky shrugs a bit and smiles a bit at Maria. "I'm not about to let someone who's trying to at least do some good in this city die like that." "Well…thank you. That means a lot," she says genuinely. "But I don't want to drag you into this. This is my fight." Oh, he was already dragged in so deep. But for her, he could at least play it off.

[tomthesoftie]

Hello! Please could you write something where the reader accidentally breaks something of Toms like his guitar or an award or something and gets really upset and worried that he’ll be mad but he’s not and he’s really soft and sweet 💔😭

irreplaceable

a/n: hello! so i’ve got a list of things i will be writing, so please be patient if you sent in a request... i’m working on a new fic every day because i don’t want to squeeze too much work into one day; these fics take me a while to write... anyways enjoy xx

pairing: mob!tom x reader

warnings: mentions of blood, accidental injuries, angst, fluff

masterlist                     prompt list

You were browsing through Tom’s room, letting your eyes take a break from staring at a screen for too long. Of course you’ve been living with him since the quarantine, but you never took the time to look deeply through his room, seeing as you were always preoccupied with work or other things like Tom. 

You walked over to the white shelf with many picture frames propped on top of it. Each one had a different picture of Tom, from when he was a baby to recent events. You picked up the crystal framed image. You examined him huddled with his family and Paddy standing in the front, all of them wearing their Brother’s Trust shirts. You admired how close together they looked. You loved your own family, but you couldn’t imagine having and being part of such an amazing family like Tom’s. 

You smiled to yourself, forgetting about the picture in your hand. Tom had brought you into the family. He had always been there for you and so were the rest of the Hollands. Nikki treated you as if you were her daughter-in-law, as well as Dom. The Holland brothers were very close with you, befriending you the moment you were introduced. You sighed, full of content.

“Y/N-” Harry burst into the room.

You dropped the picture in your hand, listening to the loud shatter as it made contact with the wooden floor. You fell to your knees, trying to save as much as you could. Luckily, the image itself wasn’t harmed, but the frame was completely demolished. You tried to retrieve the chunks of crystals and put them together but some pieces were missing that you couldn’t find.

“Oh my god! Y/N!” The twin rushed over to you, trying to pull you off the ground.

Unbeknownst to you, you were kneeling on shards of broken glass. The pain was numbed by the fear and guilt you were feeling. Tears ran down your face, and you let out a loud sob.

“It’s alright,” Harry cooed, stroking your back, “Look, I need you to get up. Your legs are covered in blood.”

You refused, tugging your arm away when he gently gripped it. Unconsciously, you slammed your hand back into the mess of glass, cutting your hand as well.

“We need to get you cleaned up. It’s only a picture,” he said, trying to calm you.

You finally spoke, “Bu-But the frame was made of crystals. It must’ve been so expensive,” through blurred vision, you could see the mess you made, “and look at this mess.”

You were utterly ashamed of yourself. For all you know, that frame could’ve costed hundreds of dollars. It must’ve meant loads to Tom.

“He’s going to be so mad,” you whispered shaking your head in shame.

“Who? Tom?” You nodded. “That’s complete nonsense. Tom would never. He’ll forgive you if you tell him it was an accident, which it was.”

You gave in to Harry’s pleads, letting him clean the mess for you while you went to take a hot bath to calm yourself down. Only when you looked in the mirror had you seen what a mess you became. Blood was dripping from your knees and palms, looking like you committed a murder. After the bath, you were able to collect yourself and prepare yourself to confess to Tom. Still afraid he would be mad, you put on a pair of Nike Pro shorts with your own shirt. Usually you wore his shirts, but this time, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Harry had cleaned the scene to be completely spotless, as if nothing had happened at all. If Tom didn’t notice the missing picture, you could probably get away with it, but it would cruel of you to keep this a secret from him.

“Hey, Tommy,” your voice was quiet and shaking.

“Hello, love. How are you?” He looked up from his paperwork, smiling at you.

“G-Good,” you were looking everywhere but at him.

“Love, you’re bleeding,” he rushed up from his seat to examine your knees. He hadn’t seen your hands as they were hidden behind your back.

“Oh, I forgot to patch them up,” you laughed nervously. You couldn’t help but let tears fill your eyes, “I’ve gotta tell you something, Tommy.” He looked up at you, a frantic look on his face. You forced your tears back, “I-I broke your picture frame with the crystals!”

You expected him to burst and yell at you, telling you to get out, but instead, he furrowed his brows and sighed.

“That’s not important right now. You need to get these,” he tapped above your cuts, “wrapped up. I don’t want you to bleed out,” he rose from his kneeling stance, kissing you on your forehead.

“Are you not mad?” You asked, eyes shining with innocence.

“Of course not. Why would I be mad?”

“I broke your-” your breath hitched, “your frame,” you winced at the memory as it hurt you to say it.

“Darling, you are more important than a silly picture frame. I can get that replaced whenever I want. You, on the other hand, are irreplaceable,” he bopped your nose.

“Thank goodness,” you hurriedly wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing the side of your face against his chest.

He chuckled, stroking your back as you squeezed the air out of him.

“C’mon, darling, we’ve gotta get you fixed up, alright? Then you can have all the cuddles you want,” he pulled you off of him, lifting you bridal style back to his room.

“Mhm, and Tommy?” He looked at you, “My hands are also bleeding,” you lifted your hands, revealing your bloodied palms.

“We’ll fix those, too, love,” he placed a chaste kiss to your lips.

You saw Harry walk by and waved at him, smile radiating with happy energy. You might’ve waved too aggressively because blood flung from your palms and onto your clothes.

Tom chuckled at your adorableness, “And let’s change you into one of my shirts, hm?”

You nodded fervently like a child getting what they’ve been desiring for a while.

You had no idea how you ended with the fiercest mobster, yet softest boyfriend in the universe.

[reidetic]

Letters

Summary: Spencer writes reader letters in prison. Loosely based off of Hey There Delilah. 

A/N: The poem in this work belongs to Erin Hanson. Thank you so much to @sunlight-moonrise​ for beta reading this for me. This was a one day brain child and I hope you enjoy it.

She hadn’t written back. That’s all Spencer could think of, the only thought running through his head as his mattress sunk through the bars and pressed into his back. Two letters so far, two weeks between, save the first week. The letters kept her in his memory, the pen dipping into paper the only thing that kept her perfume wound around his soul. When the ink smeared across his too quick fingers, he cursed, closing his unfounded emotions within the confines of the cheap notebook paper. 

She hadn’t written back. It’s not like the letters had been particularly interesting. Spencer had never been an interesting writer, never been the one to capture someone’s attention. That was, until her. Until y/n. He had met her at a writer’s circle, something his mom had suggested. 

“You used to write so often, when you were a little boy.” Diana had mused on one of her infrequent good days.  

“I was young then, Mom, nothing I wrote was well-written.” Spencer had laughed with her, both of them remembering the mother’s day haikus that should’ve never been sent home.

“I’m just saying that the life you’ve lived deserves to be written down.” And so he went, attending a small after hours circle at a local community college. He saw her first. Her hair slung up haphazardly, pens tucked into the tendrils, one shirt sleeve slipping off of her shoulder, and her tongue sticking slightly out her mouth in concentration. She was a girl who could steal your attention from the first glance. One pen slipped out of her hair then, and he had leaned forward, picking it up and extending it to her with a smile. 

“Spencer.” He had offered, his name a gift to the girl who sat before him. He thought they probably looked like a painting, with the lanky boy kneeling in front of the ethereal girl, one hand extended with a pen obscured by his own spindly fingers.

“Y/n.” She gave her name right back, grabbing the pen from his hand. And that had been it. That one moment was all it took for Spencer to know he would follow where she went. They had become inseparable, no longer one without the other. They promised each other they’d come every single week, filled notebooks in hand. They stayed far too long after the circle had been dismissed, reading in hushed whispers and bodies so still the motion lights went dim. 

Spencer had felt himself start to fall on one particular night, when they had slipped out to her car to read, their voices filling the cramped car and breath fogging the windows. She had written a poem, something soft and fiery, and he remembered thinking it felt like an autobiography and a love song all at once as her sweet and lilting voice filled the air. 

I wish that I could hold your heart, 

Cradle it gently in my hands, 

But my arms just are not strong enough, 

To hold what I don 't understand, 

My eyes have seen a lot of 

And I thought I'd seen them all, 

But the way your smile ignites my own, 

Makes me think there's so much more, 

These walls around this heart of mine, 

Have stood dust, 

But it's as though you've found the gate, 

That leads right to my trust, 

I've never really liked my name, 

But on your lips it sounds so sweet, 

And your voice is my new favourite song, 

That's forever on repeat, 

But even though I feel all this, 

I can never let you see, 

Because your heart deserves a whole lot more, 

Than a broken girl like me. 

Her trembling breath paused as she finished on the word ‘me’. He felt as though she saw right through him, he turned to glass in her sight. But she was still as opaque as the day he met her. The car had felt awkward then. The air too still, the streetlights outside too bright. They sat in silence, breath held, before y/n had blurted out a quick, “I should get home.” 

He still remembers the way her face fell in the moonlight as he agreed with her. He still regrets that, still regrets not pulling her in and kissing her right then and never letting her go. He dreams about that now, about the what ifs and what could have beens. He’s always been a coward.

He had written that night, pages upon pages of writings about her. Nothing but her. She filled his mind for weeks, and when he read his poetry on Thursday nights, she looked away. He could still feel the sting in his cheeks he felt that night when she called his work, “fantastical and unrealistic”. He could still feel the betrayal he felt that night as she ripped into him and left no trace. Despite her harshness, he felt her warmth, or so he thought.

She hadn’t written back. The letter he penned took days, but it wasn’t as if prison life was especially exciting. There weren’t enough words he could find to explain how he felt to her. He had never told her how he felt, not before his arrest. He had tried to write the letter in English, in French, in Latin. None of it made any sense, his cell filled with ruined and crumpled pieces of paper. He settled on an old song, the one he remembered playing softly in the car as she read her heart to him, changed to fit only her. 

  Hey there y/n, 

What’s it like in DC? I’m a thousand miles away, but tonight you look so pretty. I know I can’t see you right now, but it doesn’t matter. I know. Forgive me for the song, it keeps me sane. I don’t know quite what to do with myself right now. It’s not often I get arrested for murders I didn’t commit, but when I do, it’s you I miss. Thursday was strange without your words there to comfort the mass in my head. I find that when you’re speaking it’s the only time I hear silence. Silence is something beautiful rarely created that I don’t experience often enough, but with you, it finds its way to my ears regularly. I know if you were here you’d chastise me about the concept of hearing silence, but you’ll just have to read it in this letter. I don’t have many updates, but know that I am not enjoying myself. Suffice to say, it is hard to enjoy one’s predicament when you aren’t sure when it will be over. I don’t know how to say what I want to say to you, so I won’t. Please be safe. You matter to me more than you know.

Regards, 

Spencer Reid

She hadn’t written back. He had sent the letter within his second week behind bars. His life continued, slowly but surely, days passing and hopes of a response every day. And every day, nothing. It kills him,  but he can’t blame her. He doesn’t know that he would write himself back if he was in her shoes. Still, he sent another letter. He put just a bit more of his soul into the second, still not quite ready to confess anything he might have considered confessing that night in her car.

Hey there y/n, 

Don’t you worry about the distance, I’m right here if you get lonely. Not literally, you know that, of course. But you can always give this letter another read. Listen to my voice, it’s my disguise. I’m by your side. I’ll always be by your side, whether or not you need me. If you want me to leave, I’ll go. But until then, I’ll stay by your side. Everyone needs a loyal friend, right? I know I could use one right now. I don’t blame you for not responding. You have no proof that I am not a guilty man. But I will swear to you every day until the day that I die, I am innocent. I am innocent. I am innocent. You don’t have to believe a word I say but I will write it, scream it, sing it until you do. Prison isn’t easy. I just want to hear your voice. The eidetic memory may help, but nothing is as good as the real thing. You don’t have to write back. I wish I could tell you everything I think. I love you.  Be safe.

Sincerely, 

Spencer Reid

She hadn’t written back. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Y/n, her smile, her voice, her face. Her smell was burned into his psyche like a brand. He couldn’t forget her if he tried. And oh, he tried. Menial tasks and thumbing through books he’d already read, folding the laundry three separate times, and yet she still infiltrated his brain. No matter how fast his fingers moved, her voice lilted in his head, ‘Spencer, Spencer.’ She helped him escape, helped him remain who he is through and through. She still hadn’t responded. A month and a half after his arrest, three weeks after his last letter. He figured he had one last try. He knew his walls were closing in, his mind delving away into itself for protection. He knew he couldn’t be himself much longer, but she was the last thing keeping his feet on the ground. 

Hey there y/n, 

I’ve got so much left to say, if every letter I wrote to you would take your breath away, I’d write them all. I’d write you every letter in the world if it meant I got to hear your voice again. If it meant you didn’t hate me for what I’ve become. Prison life isn’t easy and I’ve had to do things to survive that make me unrecognizable. I don’t know that I am the person you knew. But I know you are. You get me through all of this. I think about us, what we could’ve been if I had been who you needed, who you wanted. I love you, you know. I can see you walking down the aisle, I can see you holding our children. I can see the house we buy, the cars we fight over. I can see the quilts lining our bed in stolen kisses in the morning, and I can see the light in your eyes. I love you. I am yours. If you want me, if you don’t, I am yours. 

Yours truly

Yours, truly

Spencer Reid

Truth be told, Spencer had assumed they’d never prove his innocence. He had grown accustomed to being in prison, protecting himself and others in ways he never thought he’d do. So when JJ showed up, simply stating they were here to take him home, he couldn’t believe it. His disbelief paralyzed him, shock bounding through his body as he froze to the spot he was in. The only thing that got him moving again was her. Y/n. He’d see her. Her. 

His second shock of the day was his greeting as he exited the prison, not bound or confined for the first time in three months. The sun felt better out here, somehow.. Garcia was there, taking him in her arms, and he breathes in the scent of her perfume, of lilies and coffee. That’s not what shocks him though, but what lies behind Garcia. Her. She’s here. Y/n.

“Y/n.” He takes a step towards her, tentative, watching the tears fall from her eyes and feeling his own dash across his cheeks.

“Spencer Reid.” And there is not another word but her arms are thrown around his neck, and for the first time Spencer understands that home is not a place, but a person.

taglist: @imagining-in-the-margins​ @httpnxtt​ @dontkissthewriter​ @vivanadium​ @samanddeanstolethetardis221b​ @spencer-reid-in-a-pool​ @blazinvixen​ @fanficlibrary82​

you can message me or respond to this if you'd like to be added to my taglist!

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter I]

Word count: 2,134 Warnings: none but please keep in mind this story will eventually delve into mature themes so go away if you’re not 18+ Pairing: Dracula x female reader

I’ll try posting a chapter per week. Any constructive criticism and feedback is very welcome (really, english is not my first language so I’ll take any help I can get). I’m waiting for ao3 to e-mail me an invitation so I can post it there, too. 

_______________________________________________________________

He heard her footsteps long before she knocked on his door.

He stood sat on his armchair with a book on his lap, waiting. A loud song reached his ears, making him tilt his head. Hm. Interesting how humans could go around now with a tiny appliance that played music directly in their ears. The gramophone had lost its appeal and the wealth associated with it. Now everybody on the street carried one of those metal and glass slabs with strings attached to it, bobbing their head to their song of choice.

She was humming along with the song as she walked down the corridor to his building. Shifting in his seat, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A hint of perfume, coffee, strawberries and honey. Curious. Not a scent of her blood yet.

The clicking heels stopped as she paused the music and he rose. He took his time on the way to the door so she could adjust her belongings. Another deep intake of breath and he came to a halt, a sigh escaping his lips. 

Oh, intoxicating.

He found that this new era had brought exquisite new flavours to his taste, but this one… ah, she was a mix of old european blood, found only in the hidden depths of the Carpathian Forest, and the lovely nuance of modernity. That old saying, you are what you eat applied to her as well. Whatever she was in habit of eating or drinking heavily influenced her scent. A nice, well preserved and safely kept bottle of wine, just for him. It quickly overpowered all the other scents surrounding her.

Knock, knock.

Throwing his head back to try and regain his composure, he opened the door. The door handle dented beneath his hand upon laying eyes on her. He expected her to pretty but he was met with far more than that. 

“Yes?”, was all he could manage. 

“I’m Y/N L/N,” she said as if it were explanatory. He stared at her blankly. “Renfield sent me, I’m from the lawyer firm? I brought you some documents to review.” 

“Oh, yes, of course,” he stepped aside, opening one arm to invite her in and putting a smile on display. 

She peered at him from the corner of her eyes as she passed him, quickening her pace as he took another whiff. He would have to be more cautious so as to not scare her away. But if she did flee that would only make him chase her and he would drink her down too quickly, without any appreciation whatsoever. And what a crime that would be.

“I brought you a cell phone, as well. Renfield mentioned you were stripped of yours when you were taken to the Foundation.” She placed her bag on a chair and her briefcase on top of large center table of his flat. She had her back to him, giving an opportunity to analyse her.

The tight clothes and missing fabric was still something he had to get accustomed with but he wasn’t complaining. If anything, he quite liked the fashion of this century. 

The fact that he could see her stockings was outrageous, black with a seam running down the center of her legs. In his time, she would have been lynched for having her undergarments on display like that. The black high heels were a nice touch. And then the tight pencil skirt outlining her curves… It left just enough for his imagination. 

She turned around to see him standing there like a statue, the door still open. Ah, pity. How unfortunate that those shirts were still in fashion. He couldn’t recall the name humans gave it in this era and suddenly he hated it. The collar covered her neck entirely. In fact, now that he realized it the only skin showing on her body was on her face and hands. 

“Count? Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine, my darling,” he replied, closing the door at last and swallowing down the saliva that had welled up in his mouth. He strode over to her, placing his hands on the chair closest to her. “I apologise for my manners. It has been awhile since I had a guest over, you must think me a terrible host. Please, take a seat. Unfortunately I have only water and wine to offer you.”

She looked derisively to the chair offered to her. Her lips fought a smile and he encouraged it by smiling in return, but, no, she refused to give it to him.

“Renfield was right,” she whispered under her breath but he caught it. Louder, she said “Thank you but I’ll stand. I’m in a hurry today. Don’t you worry about me,” she extended a white box with a picture of that metal slab on the front. A cell phone, she had said. “Here you go, there’s already a simcard in it, your new number is written in the back. I’ve taken the liberty to set it up for you. I placed Renfield’s number on speed dial should you need it, he’s registered as 6. You do know how to handle one of these, right?”

“I catch on fairly fast,” opening the box and retrieving the phone. “And if I need to contact you?” 

“You have no need to contact me. I’m simply running an errand for my boss,” she stated dryly, averting her eyes. “Here, if you could sign these for me to release the rest of your assets,” a pen was offered to him. He plucked it from her small fingers automatically.

It was not often that he met someone that resisted his charms. He could count on one hand, in fact. The Van Helsings, Johnny and now her. At the very least Agatha and Zoe held some interest in him and Johnny had made himself a hero waging vengeance against him - especially now with the Jonathan Harker Foundation.

But not her. Not one sliver of interest.

“Are you signing them or should I come back another da- evening?” she corrected herself, one hand on her hip and another raising to push her hair back. He caught a glimpse of the skin beneath her ear, paler than the rest of her.

He took his time signing each of the documents. When he was done, he gathered the papers in his hands, holding them flush against his chest so she wouldn’t get them and leave. She bit the insides of her cheeks, meeting his eyes with clear annoyance on them. Oh, fiesty. She was an impatient one. Maybe he had caught her on a bad day but he had a feeling she was always like this. He could not stop his smirk, which only made her heart beat faster in anger. 

“And if I want to contact you? I promise you I will make it worth your while.”

“I don’t do dates with clients.”

“I’m not your client.” 

That made her scoff.

“Right. You’re Renfield’s,” her eyes traveled up and down him, granting him a little satisfaction. “Still, I don’t do dates.”

“What if it’s not a date? I am new to London and I would appreciate if someone could show me the sights.”

“I’m not a tour guide,” she replied, her expression hardening. 

“No, you’re a lawyer.”

“I’m well aware. Can I have those back?”, one hand out to him with a raised eyebrow. 

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Both of her hands went on her hips and she huffed, trying to make herself bigger as if she was demanding respect. The movement made her breasts press through her shirt, giving him a delightful sight. She grabbed her purse, swung it over her shoulder and proceeded to close her briefcase. 

“Fine. Keep them. I’m late to an appointment at court. I’m sure Renfield can send someone else to get those papers. In the meanwhile, enjoy life without all your money.”

“How insolent of you,” he shot back but he was smiling. He doubted she would address him like that if she knew just what he was.

“Yes I am. I don’t have time for games.” 

“This is isn’t a game.”

“Isn’t it? I see right through you. God, and you must think you’re so innovative with all the european sophistication. I bet you’re used to having women throwing themselves at you as soon as you mention you’re a Count.”

“Usually, I don’t have to mention it at all, in fact,” he intervened. She was about to continue but he carried on. “What was Renfield right about?”

Her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. He cocked an eyebrow, shaking the papers as if to say he would give them to her if she answered.

“That you are not from here and that you are old fashioned.”

Listening attentively to her heart and how it skipped a beat, he shook his head to the sides.

“That’s not all. What else?”

“He said that you would try and gain my affections.” 

The Count offered her the papers. 

“Perhaps I ought to change lawyers. He clearly speaks more about his own clients than he should. Would you be available?”

And with that she chuckled. Ah, so the façade could be broken… at least for a second. 

“I’m afraid I have a long list of clients at the moment, Count Dracula. If you commit a serious offense you may call on me to represent you,” she took the papers, her fingers briefly brushing against his cold skin. Her eyebrows furrowed but she was quick to conceal her startlement at his temperature.

She was walking to the door as she stuffed the papers inside her bag and he accompanied her.

“I might just murder someone to take you up on your offer,” he said from behind her, in a tone much more serious than he intended. Still, she laughed at that, the sound ringing through the room. 

He courteously opened the door for her and she turned on her heels, extending a hand for him. 

“I apologise for being rude before but I will not apologise for setting boundaries. I hope you understand that, Count. And if you do decide to murder someone make sure to hide the evidence so it will be a good case for us.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

He grinned at her and she smiled back but without the warmth he presented her. A large hand slipped into hers and she shuddered. Gazing down unto her eyes he shook her hand which made her smile grow more confident. She had started to loosen her grip but he held her firmly. He bent forward and his lips caressed the back of her hand. She stared at him the whole time as if hypnotized and for a moment he thought he had gotten her in the palm of his hand but then she blinked and cleared her throat. 

“Boundaries, Count Dracula, you should remember them if we meet again. Goodbye.”

“Bye now, my darling,” he called when she turned her back to him and started marching down the corridor, swaying her hips.

“Boundaries!” she repeated as she entered the elevator.

Before the doors closed he could swear he saw an amused glint in her eyes. 

The Count sat on his armchair again, the book now forgotten as he thought about Y/N. He was still indecisive about what to do with her. Simply draining her would not only be a waste of good blood but as well of character. 

She demanded respect with every step of her heels. He would bet that she could cower many men with that stare of hers. Dracula had never met many lawyers and those that he did meet were fascinating in different ways. Johnny was determined although slightly stupid. Renfield was a slave to his every wish. Should Dracula ask him to retrieve the fattest fish in the sea, the poor man would probably drown trying to get it. But she was an entirely different breed.

So strong-willed that it was a charm all on its own, without even striving for it to be as such. He had heard an expression on the television the other day that he thought might apply well to her - “my way or the highway”.

And such amazing beauty. Make up was far more popular in this century, he could tell, and he was quickly learning it could disguise many unwanted flaws but she used in such a way that it added to her beauty instead of covering it. 

Beautiful, impetuous, resolute… and a sense of humour that was surprisingly dark. 

Ah… She would make quite the bride if she could withstand the change. And if she did not, he would make sure to savour every curve and every last drop of blood in her body.

[bangtan-sonyeonddaeng]

Play it loud, Daechwita

The loud sounds of the market were buzzing through your head. Countless people talking all at once, some screaming, others bargaining, and some you swear were talking loudly just because they liked the sound of their own voice. Every time you came here you left with a migraine, and you knew this time would be no different. Unfortunately, you are only human and you have to eat.

You come to the butcher’s stand and notice an odd exchange happen. The man wearing a straw hat doesn’t buy anything, just simply mouths a few words, they both nod, and he turns around to walk off. His gaze is cast down, clearly trying not to be noticed. He begins walking towards you and as he does, one gentleman runs into him, causing the man to smack right into you. You fall to the ground and a cloud of dirt is kicked up. You try to expel the dirt from your lungs and clear the dust away from your vision with a wave of your hand.

“Yah! Jin watch where you are going! You just ran right into that guy!”

“Excuse me? Show some respect that is hyung to you!”  

You watch the two fighting with each other and notice the man is still walking off away from you. He didn’t even offer to help you up, which honestly made your blood boil just enough to the point where you went running after him demanding an apology.

“Hey! You! Don’t you just walk away from me! You knocked me flat on my ass the least you can do is apologize!” He continues to ignore you and keeps walking. “Hey! Straw hat guy!” His shoulders tense. “Ah so you can hear me. Listen up you can’t just run into people like that and not stay you’re sorry didn’t your mom teach you any-“ Suddenly he turns around, grabs your wrist and yanks you into an ally and your nerve are immediately on edge. Maybe you shouldn’t have pushed the issue so much. “Um, listen I am sorry I didn’t mean it please don’t murder me.” You hide your face and hear the guy let out a deep breathy chuckle. It sounds familiar. So familiar it sends a shiver up your spine.

“You can’t be.. Y--.. Yoon-“ A hand is slapped over your mouth and your back is suddenly pressed flat against the building. He slowly lifts his head up and your gaze finally meets. You’d remember those eyes anywhere. Your own widen to the size of saucers as you start incoherently shouting behind his hand muffling your voice. He holds a finger up to his lips.

“Shh! For fuck sake y/n keep your voice down.”

“Mmm-ph!”

“Are you going to be quiet?” You nod your head. He removes his hand from your mouth.

“What the fuck Yoo-“ His hand is immediately back.

“Listen, I need you to not blow my cover so please y/n I am begging you, don’t cause a scene.” You seem to relax at that, so he slowly lowers his hand until he is sure you won’t start shouting at him again. He sees your expression crumple and knows what’s going to happen. You are immediately pulled into a hug with your face buried in his chest. A hand is placed on the back of your head as he runs his fingers through your hair. A hand snakes down to your waist and pulls you even tighter against him. You sob into his chest, the sound muffled as he’s holding you so closely to him. You have a death grip on his shirt, terrified that if you let go for even a second that he is going to disappear again.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here. I promise you, I’m not leaving again.”

“I- I thought you were dead. You’ve been missing for years, Yoongi. What the hell happened? Where did you go? What were you doing that you couldn’t even see me for two seconds to let me know you were alive?  You could have sent me a letter. A smoke signal. Or anything for that matter. You have no idea how heartbroken I was when I saw your brother cut you with the sword. There was so much blood..” You shudder at the memory which you thought you had repressed by now. Apparently your brain had other plans.  “How are you even alive right now? I thought I was never going to see you again and I’ve lived the past 5 years with this emptiness and hole in my chest that was left by you.” You pull away from him and his heart shatters at the broken expression on your face. He lifts his hands up to cup your face and kisses both of your cheeks until you stop crying.

“Y/n you know I couldn’t. He was after me. You all were in danger. I had to make everyone believe that I was gone otherwise my plan never would have worked. And to be honest I honestly thought that was the end for me. But the executioner.. He snuck out after my brother tried to kill me. He found me and took me to a doctor he trusted that healed me. My brother… he’s gone absolutely mad y/n I am sure you know that. He gave himself a scar to match mine just so he could pretend to be me so no one would question it. He can’t be allowed to rule any longer. That’s why I left for so long. I was building connections, ensuring that I would have enough support and people willing to follow me after I overthrow my brother. I had to let people know that there was still hope, that that imposter on the throne wasn’t me.”

“So you decided to let a bunch of strangers know you were alive but not me? Someone who has been by your side since we were kids?” You narrow your eyes, feeling more hurt now than ever. “You trusted people you didn’t even know over me?”

“Y/n that’s not-“

“Please, just don’t. I don’t want to hear anymore excuses.”

“They aren’t excuses it’s the truth. I couldn’t’ come back here. I didn’t dare set foot inside the city walls and I especially couldn’t see you. My brother knew how much I loved you. If I would have even tried to send a message to you, it would have been intercepted. People have been following you and keeping tabs on you ever since my brother became suspicious of the rumors that I was still alive. Otherwise I would have let you know I was fine. You weren’t the only one hurting, you know? But if I upset you that badly and you want nothing to do with me.. I understand.” He finally drops his hands away from your face and takes a step back. You immediately miss his touch and reach out to grab his hand and lace your fingers together, something he often did to assure you that he would always be there for you, and wasn’t going anywhere. Now you needed to do the same for him.

“You’re right. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through these past few years. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He gives you a small smile, but it’s enough to send a frenzy of butterflies into your stomach. Some things never change.  You stand there for a moment, taking in the sight of him. He looks tired, so so tired. The dark circles under his eyes have worsened, the usual light that shown in his eyes was gone. Although you could see a little bit being rekindled when you smile up at him. He’s more pale than you remember. And thinner. You make a mental note to cook him a hearty meal once all of this is done. Maybe make him a cake or two. You were planning to spoil him rotten as a welcome back.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Hmm, no reason. Just trying to commit this moment to memory in case I wake up and realize this really all was just a dream.”

“It’s not. I promise I’m here.” He moves closer and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Did you feel that?”

“Y-yes.”

“And how about this?” his lips lightly brush over your eyelids and you flutter them closed.

“Yes.”

“And how about this?” Ever so gentle, his lips finally are connected with yours. They barely brush against one another but it is enough to send your heart thudding loudly in your chest.

“I feel all of that.” When you open your eyes he’s smiling his signature gummy smile that you adore and missed more than anything.

“I guess you’re not dreaming then, huh?”

“I guess not. So where do we go from here?” His expression falls slightly.

“I… I don’t know. I can’t be here with you until I figure everything out with my brother. I can’t put you in danger like that please understand.” You nod your head, although you pout slightly. Yoongi pokes your bottom lip causing you to giggle.

“I understand. Just, can you at least tell me what you’re planning?”

“… I’m sorry no. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just don’t want you to know anything for your own safety.”

“Alright. I trust you.” His eyes widen at that in surprise.

“R-really?”

“Of course.”

“Just that easy? No arguing? Back talk? Are you my brother in disguise?” He pulls on your cheeks and you immediately burst out laughing and swat his hand away.

“Yoongi I will never stop believing in you or supporting you. You can always count on me.” You reach down and give his hand a comforting squeeze, and he does the same back.

“That really means a lot to me y/n. Seriously. Thank you.”

“No need to. You should probably get back to whatever it is you were doing though. The more time we spend back here the more suspicious it is going to look if someone really is watching me.” Yoongi’s grip tightens harshly.

“You’re right.” He brings your hand up to his lips and places a kiss there.

“I promise I will come find you once this is all over.”

“Okay. I’ll be waiting.”

So things weren’t going exactly to his plan. No, they absolutely really were not. Him getting captured of course was. The executioner was on his side, and he knew that his life was not in danger at his hands. What he wasn’t planning on, was you getting captured as well. His heart immediately falls into his stomach when he hears your whimpers from beside him.  

“Let y/n go you asshole. Your problem is with me.” You hear his brother scoff loudly.

“Hmm yes. But see y/n here cares for you deeply, and I know you care just as much if not more. So I figured why not have a little party here? I’m sure my dear brother, that you love to spend your last moments with them, correct?”

“What are you talking about? Yoongi? What’s going on, I can’t see anything because of the blindfold.” You hear him click his tongue against his teeth.

“Well that’s a problem. See I want you to witness everything, my dear.”

“Don’t call me that you freaking crazy ass-“

“Yah! Y/n don’t say that. Don’t make things worse than they already are, please.”

“You should listen to him you know? He’s right. I don’t take kindly to people insulting me. You’re lucky I am even considering letting you go after I kill him. By the way how did you even survive the first time? I cut with you with my sword and made sure it was deep enough that you wouldn’t survive. Someone must have saved you. Who was it hmm? Who do I have to behead for betraying me all those years ago? Maybe if you tell me I will consider letting you live out the rest of your days in the dungeon.” Even though your eyes are covered you know Yoongi would have rolled his eyes at that.

“Guess I just got lucky. You did get me deep enough, I have the scars to prove it. Some other worldly force in the universe must be looking out for me and knows who’s really meant to be on the throne.” You are about to speak when the blindfold is suddenly ripped off and you are staring up at the very man you despise with everything in you. Any trace of light or kindness is completely gone from his eyes. His blonde hair is tied back and you take in the sharpness of his features. Even though they are brothers, there is nothing similar about them. Agust’s eyes are sharp, and cruel. Whereas Yoongi’s are soft and hold so much kindness. There is a reason people around town call Agust the Mad King. He smirks at you and you wish your hands weren’t bound so you can quite literally wipe that grin off his face. He turns towards the executioner and nods his head, giving him the signal. He starts heading towards Yoongi and your heart is racing in your chest. It feels like it’s going to absolutely burst and you can’t help the tears that are escaping from your eyes.

“Y-Yoongi, no. You can’t.. This isn’t happening.” The executioner forces him to stand and move where he is kneeling with his back to you.

“Y/n everything is going to be okay. Trust me.”

“Even when you are about to die you are still so confident and cocky. You disgust me, you know?”

“Yeah? Well the feeling is mutual, sir.” He spits on the ground in front of his brother and he almost breaks his composure for a moment, but scoffs instead, turning on his heel and walking back up to the top of the steps to his throne room to watch everything unfold.

“Well? Get on with it.” The executioner raises the sword high above Yoongi’s head and you let out a cry. Yoongi told you to trust him, that everything will be fine. But when you see the sword come down and see him crumple onto the ground everything he says goes out the window. Your body just shuts down. You collapse onto the ground and cry silently, having had every ounce of energy completely leave your body. But then you see something through the blurriness of your tears. It looks like movement? You squint your eyes and try to wipe them as best as you can on your shoulder. Yoongi is moving. Your eyes widen in shock as you watch him take the blind fold off and shrug the ropes off his body. The executioner is bowing to him, head held low and handing him something. It’s a glint of metal and you immediately know what it is. The king says nothing, clearly having realized he has been betrayed. His arrogance having got the better of him, he had none of his court officials or soldiers with him because he thought there was no way he would get away this time, that he wouldn’t be so lucky. Yoongi takes the gun and turns around to face you.

“I’m sorry angel but I’ll untie you in a minute. Close your eyes, I don’t want you to see this.” Before he even finishes his sentence you feel your vision going black, the onslaught of different emotions you’ve felt all at once washing over you and overwhelming your sense all at once. Your head falls back onto the ground and you’re out. The last thing you hear before you drift into unconsciousness is the sound of a gunshot, and footsteps running over to you.

“Y/n? Come on sweetheart, you need to wake up.” He places his palm on your cheek and runs his thumb over it gently. “I know that was a lot to deal with, but I need you to wake up now, come on angel stay with me.” Your eyes start to flutter open when you feel his lips pressing kisses all over your face. When your eyes do finally stay open and you meet his, he’s smiling at you. It’s a small one, but you see the intent behind it with the way his eyes are shining at you. “There you are. You passed out for a little bit there. Are you okay?”

You stare at him, just blinking and not saying anything and he begins to worry that maybe you hit your head a little too hard. Until his thoughts are abruptly cut off by you throwing your arms around his neck and tugging him into a suffocating hug. He doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate, holding you just as tightly.

“Is it done now?”

“Yeah. I mean, no I have a feeling this mess is just beginning but he’s gone. My brother’s rule is over. I can finally take my rightful place on the throne and lead this country to the greatness it was once meant to be. And I can do it with you by my side.” You pull away and smile at him, and lean in to peck a kiss on his nose. His own grin widens and you see that gummy smile you adore so much.

“Um, your highness. The gunshot caused quite a commotion I think all of the soldiers are running over here now.” Yoongi tries to move away from you but you refuse to let go. He places his hands on your own and tries to gently pry the death grip you have on his shirt away.

“Angel, you gotta let go of me. This whole place is going to be in chaos in a moment and I need to be able to explain myself so they don’t try to behead me the moment they see me.”

“But I just got you back. I thought for a second I lost you again, I can’t let go of you Yoongi, not yet.” He sighs but regardless, can’t help the fondness he has for you.

“What do I always tell you, y/n?”  

“… To trust you.”

“So believe me when I say I am not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you again. I promise. Once everything gets sorted, you’ll have forever to spend with me.” You slowly let go of his shirt, but he doesn’t let go of you just get. He laces his fingers with your own and holds your hand tightly.

“We’ll face whatever comes our way together?” He nods his head and kisses your cheek.

“Together. Always”

[lokislittlesigyn]

OG616 : Thor: The Dark World - Pt.5 [The Visit]

[My masterlist, where all parts of this and my other fics can be found]

Pairing: Loki / Sigyn (basically an oc based off the marvel/myth namesake)

Warnings: Major character death, some other mentions of violence/death. Nothing overly graphic.

Author’s Note: Have a little old-married-couple-Logyn as a treat. (followed by immediate sad. I promise, this gets less dark soon!)

Taglist: @high-functioning-lokipath , @onaheroicmission To be added to the taglist, just ask me here or send a message! <3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was there.

Right there.

Moments away. Inches away. Loki stood with his back to her, flipping through a book.

The inside of his cell looked surprisingly comfortable, mostly thanks to what few things she and Frigga sent. Inside there were the tables, the chair and footstool. Books, stacked neatly against the far wall. A bed in the corner - with their blankets on it. The bed was unmade, one of the blankets hanging off the edge onto the floor.

At least he’s gotten some rest.

She smiled softly, then looked at him again. She wasn't sure how to get his attention.

Glancing around just to make sure they were alone, she pulled down her cloak's hood.

Seconds felt like years. Eons.

What do I say?

She stared at him. Took another step up the stairs before the cell, and tripped - gasping sharply, barely catching herself before she fell into the field of burning energy.

That was close. She leaned back, trembling slightly, her gaze locked on the deep gold aura gleaming in front of her.

Then she looked up. Her heart skipped a beat.

Loki was watching her, his face conveying pure astonishment for a split second - then confusion. Anger?

"Sigyn." He snapped his book shut. "I should have known you would be foolish enough to come here."

"Foolish?"

"Yes, foolish. It is foolish to risk getting caught, to risk getting killed-" He stopped himself. Exhaled, set the book aside. Looked back at her. "You should not have come."

"I hadn't meant to anger you..."

"Pardon me for fearing for my wife's safety."

"Loki, I am safe." She tried to step closer, but stopped at the barrier. She already hated the barrier. "You see? I got past the guards without them ever noticing - Loki, I'm here, I've come to you! Are you not glad to see me?"

"I would be more glad if you were not so close to being locked away too."

Sigyn's voice softened. "If it meant being with you, I would choose it."

Loki swallowed, watching her. He stepped closer.

"What happened to you, Loki? What did they do to you?"

"The Asgardians?" He huffed a laugh.

"No. The creatures you were with, the mad titan and his ally. What happened?"

Loki’s smile quickly disappeared.

".. You shan't speak of it. Of course." Sigyn looked away.

Give him time. Be patient.

She looked back at him.

He seemed to be studying her. Soaking in every inch of her. It felt almost like when he would admire her, so long ago. Of course, she admired him too.

She'd always admired him.

"I still can't believe you're here.." She breathed. "I missed you. I missed you so much. When they told me you were dead, I..." Tears gathered in her eyes. "I couldn't believe it. I didn't, at first. And then you were alive again. But you weren't safe, you were out there, alone.." She stumbled over the words, whispering through tears. "I missed you."

He let out a soft, defeated sigh, blinking slowly. "I missed you too."

Sigyn's heart felt lighter than it had in over a year.

He missed me. He still loves me.

She smiled, in spite of the circumstances, though she desperately wished she could join him. She wiped a few tears away with the back of her hand.

"The necklace I gave you.." Loki walked to the edge of the barrier, his hands behind his back. "You still wear it."

"Of course I do." She pulled it from under her shirt, holding it out. "I haven't stopped."

"Since..?"

"Since the day you fell."

Loki nodded. "Hm. Truly the goddess of fidelity."

"It's just a title," She returned the necklace to its previous spot.

"But you uphold it well."

She smirked. "As you do yours."

Loki let out a breathy laugh. "I'm sure many would disagree."

"The god of mischief," She smiled, warmth in her voice, "The trickster. Fitting titles, both."

"And yet who is now on the outside looking in? Hiding their identity, committing - I'm afraid to say - terrible crimes?"

"Is it a crime to see my husband?"

"It's certainly a crime to break into the dungeon."

"Funny. You'd think they'd be more worried about someone getting out, not in." Sigyn grinned.

Loki huffed, "You would be surprised."

"Perhaps. Shows how much I‘ve yet to learn," she giggled, glancing away for a moment. As she turned her head, she could've sworn she saw Loki truly smile at her.

"Have you any idea how these cells work?"

"Now, Sigyn. Don't tell me you're going to break in and out of the dungeon."

"I only asked a question." She walked over to the dungeon wall. No controls, no levers, no hint to how the barriers were sustained..

"Some sort of spell, I imagine, but none I know." Loki watched her, gripping his hands together as she continued smoothing her hand over the wall. "Sigyn," He called, "You should leave."

She stopped. "What?"

"Leave, Sigyn."

"I've only just got here.."

"It's not safe."

"But-"

"The guards are coming on patrol. Unless you would like a cell of your own, you must leave."

She looked at him one last time. Sure enough, the sound of footsteps echoed through the dungeon. She hadn't noticed.

"I love you," She grasped her hood.

He gazed down at her, his breath heavier. "..I love you too, Sigyn. Now go."

~~~~

Sigyn left the dungeons completely unnoticed. She meandered through the palace, stopping near the throne room. Checked to make sure she was alone before pulling down her hood and gazing out a window at the city. Her heart still felt giddy, her hands still a bit shaky after finally speaking with him - it took everything in her not to shout for joy.

I'll find a way to free you, Loki. You'll be safe here. The Nine Realms are protected, our family is back together again. We even have Jane now - everything is better than it was before. She sighed happily, taking in deep, relaxed breaths between small fits of laughter. It will be okay. Everything will be okay-

Alarms sounded.

The prison alarms.

Her hair stood on end, her heart skipping once before pounding in her chest.

Loki.

Had he found a way out?

Guards hurried, battalions forming and marching to report to the king. They wouldn’t rally so many just to stop him… We’re under attack.

Sigyn followed. She caught a glimpse of Frigga and Jane walking away.

Good. Frigga will keep her safe.

"Allfather?" Sigyn caught up with Odin. He turned, facing her.  "Allfather - how can I help?"

"You can stay out harm's way."

Sigyn huffed, "I want to help."

"Sigyn, you have little experience in battle, and no weapon to speak of. The best you can do is stay safe."

She wanted to argue. To help, to fight whatever was attacking her home - but instead she nodded, backing down. An argument between her and Odin was the last thing everyone needed. "Very well, as you wish.."

Odin seemed vaguely impressed as she turned, leaving. Not knowing where Frigga and Jane were, Sigyn went up to a room she knew healers would be hiding in - and sure enough, many were there, looking bewildered. She closed the door, standing before them.

"The Allfather will protect us. We are to remain here."

Countless explosions sounded from outside. The entire room shook as something attacked - no, bombarded the palace.

The servants looked to Sigyn. As princess, she was highest in command among them.. Though she’d hardly led anyone before.

"Don’t fret," She assured them again, "We will be safe here."

They waited.

And waited.

Holed up in the quiet healing room, listening to muffled explosions from outside.

Sigyn couldn't decide if it was better or worse to be waiting, rather than in battle - at least out there, she might see what was going on. Eventually, the deep hum of a ship flying away suggested they could leave.

Sigyn walked to the door, opening it. Paused. "It's safe."

Making her way to the throne room, her breath grew unsteady.

Bodies. Bodies everywhere, littering the floor with blood and decay. A ship had crashed into the throne room. Countless pillars of stone toppled over, the dust still settling over the ruin. 

The throne of Asgard, half destroyed. More bodies laid strewn about before it.

She swallowed, looking at each of them pointedly. Rest well. You fought bravely.

She looked around her. Not a soul. Where are they all?

She searched the castle, catching sight of Thor and Jane. They were safe.

"There you are!" She stopped in front of them. "Where is everyone, brother?"

Thor gazed down at her.

Sigyn's brow immediately furrowed and her stomach churned. He had the same grim look she'd seen over a year ago, when he'd returned from the Bifrost with Odin. But now it somehow looked more certain. More real. More… Enraged.

"Thor...?"

"Sigyn, come, there is.. No way to put this lightly."

~~~~

Frigga was dead. Gone.

Dark elves had attacked and murdered her, along with countless others. Dark elves of Svartalfheim - an enemy they were told had been slaughtered by King Bor eons ago. 

Yet another lie that had cost her family everything. 

So many lives lost.

Her life lost.

Sigyn sat by a window, weeping quietly. Grief came in waves, washing over her relentlessly, one after the other.

If I'd followed them, her and Jane, things might be different.

I should've followed them. I should've helped them. I should’ve known how to fight.

She gripped the folds of her cloak, sniffling. Squeezing her eyes shut.

Mother, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you. I should've been there to defend you.

Sigyn opened her eyes again, gazing out the window.

I miss you already.

~~~~

That night, a funeral was held. Sigyn begged Odin to let Loki attend.

He refused, and forbade she try to tell him herself. 

She knew it was too risky to go see Loki now. Frigga was no longer there to vouch for her - one wrong step, and Odin may have Loki executed for all she knew...

So Sigyn stood alongside Thor and Jane, clutching her necklace with white knuckles. Watched as boats, carrying the deceased, drifted peacefully by. There were so many boats... Too many.

A flaming arrow was lit, sent flying out to meet Frigga's boat. Flames consumed it. Then more arrows flew and met the other boats, flames growing. Burning.

As Frigga's boat drifted to the edge of the sea, Odin beat Gungnir on the ground, and her body turned to stardust, floating up into the sky.

Sigyn's gaze followed them.

An ocean of stars. Billions of shining lights, the same she and Loki once lied under. The same she once asked Frigga about.

I miss you, Frigga. A tear ran down her cheek as hundreds of lights were released, each drifting to the sky. Stars in their own right.

I will keep your son Loki safe. Give him your love and mine, love him more than I ever have before. I will help Thor, and Jane, the mortal. I promise, I will do you proud. Even if you were not my birth mother,

She swallowed,

You were a mother to me.

[aion-rsa]

A Clockwork Orange at 50: Malcolm McDowell Revisits Kubrick’s Film

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

“I think I’ve always been my own kind of person, and you know sometimes to my detriment,” says Malcolm McDowell, chatting to Den of Geek via Zoom, 50 years after the release of A Clockwork Orange.

“I’ve never really played the Hollywood card, I’m not really an insider, that’s just not my thing. And I like to be able to say no. And that’s it.That’s not probably a politically correct thing to do. However, too bad. I’m still here 50 years later.”

McDowell is talking to us from LA, his accent a soft mix of Yorkshire, where he grew up, and California where he has resided for much of his professional life. He is funny and charismatic, with a hint of the mischievous, he says people still find him “a little intimidating” – traits which he brought out in spades for his breakout roles, first as rebellious school boy Mick Travis in Lindsay Anderson’s If… and then as violent delinquent Alex Delarge in Stanley Kubrick’s bold, blistering and controversial satire A Clockwork Orange.

Watching it today it seems hard to believe the movie is 50 years old – it’s lost none of its power. Set in a futuristic dystopian Britain, McDowell plays gang leader Alex, who with his band of ‘droogs’, gets high on ‘milk plus’ and commits a horrible home invasion and rape, and later a murder. Apprehended by the police, Alex agrees to participate in a new kind of aversion therapy which makes him physically unable to commit crimes, causing pain and nausea at the very thought, in exchange for a reduced sentence.

Alex is robbed of freewill, becoming the Clockwork Orange – an organic thing with a machine inside – of the title. It’s a movie of big themes, of totalitarian governments controlling citizens and left wing dissidents exploiting individuals, it’s a discussion of goodness and evil, of youth and authority, which is visually striking and often shockingly so. And to many it’s a masterpiece.

Kubrick’s film is an adaptation of the novel by Anthony Burgess, which like the movie uses a language Burgess called Nadsat (from the Russian suffix meaning ‘teen’) – a mix of Russian, English and Cockney rhyming slang. 

McDowell recalls his first meeting with Kubrick which took place at Kubrick’s house in Boreham Wood, during McDowell’s lunch hour filming Bryan Forbes’ Long Ago, Tomorrow. Kubrick said he’d seen If.. four or five times and it had made a big impression on him.

“We had a very nice chat but he didn’t mention anything and at the end I said ‘Well, I’ve got to get back to work. Was there anything you wanted to talk to me about in particular?’ And I could see his discomfort, at having to actually tell me that, yeah, he was thinking of making this book into a movie. And anyway, he begrudgingly gave me the title, gave me a copy of the book and told me to read it and call him,” McDowell smiles.

He describes the book as “a damn difficult read on the first go” but by the third go he was convinced. “I read it and I went, Holy crap, what a part! Oh geez!”

No kidding. Alex is front and centre of the entire film, he’s the narrator and charged with delivering difficult lines about ‘ultraviolence’, ‘weepy young devotchkas’ and how the treatment is affecting his ‘gulliver’.

Burgess was a linguist and his decision to make a new hybrid youth slang was a practical one. He wanted the youths in this world to feel ‘other’ and separate from the grown ups but felt if he’d chosen to use contemporary slang that the book would date quickly. It was a shrewd move that Kubrick stuck to, helping the film have a sense of timelessness.

Then there were the iconic costumes worn by Alex and his droogs – removed from any particular era of fashion they were simple but immediately intimidating. The look came about via a moment of serendipity between McDowell and Kubrick when Kubrick asked his star what he had in mind for the costume himself. 

“I said ‘Futuristic, I don’t know!’” McDowell laughs. “He goes, ‘What have you got?’  I went ‘What have I got? I mean I’ve got jeans and a T-shirt and I’ve got my cricket gear in the car’. He goes, ‘We’ll put it on. And then ‘What’s this?’ I went, ‘Well, that’s the protector’. He said ‘Wear it on the outside’. And that’s the iconic costume, right there, boom.”

McDowell says he had around six months of prep time where he got to know Kubrick really well, where Kubrick grew to trust him which he describes as being really fun. That trust between the two was important – McDowell had heavy lifting to do physically, including the indelible scenes of the ‘Ludovico technique’ which saw his eyelids pinned back (he scratched a cornea) and the humiliation scene, after his conversion, (he cracked several ribs). McDowell plays this down, “Most of the time it was fun to do. I had a couple of injuries but they weren’t life threatening. They were fairly painful, but it was really a small price to pay.”

On a rewatch these moments still standout, though there are others too – an extended sequence where Alex is being drowned in a trough by his former friends knocks the breath out of you. 

“To be honest with you, it’s a complete cheat,” says McDowell of the scene. “There’s one cut right at the beginning. That water was cold and they coloured it with Bovril. I mean can you imagine beef extract? It stank to high heaven, it was absolutely like shit! And it was cold because we shot it I think in November. So they couldn’t heat the water because it steamed. I could only literally last three to five seconds before I had to come up for air. And so he put a tank of oxygen in there with a mouthpiece, and I spent my time trying to find the mouthpiece, which was bobbing around. It was harrowing.”

Not to mention he was being beaten with a billy club at the same time. 

“Admittedly, it’s rubber, but it still hurts,” McDowell recalls. “You can still feel it, and you feel like you’re in a nether world, you’re underwater, you’re sort of like drowning, but not quite. It’s a pretty good shot though.”

As well as the language, the soundtrack, the costumes and McDowell’s performance, the movie is also remembered for the controversy surrounding it. Allegations of copycat crimes as well as death threats sent to the director prompted Kubrick to pull the film from UK distribution in 1973, making it difficult to see in Britain until after Kubrick’s death in 1999. McDowell says the withdrawal didn’t especially affect him at the time, since he was in another country filming, and the movie had already been shown for a year. “It wasn’t like he pulled it at the height of its success so people couldn’t see it.”

Though it remains tough to watch in part, McDowell says younger audiences seem more comfortable with the comedy and satire elements of the film, a strand that was always intended.

“It is a black comedy and that’s how it was made. And I would have to say that that element of it has caught up, and kids when they see the movie now just roar with laughter and that makes my heart sing because that’s what I thought when I made it,” he says. “When it first came out, my god! It was total silence in the cinema, nobody moved out of their seats.”

When we ask McDowell what he hopes new viewers coming to the film today might take from it he’s typically candid: “I really have nothing to say about that. You know they can take whatever they want.” Though he says he thinks it’s amazing that the film is still relevant which he attributes to Burgess’s book even more than Kubrick’s adaptation.

Then after a beat he follows up with an anecdote.

“Well, actually I did go to a screening for the 40th anniversary at the Egyptian, I also gave a bit of a talk. At the end I was walking towards the bathroom and a young kid passed me, and goes ‘Oh my god! Clockwork right?’ I went, ‘Yeah!’ he goes, ‘Which part?’ I went, ‘The old guy’. He goes, ‘The old guy! Oh!’ I went, ‘No! the young guy! It’s 40 years old!’ he went, ‘Oh!’ he didn’t even connect,” McDowell chuckles. “I don’t know what he was smoking.”

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

To mark its 50th anniversary, A Clockwork Orange Ultimate Collector’s Edition is now available to own here and includes the feature film on a Ultra HD Blu-ray™ disc in 4K with HDR and a Blu-ray™ disc with the feature film and special features. Fans can also own A Clockwork Orange in 4K Ultra HD via purchase from select digital retailers.

The post A Clockwork Orange at 50: Malcolm McDowell Revisits Kubrick’s Film appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3B9M0du