#it honestly feels like there was blindfold over my eyes that was violent ripped off my head and now im just stuck seeing all the bs

[beepbeepkazoo]

wow i woke up this morning and started just yelling about like 10 years of built up emotions about my parent's gambling addiction

[deerydear]

I feel an impulse to vomit into the world. Rather than sit, digest, use the nutrients of life to nourish me... to figure out anything. I wonder what it was that gave me an upset stomach. Psycho-bulimic.

It's been a habit I've let linger for years. I don't know why... There's these lyrics:

Somethin' filled up my heart with nothin', someone told me not to cry. But now that I'm older, my heart's colder, and I can see that it's a lie. Children wake up, hold your mistake up, before they turn the summer into dust. If the children don't grow up, our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up. We're just a million little gods causin' rain storms turnin' every good thing to rust. I guess we'll just have to adjust. With my lightnin' bolts a glowin' I can see where I am goin' to be when the reaper, he reaches and touches my hand. With my lightnin' bolts a glowin' I can see where I am goin' You'd better look out below!

Enforced amnesia.

What did I eat? I don't remember, because I threw it up, so it wouldn't become part of my body. I can't search my indexes... until one little leaflet left behind peeks itself out, so I get the craving to go searching for it. I just want to look like I'm eating.

I like it when my psychoanalytical landscape rolls together so perfectly. Looking at it from this peak, it's so.....

Of course, it always does.... It just depends on whether I make that choice to climb the mountain to see......

I made up a story for my own amusement, when I was thirteen... It goes that my consciousness was actually a blood-thirsty robot which has ripped apart a little girl, and taken her place in life. It honestly, made no..... physical sense, but it didn't need to. It spoke of a spiritual story. In that sense, it was true. What do you do, if you are Buffalo Bill..... but you were already born female? What is your objective, if not to skin someone and take their place? What if you already are them? Well, is there anywhere to go? NO! FLAY YOUR OWN SKIN OFF! THEN WEAR IT! PRETEND YOU ARE SOMETHING YOU ARE NOT! YOU ARE THE PERVERTED DESTROYER!

...but none of this makes sense. If you are something desirable, why wouldn't you be content with it?

Answer: You just don't get it. You don't know the hunger... the desperation... the need. I needed a story. I needed an explanation. No, I didn't... I wanted it. I didn't need to say anything to anyone. I didn't need to present myself at my worst... but I thought it would be funny... ironic, even. Now I'm sitting here, writing it all out for your and my own shock and horror.... like I'm some creepy guy telling a creepy story. I can be whatever I want. Why? I don't know, man. I was raised atheist, but maybe there was something to the idea of 'devil music' and violent video-games making violent kids. I mean, you see all the school-shootings we have now. Is there just a dejected sigh? Is it even respectful to say, "You were right", or just mourn silently along with the rest of you?

I should clarify that I know everyone has free will. Little incentives are placed in our paths, to see if we'll go for them.

People can make the choices you know are wrong. You can make the choices you know are wrong. That's free will. That's the bloody reality of it. I have my own blood on my hands, and I used to scream it every moment I was awake.

Beyond all this, is the illusion of life. The dunya..... Is it more interesting to get caught up in the chaotic bloodshed of the world? The ripping and tearing like a pack of hungry maenads.... ...but...

No more gilded bridles...

"You eat with your eyes, first..." Yes. What does it mean.. to blindfold oneself, and eat blindly?

Quantity over quality!

The Koran frequently tells us that the life of this world is ephemeral, either in so many words, or in parables such as the following: And strike for them the similitude of the life of this world: It is as water that We send down out of heaven, and the plants of the earth mingle with it, and in the morning it is straw that the winds scatter. (18:45) The Koran insists that dedicating oneself to straw is to squander away one's life and to dissipate one's human substance. People should not devote themselves to something that is utterly undependable. They should not act as if life's meaning is found in the affairs of this world, or as if experienced phenomena were anything other than the signs of God. Reality is not exhausted by what we see with our eyes. In short, the Koran says, do not be deluded by appearances: The life of this world is naught but a sport and a diversion.(18:45) Surely those who look not to encounter Us, and who are content with the life of this world and at peace with it, and those who are heedless of Our signs, those—their refuge is the Fire. (10:7)

— Sachiko Murata and William Chittick, The Vision of Islam, 1994

The one thing I like about having a deep voice (from doing steroids) is......... I feel like the Minotaur. Don't do steroids. Notice how I said 'One'! Put it all on the scales, and the unenjoyable things will outweigh the enjoyable. I think the funny thing is that all of these are just sense-objects to try to point at some higher mental experience, an imagination... an ebb and flow of the waters of the mind. Your mind may be completely different, and these may conjure up different bouquets of thought.

Maybe this is the Devil's music, which I play from my flute...

Question: What happens if you eat the Devil's fruit, while telling yourself you'll vomit it out again?

Does something remain?

What happens if you do it, and you do it repeatedly? What if you just keep doing it? What changes? What could change?

Why do it?

"To know what it tastes like."

It tastes bitter, and burnt... like ashes. It leaves you wishing to be dead more than anything. That is not romantic.

...but I know how you seem to be obsessed with those unsolvable riddles.

"You will be cursed to eat all things."

Agni, enraged at Brighu’s curse, asked, “O Brahmana, why this rashness against me who only spoke the truth? A witness who misrepresents facts will have ruined his ancestors and descendants up to seven generations on either side. Even if one remains silent when questioned, the effects are the same.

“The butter that is poured on me during rituals appeases the Devas and Pitris. The rites of Darsha (performed on Amavasya) and Paurnamása (performed on full-moon day) respectively feed the Pitris and Devas. As the ghee poured on me is consumed by them, I am considered their mouth. How can I, who feed them, become an eater of all things?”

Saying thus, Agni subsequently withdrew himself from all places, causing discomfort to all living beings because of the loss of sacrificial fire.

This put the other gods in a bind, as there could be no religious activities without Agni. So the other gods began looking for him.

Agni had first hid himself in the ocean. But, because of his fiery being, the ocean got too hot for the creatures in it. The frogs decided to take up the matter with the gods on behalf of their fellow sea creatures, and told the celestial beings where Agni was hiding. Agni was angry and cursed the frogs to lose their sense of taste.

The fire god then hid in a big banyan tree, where a passing elephant spotted him and informed the gods. Furious, Agni cursed the elephant to have a short tongue. He then took refuge in a Shami tree. A bird saw him there and tweeted his hiding place to the gods. Agni cursed the bird to have a tongue that would be curved inside.

Eventually, the gods were able to track down the blazing deity and placate him enough to come back.

Brahma summoned Agni and said, “This decision of yours to abstain from sacrifices does not befit your stature. You will remain eternally pure, and will not be reduced to someone who eats all promiscuously. Only the flame from your viler parts of the body will be a consumer of all things. Everything burnt by your flames will become pure. Make the words of the rishi come true, while continuing to receive the offerings on behalf of the Devas and Pitris”

Agni replied “so I will”. And everyone rejoiced as from then on the rishis were able to continue the rituals as before.

But what about all the creatures Agni had cursed? They were blessed by the gods for helping them; the frogs were given the skill to move comfortably even in darkness, the elephants would never be be hindered by their tongue to eat anything they wanted, and the birds were blessed with the gift of singing!

I am the fire, says the fire. My body is a graveyard, says the landscape. You’re welcome, says the landscape.

....is suffering love?

Is more attention actually paid to us when we suffer?

Didn't Pavlov's dogs stop salivating after enough times of not being fed?

Ring-ring... Ring-ring...

Hello?

[angeli-marco-writes]

Harry Holland - Polaroids

A/N & WC - I do not know Harry or the other people mentioned in this fic, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction. 3.9k.

Warnings - Swearing, mention of food, smut: depictions of oral (m+f rec), penetrative sex, use of toys, bondage & bdsm, photos being taken in the act, mild exhibitionism and definite voyeurism (not Harry or reader) 18+.

Summary - You and Harry have an exciting intimate life to say the least, and he rather enjoys taking photos of the two of you in compromising positions. However, in his sex-addled mind, one vital fact is let slip when he allows Sam into his room unsupervised.

“BUD, WHERE ARE THOSE PHOTOS you took of my food the other day?” Sam asks.

The sizzling of pancakes overlaps the conversation, and you mussing up Harry’s hair distracts him, his attention drawn to more important matters than his brother. Harry barely swallows his giant mouthful of food before speaking.

“By my bed there’s a huge pile, they’ll be somewhere,” he answers flippantly.

Flippantly.

Usually so cautious and so organised Harry lets one thing slip his mind for five seconds, and his life is going to fall through the cracks. His reputation will be utterly destroyed. Just with his brother, but it still stands. Sam is… more innocent than Harry has ever been. And Sam will also tell the others, and likely their friends…

“Remembered something, baby?” you muse sardonically from beside him, your hand halting its movements as you cup his jaw, turning him to face you.

The second his green eyes meet yours, you watch the world crumble in his eyes. You’ve never seen him scramble up from his seat so quickly. His bare feet slap on the tiled floor violently, thudding sounds echoing through the house as he blunders around, swinging around the banister with the force and elegance of an elephant.

“Sam! FUCK— Wait!”

“Don’t look in that pile of photos,” you add in a feeble shout.

It’s not like what Sam’ll find there is any secret. You’ve been together a long time, you and Harry, and everyone knows full well that you’re shagging, but that doesn’t mean you necessarily want them to know exactly what happens in the bedroom, in your most intimate, secret moments together. That’s sacred, even if it seems like sacrilege to so many.

No matter how quickly you hear Harry legging it upstairs, his lean legs carrying him up the stairs perhaps three at a time, his curly hair even more unruly than before from the exertion, you know he won’t be fast enough, and that Sam is an insolent bastard when he wants to be. You’ve lived with them all long enough and have had more than your fair share of near misses: no chance will you not be found out, this time you’ll be caught. Better than the alternative and the other times, you suppose, as you cram one more syrup-drizzled and strawberry-covered pancake into your gob, reluctantly trudging your way upstairs to the hive of fun.

It’s chaos by the time you get there. Dozens of artfully-taken photos spilled out onto your duvet, Harry’s freckled face paler than you’ve ever seen it, his hands tugging at his pyjama shirt convulsively while Sam stands on the other side of the room, his dark eyes wide, his expression agog, his jaw unhinged, staring blankly and pointing at whatever the most incriminating thing is he sees next. You just hope he doesn’t go ferreting through your drawers, because then you’ll really be in trouble.

“What… the fuck.”

You come up to Harry’s side, and wrap an arm around his slim waist, lending a weak, “Surprise?”

It’s their fault if they haven’t guessed, frankly.

You can’t draw your eyes away from the pictures, so many of them, all displaying different aspects of your sex life at varying degrees of explicitness. You can even recount the minutes and hours of pleasure that led to the photos, each occasion etched into your mind. Sure, you and Harry go at it a lot, but you don’t always go the extra mile, hence why these commemorative photos of your special nights are so treasured. And private. Or, were.

The first one… oh boy, that takes you back to the most far-out, extreme experiment you tried—the most recent, as well: just this past weekend. You’re still covered in rope burn from it, though that could’ve been prevented if you hadn’t writhed or wriggled about so much while in those bonds. The amount of attempts it took, the sheer number of YouTube tutorials you had to watch, but it was definitely worth it. The intricate patterns the ropes formed all across your body, creating braids down your back, suspending you prone with little movement in your arms or legs. It was heaven to have Harry tugging on the ropes, contorting you into new and wonderful positions for his own delightful access to all of you. Perhaps it’s not something you’ll gravitate towards again, but it was fun while it lasted, and it’s another thing to tick off your list of fun, kinky bedroom experiments to try. To be fair, even though the swathes of soft, rose-coloured rope, intricately woven around you were a lot, you certainly wouldn’t be averse to trying something else with rope. Less shibari, perhaps just normal levels of bondage. You can feel the skin on your arms prickling with heat: Harry feels it too, winding his fingers into yours, holding on tight as he struggles to suppress a smirk.

The next set is interesting, and rather common. Harry’s freckled, ring-less hand is unmistakable in the dappled light as it grapples with the handle of a leather whip, or a paddle, even his belt, bringing them down harshly onto your ass cheeks, already reddened with hand prints, purple from bruises. In one of them, your skin is even glistening with his release, and another, your hands are suspended behind your back. Harry’s always been one for spanking, and the rest of them know it. Even before you were sleeping together he’d playfully smacked your bum, and he certainly hasn’t stopped even with the sexual connotations it now conveys between the two of you. As though he can read your mind, he snakes a hand down and pats you on the bum; his wink telling you it’s just for good measure. Cheeky shit.

One in the dead centre brings shivers throughout your body. Not because it wasn’t fun or pleasurable, but because of the way it made you feel afterwards. Yes, you’d talked through it in thorough details—as with everything the two of you do—how it made you feel going in, throughout, and you’d got a safe word sorted, but perhaps you hadn’t discussed all the long term risks of it. The pretty pink collar, the satin blindfold… The whole subservient thing is a big turn on for Harry, and you played into it, you always do and you naturally fall into a position of less power in your relationship because of the way you are, but being degraded in such a way isn’t for you. You can’t help but feel a sting of shame ricochet through your heart. Harry must feel it this considering how reactive he is: he leaps towards the bed and snatches it up, shredding it before your eyes, chucking it into the bin, and curling another protective arm around you.

“Look,” you whisper to Harry, turning his attention elsewhere as you point to the bottom few: your favourite photos of all.

Despite the disarray, they’re all together, and they remind you of an incredible night. Your anniversary, and what a special day it was. Butterflies swarm you at the sight of them again, but it feels strange for someone else to be looking at them. Not that you or Harry are exactly in a fit state to be proactive about preventative measures now Sam’s seen them all. His eyes bulge from his face, his mouth going dry as he swallows viciously, suddenly having to shift his already apparently tight shorts. Again.

“You’re so sexy in those, baby,” purrs Harry.

He’s damn right, you do look incredibly sexy. And though the first one in the chronological series is you mostly covered, you can remember how hard his dick was at the sight alone, salivating, clenching his fists to stop from ripping the lingerie from you piece by piece. You wanted to put on a show for him that day: who was he to deny you?

On top of your bra, panties and stockings was a nightgown, and above that, a dressing gown. Each image shows you in a further state of undress. It was a deep burgundy lace set of negligée with soft satin straps that pushed your boobs together, lifting them up, the lace hooked together with a single eyelet on your spine, whereas the panties, though half covering your cheeks with dustings of lace, hid nothing while they sat high on your hips, revealing your entire upper thigh where a matching satin garter sat with tiny lace bows. The entire thing cost a fortune. You forked out a damn arm and a leg for what you got, even with a discount included with a certain toy you bought.

First went the dressing gown, letting it fall from your shoulders, allowing it to pool around your feet as you showed off the skimpiness of the silk slip in a series of flourishing twirls, much to Harry’s delight. Next went the slip, and you honestly wish you’d taken a picture of his face utterly agog—as you stood there in stockings held up by garters, barely there panties and a push up bra. There’s one shot of his rough fingertips playing with the trim of the stockings delightedly, like a kid in a candy shop. Next went the feeble scrap of fabric that you dared to call a bra, barely covering your nipples, allowing your breasts free, spilling into Harry’s awaiting hand. You remember the next part vividly, because he was just about to peel the panties off when you laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, babe.” you cooed.

His twinkling eyes grew as wide as saucers, and you dared to card your fingers through his curls as you settled yourself over his lap, letting him keep his camera in one hand while leading the other down, down, a little further…

He’s never since made a sound quite like it, so visceral and animalistic, so ready to devour you, to come on sight. He’s never been as hard as he was in that instance.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he moaned, a deep groan released from him the second his fingers slipped through your folds to find dripping arousal all ready for him. “Just—wait a minute…”

You followed his every instruction for the next few moments, finding yourself standing up in a good lighting position, Harry strategically beneath you as he snapped a particularly incriminating (yet oh so sexy shot) of your bare pussy in crotchless panties. Harry’s never recovered. He’s already openly admitted that he uses those particular photos more than any others to get himself off whenever you’re away from him. However, the creases and folded corners of one particular photo can’t be blamed on him, since that’s the one you use when you're away, two of his fingers plunged knuckle-deep inside you in those exact panties, from that exact angle, desperately trying to replicate the irreplaceably pleasurable feeling of him within you. He took a good few more than had to be thrown away. Spillages are awfully unfortunate… He fucked you that night with the panties, stockings and garters still on. Twice. Then without the panties, then without the stockings, then nude at last at some ungodly hour of the morning when he took you at last as the sun rose. You didn’t sleep a wink.

There are more of you with lingerie on, nightgowns and matching sets, scraps of silk and strange one pieces that took you hours to get on, but they’re bound to make a sort of book, stowed away neatly (mercifully) beneath his bed.

Sam still hasn’t moved from his state of paralysed shock, and though you should probably clear the photos up from where they’re dumped, you feel a filthy swelling pride within your chest, a glean of risk as you watch Sam rove his eyes over some more, these all involving toys. If only he knew where you hid them. One his eyes focus on is you with a thick purple rubber dildo deep inside you, a rabbit vibrator stuck to your clit. Your body is but a blur, writhing around for Harry, your hands cuffed before you and not released no matter how much you moved. Harry wouldn’t let you stop coming for what felt like hours: it was the first time you squirted for him as a cry tore from your heaving chest, drenching the bed with your fifth orgasm of the night. Harry vowed he’d be the only one to make you squirt after that, no toys involved, and he’s stayed true to his word.

There’s a few more, and Sam seems to be furrowing his thick brows at the sight of the Polaroids. Glass wands, spreader bars, clit suctions (that admittedly look like they’d be used in a spa for a facial). Poor boy is being corrupted...

Good God, you need to get those toys out again.

With his twin's attention diverted, you snake your hand down the front of Baz’s shorts, wrapping your fingers around his already hard member through his boxers: he seems to be enjoying this as much as you are.

You point out one of your favourite pictures, a debauched mess that shouldn’t be viewed by anyone else, frankly. Harry was reluctant about hurting you or pushing you too far, but you begged to be gagged. You meant just by a tie, maybe his bandana—which features in many images in many different manners: as a bind for your hands, tying you to the bed, keeping your ankles together, even wrapped lightly around your neck, but never as a gag—but he went all out. When you got home, he was waiting in his room with a leather-bound ball gag.

“You begged, baby,” he said, and you couldn’t refute. You had begged, but this was above and beyond. You complied with his every wish that night, and though you’d do it again in a heartbeat, Harry wasn’t a fan of not being able to shove his fingers or cock down your throat at any given moment. He liked hearing your whines and moans and hushed curses, prayers of his name. He also liked hearing your bratty, belligerent rebuttals when he took on a dominant role. You enjoyed it more than a little, but only now can you see how much of a mess you were, messy hair and tears spouting from your eyes, drool down your chin...

Given the chance of the slightest spark of stimulation, you’ll be coming on the spot.

There’s a scattered pile of the two of you in just about every position under the sun, every shape in the karma sutra, fucking both inside and out, al fresco sex beneath the big oak in the garden, anyhow, anywhere and everywhere you could fuck safely and privately, you would, and you didn’t even realise Harry had snapped some of these shots after consenting to him taking them at any time. Your eyes squeezed shut as you peaked, Baz’s palm kneading your chest, your skirt hiked up around your stomach while your jaw was agape, your pussy exposed and glistening slick in the mirror, penetrated by Harry’s cock. That was a good day, mirror sex, and definitely something you’ll try again. This time with your own mirror... There are a few snapshots of oral, perfect Polaroids of Harry’s nose nuzzled into your pussy, his tongue deep in your core, his lips on your labia, all of them for your sake whenever he goes away.

“Gonna recreate that one tonight,” Harry husks, pointing towards one image in particular of you sucking him off.

His huge member down your throat, you’d trained yourself to breathe solely through your nose, but the neatly trimmed patch of hair there tickled your nostrils. Harry’s talent for photography reveals your doe eyes were red rimmed, saliva trickling from the corner of your mouth matching the mascara tracks down your cheeks. You’ve never looked so fucked out, and Harry couldn’t believe you remained in that innocent façade, rosy cheeks and a coy expression even with his dick rammed down your throat, making you gag.

However, the one you’d like to recreate is one he picks up on, surreptitiously moving a hand to your chest, his fingers hovering over your peaked nipple.

“Reckon we can go again the second Sam fucks off?”

“Yes,” he eagerly exhales.

You don’t blame him, especially not when both twins are staring at the same image of your tits, pushed together with Harry’s dick between them, fucking your chest despite the fact his come already painted your chest in hot white strips, a beautiful painting you’d always wish to frame. He certainly has an obsession with your boobs so there are a couple like that, his hands all over them, the tip of his member tapping them, but the debauched one is by far your favourite. Similarly, there’s one of you tied to the bed, completely spread eagle, his dick resting on your stomach while your belly is coated in his come once again.

It seems, however, that’s what snagged Sam’s attention and has his face a ghastly shade of grey because it's so pale, is the one photo Harry never wanted anyone to see. You leap and snatch it up in one fell swoop, and Harry draws you into a bear hug within his arms, kissing your temple affectionately in thanks as you stow it away for safekeeping. Though Harry naturally carries the more dominant title in your relationship, you always like to shake things up, hence why this photo (and a series of others he already has hidden) depict Harry as your submissive. You walked around as the picture perfect dominatrix in stilettos, carrying a whip while Harry lay there with his hands bound, a blindfold on in some photos (you took them so they’re not as great, but he still looks damn sexy) with a vibrating cock ring wrapped snugly around his girth. He’s never come so hard or so much after you finally removed it and cuffed his hands to the bedpost and began to ride him. You can still feel the warmth of him climaxing within you if you close your eyes and clench your thighs.

“I promise I’ll touch you later,” boy do you hope he sticks to that promise he whispers while nibbling on your earlobe, “but Sam’s coming out of his daze in 3... 2... 1...”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Okay, I didn’t see that coming,” he remarks breathily, hazel eyes wide as he pivots, met with two incredulous stares. Tom’s cry wakes Sam up right on cue.

“Harry! What the fuck?!” Sam demands, his voice a bellow, horror and disgust and... something unattainable just emanates from him. “Why do you have three porn mags worth of your girlfriend down here? That’s fucked, mate.”

“No it’s not. We just like to have photographic reminders of all our... sexcapades.”

Sam is, unsurprisingly, retching, now finally turning his head away from the pile without even bothering to pick up.

“This was cool until you called them sexcapades,” Tom chimes, smacking Harry upside the head as he swaggers over to the bed, fishing a few photos up before tossing them back down.

Sam's horrified attitude doesn’t seem to be spreading thankfully, but you and Harry are understandably rooted to the spot, stuck to the carpet, just biding your time until this is over. Then again, you can’t really tell, since no one is saying anything. You nor Harry want to be the ones to break the silence, though, and you can tell with the furtive and expressive stares you’re sharing that his anxiety is increasing the more people are seeing this.

Momentarily, you think someone may remark about your silent communication, your fixed glances and speechless conversation, but instead, Harrison comes up to you both, a sly smirk etched onto his pretty model face as he clasps a hand around one shoulder of yours and one of Harry’s.

“Harry Holland, you kinky fucker,” he praises.

You definitely feel a swell of pride at that. And the fact that Tom is trying desperately hard not to look at you while also trying to hide how flustered he is, somehow still abhorred by the sight. Harrison’s intrigue is palpable, gnawing on his lower lip as his lithe fingers trace you on the polaroid's, whereas Sam? He can’t decide whether to cry or scream. Harry huddles in closer and cuddles you, ensuring you feel every part of him, just how much he wants this lot to leave to finally have you at his mercy once more.

“So you two are shagging,” Tom observes.

You and Harry nod between kisses.

“Dangerously.”

You nod again, though this time a little reluctantly.

You expect Harry to nestle down with you again, but instead he detaches himself, unravelling his arms, and shoulders past Tom and Haz. He gives Sam a death glare as he piles up all the Polaroids and shoves them deep in a drawer for him to organise later, away from prying eyes and judgemental comments.

“Really, though?” Sam bursts out, flailing his arms before grasping Harry’s collar. “I thought you’d just handcuff her and give her a smack at most, very vanilla.”

As much as he tries to fight it, Harry’s face flushes bright red, leaving no visible distinction between his forehead and hairline. “I think those photos, erm, tell a different story.”

He rocks on the balls of his feet, tugging himself out of his brother's grasp, only to fall into another, saved by Harrison’s scowl at Tom.

“Can you lot bloody get out? Please? I’d like some alone time with my girlfriend after that sodding invasion.”

“If you’re having alone time, we’re leaving the house for a while,” Tom jokes, “how long?”

You smirk, striding over to meet Harry, eyes fixed on him as you press onto your tiptoes, wrapping your fingers around his shoulder before kissing his earlobe. He wilts into your touch.

“Two hours should be enough time. Scram.”

They do, gladly, and you slam the door shut as their scurrying footsteps down the stairs recede. Harry’s grip increases around your waist, a growl escaping him as he pushes you onto the bed. You gasp when your back hits the mattress, his lips instantly attacking your jaw.

“Which of those polaroid's do you wanna recreate first, baby?”

—

It’s hours later, and you're all around for your weekly dinner at the Holland house. You and Harry, having some ‘business’ to attend to before leaving the house, are the last to arrive, and Paddy, poor unfortunate Paddy, has the delightful job of letting you into the house.

“Sam asked me to give you this,” he says barely before you’ve entered the porch.

Harry’s face pales as he unravels the small piece of paper bundled into his hand by his younger brother, but you could swear all blood drains from him the second the words sink in.

‘You took them, you lost them, you collect them. What would mum and dad say, Harold?’

“Harry, what’s happening?”

“That utter wanker stole the polaroids as revenge for scarring him. He’s hidden them around the house. We have to find them before mum and dad go looking. You in for the ride?”

“Only if Haz can join us tonight,” you tease, and after calling a hello to Harry’s parents, you follow him around the house, detaching all the pinned photos.

Harry's learnt a solid lesson today: hide his damn Polaroids better from now on, away from the prying eyes of his bloody brothers. But, he thinks with a smirk, by no means will the two of you stop taking them.

[animeyanderelover]

Can I request deidara with prompt 67?

One of the explosion boys coming your way.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, obsessiveness, delusions, kidnapping, blindfolding, being tied up,chains, Stockholm syndrome, reader losing it, self-harming, blood

Prompt 67: “Say my name again like this.”

The only sound you were able to detect was your own shaking breath, nearly echoing in the eerily silence which surrounded you. How long had you been here, tied up in this position? You had no idea and this was what scared you. It couldn't have been more than a few hours, right? It was hard to tell given that you couldn't see anything. The blindfold in front of your eyes neglected you any kind vision, leaving you absolutely vulnerable and defenseless. Anything could happen to you now and you wouldn't even notice nor get the chance to fight.

But Deidara had surely have to come back very soon, wouldn't he? He wouldn't leave you all alone in here, right? You felt pure fear rising up inside of you whilst thinking that he might not come back after all. What if he had gotten bored of you? Or had been killed? You knew that you should actually be glad if he wouldn't come back in here. It meant that you were free to go. The problem simply was that next to the fact that you were tied up in pretty solid chains, preventing you from making any sort of handsights also that you had no idea were you even were. What if you were in the middle of nowhere? Were there even enough supplies to manage to hold on long enough until you would bump into some people? What if you would be attacked on your way for help? Deidara had taken all your weapons.

You hated it, how you actually wanted him to come back. But the sad reality was that the loneliness had slowly gotten to you over time. Not only that, but all the fear as well. You hated it whenever he left you alone because it meant you would have to be tied up again, being forced to endure again hours silence and darkness. With no food, no drinking, no chance to go to the tiolet. It was torture. On longer missions he took you most of the times with him so he could keep an eye on you. And then you had to rely on him because elsewise you might get hurt. In either scenario, it had always been the case that you had to rely on him.

So where was he?! Why wasn't he here yet?! A dry sob escaped your lips. You were afraid of being left alone in here. You couldn't stand this anymore and your body agreed. Your muscles were sore and stiff from sitting in the same positions for hours straight, your throat was dry and burning with the need to finally swallow some water, your stomach was twisting in an aching way around that clearly signalled that you were hungry and your wrists hurt due to being tightly squeezed from the cold iron. But the worst? That you had been robbed one of your most important senses. You couldn't see anything which left you relying on the next best sense you had left. Your hearing. But this made it even worse because whenever you even imagined to sense a slight creaking, you felt the absolutely not belonging together emotions of hope and fear rising up inside of you. You always hoped that the creaking meant that Deidara was back, but there was also this nerve-wracking anxiety that it was maybe a shinobi who had found this house.

It was killing you slowly inside and with every passing second you felt yourself growing more and more frightened. What if he had really lost interest? Or really gotten himself killed? Who would help you then?! No one knew that you were here! You would die! Without anyone knowing what had ever happened to you! That blonde boy had to come back! You needed him.

And suddenly you jerked forward, your thoughts starting to cartwheeling inside of your head. The chains instantly pulled you backwards, the sharper edges of the iron pressing themselves in your skin until you felt the stinging of them cutting in your skin. But in that moment you couldn't care less, feeling like suddenly you were hyperaware of every noise around you. It made you only feel more unhinged, the small noises making you tense up before leading to you pulling even tighter against the iron. Without even noticing you had even started crying, wetting the fabric of the blindfold with your tears, but you didn't even care about that. You honestly didn't give a damn about anything right now, not the slow stream of blood nor how much your throat hurt when you started whining and sobbing, the way it burned due to being completely dried out. Right now you only cared about one thing.

"Deidara! DEIDARA!" He didn't leave you. No, he would never do that. He had clearly said that he loved you. He couldn't leave you alone. You would die! You didn't want to die! "DEIDARA!!!" The only thing you seemed to be able to do now was screaming his name.

The moment you suddenly heard a door being slammed open, you choked on your own spit and the air, starting to cough violently. But even for that your panicked brain couldn't seem to care right now. You had currently only one person stuck in your mind. Was he back?! "Deidara!" Your mind focused intensely on the footsteps which stormed towards your door and with one loud bang the door to the room in which you were trapped was smashed open. "(y/n)?! What's wrong?!"

You bursted out in even more tears when you heard his voice which caused your whole body to loosen up a bit, all the uncontrolled tugging and pulling suddenly stopping. He was here! He was finally here! He hadn't forgotten you. You really wanted to say something, but the only thing you were able to do now was hiccuping and sobbing in relief.

"Why are you crying?!...Why are you bleeding?! What happened?!" With one swift movement you felt the fabric covering your eyes being ripped away from your face, finally allowing you to see what was going on around you. At first a dry whimper escaped your lips, your eyes not being able to handle all the sudden light attacking them again. You had to rapidly blink a couple of times before you finally got used to it again, finally being able to recognize the long-haired male who was hastily removing the chains around your wrists, obviously panicking when he saw the opened skin, red, raw and bloody from all of your brutal pushing before.

"What did you do?! Look, you're hurt! Why would you do something like this?!" He ruffled his hair, clearly stressed out about this. You on the other hand felt like you had just been punched in the face. Had you disappointed him? What if he wouldn't like you anymore because of this and just tie you up again, but this time without coming back? "Wait here, alright. I-I'll quickly get the first aid to treat your wounds." He tried to sound calm, not wanting you to get scared even more.

But the moment he tried to turn around, you literally just jumped onto him, catching him clearly off-guard with this. He blinked a bit surprised at you clinging tightly onto his body, body trembling with heavy sobs. You didn't want him to leave, you wanted him to stay with you. Your wrists honestly didn't hurt that much, your brain not even recognizing the pain in them. At least not as much as the painful stinging inside of you, mixed with the sweet feeling of relief. These two emotions, which clashed currently together in your brain, made you honestly a bit sick and slightly dizzy. Or was this because you weren't very hydrated right now? You didn't know.

"S-stay please." Your voice was barely a whisper and sounded raspy due to the lack of water. But it was audible enough for Deidara to hear. Was he dreaming right now? He couldn't recall a time where you had ever hugged him or touched him in any sort of way before. Those last few weeks all you had ever done was screaming, crying and begging him to let you go.

But here you were now, clinging onto him like he was the oxygen you needed to breathe, burrying your face in his chest and whimpering for him to stay. He knew that he should have taken care of your raw wrists in that moment, he knew that this wasn't the right moment. But he really couldn't help the large grin which suddenly appeared on his face. He knew it! He knew that with a bit time you would start accepting the fact that you and him were just meant to be! How could he say no to your wishes when you obviously needed him so much right now?

"It's fine (y/n). I'm here. I won't go anywhere." You slightly lifted your head, being met with his absolutely adoring gaze and this lunatic grin on his face. If he would have given you that look one week ago, you were sure that you would have pushed him away and yelled at him. But now you didn't. No, you were even glad that he was giving you that look. It somehow soothed you to see just how infatuated he really was with you.

"Please never leave me again alone like this. I-I was terrified that you might not come back or get killed." Your grip tightened slightly, your shivering only increasing when thinking back to the darkness and the nerve-wracking uncertainty about whaz would happen. It made you feel like throwing up.

His smile only seemed to widen when hearing this, it looked like his face might actually hurt. H-how cute! You had been worried about him! "I'm really sorry for making you worry that much. I really didn't intend to do so. My man Sasori kept me a bit more busy than intended. The next time I'll hurry up." His tone had transformed to sickening sweet, obviously hoping that he would calm you down by holding you in his arms and cooing at you with this adoring gaze of his. And it did help you to relax a lot, but it still didn't seem enough.

You shook your head in a stubborn way, looking at him with red and puffy eyes. "No! I don't want to wait for you in here for hours without knowing what might happen to you in the moment. Can't you just take me with you?" For a short moment Deidara's expression seemed to waver with uncertainty, not really happy to even think about this. Missions were often very dangerous and it happened more than once that he had to bombard the whole landscape to get something down. He didn't want to bring your life into danger. "I'm not so sure..."

"Please. Don't leave me alone anymore in here. I hate it. It's cold and silent and dark. I am aware that you often go on dangerous missions. B-but you can protect me, can't you? I don't have to worry as long as I'm with you, right?" This managed to make a blush climb up Deidara's face when hearing your words, the trust you put into him. He almost felt his chest swelling with pride when hearing that you were that confident in him keeping you safe. And weren't you right? He had promised after all to keep you safe. "I'll think about it, alright?"

The answer didn't seem to satisfy you completely, judging from the way you were tugging hos cloak. "Deidara..." Your voice vibrated slightly against his chest, a small and pleading whine. And this small word, his name, caused the blonde to freeze for a short moment. He just kind of stared at you in awe. That was before he finally progressed the noise you had just made, whining so cutely his name which deepened his already slightly pink cheeks even more. How could someone be so unbelievably endearing?

"Say that again!" You stirred confused up a bit, looking him in his face. You felt yourself slightly flinching when you saw his expression. He looked a bit...weird. The crazed expression on his face seemed to have become only more unhinged-looking thanks to the blush on his face. When noticing your gaze on his, he suddenly leaned closer, making sure to ensure that you wouldn't flee by holding you with his grip in your place until his forehead was pressed against yours. "Say my name again like this."

[bunnyywritings]

May I please have headcanons on how hawks and grown up!midoriya would react if their daughter turned into a villain if it's ok? Thanks!!

their daughter becoming a villain

[a/n: this is such an amazing prompt! Thank you anon 💓I’m guessing the daughter is the reader? If that’s not what you had in mind then go ahead and let me know ☺️ I tried to make it as angsty as possible, I hope you enjoy! Uhh these came out longer than I thought...sorry -yours truly, bunnyy -`ღ´-]

takami keigo

✾ he honestly had no idea you existed

✾ he was on parole one day and there was an incident

✾ he was too far to help but he saw the headlines

✾ the hero had completely disregarded the woman being held hostage and had gone for the villain

✾ this resulted in the woman being brutally murdered

✾ his stomach churned as he shut off the tv, she had looked vaguely familiar but he shrugged it off

✾ later on in the day, he got a call

✾ he had a kid...a daughter to be exact

✾ the woman he had just seen on tv was the mother, someone he had a one night stand with and forgot about

✾ so there he was, sat across from a 13 year old with his wings and her mother’s lightning, who had refused to talk to him

✾ it took a few months but you finally warmed up to him, even calling him dad/papa

✾ you had gotten accepted into UA and were very excited

✾ it wasn’t till the anniversary came up, you though you had repressed the memory but it all rushed back

✾ and as time went on, everyone saw the change

✾ you were questioning the principles of being a hero, questioning why heroes were in the right and all villains were automatically in the wrong just because they didn’t agree with the ideals of being a hero

✾ the last nail in the coffin was when you met Dabi

✾ it was completely by accident but you had recognized him and had asked him what it was like to be in the LOV

✾ he was gonna completely brush you off since he knew why your wings looked familiar but the tears in your eyes and the genuine pain in your voice tugged at his heart and he had taken you to the hide out and had somehow convinced shigaraki to hear you out

✾ he did and invited you to join...an invitation that you had greatfully accepted

✾ sneaking back into the house, you got a few things and left nothing but a feather on your pillow

✾ that was the last time your dad saw you

✾ until...

-

After having run away from home, you were confined to the LOV hideout for a bit because police and heroes alike were searching for you and Shigaraki didn’t want you to draw attention.

Taking a page from Dabi’s book, you bleached and dyed your hair. It was now a bright, fun color instead of the drab natural hair you had before. You quite liked it. Your wings, however, were the same maroon as before. There wasn’t much you could do about it, at least not until one day that Toga had rushed into the hideout with some pet safe dye she bough. It would effectively dye your wings without damaging them and without needing to use bleach. Whenever you looked into the mirror, you barely recognized yourself. Your hair a fiery red and wings a jet black. Dabi had even given you a few piercings per your request, your favorite was the tongue one.

“Hmm so what d’you think?” You hummed, sticking your tongue out to show the metal stud.

“Ooh (y/n)! You look so adorable!” Toga squealed in delight.

“I agree, it looks super cute!” Twice agreed before downturning his thumb. “Looks terrible! Any hero with a magnet quirk would rip it out!” You giggled and thanked him.

Dabi watched from the side, a small smile tugging at his lips. It had been a bout a year since you had joined and he had noticed that you were way happier than before. He had felt a connection with you and he couldn’t help but see you almost as a little sister. He looked out for you, made sure you were eating and sleeping well.

After you had been missing for around two years, Keigo gave up looking for you. He had lost hope of ever finding you. There was a new villain who had joined the league that he had to worry about, it didn’t seem like they were up to anything violent...just petty crime. He couldn’t help but notice that as the anniversary of your mothers’ death came up, the crimes got more and more violent. It wasn’t until he was called on the scene that he had realized why.

On that day, Shigaraki had called a meeting. You were finally going to get the chance to get justice for your mother and there was absolutely no hesitation when you had agreed to come along. You had just through you were going to go in and smack him around a bit. You definitely did and it was more than a bit, but he was still breathing when you left him a limp mess on the ground...just barely. What you hadn’t noticed was that Dabi had gone in after you and set fire to the agency, after making sure those who weren’t targets had made it out. So you were a bit surprised to see the building being engulfed by gorgeous blue flames. Dabi smirked and threw an arm around your shoulder.

“How’s it feel kid? He finally paid up.”

“Yeah, and I say good riddance.” You smirked along with him, absolutely no remorse in your voice.

“B-aby bird?” You cringed at the name. Dabi frowned as he felt you tense up. Both of you turning around to see Hawks and Endeavor. He couldn’t believe it was really you. “(Y-Y/n)...w-what did you do to y-yourself?” There was tears in his eyes as he looked you over. Watching as you rolled your eyes, reaching a gloved hand up and removing the muzzle like mask from your face.

“What do you think Keigo?” You spat, “I got justice. That disgusting excuse for a human being murdered my mother and was basically praised for it!”

“That’s still a human being...where’s his justice?” His mind was racing, trying to figure out what in the hell was going on.

“We just gave him his justice, bird-brain!” Dabi snickered from beside you.

“You’re more angry about this bastards death than my mother’s?” You stalked over to your ‘father.’ “HOW DARE YOU! My mother was INNOCENT! She was held hostage and murdered because a hero wanted to make it on the front page!” Your feathers ruffling up with your anger, lightning crackling to life around them.

“I thought-but you said you wanted to be a hero? W-what happened?”

Scoffing, you brought your finger up to your cheek and pulled down the skin under your eye, tongue sticking out and a wicked look in your eye. “Things change pops! Try and catch me if you can!” You felt Kurogiri’s warp gate ruffle your feathers and you tugged at Dabi’s coat sleeve. He threw his arm around you once again and stuck his tongue out at both pro heroes as well, Keigo took notice of the matching tongue piercings the both of you had. “I’ve got a new family, I don’t need a phony holding me back.” You winked, flapping your wings and both you and Dabi leaned back and fell into the the purple mist. While Dabi’s heart swelled with warmth at your words, Keigo’s grew cold and crumbled into little pieces. He fell to his knees, holding out both his hands to catch the stray feather that had floated down. He gently caressed it with his gloved thumb, gazing sadly at the faded black dye, the natural maroon was faint but it shone through.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. Kicking himself and trying to see where everything went wrong.

He lost his baby...he wasn’t sure if he’s ever bounce back from it. Not only was it the day that your mother died but it was the day he lost you too.

pro! midoriya izuku

✰ never would he had thought that things would end up like this

✰ he had been blessed with a beautiful wife, but with a healthy set of twins

✰ a baby boy and girl

✰ however, you were both quirkless

✰ either way, you and your brother were loved and cared for

✰ you grew up idolizing both All Might and your father

✰ it wasn’t until the both of you were going to take UA entrance exam that it happened

✰ you both new that he had possessed One for All

✰ so when your brother had suddenly manifested a quirk, your heart broke

✰ Midoriya watched as tears cascaded down your cheeks, a blank look in your eyes

✰ you couldn’t believe it, he had passed it down to your brother...

✰ you withdrew your application for the hero course and applied to the General Studies course

✰ with your grades alone, you instantly got in

✰ and even as your father congratulated you, you could see the overwhelming pride in his eyes as he praised your brother for getting into the Hero Course

✰ it wasn’t until your third year that you had enough

✰ you watched your brother receive special treatment, how he flew through each semester with absolutely shit grades but he was going to take your father’s place as the symbol of hope

✰ you watched your brother become the pride and joy of the family

✰ your accomplishments never even got any attention, always being brushed off by your father who was too busy helping with your brother’s training

✰ even your mom ignored you in favor of babying your brother

✰ so you left

✰ it took them a whole three days to notice

✰ in the first week of working as what society viewed as a “villain”, you made quite the name for yourself, in your first year of working...well, let’s just say that there was a good amount of heroes on the look out for you

✰ in reality, the villains were the ones abusing their power to oppress those that lacked those insignificant quirk cells...those a re the people you got rid of

✰ you had captured a low level “hero” that had been framing innocent people for crimes they didn’t commit, all to get his name to the top of some stupid list

✰ that’s when your father saw you again

-

“How pathetic.” You spat, wiping the blood from your Bowie knife on your black cargo pants. The man whimpered in fear, still trying to escape his restraints. Relacing your boots, you stomped on his ankle. A sickening crack echoeing through the empty room. Tears leaked from his blindfold. “This would be so much easier if you confessed, y’know?” You chuckled manically, gazing into the camera before refocusing on the task at hand. “No? Okay then.” Shrugging, you pulled the cloth sack over his head.

You fixed the plain face mask that you had worn and made your way into the convenience store and picked up some cheap and quick things to eat before heading back to the abandoned warehouse that was working as your base for now

What you hadn’t noticed, was the person following you. They watched as you entered the building.

“Deku...I can’t believe I’m saying this but I think it’s her.” He spoke into the earpiece. “I’m going in.”

Back inside, you sighed and tossed the wrapper of your meat bun to the side. You were growing irritated. You had this man chained up for three days and he hadn’t said a word. No matter how much you cut at his skin, no matter how much you made him bleed. Growling, you went to your table of toys and grabbed a gun and reloaded the magazine. The sound of a cocking gun made the hero quiver in fear.

“Alright, I’m done playing games with you!” You pulled off the cloth hood and ripped off his blindfold. You placed the muzzle of the gun right under his chin. “Confess or pay for your sins!” His lips quivered.

You were intimidating, despite technically still being a third year. You had a mask that was similar to Shinso’s artificial vocal cords, it distorted your voice and your eyes were wide with insanity. Your outfit could be classified as tech wear. You had a harness strapped above the black long sleeve you were wearing. Multiple knives and other weapons strapped to the harnesses on your thighs.

He stayed silent, eyes glossing over with more tears as you pressed the cold metal into his skin. “OKAY! OKAY! I DID IT!” His voice cracked as a satisfied smirk played on your lips.

“What did you do, Mr. Hero?”

“I-I framed all those people. The ones in jail, people that were put on death row. They’re innocent!”

“Good to know Mr.” You giggled. “The jury finds you guilty of all accusations, Penalty: Death.” You grinned.

“WAIT-!”

A gunshot echoed through the warehouse as he fell limp in his chair. The splattering of warm blood against your skin made you shiver.

“Great, now I’m all dirty...” You sighed.

Just before anything else happened, an explosion sent you skidding across the room.

The dust clearing and your eyes widened. “Uncle Katsuki?” You asked softly.

When Bakugo saw the blood, he panicked that he had hurt you but then he noticed the body that had fallen to the ground. Gun still in your hand. Anger bubbled in his chest.

“YOU DAMN IDIOT!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU-“ Before he could finish his reprimands, Shoto ran in.

“Uncle Shoto...” The fog in your head cleared as memories of simpler times flooded your brain. The days where you’d get spoiled by Uncle Katsuki and Shoto before they had their own kids. The comfort they offered you before you ran off.

Shoto took advantage of your distraction and slowly approached you. “(Y/n)...sweetheart I need you to put the gun down okay? You’re safe now.” The look in your eyes was too familiar. It was the way his mother’s eyes looked when he first saw her in the hospital. Broken, lost, terrified. He knew you weren’t in your right mind. Hope filled both him and Katsuki as your trembling hand held the gun out to him. Of course, that was until-

“(Y/N)!!” You flinched, snapping out of your docile state. Eyes hardening once more as you kicked away form Todoroki’s knelt form. Seeing your father filled you with absolute rage.

Midoriya froze, eyes running over the scene. Realization setting in as he saw the gun clutched in your hand.

“D-did you do that?” He asked, eyes glossy.

“And what about it?” You giggled. “Why do you care all of a sudden? HUH? DAD? WHY NOW?!”

“You’re a murderer (y/n)...a villain.”

“Better than being a phony and pathetic hero! I’M NOT IN IT FOR THE MONEY!” You growled, cocking the gun and pointing it at Midoriya. “But he was. He’s had dozens of people locked away for life, people sent to the electric chair for things they didn’t do...all because he wanted to be in the top 10.” You shrugged, biting your lip coyly. “He’s the real villain here, not me.”

Midoriya clenched his fists, holding in his tears. It felt like his heart was violently being ripped from his chest. “I thought I raised you better. How do you think your mom feels? Or grandma? Your own brother-“

“Uhm, news flash! This is all your fault! Plus, I couldn’t care less about my degenerate of a brother!” That’s what made Shoto and Katsuki realize what happened. “WHY?! WHY HIM?!” They were all caught off guard by the tears that drenched your cheeks. “I worked hard and did my best...but that wasn’t enough for you! He was failing all his studies but NOBODY CARED! He was your successor and that was enough! I got a B on my final exam and all you did was give me a lecture about the importance of studying...HE FAILED! HE GOT AN F AND ALL YOU SAID WAS TO TRY HARDER NEXT TIME!”

The tears finally escaped Midoriya’s eyes. ‘Did he really do that to you?’ ‘Had he been such a terrible father that it drove you to this?’

“HOW WAS A QUIRKLESS DISSAPOINTMENT LIKE ME SUPPOSED TO COMPETE WITH THE GREAT DEKU’S SUCCESSOR?! YOU BASICALLY SET ME UP FOR FAILURE!” The tears were streaming down your face but instead of sobs leaving your lips, they were replaced by deranged giggles. “It’s okay Papa...don’t feel bad. It’ll all end soon.” No one noticed when you pulled the pin from the sphere in your hand. Not until the flash bang went off and everyone turned to shield their eyes.

Once they regained their senses, you were far gone. Leaving behind empty meat bun wrappers and several cassettes taped with confessions of those that you had ruled guilty. He screamed. It was so gutteral that it hadn’t sounded human. His body filled with dread and anguish.

“I’m sorry (y-y/n)...I never meant to-“ A choked sob interrupted his whispers. Then another...then another. Both Katsuki and Shoto watched helplessly as their friend completely broke down. Their hearts heavy as well. The little girl they watched grow up was gone.

“I lost her...she’s gone.”

𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱(open) : @ohbois-biggay-bnha @yuiji-yuiji

[stardancerluv]

Creative Fervor

Part 2

Summary: You are a furniture designer in Gotham, you make one of a kind pieces. You get wrongly kidnapped by Roman Sione. What will be do when he discovers the mistake.

Warning: Alot of smut with Roman Sionis and the reader! Then some fluff...follow by Roman...being Roman.

“Y/N,” He said in a quiet voice. “I don’t let many in here.” He put his hands on either side of you. “When I saw you sitting there, I needed to take you somewhere I could look at you with no interruptions.”

“I don’t know what to say.” You were becoming breathless.” He was so close, his cologne tickled your nose.

He grabbed you throat with one of his gloved hands pulling you closer as he spoke. “Just relax, I am enjoying very much the sight of you.”

His hand drifted back down to your thighs. Your could not think, you tried to get a grasp on what was happening to you, how you were feeling. Was it wrong that sitting here like this reminded you of some of the fantasies you had of him, years ago.

Focused, logical, that was who you were. You had been deliriously happy with what happened at the bank, then your world was turned upside down when you saw the vandalism done to your studio.

Fear consumed you, when a group of men kidnapped you. When blindfold was lifted, your eyes landed on most notorious and violent killer in all of Gotham. Why had Batman or Commissioner Gordon not locked him up and threw away the key, puzzled you. He had been right in front of you, then Roman a man who had a quick hard crush on sent him away.

Here Romas was before you, and even though over the last few years you had heard of his reputation, a of knot of desire deep inside of you formed. You were literally were aching to feel his touch. There was just something about him, that you were still very attracted to.

His finger tips grazed your exposed thighs. “You have such smooth skin.”

“Roman,” You squirmed where you sat.

“Yes?” The skirt of your dress was already hitched up. Though with the way, he was touching you it moved higher still, this was almost too much for you to take.

“Roman,” you practically moaned, biting your bottom lip.

“Yes?” He looked at you. “Try and not squirm baby.” He steadied you grabbing your hips and stilling you.

“You are making it hard for me to sit still.” You finally admitted.

His lips curled into a smirk. “Am I?” He grabbed the strings that kept your dress in place. “I could make it harder.”

You squeezed your lips together and then exhaled slowly. “I realize that.” You were flushed with lust, you were truly breathless.

“Should I make it harder?”

You had never felt desire so fervently before. You were aching in pain for release, you could taste it. “Roman, I...I...”

He pulled the strings, the fabric went slack but still covered you. “You took too long to answer me.” You inhaled as he began to open the dress. “When I want something I can become very impatient.”

You nodded. “I have heard that.” A cool air hit you body, it was a small relief.

He nodded his head an appreciation as he saw more of you. “I am happy that you are aware.” His gloved hands traveled over your breasts were cupped by the red lacy bra which matched the panties.

His gloved hands, easily moved down to your H thighs which he caressed again. Very easily then he pulled you closer to him. That’s when you finally felt how aroused he was, made you inhale sharply.

“Yes, baby?”

Finally, you decided to touch him. You undid the button they held his suit jacket closed, then you let your hand hand drift up his torso. He closed his eyes as you did. He felt so warm, you liked what you could feel under his black shirt. These were moves, you had imagined for so long. How your hands did’t shake amazed you. Moving your hands up his throat, little you spoke against his lips.

“I need you.” Moving like he did earlier grazing his cheek with your own, you whispered in his ear. “Make me yours, Roman.” You pulled back and looked at him. How you were that brazen was beyond you. Perhaps, it just finally had to be said, after all this up time. You finally said what you had wanted to for so long you were not sure but you were glad you did.

He licked his bottom lip. “I would like that.” He stepped back in a smooth move and managed reach out and grabbed your panties, you moved helping him then soon then fell down to the floor once they reached your calves.

With an arm he circled your waist and pulled you closer to the edge of his desk. His zipper made a loud metallic sound as he lowered it.

Reaching in he took himself out with a sigh. When your eyes, came upon it they widened and happily you licked your lips. You moved as close as you could.

He teased you, as he rubbed against your opening. You had grown so wet there was no resistance. “You are mine now.” Then he entered you. You let out a loud moan. No longer could you keep in how you were feeling. He thrust easily in and out of you.

“Damn, you feel as good as you look.” He managed to say, after he had moaned himself.

He reached up, and freed your breasts from the bra. As he continued to move in and out of you, he bent down and licked pulled on your nipples with his lips, almost instantly they were erect with the touch, causing more pleasure to shoot through you. You wrapped an arm around him, you had to have something to hold onto. You let your other hand drift up, you need to feel his hair, feel if those stands were as soft as they looked.

He looked up then through some of strands that fell over his eyes, and he came up and crushed his lips into you. Your tongues met like you had when you danced only now they moved with the passion that matched the rest of your bodies’s movements. He tasted so good, masculine and like a storm. You could get used to that taste.

You broke the kiss, throwing your head back moaning. You were drawing so close to cumming.

“Roman,” you managed to moan.

He met your eyes, “Not yet.” He slowed his pace a little making you whimper. He smiled, possessively. “You want to cum because of my cock?”

Your eyes locked, you nodded. “Yes.” You moaned continuing to whimper since you could still feel the ache of desire and pleasure he was causing in you. “Make me cum, Roman.” Just saying his name heightened your desire.

“That’s what I want to hear.” He kissed you roughly then he let his gloved hands drag over you before settling on your hips as he stood straighter as he began to thrust harder and faster again. You grasped the edges of his desk, your head tossing from side to side with passion.

“Roman,” you finally called out arching your back, before collapsing as you came hard. You looked at him with dazed eyes.

He held you closer as he moved closer to cumming himself. Then, he moved so he hung over you. “Now, you’re the one making me cum.”

You pulled him close for a kiss. You needed to taste him again. The kiss was impassioned, loving it then you felt him tremble. Then he thrust in you hard and he called out your name. He collapsed on top of you. Breathing hard, he brought himself up on one elbow and looked at you. Nervously, you tucked some hair out of your face.

“Don’t.” He whispered. He put your hair back into place. “You look amazing.”

He stood up, looking at you smiling. Then he pulled himself out and tucked himself back into his pants. He looked around. He grabbed you and pulled you off his desk. Your knees were weak but he held you to him.

He pointed to a pile of pillows, “lay with me there.” You pulled up your bra straps up but let the dress fall to the gown. You watched as he laid down, his arms outstretched. You went and curled up to one of his sides. He caressed your hip.

“Do you wear stockings?”

You were a jumble with your heart still racing. “I, I do. But when I saw that I had quite the mess on my hands after someone trashed my studio, I ripped them off.”

“I would have liked to watch that.” Then his brow knitted. “What happened to your studio?”

“My fabrics were a mess and competition spray painted their logo on my walls.”

“Show me.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Let’s go!”

You got up and wrapped your dress around your body, and you quickly retrieved your panties.

“I’ll hold onto those.” He gestured for you to give them to him.

You handed them to him. With the tone his voice had, you were not about to disobey him.

He tucked them into his pants pocket and ran a hand through his hair.

“Did you have shoes?” When he realized your feet were bare.

“When...umm he grabbed me...”

“Zsasz?”

“Yes him, he didn’t give me a chance to grab any.”

He nodded and then shook his head. “We would have already been punishing them if he had kidnapped the right person.”

You nodded. “Maybe that mistake worked out for the best.” You honestly couldn’t believe what you had just said. Did you really mean that? What had gotten into you.

He smiled. “Maybe. Well, let’s get back there and you can show me.”

He opened the door for you.

“Stop washing the fucking car.” He barked to Zsasz. “We have to see what those assholes did to her studio!”

Zass, rubbed his hands on his pants and quickly ran around and opened the door.

Roman, let you climb in first. “I want to have these guys caught by tonight.” He said to Zsasz, before the door closed.

Then he climbed in beside you, “They are going to regret what they did to you.”

@spn-obession @grandimagines @vintagemichelle91 @zodiyack @emyliabernstein @top-rumbelle-fan​ @rosionis​ @johallzy​

[harleenfleck]

“Despite the danger (Part 2)”

Arthur Fleck/Joker x Reader

Summary: Joker is the love of your life; despite the reputation it carries. You know that, but you don’t care, after he rescued you from a horrible hole you were trapped in. Now, you both live your lives together, but you ignore all the risks that come with being the lover of the Clown Prince of Crime.

This is the continuation. Part one here (Idk how put links in tumblr AAAAAA)

Warning: Description of violence, smut (Oh yeah), unprotected sex, oral sex, and fluff cause why not.

Words: 3.2k

Notes: OMFG I’M SO SORRY I KNOW I KNOOOW It took me about a month to post the second part, you have no idea what happened to me in all these weeks! New job, a little move, trying to survive, creative block (I’m suffering with this one), I almost itchy a scorpion, I didn't have Internet for two weeks, for a moment I thought I was in contact with someone with COVID-19 and fortunately that someone was sick from something else (Pneumonia in case you had doubts), I started to be attracted to a guy who turned out to be a criminal (HAHA later I'll tell you how this shit was over) anyway, too many weird things happened to me.

Finally I can post the second part, and the truth is that it is the first time I write smut or something in English :'0 honestly I think it was sexy, but I still feel a little ashamed (that’s the correct word?) to post it, ahhh, it's weird the feeling. But wow, I think the thing was beautiful:3 I honestly hope I can beat the creative block and keep writing more stories like that, shit, anyway, Arthur it’s my beautiful muse.

Time for thanks! Thank you to the Microsoft translator for helping me translate things I don't know into English, thank you to Lana del Rey for helping me get out of the creative block with your songs, my two neurons for not giving up and doing synapses, and thank you for your patience <3

And fuuuuckinggg agaaaain the fucking same apology, I’m sorry if I make some grammatical, spelling or writing mistakes, english is not my native language blablablablablalaaablablablaba just enjoy the porn.

Hope you like it! <3

...

 He’s out of his mind.

He was yelling at his men to do the damn job, to search the whole damn city. His beauty doll is missing

You were missing, you weren’t by his side, and that was a tragedy.

He was going crazy, and how cannot be? His enemies don’t leave no clue, just the threatening note. He read it, trying to find something, some sign. But nothing.

“In every fucking corner! In every fucking street! In every fucking neighborhood! I don’t fucking care! You have to find her!”

He yelled at his men in clown masks, they were orders that were to be fulfilled. But everything was more complicated than it seemed.

“We've searched all over Gotham and there's no sign of her”

“Keep looking!” He screamed again.

The clowns have never seen their leader so tense and stressed. It wasn't for nothing. His darling was kidnapped by something he had done, and time ran. Anything could happen to you with every hour wasted in found you.

"Mr. Joker, we've searched everywhere, but there's no way to find her, do you really think it's worth it?"

“What? What do you mean by that? What are you implying about that?”

“I mean Mr. Joker, you found her in a disgraceful place... You could do that with any other slut, you can find another-”

Bang!

Before he could keep opening his mouth, that man was already dead.

"I don't have time for this stupid shit! You must don’t give a shit about my doll's past! You must do your fucking damn job!"

The rest of the clowns, seeing the violent scene, came out of the room. Joker ordered two of his men to undo the body.

Sitting on an elegant red couch, he took a hand to his face and breathe out heavily.

Where were you? Would you be ok? You’d be safe?

Every question stressed him. And he felt guilty leaving you alone, he shouldn’t have done that.

Knowing that sometimes his clowns could become useless, he got out of his seat and walked outside of the room. "If they don't find you, I'll do it myself”

He got into the car and went to Gotham.

“My y/n, where are you?”

…

Your hands behind you back were tied. Your feet too.

Could barely remember what happened to you. Hours before, you were reading a book in complete calmness, but someone broke in the house. You screamed and ran for the emergency gun, but the assailants caught you first and put a damp fabric in your face.

You slept soundly for a couple of hours, when you woke up with a blindfold. Immediately, you went into fear.

“Look! The bitch woke up”

Your eyes saw again, they took you the bandage off. Looked at some men you didn’t know who they were.

“Just look, the little whore of Joker” One of the kidnappers took you by the jaw “Are the rumors true? The Joker pulled you out of a brothel after you fuck him so good?”

A big spit came into the kidnapper's eye. You pointed very well at his face.

“Fuck you!” Was the only thing you yell to him “That's something you don't give a shit!”

The others men laugh a lot, making fun of your little defense. The affected person rubbed himself with a tissue and you realized spitting him was a big mistake.

Scared, you looked everywhere, you had to find a way out, you knew that if you stayed there, they could kill you, but there is no escape.

“What idiot would want a whore like his couple?” The kidnapper spoke as he approached you and lifted you from the ground "Although if it's true that you were a prostitute... We could take advantage of that…”

They looked at you with malevolence, you knew your Joker had done terrible things to them, and they revenge were going to drop it on you.

“No, no, no! Don't you dare! If you do, you'll be dead men!”

“Maybe, but the first one to die will be you”

They pulled out a knife right in front of you, played with this one, gently passing it down your chest and face.

They started ripping the fabric of your dress. You cried. They laughed.

Please Arthur come, come for me, please Arthur

“We are three, you're going to have to give each of us pleasure at the same time, you know what that means? Anyway, you're already experienced in that”

They took your dress in pieces, staying only in your underwear, they began grotesquely touch your body and make fun of you. You just implored that it wasn't painful and that your death wasn't so violent.

Although that was improbable.

You closed your eyes, accepting your unfortunate destiny.

A violent noise was heard, and one of the men fell to the ground.

"Leave her alone right now!"

Hearing that scream you felt in heaven, protected. You were safe. Joker was there, pointing the bastards who wanted to hurt you with his gun.

“Oh! Look who's here! Just when we were going to have our banquet, don't you want some?”

Another one fell to the ground. You tried to escape the only one left alive, but he catched you, putting the knife around your neck.

“Let her go of or you're going to regret it!” Joker screamed in a tone of voice you'd never heard before. He was heard so rude and furious, and at once determined.

“Let her go? You ruined what my men and I built for years; I'll take away what you cherish most in front you. And you can’t do anything to avoid it”

Joker's blood boiled with angry. How did he dare to hurt you?

"I won't warn you again, let her go right now, NOW!"

The guy, just for enjoying Joker's furious, put the knife down and cut your abdomen, you cried in pain. Joker went crazy, and when the knife stopped touching your skin, bullets were raining at your kidnapper.

You ran away, tripped and fell, but you could see Joker unloading the bullets on his enemy.

No enemy was left alive. You were free. But you were so scared too.

Joker looked at you, put away his gun and ran to you.

"Arthur!" You hugged him very tightly.

"y/n are you okay? He cut you, that motherfucker, I must to take you to the doc—"

"No! Please Arthur, take me home! Take me with you!"

"But y/n, you’re hurt—"

"It's nothing! I swear, just take me with you!"

Crying, you begged him to get you out of there. Joker took off his red coat and put it on you, covering you. He hugged you and both got out of there.

…

You two came home. He carried you in his arms and you hugged his chest. He left you in the bed while you still crying.

"I won't let you get hurt again, my doll" Arthur drew his fingers to your face, drying away your tears. He hurt him see you crying.

"Arthur, I thought I'd never see you again”

"No, y/n, I'm here, I'll always be here. No one will hurt you again"

You hugged him a lot, you didn't want to let him go. Despite the facade of the worst criminal of all and Gotham's worst lunatic, he saved and protected you.

Arthur left the room for a moment and came back with a medicine cabinet. He healed your wound while you were trying to relax, but that was almost impossible. Once you bandaged, Arthur lay down next to you, and you couldn't help hug him. He did the same thing, caressing your hair and smelling your scent, like the first time he and you met.

You and him slept soundly. You were so afraid you wouldn't sleep in that bed again. However, your night wasn't quiet, you dreamed of those three horrible men again, you dreamed that those men did what they wanted with you, and Arthur never appeared.

You woke up upset, in tears again.

But at the same time, you calmed down, because you were home. Arthur woke up with your crying, he immediately paid attention to you.

"What's going on? y/n, what happened?"

"A nightmare"

He took you carefully and kissed you on the forehead. You hugged him back, you clung to him, you never wanted to leave him in your life.

He really is the love of your life.

And you wanted to thank him for being.

"Arthur..."

"Yes?"

You took air, you never thought you’d be shy to ask Arthur that, even when you did this night after night.

“Could you love me, please?"

The eyes of Arthur lit up, and a big sense of desire ran through his body. But despite that, you were always above everything.

"y/n… But you’re hurt"

"Art… I’m fine, it was something superficial, it's nothing” And that was true, but on his face could you see he wasn’t so convinced “Please Arthur, I need your love”

He looked at you with concern, with silent, perhaps he feared to hurt you.

But at the same time, he looked at you with desire, in need and lust.

Arthur needed you very badly too, but he was afraid to revive your pain. However, you started kissing him, at first shyly, because you didn't know what his reaction would be.

But you knew him perfectly, you knew that with a simple touch of yours he could go crazy. He gently took you from the back of your head and quickly got on top of you. His hands started stroking your neck, your collarbone, your chest. His fingers started playing with the straps of your bra and at the same time left little kisses on your breasts.

Fear left your body, and desperately asked for Arthur.

Arthur took your bra off and threw it somewhere in the room. Hypnotized, he admired your body. You blushed, he always saw you as a deity, even though you two made love a thousand times before.

"You're the most fucking beautiful woman I've ever met"

He bit his lip when he saw you. You, on the other hand, put the shyness aside, your hands went to the buttons on his yellow vest, unbuttoning them. Arthur noticed your intentions and helped you with that. You did the same thing with his turquoise shirt, looking now his chest.

You exhaled. You kissed him deeply, his tongue entered your mouth, and you couldn't help pass your hands through his chest and abdomen.

Without warning, you started to kiss his neck and shoulders, he didn’t wait that, but with a smile, he let you continue. You kept kissing him, went down to his red pants. His lust trapped in that red pants was already evident.

With little kiss on the fabric of his pants, you unbuttoned and zipped down. You looked him before continue. Arthur looked at you in need, desire and a huge smile on his clown face.

You backed off his pants and his underwear, his length appeared on your face and something inside you burned. You took it with your hand and let a little kiss in the top.

With more desire, you pass your tongue, sucking it, you really enjoyed that moment, more when you put it in your mouth and heard his deep moan.

"Damn it, y/n!" Arthur almost cried out loud. He was wet in lust, he looked at you with his green eyes, saw as you gave him pleasure, as you loved making him feel good. He took your hair, started directing the movements.

You relaxed your throat, took some air and got on with your work. You used your tongue to drive him crazy, and hearing his moans caused you to get wet. “Fuck! y/n you… you’re amazing…”.

You viewed that he grabbed the sheets with his free hand, his head was back and his chest became large and small as he breathed deeply. You could think he was close to finishing. But he decided to change things.

He took your hair and forced you to apart himself, you looked at him a little confused, but his gaze said he was going to back to you everything you caused him. Taking your shoulders, he dropped you in bed. He quickly got between your legs, starting to play with the elastic of your lace panties.

He dropped your panties, stared hungry at what these were hiding. And he realized you were already wet.

"Art... Do-Don't be so rude, please" You pled him timidly. Arthur blinked, setting aside his desire, remembering what you had spent the last night. He looked at your reddened face, and felt slightly guilty. He didn't tell you, but he thought maybe he scared you.

"Of course not, my doll" slowly lowered his face until you reached your entrance "If you want to stop, I will, just say it y/n" kissed one of your thighs, and seeing you, started playing with his tongue inside you.

Now, it was your turn to yell.

“Oh fuck!” You remember why Arthur loved that game. He was very skillful. He kissed you, licked you, played really well down there. You took his green hair between your fingers, begging him to go deeper. You heard a little laugh.

“I want you Arthur…” You couldn't take it anymore, you started begging him, as tears of pleasure fell down your cheeks “Please Art, I want you, make me yours…”

He didn't listen to you, he just kept licking you, and you couldn't do it anymore. You cuming in his mouth, and he drank you all.

Bastard you thought You wouldn't let me do the same with you

As you recovered from the orgasm, he stands up, his makeup was already a mess, but that's what you loved, as you could see Arthur and Joker at the same time.

“Come here, boy” You extended your hand to him. He took it and placed himself on top of you "I really want you for me”

“You just want me?”

“Why the question?”

"You seem to need me" Arthur kiss your hand, as you felt the rub of its length in your entrance, he was torturing you.

“Arthur, please…”

“Please what?” He passing his tongue in your hand and finished with a kiss.

“I-I need you…”

“Yes darling?” He saw you again with those emeralds that drove you crazy. How much you love him, and how much he loves you "Did you know I always need you, y/n?" With that deeply voice, he began to play again, giving small blows with his tip, causing you to moan.

“Y-Yeah…” Your voice became trembling at the end of that word “Arthur, please…”

“Please what?” He repeated that question again while without warning, he passed his tongue through your breast, provoking you more and more.

“…Fuck me…” You didn't ask him, you pleaded him. He laughed a little, and kissed you on your lips, looking for your tongue with his. And as your tongues fluttered in your mouths, he entered in you.

You moaned in his mouth, that strange sense of pain and pleasure was so addictive to you. He moved inside you, going out and in. You could hear him moan, and that excited you more, hearing his voice full of pleasure.

With more desire, you hugged him, moaned and cried. You didn't want anyone else in your life. You only want Arthur, just him.

It was so much pleasure and delight that you even forgot the wound on your abdomen.

You raised your hips just to join him more. Arthur kissed your neck, while he too got lost in lust. The bed hit the wall hard, it could break at any time, and you wouldn't mind. You two couldn't separate, nothing could separate.

You didn't know how much time was going on, but every time Arthur made love to you, time seemed to stop alone for the two of you.

“Arthur…” You cried his name “I love you… I love you”.

“I love you, y/n” you heard his hoarse voice against your ear again. He raised his head, only to see you adore this intimate moment “I love you too”

You kissed him, so much passion overflowing. You felt close again.

Before you could tell him, your body couldn't keep it anymore and gave into the pleasure, you screamed so loud. Arthur began to penetrate you slowly and deep at the same time, prolonging your orgasm, making it more torturous and pleasurable.

Breathing deeply, you looked at Arthur, taking his cheek with your hand, you still felt weak, and loved too.

He came out of you, and he started masturbating in front of you. "Could you help me, doll?" Oh yes, you knew that meant.

You knelt in front of him, took his member and carried him into your mouth. He tried to suppress a groan but failed. A few seconds later he made you stop, and you'll look him in the eye from where you were.

"You want it, don't you, doll?" you didn't answer, you just moved your head up and bit your lip. Like the first time you saw him. You began to masturbate him and kiss his member.

He caressed your head, closed his eyes. If that wasn't heaven, he didn't know anything else it could be.

His body tightened, and his breathing became heavy “y/n, I’m gonna coming, come here”.

You stopped, opened your mouth, sticking out your tongue. With a little scream from him, you got his climax in your mouth. Every drop fell into your mouth, and some escaped through the corners of your lips. He tasted so good; you loved his taste.

Arthur took a deep breath, his eyes were still under in his eyelids, recovering. He lowered his head and opened his eyes, watching you. You gave him a naughty smile. He caressed your cheek, and stroked you with his thumb.

"Where have you been all my life?" For a moment he thought about it, but he really said it. And you blush at those words. The naughty smile was replaced by a shy smile.

"Lost, like you, my love"

Smiling at you, he went to kiss you one more, one more loving, more romantic. “Arthur Fleck, you really are the love of my life” You said to him in the middle of the kiss. You could feel it how he trembled at your words. He separated from you and looked you in the eye.

“You too, y/n, you’re the love of my life”.

He kissed your cheek and pulled aside some locks of hair that fell on your face. "Come here" Took your hand "Look at you, you're a mess, we're going to have to clean you up"

You knew that was just the beginning, it was going to be a long day.

But you didn't care because you loved him, you loved Arthur Fleck, and Joker too, despite the danger. You didn't really care about danger, Arthur would always protect you from adversity, and somehow, you also protected him.

End

[monsoonxskies]

Desperate Turn

An IDV AU Oneshot

Content warnings: Blood, painful transformation, body horror, cursing.

(eww i can’t figure out the “keep reading” thing—)

Anyway, enjoy!!!

————————————————————————

Luca had been in the process of decoding when he heard the shriek of one of the other survivors, which he was quickly able to identify as Emma. It was distant, but it was loud enough to become distracting.

It wasn’t long before he heard a soft chuckle, followed by another agonized scream from a bit further away in the Asylum.

The survivor quickly began piecing things together, realizing who the hunter was and who was at risk here. His eyes widened, the thought of how much Emma’s life was at risk finally hitting him.

“I gotta help...” He glanced back at the cipher machine, still hooked up to a connection he’d set. “But I should really focus on decoding...”

He bit his lip, twitching as he heard Emma cry out once more. That settled it. Screw decoding. Why sit here and mess with a damned machine when your teammate could be facing imminent death?

He suddenly recalled the words of Yidhra, who had given him a warning about Michiko the other day, who just so happened to be the hunter who was patrolling the Asylum amongst the other survivors.

“If you find yourself in trouble with Michiko... Just summon me. A small blood sacrifice should do the trick.”

He trembled briefly, considering how he would do that before remembering the tools he had on his utility belt.

He had a screwdriver.

Sure, it definitely wasn’t ideal... But it would work.

The brunette-haired survivor looked down at the yellow-handled tool sticking out of one of the pockets attached to his belt, his stomach churning.

Was he really about to do this?

He nodded to himself, a determined expression on his face as he pulled out the screwdriver. He had to do it. For the sake of Emma’s life, and for the lives of the others around him.

Luca took a deep breath, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on the screwdriver before he jabbed it into his wrist, with enough force to break the skin and start drawing blood.

He yelped as the cold, blunt metal ripped through his skin, sending shockwaves of stabbing pain all the way up his forearm, but he quickly bit his lip to keep himself quiet. God, he hoped he wouldn’t regret this...

Once he’d made a fairly large incision in his arm, he dropped the screwdriver and ran his fingers along the wound, getting a good amount of blood on his hand before starting to draw on the wall in front of him.

“Just draw the symbol I showed you. The one on the Seer’s blindfold. That’ll allow me to appear to you to offer my assistance.”

Voices whispered in the hallways around him, but he ignored them. What they were saying wasn’t important.

Before long, Luca had drawn out a small circle, which looked like a snake upon closer examination, with two basic wing-like shapes on either side of it. There was an upside-down triangle in the center of the snake-circle, and a large dot at the very core of the symbol.

The brown-haired survivor was shuddering so violently from both adrenaline and blood loss that it was a wonder that he was still conscious. Regardless, he kept a twisted smile on his face, his eyes glowing faintly with a hint of pale blue as the symbol began to glow.

Within moments, a lavender-skinned woman with long black hair, a blindfold over her eyes, and a snake-like body from the waist down came into view, a sharp-toothed smile on her face. “What is it that you seek, my dear?”

Luca swallowed hard, his gaze unblinking. “I-I want... To h-help them...” He didn’t even need to point for the snake goddess to know who he was talking about. “I-I’m sick of h-hearing their s-screams... I-I want to help... I want to f-fight...”

“Mm... What are you willing to offer in return, darling?” She gently held his head up so that he could look at her.

There was an unmistakable fire in his eyes. “D-Do whatever you need to.”

Yidhra chuckled slightly, her smile widening. Luca shuddered again, just before a feeling of disorienting weightlessness came over him. It felt like his body was floating in some sort of void, all of his feelings having gone numb. It was almost... Euphoric?

...But then came the feeling of something being forcibly torn from the very core of his being, and all sensation came flooding back like a tidal wave.

He gasped, lurching forward as he felt a strong jolt in his chest, much like how his electrical charges felt when they kicked into action... Only this time, it was painful.

He began to tremble once again, a few stray sparks of blue electricity dancing briefly across his skin as a new kind of energy slowly took root deep inside of him.

Recognizing the newfound power he’d been given, he staggered to his feet, giving the snake woman a brief salute. “Thanks for the power, Yidhr-“ The last syllable dropped off into a cry of pain, and the survivor suddenly doubled over as the pain struck in his chest once more, stronger this time.

His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor with a loud thud, the chains around his neck clattering. He barely caught himself with one outstretched arm, tightly clutching the side of his shirt with his other hand. “Wh-What the...?”

Yidhra slithered over to him, gently running her hand through his messy brunette hair. “Don’t worry, my dear. This won’t take too long.”

“Wh-What do you... What do you m-mean..?” His body jerked forward again, and he completely folded over on himself, letting out a soft whimper. “Wh-What did you...”

The snake woman held a finger to her lip, making a soft shushing sound. “It’ll be alright. Just don’t fight, and it won’t hurt as much.”

Luca looked up, eyes wide. “H-Hurt..?” As if on-cue, a wave of pain rushed through him, causing him to let out a soft yelp as he shivered once more.

“Yes, my dear. You cannot have power without some sort of pain.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but the only sound that came out was a pained grunt. His entire body felt like it was overflowing with electrical energy- but it wasn’t the usual static that resonated within him normally.

It was like the existing energy he already had was being amplified... And not in a good way.

“Wh-Why does it h-hurt..?” He panted slightly, tears welling up in his eyes as he fought to stay upright. “Wh-What’s going on..?”

“Luca... My child...” The snake goddess bowed down and wiped a tear from beneath the young man’s bruised left eye. “All beautiful things come from great pain. Whether you are able to endure those things or not determines what you can achieve.”

He lifted his head again, sniffling slightly. He didn’t realize that a few little things had already begun to change, and the Dream Witch didn’t really want to freak him out too much by pointing them out.

The survivor’s ears had become a bit more pointed, his teeth had grown sharper, and his eyes had turned bright purple in color, his pupils slitted and cat-like in appearance. At the top of his head, two little bumps had formed beneath his scalp, which slowly began to extend out and resemble small horns of some sort.

He winced as the changes caused his head to start hurting, quickly progressing to the level of an average migraine on the pain scale. He dug his fingernails into the sides of his head for a brief moment... Only to stop soon after as he felt something sharp beginning to press into his skin from where his fingers were positioned.

He loosened his grip, lowering one hand so that he could look at it. His heart skipped a beat and began to race as he instantly realized that his fingers were tipped with small claws, which were rapidly growing longer.

His face completely drained of color, and he began feeling around on his aching head, something in the back of his mind telling him that things weren’t quite right.

It didn’t take him long to come across the bumps at the top of his head, causing him to shudder at the realization that his body was transforming.

He looked up at Yidhra with a horrified expression on his face. “Wh-Why am I...” He broke off with a grunt, wincing as he felt a twinge of pain along his cheekbones, just as two small spikes emerged from beneath his skin. “Wh-Why am I ch-changing...?”

“Oh, dear Luca... You should have known that your puny human form had no hopes of keeping all of that raw power contained...” She smiled. “Power always comes at a price.”

He gasped as another surge of pain tore through him, his arms giving out on him and causing him to fall completely to the ground. A hoarse groan escaped him, his body going rigid.

He was unaware of the deep gash in his wrist beginning to heal itself, the torn muscle and skin fibers weaving themselves back together and leaving the wound as a barely visible scar, which would likely fade in a matter of days.

However, from the faint line that the cut left behind sprouted several reptilian-like scales, which quickly began to spread further up his arm, rapidly taking over until the entire limb was covered in purple-colored scales.

He panted heavily, his body wracked with another fit of violent shuddering. This... really wasn’t going how he had planned.

But honestly, what should he have expected from a deity known as the “Dream Witch”?

He could feel more scales coming into existence across his shoulders, gradually working their way over to his other arm, warping it’s appearance so that it mirrored his already-turned limb.

A chill ran down his spine as the scales travelled all the way down his back and slowly crept up his neck, the unusual sensation making him rather uncomfortable. The changes almost made him feel like there was something crawling beneath his skin... but there wasn’t.

The survivor clutched frantically at his head, moaning quietly as the small horns that had developed earlier suddenly began to elongate once more, stretching back towards his cranium before curving slightly at the tip. “I-It hurtss... Wh-Why does it h-hurt so much..?”

Yidhra lightly stroked Luca’s hair sympathetically. “It’ll be alright. You just need to stay strong, my dear.”

Behind his tightly-clenched fangs, which were ill-fitting and felt way too pressed up against one another in his mouth, his tongue had unknowingly become forked and somewhat lizard-like, and he only figured out that it was different when he briefly opened his mouth to let out a shaky exhale, trying to get his breathing under control.

As soon as his lips parted, his tongue snaked out as if it had a mind of its own, instantly causing his heart to skip a beat.

What the fuck?!

He instinctively slapped his clawed hands over his mouth, eyes wide with horror. His fear only continued to escalate as he felt his nose and mouth beginning to distend beneath his palms, warping into the shape of a short, draconic muzzle.

Even with it being contained within his mouth, the survivor could still feel his reptilian tongue lashing about, attacking the backs of his sharpened fangs, the insides of his cheeks, and the roof of his mouth, as if it longed to escape its prison once more.

It didn’t feel natural... Not at all. And, admittedly, it scared him a bit.

Luca stared at Yidhra with a terrorized gleam in his bright-purple eyes, the desperate look on his still-changing face conveying one message: ‘Help me...’

The snake woman had a gentle smile on her face. “Be brave, young one. It’ll be over soon.”

His lip twitched as he started to return her smile, but his expression immediately contorted into one of anguish as he folded over himself once more, slamming his fist against the ground as a reaction to his agony.

The back of his black-and-white striped shirt began to bulge out, the fabric stretching out as something began to protrude from along his spine.

He arched his back, making a noise that resembled a mix between a growl and a groan as his body tensed, the ridge running down his spine only becoming more pronounced.

The survivor struggled to breathe for a moment as his shirt constricted his upper body, his vision blurring as repeated waves of pain relentlessly surged through him. It was a matter of seconds before the fabric began to tear, starting down the length of his back.

A tall, bright yellow fin shot up from where the ridge had formed, and two rows of small, dark purple spike formations emerged along either side of it, completely destroying his shirt.

He let out the breath he had been holding with a loud gasp, his head snapping back as he tried to force himself upright.

Yidhra gently rubbed the back of his neck, her expression calm. “You’re getting there... Just hang in there...”

Luca gritted his teeth, but he couldn’t prevent himself from crying out as pain sparked in his legs, just as they began to restructure themselves. He could feel his boots getting tighter, and a part of him wanted to try to get them off, but he couldn’t find the physical strength to actually do it.

Before he could even make a decision, his boots abruptly burst open, with dagger-like talons piercing through the toe portion and the heel being torn apart as large spikes emerged from the backs of his now-elongated, dragon-like feet.

The sound that escaped him next was somewhere between an anguished moan and a feral snarl, which sounded completely unlike himself, his voice having gained a distinctly animalistic growl, as well as having deepened quite a bit in tone.

The straps on his leg braces snapped as his jeans began to tear, along with what remained of his shirt as his body began to draw on a mass that it didn’t normally have.

His tattered shirt suddenly began to look several sizes too small as his midsection became distended, exposing his stomach just as it became plated with large, golden-yellow scales, which rapidly began appearing along his chest as his shirt stretched and tore even further.

Luca threw his head back, a deep growl rumbling from his throat as the scales climbed up the front of his neck, ending at his jawline. His muzzle and horns finally extended to their full length as his body’s proportions completely shifted, his neck stretching just a bit as his entire form became significantly larger in size, easily about triple his normal height and weight.

As he fell forward one final time, a long, snake-like tail grew out from the base of his spine, twisting and writhing about behind him in agitation. Additional spikes suddenly burst out from his toughened, scale-covered hide, specifically on his elbows, shoulders, and hips. They ripped through his muscle and skin, but the wounds almost immediately healed from the second they had opened up.

A loud, feral roar escaped him as he staggered to his reformed limbs, shaking his head from side to side with his tail lashing back and forth like a whip.

Yidhra smiled, levitating herself upwards so that she was at eye level with the massive, draconic beast. “See... You made it... I knew you could do it, my sweet child.”

The creature growled, flexing his claws impatiently. The snake goddess chuckled, seeing how he was so eager to fight after his transformation. “Oh, but I won’t keep you waiting! You’ve got a job to do!”

Luca took that as his cue to leave, and he suddenly made a mad-dash down the darkened hallway of the Asylum, claws skittering against the tiled floor with each loping step he took.

He heard Yidhra shout something after him, but he didn’t slow down. He had to help his teammates before it was too late.

His heart and mind going a mile a minute, he forced himself to focus on one thing: finding the hunter and taking her down.

It wasn’t long before he picked up the sound of a pained whimper, followed by the light-hearted chuckle of the Geisha. It was coming from straight ahead... He was on the right path!

He kept running for just a little while longer before he came across the hunter, who was towering over the lean figure of the cowboy. Emma was sprawled across the ground a short distance away, her body nearly motionless.

Without slowing down his momentum, Luca barreled into Michiko with a loud roar, knocking her to the side and pinning her nimble frame to the ground.

The demonic beast lifted his head to look back towards Kevin, who was staring at him with wide, fearful eyes.

“T...Take Emma... Get out of here...” The creature commanded, flicking the tip of his tail towards the barely conscious gardener.

The cowboy hesitated, his gaze shifting back and forth between the hunter and the massive beast holding her back.

Luca narrowed his eyes, his lip curling back to show his razor-sharp fangs. “K..Kevin..! Go NOW!”

The other survivor finally snapped out of his daze, grabbing his lasso and whirling it above his head before throwing the loop towards Emma, successfully grabbing her. He pulled her limp body back to him, slinging her over his shoulder as the exit gate alarm sounded off.

He cast a glance over his other shoulder at the demon, giving a slight nod and a salute before he bolted off in the direction of the gate.

Luca watched him go, waiting until he was completely out of sight before he swooped down and grabbed Michiko’s arm in his jaws, causing her to yelp as his fangs dug into her skin.

He dragged her over to a nearby wall, throwing her against it with enough strength to demand her attention.

He lowered his head so that he was at eye level with her, his reptilian tongue flicking out of his mouth briefly before he began to speak to her.

“Don’t you dare... messss with my friendss... ever again... Or I won’t let you... get out of thiss alive...”

The Geisha didn’t speak, unable to make any sound in the massive creature’s presence. She simply nodded in understanding, hoping to get away without harm.

“Do we... Undersstand one another?”

Michiko nodded more vigorously, fearing that the demon would lash out regardless. Much to her relief, he only gave a slight chuckle, backing away from the wall.

“That’ss your only warning. I’ll kill you next time. Jusst sso you know.”

The hunter gave a brief bow before dashing off, in the complete opposite direction of the other survivors. Luca sighed as she left, turning his bright-purple gaze towards the hallways where Kevin had just escaped to.

He started to follow, but was suddenly overtaken by an intense wave of exhaustion, causing him to collapse to the floor, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

———————————————————————

When Luca woke up, he was lying on his back in a hospital bed, the room completely silent.

Confused, he tried to sit up, only to immediately fall back down as the action sent a small wave of pain through the side of his chest, causing him to grunt slightly.

Next to him, a figure stirred slightly, his mask-covered face lifting up as his soft, grey eyes met those of the recovering survivor.

“Luca... You’re up...”

The brown-haired man turned to face the silver-haired embalmer, a weak smile crossing his face.

“Aesop...” His smile fell. “Wh.. What happened...?”

The other survivor presumably bit his lip, averting his gaze. “I... Don’t know actually. All I know is that Emily and Kevin carried you all the way back here from the Asylum and you were completely unconscious... They didn’t tell me anything else.”

“H-How long was I out for..?” He was almost scared to know the answer.

Aesop hesitated. “3 days. I was... here the entire time.” He looked away, his face turning red. “I uh... Wanted to make sure I was here for you when you woke up. I wanted to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable with your circumstances or anything.”

Luca smiled again. “I appreciate it... Thank you...”

Aesop only nodded, still not meeting the other survivor’s gaze. Silence fell over the two of them, and honestly? It was comforting.

Luca allowed his eyes to close once more, though he was far from falling asleep again. He just wanted to think about things for a bit.

From what Aesop had told him... Everything in his scattered thoughts lined up completely accurately. Which... Was both an exciting and absolutely terrifying thing.

He had a demon living in the darkest corners of his mind... And he could draw it out whenever he pleased...

Sure, he’d probably have to talk to Yidhra a bit about how to be able to shift forms at will, but...

Just having the knowledge of its strength and power was enough for him to be satisfied. And, knowing that he probably had saved Emma’s life?

...

Well, that only added on to his satisfaction.

[sylaesschasewind]

Heartbreak/Headache

The firelight glinted wetly off the edge of her saber.

Her eyes darted up the length of it, back up at Mattanis. The prick. She couldn’t swallow. Her chest was heaving, but nothing came of it but sharp bursts of pain. He’d missed her spine but got her right beneath the jaw. Blood drooled down her chest.

It wasn’t something she’d walk away from. The knowledge was firm and clear. 

“I give you to him. A worthy sacrifice. May he see your treachery!”

His voice bawled in perfectly clear common. 

A very large part of her wanted to spout something witty and cutting off, but again. That damn blade rendered that idea null.

She was dying.

The hot wetness sludged its way down her neck. Now why did you turn your back on him? You knew. This wasn’t a surprise. Do you want to die? A taste of rest...?

He chanted on, trying to invoke the master. Something she’d learned. You didn’t just invoke him; he knew what was going on and deigned to visit as he wished. Chanting became incoherent. It was hazy at best. Hard to focus her eyes, let alone unravel the blurry words of fervor falling over her. Sight faded to shadows. Shadows to shapes, shapes faded to...

Shit, this was really happening. A cold sweat clutched her.

---

She rolled over and--thump--vomited heavily. There wasn’t anything to bring up but acrid bile. A hand on her shoulder. A bin shoved roughly into her hands.

It took her a good while to recover enough to blink back tears from her stinging eyes.

Confusion made her head swim.

Destarion gave her a thin smile, settling above her on the bed. She was on the floor.

“So, you died.” 

“Is this real?” Her voice was hoarse. Like she’d been screaming for hours. Gravel sounded better. And boy, it hurt. Everything lit up at once.

“Unfortunately for you, I think.”

Sylaess let her head back down to the floorboards. It cost too much to look around, so she screwed her eyes shut. She smelled blood. Gore. Sea water. 

“You were brought back by an Anchorite, no less. Fascinating.” The insulting drawl. Soft over hard, ignorant tone. Not intentionally mean, just bored. Like this had happened several times. His deep purple skin was coarse and scaled, those fel-flame eyes burning behind the simple linen wrap he used. Dark violet-black hair rested atop his head in a messy bun framed by those long demonic horns. Destarion was no picture of comfort, surely, but he was better than anything she’d seen in... how long had it been? It didn’t matter, really.

Her stomach churned again, and she heaved weakly into the bucket he’d thrust into her hands. Let her forehead rest on the edge of it. Every single nerve was misfiring it seemed. It felt like withdrawal, and a serious case of whooped-ass. 

“--Where’s.. Hnn.” Oh, gods. Why couldn’t she just stay dead? What a horrifying journey. Disjointed memories. “Sword.”

Their relationship wasn’t really one of caring. It was built on a temporary mutual interest, and in so, she was honestly shocked that he was here at all. 

“I’m not really in the know of how to help you, for clarity’s sake.”

Hands hauled her up by the shoulders. Nothing particularly gentle. Enough that she was sitting upright against the bed, head lolling bonelessly. The worn leather scabbards were pressed into her hands. She clutched them like a lifeline. Heard the demon hunter give a small sigh. “There’s no way I made it through.” Again, the thin gravel-voice.

“Is that more of a wish you hadn’t? I’m more inclined to believe it, if so.” She heard him shift on the bed. Felt him watching her like a strange insect on the floor. Alien. It was a long moment of silence before he spoke again. She could hear the faint sounds of the city outside the walls. “You need to get help. Acherian help. I doubt there’s anything that can be done for you here.”

“...Gods no.” 

The flinch was reflexive and it sent her swords sliding down her lap to thump dully onto the floor. The room spun violently. She hissed a breath between her teeth, hating how even without tone in her voice, her words were almost a whine. Get your shit together, Syl. You’re back, but you’re losing what was done. You’re dying. More like returning to undeath. Between the hunger and the soul deep pain, she wasn’t sure what was real. But she was going to cling to this reality while she could. 

“Another, here.” the voice seemed to come from somewhere over head. “Hmph. The Light will shine in any shadow.” 

She didn’t recognize the language. Not at first. Another puzzle? N’zoth picked the best tormentors, after all. But it wasn’t demon-speech. No. It reminded her of... 

Argonas? No. Avehi? Yes? No! Draenic!

The thought bubbled along haphazardly. Sudden Light burned echoes into her eyes. She’d resigned herself to this fate. Being here in Ny'alotha. She wondered if this was another painful game that they were going to play.

Right until the floor came up to cuff her across the nose. Felt it shatter under her weight. A groan escaped as she pushed herself up onto her forearms. She’d been devout once, and the phrases came to mind, but it felt so wrong. So, so wrong. 

“Hey, elf.” The common was thickly accented. “Time to get moving. You’re one of those undead, right?” Male. Not the first speaker. 

“Just get her on her feet.” Impatient. “No one has time to wait in this foul place. It begins to collapse. We can offer a cleanse as we exit.”

Collapse? Sylaess blinked stupidly. Collapse? She stared straight into the pristine white face with golden eyes. The mane of white hair floating about her horns made her think of some strange halo, but the expression was cold and unforgiving. Syl didn’t blame her.

There was intense pressure on her jaw. She tossed her head but couldn’t get rid of it.

“There you are. Welcome back.”

Destarion’s faux nobility drawl. She blinked a few times, trying to make heads or tails of it. Reality wasn’t what it should be anymore. It was terrifying. He had her by the jaw, holding her head still. Firm, but not cruel. 

“You keep seizing. You. Need. To. Go. Back.”

He let her go, standing up from his crouch. Her chest was tight with fear at the thought of Acherus, but she couldn’t recall why. She watched him pour a short glass of... liquor. Collected herself enough to roll and press off of the floor. Rising with care. Everything was wavering like a candle flame. Found herself gripping her scabbards like they were a safety blanket.

The demon hunter simply frowned at her from across the room. He was here, but she didn’t know why. There was no love between them, and she certainly had lost her usefulness. It wasn’t caring, which was fine. That would have made it awkward. More awkward.

Damn it all, he was right. 

Cold sweat slicked her forehead again. Oh no.

Caught sight of his eye-roll behind his blindfold. Fucking spare me! Drummed up the power to call it. To rip open a death gate. The pressure felt like her veins were going to explode with the force of dragging up enough magic.

It sputtered before her and went out like a limp dick. Frustration reared up in her in a strangled, close-mouthed noise. Her legs jellied and she sat on the bed hard. 

“Shit.” She breathed the word out and let herself fall back on the mattress, swords clattering on her chest. No armor. Huh. Somehow that felt more naked than being without clothes. “I don’t have a plan for this.”

“Evidently.”

“I need... “ Say it. Say it you fucking tool. You could’ve let Argonas give you your stupid absolution, but no. “I need another Knight. To get to Acherus.” Or to finish the fucking slow ass process of undeath.

Not far away from where she was, leaning against the railing as he looked out onto the ocean was Nedemus. Inner conflict wore on him as he watched, one of his long nails grinding gently against the wood as he sighed. 

It honestly took more effort than she was willing to account for to get herself out onto the boardwalk. One step at a time. She stumbled unsteadily out of the rented room and onto the boardwalk. The sea breeze smacked into her face wetly, less of a smell, more of an assault. 

What a fucking mess.

Eyes blurry, she made it to the railing. Hooray. Holding herself upright and looking better than she felt at least. Destarion sighed and watched for a minute before slipping away in the crowd. Shook his head. 

The nearness of other people was abrasive. She gripped the railing like the world had turned upside down.

“--Ned?” It startled her that she knew his name.

He blinked upon hearing his name, the worgen turning his head towards the source. Before him stood… “... Sylaess? It’s been…” He blinked once more, giving her another lookover. She looked… alive? At least as alive as they were in their states. “Are you alright?”

Thoughts tumbled over each other in a fight for freedom from her mouth. She ended up saying nothing for a long moment, trying to compute what weird luck this was. Shook her head a bit.

“No.”

A breath in slowly. Held gently. “Are you?”

He narrowed his eyes a bit in worry, pushing himself off the railing as he stepped towards her. “I’m fine, don’t worry about that… What’s wrong?” He asked her, slow in his approach. 

“I...” How to explain? Made the worst decision in her miserable unlife, twice? Good try. “Need to get to a rune forge. Acherus.” Or somewhere. She steadied herself, holding her ground. It was hard enough to have her gaze hold his what with the world twisting, but it was getting easier. Small battles.

He watched her for a moment, before nodding softly, turning his head away and holding up his hand to the open area beside them, the dark energy forming a gate before him. His hand lowered, gaze turning once more towards her as he offered a hand. “What happened to you?”

“...I’m a magnificent idiot.” She smiled bleakly. With her gravelly, ruined voice it didn’t really stick. Shook her head and nearly tumbled for it. Oh dear. “Need to fix my blades.” She stared at his hand a moment before gripping it. Couldn’t help but feel the dread of returning to Acherus after all this bloody time, but it had to be something. Anything to anchor herself from this freefall. 

“Thank you.” Softly spoken. 

He moved in close, helping to catch her as he noticed her struggling, keeping an arm around her as he escorted her to the gate, moving slow and careful. “Aren’t we all.” He said softly, with a chuckle, before shaking his head. “It’s… No problem. I’ll help you get to the forges… Soon as I Remember where they are.”

He stepped through the gate, traveling the pair through and into the dark halls of Acherus. He glanced around, his ear flicking a bit as he tried to remember...

It didn’t go well. One minute she was grateful for his support, the next, she was a boneless sack of skin being held up through a portal. Good times, good times. 

Wading back into consciousness was very much like being a tiny little rowboat out on the great ocean. Half full of water. She flinched hard, stumbling and throwing an arm up over her face, but her leg went sliding out from under her. What a mess.

It didn’t take long for Ned to grunt a bit, scooping his arms underneath her legs and hoisting her in his arms, bridal style. He walked through the halls, ignoring the glances from the other death knights as he made his way towards the forges. “You still have your blades?”

“Yeah.” She spoke mutedly, trying to figure herself out again. Sure enough, they were in their scabbards, strapped to her back. There wasn’t room for dignity anymore. Not in her condition. Ny’alotha still clung to her mind like an infestation of worms. 

Blades. Right. One was salvageable. Enough to get her by. So she hoped. It had cracked at some point, near the hilt but not all the way through. Trusting the master rune forger could be of use. She shuddered, remembering the second one.

He gave a soft nod as they arrived to the forge, Ned bringing her in close as he helped her to stand - keeping his arm around her for support.

Okay, stand. Honestly. Stand. Drag up what’s left of yourself and get this done. Sylaess ended up leaning on him a fair bit. As if she hadn’t just been carried in like some waif. Ignoring that fact, she gripped his arm a moment. Took a small breath and steadied up. “I can’t thank you for this.”

[headoverhiddles]

Hide Your Hand - Marilyn Manson x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: You can throw your rock and hide your hand, working in the dark against your fellow man. As sure as god made black and white, what's done in the dark will be brought to the light. 

Notes: Started this when the God's Gonna Cut You Down video came out, and it's been a while, but I rewatched it and finished this! The ending is kinda up for interpretation. Also, this is kinda based on the idea that this video is a sequel of sorts to Man That You Fear. Enjoy! 

Tagging: @blueinkblot​ @antichristsuperslut​ @skin-slave​ @peachynun​ @plagued-rat​ @livelifewondering​ @elrosew​

His eyes open.

The lids crack with falling dust as he attempts to move his head, but notices white plastic in his peripherals. Confirming his suspicions, he finds his limbs packed too tight to move as well. Flexing the muscles in his shoulders and making fists, he begins to rock, the necessary evil of desert dirt filling his mouth as he cracks his confines. Tattooed fingers break ground, and blunt fingernails pick their way out of the makedo grave.

Thankfully the coward who buried him didn't do a very good job. Then again, not many people expect a dead man to emerge from the dirt, especially when they can't see past the ends of their noses. A reanimated corpse would have given whatever bastard who did this a heart attack; then he'd be the one holding the shovel.

Shaking the dry dirt from his black hair, he tries to remember why he was buried in the first place. It's as if he's half brain dead-- or half his brain hasn't been awakened yet. Every time he tries to think of his past, it's as if a mental dam would go up, blocking him access. But it isn't mechanical-- no, he is the opposite of mechanical. He is biodegradable, or he should have been. The only undeniable clarity in his mind is one single fact: he should be dead, and he should've stayed dead.

Seeing as it isn't really an option to get back in the hole and cover himself up again, he starts walking. He has hopes that this was some kind of underworldly mirage in a sea of punishment, that he'd wake up and see some nightmare only he would be capable of dreaming up. But thus far, the devil wasn't popping up to laugh in his face, so he supposed he could stop being so cynical.

Once bitten, twice shy.

Why the fuck is that? Who had done the proverbial biting? What had happened, and how had he awakened? He lets out a long sigh, the air in his lungs brittle and unnatural. What he does remember of his life before, is there was an element of relief found in simple country indulgence. Whoever he is, he recalls the taste of whiskey sour and the satisfying singe of burning herb on his tongue, filling his mouth, filling his dry lungs.

He has to find a bar.

 -

You feel like the ice box in front of the motel you passed on the highway: melting slowly in the desert heat.

A single coin, older than three of your lifetimes, tumbles down your fingers like a staircase, swiped up into your palm and placed again at the top. The pure silver glints under the bar lights, and your drink is placed in front of you.

"On the house," the bearded man, who was as close to a modern day cowboy as he could get, smiles at you. You tip your wide brimmed hat. Nobody questioned why you were wearing a hat and dark glasses inside, or why you had taken the very end of the bar, farthest away from everyone. Southwestern places like this get people from all walks of life passing through, and people, in general, were all just as fundamentally odd as they pretend not to be.

Finally placing the coin heads up on the cracked wooden table, you swirl your drink and observe.

Something had drawn you to this town. Last time you had contacted the other world, they had directed you here, and though you hadn't studied the occult for long, you understood that that many signs, from the living world or otherwise, meant something catastrophic had just happened out here in the desert. You'd wait it out, and see if whatever it was would come to you first. You can already feel it, whatever it is-- you can feel the energy, and it makes you shiver. Fermented hatred, violent impulse, and bitter restlessness buzz beneath your skin, and you're dying to figure out where-- or who-- this bad mix of hoodoo is coming from.

-

A white pickup truck, damaged by some kind of weather, sits abandoned on the side of the road. He looks around, and as he suspected, there isn't another soul as far as the eye can see. That, by his standards, makes this his pickup truck.

As if a gift from god, the keys are still in the ignition, and he doesn't have time to worry about the two bloody bullet holes in the seat. He drives out of there in a cloud of dust, hoping for civilization.

Civilization, and people.

He suddenly swerves violently, eyes snapping shut.

He had a wife. She looked somewhat like him, only more feminine. Her name was Marilyn.

He wore a hat. He had long hair back then, hair that would get tugged in moments of passion and brushed in moments of vulnerability. Soft hands interrupted rivulets of warm water cascading down his back as he sat under a showerhead and let tears fall.

He lived in a small community. A cult created out of fear. A pointing finger, blindfolded shot caller.

He had been a scapegoat.

Bare chest, open palms, and a deep, aching pain, repetitive, blood running down into his eyes, until...

Those eyes snap open, and he swerves back onto the road. Narrowly missing a white painted cross, he looks back to see a graveyard.

"Marilyn," he says to himself. His voice sounds like paper ripping, and he coughs, growling a little until his throat begins to feel normal again. He still doesn't remember what they called him, or who he properly was... his wife wouldn't be needing her name anymore, since she must be long dead; he decided it suited him.

 -

The sun is just going down over the Mojave hills as you finger the black crystals dangling between your breasts. Whatever it is, it's taking its time.

Licking a small sheet of rolling paper, you fill it with some of your own homegrown bud, and strike a match off your boot.

"You waiting for someone?" the bearded cowboy asks you, and you recognize the charming glint in his eye as someone who's barking up the wrong tree.

"I don't know yet," you reply honestly, and leave it at that. The man presses.

"What do you mean? You've been sitting here all day." He leans in. "My name's Shooter. What's yours?"

"Call me Clint Eastwood, cause I'm the Woman With No Name," you answer drily.

"Hey now..." Shooter leans in, "It would just break my heart if a pretty little lady like you got stood up... left lonely for the night."

You meet his gaze. "I'm far from lonely. And the night is far from over."

Just then, a breeze blows the door open, and someone walks in. It's a man in a white wife beater and a plaid button up over it, jet black hair covered in dust and dirt. His eyes are dark, just like the rest of his aura, and you're drawn to him. This is him. This is the feeling.

He sits next to you at the bar, but doesn't look over immediately. First, he checks the place out... then his eyes land on you.

"Thirsty?" he asks. You nod, smiling.

The twitch of his lips carve a mysterious half smile in his face as he lifts his fingers to catch the bartender's attention. Not like he hadn't already.

A drink is placed in front of you, not on the house as it was when you were "lonely and pretty". The man takes his own glass of dark amber liquid. Nursing his own poison and seeming to revel in it, he lifts it to his lips. You notice the alchemical symbols tattooed onto his fingers. 

"Marilyn," he glances up, catching a newspaper clipping of the old Tate murders glued to the wall, "-Manson."

"Manson," you nod, "I'm (y/n) (y/l/n)."

"Pretty name." You wait for the "for a pretty girl", but that part never comes. You tilt your head, intrigued.

"Where are you from?"

He gives a mirthless chuckle, voice still caked with dust and the unfortunate secret that he had just freed himself from his own grave. "I have no goddamn idea where I'm from."

Now you're very interested. “You have amnesia or something?”

He considers this. “Maybe. I just woke up this morning in a body bag out in the middle of devil’s asshole, Nevada.”

“Sounds like someone tried to kill you,” you say softly, heartbeat picking up. He drains his glass, pushing it forward for another.

“Mhm. The strange part is, it feels like they succeeded.” The crystals hanging around your neck begin to warm against your chest, and you look down. He spots your dwindling joint in the nearby ashtray, and sees that half of it is ash now. “If you’re not gonna finish that, hun,” he nods to it. You gesture to it for him to take. He does, studies you, and puts it to his lips. His eyes squint through the haze, and his mouth opens in an ‘o’ to free the smoke. You feel a different sort of warmth fill you.

“You live here?” he asks.

“No.”

“Why you here?”

“I felt like I should be.”

He looks around slowly. “Sure. This is really the place to be, huh?” A fly lands on your glass, and a bearded guy burps over by the cobwebbed jukebox. You look down, smiling.

“I have my reasons.”

He watches how your lips graze the mouth of the glass, leaving a faint red imprint. He feels something rouse inside of him. Now that drinking’s out of the way, he’s suddenly reminded of another need. But he's not certain how everything's working just yet... best to make sure. Shooter fills up Manson's glass again, turned away but intent on eavesdropping.

Manson lifts it to his lips, drinking the Tennessee Whiskey down like it's water from a mirage. Finally, he decides he can trust you.

"I have something inside of me," he murmurs. You rest your elbow on the bar.

"Like what?"

"A sort of intuition. There's somebody I need to kill. Lots of people." 

"I hope you don't mean everyone in this bar," you joke.

He smiles, looking down. "Wouldn't kill you. And that guy over there by the jukebox looks like he's on a mission from God to drink the most whiskey any man's ever drunk, and I'm not about to stop him on his righteous path."

You laugh. "I think you're well on your way to getting there first."

He looks back down to his now emptied glass. "That's another thing. I can't even feel the effects." He cocks his head. "Fuckin' awful. That was the best part about living."

"Was?" you ask in amusement.

"I'm telling you. I can't be alive. Something brought me back, and it's not for good."

"That's it," Shooter says, loading a rifle from behind the bar and pointing it at Manson. "You two take your devilspeak and you get the hell outta here before I blow you away." Manson lifts his eyes to Shooter, taking in the man's much smaller form. He stands, and it all happens in a blur. You snatch the rifle in what can only be described as symbiotic intuition on both your parts, and Manson rushes Shooter, grabbing him by the vest and pulling him over the bar.

"M-Mister I'm--" the bartender begins to say, but Manson impales him with a sickening crack on the deer antlers hanging on the wall below the Budweiser sign.

You pass Manson the rifle, watching the drunk in the corner try and decipher what just happened. He's no threat. Manson slings the rifle over his shoulder, and grabs the bottle from the other side of the bar, drinking from it. He passes it to you, where you’re standing, leaning with your back against the bar. You take the bottle, swirling your tongue around the top, before drinking. You watch the body drip blood from where it’s hanging. He watches you.

 As he stares at your lips, the need building inside of him is almost undeterrable. He remembers what it was like before, to be deep inside a woman, to get everything he can take from a willing, welcoming girl.

"What makes you tick?" he murmurs.

You exhale. "I'm certain you could find out."

He drives toward the address of the motel you had given him, shotgun in the backseat for safe keeping, and parks the truck in the front. You unlock the door, ignoring the strange look from the motel owner, and let Manson in. He sits down on the edge of the bed, and you take your jacket off. Sensing how he reacts to that, you pause, and begin to unbutton your shirt. You turn to him, and take the rest of your top off. 

Manson stares, watching every movement closely. You take off your shorts slowly, and your panties with it. Soon, you're fully naked, and his breathing has increased. He's aroused even more when you walk toward and get in his lap on the edge of the bed, breasts pressed against his chest. 

He brings his hands up to feel your back, and smooths them all the way down to your ass. You straddle him, helping him take his shirt off. You trace his mosaic of tattoos with your fingertips, and cup his cheeks, pressing your lips to his. They're dry, cracked, but you don't care, and neither does he. He kisses back, and a surge of violent desire prompts him to pick you up, clearing everything off the table and sitting you there. You help him work at his pants, and he finally gets them down just enough to lay you on your back on the table and push into you.

You groan, reaching down to help yourself along. He takes a black rosary hanging from the TV set, and ties your hands together with it, keeping them above your head. You whine as he fucks into you, moans increasing as he touches your clit. He uses one hand to massage your breasts, giving attention to both, and his hips stutter. 

"It's... okay," you breathe out, "You can..."

He grunts, but refuses to cum before you, no matter how long it's been. He picks you up and moves you to the bed, lying you on your back. Your hands fist the sheets as his lips move down your body, pressing kisses down your chest, between your breasts, to your stomach, sucking hickies down your inner thighs, licking down your legs to your feet. Then he finally kisses back up to your pussy, watching the wetness leak to the mattress.

"I want to hear you," he rasps, and you sigh, appreciative noises building as he darts his tongue out to make small circles around your clit.

"Oh," you whisper, "Oh yeah."

"Louder," he growls, licking faster.

"Please, please!" you whine, "Right there!"

You cry out loudly as he brings you to the edge of your peak, but he disappears from between your legs before you can cum. Disoriented, you wiggle your hips, but look up to find him standing at the foot of the bed. He tugs you by your ankles down to where he is, and lifts you up. You arch your back in relief as he slides his cock back into you, like it’s your lifeline. That's all it takes for you to come undone, crying out his name as you cum on his cock. 

"Baby, baby... so good," he grumbles, drawing out almost all the way and slamming back in deep. He keeps up his bruising, thorough pace until he too becomes erratic, leaning his head back and groaning your name. You feel him finish inside you, and sigh contentedly, spreading your arms out. 

He drops your legs, and you crawl back up to the pillows. He lays down on the other side of the single bed, letting you cuddle into his space. Your head rests on Manson’s chest, as you close your eyes and search for the stranger’s heartbeat. 

You're awakened from your dreamlike state as you notice he doesn't have one.

--

It's 3 am. Hours have gone by, and he can't sleep.

He realizes, hands behind his head, that nobody who killed him is still around. They all must have died years ago, that he would be chasing ghosts. That's just what he was... a ghost. Or a demon. Maybe he was the devil himself. Sooner or later, he knew that the darkness would return. It came for them, it would come for him. 

He turns to look down at your sleeping, naked form, and strokes you. You look like an angel, sleeping on a halo of the hair spread out over his chest. He defiled you last night, spread his darkness over you. 

Maybe he wasn't a scapegoat after all. Maybe he deserved everything he got. Maybe he wasn't an avenging angel. Maybe he was chaos on earth, brought back for a short time. But his feelings, his human urges were so real when he felt them raging through him. He felt like he needed to kill everyone who wronged him, but he didn’t know how to find them. So many unanswered questions, and the sun would rise on them all in a few hours.

The dim TV with the rosary draped over it glitches, and turns from snowy static to a black fuzz.

-

You wake up in the morning, and find that the spot next to you is empty. You expected that-- the man was on a mission, but it was a nice detour. Still, you get up, and look out the motel window. 

That's strange. His car is still there. You start to search the bed for your panties, but stop. There's a strange dust left in his side of the bed, and a note on the bedside table. 

You can run on for a long time, but sooner or later God'll cut you down.

- The Stranger

[niffin]

watching me is like watching the fire take your eyes from you

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Rating: E

Word count: 2000

CW: Rape/noncon, bondage, humiliation, violence, acephobia

Other tags: Trans Jonathan Sims, blindfold, s3 spoilers

ao3 link

“If you’ll all give me and Jonathan a moment alone, I’m sure we have some things to discuss.”

Jon watches them file out, these colleagues (maybe even friends) who he hasn’t seen in so long, all of them rattled, furious. Outwitted. Unease surges through him as the door shuts and their footsteps fade, but no. Elias doesn’t warrant his fear, and so he drowns it in rage instead, which he does thoroughly deserve. He whirls on Elias, too many recriminations, accusations, competing on his tongue. “So.”

Elias leans on the front of his desk, long fingers lightly curled around the edge, a faint smile on his sharp, arrogant face. Jon does not consider himself a violent person but he wants to slap that smile off his face. The smile grows. “Come on, Jon, there’s really no need for the scowl -”

“What do you want?” Naturally what actually comes out of his mouth is a question. He wonders if Elias will shrug this one off too, but he answers readily.

“Honestly? To offer some congratulations. You’re doing much better than I expected.” Oh. Jon blinks in surprise, the scowl dropping. Enough people have tried to kill him in the past weeks that a compliment throws him off balance. He pulls his hostility back up but it doesn’t come as easily this time.

“Feels like all I’ve managed to do is…” Elias pushes off the desk towards him, and Jon takes a step back before arresting the motion. Elias killed Gertrude and Leitner, blackmailed Daisy and Basira, but he surely wouldn’t hurt the creature he’s molding Jon into. He finishes his sentence, heart pounding, as Elias halts in front of him. “Not die.”

“And believe me, that is a remarkably rare skill.” Elias’ hand shoots out, drags Jon’s burned hand closer to inspect it. Jon intends to yank it away, but doesn’t. Looks at Elias looking at his burned hand, the raised striations on brown skin, the paler whorls where Jude Perry’s fingerprints remain, and remembers how he couldn’t help but witness his own torture with eyes wide open. Elias’ undivided attention heightens something restless inside him, and he Knows Elias is watching his memory. Elias knows that he knows. The recursion unsettles him as much as the fact that he hasn’t let go.

“Yes, that was a close call, wasn’t it?” Elias is looking at his face now, far too close, expression severe. Jon tries to break his grip, and fails. The fear rekindles, lighting up his nerves and propelling everything into sharp focus.

Elias moves far too fast, grabbing and slamming him into the wall, arm twisted up behind his back. Jon is painfully present in this moment. The impact against the wall knocks all the air from his lungs. Minute cracks in the wood paneling varnish rub against his cheek and jaw. His shoulder blade creaks with the strain, his fingers going numb with interrupted blood flow. Elias presses warm against his back, his legs. Jon knows what’s laying firm against his hip, what Elias’ heated, quickening breath on his neck means. He wants to push away from the wall but it’d put more of them in contact and he can’t. He can’t let that happen. He gasps desperately, “Why?” He throws as much force behind it as he can, trembling with the effort as the static leaves his tongue.

At that Elias sighs, hips grinding slow against him. Jon makes a low tight sound in his throat. “Because it is your duty to observe and experience. Everything you chronicle in that mind of yours fuels you, and our master.”

The anger sparks again at that and he seizes onto it, shoves his free hand against Elias’ hip to no avail. “I never wanted that!” He’s never wanted this, even with the very few people he loved enough to try for. Couldn’t make himself want them. For so many reasons.

Elias works his hand into the curls at the nape of Jon’s neck and tugs his head back to make eye contact. There’s plain arousal on his face. “You chose this path in every way that matters. Despite what you think you wanted. Do you really think this is any different?”

They stare at each other for a long moment. Elias seems to know the second Jon decides this really is different, and interrupts his attempt to stomp on his instep by yanking his arm up even higher, forcing Jon onto his toes. Fabric rustles behind him, and as he cranes his head to look, soft silk wraps around his eyes and throws him into darkness. This, more than anything else Elias has done, terrifies him.

“No - Elias!” He thinks he can’t breathe - he doesn’t understand how that can be when all it really is is a blindfold. But matters have meanings on more than one level of reality now, and despite how he tries to convince himself otherwise he feels like he may be dying. In his paralyzing fear, he is only dimly aware of Elias removing Jon’s own belt to cinch around his wrists, letting him slump back against his body.

“Jonathan, I fear for your safety if this is enough to incapacitate you.” The irony manages to penetrate his bone deep horror, but Jon can’t summon a laugh. “We belong to the Watcher, but there’s more than one way to Know, and you need to learn them if you’re to survive.”

Elias half carries Jon, whose muscles won’t cooperate, and pushes him onto his back on what Jon presumes is his desk. The edge of it cuts into his bound hands and the fresh pain grounds him just a bit, enough to realize Elias is between his legs and his shirt is being unbuttoned. He thinks about why he’s only ever trusted one other person to do that. He hates how dazed he sounds when he says, “Elias, wait -”

“I knew about this the day you signed your employment contract.” He runs a fingertip over Jon’s chest, tracing his top surgery scars, and Jon shudders in shock. “It changes nothing; you have been, and will remain, my Archivist. I do want this to be instructive, but honestly, Jon? I’ve simply decided not to wait any longer for what I want.”

Jon tries to Know, he really does. But his disoriented mind sifts out individual sensations to focus on, analyze, and won’t assemble them into a coherent whole. Elias mouths at the bruises on his neck, scorching breath and wet tongue. Teeth sink into the tender skin over Jon’s collarbone and he wonders if they’re leaving marks on the bone itself. Ruthless hands roam over his heaving chest, and when their nails scrape over his scars and ribs they leave trails of prickling fire. His tears dampen the silk over his eyes, making it itch against his cheekbones and nose.

“You’re avoiding this, Archivist.” Elias’ voice comes from right beside his ear and Jon’s hearing suddenly slots back into place. He’s been whimpering, tiny stifled sobs and heaving gasps. He turns his head away, stuttering choked denials. How could he be avoiding anything when he can’t escape?

A sigh. Then Elias tugs Jon’s trousers down, kisses him hard, and drowns him in… himself, all at once. So that’s what arousal feels like, for Elias anyway. Liquid heat pours into him from where their bodies are pressed together but it’s dizzying to simultaneously be in his cold numb bones and Elias’ flesh, both of them aching, and he can’t tell where his skin ends and Elias’ begins.

Elias recedes, but witnessing the totality of him bleeds any remaining energy from Jon. There’s nothing now but darkness, blistering physical awareness of his wholly exposed body, and something he’s sure Elias left behind - an unfamiliar discomfort pooled low in his gut, between his legs. He whines and arches his back, unsure how to assuage the feeling.

Elias takes advantage to slide his hands under Jon’s back and drag him closer. His fabric-covered erection bangs into Jon at the precise spot that sends that feeling bursting through his body. Jon moans. Realizes what he’s feeling.

“I’ve rarely seen anyone quite so determined to ignore the things he doesn’t want to acknowledge about himself.” Elias shifts against him, keeping the flare of pleasure from dying, and leans down to gently brush Jon’s sweat dampened hair off his forehead. “Don’t forget - I want to make this edifying for you.”

Jon shakes his head, eyes wide and uselessly straining behind the blindfold. “Don’t. Something else, not this. Please -”

A kiss where the tears drip off his jaw. One hand pushes his legs open. The other trails fingertips up the inside of his thigh.

“No, don’t touch - it’s not right - Elias!”

He presses his thumb against Jon’s cock and Jon jolts upward. There might have been a thrill there if it wasn’t too much, too wrong. It strokes again and tears a despairing cry from Jon. No one hears it except for him, Elias, and the Ceaseless Watcher. If he can’t stop them from witnessing him suffer then at least -

Don’t make me like it.

Elias inhales sharply and his hands clench tight. “Oh. That was perfect, Jonathan. My magnificent Archivist -”

Then he shoves into Jon’s cunt. It’s slow going - Jon wasn’t even close to being wet with that meager foreplay (he hates that word but he liked it, so it applies, doesn’t it). There’s just Elias’ cock filling him far past his breaking point, ripping him apart, then withdrawing and taking pieces of him with it. And again. Elias croons praise as he fucks Jon, but it doesn’t begin to make up for the contamination his hands and mouth leave on Jon’s body, inside it. He counts time by his shaking sobs, wavering cries. He is so very aware of all of it happening, all over, and again.

Elias kisses his temple, tells him he’s close, punctuates it with a particularly cruel thrust. Jon finally remembers what the biological goal of sex is and a vise closes around his heart. Surely he’s safe - he’d had surgery, but - Jon arches, pushing against Elias, hands wrenching futilely in their bindings, moaning please. Don’t. It just makes Elias wrap Jon in his arms as he gently says, “No.”

Jon always needs to know, as if knowledge will save him, change his fate. He thinks that’s why he Sees when Elias comes inside him. It feels like something opens and implacable light pours in, stupefying him before it slams shut again. He sees Elias bent over him, predatory bliss evident in every line of his body. He sees himself, face a mask of anguish, legs spread obscenely. He sees their laboring bodies frozen in this moment of Elias’ triumph, the Watcher’s sacrifice accepted. He does not watch it dispassionately. He’s never been able to be dispassionate, whatever he might pretend. He is consumed with horror and shame and despair and that is as much a sacrifice to the Eye as his body. Then it ends. Jon is merely himself now. Broken. Defiled.

Elias sighs, long and satisfied. He pulls out and Jon feels a sickening warmth slick down to drip on the desk. Elias slips his hands under Jon, unconcerned with touching his own spend, to carry him to Elias’ chair. Jon’s too weak not to lean against Elias as they settle in, but he manages to summon a spark of spiteful joy for the mess he’s surely leaving on Elias’ fine tailored suit.

Elias releases Jon’s wrists. Then, finally, with his hand cupping Jon’s face, he unknots the tear soaked blindfold. They look at each other. The restoration of his vision revives Jon just enough to grind out, “I hate you.”

Elias smiles. “I adore you. My sublime Archivist. Next time,” and he pulls Jon’s head to rest on his shoulder. “I do hope you’ll allow yourself to enjoy it.”

Jon can’t bear to think about it. He lets Elias caress his spine. He shuts his eyes.

—

RAINN for 24/7 sexual assault hotline/live chat Trans Lifeline Trevor Project 24/7 hotline/live chat for LGBTQ individuals

[kl4us4]

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Summary: According to the myth of the Red String, the gods tie an invisible red cord around the ankles of those that are destined to meet one another. On the ground, everything is different and the rules are non existent. In the midst of a war, this is how Bellamy Blake discovered that red string.

Song: everybody wants to rule the world - Lorde

A/N: we’re back baby

masterlist // TRS masterlist

You couldn’t believe this. Why you? Haven’t you gone through enough? The hood over your head is extremely difficult to keep directions of where you were being taken, which was its purpose. When the carriage finally comes to a halt, you breathe a shaky sigh. You need to stay calm, you know this. You’ll think better when your judgement isn’t clouded with anxiety. 

You’re a strong woman who’s been through so much that you never thought you’d be able to surpass. You can do this. But these words just make you more nervous. What if this is the end of your story? Will the universe continue writing the path you need to follow... or does it all just end suddenly and quietly without another word? 

Haven’t you gone through enough?

All your thought travel to is Bellamy, even though you try to push him away. Your Bellamy. It fills you with comfort and peace and you think of his warm arms wrapped around you. You wonder how he’s doing after a few hours since your capture. 

Is he still suffering from the virus? Or from something else now? Does he realise you’re gone or is he too out of it to realise?

You’re suddenly pulled from the carriage and you resist, running from the strong hand guiding you. “Get your hands off me!” You shout, thrashing around violently. “Get off of me!” You scream tears through your throat, loud and annoying. If they think your narrative is going down without a fight, they’re wrong.

“Silence!” The soldier shouts directly in your ear, making you flinch. Clenching your teeth, you shut your eyes closed for a second, feeling frustrated power flow through you. 

You turn to him, hearing his breath as you seethe. “You’re gonna regret this.” You promise before you the footsteps of him walking and a door shuts behind you. The blindfold is pulled up from your eyes and you gasp quietly.

“I don’t think I will.” The states, her blue eyes staring into yours. 

“Lexa.” You breathe, your mind immediately travelling to her words back at camp. The truce was broken... But what does that have to do with you? 

Her voice is calm and low and for some reason, you don’t feel as though she’ll hurt you but you shake that thought from your head. She leans down to your level as you kneel on the ground. “Don’t bother introducing yourself, I already know about you.” 

Maliciously, you smile back, leaning forward slightly on your knees. “Oh, really? What could you possibly know about me?”

She pushes you back, making you sit back onto your legs as she stands. You watch her, feeling helpless and small. “I know where your camp is situated. I know about Skaikru. And your plans.”

“What plans?” You raise your eyebrows, acting nonchalant on the outside but inside you’re genuinely curious. According to your knowledge, there are literally no plans being formed. 

“I hate it when people act oblivious.” She states.

“I hate being out of the loop.” You reply, deadpanned. You repeat once again. “What. Plans?”

Lexa stands still, her arms folded slightly as she speaks. “Your plans to eradicate my people. Just because they’re different from yours. I know the truce was a distraction while you brought more of your people to earth to-”

“No! That’s not-”

“Don’t speak while I’m speaking!” She shouts above you, swinging her arm back and slapping you in the face. Your eyes are wide and you’re almost left laying on the floor. “I am not ignorant to your hate for the grounders.” 

You bite your tongue, wishing you could tell her the truth. You look up at her when there’s silence in the conversation, wondering if you can speak without being abused. “Lexa.” You begin carefully, feeling tears watering your eyes from the strength of the hit, “We’re grateful to your people. Octavia and Bellamy were saved by one of your clan members, Lincoln, and we’ve become friends with him. Whatever you’ve heard, whatever you think you know about our hate... it’s not true. I can guarantee that. Skaikru has no plans to hurt your people; only to join them."

She paces around, thinking about Lincoln. “I’m under immense pressure to kill you right here right now.”

“P-Pressure by who?”

“Azgeda.” She replies, “The Ice Nation. They’re the fiercest of the clans and they want Skaikru dead.”

You nod, thinking it over. “I can’t speak for everyone because I know some have prejudices and discrimination drilled into them... but I know this much is true, we aren’t here to hurt anyone. We’re here to survive. We can prove to them we’re not here to hurt you, we-”

“Enough.” She cuts you off, clicking her fingers. “I need to create the image that I am not so easily swayed. Because, Y/N, I’m not.” She turns to the door right before someone walks in. The person carries a wooden tray and you already know what’s coming. “People will say whatever they can to escape death.” 

“Not me.” You mutter, watching as she pauses for a second before continuing her path. No, me? I find my own way out of death.  You try to take everything in, the angle of the sunlight streaming in through the curtains, the dry dirt coming off of the soldier's shoes with every step. You know you’re nowhere near the camp, definitely nowhere near the forest - somewhere drier. 

The soldier bows after handing the Commander the tools. You can’t see what they are but you feel your breath begin to quicken. Lexa inspects the tray, grabbing different objects from it as she speaks.

 “Oblivious people...” She begins, her voice airy and slow, “They waste time. So, Y/N,” she pauses, setting the tray aside as she leans down to your level, holding the jagged knife, “I advise you not to waste mine.”

Octavia shakes her head, pacing up and down as Bellamy coughs his lungs out, dazed and confused. “She’s Y/N, she’ll be okay,” Bellamy reassures his sister, knowing how resourceful you are. “She always is. We know we’ve never met someone as cunning as her.”

“You can’t really believe that.” Octavia snaps, halting her pacing to turn to Bellamy, who just looks back at his sister.

“I have to.” He whispers back, a furrow on his features as a sharp pain circles his stomach once again. This virus doesn’t seem to be dying down one bit. Bellamy leans against a rock, trying to breathe through the pain.

Finn runs his hand through his hair, wishing he had had the guts to enter the dropship with you. Maybe things would have turned out different - better. Maybe he’d be captured instead of you. He thinks everyone would prefer that right now. Letting out a sigh, he begins to feel frustrated. “Well, what do we do? Just hide in this cave forever?” Finn sighs in frustration, looking around at where he is.

In an attempt to calm him down, Clarke places a hand on his shoulder. “We have to make sure there aren’t grounders still there. We’re no use to her if we get hurt too.” The voice of reason replies, knowing how much they all rely on Y/N. Especially in times like this. It used to be different. So different. Bellamy smiles faintly, remembering a time where the two used to be at one another's throats. How things change.

Bellamy holds in a sigh, wishing he weren’t sick - wishing he didn’t yell at you like that before you left. He doesn’t know what came over him, it was a mixture of desperation and sickness but it wasn’t him. Feeling himself begin to fall asleep, Bellamy weakly shuts his eyes as his head rests against the rock.

Suddenly a noise makes him sit up. It’s coming from outside the cave, like quiet whispers and soft footsteps. Shakily, he stands up to the best of his ability.

“Stop! STOP!” You scream as the blade runs down your ribcage, tearing the skin slowly and painfully. You whimper, breathing heavily as tears stain your cheeks, “I told you once and I’ll tell you again! We were running out of oxygen, our ship was dying. That’s why we’re here!”

Lexa sighs, throwing the knife at the wall in frustration. “I was glad to have an alliance with your people. I accepted you, despite you aggressive and questionable nature. But, Y/N, I’m currently being pressured to slaughter you. Unless,” she states, her eyes giving you a sense of safety, “you tell me the truth.”

“I am!” You feel as though you’re about to scream again even though there’s no blade to your skin. “That is the t-truth, Lexa. I-I have no reason to lie. And I have no reason to kill your people.”

The Commander lets out an exasperated sigh, walking towards the door. “Send her out.” She orders harshly. Send her out? Where? Where are you putting Y/N?

Two soldiers walk into the room, a man and woman, grabbing you by the arms and you wince. “Where are they taking me?” The question rips through your dry throat, burning as you look at Lexa. She wipes the blood from her hands onto a piece of fabric.

“Back to where you belong.” She answers honestly, walking towards the door. Home?

“Why?” You ask before she can leave you alone with too many thoughts and questions swimming around in your mind, drowning your thoughts. This isn’t good news for you. Lexa wants to hear a certain truth, even if it’s false. And you know she won’t stop until she hears it. It can only mean one other thing.

“You’re not the only leader Azgeda is after, Y/N.”

TAGLIST: kuro-neko88 blue-berry-barry-allen doctorwhoandrory feelins-fadin jaib2-blogjustacrushcainismyname the-grounder-girlimaginexmeintheuniverse 

[always-the-little-spoon]

Sterek A-Z Challenge: one word prompts

Week 4: D - Dark

Read on AO3

It’s a common misconception that animals can see in the dark. The ability to see, even deep in the woods in the middle of the night depends on available light. The moon being the main source.

Some animals have evolved to cope with certain environmental anomalies. Stiles rambled on about the strange mysterious sea creatures that lived in the pitch black of the ocean's depths at length once. They’d been making homemade pizza in their loft. Or Stiles had been. Derek had been relegated to vegetable chopper.

In the absence of light, anyone, or anything, is blind, even a young beta werewolf. Something Derek knew far too well.

The only source of light in his small prison came when the door opened. The sudden shock of light blinded him, and he was forced to close his eyes and lean away from the source.

But he wasn’t completely blind in a sense - literally - as a familiar scent filled the room.

“No...” Derek whispered as the acrid stench of blood, pain, and fear reached him. A body hit the floor nearby, and he blindly groped along the floor, squinting against the harsh light.

The door snapped closed. The room returned to its original state: pitch black.

Following his nose, Derek found the still body.

“Stiles,” Derek called. “Stiles, can you hear me. Stiles!”

No answer.

If he had been unable to hear the steady heartbeat and shallow breathing himself, Derek may have panicked at the stillness. Stiles was never still. He was a whirlwind of excess energy and excitement.

As gently as possible, Derek lifted Stiles off the cold stone floor of their cell and pulled him into the warmth of his lap. The room was cold. Probably a cellar. Derek hadn’t been anymore conscious when they had thrown him in earlier.

Or yesterday.

That morning?

Time was hard to track. No light meant no cycle. He couldn’t feel the pull of the moon or the warmth of the sun. He cradled Stiles against his body, tucking the young man’s nose into the curve of his neck.

Stiles wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be safe at home in their apartment. Not here, cold and bleeding in the hands of another pack.

“Damn it, Stiles. Why can’t you just stay out of things,” Derek murmured. He nosed at Stiles temple. It was slick with blood, and Derek whined softly, brushing back the damp hair with a hand before curling his arm around the limp body of his new roommate.

They’d only moved to New York two months ago. The city was neutral territory between several packs, and a haven for omegas and small packs alike. Too many bodies to actively patrol. The very reason he and Laura had settled here after the fire for a few months before claiming a small territory upstate. The three bedroom cabin was still there. Vacant currently. He’d been living there alone until Stiles had called him in May.

The day of graduation, Derek couldn’t have been more proud to watch Stiles walk across that stage and accept his diploma.

Derek leaned back against the stone wall. The cold didn’t bother him, but Stiles was already beginning to shiver in his arms.

“Come on, Stiles. Wake up.” But Stiles’ breathing remained slow and shallow.

Time ticked on. Derek didn’t know how much time had passed when Stiles’ finally began to stir. A soft groan. The twitch of his arm. Body curling further into the only source of warmth.

Stiles’ heart rate sky-rocketed and his breath quickened. Derek felt Stiles body stiffen against him before he suddenly had a lapful of flailing limbs and screeching teenager.

“Get the fuck off of me! Let me go!” Stiles screamed and yelled - some nonsense, a few threats - as he clawed at Derek in a blind panic that Derek understood all too well.

“Stiles! Stiles, it’s me!” Derek said. His arms tightened around Stiles thin frame on instinct, one he easily gave into. He needed to protect Stiles. He needed to protect his pack.

“D-derek?” Stiles was verging on hyperventilation, moments from tipping into a full panic attack.

Placing a hand on Stiles’ chest, Derek lowered his voice to whisper in Stiles’ ear. “You need to breathe. Breathe with me, Stiles. In... and out. Good. Good. Again. In...” Stiles’ chest rose at his command. “And out.”

It took several long minutes of Derek breathing with Stiles to calm the human until his heartbeat returned to its normal erratic staccato. If he hadn’t already been so familiar with Stiles’ irregular heartbeat, he may have been concerned.

Curling a hand around Stiles’ bicep, Derek drew out any pain from what had no doubt been a short-lived fight against his kidnappers. Stiles sagged against him.

“Thanks, big guy,” Stiles sighed. His heart rate spiked for a brief second, hand tightly gripped Derek’s arm, then settled. “I can’t see. Derek, why can’t I see.”

Derek could hear Stiles patting his face in search of a blindfold. “You’re not blind,” he said. He flashed his eyes, letting them glow blue in the dark. Stiles’ hands cupped Derek’s face. They were ice cold.

“Thank god,” Stiles breathed. His hand fell back into his lap, and Stiles shifted against Derek, but made no move to climb out of his lap, but he did lean away from the body heat. “So... wanna tell me why I was jumped by several betas on my way to class?”

“I don’t know,” Derek answered honestly.

“You... y-you don’t know!” Stiles sputtered. “What the hell, man. Who did you piss off? I was walking to campus when suddenly there were four assholes surrounding me, and bam! Here I am!”

“I don’t know!” Derek growled. “And why were you walking? I’ve told you to take a cab!”

“Don’t turn this on me. You’re the dick werewolf that people seem to want to pick a fight with, so why the hell am I here? Fuck. Have you been here all night? When you didn’t come home, I thought you were finally out getting laid. Damn it! What the hell are we going to do, Derek!”

“Stiles, you need to calm down,” Derek said, aware of the sudden jump in Stiles’ heart. He tried to rub Stiles’ back, but the teenager pulled away, though Derek noticed he still hadn’t left his lap. Derek’s physical presence must have offered some level of comfort.

“This is why I left, Derek. This is why I walked away. Columbia and New York. It was supposed to be a fresh start,” Stiles said. The defeat in his voice was like a knife to the chest. “But I’m just being dragged by into all this supernatural nonsense...”

“I’m sorry,” Derek murmured, with absolute sincerity. He didn’t know why they were here, but he was to blame. He always was.

“Not your fault, big guy.” Stiles body trembled with a violent shiver. “Fuck, it’s cold.”

“Come here.” Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles again, trying to draw him down against his chest. “You’re going to freeze.”

The fight only lasted a few seconds before Stiles gave in with a tired sigh. “Fine. But you better not tell anyone.”

Derek snorted. “Who would I tell?”

“Right. Lost my mind for a second there.”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

They didn’t speak much after that. A few short questions wondered aloud, little pointless conversations to distract themselves, and some well-placed and overly familiar bickering.

No one bothered them. No one came to question or torture them. Neither he or Stiles could figure out why they were there, or where they were. When he’d first woken up alone in the stone cell, Derek had waited for his vision to adjust, only to realize it wouldn’t before he mapped out the room by touch. It wasn’t very large. Two metres by two metres, maybe. He could lie down flat if need be.

The trembling had grown worse. Stiles body wouldn’t remain still in his arms, and not in the usual restless energy way. Derek could hear the chattering teeth and slowed heartbeat.

Stiles was slowly freezing to death.

“Here. Sit up,” Derek said, helping Stiles upright enough for Derek to pull off his henley. It was a little ripped and bloody, but it would do.

“W-what? What’s going on,” Stiles mumbled. His speech was a little slurred. “Der?”

“Hold on,” Derek said. “Arms up.”

It took several tries to get Stiles’ arms through the holes and tug the shirt down over his head, but it was an extra layer of warmth. The stone was freezing against Derek’s back, but he pulled Stiles back into his body, curling around him as best he could to keep the fragile human warm.

When Derek had picked Stiles up in Beacon Hills after graduation, the Sheriff had taken him aside. It had been an easy promise to make; to look after Stiles. Stiles was pack. His pack.

“You’re going to be okay,” Derek said.

Stiles huffed against Derek’s neck. “Even I don’t need to be a werewolf to know that’s a lie...” He was quiet for a moment. “They called me a bitch,” he suddenly said.

“What?”

“When they grabbed me,” Stiles clarified, and Derek’s heart stuttered his chest. “They said, grab the bitch. Der... what does that mean?”

Derek swallowed hard, not sure how to tell Stiles what it meant because it was something that wasn’t true. Or possibly was, but wasn’t. Derek wasn’t entirely sure where he stood in the first place.

Clearing his throat, Derek finally answered in a long voice. “Means they think they grabbed my mate.”

Stiles was very still in Derek’s arms, and his heartbeat fluttered. Even through the sleeves of the borrowed henley, his hands were freezing against Derek’s bare chest.

“But I’m not,” Stiles said very slowly.

“I know.”

There was a long pause in the conversation. Derek could almost hear the gears spinning Stiles’ mind as he worked through the implications and logic.

“Then why,” Stiles finally asked.

“You smell like me,” Derek answered very simply, but he knew Stiles wouldn’t be satisfied with that answer. “We live together, away from the pack. I came with you across the country, set up a home. You... wear my clothes...”

“They’re comfortable,” Stiles muttered.

Derek could hear the pout, and he laughed softly, gently nosing along Stiles’ hairline. “I know.”

“So I act like your mate.”

“Yes... and no.” Derek rested his cheek against the top of Stiles’ head. “You’re pack. But I can see where they would be confused.”

“Right. Cause you could definitely do better than a hyperactive spazz like me,” Stiles muttered.

“I would be honoured to have you as a mate,” Derek growled before he even realized what he was saying. He paused before adding a quiet “anyone would.”

“Thanks,” Stiles whispered, so quiet that even Derek’s enhanced hearing barely picked it up. “Me too.”

Derek gently squeezed Stiles. The teenager’s heart rate was worryingly sluggish, and his breathing a little ragged and slow. “Try to rest,” he murmured. “You need to save your energy.”

“M’kay,” Stiles slurred. “Tell me a story.”

Derek smiled into Stiles’ hair. “Sure.”

Derek told Stiles stories from his childhood. It wasn’t an easy topic. The wounds were still raw, even years after the fire, but hearing Stiles quiet chuckles soothed the ache. He told Stiles about the time Laura mixed peroxide into Peter’s conditioner, and his uncle spent the next few months with blond hair because he refused to shave his head.

Derek talked about the lunar bonfires and pack runs, and how his youngest brother Elijah refused to wear clothing until he was seven. Elijah had been nine years younger than him, and human.

There had been a few humans mixed into the Hale pack. His oldest sister Anna who had been three years older than Laura, his brother Elijah, plus Peter’s wife and their two kids - twin boys.

Ashlynn, Peter’s wife, had been five months pregnant with a little girl at the time of the fire. It didn’t excuse Peter’s insanity, but it made it all that more real and understandable when he killed Laura.

Stiles breathing was alarmingly shallow and slow. That’s when Derek realized Stiles was no longer shivering. He was too cold to.

“Stiles,” Derek said. He tried to sit up, muscles protesting as he dragged Stiles upright and tried to rub warm back into the frozen limbs. “Stiles, you need to stay awake.”

“M’tired,” Stiles mumbled, head lolling against Derek’s shoulder.

“I know. I know you are, but you need to stay awake. Come on. Come on, Stiles,” Derek begged. They needed to get out of there, but he knew it was futile. He’d already tried when he first woke up in the cell. Even broke his arm in the process. Resetting it himself had been painful, even if it healed after. “You’re stronger than this, Stiles. Come on. Stay with me.”

“M’just so tir’d.”

Keys rattled in the door, and the ancient lock creaked and groaned. Derek pulled Stiles tight against him as the door swung open. His fangs dropped, and his eyes flashed blue, but he was forced to hid his face when the light blinded him.

“Please,” Derek said. The scent of the werewolf that stepped into the cell triggered something in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite place it. “I will do anything you ask, just please help him or he’s going to die.”

“Never thought I’d see the day Derek Hale would be me for help.”

Squinting against the brightness, Derek caught sight of the alpha red eyes glaring down at him, and he protectively curled around Stiles, a growl low in his throat.

“Now, now. Is that anyway to treat an old friend?” the alpha said.

“Alejandro?” Derek said, somewhat astonished. “You’re an alpha...”

“The death of your mate would be unfortunate,” Alejandro said. He crouched down in front of Derek and reached for the weak human, but Derek surged back, dragging Stiles away from the threat. “Tut, tut. If you answer my questions, no harm will come to him. He’s... leverage.”

“What do you want?” Derek snapped. Stiles whined against Derek’s throat.

Alejandro stood up, brushing off his button down and pressed slacks. “Where is your alpha?”

Stiles lifted his head, or tried to. His lips were tinged blue, and his skin sickly pale. “What do you want with Scott?” he asked, far too weak and speech heavily slurred. “Hate to break it to you, dude. But if you have beef with him, Derek is not the one to go through. I mean, I guess you got me, so that’s not too bad, but-”

Alejandro’s alpha roar echoed through the small cell. His fangs dropped, and his eyes flashed red. Derek responded in kind with a flash of his own bright blue eyes and crouched low over Stiles, placing himself between the angry alpha and the foolish human who needed to learn when to shut his mouth.

“Enough of this nonsense. We had a deal, Hale,” Alejandro roared, all pretense of kindness gone. “Where is your alpha? Where is Laura? Or is she that much of a coward that she couldn’t break it off herself.”

Derek stopped breathing. He heard Stiles gasp softly, but he was too caught in his own shock to respond.

When Derek and Laura fled to New York, Alejandro had been the leader of a pack of alphaless omegas, and more importantly, he had been their friend. He looked out for them when they had no one, and protected them while they mourned.

The omegas had been reluctant to accept Laura as their alpha. They didn’t trust her, but they trusted Alejandro. Their courtship had lasted years, but a mateship had been offered, and Laura had accepted.

Laura had only planned a quick trip to Beacon Hills to check on the territory, but she never returned. Derek had followed only to find her...

“Dead.”

It took Derek several seconds to realize it had been Stiles who spoke. He whined softly and pulled the weakened human back into the safety and warmth of his arms. Stiles felt like ice against his bare skin.

“She’s dead,” Stiles repeated.

“I don’t believe you,” Alejandro snarled and advanced, but Derek snarled his own warning in return. “If she was dead, Derek would be alpha. He’s a beta.”

“It’s true,” Derek said. He bowed his head, mourning the loss of his sister. “She was killed for her status.”

“No...”

Stiles shifted, trying to sit up, but his limbs didn’t appear to want to cooperate with him. “I saw her body. Well, the top half...” he said with a sympathetic wince. “Sorry, Der.”

Derek shuddered. The memory of finding his sister's body laid out for him to discover was still too fresh, even three years later. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t yours either,” Stiles whispered back. “But we killed the bastard. I got to throw a fucking molotov cocktail. It was awesome.”

“Yeah,” Derek murmured against Stiles temple. Alejandro wasn’t important anymore. The alpha had already left, the door wide open behind him. Laura may be gone, but he still had Stiles. “Yeah, it was. Let’s get you home.”

“Can we kill the dickhead first?” Stiles asked as Derek scooped him up and carried him out into the light. There was no sight of the other pack. Only their scents lingered.

Derek snorted. Stiles heartbeat was still weak, and his skin ice cold, but he hadn’t lost that terrible sense of humour. “No, but I’ll make you hot chocolate and let you steal my sweater.”

“The one with the thumb-holes?” Stiles sounded far too eager. Derek would never understand his fascination, but he agreed. Stiles could have anything he asked for because Stiles was pack.

Stiles was family.