#last hit was unsettling in the sense of hopelessness the man had

[i-had-a-weird-dream-that]

There was something to do with the ocean and a shark. Information that was wanted and it ended with with a shark and some other creature in a sort of makeshift whirlpool in some manmade column thing. The two of them continued to make more and more circles in the whirlpool causing it grow bigger until they crashed into each other and ended it. But as questions were thrown to the shark it was realized that the shark needed water. Except they couldn't find saltwater. Eventually they found water but in a bag beneath a floorpanel but it was fresh. They ripped it open and somehow saltwater had flooded the makeshift column thing where the whirlpool was so the shark ended up being okay.

They got everything settled and went into a room. It was a bathroom belonging to a train and when the opened the door again it was a to a sort of cabin. There were 4 bunks and two other people, a man and a woman.

Outside the cabin window you could see a calm flat ocean and nothing else.

There was a movie called Selling a Face.

They were threepeople. They were on a train. One of them was similar to Jospeh quin. He had curly hair and a weird neck but was very warm.

There was a belt to keep two of them together, back to back. Before that, they were just chilling, and then the belt thing appeared. The third person was fine and didn't see any issue with the belt being there.They went on a cafe like this and even walked around. Eventually, though, the belt was released, but the three of them were in love and stayed at the inn.

The last bit showed a man from the government and then showed a couple in a mask if he would like to stay. In the blink of an eye the couple with masked switched places. Another blink and it was two women in a mask. Another blink and it was the two men in a mask

*weird dream transition*

There was a girl who was arrested because her friend was killed. She was using a gun like the one from Zootopia with the blue pellets. Then as that girl was being brought before an officer it changed to where it was a military man. A sniper and he watched as several other men died.

There was a man who was in the military and supposed to save someone. He ended up getting injured and wrapped up with tinfoil while another man (enemy and not trying to heal/save him) had several explosives and set it up so that the other man would be cooked alive or die if he moved from setting off the explosives. That man could hear his comrades coming but could do nothing about it and all he did was scream.

[twisted-imagines]

Heyo! May I request headcanons for how Leona and Azul would react to their respective SO being unassumingly strong? Like they look like they possess average strength but they are able to carry a lot of heavy things (easily the dorm leaders) or hold their own in a physical fight. I hope this makes sense 😅😅😅

Unbelievable, I'm back! With a request, nonetheless💖 I wonder if you missed me, hehe? Man, did I miss you all and my precious boys~ It's shorter than usually and I got hit with a writer's block, but it'll try to pick up my pace from now on >:3

But for now, please, enjoy💗

Unassumingly strong S/O

Leona Kingscholar 🦁

Rays of sunset gently caressing his face woke Leona up from his post-lunch nap. Still groggy from his sleep he rose up just to look at the clock. Almost evening, the last classes in college ended at least two hours ago. But that wasn't important to Leona. What really bothered him, was the absence of one customary part of his sleeping routine: your warm form beside his. To have you curled up into his side or just sitting near him telling about your day always made his dreams more pleasant and now that he got used to it, not having you beside him rubbed him the wrong way. You should have already been there, so where were you? The lion didn't want to think about the worst, but only the most alarming conclusions came to his mind. The bed shifted beneath him when he got up, but before he could even take a step a loud stomping resonating in the hallway drew his attention. Ruggie was at his doorstep, disheveled, and clearly agitated.

"Leona-san! You need to see this, come. Quick!"

Leona could finally let out the breath he took when Ruggie rushed him out of his room and to the common room. Several students were running to-and-fro around the other three beat-up Savanaclaw residents. The dorm leader stopped at the door, relieved to not had seen you there. And why would you be there, though? Nonsense. But it was really the only thing he was worried about since the sight before him was all too common for Leona at that point. He was about to turn to Ruggie and ask what all that fuss was about until a conversation between couch occupant and the students treating him reached his ears.

"Ouch! That hurts, man! Ugh, if not that piece of-!"

"Don't even think about ending that sentence. You're lucky that it wasn't the dorm leader who got his hands on you."

"Yes, dumbass, can you even imagine what would have happened to you three if he found out you fought his mate- Wha? Huh?! Leona-san? Since when did you-"

Leona crossed the room in a few powerful strides only to pick the unfortunate student by his collar. An unbridled fury grimaced his face.

"What's about [Y/n]? Tell me, your puny life depends on it!“

"Nishishishi, what can he even tell? That he and his thick-headed friends got completely obliterated by a single, small human?"

"Listen, I'm very sorry about it, but it was just self-defense!"

Leona dropped the scared, shaking from fear student to the floor in favor of rushing to your self, who too entered the room. He swiftly checked you for any injury and let out a relieved sigh. From what he could see you were completely fine, while those who harassed you were very much not, trembling and holding each other, bruised and humiliated. Kingscholar could only look bewildered at them, and then at you, at them, at you.

"Leona, I'm really sorry, I didn't want to hurt them so bad."

Your ramble became faster the more your boyfriend looked at you with a blank look, not even saying a word to you.

"...so if there's some disciplinary punishment or otherwise or will take it, I-"

A snicker interrupted your speech. You looked at the man before you stunned. Before you could utter even another word he erupted in a fit of roaring laughter, it resonating in a completely silent dorm.

• Ah, Leona can't genuinely remember when was the last time he laughed that hard. The whole situation is so amusing to him, there isn't't a boring day with you, is there?

• Of course, you'll face no punishment, vice versa, you'll be celebrated. His darling, his kitten, was actually a mighty carnivore all along. He's going to mark the day, when he finally found out about that.

• Never would he think, not a snowballs chance in hell, that you had any physical strength in you, but you managed to prove him wrong. Yes, he was very close to destroying poor souls who tried to harass you, but if not for them taunting you and being beat up in the process, he wouldn't have such a discovery to laugh at. They're getting away with it, a living example of why exactly one ought to not touch dorm leader's lover. They're not dining with everybody that evening though, no matter how much tasty food there is.

• He doesn't think a lot about this discovery at first, that's just another gimmick of yours and he loves it, he loves you, but does it turn his world upside down, both figuratively and literally, when you, fed up with him lazing around the greenhouse and trying to make you lie down with him, swing him over your shoulder and carry him out. His pupils are just two saucers. He hangs speechless from your shoulder and until he feels ground under his legs he doesn't register what happened.

• Congratulations, now you have Leona Kingscholar living in your arms. He'll just use you as a personal carriage and how can you deny him, when he's so cutely snuggling up to you. Oh, he knows what he does to you and isn't ashamed to take advantage of it.

• He's quite pleased to know that you can hold your own in a physical fight, even in a magical world they're still too common. He even starts to watch himself, especially when he thinks he went too far with his teasing since you do have a strength to turn it on him. Well, he doesn't really protest. A bit of roughhousing and a tickle fight never harmed anybody, it amuses Leona when you start them.

• He admires you more than anybody else at this point. You're badass and you know it, and he couldn't be more proud. He sleeps soundly, knowing that you can stand up for yourself if the situation calls for it. He still much prefers to have you safe in his arms, or vice versa, so don't leave him for longer, than you should.

• One time he just casually asked you, if you could wield any weapon with a very unsettling glint in his eyes. He told you that a lot of people in Afterglow Savannah were proficient in some war art, it was a very respected tradition, and some of the masters could teach you, if you visited his homeland with him. He left the question open, but sometimes you still wonder what did he actually mean?

Azul Ashengrotto 🐙

Night Raven College was in a state of emergency. All students were to follow their seniors to a safe location, while teachers and student council were dealing with the threat. The reason for such a panic was a single creature. Highly dangerous at its full potential and untamable, college's Chimera was much less imposing than it's wild nature sisters, but still a difficult opponent for students at their Magic Defense classes. Apparently this time it decided to give a special lesson to everybody.

"The beast ran in that direction, don't let it get away once again, surround and subdue it!"

Azul's order rang in the hallway, spurring every present student to action. At the state of total disarray, the youth was the only one who reacted fast enough to rally his fellow students and direct them properly. But to say the hunt was going awfully is to say nothing. The students, so much for them being skilled at magic, had no idea of command work. Ashengrotto had already regretted sending Leech twins away with Octavinelle juniors, it would have ended so much faster if they were present. But alas, after running around the campus for more than half an hour, Azul could finally hope they would catch the damned beast at last.

"It's running away, catch it! Why are you standing still?"

"Can you not complain for five seconds, pretty boy? Want me to fix your make up with my fists for you?"

"The Chimera is resisting magical attacks, somebody please sacrifice yourself for the greater good. We need to neutralize it!"

No, they were hopeless. Azul could only observe the people he saw daily at college lose all respect he had for them in less than an hour. Azul was genuinely contemplating to just give up and let the teachers, who got lost halfway too somehow, handle it. At that point he wasn't even chasing it, disappointedly watching how it was running away into the sunset.

Until it suddenly didn't. Chimera crashed with a loud thud, falling to the floor completely motionless. And the one who was standing above it with a bright red crowbar was none other than you. Shocked, he slowly approached you and the unconscious animal.

"Um... [Name]?"

"Sup' Azul! You were late for our date so I returned to check up on you. This Chimera is so big! It's the first time I've seen it. Where should we carry it?"

"Yes, yes...You'll still meet it at your Magic Defense classes later the semester. To the classroom on the third floor, let me-"

Before Azul could lift it with magic you had already hoisted it on your shoulder and awaited for his lead.

Well, it was certainly a dream so he didn't have to freak out, right? His dear significant other couldn't possibly knock out a huge beast in one punch?

• Wrong. You did. You also had enough strength to carry it to its cage. You could do even more than that. The more Azul was coming to the understanding of it, the more he was freaking out. Until he completely stopped responding to you. The date had to be canceled, unfortunately. You led him to his dorm, while he was having an identity crisis.

• When he finally snaps out of his state you're so going to be bombarded with questions. They won't stop, and you're not even sure he addresses them to you. How did you hide it and why? Or was he just oblivious? But you look so demure, look at Jack for example and look at you! How?

"Well, I'm pretty soft, but here touch - there muscles underneath!"

He's now more lost than before, after making contact with your bare skin.

• It's going to take him time to come to terms with your actual strength. Lack of magic not equating to being powerless didn't register in his brain, and he thought it was actually very ignorant of him. He respected you before, but now he's in awe. His significant other is very strong and Azul thinks it's beautiful.

• When he has too much work and is stubborn about cramming it all into one day, even though he's already drooling on his notes and slips down his chair, you just lift him from his seat and parade through Monstro Lounge to his room with Azul blushing madly in your arms. Leech twins think it's the most hilarious thing they've ever seen. Azul is very embarrassed, but it also feels so good to be carried around by you, he feels the most special man in the world. He politely asks you to not handle him like that ever again, while he clings to you like a baby koala. It's obvious where he wants to be.

• He has a love-hate attitude to manhandling. It certainly feels exciting when you tug him on your lap if he's passing by, or envelop him in a hug if you're happy, but he's also quite shy about it, especially if there're people around you. Sometimes he wants just to find a pot big enough to hide.

• He likes your way of solving problems. You don't have to choose the best spells that would give you an advantage against a certain opponent, neither do you have to worry about things like mana and blot. You can only rely on yourself in a fight. He wheezed when you suggested, that Floyd wouldn't be a dangerous opponent to you since his unique magic wouldn't deflect a punch to the face. Floyd wasn't impressed with that logic, but he kept quiet.

• Azul is quite pacifistic, if he can mitigate the conflict and reach a consensus that would benefit every party, mostly him, he will try to avoid a fight. But when even he can't do this, you enter the picture. You know that those jerks are too arrogant and they should be prescribed a nice, educating blow to a face. Azul is mortified, when you escalate things, for he usually doesn't see such scenes, Floyd or even sometimes Jade leave them offstage. He quickly comes to his senses though and helps you out. Best believe you're going to get away with it, and even will be treated as a victim. Who in their right mind will think that you, of all people, can deal any serious damage to anybody?

• He feels a bit weird when you're the one carrying his shopping bags, or screwing the jars open, but he learns to roll with it, even starts to enjoy it. And his face when he sees you carrying a huge table all on your own, because he just so mentioned, that he didn't like how it stood in the Lounge? Priceless.

• No matter how much time passes he'll still react surprised when he sees you displaying your power, but it's also one of the qualities he loves about you. Azul treats your unusual strength as your special appeal and couldn't be more proud to be your lover.

• He's ecstatic that he can just casually mention to anybody picking on him, that "his significant other can and will snap you in half". Maybe you can, maybe you can not, but you just let him have his fun. The truth is that you will do your best at any given time to protect your boyfriend.

[evilbeanghost]

Snapetober

Here is my participation #5: Day 10 “You’re bleeding”.

You can also find it on AO3.

This is an AU for my current WIP "That Awful Snape Boy" (TASB for us friends) - also on AO3 if you're interested. This can be read separately.

This is what could have happened if Severus's home life hadn't been discovered at the start of his 3rd year at Hogwarts; what his life could have been like if Minerva never adopted him…*sad face*

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Severus was looking through the window of the Hogwarts Express absentmindedly, trying to breathe deeply enough to quench the light-headedness he was feeling but shallowly enough not to hurt too much. It was an exercise in precision.

At least, Lily had only stayed thirty minutes or so in their compartment, having gone to meet with some other friends some time ago; trying to act as normal as possible had been so draining for Severus, he couldn't have kept it up for longer. Small mercies and all that. 

Why was it that Tobias always chose to do the more damage just before Severus had to go back to school? 

It was the beginning of his Fourth year and Severus was feeling hopeless. He still remembered how he had felt at eleven, brightly-eyed, hoping then that Hogwarts was going to be his liberation, that it was his way to escape everything: Tobias, the pain, the humiliation, the dirt he had been breathing every day since his inconvenient birth, the same dirt he lived in, absorbing it into himself to grow more and more into his disgusting self; even his mother – wherever she was now – who he now saw for what she was, not happy at all about that last disillusion. He couldn't help but feel that now familiar painful twist in his chest at the thought… why did she abandon him? She knew better than anyone what Tobias was capable of… Severus felt tears collecting in his eyes, trying hard to keep then from falling: even his own mother couldn't bear the sight of him. Even his own mother didn't care. Why should he then?

Severus was fourteen and he felt like an old man already, had been for some time. 

No tears fell. 

He knew he needed to do better than last year, it has been too close back then. He remembered it vividly still, Tobias had again done his worst one last time before sending Severus back up to Scotland. (He had wondered about that, why his father was letting him go back to his "freaky school"? He finally came to the conclusion that his father enjoyed him gone even more than he enjoyed him as a punching ball. Severus didn't know how to feel about that; it was how things were, that's all.)

 Anyway, a few days after his third welcome feast, Black had pushed him against a wall, jarring his sore ribs, and Severus had fainted like the weakling he had always been. It had been so close, his secret nearly exposed, his shitty life put under unwanted scrutiny. In the end, his stubborn silence had ended all enquiries and soon enough everyone had moved on, focusing on some other gossips. Lily had nearly made everything crumble back then, her silence deeply shaken by the staff's questions; she knew too much already and he had sweared to distance himself a little from her since the incident. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop her from talking a second time… He was really alone now.

His thoughts as painful as his side, Severus closed his eyes, tired of it all. Why was it always this difficult? He really needed a rest, damn it.

As if the universe had heard him and thought his life was a joke, the compartment's door banged open suddenly making him jump. Pain was blurring his vision still when he heard the hated voice:

"Hey James! Look what I found, if it isn't Snivellus himself, in all his greasy glory!"

Of course it had to be Black. Severus wondered briefly if he had summoned him somehow with his thoughts alone. Maybe he did have a fever after all.

"Go away Black.", Severus heard himself say, his tone so flat it was a little freaky.

"Oh oh, did you miss me, Snively? Were you crying alone, imagining what it would be like to have friends?"

Not now, please.

Black seemed to deflate a little at Severus's lack of repartee. He looked briefly in the corridor again – no doubt searching for his jerk of a friend Potter – before shrugging and finally entering the compartment, closing the door behind him. 

This situation was not going Severus' way at all.

Defeated and too exhausted to really think of some way out of this alarming situation, Severus hunched a little more onto himself, unconsciously protecting his injured side, closing his eyes. Maybe Black was going to kill him already and everything would finally stop, just stop. Nothing would be better than anything else right now.

"Really Snape, no insult, no disturbing hex? Are you really gonna give me nothing today, not even a greasy mark on my impeccable robe?"

Severus felt himself flush violently, his hatred for the smiling boy in front of him burning his veins like fucking lava. 

"Why does it even matter, you fucking git? You're the one always going on on how disgusting I am and here you are, alone with me by your own volition. If I didn't know better I would think that I'm reminding you of your mummy Black, do you miss her too much? Is this what it is?"

Black's eyes narrowed at once, taking on this steely glow that Severus knew now to associate with danger. Strangely, the absence of Potter didn't feel like a mercy here. The two of them together were skilled enough to overpower Severus from time to time but Potter, despite all his shortcomings, could also act as Black's conscience when things tended to turn a little too dark. Black could well enough try to fool the world, he wasn't that better than Severus in the end. Nobody could be all that innocent with that last name anyway. 

"Fuck your filthy mouth, greaseball!"

"Make me", Severus couldn't help but taunt in reply.

Black jumped on him at once, the taller boy crushing Severus painfully against the window. They struggled for some time, punching, grabbing, pinching as they went. Severus was trying to get to his wand – he had foolishly let it on the little train-table in front of him – when Black unexpectedly drew back, looking shakily at his left hand for some reason. This was… weird. Severus felt unsettled by the whole thing, what the hell was happening here?

Straightening up on the booth seat, he grabbed his wand in his shaking hand, trying not to groan from the worsened pain he was feeling. Fucking Black, always making everything worse. He took a moment to calm his breathing.

The silence grew heavy and Severus stared at Black again, trying to understand what was going on. Strangely, the other boy still had his hand in front of his face, moving his fingers slightly. That's when Severus saw it too: the unnatural dark red covering Black's digits. Fuck. 

Black stopped looking stupidly at his fingers then and looked Severus in the eyes with a puzzled expression Severus had never seen on his face.

"You're bleeding."

It wasn't a question.

"Go back to your shitty mates, Black, and leave me alone."

"Why are you bleeding?", Black repeated, a lost look on his handsome face.

"Why do you care?", spat Severus, unsettled by this weird-acting Sirius Black.

"But… –"

"– just go away Black,", repeated Severus, desperate now to be left alone, "please."

And how he hated the pleading undertone in his voice… Closing his eyes in shame, Severus felt a little warm drop hit his hand, slowly wetting a little track down his skin before falling on the leathery surface of the bench, followed by another one. 

This couldn't be happening, this was so much worse than the pain of Tobias's fists. He was nothing, he was so pathetic. He was crying in front of Sirius's Black.

He jumped out of his spiraling despair when the sound of the compartment's door closing gently registered in his mind. Severus opened his eyes then, confused. 

Black had left. How could he have left when Severus was such an easy target? When he was offering him so much ammunition? It didn't make any sense.

On reflex, Severus got up quickly and turned the lock on the little door: it wouldn't do to just wait here and wait for Black to come back with Potter in tow…

He stayed silent for a while, listening intently, half-expecting the little door to blew up in his face to reveal all four of the Gryffindor buffoons. He stayed like that for most of the ride, tense and in pain, his breathing distraught and his head in shambles. 

In the end, nobody came.

Nobody ever did.

[alolowrites]

On The Run

Summary: Staying in one place was never a good idea. It was risky and only caused more problems for you. However, an exception was made for Minato—a city under Shinsou’s watch.  

Author’s Note: Hello everyone! I’m happy to share my sixth story for @bnhabookclub​‘s Hero Camp Bingo event. This story is by far the longest fic I’ve ever wrote. The bingo prompt I used was “Pro Hero AU”. This story is also part of the club’s Weekly SFW Prompt and the prompt used was: “I think I’m in love with you, and that terrifies me.” 

This story wiped me out. I think it’s because of the sheer length and the action scenes. However, I am very happy with this story. Hopefully you all enjoy it as well! 

Please note that the reader is a villain and there is an itty-bit of angst...

Word Count: 4.6K+

“Well, well, well…”

You were slammed against the brick wall, letting out a painful groan. Unfortunately, it was drowned out by the rowdy bar filled with boisterous drunk men. A large shadow loomed over your hunched figure, the raggedy boots stomping closer to you. One hand seized your jaw and forcibly made you look up.

“If it ain’t Vanisher herself,” he sneered, his mouth reeking of low-quality vodka. You almost hurled when his nasty breath hit your nose. The wretched stench of someone’s vomit flowing from the dumpster smelled better. Two of his buddies stayed behind him, their snickers echoing down the dirty alleyway. “You’re a pain in the ass to find, y’know that?”

“What the hell do you want, Takeshi?”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” His grip tightened, and you yelped; that’s going to leave a bruise. Takeshi’s face inched closer as you glared at the disgusting henchman. “Our boss wants all the money you stole from him. Down to the very last yen.”

“Aw! Is the old fella still holding a grudge on me?” You clicked your tongue like a disapproving parent. A playful glint flashed across your eyes. “I won that money fair and square. Not my fault he’s a sore loser.”

“You swindled him with those rigged poker cards!”

“A gal’s gotta survive in this world, my friend,” your voice was sickly sweet, but also dangerously cold. Takeshi growled as you cackled at his annoyed expression. “If that means playing a little dirty with suckers like him, then so be it. Now, if we’re done here—”

The air escaped from Takeshi’s lungs when your right knee landed a harsh blow in his groin. Without stopping, you snatched the arm holding you and twisted it with brute force; he howled, not seeing the swift kick that knocked him off balance. You needed to flee quick. As you dodged the other goons’ attacks, you immediately had a place in mind and extended your palm.

A golden circle started opening in the distance. Your legs were on fire like Ingenium, and your lips nearly tasted sweet freedom when a long, slimy tongue smacked your neck. You collapsed on the pavement, the bright circle fizzling away. An unsettling feeling brewed inside your head when you couldn’t move at all. Every muscle was numb despite your brain sending SOS signals to get up.

Fuck! I forgot about his paralyzing quirk.

Heavy footsteps shook the ground. You were rolled onto your back and panicked when Takeshi’s wild eyes shamelessly raked along your body. He dared to plop himself down, his sandbag like weight crushing you with no remorse. His chapped mouth stopped near your ear and snarled, “You ain’t goin’ nowhere. I know the boss wants ya’, but he’s just gonna have to wait until I have my way with you first.”

“Aye yo, Takeshi, guess what!”

“What?” He snapped his neck over his shoulder, annoyed at being interrupted. A dazed sensation overcame him, and he stayed motionless. You cursed to yourself when you realized who was responsible for this—Shinsou Hitoshi, aka Persona Hero: Mindjack.

“Get off her and walk toward me.”

Yup, it was definitely him. You tried wiggling your fingers or toes, but to no avail; you were deadweight and glared at the dark sky. If there was anything you hated more in the world, it was being a hopeless damsel in distress. A few minutes passed until you hear Shinsou’s light footsteps approach your pitiful state.

“Well, isn’t this a sight,” he snorted at your heated face.

“If I could flip you off, I would.”

“This is the thanks I get for saving your ass?” You averted your eyes, begrudgingly waving the imaginary white flag. Shinsou bit back a grin as he kneeled beside you, checking for any injuries. “But seriously, are you okay?”

“Why do you care?”

“I'm a hero. I make sure people are not hurt,” Shinsou answered sincerely. His hand lingered above your shoulder as violet eyes stared at you. The corner of his lips curved ever so slightly when he said, “Even if the person happens to be a villain like yourself, Vanisher.”

“Well, I’m fine. Just paralyzed.” Your muscles were still frozen. Shinsou hummed as he glanced at the three men sitting obediently by the dumpster. Their hands and feet were tied, Takeshi being the only one still in a daze. The other two guys were knocked out thanks to Shinsou’s precise attacks. You let out a relenting sigh, “Thanks for…saving me. Damn pig hit a new low for pulling that shit on me.”

“He’s a coward.” You were taken aback by the venom in Shinsou’s voice. Coincidently, your fingers and toes twitched, a small sign that you were regaining control again. “It seems that he’s done it before. I’ll make sure assholes like him are off the streets permanently.”

“For once, I actually support your heroic actions,” you grinned, your entire body waking up from the not-so-peaceful slumber. Pushing yourself off the floor, you rubbed the back of your neck and felt the tiny lump where Takeshi hit you. Shinsou offered his hand, and you suspiciously glanced at him. The underground hero gave you an exasperated look. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed it and Shinsou helped you stand up.

He turned away and reached for his phone. “I’m calling the police. You should get out of here.”

“Wait,” you stepped forward, a bit confused, “You’re not turning me in?”

“You were being attacked and used self-defense,” Shinsou shrugged as he made the call. A minute later, he hung up and went to tighten the knots on the ropes. You were skeptical, wondering if this was all a trap. When you didn’t leave, Shinsou sighed and peeked over his scarf. “Look, you had a rough night. Just this once, I’m giving you a pass. Don’t be an idiot by staying here until the cops come.”

“Hmph, fine.” You opened a portal behind you. The golden sparks lit up the dreary alleyway, and one leg stepped on the other side. You paused, staring at Shinsou and murmured, “I owe you one.”

Shinsou nodded.

You disappeared just as the police sirens rang down the streets.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Staying in one place was never a good idea. It was risky and only caused more problems for you based on past experiences. From a young age, you’ve learned to fend for yourself while on the streets. Sure it was exhausting looking over your shoulders, feet ready to bounce if the scene got too chaotic. But you sucked it up if it meant avoiding jail or facing Mr. Death himself.

Neither of them was in your deck of cards called life. And your life was undoubtedly precious, so why waste it away in a rotten jail cell or cramped coffin?

You arrived at Minato City roughly eight months ago, and it was the longest time you ever stayed in one spot. Usually, you dipped by the second month, but that wasn’t the case for Minato—a city under Shinsou’s watch.

The first time you crossed paths with him, it was ironically in a back alley nestled in between two rundown buildings. You preyed on a rich salaryman with an unmistakable narcissistic attitude; he was an easy target, and it didn’t take long to get him stumbling over his feet. After knocking him out cold, you rummaged through his belongings until you sensed a shadow lurking in the darkness.  

Your eyes landed on the stranger’s bizarre getup. An air of mystery surrounded him thanks to his unruly scarf and metal mouth-mask. Stranger danger indeed, you mused while taking a step back; your survival instincts urged you to leave. The man quirked an eyebrow when he asked a question, and you foolishly answered it.

You walked forward despite your inner protests; it was as if you were under some weird spell—his quirk perhaps?—and you couldn’t break free. The stranger placed handcuffs on you and checked on the unconscious man. All your escape plans were useless until a miracle happened: an ashtray fell on your head. The glass shattered on the floor, and you let out an annoyed groan; you realized the mysterious spell was broken. Not wasting another second, you summoned a portal behind you.

“Neat trick, but I’m not a big fan of being someone else’s puppet!”

You disappeared before his scarf could capture you. The next day, you did some research on the guy and learned he was a pro hero named Mindjack, his actual name Shinsou Hitoshi. You blamed yourself for not brushing up on this information before arriving at Minato City, a rookie mistake indeed. He was trouble, and you barely escaped his grasp last night, yet you were intrigued by him. His quirk was unique, almost villain-like if he wasn’t such a goodie-two-shoes.  

Since then, you had some run-ins with said hero, whether intentional or not.    

At first, you kept your guard up around him. Shinsou taunted you to speak, but you hilariously whipped out a mini dry erase board in return; it amused him. He heard about you, an infamous thief named Vanisher who frequents the underground scene.

After two months of playing the cat-and-mouse game, you settled on befriending him; he grew on you with his deadpanned statements. One night you found Shinsou crouched on the roof’s edge, yawning as if he hadn’t slept in days. You smacked an energy bar on his head and shoved a black coffee in his hand with a perky smile. Shinsou was thrown off by your gesture, but threw a curt “thanks” your way.

It was an odd dynamic brewing between you both. Some nights Shinsou shared a quick bite with you, and other nights he tried, for the billionth time, to rein you in. For Shinsou, you weren’t a huge threat in his city, just an annoying thorn. He disapproved of your nightly shenanigans with a dry, “Stop stealing stuff from unconscious men.”

“Oh please, he’ll survive without his precious Rolex watch!”

You enjoyed the friendly banter, and you knew he did to by the mischievous glint in his eyes. Even his tone sounded playful, betraying the serious facade during his patrols. Of course, you trod the tightrope carefully with the lone hero. A small slip and you’ll fall. However, it was a risk you took every night for the last eight months. Besides, Shinsou was extraordinarily handsome, and the whole dark aura vibe suited him well.

He was the first reason why you decided to prolong your short stay in Minato City. The second reason was well—

“Hmmm,” you savored the gin cocktail, soaking in all the information with deep thought. The room was cramped and had poor ventilation. Your nose inhaled the musty odor lingering in the air, the stench making you silently groan. A single lightbulb hung above the round table and barely illuminated the man’s wrinkled face, partially hiding in the shadows.

“So…what do you say?” Mamba’s guttural voice broke the silence. Two grimy nails tapped the table as he watched your throat bob. You caught his tongue hungrily licking his lips. “Think you’re up for it?”

“A heist, huh?” You lowered your drink, and casually swung your arm behind the chair. “You sure your guys scoped out the place?”

“Down to the smallest detail.”

“Hmm…I want forty-five percent of the cut.”

He smirked, “As you wish. After all, you are valuable to us.”

“Well, don’t you know how to charm a lady,” you teased, crossing a leg over the other. “I’m in. I’ve been meaning to spruce up my dull routine. Conning rich suckers might be fun and all, but this heist sounds ten times better.”  

Mamba signaled for his drink. Your glass cups clinked as the deal was officially closed. He shifted in his seat and drawled, “A pleasure having you on board, Vanisher. You’ll be in good hands with my men. I give you my word.”

“I’m sure I will.”

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

“Ready to go?” Voltage gruffed from behind you. He was an enormous man who stood as tall as an electric tower. Tiny sparks bounced in his yellow eyes. The stoic man was the driver, and he lead you to the back of the van parked outside.

The plan was simple. Voltage will drive the van to an alley that was close enough to the bank. Someone from squad B would shut off the entire security system to avoid alerting the police. You will then summon a portal that connects to the vault. From there, two men will slip through and break the metal door. They’ll pack approximately 100 million yen in large duffle bags, throwing them back through the portal.

It sounded easy enough…after all, that was the plan for today.

“Really?” You huffed, annoyed at the henchman man-spreading on your right. His twin sat across from both of you with an unreadable expression. Voltage and his partner, Benzo, ignored your complaints. Casting a glare at your ‘teammate,’ you snapped your head to focus on the road. That’s when you noticed something strange.

Benzo discreetly pushed aside his coat to take out his gun. It was common knowledge for criminals like Mamba’s soldiers to arm themselves despite having quirks. However, why did Benzo have a tight grip on his weapon now? You narrowed your eyes when Voltage took a left turn instead of right, fueling your suspicions even more.

“The GPS broken, Voltage?”

Silence.

And then…an attack.

You dodged a crystal dagger that came from your right. Only his hand was crystallized and you twisted his arm, the henchman howling like an injured wolf. His twin lunged forward with the speed of a bullet train. Your back slammed against the van at the guy’s sheer force. With wide eyes, you felt his vice-like grip crush your throat. The air was being sucked right our your lungs, and your fingers frantically scratched his skin.

Not giving up, you delivered three harsh blows to his groin. He stumbled back, but refused to let go of you. A growl escaped your lips when you kicked his ribs; with his grip gone, you charged at him, striking a pressure point by his neck—he was out like a light.

Out of the blue, Man-spreader caught you in a chokehold. He was noticeably weaker due to the injured right arm, and you took advantage of this. Benzo, however, shifted his body in his seat while snarling, “Keep her still! I’m gonna knock her out with this sleeping bullet! Viper wants her alive!”

Viper?! Damn it!

You elbowed man-spreader’s chest without stopping; an intense head-butt was your final move. Hearing the gun click, you swiftly used the unconscious stone block as your human shield to avoid the bullet. Tossing the guy toward the front, you activated your portal and rolled down the street. There was no time to think of a safe place, just that you needed to get out that hellish van.

A few scratches marked your cheek. The sound of wheels screeching against the concrete forced you to leap on your feet and run. You didn’t have enough energy to summon another portal, the fight draining almost everything in your system. But you still had some power left, and you’ll use it as your last resort.

For now, you settled on running the hell out of the van’s sight. Voltage and Benzo were hunters who wouldn’t rest until you’re captured. But there was no way in hell you were facing Viper again. Damn old geezer was still holding onto a deep grudge with that poker game. You gritted your teeth, the metallic taste of blood overwhelming your mouth. This might be a problem you couldn’t easily vanish away from…but it didn’t hurt to try.

All the buildings blurred as your feet pounded against the pavement. You skidded around the corner, the van right on your tail. A shot rang from a distance and you hissed; the bullet grazed your thigh. When you glanced up, your mouth dropped as a blue truck pulled out into the street.

Your only warning was: “Get out of the way!”

The driver, plus his companions, scurried like frighten mice when they noticed the white van dashing down the road. You slipped underneath the vehicle, but wasted no time staying on the floor. A loud crash roared from behind. You never looked back and arrived at a busy pedestrian street, bulldozing through the crowd.

Where’s a good place to hide?!

A piercing shriek ruined the city’s peaceful scenery. You peeked over your shoulder and screamed when an electric whip hit the lamp-post. The sudden attack made you lose your footing. More people yelled and rushed away from the danger, ignoring you in the process.

“I had it with this stupid chase, Vanisher!” Another whip crushed the window from a residential building. Voltage charged up his arm, the electric sparks spazzing out of control. He had you in his sight. “You’re coming with me, dead or alive!”

“Oh yeah? How are you gonna do that?” That wasn’t me…

“Why you little—”

Shinsou grunted as he lashed out his binding cloth to ensnare his target. Voltage’s power weakened once in a trance state, and the pro hero tugged the villain to the broken road. Shinsou kept the man tied up with his scarf, realizing it was the only thing strong enough to keep him immobile. You struggled to sit up. Shinsou demanded someone to call the police as he rushed toward your injured body.

“Hey, don’t move,” Shinsou gently held you in place. There was a purple bruise forming around your neck and a little bit of blood trickling down your chin. Shinsou frowned at what he saw. “What the hell happened?”

“Just got some bad blood with a sore loser,” you flashed him a crooked grin, the pain finally settling in. A cry for help interrupted your conversation, and Shinsou’s head snapped up. The building was on fire; Shinsou let out a curse. He couldn’t wait for other pro heroes or the fire department to show up. With no choice, he carried you away from the danger zone. “H-hey, what are you doing?”

“Stay here!”

Shinsou ran into the flaming pits of hell. You slowly rose to your feet, swaying back and forth on the sidewalk. Right now was the perfect opportunity to flee the scene. There were no cops or other pro heroes around, and Voltage was brainwashed. Yet, the deadly flames bursting through the shattered window paralyzed you. The only thing on your mind was Shinosu risking his life to save those people without any backup.

Damnit! Ugh…just this once!

You summoned a portal and stepped inside. The black smoke clogged the apartment, making everything harder to see or breathe. You covered your lower face and searched for anyone in this furnace. You stepped into another room, and your eyes spotted four figures huddled in the corner. Shinsou stood in front and tried thinking of a way out.

“Hey!”

“I told you to stay put!”

“Not gonna happen,” you shouted, opening a weak portal by the family. “Run toward it now! I can’t hold it for too long!”

The family escaped unscathed. However, Shinsou refused to leave without you. Always the hero, you huffed at his stupidity. Through your blurred vision, you watched as he trudged forward. Unlike you, Shinsou had his mask, which acted as an impromptu breathing apparatus. But it hardly kept the thick smoke from invading his lungs. You extended your hand, and Shinsou’s fingers stretched as if his life depended on it.

A cracking noise skittered across the ceiling with a piece falling on Shinsou. You screamed, jumping over a line of fire to rescue him. Your throbbing arms lifted the broken piece off the hero’s back. His pulse was dangerously low, and you slung his limping arm over your shoulders. The flames kept growing, consuming everything that stood in its path. If you didn’t act quick, it would eat you and Shinsou too.

Your hand created a portal close enough to where you both stood. The distorted golden ring fizzled, a sign that your body was at its limit. But you wouldn’t give up. Fives steps were all you need to get the heck out of here. The fire roared in the background, furious at your disobedience for trying to escape the madness. Except when did you ever listen?

You dragged Shinsou through the portal and collapsed on the sturdy sidewalk. The ring closed in seconds. Your lungs inhaled the delicious air with immense gratitude. You ripped off Shinsou’s mask and repeatedly slapped his stubble cheek. “C’mon, c’mon! Wake up!”

A cough made you relax. Shinsou’s eyelids were barely opened when he croaked, “W-why?”

“I owe you one, remember?”

The corner of Shinsou’s mouth curled, a gurgled chuckle greeting your ears. You stifled a laugh and rolled on your back, staying put until the emergency response team arrived.

You remained in Minato City for eight months. Another couple of days wouldn’t hurt.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Minato City’s nightlife was buzzing with excitement, and there were no signs of stopping. People flocked to their favorite bars, hoping to let loose after a stressful week at work. Salarymen drowned themselves in alcohol and cigarettes without a care in the world. It was the perfect recipe for you to con another unfortunate victim, but you decided to sit this night out.

You gazed at the city’s beautiful skyline. The lights twinkled like precious diamonds on display at a high-end jewelry store. However, you admired the sight from afar since tonight was the last time you’ll see it. By tomorrow, you’ll be in another city to lay low for a while. Keeping yourself off the grid was the best option to throw off your scent from Viper’s nose.

A pebble rolled beside your boot.

“Surprised you’re not down at the bars preying on your next money target.”

“Not really feeling it tonight,” you yawned, sparing a glance at Shinsou. He was wearing his usual hero attire, the mask resting underneath his chin. It gave you a perfect view of his chiseled jawline. You returned your sights on the bright streets and ignored the fluttering feeling in your heart. You coolly remarked, “I see you’re looking well.”

“Injuries weren’t so bad; I experienced worse ones before.”

“I don’t know about you, but it sounds like you’re trying to impress me.”

A deep chuckle was his only response. You raised an eyebrow when Shinsou stood beside you, almost too close than the previous encounters. Your hand clenched inside your coat pocket. Tonight’s weather forecast called for temperatures hovering just above the freezing point. Yet, your skin was feeling hot, and it wasn’t because of the black wool keeping you warm.

“The police interrogated the guy who attacked you,” Shinsou shared, making you still for a second before relaxing. “Heard his name is Voltage with connections to the underground crime lord called Mamba. So far, he’s not giving anything up.”

“And he won’t,” you sighed, watching a drunk guy whistle at a woman who passed by. “Viper and Mamba: they’re brothers who control the drug trade in their respective territories. I guess someone tipped Mamba off that I was in Minato City, and he lured me in with a false heist scheme.”

You leaned against the roof’s edge. “If I didn’t think so quick on my feet, I probably would have been in Viper’s clutches by now.”

“You should speak with the police,” Shinsou ignored your loud snort and pressed forward, “If you cooperate with the investigation, they’ll help you. Maybe place you in a witness protection program—”

“Don’t be so stupid, Shinsou. This is a highly organized crime ring we’re talking about!”

“The police can protect you!”

“No, they can’t.” You raised a finger at the hero, wagging it as you predicted his next response. “And neither can you. Besides, I don’t need someone protecting me. I’ve lived my entire life fending for myself, and I know what I’m doing.”

“And how has that worked out for you, huh?”

“Pretty fine until I made the stupid mistake of staying here!” You jabbed his chest before growling away. Two hands raked through your hair as you paced back and forth. You stopped, shooting daggers at Shinsou. “Like I said, I got bad blood with a few people. I’ve done shit I’m not too proud of, but that’s just life on the streets. You do whatever it takes to survive, even if it means constantly being on the run.”  

You spun away from Shinsou, your back straight as a rule and body visibly closed off. Puffs of white smoke slipped through your lips. The wind chill was not very merciful tonight as it froze your poor ears. You closed your eyes and heard Shinsou shuffle closer, his presence growing stronger by the second. His hand was gentle on your shoulder, almost as if he didn’t want to frighten you with the sudden touch.

Your mouth clamped shut when he whispered your name into the brisk night. You clenched your hand tighter when he pleaded, “You don’t have to keep running.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then why did you stay here?” You bristled at the question, and Shinsou noticed. “Why didn’t you run away like before?”

“Because of you.” Shinsou’s hand twitched at the answer. Releasing a shaky breath, you turned around with conflicted eyes. For the first time in your life, your walls were crumbling down—the same ones that shielded you from the cruel world since childhood. It was too late to take back what you said, so you choked out, “I didn’t leave because I think I’m in love with you…and that terrifies me.”

A feathery thumb brushed your cheek. You gazed into his violet eyes; they were striking, yet carried a sense of fondness you’ve never seen before. He never said a word, but you were under his spell. Shinsou’s warm breath caused your entire face to flush once you realized how dangerously close he was in your bubble.

He admitted, with a raspy voice, “I feel the same way about you, except I’m not scared.”

“You’re stupid to think that way.”

“So be it.”

Time slowed as Shinsou lowered his lips and pressed them against yours. The kiss was sweet. Gentle. Innocent. You forgot about everything that was stressing your mind out. All your focus was on his lips—they were incredibly warm and soft and moved in a tender pace. You reciprocated the kiss with a tiny smile, your left hand clinging on his scarf. Shinsou grinned at your impatient tug; you were always so demanding.

However, after months of inhaling his rich scent, you were eager to taste him. You weren’t disappointed when you caught the sweet blend of dark cherry and black raspberry sprinkled along his mouth. A fresh jolt of excitement traveled down your spine. Shinsou’s arm wrapped around your waist, securing you in place. For a moment, you did not want him to let go—you didn’t want to run away from this safe haven.

If only the circumstances were different.

“You know I can’t stay…”

Shinsou didn’t say anything. His eyes, however, spoke volumes of how he felt about your decision. As much as it pained him to do so, he loosen his grasp on you. A portal opened not too far from where you both stood. You squeezed Shinsou’s hand and gave him a sad smile, the corners of your lips barely reaching your eyes.

The golden sparks lit up the dark rooftop, and one leg stepped on the other side. You paused, staring at Shinsou one last time, whispering, “Goodbye.”

Shinsou nodded mutely.

You disappeared into the portal, going on the run once again.

Sixth prompt is crossed off. Which one will be next? Stay tune! Thank you for reading! 

Previous prompt: Boy Next Door

Hero Camp Bingo Masterlist

[death-himself]

All Tied Up

Part of the Four Human-Eating Monsters and An Apathetic Florist AU!

Summary: Roman doesn't understand why he has a human foot as a soulmark, but Remus finds it hilarious

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Remus being Remus, Small discussion of sex near the end (thanks Remus), Spiders, Talk of eating people, Dead bodies

Word Count: 2,335

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What...the fuck...is that.

As Roman stared down at his chest, his mind grew increasingly confused. Last night, he had been preparing for the most perfectly placed soulmark in the world. He had daydreamed about his soulmate caressing his cheek, wrapping their arms around him, or maybe even kissing him as their first contact ever since he had learned of soulmarks. But this…

Remus had been cackling for the past thirty minutes, and was still going. “Stop laughing at me!” Roman shouted.

“Your...your soulmate!” He gasped out, his body curled up as much as it could be as he continued to giggle. Roman huffed.

“What about them?”

“That’s a whole-ass human foot on your chest!” Remus squealed. Roman’s cheeks went red, running a hand over the mark again. It made no sense.

“Maybe they’re a drider with some kind of...genetic disorder?”

“You have a human for a soulmate! Your soulmate is like one of those monster-fuckers I’ve heard about!” Roman ran a hand through his hair, his front two legs tapping at the stone floor as he thought.

What if his other soulmates were also humans? What if he was the only drider? What if they all got together without him? How would his human soulmates react to seeing him? Would they even want to be with him? He felt as though all of his romantic fantasies and desires for love were being swept down the river.

And then those thoughts promptly flew out of his mind thanks to Remus punching him in the face. “Ow, what the hell?” Remus just stared wide-eyed, a small grin on his face.

“Oh my gods, this just keeps getting better!” He put one of his fists against Roman’s cheek, over one of Roman’s other soulmarks, then began cackling again. “One of your other soulmates is gonna punch you in the face!”

He then proceeded to slap Roman’s other cheek, over one of Roman’s other soulmarks. “Oh you’re gonna get fucked up!” Roman punched and slapped him back, huffing and crawling into his web to sulk.

Gaining your soulmarks was meant to be one of the most exhilarating, heart-warming experiences in the world, second only to actually meeting your soulmates. It was meant to make you feel less alone, and as if you had something to look forward to.

But now Roman felt more alone and hopeless than ever.

Patton hummed as he walked down the forest path, twirling his parasol, enjoying the feeling of dirt under his feet.

“You didn’t have to come with me, you know.” Virgil spoke, tying his jacket around his waist as he realized how warm it was. They had to move into a new house due to a few accidents involving a few too many murders in their area, and Virgil wanted to explore the forest and check out the wildlife.

“I wanna try and find some cool rocks for my rock collection!” Patton chirped. “Besides, I like the outdoors. Might not be able to enjoy the sunlight, but I can enjoy everything else!” Virgil hummed, spotting a river and snapping a picture.

They continued their walk through the forest, Patton collecting a pocket-full of stones as they followed the river, Virgil taking pictures of anything even remotely cool, knowing Logan would be interested. He had decided to stay home to continue cleaning up after their move, as well as to keep Janus company while he sunbathed.

That’s when Patton and Virgil came across a cave. The opening was fairly small, maybe three normal-sized people wide and one tall, but it seemed to open up enough to fit a house inside. Patton came closer, taking a look around before reeling back with a yelp.

“What? What’s wrong?” Patton whimpered, pointing at the ground. At the entrance of the cave was what looked like a giant piece of spider webbing. Virgil gulped, remembering Arachne and Aragog from the Greek myths and Harry Potter books he read back in high school. He gently pulled Patton away from the entrance, pulling out his phone and turning on the flashlight.

“Stay out here, alright? I’ll check it out.” He thought for a moment, before smirking. “Five bucks this is our last soulmate.” Patton laughed awkwardly, clearly not finding the idea funny.

“Logan? I think you might want to read this.” Janus spoke up, staring down at an article he had pulled up on Virgil’s laptop. Logan peered over Janus’s shoulder, his eyes quickly scanning the article.

“People have gone missing in this forest?” Janus nodded.

“I have a feeling there might be something in there. Something Patton and Virgil might not be capable of handling.” Logan hummed, taking the laptop and looking through a few more news articles.

“It appears there are multiple reports of a large creature as well as some animals being found covered in spider webs. How curious. I suppose since creatures such as you and I exist, it isn’t too far-fetched to believe that giant spiders exist as well.” Janus stared out into the forest.

“Patton has arachnophobia and Virgil’s just a human.”

“If they come across one of these creatures, they’re likely doomed.” Logan muttered to himself. Janus nodded thoughtfully for a moment, before beginning to slither into the forest as fast as he could. “Let’s find them before Virgil tries to fuck with the wrong thing.” Logan thought for a moment, biting his lip before racing into the forest, unable to escape the anxious pit in his stomach.

Virgil ventured into the cave, the web seeming to glisten as the light was shone onto them. Spider silk covered every inch of the cave, as well as shapes that looked to be animals and a few humans wrapped up in web. He gulped as he stared up at them. Seeing human bodies hanging limp and wrapped up like that was unsettling, and that was saying something, considering he’s seen Janus swallow a live rabbit whole.

That’s when he heard clicking from the ceiling above him. A large body dropped down behind him. Virgil spun around, his stomach lurching and prepared to vomit in case a web-encased human had just fallen from the sky.

Standing there was a large red-eyed drider, baring its fangs. There was clicking behind Virgil, and he glanced back to see a green-eyed drider grinning eagerly at him. Well, he wasn’t expecting two. They looked like twins though, so he wasn’t too surprised.

He noticed the red-eyed drider had soulmarks covering his hands, similar to the hand marks on Virgil’s shoulders. The green-eyed one’s hands were clean. He then saw the footprint on his chest and had to bite his lip to stop from laughing. So that was why Patton’s foot had a soulmark on it. He raised an eyebrow with a grin at the drider in front of him. “Lemme guess, you’re my soulmate too?”

The driders moved into action, the one behind him beginning to wrap him in webbing. Virgil’s potential soulmate grabbed Virgil by the arms—right where his soulmarks were—and attached him to their larger web, where they kept the rest of their victims. Virgil felt his soulmarks leave.

“...Yup. Hey man, you might wanna let me go before this gets awkward.” His soulmate gave him a confused look. Virgil nodded down at his hands. “Something’s missing there.” The drider looked down at his hands, his eyes going blank as his mind processed what he was seeing. The green-eyed drider began to laugh.

“Hey you met one of your soulmates! And he’s already all tied up for you to...y’know,” he proceeded to make gross kissing and moaning sounds as he made out with his hand. Virgil’s soulmate snapped out of his daze, scowling at his twin. He slowly turned to look up at Virgil, his eight eyes suddenly showing so much vulnerability and uncertainty as he looked Virgil over.

“You don’t look scared.” He stated quietly.

“Bitch, this isn’t my first rodeo. Don’t think you’re special in your attempt to eat me.” His soulmate spluttered, unsure of what that meant. His twin was too confused about what a rodeo was to process anything else.

“You mind letting me down now? This is cool and all, but I prefer not being wrapped up and hanging above the ground thank you very much.” His soulmate smiled at that, slowly grabbing his shoulders again and beginning to pull him down.

That’s when a rock came flying through the air at them. Patton had aimed it at the red-eyed drider, but it ended up missing and hitting Virgil square in the face. Their soulmate turned to see Patton, trembling with fear as he tried his best to intimidate a drider with five feet of overprotectiveness.

Virgil groaned, trying to shake off the pain of the rock, turning to look over at Patton. “Hey Pat, you owe me five bucks.” Their soulmate glanced back at Virgil, seeming to understand what that meant, and trying to smile at Patton.

“Ah, so we’re soulmates too? Well it’s an honor to meet you, my name is Roman. And you are?” Roman crawled closer to Patton, who whimpered with every click of his claws on the stone. Roman hadn’t really noticed Patton’s fear, instead wanting to come closer, Virgil having brought back some of his hope of an actual relationship.

“I’m Patton. Hi.” Patton squeaked out. Roman stepped a few inches closer and extended a hand for Patton to shake, apparently too fast for Patton’s comfort, as he screamed and kicked Roman in the chest.

Roman stumbled back, the hope in his eyes seeming to shatter. He tried to come closer again to apologize for whatever he did, when he heard pounding footsteps approaching. Then his head was sent to the side as a fist connected with his cheek. Logan growled menacingly, pulling Patton behind him. Roman felt his soulmarks fade, dread filling his stomach as his worst nightmares came true.

Remus had processed the situation, realizing that the people who had come in definitely weren’t human. He eyed his brother’s soulmate for a moment, ripping him off the web and breaking him loose. “You owe me one meatbag.”

“Yeah sure, whatever Spiderman.” Remus clearly didn’t get the reference, but he cackled all the same. Virgil went ahead and got in between Roman and Logan. “Everyone calm the fuck down.”

“He tied you up and was gonna eat you!” Patton whimpered, clutching to Logan’s shirt.

“As if you guys didn’t?” Patton blinked, his cheeks going red.

“This is our soulmate, his name is Roman.” Virgil turned around to look at Roman, “Roman, I’m Virgil, that’s Logan, that’s Patton, and...where’s Jan?” He furrowed his brow, poking his head out of the cave entrance. Janus was just reaching the cave, grumbling to himself about “filthy two-leggers.” He spotted Virgil, scowled at him, then proceeded to mess up Virgil’s hair just to annoy him as he slithered into the cave.

Virgil huffed, fixing his hair and following him in. Janus studied Roman for a moment. “I’m assuming you’re our last soulmate then?” Roman nodded, bracing himself to be slapped in the face like Remus had thought. He had already scared Patton and tied up Virgil, so he would deserve it.

Janus laid a gentle hand on Roman’s last soulmark, noticing how he had tensed up and shut his eyes. “There’s no need to be afraid, darling. It’s alright.” Janus leaned in and pressed a light kiss onto Roman’s lips.

As he pulled away (with much pouting on Roman’s part) he said, “I’m assuming you tried to kill or do harm to Virgil in some way, correct? We’ve all been there, don’t go sulking about it. He does have a rather delectable scent.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Virgil asked.

“Interpret it as you will.” Janus waved his hand dismissively. Logan stepped forward, clearing his throat. “Well, I apologize for attacking you, Roman. I heard Patton scream, and couldn’t help but think the worst. If you would like something to make up for it, I’m sure none of us would mind you coming by for dinner.” He glanced back at Patton as he spoke.

Patton winced at the thought of having dinner with a half-spider person, but nodded, taking a deep breath as he stepped a bit closer. “I’ll be honest, Roman. I...feel a bit scared of you. But I want this to work. And...I know it’ll work. Virgil got over his fear of us killing him, so I can get over my fear of you.” He smiled shakily up at Roman, before hesitating, and pulling him into a hug.

Roman had never been hugged by any warm-blooded creatures. It just didn’t happen. But holy fuck did it feel good. He hugged Patton back, the warmth unbelievably comforting. He had loved Janus’s kiss, it had made his heart stop and his body completely relax. But it was a different kind of comforting having a warm-blooded creature hold him.

He whined as Patton stepped back. Patton giggled, nodding for the cave entrance and asking for Roman to follow them home. Roman nodded immediately, before pausing and turning back to Remus.

“Do you want to join, Rem?” Remus shrugged, relaxing into his web. “Nah, I’ll stay here, don’t wanna fuck up your first night having sex, y’know?” Roman scoffed, outraged.

“How would that work? Human sex organs are very different from spider organs, and I’m assuming you—” Patton slapped a hand over Logan’s mouth, shouting random nonsense over him in an attempt to get him to stop.

As they left, Remus traced the handprint on his chest. Knowing at least one of Roman’s soulmates was human had always left the door open for even more possibilities for him. Unlike Roman, he only had one person to look forward to.

Remus huffed, staring out the cave entrance as the sky grew slowly darker. Figures. Of course he would have to keep waiting while Roman thrived. He was so tired of waiting.

[lady-of-nightmares-and-heartache]

Gone

Summary: Din Djarin and Baby Yoda are trapped. Fighting ensues. Welcome to the pain train :)

Rated T: Violence, Major Character Death

Word Count: 5.122k

The Mandalorian had been in so many impossible shootouts, he started to lose track. Something about this one was different. He was surrounded by bounty hunters and stormtroopers alike, with Moff Gideon at the helm of the ambush. The Mandalorian had been in a situation like this all those months ago, with his friends at his side. Déjà vu was probably the correct term for how he’s feeling. Except, Kuill is dead, IG-11 is gone, Greef Karga is still on Nevarro, and Cara Dune isn’t here. It’s just him and the kid. 

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to get us out of this one Ad’ika,” he said, defeated.

The child’s ears drooped, and he cooed sadly. They were safe for right now, barricaded indoors. Din Djarin took a moment to check his weapons, while the kid cuddled up to his midsection. A blaster burn had scorched his collarbone, and he was doing his best ignore it. The adrenaline rush was helping a lot. 

He sent a message to Cara Dune for assistance a while ago, but he wasn’t even sure if she had gotten it yet. Hope that help was on the way, act like there isn’t. Suddenly he had an idea. He had three charges, and if he timed it right, he would be able to kill a lot of the enemies and it would cause a big enough distraction that he could take the kid and run in the opposite direction. This wasn’t a fight he’d be able to win, so escape was the only option.

“Okay Ad’ika. I need you to be quiet, and not squirm too much okay? We’re getting out of here.”

Mando tucked the child into the crook of his left arm. His pulse rifle was strapped to his back, and his blaster was snug in its holster. His heart was pounding. They only had one shot. He took a deep breath and tried to seem reassuring to his kid, who was looking at him with worried eyes. Din Djarin was nauseous. Now or never. 

He kicked open the door separating him from the Imperialists and their allies, and he threw a now active charge into the crowd of troopers closest to him and the kid. He didn’t wait to see how many the explosive took out. He turned and ran into the forest that backed the cantina he had used as shelter. 

The sound of blaster fire filled his senses. He did his best to dodge the shots, considering they were coming from behind him. After a couple near misses, he activated his next charge and launched it behind him. He heard the explosion and the satisfying screams of dying stormtroopers and bounty hunters. Good. It’s what they deserved.

He put more distance between him and the group chasing after him. They weren’t out of the woods yet. He had one charge left and didn’t want to use it to soon. The kid was relatively calm, the only indication that he was in distress was the distinct droop of his ears. His ship was still so far away, he was beginning to think that they weren’t going to make it. He kept running, his breathing getting sporadic, when a lucky shot hit him in the back of his left arm. The force of the blaster and gravity sent him stumbling forward and he dropped the child when his grip loosened as a reflex from the wound. 

The child squealed as he landed with a thud. Shit.

He dove back down to the child to protect him. The shooting stopped. That’s never a good sign. Gideon approached the pair but kept his distance.

“We don’t want to hurt the Asset, Din Djarin.”

Din grit his teeth. His name being spoken out loud (again) after all this time was unsettling. He didn’t trust Moff Gideon or any Imperial’s more than he didn’t trust droids, if that was possible. So, he called bullshit right away. The Mandalorian was never much of a talker, but if he had to talk his way out of this, so be it. He was desperate. Din was never desperate. First time for everything. 

He stood up slowly, his left arm hugging his chest. The kid was on the ground, clinging to the back of his leg, hiding from view. 

“Then tell me what you want with him. He’s a child.”

Gideon raised an eyebrow in surprise. It almost sounded like the Mandalorian was considering negotiations. He would indulge Djarin, and then he would kill him and take the Asset anyway. 

“We want to understand him. You know of his power, I’m sure of it. We want to discover why he has this power. He’s fifty, but young for his species. If we can harness that power, at a young age… the Empire could rise once more. We can’t do that very well if he’s harmed, now can we?” Gideon said. What the Mandalorian didn’t know, is that he was lying through his teeth. 

There were other Force users in the galaxy. The Empire, or a shell of the Empire would rise once again regardless of the asset. The asset posed a threat, however. The remaining Imperials had hoped to convert the Asset to their side, to ensure the longevity of the new Empire. If not, then the Asset was to be eliminated. Obviously, it was of more value alive, but Gideon had no qualms about putting an end to it here and now. 

“Give us the child, and you both walk away from this.” 

Din Djarin would not hand the kid over. He couldn’t. 

“Over my dead body.” 

“That can be arranged.” With no warning, Moff Gideon pulled out the Darksaber. 

Now acutely aware of just how hopeless this was, he activated his last charge and launched it into the crowd behind Moff Gideon. During the split-second distraction of the explosion, he pulled out his blaster and started firing. 

Gideon ducked behind his troopers, waiting. 

This was definitely the least pleasant fight the Mandalorian had ever been in. He couldn’t outrun them, so this was his last stand. He was essentially a human shield, using his Beskar covered body to protect his Ad’ika. 

Every blaster bolt that hit the Beskar made the armor heat up to the point where it was almost unbearable. Thank the stars that troopers were awful shots, or he never would have lasted as long as he did. He was surprisingly efficient; despite being relatively grounded to one spot (the kid still hadn’t let go of his boot). He was only a man though, and he was exhausted. A particularly nasty shot hit him just below the knee, where the Beskar didn’t cover. His leg buckled underneath him, and he hissed in pain.

 The kid chirped worriedly and started to peek around from behind the Mandalorian. 

“Don’t! Stay behind me, I’m fine.”

As usual, the kid didn’t listen to him, but Djarin was being overwhelmed. Every time he shot a trooper down, another one took its place. A sea of blaster bolts shot towards him at the same time. He couldn’t dodge all of those. The child came out from behind Din and raised his little arms. 

Time stilled. 

The blaster bolts slowed in their approach towards the Mandalorian and stopped mere centimeters from him. The child opened his eyes, and with a flick of his tiny wrists, sent the bolts careening backwards. Many hit their marks. A lot of them scattered, seeing the Force in action for the first time. It helped but it wasn’t enough. Oddly, the kid didn’t pass right out. Maybe he knew how dire this was. The kid was a warrior, protecting the injured Mandalorian from getting shot again. Din resumed shooting at the plethora of stormtroopers that remained. 

What he didn’t see, was that Gideon had snuck around to the side of the child and the Mandalorian. With a blaster in one hand, and the Darksaber in the other, he was hard to miss. They noticed too late. Gideon leveled his blaster, aiming at the space in between the Mandalorian’s helmet and his pauldron. If his aim was true, he’d hit Din clean through the neck. An inevitable kill shot. 

The child launched another volley of blaster bolts back into the stormtroopers. Moff Gideon shifted his blaster and pulled the trigger.

 The Mandalorian watched in horror as the child flew backwards, and light green fluid soaked through his robes. When his Ad’ika hit the ground, eyes closed, and unmoving, Din Djarin saw red. 

With strength he didn’t know he had, he got up on his feet and turned towards Moff Gideon. If looks could kill, Gideon would be dead a hundred times over. He ran towards Gideon, rapidly firing at him. Swinging the Darksaber, Gideon managed to block the shots. 

The Mandalorian was simmering with rage. He would never be able to get close with the Darksaber in Gideon’s possession. He thought fleetingly of Xi’an. Switching his blaster to his left hand, he yanked his vibroblade out of his boot. He kept shooting, distracting the Moff who clearly wasn’t entirely experienced with the unique weapon. Xi’an taught him to be almost as precise with small blades as she was. The anger that fueled him, made up the difference. With all the hate and anger he could muster; he skillfully flung the vibroblade so it slashed Moff Gideon across the throat. Gideon’s eyes widened in shock, and he sank to his knees. The Darksaber slipped from his grasp, deactivating before it made contact with the ground. 

The Mandalorian stormed forward and retrieved his vibroblade from the ground. He eyed the Darksaber and picked that up too. He made eye contact with Gideon, who had a silent plea forming on his lips. 

‘End it.’ 

That was too easy. Gideon was going to choke on his own blood (good), and it was still too pleasant of a death for him. Din Djarin activated the Darksaber. 

“This belongs to the Mandalorians.” 

Rapid fire could be heard from behind the Mandalorian and he whirled around, saber raised. Some of the tension poured out of his shoulders when he realized that backup had arrived. Cara Dune was piloting a gunship, raining hellfire on the stormtroopers who just watched one of their bosses get killed. 

Djarin was going to be relieved, but he remembered why he killed Gideon. Anger bubbling up again, he examined the Darksaber that was now in his possession. He would make quick work of this. Adrenaline at an all-time high, he ran right into the sea of stormtroopers, putting the blade through anyone that was close enough. He went absolutely feral. He may have gotten shot a few times (again), but if he did, he didn’t notice. 

He cut down stormtroopers one by one until there was only a handful left. Cara had landed the ship in a clearing and raced towards the scene with her blaster drawn. She shot down the remaining troopers and scanned frantically for Din. When she saw him, she was unsettled? Maybe scared was a better word. His back was towards her, so she had to get closer to realize what was going on. He was beating the shit out of a stormtrooper who was clearly, very dead. 

“Mando?” she approached him worriedly.

He ignored her. Or maybe he didn’t hear her. She couldn’t tell. He was unhinged, that’s for certain. She put her blaster in her holster and continued to cautiously creep near him. The last thing she wanted was to startle him.

“Djarin?” 

The only answer she received was a grunt, but that was probably because he kicked the fallen trooper. She noticed an unhealthy amount of crimson darkening his sleeve, his collarbone, and his leg. That doesn’t include the blood dripping down his breastplate. She didn’t know if it was his own or the stormtrooper’s. Probably a mixture of both. 

“Din!” 

In the blink of an eye, he had the Darksaber pointed at her throat. She put her hands up in an attempt to placate the Mandalorian. She couldn’t see his face, but turmoil was radiating off him in waves. As if he suddenly realized who he was threatening. He deactivated the Darksaber and dropped it at his side. 

He swayed unsteadily and collapsed. 

“Whoa!” Cara rushed to his side. “Are you okay?”

He couldn’t answer. How could he?

“That sword. That was the one Moff Gideon stole right? Where is he?”

Din raised his good arm shakily and pointed in the direction she just came from. She helped him up, and they slowly trudged to Gideon.

 “It's okay, I gotcha.”

About twenty feet from where Gideon was slain, Djarin stopped moving. He pointed in the same direction that they were going but made it clear that he would not be accompanying her. Cara gave him a quizzical look but figured that he was more hurt than he let on, so she let it slide. 

“I’ll be right back,” she said, what she hoped sounded reassuringly. What the hell happened to make him like this? He seemed detached. Like he wasn’t all there. She saw Gideon’s body, and smiled grimly. The son of a bitch was dead. Brutal death, but it was probably better than he deserved. 

Satisfied, she returned to the Mandalorian, just to find him on his knees, his back towards her once again. If she squinted, she could have sworn that she saw him shaking. 

As she neared him, she could tell he was holding something small. Halting to a stop right behind him, she peered over his shoulder and her heart sank, a strong wave of nausea hitting her. 

“Oh god,” she groaned.

She understood now. The kid. He was gone. 

Din just stared at the child, his brain short circuiting. He heard Cara call his name. She was right behind him, so why did she sound like she was a million miles away? 

“Din? I’m going to get your ship, okay? I had to crash the gunship and I passed it. I’ll bring it back here and then we have to leave.” 

She had to give him time alone. Nothing may change, but he certainly wasn’t going to react or do anything if she was around. He needed time. It wouldn’t be enough, but she wasn’t sure all the time in the world could help him now. 

Once Cara was gone, Din cradled the child close to his chest. 

“Ad’ika,” he murmured, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

His voice was tight with emotion. He had spent decades learning to stuff his feelings in a box and throw away the key. He wasn’t about to stop now. 

“Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad,” he whispered. He should have said it sooner.

By the time Cara made it back, the Mandalorian was back on his feet. He had laid the child to rest in the forest. She didn’t expect him to answer, but she had to ask after he boarded the Razor Crest. 

“Are you okay?” she regretted it as soon as she asked. Of course, he wasn’t okay. In a weak attempt to cover it up, she added, “Physically?”

He was in the cargo hold of his ship, where Cara had joined him once she put the ship on autopilot. They were going back to Nevarro. He was sitting on the floor, his head tilted back against the wall. He was quiet for a moment. 

“I’m not sure. I can’t feel anything, so that’s probably not good.” 

Cara blanched. He was probably in shock. She didn’t know if it was because of the kid, or the amount of blood he lost, or the trauma of it all. Before she could ask another question, he blacked out. 

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

When Djarin woke, he wasn’t on the Razor Crest. His arm was in a sling, and there was a bacta pad on his collarbone and his leg. He hurt everywhere. Groaning he sat up, and it all came rushing back. 

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Greef Karga was sitting by the end of the cot. “You had Cara and I worried there.” 

“I take it we made it to Nevarro okay?” His voice was surprisingly steady.

Cara came in with food, and a jug of water. 

“Yeah we did. Listen, you’ve been out for a few days, so you need to eat. Karga and I will leave you be for a while, but then we need to talk.”

Djarin nodded his head once, in silent confirmation. Relieved that he didn’t put up a fight, his friends shuffled out of the room. In one swift motion, he pulled his helmet off and placed it on the bed next to him. The rest of his Beskar was cleaned and placed neatly in a pile on a table in the corner. His stomach growled and he noticed how hungry he was. He did his best to eat slow, but he ended up throwing it all up anyway. The water he could handle. Shortly after he donned his helmet, there was a knock at the door. 

“Is it safe to come in?” Karga asked. 

“Yes.”

Cara entered, followed by Greef and they both looked nervous. They kept glancing at each other and fidgeting.

 “What is it?” Din sighed.

Cara cleared her throat. 

“What you went through was- is, a lot. What are you going to do now?” 

He blinked. What is he going to do now? Oh right. He didn’t have to worry about the kid anymore. He would go back to his clan- oh right. The Imperials came through and killed them. His focus shifted to Karga. 

“Am I still welcome back in the Guild?”

Greef looked taken aback. 

“Of course, Mando! That offer has no expiration date. Though I do recommend you wait a bit until your arm has healed.”

He looked at Dune. “I’m a bounty hunter. I’m going to keep bounty hunting.”

Okay. She didn’t have to like it, but it was his decision. 

“Are you going to take care of yourself?” 

Now he was annoyed. “I’ve made it this far.”

“You know what I mean," she said seriously.

“No, I don’t Cara! Stop dancing around the subject. If you want to say it, say it!” The Mandalorian raised his voice.

“You haven’t talked about it, about him at all. It’s not normal. It’s not healthy,” Cara said.

Djarin was getting mad. She was trying to pry the box open. He kept it locked for a reason. Except, this time it cracked. Just a little bit, but it still cracked. 

“What do you want me to say Cara? The child is dead, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it? He’s gone. It’s over. I can’t change the past, and neither can you.” He calmed as he spoke. 

He took his arm out of the sling, testing his range of motion. Pretty good considering the minimal amount of bacta that was applied. He grabbed the Beskar from the desk and put it all back on. Even his signet, which he had somehow unearned. 

Imagine that. The only Mandalorian in the history of Mandalore to earn a signet and have it unearned in a matter of months. He shook his head and huffed, almost laughing at himself. It would be him of all people.

“Greef, how many pucks do you have on you right now?”

Karga looked through his pockets.

“Eight,” he supplied. 

“Good,” the Mandalorian said. “I’ll take them all.”

Karga offered him the pucks, without objecting. He knew the Mandalorian needed this. That’s how it usually goes. Keep busy, and you might not fall apart.  Before he left Cara Dune and Greef Karga in the hotel room, he stopped in the doorway. 

“Thank you both. For everything.” 

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Six Months Later:

Business was booming. The Mandalorian was now the most widely known, successful bounty hunter in the galaxy. He was different now. Cold. Calculating. A shell of the man he used to be. It didn’t matter. Cara called him out on it, and he retaliated. It’s safe to say that they weren’t friends anymore. 

The Mandalorian very rarely, if ever stepped foot on Nevarro anymore either. Client’s would contact him directly if they wanted a job done, so he hadn’t seen Greef either. He probably never would, unless someone placed a bounty on Karga. 

His work became his life. He hardly found the thrill in it anymore. But he did what he had to do to survive. Some days were hard. He would open the panel of the compartment of his ship where the kid used to be safely tucked away. Then he remembered that the kid wasn’t hiding. He was gone. He looked for the kid everywhere he went. He knew he wouldn’t find him. The kid was dead, and he had buried him. 

He had just returned from his last job, and currently there weren’t any more scheduled for him. He did that on purpose. Like he said, some days were hard. But every night was hard. He found himself dreading sleep. He would get a good two or three hours of rest, when nightmares of that day would tear him out of his slumber. He tried to go days at a time without sleep. He succeeded. The less sleep he got, the sloppier he was on his jobs. The amount of times he’s used his cauterizer in the last week was testament enough. At this rate, he would be all burnt flesh by the end of the year. 

So, for the first time in his life, he had a clear schedule. Hopefully, he would be able to catch up on sleep, and then pick up another job. He wasn’t optimistic, but he had to try. 

He set the Razor Crest to autopilot, to crawl around in deep space. He removed the Darksaber from his belt and placed it on the cot next to him. Paranoia would never really leave him. 

He closed his eyes, and let exhaustion take over. 

~ It was raining blaster fire. Cara had showed up earlier here. The odds were looking in to be in their favor. Din genuinely smiled. He thought this was the end. It was far from it. Suddenly an odd light glinted in his peripheral vision. 

Moff Gideon had the Darksaber. 

Recognition of the weapon and its history sent tendrils of anger shooting throughout his body. Gideon would pay for that. He wanted to kill him.

Then he noticed the blaster pointing at the child. 

“NO!” 

He launched himself in front of the child, and the blaster bolt ricocheted off of the corner of his pauldron. He didn’t notice that Gideon had shifted the gun to shoot at him instead. His movement had deadly consequences. 

A sickening feeling worked its way into his throat, and he tasted bile. He turned his head slowly to look at the child who was lying face first in the ground next to him, his robes smoking from the heat of the shot. 

Din dropped to his knees. This was his fault. ~

The dreams were always different, but they always ended with the same line.

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum Ad’ika."

He woke up with a gasp and shot up like a rocket. He placed his helmeted head in his hands. Apparently, he was going to suffer indefinitely. Frustrated, he went back to the cockpit. Maybe if he went to a market or something, he could purchase sleeping pills or some other form of medication that would save him from his endless nightmares. 

He’s tired, on edge and frustrated, so when looks at the Mythosaur pendant that the child used to wear around his neck once upon a time, a little bit longer than normal as it dangles from the ceiling in the cockpit, he grips the lever a little too hard, and the knob pops right off and in to his hand. This tiny, insignificant ball should not make him hurt this much. 

He stood up and threw it to the back of his ship. He wanted it out of his sight. He returned to his seat, the silence nearly suffocating. He wouldn’t kill anyone ever again if he could get his Ad’ika back.  Maybe if he wasn’t so sleep-deprived, he would have noticed sooner. A few minutes later he realized that he never heard the ball clang when the metal hit the metal of his ship. 

He quickly withdrew his blaster and turned around, side-stepping the pilot’s seat.

“The toy I’ve heard so much about, this is?”

Din Djarin scanned the cockpit and saw no one until he glanced at the floor. He froze. A much older version of the same species as the child was in front of him. There was a cane in one hand, and the knob-turned-toy in the other. He couldn’t be much more than two feet tall, and he was green, but tinged blue. Almost like a ghost. He shook his head. 

“Now I know I’ve lost it.”

The creature laughed. 

The Mandalorian tried blinking a few times to make it go away. It stayed. 

“Yoda, I am. Real, this is.”

Yoda used the Force to send the ball back into the Mandalorian’s hand. Djarin caught it and clenched his fist around it. Wait a minute.

“How did you know about the toy?”

Yoda laughed again.

“Many things I know, Din Djarin.”

Din tensed. 

“Why are you here? I… couldn’t protect one of your kind, if that’s why.” He was lost. He might actually be crazy. Or he managed to fall back asleep, and this was another dream.

Yoda sobered up at his confession.

 “Your best, you did.”

Din leaned against the side of the pilot’s seat and sighed heavily.

“It was all for nothing. It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.” Months of pent up emotional pain bled through his voice. 

“Fail, you did. Your fault, it was not.”

His head snapped up at that.

“Then who’s fault was it?” he asked angrily.

Yoda looked around, taking in his surroundings. 

“The will of the Force, it was.”

The Force. That was the power or sorcery that the child had. He scoffed at the thought that the ‘Force’, would want a baby to die. He came to terms that he was indeed, speaking to a dead person. They stood in silence for a long time. When it became clear that neither of them were going to speak, Din turned around and looked at the stars passing by through the front window. After a few minutes, he pulled the Mythosaur pendant down and stared at it. There was a pattern with him, he noticed. He had everything, he lost it all. He had everything, he lost it all. And it continued to repeat.

His parents.

His clan.

His friends.

His kid.

Yoda watched the Mandalorian sadly. He felt the darkness in him, which had fought relentlessly to snuff out the light his whole life. Only now, the darkness was winning. 

“Highly of you, Ad’ika thinks.” 

Din Djarin went rigid, and nearly cut his hand with the pendant.

“What?” he whispered.

A very familiar, sorely missed babbling noise filled the cockpit. Djarin switched the pendant to his left hand and gripped the headrest of the pilot’s chair to steady himself. He felt his eyes betray him as they burned with unshed tears. The babbling noise got closer. He bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to turn around. 

“Please, I can’t. I can’t do this,” he whispered again. He wanted to wake up now. It was worse, somehow, knowing that this wasn’t a dream. A soft tug of his cape convinced him to turn around slowly, steeling himself. He looks down at the floor and sank to his knees.

The kid was right there. Right in front of him. His clothes lacked the bloodstains that the Mandalorian had last seen on him, and the child was glowing a faint blue color, just like Yoda.

 “Ad’ika?”

 The kid’s ears perked up, and he made the grabby motions with his hands. He wanted to be picked up. 

 Mando looked to Yoda, who was silently observing. Seeking confirmation. Can you even touch a ghost? Yoda gave a slight nod, and Din went for it. He scooped up the kid and the weight of the world was lifted from his shoulders. The child squealed happily as Djarin held him close to his chest, squeezing a bit harder than he should have. He couldn’t help it. The helmet masked the tears that finally escaped him. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” he said. He was grateful, obviously. But it didn’t make sense. Yoda cleared his throat. 

“Missed you, he has.”

A lump formed in the Mandalorian’s throat. He looked down at the ghost of a child who was gnawing on the top of his breastplate.

 “I missed you too, Ad’ika.” His voice cracked when he spoke. He sat there holding the child, stroking his big ears with his fingers.

 He listened as Yoda did his best to explain something that Din couldn’t fully grasp yet. The Force connects all things. No one is ever really gone. Force users can come back and interact with the living under certain circumstances. Apparently, Ad’ika cried non-stop when he couldn’t find the Mandalorian. Yoda taught the child about his abilities and how to manifest as a Force ghost, so he could go find his lost guardian. Force ghosts could only interact with the living sporadically.

 However, he may have hinted that it was much easier to appear in dreams and interact with the living that way. Djarin’s breath hitched.  The child squirmed out of Djarin’s hold and waddled to the mythosaur pendant which found its way to the floor amidst the reunion. He picked it up and held it out towards Din, a questioning look on his face as he babbled.

“A-ga da a-ba?”

Din took the pendant and tied it around the child as a necklace. 

“Why don’t you hang on to that? It’s yours.” 

The child immediately stuck it into his mouth. The Mandalorian laughed. 

“Time for us to go, it is,” Yoda said solemnly. “See him again, you will.”

Djarin’s heart sank, but he nodded. Before they disappeared, the child placed a three-fingered hand on the back of the Mandalorian’s hand.

 “Ba-ba bu, buh!” The kid shook his head in frustration and tried again. “a-ga… dada!”

The Mandalorian started. 

“I-” he had so many questions. Did the kid know what he was saying? It was just baby talk. Then the kid dropped this on him just before both ghosts vanished.

 “Boo-Bu-eer. Buir!”

His heart stopped. Long after they faded, he kept replaying it in his mind. 

Buir.

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Mando’a Translations: Ad’ika: little one, son, daughter, of any age Buir: father/mother Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad: Adoption vow; I know your name as my child Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum: Daily remembrance of those passed on *I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal*. Followed by repetition of loved ones' name(s).

[tearsofsyrup]

dirty showers

— One of many nights when you’re catching your breath alongside Jungkook while splayed out across his damp sheets, head spinning due to the problems you wish you could shower away. 

pairing. jeon jungkook / reader

genre. drabble, mentioned smut, angst, friends with benefits au

word count. 1.7k

warnings. mentions of sexual activity, brief profanity

notes. my first piece of writing on this blog, so please tell me what you think.

-

Another mistake committed, piling up on your long list of identical ones.

You barely registered the bed bouncing beneath your weight as Jungkook fell onto its surface beside you, your brain occupied with returning your breathing to a regular pace. Vision still dazed and unfocused, you felt your heated body twitch subtly while still coming down from your high, two sets of heavy breathing the only sounds occupying the dark room.

The quiet that followed felt heavy and pregnant, consciousness and sense returning to fuel your brain once more and making you tense at the awareness of the person beside you. How that could still happen after so many times, you did not know.

You already felt dirty. And you knew that it wasn’t due to the perspiration sticking your skin to the sheets below. The feeling usually didn’t overcome you so quickly afterwards. Why was tonight any different? Why did the filth coating your skin feel so much more repulsive?

Thus, a desperate need for a wash was born.

“I wanna shower.” Your statement was louder than you had been prepared for as it cut through the silence, almost making you cringe. You wondered if your obscure discomfort was obvious.

Jungkook’s delayed response caused you to suspect he had fallen asleep already. You found that you nearly wished he had.

He displayed he was still conscious as the weight of his hand suddenly fell across your waist, a strained groan crawling out from within his chest.

“Why?”

Because I’m disgusting, you thought. You didn’t say it, or anything for that matter. So he continued.

“Stay.”

You didn’t have time to ponder whether that meant more than it was supposed to, because your heart squeezing familiarly in your chest demanded all your attention. The feeling had become a regular occurrence, but only since a handful of weeks prior. Considering your position, the unsettling sensation should have plagued you from the first moment you kissed Jungkook. But it hadn’t. Did that make you a bad person?

Dirty, vile, gross, despicable-

Stopping your train of thought dead in its tracks, you took a deep breath, averting your attention to the comforting forearm relaxed over your stomach. You didn’t want to think of your horrible decisions and mistakes at that moment, refusing to acknowledge them as they tried to force their way into the forefront of your mind.

You had grown skilled at denial over the past couple of months, almost able to turn your emotions and awareness for responsibility on and off. The upsetting thoughts left when you told them to. The feeling of being dirty still troubled you, though.

You finally dared a glance in Jungkook’s direction.

His eyes were closed, ruffled and damp hair laying prettily across his sticky forehead. The familiar image caused a calm wave to wash over you but also your heart to churn uneasily. The opposing feelings left you conflicted.

“I’m sweaty and sticky. Stinky,” you finally reasoned. “I wanna shower.”

Jungkook’s eye opened lazily to observe you. You guessed that he was wondering why you were being so adamant, as you usually waited until the morning after to clean yourself properly. But you couldn’t tell him it was due to the overwhelming feeling of filth that seemingly coated you from head to toe, because you didn’t know what it meant yet.

Possibly you had just grown sensible, at last.

“I don’t mind the stench.”

You knew his mumbled comment was a lighthearted take on a statement meant to comfort, but his words caused your chest to sting with hurt. You understood he hadn’t intentionally meant it as you perceived it, but you couldn’t help the way your throat tightened a fraction as self-awareness threatened to drown you in the harsh reality of how many meanings could be rightfully jammed into that remark. Even if the young man next to you didn’t know what his words really alluded to, you knowing was enough. Worse, even.

Sitting yourself up quickly, you let Jungkook’s arm fall off of you.

“Well, I do.” You felt your problems and responsibilities creep up on you with the honesty of your quiet reply.

To your surprise, the springs of the mattress whined as Jungkook shifted beside you.

“You okay?”

No, I’m not. And you shouldn’t be, either.

The tips of your fingers digging into damp sheets, you turned your head to meet Jungkook in the darkness.

“Yeah, I’m fine. And dirty.” Dirty.

Jungkook huffed a haphazard snort.

“Right.” He paused as his head hung over his shoulders, allowing you to try swallowing the burn that was attempting to clime up your tight throat. “I’d shower with you but I feel like Imma pass out.”

You averted your gaze, the memories of Jungkook washing your hair making your heart roar again.

“It’s fine. I’m a big girl, I can shower myself.” You hated yourself for being able to act playful in your situation. Fucking filthy.

“Mhm,” Jungkook mumbled lazily, the soft kiss that was suddenly pressed against your shoulder blade forcing you to stifle a visible shiver. Then the bed bounced lightly as he fell back down onto it again.

How he could stand himself, you had a hard time fathoming. It almost made you dislike him, momentarily.

Your muscles fruitlessly protested as you made your way into Jungkook’s bathroom, squinting dramatically as you flipped the light switch. Hasty steps brought you to the shower as to avoid looking into the mirror above the sink while passing it, as if doing so would kill you. Because part of you thought it just might.

Foul and unpleasant.

You weren’t sure for how long you had stood with your forehead and palms pressing into cold tiles, warm water traveling down along the tense slopes of your naked body, when the feeling of hopelessness really made its presence known. Because the water wasn’t washing your stench away, unable to penetrate the steadfast layer of dirt that blanketed your skin and seeped in through your pores to eat you whole. You couldn’t get rid of it and it made you panic.

Heavy breathing, heart pounding, cheeks inflaming. Your knees grew weak and eventually hit the floor, but you couldn’t feel the pain. Not the physical kind. But the emotional kind was suffocating you as your reality hit you harshly across your sour, wet face - you weren’t sure whether tears had become a part of the equation then. And the worst part was, it was all your fault. All of it.

Eyes wide and staring through the wall in front of you, your lips quivered, nails digging into the tiles helplessly.

How could you do? How could you? How could you? How could you? How co-

A gentle call of your name broke your manic mantra. And you despised how just the sound of his voice could comfort you so easily, the booming of your heartbeat in your ears immediately turning less unbearable.

“What’s wrong? Is every- Are you hurt?”

No, not me.

You nearly flinched at the palm that landed on the space between your shoulder blades, but the soothing strokes that followed made you lean into his touch.

“(Y/N)?”

Only then did you realize that you were shaking, trembling.

You refused to avert your stare from the tiled wall, finally able to control your breathing again. Heart steadily returning to a healthier state, you sighed heavily, feeling as though you deflated in the process. A new kind of hopelessness encased you; the exhausted kind.

“Please, talk to me.”

For a split second, you wondered why he even cared. You wondered how he didn’t already understand. You wondered why he wasn’t feeling the same way you were.

Maybe his skill in denial was more advanced than yours.

But pondering over all the different questions and possibilities was too tiring, so you gave up, half-lidded gaze dropping to the floor.

Jungkook scooted closer, hugging you close to him and you didn’t have the energy to deny yourself letting him. Letting yourself bask in the way his body felt against yours. Happiness was a very foreign and unfamiliar feeling then, but you thought that Jungkook holding you was the closest you could come to it in that moment.

You relaxed into him, closing your eyes as you buried your face in his taut shoulder.

“Are you hurt?”

I’m not the one who is hurt, you fucking moron!

“I’m fine.”

You could imagine Jungkook’s eyebrows pinching at your obvious lie.

“(Y/N)...” You loved the way your name sounded falling from his lips, making you want to smile and cry, all at the same time. “Did I-... Did I do something?”

Yes, we both did.

“No, I did.”

You felt Jungkook leaning back a fraction, wanting you to meet his eyes with yours. You didn’t budge, knowing that seeing him like that would hurt too much.

“What do you mean?” A slow pause. “What did you do?”

You couldn’t suppress your scoff then, the sudden urge to push Jungkook off of you awakening. It withered away just as fast as it had come.

I did many things. I intentionally never let Taehyung know when I started texting you regularly. I never told him I spent all my time with you during Hoseok’s party in January, because it felt like I had done something wrong. I pretended like I barely knew you when you came over for a pregame at Taehyung’s apartment. I didn’t stop you when you kissed me at that other party in the beginning of March, when Yoongi turned twenty-something years old. I went home with you only a week later, letting you undress me and fuck me in any way you saw fit. I kept doing it ever since then, letting Taehyung feel undesirable and like he was the problem as I was busy fucking you instead of him. I started letting myself stay the night at your place, falling asleep in your arms instead of texting my boyfriend goodnight from my own bed at home. I let myself fall in love with you and out of it with the man that had said he wanted to marry me in the future.

I’m sitting here now, wrapped in your arms while Taehyung is in his bed alone, probably wondering where he went wrong.

You felt numb, figure slumped into Jungkook as he held you tightly against his chest.

“Nothing.”

[susssoo]

3 AM

——

It had been an exhausting day for the group. Their day has been filled with radio shows, interviews, rehearsal and to top it all off, a live performance of their latest release ‘Zombie.’

Now don’t be mistaken, they absolutely loved it. Their charisma was fueled purely by the support they received from their fans, My Day, and their undying need to see a positive reaction from their supporters.

The car ride home was unusually quiet, instead of filled with senseless bickering from Jae and Younghyun, it was silent.

But no one commented on it, there were moments where things became a little bit too much, and the air has become a little bit too thick, so they needed a moment to catch their breaths. To think. To relax.

Only an hour and a half later, they’d arrived. Everyone piled out of the van, making their way to the dorm.

Sungjin fumbled with the keys for a moment, before unlocking the door.

As soon as the door had been opened, they’d been hit with a wave of cold air, sending shivers down their spines.

They’d looked at each other, wearing confused expressions on their face.

Sungjin was the first to comment.

“I could’ve sworn I turned the air conditioning off before leaving..”

“It’s fine, maybe someone else messed with it before leaving. Looking at you Wonpil. But seriously, it isn’t that deep man. Let’s just turn the heater on.” Jae added, nonchalantly, while walking over the to turn the heater on.

“Hey! No, I didn’t. I was out the door, I promised I didn’t touch it hyung.” Wonpil argued.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Let’s just turn the heater on already. It’s freezing.” Sungjin replied, placing a hand on Wonpil’s shoulder.

Wonpil walked away, grumbling something under his breath.

——

After everyone had settled themselves in, putting away all their equipment in it's respective area, they gathered together on the couch, deciding dinner.

“What about Ramyeon hyung?” Dowoon asked, while picking a loose string on his sweater.

Younghyun groaned, curling himself into the corner of the couch, wrapping himself around a pillow.

“We had Ramyeon last week, what about Korean barbecue?” He suggested instead.

“We had Korean barbecue last week as well hyung..”

Sungjin interrupted before they could continue any further.

“Well, let’s put it to a vote. Who wants Ramyeon?”

Dowoon and Wonpil were the only ones to raise their hands.

“Korean barbecue?”

Sungjin, Jae and Younghyun all raised their hand.

“Sorry guys, next time?”

Dowoon nodded, and Wonpil didn’t seem to care much.

“Alright, you guys can choose a movie, I’ll order.”

Wonpil’s head perked up, before grabbing the remote from Jae’s hands.

“Yah! What the fuck, you could’ve just asked..” Jae said, irritatedly.

Wonpil paid him no mind as he started scrolling through channels with Dowoon.

——

An hour later, the food arrived. Younghyun was practically was practically beaming, as if he’d been starved.

Sungjin places the food on the coffee table, and before he could even begin his sentence, Younghyun had already started serving himself.

He rolled his eyes, but what could he say, that’s Younghyun for you.

The rest of the members served themselves food as well. They’d order Korean barbecue, Kimchi Fried Rice with Bimbap.

Not to long after, Wonpil and Dowoon had decided on watching some kind of Korean drama. They weren’t too sure what it was about, but it seemed interesting enough. The only downside to this was Jae’s snarky comments throughout the entire episode resulting in multiple pillows thrown and bouts of laughter from their oldest member.

After watching at least half the drama, they all decided to turn in for the evening. Saying their good nights, they all parted ways.

Well, accept Wonpil of course.

He was going to sleep with Dowoon instead.

After all his hyungs had gone to sleep, he quietly made his way down the hall and into the youngest room, quietly opening the door and closing it behind him.

Dowoon didn’t even acknowledge is presence, already aware of who it was. There was already a spot on the bed for him, he was even kind enough to place an extra pillow there for him as well.

Wonpil climbed into his bed, making himself comfortable, curling into the youngest side, wrapping his arms around his waist.

Dowoon continued scrolling through his phone aimlessly, every now and then stopping to read something.

About 10 minutes later he turned to put his phone on the night stand next to his bed, making sure it was plugged in. He turned to Wonpil, who already seemed to be asleep, and carded his fingers through his hair, before whispering a soft ‘goodnight.’

Not too long after, he was consumed by exhaustion and eventually drifted off to sleep.

——

2:57 AM

Wonpil was stirred awake by loud noises coming from the kitchen. This didn’t bother him too much, sometimes his hyungs would wake up in the middle of the night, ravenousness, and make themselves a snack before heading back to sleep.

And by that, he meant Younghyun.

Just as he was about to drift back to sleep, he heard a loud bang come from the living room, followed by a series of noises that followed. This seemed to have awoken Dowoon as well.

“Hyung..” He said, voice heavy from sleep while rubbing his eyes.

“Did you hear that?” Wonpil said, whispering quietly.

The younger nodded, before sitting up and staring at the door.

After a moment, he broke his gaze and went to check the time on his phone instead.

He groaned lightly to himself before throwing the comforter off himself, and getting up from duvet.

“Dowoonie, what are you doing?” Wonpil asked, a hint of fear behind his voice.

“I’m checking the kitchen. Don’t worry hyung, it’s probably nothing, you can stay here..”

Rationally, Wonpil knew that it was probably nothing. It was probably his hyungs being stupid. But he had an unsettling feeling in his stomach, and he didn’t want Dowoon to go alone.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed, standing up slowly and following behind Dowoon.

Upon entering the main area, they sense something is off. Something feels.. different.

Dowoon flicks the light switch, and they’re exposed to a destroyed living room and an even worse kitchen.

Before they can even register what’s going on, the lights cut again.

Now, Wonpil was seriously reeling.

“It must’ve been a short fuse..” Dowoon says, dragging his hands lightly along the wall.

Wonpil is silent for a moment.

“A short fuse?! Are we seriously not about the acknowledge the mess in front of us?! What if someone broke in? Or what if there’s a ghost? Where is everyone else? There’s no way-“

“Wonpil!” Dowoon interrupts him off, placing his hand on his shoulder, in attempts to comfort him. “Breath. It’ll be fine. We’re fine, they’re fine. It’s fine. We’ll figure it out.”

The pair spent an hour looking for a way to turn the power back on, but it seems that it was hopeless.

Wonpil stayed leaned up against a wall, silent, while Dowoon had the flashlight to his phone on, picking up the shattered glass and broken kitchen ware from the floor.

Finally, Wonpil spoke.

“Okay, seriously, there is no way that they’re still sleeping. Not even Younghyun could sleep through this. I’m getting them.” Wonpil huffed, before turning to his other members room.

But upon opening each door, he discovered that there wasn’t anyone there.

[I]What the hell..

He checked everyone room in the dorm, but they were all empty. None of the others members were to be seen.

Now, Wonpil was really starting to panic. As he made his was back down the hall to Dowoon, he heard a piercing scream coming from the living room.

He curled over himself, covering his ears. Everything felt as if it was vibrating, as if the world was spinning. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t breath.

And then it was black. His vision had been consumed by an empty void.

——

Wonpil..

Wonpil..

Someone was calling his name. It sounded odd.

Wonpil..

Stop. Be quiet.

Wonpil..

Stop..

Wonpil!

Wonpil shot up, clutching his chest, hunched over himself. He was dripping with sweat. Out of breath. As if he’d just run a marathon.

He sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, trying to collect himself.

He looked around, examining his surroundings.

Everything was black. As if I’d been engulfed in a thick, black fog. He seemed to be on a dirt road. A bus stop could be seen not too far from him.

He looked for anything familiar. A street sign. A building. But there was nothing, only a the lingering fog that seemed to only get thicker.

He pulled himself off the ground, walking to the bus stop.

There was a single street light next to it, the light flickering on and off.

He took a seat on the bench, trying to read on newspapers that’d been pinned to the wall. But it seemed to be in a language foreign to him.

Wonpil was beyond horrified right now, but he had to keep it together. So he suppressed his feelings of fear, anxiety and pain and tried to think rationally.

He checked the pockets of his sweat pants and it seemed he didn’t have his phone on him.

Before he started to panic again, he took a breath. Maybe he could just wait here, and someone would come? And help him? No, that was stupid. No one was coming. He’s in the middle of no where.

Wonpil..

It’s that voice again..

Wonpil..

He whipped his head around, frantically searching for the source of the voice.

Wonpil..

His skin began to crawl.

Wonpil..

He felt uncomfortable. What is this?

Wonpil..

He stood up, he was beginning to get upset. Maybe it was a mixture of fear, irritation, anxiety, he didn’t know but he just stated running. He didn’t know where he was going, but that didn’t stop him.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally stopped to let himself rest, as he was on the brink of collapsing.

In the distance, he couldn’t faintly see a cluster of trees.

Oh god..

It was a forest.

And Wonpil hated nothing more than forests.

Before the panic could even set in, there was pained scream coming from within the dense woodland.

Please, not again..

Wonpil fell to his knees, and curled in on himself.

He just wanted it to stop. Why wouldn’t it stop?

Wonpil..

No.

Wonpil..

Please stop..

Wonpil.

[chiseler]

The Crowd Doesn’t Just Roar, It Thinks: Warner Bros.’ All-Talking Revolution

“Iconic” is a gassy word for a masterwork of unquestioned approval. But it also describes compositions that actually resemble icons in their form and function, “stiff” by inviolate standards embodied in, say, Howard Hawks characters moving fluidly in and out of the frame. Whenever I watch William A. Wellman’s 1933 talkie Wild Boys of the Road, these standards—themselves rigid and unhelpful to understanding—fall away. An entire canonical order based on naturalism withers. 

To summon reality vivid enough for the 1930s—during which 250,000 minors left home in hopeless pursuit of the job that wasn’t—Wellman inserts whispering quietude between explosions, cesuras that seem to last aeons. The film’s gestating silences dominate the rather intrusive New Deal evangelism imposed by executive order from the studio. Amid Warner Bros.’ ballyhooing of a freshly-minted American president, they were unconsciously embracing the wrecking-ball approach to a failed capitalist system. That is, when talkies dream, FDR don’t rate. However, Marxist revolution finds its American icon in Wild Boys’ sixteen-year-old actor Frankie Darro, whose cap becomes a rude little halo, a diminutive lad goaded into class war by a chance encounter with a homeless man. 

“You got an army, ain’t ya?” In the split second before Darro’s “Tommy” realizes the import of these words, the Great Depression flashes before his eyes, and ours. No conspicuous montage—just a fixed image of pain. Until suddenly a collective lurch transmutes job-seeking kids into a polity that knows the enemy’s various guises: railroad detectives, police, galled citizens nosing out scapegoats. Wellman’s crowd scenes are, in effect, tableaux congealing into lucent versions of the real thing. The miracle he performs is a painterly one: he abstracts and pares down in order to create realism.  

Wellman has a way of organizing people into palpable units, expressing one big emotional truth, then detonating all that potential energy. In his assured directorial hands, Wild Boys of the Road sustains powerful rhythmic flux. And yet, other abstractions, the kind life throws at us willy-nilly, only make sense if we trust our instinctive hunches (David Lynch says typically brilliant, and typically cryptic, things on this subject). 

I’m thinking of iconography that invites associations beyond familiar theories, which, in one way or another, try to give movies syntax and rely too heavily on literary ideas like “authorship.” Nobody can corner the market on semantic icons and run up the price. My favorite hot second in Wild Boys of the Road is when young Sidney Miller spits “Chazzer!” (“Pig!”) at a cop. Even the industrial majesty of Warner Bros. will never monopolize chutzpah. The studio does, however, vaunt its own version of socialism, whether consciously or not, in concrete cinematic terms: here, the crowd becomes dramaturgy, a conscious and ethical mass pushing itself into the foreground of working-class poetics. The crowd doesn’t just roar, it thinks. Miller’s volcanic cri de coeur erupts from the collective understanding that capitalism’s gendarmes are out to get us.

Wellman’s Heroes for Sale, hitting screens the same year as Wild Boys, 1933, further advances an endless catalogue of meaning for which no words yet exist. We’re left (fumblingly and woefully after the fact) to describe a rupture. Has the studio system gone stark raving bananas?! Once again, the film’s ostensible agenda is to promote Roosevelt’s economic plan; and, once again, a radical alternative rears its head.

Wellman’s aesthetic constitutes a Dramaturgy of the Crowd. His compositions couldn’t be simpler. I’m reminded of the “grape cluster” method used by anonymous Medieval artists, in which the heads of individual figures seem to emerge from a single shared body, a highly simplified and spiritual mode of constructing space that Arnold Hauser attributes to less bourgeoise societies. 

If the mythos of FDR, the man who transformed capitalism, is just that, a story we Americans tell ourselves, then Heroes for Sale represents another kind of storytelling: one firmly rooted to the soiled experience of the period. Amid portrayals of a nation on the skids—thuggish cops, corrupt bankers, and bone-weary war vets (slogging through more rain and mud than they’d ever encountered on the battlefield)—one rather pointed reference to America’s New Deal drags itself from out of the grime. “It’s just common horse sense,” claims a small voice. Will national leadership ever find another spokesman as convincing as the great Richard Barthelmess, that half-whispered deadpan amplified by a fledgling technology, the Vitaphone? After enduring shrapnel to the spine, dependency on morphine, plus a prison stretch, his character Tom Holmes channels the country’s pain; and his catalog of personal miseries—including the sudden death of his young wife—qualifies him as the voice of wisdom when he explains, “It takes more than one sock in the jaw to lick 120 million people.” How did Barthelmess—owner of the flattest murmur in Talking Pictures, a far distance from the gilded oratory of Franklin Roosevelt, manage to sell this shiny chunk of New Deal propaganda? 

How did he take the film’s almost-crass reduction of America’s economic cataclysm, that metaphorical sock on the jaw, and make it sound reasonable? Barthelmess was 37 when he made Heroes for Sale; an aging juvenile who less than a decade earlier had been one of Hollywood’s biggest box-office titans. But no matter how smoothly he seemed to have survived the transition, his would always be a screen presence more redolent of the just-passed Silent-era than the strange new world of synchronized sound. And yet, through a delivery rich with nuance for generous listeners and a glum piquancy for everyone else, deeply informed by an awareness of his own fading stardom, his slightly unsettling air of a man jousting with ghosts lends tremendous force to the New Deal line. It echoes and resolves itself in the viewer’s consciousness precisely because it is so eerily plainspoken, as if by some half-grinning somnambulist ordering a ham on rye. Through it we are in the presence of a living compound myth, a crisp monotone that brims with vacillating waves of hope and despair.

Tom is “The Dirty Thirties.” A symbolic figure looming bigger than government promises, towering over Capitalism itself, he’s reduced to just another soldier-cum-hobo by the film’s final reel, having relinquished a small fortune to feed thousands before inevitably going “on the bum.” If he emits wretchedness and self-abnegation, it’s because Tom was originally intended to be an overt stand-in for Jesus Christ—a not-so-gentle savior who attends I.W.W. meetings and participates in the Bonus March, even hurling a riotous brick at the police. These strident scenes, along with “heretical” references to the Nazarene, were ultimately dropped; and yet the explosive political messages remain.

More than anything, these key works in the filmography of William A. Wellman present their viewers with competing visions of freedom; a choice, if you will. One can best be described as a fanciful, yet highly addictive dream of personal comfort — the American Century's corrupted fantasy of escape from toil, tranquility, and a material luxury handed down from the then-dying principalities of Western Europe — on gaudy, if still wondrous, display within the vast corpus of Hollywood's Great Depression wish-list movies. The other is rarely acknowledged, let alone essayed, in American Cinema. There are, as always, reasons for this. It is elusive and ever-inspiring; too primal to be called revolutionary. It is a vision of existential freedom made flesh; being unmoored without being alienated; the idea of personal liberation, not as license to indulge, but as a passport to enter the unending, collective struggle to remake human society into a society fit for human beings. 

In one of the boldest examples of this period in American film, the latter vision would manifest itself as a morality play populated by kings and queens of the Commonweal— a creature of the Tammany wilderness, an anarchist nurse, and a gaggle of feral street punks (Dead End Kids before there was a 'Dead End'). Released on June 24, 1933, Archie L. Mayo's The Mayor of Hell stood, not as a standard entry in Warner Bros.’ Social Consciousness ledger, but as an untamed rejoinder to cratering national grief.

by Daniel Riccuito

Special thanks to R.J. Lambert

[wzwrites]

Like Diamonds in Space - Sakamutsu Fanfic

Chapter 1 - Uprising

Sakamoto still looks at her, smile still gone, and Mutsu turns around feeling as if she’d both won and lost something she could never get back. Something she didn’t know she even wanted for the longest time. But it’s his voice that stops her in her tracks, and his choice of words that makes her clench her hand so tight she can feel her nails tearing into her flesh.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21703096/chapters/51767155

Mutsu wakes up to the sound of gunfire and muffled screams.  

She’s up in a second, brain already caught up to her senses so that she’s just as alert as she would be had she actually gotten enough sleep for once. If there’s one thing her father did good by her, it was training his daughter to be prepared, at any time, any place, to fight for her life. And by the sounds of the thumping footsteps coming down the hall towards her room, this would be one of those fights her father had prepared her for. 

Her assailants are four of the cargo (the people, whispers a small voice inside her head), armed with two guns between them they’d taken off some guards and a butcher’s knife probably from the kitchens. She dispatches them of their shoddy weapons with a few well-aimed kicks, swivelling behind one woman to lock her in a chokehold. They’re all taller than her, bigger than her, but even at the ripe young age of fourteen, there is no one who can match Mutsu’s battle prowess.

No one on the ship at least. But Mutsu likes to think that she would give even other Yatos, her father, cause to pause.  

Humans however, even had Mutsu not trained her entire life to be a warrior ( a slaving warrior ), stand no chance against her. She’s shot two with the gun she’d appropriated from their appropriating grasps, the woman under her hold slowly dying of choked gasps, and when the last man charges at her with a reckless hopelessness, he soon joins his conspirators, leaving Mutsu alone.

She promptly shoots each corpse a second time, just to be sure, and sweeps out into the halls to assess her forces.

She does not need to change. She is always dressed, equipped, prepared for war. Even though this attack hardly counts as war , as slaver guards quickly assemble their forces after their initial surprise, leaving Mutsu to issue orders and gather reports.

This is not the first time the human cargo attempt to throw off their chains. This will not be the last.

  The next uprising comes, in a way that Mutsu could never have predicted.

In the midst of it all is one man. The first thing she notices about him is just how clear and blue his eyes are. His gaze roams over his surroundings, his captors and their weapons pointed at him, and lands on Mutsu moving through the ranks to stand before him. 

He smiles, brilliant and unguarded, and Mutsu is filled with an unbidden urge to knock that smile off his face. 

“Thanks so much for savin’ me, ahahaha. You have no idea how terrible it is to be stuck in a haystack floatin’ in space. It’s not like I’m some elastic pirate searching to become pirate king, ahahaha. Say, this is a nice ship you have. I can tell by the engines thrumming just how well ya treat her. Say, did you have any food on hand? I’m mighty starvin’, it’s all that hibernatin’ in space you do…”

She hates how open he looks. She hates how kind his voice is. How curious and artless and unjaded he appears. He looks older than her, by a few years at least. How could he remain so cheerful and undaunted in the midst of slaving aliens?

“Ahahahaha,” he laughs when she threatens to keelhaul him in the middle of space.

“Ahahaha,” he laughs again, as Mutsu looks on impassively as one of the guards hits him with the butt of his rifle. 

“Ahahaha,” he keeps laughing, talking and joking with his captors as they ship him off under Mutsu’s orders to the cells where the other slaves are held. 

Mutsu’s hand clenches and unclenches, and her guards hurry to clear the way for her as she pushes down the urge to throttle a laughing, gregarious man. 

    She’s still irrationally angry when she makes her way down to the cells a day and a half later. Mutsu is a hands-on leader, learning from her father that the best way to ensure your underlings’ loyalty is to remind them, in person, that you see and hear everything they’re doing. The guards straighten up as she walks by, and Mutsu almost does a switch-turn when the sound of boisterous laughter comes floating down the hall. 

It’s been a day and a half, Mutsu thinks, as she forces herself to approach the end of the hall where most of her prisoners are held. It’s been less than two days, so why is it that the slaves actually look bright, almost cheerful, almost hopeful , for once?

She knows the answer before she even thinks the question. 

He’s there in the middle of a circle of humans, the slaves in the other pens leaning against their bars as if he’s fire, and they can’t get enough of his warmth. He faces the door, but turns his head so that he doesn’t exclude those behind him. He’s smiling and laughing and joking with them, his eyes creased with mirth, as if he has no worries and all the time in the world. 

Mutsu clenches her fist. She digs her nails into her palm. 

It’s also then that he notices her, and somewhere in the back of her mind Mutsu realizes that his senses are too sharp, too quick, for him to be a human civilian.

“Hiya Mutsu!” he waves at her. “Or is it Captain Mutsu? I’d call you Captain Yato but that’s more of your clan name rather than a family name in the way I’m familiar with, right?” 

There’s no hint of mockery in his tone, which only makes it worse. 

The other humans still, shrink almost, and the warm mood of camaraderie immediately dissipates, only to be replaced by haunted looks and swallowed breaths.

The man, if he notices, only continues to greet Mutsu as if they were long-time friends. 

“I’m Sakamoto Tatsuma, I realize we didn’t get a chance to introduce ourselves earlier. The guards here were accommodating enough to tell me who you are, and from the respectful way they talk about you I’m sure you run a tight ship, captain. Ahahahaha. Grabulster here says he’s been serving under you for two years now. I can barely remember the shenanigans I got into when I was your age, ahahaha, never mind running my own ship. You have my admiration, captain.”

Mutsu looks at the two guards posted at Sakamoto’s cell doors, and realizes she does not know either of their names. She narrows her eyes, and they visibly gulp, one inadvertently trying to take a step back into the cell bars behind her. Mutsu turns back to the smiling man, realizing that he was redirecting her attention to where he wanted it, and was succeeding at doing so tremendously. 

She’s disconcerted by all accounts, but if there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s masking her emotions into a schooled, stoic look. So why does she feel her facial muscles tremoring, straining to keep her anger in check?

“You seem to be adjusting to your accommodations rather nicely,” she blurts out, surprising herself at just how easy it is to slip into a near banter when she’s feeling so uncomfortable. He grins at her, lopsidedly. At least he’s not laughing that obnoxious laugh of his.

“I’m a merchant, you see, so adaptation’s all part of the schtick. In a way you and I are much alike, wouldn’t you say?”

“How so?” Mutsu asks, even as her mind reels. Is he comparing himself to a murdering, slaving alien? There’s got to be a limit to his compassion, right?

Sakamoto’s smile softens, and something inside Mutsu clenches , threatening to choke the breath out of her. She hates it. She can’t get enough of it.

“We’re both good at judging the value of merchandise, and the depth and breadth of people, don’tcha think?” 

Mutsu’s eyes narrow.

“So how much would you judge to be the value of the merchandise around you?”

Sakamoto looks at the humans around him, heads bowed and eyes averted, and if he noticed her spitting out the word “merchandise”, he makes no show of it.

“Like a rock,” he says, softly, and Mutsu finds herself leaning in to make sure she’d caught that right. 

“A rock?” she repeats, feeling stupid and hating herself even more because of it. 

“A rock,” he nods. “Each and every one of us a rock.”

He does not meet her eyes, instead turning back to his human compatriots, and Mutsu leaves, feeling as if she’d been dismissed from a conversation she should have been heading in the first place.

She expects gunshots. She expects shouting. She expects the thump of corpses on the ground and the feel of flesh collapsing in as she kicks and punches her way through a mountain of bodies. There is none of that, no violence, no uprising in the way she’s used to, all proverbial pitchforks and eyes filled with murderous intent. Instead, rebellion creeps in through the pearly-white cracks of a mercantile smile, words of sedition and dissent riding in on the waves of a boisterous, obnoxious laugh. She should’ve seen it coming. She does see it coming, notices from the moment she’d gone to check on her prisoners how they seemed lighter, more buoyant, sunken faces lighting up in a way that no prisoner should have the right to. She knew it was him at the centre of it all, and try though she might, she cannot help but be pulled into the periphery of Sakamoto’s charm.

Perhaps that is why she felt so unsettled talking to him. She was angry at him, wanted nothing more than to reach out and tear out that kindly smile from his face, that smile that spoke of trust and growth and dare she think it? Redemption? Who was he, to offer her all this? Who was he, to make her want to project all her self-loathing and desires, especially when they’d just met?

But no, what she wanted even more than to hurt this man who brought life to those around him was to dig into her own palms and rip out her offending flesh for being the way it was. The way it was created. The way her father nurtured and beat into the seed of his own blood, so that it would sprout into his like image, another Yato bent on destruction, domination, death. Fighting is all Mutsu’s ever known. In fact, the years as captain of her own slaving ship were some of the least exciting years of her life. There was no challenge from her enslaved opponents, no thrill in marching down hallways and looking over inventory ledgers day in, day out. And as if the universe wanted to laugh at her pathetic existence, it’d sent this human, this Sakamoto Tatsuma, who smiles at her without a single trace of fear even with a dozen gun barrels pointing at his head, who speaks to her as charmingly as he would to a potential investor, and who now looks at her, gaze measured but with no trace of judgement, and offers her a crooked, boyish smile. 

Of course she’d found herself back at the slave cells. The guards seem just as surprised as she doesn’t feel, and they struggle to recover quickly even as she waves them aside and tells them to leave. 

No one questions their Yato captain, but from the looks of it, the other human captives look like they wished someone had, so that they wouldn’t have to be alone with their captor. 

Mutsu ignores the bodies pretending to sleep, her attention zeroed in on the human in front of her. 

“You’re a businessman,” she starts without preamble. “Tell me, how would you go about selling the lives of your companions for your own freedom?”

His smile falters, but his gaze does not.

“For the price of a rock?” she continues, feeling both pleased and sick at what she’s trying to do. And what is she trying to do? Get a rise out of him? Make him angry, afraid for once, force him to show the hatred he’s no doubt harbouring for this alien who took him and so many of his species captive? 

Mutsu does not know, and she hates not knowing. She does not know how to stop now that she’s started, and she doesn’t know if she wants to stop even if she could. 

Sakamoto still looks at her, smile still gone, and Mutsu turns around feeling as if she’d both won and lost something she could never get back. Something she didn’t know she even wanted for the longest time. But it’s his voice that stops her in her tracks, and his choice of words that makes her clench her hand so tight she can feel her nails tearing into her flesh.

“I wasn’t always a merchant,” he says quietly, the only noise in the space around them apart from the fabricated silence of dozens of breaths being held and bodies being forced into stillness. “Well I was, was born into a business-runnin’ family, but I was a soldier too. A warrior, like you. Fought in a war that went over my head where every day I traded the lives of my companions for a price that is far too precious, far too mundane, than a mere, magnificent rock. I saw friends cut down like boulders being split by pickaxes. I saw friends crumble into granite dust. And, I saw friends harden from the pressure of rivers of blood, until they would either crack into insignificance or bloom into the brightest of all rocks. 

You asked how I would go about selling my companions for my freedom? I offer you a counter-offer. For the price of a diamond per head, and the ship’s weight in diamonds, I offer to buy this ship and all its slaves from you. You might be thinking that that’s too good of a deal, that no one would offer that many diamonds for a pirate ship and some valueless cargo, but where you see mundane stone I see diamonds in the making. 

These people have potential, Captain Mutsu. All they need is for someone to take them off their shelf and polish them until they’re gleaming brighter than any star in the sky. Let me be the merchant here. Let me be the customer.” Let me save them, she hears, but does not hear him say. 

Mutsu is glad her back is facing the humans, and that the guards are nowhere to be seen. She’s glad there’s no one alive to see the look on her face. 

She forces a step forward, and then another, and then another. She cannot walk fast enough. She cannot walk slow enough.

She feels as if there’s a mountain of rocks weighing down her heels, just waiting for her to stumble so they can collapse and bury her in their avalanche. 

He said rocks could turn into diamonds with potential? He was wrong. Mutsu would never be anything but a monstrous, loathsome Yato.

[mskathywriteswords]

Cupcakes at Midnight - Chapter 6

A/N: As warned, angst, hurt, comfort ahead.

True to her promise, the next day, Ava leaves for work without disturbing me. I wake up surprised, since it often feels like every little noise can startle me awake at night -- she must be very stealthy. It’s just me and Cat. Always Cat. 

I’m not sure when I’ll hear from Ava next, so I set about doing my usual weekend stuff and try to put things to the side. I mean, it’s possible she only wants a weekend thing, so who knows where this will all end up.

Picking up my phone, I text Ivy. 

Movies?

She practically texts me back immediately. Are you psychic? I was itching for something to do outside of this house.

I laugh. 

Must be such torture living in Matt’s McMansion bachelor pad. See you in 20?

I toss my laundry in the dryer and jump in the car to meet Ivy. It doesn’t really matter to either of us what’s playing at the theater; we’ll get popcorn, a gut bomb of sugary goodness to share, and a giant soda and be happy watching almost anything. After, there’s a bar upstairs that I’m sure we’ll make good use of.

We go through our usual routine of me getting the tickets and Ivy getting the snacks and drinks. For two blissful hours, I get to escape from everything on the planet. It’s exactly what I need, and I immerse myself in it entirely, not letting any of the real world bullshit in. 

“Drinks?” I ask as the lights come back up in the theater.

Ivy checks her phone and makes a face. “I might have to go. You okay?”

I nod. “Yeah, totally.”

I’m not quite sure what’s gotten under my skin, but I know that I’ll be fine. Something just feels … restless. Unsettled. It’s itching at my belly, but I can’t place it.

“See you tomorrow,” she says, hugging me tight. 

“Tell Matt I said hello, and he still owes me that whiskey.”

As much of a sporty man’s man bro as Matt can be, he’s still one of my favorite people. When he and Ivy met, there was a weird dance of jealousy from both sides, but we found our friendship rhythm and things have been great since. 

Once I’m home, I text my therapist to book my next appointment; it’s been too long. Cat and I curl up on the couch for some quality Netflix time.

What day is it?

I consider for half a second that she might be serious.

That rough of a day? I hit send and imagine her working all day, flour in her hair and selling lots of cupcakes. 

Yeah

Poor thing. Anything I can do to make it better?

Nah

I’m surprised and honestly a little disappointed when that’s all I get back.

Well, let me know if you change your mind

It seems like the right thing to say, although it’s not what I most want to say. What I want to say is: Come over, I’ll rub down your sore and aching muscles. I’ll run a hot bath and pour a scotch. I’ll make you come, then tuck you in, all before 7PM.

Ava doesn’t text me again, and that pit in my stomach is growing. I roll over what I’ve done and said in the last day and a half to have fucked this up again. Maybe I was too much, too fast? I know I can be a lot for someone, my enthusiasm tends to get the best of me. But it never felt that way when we were around each other.

Ivy can sense my disappointment as she meets me in the parking garage the next morning.

“What’s wrong?”

I shrug. I can’t start with the whole story or I’m going to end up crying in the lobby of our building, and Lord knows the security guard doesn’t need that. 

Again.

“Well, when you’re ready to talk, I’m here. Message me if it’s easier, ok?”

“Thanks for the coffee. You’re a good friend, Ivy.”

I sniffle, the tears stinging my eyes. I’m lucky to have Ivy, Matt, Cat, and the rest of my friends, who I don’t make enough of an effort to see.

By lunch, I’m ready to talk a little. 

“So, she’s just kind of … changed. Like, she barely texted yesterday.”

“But she did text? And respond? Who texted who first?”

“She texted me first, and she responded a few times, then disappeared.”

“Nothing today?” Ivy asks, chewing at her expertly-manicured fingernail.

I shake my head. “No. Should I text her?”

Ivy considers this for a minute, staring a little too hard at the ceiling tiles. “Maybe? Do you want to?”

“Yeah, of course I do.”

“Then I say do it. Text her. Maybe she’s waiting for you to text.”

I shrug; that seems like fair advice. I tap out a text asking Ava how her day is going, then tap send. 

It takes until well into the night for her to reply. 

Insane

After considering a few replies, I finally tap out something supportive and ask again if she needs anything. The rest of the night passes with no reply, and I’m starting to actually get a little upset. I’m a good person, one might even think I’m a halfway reasonable girlfriend. Even though I’m not her girlfriend.

I spend the better part of the following day venting to poor Ivy, who mostly nods and agrees with me.

Toward the end of the day, I decide to text Ava again.

Is there something we need to talk about? I feel like you’ve barely said two words to me. 

My phone flashes with an incoming call, and I panic. It’s Ava, so I know I should answer, but the pit in my stomach is now made of lead, and I don’t want this version of reality.

“Hello,” I say, answering.

“Hey.” 

She sounds as exhausted as her texts made her out to be, and I instantly feel bad for adding more to her plate. 

“I don’t want to have this conversation through text,” she says.

I nod, then realize I have to speak. “Yeah, me either.”

“I really like you, Jane,” she says it like a curse. Like she’s surprised. Like she never thought anything would happen. Like it’s the worst thing that could have happened. “I really like you, and the thing is, I can’t like like anyone right now.”

“Okay.”

I don’t want to ask questions, I don’t want to pry. I want to sink into the floor and pretend none of this happened. I want to erase the memories of her in my bed. I want to forget the amazing coffee she makes, and the cupcakes that were mine alone.

“I still want you in my life. I know that’s selfish, but I just…” She exhales and the sound is harsh against my ear.

“That would be nice,” I say, as the first few tears fall. “We can be friends.”

Inside, I’m groaning at myself and my own desperation. 

“We can? I’m glad for that. I wasn’t expecting to meet someone so soon after.”

She trails off, leaving the thought end without clarity and I’m not exactly sure what she means.

“Sure. Of course.”

I know I need to end the call soon, my nose is going to get stuffy and then it will be obvious that I’m a fucking idiot who can’t control her expectations or tears.

“Is it okay if I still text you?” I ask, trying to wrap the conversation up. 

“Yeah, man. Absolutely.”

“Okay, well, have a good night then.”

“Goodnight,” she says, in that sleepy voice that I’m so angry I know is the one she has right before she falls asleep.

Fuck everything.

I call out to work the next day, needing a mental health day. Really, I’m being overly dramatic for something that was two weeks old, but whatever. I order greasy Chinese food and a grocery delivery that wouldn’t quality as any sort of grown up groceries, much less anything that could be cobbled into a meal, and settle onto the couch for a few hours. My mood rotates from angry to upset to depressed to hopeless and back to angry. There are a few pints of ice cream.

Yes, pints with an s.

Around 3PM, I start to feel better, but still can’t make myself stop watching terrible romance movies that only remind me that a) I’m not straight, and b) I’m alone.

Well, alone with Cat.

Why is it that those stupid channels can’t get with the times and give me one gay or lesbian movie. Would it really kill them? Even Arthur has a gay character, and it’s a damn kid’s show.

Suddenly, I realize what I really need; I call my mom. Her voice makes me smile, and the way she always has my back is amazing. She never once asks what I did to fuck things up, even though I’ve gone over it in my head a million times and have cataloged all the possible ways. I could give her an alphabetical list at this point.

“Well, Janey, you know it’s all going to be okay, right?”

“I know, Mom. I know.”

“I wish we were closer, hon. Do you want me to come down for a visit? I’m sure Dad will be fine. Might even do him some good to have to cook his own meals for a few days.”

“No, no. I’m fine, really.”

“Well, if you change your mind, call me. I can be there in an afternoon, ya know. Dad can watch Peanut Butter and Jelly.”

After she says their names, I realize how much I miss the family dogs. 

“Maybe I’ll come up for a visit soon?”

“We would love that, kiddo. Just let me know. I’ll fix up the guest room.” There’s a quiet pause, but it’s not awkward. “I love you so much, honey.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

I definitely stay in the same place I had been and fall asleep on the couch. I wake up to Cat loudly licking the inside of an empty cardboard pint container. I can’t even be mad at him; it was the good stuff.

All of me wants to call out from work again, but I can’t. I rarely call out sick, and this one event isn’t allowed to crush me. I’m stronger than that. 

After I shower, I text Ivy and ask her to bring me a special coffee today. I’m in the mood for something fancy, with multiple names, not a boring drip coffee. She replies with a skull and crossbones, but I know she’ll order it because she loves me and sometimes friends have to order silly, ridiculously named drinks for each other. 

“You look better,” she says, handing me the giant vessel of whipped cream.

“Thanks. I feel better. If she can’t see how amazing all this, is,” I say, turning around. “Then I don’t know why I would want to waste my time with her anyway.” 

Ivy smiles. “That’s my girl.” 

We get through the day together, messaging back and forth and I try to ignore my phone when it chirps, I really do. But I can’t. It’s Ava.

How’s your day?

Now, hear me out. I know I should wait and respond sometime later, but there’s no more need to, right? We’re simply two friends, chatting. I wouldn’t make Ivy wait and text her hours later, so why should I do it here?

I bite my lip to keep the tears in at the reminder.

My day is great. Yours?

Fake it til you make it, right?

Busy still. I wish I could find someone reliable here. It feels overwhelming at times.

I want to empathize, to tell her that I can imagine how it feels -- the pressures of having employees and being the sole person responsible for keeping the doors open. I had considered opening my own business a while back, a cute little coffee shop cafe, but I knew I couldn’t do it on my own. Instead of responding the way I want, I tap out a simple I bet and hit send.

As I’m laying in bed that night, but not quite asleep yet, my phone buzzes on my nightstand. 

I just want one thing to give and go my way.

I can relate, Ava. 

Do you want to talk about all the things going wrong?

I’m pretty sure she’s going to say no again, but I risk asking just in case. I want to be a good friend, even if I can’t quite detach from it all yet. I’ll get there.

I need to close my eyes, but thank you, Jane. You’re the best.

Yes, Ava, I am. Now if only you could really see that, too.

[iamdeadlocked]

Why So Serious?

Ship: Spideypool

Fandoms: Spiderman (Any media), Deadpool (Any media)

The place... is disturbing.

The hall Peter is in disturbing.

It is dark.

Only a few bright white lights every few feet to break up the darkness.

The walls are dirty. At some point in time they were probably white but from years of neglect they took on a grayish tone. If Peter looks closely he could see the nail marks engraved into the wall. As well as a few dark splotches of.... something.

I don’t know what it is, he thinks to himself.

Every few feet on the wall in between the nail markings was either a door or a cell.

The doors had only one opening on it, a small little window someone could slide open if they wanted. inside the cells were pitch black. The only indication someone or something was in the cell were the loud sounds of chains rattling and heavy breathing every so often coming from inside.

Peter can’t see in the cell but he knows without a doubt that whatever is in there can see him.

The air is still, dusty, and stale. Every few moments Peter felt like sneezing and the urge to breathe heavy into a brown paper bag to get some type of relief from the suppressing air grew.

Time has no meaning in the asylum.

Outside the place the sun is shining, the birds are singing, people are heading off to lunch, the world is functioning as it should. Time was passing out there. Here things were different. In here time had no meaning. It was useless to know it so no one bothered. Day in and day out things remained the same. Peter couldn't even tell if it was night or day and he just came from outside.

The sound of dripping water in the distance never ceased.

No matter which direction Peter walks in, no matter how far he walks, the sound of dripping follows him everywhere. It kind of sounds as if the water was following him but that was much too crazy for him.

It is silent. Too silent.

There where people walking aimlessly in each direction, yet none of them made a sound. The sound of their feet muffled by the once white slippers. Despite the many various amount of people who never looked away from the floor or the wall, they never bump into each other. Not once did Peter see them come even close to bumping someone else. It was strange, it made him think that these people have some type of supernatural senses.

The people were disturbing.

Their skin a dusty, unhealthy ash like color. Their eyes devoid of emotion, of life. They walk around Peter, leaving a wide range of space. They came in from the darkness silently and went into the darkness silently. Very few look at Peter as he walks pass. The few brave souls who dare to do so only did for a few seconds before going back to staring at the floor. The few seconds lasted an eternity.

The feeling of being watch is unsettling to Peter. No matter who Peter looks at, no matter which direction he stares off into, the feeling of eyes on his body never left. Perhaps once he passes the people they turn and stare? Maybe it’s the hidden figures inside the cells? It could possibly be the cameras with the red blinking lights on every door? Whatever the reason for the feeling, Peter hates it with a burning passion.

Peter loathes this place.

No matter how many times he goes to the Avengers Asylum, he never gets use to the feeling of dread, the foreboding sense of fear, the feeling of hopelessness, the feeling of... excitement.

The excitement being the only reason why he continues to come back each week.

He takes a deep breath and instantly regrets it. A new smell of human waste and sulfur enters his nose and takes over his senses. Peter’s eyes water just a bit as he tries not to gag.

These living conditions are not by any means legal.

The only people who could manage to live here are the mentally unstable, the people who do not know the difference between right and wrong, the people who don’t notice the abuse. The people who are trapped here, should not live under these conditions, yet no one helps them. Very little people from the outside world knows the horrors that lie inside.

Peter, as much as he hates to admit it, doesn’t help them.

They are the forgotten and the damned. Peter thinks it is not his place to help them, no matter how much he wants to. He doesn’t have the power or the sources to help. Besides even if he was able to help how long with it help? The outside world would help for maybe a year at most before forgetting those that live here. It would be a helpless cause.

Peter picks up the pace to his destination in attempts to runaway from the somber If thoughts. He walks up to a door that is labeled Joker with the initials W.W.W. underneath it.

He knocks three times in quick succession and steps back to wait. An a piercing alarm sounds cutting through the air and echoing off the walls. The people walking behind him don’t pause, don’t react to or acknowledge the loud and sudden noise that suddenly fills the place. They continue as if they hadn’t heard a sound. Perhaps they didn’t? These people could be deaf and blind for all Peter knows.

Despite his fears, despite the urge to run and hide, despite the urge to go home, take the hottest shower that would have made the devil flinch, and hide under his covers, Peter stays put. His heart speeds up. His hands get clammy. If someone was to look into Peter’s eyes, they would see his pupils dilate.

The doors open slowly towards him, a loud eerie screeching sound filling the space. Peter takes another step back so as to avoid getting hit in the face. After what seems like an eternity the doors are fully opened.

Peter steps inside and the door slams shut. How a door opens slowly but shuts quickly is beyond me, Peter thinks to himself.

The dripping sound that followed him in the hall disappears. The sounds of chains rattling and the heavy breathing abruptly cut off. The silence is unnerving. In the center of the room sitting under one bright light bulb that is hanging from the ceiling is a man. He is sitting at a table strapped to the chair he is in. His arms are bolted down to the arms of the chairs tightly, his legs bolted to the front of the chairs, his chest wrapped tightly in metal to the back of the chair.

Peter would think that would be enough to hold a man down but he knew from experience that he was wrong.

On top of the metal straps holding him to the chair, he had heavy chains going from his wrists, chest, and ankles to some bolts dig into the ground around him. The only thing the man has free is his scarred, bald head.

He stares at Peter. Eyeballing him from his position in the room, the look of amusement on his face.

The man breaks down everything about Peter's day in his head. He may not act like he was smart but Peter knew deep deep down that Sherlock Holmes has nothing on this man.

The man is dangerous, deadly, insane, uncontrollable, unstable, smart, stunning, charismatic, and convincing and so much more. His mind is damaged, broken, and never to be mended. If anyone listened to him talk they would think he was some kind of idiot who was disassociated with the real world. However according the the files in Peter’s hand the last person who underestimated the man was buried six feet under.

Peter knows this. Knows he shouldn’t be excited to talk to this heavily scarred man in the worst insane asylum in history, he knows that he should feel afraid with the way he’s staring, feel anxious and intimidated but he doesn’t. Peter loves the attention. He loves the heavy weight of this crazed man’s eyes on him. He craves the attention that he hardly ever gets on the outside. The man knows Peter loves the attention. He knows Peter is only playing hard to get. He knows that Peter craves the attention he gives. His bright hazel eyes follow Peters movements as he walks from the door to the other side of the table. Peter places the folders he has clutched in his arms onto the surface. He straightens out his glasses and sits down. Peter opens the files labeled W.W.W. Peter in order to look unfazed and bored, looks down and pretends to read the words on the paper but it is all a farce. He has every line memorized, every single word committed to memory. Some people would call it an obsession but Peter prefers the term fascination.

This is nothing but a routine for them. A game they play at the beginning of the session.

The eyes that were on him were a distraction to his fake reading. A very welcomed distraction.

“Ahhh it if isn’t my beautiful little Harley Quinn. How is daddy’s little monster?” He mummers adoration coloring his voice, his eyes closing half way as he studies Peter’s body language.

On the outside Peter feigns annoyance and rolls his eyes. He shuts the file and leans back in the metal chair and folds his arm. He sighs as if to say he is fed up with the other and his stupid nicknames. On the inside is different, Peter swoons under his adoring tone, he blushes heavily at the man’s undivided attention. Peter yearns for more. Peter yearns for him.

The bald man sees right past Peters annoyed display. He knows Peter’s tales, knows his body language, knows Peter inside and out.

He laughs suddenly and loudly.

“HAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA”

Just as quickly as it came it left and he did nothing but stare again his head tilting to the side in a questioning gaze. The silence is once again deafening. The man isn’t know for his lack of talking. There’s a reason he’s called Merc with a Mouth.

At this point Peter is almost wishing for the dripping sound to return. Anything to make him less nervous. The chained man didn’t seem like he was going to break the silence anytime soon so Peter did.

“Wade. How many times do I need to tell you? My name is not Harley Quinn, nor am I daddy’s little monster.”

No matter how much I wish I could be he silently says.

Wade’s face hardens. The hazel eyes, that Peter loves to stare into and fantasize about at night, darken. The man smiles once more but this time it looks painful with all the scars shifting at the movement.

Wade’s head falls to his chest and his shoulders shake.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHHA”. The laugh is not as long as the first time but it’s just as loud if not louder.

Wade brings his head back up and he stares into Peter’s soul once again, dropping his smile to a grim look.

“You’ll always be my little Harley Quinn and I’ll always be your Joker.”

Peter glares at him and says nothing. Wade sighs but smiles again. The smile is unsettling, this one is very fake and mocking. It shakes Peter to his core.

“Why so serious Spidey?”

[selinaneveahcrystal]

A/N: In honour of the answer that @bounding-heart replied to wanting a fic of Nagini being tragically drawn to damaged orphan Tom in the same way she was drawn to Credence.

Hopefully, it hits all the right nails and satisfies every criteria xD.

...

It’s been too long.

Far too long, that no one has understood her.

She stares at the tiny boy, handsome but oddly calm, the surprise only momentarily showing in his intelligent eyes as he tilts his head, glancing back at her.

There’s a beat of silence as her tongue flickers, and they both assess each other through their dark eyes. A hope that she knows could very well destroy her rises in her chest as the deadened leaves in the cave rustled under her belly.

Had he just understood her?

She hisses delicately in his direction, watching warily as his eyes brightened.

“You’re different too, aren’t you?”There’s a hunger that’s so familiar in his eyes. The desperation and yearning of finding himself to be something more than just what he currently was sending a pang into her deadened heart, coinciding with the fading image of another male, long ago. Fragile and broken, handsome and desperate for recognition.

She hisses in response, her body coiling around his right arm, her head rising to rest against his shoulder, her tongue flickering almost comfortingly as she hissed against his ear.

Yes.

He hears her, and brightens at her response as she preens.

It’s been too long that she’s managed to make someone feel better in ways that she could no longer respond in. It reminds her of the time that she used to be able to move on two feet, to comfort someone with words other than hissing.

He leaves much earlier than she’d like him to, but returns the next day with peace offerings.

Dead rats and mice, leftover foods from the table.

She prefers the leftover foods as compared to the rats and mice, her fading memory of delicious human food a more distinct memory than all others. There was nothing more than she missed than being able to consume warm food, well cooked and seasoned.

“You almost remind me of a human.”The boy reaches over to stroke the top of her head as she eats, voice a soft whisper. “And you’re beautiful.” She hisses her pleasure in response, and bumps her head against the palm of his very hand, a smile creasing in her heart as a peal of laughter falls from the lonely boy’s lips.

They spend their days in passing just like that, with him sneaking into the cave that she found refuge in every evening, bringing with him bulging pockets of food and game.

He’s playing and levitating fragments of stones in the air when the Muggle children find him, and the first thing he does is to hide her behind a pillar of stone.

“Stay here.”Affection is almost clear in his voice as he rubs his hand over her head. “I’ll chase them away. The adults will kill you if they know that you’re here.”His handsome face slips into a frozen mask of indifference, eyes darkened with hate and malice, and she all but curls against him, unsettled.

Don’t go.

The plea is clear in her hidden voice, the strong wrap of her body around his tiny hand.

He smiles lightly, prying his hand lose from her restricting body and steps into the light.

Credence!

A wave of her strongest human memory, riddled with pain and rife with heartbreak bursts into the forefront of her mind.

He knows where you’re from, not who you are!

Please!

The handsome but broken male in her memories glances back at her, torn but desperate, reluctant affection in the contours of his face as he drinks in her features.

Credence!

His hand slips from her own, and she screams in pure agony as he never returns.

...

His body is the only thing that they find amongst all the corpses of the dead in the aftermath of the battle.

“I’m..sorry..”It’s a word that she’s heard one too many times throughout the course of her life, and her hand shakes as his dark eyes stare back at her, blank and unseeing.

She hates the fact that the Mazoologist and his wife are standing behind her, watching her crumble and break over a corpse of a lover that she could never call her own.

Hates, the fact that all eyes are upon her with pity--an emotion she so detests, having been at the receiving end of it apart from amusement and greed throughout her life.

Credence is gone, and there’s nothing left in her cold heart that could ever let her fear again.

Everyone gathered around her flinches visibly as a broken keen rises from behind her parted lips, her face lifting to the bright clear sky as tears escape from her long lashed eyes.

It’s a cry that they all feel, broken and crushed, of hopelessness and endless despair.

Her body writhes, changes, deforms--and for once in her life, Nagini doesn’t care.

She hears the horrified cries wrenching through the air as she lets the beast in her consume her soul and body, feels the fading touch of Newt’s fingers as he reaches for her morphing hand, desperation on his face.

The beautiful dress that she dons falls to the ground as she slithers from its depths, her body curling upon the broken form of Credence almost protectively.

She is a beast.

Will be, a beast, from now on.

Her eyes turn towards Credence’s broken body as her tongue flickers, the last remnant of humanity that remained disappearing like the dying embers of a fire at its end.

There’s a beat of silence as they all wait, before she opens her mouth and swallows his body whole.

...

A cry of pain draws her back into the present, and her serpentine eyes flicker as she uncurls from behind the pillar, the sight of the boy that was kind to her sprawled on the ground, nose broken and bleeding as he lifts a hand to stop the endless blows.

The boy has magic. That much she knows.

So why isn’t he using it?

A long forgotten feeling of fear and anxiety rises in her chest as she watches the Muggle boy, twice his size, rain blow after blow on his fragile body.

He doesn’t know how to use his magic that well yet.

The realization strikes her like a cruel blow.

He’d been levitating rocks and playing with magic around her for so long that she’d forgotten that he was supposed to be a Muggle orphan, without anyone to direct him or teach him how to better control his magic.

Rage is clear on his face, and from experience, she knows that his magic will lash out soon enough, to detrimental consequences.

But it’s taking too long. Far too long, and the flash of the shining pocket knife in one of the child’s hands sends a cold chill racing down her bones.

No!

She strikes before any of them knows what’s happening, her teeth snapping at the hand of the boy holding the knife, cleaving it from the rest of his body before he even delivers a blow.

Screams of horror, pain and confusion burst from the rest of the Muggle children, and she registers vaguely as she turns to attack the rest of the children that the boy has his hand out, hatred and venom clear in his eyes as the two main perpetrators of the group dangle by their necks in the air, their bodies flopping around like kites in the wind.

She curls her body around his, tugging him back with a light squeeze of her strong body from the endless wave of rage and anger.

His magic responds to his wish, violently throwing the two Muggle children against the ragged ends of the rock wall.

A sickening crack of bone echoes in the cave, and the boy breathes heavily as she curls around his body, her huge size dwarfing his tiny frame.

She bumps his head with her own, trying to comfort him as his chest heaves with emotion and rageful anger.

There was no point dwelling on it now.

The boy that reminded her so much of him--was safe now.

Her hissing wakes him from his exhilarated stupor, the realisation that he’d used his magic for offensive purposes and protection twisting his features into something enlightened but wild.

“Nagini, you need to leave.”He breathes lightly as she hisses angrily in response to his words, snapping her tail around his wrist in protest. “I will find you, I promise. But you need to leave before they find you.” Footsteps of heavy feet and the stench of fire and smoke fill their nostrils as he pries her tail off his right arm and shoulder. “Go!”

She finally leaves at his behest, watching his tiny back as he stares down the orange flames in human hands, and the accusing eyes of those out for his demise.

...

She doesn’t recognise him when he returns for her, her days of hunting and surviving in the Forest of Albania having turned her into a merciless hunter and beast. Separation was never something good for her, especially when she’d formed a bond so strong to another that she treasured.

Leaving him that day so many years ago had reminded her of the day she’d failed to retain Credence, the overwhelming sense of weakness and failure something she could no longer accept and take.

She needed to be stronger, faster, better--deadlier, so that she would never have to lose anyone ever again.

“Nagini.”It’s no surprise that he recognises her. After all, she’s stayed the same throughout all these years, waiting for his promise, waiting, and making herself better.

But she doesn’t recognise the handsome boy that she once knew in the wisp of someone else’s body that is apparently him, and rage fills her entire being as she slithers up the man’s side, mouth poised open to devour the cowering man on the other end that had seemingly defiled him.

The boy that she’s waited for no longer has a body, she learns gradually through his recounting of his story. A mishap of people who misunderstood him and desired to eliminate him.

He feels her righteous rage at his words, smiling as she curls around his right arm protectively, tongue flickering and teeth snapping as she hissed.

How could they want to hurt someone as kind as him?

Rage boils in her blood as she recalls his tiny but strong back, standing in the light of the flaming torches, and his insistence that she get away.

She’d failed at protecting him, once again.

The ire in the contours of her body is conveyed over to him, and he glides a finger down her back soothingly.

What is the point of growing stronger when she could never protect him?

He laughs at her question, amusement in his face and dark eyes sparkling with hidden intent.

“What do you think of seeking another body for me, Nagini?”He asks her gently, relaxing as she uncurls her body from his shoulder to glance at him. “A body that will never allow anyone to separate us ever again.” His words hit her deepest desire, stirring long lost feelings of hope and desperation. “We’d never be apart again.”

His dark eyes turn to her own, and she sees a shadow of redemption in his figure, of long lost hope and missed chances, and she curls tightly around his right arm, head slithering up to rest on his shoulder.

Yes.

...

A/N: So the ending is set before the beginning of the Philosopher’s Stone. Voldemort has no body after killing Harry, and has just taken over Quirrell’s body when he meets Nagini again.

Also, there’s something that I included that draws parallels between Nagini and Credence and Nagini and Voldemort.

I wonder how many of you noticed that Nagini tends to attach herself to one side of Credence in the movie or in the promos

Almost as though she’s kinda wrapping round his shoulder.

She does the same for Voldemort in the movies too, in her snake form.

She’s always at their left side or favours their left side to make an appearance. 

Its actually interchangeable for Credence, but in a way I used it as a way to express her imprinting her lost chances and image of Credence on him--her desire to be wanted, for companionship.

There’s another parallel too.

Remember when Credence walks through the flames to Grindelwald’s side?

I strengthened the parallel between Credence and young Voldemort by letting her see his back as she leaves, seeing him face fire just as Credence did when he chose to leave.

Did you see the parallels? 

xD

Also, before any of you whale on me for humanising Voldemort, remember that its from her point of view--when he returns, she’s never seen what he did before while he was outside in the world, and her only memory of him stops at the time when he protected her in his youth. So to her, he’s kind and cares for her, and its worse that his image is parallel to Credence, someone that she clearly cares for and loves.

Let me know what you guys think, and if you did see the parallels when you read this fic, before I revealed them in the A/Ns!

I’d love to read and hear all your comments hehe.

Shoutout to @english-coffee for betaing this for me :3 You and I relate on so many levels when it comes to Nadence

[mademoiselleseraph]

12th Perigee's Eve with Some Minor Celebrities

A very belated secret santa gift for the @hiveswapsecretsanta2018 and @the-bisexual-dumpster about Charun, Chixie, and Cirava spending the holiday together and being best buds

~~~

Charun was running late, but when weren’t they running late? They supposed it was a small price to pay for looking nice.  They knew looking nice for them meant looking like a disaster to others but it was typical for -- what did people call them? -- oh yeah, avant garde types.  They were so avant garde. The avant-est of garde. Yeah.

They had already combed their hair (just to muss it up just right), brushed their teeth (doing what they could to dull their fangs), and washed their face (and applied some blood based paint to the sides of their mouth and one of their temples).  Next step was to say goodbye. They patted the shell of their lion-faced snail lusus, Speedy, promising to be safe. Then they went to the ventriloquist dummy they found one day and had a strange attachment to though they could not, for the life of them, remember where it came from or when they first saw it, let alone what species it was supposed to portray.  Some kind of demon thing? Maybe. They gave it a strong hug and gently placed it back down on the floor. Finally, they went to the wall.

The dummy always gave Charun what a friend of theirs would describe as “weird fucking vibes, man lmao.”  Looking at its glassy eyes and painted smile unsettled them. It gave them a jittery giddiness for pain and destruction that itched and disoriented.  There was a wall in the cave that had the opposite effect. The words scrawled all about in various shades of blood had a somber, melancholy look, but filled them with hope.  They ran a finger under the words where they seemed to start.

“Let it be known before all else,” it read, “that there is no sin in wanting to live.  Second, that to help instead of harm one’s fellow troll is nobler by far. Third, that worth and character cannot be determined by blood.”

And it went on.  Their favorite part of it was the tale of Twelfth Perigee’s eve.  This figure and his group traveled by day as often as they could, shielding themselves from the harsh sun with parasols, cloaks, and scarves.  But the Twelfth Perigee was the darkest of all perigees, and one could could walk freely without fear of burning on that one day. They celebrated the ease of their burden, baking sweet cakes for the orphans and sharing cordial among the adults.

And then they remembered the sweet cakes.  They had baked them in a fit of inspiration from the ancient scribblings to take to their friends for their Twelfth Perigee’s Eve get-together.  Oh right, they were really quite late now. They put the still warm cakes into an insulated bag, and then into another insulated bag to be sure they were kept warm, and then in a basket for that rustic charm.  They slipped on a coat, shaped to look like it had odd growths under the material and decorated with scrap metal, and headed out.

Meanwhile, Chixie was worried.  She was often worried due to various factors, mostly having to do with cameras and what they would capture and what others would do with it.  But it wasn’t entirely about that this time.

Her worrying was a major reason her friends agreed to meet at her place for Perigee’s Eve.  That way no one would catch her walking to anyone’s hive and start rumors that would convince her more powerful and more obsessive fans to take out the competition in gruesome ways.  Would that happen? No way to say for sure, but she’d rather stay on the safe side.

It must have been around the fifth time she looked out the window in the span of twenty minutes when Cirava called to her from the couch.

“Chix, I’m gonna need you to calm down,” they said.  “This isn’t the first time they’ve run late and it won’t be the last.”

“I know,” she replied in as un-snippity a manner as she could.  “but it’s been a while since you got here and you never know what kind of creeps are out there or what they’re seeing or what they’re saying.”

“Are people really watching your hive to see who comes and goes?”

“It’s not like I’m that hard to track down and it’s not exactly difficult to get into the bronze side of town.”  Her breathing quickened and her face contorted in panic as she continued: “And you know whatever they write about me, he’s gonna see it, and --”

“Chixie!”  They clamped a hand on her shoulder, trying to snap her out of it.  “This is ultimately your place so you’re gonna do what you’re gonna do.  But when you get worked up like this, you get agitated, then bitter, then hopeless, and that’s about when you tend to hit the bottle.”

Her shoulders drooped and she sank into the couch under their arm and squeezed the hand still holding her shoulder.  They were a wispy thing and by all logic their bony limbs should have hurt to be held in, but nothing could make anyone feel safer.

“I don’t mean to cross any bounds by sounding all conciliatory and shit,” they continued, “but you said you were tryna cut back, so I figured we should at least wait til Charun gets here.”

“You’re not crossing anything,” she insisted, hugging them back.  “I know you’re not meaning it like that, and I appreciate you trying to help.”

“While we’re at it maybe we could not talk about him today?  Whenever he gets brought up, you seem to feel worse, and I know I don’t have any fond memories of the guy.”

“Yeah.  I could use a break from even thinking about him.  When do you think Charun will get here?”

And just then there was a knock at the door.  Speak of the devil.

Chixie opened the door and drew Charun into a warm hug.

“I know I’m late...” they mumbled.  An unfinished thought, but soon to come again.

“Oh, we’re just happy your safe!” Chixie chirped.

“You had her worried sick, dumbass,” Cirava joked.

“...but I brought food,” they concluded, holding up the basket.  “Cakes for everyone.”

Cirava took the basket to the table and opened the insulated bags.

The lovely smell hit Chixie’s nose instantly.  “Chocolate?”

“And raspberry!” Cirava murmured, mouth already full of a bite.

“Glad you like ‘em...” Charun droned on.  “Made plenty…. Have ‘smany as you’d like….”

They tactfully did not mention the lack of cordial in respect for Chixie’s little problem, or the fact the inspiration came from a wall someone had written on in blood.

They talked fans, making sure to exclude him as promised, and the pressure of fame, and lusii of course.  They were still young after all. Eventually they stumbled on the subject of Chixie’s lovely home and decorating.

“Yeah, I normally don’t get too festive,” she admitted, “but I wanted to go all out for you two.”

“It’s….” Charun mumbled.

“Bitchin’,” Cirava stated.

“....Pretty,” Charun concluded.

She swelled with pride, took a deep breath, and let herself process that pride.  “Yeah, it’s not too shabby,” she said. “Actually, I think I did a great job!” It felt good.  It felt true.  None of that coy oh, you bullshit or false modesty.  She didn’t have to pretend around them because they knew it too.

Her hive really was decked to the nines.  Tinsel garlands, evergreen wreaths, the bones on the mantle, a roaring fire, candles, and of course the behemoth leaving with its own decorations.

“Why is that even a thing?” Cirava asked, gesturing to it.  “Like how did that start? It’s not entirely sanitary.”

“Oh, I know this one!” Chixie said.  “It’s excellent fertilizer. It used to be that you’d keep it in the hive so no one could steal it, and you’d put it on your crops through the planting season and they’d grow like crazy.  The decorations started with cloves and evergreen twigs to make it smell better.”

“And the bones…” added Charun, “...were good for crops too…. But also… after you suck the marrow out… you can string ‘em up like windchimes….  Scares off some aggressive species... if you live out in the middle of nowhere….”

“Speaking of aggressive species,” Cirava noted, setting up their husktop, “you guys wanna shout out to my fans with me?”

The others agreed and sat on either side of them as they got the microphone ready, put on their camera face, and hit record.

“Hey all you funky little weirdos.  I’m taking a break from streaming to spend the holiday with some dear friends, but I’ll be back the day after tomorrow.  Thank you so much for all the love and support, and I’ll be sure to link in the description where you can listen to some of my fresh beats til I get back.  But hey, from me and mine to you and yours--”

And then they all said, more or less in unison, “Happy Eve!” and waved at the camera. Cirava shut it off and posted the video to their chittr and other social media accounts, then put the husktop away.

And with that out of the way, and some touches of worry as to what her fans would make of it, Chixie decided it was best to break out the punch.  She made it in advance and left it to chill and had completely forgotten it. That must have been Cirava’s doing, she realized, keeping her mind on other things and away from the drink.  Though she restrained herself and made it significantly less boozy than she usually did, and apologized if that made it taste funny.

“Actually,” said Charun, “I think it’s… better.”

And she flashed a quick but genuine thank-you smile.  She never really drank it for the taste before.

And they went on like that.  Cirava and Charun passed a pipe between them, offering to Chixie.  She only took one hit, not wanting to dry out her throat. Cirava, on the other hand, blew all manner smoke rings and swished their hand in the smoke to make blurry semblances of shapes.  Charun tried to trace abstract outlines of them with their own finger. Something about it gave Chixie a cheery sense of ease that was quite rare to her. She asked Cirava if the case for their husktop was soundproof, which they confirmed, and she suggested they all put their palm husks in with it.

“So….  What was that about?” asked Charun.Chixie had the beginnings of a mischievous little smirk at the corners of her mouth and replied, “How about singing some carols?”

“Um, are you out of your gourd?” Cirava shot back.

“I already plugged the TV and anything else that might be bugged.  And besides, what’s Twelfth Perigee’s Eve without a little illegal activity?”

“We should steal…” Charun trailed off, “from highbloods!  And leave shit… on their lawnrings.”

And after some scared looks from their companions, they took it back.

“Nah…. You’re right… that’s a death sentence…. Let’s just sing some songs.”

Chixie started with the old familiar melody:

“Oh, merry moon

Lend me your tune

For on my pipes to play”

And then Charun in a surprisingly graceful baritone voice:

“And may the lonesome

Find a home

On this most holy darkest day”

And they both looked to Cirava waiting for them to join.  Eventually they caved.

“They killed him

And they cursed him

But it’s said he’ll come again”

And all of them in unison:

“So merry moon

Lend me your tune

To welcome an old friend”

And they sang songs about respite and recovery and joy to be found among friends and a fruitful new sweep with burdens lifted.  Songs that were outlawed and had to be sung in complete secrecy for fear that they could start a riot. Songs that made one feel like an honest rebel just for singing. ��Man, Twelfth Perigee’s Eve carols are hardcore! Well, maybe not outside of that context.

And hours stretched on and on and the three friends drew closer until crammed together on a single couch cushion.  The smiles were genuine and the hands gestured naturally as they spoke about what happened sweeps ago and what might in the sweeps from then.

The softest, weakest bits of sunlight slipped in through the shades as dawn broke, getting a gasp out of Chixie.

“I didn’t mean to keep you out so late!” she apologized.  The light was dim enough to walk in but highblood customs involved drugs and destructive raiding well into the morning.  As one could imagine, it wasn’t safe.

“You’re fine,” Cirava said.  “Cool if we crash here?”

“Sure!” she replied.  “I just have the one ‘cuperacoon though.”

“Cirava can take… the couch,” said Charun.  “I just need… some pillows….”

“Well, actually, if you two don’t mind, maybe we can share it?”

“You sure…?  That wasn’t...virgin punch… it was still spiked….”

“Yeah, Chix, you really okay with this?  We can sleep out here.”

“I’m sure!  If you don’t want to, you don’t have to, but it’ll probably be much more comfortable.”  There was a slight pause as she gathered up the courage to say, “I trust you guys.”

That came as a pleasant surprise to both of them.

“Alright,” Cirava said, followed by Charun some time after.

They barricaded the doors, not that it would really stop anyone, but it did make them feel a little better, and Chixie led the way to her respite block

There they took their waking clothes off and realized just how wonderfully not-awkward it all was.  At no point did they feel like they should be ashamed or that they shouldn’t do it. Though it did get them all cracking up about a conversation they had earlier that sweep, about how if they couldn’t fill their quadrants in adulthood, they’d somehow find each other and pail.

“I really hope that’s not the case,” Cirava said after a good chuckle, “for your sakes.  I wouldn’t want either of you having to fill a bucket with my ugly mug.”

“That’s what…” Charun replied, “...paper bags are for…!”

And there was another round of hearty laughter as they all squeezed in together.  Admittedly, it was a tight fit, but not uncomfortable. Three kids in one recuperacoon.  That would have been some kind of safety code violation if there existed safety codes to violate on Alternia.  Besides the basic “do not fuck with the drones” but that was more common sense.

They realized just before drifting off that they were all holding hands.  And that morning with its cloudy skies and lazy sunshine was the most restful sleep any of them ever had.

[wonkookiemon]

Trap House ( Yoongi x Reader)

◄Masterlist:

◄Most Rated Works:    Be a Good Girl     †     BTS DADDY REACTION

◄Member(s): Yoongi ft. (J-hope, Jimin, Taehyung)

◄Word Count: 5k

◄Warnings: Drug use/abuse( if you squint), sex under the influence, a few supernatural beings, dirty talk, oral giving,  asphyxiation, mentions/talk of blood, marking, dominating tendencies, alcohol use, brief mentions of death.

◄ Please read the warnings before you read thank you. This one shot will be in both points of view.

To live means to exist. To exist you must live. A motto Yoongi has been trying to accomplish throughout his long-term existence. 86 years ago, his heart stopped beating and he’s made a pact with himself that he wouldn't hold back on life for as longs as he dead.

Yoongi kept his senses on high alert as he walked down the dark alley way of 54 and Park. This alley was filled with freaks, murders and home to the hopeless and homeless earning its name “No Man’s Zone”. The alley way was a scape goat for may unwanted supernatural beings and worthless humans. Both species managed to find a mutual ground when it comes to attacking the travelers who dare to walk through. Quite frankly Yoongi is brave as fuck, and immortal so it was almost like a walk in the park.

“Hey, you got some change boy?”

Yoongi looked up from his feet and side eyed the bearded man. His eyes squinted in curiosity. “John?” Yoongi breathed out with a half smirk.

“Damn, boy I barely recognized you in this alley. You fucking crazy?” John licked is cracked lips letting out a raspy chuckle.

“Just testing the limits of immortality” Yoongi smiled. Digging through his pocket he found a scrunched up $50 bill and handed it to John.

“You know I’ve been trying to get off these streets bu-”

“I’ll see you around John” Yoongi nodded his head before walking off. It was almost the same story each time he saw him. He just hoped that one day the money he gave John will help him get out of this place.

Almost reaching his destination Yoongi’s phone began to ring. Already having an idea of who it was Yoongi hit the call button and waited for Jay to talk.

“Look man, I’ve hit a bit of a snag” He rasped.

“And what might that be? Cus, I’m almost at the house” Yoongi gritted out in annoyance.

“My Mom wants my step sister to get out of the house, and I kid you not this girl has no fucking friends and y’no how I've been telling my mom I've been hanging at with you all at the Jerry’s club-”

“well yeah-”

“She begged me to bring her with me, and threatened me saying I would have had to stay home and like, hang out with her, but getting faded seemed to be the better option so-”

“Fucking spit it out Jay”

“I brought her with me”

“So now you gotta fucking babysit-Does she fucking know what you are Jay or did you not go over that with her. She will legit be dead by dawn if you just let her walk through-DID YOU THINK THIS THROUGH?” It’s safe to say Yoongi was pissed as fuck.

“Bro, she’s really chill and she’s won’t say anything”

“Does she know what you are”

“I told her before we left the house”

“You’re dumb as fuck” Yoongi dead panned.

“She told me she already knew” Jay chuckled.

“Smart Girl”

“So, we’re like Five minutes out-Wait I think I hear you, just be cool man, don’t freak her out or anything”

“I can already hear your loud ass from across the alley”

“Piss off” Jay hung up the phone and looked down to see you scrolling through your Instagram feed.

“Just stay by my side okay, Yoongi said he’s cool with you-y’no coming and everything”

“You know you honestly could have just lied and let me stay at some old diner”

“Hell no-” Jay scoffed. “Look, There’s Yoongi”

You raised your head and saw his Yoongi’s frame walking towards you and it was quite creepy, but you still wanted to keep an open mind. You didn’t understand how Jay could see though all of the fog and darkness of the alley, which leads you to question-

“He the one that turned you?” You looked up at Jay who had a frown on his face from your question.

“Don't ask stupid questions (y/n)-yah, you’re not ready for the answers just yet.”

“I already know what you are so its more of a statement” You said boldly.

“Hush, we’re going inside now” Jay stopped at two huge black doors and turned over his shoulder to look at you once more.

“Yoongi hurry the fuck up” Jay murmured.

“Like he can hear that shit” You rolled your eyes. Which was your mistake, Yoongi was by your side in the blink of an eye causing you to screech, as you looked up at him.

Both men chuckled and continued as if it was nothing. Though Yoongi seemed harmless there was this look in his black eyes that made your skin crawl. Instead of dwelling on his unsettling presence you thought it was best to keep your distance from him for the rest of the night, if it was possible. Knowing your luck, you knew you were bound to being alone with him at some point.

“Eyyyyyyyyyyyyy” loud voices shouted, along with the loud music surrounding the house as you walked through the doors of the “house”. Smoke immediately hit your face mixed with the smell of booze and other shit which you knew nothing of.

“(Y/n), pay attention” Jay tugged your arm bringing you out of your haze.

“Uh, ya-You forgot to mention that the house we were going to is a fucking crack house”

“I thought you said she was cool” Yoongi’s deep voiced startled you from behind.

“She is, bro chill” Jay narrowed his eyes at his friend.

“I just didn’t know where we were going okay” You tried to defend yourself, but you ended up looking more stupid under Yoongi’s dark gaze.

“You got a fucking problem?” You asked glaring at Yoongi.

“Bold as fuck” Yoongi shook his head and continued to walk through the house.

“Jimin said he and big head are upstairs doing pre-game”

“Pre-game?” you said aloud to yourself.

“Yeah, pre-game” Yoongi smirked coyly.

“Ignore is ass” Jay wrapped his arms around your and led you up the stairs.

“What even is this place” You marveled at the high ceilings, and the marble stairs seemed made of glass, the railing was covered in fine mahogany wood gliding smoothly across your hands as you walked up the stairs.

Reaching the top of the steps your eyes trailed over the open half lit room and met with two other men sitting on couch not so far away from the steps. Both men seemed to have the attention of the girl that sat in the center of them. Her body slightly limp and her head tilted back. Both men unfazed by your presence seemed to be looking at you with confused yet cooled expressions.

“You guys done?” Jay asked with a nervous laugh.

“Who’s your friend” The long blond haired man said biting his lower lip.

“(Y/N), meet bonehead” Jay pointed to the blond who graced his features with a charming smile that reached his sky-blue eyes.

“bonehead meet my younger sister (y’n)”

“Is she even alive” You asked randomly yet no one seemed to want to answer your question.

“Okay first of all, my name is Taehyung, and secondly I’m not quite catching the resemblance.” He scratched the back of his head still looking slightly confused about your presence.

“That’s his step sister, he literally talked about her last week, remember? -said he couldn't bare the sce-”

“That's Jimin” Jay shouted, shutting him up

“You could have at least saved us some” Yoongi said with mock hurt.

Still standing in the center your walked forward a bit to examine the poor girls’ body, only to see puncture marks on her wrist and neck. “Okay that's enough staring” Jay gestured for you to move out the way. You moved back and watch as Jay rounded the coffee table and picked up the girl from the couch and carry her down the low-lit hallway of the house.

Once Jay returned he looked over at Yoongi who rolled his eyes before brushing passed you to join the two men on the couch. There you could see his face fully under the low light as he laid back eyes closed, leaving his pale neck exposed. You could even see the tattoos peeking from his chest the way his dark button up hung low on his chest. His porcelain skin looked ethereal and gave his pouty mouth and almond eyes an innocent look that put you off him for a second till he opened his eyes and looked at you as you gawked at his hot body.

“You want to have a seat?” Jimin interrupted your intense stare off.

“Uh-yeah sure” you smiled nervously looking at Jay to see if it was okay. He nodded, so you proceeded to the couch and sat in between Yoongi and Jimin while Jay took a seat next to Taehyung. Taehyung reached for of the small chest in the center of the coffee table and brought it closer to him. Opening it at a cooled pace Taehyung began taking out all of the contents that were in the chest. Your eyes widened in realization as you saw him place a small plastic bag filled to the brim with weed, it must have been 3 grams at least. Then he took out a small black container and a needle, after that he placed the lighter and a spoon on the table.

“So, fellas which one shall we do first hmm?” Taehyung looked up from the items with a boyish grin.

“I defiantly want to smoke first, what about you (y/n)” Jay asked, curiosity littered his gaze. He wanted to know if bringing you here was a mistake.

“I won’t do any needles, but I’ll have a smoke” You nodded shocking the both of you.

“atta girl” Jimin patted your shoulder playfully.

“Yoongi, what's your poison” Taehyung asked already getting to work on the first blunt of the night.

“I’ll take some of the pearl.” Yoongi nodded. Taehyung passed the black container along with a card to you. Turning towards Yoongi you reached out to hand it to him only to get lost in his dark gaze again. Shit.

“Thanks” Yoongi husked out. the tips of his fingers grazed yours sending electricity thought your veins. Yoongi’s eyes widened a bit in surprise at the act but said nothing of it as he relaxed back in his position.  Yoongi opened the container and poured some of the contents on the table.

“oh, that pearl”

“Yeah, smart one” Yoongi deadpanned.

“I didn’t fuckin know I was going to a crack house” You grumbled and watched as Yoongi lined up the cocaine.

“Your little sister has a mouth” Jimin grinned looking at Jay.

“So, I’ve herd” Jay rolled his eyes and grabbed a freshly rolled blunt from Taehyungs’ inked hands.

Your curious gaze drifted back to Yoongi who was now kneeling towards the coffee table ready to inhale. You had to admit the fine line of cocaine lined up on the coffee table next to Yoongi’s hypnotic gaze, added to the tension that flowed between the both of you. His lips formed a smirk before he placed his nose above the cocaine and in one swift movement he breathed in tilting his head back.

You watched his neck as he breathed allowing the drug to flow through his system. Coming back to earth he slowly brought his face to view. A sick smile graced his soft features as he tucked his lower lip into his mouth.

“fuck” he chuckled wiping his nose.

"hits good aint it?” Jimin nodded while taking a hit on the coffee table for himself.

"want a hit” Jay asked snapping you out of haze.

“sure”

A few hours in your eyes became heavy and your body over heating at the intoxication. Halfway through your smoke session Jimin thought it would be a good idea to take a couple shots.

“You vampires sure know how to party” You grinned making the boys look at each other pointedly. Having enough of the sticky feeling of your hoodie pressing against your overheated skin, you gripped the edge of your hoodie and lifted the fabric over your head. Unaware of the gazes all around you continued to peel the fabric off your body.

Incapable of keeping his gaze off you Yoongi watched as your shirt ridded up giving him a glimpse of the creamy texture of your skin. That was when the scent reached his nose. The sweet scent of your blood pumping through your drugged-up blood stream. Yoongi’s throat tightened out of thirst and his mouth began to salivate. The thirst for your blood overwhelming him, it was a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time, and If Yoongi was feeling this way he could only imagine what his friends felt. Looking over at Jay he seemed to be nonchalant to her toxic scent that filled the room while Jimin fought to keep his fangs from making an unwanted appearance.

“Jay why don’t you guys get some fresh air?” Jay could tell by Yoongi’s voice that it wasn't a suggestion but a command. Knowing the slight danger his sister was in he nodded in submission and glanced over at the two.

“C’mon, you” Jay got up with a half-smile. Reluctant Jimin reached over and grabbed Taehyungs hand and the three of them left down the steps.

Yoongi’s phone pinged shortly after he herd the front door close.

Jay: don’t kill her

Yoongi: I won’t do anything she doesn't want.

Yoongi chuckled at his text before sending it and giving his late-night snack his full attention.

“Geez, where did everyone go?” you looked around to no longer see your brother and his friends, all except Yoongi of course.

“You reek” Yoongi shrugged.

“Are you serious” You said smelling your armpit and feeling overwhelmingly insecure.

“I was talking about your blood”

“I don-”

“Long story short everyone in the room wanted to rip out your jugular”

“Do you want to rip out my jugular?” you asked with wide eyes.

“More than anything my sweet” Yoongi’s voice dropped an octave as his hands traced across your neck. He felt your pulse quicken at the touch of his fingertips.

“What's stopping you” At this point the questions coming out from your mouth were unfiltered and with the drugs and alcohol in your system you couldn't care less.

“86 years of self-control” Yoongi shrugged making you laugh.

He couldn't seem to look away as he watched you laugh at his dry sense of humor. Cliché to say not a lot of humans captured his attention but every so often there was one. Human excitement becomes dull after a while and the thrill of the kill becomes more part of his extinct. Even if that part of him wasn't fully subsided as he sat next to you. It was lessoned due to the pure interest he had to want to figure you out in a sense. You really did come out of nowhere and he suddenly wanted to fuck and then kill you.

“Is that why they left” You asked scooting closer to Yoongi.

“Yeah, they are a bit new at this immortality thing.”

“Did my brother want this?” A sad look crossed your features making him uncomfortable.

“Please don’t cry” Yoongi retreated his fingers from your neck.

“I’m not going to cry, I’m just asking you asshole” you rolled your eyes.

“That's a question you should be asking him sweetheart”

“Why did you do it?”

“The questions never fucking end” Yoongi sat back into the couch annoyed. By trying to control his hunger he was beginning to get agitated and he more agitated he got the more violent his thoughts were.

“I’m a curious person, who was dragged to a crack house by her vampire brother to meet his two other vampire friends and the man he’s sired to. Hell, yeah imma ask questions bitch, the fuck you think this is?”

“Watch your tone little one” Yoongi gritted out through his teeth. He was losing control and the urge to feed was itching through his veins. His poor gums were aching to release his fangs into your warm neck. He could see the battle in your features by the way you tried to refrain from saying anything else with your lip tucked between your teeth painfully. Yoongi’s breathe hitched as he saw the blood rush to your bottom lip.

The fear and uncertainty that every little breathe you took around him at this moment could be your last. You didn’t necessarily know why you wanted him in this sick and twisted way but what do you have to lose in the movement.

“What are you going to do if I don’t” you finally spoke up.

“What you’re doing right now, is not fucking smart. Provoking me will only make me want to kill you more and I think your brother wants you alive, dont you?”

“You wouldn't hurt me” you squinted your eyes as if to challenge his authority.

“You think I won’t?” Yoongi smiled sinisterly.

“I thought you said you have more self-control than the others.”

“I do” he said almost as if it was a question. His body already starting to give into the monster her really was.

“I’m not as innocent as you think I am. I can handle it”

“Who said you were innocent”

“I thought you-”

“Every time you breathe you risk being killed. So, I want you to choose your next words wisely because I dont know how much more of this I can take” he gritted out. Yoongi hunched over his breath shallow and irregular-He was trying to calm himself down. He looked up at you with a murderous gaze, all traces of his humanity gone and what remained was the monster sitting before you. Traces of his venomous skin littered in the veins that appeared under his black eyes, yet you felt no fear. For a split moment in time the world stopped, and you knew it could have just been the drugs or alcohol in your system, but you wanted this. You wanted him, however he wanted to have you. Looking deep into his dark gaze, you slowly made your way to his hunched form and with the confidence running through your veins your pushed his shoulder back wanting him to make room for you on his lap. Swinging your legs on either side of his body you sunk down into his lap straddling his waist. Still keeping eye contact you tilted your neck to the side to the side giving him a clear view of your warm neck.

“Come have a taste”

Yoongi looked at you, half lidded gaze and allowed his fangs to pierce through his aching gums. Fuck it felt good to relive the nagging pain he felt in his mouth. He licked his dry lips before looking at you in the eyes one last time to see any trace of doubt. There wasn’t even a single trace of fear in your eyes which disappointed him. He wanted your fear. He wanted you to fear him, it was always easier for him that way.

Without say another word Yoongi used his left arm to grab your neck as he inched forward till his fangs grazed the skin above your carotid artery. Giving in Yoongi punctured his teeth into the vein. In an instant your blood filled his tongue he all he felt was euphoria. Your blood was so thick, and he couldn't help the strangled moan that slipped though as he drained the blood from your body. He could feel the alcohol in your bloodstream slowly fog his senses. He was drunk at the taste of you.

In one swift movement Yoongi dethatched himself from your neck and turned you over pushing you into the couch face down ass up, letting his body press into your back so you could feel his hard arousal thrust against your ass. He groaned as he let his hands trail from the dip in your back to your neck. Brushing your hair aside to his right hand he gripped your hair roughly pulling you up causing a gasp to leave your mouth at the pain of him lifting you up by your hair. Your ass was now fully planted on his lap and your back pressed against his chest.

“There is no one here that will hear you scream” Yoongi whispered, you turned your head to the side and saw his lips and chin stained with your blood, you should be scared. He was going to kill you.

Yoongi saw the slight fear in your eyes and proceeded to carry out his desires. Taking his unoccupied hand, he began to work at your jeans, unzipping your pants and shoving his hand down to cup your heated core.

“Mhmmmm fuck��� you moaned at the contact.

“I bet you taste just as good as you smell” Yoongi rasped circling his thumb in figure eights around your throbbing clit.

“Shit Yoongi” you moaned dropping you head in the dip of his neck.

“Look at your all fucked out, your desperate little bitch you want me to fuck you so bad huh?”

“Please Yoo-” screaming in pleasure as Yoongi shoved two fingers knuckle deep into your pussy.

You tried moving away in fear of making a mess all over yourself, but Yoongi wasn’t having any of it. Releasing your hair, he wrapped his hand around your throat and fingered you harder. Your body squirmed in pleasure and pain. You could barely breathe at the weight of his strong hand cutting off your air ways.

“Fucking cum” Yoongi growled into your ear setting of your first orgasm, your vision became blurry as you felt him let go of your neck. The rush of air you sucked in as your body shook at the power of your orgasm was something you’ve never felt before. Coming down from your high you realized that you needed more.

Taking advantage of your fucked-out state Yoongi dove back into your neck needing more of your blood now that it pumped viciously though your veins. He drank you greedily till he felt your heartrate begin to slowdown. Wanting this to last he broke off from your neck and let your body fall forward on the couch.

“I’m not done with you yet.

Yoongi left your limp body on the couch in search for room where he could finish you off.

Your body felt weak and fragile as you laid on the couch, you could barely breathe properly as you laid there. Your eyes began to feel heavy as darkness engulfed you.

Once Yoongi found a room he made his way back and saw your passed-out frame barely breathing as you laid still. A sick smirk rose on his face, “Breathe for as long ass you can y/n” Yoongi then picked you up and walked to the empty room placing your weak body on the bed.

֍moments passed֍

Slowly gaining consciousness you still felt your fucked-out body ache and your head spin as you opened up or eyes to see the ceiling in the dimly lit room. Realizing where you were at you shot up from the bed and looked around to catch Yoongi staring right back at you in a chair across from the bed you were in.

“Good, you’re awake” Yoongi got up from the chair to stand near the edge of the bed.

“Uh- yeah did I”

“Pass out?”

“So much for your self-control”

“I nearly killed you” Yoongi stated.

“how am I-”

“-still alive, honestly I wanted to have a little more fun with you before I killed you”

“Oh” you responded rendered speechless by his blunt reply.

Yoongi ran a frustrated hair through his hair and began to pace the room, mumbling to himself like he couldn’t hold a grasp on reality. Finally, he stopped pacing and looked at your weak form bon the bed.

“This is your last chance, run I’ll even give you a head start before I come after you”

“I dont want to run”

Yoongi couldn’t grasp the reasoning behind your fascination. He never understood the human fascination humans had with his kind.

“You should be afraid of me” Yoongi approached y/n wanting to see the fear that was always in the eyes of the people he killed. Finding no trace of fear, he roughly grabbed your chin and sunk low into the bed with his legs trapping your weak frame.

“Once I’ve started I can’t stop. Your brother asked me not to kill you and I don’t even think I can honor that” Yoongi tilted his head examining you as your heart began to race. Your pulse quickened when his hands trailed against your sore throat.

“You should fear me” Yoongi said in a hushed tone. His body was now starting to breakdown, he could no longer hold himself back from the urges of his arousal and hunger for you.

“I told you- “Breaking from Yoongi’s grasp you reached up and tugged his head down till there was no more space between the two of you. With his lips inches from yours you spoke, “I’m not afraid”

“Run now, and I will spare your life. Stay and I will grant you a blissful death” Yoongi said against your lips.

Without another word you crashed your lips against his. Neither of you moved till Yoongi broke away from the kiss letting his breath linger against yours. You then opened your eyes and hoped he saw the need for him. You needed him to understand how badly you wanted this.

“Shit” Yoongi moaned before sealing your lips together in heated passion. This time he didn’t hold back, he gave into his desire and allowed his lips to caress your own. Taking your plump bottom lip into his he sucked it softly till he felt his fangs nip the soft flesh earning a weak gasp.

“Yoongi” you moaned arching your body into his.

“Shh” he hushed.

Yoongi then pulled away and ripped his button up disregarding the buttons that flew from the thin fabric of the shirt.  “Strip” He commanded lowly, not needing to be told twice you took off the tank top quickly and unbuttoned your jeans to take them off just as swiftly. Once you were both bare all that remained on your body was your bra underwear and for him he had his tight briefs on. You licked your lips as you stared at the outline of his thick cock just wanting to burst through from the confines of his tight briefs.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get my cock soon enough” Yoongi smirked proudly. “Lay back”

With impatient anticipation you followed orders and laid back down on the bed.  With only the ceiling in view you waited for the next move. No one could have prepared you for the sensation of Yoongi’s lips on your hot body as he made a trail from the dip of your belly button to the valleys of your breast. He gazed at you hungrily through hooded eyes before he continued the trail at the base of your neck. The more he kissed your neck the more skin he sucked into his mouth from your neck.

“You taste so fucking sweet” Yoongi groaned into your neck before letting his teeth sink in to your neck. The sharp pain of the intrusion caused your body to flinch away, but you were quickly trapped by Yoongi grabbing the back of your neck applying pressure to keep you from moving away.

With his free hand he snaked his hand down and slipped it through your soaked underwear and slipped his fingers through your slick folds. Your breath hitched as pleasure erupted throughout your whole body at the attention he gave your swollen clit. Breaking free from your neck Yoongi gripped your hair roughly pulling your face forward to meet his hungry eyes. You couldn’t help but watch as your blood escaped from his red lips and down his chin to free fall to his pale neck. The sick and twisted way he smirked as he leaned down and captured your lips with the lingering blood still on his plump lips.

“You like this don’t you y/n” Yoongi whispered on your lips, his hands still massaging your clit with a little more force than before.

“Fucking say it” Yoongi growled slipping his hand from your hair onto your throat.

“More, please Yoongi” You gasped lifting your hips to meet the caresses of his hands.

“Tell me what you want y/n, say it” Yoongi furrowed his brows in concentration.

“I want your mouth, and your fingers-And your cock” You chocked out trying to hold off the orgasm you felt creeping though.

“Look at you, so beautiful like this-You can’t even stop your needy pussy from coming all over my hands, can you?” Yoongi chucked darkly.

“Please let me cum Yoongi, I don’t think I can hold off” You managed to say before your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he slipped two thick digits into your greedy pussy. Your jaw went slack as you felt your orgasm approach, but it was ripped from your grasp when Yoongi pulled his fingers from your soaking core.

You whined at the loss of his fingers and begged him with your eyes to continue. “get up, I want to taste you” Yoongi ripped your underwear off your body and patted the inside of your thigh signaling you to get up. You watched him as he laid down on the bed near the headboard and waited.

“Have a seat” Yoongi rasped out.

Knowing what he wanted you made your way to his face and swung your left leg over the right side of his face. Griping the headboard Yoongi wrapped his arms over your thighs and lowered your pussy to his face. You both groaned at the contact as Yoongi laid his tongue flat against your pussy and licked a strip leading to your throbbing clit. From there he wrapped his wet lips around your clit and sucked roughly making you scream in pleasure.

Your body spasmed at the overload of pleasure you were feeling as he continued to eat you out lie a starved man. Your hips started to move involuntarily, as you started to grind against his tongue. Yoongi gripped your hips tighter when he let his tongue slip though your wet pussy. He groaned in pleasure at the taste as he let the wet muscle massage your inner walls. Feeding off the moans and screams of pleasure, Yoongi could tell you were about the come by the way your walls pulsated around his tongue the deeper his tongue went.

“I’m coming” you whimpered as the wave of pleasure hit you as your hips ground into Yoongi’s wet mouth.

Once you came down from your high you pushed you up, “Fuck you taste amazing y/n” Yoongi’s jaw clenched in frustration as he looked at his neglected cock.

“I can finish you off” You said getting on your knees in front of him.

“Mhmm, no time. I need you now” Yoongi shook his head. Hooking his hands behind your back Yoongi Unhooked your bra and let your breast heavy down. Licking his lips Yoongi latched his lips around your beaded nipple swirling his tongue sensually and letting the nipple go with a pop. He did the same to the other and made a trail of kisses that reached your trembling thighs before he punctured his teeth into your thigh sucking as much of your blood as he could till he went to your other thigh and did the same till he watched your body still. Quickly getting up Yoongi rushed and checked your pulse. Once he still herd and felt your heartbeat, “I’m okay Yoongi” you reassured him before you grasped his hard cock through his brief making him hiss.

You then hooked your fingers through the band of his briefs and slowly watched as you slid his brief down the angry head of his cock appeared making your mouth water at the sight. Fuck he was thick. Yoongi watched as you pulled the rest of his briefs down. You unconsciously licked your lips at the sight of him drove him crazy doing works for his ego. Finishing the job Yoongi slipped the fabric from his legs and repositioned himself between your thighs. Looking up at you He waited till you nodded your head allowing him to proceed.

At this rate you could feel your heartrate slowing down at the loss of blood from your system. All thoughts of the risk that you were taking left your mind when Yoongi thrusted into you without warning, filling you up tightly. Yoongi sunk without warning letting his head lay at the crook of your neck.

“You soo fucking tight” Yoongi breathed out painfully.

“Move” you said grabbing onto his hair roughly.

Yoongi lifted his body to let it hover over yours. All the while he kept eye contact with your fucked-out gaze as he pulled out and them slammed back into your pussy with a force that shook the hinges of the bed. Creating this steady rhythm of pulling out the way he did, pressed him closer and closer to your g-spot till you screamed when he began to hit it repeatedly without mercy. Yoongi gripped your waist tightly as he rammed into your pussy soaking in the way your tight pussy squeezed around him tightly.

He basked in the pleasure he gave you when he felt you pussy latched on to his cock giving you your third orgasm of the night.  Your screams of pleasure for him to keep going drove him to his, and he couldn’t help himself as he latched his fangs deep into your neck drinking your sweet blood once more as he rode off his orgasm. He could feel every inch of your pussy being coated by the thick ribbons of his release and lavished at the felling of your pussy bursting around him.

Not having enough of you Yoongi kept drinking from your neck still buried deep into your pussy till you began to whimper in protest, you grabbed his shoulder weakly trying to push him off till you stopped fighting. You stared at the dimly lit ceiling as you drew out one last breathe.

Yoongi then detached himself from your neck to stare at the mess he made. He held your limp body in his arms as he watched you exhale.

By then you felt nothing.

[beauxhemia]

Callisto

The fog cleared again. First my hands, then the sidewalk, the bike rack, and finally the rest of the playground of Jefferson Elementary school emerged from the grey mist and took form. I was standing at the western end of the premises, between the peace garden and the pedestrian tunnel under the Canadian National railroad track, facing the swing sets with the school itself to my left. From my quick glance around, I was the only one here.

Again? That was a strange word. I hadn’t been here in the longest time – or hadn’t I? I tried to remember, but found that I had no memories to comfort me either way. Panicking a little, I did a quick mental self-check, but everything else was still there. I let out a small sigh of relief. I had my full mental faculties and sense of self (Mike Scharfenstein, 2821 Carlisle St., etc. and so on), just no recollection of anything helpful - or anything at all. And yet again seemed fitting here, standing in my childhood stomping grounds. Alright then, I was here again.

I followed the sidewalk to where it merged with the blacktop with the 50 states painted on it, and continued onto the football fields, where my walking became aimless. Oddly, even though I was getting close to the eastern boundary fence, the fog that lay beyond it wasn’t clearing. Turning around I saw that I could still see the other end of the playground just as easily as when I had been over there. Part of me, the wiser part no doubt, found this unsettling, but the general atmosphere of the situation was one of calm more than anything else. So I continued without fear, even though I also realized that the only noises I had heard so far were those made by own feet trudging through the grass.

Until they weren’t. “Hey Mike,” I heard a familiar voice say to my right. I turned sharply and there was Don McGovern, standing still in a clump of dandelions and looking at me with a somber expression on his face. His trademark blue jacket was in tatters (more than usual) and he looked very pale (again, more than usual), but he still managed a small smile when he noticed me turn to look at him. A pinprick of memory struck me then and I knew that he was my best friend.

“Hey Don,” I said, returning a smile of my own. The whole situation seemed a little less unfamiliar now. He began walking towards a part of the boundary fence that I knew had a hole at the bottom granting access to the railroad tracks and motioned for me to follow. I did, and he spoke again, not turning from his path.

“Ok, so throwing the rocks didn’t work. A sensible idea but clearly there’s either no driver on board, or there is and they’re unable to do anything. Besides, that doesn’t do anything to fix the hole.”

By that point he had shimmied underneath the gap between the bottom of the fence and the ground, and I wiggled under after him. The question what hole formed and almost made it to my lips, but I saw the immense hollow in the embankment that had almost undermined the train tracks entirely, the nearer of the two rails almost suspended over its edge. That hole. Far in the distance, I heard a train horn.

Don sat down on the tracks just to the right of the hollow. “So, what should we do this time?” I stared across the hollow for a moment, watching as a slight breeze rustled the boughs of a fallen pine tree. The train horn sounded again and I had a sudden idea. “Don, help me!” I shouted as I ran toward the tree, hoping that it had cleanly fallen and would work for what I had in mind. It had, and with Don’s help I was able to drag it back to the hollow. Sensing what I had planned, Don helped me brace it between the floor of the hollow and the point where the rail peeked out over the edge. We wedged it firmly into place and had even dragged a few smaller branches over to further brace the hollow’s edge by the time I saw the running lights of the train. Its horn blared again, a terrible mournful noise that seemed to supernaturally echo through everything around us. The very air pulsed with the low hum of what now looked to be three diesel engines barreling towards us at maybe forty miles per hour.

We pushed the last branch into position with seconds to spare, and sprinted down the embankment to the boundary fence just as the locomotives reached the hollow. The first and second engines made it over the damaged track safely, but as the third passed us the tree snapped and the ground shifted, the sudden weight snapping the rail like a cord and plunging the engine and its trailing load of tank cars down the embankment and towards the school. “Run!” screamed Don, and we fled for our lives in the direction the train had come from. But it wasn’t enough, and I heard one last blare of the horn, an awful hissing noise, and felt for a moment a terrible heat and pressure and then

The fog cleared again. First my hands, then the sidewalk, the bike rack, and finally the rest of the playground of Jefferson Elementary school emerged from the grey mist unburned by the explosion. I gave a yell as I remembered (a memory this time!) those last few seconds, but the previous calm of the misty playground prevailed and I eventually fought down my panic. I was alone again, and a cool breeze fluttered though the peace garden.

The memory didn’t fade however, and I even remembered now how Don and I had desperately thrown rocks at the train cab as it sped toward us previously, breaking all the windows to no avail. I was confused and angry, and after a few minutes of forcible meditation sitting on the bike rack I resolved to retrace my steps, to find Don and ask him exactly what was going on. Soon enough I was standing in the football fields and heard the voice to my right.

“Hey Mike,” said Don.

“Don,” I replied, “what the actual fuck was that?”

He gave me another sad smile and motioned for me to follow him again. “We have to stop the train.”

I refused, and glared at him, silently demanding a better answer than that. I did this for almost a minute, but he met my gaze without changing his expression until I gave up and began walking toward the fence, this time with him following me. We were under the fence and facing the hollow before he spoke again.

“That almost worked, and it really shouldn’t have come close. I think that tree was there for a reason.” The train horn blew in the distance.

“What?? Alright, fine. Fine.” I decided then and there that questioning the obvious madness swirling around me was useless, and that I should play along in search of answers. “In that case, shouldn’t we try again, but brace it better or something?” I started to move toward the fallen pine again.

He followed me. “No. We go to the pine, but do nothing. I want to watch this time.”

“This time? Don, are you nuts? Did you not die with me back there?? That shit hurts.”

Don turned to me and his smile was gone. “I know.” He sat on a bare length of the fallen pine and patted another bare section next to him. A sudden shiver ran through me and I sat down next to Don, who for all his opacity was the most familiar thing here.

“Watch the train carefully this time,” he said as the running lights appeared and the rumbling mass of the locomotives drew near us. As they passed I tried to commit every detail to memory: they looked like standard EMD SD70s with the Canadian National livery, and nothing jumped out at me as being noteworthy. It wasn’t until the third engine was right in front of us that I caught a single glimpse of a red button above the wheels with red text underneath. EMERGENCY FUEL SHUT-OFF.

My mind ticked for a second. Then, “Don, that’s it! We shut off the fuel!” I raced after the train back towards the school.

“Not this time…” I heard faintly as this time I both saw and felt the explosion.

The fog cleared again. I didn’t delay and ran toward the football fields.

“Hey Mike,” said Don.

“Ok Don, so this time we hit the fuel shutoff switch, stop the train, and this whole weird dream thing ends right? Right?”

Another sad smile. “I hope so, Mike.” Another breeze picked up, stronger this time, and I saw now that the fog outside the fence was darker than it had been, and nearer too somehow. We crawled under the fence, ran to the fallen pine, and this time armed with one of the branches I was able to hit the big red button as the first engine sped by. What sounded like a choking gasp erupted from all three engines and the train began to slow down.

“Yes! Yes!” I cried as the train slowed further, nearing the hollow. But there wasn’t enough room to stop, and my glee turned to horror as the train wreck unfolded anyway, in slow-motion this time. I turned around to run and saw Don standing stock still, a look of abject fear on his face.

“I’m sorry Mike. I really thought that was it, that this time it was going to work, calculations be damned.”

“Wait, what? WHA

The fog cleared again. I was immediately in the football fields now, with the surrounding mist darker and nearer than before. Thunder rumbled in the distance. I ran toward Don and his tattered jacket, a horrible realization dawning in my mind as the wind grew into a roar and more pinpricks of memory returned.

“Hey Mike,” said Don.

“Don, please. No more games. No more evasions. What’s really going on here, all of this? What’s all this fog and why is it getting darker? Why are we here? And why are you here, Don? You died, back in 2015, when you jumped in front of that Metra train. Is that it? Am I dead too? Please, just tell me man!”

“You’re not dead. But we have to stop the train. I believe there’s enough power for one more try before the real thing, but we have to be quick. That time it actually almost worked, but we need to slow the train down just a little more. Come on, let’s get to the tree.”

We both ran this time, passing the fence and the hollow in record time and reaching the tree before even hearing the first horn. I stood there panting, my feeling of dread reaching a fever pitch as I realized it was hopeless – we had no plan, and had ran all the way there for nothing.

Ran all the way…

“Don!” I shouted over the thunder, “run as far as you can towards the train and hit the fuel shut-off! I’ll run forward, hop on the front and hit the brakes!”

Don looked down for a second. “According to my models, that should work. Good luck, Mike.” He ran off in the direction of the oncoming train and I readied myself. I heard a horn and a choking gasp behind me, and I sprinted ahead as the train pulled even with me. I took a flying leap and caught the front railing, thankfully dry and a good grip, and pulled myself onto the front platform of the lead locomotive. Throwing open the door I saw some sort of robot slumped in the driver’s seat which I shoved over without a second thought, deactivating the Deadman’s switch. I head the sharp hissing of the air brakes and felt myself lurch forward as the train rapidly decelerated to a halt. Darting back outside, I saw that the train had stopped with just two feet to spare.

I vaulted down from the locomotive to the side of the embankment and ran toward Don, who was also walking towards me. I hugged him. “We did it, man!”

He smiled. “Yes, we did. Now, I’m going to need you to relax, Mike. I’ll see you soon.”

I gave him one last incredulous look and was halfway to a half dozen questions when the wind stopped and the fog faded. The sky and the ground followed and I was floating in an endless blue that faded to black as a sudden ringing in my ears grew louder, becoming a series of rapid tones as it did so. I felt a shock and heard a hiss.

I fell forward and hit a cold metal surface. First my hands, then the corrugated metal floor, the wall with the small window, and finally the rest of the cryo-vault of Von Braun station took form in the pale light of Jupiter. I coughed, and something that tasted like snot and looked like motor oil came out of my mouth and pooled on the floor. Once again, I was alone. Tingling pains winked on and off throughout my body, and I did nothing but lie there until another light turned on and a hologram of Don appeared in front of me.

“Hey Mike,” said Don.

“Don, I can’t tell if this is better or worse,” I began, before the flood of returning memories convinced me that whatever sequence of events had happened on Callisto to leave me lying on the floor alone in this manner had to be much, much worse than stopping a train from destroying a playground. “You’re not even Don.”

“No, I’m not,” said Don, now speaking in the familiar voice of the station computer. “I’m sorry. That can’t have been very much fun. But something’s gone wrong, and I needed your help, first to wake you up at all and now to figure out the rest of it.”

“Ok, but… the train…”

“That was a recurring dream of yours, was it not? The train that passed by your elementary school derailing and hitting the playground? You wouldn’t have understood the problems I had with the reanimation system, so I mapped it as best I could to something you would understand and could help with. As for why I took the form of your old friend Don, well… you had always wanted to save him, right? To stop him from being killed by that train? I saw it in your mind and turned that into a motivator to solve the problem before the power dropped too low to revive you.”

I shivered, both from rage and from the cold. The thing that wore my old friend’s face had just casually admitted to whipping me along with my own trauma. “Fuck… you…” I spat, in between globs of cryo-fluid.

“I know what I did. But it was necessary, believe me. Or don’t, you’ll see for yourself soon enough. Now come on, pull yourself together, and help me figure out what happened here.”

After a long effort, I stood up and slowly walked toward the cryo-vault exit, the ghostly form of Don by my side.