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direwombat · 2 years ago

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tagged by @inafieldofdaisies, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @roofgeese, and @baldurrs to list 5-10 songs that relate to my otp <3 <3 <3

tagging: @adelaidedrubman, @strangefable, @strafethesesinners, @fourlittleseedlings, @kittiofdoom, @sukoshimikan, @confidentandgood, @detectivelokis, @sstewyhosseini, @aceghosts, @poetikat, and anyone else wanting to share their playlists for their otp (but no pressure <;3)

— r: define your meaning of war [main playlist here]

songs under the cut because baby's LONG -- first three are vaguely from syb's pov, the next three from jacob's, and the last three are mutual feelings <3

heaven or hell - digital daggers

I've got the same deep wounds as you, My love can double as a weapon too Say that you trust it and I'll set it free Turn it back on me Turn it back on me

We trade our secrets when it's safe Our ammunition when the fever breaks Show me the side no one else sees Turn it back on me Turn it back on me

I am exposed, I am undone You tear the walls down one by one We tried to run, we tried to hide in fear of losing ourselves We tried to keep it all inside so we don't hurt someone else When all the demons come alive I'll still be under your spell, This could be heaven or hell This could be heaven or hell

blindfold - sleeping wolf

In the dark I need to taste the blood Go on Draw another line we can cross this time Battle scars Your touch is not enough I need you to pierce my Veins and become my pain

So use your blindfold Cover your hands on my eyes, closed Do it again Tie me up and show me what's real Hate your love, but love how you feel Useless, trying to fight And the truth is, I'd rather be blind I'd rather be blind

not strong enough - apocalyptica + brent smith

I'm not strong enough to stay away I can't run from you I just run back to you Like a moth, I'm drawn into your flame You say my name But it's not the same

You look in my eyes I'm stripped of my pride And my soul surrenders And you bring my heart to its knees

And it's killing me when you're away And I wanna leave, and I wanna stay And I'm so confused, so hard to choose Between the pleasure and the pain And I know it's wrong, and I know it's right Even if I try to win the fight My heart would overrule my mind And I'm not strong enough to stay away

i know i'm a wolf - young heretics

Dear rabbit, my legs are getting weak chasing you The snow fields wouldn't seem so big if you knew That this blood on my teeth it is far beyond dry And I've captured you once but I wasn't quite right So I'm telling you that you'll be safe with me.

on your knees - matthew mayfield

Such a disgrace Thе way the vengeance tastes Best served cold But it's the heat I crave

Took the fall but Learned to crawl up the highest prison wall Yeah, doing my best to keep you pressed In a sunken chest

This is the way to life This is the way to die Darling, I hope you, see what I go through But I ain’t gonna leave you on your knees This is where the love counts Covered in the breakdown I ain’t gonna leave you on your knees No, I ain’t gonna leave you on your knees

afterlife - nothing but thieves

You can tell your God he can keep his salvation And if you like, the angels can fly into the sun We don't, we don't have to do this again Please don't, please don't make me start this again

It was only ever you It was only ever you My baby, it feels like a lifetime Oh God, I don't think I could do two

My soul is tortured with love and lust and hate My cracked lips are unkissed for a million days My infected heart, it's bleeding in this cage I'm losing my dignity, not got long left to wait

iris - diamante + breaking benjamin

And I'd give up forever to touch you 'Cause I know that you feel me somehow You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be And I don't want to go home right now

And all I can taste is this moment And all I can breathe is your life And sooner or later, it's over I just don't wanna miss you tonight

And I don't want the world to see me 'Cause I don't think that they'd understand When everything's made to be broken I just want you to know who I am

marked for death - emma ruth rundle

it was right that we did meet each other in each other’s eyes it was right that we did see each other in our shadow sides it was wrong then too that crazy love, loves crazy as it does and each of us and both of us so crazy; as it was

who else is going to love someone like you that’s marked for death who else is going to be with you when you breathe your last who else is going to take my place and hold and keep you safe/sane who else is going to stay

somebody to die for - hurts

I've got nothing left to live for Got no reason yet to die But when I'm standing in the gallows I'll be staring at the sky

Because no matter where they take me In death I will survive And I will never be forgotten With you by my side

Cause I don't need this life I just need...

Somebody to die for

#r: define your meaning of war #i will never not mention this particular version of 'iris' it's just so good i love it so much #oc: deputy sybille la roux

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the-forgotten-lycan · 2 years ago

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First Transformation:

How long had she been prisoner in this cage and why did every inch of her body ache? Dark lashes flutter, and a low groan rumbles from her chest, the sensation of the cold stone rough against her warm cheek. Fingertips twitch, as the young woman fights for consciousness. Through the darkness, brilliant brown eyes flutter open near glowing in the darkness. Alexandria’s pupils dilate, wide as the moon, as her vision adjusts to the darkness that swallows her. A single hand lifts, rubbing at her jaw and lips, another groan hissing past her lips.

“Ouch.” She breaths, her voice raspy and rough as if she hadn’t had a drop of water in days. Her mouth hurt and when she ran her tongue along her teeth, the girl was shocked to find two sets of fangs, sharp and uncomfortable. “What the fuck?” She breathed and her hands found the stone ground - pushing herself up. Turning her head this way and that, she takes in the metal bars that keep her caged along with the bucket kept in the corner. Against the back wall, a woman rests against the wall, chained. Brows furrowed and confusion spiked Alexandria’s heart rate. Stumbling forward, she crashes into the door of the cage, attempting to shove it open. It merely rattles on its hinges. Panic fills the woman’s chest and she swallows roughly. “HEY! WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?! LET US OUT!” The woman beside her that rests against the wall groans, drawing Alexandria’s attention and the sudden sharp scent of blood found her nose. Every muscle within Alexandria’s body goes rigid and lips peel back away from her teeth, snarling. Hands immediately shot up, covering her mouth, and brow eyes widened in shock. The scent of blood was overwhelming and try as she might to ignore it, Alexandria struggles. The scent was delicious… and come to think of it… the woman’s scent was scrumptious. Hands slowly drop, and Alexandria, despite her best attempt to stop stalks forward. Her stomach twists with hunger, and sudden pain rips through her small body. “UGH!” She cries, and crumbles down to her knees and elbows. The sound of bones snapping and flesh ripping rings in Alexandria’s ears. The pain that rips through her body is excruciating. Her vision bleeds red, and her cries turn to screams. The woman against the wall snaps awake and she too, screams, ripping against her restraints. Furr bursts through skin, arms and legs elongate and Alexandria’s mouth extends into a monstrous maw. Feline ears burst from her skull, and humanity slowly slips away. Before the transformation was even complete, Alexandria was already lunging for her fellow captive, claws and fangs ripping at flesh, bleeding the woman and tearing her apart, feasting on skin, flesh and bone. The woman’s cries eventually die away, and when the massacre is over, the sound of hands clapping whips the beast around. Outside the cage, a glorious woman stands, with a bird-like mask, a golden halo behind her head and wings that sprout from her back god-like. Metal tipped fingers curl beckoning the beast forward, in which Alexandria obeys, sitting on her hunches at the edge of the cage. “Glorious… You held on to your humanity until the scent of blood found you.. You’re unstable… Inadequate. No, you won’t do. But perhaps over time you will learn control, mm?” Mother Miranda tuts, as if Alexandria’s existence was an afterthought. A low, dangerous snarl rips from the beast and extended digits wrap the bars of the cage. “Ahhh, now now, I still have a use for you.” The woman grins under her bird-like mask. “You will serve me, and know me as Mother Miranda… And I will take care of you… Now rest, my little feline… Lets see if you’ll retain this state�� or revert back to your pervious form. Glory be, Alexandria.” Mother Miranda laughs, then turns, leaving the beast alone in the dark cage.

#Roleplay #RoleplayExample #Writing #ResidentEvilVillager #RE8 #Lycan #OrigionalCharacter

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junbugsarchive · 2 years ago

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🐞 JunBugs Newsletter #13 🦋

Yesterday's setlist (in order)

✧ Shin Takarajima - Sakanaction

✧ Yūnagi - Utada Hikaru

✧ Chikai - Utada Hikaru

✧ PINK BLOOD - Utada Hikaru

✧ Kinjirareta Asobi - ALI PROJECT

✧ Tōmei Shelter - kukui

✧ STYX HELIX - MYTH & ROID

✧ Baka Mitai

✧ Let Us Adore You - Steven Universe

✧ Tears of an Angel - Mike Oldfield

Also, you guys can post your own setlists and what you sang on stream as well .₊̣̇.ಇ/ᐠˬ ̫ ˬ ᐟ\∫.₊̣̇.

These are some songs that I been practicing for karaoke (some upon request)

✧ Niji no Kanata ni - Reona - requested by Lynzu

Please let me know if there is a song request that you have for me, I really loved doing the "Simple and Clean" (Utada Hikaru) cover that was requested of me last week!

^ ^

=➖〰️➖=

Special thanks to the lovely co-hosts: Martyr ("Lucy")!

Here are all of the people featured in the new photo album:

✧ Lucy

✧ OMARU VIPER

✧ sana

✧ Trever

✧ Maya

✧ Sweetheart

✧ Luna

Please remind me if I forget your name, I try to remember to the best of my ability. If you would like a picture with us too, please do not feel shy about asking on stream, sometimes I don't include people because I either don't take good pictures of them or forget to while they are singing, so please let me know. I never want anyone to feel excluded!

Twitter Album 1 https://twitter.com/junithys/status/1644944448961519617?s=21

Twitter Album 2 https://twitter.com/junithys/status/1644945300262625282?s=21

Twitter Album 3 https://twitter.com/junithys/status/1644945690370646017?s=21

Twitter Album 4 https://twitter.com/junithys/status/1644944902449680385?s=21

\ JUNBUG NEWS /

⚠️ ⚠️ ⚠️ IMPORTANT NOTICE #1 - There will be no karaoke next week, unless they are impromtu.

⚠️ ⚠️ IMPORTANT NOTICE #2 - There will be a special "Drakenguard" + "NieR" series timeline review next Saturday morning (after we finish "Ghost Sweeper Mikami"), there will be spoilers for the entire franchise, so head's up beforehand!

⚠️ IMPORTANT NOTICE #3 - The next chapter of my web novel will be publishing next Saturday! I am also drawing all of the JunBug regulars, so if you want your character to make a cameo or have a small role in the web series/visual novel, then please send a shot of your avatar over DMs!

I felt like there was a need for a change, since I haven't had time to effectively produce art or more of my novel with the current schedule. For the time being, I will do karaoke if I get all of my other projects and daily goals done. I felt a bit emotionally clogged, I missed expressing myself through writing (with prose and poetry) and through art. There are also skills that I'm working on right now, like music theory for writing an original song, improving my singing technique, Japanese learning, and improving my digital painting skills, so for my health and for the sake of my dreams, I think the morning anime stream will remain the only routine stream for the moment.

I think I might do a little bit of singing in the morning stream, too, before the episode starts. Also, too much collaboration feels like it a deracination of my individuality. I still want to have time to live and read novels and the like, so that In can feel like a complete person rather than a hollow shell moving from point A to B. Thank you for understanding, if I do finish everything early and have enough energy on certain days, I will try and give and 30 minute to an hour notification in the GC before the singing streams. Thank you for reading, sending love to all!

\ SCHEDULE /

Morning Anime Stream ☯️ 6:30am MST︱5:30am PST︱8:30am EST︱1:30pm BST︱12:30pm GMT︱10:30pm AEST︱9:30pm JST

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countlessrealities · 4 months ago

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The cackling only spurs Vox on in his violent destruction of the cloth that covers the upper part of Alastor's body. It's a petty, meaningless consolation prize to see the Radio Demon's annoyance and displeasure, but he will take it. He'll take everything he can get, at this point, as he has been doing for years now.

It's an old script that he knows at heart by now, even if he wishes that he didn't. It's been this way between them since the painful end of their friendship.

Another growl escapes him, his frustration equally directed at his rival and at himself. He won't admit it out loud, but it's no longer just anger that drives his viciousness, but also humiliation. A bitter feeling that makes his throat sting and his stomach churn, to the point that he wants to tear his chest open to see if he can rip it out.

He's a fool. No matter how many times Alastor shows him that he doesn't give a damn about him, that he's nothing but a toy he plays with when he's bored. He never learns, he can never bring himself to accept the hard truth.

In the other's eyes, he's nothing. He's always been. It's a fact that will never change.

His gaze locks on the wound, the sight both lighting a spark of sadistic pleasure and a wave of worry. The urge to sink his claws inside it, to draw even more blood and watch it stain the Radio Demon's fur and skin is as strong as his will to tend to the injury and assure that it will heal properly.

And then there's something else, very deep down, shoved as far from his consciousness as it can be without fully being forgotten. It makes his mouth water with each gulp of air he takes in, the metallic scent of blood filling the nostrils he doesn't have.

It makes him hungry.

"It was about time you got a wardrobe update, you should be thanking me," Vox deadpans, making a show of dropping a torn piece of fabric on the floor, as if it had been nothing but garbage. "You should thank me, I did you a favour."

He conveniently sidesteps his rival's actual question, because there's no way in Hell he will admit that no, he's not feeling better at all. He's refusing to acknowledge it, just as he will not let himself think about Alastor wearing his clothes. Dealing with that sort of contrasting feelings is the last thing he needs.

"Now, if you're done being a total brat..."

He lets his voice trail off as he reaches to pick of the gauzes and the disinfectant he need to clean the wound. As he does, his claws brush the little "plan B" he has brought with him and he finds himself pausing. That would make everything easier. Not only the old bastard wouldn't have been able to pull more of his bullshit on him, but he wouldn't have to struggle to keep up his facade as he has been doing.

Digital red eyes narrow, landing back on his rival. If he prick gets on his nerves one more time, oh, he is so sending him to nap for a few hours.

The note of fear in his voice comes as both a delight and a slight surprise; he'd expected mild shock and a celebration, not what sounds like genuine terror and perhaps actual sorrow.

Vox still cared for him, didn't he? Pathetic. After all this time, all the things he'd done, the efforts he'd made to purposefully and what he had thought permanently sully one of the only friendships he'd ever made. He still cared. Him lying in his bed being doted on was evidence enough of that.

It makes him feel . . . a certain type of way. A longing ache in his chest, a reminder of what he'll never allow himself to have.

But it's also funny ! He cackles, still laughing even as Vox approaches him with what looks like the intent to finish the job. Perhaps he should be more afraid, but he's not for a myriad of reasons.

The end of his life doesn't come, only a savage ripping apart of his shirt and his favorite coat, more than enough to quell his laughter to disgruntled sounds of a fruitless struggle. Honestly. His coat ? He'd almost rather him had plunged his hands into the gaping hole in his chest.

In the aftermath he simply gives Vox the most deadpan of stares, stripped down to his bare ( fuzzy ) chest.

That wound is gruesome. It's hard to look at. Well, for Vox it likely is; for Alastor this is just another day, though it's not typical he sees something this severe on his own person.

❝ Incredible work, now I've no clothing to wear. Did that make you feel better ? ❞

Patronizing, as always, though he's actually quite annoyed underneath it all.

#[ threads :: Vox ]#&& Alastor || statiicstag #[ v. Trust us with your future! ; main verse :: Vox ]#statiicstag #[[ someone is about to get knocked out x'D ]]#;; queue

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crowfootwrites · 4 years ago

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Bruises | Part II [Nestor Oceteva x Fem!Reader]

Part II of the Nestor two-shot. This part is significantly longer than the first part, but we get to see Nestor takin' care of business, so. Also, there's a Marcus cameo.

Warnings: implied violence; gun usage; language | Words: 1,861

Part I of Bruises

Two days later, you’re back at work, opting for a floral catsuit to keep your bruising covered. Your sides, back, and thighs are starting to look pretty gnarly.

Nestor had indeed taken you to the hospital and stayed with you while doctors performed a series of ultrasounds and CT scans to check for any internal hemorrhaging; he was on the phone for a while and you could hear snippets of angry conversation, likely with Miguel or Marcus about finding the guy that did this. When you were given the all-clear, Nestor had taken you home, insisting on you taking it easy. He had made dinner and curled up with you on the couch, trying to avoid jostling you at all costs. When the two of you had finally made your way to bed, his fingers gently caressed you and he pressed soft kisses against the deep violet bruises blooming across your torso. You saw the quick flash of heartbreak in his eyes at seeing you hurt, and you had curled against him, falling asleep safely in his arms.

It’s a Tuesday and it’s early, so the club is still fairly slow. You’re bartending tonight, thankfully, glad to have a large slab of wood between you and everyone else. You’re not sure what progress Nestor has made on finding the guy, but you still have your job, so you count your blessings and don’t ask questions.

Another blessing: the other bartender for the evening arrives, and it’s an intimidating-looking girl you’ve worked with a few times named Morgan. All but the most confident (or the stupidest) patrons find her pin-straight black hair, severe makeup, and perma-frown a little daunting. No one ever fucks with Morgan and you’re glad to have her beside you for the night.

Things start to pick up around 11 and suddenly, it’s busy, even for a Tuesday. Morgan leans over to remind you about the drink special your boss is promoting, and you groan internally, knowing the tips are the only thing making it worth your while. You and Morgan make a good team, supplying drinks at a breakneck pace while club lights flash around you, obscuring most of what’s happening past the first row of patrons at the bar.

You’re throwing together a Jack & Coke when you hear it. The voice sends panic jolting down your spine as it requests a Budweiser. You stare at your trembling hands, a lime wedge clutched between your fingers.

You force your eyes upward and it’s him. The same slicked back brown hair, the same oily smile, even the same leather jacket. Your eyes widen and he looks back at you with a calculating gaze. Your immediate reaction is a desire to run. But as soon as the thought appears you dismiss it. The club is packed, and it would be easy for him to try something in the middle of a throng of people. No, the safest place for you is behind the bar, where other people can keep their eyes on you.

You force a smile that you’re sure comes out as more of a grimace.

“Sure thing,” you tell him, the pitch of your voice just a little too high. You hand the Jack & Coke to its owner, managing to spill a little on your shaking hands, then head over to the cooler for the beer.

You can feel his eyes on you and your stomach turns, bile burning in your throat. In the dark corner of the bar, shielded partially from view by Morgan, you can feel yourself breaking down. Your eyes flash around you in a panic. Everything and everyone feel too far away. You don’t see the bouncer by the door, and there’s no escape route that doesn’t take you past the man staring at you from the end of the bar.

You’re not sure what to do so you call the person you trust the most.

Nestor answers on the first ring. “Amor?” His voice is, understandably, apprehensive.

A whimper steals through your lips before you can get the words out. “He’s here.”

“Are you inside?” Nestor’s tone has lost all sense of worry. His words are clipped, business-like, and you know this isn’t going to end well.

“Yeah, I’m working the bar with Morgan,” you mumble, dropping your head into your hands as Morgan looks over at you with concern.

“Stay behind the bar,” he commands. “If he tries anything, break a bottle, get a paring knife. Whatever you gotta do, mi amor. I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

The line goes dead and you take a couple deep breaths, glad that, despite what’s about to happen, Nestor is coming. You grab the Budweiser out of the cooler, pop the cap and plunk it on the bar top in front of him, not meeting his eyes.

“How’s your night going, babydoll?” The words slither out of his mouth deviously and you swallow around the knot in your throat. Your eyes glance to digital clock beside the register. Thirteen minutes to go.

“Busy,” you grind out through gritted teeth. You move to the middle of the bar to help a waiting customer, and the man’s eyes follow you as you make drinks. He doesn’t leave the bar. He sits and leers and you wonder if he thinks that he’s going to follow you out again at the end of the night. As if you wouldn’t have learned your lesson? Good thing he won’t be here ‘til closing, you think, as your eyes flicker obsessively to the clock, counting down the minutes until Nestor arrives.

Nestor, apparently, makes very good time when he’s angry, because you see him come through the door of the club with two minutes to spare. An audible sigh of relief passes your lips as his eyes find yours over the crowd and he makes his way to the bar. You bite your lip as your gaze lands on Marcus talking to the bouncer who has returned to his post. The bouncer, the same one who was working the night you were attacked, glances at you, then nods to Marcus. Marcus disappears into the crowd behind Nestor. You can’t help the tightening in your chest. This is going to be bad.

You come to stand in front of the man so Nestor knows who to see about their little assault problem. The man, still unaware of Nestor and Marcus’ approach behind him, winks nauseatingly at you and just as he reaches over the bar for your wrist, a firm hand clenches around his forearm and pulls back. The man jerks back on the bar stool and spins to face two vicious looking men in suits.

The man sputters, trying to yank his arm free, but Nestor has no intention of letting him go. “Who the fuck are you?” the man yells. You glance at Nestor’s hold on the man’s arm, his knuckles turning white as his grip intensifies.

Marcus paces around to the other side of the man’s stool, his hands tucked casually in his pockets. “We hear you like to hit women,” he says nonchalantly, bringing his mouth close to the man’s ear. His one free arm flies up, trying to hit Marcus, but Marcus was expecting it. He grabs it and yanks it behind the man’s back. Marcus steps back just slightly, drawing out his gun, keeping it low so as not to alarm the crowd. You see the added length of a silencer on the end of it as Marcus shoves it into the man’s side and you step forward.

“Not in here, please,” you beg, and Marcus smiles at you benevolently.

“Mija, what do you take me for? I would never,” he says, and you cock an eyebrow, knowing full well he would.

Between the two of them, Nestor and Marcus hustle the man outside as he yells frantically over the crowd. He can’t really be heard over the music, and no one appears to notice, likely assuming security was removing him. They take him to the back, towards the back door of the club that leads into the alley where he attacked you. The heavy door slams shut with a note of finality, and you try to put it out of your mind. It’s out of your hands anyway. It was out of your hands the minute you told Nestor about it.

You see Morgan looking over at you as you try to get back to work, willing your hands to be steady. She seems to know better than ask, though, and you’re grateful for that. Thirty minutes later, Nestor comes back in through the front door of the club, nodding at the bouncer as he passes. The crowd has thinned out and the bar is considerably less busy. Nestor makes his way over and you run out from behind it to wrap yourself around him in a hug. The fingers on your right hand find their way to their usual spot around one of Nestor’s braids and you give it an affectionate tug. It’s slight, but you feel him sink into your embrace, seemingly as relieved as you. You pull back and scan him from head to toe, your heart racing. He appears unscathed, but you do notice the tiniest drop of blood on his dress shoe and point it out to him. He frowns and grabs a cocktail napkin off the bar and leans to down to rub it off, as you release a tired chuckle. He crumples the napkin and puts it in his pocket, then caresses your cheek, tucking you against his body.

“He won’t be bothering you anymore,” he murmurs.

You sigh, partly relieved, partly concerned for Nestor. “¿Lo mataste?” you ask hesitantly, not sure if you’re ready for the answer.

Nestor pulls away to look at you dubiously, as though he can read you like a book. “You really want to know?”

“I feel like I need to,” you say with a shrug, but your grip remains tight on Nestor.

A hard look passes briefly over his eyes before he gazes back down at you with a lopsided smile. “We made sure he won’t be touching anything he’s not supposed to anymore.”

Your face contorts as you wonder what they did with the fingers, but you opt not to ask.

“And he’s not gonna come back?” you ask, your voice small. You’re sure Nestor can feel your heartbeat clamoring against his chest.

“Not unless he wants to die,” Nestor whispers soothingly, and you let out a heavy exhale. “And I talked to Jimmy at the door. He gets anywhere near this place, they call me or Marcus.”

Tears sting your eyes, and you sniff as you pull Nestor tighter against you. “Thank you,” you mumble into his lapel. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“So, what now?” you ask, unsure what a person does after they dismember someone in the darkened parking lot of a club.

Nestor pressed a kiss against your forehead, and you could feel his lips curling into smirk against your skin. He pulled away and met your eyes with a shrug. “Now we go home.”

#nestor oceteva #nestor oceteva imagine #nestor oceteva x reader #mayans fx #mayansmc #mayans mc #mayans fanfic

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years ago

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can you write some hurt n comfort… you can go crazy with it lol

I wrote a little thing I’ve wanted to try out for some time. I hope you like it!

CW//Conditioning, pet whumpee, dehumanization, mitts

“I know you’re trying.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“But it’s not going to work.”

The whimper that escaped Whumpee’s throat was an inevitable as the situation they found themself in. Even as they snapped their teeth shut about their own tongue, the pathetic noise refused to cease.

Their trembling, too, was uncontrollable. Pressed against the floor as closely as they were, their own shaking threatened to give them carpet burn.

But that was far, far from being the greatest of their worries.

No. Whumper had a box. That fact trumped any other terrified thought that could have occupied their captive’s mind.

As, when Whumper had a box, it meant they had a gift.

“It’s disappointing, Whumpee. It really is.” They sighed. “I thought we’d finally worked out a compromise, not that pets can really make compromises...”

A flash of fury lit their lungs, rushing through their clenched teeth and the gums that held them.

They weren’t a pet, and, even so, there was no way they would ever cooperate with their torturer. In that moment, it was with ease that they could visualize their teeth, sinking into Whumper’s tender flesh. Tearing it to shreds, making them feel. Feel something other than whatever sick joy their own sadism brought about.

But...

But Whumper had a box.

“I know you don’t like your kennel, but until you can learn to stop this ridiculous behavior, you’ll have to stay there again, whenever I’m not around to protect you.” Their fingers drummed against the box’s side. It was solid, so it seemed, echoing hollowly against the tattoo of fingertips. “Seriously, Whumpee, the vents? Now I’ll have to nail those grates down, too.”

For a split second, fury was replaced in their chest by the hollowest of dreads.

The vents had been their only hope. The doors were padlocked, the windows sealed, their glass replaced with a far thicker, far more stable material.

Now...

Now, there was nothing. Every exit, every hope, had been extinguished with ruthless efficiency.

This was their last chance. Their last try.

Their last hope.

Was it worth it? Trying to hold onto hope? There was none to be found, anymore. Not when Whumper seemed so capable of sniffing it out and snipping it at the bud.

“I’ve called your trainer.” They continued. “They were just as disappointed as I was. They really thought your hand training was going well. Now, they say you’ll have to start all over, next session.”

Whumpee flinched as their own canine teeth struck their lips, biting them with force nearly enough to draw scarlet.

Hand training.

An odd name for something so horrid.

‘Instinct breaking,’ their trainer had called it. ‘Habit reversal.’

Breaking down their muscle memory. Tearing it to shreds. They thought it would be impossible, for their reliance on their own hands to be shattered. To turn delicate fingers into useless digits, by training alone.

But...

Even getting the cover off of the vent had been an exercise in exhaustion. Fingers twitching. Refusing to reply to Whumpee’s pleas. Terror, striking through them as thunder when they at last managed to use the digits.

When it finally clattered to the floor, they thought it’d been over. No more training, no more kennel.

But, as most things in their life had become, hope was futile.

“But, until then.” Whumper tapped the box once more. Was it a threat? Or simply a fidget? “They’ve recommended these. To keep you safe until your training takes effect.”

Oh god oh god oh god oh god.

With trailing fingers, they pried the lid from the box. The inside glittered with the shine of leather.

“On the couch now, Whumpee. Show me your hands.”

Another whimper tore itself from their throat. Show me your hands. It was one of their trainer’s favorite phrases.

Hand training, truly, was not a complicated process, after all. It was a simple matter of presenting an object, a situation-- something familiar. A piece of silverware. A pen. A cup. Yet, when Whumpee reached forth, tried to use their hands, tried to oblige their muscle memory, they’d hear those four, terrible words.

Show me your hands.

Then, they’d be left with terrible bruising-- the biting mark of a whip, traced along their palm. If their slip-up had been particularly egregious, blood would even be drawn by the crop’s strike.

Yet, they could not refuse. Refusal would be worse.

Shaking like an unsteady structure in an earthquake, Whumpee climbed onto the couch, and presented their hands.

But, from the box, Whumper did not withdraw a whip.

The objects appeared almost like mittens-- though they were larger, and far firmer in shape. The tight straps and buckles around their bases did not help assuage their fears, either.

“These will help your training, too, okay? They’re mitts.”

It took all their willpower for Whumpee not to struggle as the mitts were placed over their hands. While they appeared as rounded, almost spherical things on the outside, the inside seemed to be filled with a sort of foam-- shaped and molded to provide slots for a palm and five fingers. Not allowing the slightest inch of movement.

The tightening of those buckles was all it took to extinguish the very least embers of hope they had managed to retain.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━��━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You’re trying so hard. And you can do it! I know you can do it.”

Embedded in Caretaker’s words was such hope. So much so that Whumpee felt, almost, that, if they truly tried, they could dredge up some hope of their own.

Almost.

“Let’s try one more time, okay? Open your hand, spread your forefinger and thumb really far apart.”

Whumpee’s gaze turned downwards, to their hands.

Their hands...

They still weren’t used to seeing them. Just their hands. No scars. No marks.

No mitts.

Even looking at them sent a nervous palpitation through their chest.

Show me your hands.

They wanted to look away. Wanted to hide them in their pockets and never again look at them.

Yet, more than that, they desired something else: To not disappoint Caretaker. Whumpee would do anything, if it meant seeing them smile.

Forefinger and thumb.

They could feel their digits. That was not the issue that faced them. The feeling had never been lost. But the movement? The ability to pull muscles taut?

That had been taken from them, dragged so, so far away. Buried so deep.

But...

For Caretaker. For Caretaker, they would try.

Forefinger and thumb. In a way, they felt to operating a character, buried in the code of a video game.

Slowly, slowly, agonizingly slowly, their fingers parted.

“Yeah! That’s it.” Their caretaker cheered. “Now, just put your fingers around the cup, and close.”

Whumpee raised their gaze to the object, sitting upon the table. It had been there so long, its contents had begun to leave a ring of condensation below.

A cup. Just a cup. They knew they could do it.

They placed their hand over the cylinder of glass, and closed their fingers.

They were doing it! They were holding a cup!

“Great!” Caretaker smiled. Caretaker smiled. “Now, how about a toast?”

“To recovery?”

“To recovery.”

#pet whump #pet whumpee #caretaker #whumpee #whumpblr #whump community

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albino-whumpee · 3 years ago

Text

It was a sunny day

SO, I finally wrote the accident. God I had so so many doubts about this part. But hey, its ok. its just for fun. 778900´s POV first before we dip into Robert´s.

This is a series, here´s the Masterlist

Taglist: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread @crowned-avery @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70 @boxboysandotherwhump

TW// dehumanization, slavery, human trafficking, narcotics and syranges, death, child death, car accidents, dub-con, dub con touching (sexual), kind of spicy, blood, conditioning, defiant whumpee, curse words, This one is messed up, so please be careful when going through it.

It had been two years.

778900 had been waiting for two years for someone to take him. As the days passed, as he tried completing his training with as little “incidents” that ended up in him getting yet another set of fresh bruises, the hope of getting out was starting to die out.

He tried being good.

He tried to do everything the handlers ordered him to do. Did his positions, however humilliating they were, ate the flavorless nutrition meals, kept his head down and his attention sharp. But it was useless. One way or another, he would fail.

So he payed attention to even the tiniest detail.

How the handler´s watch would always mark 5 am when they were told it was night, how the blond handler´s hands always stayed a moment longer than necessary when he was on position training, how the cooking classroom was essentially the handler´s meal prep, the direction all handlers walked to when they talked about “going for some fresh air”; How the handlers would shift the camera in the hallway next to the handler´s room after taking a boy with them for whatever lame excuse they would put and finally, how the medic at the facility kept syringes with a powerful narcotic in her coat´s pocket just in case.

You signed up for this

A voice inside his head told him, before he stared at the handler´s clock and found the needle pointing at five, just as expected. As he went to the medic´s office to receive his daily dosis of vitamins. “Special treatment” was not quite the reason he had to take them. It was just them making sure the precious money and time spent training him, wasn´t wasted on a defective product.

He didn´t remember anymore, but he had come weighting half the acceptable for a boy his age and size. It was no surprise he fainted with just a stretching routine. It had gotten better with the vitamins, but the handlers were forced by the medic to not beat him if he fell to the ground.

He was deeply thankful for the woman to go that far for him even with the handler´s threats. So, so very thankful he got vitamins thanks to her kindness. Or so he made it seem, as she allowed him to give her a hug. Not sensing at all his hand taking out the syringe before responding to her “take care” with a bright smile on his face that distracted her from his hands.

You wanted to not make any decisions for yourself.

He heard deep inside his head as he added something to the sauce for the dish they cooked at class that day. The trainee sneaked glances at the blond handler coming to his table to watch him clean up after cooking, noticing the last boy went through the door with his handler, he knocked the sauce all over him. Loudly. So fashionably eye catching, the blond whipped his head to laugh at him.

“I-I´m sorry, I didn´t see it and…I´m so sorry” He stumbled on his words, acting as if he was cleaning himself up. Smirking to himself, the man pulled him up and started cleaning him.

“Jesus, what a waste. How can you be that clumsy?” he asked him, not exactly sounding annoyed to put his hand over his chest. Slowly, 778900 took the man´s hand and passed it down his torso.

“Thank you…” he said with a honey toned voice, making sure he pressed his hand right above his crutch, noticing the hungry look the man gave him, he rocked his hips on his hand, letting out a breathy moan. With his hand teasing the edge of his trainee shorts, the albino leaned to whisper on his ear, “…For helping me clean up” he finished with a little pop, “We have position training after this, but I will need a bath…” almost to emphasize, The boy pulled the man´s dripping hand and pressed it to his lips. 778900 gave him a kiss on the cheek as he pushed one glaced digit into the stunned man´s mouth. “Please. I wouldn´t like anyone but you to do it” he had said in that needy voice he would hear romantics talk in sometimes.

He took off his finger to let him speak, but he could still feel the warmth of his tongue licking him clean.

“Where did you learn to talk like that?” the man asked him wetting his lips, before the trainee gave him a bratty pout and leaned on slightly closer.

“Does it matter?”

The man had bitten the bait. Or more accurately, licked it. Directly or from his hands. The boy had even moaned to encourage him to continue. In his bliss, the man was completely taken by surprise when the albino put his hand over his mouth and felt something puncturing his skin and then warmth began spreading through his body. He felt his limbs growing so heavy suddenly, he slouched over the boy.

“Shh” the albino trainee whispered on his ear as he passed his fingers through his hair “Be a good boy and go to sleep for me” he said, putting away the empty syringe while staring at the turned off camera on the edge of the room the whole time.

A moment later he had crawled below the man and started undressing him after futilely trying to cut off the shock collar on his neck with a kitchen knife. The boy took his clothes and covered his hair with the little cap with “WRU” embroided in bright blue, making sure to cover his neck properly.

You signed up for this

His mind rocked back and forth as he kept his head down. Navigating the halls to the handler´s room in a quick, anxious pace that tried to avoid every suspicious eye. The trainee waited a second for the men to come out of the handler´s room to sneak inside. He couldn´t make up any letters as words without a migraine attacking him. So he guided himself with the drawings on the level map.

Silently, he came out of the room with the elevator on the far right on mind. He walked the same direction as them when they said they would “go get some fresh air” but found a handler and a few boys cleaning the halls. It was part of their training. He quickly noticed the handler´s eyes fixing on him. So, he took one boy and quietly directed him to clean over a spot on the other side. Far from them. The boy obediently followed his instructions and he patted his back before walking to the elevator.

I signed for this

He told himself as he extended the card over what he assumed was a card reader. There were no buttons but to open and close, so the only way to get out was only through the handler´s and executives cards, each designated to an specific floor. Of course, that was something the panicking, albino trainee didn´t know. He only had the Handler´s card by pure chance, but for his audacity, he was rewarded with the doors closing to feel the vertigo from going up.

And I fucking regret it.

There was a loud ring when the doors opened up again to a floor, and he prayed, it was the highest point. That there was a door conducting outside.

And it was.

He pushed it open and found above, the almost forgotten sky. The sun was already high up and just a few clouds spotted the vast blue.

It was a sunny day.

He stepped out without letting go. The view of trees, the sun on his skin and seeing how blue the sky was, drove him to tears quick enough that he didn´t notice there were other handlers smoking there.

“Hey, got some reds? I ran out” one of them asked, eyeing him for a second before a frown formed on his face, “Who are you? I have never seen you” He ignored him, heart throbbing on his ears as he tried walking past them, into the woods, “Hey!” one of them launched himself to grab his wrist, pulling on the uniform enough to find the barcode and numbers. “HOLY SH-” the man couldn´t finish before 778900 whipped his hand back and sprinted towards the forest. As quickly and as far away from their screams and their batons and the range from his collar as his feet could carry him.

Unknowingly, going straight into the highway.

He could hear their yelling getting lost behind him. Adrenaline helping him to outrun them. He jumped and knocked over a few bushes on his way. Tearing the clothes apart in his rush. Sweat made his forehead slippery enough for the cap to get lost somewhere on the way, but he couldn´t stop.

So he kept running until finally, he felt concrete under his oversized boots. He didn´t know how far he had run, but he knew he wanted to collapse right there and then as the haziness of hunger overcame him. He couldn´t stop now, but he allowed himself to catch his breath with his hands on his knees.

It was a second.

Just one second.

However, it was all it took to pass from breathing triumphantly that he was out to be in front of a van driving pass the limit.

It was one second when he curled into himself and the van turned to his right, avoiding him by mere centimeters and crashing violently into the other side of the highway. Turning and turning and turning.

The boy rose to his feet when he stopped hearing the metal crashing into the pavement. The world seemed to slow down then. As his chest heaved making his wayt to the turned around car, hoping there had only been one person aboard, his heart leaped. He had seen too many shadows, too many clothes scattered around.

Then, he heard the screams.

For a hot second he stayed still, considering he could simply turn his back on it. He would be in serious problems if they found him… but he had provoked it, hadn´t he? It would be his fault if something happened to the poor people inside the van. If they died… they would have died on a sunny day.

People shouldn´t die on sunny days.

A voice different from the usual, a voice that made him irrationally sad, told him.

So, he tried to rush to help, but felt the familiar bolt of pain on his neck. So much stronger than normal, he fell to the ground, his hands up on his neck before he could register he had screamed. There were a row of convulsing bolts that pinned him down. The electrifying pain took away his consciousness bit by bit.

He let out a whimper as someone grabbed him by the uniform´s shirt and started beating him. Reflexes too slow to put up his hands to defend his head or face. It took little more than two hits to draw out blood. To make his ears ring and his eyes to mud everything. But he didn´t need to see or hear to know it was the blond handler, pissed out of his mind.

He was barely awake when his head was pressed against the concrete, while he was roughly handcuffed on his back, before being pulled up. Only to be slapped when he couldn´t stand for himself, and then, thrown into the unforgiving cold of the van´s floor.

The car started so quickly, as he tried to pull himself up the ground, he couldn´t avoid slamming the back of his head against the door´s sharp edged lock.

From then on, it was black.

—-

“Yeah, yeah. I called an ambulance” the man shouted into his phone as he drove back to the facility. A pissed voice on the other side yelled at him loud enough to make him separate the phone from his ear, “Do you fucking think this was on the manual? They´re supposed to be fucking broken! How the hell did he get his hands on a narcotic? How the hell did no one notice? He´s white like a paper sheet for fucks sake!” he screamed back, hearing attentively to the voice “What? No, he´s fine. Just some scratches and- FUCK” The wheels burnt when he stopped the car to whip his head towards the blood pond on the back of the van. Fuming, he passed his hands through his hair, failing to hold a frustrated scream as he slammed open the doors and checked for a pulse.

He sighed in relief before he passed the barely breathing boy to the front, wrapping a discarded scarf around his head before fastening the seatbelt and driving back.

“Jesus, kid” he shook his head, eyeing the unconscious boy next to him “Couldn´t you have tried to escape in a less flashy way?”

When he got back, he begged the doctor he had stolen the narcotric from, to treat the boxie. To give him the strongest serum they had, because it wasn´t only him risking losing his job or worse.

She had no other choice than to agree. In the worst case, he would have brain damage. Putting aside the possible motor damage luckily they would be able to fix before anyone noticed, however, a colateral would be damage to his short term memory. Meaning, he would do things without being able to recall them later. In the optimistic side, it wouldn´t last forever. He would remember some things eventually. Hopefully much time after he was bought. When he wouldn´t be the company´s problem anymore.

Hoping it would be that way, she began treatment.

The man made his way to the handlers above, then. The men laughed at his incompetence, but he had made up his mind.

“I´m gonna quit”

“Right call” one of them said.

“None of you will talk about this. EVER. Nothing happened. I´ll even pay you, but none of this ever happened, understood?”

The men exchanged looks before smiling at their ex coworker “And what are you gonna do about the van?”

“Bad accident, four people died in situ. A four year old between them I heard”

“And the doctor too. The one that CEO´, was marrying on March. Heard CEO´s on the hospital as well” the blond handler gulped. “Guilty, Sanders? Want some serum to forget like the boxie?”

“Nothing. Happened” The men said through gritted teeth. The other two stared at him before pulling their hands up. What did they care anyways? If they had cared about humans pain, they wouldn´t be in that line of work. Well, beyond their own amusement.

When Sanders went away to write his resignation letter, both handlers stayed there for a while. Looking at the sun go higher and higher. No clouds on sight. It was the kind of day kids would use as an excuse to go outside. The perfect day to go on a picnic. To grab your partner and have a nice date. One of them wondered if they people on the van were going to do just that when the boxie jumped on the highway.

“What a pretty day to die though” he said, sipping on their cigarette looking up at the sky.

—

A few months later, “nothing happened” made the freckled twenty year old college student, the costume order box boy for a broken hearted CEO and two years later, a lonely, grieving woman take out 778900 out of his box.

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witchyxmalfoy · 4 years ago

Text

TWO SNAKES AND A BADGER

Pt. 2

Pairing: Draco x reader x Cedric Diggory

Warnings:

part one: none

Part two: smut (female receiving)

Part three: ??

Based on 4th year events (but making characters age appropriate for this theme lol) slight love triangle between reader, Draco and Cedric. The ball doesn’t go quite as planned, Draco sees it as the perfect opportunity to teach reader a lesson.

•••

You just had freshened yourself up for dinner walking down the steps to the common room. Pansy, your best friend lunged for you.

“Y/N! I’ve got loads to tell you!” She squealed pulling you down in the arm chair across from her.

“Guess who asked me to the ball.” She said wiggling her eyebrows. You were already late for dinner and you honestly didn’t care terribly much as the dark haired girl flapped her arms like a bird, trying to contain herself.

“Uh.. dunno. Blaise maybe?” You questioned

“No course not! Draco! Draco just asked me to the ball!” She squealed grabbing your shoulders and pulling you into a hug. Your arms laid flat to your sides, eyes wide in confusion. You couldn’t tell if she was excited or just trying to rub it in.

Your heels clicked down the hall on your way to dinner, the castle was candle lit and you could see a light snow fall through the vast windows.

“The slimy git. Really thinks he’s all that. Bastard.” You muttered to yourself.

Running footsteps came from behind and finally caught up with your brisk walk. The boy grabbed your arm to pull to back.

“Going to the ball with fucking Diggory are we? You must be joking Y/N!” The blonde shouted, venom dripping from his teeth.

You kept walking, not even planning to mention him asking your best friend to the ball.

You felt him yank you back again by you wrist and push you against the nearest wall. One arm trapping your head the other dipped down to grab your chin. You were forced to look at his darkening eyes now as he chuckled darkly.

“You knew. Didn’t you darling? You were supposed to go with me. But now.. well I had to make other arrangements.” He feigned a pout.

You ripped out of his grip on your chin.

“Well if Cedric cancels, you’ll be the first to know.” You said in a sarcastic tone as you adjusted your tie and finished your walk to dinner.

You had not seen nor spoken to Draco at all the rest of the week. He now had Pansy hanging from his arm like an ornament. It truly did make you sick hearing her overly loud giggles from the shared tables of the slytherin house. You would always catch him staring at you from across the potions classroom, or purposely go out of his way to the library when he knew you would be there studying. When he did see you though, he would make the effort to push Pansy into the bookcase nearest to you and snog her. He did look miserable to put it lightly, which made it not so bad.

Saturday finally came around, you stood in your shared dorm with Pansy as you listened to her fuss about her dress.

“This dress, it’s ghastly on me. You try it on Y/N” she sighed handing the beautiful dress, it was sheer on the top, only using gem stones to cover the chest area, and a flowing black satin skirt was attached.

The dress fit like a glove, cascading around your hips and down your legs. The large slit from your upper thigh on the dress, combined with a nip slip waiting to happen, left little to the imagination.

Pansy gasped when she saw you and threw her hands over her mouth

“Y/N! It’s so lovely on you, Cedric will faint!” She said, fixing your hair into a low, sleek bun.

The two of you walked down the grand steps towards the great hall, all eyes were on the both of you as you parted ways to your dates.

“You look, so beautiful Y/N” Cedric said sweetly taking your arm.

You couldn’t help but feel another pair of eyes burning through the back of your head. You turned to see the blonde looking dapper in white and black dress robes. He gave you a quick smirk as he kissed pansy’s hand. You rolled your eyes and followed your date into the beautifully decorated hall. The sky was bewitched to be snowing, and everything was decorated with winter flowers.

You had danced the first dance with Cedric and the other champions then made your way to the punch bowl. You heard Cho Chang and couple other Ravenclaw girls talking just to the left of you- glossing really.

“Ah poor ceddy, I can’t believe you turned him down to go with Harry, Cho. Look how handsome he looks on the dance floor.” The red headed Ravenclaw girl said.

“Well, he does look quite nice doesn’t he.” Cho started,

“But, just last night he begged me to change my mind to go with him. That poor Y/N girl had no idea. He told me she was last resort... so i agreed to meet him in his dorm tonight.” She continued.

The two other girls giggled and hushed Cho.

“Slytherin girls, am I right? Will go with anyone desperate enough to take them.” The red head said again.

You had listened enough, throwing your cup into the punch bowl and rushing out of the hall. You quickly made a right turn into the washroom.

Draco had seen the conversation play out and decided to follow you to the washroom.

You grabbed the sink breathing hard, trying not to spill tears on your makeup.

“If it isn’t the Slytherin princess herself. What brings you here Y/N.” Dracos voice came from behind

“I’m not in the mood Malfoy. Piss off” you snapped.

“Oo not very friendly. Heard what happened with your little date.” He said coming closer to you

“Well I don’t see your date anywhere either Malfoy. Why’d you follow me anyway?” You sniffled trying to mask that you were about to cry.

“To make sure you learned your lesson.” He whispered darkly, now pressed up to your backside. You looked up at him with a puzzled look through the mirror in front on you.

“W-what do you mean Draco..” you stammered

“I think we both know what I mean darling..” he gently folded your dress up and over your backside so you were now exposed to him, only a small triangle of black lace covering you. His deep voice went straight to your heat, feeling your thighs already becoming damp.

He rubbed your ass with the palm of his hand and then- whack. It came down upon you

“That’s for going with Diggory in the first place.”

Another smack.

“That’s for this pathetic excuse for a dress. No one else should be able to see that but me.”

Another.

“And that is so you know who you belong to.” He nibbled on your ear as you whimpered at the now glowing red handprints. He raised his hand one more time above your ass,

“Who do you belong to.” He seethed

“Draco you! Please.. I need you.” you whimpered desperately trying to rub your legs together for friction. He tsked and kicked your legs apart.

“Be a good girl, and be quiet for me. Okay darling?” He stoked your cheek bringing your face up to look at him through the mirror. You nodded still whimpering a bit as he shoved two fingers in your mouth. You swirled your tongue around them, sucking his digits. They left your mouth with a ‘pop’. He slid your tiny lace panties to the side and teased his spit covered fingers over your folds from behind. You bit your lip to hide a moan.

“Such a good girl.” He purred, slowly sliding his two fingers into you at once.

You gasped and let out a louder moan. Feeling another harsh slap to your ass you covered your mouth again.

“What did I say.. keep quiet princess.” He said now pumping his fingers at a rapid pace and spreading them apart inside your dripping walls. You scrunched your eyes shut head falling back onto his shoulder as you moaned quietly and softly in bliss. He curled his digits to hit the soft skin inside you that made your legs shake. He used his other arm to snake around your waist holding you up against him. Your knuckles turned white from the death grip you had on the sink.

He pulled his long dripping fingers out of you painfully slow. The loss of his fingers was dreadful, until you felt his hot breath fanning over your heat. He was bent down behind you, gripping the back of your thighs to steady you, as he kitten licked your folds before plunging his tongue into you. You tightened around nothing, but judging by the state of your trembling body and your wetness dripping from his chin, he knew you were close. You brought a hand to your mouth, biting it so hard, almost drawing blood as you tried to contain your moans.

“D-Draco.. I’m close..” you spoke shakily.

He hummed in amusement against your soaking pussy which sent vibrations through your core, and gave your ass another smack. This sent you over the edge, you were now a moaning mess. Not caring who heard as you mumbled his name over and over. He lapped up the juices that weren’t released on his tongue and licked up your thighs before muttering praises into your ear.

“I’m not done with you princess, let’s take this elsewhere.” He smirked helping your trembling body stand straight.

#draco malfoy #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x reader

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rocorambles · 4 years ago

Note

Is it okay if i request yandere tendou headcanons?😶

MORE than okay! I went with a college scenario with this since that’s the first thing that came to mind.

Warnings: Yandere, Toxic Relationship, Implied NSFW, Implied Rape/Non-Con, Knife Play, Blood Play, Implied Drugging, Kidnapping, Bondage, Stalking

- You made the mistake of just being a nice person and smiling politely at the tall redhead as you walked past him on campus and that’s all it took for Tendou to regard you with interest. His reputation even after Shiratorizawa isn’t great and everyone his year on the college campus avoids him like the plague. Creepy. Unsettling. Weird. So imagine his surprise when a pretty thing like you gave him the time of day and even shot a smile his way.

- You swear you see the redhead everywhere you go. At first, you thought it was just coincidence, just you noticing him more now that you’d interacted once. But it’s hard to consider it a coincidence when he’s standing outside everyone of your classes, loitering around in your dorm hallway, sitting at the table you always claim in the library. But...he hasn’t technically done anything to you yet and you don’t know anything about him. It seems overboard to bring it up to anyone so you let it be.

- You’ve had way too much to drink, but it’s college, it’s a frat party, and finals are over, so you just drink more. You’re pouring a drink when someone roughly grabs your ass and you try to pull away, but they aren’t budging. Panic begins to set in as you desperately try to pull away from the larger figure, but then a familiar redhead places a hand on your assailant’s shoulder and you shudder at the menacing glare he sends, but relief sinks in when you’re unhanded and your harasser scurries away leaving just you and your savior.

- You learn that his name is Tendou and there’s still something about him that makes you cautious, but he did rescue you and you’re too drunk to be as wary as you should be, so the two of you chat over drinks. And honestly, he’s not all that bad. It’s a little strange how he breaks into mini songs and dances, but it’s kind of endearing in a way and maybe that’s why when you need to use the restroom, you let him hold your cup as you walk away. You’ll regret that decision for a long time afterwards.

- The two of you pick up your conversation when you return, but as you sip more of your drink, you can feel dizziness and drowsiness dulling all your senses until you falter forward into long arms that cradle you, unable to hold yourself up. Tendou usually hates crowds, but for once he’s grateful for the mess of drunk and high college students too far gone in their own little worlds to care about him carrying your limp figure out of the building.

- When you wake up, your head pounds and you groan, instinctively trying to lift your hand to rub your temples, only to realize you can’t move an inch from your current position. Suddenly the pain is the last thing on your mind as you frantically scan around you, heart racing and pounding as you see your naked figure tied in a spread eagled position on an unfamiliar bed. But it’s the sound of a door opening and the sight of Tendou drawing near you, a crazed smile on his face, knife in hand, that has you sobbing.

- You shudder at his touch as his hands teasingly dance across your bare figure while he coos down at you about how beautiful and unmarked you are. He needs to change that. Needs to permanently remind you and everyone that you’re his. And your cries turn into screams as a metal tip digs into your skin, carving a name into the soft flesh, cutting tiny crude hearts around the bleeding letters of his name.

- You don’t think you have any more tears to cry or energy to make a sound when he’s done with you and you clench your eyes shut as Tendou shamelessly takes in your newly marked figure, praying that this is all a sick dream when he brings a finger to swipe through the drying blood drenching your body. But it seems all too real as you watch him lick your blood off his smeared digits and moan at the taste of your crimson fluids. And you stare at the ceiling above you, trying to tune everything out as you feel his figure hover over yours, as you feel something hard nudging at your entrance, as you feel the splitting pain of being forcefully stuffed full while unaroused.

- You’re in for a long and twisted ride. You see, Tendou has an active imagination, but nowhere to channel all that creativity. But now here you are, a blank slate for him to ruin and it’s not over until every inch of your canvas is covered multiple times over, until you’re literally unusable and ruined. And even then he wouldn’t part ways with you. He’s just sentimental like that~

#haikyuu yandere #yandere haikyuu #tendou x reader #yandere tendou #tw: noncon

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tales-of-asgardia · 4 years ago

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Loki's Knowhere, Chapter 2. Lost Fonts.

Asgard, the golden city in the Realm Eternal, in the early 13th century as the time was known to the mortals of Midgard, four prodigies of the old arts of sorcery and witchcraft studied. Lorelei, who above all else coveted power in all its forms, her older sister Amora, the most talented of Frigga’s class. Sigyn, with a sincere heart; and Loki, Odinson.

“Amora, I cannot express the greatness of which I do not wish to hear your pinings for my brother.” Loki pleaded to the sorceress with shining golden hair.

“Perhaps I might find the resolve to hold my tongue if my fortitude was not worn down by how grotesquely cute you and Sigyn were daily.”

Sigyn blushed, “Amora, I do not know what you speak of.”

“You refer to him casually as husband.” Amora stated.

“And?” Loki asked.

“You are not married, or betrothed...lest you have eloped to avoid the judging gaze of the Allfather?” Amora teased.

“We have not.” Loki replied.

Sigyn brought her hands to her cheeks, covering her flush, “Please, shush, her Majesty shall return soon.

“Sigyn, my sweet, most cherished friend, you are so very easy to tease.” Amora laughed.

[Scene transition.]

Several daggers flew across the table from Loki’s outstretched hand, Nebula dodged, but had to raise her arm to stop the third dagger from piercing her chest. She winced as the asgardian conjured blade burned at her cybernetics.

“The next one shall not miss your heart.” Loki declared.

Quill drew his twin blasters on Loki, “Yeah and mine will getcha right between the eyes.”

With the flick of her fingers, the seat below Quill flew up and slammed him into the ceiling and he fell with a hard thud.

Thor looked back to Nebula, “You...tortured Loki?”

“I am groot.” Groot whimpered.

“Under Thanos’s order, yes.” Nebula admitted, “He tortured everyone he could he could use but resisted his will. Including Gamora and myself.” She pulled the thin razor from her arm, tossing it on the table, “We were all his victims.” She said, looking at Loki.

Thor turned around, “Loki, I had no idea.”

“You never do.” Loki spat.

“We’ll leave, Loki.” Nebula said.

“I am groot?”

“Yeah, what about Gamora?” Peter asked.

Loki glared at Nebula, not trusting her eyes off her for even a moment, “I shall not be helping you.”

“There are other leads.” Nebula stated.

The cyborg daughter of Thanos was the first to step out, followed by Drax, Rocket took Groot’s hand. “I am Groot?”

Quill stepped out without a word.

“Uh, Thor?” Rocket asked.

“Sister, I…” Thor said, softly, conflicted. “I said I’d help them.”

Loki’s jaw trembled, “Go.”

Thor nodded, “Thank you, Loki.”

The Thunderer was leaving as Loki spoke up again, “Brother...don’t come back.”

Thor stopped in his tracks, his hand made a shaking fist, he replied, “goodbye, Loki.”

Loki held still, deady painfully still for a long long time. Finally, Loki let out her breath, tears rolling down her cheeks, “Thick oaf.”

Over the intercom a digital voice spoke, “Lady Loki, the hostile entities have left orbit and your throne has been replaced.”

Loki did not reply, she poured herself a goblet of wine, she headed deeper into the Collection, to her personal chambers, “Clear all scheduled events, I need...I need a lot of things.”

“Shall we compile a wish list, Lady Loki?”

“....No.”

Days passed into weeks for Loki, whose days consisted of day drinking on her throne, and the occasional approval of planetary defense systems as scavengers attempted to take whatever remained of the Collection.

She wore a green silky robe one morning as she sat awkwardly on her throne, lazily clipping her toenails, and munching on a bowl of grapes when the familiar roar of a bifrost bridge blasted outside the museum.

Loki jumped on her throne and glowered towards the sound, ‘Dense oaf, can’t follow the simplest request.” she muttered to herself, though despite all that had transpired she smiled softly.

All while you, Odin the protector of those Nine Realms, are sitting here in your bathrobes eating grapes.

“Oh shit.” She took a quick swallow of wine and stood up, glamoring herself, illusory light shifting her bathrobe into a green armored coat and matching boots, “Uhm, bumbum bah,” She adds fur to the collar of the coat, ‘Perfect.”

“Lady Loki, shall I engage defense protocols?”

“It’s fine, disengage all safety measures.” Loki quickly said.

As the door opened Loki put on an all serious face, “Even now you cannot listen to a word I say, dear bro-” Loki froze, seeing her breath, she closed her grip on a conjured dagger.

The figure stepped through the door and Loki threw the dagger but it was knocked aside, the figure raised their hand and waves of ice ripped through the throne room and blasted Loki against the wall.

“Foul monster, you dare invade the home,” Loki said, as the figure walked closer, “of Loki, child of...Laufey.”

“Hello, son.” Laufey said, grabbing Loki’s face by the chin and jaw.

Loki let out groans of pain, as her skin grew blue, shapeshifting into jotunari form to protect herself from the damage, she bit Laufey’s hand hard, drawing blood.

“Whatever trick this is, Jotunn, I am not fooled. I killed Laufey myself.” Loki stated, and strained against the icewall, “Now tell, who are you, why should I care, and why,” Loki struggled fruitlessly, “Why can’t I break out of this damn ice!?”

The Jotunn wearing Laufey’s face smiled, erupting into illusory light, revealing a powerful built Jotunn woman with icy blue skin and deep blue-violet hair in thick curls, “I am Utgard Angrboda, Queen of Jotunheim.”

Loki glowered, and sneered, “So, the frost giants finally decided on a new king of the rumble mound? And a witch at that. How many jotnar fell to the power vacuum left in Laufey’s absence?”

“None to succession, millions when the bifrost landed on our world and did not end until it bore into the planet’s core...disrupting rotation, and plunging my world into further ruin than Odin ever dreamed.” Angrboda spat, “My ascension to the throne was assured before our births, when Laufey propositioned my clan for a betrothed for his...child.”

“So what, you’ve come here to kill me?” Loki grimaced, “Wed me? I implore you, choose the first.”

“Neither, unfortunately.” She stepped away, pouring herself a drink from the bar, “I have come because I was assured of your capability, and to call on your debt to your own people. The Realms are in chaos, Yggdrasil sundered, the balance a distant memory...even if I save Jotunheim it would only be a matter of time until all is lost regardless.”

“Funny you should think a Jotunn of all things would know anything about maintaining the balance of the realms.”

Angrboda downed her drink, “Yes, you’re right, after all, only Nine, or was it Eight? No matter, only SOME of the realms have fallen under Odin’s protection.”

Loki grimaced, silently.

“The Balance of the realms has nothing to do with an Imperialist calm. Odin kept his peace in the realms but not true balance. He was it’s defiler, a murderer and thief. Odin stole the fonts of magic from all realms he could not control otherwise, the casket of ancient winters, the eternal flame, the mead of poetry. And in doing so he made the realms weak so he could seem strong.”

“Tell me, jotunn queen, why should I consider a word of what you’re telling me?” Loki asked.

“Because,” Called into the room a new voice, Loki looked to the door in disbelief. “She learned this from me, Loki.”

She walked into the room, with a wave of her hand, chains of light glowed and shattered over Loki, and the ice shattered, she fell to the floor on her knees, wide eyed Loki uttered in dear whisper, “Sigyn.”

Chapter 1 can be read here https://protector-of-mankind-thor.tumblr.com/post/632008264553463808/the-milano-slowed-as-it-entered-knowheres

#loki's knowhere #chapter 2 #thor #loki #guardians of the galaxy #knowhere #lady loki #mcu fanfiction #loki and sigyn #sigyn #angrboda #asgard #jotunheim

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captainderyn · 4 years ago

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The Things We Regret the Most

Summary: Cullen has long got out of the habit of holding regrets. But failing to seperate Tucdela from her role as Inquisitor when she needed him to the most, and almost losing her to the Anchor because of it, still sticks with him all these years later.

(Ferelden; unknown year post 9:44)

Long term regrets were not something that Cullen clung to. He learned long ago, back in Ferelden’s Circle and twice over in Kirkwall, that if he did not learn to forgive himself for some things then he would simply collapse beneath their weight. Regrets needed to be acknowledged, yes. Changes needed to be made in accordance. But then they were allowed to fall away so that new regrets may take their place. It was an ever persisting cycle.

Failing to separate Tucdela from the Inquisitor when it mattered most...that had dug its claws into his shoulders and refused to be shaken, even now.

It crept upon him in the quietest of moments. In bed at night, when Tucdela was pressed against his side and softly snoring into his shoulder, it plagued his waking thoughts.

Even in peaceful times, sitting in front of the hearth, he would look at Tucdela bouncing their daughter in her lap with a bright smile, and a twinge of what she could have avoided had he just opened his eyes would twist deep in his gut. How much suffering she could have been spared if duty had been set aside for a moment.

He hadn’t been able to sleep beside her for weeks without waking in a cold sweat hearing her screams echoing in his ears, or without turning over to check that she was still peacefully slumbering and not covered in her own blood. Running his hands across her skin in simple pleasure had become unthinkable for far too long after the Exalted Council--each new scar his fingers would touch screamed at him that it could have been avoided.

(The Exalted Council; 9:44 Dragon)

The moment Tucdela’s saint-like patience and clear-headed kindness with her advisors faltered, alarm bells should have been sent ringing in Cullen’s head.

The Inquisitor remained unnaturally quiet as he, Leliana, and Josephine bickered back and forth over the details of the Exalted Council, staring hard at the wall. Tucdela had never been one to contribute to strategic talks, she claimed it was out of her wheelhouse and she was much better at listening and learning rather than forcing in a baseless opinion. Yet this silence reigned differently, far less contemplative and far more volatile.

Her eyes narrowed suddenly, her mouth twisting in a hard line.

“Everyone, enough!” she snapped, voice tearing through their argument like barbed claws. Surprised enough by the vitriol in her voice, they all faltered and stared at her. She glared back, green eyes unnaturally bright as though she was running a fever. Her cheeks were flushed red too, Cullen noted with a spike of worry worming its way into his mind. Far redder than her usual flush.

“What’s the point?” Tucdela continued. “All they ever are is angry! We save Orlais, they’re angry. We save Fereldan, and they’re angry. We save the whole fucking world and they’re! still! Angry!” she broke off with a cry, bucking over on herself.

She stumbled, going to a knee and clutching at the edge of the table to keep herself on her feet. Her teeth ground together hard enough that he could see her jaw jumping.

Cullen reached for her, but she batted his hand away with a sharp, “Don’t!”

He hovered, hands half poised to help without making a move to touch her. The last time he had seen her this agitated, if there had ever been such a point, was far from memory.

She took several ragged breaths, the mark pulsing a sickly green. The spike of worry drove painful through his chest again when he saw the green tendrils following the veins up her arm.

As if feeling his gaze, Tucdela tucked her arm close to herself, steadied her breath and stood.

All the acid had drained from her voice. Fear and a deep, deep pain weighed it down instead,

“And now it’s all going to end. It’s all going to fall apart again. So what are we trying to do, exactly?”

Shaking her head she added, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m just--this is a lot.” she looked around at them, eyes lingering on Cullen. Although her words addressed them all, it felt as though extra emphasis went to him, “I’m alright. I think I’ll just go rest a bit before the meetings tonight, if that is okay?”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” Josephine said carefully. “We will send for you if anything urgent calls. You need your strength.”

And then she was gone, slipping through the door and closing it softly behind her with slumped shoulders and a heavy gait.

An uneasy silence fell across the advisors.

“I should go after her.” Cullen said, eyes fixed on the door.

“No,” Leliana said firmly. “She’ll be alright. We need you here--we need a plan.”

Like a fool, Cullen stayed, tearing his eyes away from the door. Claw number one dug its way into his shoulder.

Hours slipped by until he was able to tear himself away from his work for a moment. Tucdela was curled on top of the plush Orlesian duvet when he crept into their shared quarters. A pillow was clutched close to her chest, a trick he knew she had started to smother the ever present figure of the Anchor.

Her eyelids twitched as he tiptoed over, caught in a restless and fitful sleep. He was just here to make sure she was alright, he had told himself. Leliana and Josephine still required his help and he was lucky that his leash had been slackened enough to make it out here. And yet something still drew him to sink onto the edge of the bed and run his hand down her shoulder.

Heat radiated from her even with the cool air coming in through the open window, her cheeks still heavily flushed.

Just as he began to pull away she caught at his hand, eyes cracking open to heavy slits. The Anchor had made them bright, Fade green. Two twin pools of the Breach itself sunken into tired circles.

“Are you alright?” he whispered and she gave a small, sleepy nod.

She ran her fingers over his knuckles, drawing her hand up to tug at his wrist, “Stay here?”

Every part of him said that yes, he’d stay, except for his mouth, which froze on the words. The missive that had been shoved into his hands on his way over burned in his pocket and Leliana’s sharp demand that he only be gone a short while tugged at his mind.

Wrapping his fingers around hers, he pulled her hand from his wrist and pressed a kiss to the digits. Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her burning forehead, wincing as he murmured, “I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay…” she breathed out, burying her face back in the pillow. Before he closed the door on his way out, he looked over his shoulder once more and watched her shoulders shudder. It may just have been a breath, or perhaps a pain response from the Anchor.

Looking back on it, nothing could convince him it hadn’t been a silent sob that he had chosen to miss. He should have laid down next to her, drawn her close, and held her then.

But he didn’t.

They say that with halla, they don’t show their suffering until it becomes near unbearable. Even with the Anchor pulsing worse and worse with the stress of all Thedas on her shoulders, she rarely showed how deeply her pain ran.

Only one other time did Tucdela break down enough to show her cracks.

Laying together in bed, away from prying eyes and preying duties, another surge struck the Anchor. Tucdela curled in on herself with a cry and lay shuddering for several minutes. Green veins pulsed all the way up her arm. When Cullen finally massaged her rigid limbs out of the fetal position, tears were streaking down her cheeks.

He pulled her close, pressed a kiss to the top of her head and continued to run his hand from her shoulder to her hip as another tremor shook her.

The Maker damned mark...they’d considered it so useful without once considering the consequences. How often had they, no, even he, sent her out to close Rifts or fight demons? How many times had his urging brought her one step closer to this moment? It was all what-ifs and past mistakes and yet still a soft, “I’m sorry,” still slipped from his lips.

“Vhenan,” Tucdela rasped, her eyes still closed. “You’re thinking too much again.”

“I won’t let you go.” Another slip of the tongue and Cullen silently cursed himself. What did he mean? He wasn’t going to let her free from his embrace, or he wasn’t going to let the mark kill her?

She took it as the latter, a soft, mirthless laugh escaping her, “I don’t want to die.” she admitted and his heart stopped beating all together. “But it’s not up to you, or me. It’s out of our control.”

A chill spread through him, peppering goosebumps across his skin. He pressed tighter to her.

The quiet resignation made it sound as though she was prepared to die. Not ready, no, no one was ever truly ready to die, but accepting that that was to be her fate.

“We can still find something.” he said adamantly. Only for her to hum in acknowledgement, but not agreement.

“You can’t fight ancient magic.” she said simply, and ended the conversation there.

He’d never know and never asked if she’d had a gut feeling of what was going to happen when she departed with Varric, Dorian, and Bull the next day, or if she’d simply made an unfortunately accurate comment.

But he knew that he should have held her closer that night, kissed her harder that morning, and begged the Maker with more fevor to bring her back safely.

It felt like years from when the party departed after the qunari and when the scout burst through the doors with their first sign of news.

Perhaps not the first sign, Leliana had slipped in moments prior looking a little ill. Cullen had simply written it off as worry, just as the rest of them felt.

“Commander!” the scout addressed him, and Cullen rocked to his feet. The missive from Baraneth Theirin addressing the Inquisitor fell to the side. It wouldn’t be picked up again or read for several days. “The Inquisitor’s party is returning.”

Leliana and Josephine both looked up from their work, sharing a concerned look.

“And,” Josephine prompted, “Were they successful?”

Silence, uncomfortable and stretching until Cullen snapped, “Well? Report!”

The scout sank their teeth into their lip, forcing the words out, “I don’t know, Lady Ambassador, Commander.”

All three advisors burst out with questions at once until the scout scrambled back, cowering against the door.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“What happened?”

“Is the Inquisitor alright? Varric, Dorian? Bull?”

A deadly pause fell after the last question fell from Josephine’s lips. Hearts dropped to the floor, breaths caught at the lack of immediate answer.

“Well, where are they!?” The scout flinched away from Cullen’s voice and perhaps he would have apologized if he hadn’t been caught on the agonized expression the scout wore. The look of someone with bad news to bear that they had no desire to deliver.

Cold dread flowed through him.

“As far as I am aware, the Inquisitor’s party all arrived safely.”

“And the Inquisitor?” his voice shook. He had heard hedged replies, given them himself to agonized families of fallen templars and soldiers alike. This scout couldn’t, wouldn’t, look him in the eyes and tell him that Tucdela had fallen, so close to the end of the line. This was supposed to be when they wrapped things up, stepped away from it all, and finally found their future.

They had promised that to each other, under the eyes of the Maker and the Dalish Pantheon both only days ago.

“Tell me what happened to the Inquisitor!” Cullen demanded, voice breaking. The scout floundered, finally giving him a hopeless look.

“Commander, I don’t know. The Iron Bull carried her back and that’s the most I saw.”

Before his mind fully caught up to his feet, Cullen was pushing past the scout and into the halls. It is without shame that he can admit he ran to the courtyard, pushing past curious staff members until he broke into the crowd.

Nobility were clustered in the courtyard, shrieking and babbling with their kerchiefs over mouths and eyes. Mages and healers were trying to shoulder their way through, shouts lost in the general din.

“Everybody, leave!” Cullen roared, truly the Lion of Ferelden. “This is an Inquisition matter and Inquisition matter alone!”

Whether it was his shout, or Inquisition forces moving in to control the crowd, or even just the understanding that that was not an order to be defied, the crowd began to part.

He shouldered through, breaking through to the spectacle they all stared at. The party that had accompanied Tucdela gathered together off to the side, none the worse for wear it seemed on the outside. Varric stared somewhere in the distance, eyes determinedly unfocused and vacant from the chaos and panic around him. Dorian paced in the small square of room he had, first hovering over his mouth looking one wrong step away from being sick.

Only Bull broke away from them, striding over to Cullen. His hand fell hard on Cullen’s shoulder, keeping him from walking further. While Cullen thought to protest, bile instead of words rose in his throat when he saw that Bull’s armor was slicked with blood. The hand that fell on Cullen’s shoulder was coated with it.

“That’s not--” he gasped out.

“I don’t think you want to be here, Commander.” Bull said gently, but firmly. “You want to wait elsewhere.”

Already shaking his head, Cullen gaped and closed his mouth repeatedly before finding anything to say first. “Where--is that--is she?”

“She went dead--” Bull cleared his throat, reassessing his words, “She went silent on our way back, I don’t know any more than that.”

Cullen’s legs went to jelly and it felt as though Bull’s hand was the only thing keeping him from toppling forward. He stared at the mages and healers clustered not far away, just not realizing that they had to be surrounding her.

A shuddering breath shook his whole frame and Bull tightened his grip on Cullen’s shoulder, “Commander, I highly suggest you go elsewhere and wait for news.”

Wait until they declare it. Was what Bull was really saying. Wait until they clean the battle and death from her and make her presentable for grief.

It was only meant with the well meaning of someone who had seen too much death firsthand, but Cullen wouldn’t budge. The ground may have gone out from under him, but his feet were someone still rooted to this very spot.

The last thing he’d done was press a kiss to her forehead and tell her to be safe. That couldn’t be the last memory he had to hold on to her, was it?

A clamor rose from the healers, a series of shouts and hand waving that broke Cullen partially from his trance.

The wall of bodies broke momentarily, revealing Tucdela half hoisted between two healers onto a stretcher. She lay limp, her head lolling towards Cullen and Bull. Her eyes were open but unseeing, entirely overtaken by a green glow. Blood trailed from her nose and mouth and dripped in a near steady stream from the arm that bore the Anchor.

Cullen’s stomach rolled, the threat of being sick rising over him again. This was it, she was gone...the Anchor had taken her away and--

And he stumbled after the healers, catching one on the shoulder. She whipped around, eyes frenzied. She was one of the Inquisition’s healers and her eyes softened slightly when she saw that it was Cullen.

“Is she…” Cullen couldn’t even get the word out, but the healer understood him well enough.

“She’s breathing, for now.” she said shortly. “But don’t let that get your hopes up, Commander.”

“Can I see her, can I help?” he asked, pleaded really.

The healer was already shaking her head, “It’s best you let us work.” she said. “But if you must you may wait outside.”

Like a lost stray, Cullen trailed behind them until they reached her quarters. The heavy door was slammed in his face and he sank to the ground next to it, leaning against the wall.

He had left Tucdela one two many times to abandon her now. If he was to be here when she passed instead of woke, then that would be his punishment for only seeing the Inquisitor.

Clasping his hands in front of him, Cullen bent his head and prayed to the Maker.

His knuckles turned white as an agonized wail rose from the room next to him. It rose again and again, until Cullen wasn’t so sure the Maker could even hear him. After all, did the Maker hear prayers from the remnants of battlefields, when only the screams of the wounded and dying remained?

---

He was there for her as soon as the healers opened the door to him. He sank to the bed next to her, wrapped his arms as close to around her as he dared, and rested his head against her chest just to hear the beating of her heart. It thrummed its steady beat, moment after moment, waylaying the fear in his own heart that it would cease to beat.

The bandages were rough against his cheek. It felt strange for his left hand to meet her side instead of her arm. Her arm was a small price to pay for her life; that was what the healers had said, what he secretly thought.

Tucdela herself might not think the same. Dread clouded his thoughts for when she would wake up, an archer waking from death’s door to find that one of the tools most necessary to her craft ripped away from her.

But at least she would wake up.

And when she did, Cullen determined, awake once again in the long, fitful night to make sure that she was still breathing and to rhythmically check her bandages just to give himself something to do, taking her for granted was never going to be a mistake he made again.

#dragon age #DAI #dragon age fanfiction #cullen rutherford #inquisitor lavellan #cullen x inquisitor #cullavellan #trespasser spoilers #oc: Tucdela #otp: the lion and the elf

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snupy · 4 years ago

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“It had been a great summer.

It had been a wonderful, lazy, relaxing summer, and my mental health felt all the better for it.

That's probably why, when a familiar voice called my name, I didn't freak out. I didn't scream, or bolt, or panic. I merely turned in the direction of that familiar sound and, eyes like metal drawn to a magnet, looked straight through the Saturday crowd on that bustling city sidewalk and into his gleaming eyes.

Right into their gleaming eyes, one set and then the other in turn. We said nothing for a moment, the three of us.

But then Yusuke started grinning, and Kuwabara followed suit, and then I was grinning, too, and we were all staring at each other and smiling like crazy people who'd somehow escape the looney bin and were trying to start a boyband.

"Hi," said Yusuke.

"How's it goin'?" added Kuwabara.

They stood twenty feet down the sidewalk, side by weary side, covered in scrapes and bruises and dirt and who knows what else. Passersby stared at the banged-up boys without regard for subtlety, just as fascinated by the bandages on their cheeks and the blood on their clothes as I was—but I was the only one smiling, the only one whose eyes had started to well at the sight of them, at the gorgeous fucking sight of their numbskulls faces.It felt like a giant had wrapped its hand around my heart and squeezed—but in a good way, like my soul had become too big for my skin, overflowing with the love and affection bubbling from somewhere deep inside until it flooded every nook and cranny with thrilling, electric light.

The boys are back in town, I sang inside my head, but no words came out aside from their names. "Yusuke," I said, eyes travelling between them. "Yusuke. Kuwabara.""Long time, no see," Kuwabara said. His hair had gotten long, curls nearly falling into his dark eyes—but his eager, goofy grin hadn't changed a bit, even though he had a nasty split lip.

"Did you miss us?"

"Maybe she did," Yusuke said out of the corner of his mouth, "but why's she staring like that?" His hip jutted out, cocky as all hell. "Forget what we look like or something, grandma? Didja go senile? It hasn't been that long!"

Error. Keiko.exe has ceased to function. Snappycomeback.exe has likewise become unavailable, and cuttingretort.exe is nowhere to be found. The only option available in my stunned programing was bigalbatrosshug.exe, which my CPU performed with gusto. I darted through the crowd of staring onlookers and launched myself straight at my boys, throwing an arm around each of their necks. Yusuke whined in protest as I pulled him to me, but Kuwabara put an arm around me, too, and mumbled something about how good it felt to be home when I buried my face into his shoulder. They stank the way teenage boys stink when they play outside too much and don't give a crap about basic hygiene, but even though my eyes watered, I didn't even make fun of them, because it didn't matter.

"You're back," I said, because that was what mattered. "You're back. I'm so glad you're back!"

"See, Kuwabara?" Yusuke gloated. "I told ya she'd get mushy."

"Yeah, yeah, you win," Kuwabara said. I felt his face press against my hair when he said, "We missed you too, Keiko," and I hugged him all the harder.

"Aw, now you're getting mushy, Kuwabara?" Yusuke whined. "I don't have the strength for both of you to get all weepy!"

"Neither of us has the strength for anything," Kuwabara shot back—and then a tremor went through him, and a tremor went through Yusuke, and somebody's knees buckled and our three-headed Cerberus of friendship magic staggered, boys falling forward, their weight on me instead of mine on them. I shrieked as my own knees bowed. Yusuke's devious chuckle sounded in my ear, and I knew exactly what was about to happen.

"Good point," Yusuke said—and he let his weight go completely.Kuwabara followed suit, of course, and the next thing I knew, both of them had collapsed on top of me right there on the sidewalk. I shrieked and gibbered under the onslaught of boneless, smelly teenage boy, berating them for embarrassing me in public like this, but then Yusuke started laughing, and Kuwabara started after him, and I was helpless to resist the tide of humor.

We lay there in a gigantic heap of guffaws and giggles, gloriously uncaring of the looks we garnered from the innocent bystanders, living wildly in the moment without a thought to the future ahead.There would be a journal entry about this later, I promised myself.I'd go home and write it all down.

Every last scrap of information, every last emotion, every last detail. I'd describe what it felt like to see them, touch them, be near them (and even smell them), etch all of it on paper and into memory as indelibly as words carved in stone. I'd crystallize the moment for eternity, take it out and treasure it when times got tough and the world seemed bleak—because the moment was just that perfect and good, a golden bookend to a golden summer, a shining memory I vowed to never let go.

My boys were back.

Lying there under their reeking weight, laughing as tears rolled unchecked down my cheeks, the future didn't seem so scary after all.” - Lucky Child Chapter 51

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@luckystarchild

I knew I had to draw this when I read it, that was such a great way to end a chapter. It left me smiling and sniffling sdjshfdjfk It was just so wholesome, I could not help it :) I tried drawing the background but digital art...LOL I’m still learning. It looked bad with it so I decided against it and instead left it blank, but the imagination that I had UGH just imagine the red-orange-pinkish sunlight and a busy street, people walking while these three just stare at each other with huge dorky smiles SO DAMN WHOLESOME

hopefully one day, I can draw what I had envisioned

ignore the hands pls 😭😭😭

#yyh fanfiction #yyh #yusuke #kuwaba #keiko #nqk #luckychildfanart #luckychildfanfic #luckychild #Fanart

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hazelenergy · 4 years ago

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Inktober reflection! Late!

Woops lost track of time.... Let's play catch up!

Inktober 15: Embrace

Didn't really have a plan for this one going in...just knew that I wanted to illustrate something different. I figured a lot of the narratives about the Embrace we're going to be ah! Surprise bite! In nature. Instead I turned a bit more tragic and focused on the thinbloods- who might not be able to embrace.

I think I could have gotten heavier with my shading. I also think the blood tears are a little messy, but they convey the right point. This one was done without a good reference image. But, the proportions are very good.

Inktober Day 16: the Ministry

I actually don't know a lot about this new clan. I have the book and the passage on them and read through it a couple times. The thing I learned here was that my ink can be watered down and make nice gradations. I also learned the chisel tip pen I bought was not water proof and a little blue! I went to shade and the ink just started running. Lesson learned: read the ink pen labels

Inktober Day 17: Blood sorcery

Ooooh this one was so good. The expression. The shading. I love the sharp shadows and I can't wait to digitally color this one!

Inktober Day 18: Gangrel

I was at a loss for inspiration and asked our favorite Hound of the Isle of Lewis if I can capture her likeness. I think the important thing I wanted to convey was the beast marks. Her claws and body hair were really fun to draw.

Inktober day 19: Anarch hideout

I'm currently the ST for a chapter based chronicle set in Richmond Virginia. Having lived in Richmond, Byrd theatre is definitely home to some vampires and it ain't the toreadors. I love how dark the ink got and the shadow shapes were precise. I wish I had done this bigger, I could have captured more of the details of the photo.

Inktober Day 20: Hunger

Was chatting with a friend on insta who is known for her tzimisce cosplays. I love watching how her work and makeup skills have improved over the last few months. So I dedicated this fledgling organovore Tzimisce to her.

The composition of including the hunger tracker was a good choice. The red ink was sweet here, I just think I should be more careful with my copics. My warm tone and my cool grey are very different colors and this piece showcases it.

Inktober Day 21: Presence

I was torn for what to do in this piece. I was also in a heavy brain funk and just drew Elif. I clearly learned my lesson from the previous drawing and kept the copics separated. The shadow shapes are crisp. Her expression is cool. And the touch of violet in her eyes was a good choice

Inktober day 22: ventrue

I reached out to one of the more prolific Ventrue mun's on this site and got some awesome inspiration.

My critique for this piece had to be that I needed to plan my environment a bit more advance. I had the reference for the dress and pose ready- I thought o I can whip up an elaborate throne no problem. No. No. Find. Reference. The stain glass behind the throne had the potential to be way more powerful. And way cleaner. Her casting her shadow on it is a nice touch - the narrative in this single frame is quite interesting and open to a lot of interpretation.

Inktober day 23: True Faith

I originally wanted to draw Alia and the npc with True Faith from the Gehenna Wormwood chronicle. I ended up sticking with the chronicle and put three players in the church, and read the passage about the mark of immortality upon their foreheads. I dig that imagery. I was a bit more subtle with the christian allegories in this one- cuz I want to smack the church with heavy and blunt objects- I put a cross in shadow over their face.

Inktober 24: Frenzy

Okay okay this is a high note to end on. This one. Is so good. The lettering trick I did with the Malkavian (day 7) worked again- but I need to buy more masking fluid. This one was done with my new india ink and it is so nice to have new materials. The shadow shapes are superb. I am so pleased with this.

Reflection:

As I am approaching the end of this process I'm focusing less on technique and more about composition. I feel more comfortable with the ink and am glad that I get to experiment with it. I am also experimenting with that splatter technique- something that is starting to become a calling card ... I just love the way it looks.

I usually hide this info, but I have been working on the 31st drawing all month. It's taking all the techniques I learned and discovered and trying to make something really extraordinary. It is a self portrait- since the final prompt is yourself as a vampire. So I'm going full Toreador. Vain, covered in paint, and willing to kill for some windsor newton products. And you'll see it when it's done!

#ooc #inktober #inktober art #inktober reflection

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dokuhebi · 4 years ago

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[ poppy / oro being the injured one ]

Angst Meme: Flowers [ poppy ]: one of our muses has been wounded in a fight or battle, either physically or mentally. the other must help them heal. // @s-talking It isn’t the kind of weather to be walking in the dark hours, chilly and speckled in drizzle, which started to gain weight with every passing minute. Until finally that light patter becomes a heavier thudding, rain spilling from the black sky and flooding the streets. The sound of the harsh downfall drowns out the rest of the towns bustling, clearing the roads of life as most seek shelter wisely. Wandering alone was hardly the best decision regardless of the weather forewarning disaster. Yet the serpent walks on their own anyhow. Despite the rather large bounty on their head, where even mere leads to their location could earn someone a pretty penny. Being infamous was a double edged sword, and on this occasion, the serpent would surely find themself on the cutting end. Crimes such as theirs where viewed as punishable by death, and be it a morally charged citizen seeking the end to a heinous criminal, or a money hungry one seeking the payment of bringing the viper to justice, most eyes would be able to recognize a face as unique as theirs. Perhaps that is why they stick to these unpleasant hours of winter, where their hatred of the cold must be put aside in order to move around. Where nobody would suspect them for drawing a hood over their svelte figure and face. Only long hair pooling out from the cloak they don, as they cut through less populated areas. It just so happened however, that these dark corners of the town attracted much of the same. They were not the only criminal electing a isolated location and evening. Despite their deadly reputation, they had always relied on outsmarting people, rather than overpowering them with any physical abilities. Their mood starts out irritated, annoyed when they find themself surrounded and outnumbered, wishing they didn’t have to waste their time taking down nameless thugs who chose poorly when selecting someone to harass. But that mood derails in to a less confident sort of anger, when the scrap in the alleyway falls out of their favor, when one injury forces them to throw the fight almost instantly. The sharp end of a knife drawing a clean line from one side of their face to the other. A long cut slashed across their golden eyes. They had stumbled back, slender digits cupping over their eyes in some desperation to seek relief from the pain, as tear like streaks of blood fall down their face. Feeling the wet sensation of blood being quickly washed up by the falling rain. By the time they feel a blunt pain in their ribs, they can only blindly retreat from the sensation, only to feel a body behind them, earning yet another sudden jolt of pain. Impossible to see their enemies, it is an agonizingly nerve-wracking few seconds of staggering sightlessly away from the newest source of pain. Until they briefly feel as if the bodies surrounding them have vanished, hearing strange protests from their attackers, before the next body they stumble in to seems to be more gentle a landing. An arm drawn around their figure as if to guide them a step away. As if to pull them to the safety of the chest they lean against. Still, they fight the hold instinctively, until the voice telling them to settle sparks familiarity. Causing them to pause a moment, and to piece together what they had heard and who they were now hearing. A quick guess, and one most accurate, was that the more experienced killer in these streets had won, that Envy now drawing them away from the assault, had disposed of their attackers one way or another. The serpents next guess, in a more final manner. It may be strange to seek comfort in the fact that they have been gathered in to the hold of someone notoriously as dangerous, if not more, than themself. Yet that is precisely what they do, a relief that causes all adrenaline to flee from their body, and to induce a light shaking caused by the fright and cold, “I can’t see,” it comes across as if they are almost insisting he do something about that, as if him saving them from the brutality of their attackers meant he might be able to free them of this handicap. Their hand has slipped away from their own eyes to reveal the deep lacerations, blindness more likely than not even when they had recovered. With all the disorientation of the fight, and the injuries leaving them feeling rather sickened, they find the journey out of the rain is a blur. Made more confusing perhaps, now that they do not have their vision for even semi conscious memory. They doubt they had managed to walk anywhere, assuming Envy must have carried them, assuming they must have been taken to his abode or refuge, when the texture of the furniture they run their hands over in search of balance and learning their environment is all foreign. By the time they have awoken properly, only two hours later, their injuries have been patched up to the best of the serial killers ability. A rather good job all in all, yet that fact brings no satisfaction to the wounded party. They can only guess they are on a bed, as they reach up to wince at the tugging on their sensitive ribs, to feel a bandage wrapped around their eyes, covering the most grave injury they had. When they sit up, they do not manage to refrain from a soft sound of discomfort, it escapes their lips, echoing pitifully and striking self disdain in the proud serpent. It prompts them to try and stand however, even when their balance is no longer nearly as graceful as it was. Yet they are kept from falling by a supportive arm once more arriving at their aid. Without the haze of rain and outside air, they can recognize his scent a little easier. But just to be sure, they allow their hand to explore a moment, tracing his face in search of the piercings they knew he had, ghostly cold touches caressing his ivory skin to count the items of metal, to assure themself it is truly him. Unaware that the blood they had put on their hands when exploring the bandage around their eyes was now being painted across Envy’s pale skin, like red on snow. They can finally be satisfied it is the man they know, and step closer so his form becomes their guide and balance. Their svelte body leans against his well muscled one, deceptively strong with the slender males prettier appearance. Their own slim arms wrap around one of his, nails digging lightly in to the fabric of his dark clothes to keep a hold on him, so they can be helped during their crippled moment of weakness, “the men who attacked me,” their voice is quiet, but it does not lack a fire of hostility, as they make their most pressing and spiteful concern known, “did they suffer when you killed them?”

#s-talking #毒蛇 IMMORTAL; the curse is broken (post war)#/blood #/gore #/eye gore #their priorities are questionable :')#蛇 QUEUE; lie to the liars; steal from the thieves

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 5 years ago

Text

Jigsaw // Red: Part Three

You Had To Make It About Her

A/N: Wow. Look at that, a whole month later and here we are FINALLY with part three. With Krista and Arthur out of his way, only two more names stand in the way of Billy’s revenge. What happens when he pays one of them a visit? (i would like to thank @something-tofightfor for assisting in this murder.)

Warnings: murder, talk of suicide, blood, major character death, violence

Word Count: 4,021

“I told you, Agent Madani, I haven’t heard from Billy in-“ your words jammed up in your throat and he watched you swallow them down without a chaser. “Months.” Your eyes were focused somewhere just to the left of the camera, your hands beneath the table, hidden in your lap. He looked down at his own palms, turning them over. They were shaking, the lines of his knuckles stained a deep garnet red despite the cursory rinse he’d given them. “I have nothing…” your voice made him snap his eyes back to the screen, chest going hollow at the small crack on the word ‘nothing’. I did this…I did that to her. I hurt her like that, I- “I got nothing to tell you, Agent Madani.” You rolled your eyes up to meet hers, and though they were fogged with ache he could still see a spark of resiliency in them.

“Yeah, and even if you did, even if you had heard from him, you still wouldn’t talk, would you?” The second voice was flooded with venom, and though she was standing off camera, Billy could almost see her, coiled to strike like a viper. Fucking bitch. He was the reason that you had been dragged in for questioning, but she was doing her best to make sure that it was as unpleasant as possible.

You cocked your head to the side, a slight twitch pulling up your top lip as silent tears trickled slowly down your cheek. “No,” you said simply. “No, I wouldn’t.” The vice around his heart spun tighter at your bold display of loyalty.

The click of high heeled shoes on the floor preceded the scoff as she paced on her side of the table. “And why, may I ask, is that, huh? What, you think-“ another scoff, and when she spoke again her voice was louder, closer to the mic, leaning in and staring you down. “You think he loved you? You think he gave a shit about you?” Billy’s nostrils flared, his eyes going wide and wild as he gripped the screen with his bloodied right hand. Who the fuck is she to…how dare she… He was glad he’d killed her, but after watching the videos he was sorry he hadn’t been able to draw it out longer, make it slow, make it worse.

“No, Agent Madani,” You placed your hands on the table then, leaning in yourself. You were never one to be easily intimidated, Billy knew that. “No, I don’t think he loves me. I know he does. Just like I know that I love him. And there’s nothing you could tell me that could change that fact. So, no. No, I wouldn’t tell you anything, even if I had anything to tell you, Dinah.”

“You’re incredible. You really are, I mean…” She paused and you narrowed your eyes at her. “You’re either delusional, or you’ve let him manipulate you into something just as bad as he is.”

You didn’t say a word, pressing your lips together and giving a small shrug of your shoulders, trying to show her that you weren’t phased by her tactics, you weren’t swayed by her lies.

“He’s a goddamn murderer!” She finally lost her temper, the camera quaking as she dropped her heavy binder onto the metal tabletop. “I mean, you know that, right? Billy Russo is a stone cold killer, and you’re protecting him, you’re- you weren’t even the only woman in his life, doesn’t that bother you? Doesn’t it bother you that he and I were-“ Sick was an understatement as waves of acid crashed in Billy’s stomach at Madani’s implication that she meant anything at all to him, let alone anything close to how important you were to him.

The door behind you opened then, a small, somber man in a dark navy suit stepping in and motioning to his agent to stop the recording, the video ending. This was the third that he’d watched, each one increasingly more aggressive, each separated by several weeks denoted not only by the timestamps, but also by the loss of color in your eyes, the growing unsteadiness in Madani’s voice.

Billy squeezed his eyes shut as the video file reverted back to a thumbnail image on the cracked, bloodied screen. He let the laptop slide off his thigh and onto the cushion beside him, his shaking hands falling between his knees. He turned the left one over as he opened his eyes, watching a thick stream of blood trickle slowly down his forearm, dispersing as it filled the lines of his palm. He followed it back up his arm to the graze wound on his bicep. He’d almost forgotten that he’d been shot, the pain completely erased by seeing you on the screen, hearing your voice. Nothing could possibly hurt more than losing you. Nothing could possibly cause him real pain anymore.

He looked down at his feet and grabbed the white plastic bag of tape and gauze that he’d stopped for on his way back to the warehouse, the memory of entering a store, making a purchase, and walking back completely absent. Peeling his shirt up and off, he used the gauze to wipe at the wound, cleaning the blood away from the torn skin. Both of Billy’s biceps bore small, faint pink lines, battle scars from badly aimed bullets. As he wrapped the cotton dressing tightly around his upper arm, dark red stain blooming on the thin white bandage, he could almost feel your fingertips tracing the old divots and lines. “No more of these, got it?” You’d say, dropping your ruby lips to the markings. He gripped the bandage, digits digging into the muscle, trying and failing to control his uneven breaths as a sob ripped free from his chest. He tightened his fingers, pulse throbbing against them and blood soaking into the gauze beneath his palm as he stared at the video files on Madani’s computer screen. Why did she have to…why did…

“No more close calls, Billy.” You’d press your cheek to his scarred skin before leaving another kiss there. “You gotta come back to me.”

Anger flared in his gut as helplessness clawed at his heart, the two at war within him, culminating in a harsh, howling scream. He released his injured arm and used the good one to send the laptop flying into the brick wall. It crashed, erupting in a spray of bits of plastic and wires, letter keys scattering as what was left of the screen shattered. The sound echoed in the cold, concrete building, mixing with his shouts and the ragged, labored gasps he was taking. “Why did she have to make it about her?” He demanded of the air as it swallowed the noise and replaced it with silence once more. He stared at the remains of the laptop, the memory of another video playing itself out in his head.

.. .. .. .. .. ..

“Okay, okay,” you giggled, hiding your face by pulling the scarlet Santa hat down over your eyes. The velvet and faux fur obscured your cheeks and nose, leaving your plump, smiling lips exposed. You pressed them together before grabbing the snow white pom-pom dangling from the pointed end and tugging it back up. “I’ve had a few glasses of eggnog, so,” you shrugged, another giggle tumbling free as you held up one finger and tilted your head to the side, your focus directly on the camera. “So be nice, Lieutenant.”

Christmas never really mattered to Billy- not since he was conditioned not to have his hopes lifted while living at the group home. It always felt superficial to him; the thin, chintzy dollar store wrapping paper covered in grinning snowmen and prancing reindeer, cheap red plastic coverings taped down to the card tables, the chipped trays of store bought, tasteless cookies. It was always clear to Billy that these things were simply props, for show. There was no thought put into the matchbox cars or wiffle ball sets, the dolls and yo-yos and donated items that got passed along to the kids. There was no added warmth in the room from the dated foil garlands or bare, bottle brush tree. There was no Christmas in the Christmases he spent there, so he learned not to need it, not to want it. If you don’t want something, you can’t be let down when you never receive it. Christmas was for other people. Until he met you.

You’d decorated your apartment the same way you had the previous year, your tree in the corner, filled with glittering lights and dozens of ornaments, red and green candies in a bowl on the coffee table, a wreath on the door. His heart lurched when he read the gold embroidery on the stockings that you’d hung on the wall beside the tree- yours on the right, older, well-loved, the fabric wearing thin in some places from being over-stuffed through the years, and his on the left, brighter, newer, only used once. Nervously fixing your hat one last time, you settled on your knees in front of the tree, and closing your eyes, you started to sing. “I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need…”

You were in no way a talented singer. Your voice broke and warbled, you were off key, and you even flubbed the lyrics at one point. But by the time you wrapped up your performance, Billy had moved himself as close to the screen as he could get, one palm pressed to the monitor as though he could reach through and grab you, pull your giggling form against his chest, kiss your neck until your song turned to sighs. He’d almost forgotten that it was sand, not snow outside his window.

You took a long sip of your eggnog, cheeks rosy from the alcohol and from plucking up the nerve to record your carol for him. Setting the poinsettia patterned glass back on the table, you spoke to the camera again. “I hope you enjoyed your private concert, Billy.” Your eyes widened then as your smile wrinkled your nose. “And I hope it was a private concert, and that Frank isn’t over your shoulder filling up on blackmail!” You dissolved into laughter, the sound sending a flush of warmth through him in the chilly pre-dawn desert. “Anyway, Merry Christmas, Billy Russo. Oh, and don’t worry, that wasn’t your only gift.” You pointed to an emerald green package wrapped in sparkling red ribbons that had been placed beneath the tree. “But you’re gonna have to come get the rest. You gotta come back to me, Billy. You’re all I want…all I ever want.” You’d wished him Merry Christmas once more, told him that you loved him, that you couldn’t wait to have him back, and then the video had ended with you reaching towards your screen to tap the button to stop the recording, and he was left in the communications tent, alone.

“Merry Christmas,” he said to his inbox as he closed your video attachment and logged off. He wanted to sit in that tent all damn day, replaying your video, watching you fidget under your hat, listening to your laughter as it interrupted your song. But his time was up, so he pushed back from the desk and stood with a sniff, clearing his throat.

“All good, Bill?” Frank clapped him on the shoulder. “Your girl send ya a nice Christmas message?”

He forced a smile, wondering how Frank had been able to spend so many Christmases, holidays, birthdays, so much time away from Maria, away from his kids, wondering how he was ever going to leave you again once he had you back in his arms. “Yeah, Frankie, she did.” He nodded to the monitor behind him. “I’m sure you got somethin’ just as good from Maria and the kids.” Frank nodded and grinned. “Merry Christmas, brother.”

.. .. .. .. .. .. ..

Billy paced back and forth, staring at the debris of the laptop he’d taken from Madani’s apartment. He hadn’t meant to take anything. He’d had a very clear mission when he arrived in her parking garage, and he’d meant to stick to it when he found himself in front of her door; revenge, that’s it. One motive, one punishment to carry out, and then on to the next mission. Just like back in the desert- complete the task, fulfil the objective, await future orders. Knowing that the door would be locked, bolted, likely, Billy planted his left foot and cocked his right leg back, knee to chest. Might take more than one kick. A memory sliced through, and he saw himself, in a suit, undoing his tie as he fastened the locks and chained the bolt, with her behind him, already pawing at him. I can handle more than one kick.

With a grunt and a shout, he forced all of his weight through the door via the boot sole of his right foot, planting it as close to the locking mechanisms as he could. The door frame splintered, a satisfying crunch accompanying the kick as the bottom two locks broke, clattering heavily to the floor. Billy nearly lost his balance at the door’s resiliency, but a quick shuffling hop righted him once more. He peered through the small opening and saw that the entrance was only being barred by a short length of chain. One more good one. He squared up again, knee smacking his sternum as his heel, then arch, then toes made contact with the weakened door, popping the remaining locks free from the destroyed frame, sending the metal chain scattering across the floor inside.

The victorious feeling was cut short, as the unmistakable sound of a gun firing cut the air and filled his ears, a bullet ripping through the busted door and just missing him as he spun away. Alright. He pressed himself against the wall next to the door and took a deep breath through his nose. Alright, the bitch has a gun. You knew she’d have a gun, just get it out of her hands. Adrenaline pumped through his veins with every beat of his heart, the muscle working overtime to flood him with the necessary strength and steel to carry out the rest of the mission. Get it out of her hands and kill her.

“Russo!” Her voice shot through the bullet hole in the door, two footsteps punctuating her presence. “I know you’re there, I know you are. Show yourself you piece of shit!”

It was strained, cracking, uneven, her voice. It was scared, unhinged, broken like the locks she thought would protect her. She’s off her game. Not gonna be able to aim for shit. Billy waited another couple of beats, listening closely for any sign of movement or any clue that there was anyone else there with her. Five seconds of silence went by. She’s alone and she’s off. Go, now.

Your face filled his mind in a flash of light, and for the briefest of moments he could feel you in his heart instead of the hate and the anger. But as quickly as you’d come to him you vanished, and he was reminded that you were gone in part because of the woman standing on the other side of this wall. He loaded up one more good kick, all the hatred and anger, all the rage and pain centralizing in the force of that kick to bring the rest of the door down with an inhuman scream. Before the door had hit the ground, she’d pulled the trigger twice. Billy had been right- she was off, her aim- if ever she had it to begin with- compromised by the situation. He took one bullet in the bicep of his left arm, through and through, the second one lodging itself in the remnants of the door frame. Feeling nothing but the pulse of adrenaline, he advanced on her as she clutched her weapon in trembling hands.

“You had to bring her into it, didn’t you?!” His own voice sounded foriegn to his ears, the way that it was shaking and the tone that it took completely new to him. “You had to make it about her!”

Madani’s eyes grew wide as she realized that she wouldn’t be able to get another shot off before his hands were on her. Billy saw her fingers freeze in terror as she tried and failed to squeeze the trigger again. He closed the remaining distance in one long stride, turning his palm outwards, fingers wrapping around the barrel she’d held pointed at his chest to push it away, two more shots ripping into the floorboards and drywall. Wrenching it free, he tossed the gun aside. Won’t be needing that, not for this one.

“Answer me Dinah, goddamnit!” The hand that had disarmed her grabbed at her throat, the other wrapping around one of her wrists. “Why, huh? Why’d you have to drag her into it? She’s dead because of you now!” He hadn’t noticed the tears gathering in his eyes, and they surprised him as they fell onto her face as he held it inches from his own.

“I...didn’t…” she choked out against the pressing of his fingers on her trachea. “You...did, Billy...You...she died...because of...you.”

“Shut up, bitch!” Spittle, tears and sweat flew from his lips as he throttled and shook her. She’s right. It’s your fault. “No! No. No...I loved her...I loved her and she’s...she died because you wouldn’t leave her alone. She was safe! You kept pushing, and pushing.” With every word he spoke his grip tightened. “You shoulda just left her alone!” A mad sob tore through his vocal chords. “You shoulda let her forget me...it’s me you wanted, right Dinah?” With that question, he pulled back to look in her eyes, and the fear that he saw there was nearly as satisfying as the sound that the door made when he parted it from its hinges. “It’s me you wanted. And here I am, just like old times, huh?”

She tried to shake her head under his grasp but the force that he held her with stifled her movement. “Fuck you, Russo, you’re not getting away with this. Frank’s on his way and-”

“Frank?” He cocked one eyebrow high and regarded her with mock curiosity and a sadistic smile. “Frank’s on his way?” The smiled dropped like a ton a bricks. “No shit, Dinah. I know that!” He shouted into her face again until she whimpered from behind shut eyes. “I know that you called your little dog to come deal with your garbage. But I’m gonna be long gone before he gets here.” She tried to shake her head again, this time a small cry coming from her throat. He released her wrist and covered her mouth, palm pressed against the hot breath spouting from her damp lips. “Oh yes I am. And so are you, come on.”

Blood soaking through the sleeve of his shirt and dripping down his forearm, he dragged her by the face, fingers digging into her cheeks and causing her to bite the insides of her mouth. She tried like hell to grab onto anything- the couch, the doorway to the hall, the walls themselves. Billy turned his head in time to see one of her fingernails snap from the nail bed as she tried to claw at the textured wallpaper. But he was stronger than she was, gunshot wound or not. “Oh, come on, Dinah, we’ve done this before, you and me.” She splayed her legs out at the entrance of the bathroom, digging her heels into the carpet and catching them on the marble tile. Billy huffed. “Shoulda done this then, better late than never though for a goddamn bitch like you.” He scooped her up, flailing limbs doing little to hinder him, and dumped her hard into the stark white porcelain tub.

Wincing and whimpering in pain and fear, she crept back into the corner of the bathtub, cradling her head where it had hit the hard surface, but Billy didn’t let her get out. He held her down with one hand, using the other to start running the water, soaking Madani’s pants. “What are you doing, you sick son of a bitch?!” She spat at him, blood from where she’d bitten her cheeks mixing with saliva and landing on Billy’s chin.

He wiped it with his elbow, a smear of his own blood, dripping down his arm marking his face. “Just getting you cleaned up, Dinah. Like last time.” He pulled a knife from his jacket- the one he’d pocketed when he’d scored himself his new threads- and flicked it open. The water thundered from the faucet as he stared at the blade. “You know, they say that suicide rates are highest among the more stressful profesisons. Doctors, lawyers…” he raised his eyes to hers then, her body half submerged, steam rising in foggy clouds. “Law enforcement.” He gripped the dampened curls at the base of her neck and dragged her face close enough to speak into her ear. “I thought about doin’ this after I killed your partner, Dinah. I shoulda. No one would blink at an agent killin’ herself after she fucked up and got her partner killed. But I didn’t. And I been livin’ with that regret ever since that night on that fucking carousel. When I saw her. Behind you.” He pulled back, still grabbing her hair, feeling a few strands come free under his fingers. “I shoulda. But now I will. And no still… no one’s gonna blink at an agent cuttin’ her wrists after her ex-lover freed himself from the loony ward and started off on a killing spree.”

Hurry up, you don’t have that much time, Frank’s comin’. He reminded himself not to get carried away by the theatrics of revenge. Kill the bitch and get out. She’d dissolved into a crying mess, muttering the word “no” over and over and over. “Weak. You’re weak, Dinah. It’s why you couldn’t kill me. Why you couldn’t take me down on your own...why you needed to get her involved, why you need to call Frank...you’re weak. And no one’s gonna blink at a dead, pathetic, weak bitch.” Before she could say another word or move another muscle, Billy dragged the sharp edge of the knife against the underside of her forearm, opening it from wrist to elbow, the water swirling a bright red ruby color before deepening, almost to black. She gasped, her chest spasming as she tried to gulp at the air, but Billy made quick work of her other arm before curling her fingers around the handle of his blade. He rinsed his fingers quickly before shutting off the tap. Without blinking, he stood from where he knelt beside the tub, and left her there for Frank to find.

He was all set to leave the scene having completed the task, when the laptop that had fallen from the kitchen counter in the fray caught his eye. It was open, the cracked screen displaying a file of video clips. Normally he wouldn’t notice. Normally, he’d stride right out the door and down the emergency exit stairs, pulling his hood up and hiding his bloody hands in his pockets. But these files were labeled with your name. These files were displayed with thumbnail images of you, and it knocked the air from his lungs. He reached out slowly, placing his hand on the screen as his heart ached and burned. He whispered your name in the dead agent’s house, and immediately regretted speaking it there. Closing the screen, he grabbed the computer and the sleek black phone that had tumbled to the ground with it, along with the gun he’d stripped from Madani’s hands. 1 Missed Call - Unknown blinked at him, and he stuffed the phone in his pocket, and headed into the hallway, looking over his shoulder as he lifted his hood and made for the stairwell.

He’ll call back. Frank always calls back.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @gollyderek @thesumofmychoices @obscurilicious @traeumerinwitzhelden @jigsawlover10 @getlostinyourparadise @breanime @nananananananananananabatman @lexxierave @songforhema @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lysawayne @roses-in-your-country-house @ymariejp @belladonnarey @audreychaz @songtoyou @stories-you-wont-hear @luminex3 @ificouldhelpyouforget

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#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x you #billy russo x murderous rampage #jigsaw #jigsaw // red #red part three #the punisher au #billy vs everyone who ever did him dirty #(and a few that he did dirty too)

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