#like knees buckling head hitting the counter passed out open wound

[1eos]

i wouldve folded for black lady dracula immediately here im not gonna lie to yew

[redstainedsocks]

Leading the Blind

Contents: noncon body mod (sewn on blindfold), aftermath of whump, hurt/comfort, captives bonding (Jasper is trying at least), forced helplessness, blood and injury clean up

[Previous] [Masterlist]

“Let me,” Jasper says.

Alex doesn’t, he pulls his arm away, shudders. He doesn’t want to be touched, not when he can’t see where it’s coming from. Not after being held down and… and… mutilated. He can feel each tiny point where the stitching attaches the fabric to his face. His body still racks with shivers, muscles trembling as adrenaline and fear leave his muscles in a slow drip that makes him weaker with each passing second.

“I can do it,” he rasps. 

He sits up slowly, easing to the edge of the table, feeling his way forward with his fingertips. It’s easy enough to swing his legs round, dangling in the air for a brief second before his feet hit the floor. He hops down but fails to keep his footing as his knees buckle. Curses blend into one another as he spits them and he’s thankful for Jasper’s arms catching him before he collides with the floor.

“Carefully.”

“Yeah, I know.” He pulls free again and stands there gripping the table for reassurance. Everything feels upside down and back to front and his mind spins. He tilts his head this way and that but the end result of Adria’s experiment is flawless—he can’t see a thing. 

“We should get you washed up,” Jasper says, his words tinged with a lilt of an accent Alex doesn’t hear often. It only comes out when Jasper’s especially distressed. That should tell Alex something about how bad this is, but it just adds to the numbness that’s settling into his bones. “I’ll get some clean clothes.”

“Why?”

“Um, there’s—you have blood on these.”

“Oh.” Alex didn’t know that. Couldn’t see that. “Okay.”

And then he just stands there, motionless, helplessly blind in the middle of the room as Jasper walks away.

Fuck. Fuck. How is he meant to do anything like this?

You’re not. His mind supplies. You’re meant to learn to rely on them.

He has to let Jasper lead him to the bathroom, in the end. One hand hesitantly guiding his elbow. It saves him from bashing his hip on the counter or walking headfirst into a wall or doorway, and he should be grateful but he still rips his arm free once they get there. He turns on the taps at the sink after fumbling blindly for a few seconds and Jasper hands him a washcloth. He soaks it thoroughly by feel alone and then lifts it to his face.

And then hesitates. 

How can he clean up the mess of blood and tears on his face without seeing? How can he press on the fresh wounds when he knows how much it’ll hurt? He can’t, is the answer, but he tries anyway. Determined to prove he can do something, anything, for himself. He wipes around his lower face easily enough, and inches higher with each sweep until the cloth presses too close to something tender and he whimpers. So he tries his forehead next, angrily brushing his hair aside and forgetting to be careful and knocking into the fresh wounds as he wipes across his skin.

The washcloth drops into the sink with a slosh and smack and he groans, holding onto the sides of the basin until he fears cracking a nail.

Soft fingers touch the back of his hand. “Let me?” Jasper asks.

He nods shakily, because what other choice does he have? He steps back and removes his shirt, stopping short as Jasper grabs his shoulder.

“Mind the door,” Jasper says. Alex reaches back with his fingers and finds it has swung open and blocks the space just behind him.

It pushes shut easily enough, settling into place with a definitive click and he breathes a little easier knowing there’s a barrier between him and Adria. Just a thin one, just for a while. Even a barrier he can’t see is a blessing, giving him precious few more seconds, and a little notice, if she were to come barging in.

“I’ll be gentle,” Jasper promises. “Only do what’s necessary.”

And he is surprisingly tender with each pass over Alex’s face with the cloth, thorough too. It takes a long time, and Alex ends up sitting on the edge of the large bath as Jasper methodically wipes the blood and grime from his face. Each moment of increased pain is brief, minimised as much as Jasper can, but he still gets an apology each time he winces or groans. 

In the end, he does feel better, his skin feels clean and fresh—at least around the outside of the blindfold. Inside it, beneath where it’s sewn to his skin, is a different story. And he supposes that won’t be fixed until Adria decides he can have his sight back.

Jasper cleans off his neck too with one hand bracing Alex’s back so that he doesn’t waver and knows to expect more touching. They’re standing so close together they share the same breath. Alex hates that he finds it comforting to be looked after so well. It breaks down some barrier between him and his emotions and his throat tightens with unshed tears. He’s not sure it’s a good idea to start categorising the horrors done to him since his kidnapping but some small part of his mind tells him this is the worst yet, that it’s going to last and last, possibly indefinitely, and that because it’s designed to wear him down it will, it will work exactly as she plans.

He can’t cry, refuses to cry, when he can’t wipe away the tears. When all it will do is add to the mess trapped behind the fabric attached to his face. He sniffs and swipes a hand across the end of his nose. 

“I’m sorry,” Jasper says. And there's a break in his voice as he speaks that lets Alex know he means it. “I’ll do what I can…”

Alex sighs. The very same hands that helped to hold him down, that slipped him the sedative that let this happen in the first place, are now the ones trying to soothe him through the hurt. And he knows Jasper didn't have a choice, but it still leaves an awful schism in his mind, a disconnect between accepting help from someone who doled out hurt. But it doesn’t seem like he has a choice.

“How long, do you think?” he asks instead, voice croaky and raw after holding back screams.

There’s a very pregnant pause. Jasper shifts, and Alex listens to each tiny noise that lets him try and picture the scene. “I don’t know. If we’re good, maybe sooner?”

Alex scoffs.”I can’t be good, not like you. Not like this.”

He doesn’t get a response, Jasper just instructs him to lift his head and wipes away a few more streaks of blood that have dribbled down the sides of his throat.

By the time they’re done and Alex is in a crisp, clean t-shirt, he finds his strength has left him and slides to the floor to lean against the tub. He lets his head hang, draws his knees up and rests his arms atop them, and tries to find the energy to get back up. Before he can make it Jasper settles in beside him, pressed shoulder to shoulder. The warmth and solidity of someone beside him makes his heart ache, because he shouldn’t want it. Shouldn’t want this man, in this place… but he does, because it’s all he has. 

“I’ll figure it out,” he says, to himself more than anything. “I’ll count my steps, or, or get a cane or… I can do this.”

“I’ll help you,” Jasper says quietly.

“I don’t want your help,” he snaps and buries his hands in his hair at the way Jasper flinches so strongly that he feels the recoil. 

“We don’t have a choice,” Jasper whispers, voice a cutting, harsh thing. “Does this seem like we have a choice to you? The quicker you let me help, the quicker you settle and—”

“And what? Give in?”

“Pick your battles,” Jasper responds. “Learn where to fight and how. She isn’t messing around, this is extreme, even for her. Please, we just have to get through it and get it over with.”

Alex sighs, finds himself nodding. He doesn’t have the energy to argue, and anything that gets the damn stitches out of his fucking face quicker has to be a good thing. “I don’t mean to yell at you,” he mumbles, in way of an apology.

“I would understand if you wanted to.”

“I have all this anger, but I want to yell at her.”

“Don’t.” Alex can imagine the horror on Jasper’s face as he contemplates how badly it would go if he did. “I don’t want to see you hurt, not more than you have to be,” Jasper adds a few moments later.

“Yeah.”

Alex isn’t sure that’s in either of their control. Jasper lays a hesitant hand on his arm and Alex lets his head drop back until he can rest it on the side of the tub. They sit in silence for a long time, until Alex begins to sway, exhaustion catching up to him. He doesn’t fight as Jasper pulls him up, or as he’s guided to bed, and he only scowls a little as Adria makes a comment about how good he is to let Jasper touch him so much.

[runnning-outof-time]

A Reaction to Blood | Shelby Brothers x Reader

(I wasn’t sure what to use for a gif, so enjoy the Shelby bros haha)

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Shelby Brothers x reader-preference blurbs

Summary: How Arthur, John and Tommy would react to their partner fainting at the sight of blood.

Warnings: langauge, smoking, fainting, mentions of blood and injuries, mentions of violence (typical to series)

Word Count: 2830

A/N: ok so I hope these make sense ... I’ve never fainted before, but I’ve come close to it, so I just tried to base the reactions off of that.

A/N 2: Also, I’ve noticed that these stories, although I’ve labeled them as preferences, have kind of taken on the form of blurbs...but I can’t be bothered to change the format, and it seems to be working, so I’ll just keep it the way it is. That being said...Enjoy! :)

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in stories similar to this one!

———

-Arthur-

"Arthur, come down here!" (Y/N) called out as she worked on cutting up the vegetables that she'd use in the soup she was making. "Arthur!" she yelled again after a few moments passed and he hadn't emerged.

"I'm comin!" he called back to her, his footsteps approaching her then. "Would you just look at this fuckin' beauty that I've been working on," he said then, and (Y/N) turned to see that he was carrying a larger piece of paper in his hands.

"Lemme see," she said, excited to get a glimpse of the newest drawing he'd been working on. He then turned the paper to show the sprawling pastoral scene that he'd been working on for the past few days. "Oh wow, Arthur, that's beaut...ow!" her compliment was cut off by a scream of pain. In her haste to see his project, she'd only turned her head and continued on with cutting the vegetables.

"What's happened?" Arthur asked, his brows furrowed as he walked over to where she was.

"I cut myself, and I'm...oh no..." she trailed off as her eyes dropped to the finger that she'd sliced with the knife. The cut wasn't terrible, but some of her blood was now rising from between her skin.

"Careful, love," Arthur stated, hurrying over to her side because he knew what was going to happen next.

"I don't feel good, I'm..." she trailed off again, becoming dizzy as she tried to draw her eyes away from the crimson colored liquid that was now covering her finger. She tried to speak again, but nothing came out as she felt her legs starting to give out underneath her.

"Shit," Arthur muttered as he noticed her knees buckle. Luckily he was able to reach out and grab her before her body could hit the ground, and he made sure that he cradled her head in his lap as he slowly brought the both of them to sit on the kitchen floor. "(Y/N)..." he said softly as he managed to reach up to the counter and grab a towel that she was previously using to wipe the vegetables clean. He wrapped it around her finger and held pressure on it so that the bleeding could stop. "Come on, hun, it's time to get up," he continued, shaking her shoulder lightly. He wasn't too worried, because this had happened to her before. He knew that she had a tendency to faint at the sight of blood.

He held her in his arms while keeping pressure on the cut for a few moments longer before (Y/N) opened her eyes slowly. "Arthur?" she asked, her vision blurry. It started to become clear as she blinked a few times.

"You fainted, love," he told her in a soft voice, "the cut on your finger made you do it."

"Oh," was all (Y/N) said as she dared to glance down to where Arthur was holding her hand. She was able to see the white towel that he'd used to cover it, but, thankfully, there was no sight of blood. "Thanks for catching me," she said with a sheepish smile.

"Always," Arthur grinned back at her. "I don't think we'll need to see the doctor for this, but we do have to get it cleaned off," he then mentioned the severity of her wound. Slowly, they both got off of the floor before Arthur helped (Y/N) move over to the small basin of water that she was using to clean the vegetables. "Now I want you to look away because there's gonna be blood on the towel when I pull it away. I don't want you faintin' again," Arthur instructed her, and she nodded, turning her head in the opposite direction so that he could work on cleaning her cut.

She kept her eyes shut for extra measures as Arthur stepped away from her so that he could grab the first aid box from the shelving that stood up against the kitchen's wall. Once he was back, he made quick work of cleaning and bandaging up her cut. "All done," he commented after closing up the box.

"No more blood?" (Y/N) queried, her eyes still shut.

"No more blood," Arthur affirmed, his response making her open her eyes and look to see that her cut was now bandaged, and that all of the blood was cleaned up.

"Thank you," (Y/N) turned to smile at him.

"You're welcome, love," Arthur sent a smile back, "next time I'll make sure you put the knife down before asking if you want to see my work," he added, the two of them laughing then.

——

-John-

It was late when John walked into his home on Watery Lane, but (Y/N) was still up waiting for him. Sitting at the dining table with her legs crossed and a cigarette perched between her fingers, she wore a straight face. And John knew the second his eyes connected with hers that he was done for.

"Hi, (Y/N)," he smiled sheepishly as he kicked his shoes off and sat them by the door. He then started to take off his suit jacket before he caught himself and left it on.

"Do you have an idea of what time it is, John?" (Y/N) asked with raised eyebrows. She sat the cigarette in the ashtray before she crossed her arms over her chest.

"It's late," he gave a vague answer as shrugged his shoulders slightly.

"It is," she agreed with him, sighing slightly as she stood up from the chair. "Should I even ask where you've been?" she continued, her arms still crossed over her chest.

"Maybe not..." John trailed off as he tried to keep the guilty look from forming on his face.

"Where've you been?" the look on John's face made her ask the question anyway.

"With Arthur...we went to the Marquis," he answered her, able to tell the truth on that part.

"Drinking?" she further inquired.

"Not quite," he scrunched his face slightly, sucking in air through clenched teeth as he knew what she was going to ask next. But she didn't ask anything. Instead, she stared at him with an intent gaze that let him know that he'd have to come clean by himself. "It was Arthur's idea..." he trailed off, trying yet again to shake her off his trail.

"Spill it, John," she spoke in a serious voice, her eyebrows raised.

He dropped his head with a sigh at her words, knowing that he couldn't keep his secret from her any longer. "We went there because Michael and Isiah got into a fight with some men who tried stopping them from drinking there. Arthur decided that we'd burn the pub down to teach 'em a lesson," he explained, his words coming out in a similar manner to that of one of his children when they admit they're wrong.

"And let me guess...that lesson was not to fuck with the Peaky Blinders?" (Y/N) kept her eyebrows raised, although now her words didn't hold any anger or annoyance in them. She expected something of the sort to come out of his mouth. "That also explains why you reek of alcohol and gasoline," she commented on the smell that was emanating from his clothing.

"It's probably on my jacket mostly. I'll go and put it in the dirty pile," he stated as he began to walk away from her.

"No, you will keep those clothes down here in their own pile. I'm not letting them touch the others," (Y/N) disagreed with his idea, her words making him stop in his tracks.

"Fair enough," he shrugged as he then shimmied out of his suit jacket. "I don't smell much of it on me now," he commented, lifting his shirt up to smell it. He just about jumped the second he heard a thud against the floor. "(Y/N)! Shit!" he exclaimed when he noticed that she was now laying on the floor.

Quickly, he scrambled to the floor and took her into his arms. "Hey, come on, (Y/N), wake up," he said as he gently shook her shoulder in hopes that it would bring her to. He held her for a few minutes before her eyes began to flutter. "(Y/N). (Y/N), what's happened?" he asked with worry in his voice.

"Your arm is bloody. I'm not good with blood," she told him, deliberately looking away from the sleeve that she knew was stained red.

Her words made him look to his left shoulder, and sure enough, the white shirt was now red in color. "Shit," he mumbled to himself, "I must've got cut on some broken glass."

"You should go patch yourself up before it gets any worse," (Y/N) suggested as she sat up, still looking away from his injured arm, "I'd help but I'm not sure if I'll be able to do so without passing out again."

"I'll get it fixed up and then come back down with you," John stated as he moved from behind her to stand again, "are you sure that you're ok?" he checked on her as he began to walk to the steps.

"I am," she nodded with a faint smile on her lips, "oh, and you still smell like alcohol and gasoline," she added, her statement making John chuckle before he ascended the steps to change into some new clothes.

——

-Tommy-

“Mum?!” Charlie’s voice came from down the hall, making (Y/N) set her book down next to her on the couch and turn her attention to the doorway.

“I’m in your father’s office, Charles!” (Y/N) called back, glancing towards Tommy then. His eyes hadn’t lifted from his ledgers, and (Y/N) assumed it was because the child was calling for his mother and not his father.

“I’ve got a cut,” Charlie announced as he entered the office, “the bleeding stopped, but I need someone to bandage it up,” he continued as he came to a stop beside the couch that (Y/N) was occupying.

“You’d better hope the bleeding stopped,” (Y/N) commented, now becoming more hesitant of the situation because of the mention of blood. She was never the best around it, and would even faint at times if she caught sight of the crimson colored liquid. Immediately she was wishing that she hadn’t set the rule of giving the maids off on Sundays.

“I think it has,” Charlie guessed, going to remove the cloth that he’d placed over it. (Y/N) grabbed his hand and stopped him, still not one-hundred percent ready for the surprise yet.

“Thomas, can you please go get the first aid kit from the lavatory down the hall?” she then asked her husband, who was at this point watching his wife and son carefully. He always became extra vigilant when any member of his family was hurt.

“Do you want me to bring it all back?” he asked as he stood from his desk and began to walk to where the couch was.

“Please,” (Y/N) smiled back at him as he exited the room. “Ok, Charlie...” she trailed off with a sigh then as she prepared herself for what she had to do, “how about I take a look at it?” she asked him and he nodded before she stood from the couch so that she could be ready to inspect it closely if need be.

She then allowed him to slowly lift the cloth from his upper arm. Immediately, she was able to see the stain of the blood against the white material, but that didn’t bother her much. What really got to her was when it was coming directly from the wound.

“How bad is it?” Charlie asked, and at that point, (Y/N) noticed that he had his eyes scrunched together.

“Not bad,” (Y/N) assured him as she leaned in to get a closer look so that she could make sure that there was nothing in the cut. “I’m going to wipe it off to make sure it’s not got anything inside of it,” she informed him before folding over the cloth so that a clean side could be used. She then gently ran it over it, making sure that any dirt would be wiped away. “That should do it,” she said once she was finished.

Something caught her eye as she inspected the cut again. She must’ve aggravated the small protective barrier that had formed between the inner and outer skin, because now blood was coming to the top once more. “Mum?” Charlie questioned after he noticed her staring at his arm for a few moments. “Are you ok?” he asked with concern now.

“Yeah, mum’s fine...” she trailed off, feeling dizzy as she tried hard to pull her eyes away from the blood. “I’m just gonna...I’m just gonna sit down, Charlie. I’m not feeling too good,” she continued as she took a seat back on the couch. Just as she did so, everything started to get a white-ish tint to it. She felt her heart rate start to increase as she decided to drop her head back against the top of the couch. Then things went black.

“I found the kit, but I was looking in it, and I don’t think that it has any...shit,” Tommy stopped what he was originally saying when his eyes fell onto (Y/N), who was sitting, passed out on the couch. “What happened, Charlie?” he asked his son as he hurried his pace over to where the other two were sitting.

“My cut started to bleed and she saw it. She passed out,” he informed his father, who let out a sigh as he kneeled next to the couch so that he could be next to both his wife and child.

“(Y/N),” he tried, gently placing his hand on her thigh and squeezing it in hopes that his touch would alert her. When it yielded nothing, he turned back to Charlie, who was once again holding the cloth over his cut. “I’m gonna help you, right, and then get mummy to wake up, ok?” he then told the boy his gameplan, “and don’t worry...she’ll be ok,” he assured the child, who nodded his head and swallowed thickly. He didn’t like seeing his mother in that state, but he knew that his father would do anything to make sure that they were ok.

Tommy made quick work of cleaning the cut out again, which made Charlie whimper a little, before he put some ointment and a fresh bandage onto the injured area. “All better?” he questioned once he was finished with his work.

“All better,” Charlie affirmed, a relieved smile on his face now that the crisis was averted.

“Good. Go play now and I’ll make sure that mumma wakes up and is ok, ok?” he checked with the kid again, watching as he nodded before he reached over and ruffled his hair. Charlie smiled at the gesture before he thanked his father and exited the room. “Alright, (Y/N)...” he trailed off as he rose from the ground to sit next to his wife, “come on, love...let’s get up,” he said softly as he placed his hand on her upper arm and shook her softly.

It took a few minutes, but soon enough, she started to stir. “Huh?” she asked, her confused question making Tommy chuckle slightly. “Did I faint?” she then asked another question as she slowly looked around the room.

“You did,” Tommy nodded his head, his hand reaching up to brush some fallen strands of hair away from her face.

“Where’d Charlie go?” she asked, now noticing the absence of her child.

“To play. I patched him up,” he responded, nodding his head to the first-aid kit sitting on the floor.

“Thanks, Tommy,” she breathed a sigh of relief knowing that the boy was taken care of.

“It wasn’t hard,” he brushed her thanks off, “I’m happy that I was able to get you to come to though,” he commented then.

“Well I’m sure it’s because you had some practice at it now...with all the times you used to come home beaten and bloodied,” she remarked with a smile, reminding him of all the fights he used to get in. Thankfully, the number of them had decreased dramatically since they moved into Arrow House. “I just hope that won’t be happening with Charlie now as he gets older.”

“It won’t,” Tommy was quick to quell her fears, “the only thing that kid’ll be gettin’ into a fight with is a horse’s reins when they get tangled up...I’ll make sure of it,” he insisted, his statement making (Y/N) smile before she leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. She was thankful that she had someone like Tommy who would always be looking out for his family.

———

Tagged: @alreadybroken-ts @magicalxdaydream @the-anxious-youth @look-at-the-soul @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @easilyobessedbutflighty @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole

MASTERLIST

[ragingbookdragon]

Of Threats And First Meetings PT. 3

Brynjolf x F!Dragonborn

Word Count: 2,260 Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Blood and Wounds

Author’s Note: Holy shit it’s been like...I don’t even know how long since I updated this *insert shrugging emoji* Enjoy! -Thorne

Brynjolf felt like he should’ve known that Gulum-Ei was the one brokering the deals that were tearing the Guild to pieces. The damned argonian couldn’t resist a payout, even if it was the Guild he was backstabbing—it said a lot about honor amongst thieves, and while Brynjolf couldn’t claim to be the most honorable, at least he had some. All things considered, he couldn’t fault Gulum-Ei for doing it, whoever it was that wanted the Guild taken out was no doubt dishing out some serious coin to make it happen.

           That being said, their newest member was again tasked with the mission. Brynjolf wasn’t going to voice his opinion out loud, but he knew that she was running herself into the ground. He was sure that she’d not taken a moment of reprieve to simply breathe before throwing herself back into the thick of things. Quite the opposite, she’d taken a couple more jobs from both Vex and Delvin—though Brynjolf was sure she’d only taken them because the two thieves had essentially guilt tripped her. He watched her as Mercer walked off, leaving her to rub at her temples, a heavy sigh falling from her lips.

           “Wondering if you’re in over your head, lass?” he inquired, leaning back against the desk as he crossed his arms over his chest.

           She snorted and rolled her shoulders. “Only every moment of every day, Brynjolf.” Catching his eyes, she quipped, “Why is it that I’m the one who’s being given the major missions and not the other members of the Guild?”

           He mocked a look of deep thought then offered, “You’re not a senior member so you do what we tell you? Her eyes briefly widened before she burst into laughter, the sound making Brynjolf’s stomach flip.

           “Oh ho? It’s seniority then?” she leaned close, mirth in her eyes as she questioned, “So when does the newbie get to claim seniority?”

           Brynjolf grinned at her. “I’d say a couple years.”

           “What!”

           “Maybe a few if I’m being completely honest.”

           A groan passed her lips. “By that time, you lot will actually be seniors—well, not that you’re young now.”

           He almost recoiled at that. Almost. “Did yo—did you just call me old?”

           She placed a hand on his bicep, sympathetically replying, “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not exactly a stripling anymore, Brynjolf.”

           Blinking, he deadpanned, “I don’t think I’ve ever been called old by a woman before.”

           Grinning, she asked, “Tell me, do all the young women you take to bed call you sprightly?” He nodded and she giggled. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Brynjolf.”

           She leaned close until her lips brushed his ear, whispering, “When we call you older men sprightly, it’s only so you don’t feel bad about your age.”

           Brynjolf turned slightly, catching her gaze, and murmured, “That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble one day, lass.”

           Her eyes narrowed as she mused, “So far it’s gotten me out of trouble.” She pulled away and tugged the shawl over her bare shoulders, turning to make her way back to the Flagon.

           She stopped a few feet though and glanced over her shoulder. “But if it means I’d be in trouble with you, Brynjolf, I don’t think I’d mind it.” Winking, she left him to flounder with the suggestion of her words.

***

           Her side ached with a fury, and the continual prodding of the linen against the wound didn’t help. With each brush against the open wound, it sent a bolt of fire through her nerves, as if she were being stuck with a hot poker. Still though, she focused on returning to the city, knowing that if she could just get home, she’d be able to clean and stitch it up.

           Softly moaning, she slipped inside the gate, turning down the narrow alley that led into Honeyside’s garden. Briefly, she brought her free hand up and felt along the wall to lead her. As she neared the garden, movement flashed in her vision and she stopped in her tracks, squinting in the darkness to discern what it was. Someone was bent over one of the barrels in the corner and she growled.

           “This is private property. Piss off.”

           They stood upright, turning round to face her and when the moonlight illuminated their features beneath the hood, she muttered, “Brynjolf?”

           He raised a hand, pushing the hood up slightly, stepping towards her. “Lass? What are you doing here? I thought you were heading to Solitude?”

           She shook her head, then winced when a flash of nausea came over her. “No, had to do something’s around here before I did.” A sudden flash of pain simmered in her side and a groan passed her lips, the throbbing threatening to send her to her knees.

           “Lass?” he questioned, voice twinged with worry. “Are you alright?” Waving him off, she pulled from the wall, trying to get to the door of Honeyside.

           “‘m fine,” she grunted, though her vision began to blur with darkness. “Just gotta…get some rest.”

           She’d barely made it two feet when her knees finally gave out, sending her towards the dirt. Just before she hit the ground, strong arms wrapped around her waist, keeping her from kissing the floor, pulling her up.

           “Lass!” he yelled, then he cursed, concerned that the guards would come running. “What happened?” he demanded, curling an arm under her legs to pick her up. The jostling made her groan, and she fought the urge to recoil from him when the buckle of his chest armor nudged her side.

           “Ngh—steam centurion in Avanchnzel.” She hissed when he started walking, switching her grip to curl her arm around his shoulders, hoping it would steady her. “Caught the backside of the battle—ngh—axe when I was dodging it.”

           Brynjolf turned and nudged the door to Honeyside open, bringing her inside.

           “When I’m not dying, I’m going to kick your ass for break—sonovabitch!” she gasped when he dropped her on the bed, hurrying towards the kitchen to gather supplies.

           He returned and started pulling the laces of her tavern corset undone. Despite the pain, she giggled, “Most men buy me dinner first.” A grin set on his lips as he pulled the last string loose, yanking the cedar-colored corset from around her.

           “I’ll treat you to dessert after,” he mused, then looked up at her. “Skirt or straps?”

           Her brows furrowed. “Beg pardon?”

           “Either I’m lifting your skirt up or I’m pulling your straps down. Make up your mind which decency you’d like to keep,” he countered, and she huffed, reaching up to slip the ringed straps from her shoulders.

           “Should’ve known a scoundrel like you was a skirt lifter. Despicable.”

           Brynjolf barked a laugh, helping her to roll the gold fabric down. “Please, I haven’t lifted skirts since I was a boy.”

           “Mhm.”

           “Honest, lass. I’ve grown out of immature acts like that,”’ he explained as the poorly wrapped wound came into sight. It’d soaked crimson in the time she’d travelled back, and he frowned as he untied the knot, gently peeling it back. She started to let out a whimper but grit her teeth and inhaled sharply.

           “Sorry lass,” Brynjolf murmured, wiping at the blood. He glanced up, watching as she propped herself up on her elbows, hands clenching into fists.

           “Just hurry up and seal it,” she griped, and he passed her a strip of leather. Seeming to understand, she brought it up to her mouth and bit into it, then met his eyes and nodded.

           Sighing heavily, he rose from the side of the bed and returned with the hot knife that had been sitting right next to the fire—she could feel the heat when he brought it close to her, kneeling back on the bed.

           He met her eyes and she inhaled deeply, giving him a nod of her head. Brynjolf rested his other hand on the side of her ribs a few inches above the wound, effectively bracing himself as well as keeping her still.

           Lowering the metal to her, he said, “Try and stay still. I don’t wanna burn you where you’re not wounded.” She barely made a noise of confirmation when the burning metal came into contact with her skin.

           Her eyes went wide, and she immediately threw her head back into the bed as a muffled scream escaped her, hands white knuckling the covers of her blanket. A deep pit fell in his stomach at the tears that began to run down her cheeks, but he kept the knife to her for another couple seconds before pulling it back, watching as her chest heaved with each breath. Glancing back at the wound, he knew she needed another go, probably two if he was honest.

           “I need to do it again,” Brynjolf murmured and she groaned like a dying animal. “I know lass, but you’re still bleeding.” She sucked in a quick breath through her nose and grunted, muscles tensing underneath his grip as she readied herself once more.

           He flipped the knife in his grip and placed it to her side again, and the screech that left her this time, made him wince, but he held it there. After a couple seconds, he pulled the knife away and examined the wound, and when he saw that it wasn’t bleeding anymore, he tossed the knife aside, letting it clatter to the floor.

           “Lass? You alright?” his eyes scanned her for any problems, and she turned her head to the side, spitting out the leather strip. Letting out a huff, she brought up a hand, intent to prod the wound, but he caught it. “Don’t touch it yet.” He met her eyes. “Do you have any distilled alcohol?”

           Groaning heavily, she nodded. “Downstairs in my…alchemy room.” She swallowed thickly. “There’s a few…health and disease potions too.” Meeting his eyes, she added, “Bring one of each…please.”

           Brynjolf nodded and headed down the stairs, coming up a few moments later with two tiny red vials and one large clear bottle. He set them on her nightstand before gently curling his arms underneath her back to shift her over slightly. When there was enough space, he sat beside her and grabbed the glass bottle, uncorked it, and poured some on a spare linen cloth. Brynjolf dabbed the wound, quietly apologizing when she hissed in pain.

           When he was finished, he took the fresh wrap and helped her sit up so he could wrap it around her waist. Tying it with a knot, he handed her the two vials, gazing as she downed them both before looking at him with an expression of relief. Suddenly feeling weak, she leaned forward, careful to avoid her wound, and pressed her forehead into Brynjolf’s shoulder. He brought up a hand, softly caressing the bare expanse of her back.

           “Thank you, Brynjolf,” she whispered, shivers running up her spin at his touch. “I would’ve been in a perilous state if you hadn’t been around.”

           Chuckling, he replied, “I would say anytime, but I don’t wanna have to do this again for a long time, so try to stay safe.”

           A snort escaped her, and she turned her head up, resting her cheek on his shoulder, gazing into his eyes. “Why try when this is the treatment?”

           His green eyes narrowed as he retorted, “While I’m flattered that you want me as a bedside-nurse, I really don’t wanna do this again.” He brough his other hand up, gently touching her cheek. “I already worry about you. No need to up it.”

           “You worry? Does that make me special?” she cooed tiredly, pulling away from him to lay back on the bed.

           Brynjolf huffed a laugh and stood, opening the closet beside her bed. “You enjoy teasing me, lass.”

           “Is it working?” she asked, watching as he pulled out a simple blue tunic. Shuffling around on the bed, she managed to wiggle the tavern skirt to her calves and when he spun around, Brynjolf’s eyes swept over her body.

           “Shame on you for ogling an indecent woman, Brynjolf. What would Lady Mara think?” she tutted, and he grinned at her.

           “I’m not sure about Lady Mara, but I certainly know what Lady Dibella would do,” he countered, and she giggled.

           “Now who’s teasing?” He handed her the tunic, and she shrugged it on, pulling it down her chest and over her thighs. Brynjolf helped her under the covers, watching as her eyelids began to slip shut. Just to be sure, at least that’s what he told himself, he laid his palm over her forehead, checking for warmth.

           Her eyes opened slightly, and he said, “Make sure you change the wrap when you wake up in the morning. Don’t wanna get an infection on the way to Solitude.”

           She nodded, letting out a yawn and sunk into her pillow. “Yeah, yeah, I will.”

           “Lass,” he warned, and she huffed, a smile spreading on her lips.

           “I will, promise.”

           Brynjolf gave her a look and pulled his hand away. “I’ll take my leave of you.” As he neared the doors to her patio, she called for him.

           “Brynjolf?” he paused and glanced over his shoulder, heart fluttering in his chest as she whispered, “Thank you…for saving me like this.”

           He gave her a smile. “Of course, lass. I’ll be here whenever you need me to be.” He pulled the door open, smile growing larger when he heard her sleepily murmur,

           “Hope it stays that way.”

[torikengel]

Thomas Hewitt x Reader (Part 1)

a/n: thank you so much for your support <3 you make me motivated to continue, parts 2/3 and 4 are already on my profile <3

You were traveling with a group of friends across Texas. You were all from a big city, so they decided to go on a road trip. There were five of you in total, two girls, two guys, and you. At first, you refused to go and wondered why they even bothered taking you because they were two couples and you were just the fifth wheel. Well, you weren’t very familiar with one of the couples, but you knew the other one. At least you knew the girl, cause she was the one to invite you to this trip. It was known that you were well off and they desperately needed more money for gas and food on this trip. You weren’t dumb and it was very clear soon enough that the sum of money you were required to bring was much higher than the one of your so-called friends. So why you decided to go? You thought some adventure in your life wouldn’t hurt and you were yearning for some fresh air outside of the city. And it wouldn’t be bad to make some friends along the way, you thought. But soon you realized that wasn’t going to happen. The boys were eyeing you up and down and the girls weren’t happy about you. You would like to think that you were fairly pretty with an attractive face and a nice body. And since Texas is hot you were simply wearing a tank top and shorts. You were sitting in the back seat, buckled up, and looking out of the window as your companions didn’t seem keen on talking with you. “Hey, Emma, can we stop for a while, I need to go… you know,” said Chloe who was sitting next to you in the back seat with her boyfriend Matt to the driver, Emma. “Sure,” Emma responded slightly annoyed. You stopped in a remote town in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t seem that many people were still living there. Emma drove to the nearest shop and parked. The place was swarming with bikers and as soon as Chloe stepped out of the vehicle they whistled at her. “Wait babe, I am coming too,” Matt said as he spotted their sly smirks and how they hungrily looked at his girlfriend. “Y/n? Are you coming too?” Emma scoffed, “I am definitely not stopping again just because of you.” And she vanished in the shop as her boyfriend Chris followed right after her.

Someone should stay in the car and guard our stuff, you thought for yourself. But you really needed to drink something, so in the end, you grabbed your purse and walked in the store as the bikers kept catcalling you on your way. On your way there you saw Chloe and Matt whispering to each other, well if it could be considered whispering, cause you heard them. “Look at that old hag! Bet she never stepped out of this hell hole. Jeez, this town smells bad.” Chloe laughed and Matt added “Yeah, disgusting, now imagine living here babe, I bet they are all diseased.” You turned to the elderly woman behind the counter, you intuitively knew she could hear everything. You grabbed a soda and went to the counter, “I am very sorry.” You said with your head down as you didn’t dare to look her in the eyes. “Don’t worry ‘bout that darlin’, my family is used to this.” When you finally dared to look at her, you could see that her eyes were traveling up and down, scanning your body. Oh well, your clothes weren’t the most appropriate for this traditional part of Texas. “My name is y/n…” you said giving her the money for your soda. “Please keep the change.” You added as you wanted to vanish into thin air from embarrassment. The change you were talking about was like triple the price of soda. “Oh no, m’dear, I can’t accept that.” She finally smiled at your generosity and politeness. “Please, I insist… Mrs.?” You stuttered. “Luda Mae,” she helped you out. “Mrs. Luda Mae”, you repeated, smiling back at her. “Come already, we don’t have the whole day to wait… or we will leave you here!” Chloe shouted from the car and Emma honked. You jumped up and rushed to them while waving at Luda Mae, cause who knows, they might actually leave you there.

Emma was driving and chatting with her friends, not paying attention to you, even though it was she who invited you on this trip. And not only she wasn’t paying attention to you, but to the road as well, because she didn’t notice the spike strips across the road. Everyone yelped and held their breath when the van slid across the road and fell to the pit on its side… on your side. In the brief moment of despair, you regretted not being buckled up for the first few minutes of the trip. Your cheek smashed on the window that broke into shards, cutting up your skin. The worst part was that both Chloe and Matt fell on top of you as well. You squirmed under their weight but to no avail. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Emma screamed as she lost control of the vehicle and saw her boyfriend falling head forward on a sharp shard of glass, piercing his flesh. After a few minutes of shock, Emma got out of the car, seemingly okay, and helped Chloe and Matt. After that, they all hurried to help Chris. Nobody cared about you. You could feel the blood gushing out of your wounds on your arm and cheek. In the end, you managed to scramble the last bits of your strength and got out of the car without any help… Emma was in utter shock as she felt that her boyfriend didn’t show any signs of life. You didn’t know how to react, because you didn’t feel any pity. They didn’t help you and wouldn’t mind letting you die there on that backseat. You just shook your head and turned away, confused at what’s about to happen. “What’s wrong with you y/n! You look completely unphase by all this, explain yourself!” Emma screamed at you suddenly, letting out all of her anger on you. Before she could insult you any further you heard police sirens. “Thank god,” she calmed down a bit. Chloe was just shaking in Matt’s arms. The hope you all felt as the police car made its way towards you was slowly exchanged with fear. An older man with a sheriff’s uniform stepped out of the car with a shotgun. “So what do we have here… a bunch of lowly cowards it seems.” He spat on the ground and aimed the gun at you. “Get into the car, now!” he pointed at the police car, “The big guy in the back with two girls and this sexy babe in the passenger seat.” He aimed the shotgun at your head. “Wait, mister Hoyt, there’s my boyfriend still in the van!” Emma walked up to him trembling, apparently not grasping that this man isn’t here to help you. “My, my, do you think I care about your fucking boyfriend, bitch?” he turned down her request and took her by the wrist, “Maybe I will just take you next to me since you are so dumb, you need a lesson.” He tightened his grip on her wrist. “W-wait m-mister.” She stuttered, fear enveloping her. “T-take her instead… I swear we won’t tell anyone; you can do anything you want with her, even kill her, we will make something up, please just don’t hurt us.” She pointed her dirty finger at you and looked at Chloe and Matt, still in a tight embrace. “R-right guys? We won’t tell…” she desperately looked for a sign of approval from them. “Y-yes! We definitely won’t tell! I mean look, she’s way prettier for you sir!” Chloe added, throwing her pride behind her, Matt followed with a quick nod. “My, my what a friend you have,” Hoyt nearly died from laughter. He threw her aside on the hot ground. She slowly exhaled as she thought this was his way of saying yes. “I don’t like these types of bitches.” Without any hesitation, he shot Emma in the leg. She squealed and held her leg close to her, “You old bastard! We had a deal!” He only laughed a bit more before turning to the rest of you. “Now get in the car if you want to live. NOW!” he shouted and aimed the gun at Chloe and Matt who protectively stood in front of Chloe. “We have another hero here it seems.” Another shot followed, straight into Matt’s shoulder. He dropped to his knees in pain. “Who else?” he looked at you. After thinking for a few seconds, you dropped your eyes to the ground and went to the passenger’s seat of Hoyt’s police car. You decided to be smart about it. You didn’t dare to look back at him, all you heard were screams until everything was quiet again. Hoyt dragged your so-called friends’ bodies to the backseat. They were all breathing, just unconscious, their heads bloody. He probably hit them to make them easier to transport. He dragged Chris’s dead body out of the van as well, putting him into the trunk. After that, he sat in the driver’s seat next to you. “Come on, look at me. I don’ bite.” He licked his lips as you turned to face him. “Good girlie.” He said as he pressed some cloth over your nose and lips. You struggled for air, but then finally gave up and passed out as well.

You open your eyes to an unbearable headache which made you wish to never wake up at all. Where am I… shot through your mind as you tried to recall what led to your current situation. Right, your so-called friends tried to use you as their ticket out of this, as a bribe, as if you were a piece of meat. Your eyes were swollen and weak, so it was awfully hard to keep them open. You tried your best to inspect your situation a bit more. You couldn’t move your limbs, that’s for sure. So, you looked around again, adjusting your eyes to the dark atmosphere. It must’ve been a basement of some kind as there were no windows. You could see other metal tables except for the one you were tied to. There were various shiny metal tools around you consisting of cleavers, knives, and other stuff. Then you glanced above you to the ceiling. What you saw made you gag in disgust. Meat hooks, and on them two bodies hanging… Matt and Chloe. Then it hit you… out of confusion and tiredness, you didn’t pay attention to it before, but the whole basement smelled like death, rotting flesh, vomit, blood… everything mixed. Matt was missing half of his body and under him was a pool of blood, he was already dead. Chloe was missing one leg and one arm, seemingly still breathing, but not for long you thought for yourself. Sure, you were scared, because the same thing was going to happen to you, but you felt slight happiness in the back of your mind, no pity to be found. They abandoned you, they emotionally abused you, they used you for money, they would let you be raped and killed in exchange for their pathetic lives. They didn’t care about you. And now, despite their best efforts, you were here, alive, with all of your limbs, breathing while they were all almost dead. You couldn’t help to wonder why you were the last one to be butchered. You smiled for yourself “That’s what you get… even though I am going to be next, I still outlived you for long enough to laugh last.” And also, you didn’t know them before this trip except for Emma who wasn’t there right now. After these thoughts dispersed in your mind, you realized you could hear voices from above you. When you woke up, you were a bit groggy and didn’t pay attention to all of your senses right away. You recognized the female voice; without a doubt, it was Emma squealing in pain and disgust. “Let me go, let me go you ugly old bastard!” she screamed so loud it was piercing your ears. Instead of pitying her, it was more annoying to you, because you wanted the last minutes of your life to be as peaceful as possible. “Shut up, stupid bitch, or I will make you!” a familiar voice shouted back. Hoyt. Yeah, it must’ve been that guy, Sheriff Hoyt. Even though you assumed he wasn’t the real sheriff. You figured out what was happening upstairs. From the moment you met this Hoyt guy, you knew he was a pervert and a violent one. Even though he spared you in a way when he didn’t shoot you, well, you complied so he had no reason to. Then you realized that you checked your surroundings to the best of your ability while you didn’t even look at the state you were in. Your wrists and ankles hurt real bad. The leather cuffs were rubbing tightly against your sensitive red skin. Your cheek hurt as well as your arm. You weren’t sure if the glass shards were still in your arm or if someone took them out. You tried to position yourself in a way you could see the cut. It was deep and your skin was all bruised. Your whole body felt squished and sore, because of how Matt and Chloe fell on you during the accident. You were so tired… the screams above you got quieter and quieter each second as you fell into sleep again.

Loud footsteps in the basement woke you up and when you managed to lift your eyelids a huge man was towering over your lying body. He was wearing a bloody apron, shirt, and tie… very neat you thought for yourself. He smelled bad and there was a human-like mask on his face. He had greasy black hair that reached to his shoulders and partially hid his face. What captured your attention were his piercing blue eyes. He was scanning you, but you did the same as you stared deep into his eyes. He expected you to try to jump up, squirm, or make disgusted faces. He was used to it. All his life people called him names and bullied him, from his childhood to his teen years, and while he worked in the factory as an adult. He was always a monster, animal, disgusting freak in their eyes. Women made gagging noises when they saw him and then laughed in his face. Men picked on him, tried to fight him to get him in trouble. He suffered through it all until he finally unleashed all the pain and anger. Since then he saw people as either family or food, there was nothing in-between. You could see it in his eyes, the awaiting of your scream. But it never came, even after you noticed the cleaver in his hand. You had a neutral expression on your face while watching him. The pain was undeniable in his eyes. He wanted you to scream as it made it easier, so much easier… if you just called him a freak, if you tried to spit in his face… too easy. Finally, your lips parted, air leaving your mouth as you exhaled. He hated it, everything you did, he hated it because you made it hard. You had a beautiful face, perfect skin, attractive body, silky h/c hair, and shiny e/c eyes. You looked like one of the girls that would make fun of him and kick him again when he was already down. All the memories kept flooding into his mind as he raised the cleaver and prepared to swing. Now he expected you to squirm, shout and plead for your life, to at least cry or call him something nasty. But you peacefully smiled at him. “This is my end isn’t it?” you accepted your fate from the moment you woke up for the first time in this basement. You closed your eyes and prepared for the pain that would inevitably come with the blow. The man was confused like never in his life. Your sweet smile towards him melted his resolve. Here he was standing, all bloody with a cleaver ready to end your life and your perfect form was just lying under him in a dignified position without regrets. His eyes were full of sorrow. Nobody smiled at him before, laughed yes, mocked him too, but he never got that smile, smile without any prejudice in your then open eyes. There was no pain, just a wet feeling on your hurt cheek. For the first time, you yelped at the sudden touch and shot your eyes open again. There he was, standing over you, wiping the dry blood off your face with a wet rug. He stepped back, startled by your reaction. You could see how hurt he was… you couldn’t believe yourself. In this situation, with a murderer in a room with you, your instinct was telling you to pity him more than the couple hanging from the meat hooks. ”Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that; I just didn’t expect it… thank you.” You murmured under your breath. His eyes widened, first that innocent smile, now the honest tone in your voice as you apologized for being held captive. “My name is y/n. But I guess you don’t need to know that as you know…” your eyes pointed to the cleaver that was on the other table now. He didn’t say anything, but he shook his head. You didn’t know if that meant you would be spared or that he was content with knowing your name, you figured it was the latter though. After he calmed down, he stepped up again to clean your face and arm. You hissed a bit, but he knew it wasn’t at him, but at the pain. You didn’t know why he did all that when you are certainly going to be killed, if not by this man then by that Hoyt.

“What’s your name, if you don’t mind?” you broke the awkward silence. He shrugged, not replying. “You can’t speak?” you figure it wouldn’t hurt to ask and you wanted to know if he couldn’t or simply didn’t want to talk. You got a slight nod from him. “I see… But I can try and guess if you help me.” You came up with a solution. “I will say the alphabet and when I will get to the first letter of your name, you should touch the palm of my hand.” He seemed unsure but nodded again in the end. “A, B, C…” you continued until you got to T. He softly put a finger on your palm. “T…” you repeated, “That could be Tim, Tony, Thomas.” You wanted to continue, but he grabbed your finger when you said Thomas. “Thomas… Tommy.” You smiled at him. You didn’t know what got into you, but you were enjoying this sweet, tender moment. He was very gentle with you and didn’t kill you yet. Maybe it was because of how different your behavior was from everyone else.

He didn’t believe it. What was he doing, what were you doing, what were you doing to him? You were supposed to be another meal, just food, a piece of meat. But he couldn’t treat you like that when you were the first person outside of his family who treated him like a human being, without disgust and hate. Even Charlie and Monty sometimes treat him like a dog. He could sense that you were sincere. Some girls tried to seduce him before to save their lives and then stab him in the back. Once he fell for it, only for the first time though, he learned his lesson. But you didn’t try, you accepted that you were going to die here, and he couldn’t bring himself to end your life on his own.

“Damn what’s taking you so long down there, boy?” Hoyt opened the door to the basement and threw something on the stairs. “Don’ tell me you were able to finally man up?” Thomas seemed to be a bit lost, but you knew what he meant by that. “Anyhow, I am finished with it, it’s all yours now.” Hoyt pointed on the floor. You weren’t sure what he threw in the basement until now. It was Emma and she was still alive. Her mouth taped shut and hands tied behind her back. Hoyt descended into the basement and got rid of the tape on her lips. “You liked it bitch, didn’t ya?” he squeezed her cheeks and put a finger into her open mouth. She bit him as soon as she got the chance. A loud slap followed and he walked back up cussing her out. Hoyt was so focused on his finger, that he didn’t seem to care about why you were still alive. “Oh y/n! Help me, help me, please!” she trembled and smiled at you in disbelief. She obviously thought you were dead. Then she looked around to see her dead friends and screamed. Thomas grabbed her with his huge hands ready to hang her on the meat hook next to her friends. “You ugly fat bastard, let me go, stop it, you animal!” she kicked him wherever she could with both of her legs as they were tied together. You couldn’t hold back your laughter. However, your laughter stabbed Thomas in the back. So, you were the same after all. He thought about it and then realized it was for the better. But then you spoke “She looks like a fish out of the water, doesn’t she?” you giggled a bit more and then finally stopped. Thomas smiled under his mask before he realized what were the consequences. You indirectly stood up to him and it was funny and clever as well. “What… why would you laugh y/n? We are both going to die you dumb slut!” as the last word left her lips a shriek of pain echoed as Thomas stabbed the hook into her back. With the last strength, she spat in his face. “F-filthy animal, m-murderer, you and your damn fucking family can all burn in hell…” she mumbled. “I bet he would be a better friend than you.” Before she could come up with a comeback of any kind, he slit her skull with a cleaver. He grabbed a chainsaw and started dismembering her. You actively watched, fascinated by the situation. You weren’t a sadist, not at all, but it just all seemed like a weird nightmare to you. Maybe you passed out during the car crash and you are still dreaming. However, the smell of blood brought you back into reality. After Thomas was done, he turned back to you, freshly bloodied. He expected to see a disgusted face, tears, fear. He did it on purpose… to make you scream, to make you hate him like everyone else. “To be honest… she deserved it. Imagine, she tried to give me to Hoyt to save herself. She wouldn’t mind killing me.” You shrugged as you were very stiff from holding your head on the side. 

No, no, no, no, no… it was all wrong. Thomas’ heart raced as he looked at you in disbelief, your e/c eyes piercing his soul. You saw him kill your friend, well at the very least your companion and then you also witnessed al the gory stuff that came with it, but you looked unphased, maybe a bit satisfied with his work... you didn’t scream, didn’t curse, didn’t hate him. He grabbed the cleaver and held it above you, then swung and…

[mummybear]

Breaking The Rules

Words: 2929

Warnings: Swearing, Smut, Slight Somnophilia kink, Oral Sex (Male receiving), Quiet Sex, Secret Sex, Sam’s In The Next Bed….So Shh….;) ), Dirty talk, Lots Of Teasing And Being Made To Wait….Think that’s it :)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You and Dean have an arrangement that works for you both, but you’re starting to test the boundaries, but you love it when Dean gets angry.

A/N: No Beta for this one, sorry it’s been so long since I posted! Been soooo busy with the kiddies and trying to write my new series! :P Anyway, I hope you like it lovelies! :D

You swirl your straw around your small glass and scan the bar, you know you don’t really need to look, you know he’s watching you, because you’ve caught his reflection in the bar’s mirror at least twice now. But this is the game that the two of you always play, because nobody can know what the two of you get up to, he’s your dirty little secret and your his, and that’s just the way you both like it. Your eyes fall on him once again, he’s sitting at the bar with a girl either side of him, but you’re not jealous, you have no reason to be, and he’s made that abundantly clear on more than one occasion. 

The toilets are behind him this time, so you know you’ll be the one who makes the first move tonight. But you want to wait a little longer, let the anticipation build, until you can see him squirming, make him wait for you for once. He knows where you are and you’d agreed on ten minutes, but it’s easily been twenty. The rules are that he doesn’t turn to look at you, because you can’t let Sam or any other monster or hunter find out what you get up to, the two of you don’t need any other reason to be used against one another.

He’s tense, you can see it from the way he’s sitting. You’d decided to wear a dress tonight, one that doesn’t require much, before it falls away. Your stockings feel soft against your skin as your thighs rub together beneath the table. You finish your drink and keep hold of your glass as you stand from the table slowly, your heels click against the tacky wooden floors of the bar. You drop the glass back on the counter top and thank the barman.

Walking past Dean is always the fun part, you put an extra swing in your hips as you walk, discreetly dragging your nails along his jean clad thigh as you pass. And although you don’t look back, you can feel his eyes on you, like he’s trying to undress you as you walk past.

You walk into the ladies and check the cubicles are free, and lock the main door behind yourself when you find that they are. As you’re reapplying your lipstick you hear a knock at the door and smile at your reflection, not surprised that he didn’t wait the usual amount of time before he’d followed you. You’d wound him up the entire way here in the Impala, as well as the long wait in the bar itself.

You open the door a crack and smirk at him when his green eyes narrow at you, “can I help you?” you ask quietly, enjoying the way that his jaw clenches tight beneath his skin.

“Let me in, Y/N. I’m in no mood for any more fucking about,” he demands angrilly.

You bite your lip as you start to close the door, quickly feeling his foot wedge in the crack before you can close it. His arm manages to fit through the gap as well and you step back with a moan, feeling his fingers wrap around your throat.

“Is something wrong, Dean?” you ask knowingly, as he locks the door with his free hand and slams you back against the door.

“Oh, you fucking know what you’re doing. The plan works, Y/N! It’s worked for ages. So why have you always gotta fuck with me?” he demands, his voice rough and commanding.

You don’t care about how pissed he is, in fact you wanted it, you crave it, because there is nothing hotter than when Dean Winchester is angry. You pout at him as you tug down the zip that runs the length of your dress, “come on, Dean. You already know why I do it,” you purr as your dress falls open at both sides, revealing the lacy surprise that had been hidden beneath your dress, and Dean’s hand drops from around your throat.

“I guess you’re just lucky that you’re so fucking sexy, even if you are a complete cock tease,” Dean growls deeply, as he pushes your dress from your shoulders and lets it drop at your feet. 

“Oh really? In that case are you gonna keep talking, or are you gonna fuck me already?” you ask cheekily, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He rests one hand on the door behind you as he gets down to your level and leans in close. And you watch an almost deadly smirk curl at his lips, “for a little slut you’re real fucking cheeky.”

“Hmmm, maybe you should shut me up then.” You dare him, keeping your eyes locked with his.

He doesn’t bother speaking, he doesn’t have to. He all but snarls as he slams you back against the door and claims your lips roughly. Your back aches at the impact trying to get closer, you welcome the pain as much as you crave the way his kiss makes you dizzy and lightheaded. Dean pushes his hand between your legs, and roughly tugs your panties to the side. Your head thuds back against the door when he pushes two fingers inside your slick opening, the stretch is just as incredible every time. His stubble is rough against your skin as he sucks marks along your collarbone, just low enough that most of your shirts will hide them.

You cling to his shoulders as he curls his fingers just right, against that spot inside you that makes you see stars. Dean’s panting hard against your ear as you squeeze your eyes closed, “not so chatty now, huh?” he mocks you, dragging his teeth over your earlobe and all you can do is moan his name. 

“You gonna come for me princess? You gonna make a mess all over this floor?” he groans deeply, wrapping your hair tightly around his free hand and forcing you to look at him.

Your walls start to flutter around his fingers, and your breath is starting to get stuck in your throat. You arch into his touch, feeling yourself right on the edge of orgasm and he suddenly pulls away with a chuckle, “Dean, no, come on! Please don’t do this again,” you beg desperately, knowing your attempts will be futile. 

“Oh what’s up sweetheart? You don’t like being teased or being made to wait?” he chuckles, stepping back, pushing on your shoulders and forcing you to your knees.

You glare up at him as he undoes his belt and jeans, pushing them down until they stop at his mid thigh.

“You’re such a dick,” you grumble under your breath as he pushes his boxers down, his cock is rock hard and the tip is red and leaking pre-cum, just begging to be sucked and you hate how well he knows you.

“Oh baby, who do you think you’re kidding? You knew what would happen if you made me wait. Now it’s your turn, so be a good girl and open that mouth for me.” 

Dean’s grip on your jaw is tight as you lick your lips and open your mouth, you give him your best doe eyes as you look up at him. 

“Good girl, I do love fucking this pretty little mouth,” he tells you as he pushes his cock between your lips, he rocks his hips slowly at first, keeping his thrusts shallow, until you wrap your lips around his girth and start to suck just the way he likes.

His head drops back and a deep groan leaves his parted lips, and his thrusts quickly become more insistent, you even have to hold onto his thighs to keep yourself up right. Almost every thrust now pushes the head of his cock against the back of your throat. You’re doing your best to relax, but you can’t help but gag around the intrusion despite your best efforts.

Dean pushes your hair off of your face and grips it tight behind your head, you can see his legs are beginning to shake, you know how close he is. He’s so thick and heavy against your tongue, you’ve never had anyone bigger or better than Dean, and you weren’t sure you ever would. He could make you come repeatedly, until you were feeling boneless and seeing stars, but you’d still crave more of him and still beg for more. He was like your personal drug.

You gasp and moan as he pulls his cock free and wraps his fingers around his girth.

“This what you want? You want my come, baby girl?” he rasps, eyes locked with yours as he fucks into his hand, hard and fast.

You nod quickly and stick out your tongue, Dean practically growls as his climax hits, and his free hand lands on the door behind you as he slump forward slightly, so he can keep himself up right. You swallow everything that lands in your mouth and lick your lips clean.

After a moment to recover Dean helps you to your feet and hands you your dress, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“You’re gonna pay for that later, Winchester,” you huff, pushing against his chest, until you can slip past.

Dean chuckles as he finishes buckling his jeans, and grins at you, locking eyes with yours in the reflection of the mirror. You roll your eyes and look down, before he’s able to annoy you further. 

“Promises, promises, sweetheart. I’ll see you out there.” 

Before you can reply, he’s already out of the door.

You smirk to yourself in the mirror as you sort out your appearance, trying to smooth out your hair and clean yourself up a little. Oh he’d pay alright, not in the way he’d expected, tonight you were gonna break another one of your rules. Because he didn’t know it yet, but he’d be fucking you in the motel tonight.

-

You can hear Sam snoring behind you, but you can’t sleep, nor had you planned to. You’d been too busy glaring at the back of Dean’s head for the past hour now. Waiting for the right time to exact your revenge. You were sure he was asleep by now, he’d barely moved and you can see his side rising and falling slowly.

Carefully you slip out of Sam’s bed and walk around to Dean’s. Pushing down your panties you drop them in your duffle, before crawling onto the bed the opposite side to Dean, and slipping beneath the covers, tugging off your t-shirt before you lay down.

You chew on your lip nervously as you shuffle closer to him, smirking to yourself slightly when you feel his hardened cock pressing against your thigh through his boxers. You gently push on his shoulder until he rolls onto his back, groaning and throwing an arm over his eyes. You carefully pull down his boxers, just enough to free his cock. 

Glancing over at Sam you can see he’s still asleep, so you quickly and carefully straddle Dean’s waist, luckily he still hasn’t moved, and the slick between your thighs is becoming more uncomfortable, thanks to him you’re still so wound up from the bar. You remember the time that he’d mentioned something similar to this being one of his fantasies, so it was a win win situation really.

Wrapping your hand around his thick cock you carefully lower yourself onto him, clamping a hand over your mouth, trying to hold back whimpers and moans that want to fall past your lips. You start to slowly rise and fall over him, feeling that perfect stretch as he starts to get deeper inside you. 

Dean’s hands quickly find your hips, and you watch his eyes snap open when your hands land on his chest.

“Sonofabitch, fuck,” Dean groans loudly, pulling you down roughly, so that his cock his fully seated inside you.

“Oh... s-shit,” you whimper quietly, suddenly very full and aching perfectly.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You win,” Dean moans, when you start to roll your hips a little faster.

“Shhh,” you giggle, leaning forward and pressing a hand over his mouth, glancing at Sam, thankfully he hasn’t moved. 

When you look back at Dean, his eyes are completely focused on you and your hand falls away from his mouth, you lean over him and press your lips to his. Your pussy is clamping down repeatedly around his cock, you’re so close it’s almost painful after what happened at the bar. His tongue moves with yours slowly and deeply, taking your time to really kiss each other for the first time in weeks. You love Dean’s mouth and those perfectly plump lips of his drove you close to insanity. You regretfully pull away from Dean’s lips, feeling your lungs burning with the need to breathe and drop your head into the crook of his neck.

“See this is why we had this as a rule. Neither of us can stay quiet when I’m buried in this tight little cunt, so fuckin’ hot and wet for me. Go on sweetheart, come on my cock, I know you’re close.” 

You can’t speak, as he rolls on top of you and your climax hits you hard, you have to bite his shoulder to stop yourself from screaming out his name. You know he’s right, but you can’t find it in you to care right now, it feels so good to have him inside you again. Dean hisses behind his teeth as your nails drag down his back, in an effort to hold onto something to ground you.

“Fuck. I love watching you come for me, so damn sexy,”

“Well you feel so good, Dean. I missed your cock so bad,” you whimper, feeling Dean’s cock throbbing inside you.

“So damn close already, sweetheart, fuckin’ love being inside you. I’m such an idiot.” 

You bite into your smirk as you look up at him, feeling his hips starting to slowly move again. 

“No arguments here, but you’re insanely hot and smart, so i’ll let you off,” you giggle, hooking your legs over his hips, and you try to keep him pulled tightly against you, as you start to roll your hips against him, doing your best to meet his thrusts. 

You push your hands into his hair and gently tug when he starts to thrust harder, angling his hips perfectly so he’s hitting your sweet spot.

”Are gonna fill me up baby?” Dean’s about to speak but then Sam rolls over to face the two of you, and you both fall silent. You both carefully roll on your sides, so that all Sam should be able to see is the back of Dean’s head if he wakes up.

“Damn right, I am,” Dean grunts as he moves you into a better position.

Dean quickly hooks your leg over his arm, and clamps his free hand over your mouth as he starts to thrust his hips, there’s no build up this time his thrusts are hard and calculated.

“What about, sam?” you manage to gasp behind his fingers, as he repeatedly hits your sweet spot.

“Guess you better keep quiet then, sweetheart. Or maybe you can scream for me, like you usually do, and we can just show Sammy what a little slut you are for his big brother, but I bet you’d love that wouldn’t you?”

“P-Please, Dean. Only you,” you whimper, reaching between your legs and you start to rub your clit in time with Dean’s increasingly fast thrusts.

“Fuck, you know I love hearing you say that,” Dean moans, breath hot against the back of your neck.

Your head is spinning and breathing becomes a little harder, your stomach is clenching and your walls are repeatedly clamping down around Dean’s thick cock. Your heart thuds hard in your chest, and the wet sounds of your pussy are louder than the sound of Dean’s hips hitting your ass with every thrust. Your climax hits you out of nowhere, and Dean growls quietly against your neck as you soak his cock and the sheets beneath you. 

Dean’s fingers tighten around your thigh, in an almost bruising grip, your head is still foggy from your orgasm, but you know he’s close when his thrusts begin to stutter. You groan, unable to speak as your sensitive walls clamp down hard when Dean comes, filling you like he hasn’t done in ages.

You’re shaking when Dean finally lowers your leg, and gently pulls out. Grabbing his t-shirt from the side of the bed, he does his best to clean you both up. You turn in his arms once he drops his t-shirt off the side of the bed. You both carefully move away from the wet patch and you curl up against him tightly, sighing quietly as the feeling of satisfaction finally settles over your tired body.

Dean gently runs his fingers through your hair, as you start to calm down a little.

“You’re getting too good at this,” Dean laughs quietly, giving your ass a squeeze with his free hand.

You roll your eyes and you can’t help but giggle, “too good at what?” 

“Surprising me. I didn’t think it was possible, but you just keep doing it.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind for the next time I break the rules,” you smirk up at him as you press a kiss to his chest, glancing over at Sam, pleased to see he’s still asleep.

Dean bites into his smirk and pulls you closer, “I think I can live with that.” 

Tags are still open guys, so let me know if you wanna be added! Bolded wouldn’t tag sorry!!!

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[fidothefinch]

maybe it's enough (to know that we were here together)

For Dick & Damian Week 2021, day 2: "He's my son!"

I wrote this over the last two hours. Fair warning, it is not proofread. Title from Kina Grannis's "For Now," for fake-deep reasons.

(More warnings: this story strongly features hospitals and difficulty breathing (and poison). Please take care of yourselves and skip it if it will hurt you, especially because of the last year we've all shared <3)

Nightwing woke up with a gasp like it was the first breath he had taken in a long time. He floundered for a moment, instinctively worried he had just surfaced from Gotham’s harbor (it wouldn’t be the first time), but it only took one hard smack of his wrist to recognize the very solid ground beneath himself.

Panting, he leveraged himself to his side to empty his stomach onto the concrete.

Something was wrong. He tried to check his surroundings, but he was only able to make out grey blobs that may have been buildings and wildly swinging lights.

No, they weren’t swinging. That was just his vision.

He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could just will vertigo away. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to; growing up swinging from a trapeze conditioned him to enjoy the swoop in his stomach. But right now, he was either on a boat or drugged.

Sirens doppler-ed towards and away from him, somewhere down below. Definitely drugged, then.

He lifted one hand to his pounding head and was happy to find his domino was still in place. So were his gloves. But when he checked, he was missing an Escrima stick and a handful of wingdings. He grappled with his memory, trying to pull up some idea of what could have happened. A fight, obviously. But was he in Gotham? Blüdhaven? Somewhere overseas?

He flipped to his back and stared at the sky, still breathing like he had just run a marathon. Drawing in air was like drinking through a silly straw. Above him, the sky was a mottled green-black, the wind rolling the clouds inland. The motion threatened to make him sick again. He considered the merits of rolling to his side, just in case, when his eyes caught the flicker of a familiar shape against the clouds.

The Batsignal.

So, he was in Gotham. Now that he thought about it, that felt right. He could recall riding in earlier on his bike, the wind whipping through his hair, weaving through wild traffic. But traffic had been going the wrong way? Everybody had been leaving the island. . .

He sat up suddenly. “Robin!”

Sitting up was a bad idea. He pushed through his temporary blindness to wobble to his feet, anyway. “Robin!” he called again.

Damian didn’t answer. He was nowhere to be found.

More sirens rang down below him, passing in the same direction the last set had. Dick scrambled to the edge of the roof to watch the ambulance pass. What he found took his breath away. Cars lined both sides of the road, all headed toward the bridge that led off the island. All empty, abandoned. There didn’t seem to be a soul in sight, except the emergency response vehicles speeding down the clear sidewalks.

Everything snapped into focus, and Dick’s memory returned. Somebody had called the Gotham PD with a thirty-minute warning before releasing an aerosolized drug into the sewer system. Nightwing had sped into town as quickly as he could, and Batman teamed him up with Robin to cover the south quarter, and they had gotten separated—where was Damian?

Dick leapt off the building, shooting his grapnel as he fell to swing into a perfect arc to the ground. His bike wasn’t within eyesight, so it was too far. He took off, running after the ambulance.

Toward the hospital.

-

“Sir, you can’t be here.”

Dick had never seen the hospital so busy. Patients were lined up along the walls and hallways, crammed into the rooms like sardines. The staff actually ran between beds, looking haggard and exhausted already. Dick stood out like a sore thumb in his Nightwing gear, but nobody had the time or energy to move him.

Except the head nurse, behind the desk. “You have to leave,” she said. “We don’t have room.”

“Is Robin here?” Dick asked. He had scanned the pinched faces of the patients he passed on the way back into the ER, but nobody was familiar. He was almost thankful; the victims of the poison were sweating profusely and gagged on their own breath.

“I can’t tell you that,” the nurse said.

“I need to know that he’s okay,” he pleaded, leaning into his palms. They had been planted on the desk for stability, but now they were the only thing grounding him in his panic. “Please.”

All of Gotham was supposed to be evacuated, but there were still so many people too slow, too many people without a way off the island. When the threatened poison hit the city, there were too many people left behind. Nightwing had rushed over from Blüdhaven as fast as he could, but by the time he had joined the rest of the Bats it was too late. Half of Gotham was sick. Dying.

And somewhere in the panic, as noxious steam shot from the sewers and spilled from the vents, he had lost Robin.

The nurse studied his face, her lips pursed. “Robin was admitted two hours ago.”

Dick’s knees nearly buckled with relief (it had nothing to do with his legs feeling like jelly). “Where is he?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?” Maybe the words were clipped, but he didn’t have time for this.

“No visitors. Hospital rules.”

“He’s just a kid!”

“Then maybe you should have helped him evacuate,” she said, levelling a glare at him that could melt glass. “Instead of encouraging him to run straight into the line of danger.”

Now Dick growled. “You don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“I think he’s better off here than with you.”

“He’s my son!” Dick slammed his fist on the counter between them, making the nurse jump. He would have time to feel guilty about it later. “If you don’t tell me where he is, I’ll find him myself.”

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, not getting any words out.

“Nightwing!” somebody else called. Dick spun around (too quickly), and another nurse was gesturing quickly behind herself. “I’ll take you to him.”

“Moira—” the head nurse started. But she wasn’t fast enough to catch Dick as he weaved through the maze of gurneys.

The nurse had dark circles under her eyes, and her bun was frayed. “Pediatric wing,” she huffed, already jogging down a wide white hallway. Dick followed, heart racing. “His oxygen was too low. He must have gotten a face-full of the stuff.”

“What does that mean?” Dick asked.

Her face screwed up. “He’s on a ventilator.”

Dick’s heart squeezed in panic at the words. He began to mentally prepare himself for what he would find.

The nurse he was following stopped abruptly, almost making him run into her. She flipped a hand at a set of double doors. “Stairs,” she explained. “You’ll have to go up to the third floor. Room 329.”

Dick didn’t question why she wasn’t coming; she had work to do. He nodded as he pushed through one of the doors. “Thanks.”

By the time he reached the third floor, he could tell that he had been dosed. Maybe not as badly as the other patients there, but three flights of stairs should have been child’s play for him. He arrived to patient hallway sweating and panting too hard, jelly legs making their displeasure felt.

There were doctors and nurses in this wing, too, but they were also scrambling too quickly to give him more than a passing glance. The crammed hallways on this floor were even more disconcerting, because the flushed, moaning faces were those of children.

None of them were the one he was looking for.

He forced himself to slow down, not able to bear the idea of passing Damian’s room and missing him accidentally. When he found room 329, he steeled himself before barreling through the door.

There were two beds crammed inside the small space, made possible only because the beds were child-sized. The smiling clouds painted on the ceiling were a harsh contrast to the dark, noisy machines wound around the beds.

Damian was in one of them.

Dick rushed to his side, sparing barely a glace toward the other child. Damian looked tiny, dwarfed by the size of the gurney and the mouth of the ventilator. His domino was in place, but somebody had flipped the screen over the eyes back, so Dick could see that Damian was asleep. The IV in his elbow connected to several bags, and Dick had no doubt at least one of them was a sedative. They would have to, to put him on the ventilator.

Dick snaked his gloved fingers into Damian’s bare ones and squeezed lightly. Even through the gloves, he could feel the smallest pulse.

He legs threatened to give out beneath him again.

And, well. Then they did.

A passing doctor saw him just as he had sprawled on the floor like a starfish. “Nightwing? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Dick shook his head, gesturing to his chest about the tightness still persisting htere. “Just dizzy.”

The doctor clucked his tongue, reaching out to the chair wedged into the corner. “Think you can get in this chair?”

Dick nodded (a mistake), and with the doctor’s help he was able to slide into the seat. The doctor flit out of the room and returned less than a minute later with a nasal cannula and oxygen tank.

Dick waved it away. “I’m fine.”

The doctor rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh, and I am, too.”

Dick didn’t fight it when she applied it. The steady stream of dry oxygen through his nose was a relief, and his head began to clear again almost immediately. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” the doctor waved.

Dick stopped her on her way out the door again. “Wait.”

She paused, obviously a little irritated at being interrupted.

Dick blushed in apology. “When will he be taken off the ventilator?” he asked, gesturing toward Damian, in the bed.

The doctor only shrugged. “When he’s ready.” And she left, hustling toward her next patient.

Dick pulled his glove off and ran his free hand through Damian’s hair, brushing back the strays. It was still damp with sweat.

However long Damian was asleep, Dick would be there when he woke up.

[of-frost-and-fire]

The Element’s Clash

Part 4 The loud shriek of the once composed woman was a sound he wasn't sure he'd enjoy hearing, though now that he had he'd say it wasn't quite unlike music to his ears. Though, it wasn't necessarily the sound that pleased him, rather it was the implications such a pained sound held; it meant that the icicles had managed to do their job, even if but a single one managed to pierce her~ And so he smirked behind his mask, his eyes alighting with a newfound sense of excitement as he quickly turned to move from his hiding spot... only for an extremely vibrant, radiant, and destructive ball of flames to come crashing towards him in a quick flurry of rage. Quickly raising his cloak in a desperate attempt to defend himself, the edges of its cloth began to glow a faint white as the frost air around him began to come together and harden into a large, thick, frosty shield of pure ice that took the brunt of the dangerous collision.

But it wasn't enough.

Detonating on impact, the fireball - seemingly much more powerful than the previous - erupted in an unforeseen rage that caught even the rather calculative man off guard. The explosion pushed against his shield, the initial devastation being held at bay, though its effect was very much present, sending spiderweb-like cracks throughout the face of the icy guard. And whilst it definitely held back some of the power, the cracks quickly grew wider and wider until the entirety of the shield was far too weak to sustain, shattering away as the flames burst through whilst also surrounding him and coating the cart in its destructive hunger that so easily burned away the wood and sent the chest flying. And when his shield shattered he, too, was sent flying by the immense force exerted against then, the flames ripping away at the edge of his cloak as it burned through a few inches of the cloth before being snuffed out by the cold mist it consistently produced.

His body crashed into the gravel road an astounding twenty meters behind him, his breath escaping his lungs as the force of his body against the rocks caused multiple pulses of pain to ring true against his back. And as the momentum carried his body continued to roll against the coarse road, not much unlike the woman but a few moments earlier, until he managed to dig the claws of one of his frosted gauntlets into some of the loose stones as icy mist began to course through the stonework as it formed an ice wall behind him that stopped him in his tracks as his back crashed against it, up-righting himself as he let out a deep breath, attempting to regain his footing. Only he was hardly allowed time to rest as the road before him began to crackle and shatter, ripples of flames spiking up from the ground as it was practically split apart by the torrent of flames that shot towards him. Not wanting to try and take a defensive stance against her unforgiving flames, the man instead opted to attempt a counter. Raising his frost-covered hands before himself in a rather quick, powerful motion, the palms of each collided together with a rather loud, crackling SMACK. What followed was a sudden rush of cold wind that coursed itself from behind the wall and around his arms, trailing up his forearms and the back of his hands before coming to the apex of his fingertips and melding as it whisked itself into a wisp-like ball of pure cold, the likes of which grew larger and larger the closer the flames got. And right as they were upon him, ready to tear through his rather lean form, he pulled his hands apart, bowed his head forward, and lightly blew a cold, frosty breath forward...

And despite how calm his breath was, the orb of frost ebbing for a moment before unleashing an immense wave of cold that returned the fire's fury tenfold. The two elements crashed together in a beautiful spectacle of fire and ice, plumes of vibrant steam rising as the many loose stones that made up the gravel streets were set flying in many different directions, the entirety of the surrounding stone and dirt being cracked, shattered, and brushed away by the spiraling mix of heat and cold that created a secondary explosion of pure force that racked against the walls of nearby buildings and cracked against the Dark Magician's chest, stealing his breath yet again. Crouching down he took several deep breaths and held a hand against his chest, the throbbing of both his back and chest creating a pulsing pain that left him... breathless. But he didn't have time to waste, his obscured eyes barely managing to catch the visage of the cracked yet closed-chest falling along the horizon line and out of sight, the fiery footsteps left behind by the female leaving a rather clear trail to follow. Dashing forth through the whirling steam he grimaced slightly, the mist much hotter than he initially expected leaving unseen burns on what little skin of his was exposed. He pushed forward regardless, pursuing the pyromancer with great speed as he smirked to himself. Soon the secondary effect of the icicle onslaught would begin... the piercing was for bodily damage, however the cold would forever last, the icy frost filling their body and making them feel much more sluggish. And to further slow her pace he raised his hand toward the sky, a secondary spiral of frost culminating into a dove made of ice that he released towards the heavens above, the animal-construct quickly taking flight as it sought after the woman and passed her, diving down but a few meters in front of her before it detonated in a large storm of ice that caused many ice spikes to raise from the ground below her feet.  

At the edge of her sight, the vaquero caught glimpse of the mage flying backward across the street, and such a vision brought her a moment's bliss of content as she turned her gaze back to the large wooden crate that flew across the sky. Her legs turning like working gears as she easily neared the chest. The fire within her, powering every muscle in her body as its pure fuel, forcing her forward, there were no limits when the everlasting flame powered her very being.

However, what happened when that very fire snuffed out?

Well, the woman hadn't accounted for that- in fact...she never had, and once those same churning gears within her body grinded and grated against each other in consequence to the invasion of ice that crept through her, the female slowed. For once in her life, a cold shiver went down her spine, and she felt the urge to pull her arms in upon herself as if to salvage some kind of last bit of warmth, however, to her, the mere idea was foreign. After a moment of running, she fell to a knee, her legs finally giving out as they buckled beneath her. Raspy breaths plummeted from her lips as she nearly struggled to breathe, and the world around her slowed, her senses deluded with the lack of oxygen that absently filled her lungs. A glance toward the open wound in her shoulder, the sight of her own blood as dark as her skin, why, even out of her body it was as deadly as acid, but this,- that cheap shot to her shoulder; it was freezing her from the inside.

A knee rose as her left hand braced against the ground, pushing herself to her feet. Her whole right arm, nearly useless as the usual lack of feeling she typically dealt with was modified by the frigid serpents that now slithered through her veins. Attempting to shut down each limb by limb; but- that shot had to hit the heart to do such a thing, as long as her blood still pumped through, she'd make do.

Slowed, weary, but moving, one step at a time.

Letting out a pained grunt, she ran toward the visible broken chest that laid not far away. Though, as she began to get close, what shot passed her seemed to be some kind of-..bird? Only it wasn't, as it fluttered majestically in front of her gait before swooping down and colliding into the rock before her.  And with the clash, the ice that seeped into the rock spread like water, before quickly frosting over with a pernicious cracking that summoned an array of spikes to shoot out of the ground. The woman, her reaction time considerably slowed, lept as high as she could, and at the moment of the most lethal spikes' approach, her blood instinctively rushed toward her left hand, and that was all she needed as the female rotated at an angle and swept her arm across her form. slicing at the roots at the advancing ice spikes. Managing to evade the direct assails to her chest and torso, however, the licks from the dozens of others that failed to avoid took their toll. She felt it first at her shin, then her arm, and then she was lucky enough to have her armor take the impact of the last spike, so much so, that a steel black plate was sent straight up into the air.

At this point, her whole ariel direction had altered, and the gunslinger's jaw was the first to hit the hard and cold surface of the streets before her body followed. A still few seconds passed by, as the woman took several long breaths, pulses of pain ringing through her nerves. She was down, but like hell, she'd be out. A fist smashed against the stone rock before her, and after lifting her palm, a crack was left inside its form. The woman pulled herself to her feet, taking no more time to waste as she moved her feet once more to the chest that laid a few meters in front of her. She had it, it was hers, but strangely...the smashed crate was empty, and what laid a full few good yards away was a jeweled relic that had rolled out of its chest. One of which, the mage was heading right for. The forearm of her left arm ignited with a furious flame as her eyes raged with a flaring fire, all quite literally blaring out of her literal sockets. With a swift punt into the smashed wood of the crate, the mere impact simply tossed the material to the side as it combusted into a bright flame. Half of its mass having instantly turned to ash once her foot made first contact.

The nerves within her body that were coated with frost ever so slowly melted as her anger rose, she was growing tired of this man's insolence by the second. She watched his run, let him come closer to the artifact, his eyes upon him as would a hawk's upon its prey. Then finally, once the moment was perfect, she rose her arm, and let her magic boil the claret liquid within her palm before slamming it into the ground. The stones around her glowed a bright red, though all seemed still....

Bright plumes of fire would suddenly splew from the surface of the ground, creating a radius around the artifact, keeping it from the mage's hands, and even so possibly burning the frost witch to mere cinders. Though- this time, she didn't expect a perfect outcome. Should he prosper, she pulled out both revolvers with a swift equip, and fired the last of her rounds upon the mage. Each bullet delivered a harder impact than the last as her fire fueled the launch of the small bullet. She only had four bullets left, but no matter, as once she ran out, she flicked her wrist up into the air and two chambers were tossed into the open air. With the few skilled movements of her thumbs, the empty rounds dropped to the ground, and all she did was angle her firearms sideways and the falling chambers fell into place. Within a fraction of a second, she firing again, emptying her revolvers of 11 total shots. Although her shots were no mere bullets, the fire that coursed through her, flowed into each piece of metal, as the bullets were shot in unison, her fire wrapped around them pulling them close and spinning them in a deadly cycle that made an impact a lethal toll against regular individuals.

Whether he was ready or not, once she finished with her barrage, her legs began their familiar churn, slow to start as the ice within her tugged at her exhaustion, but she moved. Her teeth clenched as she focused forward.

Breathe.... That same voice whispered, this time as if to plead for her wits to gather...

But it was too late, her fury was already blurring her sight, and that known black poison crept up her right arm. However, the pain only pushed her forward, forcing her hands to clench in such a way that nearly made them bleed. It was time to get up and personal with this insolent bastard....

She jumped, raising both her hands before her, both of them lighting aflame this time, once she landed, the woman gave a pained holler as she swept them across her chest and sent a wave of fire toward him. Only to follow her attack with two hard and brutal jabs to his face, her eyes bright with an immortal flame. Except-..she didn't stop, each attack holding no pattern or specific purpose, only aimed to maim and obliterate.

[bestillmyslashyheart]

“Get the first aid kit!” Kyle yelled needlessly as they all stumbled through the front door. Alex left the others in his living room to grab the two first aid kits he had stashed in the bathroom. When he turned around, Jenna was already there to take them from him and he handed them over gladly. Relieved of that burden, he started rifling through the drawers and the medicine cabinet for anything that might help, knowing that the two kits weren’t going to be enough. He found extra strength pain killers and two bottles of nail polish remover and carried them back to the living room.

In the few minutes he’d been gone, the room was transformed into a triage center. Max was laying flat on the floor, his breathing surprisingly steady for the size of the blood stain on his shirt. Isobel was crouched over him, her hands pressed to his chest, clearly trying to will that familiar glow into existence despite the blood coating her own body. On the couch next to them, Rosa was wrapping Liz’s arm in her t-shirt, the blood already starting to seep through the cloth. Across the room, Kyle was bent over Maria’s still form while Jenna dressed the wound on his leg. Michael stood hunched over a couch in the middle of it all, trying to catch his breath. Alex handed him the first bottle without pause and the second went to Isobel. She took a few grateful sips before capping the bottle. Max would need the rest. 

While Michael sucked down enough acetone to prevent him from spilling his guts all over the floor, Alex went to the kitchen for water and vodka. Acetone only helped so many people in that room. When he came back, he handed the painkillers to Liz along with a bottle of water. She tossed a few pills back gratefully and turned her attention to her sister.

That done, Alex stood on the edge of the room and eyed everyone carefully. There wasn’t much more he could do, Kyle more than capable of helping the humans while the aliens took care of each other’s wounds, but Alex couldn’t do nothing.

“Manes, sit down,” Jenna ordered. She hardly spared him a glance as she neatly stitched Kyle’s leg back together.

Alex wanted to protest, surely there was something more he could do, but instead, he sank onto the one spare couch. He couldn’t contain the sharp hiss that came out as the movement pulled at his leg but thankfully no one noticed. Just like no one noticed that the growing blood stain on his pant leg wasn’t anyone else’s. 

“What the hell was that?” Rosa finally asked. She let out a short ‘ow’ when Liz poured vodka over her arm and started cleaning the blood away. Alex was going to have to get all new furniture after this; blood stains were a pain to get out of the fabric. “Well?” She asked when no one answered her.

The problem was no one could answer her. The attack had come out of nowhere. They’d been having brunch at the Crashdown, a new thing they were trying on Sundays, when three military vehicles screeched to a halt outside and seconds later the diner exploded in gunfire. 

No one had escape unscathed.

It was a small blessing, or careful planning, that the place was nearly empty except for them. Only two other tables were full and most of the employees were in the back room, Arturo included. Alex and Jenna had managed to get almost everyone out alive. It would be a long time before Alex forgot the sight of Meredith Aires’ lifeless eyes; she’d been in the guitar club with him in high school and was one of the few people to seek him out when he got back last year. He squeezed his shut at the memory, her face lingering behind his eyelids with a sharp burn. “It was my father,” Alex forced out when the silence dragged on too long. He opened his eyes to see surprised looks on everyone except Kyle and Michael’s faces. “I saw him just before-” 

“Michael,” Isobel said suddenly. Everyone turned to look at her. Beneath her hands, Max’s chest was barely moving. Isobel had improved her skills but she was losing too much blood of her own and she’d already healed Maria in the car on the way over. If they wanted to save Max, they needed Michael and Michael could barely heal. She reached out and forced the acetone bottle in his hand into his face. “Drink up.”

Michael obligingly took several large gulps before capping it with a third of the bottle left. He cast a concerned eye over at where Kyle was working on Maria before dropping to his knees and putting his hands over top of Isobel’s. “Just follow my lead, okay?” Isobel asked. She waited until Michael nodded before closing her eyes. Alex had never really understood what their process was but soon enough Michael’s hands and then Isobel’s hands started to glow. A few moments later, Max half sat up with a gasp. He sucked down lungfuls of air and Michael quickly diverted his attention. He finished the last of his bottle and stumbled over to Maria’s side.

They’d dated for a few months before deciding to ‘re-evaluate’ their relationship and Alex had no idea what to call them now. Maria insisted that she wasn’t his girlfriend, but Michael’s face told Alex something different. “Is she going to be okay?” 

“She needs a hospital,” Kyle replied tersely.

“We can’t,” Liz denied immediately. She had a hand clutched to the bullet wound in her arm but she was otherwise okay. “That was blatant. They shot up the diner in broad daylight. If we go to the hospital, they’ll find us.” It wasn’t anything that hadn’t already been discussed on the drive out to Alex’s house. They’d originally planned to get to Max’s but Alex’s was closer and they didn’t have time to spare. Alex could only hope that the security measures he’d put in place and his father’s general apathy about his son’s life would protect them but even he didn’t know how long for. 

“How bad is she?” Max asked. He was panting and his face was too pale but he was upright under his own power. “I can-”

“No,” Isobel protested. “You were almost dead a minute ago.”

“And now I’m not,” Max countered. “I don’t know how much I can help but I can do something if you need me to.”

Kyle didn’t answer right away. “Let’s see if she wakes up soon,” he offered. Maria had been gut shot trying to pull Meredith away from the window and she’d passed out in the car from blood loss. Michael had pulled the bullet out immediately and Isobel had healed what she could but Maria was still in bad shape. Kyle worked silently for a few more minutes before stepping away. He limped slightly from the injury on his leg but otherwise he was unharmed. 

“Who’s next?” He asked. 

No one replied right away. Finally, Rosa pointed at Liz. “She got shot in the arm.”

Liz shook her head. “It went through and I don’t think it hit anything. I’m okay for now. I can wait to get stitched up.” She nudged her sister. “You got a face full of glass and I’m not sure we got it all out.” It was true. Rosa’s face and neck was a myriad of small cuts. None of them were particularly deep but there were a lot of them.

“Isobel? Max?” He asked. “Alex?”

Alex waved him off as did Max. “I can wait,” Isobel insisted. “This certainly isn’t going to kill me.”

Kyle frowned but finally sat down next to Rosa and got to work making sure her skin was clear of glass and each wound was treated. Without a word, Jenna took a place next to Liz and unwrapped her makeshift bandage before quickly and neatly stitching up the wound. “Are you okay?” Liz asked her.

Jenna smirked. “I’ve had worse.”

“Not what I asked.”

Jenna held up an arm and showed off the two streaks of bloody skin. “Just grazes. I’m fine.” Liz eyed them but nodded.

The room fell quiet. Michael was holding vigil over Maria, his eyes watching her every breath carefully. Kyle and Jenna finished with Rosa and Liz before Kyle turned his attention to Isobel and Jenna poured a large swig of vodka straight into her mouth. “Alex, you good?” She asked.

Alex nodded. She eyed him like she wasn’t convinced. In all honesty, she shouldn’t be. Alex’s right pant leg was wet with blood and for good reason. While he hadn’t gotten shot, he’d slipped on the shattered glass that littered the Crashdown floor and his prosthetic had buckled under him. It twisted on his leg and glass somehow got through his jeans and in between his prosthetic and his leg. At first it was just uncomfortable, a chafing as it rubbed up against his sock, while the twisted position of the prosthetic itself made it hard for him to walk. He made it work and the blood he’d slipped in on the floor had covered up any of his own blood that was seeping through his pant leg. Because a good deal of it was his. At some point the glass tore through the fabric of the sock and started cutting into the skin of his stump. 

The smart thing to do would be to remove the prosthetic, remove the sock, clear the glass out of his skin and treat it. But Alex wasn’t sure he could do that on his own and he knew he couldn’t let anyone else do it. 

Alex had issues. He knew this, accepted it even. Rather than confronting and dealing with his issues, Alex preferred to simply ignore them. Case in point, he didn’t like people touching his stump. If there was a medical reason for it, he could force himself into allowing another’s touch, but other than that no one touched it. Not even during sex, with one notable exception. So for Alex to deal with his own injury today, he’d have to let someone put their hands on his leg in a way he was intensely uncomfortable with. The easiest choice would be Kyle; he was a consummate professional when he was working and Alex had enough experience with doctors to know how to handle that but Kyle was also his friend and he didn’t want his friend’s hands on him in that way. The harder choice (the only other choice) would be Michael but Alex couldn’t do that either. Once, months ago, it would’ve been fine. Michael’s touch was not only permitted but welcomed but this wasn’t then and after everything Michael had said about Alex and their relationship and how he wanted nothing to do with Alex anymore, Alex couldn’t imagine letting Michael near that part of him. 

“Alex?” Kyle asked. Alex blinked and Kyle was crouched in front of where he sat on the couch. He was clearly tired but he also clearly still ready to work. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“I’m fine,” Alex replied instantly.

“Good,” Kyle nodded. “That didn’t actually answer my question, though.”

Alex glared. Kyle just stared stoically back. “I’m fine, Kyle. Help everyone else.”

“I did,” Kyle replied. Alex looked around in surprise and sure enough, everyone looked tended to. Even Maria was awake and sitting up, though Alex assumed Max’s hunched over form next to her had something to do with that. 

“Huh,” he huffed. How had he missed all of that?

“Alex,” Kyle said again. This time his hand hovered over Alex’s pant leg. The blood stain had grown significantly while Alex zoned out. “Are you hurt?”

Alex made a choice. “Yes,” he admitted. Kyle started to lower his hand. “But do not touch me.” Kyle’s hand froze and he looked up at Alex’s face in surprise. “I’m serious, Kyle. I do not want you touching my leg.” He looked around and spotted the open first aid kit. It had been ransacked but Alex was sure there was still something left. “Hand me that and I’ll do it myself.”

Kyle grabbed it without a word and came back to Alex’s side. “Are you sure?” He asked calmly. 

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Kyle agreed. He sat back. “If you change your mind-”

“I won’t,” Alex told him firmly. “I do not want you touching my leg,” he repeated. Kyle nodded in acquiescence. 

Kyle didn’t move far away though and with the rest of the group seemingly occupied, Alex pulled himself into an upright position and started tugging at his pants leg. It took considerably more effort than it should have and Alex had to consider for the first time that he was more injured than he’d thought. “Okay,” he relented. “I might need help getting my pants off.”

Jenna huffed from her spot on the chair next to him. “And you want Valenti’s help with that?”

Alex allowed himself a small smile. “Maybe some scissors? Try the ones in the knife block,” he suggested. They were the strongest ones he had close by.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asked when Kyle returned with scissors in tow. He sounded exhausted. “Alex?” He left Maria’s side to loom behind Kyle. 

“I’m fine,” Alex hissed as Kyle cut through the fabric of his pants and accidentally jostled the prosthetic.

“Yeah, you sound fine,” Michael snarked. “Why didn’t you say you were hurt?”

“Because I’m fine,” Alex didn’t look at him as Kyle pulled the torn cloth away. “Shit,” he breathed when he caught sight of the blood soaked sock. There was definitely a lot more than he’d been expecting.

“Do you need help getting it off?” Kyle offered quietly.

Alex was already shaking his head. “Same rules.” He knocked Kyle’s hands aside as he reached down to undo the straps. He got one undone before the whole thing twisted and dug glass deeper into his skin. “Fuck.” Alex held the prosthetic in place with both hands.

By now he’d managed to garner everyone’s attention and that just made it worse. He was normally fine with people seeing his leg, something he’d really had no choice in accepting, but the current situation was not ideal.

Kyle started to reach for him but paused midway. Alex could appreciate his consideration of Alex’s refusal for help but the blatant offer wasn’t helping. He took a deep breath and reached for the other strap but couldn’t quite get it undone before had to stop. With his pants out of the way he could see that he’d taken two bullets to the lower leg. One was lodged near the ankle joint and another was just below where it connected to his leg. It was the second bullet that had mangled the prosthetic out of shape.

After a moment when nobody moved, Michael took a step forward. “Here,” he stretched his hands out. Kyle shot a hand out to stop him. 

“No,” Kyle said. “He’s got this.” Alex very much did not got this but again, he appreciated Kyle’s consideration.

Michael glared at Kyle before turning to Alex. “You can’t hold it and take it off at the same time,” he pointed out sensibly. He reached out again and Alex didn’t think. His left leg was in the air and planted in Michael’s chest just as he felt Michael’s fingers brush the skin of his knee. In an instant, he straightened his leg and shoved Michael back a step. 

“Don’t touch it,” he cried. Michael’s eyes snapped to his, realization dawning. Alex cursed himself. He’d never meant to tell Michael he was the only person permitted to touch Alex’s leg but it had slipped out one night. Now, Michael took a step back in what looked like shame and guilt as he realized he’d lost that precious privilege. 

The room was silent.

Alex fell back against the couch with a heavy sigh. “Fuck.” His leg throbbed.

[just-horrible-things]

Escape Attempt 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Cowritten with @khalwrites, King Edwyn and the ‘verse are hers.

‘Verse: Kethrys  Timeline: a couple of weeks into Ariadne’s captivity 

---

At least, Ariadne reflects grimly, it doesn’t really matter how badly she is shaking. It isn’t going to make a difference to the outcome. She’d be kicking herself if she lost a fight just because she’s fucking terrified and she can’t hold her sword steady. But she’s going to lose this one regardless. She’s a passable swordswoman, but by reputation King Edwyn is one of the best, maybe the best there is.

He clearly expects her to come to him. So she closes the distance carefully, keeping her sword central, watching his eyes. She expects the strike to come at any second. But he just watches her, smiling with cruel humour at her nervousness.

Even after everything he’s done to her, there is something sacrilegious about the notion of raising a hand against her King, let alone a sword. Still, it’s not as though Ariadne is actually going to injure him. 

She starts with a few simple cuts, testing his defences. He voids easily. Once or twice he blocks. Every time he moves he steps backwards, letting her find a rhythm in pursuit. It takes him little enough effort to defend that she is learning nothing. So she abandons caution. 

Between one forward step and the next, she is suddenly throwing all her weight and strength into the lunge. The King, of course, is too good to be thrown off. But he answers by engaging her in earnest. It takes everything Ariadne has to keep up. She presses the assault -- aggression, aggression, aggression -- acutely aware that he is allowing her to keep the offense. He’s barely working, countering with an enviable economy of motion, as she wears herself out trying to outpace him. She feels like a horse being put through her paces. Under any other circumstance she’d be grateful to learn from such a master. But she knows full well all she’s going to learn is more pain to reinforce the fear of stepping out of line.

The first time His Majesty decides to strike her, Ariadne’s heart stops in her chest. But instead of a disabling wound, his sword delivers only the shallowest cut, so that she barely feels the sting past the adrenaline rush. 

The second time she manages not to panic. She sees her mistake as she makes it, restrains the instinct to drag her sword across for a block that will get there too late, and turns that energy into a slash at the King’s shoulder instead. He turns away from it without disrupting his momentum, and scores another line up the inside of her sword arm from elbow to shoulder. He could have run her through if he’d wanted. But he’s not fighting her. He’s just playing.

The third time, she can’t even follow his movements. An aggressive lunge has her practically diving sideways, then in an instant he is inside her guard, almost behind her back, striking and stepping back again before she knows what is happening. A flare of pain from the nape of her neck to her hip tells her that she is cut again. She’s too slow to retaliate, and entirely fails to defend against the derisive swipe that lays her thigh open. By the time she has recovered her footing, His Majesty has returned to his defensive stance, inviting her to come at him again.

Something in the quality of the pain tells Ariadne that the last cut is worse than the others, even before the pain reaches its searing peak. She falters, trying to favour that leg, but she doesn’t know a better stance to reduce the pain. The King quirks an eyebrow at her hesitation. Obedient to his expectations, she forces herself forwards again.

For a couple of exchanges, he lets her get close to cutting him. He stumbles back from a block, though she knows he’s far stronger than that. He allows her blade within an inch of his skin, once, twice in a row. But no closer. He has the measure of her reach perfectly. The precision is breathtaking. Perhaps he means to give her false hope, but Ariadne is just awed by his obvious skill.

He takes her supposed advantage away again with a straightforward slash, simply too fast and too forceful for her to do anything but jump back. Her injured leg threatens to buckle even as the King steps in, using his advantage in height and reach to close easily. His blade slices across her forearm, and Ariadne is a child again, backpedalling and flailing with no idea of how to defend. A brutal cut catches her across the abdomen. She tries to step back, he stabs deep into her leg, and she goes down hard on one knee, clutching at her gut. Hot blood wells between her fingers.

For a few panicked seconds, she thinks that he might have killed her.

But the moment passes, and she is not dying. Not fast, anyway. King Edwyn has returned to his ready stance, leaving her the space she needs to try and gather her wits. There’s an implicit order in his withdrawal. Ariadne considers refusing. She could yield and accept the consequences of disappointing him. Or she could try grovelling for mercy. But maybe it’s better to take the pain like this than helpless and in chains. Groaning through gritted teeth, she struggles back to her feet. Torn muscles struggle with the weight of her sword, and she has to put both hands on the hilt to keep the blade from dropping.

She wants to keep up the aggression - trying to defend herself is a waste of effort - but fear undermines her intent. She flinches from his movements, even as he merely sidesteps. Her sword keeps twitching up to block counters that don’t come.

“You want to leave,” His Majesty asks coldly as he steps around another clumsy lunge, “is that correct? I expected a better fight.” “M’sorry -” Ariadne pants - “Your - Majesty.” She feints low, then wrenches the blade up to swing at his sword arm. He steps in, catching her arm with one hand. A savage twist, and her sword falls from spasming fingers. Her wounded leg buckles. A strangled yelp of pain and fear turns into a whole sequence of frantic noises as he spins her, holding her up by the arm, and pushes her back until she hits the wall. Her legs scrabble uselessly for purchase on the floor. He lays his sword across her throat, leaning in close. “I yield,” she gasps, squirming to try and alleviate the torsion in her arm.

“Still want to leave?” he hisses, face close up against hers. His fingers dig into the fresh cut and he twists harder, and harder, pinning her bodily against the wall. Ariadne yelps, then half-screams as something pops in her elbow and gives way in a flash of agony. “No --” she gasps frantically, hoping that it’s the right answer “-- no -- Majesty--!” The sword presses harder against her throat, starting to choke her. It must be cutting into the skin but she can’t feel it past the pain in her arm. “Looks like your intelligence has returned,” His Majesty smirks.

He lets go of her arm, and there’s nothing Ariadne can do to keep herself from sliding down the wall. Her head tips back until she is looking directly up to meet the King’s eyes. A faint, cold smile plays across his lips as he brushes the hair back from her face. “Do you think you deserve to be disciplined for trying to leave?” he asks. “Did you believe I wouldn’t notice? Were my hospitalities not enough of a kindness to satisfy you?” “I’m sorry -” Ariadne apologises, breathless. Scrambling to sift through the questions. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty -- I’m -- ungrateful and a coward, Your Majesty -- I’m, I’m sorry I deserve to be punished, Your Majesty.”

King Edwyn stands, withdrawing the sword and letting Ariadne slump further against the base of the wall. He looks down at her with utter contempt, and she feels pathetic. All she wants is to be anywhere but here. “Ask me,” he orders. Ariadne feels her cheeks try to flush, even through the pain and the fear. Sure, humiliate herself further, why not. “Please punish me, Your Majesty,” she begs in despondent tones. “Please -- discipline me.”

Next

[mwdders]

Knight Falls

A request from @hadespleasesteponmyneck reader, daughter of evil queen and Harry argue before the knight scene in which reader gets hurt and Harry blames himself because he let his anger get in the way of protecting reader.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: none

Pairing: Harry Hook x reader

Enjoy!

Tags: @rikersgirl22 @lbuck121 @fangirlanotherjust @daphnen21 @marichat4lyf @them-cute-boys @harper-hook @descendantofthesparrow @dcomgifs @descendantsdaily @harry-hook-me @harryy-hookk @harryhooksgazebos267 @hook-harry @auradon-prep @umaspirateship @umaxxhook @umaisthehero @umasuggestions @queenofthecrew @queeruma @queenofauradonandisle @e-v-i-lb-o-y-s @eviesdragon @eviegrimhildes @grimhildesevie @carmecendants @dovescendants @carlosdevls @harryhookwriter @descendants-hooked @descendantsvk @descendantshh2 @hooksharry @benxharryhook @klmposslble @kingchad @king-ben-and-queen-mal @auradonedit @malsevies @malviesbitch @maleficentdescended @mal-bevthas @jaylos @uhstark @stuckyshit @jayviesource @fairytaleimagines @goodnightndove

—

“We should split up and look for Ben.” You listen to Uma as they attempt to come up with a plan to find the king. “I think we should stay together, I know Ben, he’s probably at the castle. Let’s check there.” Mal disagrees and you roll your eyes, “We’d find him a lot quicker if we split up.” Uma counters but Mal continues to do things her way.

“I’m with Uma on this. We should split up.” You retort, eyes turning to glare at you, “Y/N no, we stay together, we keep each other safe.” Mal puts her hands on her hips as she glares at you, raising your eyebrows at her, “Well Mal, we can cover more ground if we split up, so Uma let’s go. We can check the castle, you check the school.” You grab Uma’s arm in attempt to walk away but Harry pulls you back, “I don’t think so.” Your fingers slip from Uma’s arm as Harry puts his hands on your shoulders, “Excuse me?” You look at him, a frown on your face, “You’re not going by yourself, we don’t know what Audrey is capable of.” You roll your eyes at him, “Darlin’ it’s not your choice.” You pull away from him, his hands harshly dropping from your shoulders as you turn to walk away again, “Anyway, I have Uma.” He glares at you, “Y/N, I swear if you take another step.” You smile sarcastically at him and dramatically take another step.

“You’re not going I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Harry says as he walks over again, this time grabbing your waist and holding you close to him. “I’ll take care of her.” Uma reassures but there is still worry in his eyes as you stare into them, “I appreciate it, but I’m going.” You slip out his grip and watch as his face scrunches up and the look in his eyes goes from worry to anger, “Go then.” He turns his back on you and your face drops, “Harry.” You say again trying to make amends with him before you go, but he doesn’t turn back and Uma lightly pulls on your arm as you walk backwards and keep a lingering look on your boyfriend as you walk away.

You turn forward and cross your arms over your chest as you walk side by side with Uma, “He’s protective because he loves you,” Uma shrugs as she walks, “He likes to know your safe.” You sigh, “I get that, but he should know I’ll be safe with you.” You keep your head down as you carry on walking towards the castle.

—

“Ben?” You shout as you walk down the corridors of the huge castle, “He’s not here is he?” You say as you run your fingers a long old picture frames as you pass them, “Let’s try in here.” Uma opens the doors to a huge hall, with glass windows and suits of armour.

“Ben?” You yell again as you walk into the room, it was very eery and quiet, the only sound being your footsteps as they echo, “This is creepy.” You say, as you look around the room, “I agree, let’s just have a little look around and get outta here.”

You walk to the other end of the room, poking your head around a suit of armour, to make sure Ben wasn’t behind it, “He’s not here.” You sigh as you go to walk towards the door, as you walk you hear a metal clanking sound, you turn and you see the knights start to move, “Uma..” you trail off, as they walk towards you in sync, “Run.” You say, as you make a dash for the door but two knights are already stood there and block you off, “We’re going to have fight them off.” You walk backwards and towards Uma as they circle you both, “Here.” You glance at her as she hands you a sword, “Where’d you get that?” You question eyebrows raised, “Now is not the time for questions,” She yells as the knights all point their swords at the two of you, you sigh raising your sword up, ready for a battle.

“You go left I’ll go right, they might get confused as who to follow.” Uma says and you nod, ducking to the left as she goes right, you turn around and before the knights consider following you, you both strike them from behind, taking out four, as they fall to their knees emitting pink smoke from their helmets before they crumble and are no longer enchanted.

You share a glance with Uma, knowing that’s what you need to do, you attempt to continue defeating the knights.

“Did you find Ben?” A voice sounds and you glance over your shoulder to see Mal, Evie, Jay, Carlos, Harry and Gil all stood in the doorway. “What the-“ Mal says, “No we didn't find Ben but we could use a little help.” You grunt as you hit another knight. It doesn’t take long for the others to help in the defence of Auradon, each fighting for their own reason, Harry was letting his anger out, Mal was trying to prove a point that she was better than Uma, Jay to prove he was better than Harry, Carlos and Evie because they’d do anything to protect Mal and Jay and also Auradon, and then Gil because he knew if he didn’t Uma would cut him up and feed him to the fish.

“Still mad at me?” You ask as you and Harry stand side by side, fighting off knights in front of you, “Yeah I am,” He replies as two more knights fall, and he walks away, sending an annoyed look your way, you glare at him, “Are you really not going to help me?” You yell at him as more knights come and attack and he stands aside, leaving you to fend for yourself. “Yeah, I think you’ll be fine. You didn’t need me then so you don’t need me now.” He shrugs and you struggle, swinging your sword from left to right, as soon as you defeat one, another appears and you’re very quickly outnumbered.

“Harry please!” You yell, as a knight has you pinned to the floor, the only thing between the knight and you was your sword, as you struggle, holding your sword, you push up and slide between the knights legs, sliding along the floor as the knight frantically swings it’s sword trying to get you, you stand up as you hit the wall slowly, your eyes cloud as you drop your sword the clattering echoing, causing heads to turn to you, you quickly place your hand on your stomach as you feel the pain, they say adrenaline is a mask of pain but right now you’d argue differently, your heart is pumping and you can hear voices and see lips moving but it’s all just noise, you don’t know what they’re saying as you fall to your knee’s.

“Y/N?” Harry runs over to you, Uma joining him, you grab Harry’s arm to steady yourself, a grip so tight you thought he’d complain, but he wraps his arms around you as you gasp, “What is it?” He yells, trying to locate the source of your pain, “My-“ You cry a little as the pain doubles when you talk, “Stomach,” Evie, Mal, Jay, Carlos and Gil all defeat the final few knights before they come running over and Evie is by your side, “What’s happening? What is it Y/N?” She grabs your hand, the one that isn’t putting pressure on the wound, which you know is bleeding heavily as you feel blood drip between your fingers and down your arm.

“One of the knights-“ you stutter your words as you struggle for breath. Uma’s eyes scan over your body as she notices your navy blue gloves turning a darker colour as they stain with blood, “She’s been stabbed.” The look in Uma’s eyes tells you it’s bad, as she begins to take off her belt, “Sit her forward.” Harry looks at her confused, “Do it now or she’ll die.” Uma says sternly and he pulls you forward, your screams cause him to wince and Evie to shut her eyes as she grimaces, “Pull it as tight as you can.” Uma instructs and Jay grabs the belt, pulling it as tight as he can, “Use this to punch another hole through and fasten it.” Uma hands him a pin from one of her buckles and Jay does as she says, fastening the belt, this only made it more uncomfortable, the pain unbearable.

“This is all my fault.” Harry says as he rocks you in his arms, “If I’d of just helped you.” You shake your head, “No.” You whisper, “It is Y/N, I let my anger stop me from helping you when you needed it, I’m-“ You lift your hand up placing it on his cheek, “Blame yourself again and when I can I’ll punch you so hard.” You smile, as he chuckles, “I am sorry darling.” You shake your head again, blinking, “I know, I am too,” You cough, “We need to move, now.” Uma says and Harry picks you up, “Take her to the nurses room, no doubt the nurse is probably under the spell but they’ll be supplies there where we can sort her out.” Evie says as you lie in Harry’s arms as they rush down the corridor of the big castle, a light kiss on your forehead is the last thing you remember.

—

You blink as you open your eyes, the room was dark, the curtains shut, a blanket wrapped around you as you lay in bed.

You look around and see you’re in your room, you lift the cover and look down at your bandaged torso, the pain no longer there, you run your fingers a long the bandage and shift slightly, “You’re awake.” You flinch at the sound of a voice and look over your shoulder, relaxing when you see Harry lay beside you. “What happened?” He sits up, shuffling closer to you, “What do you remember?” You stare at him, taking in his appearance, his eyes are dull, the bags under his eyes tell you he’s not slept, the missing eyeliner tells you he’s not had time to think about himself, the leather jacket and jeans indicate he’s not moved from your side.

“I remember everything up until apologising to you.” You pause, thoughts running wild, “What happened with Audrey?” Your eyes widen and Harry chuckles, “Everything’s fine lass. Everyone’s awake and Audrey’s okay.” You sigh, reaching for his hand, “I’m sorry about our fight.” His fingers lace with yours and he grips them tightly, “No, it’s me that should be apologising.” You smile, trying to hold back a laugh, “Harry Hook apologising?” He rolls his eyes as you giggle, “Ay and I won’t do it again anytime soon.” You laugh, rolling on to your side the best you can and wrapping your arms around him, “I must mean a lot to you if you’re apologising.” You say, kissing his cheek, “You do mean a lot to me.” He rests his head on your shoulder as you rest your head in his neck, “Don’t you forget that.” You brush your lips against his neck as you say, “I won’t.” He chuckles, pulling you tighter to him, “I could stay like this forever.” You were in pure heaven, in your lovers arms, in a nice warm bed, nobody to disturb you.

“Me too love,” Harry sighs, “But we can’t, Evie already has you planning Mal’s wedding.” You frown but laugh at the same time, “Of course she does, I nearly die but any extra pair of hands to my sister is always of good use.” You joke, your laughter dying down as you lie in silence, Harry kisses your temple, taking a deep shaky breath, you could tell something was on his mind, “What’s wrong?” You sit up, leaning back into the pillows, Harry sits up resting on his elbow in front of you, “The barrier’s down now and my head is filled of all these amazing things we can do together, and I just-“ He stops shaking his head, “It’s crazy but I’m planning my future with you and I can’t see life without you.” You blush, a shy smile etching it’s way onto your face, “Darling me too, I’ve been waiting for this ever since I left the Isle, I’ve wanted you with me here so we can live our lives to the fullest and now we finally can.”

You run your fingers through his hair as he leans into your touch, “I love you.” He whispers as he takes your hand from his hair and kisses your palm, “I love you too Harry.” He blushes and you smile, “Oh Harry Hook you are so smitten.” You joke as you stare at his red cheeks, “I’m wrapped around your finger love, but don’t you tell anyone.” You shake your head, “I’m gonna tell everyone.” You giggle, as Harry hides his face in the duvet, “Tell everyone that the infamous villain kid Harry Hook has a soft side.” You tease him, and he looks up, “A soft side only for you lass, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

—

[split-n-splice]

Just uhh…just a girl tryna be normal... Things will get serious soon, dontchu worry~

[Chapter Guide | FFn | Ao3]

39. Whose Side – 2

Come Monday morning, Shilo found herself staring out from between the blinds of her kitchen window. Eyes narrowed in suspicion, she watched for several long minutes, anticipating a jeep to pull up and searching for the faintest trace of an invisible woman, like footsteps appearing in the frosty lawn.

Her eyes stung. She’d had a rough night of tossing and turning, an uproar of thoughts plaguing her all thanks to the oasis’s potential new residents. A fiery punch of frustration to a pillow last night had only accomplished a mess of stuffing, but it had been worth it at the time to imagine the pillow was one of her least favorite people she was pummeling. If she saw her now, she might just spit acid – plasma, actually – in her face.

Shilo was expecting Drakken’s van to come sputtering out of the dark any moment now. He’d offered her a ride to Buckley’s, despite the change of plans now that he didn’t need a bodyguard to protect him from the paranormal. As the minutes passed, she began to consider hoofing it and forgetting about catching a ride, and tried not to consider the possibility something terrible had happened to him in the night.

Donning a jacket and stepping out into the chill, she muttered reassuringly to herself, “He must’ve slept in.” She hoped that was all anyway.

Before she reached the end of the block, the early-morning peace was broken by the familiar chugging of a van on its last leg. Her lips quirked up at the corners, but she forced them into a straight line as she turned to face the van idling beside her.

The amount of white Drakken wore today was startling, and she studied him with a raised eyebrow as she buckled in. A genuine lab coat she’d never seen before hung rumpled and loose all around him, a pair of goggles worn around his neck. The getup was complete with elbow-length rubber gloves. He was wide-eyed and wired, through certain features of his face screamed tired.

“Dude, did you even sleep last night?” she remarked. What did she care for?

“Uhm…” His eyes darted to her and away, and he tried to flash a smile. “No. Not at all,” he answered shamelessly, and was quick to defend himself when she let out a sound of disapproval along with her eye roll. “Oh, don’t give me that. You wanted me to do something productive!”

“Well, what is it?” she goaded.

He shut his trap for a moment and stroked his chin thoughtfully before giving a tiny halfhearted shrug. “I’m not sure yet, but the flowers smell nice.”

“Flowers?” She couldn’t begin to fathom what he was doing with flowers. Well, one idea did come to her, a thought along the line of bouquets, but it stirred an unwelcome flutter in her belly along with it, so she rejected the notion and crossed her arms.

“Orchids,” Drakken clarified. “I’d offer you one, but they’re too difficult to cultivate to just hand out willy-nilly.”

Well, now she wished he did have flowers for her – but she stamped that stubborn thought back as well.

She kept her trap shut the rest of the ride to Buckley’s. Before she could free herself of the stuffy confines of the van, Drakken cleared his throat. “Um. Are you—? Should I—?” he sputtered anxiously before gulping and managing a complete sentence. “If you wish to hide out at the lair this evening, speak now.”

She almost dismissed the offer, but second thoughts crept up on her before she could open her mouth. Every day she didn’t hitch a ride with him was a day she risked being roped into some scheme with Buckley’s girls. “Sure. Don’t be late,” she accepted with a bit more venom than intended. “Smell ya later, Doc.”

Drakken grunted indignantly as she hopped out. “I smell wonderful, thank you very much,” he shot back.

“Pickles and flowers are not the aroma of evil,” she reminded with a wry smirk.

To which Drakken only childishly stuck his tongue out at her, and he hit the gas practically before she could slam the passenger door shut.

When she turned around, she almost regretted the exchange. If only fleeting embarrassment was the worst of it. Leaned beside the door of Buckley’s Brew was the last face she wanted to see today – and the nuisance had made the conscious decision to show it. Arms crossed and pink as ever, Priscilla wore a smug smile Shilo wanted nothing more than to punch off her face.

“You stayed with him last night, didn’t cha?” she guessed, sounding so sure of herself as if she knew everything.

Shilo was glad she had the high ground of knowing she was wrong. “Grow up,” she scoffed, determined to keep her cool. Even if she had stayed at the lair, she had her own room – but did Priscilla know that? Priscilla didn’t need to know, she decided. Priscilla didn’t need to know anything . “How did you know I’d be here?”

“Your baby brothers,” she chimed, still all but barring the way in. “Those little bigmouths told me all about how you promised to send them candy from here.” She jabbed her thumb to the storefront’s sign.

Keeping her cool was a necessity now. “I don’t want you ever going near my boys again,” she hissed as she shoved Prissy aside.

“Whatever, mom.” Priscilla stuffed her hands in her pockets and began sauntering away down the sidewalk.

Shilo was frozen in place at the door, watching the girl until she’d rounded the corner. She didn’t trust her to have left that easy, but as she began her shift at Buckley’s, counting on each jingle of the bell to announce Priscilla’s return, she let an inkling of hope shine through that the nuisance had truly left to do something useful with her time – like maybe hitting the road to head back to Go City.

Shortly before the noon rush, a short curly-haired brunette came ambling in, slinging her backpack to the floor beneath the table in the corner. Within moments, Gail had a secretly-decaf to push across the counter toward her. “Did you pull it off?” she asked the girl.

“Wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t,” chirped the teenager before taking a big satisfying gulp of her coffee.

Shilo looked between the snickering girls. “Alright, what did I miss?” she sighed.

“Jenny pranked her PE teacher,” said Gail.

“Got him good!” chortled Jenny. “The creep totally deserved it.”

“What—?”

“I replaced his eye drops with hot sauce. He didn’t see it coming.”

Gail erupted with a hearty laugh, egging her on, “And then?”

“Pulled the fire alarm,” said Jenny proudly. She slapped a knee and laughed like a genuine jackass. Small as she was, it wasn’t hard to see the Buckley family resemblance.

Shilo was inclined to grimace at the two girls who found the not-so-harmless prank hilarious, but reminded herself of a pep talk she’d overheard Chester give Jenny last week about the perverted teacher who’d looked up Chester’s skirt last year. That same teacher had taken a shine to Jenny as well this year now that she was a senior going on eighteen.

When the laughter died down, Shilo was invited to join them in mugging the blinded creep when he came back from the hospital – as a group, for a little miscreant team bonding – but she’d declined with the excuse her villain boss was waiting on her.

After several minutes of waiting out back though, Gail popped out to light up and wonder where that villain boss of her was. She didn’t want to admit he was a no-show, so she shoved off from the wall and began walking. For a block or two, she tried not to walk too fast, but it became clear the man wasn’t just running late. She groaned to herself, considering breaking out the nifty new mobile phone he’d given her, but decided not to bother.

A soak in the tub and touching up her manicure was a better use of her afternoon than waiting around for him anyway.

She still jumped up when the phone rang and rushed to it a little too hastily. She opened her mouth, ready to chew Drakken out for leaving her hanging, but the words fell short when a different voice met her ear.

“Hey! Is this Shilo?” blurted the overeager caller before she could utter a word.

“I – yeah?” she muttered in reflex. The voice was familiar, but at the same time it wasn’t. She knew she’d know it if she heard it in person and not over the telephone. Before she could ask the obvious – who is this? – the boy chuckled.

“It’s Tom,” he said blithely, and she relaxed and tensed simultaneously. Just Tom. Good old average-boy Tom. Unfortunately the same Tom she’d given her number to last Friday but couldn’t clearly recall if she’d agreed to a second date with. She hadn’t, had she?

She wound her finger around the cord, knowing exactly why the night had gotten hazy after the shoddy karaoke performance – but the spark of plasma at the rekindled fire in her blood had her holding the telephone with her shoulder so she could shake the heat from her hands.

Whether she’d explicitly agreed to a second or not, Thomas Thompson was bold in asking to meet her at the 24-Seven. She agreed with an awkward, “Uh, sure,” before she had the slightest clue what she was agreeing to. She chastised herself as she hurried to lace up her sneakers to meet him in ten.

She decided, upon seeing him dismount from his tacky moped, that maybe she didn’t need an alibi that badly after all. But then he flashed pearly whites and shook his windswept golden hair back into place and that doubt flew out the window. She could even forgive him for keeping her waiting again.

Drawing a breath to steel herself, she gave a small wave and a strained smile. Tom was a nice enough boy, she told herself as he tripped on the curb in his hurry to get the door for her. The five minutes or so he spent debating which brand of diet soda pop to pick was tolerable, even if he was still hem-hawing over the selection by the time she’d paid for her Freezee and took her first sip. She barely suppressed a groan when he gave up diet sugar-free bottled disappointment in favor of regular grape soda.

Even if she’d let herself, she wouldn’t have been able to open her mouth to comment on the angel boy’s indecision before the bell above the door jingled, followed by the clamor of boisterous girls. The voices were regrettably recognizable, and she couldn’t help cringing and turning her back pointedly to them.

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t the black sheep!” came the bubbly call of Priscilla, and Shilo knew without turning that she was the black sheep in question.

“You know her?” wondered Gail, a frequent shoplifter at this particular 24-Seven. She’d yet to be caught, even after a daring stickup Shilo herself had been involved in. Today Abigail’s interest was in a candy dispenser behind Shilo, as she shouldered her out of the way to take advantage of the malfunctioning machine that gave extra handfuls of chocolate with just the right sleight of hand.

Priscilla was pressing in too close, all but cornering Shilo. She took quick inventory of available exits – but the aisles were narrow and Mickey, Prissy, and Gail blocked the direct route to the door while Tom stood dumbfounded behind her – she just as quickly decided that leaping over the shelving to make an escape would be excessive if not jumping the gun, so she swallowed bile and swatted Priscilla’s hand away as the girl reached out to run her fingers through her hair.

“Bleach it blonde already, Shi,” advised Prissy with a sickly-sweet voice. “Then no one will be able to tell you’re going gray.”

Shilo couldn’t help smoothing her hair back in reflex, shooting daggers at Priss. Even if she did have grays – which she didn’t – blonde just wasn’t happening. Even if she did stand out like the black sheep among the crowd of blondes.

“Oh, fuck off already,” she spat, and the tiny shocked gasp behind her reminded her of Thomas Thompson and his virtuous mouth. She grit her teeth and tried not to roll her eyes.

Priscilla took no offence. “I’ve missed you too,” she shot back and plucked a soda from the shelf as she turned to beam back at Gail loading her pockets with candy. “I like it here already. Some fine dudes in this town.”

“Yeah, if that’s what you’re into,” grunted Gail around a mouthful of chocolate.

Shilo didn’t miss the cagey glance she shot up toward Mickey, who was bashfully quiet as he loomed behind Priscilla. “How much can you bench?” Gail asked the young man with a note of genuine curiosity. Shilo had to wonder how long it would take Gail to try swaying Mickey into henchwork to score brownie points with Buckley, and had to believe Mickey was above it.

She took her chance to spin around, nearly running directly into Thomas in her haste to escape the aisle while the girls chattered about Mickey Goldsmith’s physique as though he weren’t even there. She didn’t mean to stop at the door and shoot Mickey a sympathetic glance as Priscilla sarcastically called him a trophy and stood on up her toes to pinch his cheek – which he rubbed at the second Priss looked away. Shilo inwardly commended him for taking the teasing in stride.

Thomas pausing to pay for his soda and delay her escape was almost enough to make her leave without him. She’d barely taken two steps away from the 24-Seven when he mounted his moped and called over expectantly, “Alright, hop on.”

She paused and stared with curled lip at the scooter. The jeep parked on the other side was what convinced her to step back toward him, if only because it was sure to make a quicker getaway.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his bright smile faltering. “It doesn’t go very fast.”

Speed was not her biggest concern, but he didn’t need to know about the glitter of plasma coating her palms like sweat at the mere idea of sitting so close. She rubbed her free palm on her pant leg as she cautiously came to stand beside the scooter. A glance up to the storefront, and she could see Priscilla noticing she’d slipped away. She swallowed the fire swelling up in her chest and swung her leg over what sufficed as a back seat as Priss made for the exit after her.

Tom suggested she hold onto him – she opted not to – and away they went. He didn’t seem super eager to meet her friends. Ex-friends. Associates. Whatever they were.

“Um, where are we going?” she wondered awkwardly as she clutched her quickly-melting Freezee between both hands. She focused on the murky turbulent water as they crossed the bridge rather than the boy’s back or the delicate gold chain around his neck.

“The park,” he answered simply. With the merry way he said it, she would expect the sort of park one sits down to on a warm sunny day for a picnic in the shade. But the sky now was overcast again, and soon it would be dark. They might even be in for some rain. “The lake is nicer, but they’re here too.”

“Who’s here?”

“You’ll see,” he said, and she didn’t have to see his face to know he was smiling.

If she were back home in Go City, a spellbinding boy suckering her into taking a ride with him and promising to take her to meet some mysterious group would be extremely suspicious. Back in Go City, it was hard to take anyone at face value when no less than a dozen villains and lowlifes wanted her and her ilk dead.

Good thing she wasn’t in Go City anymore.

Shilo took a deep steadying breath and gave her palm a long moment of consideration before letting it rest on the boy’s shoulder. She wished it didn’t take so much concentration to stay mindful enough to not burn him, and the smile on her face didn’t feel like it belonged there. Tom knew she came from Go City. Thanks to her brothers, he knew she was Shego in a past life – he didn’t have to know she was still Shego with a different occupation – but at least that meant he knew she was a fire hazard. If he wanted to take the risk, so be it. He could burn in hell, for all she cared.

Before she knew it, Tom had pulled up to a curb and cut the engine.

As it turned out, here was the riverfront park and they were ducks. Still, it took the young man dashing after them wielding a loaf of stale bread from the day-old bakery outlet to realize what they were there for.

When she wondered aloud why he didn’t buy the good stuff – his family seemed well-off enough – he shrugged and gave her some story about how he and his righteous die-hard folks would buy up discount bread and road trip to the big city once or twice a month to hand out sandwiches to those in need. Overly proud of himself for his charity, he beamed and invited her to join them on the next trip. She feigned a smile and said she’d have to check her calendar.

She didn’t tell him so, but Shego had put her life on the line more times than she could count for countless thankless civilians – therefore she wasn’t about to waste a perfectly good weekend handing out sandwiches. She’d done more than her fair share. Yet the boy’s pretty smile was almost enough to change her mind.

A date consisting of sitting on a soggy bench and tossing pinches of bread for noisy waterfowl while a motormouth went off in her ear wasn’t her idea of romantic, but each glance his way sent a sickening stirring through her that nearly set her ablaze. The least romantic date imaginable, she decided, was probably for the best.

Sparingly few words slipped past her zipped lips while the boy pried ever so gently about things that didn’t matter, like when she’d last gone to the park to feed the ducks, what was the ocean like, how she was settling in at the little desert oasis, if she’d made many friends yet.

The answers didn’t come easily. Her throat tightened up, thinking of the last time she’d gone out to intentionally feed the birds, her baby brothers in tow to throw fries at flocks of screaming seagulls. Describing the warm salty breeze and sand between her toes induced a bout of homesickness. As for friends and settling in, she had to clam up. Buckley’s girls could hardly be considered friends, she could tell him that much – but she’d already lied about knowing the one friend in the oasis she did have.

“What about those girls at the convenience store?” wondered Tom with a tilt to his head better suited for a puppy. She could at least kiss and coo at a puppy and tell it how dimwitted it was without it taking offence.

Her face flushed hotter than ever at the thought of getting quite that close to try it on him anyway, and to be on the safe side she scooted ever so slightly further away toward the end of the bench. “Just people I know from Buckley’s Brew,” she muttered. It was a good enough excuse.

“Ah,” he said with an almost sad nod of understanding. The overcast on his face cleared suddenly and he was beaming brightly at her again. “If you swing by the church out on Lavender Avenue this Sunday, I can introduce you to some of mine. Or I could pick you up,” he offered hopefully.

If it weren’t for the pink appearing in her peripheral on her other side, she might have laughed in reflex and asked him if he was joking. But instead, the beginnings of an incredulous smile fell as she turned a sharp glare away from Tom, locking her gaze on Priscilla who’d come to stand so close that Shilo could almost choke on her overwhelming fruity body spray.

Fragrant as she was, Priscilla wasn’t her usual bubbly self at the moment. “You know bread is bad for them, right?” she informed in an unusually somber tone. Tom stopped himself from tossing another slice of white bread to the swarm of ravenous fowl, but before he could question the young woman, the birds had inhaled the last of the crumbs and begun to close in on Prissy. She curled her lip and kicked out at the nearest one before jumping back. “Nevermind,” she spat. “Give ‘em the whole damn bag.”

Putting on a fake smile like her makeup in the morning, Priscilla’s bubbliness was forced as she plopped down at the end of the bench, too close and warm against Shilo’s side, all but forcing her to scoot closer to Tom. Priss reached over her, extending a hand toward him. “Nice to meet you,” she said, feigned friendliness enough to fool almost anyone. “So you’re Shi’s new boyfriend, huh?”

Shilo squeezed her heated hands between her knees to hide the sparks of plasma.

“I’m not sure about boyfriend,” chuckled Tom with a nervous smile. “But it’s nice to meet you too, uhm…?”

“Priscilla.”

“Tom.”

Stuck between them as they shook hands in greeting in front of her, Shilo rolled her eyes. “I should get going,” she said, shoving their arms away a little too roughly so she could stand up.

“I’ll give you a ride,” piped Tom. She had the sense he was proud of his scooter. She’d be more impressed if it was a souped up hotrod.

“Actually, I—”

A hand caught her wrist. “Hey! You could come help me unpack,” suggested Priscilla, practically using Shilo to pull herself up from the bench. “We can order a pizza and do each other’s hair and nails like we used to. How ’bout it?”

Tom’s raised brow and glance between them was all Shilo needed to know she’d been caught in a white lie. She weighed her options – decline Prissy’s invitation and go with Tom, or snub them both.

Priscilla tugged at her while Thomas took a step back.

“I’ll let you two catch up,” said Tom, though it sounded like an offer to let her go. How generous. The angelic boy was too amicable for his own good.

A glance toward him and his moped parked at the curb a little ways off, and Shilo made her decision. Linking arms with Priscilla and giving her a jerk she hoped hurt her shoulder, she took a big step away from Tom and forced a smile onto her face. “I’ll see you around,” she said as warmly as she could manage, though she wanted nothing more than to sock Priscilla in the nose and call it a day. “Guess I gotta help Priss. She can’t lift more than ten pounds. She has scoliosis.” It was a half-truth. While Priscilla did have a mild case and would never win any medals for weightlifting for unrelated reasons, she wasn’t that feeble.

The dig wasn’t deep, but it was enough to earn a displeased grunt from Prissy. “Nice to meet you, Tom!” Priscilla called back sweetly with far too much sugar heaped on. “Maybe we can all hang out sometime.”

Shilo was getting closer to plasma-blasting the girl regardless of Tom for a witness to the violence. “Not if you value your face,” she quietly hissed through her teeth.

Thomas Thompson waved and called a pleasant enough, “Goodbye!” to them as Shilo tugged Priscilla away to the far end of the park, not particularly caring where she had left the old jeep.

Priscilla took the opportunity to bump her hip into Shilo’s and flash her a wry grin. “He’s cute,” she noted. “Your boyfriend know you’re two-timing?”

Shilo grimaced down at the woman now clinging to her arm, despite her effort to shake her off. “I am not,” she defended with sparingly few words. She didn’t need to defend herself. She didn’t need to give Priscilla the time of day.

“So!” said Priss, changing the subject. “I ran into your work buddy when I was checking out a place, and we got to talking, and thought we could make a date of all going out and doing some donuts—”

Shilo reached for her temple and the souvenir left behind from the last time, little more than a week ago now. “Pass,” she answered before Prissy could finish. 

“You can’t avoid me forever,” retorted the persistent young woman tugging her arm as she took the lead. She had a lot of nerve for someone who’d done just that for years.

“Yeah?” spat Shilo, and in a swift motion that caught Prissy by surprise, she raised a foot and kicked her in the side, dislodging her and knocking her to the muddy grass in doing so. “Watch me!”

Throughout middle school she’d been teased for having longer legs of the two, though most of that teasing had come from Priscilla herself, who never once outran Shilo in their years on track together. She didn’t let that go to her head now though as she bolted across the park, her sneakers clapping down on the sidewalk bordering the far side. Dashing through traffic and into the suburbs, she didn’t dare slow or even glance back until the streets became familiar again.

Gulping for air, Shilo inwardly chastised herself for not keeping up on her old training regimen since dropping out the team, and especially since coming to the oasis. She made a mental note to take advantage of the gym back at the lair, which she realized after some time that she was making a beeline for.

She was skulking down the unmaintained road that promised to take her out of town, hands in her pockets as she scowled at the fogline and stewed over the tedious date Priscilla, a blessing in disguise, had crashed, when an all-too-familiar engine came chugging up behind her.

Headlights washing over her, her sore feet came to a pause and she stuck out a thumb without looking back to be certain. As expected, the old white utility van rolled to a stop beside her, breaks squealing.

“Fancy meeting you here,” quipped Drakken as she climbed in.

“Get bent,” she hissed in lieu of a hello before she could think twice. She was apt to blame him, even if she knew it wasn’t fair. He’d failed to pick her up on time, and that had left her vulnerable to Priscilla. One heated glance his way and she wished she’d bit her tongue. He looked better rested now – not well rested, but rested nonetheless – and he must have taken the time to shower and groom himself, because his hair was clean and tied back and he didn’t smell so strongly of dill and flowers anymore. It was hard to fault him for taking care of himself.

Shego couldn’t help noticing the mild sting of runaway embers in her palms then, and she rubbed the tingle from her arms as she turned her glare to the windshield just as the onset of a sprinkle began to speckle the glass with droplets. She was more than ready to call it a day.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Full. A 15x05 “Proverbs 17:3″ Coda, Sam & Dean, Dean/Castiel

Dean can't think about Chuck back on his bullshit, writing his own timeline of their lives without their input. He can't think about Cas, his angel ignoring their calls and following through with his promise to 'move on'. Can't think about the end.

What he can do is eat. So he does. And he won't let anyone stop him, especially Sam.

But there's only so much he can stuff down. What happens when there's no more room, and he has to deal with what's left? Will he be strong enough?

Dean frowns at the mess waiting for him in the sink. Plates stacked upon plates with smears of foodstuffs and crumbs on their surfaces. Some wet from being repeatedly drowned whenever he turned the sink on and others dry because of how long they sat going unwashed.

Sighing, Dean adds another plate to the stack. Careful to place it where it won’t fumble, slide, and clatter against the rest. Then he grabs another from the above cabinet’s short supply, walks to the fridge and begins searching for his next meal.

Weighing the roast beef leftovers with his hands Dean guesses there’s enough to slice off and  make a sandwich with. He grabs a few more ingredients to fill out the sandwich. Sprawls them on the island’s counter, surrounding the plate. Finishes preparation by slapping two pieces of bread down and pulling a knife from the door.

Sam finds him squirting mayonnaise on one of the bread pieces.

He walks in sifting through cards, brows scrunched together. “Dean?” he asks, “Have you seen our fake press passes?”

Dean spreads the mayonnaise with the knife blindly, watching his brother. “Why do you need those?”

“Figured after our last hunt we should update our old credentials so they, y’know, so they look like us.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean huffs, “maybe I got a few more wrinkles but that’s it.”

“ Sure, Dean .” Sarcasm drips from Sam’s words like icing off a warm cake. Dean lets it slide off him. Focuses instead on plastering the lettuce onto the mayonnaise so it will stick. However, while he presses his hand flat against the greens, Dean feels his skin burn under a focused spotlight. Glancing up he meets his brother’s gaze.

“What?”

“You’re eating,” Sam starts, lips pursed, “ again .”

Dean pauses with the tomato, squeezing it. “So?” he asks, “I got a healthy appetite.”

Unimpressed, Sam’s mouth implodes and stretches into a flat line. “Funny. That’s exactly what you said after you made that 50’s spread for breakfast… and made at least three different lunches… buffet dinner. This is…?”

He shrugs. “A midnight snack?”

“It’s not even midnight!”

“Fine, a nine-forty-five snack?”

Sam shakes his head, striding forward and closing the distance between them. Stopping at the island, across from him, he slides the IDs onto the edge. Quickly sneaking a peek, Dean sees a babyface version of himself smiling up at the ceiling. Laughing, probably because he knew the Federal Booby Inspector badge was a stupid risk that would pay off. Unaware of all the crap he’d have to wade through that made the first half of his life seem like a cakewalk. His brother clears his throat, drawing his attention back to him.

“Hey,” Sam says, voice soft and expectant in the way Dean hates . Like he cornered some injured animal, ready to snap. “Everything okay?”

Dean licks his wounds and snarls. “Peachy. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, you seemed pretty down yesterday,” Sam dredges up the memory of the conversation from yesterday. Learning Chuck still kept a vested interest in ‘guiding’ them in their lives. Dean brushes his fingers against one of Lillith’s cuts, remembering how after Sam went to the library for research Dean hid in the kitchen and ate cookies, ice cream, and pretzels dipped in frosting. Fell asleep with a spoon in his mouth, slumped against the fridge.

“Of course,” Dean says, “it was a hell of a day.”

Sam nods, tapping his finger against Dean’s face. Each point of contact makes Dean flinch somewhat. Trying to carry on with what he was doing, Dean sets the tomato on a nearby cutting board. Cleans the knife with a rag and gently slices through it.

“Have you heard from Cas yet?”

The knife stops halfway into the second cut, Dean seizing. Eyes glued to the tomato, watching the juices slowly ooze from where he wounded it, he swallows around the lump in his throat. “No,” he tells him, “he hasn’t answered you yet?”

Sighing, Sam finally stops tapping and snatches the tiny bit of tomato Dean already chopped. He pops it into his mouth. “I’m starting to get worried,” he says, “it’s not like him to be radio silent.”

“I mean, yeah…” Dean says, continuing cutting with careful movements.

“Do you think maybe Chuck did something -”

“ No. ” A sharp whack accompanies him, startling Sam. “Look, Sam,” he continues, pointing the knife at him, “just because Cas hasn’t hit you back doesn’t mean something bad happened. Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to us.” A panicked filter warps his voice. “Y’know maybe he decided, with all this free will, that he’d rather spend time with people who aren’t us and start fresh elsewhere. Maybe that ’s it.”

“Dean,” Sam says, careful with his approach, “It’s okay. Please calm down -”

“I am calm!” Dean shouts, knife waving wildly, “I’m also fed up hearing about this. About everything. ...Who cares?”

“ I do,” Sam tells him, “And so should you? What’s gotten into you?”

He won’t answer. Instead he returns the knife to the tomato. Slicing through it with enough force to scare his brother away from the path that tempts him.

Except he can’t be scared so easily. Sam rounds the island to question further. “Seriously,” he says, “Cas hasn’t answered us for this long and you’re not bouncing up the walls? You get sent to his voicemail one time and you think he’s found trouble and are raring to get out of here. This isn’t like you, Dean.”

“What?” he sighs, “You think this is Chuck again? Now he’s messing with how I react to things?”

“No! Maybe? I… I don’t know!” Sam bites his lip, his silence distracting Dean while he moves in for the next cut. “Because every time I try and talk about Cas you somehow change the subject and -”

“ Sonofabitch !”

Dean stumbles backwards and into the counter, hissing while pressing one hand against his palm. Sam’s eyes widen as he takes in the entire scene. From the droplets of blood mixing with the pooling tomato juice on the cutting board to his brother staring at his palm in disbelief.

“Dean?” Sam asks, “Dean did you cut yourself?”

His mouth opens and shuts, but no words escape.

Sam sighs, advancing towards his brother. About a few steps away Dean’s gaze jumps from his wound to him. Green eyes, usually so confident, were shaken by the accident. Sam’s figure looks warped like by some funhouse mirror. He flinches when Sam raises a hand with spindly fingers reaching for him. “Come on, Dean,” his brother says, “let’s get you patched up.”

The next time Sam inches close, Dean allows him to grab his wrist. First Sam inspects the cut, a clinical sweep detached in a way he wishes to have. But the second he caught sight of angry red that marred his skin Dean’s mind shot down into a terrifying whirlpool of darkness.

It wasn’t the most painful cut he ever received - especially in the past few days. But it was the straw that broke his back. Crueler than all the lives Chuck stole from their story, again and again, because the only one to blame was himself. He made another careless mistake and he now suffers for it. At the end of the day his own worst enemy isn’t sitting behind a computer screen but greets him in every reflection.

He sobs, a broken sound that surprises both of them. Sam turns away from the faucet, where Dean’s hand soaks under the running stream.

“Dean?”

“It… it, it...” he stutters, “it hurts .”

Sam glances at the cut, frown deepening. “I’m sorry if it stings,” he says, “a few more seconds and we can put some antiseptic on, then bandage -”

“Not the damn cut, Sammy,” Dean tells him, “ Everything hurts. In… in here.” He pokes his chest, tears freely flowing and drowning him. “What with Chuck… all that… that happened… Ma, Jack, Rowena, Ketch and… and Cas -” Knees buckling, Dean collapses to the floor. Sam follows and eases him so his knees don’t slam. “It all hurts and I feel so drained and - and empty. Especially after… and I keep eating, and eating, but Sam I’m never full. I… I can’t stop eating, I can’t stop hurting . Hurting everyone ... “

“Hey, hey hey hey hey,” Sam shushes him, squeezing his wrist and dragging him into a hug. Wet hand pressed flat between their chests, Sam rubs his back. “You’re not hurting everyone .”

“I want Chuck to end it already,” Dean admits to Sam’s shoulder, “Before I do it again. You’re the only one who hasn’t left me, Sam. Once you go I… I don’t think I can take anymore losses, man.”

“Don’t say that,” Sam growls, “It’s all Chuck’s fault, Dean. Chuck is controlling our lives - making us run this stupid maze of us. Using us for cheap entertainment to get his rocks off! It’s not you .”

It’s comforting to think it was Chuck pulling his strings in those moments. Dean considered it himself. But Sam only says this because he doesn’t know the whole truth. “It’s partly me,” Dean starts, deflating in Sam’s arms. “Mostly… Chuck put us in this crazy situation but he didn’t… he wasn’t feeding me lines when I said what I did to Cas. Blaming him for everything that went wrong and spitting on eleven years of… of us .”

“What -”?

“And now he’s gone!” Dean chuckles madly, more tears soaking Sam’s shirt, “He… he moved on . I didn’t think he’d do it but he did and I hate every day since.” Gasping, he leans away from Sam to look him in the eyes. Accepting the mild expression of disappointment shadowing his features. “All I want is him here, except every time I think of apologizing I can’t get past this stupid block. It could be fear or - or I’m still angry with Cas. I try and think about why I get this headache and it all becomes so… so confusing . Maybe that’s Chuck or maybe I’m a coward. Can’t talk to him but also can’t live like this… so I stuff my face. Only that’s not working either and I’m… I’m out of options Sam. What do I do?” Dean begs, “What do I do ?”

He quiets after the outburst, waiting for Sam’s response. Sam, his brother who can always see the light in a darkened room. Who can think through the toughest of puzzles and come up with an answer. Who has decades of emotional maturity over Dean who can’t say a few little words his best friend deserves without his palms sweating and jeans dampening. Swallowed his heart more times that there’s nowhere that hasn’t been burned by his stomach acid.

Too much time passes without a response. “Sam?” Dean shakes him, “What do I -”

“I can’t tell you that, Dean.”

“...What?”

“I can’t tell you,” he repeats, smiling, “and neither can Chuck. What happens next between you and Cas that… that’s up to you. I know you can do what’s right.”

“No… no, Sam,” Dean says, body trembling, “I… I can’t. Especially when it comes to Cas, man. My track record with him… I wasn’t always the best to him but he never thought that until… until I…” Chest heaving, Dean wipes away his tears. “I’m a screw up, Sam. I’ve always been… and that’s what I’ll keep being. Chuck doesn’t want me to have any character growth -”

“I wouldn’t say that Dean,” Sam interrupts, stretching forward. Blindly searches atop the counter, he smiles when he finds what he needs. As he brings it closer Dean sees they’re the fake credentials.

“Sam -”

“You’ve changed, Dean,” he shows off the top badge, that same frozen Dean from earlier smiling at him . “Do you think this guy would own up to his mistakes… would he struggle with his feelings… openly admit that he has them so easily like you have… cry in front of me? Dean you’re nothing like you were in the past. These two guys might be the same person but I prefer the you you are now and not the you you were then. He didn’t know who he was, didn’t allow himself the opportunity to explore different parts of himself. Stuck to one path and didn’t question if there were any others. Now you’re right, that on the surface nothing’s really changed… but I think we both know that the boy in this photo is a stranger.”

It’s always hard fighting Sam’s logic, especially with how worn out he feels. Even if he had enough energy to do so, Dean wouldn’t. Because finally Dean agrees with Sam. “It… doesn’t look like me. Like at all.”

Sam laughs, nodding. “I’ve been trying to tell you…”

“Updating these are gonna be a bitch, though,” he grouses, rubbing his eye, “I don’t think there’s a Kinkos left in America.”

Shrugging, Sam tucks the credentials into his shirt pocket. “I’m sure there’s still one kid with a van and a laminator.”

“Probably won’t accept a fake credit card though.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Dean smiles. Breathes easier without the crushing weight of his worries on his chest. Shouldering them with Sam proves better than doing so alone. Their mirth dies and his brother returns to the heart of their conversation.

“So,” Sam says, “what do you want to do?”

Dean thinks about it. Reflects on his addled mind, extends his awareness past it and to his body. Checking in from the tips of his fingers to his toes. Relaxing against the island, he stretches his legs in front of him. “Kinda don’t feel like doing much of anything right now,” he admits, “just wanna sit here a while and do nothing.”

“That’s okay.” Sam unfolds himself as well, readying to stand from his crouch. Dean catches him before he fully stands. “What?”

“I... “ Dean can’t meet Sam’s curious gaze. Blushing, he stares at his lap. “I also don’t want to be alone…”

Sam’s mouth forms a perfect circle on its journey to becoming a gentle smile. “Sure, Dean,” he says. Mirroring Dean, Sam joins him on the floor. However where Dean’s feet brush the cabinets, Sam bends his knees to fit his log-like legs in the space.

Together they hide behind the island. Away from Chuck and all the responsibility waiting for them. Soon they won’t be able to run away from all that needs addressing. To be the men they are and face each challenge with courage in their hearts.

But for this moment, they’re the boys they were. Boys they haven’t been since before the fire. Brothers sitting in the kitchen, together.

Many things might change, but the most important things don’t. What Dean believes in, what his angel means to him, and how important his brother is to him.

“I love you, Sam.”

“I love you, too, Dean.”

“...I promise not to kill you if you don’t try and kill me.”

Snickering, Sam shoves at him. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“What?”

[leagueofidiots]

Just when we thought my habit of accidentally deleting asks was a thing of the past

My first time writing the LoV:

Triggers! Self harm, mention of gore, mention of past "death".

Shigadabi half a sentence of hinted spinarakidabi oof.

Terrible and out of character writing. This was a vent and I didn't mean for it to be ever published, but chapter one of my NaNoWriMo nonetheless lol

Also the first thing I ever published

Endeavor was the number one hero. All Might had fallen, and Enji Todoroki had risen to take his place. The newscaster's words crackled over our shared TV in the corner of the bar, Toga's feet still swinging off the stool as she sipped on her orange juice. I feel the tips of my fingers light for a moment, and Shigaraki looks over at me. "Watch it, ash tray, this place is trashed enough as is."

I clench my still-warm hand into a fist, and storm off to the bathroom. He can't be. He can't be. I always knew it was possible, but I'd never thought All Might would fall in my lifetime. I slam the door and clutch the sides of the sink, watching myself try to breathe properly. My eyes burn with a rage I often see in my fire. What has he ever done to earn this?

Whatever. My purpose remains. I must kill him. Whether for me or for Fuyumi and Natsuo and Shoto and Mom. Endeavor must die at my hand. He will burn. I will watch him burn the way he made me burn. I want to hear him scream, I want to watch his hair fade to ash, and I want to see his skin melt, and I hope he writhes as it happens.

Back alley. Burning. Pain. Terrible smell. Numb. Why? Black. Blue. Hands shaking. No. Mom? Red black red blue black. Hot. Fuyumi. Black. Numb. Why? Help! Black.

I hope he wants to be dead long before he gets that relief.

My wrists are bleeding at their seams from the strain I forced upon them. I chuckle softly, pulling out one of the staples, prompting a soft squelch and a twinge of pain in what little nerves I have left. Pull out a few more. Peel the skin back to reveal red. Charred, rotten, red. A few on my face. Some on my chest.

I snap out of brief psychotic breakdown, and look down at myself. Blood pools around my feet, a steady drip down my fingertips and heavy stains on my loose, white shirt. The mirror makes me look like Toga when she finds a small animal in her moments of boredom. The red stuff drips down my cheeks and pools in my mouth so bubbles of it blow out when I exhale. Fantastic.

My head swims as I steady myself on the sink. The red smears left by my fingers almost makes me appreciate Toga's fascination. As I let out another soft laugh, Shigaraki pushes open the door a little. "Hey, are you puking in here, or wha---" 

His face finally peers in at me. I feel my eyes in their more crazy state, open wide and irises narrowed. The laugh makes it worse, I'm sure. He looks instantly uncomfortable, cringing as his red eyes hit my face.

Suddenly I'm angry. Face like his, and he wants to cringe when mine gets a little messed up? "What's wrong, rat's nest, can't handle a little blood?"

"Dabi, I---" He looks squeamish, starting to scratch at his neck with both hands, pinkies extended outwards.

"You what? You wanna puke, go ahead. See if I care." I turn back to the mirror to stare at my work. In my peripheral vision I see him lean against the wall, now forcing his thumb to avoid the surface now. "Go right on ahead and puke your filthy guts out if you want."

He adjusts his dumb hand---Father---on his face. "I was raised by All-For-One. I think I can hold my own." His voice tremors as he says it, though his hand has found some stability.

"You look pretty queasy," I say a bit more softly, folding the skin on my wrist back to its original place.

"Just wasn't expecting you to be...I dunno, doing whatever it is you're doing." He scratches some more. The noise, though quiet, digs into my brain. "What is it you're doing?"

"What's it to you, creep?" I push a staple in with a sickening noise.

"Nothing, I just think I should know what my team members do in bathrooms after a nice breakfast." The sarcasm in his voice finally assures me he's not gonna pass out or anything.

I might though. The blood loss is making my feel dizzy. Not that I'll let it happen. I move on to reaffixing my jaw to the rest of my head. "I'm just adjusting things. You can leave."

"I dunno...You seemed kinda---"

I stiffen as a jolt passes through me, and my world blacks out for a second. When it clears, my knees have buckled, and I'm on the floor. "Crap," I mutter, and try to heave myself back up to no avail.

(Tomura) No, Shigaraki, comes further in and does his best to lift me up with eight of his fingers and thin arms. "Idiot." He forces me onto the toilet seat, then flicks a strand of his pale blue hair away from his eyes.

"I'm...I'm fine." I shove his tentative hands off of me. Get away, stop caring.

"Toga, get in here," he rasps in a quiet yell. Dumb, calling a phyco in to deal with a guy who's bleeding out.

She skips in. "Yeah, Shig?" Her eyes sparkle at me as she sees the mess I've made of the small, previously white room.

"Can you please get Kurogiri to bring in some medical supplies?" Annoyed tone. Good. Annoyed is not concerned.

She nods, and wiggles her fingers in a goodbye to us before slinking back out. "I don't need any medical attention, Shigaraki, I'm just---"

"Bleeding out on a clogged toilet."

"Shut up," I mutter. "There are worse ways to go." Burning burning burning burning burning numb.

Toga enters once more after a few minutes, Spinner peering over her shoulder. "Got 'em." A bag of bandages and such is tossed to Shigaraki, who looks at her in mild disbelief as he lets the bag fall on his lap. "Bad reflexes."

"I'd destroy it if I caught it, numbskull." He carefully opens the bag up and passes me some gauze. "Now go do something not weird."

"Fine," she says lightly, flouncing out. Spinner waits a moment before following.

Bad decisions were made shortly thereafter. Already light-headed from the blood loss, the moment that I press scratchy gauze into the open wound that is near my very-sensitive eye, I black out.

While the bar counter I wake up on is no more comfortable than the floor I sleep on, it was a good effort I suppose. My eyes open to see a crowd of faces hovering above mine, expressions ranging from boredom to amused.

I groan, and those who were looking elsewhere all gaze down at me. "Morning, sleepyhead!" "Took you long enough," from Jin.

"Why am I spread out on a wooden platform that I know for a fact has had Compress' sock collection on it?"

"We were fixing you. You're all stapled back now," Magne says, her vague hand movement presumably gesturing to my general existence.

Another grunt from me as I try to sit up. "Stay down, charcoal."

I roll my eyes, but do as I'm told. "I was fine."

Twice shakes his head. "Nah, your heart stopped once. We were worried." "It was funny."

I blink up at them. "...So why did you save me?"

Toga grins at me like I made some joke, her pointed teeth glinting in the bad lighting. "'Cuz that's what family does!"

Family burning fire not safe help protect miss crazy kill save hurt numb.

"We're not a family, we're, we're a conglomeration of smaller groups of close people if anything, and I'm not in one," I say hurriedly.

"Dumb idiot, you and Shig here are basically married already," Magne protests, rolling her eyes.

The pink flush on Tomura Shigaraki's face shows easily even past Father. "We're what?" I ask, more confused by this than anything.

"She's right, you really are dumb," he mumbles before he grabs the front of my shirt and lifts me up into a kiss.

It's soft, the most powerful part of it being his grip on my shirt, bringing me to his face. His chapped and scarred lips are rough, but his slow, gentle pace somehow convinces me that he has the loveliest mouth in the world.

After the initial shock, I begin to kiss him back. He was cute after all, and what else could I do? After what feels like both an eternity and only a snapshot of a moment, he lowers me back onto the countertop and sits himself back in his barstool.

"So, what were you doing anyway?" he asks loosely, like nothing had happened.

I blink a few times, considering. Family.

"Hello? Earth to Dabi?" Toga demands after several moments of silence.

"Touya."

"Sorry, what?"

"Touya Todoroki. I'm Endeavor's son."

[boneslaw]

Basement

Ausland grabbed a knife from the kitchen block. He descended the stairs two at a time. Wood planks creaked like the neurotic swing of a cradle, seconds after the footsteps that threw her head into the table. She panicked, she tried to hide, but there was no hesitation from him. His chest heaved after a half mile sprint. His ribs were on fire. Nettles from the trees hadn't been shaken off his arms, pine needles in his Chucks-

He didn't trust the visions pushed through his head. He wanted to believe that all this faith in her wasn't for nothing. He had to see for himself. Asclepius' warning didn't help. He swung off the handrail, crashing onto the ground floor of his basement. Whatever it was that lurched up his throat, lumpy and burning like bile, was easier to swallow than the body laying there at his feet. “It's not something I want you tangled in..." He told her. Two weeks prior was their six month anniversary. The moment was magical in every sense of the word until it wasn't. It was marred and the culprit was foreshadowing only visible in retrospect. He held onto her that night. His fingers intertwined with hers but his grip was anything but soft. Desperate, he held on like he'd lose her. "It's not something I want for us. Not when we have plans. Trust me. Trust me. Please?" The request was simple. That should have been the end of it. But she didn't call. She didn't ask. She went into the basement. What was a relationship without trust? What was a promise- twice made- if she couldn't keep it? Every blood vessel swollen from its root. Wide-eyed, he prowled over her body. She drew wispy breaths through her bangs. Blood that pooled around her head gave a slight shake like gelatin. Her phone laid cracked to her side, spinning in a slow rotation after her fall. He wanted just one sign that this was an accident. A mistake. That this can end in him sweeping her off the floor, and tending to her wound in the kitchen with a chuckle and a kiss. That stopped being probable when her phone was left unlocked. 9-1... displayed across the screen. His gut sucked in. His abdomen knocked against his spine, as a a convulsive gasp threw him onto the floor. Trust was broken, but he'd made promises to more than her. His opposite hand, one that worshiped her like a Goddess, dug into her hair. He pulled her head from the floor, hand knotted and ready to slam it back through the wood until Mia, his Mia, a self-fulfilling, ingrown parody of Orpheus and Eurydice, soaked through in the floorboards she was never supposed to touch. 'Stop.' Asclepius' said. An amalgamate of flesh and stone towered over them. It had fallen into the backdrop once its grotesque moment in the limelight was over. Ausland didn't pay it mind. Leniency wasn't available when his heart was hammering, when his pleas for her safety and his future had depended on her not doing one thing. Just one thing, the only thing he had ever asked of her. Hesitation nor opposition stopped the swing of the knife- but what pulled the momentum was clarity: his head was blank. There usually was an X. An arc, a graphic connect the dots of where he had to strike to incisively end it. Killing did not come naturally. There was no muscle memory when it wasn't extended. It was always there- but not that he could see. Her face would be cleaved at a slipshod angle. The blade would get jammed in cartilage. She'd wake, screaming and crying, steel between the eyes, and try to say something. He'd listen to a bullshit apology through a sectioned face, split lip weeping an excuse why of he should forgive- He twisted his wrist like he was pulling a rope. His hand wound in her hair so tight it stretched the skin from her skull. He could do it. He could do it. He could ignore Asclepius and finish it, but the fact of the matter set in: Their life was over. She was always on his mind. She was never not on his mind. The last six months was a break from the endless morbid monotony. She was the one. His soulmate. The fixture his future would be sculpted around, the lively ying to the third party in the room. Asclepius had his psyche mired in a warped reality, but the need for normalcy was inherently human. It was inscribed in the bones so deep years under its oppressive power hadn't yet shaken it. His whimpering bordered on incoherence. Asclepius was hardly a sympathetic ear but he had no one else. "She shouldn't be here." He broke. Nose to nose, he pulled her in, openly weeping into her unconscious cheek. The hold he had over her scalp had her eyes open- just a sliver- offering no motive. "Why? Why did you do it? I didn't want you here, Mia, I didn't-" 'Neither did I.' Asclepius said. It's exposed rib cage expanded and deflated slower now that the excitement passed. 'But am I surprised?' "You were right about her..." 'And I wish I wasn't.' His knuckles blanched around the handle. Mia laid as a blondish, pinkish blur at his knees. Motionless, she hadn't moved since he'd arrived- despite how much he wanted her to explain. How much he wanted to scream, to ask why. And how much he wanted to punch a hole through her brain when asking lead to further deception. Hatred and heartbreak were a volatile cocktail his body didn't know how to process. 'She saw the best sides of you and took advantage of it.' Asclepius narrated his thoughts. 'Boston wasn't going to happen. That future she fabricated? A pipe dream. She wanted in your head.' It said. 'And it worked. Because you are compassionate. You're a beautiful soul and she saw the idealist in you, the creative artist- but she's a manipulative parasite who takes and destroys. She was only out to corrupt everything you worked for.' He saw the cabin. The dirt road sprawled through the woods, in a sweeping view until the brush broke onto the asphalt. The highway drew a distinct line between obligation, his past, and everything else life had to offer. The City On The Hill was a fantasy. It was a bustling metropolis where he could pluck a guitar in a different hipster joint every night, singing his heart out to the captive audience of a coffee shop And she was with him. Mia was warmth. She was comfort. She was inside jokes, domestic bliss. She was inspiration, words coming to him easy in the quiet moments were fondness filled his chest cavity like helium. She'd be in the papers. A household name. He'd tell everyone on the street who he was with. He'd sing about her, she'd write about him. They'd be proud, dumb, in love, and they'd build a house together. They'd meld their styles until it produced something so distinctively theirs that they couldn't imagine life any other way. But that fantasy caught flame. Colliding with the Earth, it burned like the Hindenburg, razing along Interstate 93 and following them back to where they were now: her head in his lap, and a knife focused for her temple. Tightly wound tendons in his fingers ached. Curls wound in his palm shook loose. His grip slipped as he trembled but he couldn't hit her if he tried. "I could've run away with her. I could've ruined everything." 'Drop the knife.' "What if I had gone? What would she have done?" He swallowed, though his throat felt like ash. "You said that's what'd happen, you've been right the whole time-" 'Did you think that's what this was about? Do you think this is vindicating? Look at me.' His head- eyes red, and ringed with guilt- lifted. When he blinked back the tears, its eye focused on him. It rolled into the stone web of petrified fingers to meet his gaze. It's pupil narrowed to a pinprick. It was sympathetic, when everything human deceived. 'When you said you loved her more than me- I was not thinking about myself. I was thinking about you. You refused to see how dangerous she was. Do you understand what that's like? Watching you poison yourself? Watching you get sicker every time you looked at her, hanging off everything she said?' An ashen limb reached out. Attached at an angle too obscure to be anatomically correct, it rubbed rhythmic circles in his back. Its knuckles grazing his shuddering shoulder blade. Asclepius' presence was smothering in a way he found familial. It wanted the best for him, even if it meant tough love and everything that came along with it. 'You didn't see her scoping the house when you were 'sick.' You didn't notice the knife she left on the kitchen counter. She went for the basement on your first date and you thought it was an accident? It wasn't chance she found you- she was hunting you down.' The handle was slipping. His hands were sweating. Every good time they had disintegrated. She was subterfuge. She was lies. He was right. Down to the Superlike, she'd been playing him. She pretended to love his poetry, the art she inspired. She kissed his neck, saying all the right things and making the right moves to make her worm her way into his heart and rewire every capillary until it functioned for her. He buckled. Folding over, his torso blunted the explosive, plangent wail from his chest. He had no neighbors for miles, but his cry sent birds from the trees. "THEN WHY CAN'T I END IT?" His shoulders racked with a sob. "Why can't I end it, huh?! Why can't I cut her off, why can't sever this? She destroyed everything. She made me think we had a future- that I'd have a white picket fence. That I could have a dog, a family, a life I can put on Instagram and be proud of. Someone I could bring home to my parents. She made me think I could balance you and the American dream, that I could love you both-" Asclepius' arm crackled. Joints of a closer, separate arm that hadn't moved since rigor mortis closed around the hand holding the knife. His head buzzed with a steady command, borrowed a voice different from his own. 'Drop it.' 'Drop it.' 'Drop it.' It chanted. 'No one understands more than I do how much you're suffering.' It layered over the cadence. The rock's eye, soft without a lid to inflect, dipped low. 'I am the only one who understands. But there's more to this than what you're feeling.' 'Drop it...' 'Drop it...' "No." He swiped his eye with his shoulder. 'You will reprimand her for the breach of privacy,' It intoned. 'But you will forgive her. You will call me an art project. You'll tell her it's not done.' "You're letting her go!" He railed. "You're letting her go. Why do you want to save her? You showed me how to throw her head into a faucet. You told me to sink her in the lake every chance you got. I've seen you imagine every bone in her arm breaking, but this is where you quit?!" 'And this is the time you choose to doubt me?' It said. 'Think.' His head flooded. Memories- not of Mia, but his life. Every time fight with his parents. When his band disbanded, and every girl that broke his heart from high school to college. The degree whose chance he spoiled, Exam after exam failed, results in envelopes he shredded before opening. Asclepius was always there, ready to console and build him back from the ground-up... But this time felt different. Ausland's posture slipped, falling off his ankles and onto the floor. "I can't do this, man. I loved her." 'You can, and you will. I would never hurt you like she did. Drop the knife.' Necrotic fingernails sank into his wrist. Gently, it pressed, until his thumb slacked. The blade fell. It notched the wood, severing a curl with it. An errant, twisted ankle kicked it away. 'Good. And now...?' It provided the next step. Imagery burrowed into his head like a parasite. The guidance he craved, the resolution to this heartbreak wasn't supposed to be mercy but it was all Asclepius was offering. This request in particular was sadistic. "Why are you doing this?" He asked. "You want to talk to her?" 'Ausland...' He felt the contrasting sensations of what it was asked of him against his palm. Warm blood against stone. Asclepius had a spot picked out, lovingly offering a blank face of caprock, ripe for the taking. Blood meant he would be continuing the charade. "I loved her, man. I loved her so much..." 'I know.' It said. 'There will be time to deal with that. But trust me.' It refreshed the favor. Surrendering to the only force that'd been a constant, his hand moved. Blind, apathetic faith, he followed the direction the phantom thought laid out. Blood spilled over his fingers. His palm smeared a layer off the ground, and crosshatched it across the slate. He painted in broad strokes, splitting his own palm with the pressure. The game would go on. This time, with two players. 'This isn't the end.' Asclepius rewarded. 'The world feels like its over, but this is the start. You did the right thing.' Various limbs bristled. The red, pulsating glow from its 'chest' momentarily brightened. Ausland didn't know what it meant but he wasn't considering much of anything. Pent up rage and sorrow receded. In its place was a numbness, a coping mechanism, so when she opened her eyes she wasn't staring abject homicidal intent in the face. 'She's waking. Wipe your hand. Straighten up. You're a concerned boyfriend. You want to know how she hit her head. You were so scared. You were crying because you were worried. I will handle the rest.'

[chocoblep]

Lights and Darkness

Magic wasn't always in the chanting of spells and the waving of staves, in the runes or the tomes or even the simpler aether that bound the world together. It wasn't always healing hands or searing fire, glowing shields or benedictions or otherworldly strength. Sometimes it was the simpler things: the laughter of a child, the smile of one's beloved, the beauty of the world. And tonight, the magic was in the market square of Shirogane, where thousands of lights twinkled from within brightly colored paper lanterns that fair dripped from eaves and awnings, hung from ropes draped lovingly over walkways and strung between buildings, and settled sprightly upon counters, windowsills, fences and benches. It had been snowing for a few hours, and as the afternoon had passed into evening it had finally begin to collect on the ground. At this time of year the square was busy, but this close to Starlight it was full of last-minute shoppers and families out for holiday fun--a far cry from the bustle that had been her during the previous weeks.

That was precisely why Hinan had opted to wait until tonight to take Nephae out to see the lights. It was more relaxed and subdued, the festivity of the season still in full swing without all the noise and people. After all that he’s been through, Hinan thought as the pair walked into the market, he deserves a bit of Starlight Magic. Kheisa’to had gotten Nephae a fur-lined coat and a pair of plush boots that made the slight miqo’te look even smaller. Hinan’s eyes were not fixed on the lights now, but on Nephae as he took in the scene. The look of joy and wonder on his face almost shone brighter than the colorful lights themselves.

“It’s so pretty,” Nephae breathed, holding tighter to Hinan’s hand.

“They do this every year,” the xaela replied, smiling down at the awestruck miqo’te. “It takes them the better part of a week to get everything set up around the ward.”

The pair walked, conversing and smiling and looking up at the lights, and once they’d made one full loop of the markets, Hinan stopped and motioned toward another walkway. This one was less travelled, though still well-lit. “We should go down to the beach. There aren’t as many lights there, but there are some fun spots I could show you, and the stars are beautiful.”

“I don’t get to see the stars very much,” Nephae admitted. “Limsa’s lights always made them harder to see.”

“Oh, it’s better than you’d see from your bedroom window there, then… come on.” Tugging at Nephae’s hand, Hinan started them down the path to the beach. It wasn’t very far, but it wound around behind several houses, taking a few sharp corners to avoid passing through yards. They walked quietly and spoke in low voices about beaches and lights, and what they knew of the stars. The miqo’te was surprisingly smart for having been so sheltered, and quite often Hinan found himself impressed by his quick mind.

Looking up at the sky as they were, HInan was surprised when he glanced back down to check for uneven sidewalk and instead found himself staring at a man who was standing in the road some five fulms ahead. He was facing the other way, and he looked like he was fiddling with something in his hands, standing under one of the regular lamps that illuminated the path at various intersections. Hinan slowed down, and Nephae stopped altogether.

“Let’s go home,” Nephae breathed, staring at the man like he’d seen a ghost. Hinan looked down to his companion, frowning.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have a really bad feeling about that man,” the miqo’te whispered.

Hinan looked forward to the man again. He was a very tall hyur and he hadn’t looked up, but upon closer inspection, the thing that the man was fiddling with looked a lot like some sort of tomestone. After a moment longer, Hinan gave Nephy a nod. “All right. I’ll show you the stars here some other time,” he promised.

Turning around, they began to retrace their steps toward the market, but there were two men a short distance ahead of them, stopped and conversing quietly with each other.

“Ah, excuse--”

Something hit Hinan in the backs of his knees and they buckled, sending him to the ground. He caught himself on his hands and quickly turned over, surging to his feet just in time to narrowly avoid a blade singing past his horn.

Nephae. There wasn’t much time to assess the situation, but what he saw was that the two men in front of them had stopped conversing and drawn swords, and the man from earlier with the tomestone now had a sword of his own in his hand. He was the one that had just swung the sword. Behind him, he could feel Nephae’s short, panicked breaths, but he dared not look away from their assailants. The two other men moved in, and when Hinan flicked his eyes in their direction the third one attempted another strike. Swift as a striking serpent, Hinan turned and struck the man’s wrist, causing him to involuntarily open his hand and drop the weapon. Following it up with a quick jab to the throat, he shouldered him out of the way, scooped up the sword, and grabbed Nephae. Running seemed like a good option, and he intended to get the miqo’te out of there safe and away from anyone who’d want to hurt him.

The two other men broke into a run, giving chase as Hinan and Nephae pelted through the streets. “It’s Orochi!” Nephae cried, panting as they moved. Though Nephae said no more, he didn’t need to; Hinan knew the rest. Rage bubbled up from somewhere deep inside and he slowed, whipping around to face the two men that were following them.

No. NO. They could not have him!

The growl that came from Hinan Akaruta was not one that anyone heard and lived to tell the tale. He surged forward, clashing with the pair and cutting one of them down with a well-aimed slash to the midsection. The second had aimed his blade true, but the thrust was knocked aside by his falling comrade and he cursed. The adrenaline surged through him like gloriously hot water, nursing his desire for violence and spurring him on to drive his heel into the fallen man’s face shortly after he’d hit the ground. A sickening crack sounded beneath his bootheel, and he whirled to backhand the other man and shove him over the fence that lined one side of the walkway. That one hit the roof of the house that was nestled just past said fence and disappeared as he fell into the darkness below.

“Stop.” It wasn’t Nephae’s voice, but when Hinan turned, that was all he could see; the pink-haired miqo’te, frozen and wide-eyed with fear as a man nearly as tall as Hinan held him against his chest with a blade to Nephae’s pale throat. There were two other men flanking him, both with what appeared to be guns pointed at the xaela. Hinan stopped, the lust for violence morphing into nausea at the sight. “You have incapacitated three of my men,” the man drawled, his tone somewhat bored. “Make a wrong move, and this little thing may be answering for that.”

Hinan looked at Nephy again. The poor thing was terrified, his tail curled between his legs and his ears laid flat back, wide eyes rounder than Hinan thought possible. “Let him go,” Hinan demanded, His eyes bright with the promise of a grisly fate if they chose not to comply.

“Come with us, and we will,” the man said, and nodded his two gunmen forward. They approached the Xaela, staying just out of his reach with their weapons trained on him. “Drop the sword,” the man continued, and the xaela did as he was told.  He could get Nephae out of that man’s hold if he could get close enough.

Ever so slowly, he ilmed forward.

“Ah--!” It was a corrective sound, and the man that made it pressed his blade harder against Nephae’s throat The miqo’te’s terrified eyes got even wider, but his tail had relaxed and he looked like he could at least move. “Not a move from you, big guy,” the man growled.

“I-I’ll go,” Hinan said, his heart beating in his throat. He tried to swallow it back down. “Just… let him go.”

The pressure on Nephae’s throat eased a touch. “On your knees,” the man said. There was hesitation, but Hinan did as asked.

“Hinan, no,” Nephae breathed.

“You know what to do when they let you go,” Hinan told him, hoping against hope that the words he said were true. One of the gunmen came to Hinan’s side and pulled out a pair of magitek cuffs, but before he could slap them on Hinan’s wrists Nephae managed to wriggle free of their leader’s grip and turned on him, a veritable hissing whirlwind that clung to and scratched at the man's face before launching off of him and dancing out of the way of his blade, ears pinned back and his pink tail fluffed up to twice its normal size. There was blood on the miqo'te's hands and the man who'd held onto him was cursing and wiping blood out of his eyes.

The gunman pulled the trigger, and an intense pain shot through Hinan’s head. He slumped forward, unable to hear or see straight, the points of light flaring in his field of vision making him feel flushed, dizzy, and nauseous. But there was no blood that he could see, and he couldn’t feel anything trickling along his skin…

Vaguely he was aware of Nephae screaming at him, of more shots being fired, of the miqo’te scampering away when he tried to yell the word, “RUN!” One of the men turned to go after the miqo’te before the leader stopped them and pointed them back toward Hinan. 

“Let the little one go. Get this one to the shuttle,” the leader commanded. “And don’t kill him. We need him alive.”

He tried to straighten himself up and teetered to one side, landing on his shoulder. Somehow the cuffs were already on his wrists, and connected to each other to force his hands to stay behind him, locked together. He felt a hand in his hair moments before he was hauled upright by it. The pain sobered him, and he pushed through the wave of nausea that followed to snap viciously at the man’s hand with his teeth. They closed on empty air, and the answer to his feeble struggle was a small pinch at his neck before his world went dark.