#mild blood mentioned

[starry-bi-sky]

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

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What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  

He has no mouth, but he must scream. 

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 

Scrappy is just not enough. 

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 

Being dead is agony. 

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 

Being dead hurts. 

[neonpaperlanterns]

Hi! I hope you're having a good time of day!

I was curious if you would be open for a more angsty story with the bestest boy DogDay? Like, they have an encounter with CatNap where Angel gets an open wound that they need to stitch up later. And DogDay can't do anything about it with his hands being too big, so all he can do is comfort his Angel and encourage them? Just him being as supportive as he can be and amazed with his Angel's determination?

It's okay if you dont want to write something like this though! Thank you for your time! Your stories are really good with their captivating nature!

[A/n: So I hope you like this anon. I think I went deeply into the angst.]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If only

It all happened so fast. One moment you were next to DogDay and the next you were gone. Flung across the rubble as if you were an unloved toy.

And standing in your place was Catnap with his mouth hung open and red smoke spilling everywhere. After years of exposure DogDay had grown unaffected by the worming hallucinations. He knew what was real and at first he assumed what he was seeing wasn’t. 

It couldn't be. 

No matter what you always got back up. You were their shining light, their hope, their Angel. You always got back up. So the fact that you weren’t moving just had to be fake. The slowly pooling puddle of red he was seeing? Trick of the smoke. It had to be. You were fine. He was sure of it. 

His Angel always got back up. 

Always.

But then why did it feel so real? It couldn’t be. It wasn’t. It was the smoke playing tricks on him. Peeling back the layers of his frazzled mind to poke and prod at something new he could be taunted with.

A wheezing laugh made his head snap up. The cat was looking at him. That horrible smile he saw in his nightmares and every fractured mirror was turned towards him. Malice and a sick sense of satisfaction dripped from that grinning face. 

“Is something wrong?” DogDay felt something hot and acidic pool in the back of his throat. 

“Is it them?” His hands are trembling as Catnap moves his gaze over to you. He can’t move his arms as the former Smiling Critter sways towards you. His gait slow and with purpose as those eyes that only held deranged devotion glanced back at him.

“Oh, must not be.” It was said with a gravely snicker a single dirty purple paw rose into the air. It was done so slowly, as if Catnap wanted him to see every minute movement. Even through the dim light and thick smoke he can see the twitching claws that hover over you. 

And you still haven’t moved. Still lying limp as that monster loomed over you. He felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest at this clear taunt. 

“Are- AAAHHHHHHHH!” A horrendous screech filled the air. Blips of orange were beacons in the crimson fog. DogDay felt himself lurch forward, arms still shaking, as he watched Catnap rear back. A bright flare sizzled in his throat as he stumbled away. 

“Let's go.” Your body slams into his as you shuffle him along. Your grip on him is tight as you take the majority of his weight. He’s reeling as joy sears through him. It was a trick. You hadn’t actually been crumbled beneath that cat. You were fine. He had just been seeing things. Tears pricked along his eyes. He was just so happy. His Angel was okay and had been the entire time. 

And he didn’t want to let go when you stumbled into a supply closet. He wanted to stay in your arms but as you sagged to the floor he noticed something. Pulling away he thought he was still under the effects of the red smoke. 

He had to be. 

Under the flickering lights he saw how your side was soaked with blood. Gnarled slashes marred your skin. 

“What…” Shakily he reached out. He was so sure you had been alright. So sure that it had all been a hallucination. That it had just been Catnap messing with him because he found a new weakness to exploit. But it hadn’t been. 

DogDay doesn’t know what to do. He is just as useless right now as he was when you had been lying there. 

“We shouldn’t stay here too long. I’m sure Catnap is going to be very upset when he recovers.” You're fumbling around the closet, pushing and moving things around. He wants to help you but he can’t. 

“Hey, are you still with me?” A hand is placed on his shoulder. It startles him and he lists backwards. But you don’t let him fall. Your arms wrap around him, steadying him.

“DogDay are you okay?” You sound so concerned but you shouldn’t. He’s fine, you’re the one that got hurt! He should be asking you these questions. He should be helping you!

“Angel I..” His voice came out hoarse and warbled. He can’t even speak properly! What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he help you? Why couldn’t he be there for you? You asked for nothing and he couldn’t even do that! You did everything, all the time. It was always you and he loved you for that. But God he just wanted to do something for you. If only he was a bit more like you. 

Why couldn’t he be more like you? 

Why did he have to be him?

[sillygoose1777]

Chapter 1: Auction

Word Count: 3119

Trigger Warnings/tags : Auction sale, mentions of abuse, mild blood, whumpees kept as pets, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, carewhumper, og characters, supernatural/nonhuman whumpees, supernatural/nonhuman whumpers, mind reading whumpee, guard dog whumpee, muzzled whumpee, dehumanization (from whumpers), burns from silver, drugged whumpee, mentions of needles

Hudson observed everything with interest as they stepped out of the carriage. He stepped to the side and offered his hand to Zenith. He took it, using it to aid him down the steps. Hudson let go as soon as Zenith touched the ground. Zenith gave a small nod to the carriage driver and they shut the door before getting in the front to find a parking spot. Hudson assumed his position slightly behind Zenith as they walked into the building before them. 

Zenith was graciously invited to one of the biggest pet buying events. Every month he would scout out a few to be bought and retrained so that he could sell them at a much higher price. Hudson didn’t always go with him, but whenever he did he never enjoyed it much. It was hard to block out the thoughts of products. They were always in a lot of pain, at least the ones that were sold on the main floor. If Zenith wanted any of the pretty ones, they were at the wrong auction.

Zenith stopped in front of the door, looking over his shoulder at Hudson. “I want you to pay close attention to the products on display. Find something you like.” Hudson nodded curtly, no verbal response necessary. Zenith looked in front of him again and opened the doors wide. 

Immediately, Hudson was hit with a wall of fear from the products and pure smugness from the sellers. There were stands set up as closely to each other as possible to fit as many as they could. To the left of the main floor was a maze of stands selling creatures and objects alike. On the right was the auction stage with rows of seats set up in front of it. The auction wasn’t going to begin for another half hour, plenty of time to glance over a few stands. 

Zenith led the way pausing a few times to look at creatures or blades that caught his interest. Anytime Zenith inspected a creature in a cage, Hudson would pretend he couldn’t hear their thoughts. Couldn’t hear them hoping to be bought or the opposite, hoping that they wouldn’t. But then Zenith would move on and Hudson could truly push it out of his mind. 

As Zenith was talking to a stand worker selling different types of poisons, Hudson let his gaze wander. His eye caught on a small stand behind them with a small creature working furiously. They were molding molten metal with their bare hands, not a burn showing up on their skin. Hudson was fascinated, watching as they shaped it as they liked, then dropped it in a bucket of water. The hot metal instantly sizzled, cooling down before the creature pulled it out again. They examined it for imperfections before placing it on a table near them with nearly identical blades made. 

As Hudson continued to watch, he observed the creature more closely then he did its work. They were small and frail, their bones barely covered by a layer of skin and muscle. Bruises and unhealed cuts littered their body, making it evident that either they disobeyed often or their owner was unnecessarily cruel. They were muzzled with a silver cage that left red marks on their skin from how tight it was. Its ears were flat against their head, tail tucked between their legs, showing every sign of fear except in their hands. A silver collar was strapped around its throat that chained them to the stand, leaving no room for escape. 

“Do you want to look at that one?” Zenith asked. Hudson looked at Zenith and followed his gaze to the same stand he was previously looking at. Hudson gave a simple nod, so Zenith led the way over. 

Being closer to the creature, he expected to pick up on thoughts of fear, but he didn’t. Instead its mind was quiet with the thought of working. He couldn't even tell if the creature knew that they had walked up. Moving his attention away from the creature, he noticed all the finished blades laid out on the table. They were beautiful. All handcrafted and fused with some kind of pretty rock or gem. 

“Like what you see?” 

Even though Hudson knew the man wasn’t addressing him, he looked up anyways. He was rugged and mean looking, a stark comparison to the skittish creature off to his side. Zenith continued to admire the blades before responding. 

“Are all of these your handiwork?” Zenith asked. 

“Yes sir. Everyone of them,” the man said, clearly taking ownership of the creature's labor. 

Zenith picked one off of the table and examined it closely. It was made of iron and infused with amethyst. It was certainly a blade made for display and not meant to be used in combat. Nonetheless it was still impressive. Zenith handed it to the man's outstretched hands, intending to buy it. The man grabbed the creature, making them drop the metal they were modeling onto the ground, and dragged them in front of himself. The creature cowered in his grip but didn’t struggle. The man straightened their arm and brought the blade down from their elbow to its wrist. The creature hissed in pain and sank to their knees when the man let go of it, holding their arm close. The blade slightly glowed from the blood dripping from it, before it evaporated like it never had been there. 

Hudson was barely able to contain his astonishment while Zenith acted indifferent. Zenith took the blade with grace then walked away with Hudson at his tail. Hudson glanced over his shoulder and saw the man yelling at the creature to get back to work. Hudson turned his attention to what was in front of him. It wouldn’t do him any good to get attached. That was the mantra that he repeated over and over in his head. 

…

Kori was relieved when the blade-maker took off his collar and threw him into his cage underneath the table. He shrank away from the silver bars that lined the cage, careful not to burn himself. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he looked for his only possession. A measly blanket, dark blue with a yellow star pattern overlapping it. It was stiff and soiled with blood and god knows what else. But no matter how much it needed a wash, it was his. He had stolen it the first time the blade-maker brought him to the medics, and too tired from wrangling him there, the blade-maker let him keep it. 

The blanket was almost three times his size, though he was a small creature compared to most. Nonetheless, it made it easy to hide underneath. His shield against the world, against his makeshift darkness. Kori curled up underneath his blanket, making sure to not leave any limbs sticking out. 

A table cloth covered the table and most of his cage, blocking most of Kori’s view of the passerbys. He watched their feet walk past, never pausing to come close enough. It was cold, a lot colder than Kori was used to. It didn’t help that the blade-maker often isolated him away from any kind of fire or sunlight, giving him no opportunity to build up his magma. Kori knew better than to steal heat from the hot metal so he could heal his wounds. He had done it once and when the blade-maker found out, he beat Kori till he could hardly make sense of the world. He was immediately sent to the medics afterwards, but it was a lesson well learned. 

Kori wanted to go home, wherever that was. He was never allowed out except to the marketplace or to the medics. Otherwise, he was underground shaping and fusing blades. It was better than anticipating when a buyer would walk up and he would have to spill blood to seal the blade. The cut down his arm stung painfully, making him aware of it again. 

Focusing on one part of his pain only made the rest seem so much worse. He closed his eyes and pressed his head against the cool steel plating of his cage. Despite himself, he felt himself getting tired. His eyes heavy and breathing evenly, he hoped that when he woke up that he would be back in his basement bedroom. 

…

Zenith found a spot in the front row of chairs, giving him an excellent view of the stage. His guard dog sat in the seat next to him, though he figured Hudson wouldn’t be paying attention to the show. Zenith didn’t really care if he did. He eyed the stage, watching as workers of the event raced back and forth to get last minute preparations in place. Shortly after, a finely dressed man came on stage. The man picked up a microphone and began speaking to his audience. 

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen to our monthly creature auction. We have over 30 creatures to display and auction off today, so be ready to bid. After all creatures have been displayed, speak to one of the staff and they will help sort out transactions. If any assistance is needed to transport your new pets, please speak to a courier outside. We will begin the show shortly.”

There was a small round of applause as the man left the stage. Zenith had already scouted out the creatures he wanted, most of them being breeds he had already worked with. A few of his clients were already looking for more pets when his stock was low. As soon as he could get ownership of a few creatures, he was going to send them to all his available personal trainers. By the next auction, he should have all these ones sold and waiting to buy the next batch. 

Though there was one creature that would be displayed that he had an extra keen eye on. He had been observing Hudson’s behavior for the past few months, and deduced that he was experiencing loneliness. Zenith already had another pet for Hudson to mingle with, though Hudson wasn’t one to be very social with others. He had tried spending more time with Hudson beyond his working hours, but it made little to no difference. So he decided he was going to get Hudson a companion, one he could truly bond with. Zenith was already wanting a third pet anyways, so it was practically hitting two birds with one stone. 

Zenith had allowed Hudson to examine the creatures on sale at the market before the auction to get an idea of what he wanted. Thankfully, Hudson found something. A small creature, one that looked like a fox. Its blade making skills and fire wielding abilities were definitely something that intrigued the both of them. Zenith figured he would have to retrain the fox given the conditioning it must have gone through. He thought about retraining the fox with Hudson, it could bring them closer together. It was certainly an idea to think about. 

Zenith brought his attention back to the stage when two workers pulled a cage into view. The announcer from before took his place on the stage. He took hold of the corner of the cloth that covered the cage before swiftly pulling it off. Inside was a standard Tursian, most likely already trained as a guard dog. It was tied down in a stress position to best display it while keeping it still. Zenith vaguely remembered Hudson being displayed the same way when he had bought him. 

The auction passed by as fast as it could for any bored onlookers. After buying a few creatures, Zenith reserved his attention for keeping a look out for the fox. Otherwise, he was thinking of who to contact for its first medical checkup. Zenith always benchmarked where his pets' health was when he first got them, if only so he could get an idea of what he was working with. Finally, as if watching a prized possession being passed around, Zenith eyed the last cage to be rolled on stage. The announcer picked up his mic and began to speak to the audience.

“This is the last creature on display for tonight's auction, I repeat, last creature on display.”

The announcer then quickly pulled off the cloth, revealing the little fox inside. It was on its knees with a collar tightly wrapped around its throat, a chain attached to it, tying it to the floor of the cage. Its hands were cuffed to its ankles, keeping the fox in place. Its tail was tucked underneath it, keeping it close to its body like its ears flat against its head. Zenith watched as its chest heaved with fear, barely able to voice a whimper with the muzzle clamped around its jaw. 

After a couple minutes of letting the audience observe what it was buying, the bidding began. Zenith quickly jumped in, not wanting anyone else to get a lead on him. Little by little he bought out his competitors, until no one else dared name a price higher than his. The auctioneer called it at forty-two thousand, naming Zenith the buyer. He grinned with glee, a rare sight to most.

The workers of the event cleared the stage and Zenith stood to leave. Hudson followed him as he made his way to a nearby staff member. They scanned his buyer’s ID and brought him to the back to let him have a closer look at what he bought. One by one, he was brought to each of their cages. He would sign all the necessary paperwork, write a check, then tell a moving staff where his trucks would be parked. When they reached the cage the fox was in, the staff member handed him a booklet. 

“What is this?” He asked. 

“It’s an infographic of this particular species. It is not one we commonly auction off, so health, safety, and training guidelines are different then what you might be used to,” the staff member informed. 

Zenith briefly flipped through the booklet. “A lynx?” he asked aloud, reading the title of the booklet. 

“Yes sir. They’re from the saturnine desert. They seem to act similar to foxes, if that gives you an idea of what to expect.” Zenith chuckled to himself at the thought that he wasn’t that far off for assuming the lynx was a fox. 

Zenith held out his hand for the clipboard to sign the paperwork needed. The staff member handed it over and he signed the pages quickly. He quickly wrote out a check for forty-two thousand dollars and handed both over to the staff member. 

“Would you like it to be placed with your other purchases?” The staff member asked, taking the items from Zenith. 

“Actually I have a kennel in my carriage I would like it placed in. Easier for transporting into the house,” Zenith mused. 

“Of course,” the staff member mimicked Zenith's tone. “Would sedating the creature be of help to you?” 

“What kinds of sedatives do you have?” 

“We have a wide range, from muscle relaxers to serums that’ll keep your pet out for days.” Zenith imagined he could hear the fox whimpering. 

“I think something that’ll keep it out till tomorrow morning will do.”

“Of course. We’ll have a courier bring your pet to your carriage, and a technician will meet you out there to administer the sedative. Sounds good?”

Zenith nodded and the staff member snapped at a courier nearby to get their attention. The courier came near and listened to the instructions the staff member gave them. They then followed Zenith out to his carriage, bringing the lynx with them. The technician met them there as the courier was unlatching the top off of the cage. The lynx struggled away from the technician as much as it could in the chains. In the end it was futile, as the technician stuck them in the neck with a needle. 

The technician capped the used needle and gave the lynx a small pet. “See? Wasn’t so bad,” they chirped. “Now you’ll get to sleep easy on your ride home.” The technician turned to Zenith, speaking to him in a normal voice. “Have a good evening sir, safe travels.” 

The technician left, and the courier followed shortly after once they had unchained the lynx. The lynx shrank into the corners of the cage, trying to fight against the sedatives. Zenith knelt down by the cage and offered his hand for it to sniff. The lynx tried to focus its eyes on him, daring not to move closer. Zenith gently pet the spot behind its ears, gently guiding the lynx to close its eyes. Once he was sure that the lynx was under, Zenith stood up and bent over the cage to pick it up. He noticed there was a blanket scrunched up underneath it, something hidden from his earlier view. He picked both of them up, realizing how disgusting the blanket was. He put it on his to-do list to wash it. 

Zenith waited patiently as Hudson opened the door of the carriage. He balanced the lynx carefully in his arms as he climbed up the steps, Hudson following in after him. They sat down on opposite sides, with Hudson sitting next to a kennel that Zenith had brought. He had intended to put whatever his new found pet was in it, but while cradling the lynx close, Zenith almost couldn’t bear letting it go. Then he heard his phone ring. Zenith grumbled and despite him trying to shift the lynx over, he couldn’t hold it and its blanket while trying to manage a phone call.

“Could you hold it for me?” Zenith asked Hudson, offering the lynx to him. Hudson quietly took it into his arms, wrapping the blanket around the lynx and holding it close. Zenith pulled out his annoying phone and answered the call.

As the other person talked, he looked outside the window and watched as the world passed by. In the corner of his eye, he watched as Hudson looked at the lynx with a new found sense of love. It was a look Zenith had never seen on him, and one that looked quite well on his dog. Zenith smiled to himself as he turned to look back at the window, glad of his brilliant idea to get a third pet. 

Thank you!!

(lmk if you want to be added to the tag-list)

[3-2-whump]

Falling Like Snow

<prev next>

The penultimate chapter, can you believe it? Break out the tissues for this one, folks.

Thanks again @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz, you two are the best!

Obligatory Author's Note: This is it, folks, the end of Tom's story. Sorry to those who wished for a miracle, and congratulations to those of you rooting for his demise. You know exactly what to do if you desire a different ending. Fanfiction, canon divergence -the world is your oyster, so just go for it! I encourage it, if anything! Just, you know, tag me or let me know in some way. But anyway, here we go

TW/CW: major character death, blood, gore (?) (tagging it just to cover my bases), aftermath of torture, cigarette whump (brief), emotional angst, slave whump, noncon nudity (in the first half), Stockholm Syndrome (maybe?) (like the beginnings of it), but more so, emotional angst. So much angst. Please let me know if I missed anything though! Enjoy

From: Master Forgot about a meeting I have tonight. Be home late. Wait for me.

Khaled noted the time the message was sent, and compared it to how late at night/early in the morning it now was. He wondered if his master was out drinking, or whoring, or whatever it was he got up to when he’d stay out late on short notice. Not like it was his business anyway.

Khaled yawned, shaking out the numbness in his legs from his kneeling position next to the couch. He put away the plate of food on the table that had long gone cold by now. His own stomach gurgled with the need to eat something, but he dared not touch any of the food he carefully stowed away.

With the leftovers sorted out, there was nothing to do but put the dishes in the dishwasher and start the cycle. The kitchen, as well as the rest of the apartment, was spotless, since now he had nothing else to do but keep it clean. Khaled returned to his place on the bare living room floor, grabbing a blanket off the couch as an afterthought as he wrapped it around his nude frame. He was forbidden from wearing any clothes now, as the man who owned him was just a little too eager to see his ‘beautiful body,’ as he called it, and did not want anything obstructing its form. He’d watched in abject horror as all but a few changes of clothes were burned before his eyes and the rest had been locked in a safe. It had been a cold February ever since.

“I like you more like this,” his master had told him. “You’re far more cuddly like this, love, far more tactile.”

That’s another thing; Master was saying the word ‘love’ a lot more, averaging at least one “I love you Khaled” per day for the past two weeks. More than a little overwhelming, the frequency at which he’d expressed his affections seemed just this side of insincere. The three little words Khaled had craved for so many years now sounded so flat and fake, given everything else that had happened to him. How could anyone who isolates a man from his friends, from his job, from the world itself claim to love him? How was any of what he went through love?

What was more unbearable was when he was expected to say it back.

And he would say it back, a strained ‘I love you too’ that grated against his throat like swallowing broken glass. Yet, with a defeated resignation, Khaled realized it had gotten much easier to say, with enough repetition. If he said ‘I love you too, Master’ enough times, he may actually begin to believe it. It was only a matter of time until he would say it and mean it, if his enforced isolation continued much longer. Thomas Costa and Luca Bianchi were the only other human beings he had seen for two weeks now; he had no idea how he was strong enough to deal with this for more than a year when he was a child!

He positioned himself on his side, his sore back facing the door and his head facing the wide windows of the living room overlooking the city skyline. Outside it began to snow. The white, fluffy flakes were a vision of beauty flying against the heavy gray sky. Khaled’s eyelids drooped as he watched the snow fall in the greyish-white winter night. It was cold, yes, but beautiful, like him, he guessed.  His last conscious thoughts were wondering when his master would come home to him. Regardless of whether he loved him back or not, he was cold, so cold without him.

-

It was cold, so cold, on the dirty concrete floor. Not even the blood pouring out of his lacerated wounds could keep him warm anymore. Above him, Julio circled him like a vulture, taking a long drag of his cigarette before throwing it lit-end first at Thomas’ face. The beaten man was too far gone to even flinch.

Damn, is this how Khaled felt when I cut him? he deliriously wondered. With all that Julio and the Juicio Divino boys had done to him, he doubted he’d ever get the chance to ask.

Khaled. There are so many things Thomas now wished he did differently. He should’ve been kinder, more patient, should’ve protected him from the world, from his men -even from himself. Especially from himself.

“Khaled…” he moaned.

A blood-speckled Nike connected painfully with his side. “You dare call out to him, even now?!” Julio growled icily. He kicked Thomas again.

“Julio, just kill him already, for fuck’s sakes,” a voice shouted from the corner of the warehouse. The traitor –Nico- stood off to the side, icing his bashed-in face with some snow wrapped in shirt fabric. “You’re worse than a cat that plays with the mouse it caught!” he admonished. As furious and confused and disappointed as Thomas was about the Clemenza boy betraying him like this, the primal animal part of him was grateful that he was asking for mercy on his behalf.

Although he could no longer raise his head to see past Julio’s ankles, Thomas could feel the assassin roll his eyes above him as he cursed in Spanish. The next thing he knew, Julio was crouching down to his level. He tried to mentally prepare for whatever would happen next.

Julio sunk his fingers into his short, blood-soaked hair, wrenching his head back as he held up a now-very-familiar knife to Thomas’ throat. “Any last words, puto?”

So many last words.

So many things to apologize for.

So many words left unsaid. Not just to Khaled, but to Callahan, to Trémeaux, to Robinson, Kreuger, Martinez, Kościelsky, and of course to Tony. Young Tony, dear Tony, high as fuck at a church wedding Tony. His pain in the ass little brother and his only constant in his childhood, who never lived to see twenty-two years old.

Khaled and Tony were a lot alike in some ways. Smarter than they thought they were, yet looked up to him for no explicable reason. It was a shame Thomas never consciously noticed that similarity until now.

All this time, Thomas thought he bought Khaled as a form of penitence, to make up for killing that boy who was suspected of killing his brother. And while, yes, that was partially why he bought him, maybe he also bought Khaled as a way resurrect his brother. It had been so long since he’d seen warm brown eyes look up at him, he didn’t even know he missed it until he saw Khaled’s eyes that day.

“Forgive me…” he rasped.

Maybe it was the blood loss, maybe it was the certainty that this was the end, making him see things, but for a second, Thomas saw a crack in that frosty glare Julio bore down onto him. For a brief second, a painful mix of shock, anger, sadness, and even sympathy flashed within Julio’s golden eyes, before the glacial cold vengeance covered them in its frosty glare once again.

“See you in hell,” Julio murmured.

A sharp pain sliced its way into his jugular and down. (Who the hell slices down?!) As the pain dulled and his vision started to go, Thomas’ ebbing consciousness latched onto a memory, one of the fondest memories he had of Khaled.

He’d had an intense nightmare within the first month of buying his new slave, and instead of deriding him or prying for more details than he was owed, the boy had heated him a cup of milk, rubbed his back, and stayed up with him until he was ready to go to sleep again, just like how he and Tony used to comfort each other after a nightmare. As the last threads of his vision faded and the boss’ surroundings sunk into darkness, he swore he could still hear younger Khaled’s words that night, murmured shyly as he still had his accent.

“Sleep well, Master.”

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire

[directorlyric]

”Believe me when I say, the Doctor is very happy to see you.”

[wayne-al-ghul]

To the person who made the poor decision to attempt to mug me in Bristol. I have your purse. It is slightly bloody. If you wish to collect it return to the scene of the crime.

[cherry-blossom-qf]

Taking the phrase "eat your heart out" to a new level ❤️🩸

Yes, this is how he expands his lifespan. He became a creature that eats people's hearts and other body parts to add years to his life (hence why he looks like a zombie). Not the best solution to the shortened lifespan that was given to him at birth, but it works!

But it's not enough for him. It'll never be enough. Because no matter how many people he eats, no matter how years gets added to his lifespan, the clock will always tick. He's just resting the timer.

He needs something more permanent. Hence why he's still researching. To find that permanent solution, for everyone.

AU INFO HERE

[lesterlatte]

Let me kiss you in the rain (Hensper)

AO3 link / CW: mild injury and brief mention of blood

It was 3am while Captain Man and Kid Danger were out fighting a criminal on the streets of Swellview. Rain was pouring down, striking against the two heroes as they attempted to back the criminal into a corner. What had started out as a petty theft had now turned into a fully fledged battle, the skills of the criminal having taken the duo by surprise.

By the end of the fight they had to take a moment to recollect themselves, Captain Man being out of breath from the unexpected intensity and Kid Danger analysing the injuries he had sustained. While Ray had trained him exceptionally well to handle a fight he was still just a kid and therefore his safety wasn't always completely guaranteed, regardless of his hypermotility. This criminal had managed to get some solid hits in, the most noticeable being the bruise forming on his cheek and the blood trickling from his nose. 

“You doing okay kid?” Ray asked, looking over to Henry, who was slouching against a wall. “Yeah, I just need a moment. He really caught us off guard” Henry winced as he gently touched his nose, blood appearing on his glove and being washed away by the rain almost immediately.

“Tell me about it, that man could pack a punch” Ray placed his hands on his hips and looked over to where the criminal was being taken to jail by the cops. 

“Are you sure you don't need any help? Looks like he got you pretty good” Ray’s eyebrows furrowed, paying attention to Henry’s visible injuries. Henry pushed himself off the wall and moved over to Ray. Henry shrugged. “I’m sure. It's nothing a couple painkillers and ice packs won’t fix.”

“If you’re sure. Make sure to wrap up warm tonight, don’t want you catching a cold and having to miss work” Henry gave a light laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it, anyways I've got to head off home. See you tomorrow?” Henry started walking off, tuning his head back over his shoulder to look at Ray.

“Bright and early, Kid” Ray gave a small wave before heading off towards the Man Cave.

Henry moved into an alley to detransform, making sure no one was following him. Luckily flights in the middle of the night didn’t tend to garner public interest outside of the occasional civilian poking their heads out the door or watching from their windows. After cautiously exiting the alley Henry started his walk home. As he began walking his other injuries started to become more apparent, the adrenaline from the fight starting to wear off. He found himself having to limp slightly as he moved, due to what he assumed was most likely a twisted ankle. Dodging attacks isn't as easy as you’d think, especially in the rain.

As he approached the road he lived on he spotted another figure waiting by his porch. Squinting his eyes he managed to make the figure out to be Jasper. Confused, Henry walked up to his drive as Jasper rushed towards him, not caring about the rain that was drenching him.

“Hen are you okay? I saw the fight online and got worried” Jasper had an air of concern that was immediately apparent to Henry. Not wanting to worry his friend he waved his hand up “ I’m fine Jasp don't worry. Just a couple bruises that I’m sure will fade quickly.” This only made Jasper more concerned as he gently reached his hand up to Henry’s face, cupping his cheek and touching under his nose with his thumb. Henry winced as Jasper’s thumb touched his nose. Jasper's eyes glossed with concern as he pulled his thumb away.

“This,” Jasper held up his thumb, which was covered in blood, “isn't fine Henry and you know it.” Henry shrunk back slightly with guilt. He knew his job made his best friend concerned, especially with him not being indestructible like Ray. He always tried to make sure Jasper didn’t have to worry about his safety but he was always quick to notice when Henry was trying to hide injuries.

“It’s just a little bit of blood, it will dry up quickly I’m sure” Henry replied, pushing his hair out of his face, rain pushing his quiff into his eyes. 

“Just a bit of blood? Henry I saw the way you winced it's not just a bit of blood. And don't think I missed the way you were limping down the block. You need to stop hiding how you’re feeling from me Hen” Jasper said, tears welling up in his eyes, visible despite the rain drenching them.

“I don’t want to worry you Jasp, I always end up being okay and I'm sure this time will be no different” Henry replied, trying to sound confident in an attempt to calm his friend down.

“Well what if you aren't Henry! What if you get hurt and that's it. No more Kid Danger, no more Henry Hart!” Jasper almost screamed, not caring who heard them. “You aren’t invincible so stop acting like it!” Jasper was sobbing at this point, the dam of emotions having burst with Henry's repeated denial. 

“I have a job to do Jasper! I swore an oath to help Captain Man defend this city and if I get hurt in the process so be it! I can’t hide away during a fight because I may get injured!” Henry’s volume was now matching Jaspers, tears appearing in his own eyes.

“I don't want to lose you!” Jasper screamed, tears cascading down his cheeks, eyes filled with anger but more prominently, worry. Jasper took a deep breath and looked up at Henry.

“I love you Henry. You mean the absolute world to me and if I don’t want to live in a future without you by my side.” Tears were still falling from Jasper's eyes, the anger having dissipated, being replaced by a look of undeniable love.

Henry stopped and stared at Jasper, shock making itself present on his face as he processed what his best friend just admitted. Jasper… loved him? He knew the two of them were close, they were best friends, but never had Jasper said anything about love. He took a moment to think about his own feelings. He thought back to all the times he and Jasper had hung out as his stomach filled with butterflies. Henry had never noticed this feeling before, not being something he had ever thought about. Now that he was paying attention to it, his own feelings became a lot more clear.

Without warning Henry jumped forward and captured Jasper's lips with his own. This took Jasper by surprise but he quickly melted into the kiss. The two boys pulled each other closer, embracing in a tight hug as the kiss continued. It felt as if the world had stopped around them. Nothing else mattered at that moment. It was as if they had placed the final piece in a puzzle they didn’t know they were building. The kiss continued until Henry slowly pulled back, making eye contact with Jasper.

“You mean the absolute world to me Jasper, I’m so sorry I've caused you to worry so much, I guess I don’t think about my own safety in the heat of the moment.” Henry rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Oh I can tell Hen. Even if you did I would still be worrying about you” Jasper smiled at Henry, who was quick to reciprocate. They took a moment to just stare at each other, not wanting the moment to end, until thunder could be heard in the distance. This caused both boys to jump back into reality.

“We should probably head inside, I am absolutely soaked” Henry said, gesturing at himself. Jasper laughed and agreed as Henry grabbed his hand and directed them both to the back of the house so they could climb through Henry's window. It was a fair struggle on Henry’s part due to his ankle but Jasper was there to lend a helping hand, assisting the boy in climbing up the branches to the second floor of the Hart House. Jasper followed shortly after and closed the window behind him.

Henry dramatically fell onto his bed with a sigh, letting himself melt into the bedding despite still being soaking wet.

“We should probably dry off and check those injuries of yours.” Jasper said looking pointedly at Henry who was close to falling asleep.

“But I'm tired, Jasp, can’t it wait till tomorrow? Just come lay down with me” Henry whined, reaching his hand out to Japer who was standing to the side of the bed, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not risking anything Hen so stop being a baby and let me have a look” Henry sighed and slowly sat up on the bed.

Jasper checked him over and made sure none of the injuries were serious before grabbing them both towels and spare clothes. Even though they were at Henry's, Jasper already had a drawer of clothes there. He spent the night often enough that it just made sense for him to leave some clothes at Henry’s for when they wanted to do an impromptu sleepover. Once the two were dry and changed they went to lie down on Henry’s bed, Henry pulling Jasper into a hug.

“I love you Jasp” Henry leant his head on Jasper's shoulder and closed his eyes. Jasper smiled and pulled him in closer.

“I love you too Hen”

[rose-riot-johnson]

So Rose! As per usual I'm gonna request Hitoshi.

But I want to hear about a freshly turned vampire Hitoshi having hidden his turning into a being of the darkness. Then finds himself nearly fainting and due to lack of blood. They figure out and offer themselves to him as his source of feeding. So he vows to stay loyal and only feed on them (as they're established partners already) :)

Hi @hitoshisbf 😃This request of yours definitely sounds fun to write about😁👍Also this is my first time I recall writing any character, as a vampire, so I will see what I can do with writing this requested Hitoshi Shinsou fanfic🧛😃👍And as usual (if not always) pertaining the fanfics you requested I will be writing the reader as they/them reader😁👍

*This fanfic contains 1 or more long paragraphs😅

💜🧛(Adult) Shinsou The Newly Vampire🧛💜 (Hitoshi Shinsou x They/Them reader)

Genres: Mild Angst (Warning⚠️: Blood and Mentions Of Blood)

Your pro hero boyfriend, Hitoshi Shinsou, used to fight crime especially during the day, however after he came home from defeating a villain, things have changed. While it's good he has been sleeping better than usual, however he's been trying sleep in complete darkness during the day, then he has been fighting crime during nighttime. It's mainly fire and sunlight that he doesn't want around him for some reason. You just knew he was hiding something (if not multiple things) from you.

Then one night you gave noticed Hitoshi Shinsou has been nearly fainting, and when you got up close to his face you noticed fangs, as you asked him, "Are you a vampire? If yes, then why didn't you tell me?", as you had your suspicions about Shinsou becoming a freshly turned vampire, being the reason why he has become unlike his usual self. Shinsou then answered, "Yes, I'm a vampire now, (They/Them Reader Name)... You must understand... It has only been recent that this happened... I was fighting a vampire villain and he must have bitten me before I defeated him... After I defeated him, that's when sunlight has been bothering me... The reason why I haven't told you is, because I don't know if you would see me as nothing more than a monster and treat me differently... I'm afraid you wouldn't have love me anymore, if you were to find out I became a vampire, no matter the reason...".

While you weren't shocked about him being a vampire, you were really shocked about his reason why he kept the fact he became a new vampire, as long as he did. You then replied, "So this is why you kept this from me, Shinsou... I wish you would have told me! I don't care, if you're a human or a vampire... I would have still love you the same! If you would have told me sooner, you wouldn't have been nearly fainting like this! Here... Take my blood... You're lacking blood, which is why you're fainting! I gave read plenty of books especially manga and comic books about why newly vampires faint and that they need blood to survive... It's essential that you take some of my blood, atleast once in a while, for you to stay alive, Hitoshi!". Shinsou had to think about this for a minute before replying back, "If it's the only way to stay alive, fine then... However my vow to is that I will stay loyal to you and I will only feed off you... I refuse to feed off anyone else... Only you, (They/Them Reader Name)...".

You understood what he meant and agreed on his vow, as you then have him bite you, inorder for him to be able to feed off you. After the moment of his first time feeding off you, not only he feels like he's no longer fainting, he also decided he's going to take care of you, since you did willingly decide to be his source of feeding. Eversince then, the both of you have been taking care of eachother and never looking back.

🧛💜The🩸End💜🧛

Okay my Tumblr Peeps I hope you enjoyed the first fanfic I involved any character being a vampire, even if it's a freshly turned vampire🧛😁👍As for you Aevyn I hope I did well with writing this Vampire Shinsou fanfic😃👍As for genres I think mild angst is all of could think of using as genres considering How I have written the fanfic and stuff that is requested with the fanfic😅🧛😃👍

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2024 - Day 25

Surgery | Stitches | Being Monitored | “It’s for your own good”

Contains: generic whumpee and caretaker, needle mentions, mild blood, surgery aftermath, nonconsensual drugging, bedside vigil

Whumpee woke slowly to the sound of rhythmic beeping. It took a moment for them to pry their eyes open, and another to orient themself with where they were. Turning their head, they found Caretaker slumped in a chair next to the bed, dozing with their mouth hanging open.

The pain wasn’t as bad as they thought it might be. Probably had something to do with the IV drip attached to their arm. Pain or no pain, though, they couldn’t keep lying there. This fight wasn’t finished. Just because they got injured didn’t mean that they could stop, there was far too much to do that was way more important than their health. 

Trying to stay as quiet as possible, they pushed themself up off the pillows and swung their legs over the side of the bed. The injury on their stomach felt tight and strange, but not really painful. Caretaker’s head moved slightly, and they froze, but they remained asleep. 

The problem was that they were going to have to disconnect themself from the monitors, and they didn’t know what would happen then. There was no other choice, though. They carefully pulled off the wire, and the room filled with a deafening, high-pitched shriek, sending Whumpee scrambling for the machine. 

A hand gripped their arm, pulling them back onto the bed. “Whumpee! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Sorry!” They winced in apology as they sat back down. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Caretaker leaned over to push a button on the monitor and silence it before turning a glare back on Whumpee. “Why are you up? Have you lost your mind? You just had surgery, Whumpee, you’re going to tear out your stitches and start bleeding again!”

“I’ll be careful!” Whumpee protested. 

“No, you’ll lie back down and stay there until the doctor says you can move.”

They scowled. “I can’t just lie in bed while everyone else is still out there risking their lives. I have to help.”

“You already risked your life, and almost lost it, remember? You’ll be of no help if you collapse or bleed to death. You have to heal first.”

Whumpee shook their head. “There’s no time for that.” 

They stood again, but Caretaker did, too, grabbing them by the shoulders to stop them. “Whumpee, please. Don’t fight me on this.”

Raising their arms, Whumpee attempted to push them away. “Let me go! I need to help!” They could feel the surgery site pulling, but paid it no attention. 

Unfortunately, they were still weak from blood loss and sedatives. It took Caretaker very little effort to push them back down onto the bed, only letting go briefly to punch a button before pinning them down again. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’re giving me no choice.”

“Let me go, Caretaker!” They were so busy fighting to get up that they barely noticed someone rushing into the room. It definitely caught their attention, though, when the nurse picked up a syringe and held it to their IV port. 

Somehow they had a feeling they knew what was in that syringe. “No…no no, don’t!”

“I’m sorry, Whumpee,” Caretaker sighed. “It’s for your own good.”

Seconds after the drug was dispensed, Whumpee’s eyelids began to grow heavy. “Please,” they whispered, the fight leaving their body. “I need…I need to…” 

They were asleep before they could finish the sentence.

[desultory-novice]

I found out that if you layer the True Arena Mix (Phase 2) of OVERLORD on top of itself, you get this sort of tinny Magolor voice.

Perhaps you could use this info for Mechalor?

Ooh, neat! I ought to try that! And I suppose I could use...

...Wait....

In the True Arena Mix...

...Magolor is crying for help....

...

You all do remember how Mechalor was born right?

...

I DID say that Mechalor loves to shock people by casually info dumping his gory death and rebirth in TMI levels of detail but it seems even he has a soft spot for Kirby...?

That or he doesn't want to be caught in a moment of weakness...

(And yes, he did insist everyone start calling him "Mechalor." He'll viciously tease anyone who doesn't! Marx is still his friend :cough: and more :cough: in this universe and calls him "Magolor" anyway. He's the only person Mechalor begrudgingly allows this from.)

[bxtchboy2000]

Last Wish of a Dying Demigod

Their fight had raged on, flurries of flame and blade passed back and forth. The tarnished had watched in abject horror as Messmer pulled the scarseal out of his eye socket, crushing it and releasing the abyssal serpent that lurked within him. They had watched as he asked his mother for forgiveness and a part of them nearly felt sympathy, but they had little time to dwell on it before the serpent itself was coming for them. 

Messmer was quick, but the tarnished was quicker. With one final blow to his head, they watched his lengthy form crumple at their feet as he cried out, “Mother.. Marika.. A curse upon thee..!”

Standing over him with their blade still held tightly at their side, they watched him silently, waiting for the body of the demigod to disperse into the air as nothing more than dust. 

But it didn’t. His spear fell from his hand, the snakes rooted in his chest moving in a futile frenzy as if they might find a way to bring him back from the edge. He turned his head from where he lay beneath the tarnished, looking vaguely up in their direction, his voice pained and shaking, “Tarnished… mongrel tarnished…” 

They didn’t respond, their eyes remained focused on his face; the grotesque injury from ripping the scarseal out, the blood seeping from the final blow they dealt to his head. It was a curious sight, a demigod dying at their feet. 

“Tarnished,” he repeated, his large hand reaching blindly for them, “Please… do not leave.”

An odd request, surely. They considered him, the pathetic way in which he regarded them, and the thought of ending his misery then and there crossed their mind. Yet something about him, about how harmless and broken he was, bid them to kneel beside him instead.

They were quiet, studying him for a long moment before finally speaking, “What wouldst thou ask of me, Impaler?”

“T’is.. rotten, to die alone.”

The tarnished shifted uncomfortably. For everything they knew of Messmer and the things he had done, they could not help but feel that same twinge of sympathy rising in their chest. The despondent plea was so ill-fitting for a monster such as he, yet it made him seem so human.

“Thou wouldst prefer to die next to the one that has killed thee?”

He managed a mirthless, hollow laugh that seemed to cause him pain as he grimaced, “I have naught else, dearest Tarnished. My family, my mother, have long since forsaken me. I had hoped… my mother…” His voice trailed off as he found himself incapable of finishing the thought. 

“Thou hoped to see thy mother again,” they muttered, finishing the thought for him. The tarnished did not know why they found themselves entrenched in such guilt, such sympathy for such a terrible demigod, but they did. They reached their hand out, slipping it under his head, careful to avoid the wound they had given him mere minutes before. Their action prompted his serpent companions to dart feverishly around their face and their hand, though it seemed the serpents were acutely aware that the tarnished did not intend to bring further harm upon their master. 

Messmer’s body tensed at the sensation of their hand beneath his head, but he made no complaints.

“Yes… but thou needest not pity me, tarnished.”

“There is little less pitiable than a child abandoned.”

Messmer’s face twisted briefly, his expression lost somewhere between disdain and a deep sorrow. The tarnished saw the passing expression, “My apologies, I did not mean–”

“Nay, thou’rt not wrong,” his trembling hand found its way to their arm, grasping it as if in a desperate plea for some final closeness to something, someone, anyone, “I only regret that I have failed her, that I have failed my goal, that I shall die as the monster she sealed away.”

“But thou served her cause for so long. Surely she would not decry thee for thy final attempt at survival, at upholding her will,” they replied, their other hand carefully brushing the stray red hairs from his face. Their movements were delicate as they found themselves desperate to offer him tenderness in death, for they were quite certain he had seen little of it in life.

“Thou’rt far too generous, tarnished.”

“I speak what is true.”

“My mother… forsook me. And yet…”

Silence filled the air, Messmer seemingly lost in his thoughts. His grip remained tight on their arm, but they did not mind. They looked at his marred face, now that they had brushed the stray hairs away, they could see all of it. Part of them was almost glad they could not look into his eyes because they knew the sadness they would find in them would all but shatter them. 

They placed their hand on his cheek which made him flinch, but he seemed to settle quickly. They could feel his grip on their arm weakening.

“Messmer,” they whispered, not entirely certain he would respond.

Almost a minute passed before he did, his voice nearly inaudible, “Dost… dost thou truly think my mother would be pleased?”

“Yes.”

“Even… in my failure?” He was struggling to speak now. His grip on their arm failed, his hand falling hard to the cold stone of the floor. He was fading quickly.

“Even in thy failure,” they responded softly. They manoeuvred his head into their lap, bringing their now freed hand to his that lay on the floor.

He was quiet once more.

They could see his breathing slowing, the serpents were barely moving.

They tightened their grip on his hand as they spoke, “I believe it is time, my dear.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Already?”

“Already.”

“I… I am afraid. I do not think I can… I do not want…” his voice trailed off. 

“Thou can, thou must.”

“Art thou… certain?”

“Yes, Messmer.”

He took one last, staggered breath, “I… thank thee… tarnished.”

The tension in his hand disappeared as it fell limp in theirs.

The room was silent now. His serpents were as still as he was as the tarnished watched his body dissipate into nothingness, their fingers still curled around a hand that was no longer there. 

Link to work on AO3 <3

[nineinchclawz]

I keep meaning to ask and I keep forgetting. What are the round marks on Speedwagon’s body (on his arms, legs, and torso)? Burn scars? Bullets? I’m curious.

----

They're bullet scars!

CW// gun violence, irl scars, images may be too graphic for some folks

Here's what healed bullet wounds look like! They have a star-burst shape and sometimes leave behind a depression in the skin ⬇️

[thesilliestcryptid]

i almost never post traditional art on here, but i was proud of this painting so tumblr gets it too

[silverskye13]

sorry, i gave you the anemia leechstyle /joke

in all seriousness good luck getting more iron in you, anemia is an irritating little bitch o7

-leechwife

Leechwife please, my blood, I need that!

And thank you. I have a couple friends who deal with anemia, so I am currently asking for their advice on iron intake, besides, yanno, just going out and buying supplements.

Hopefully soon my blood will be back to doing its job more efficiently.

[neonpaperlanterns]

Promises never made

[A/n: I hurt my own feelings writing this. But I'm having fun though]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the brief precious seconds before the slim needle pointed claws of his savior pierced through his flesh, before his blood would splatter warm and wet against already stained concrete, Catnap wondered.

He wondered, ‘What if it didn't?’

In his final moments the traitor pondered with his life flashing before his eyes ‘What if I didn't die here?’

‘What if I lived?’

‘What if… What if I found a new savior?’

Catnap was ready to accept his fate. If this is what the Prototype, his God willed then he was helpless but to obey. With open arms he waited, breath stilling in his chest as the soft orange glow haloed around that beckoning hand.

This was right.

This was what was meant to happen.

He had failed and this was his only way to atone.

Yet as he readied himself to accept what must be done a single insignificant rock flew through the air. It felt as if time had slowed. He watched in a daze as the stone made contact with The Prototype. Their hand recoiled, fingers turned to talons as an enraged gurgling cry echoed from above.

Catnap did not know what to do. He did not understand what had just happened. How it could happen.

But as he faltered, unsure, someone else took action.

You, the heretic.

You grabbed him, your grip insistent. Pulling at him as vitriol spills from your cracked lips.

“No!” You shout.

“I won't let you have another one!” You scream.

“He doesn't deserve this!” You defend.

Catnap does not understand and in his stupor he does not resist. It is clumsy and you keep turning back to spew more vile words in the direction of the one he thinks of as God.

You, Poppy’s angel.

With every utterance of disdain there is a whisper of comfort.

“I won't let you die.” You say.

“You’re going to be okay.” You assure

“I won't lose another one.” You pause.

“I won't lose you.” You promise.

You, his angel.

The one who pulled him from death. From a fate he thought he had to accept. The one who said he did not deserve to die, that promised you wouldn't lose him. Catnap follows you.

Everything is different.

He does not understand.

But you promised and right now he makes a promise too.

He won't lose you.

He won't die.

You watch in silent horror as Catnap is lifted into the air. His blood drips down his suspended corpse, its color so vibrant as it mingles with old stains.

A pit opens in your stomach as he finally disappears.

Another one down.