#my face is so burned it could be used as a flashlight to light the darkest of caves

[josecariohca]

.

[joelmillerisapunk]

Dirty Daddy

Dbf/daddy!Joel x f!reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 2,489

Summary: Congratulations, you've just earned yourself a daddy, albeit not for being a good girl.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, light consensual choking, light slapping, oral receiving m!&f!, fingering, implied age gap, mentions of the names 'slut, brat, babygirl, sweetheart, good girl, and daddy', Joel's all greasy and sweaty.

Notes: it was this picture that inspired this along with part of a request I received that I'm writing a different daddy!fic for. Tysm @saradika-graphics for the divider

Joel groans as he tightens a bolt on his truck, sweat drips down his forehead and mixes with the dirt and grease that cover his face and hands. He's been working on this truck for hours, ever since it broke down on him during a job, his last job of the day. He could be home relaxing. Instead, he's here. Luckily for him, his buddy, your dad offered him the use of his garage to work on it, and Joel gladly accepted. It wasn't often that he got the chance to work on his baby, and he wasn't going to let a little thing like a broken engine get in his way.

But as he stands up and stretches his aching back, he can't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. It isn't just the truck that’s been giving him trouble - it’s you, who's been teasing him mercilessly since he arrived. Wearing those skimpy clothes, that short fucking skirt, that leaves little to the imagination, bending over in front of him and "accidentally" brushing up against him as you walk by. Joel's been trying to ignore you, but it's getting harder and harder to do so.

As if on cue, you walk into the garage with a smirk on your face. "Hey Joel, need any help?" You ask, leaning over the open hood, letting your cleavage do most of the talking.

Joel grits his teeth as he looks up straight at your breasts and then quickly back down to the engine. "No, I got it.” he says as he looks up once more only to see you pouting, but Joel can see the spark in your eye. You're enjoying this, you fucking minx.

"Come on, Joel. I'm just trying to help." You reach up to adjust yourself on the hood of the truck, giving him a clearer view of your breasts that are now pretty much popping out of your top. You catch his gaze and smirk, knowing exactly what you're doing to him. You hop down and start touching his arm, “cmon, I can help, I'll hold the flashlight or something.”

Joel snaps, dropping the tool he's holding, and pushes you roughly against the nearest free wall. His grip is tight around your arms despite being all greased up from his truck. "I know what you're doin'," he growls, "And it ain't gonna work."

You can see the fire in his eyes, and you know you've pushed him too far. But instead of backing down, you challenge him. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Joel's eyes narrow, and you can see the tension building in his muscles. "I'm warnin’ you," he says, his voice gets deeper and quieter. "Stop, or you're gonna get a lot more than you bargained for."

"Is that a promise?" you ask.

Joel's eyes go dark, and he grabs your face roughly, his dirty fingers grasping into the hollows of your cheeks, pulling you close, leaving his musky, grimy scent on you. "You have no idea what you're gettin’ yourself into, do ya?” Joel's grip on your face tightens as he leans in closer, his breath hot on your face. "You think you're being clever, huh? Lemme tell ya something, sweetheart. You're playin with fire, and you're gonna get burned."

You can feel the heat radiating off of Joel's body, and you know he's serious. But instead of being afraid, you're turned on. You've never seen this side of Joel before, and you can't help but feel yourself getting wet.

Without warning, Joel grabs you by the waist and pins you harder against the wall as he grinds himself against you, his hardness pressing into your core. "This whatcha want babygirl?" His lips brush against your ear. "You've been teasin' me all day, I think it's my turn to have a little fun now."

You moan as Joel's hands roam over your body, roughly groping your breasts and ass, leaving dark stains across your clothes. You can feel his cock straining against his pants, and you can't wait to feel him inside of you.

"Please," you whimper, "I need it."

Joel smirks as he pulls away from you. "Beggin already?" He says, 'That ain’t like you."

He reaches down and unzips his pants, pulling out his long, hard cock and starts to stroke it. "On your knees," he commands.

You don't hesitate, sinking to your knees in front of him. You take his cock in your hand, stroking it gently as you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes. Joel's eyes darken as he grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head towards his cock. "Open wide, and don't fuckin’ bite."

You comply, opening your mouth wide as Joel slides his cock inside. You moan as you feel him hit the back of your throat, your tongue swirling around his shaft as you suck him off.

Joel groans as he fucks your mouth, his hips thrusting forward as he pounds into the very back of your throat. You can feel his cock swelling inside of you, every vein hitting your tongue.

"Such a good little slut, suckin my cock like a pro."

You moan around his cock, your pussy getting wetter with every thrust.

"M’gonna come baby, and you're gonna swallow every last drop."

You nod eagerly, your mouth still wrapped around his cock. Joel groans as he explodes inside of you, his hot seed filling your mouth as you swallow every last drop just like he said. He pulls out, his cock still hard as he looks down at you with a satisfied smirk. "Good girl, you earned that."

Joel takes a moment to catch his breath before he walks over and starts to clear off the workbench. He pushes aside tools and spare parts, making enough space for you. Once he's satisfied, he turns to you with a stern look in his eyes. "Get up here," he commands, patting the now-clear space on the workbench.

You don't hesitate, hopping up onto the bench and spreading your legs wide for him. Joel steps between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips as he pulls you closer to the edge. "You've been a brat all day, teasin' me and temptin me," his fingers dig into your skin.

Joel's gaze is intense as he looks at you. His eyes are filled with desire and a hint of something darker. He leans in closer, his breath is hot on your skin as he starts to kiss a trail down your body, his lips leave a burning sensation in their wake.

His hands roam over your body, roughly groping anything he can as he continues to kiss and nip at your skin. You can feel his facial hair scratching against your sensitive flesh, and it sends shivers down your spine.

When he reaches your thighs, Joel smirks and spreads your legs wider, exposing your wet and aching core to his gaze and no panties - you drive him crazy. "You've been teasin' me all day, s’only fair. I get to taste what I've been missin.” He looks up at you, his eyes filled with lust as he leans in closer, his breath hot on your pussy. Without warning, Joel starts to lick and suck at your clit, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves as he teases you. You moan loudly, your hips bucking up towards his mouth as you try to get closer to him.

Joel's fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place as his tongue delves deeper, exploring every inch of your pussy, sucking and licks at your wetness. Lapping it up like a thirsty dog. He continues to feast on your pussy, his tongue exploring every inch of your wetness as you moan and writhe beneath him. Just as you feel yourself getting close to the edge, Joel pulls away, leaving you wanting and needy.

"Uh-uh I ain't done with ya."

You whimper in frustration, and your hips buck up towards him as you try to get him to continue. But Joel is in control, and he's not going to let you come that easily. He stands up and looks down at you. You can see the hardness of his cock that's been tucked back into his jeans, and you know he's just as turned on as you are.

Joel reaches down and helps you off the workbench, his grip on you is firm as he leads you towards the door of the garage. "We're gonna finish this in your bedroom.”

Your body is still tingling with desire as you follow him out of the garage and towards your house.

As you reach the door of your house, Joel turns to you with a serious look in his eyes. "We gotta be quiet, go make sure the coast is clear.”

You quickly and quietly make your way through the house, checking each room to make sure no one is around. When you reach your father's office, you see that he's deeply engrossed in his work, completely unaware of what's happening just a few feet away.

You give Joel a quick nod, signaling that the coast is clear. Joel grabs your hand and leads you up the stairs to your bedroom, his grip firm, and reassuring. When you reach your bedroom, Joel pushes you inside and closes the door behind you, locking it to ensure that no one will interrupt you.

Joel looks around your bedroom, his eyes taking in the familiar surroundings. He turns to you, "Take off your clothes," he commands.

You hesitate for a moment, your hands hovering over your shirt. But the look in Joel's eyes tells you that he's not in the mood for games. As you slip out of your shirt, Joel's eyes rake over your body, taking in the lacy bra that barely covers your breasts.

"Keep goin,"

As you slip out of your jeans, Joel's eyes follow the movement, taking in the curve of your hips and the softness of your thighs.

"Take it all off baby," he commands.

You comply, slipping out of your bra and panties, leaving you completely naked in front of him.

Joel undresses himself, his movements quick and efficient. He pulls off his shirt, revealing the hard muscles of his chest and arms. His jeans follow, revealing the long and hard cock that's been tucked away, waiting so patiently for you.

You can't help but stare as Joel undresses, your eyes taking in the dirt and grease that cover his body. He's been working on his truck all day, and the evidence is clear on his skin.

"Like whatcha see, babygirl?"

You nod, unable to speak as you take in the sight of him. Joel steps closer to you, his hands reaching out to touch your body. His fingers leave dark stains across your skin, the evidence of his work still present.

He lays you down on the bed, and his body hovers over yours. His hands roam over your body. His touch is rough, but there's a tenderness to it that drives you crazy.

He leans down to kiss you, his lips rough against yours. His tongue delves into your mouth, exploring every inch as he tastes you. You can taste yourself on his lips, a reminder of what he's done to you.

Joel's hand moves between your legs, his fingers exploring your throbbing clit. He teases you, his fingers circling your clit but never quite touching it. You moan into his mouth, your hips bucking up towards his hand.

"Please, Joel," you beg, "I need to come."

But Joel is relentless, continuing to tease you just like you did to him, as he watches you squirm beneath him. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your orgasm building deep inside of you.

“Joel,” you whine, “don't be an asshole, let me come.”

Joel chuckles and gives you a light but sobering smack to the cheek. “You don't get to be a little brat and get your way - Beg for it.”

"Fuck you-," you whimper, your voice trembling with need. "Please daddy.”

Joel's eyes blaze as he hears you call him Daddy. He increases the pressure on your clit, his fingers moving faster and harder as he brings you closer to the edge again, he can feel it. "You like that, babygirl?" his breath is hot as he leans close to your ear. "You like it when Daddy teases you?”

“Mmm, yes daddy yes. Feels s-so good.”

Joel can't hold back any longer. He positions himself between your legs, his cock pressing against your wet and aching core. He looks down at you, his eyes filled with lust and something darker. He growls as he thrusts his hips forward, burying himself deep inside of you.

You moan loudly as you feel him fill you up, your pussy stretching to accommodate his ever growing, ever hardening size. Joel starts to move, his hips thrusting forward as he pounds into you. Each thrust is harder than the last, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

Joel's hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he fucks you. His fingers dig into your skin. You can feel his cock swelling inside of you, every vein hitting your sensitive flesh.

"You like it when Daddy fucks ya like the dirty little brat you are?"

You moan in response, your hips buck up to meet his thrusts. You can feel your orgasm building deep inside of you. “Want you to choke me daddy, please.”

Joel doesn't hesitate, he pulls out of you and flips you onto your stomach. He grabs your hair, pulling your head back as he wraps his other hand around your throat, cutting off your airway just enough to make you feel lightheaded.

You moan as you feel his cock press against your entrance once again. He thrusts forward, filling you up completely. He starts to fuck you hard and fast, his hips slapping against your ass as he pounds into you.

You can feel your orgasm building once again, your body tensing up as you get closer and closer to the edge. "Not yet, babygirl, fuck - wanna come with ya.” Joel increases his pace. His thrusts become erratic as he feels your pussy clenching around his cock, your orgasm just on the edge.

"Come for me, baby," Joel commands.

Your moans are muffled and strained as you feel yourself fall over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. You can feel your pussy clenching around Joel's cock, milking him for all he's worth.

Joel groans as he feels you come, his hips thrusting forward as he empties himself inside of you. He collapses beside you, his body spent and satisfied.

As he catches his breath, Joel looks at you with a satisfied smirk. "Next time you pull that shit, babygirl, I ain't gonna letcha come."

[artiststarme]

It's No Secret... Anymore

Thank you to @mx-jinxous for the prompt! This took a really long time to write but it was so much fun playing with everyone's dynamics. I hope you guys like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~

Steve felt like he was dreaming. It felt like he was looking through someone else’s eyes, dissociating far from his own body. He couldn’t feel the weight of Eddie’s slowly-fading body in his arms or the burning of the wounds in his sides. He wasn’t aware of where he was or if anyone was following him. He was purely relying on muscle memory and muscle memory alone. 

He didn’t see the speeding car in front of him that swerved into a nearby bush and fence post. He hardly noticed the hands pulling him backward and out of the road. He came back to himself though once he heard his brother’s voice. 

“Steve? Steve-O? Come on buddy, you’re worrying me here. Where have you been? I haven't seen your ass all week. Come on man, are you… are you fucking bleeding? Brother, answer me. We can’t be out here, there’s an earthquake going on. Come with me.”

Steve blinked just to come face to face with Phil. He was shining his flashlight on Eddie’s face against Steve’s shoulder but his eyes were focused directly on Steve’s.

“You with me, bro?” His mustache twitched unhappily and Steve rushed to answer. 

“Um, no. Not really. I think he’s dying and I kinda might be too. And I think my friends are missing? Where am I?” Steve couldn’t get his thoughts together cohesively. His mind was fractured, overcome with too much trauma in too little time. 

Phil just looked more concerned at his words with his face becoming vaguely panicked once he looked at Eddie. He looked quickly up at Steve, down at Eddie, then back at Steve. “Is this Eddie Munson? The murderer Eddie Munson? The Eddie Munson that has been on the run all week? Good golly Steve, I’m trying not to curse but what the fuck?”

Steve just looked at the pinched expression of pain that Eddie held and murmured, “he’s my friend.”

“Oh my god, Steve. Fine, we’ll deal with this later. Think you can walk to my squad car? I kinda damaged the front end but I’m sure it's semi-driveable. Powell’s tied up with the gates to hell opening up, I have plenty of time to take care of you.”

“Yeah, I can- I can walk,” and he could with the support of Phil. He felt his brother supporting both his and Eddie’s weight until they were deposited into the backseat of the patrol unit. 

“And uh, is the girl hiding in the bushes with you? She’s kinda been watching us for awhile. You might have a stalker, little bro.” He shined his flashlight over to the bush and saw a sandy bob duck behind the foliage. 

“Robin?” Steve muttered, still out of it and only on the verge of consciousness. 

“Buckley, is that you? Come on, you’re coming with us back to Steve’s place. Let’s go,” Phil waved the light between the two. He had both hands on his hips and stood like a disappointed middle-aged dad. “I don’t have time to be doing things willy-nilly. Let’s go!”

Robin poked her head out of the bushes and scooted gracelessly over to the car until she was able to bump elbows with Steve. They both relaxed a smidgen within the same space, the two brain cells reuniting after a stressful ten minutes apart.

Phil hopped in the driver’s seat and bumped his head against the steering wheel. What had this idiot gotten himself into now?

~*~*~*~

By the time Phil arrived at his house at the edge of the suburbs, all three kids were out cold in his backseat. He stood at the open back door for a moment before sighing and lugging first Robin, then Eddie, then Steve into his living room, huffing with exertion all the while. He would definitely have to cut back on the station donuts and start exercising again. Right after he dealt with the dying fugitive on his brother’s couch, the blood seeping through Steve’s shirt, and his brother’s unconscious best friend that was snoring atrociously. 

Jesus Christ. 

Well, he had plenty of practice with medical care from his EMT training so he got to work. He got the first aid kit out of the squad car and started with the murderous Munson. Phil didn’t know what had happened to these kids but it couldn’t be any good. Munson’s entire torso was torn apart like he’d been gnawed on by a wild animal. It wasn’t bleeding too bad but he was missing chunks of skin, so much so that Phil couldn’t sew him up with just sutures. Hell, this kid was going to need skin grafts. A lot of them. 

He put gauze on the worst of the wounds then cautiously stepped over to Steve. What he’d seen on Munson made him hesitant to look at the damage but surely it couldn’t be worse than that. Right? As soon as he lifted Steve’s shirt, he came immediately to two conclusions. 

1. Steve had a lot more chest hair than he did and that was totally unfair.

2. The wounds on Steve’s abdomen were deep, infected, and horrific. 

Just like with Munson, there was nothing to close. All he saw were missing chunks of skin and muscle that should have been in his sides. The marred remains were covered in grime and yellowish puss that made the entire room smell of infection. 

Fuck, he couldn’t help them here. He had to get them, all three of them because he wasn’t touching an unconscious girl for anything, to a hospital. But that begged the question; which hospital? Munson… Eddie was wanted all through the state of Indiana for at least three murders and an assault. If he took him to any nearby hospital, he would be arrested and surely there was more to the story if Steve was protecting him so much. He couldn’t let one of Steve’s only friends get arrested without hearing the story from the both of them. 

He had to take these three up to a hospital in Illinois. Chicago was roughly four hours away, he knew from his and Steve’s annual visits to their great aunt in Evanston. It was a risk, both for aiding and abetting a wanted fugitive as well as hoping he survived that long of a drive, but his gut told him to trust his brother on this one. So that’s what he did. He loaded the three teens back into his patrol car and mumbled swears under his breath when he passed the “Leaving Hawkins” sign. He hoped to all that was mighty that he was making a good call. 

~*~*~*~

Steve woke up to familiar voices; one hushed and one screeching. 

“You kidnapped them?! You’re a cop, I thought you would help them but instead you drove them all the way to goddamn Chicago like some middle-aged pervert loser?” Steve came around to a loud argument between what sounded like Dustin and Phil. It was weird though because he’d never introduced the two. 

“Hey, listen here shithead, words hurt. I am not middle-aged, I’m 28. And why would I kidnap my own brother? I can legally take him anywhere, it's practically my birthright. I don’t have to go through all the work of kidnapping him.” Phil shook his head at Dustin.

“Stop trying to trick me, I know Eddie is an only child!”

“Munson?! I’m Steve’s big brother, you little gremlin. Can’t you see the resemblance?” He gestured between where Steve was groggily looking up at him and then back at himself. 

“No, but I can’t see anything past your outrageous mustache.” Steve saw Phil’s jaw drop and knew that Dustin had crossed a line. 

“You short fucker, that is too far! I take a lot of pride in this ‘outrageous mustache’,” Phil put air quotes around the offending remake before pointing an aggressive finger in Dustin’s direction. “I will absolutely take you off the visitation list, toothless. Do not test me.” 

“Don’t threaten me, I’ll report you to the authorities!” Dustin countered. 

“I am the authorities!” Phil dropped all decorum and screamed at practically the top of his lungs. 

Sensing enough was enough, Steve tried to push himself up to a sitting position before a burning in his sides caused him to fall back down. Both men (or one man and Dustin) stopped their squabbling and rushed to his sides.

“Steve, you’re hurt so don’t try to get up. Shit kid, let me get a nurse or something. You weren’t doing too hot.” With that Phil sprinted out of the room, presumably to the nurse’s station and Steve was left with Dustin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin. 

He looked blearily at all of them before asking the most important question, “where’s Eddie?”

They all parted to reveal Eddie lying in the bed next to him. His neck and chest were covered with bandages but his face looked peaceful. There were no cuffs on his wrists as Steve assumed there would be. He laid back again and let out a sigh. Everything was as it should be, he could finally relax.

“Um so Steve, don’t be mad but your brother can be really persuasive when he wants to be and you never introduced him as your brother so I just kind of assumed that we were getting captured by the police and that it was going to be so much worse than the Russians because I always thought Officer Callahan was kind of psycho. But then I woke up here and he bought me Cheetos so everything is fine. Except it's kind of not because you and Eddie have been out for a couple of days and I told Big Not-Harrington about the Upside Down and now he’s really worried. Why did you have to stay asleep so long, dingus? I missed you!”

Steve honestly zoned out when he heard “Cheetos” and only tuned back in when Robin, the usual physical affection-hater, threw herself on top of him in a hug. He withheld the grunt of pain and held her back just as hard. 

“What the hell just happened, bro? Like that was a lot of words, little bird lady. Woah.”

Steve didn’t know if he was hallucinating the long-haired surfer in a Hawaiian outfit or if Vecna had somehow managed to melt his mind after all but he had never been more confused in his life to see the new visitor make themselves known. 

“Who the fuck is that?” He muttered in absolute bafflement. 

Dustin sighed as he too wrestled a hug from Steve, “that’s Argyle. Come on, Steve. Keep up.”

“Like the sock pattern? How many drugs am I on right now?!”

~*~*~*~

“... and that’s kind of why I didn’t tell you about the Upside Down,” Steve finished from his seat beside Eddie, their hands tangled together as they both sat across from Phil. 

He looked at both of them with a completely deadpan stare. “Again, but the truth this time.”

Eddie huffed in annoyance. “We are telling you the truth, man! An evil wizard guy named Vecna-”

“Slash Henry, slash One,” Steve and Robin interjected in unison.

“-possessed four teenagers to end the world or something and broke their bodies apart with his mind. Then the angry mob thought it was me but I would never kill anyone, especially not Chrissy. She was always really nice to me and remembered my band from the talent show in middle school. And then we got stuck in Hell where evil demon bats ate our flesh and tentacles ripped through the earth. Then we saved Nancy from the evil mind melt powers by playing her favorite song. After that, we made a plan and she shot Vecna and killed him while Dustin and I were decoys where I was attacked.”

“Then I went back for Eddie and carried him out where you almost ran us over. The end,” Steve emphasized the finale with a deliberate nod of his still-aching head. 

Phil looked at them with the most exasperation Steve had ever seen in his life. He let out a pitying chuckle, his poor brother didn’t sign up for this. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

Phil's eyes rolled so hard that Steve could tell he saw stars. He could almost see the scream being prepared in his throat and couldn't gather enough strength to escape it.

"STEVEN MICHAEL HARRINGTON, WHAT THE MOTHERLOVING FUCK?!"

"Look Philly, I'll say it one more time then I'm done, okay? It first started way back when Will Byers went missing in 1983..."

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[airbendertendou]

lonely heart ♡ danny johnson

soulmate au where the first time you have skin to skin contact, your body glows & is stamped w their handprint - it looks like a birthmark.

cw ; typical dbd warnings [blood n gore] ; reader offers ghostie a nude pic in exchange for freedom ; might b ooc but idc <3 ; how danny looks is up to you!

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

——♡——

The heat of the campfire brushes against your face, warming your skin just enough to forget the biting wind. Nancy is beside you, falling asleep where she sits, nodding her head forward before she snaps out of it. Across the fire, Feng is chatting idly with Dwight and Steve, Leon chiming in when he felt like it. 

The bench-like-log you’re sitting on shifts as Nea takes a seat, letting out a huff as she settles. “It’s been quiet recently,” she says, “too quiet if you ask me.”

“I’m a little wary,” you agree. Your eyes scope the woods surrounding the survivors as if someone is going to pop out any second. They wouldn’t, though — the killers kept away from the light of the fire and never wandered any closer than they were allowed. “I wonder if something’s happened.”

Nea rolls her eyes, “we wouldn’t be so lucky.” 

You grin at her pessimism, shoving her lightly with your left shoulder. Nea snickers as Nancy jumps awake once more, jolting in her sleep before yawning. A faded, gray fog settles over the camp and with it, five more survivors make their way around the campfire. You know what that means — a new trial is bound to start at any second.

Readying yourself, your muscles tense and your heart rate picks up, preparing to sprint when the time comes. A darkened, indigo-tinted fog wraps around you — it’s cold and loud as it grasps you from the campfire. You blink and then you’re in Haddonfield. 

Taking in a deep breath, you shuffle quickly to the nearest generator. Feng smiles as she passes by you stealthily, clicking her flashlight at you a few times. The area is terrifyingly quiet — it must mean your killer this round is a watcher. You puff up your cheeks as you mis-wire something, moving away from the generator that’s popped.

A scream echoes in the distance — it sounds too close, so you take off.

Momentarily, you hide in a dusty bedroom. You peek from the walls, not spotting anyone other than the back of Leon’s bulletproof vest. Another look from the room — another scream hits the air. 

Finding another generator was easy enough, but trying to stay hidden was a little more difficult. Your fingers curl and tug on wires, the smell of oil and burning wires hitting you the more you twiddle with them. Claudette hovers beside you, checking to see if you need any healing. Deeming you healthy, she flops to the other side of the generator.

“It’s Ghostface,” she breathes. Looking over her shoulder warily, she gulps as she looks back to you. “Already got Feng and Dwight. Only one gen’s done ; I’ve been hooked.”

You pause your wiring, confusion building up in you. “I haven’t even seen him yet.”

Claudette pauses too, looking over you with a furrowed eyebrow. “If we don’t make it, then win for us. Yeah?”

The generator pops with completion, lighting up for a second and exposing your location. You take off in the opposite direction Claudette did, hopping through a window and out through the backdoor. A flash of black catches your eye — your killer has finally shown himself.

You decide to buy everyone else some time. Hopefully, with a little distraction, a few more generator’s could be fixed.

Sneaking behind him, you let out a small “psst!” and wait for his attention to fall on you. He whips around, white mask greeting you. Walking towards a closet, you point to it a few times. Ghostface looks from the closet, to you, and back again. You wiggle your hand, insisting, “someone’s in there!”

Curiously, the closet door creaks open and Ghostface sees it’s empty. He turns to face you slowly and you’re already holding back giggles. A chase is pursued — something you struggle to do with all of your laughter. He swings his knife haphazardly, not really aiming at you, but not allowing you to get away with your joke either.

“Heheh—ah!” After a successful swing, a cut slashes across your arm. Blood seeps from it as you fall to the ground, laughter still spilling from your lips as you roll around. Ghostface shakes his head down at you — as if he’s disappointed in your joke — before he saunters off to find his next victim. You frown as your laughter comes to a stop, “well, now what?”

Another generator pops and you think this is it. We’re so close to going home — well, what you call home now. Letting out a sigh, you sit up and wrap your new cut with a bandage. You hear a squeal, then a scream. Seems our Ghostie is agitated now ; ready to get the trial over with. 

Chills flow up your spine, a cold sweat breaking out on your forehead as the feeling of being watched overpowers you. That can’t be good. You stiffen, looking through the corner of your eyes without turning your head. Hopefully, you’ll see him with your peripheral vision if he’s near. Otherwise— you didn’t want to think of the other option.

Sneakily, you tip-toe into a nearby house, hoping to wait out the feeling. But, you know you won’t. One thing about Ghostface is once his eyes are set on you, you’re not escaping. A noise catches your attention in the silence — the sound of a latch unlocking. 

The hatch — you must be the only one left. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you creep along the street, keeping an eye out for the hatch. You see it — it’s right in your sights and your heart rate picks up. Shaky breaths escape your parted lips as you glance around the empty street. Coast is clear — time to make a run for it.

Until a white mask phases in out of nowhere, directly on the other side of the hatch.

“Oh, come on,” you whine. Ghostface tilts his head at you, waving his knife teasingly. Your arm stings with the shine of it, bandage now being colored a deep red. “I’m so close to ending this!” He continues to stare your way silently. “Don’t you think this is a little unfair?”

“That’s the game, doll.” You’ve never heard him speak before now. A static-y, modulated voice isn’t what you expect to hear. He creeps closer, no longer directly across from you. “That’s what makes this fun.”

You purse your lips, fingers knotting together at the edge of your edge. “Okay, how about this? You let me take hatch, and I’ll let you take a shirtless picture of me. My face isn’t allowed to be in it, though!”

Ghostface bounced where he stood, an excited giggle echoing in his mask as he immediately agreed. Puffing up your cheeks, you let out a breath before nodding to yourself in encouragement. A polaroid camera has replaced the blood-soaked knife in his hand — even with the weapon gone from sight, dread flushes through you.

“Okay,” you say to yourself, “this is no big deal.”

Without another thought, your fingers clench the end of your shirt and raise it to cover your face. Your skin prickles with the wind, goosebumps raising at the new sensation. With bated breath, you wait to hear the shutter go off — a click, another giggle, the hatch closing ; anything. All that’s there is silence.

And then a leather glove is wrapped around your wrist.

Jumping at the sudden touch, your shirt falls back into place as you take a step back. Only a sliver of skin is free from the glove — just enough for his skin to brush against yours.

A golden sheen takes over you, settling where your bodies meet. In a panic induced state, you’re pushed to the ground as Ghostface hovers over top of you. Shaky, shallow breaths hit his mask as his camera is settled to the right of your head. Slowly, he peels a glove off and reaches for you.

Where his now bare hand meets, a light follows. Right on your wrist, the shape of his fingers is imprinted forever, as if it were a birthmark you were born with. It was supposed to be a myth — a tale shared between hopeless romantic’s. Soulmates weren’t supposed to actually exist.

Except, yours apparently did. In a realm you couldn’t escape ; killing you and your fellow survivors on a continuous loop. You were stuck there — stuck with a murderer as your soulmate until forevermore. 

Ruffled hair is exposed to the wind as Ghostface unmasks himself, his pupils practically hearts as he stares down at you. His eyes search your face, never settling on one particular spot as he drinks you in entirely. You feel as he lets out a breath ; feel his shoulders sag with some kind of relief as he grabs one of your hands. He leads it to his face and lets out another sigh when his skin glows, the shape of your hand left on the left side of his face.

“Mine,” his voice is soft. You can’t stop looking at him — can’t stop staring at your hand that’s been imprinted onto his cheek. “You’re all mine. Made just for me.”

You can’t tell if the feeling swelling inside of you is dread or excitement. But, you let him pull you closer anyways ; allow him to hug you as he pleases. This could come in handy, after all. Maybe.

——♡—— lets ignore that valentines day is over already teehee <3 i hope my version of ghostie is okay, idk how well i write him </3 airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

[lex-the-flex]

In Front of You

Leon S. Kennedy x reader

Summary: Caught in the middle of the crossfire, you are ready to do anything for your team – especially for the man who cares for you the most.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warning(s): MEGA FLUFF, (make-out session) descriptions of injuries, talks of virus and needles, sensations of pain, cursing, action and violence, and character death.

A/N: I can’t believe I haven’t written anything for Leon since Death Island came out! I ADORED that movie and everyone in it!

Tip-toeing through the dark and damp hallways, you could practically hear the pounding rhythm of your heartbeat in your ears. Guiding your flashlight along the isolated cell blocks, everything seems still and quiet. Preparing to turn the corner, the panicked sounds of your team – your friends fill the empty halls, and you sprint like your life depended on it.

Catching up to Jill and Leon, you find them crouched in front of a set of dimly lit cells where both Claire and Chris Redfield are being held.

"Leon? Jill!" You call out, shining your light toward them.

Joining your team members at the cells, you grip the thick iron bars, and gaze at the sudden withered state of the siblings.

"Oh my God, you guys are so pale." Jill says, shifting her gaze from Chris to Claire.

Reaching through the bars, you work quickly to feel Chris' forehead, only to discover that he, like Claire is significantly hotter than a sunburn.

"And you're burning up so fast." You state, rushing to Claire's side in the separate cell.

"Hurry, get us out of here!" A third man shouts in the dark. begging for one of you to open the door.

Realizing that this man isn't infected, Leon clocks in on who he is within seconds.

"Son of a bitch, Antonio Taylor." He announces with a hint of annoyance.

"What are you talking about?" Claire questions in between staggered breaths, trying to remain calm.

"This scumbag's wanted for leaking national secrets to the enemies of the U.S. of A. Y/N and I were supposed to bring him in for questioning." Leon explains, glancing down at you as you tend to Claire.

Suddenly, the prison lights come on, and both Leon and Jill aim their guns in any direction they can. Removing your pistol from your holster, you sink back over to Chris to re-check his temperature.

"Welcome to Alcatraz. It's an honor to have you all here, together. Please, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Dylan Blake." The mad man known as Dylan begins explaining from an upper row of cells joined by none other than Maria Gómez.

Standing from your position on the floor, you aim for Maria, as the feeling of some unresolved revenge starts to creep up your spine.

"I bet you're how people are being infected without being bitten. The answer is simple: my prototype bio-drones." Dylan finishes, crossing his arms.

From the corner of your eye, the faintest buzzing noise whips past your face, and heads straight for Leon. Acting on your feet, you shove Leon out of the way, and a sharp, stinging pain erupts on the side of your neck, and you drop your pistol.

Landing on your side, the flashlights beam illuminates the shiny style of Maria's slick greyish and purple jumpsuit just as she jumps down from the upper cell block.

"Well, that was... unexpected. It's very brave of you, Miss L/N to put your life on the line for someone you love." Dylan mocks you, leaning forward on his cane.

Leaning over your shivering physique, a cruel smirk fills Maria's dark lips as you writhe on the cement floor. Aiming your pistol at the woman, Maria kicks you into the bars, causing you to scream. Silently wincing, both Chris and Claire feel your pain with you while they listen to your gasping for air.

“Y/N, don't. Save your strength!” Chris weakly calls out, forcing himself to sit up from his spot on the wall.

Groaning in pain, even your teeth ache as you lean against the bars, hoping for any kind of relief.

"I get it now. All this tech, even the virus, you got it all from Arias. That's why she's here, isn't it?" Leon asks, turning to Maria.

"Of course, Mr. Kennedy. I thought that after you murdered poor Maria’s father, that I’d settle the score. For both of us. It’s rather fitting, don’t you think? To see the woman you love be torn apart in front of your eyes, just as she once witnessed with you.” Dylan interprets, hinting at his own years of research.

“Fuck you, Blake! You don’t get to decide the course of our lives!” You shout in retaliation to no avail.

Leaving Jill with a warning, Dylan leaves the vast hallways of cell blocks, allowing Maria to finally get her hands dirty. Moving to protect you, Leon throws a flash bang, allowing Jill to make her quick escape to the armory.

*****

"Why'd you do that Y/N? That drone was meant for me, sweetheart." Leon asks, crouching down to your level.

Taking your face in his hands, a faint laugh leaves your chapped lips.

"I told you I'd owe you one. You took the Plaga for me, remember? So I did what I thought was right; finally paying off the debt." You explain through a series of whimpers.

"Oh, honey. That was eleven years ago. I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you." Leon replies, gently stroking your cheek.

"He's right, Y/N. Then the Graham's wouldn't be safe. You and Leon could've died if it wasn't for your actions. You were fast, and both of you kept Ashley safe." Chris explains, making the long weight rise off of your chest.

"Yeah, we did our job. It may not be the best life, but our life. All of our lives." Leon announces, looking around to his friends and Taylor.

Taking your hand in his, you sit up against the bars, and sweat starts to pool on your forehead.

"I love you." Leon whispers before you, and a single tear drips from your e/c orb.

Shortly after his declaration, Rebecca arrives with a case of fresh vaccines. Injecting you with the medicine, Leon helps you to your feet, where the two of you prepare to face a bigger threat.

*****

Making your way to the control room, you and Leon observe the water starting to rise in the armory.

"Why's he letting all the water in?" Leon asks.

"I don't know. Maybe for the drones?" You reply, leaning against the monitors.

"You okay?" He asks, hovering his hand above your shoulder.

"Yeah, this stuff works wonders. You should try it." You joke with a smile.

"I'll take your word for it." Leon responds with a smirk.

Glancing behind his shoulder, your miniscule peaceful moment is interrupted by the sound of heels entering the room.

"I'm glad the virus didn't kill you both. I wanted to be the one to do it." Maria announces, standing firm on the stairs below.

"You don't always get what you want. Trust me." Leon projects, turning to face Maria.

Smirking, Maria kicks a computer screen from a pillar, and Leon dodges the fast moving object. Jumping for him, Maria punches Leon without any effort, and smashes him against the slanted single row of desks.

"This is for my father!!" Maria yells, lowering a jagged piece of a metal pipe towards Leon's face.

"He was Arias's guard dog. You were his bitch!" Leon retaliates, moving the pipe away from his face.

Feeling your strength return, you throw yourself into Maria's body, catching her with both of your arms. Colliding with her into a glass drawing board, your legs hit the small stair rail, forcing you to roll into your landing.

Struggling to your feet, Leon equips his Sentinel 9 and fires a few rounds at Maria, to which she dodges with a fierce kick to a desk chair. Launching herself towards Leon, Maria wraps her body around his bulletproof suit, and tries anything to disarm him.

Slamming Leon to the ground, Maria holds him in a headlock, desperate to take her revenge, but not before you finally shoot her in the left shoulder. Releasing Leon from her grip, she turns to face you with nothing but rage filling her eyes.

"You've been nothing but a thorn in my side! I've thought about nothing else but snapping that pretty neck of yours for over a year!" Maria shouts, pacing towards you.

"Yeah well, you're gonna have to try a lot harder than that!" You protest, shooting at Maria once more.

Working together, you and Leon quickly overpower Maria whilst as your stamina returns to your form. Taking a few more punches, Leon decides that enough is enough, and he kicks Maria out of sight. Crawling to you, Leon offers his reassuring touch to your back, until a worried expression fills your face.

Witnessing the sight of Maria being impaled by one of the glass board stands, she slowly walks from the metal stand, freeing herself. Standing to protect you, Leon pumps his arms one final time, but instead of making one last move, Maria falls to the ground; dead.

Standing in the room, a series of gasps and pants leave your lips, as the two of you try to cool down from the whole encounter. However, Leon rushes towards you and clasps his hands around your face. Frantically pressing his pink lips on yours, he moves at an ungodly pace, capturing your taste in his mouth.

A low growl escapes his chest as he backs up into an unbroken pillar and he moves his lips down to your neck, preparing to leave a mark, reminding everyone who you belonged to.

re taglist ~

@dreamliners

@iraot

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@leonsbaby

@kennedyalike

[sorrowsofsilence]

Burning Out • III

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

I was lost, but now I'm found Under the lights and in the sounds So let us sing and sing it loud That we're not perfect, but we're proud of who we are.

Noah Sebastian is lost. His crime-filled lifestyle is anything but perfect; but everything changes once he meets you.

Words: 5.4k

General fanfic Warnings: 18+, explicit language, smut, alcohol, drugs, violence, mentions murder/suicide, panic attacks/anxiety, nightmares

Authors note: Chapter Three - One of Us is Broken Glass (EDITED 09-03-24)

new? start from chapter one here

THIS IS A FANFICTION USING REAL PEOPLE IN A FICTIONAL SITUATION! I AM NOT IMPLYING THESE PEOPLE WOULD DO THE THINGS IN THE STORY OR ACT THE WAY THEY DO IN THE STORY, IN REAL LIFE! IT IS SIMPLY FICTION, AND JUST FOR FUN! THINK OF THEM AS ACTORS LOL.

+

“What the fuck are you doing?” I whispered-yelled, furrowing my brows at him in distaste.

“Kiss me,” he pleaded, kneeling in front of me again with an expression filled with fear and distress.

“Excuse me?” I now yelled a bit too loudly as the door below us rattled once more.

“LAPD! Open up!”

“I need you to kiss me, please,” Noah's intense gaze locked onto mine as he begged, “Just this once Y/N.”

I hesitated for a moment but ultimately gave in to Noah's desperate request. His hands gripped the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair as he pulled me towards him. With complete desperation, Noah kissed me intensely.

+++++

NOAH

My earbuds blasted music as I strolled along the sidewalk, glancing at the houses Y/N and I had passed by earlier. A few of them still had lights on despite the late hour, so I kept walking until I reached a cul de sac lined with townhouses. Putting on a ski mask and pulling up the hood of my sweatshirt, I adjusted my backpack straps and began scoping out each house, searching for a potential target. My eyes eventually landed on one with a dimly lit living room and the sound of a cat meowing at the door. Normally, I would avoid houses with lights on, but something about this one drew me in. Was it the cat? I've always been a sucker for felines.

As I approached the front door, I scanned for any security cameras while listening to the cat's cries from inside. When I confirmed that no one was home, and it was just the cat waiting for its owner, I knew I hit the jackpot.

Sighing to myself, I accepted that this was the house I had chosen for tonight's target. Maybe I could take a few minutes to pet the cat before the guilt sets in. Unzipping my backpack, I retrieved my metal tools and got to work on picking the lock. With my phone in hand, I timed myself to see how quickly I could do it; it was the only way to make this mundane task somewhat enjoyable.

Using a tension wrench and pick, I twisted and turned, feeling for the springs and listening for the pins to drop into place. It took some trial and error, but after twenty-eight seconds, the lock clicked open and I stepped inside.

The cat greeted me immediately with loud purring and winding itself between my legs. Kneeling down, I scratched behind its ears as I flipped through its collar with my covered fingers. The cat was large, with an orange-gray coat and white markings that swirled around its

As I stroked the orange cat, I couldn't help but smile at the name - Juice. The cat purred loudly, enjoying the attention. I stood up, knowing I had to get to work quickly. Grabbing my flashlight from my bag, I made my way into the living room. As I went to turn off the lamp to avoid drawing attention, my eyes wandered over the walls adorned with various band posters against the light green paint. My gaze stopped on the sleep token poster above the couch, bringing memories of Y/N's smiling face flooding back into my mind.

Well, I believe Somewhere in the past Something was between You and I, my dear

Shaking the lyrics out of my head, I took it for a coincidence, before looking through various drawers. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

I made my way through the first floor of the house, scanning each room for a bathroom, and searching for valuable medications that I could sell for a profit. The guest bathroom offered no luck, so I decided to head upstairs.

The stairs creaked under my weight as I ascended to the second floor, and once I reached the landing, I spotted another bathroom and eagerly opened its medicine cabinet. My heart raced with excitement as I saw various prescription bottles inside: Diazepam, Adderall, Zolpidem, and even cough syrup containing Dextromethorphan. This was my lucky day, but I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt.

Stuffing the bottles into my bag, I moved through the hallway towards the nearest bedroom. Juice followed me, meowing loudly at my every step. I tried to shush him, but he remained persistent in his demands for attention.

Pushing open the bedroom door, I was hit with a familiar scent of perfume. It took me a moment to place where I had smelled it before.

My eyebrows furrowed as I looked around, trying to figure out where to start searching; until my eyes landed on a collection of polaroids taped above the oak wooden bed. I walked closer, and my heart sank at the sight of a woman's smiling face in each photo.

It was her house - Y/N's house.

I couldn't believe it. Out of all the houses I could have broken into, it had to be hers. Whatever sick strings fate was trying to pull, it’s turned the one good thing that’s happened to me, into a twisted game.

Feeling guilty and scared of being caught, I quickly scanned her room for any valuables before turning to leave. But just as I was about to make my escape, I heard someone opening the front door. Panic surged through me as I fought to think of an escape plan, and my hand instinctively covered my mouth, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Juice?”

It was her. Fuck.

Looking around the room frantic, I debated where I was going to hide. Closet? Bathroom? Under the bed?

“Juju baby? Where are you?”

I heard Y/N's footsteps fade towards the kitchen and took this as my cue to make a move. Every step I took across the room was accompanied by a loud creaking sound, and I cursed myself for not being more stealthy. She must have heard me; there's no way I could make it to the bathroom now.

Juice watched me with curious eyes from the corner of the room, but it was too quiet downstairs, and I knew Y/N was listening. Suddenly, Juice's head snapped towards the door at the sound of Y/N's muffled footsteps coming up the stairs. My heart raced as he ran out of the room, leaving me alone and anxious. I quickly slid behind the closet door, peering between the cracks.

The hallway light flickered on and my breath caught in my throat. Y/N screamed before her laughter echoed through the house.

"Jesus Christ, cat! You scared the shit out of me!" she exclaimed.

Oh god, what am I going to do?

Juice came back into the room and landed on the bed, staring at the closet with wide eyes. As soon as Y/N entered, I knew I had to get out of there.

"What? Are you hungry? Your bowl is full," she said, shaking her head as she pulled off her sweater. This was my chance to escape.

I carefully slid out from behind the closet door while her back was turned. But just as I was about to pass by her, she threw her sweater into the hamper and turned around. In a moment of panic, I grabbed her from behind and covered her mouth with my hand to stop any screams.

She struggled against me but I held onto her tightly.

Why didn't I just run? Why did I think this was a good idea?

With a racing heart, I turned her around to face the mirror, hoping she would see that I meant no harm.

But tears fell from her eyes as she whimpered, looking back and forth between my masked face and the gun in my waistband.

Of course, she would be afraid.

I was a masked vigilante with a gun.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said softly, my voice trembling. I knew I had to run as soon as I let go of her. She would never know it was me, and everything would be okay because I could just delete her number and never see her again...right?

Y/N's body trembled in my arms as I held her tightly. Even though I squeezed her for comfort, I knew she was far from being soothed.

"I'm going to leave, and you're going to let me. Got it?" I stated firmly, taking a deep breath before closing my eyes and preparing myself to leave this house forever.

"Please don't make a scene," I added, releasing my grip on her body slightly. As I began to step away, Y/N turned around and kicked me with all the strength she had.

"Fuck!" I cried out, doubling over in pain and protecting myself with my hands. As I tried to recover, Y/N fled the room. I knew I had to follow her; there was no way I could escape without her knowing what happened.

"You fucking creep! You followed me!" Y/N yelled, her voice dripping with anger as she pointed a knife at me when I finally exited the room. ""You're a lowlife piece of shit! Get out of my house or I'll call the cops on your sorry ass…Noah."

I locked eyes with her, feeling a wave of shame wash over me as she spoke my name with complete disdain. How did she know it was me? My clothes were different and none of my tattoos were visible.

My body shook with pain and I hunched over, leaning on her door for support.

"Please, Y/N, don't call the cops," I begged desperately.

"Why shouldn't I call the cops?" she screamed back at me, tears streaming down her face. She reached for her phone and began to dial 9-1-1, causing my stomach to drop even further in fear. I couldn't get caught - I had too much at stake.

I pleaded once more, but Y/N pressed the button and I could hear the faint ringing of the operator on the other end. Panic set in and my hand instinctively reached for the gun tucked into my waistband. Y/N's face went pale as she noticed the weapon, her lips trembling in terror. I had never seen anyone so afraid before - not even the woman from our job weeks ago.

"Hang up," I managed to whisper through dry lips. "Y/N, hang up please."

But it was too late - Y/N had already spiralled into a panic attack, gasping for air. We sat there in silence until we heard loud knocks on the front door.

"This is LAPD!"

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, frantically thinking of a plan. Usually, if you call 9-1-1 and then don't answer their call back, they send someone to check on your location to make sure you're okay. But I didn't expect them to come this quickly.

Y/N looked between me and the door, wiping away smeared lipstick from her face. Do I hide? Do I surrender?

My gaze landed on her lips and the smeared lipstick. If only we had been making out... Wait a minute. If we were passionately kissing and she accidentally called 9-1-1, it would explain everything. I quickly removed my sweater and tank top to make it look like we had been getting intimate.

Please play along Y/N, please.

+++++

Y/N

I pulled away from Noah, trying to catch my breath as I noticed the lipstick smudged on his lips. His request was so outrageous that I couldn't help but scoff at him.

"Come answer the door with me and pretend we were just making out," he pleaded, his doe-like eyes pleading with mine. "I'll tell you everything about myself if you do this for me."

I hesitated for a moment, before nodding quickly and allowing Noah to take my hand and lead me down the stairs. He held onto my belt loop as we approached the door, opening it to reveal a uniformed man standing there.

"Hi officer?" Noah said in a confused tone, panting heavily as if we had just been in the middle of a passionate make-out session.

"Evening," the man replied, his eyes darting between us in concern.

Noah pulled me closer and wrapped his arm around me, while I played along by giving the officer a puzzled look and placing my hand on Noah's chest with false admiration.

"We received a call from this location and wanted to check in to make sure everything is alright," the officer explained, eyeing us both suspiciously. Noah must have sensed it, because he pulled me even closer and I rested my head against his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. Despite everything that had happened between us, our bodies seemed to fit together perfectly, an undeniable chemistry between us.

The officer scanned my lips before turning to study Noah's face, analyzing our deception.

"Oh really? That's odd," Noah furrowed his brows and looked down at me. I chimed in, reaching into my pockets for my phone.

"I didn't call anyone," I said,"I must have butt-dialled while you were...pushing me against the wall," I whispered through gritted teeth, loud enough for the officer to hear.

Noah's lips curled into a sly smile and he even winked at the officer. "I was away on a trip for two weeks, you know how it is."

The officer coughed awkwardly and began to look away, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. "Alright well, stay safe you two. Have a good night."

"We will," Noah gave him a breathy laugh.

I apologized to the officer as I pulled Noah away from the door and closed it behind us. Noah let out a breath of relief, his tense muscles relaxing.

I took a few steps back, still wary of him.

"Okay, now get your shit and go," I demanded, glaring at him. "I never want to see you again." I wiped my lips, trying to forget the feeling of his hands on me just minutes ago, his mark staining my body.

"Please, let me explain," Noah pleaded, holding out his hands and taking a step closer to me. I could see the genuine concern in his eyes and it made my walls start to crumble. But I couldn't let myself trust him again so easily, so I took another step back.

"Fine," I conceded with a sigh. "You have five minutes. And put your shirt on, it's weird that you're standing here half-naked."

I led the way into the living room and plopped down on the couch, motioning for him to join me when he came back down the stairs.

Noah sat as far away from me as possible, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. We sat in silence, both feeling a sense of deja vu after our earlier encounter in the park; this time was different though.

"So," Noah began, looking at the carpet.

"So," I echoed, watching him cautiously, "you didn’t strike me as a professional criminal."

"That's what makes me good at it, I suppose." A small laugh escaped Noah's lips before he stifled it. I rolled my eyes at him.

"I know you don't believe me, but I didn't follow you," Noah said, covering his face with his hands. "The odds are astronomical, Y/N. I genuinely have no idea how I ended up at your house instead of any other one in the neighbourhood."

"Then why did you choose this house?" I asked, raising an accusative eyebrow.

Noah shrugged, "I don't know. There's no method to it. I saw your light on and heard your cat, and chose it. That's all."

"Sure," I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest, "maybe one day you'll admit that you're actually a stalker."

"No," Noah shook his head, "are you even listening to me?"

He sat up straight and leaned over his knees, staring intensely at me. "I swear on anything- God, Satan, whoever you want- that I had no idea this was your house.

“Even over the dead bodies of my parents."

His eyes bore into mine as he spoke and I felt a lump form in my throat. The pain in his expression made my heart ache.

"You have dead parents too?" I asked quietly, the tension in the room dissipated, filling with a sense of knowing.

Noah licked his lips and furrowed his eyebrows. He snapped his gaze away from me and slumped back over his knees, staring at the floor.

"My mom died of cancer," he began, "and my dad couldn't handle it so he killed himself. I was only twelve years old, but luckily my best friends took me in. They're like brothers to me."

My mouth felt dry as I listened to him. It suddenly made sense why he didn't say sorry when I told him about my own parents' death in the park. He knew that apologies wouldn't change anything and sympathy would just feel like pity, especially in this situation.

"So why were you in my house in the first place?"

Noah avoided my gaze, clearly ashamed of his actions. "Stealing, larceny, thievery - whatever you want to call it. It's one of the easiest ways to make money on the streets besides dealing drugs."

"So you're a burglar," I said, nodding and forcing a smile. "You really know how to pick 'em, Y/N," I mumbled under my breath, finding some humour in the situation.

"I wouldn't be doing this if we didn't have to," Noah replied, sinking back into the couch with his tattooed neck on display. "We owe a lot of money to a dangerous man, and this is our only way to keep up with his demands."

"Who?" I asked, my curiosity piqued despite my attempt not to stare at the intricate snake design on his neck.

Noah closed his eyes. "I can't tell you for your safety."

I let out a dry laugh. "My safety was gone as soon as I offered you to sit on my couch."

"Touché," Noah chuckled. "But that's one thing I won't disclose."

"How long have you been...doing this?" I watched him closely as he turned his head.

"Long enough," he answered cryptically.

"How long, Noah? If that's even your real name."

He raised an eyebrow. "It is. Noah Sebastian, if you want to be specific. My friend Jolly always referred to it as "the grand fuck up," and it all started when I was fourteen. Since then, we've been paying off our debt every month.”

"And what exactly is 'the grand fuck up'?" I asked, noticing the letters on Noah's knuckles for the first time as he ran his thumb over them.

"It was my first job, and Jolly said I needed to do it to become a man and join the pact," Noah explained, his eyes fixated on the letters. "I stole an expensive car without knowing it had something valuable in it. The car belonged to a notorious criminal who caught us, giving us two choices: death or working for him. We chose to work off our debt and be free once it's paid off."

"Who is included in 'we'?" I inquired.

"My three friends and me," Noah replied with guilt evident in his voice. "I screwed us all over, and it's been seven years of nothing changing."

Noah closed his eyes, trying to hold back tears and the guilt that consumed him. My heart softened, wanting to comfort him and take away his pain.

"What does your tattoo say?" I asked, shifting the topic.

Noah looked at his fingers again, blinking rapidly. "Bad omens."

"Bad omens?" I repeated.

He moved closer to me and held out his hands for me to see. Without thinking, I took his hands in mine and studied the words etched onto his skin.

"An omen is a sign of things to come," Noah explained, watching my fingers trace over the letters. "But everything that comes our way seems to be bad."

"That's no way to live," I shook my head, turning sideways on the couch to face him.

"I've always lived that way," Noah shrugged, giving a small smile.

My heart ached at his words, reminding me of my former self stuck in a cycle of hopelessness and despair. A year ago, I would have said the same thing if someone had talked to me about possibilities and starting fresh. But I had worked hard to leave that behind and create a new life for myself. It was possible, but Noah was still trapped in his never-ending cycle, unable to see any glimmer of hope or change.

“I don’t even feel real anymore unless I’m in pain,” He confided, the agony evident in his voice catching me off guard. “It's not like I enjoy this cycle of suffering, but it's become my norm. I don't know how to function without it.”

Noah scoffed and looked away, trying to distract from his words. “Sometimes I wish I could just give up. Maybe then I'll see my dad again.”

My chest clenched at his words and I sat up on the couch, pulling my knees to my chest. “What keeps you going?” I prodded, intrigued by this mysterious man.

“My brothers. I have to fix things for them and make up for what I've done.”

“And after that? What then?” I pressed, completely invested in his enigmatic words.

Noah fell silent, his gaze fixed on the ground, lost in his thoughts. I wanted to know what was going through his mind, but we sat in silence once again, the only sound coming from the soft ticking of the living room clock. Juice had emerged from hiding and cautiously made his way into the living room. He let out a small meow and jumped onto the couch next to Noah. After sniffing him, he rubbed his head against Noah's sleeve.

“I don't know,” he finally whispered in a despondent tone, raising his hand to gently pet Juice's fur. The hair on my arms stood up as I watched Juice melt into Noah's touch - immediately accepting him and showing him love.

“You look like you could use a hug,” I surprised myself with the offer, standing up and opening my arms to invite Noah into my personal space.

He looked at me with surprise, asking "Huh?"

"Come here," I motioned for him to stand up, and after a moment of hesitation, he did.

Noah’s lanky figure approached me, and I wrapped my arms around him, pulling his body towards mine in a protective embrace. I stood on my tiptoes to place my head in the crook of his neck, squeezing his body against my chest. Noah’s breath hitched in his throat as he held himself stiffly before easing his body into our entwined limbs. His arms held me close, his head resting against my own. As his chest shook through his complacency, I breathed deeply, sighing into our hug. Noah joined me in a deep exhale, listening to our breaths as we held onto each other, exchanging memories through our hold.

I’m sorry you lost your parents. I’m sorry you’re stuck. I’m listening.

“You don’t have to carry it all yourself. Humans aren’t made to be solitary creatures.” Boldly, I held my hand against Noah’s head, capturing him and all of his wounds. As I ran my fingers through his hair, Noah’s shoulders began to shake.

Can one of us be saved?

I can't forgive you, but I can't look away I have to tell myself it's better, better this way It's killing me

Soft sobs left his lips, his body vibrating through his tears.

Don't wait for the light Just fall asleep, embrace the night

The man crumbling before me was not a terrible person. He was merely a lost soul, fastened to routine and never-ending affliction.

Perhaps, I can be another step to helping him find himself. He reminded me so much of my past; I couldn’t leave him.

Even if I got hurt in the process.

+++++

NOAH

Y/N's arms were a haven, comforting me with her gentle embrace. Her fingers ran through my hair, unearthing deep-seated memories as she held onto me.

It was hard to believe that just an hour ago, everything had been a chaotic mess. Yet here I was, crying in this woman's arms. I didn't deserve such kindness, especially after invading her privacy and trust like I did.

I hadn't opened up to anyone in a long time. My only family were Ruffilo, Folio, and Jolly; they were the only ones who saw my pain. But Y/N's touch had broken down all of my walls, causing me to completely shatter. It was baffling how someone I had only met less than 24 hours ago could have such power over me. Yet here I was, vulnerable and exposed in her embrace.

How could she be so kind and selfless? She listened and understood. Her parents were gone too. She knew the feelings of abandonment.

Keep telling myself that I was the victim You were the one that pulled away I've got a cold heart, this is the sad part I don't think I can change

But the difference was that I was corrupt. I was not the good guy; my presence was tainting her.

Can one of us be saved? I feel like I'm better, better in a grave Better in a grave Better in a grave

“What’s the next step from acquaintances?” she tried to lighten the mood, giving me a small laugh.

I pulled away, my body already infected with the remembrance of her touch against my limbs. I wiped my eyes, face reddening at the embarrassment. I can’t believe I just cried on some girl’s shoulder. She was no longer just some girl.

“I mean, I don’t know if we should even be considered friends. I broke into your house.” I scoffed, wiping my nose with my hoodie sleeve as I sniffed.

“What about acquaintance-squared?” Y/N said, “I think now that I know you’re not just Noah, we’ve upgraded.”

I laughed, “Level two friendly strangers?”

Y/N joined me, the sound that left her body angelic. Part of me wanted to listen to her melody forever.

I knew then that I was fucked. Her hooks snagged me this morning, but now they were embedded, scars bound to be permanent. There was no way I could just leave her as a forgotten memory as I had thought earlier.

She knew too much.

“Sit down. I’m going to make you something to eat.” Y/N said, smiling kindly. My phone began buzzing in my pocket; I knew it had to be one of the boys.

I immediately shook my head in protest, “No Y/N, I should go.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I don’t deserve your hospitality.” I pulled my phone out and checked the caller ID. It was Ruffilo. 32 missed texts.

Jolly: You alright?

Jolly: Almost done?

Jolly: It’s been almost two hours since I’ve heard anything.

Jolly: You should’ve been done within the first hour.

Jolly: Your location says you’re still there; where are you?

Jolly: Noah answer your fucking phone.

My anxiety must have been visible on my face when I saw the messages because Y/N noticed and asked, "Where do you live? Can I at least give you a ride home?"

I shook my head, "It's fine, I can walk."

But when Y/N checked the time and saw that it was three in the morning, she insisted, "Noah, it's not safe for you to walk alone at this hour."

I almost scoffed at her concern, but instead placed a hand on her shoulder and reassured her, "Y/N, I'll be okay."

She made a frustrated face and pouted her lips, which for some reason sent my heart racing.

"Noah," she marched towards the front door and grabbed her keys while slipping on cow-shaped slippers. I couldn't help but laugh at the sight.

"Let's go pretty boy."

"I'll walk," I said firmly, putting my phone back in my pocket.

Y/N furrowed her brows again and glared at me, causing butterflies to stir in my stomach. What is happening to me?

"You look cute when you're angry."

Y/N opened the door and pointed outside. "You think I'm cute when I'm angry? Then I'll be fucking gorgeous if you're not in my car in two seconds," she seethed.

I raised my hands in surrender and chuckled, "Okay, okay, I'm coming."

We squeezed into her small silver Chevy Spark and I joked about its size. "Could you have gotten a smaller car?"

She turned up the heat before fiddling with the music, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, I must say I didn't expect to have an over 6-foot-tall thief in my passenger seat."

I rolled my eyes, knowing she had a valid point. The guilt gnawed at me once again. Y/N pressed play and the song blared through the small speakers. She turned to me and asked for the address.

"If you know where the Marlborough Motel is, that's where we're headed."

Y/N's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she looked at me. "Wait, you actually live near there?" Her expression crumpled in sympathy when I nodded. But I refused to accept her pity. We lived in that rundown motel, but it was still better than nothing.

She drove out of the driveway and towards our destination while one of us listened to the song blasting through the car speakers, its lyrics piercing my ears.

You played the cards, you know I wanted to see Behind the curtain, always pulling the strings in my head

But now I think it's time to cut the ends I won't make the same mistake again

Once she dropped me off, I would leave her behind forever. I had to, for my sanity, and hers.

“I mean, housekeeping must be a blessing?” Y/N said gently, giving me a quaint smile.

“Yes, I enjoy the smell of cheap laundry detergent and a stranger filtering through my stuff.”

A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I gazed out the car window, taking in the rows of illuminated houses and streetlights as they passed by. Exhaustion weighed down my body, but I couldn't bring myself to close my eyes. Jolly was going to have a fit when I got home - especially now that I had dragged someone else into this mess and failed a job. Just another checkmark on the list of my screw-ups. And to top it off, I had nothing to show for all the trouble I went through.

But then my mind snapped back to reality as I remembered my backpack - the one with the gun inside. The one I had carelessly left behind at Y/N's house. Panic set in as I realized she would find it, along with all her prescription medications neatly stored inside. My heart raced at the thought of her finding those bottles.

My throat felt tight at the realization, but I swallowed the nerves, reminding myself that I’d never see her again after today. I’ll forget about her, and this. I won’t need to see her disappointment.

You got what you deserved And that was me You saw me at my worst You saw the worst in me

We arrived at the motel and I sighed, realizing the light was still on. No doubt the boys were still up waiting for me. Y/N and I sat quietly for a moment before she turned to look at me.

“Well, level two friendly stranger.” Y/N coughed, breaking the awkward silence in the cramped vehicle. I looked at her and forced a smile. She smiled back, but my heart ached with the realization that this would be our goodbye. I studied every inch of her face, trying to imprint her features into my memory. I knew I couldn't face her again after this.

"Thanks for this wild adventure," she chuckled. "It was definitely a confusing situation, but I'm glad you were my first criminal experience."

Unsure of how to respond, I attempted to make a joke. "And thank you for being my favourite victim."

My own words stung as they reminded me of my past felonies, but I supposed she truly was my favourite victim. If it wasn't too messed up to say something like that.

"Will I see you for your usual coffee?" She asked, hope seeping through her eyes. How could she want to see me again?

"Yeah," I replied with a forced laugh, lying through each breath. "See you then."

I stepped out of the car and turned to wave before opening the door to the motel room. My heart ached as Y/N drove away.

Goodbye.

Tell me that I'm wrong Tell me that I'm wrong

Chapter four

Tags:@crimson-calligraphyx @lma1986 @spicywhenspeaking @sammyjoeee @shilohrosechicken

@princessmarshmallowx @laurpartyprogram @cookiesupplier @nojoyontheburn @lacktoesandtoddlerant

@veronicaphoenix @er3nslovergirl @cncohshit @scrumptiousfestivalpost @melcchs

@flowery-mess @mentallynot-here @judging-from-afar @darkmxgician @badomensls

@hoe-for-daddywise @philomenie @xxkittenkissesxx @venturethroughtheveil @thefallennightmare

@blend-in-with-the-madness @reyadawn @deathblacksmoke @Anameunmusical @sitkowski

@anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @rumoured-whispers @artificialbreezy

[sapphic-gardn]

Willow | joel miller x f!reader | pt. 2

part 1

Summary: Patrol with Joel is proving to be more difficult than you originally anticipated. Joel says some things he regrets.

(no use of y/n)

Warnings (18+ mdni): mentions of loss/grief, weapons/violence, swearing, age gap (reader is 23, Joel is in his 50s), angst, one-sided pining, no physical description of reader, will specify with each chapter

Word Count: 2.9k

a/n: hiiii! this is the second part to my joel miller fic and wowza i am so excited to share!!! all the love on part one is surreal. i can’t believe people are enjoying my writing—it’s insane to me. i love you ALL so much. i also love all my moots who have welcomed me with open arms into this lil community. happy reading! let me know your thoughts!!!! 💓

credit to @cafekitsune for the cutie divider <3

During the first week of patrol with Joel, you found yourself questioning why you harbored a crush for the man in the first place. He barely spoke, and when he did, it was to scrutinize you. It was an exhausting game of who could hurt the other one more.

When the second week of patrol rolled around, you were determined to evade conflict. The morning played out as usual—a short greeting at the stables and mumbled groans from Joel. The ride out was wordless yet tranquil. Until…

You came to a halt at an abandoned cabin, one you both had passed on patrols before, because something caught your eye. You dismounted your horse and tied her to a tree nearby. Joel got wind of your sudden detour and scoffed.

“What’re you doin’?” Joel’s voice cut through the silence and you quickly signaled to him to stay quiet with a finger to your lips. He reluctantly followed suit and sauntered behind you after securing his horse.

What had captured your attention was the door to the cabin. In passing on every patrol, you noted that the little wooden building and its worn door had been closed—the door was always closed. However, today the door was open. Wide open. A portal to another realm it seemed. Ominous as the darkness beyond it taunted you.

Come and get me.

A challenge presented to you in the form of danger. The windows were boarded up, the only light inside of the cabin coming from the spaces between the wood. You moved swiftly around the perimeter, peeking in the slits before wandering beyond the threshold. With your gun and flashlight at the ready, you skulked through the first room on your right. Clear. As you made your way to the second room, you misjudged your step and tripped on a splintered floorboard. You caught yourself before you could fall but regained your footing with a loud thud.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

Your body froze in place. Instantaneously, a blood curdling screech emerged from right behind you. Before you could think, you spun around and fired two bullets into the clicker’s skull. Shit. You scolded yourself. Your mind was going a hundred miles a minute and you couldn’t decipher your surroundings. You lowered your trembling hand that held the gun and looked down at the thing that once was a person. Blood was pooling under your feet and you concluded that the infected man must have been bitten recently. He must’ve broken into the cabin to isolate and wait for his demise. Your stomach sank as you imagined what the man’s life might have looked like before he was bitten. Another casualty amid a monstrous war.

Joel quickly emerged in the doorway, interrupting your spiraling thoughts. Sheer panic washed over his face. “Coulda gotten yourself killed! Gonna get us both killed with the sound’a that goddamn gun!”

With that, Joel hastily made his way to you, grabbed your upper arm, and guided you out of the cabin to the tree where your horses were stationed. You broke free from his firm grip and mounted your horse promptly, still feeling the burn of his touch under your sleeve in the minutes that followed.

Once you both retreated to a safe distance you decided to swallow your pride and apologize, “I-I’m sorry. I should’ve grabbed my knife. I-I should’ve—I was—“

“Damn right you should’ve. Meant what I said when I called you a little girl. That’s exactly what you are. Never thinkin’ before doin’. Think you’re so tough goin’ into that cabin by yourself? Not tellin’ me what the fuck you were up to?” Joel’s voice rumbled with a deep anger that made you shiver. He was fuming, but his tone held a note of worry. Was he scared? Was Joel Miller afraid of losing you? It didn’t matter. His words were a stark contrast to the sentiment.

“Fuck. You.” Those were the only words you could conjure up because…he was right. Of course he was right, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of succumbing to his cruelty. You squeezed the sides of your horse and sped up ahead of Joel from your place beside him. With your back facing Joel, tears rimmed your waterline and flowed freely down your cheeks. The salty taste of tears bleeding onto your lips brought you back to the moment Maria found you, vulnerable and tremulous.

Growing up during an apocalypse rendered the gift of resilience. The way you saw it, words were nothing but sound waves mingling with air as they escaped a bodily vessel. Harsh words deflected off of you like a bullet to fiberglass. But Joel knew exactly how to penetrate that protective shield you so carefully curated.

Before life in Jackson, you had always felt inferior. Viewed as a damsel in distress by the men in your life. But you were so far from it, gathering the courage to leave the Seattle QZ at sixteen to find your parents who disappeared on a smuggling job. Surviving on your own for two years and teaching yourself how to be self-sufficient. You quickly picked up on how to use weapons as well as raid buildings without getting caught (not your best moments). Independence came easily to you and you would be damned if you let some old grump tell you otherwise. Clearly, all he saw in you was a naive little girl.

You return to the stables before Joel. He makes his way in just as you turn to leave. In passing, you glare into Joel’s eyes and hastily shove him with your shoulder on your way out. You’re pretty sure he notices the redness around your eyes from crying. You can see a glint in his eyes that exhibits a look of sorrow. Even if he is sorry, he can’t take it back. He can’t take back the feeling of sheer humiliation that is seeping into your bones. He can’t take it back.

You traipse through the town center, in no rush to get home and sit alone with the voice of doubt in your ear. The smell of pine invades your olfactory senses and the string lights twinkle above you like stars in the night sky. It reminds you of Christmas, before the world ended, sitting criss cross in front of a fireplace with a steaming cup of hot cocoa. And your parents are there. They would buy every toy on your Christmas list just to see you beam up at them and wiggle with glee. You miss them, you never got closure when they vanished. You didn’t find them, you have no knowledge of how they died—or if they even died. You can’t help but wonder if they left you on purpose. You caused trouble in the QZ—always trying to prove a point to someone in authority. Getting kicked out of FEDRA school was the last straw for them, they barely acknowledged your existence after that. But of course you still loved them, they were your parents. You still love them, they are your parents. They were good people before it all, before they became desperate.

The sound of your own sniffle pulls you back to the present. You find yourself on a bench, staring mindlessly at a family of three.

“Hey, you alright?”

A brown haired girl emerges in front of you. She has a look of sympathy painted on her features, yet she speaks so casually. She follows your eye-line to the family in the distance. You recognize her. She is the young girl who is attached at the hip with Joel. Apparently she isn’t his daughter, but technically she is, given what they’ve been through together…Tommy made it all too confusing when he explained it to you.

“I’m okay, yeah, I’m alright. Thanks.” You dismiss the loaded question with a wave of your hand. When your eyes meet hers, your features soften and you see a tinge of something behind her brown eyes. Maybe it’s hurt, or fear, she seems guarded, similar to yourself at that age.

“I’m Ellie,” She eagerly extends her hand and you take it in a firm handshake. You introduce yourself and make room on the bench beside you. She reluctantly takes the spot and sighs, the shape of her breath visible against the contrasting cold air. The first few minutes are silent, neither one of you are keen on breaking the calm air that surrounds you.

“So,” Ellie finally breaks the silence, “rough day, huh?”

You snort, a small smile emerging on your lips, “I guess you could say that. What about you? Aren’t kids your age usually running around the commune finding trouble?” You look at her out of the corner of your eye when she giggles.

“Not much to do around this boring ass place. Plus, my best friend is hanging out with some dude I fucking hate. Count me out on that third wheeling bullshit.” Her vulgarity takes you by surprise, but you find it quite funny.

After awhile, you two fall into easy conversation. She asks you so many questions…so many. It almost feels like an interrogation but you know she’s just curious. It’s endearing, the way she perks up when you answer her questions about life before the apocalypse. You were young, so you barely remember anything, every memory is coated in black and white hues, lacking details, nonetheless, she holds onto every word.

The sun is mostly gone from the sky, which is your cue to start walking home. You and Ellie decide to make the trek back to your neighboring houses together, still entwined in your storytelling the whole way there.

You arrive at your gate and bid your farewells to Ellie with a small wave and a promise to her that she can come over whenever she feels like it.

“He talks about you, you know…Joel. He asks Tommy way too many fucking questions about you too.” Ellie’s words bounce around in your brain and leave you short-circuited. That’s the second time today you’ve been rendered speechless. First by Joel and then by his (kinda) daughter. Ellie reads the dumbfounded expression on your face and sighs, “I just—I know he’s a fucking pain in the ass, but I think he cares about you. Sure as hell doesn’t ask questions about anyone else in this fuckin’ place,” she stares at the ground before she speaks up again, “Uh…look…I-I didn’t mean to trip you up or anything…uh…I’m gonna head home now. I’ll come by tomorrow? Yeah. See you then.” With that, Ellie’s ramble ends and she swiftly makes her escape to her home. The home she shares with Joel. Joel, the man who cares about you? The thought actually makes you laugh out loud.

Joel’s best trait is hurting people. He reads you like a book, he pinpoints every insecurity you harbor, and uses it to push, push, push your buttons. The stone cold exterior you display is merely translucent to someone like Joel. He’s seen it before, every time he looks in the damn mirror. He feels drawn to you, a moth to a flame. If he gets too close, he might get burned. What happens when you set his heart aflame? Maybe you already have.

The front door opens and closes and Joel hears Ellie padding her way to the kitchen where he sits at the table, nursing a tumbler of whiskey. Ellie plops down on the chair across from him.

“What’s got you in such a bad mood today, old man?” Ellie leans over the table and playfully nudges Joel with her fist.

“Not right now, kid. Don’t feel like jokin’ around,” Joel’s eyes flicker to Ellie’s for a moment before refocusing on the amber liquid in his glass.

Ellie throws her hands up in surrender, “Alright dude, just don’t drink yourself to death—that shit would be far more embarrassing than a clicker getting your ass.” She lightheartedly laughs and leaves the kitchen with a pat on Joel’s shoulder, exiting through the back door to her makeshift bungalow in the yard.

Joel figured that a few whiskeys in, the tight feeling in his chest might loosen up. But he’s five glasses in and he can’t stop picturing you. The inconsolable expression on your face as you left the stables haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

His mind takes him to the moment he met you. You were crouching over a patch of vegetables—carrots, maybe? Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth and your brows were furrowed in concentration. When Tommy called your name and you looked up, Joel felt the wind get knocked out of his lungs. You were…angelic. Smeared dirt covered your forehead, and beads of sweat gathered at your hairline. Even in your unkempt state, your allure was ever so present. Joel couldn’t bring himself to look at you, even as you reached a hand out to introduce yourself. Then, your witty remark. Something inside of him shifted in that moment and he knew he had to leave. A young, bright woman like you wouldn’t want anything to do with an old, damaged man like Joel. So he did what he does best, he pushed you away, created a distance so you would learn to hate him.

Joel’s outburst on patrol earlier today took it too far. He knows that—but he was terrified that something might’ve happened to you. When he saw you, standing in that abandoned cabin, shock dripping from your expression, with a lifeless clicker on the floor below you, he became angry. Angry that you would be so careless. Angry that you didn’t ask for help. Angry that he cared about you so damn much even when he tried his hardest not to.

On his sixth whiskey, Joel curses to himself as he meanders to his front door. His brain is devoid of all thoughts that don’t include you. Your smile, he wants to make you smile. He wants to be reason you smile, not the reason you cry. He twists the doorknob and forces himself out onto the front porch. Your lights are on. It’s late, why are you still awake? Thank god you’re still awake.

His steps are calculated when he saunters up your walkway. He hesitates, his fist is hovering over your front door. He lightly knocks on the thick wood, but regrets it immediately and turns on his heel to leave. With his back facing away, he hears the click of a lock unlatch and a sliver of light emanating from your open door casts a warm glow on the porch.

“Joel? What are you doing here? Do you need something?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. With the sweet sound of his name spilling from your lips, he turns to face you. The door is now fully open and you are leaning against the door frame. The light coming from inside the house outlines your figure like an angel descending from heaven.

He clears his throat, “‘M sorry, darlin’, is nothing. Get some rest.” Despite his words, he makes no move to leave. You step out from the threshold and lessen the distance between the two of you. Joel searches your eyes, looking for a hint of something, anything that isn’t pure hatred. All he finds is affliction.

You scoff, “C’mon, just spit it out already. I ain’t waitin’ all damn day,” you echo his words from the morning of your first patrol together. Joel notices and he chuckles before regaining his composure.

“‘M sorry. I wanted to come over here and tell ya that. I was fuckin’ scared shitless. I didn’t mean a word I said back there. I trust that y’can hold your own.” Joel’s words catch you off guard. You stutter, all coherent words evade you and your bottom lip starts to tremble. You quickly avert your gaze to hide the imminent tears pooling at your waterline.

You sniffle, “Thanks, Joel. That was probably hard for you, apologizing and all. You can go home now, I forgive you. Just forget it ever happened, m’kay?” You sound defeated and it fractures something within Joel.

He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “Hey. Look at me,” you meet his gaze and simply melt. The tears fall freely down your cheeks and a small gasp escapes you, “I’m sorry. You don’t gotta let me off the hook, I jus’ gotta tell you ‘m sorry.”

Suddenly, you become hyper-aware of the situation. Mere inches separate you and Joel. He is studying your face, so close you can smell the whiskey on his breath. A mixture of lust and hate stirs somewhere within your lower belly.

“Okay,” is the only word you can conjure up. It’s a whisper, barely audible. Joel’s hand cradles your cheek and he swipes a tear away with his thumb. His eyes flicker between your lips and your bewildered gaze. His breath hitches, seeing your beauty up close is otherworldly. He feels himself leaning in, closer, closer, closer. He is a hairbreadth away from grazing your lips when you turn your head. Your buttery voice dances through the air, “Please, Joel. Just go home. I can’t do this right now.”

You turn on your heel and slink back into your house, before closing the door, you breathe a weak, “Goodnight, Joel.”

You don’t know if he says it back.

a/n: ty for reading. ilysm <3 i hope this part lives up to the last one :,) i am so nervy to post this EEEEEK!!

taglist: @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @alejaa-a @cool-iguana @littleshadow17 @planet-marz1 @alyhull @joeldjarin @lizzyervs @casa-boiardi @loveisacowboyyy @thegrlwholivedd @ashleymsnodgrass @ilovepedro @dilfspitdrinker @bastardmandennis @breakfastatjoels @gracieheartspedro @chaotic-mystery

[amaranthhiding]

Indeana Jones and the Tear of Pele

My fic for the Dean/Cas Reverse Bang 2024 that I've been pouring my heart and soul into for the last few months.

Art by Aggiedoll

Castiel POV

"So…," Dean bridged the gap of their sudden silence. "What's on your bucket list?"

"What?" Castiel asked, wondering what would happen if he simply gave in to his fingers' itching desire to reach out and slide over Dean's arm. Now that he'd gotten another brief taste of it, the urge to feel, to sense, to touch was so much harder to rein in, lighting up the nerves in fingertips that were his alone again after all the time he'd spent locked into his own mind without any control over this body.

"Not in general," Dean clarified nothing whatsoever. "I sure hope you ain't gonna kick the bucket any time soon. Or, like, at all. I just mean while we're here."

Castiel had to admit that standing so close to Dean really impacted his ability to focus, celestial being or not. He could only make half a sense out of this string of words. If he didn't know any better, he'd think Dean was covering some kind of nervousness with the way he kept interrupting himself by adding more sentences. Only that there was no discernible thing for him to be nervous about. There was nothing but them and the open sea.

Dean POV

The frog chirped and hopped away with one long leap. Running on intuition more than any logical reasoning, Dean pushed aside the fern that the animal had disappeared behind, uncovering an opening in the ground. He pulled out his phone and activated the flashlight, shining down into what seemed to be a steep, narrow tunnel leading down into pitch black.

He hated narrow fucking tunnels. A small part of his brain still seemed to be functional enough to have his phone send Sam his coordinates with a brief 'Just in case'. Then he stowed the device back in his pocket and covered his face in his hands, dreading what came next.

Cas, he reminded himself. He was doing this to get Cas back.

Words: 32,679 Rating: Explicit Tags: Canon Universe, Post-Season 11, Beach Vacation, Fantasy Adventure, Humor, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Angel Castiel, Castiel's True Form, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Dean in Denial, Dean Makes Up Excuses for Touch, Castiel Uses Sarcasm, Slow Burn, Castiel Goes Missing, Castiel and Dean Save Each Other

Link to Fic Link to Art

Reblogs are much appreciated! <3

Taglist under the cut.

@samsrowena @suninjang @typicalrowena @jomybeloved @thefandomsinhalor @butch--dean @fanficlounge @cocklesdestielfiction @destielficbasket @romachebella

If you'd like to be added/removed from my taglist for Destiel and/or Samwena content, let me know in a reblog, reply, or personal message. :)

[lowkeyrobin]

hey!

idk if you’re still writing but if u are - and have the time - could you maybe write fourth grade or ray seeing the readers sh scars? totally understandable if not :))

ooo yeah sure! ; also I'm still active I promise haha, if I ever had to retire (which will hopefully never happen) I'd probably but a thing in my bio to detail that I'm gone temporarily/permanently ; but yeah, it's all cool, I've written ab sh plenty of times before and I'm fine with writing about it ; decided to do ray on this one cause I've given fg enough attention atm haha ; and thank you for requesting! hope you enjoy!

RAY ; don't hurt yourself again

summary ; he finds your sh scars

warnings ; language, substances, self harm & weapons (razors/scissors iykwim) used (slightly) in detail to cause physical harm

disclaimers ; pre-stevie era

word count ; 1.3k

masterlist

This hot, sunny summer day was no different than any other. Patsy Cline's Walkin' After Midnight rung in your headphones, your cassette player quietly whirring as it plays your mixtape. The summer vibe had finally hit you, inspiring you to get with the theme and listen to some more beachy/summery songs for the season.

Ray always found it funny how you had such a taste for music. He didn't get how certain music was only for certain seasons or only gave you the vibes of a certain time, but he wasn't against it. You were way better at making mixtapes than he was.

Speaking of him, you were on your way to meet him at an abandoned pool you'd found a couple months ago. It was around sunset, the heat wearing down against your back.

Trust, the pool was clean, you made sure of it. But you found it as some hole in the concrete by some unused project apartments, water just sitting stagnant inside. You pick up your pace a bit, wanting to hurry before the sun completely set.

As you arrive, you see Ray, Fuckshit, Fourthgrade, and Ruben, dressed down to their boxers as they fuck around in the water. You wave hello as they welcome you, watching as you strip down into whatever you preferred to wear in the water.

You join them as the moon illuminates the pool, the only other slight source of light being the mostly burned out street lamps.

You end up starting a little water war, with you, Ray, and Fourthgrade against Fuckshit and Ruben. It was mostly just a splash party, with lots of shouting and yelling. Said shouting and yelling earned you a noise complaint, causing police to come deal with you.

"Hey! Hands up, get out of the pool!"

As flashlights are pointed at you all, you quickly scramble out, grab your belongings, and run barefoot down the street to avoid the police. You laugh and yell to one another as you sprint down the road, adrenaline fueling you as you aren't able to feel the rocks in the road wedge into your feet.

You hide in a garden, lit up just enough so you'd be able to put your clothes on properly and be able to tie your shoes. You shove your dry clothes on over your wet ones, attempting to warm up before you begin to freeze due to the cold water soaked in your under clothing.

You notice Ray staring at you a little too long before looking away as you slide your shirt on. You brush it off, maybe thinking he was looking over at one of the other guys, and you happened to be in the way, or maybe he saw a rabbit or a squirrel run through the lawn.

You and Ray separate from Fourthgrade, Fuckshit, and Ruben, as the trio were planning to go to some 24 hour diner to eat dinner before heading home. You and Ray head the opposite way, wanting to go home as sleep slowly creeps up on you both.

Your walk home is mostly silent, warm street lamps lighting your way down the sidewalk. You slowly glide on your board next to Ray, who decides to walk. He shakes his locs out of his face to look up at you.

"Do you hurt yourself?" He asks bluntly, unable to word what he wanted to ask any differently.

"What?" You quickly look at him confused, almost shocked. "No"

"I saw scars on your arms earlier when we were in that garden," He speaks, "Those weren't cat scratches or just rush burns or some dumb shit, those were cuts. It's fine if you don't wanna talk about it, but it's not fine to bottle it up and just hurt yourself. Like, we're here for you, okay?"

You slightly shrug and look away, your foot hitting the pavement as you give yourself a little push. "I don't hurt myself anymore"

"Oh"

You hold back a light smile. "Yeah"

"When did you hurt yourself then?" He asks, almost disappointed in himself that he never caught onto it if it was in the past. "Why?"

You shrug as you give him a blunt explanation. "Long ago. They're just scars for a reason. Life got rough, and I didn't know how else to cope. I was too scared to drink or smoke like you guys, but I was somehow able to hurt myself instead."

He nods. "Sorry"

You nod, "It's cool. I was waiting for it to happen anyways. Just another consequence of my actions, but I've grown and yknow, sappy shit"

He chuckles, "Yeah, yeah."

He pulls a blunt from his pocket, like he'd pulled it from Mary Poppins' bag, considering he just randomly had it and a lighter. He lights it up, puffing it to feel a little calmer about what you'd told him. He was such an extreme empath when it came to shit like this because he knew what the bottom felt like after losing his brother. He understood but didn't know how to help, so he just listened.

The rest of the walk is fairly quiet, the smell of weed filling your noses while the sound of your board rolling on the concrete whirs in your ears.

He waves a slightly awkward goodbye as he walks up to his front porch, knowing you'd stay on the sidewalk until he actually got inside. He grabs at the screen door, pulling on it to realize it was locked. Within the Marry Poppins pockets he had, he surprisingly didn't have his housekey.

He turns back to look at you, giving you a look you knew all to well. You laugh before waving him down to you, offering up your bed for him. He jogs back down the sidewalk to catch up as you'd already drifted away, knowing he'd follow like a lost puppy.

He holds onto your hand as you trail down the neighborhood towards your house, trying to hide the fact that holding your hand was his only comfort that he knew you weren't currently hurting yourself.

You open your front door to let him inside, placing a finger over your mouth to tell him to hush as you walk toward your room. You close the door and hand him some clothes he'd be able to wear to bed, allowing him to go to the bathroom to change while you also change.

You both flop down on your bed, sitting in silence as you stare up at the ceiling covered in glow in the dark stars. A lamp illuminates the room, covering it in a warm blanket.

He turns to look at you. "Do you wanna talk about it at all? Get it off your chest?"

You shrug before answering, "Yeah. I mean, what do you wanna know?"

He shrugs in response. "What'd you use?"

"Scissors, razors, pencil sharpeners. Anything sharp, used a knife once."

"Damn" He mutters. "How often did you do it?"

"About multiple times almost every day" You answer. "I was at the bottom then"

"When was then?" He asks, "A few weeks, months, years ago?"

"Months" You answer carefully. "I'm not anywhere near depressed like that anymore, I swear"

He nods, turning on his side to look at you as you speak. "You know you can reach out for help, right? Like, we aren't gonna yell at you or something, we wanna help you, I promise"

You quickly nod. "Yeah, it's just, when you're that low, you don't think help will actually help. I was worried if I reached out, I'd just be thrown to the side or I'd be yelled at and lose everything I have left."

He nods. "Can you promise me you won't hurt yourself again?"

You smile, appreciating the thought of those words. You hold your pinkie out to him, allowing him to shake his with yours to pinkie promise on it.

"I promise"

[cod-dump]

I just looked up Price & found that he was in the WWII COD games as well as the modern-day-setting ones. IDK but my immediate thought was the boys finding out that he's some kind of time traveler OR that he's an immortal--

& then they start calling him "Gramps" or "Pops" instead of "Dad" :D

Old Man ___

It was Gaz who found the box. It was in an old storage shed on base, kept shut by a rusted lock and decorated by boarded up windows. He found the building and went to Price to ask him if he go through it. Price was waist deep in paperwork when Gaz asked him.

“Storage shed?”

“I took some pictures of it, if you would like to see.”

Gaz showed Price and the man went through them before shrugging and handing him back his phone.

“Probably here from when the base was used by the old SAS. Whatever is in there probably isn’t relevant anymore.”

“So… can I go through it?”

“I don’t see why not. But be sure to burn any old files and bring me any technology you find.”

Gaz had to restrain himself from jumping around in excitement, “Yes, sir.”

Gaz always loved going through old things. Old technology, books, antiques— He loved going to antique shops with his mom when he was a kid. Something about old things really fascinated him. Gaz drove out to the old storage shed, armed with bolt cutters, gloves, a flashlight, a portable LED lamp (he doubted any electric ran to it), and a face mask (to fight off the dust).

He clipped the lock and looked at it. It looked old. The handle to the door looked old, too. Gaz set the lock aside before attempting to open the door. He ended up having to bust open the door due to the rusted hinges. He was greeted by a wave of dust.

“Fuck, when was the last time someone was in here?”

Gaz shined his flashlight into the small building before stepping in. He was more than delighted to see that the ceiling held up well and that there wasn’t any animals that made their home inside. Gaz gasped when he saw a box of floppy disks on a shelf directly next to the door.

“Score!”

Gaz grabbed the box and started looking at disks. Other than the blanket of dust they were covered in, the seemed to be in good condition. He tried to read the labels, but a lot seemed to be in code. Though he was able to make out something on a couple of them. A Chinese character: 天. He took a picture of the character before he moved on to some ledgers, going through them each. He was out there for hours until the sun started to set. Gaz only noticed when he got a text from Soap.

Suds: Are you alive?

Gaz jumped when he saw what time it was. It was almost time for dinner and lights out. Gaz quickly put the ledger he was looking in back on the shelf before leaving the building. He had to slam the door shut. He ended up putting a new lock that he brought with him on it to keep anyone out before he left. He was interrogated when he finally made it to the mess hall.

“Where the hell were you? You’ve been gone all day!”

“I’m going through an old storage shed I found in the woods.”

“God, must be ancient if you have taken a liking to it.”

Gaz rolls his eyes, stuffing a spoon of slop in his mouth. While Soap teased him for his ‘obsession’ with old things, Gaz thought back to how much stuff was in the storage shed. He wasn’t surprised Price didn’t know about it. There was a lot of grounds of this base covered by woods. Could be several other buildings like the storage shed, hidden by trees and the paths to them reclaimed by nature.

His next free day Gaz went back to the shed. He was pleased to find that the lock he placed remained and none of the boarded up windows were messed with. Gaz pulls his mask on after he removes the lock and heads back in. Gaz immediately went back to the ledgers, deciding to see what the oldest date he could find. The newest thing in the building that he’s found so far were the floppy disks, and even then they went out of style in the 90s.

Gaz flipped through the ledgers and found that the dates were going further and further back.

“Shit.”

It became increasingly obvious that the storage shed was all relating to a project under the code name ‘Shòu’. The ledgers mostly covered expenses but the floppy disks could have other information on them. Gaz flipped through the pages of the ledger he was holding, stopping when he came across a date.

2/7/1776.

Gaz blinked before he took a picture of the date. That’s as far back as the ledgers were dated but he knows they ledgers themselves were newer than the 80s at least.

“Were they keeping track of transactions since 1776?”

Gaz couldn’t see how transactions from more than two centuries ago were relevant now. Gaz puts the ledger back, accidentally knocking another off onto the floor.

“Fucking hell-“

He gets on the floor to grab it when he notices something over in the corner through the shelves. It was a box with ‘Ash’ written broadly on the side. Gaz stood up and made his way to the corner, kneeling next to the box. He opens it up and finds several files inside. He picks one up, seeing the name ‘Thomas Ashburne’ written on it. He opens it, surprised to see little information that made sense.

“Discovered 2/7/1776? What?”

Gaz read further, brows knotted in confusion.

Subject was found alive after impaled by three arrows to the chest. He was missing an arm, the severed limb laying three feet away from him. After a fortnight under observation, Ashburne was still alive and the severed limb showed no signs of rot and was reattached to young Ashburne.

Gaz closes the file, giving himself a moment to process what he had just read. He sets the file aside and looks at other ones. There were many different names but they all appeared to be the same person. Though he kept thinking it should be impossible for them to be the same person, especially since this person should’ve died over two centuries ago. But these were SAS files. They don’t joke about stuff like this.

Gaz picks up another file and freezes when he sees the name on it.

Captain Jonathan Pryce.

Gaz shakes his head, seeing that the file was dated from 1939 to 1945. He opens the file with shaking hands and immediately drops it when he sees a picture inside. That was fucking Price. Beardless but it was definitely him. Gaz breathed heavily as he sits there. His heart was pounding as he tried to think of how he was looking at Price in a file from eighty-three years ago.

A relative. Just a relative.

Gaz stares at the file again, opening it up to look at the picture before reading the information listed.

Heaven’s Hands Agent Ash.

Gaz blinks before reading more.

Agents Ash and Agent Zima headed the Heaven’s Hands division against German forces in Operation Barbarbossa. Agent Ash deployed after three days of the blitzkrieg attacks started across the border. Agent Ash’s orders were to help defend Moscow and fend off German invaders.

Gaz skims through the report. The Heaven’s Hands Agents were the ones that helped the Soviet Union push back against Axis. Gaz puts the file back after taking out the picture of Jonathan Pryce. He swears he was looking at Price but that couldn’t be possible. Was all of this a joke set up by Price and the others? If it was, they did a lot to set it all up. Gaz picks up a file that appeared newer than the rest. It was labeled ‘Ash’. Inside were various pictures and sketches of… Price. Of him in different time periods, clothes. But it was him.

In the older pictures, which were sketches, Price appeared younger. Maybe late twenties. But in the latest one, which was the 1940s one, he looked like he aged. But only maybe a decade. Gaz actually couldn’t recall if he had ever seen Price without a beard. All of these pictures were of him without one.

“This is one elaborate set up for a fucking joke.”

He could maybe see Price joking around, going along with this joke that Soap came up with and Ghost decided to go along with because he had nothing better to do. But Gaz couldn’t think of how they would’ve managed to set this up without him knowing… or without paying a good bit of money. Gaz stuffs the picture of Jonathan Pryce into the file with the other pictures, deciding to take it with him.

Gaz made it back to base, keeping the folder tucked under his arm as he made he way to Price’s office. Price was a damn good actor but Gaz liked to think he knew the man’s tells by this point. He felt weak in the knees when he made it to Price’s door, having to give himself a moment before he knocked.

“Who is it?”

“Sergeant Garrick, Captain.”

“Come on in.”

Gaz steps inside, Price staring at him computer screen when he did. Gaz shut the door behind him and walked up, swallowing.

“Been busy in that old storage shed?”

“Yes, sir.”

Price hums, still focused on his computer screen, “Find anything interesting?”

“Yes, actually. A couple old files. Several ledgers, too.”

Price looks over, his eyes drifting down to the file that Gaz was now holding up so he could see the label. Gaz likes to think he knew all of Price’s tells to when the man was faking. But that look of shock and how he paled looked pretty damn real to him. Price straightens in his chair, swallowing hard. Gaz could see him biting his tongue, looking around before he met his eyes.

“So… that’s what was in the shed, huh?”

Gaz nods and Price heaves out a heavy breath before he holds his hand out for the file. Gaz hands it over and Price opens it, face stone when he looks at the old pictures inside. Price shakes his head when he looks at the picture from WWII.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

“Are those… of you? Like actually you?”

“Afraid so, Kyle. Sit down. We’re going to be here awhile.”

Gaz sits and Price looks at a picture from the 1880s. Or that’s what the date on the back of it said when it was from.

“I can’t believe- You’re fucking with me, yea? You and Soap and Ghost?”

Price doesn’t say anything, just looks up at Gaz with a dead serious expression that he’s seen in interrogations and on the field. This was very real.

“The-The first file I looked at… the report inside said that a Thomas Ashburne was ‘discovered’ on the battlefield after-“

“Found with a severed arm, ripped from him by musket blades with three arrows to the chest. Later it was reattached after they discovered it wasn’t rotting or that… that I wasn’t in pain anymore or dead.”

Gaz stared at Price he looked at the pictures.

“I don’t remember everything. Hard to. But I remember that day. My ‘birth’ as they called it.”

Price looks up at Gaz and he could see something he never noticed before. Without thinking, he speaks.

“What’s the Heaven’s Hands?”

Price sighs, “My old outfit. They had been operating since the Roman Empire.”

Gaz gaps and Price laughs quietly.

“Disbanded after World War II. A lot of internal issues that had been building up for a long time. Us Hands ran went off to do our own things when the last board member left.”

“There’s others like you?”

“‘Like me’? You mean old? Yes, there is. Some are older than me.”

Gaz hums, staring off, “Other… Hands?”

“Look, I didn’t pick the name. It’s just what they called those who… don’t die by normal means. I’ve lost my arm, been shot through the heart so many times that I’ve lost count, and I have some lead in my head.”

Price smiles softly when he picks up a picture that Gaz hadn’t seen, “We just don’t die. Made us the perfect soldiers. Told us we were ‘blessed by our faith’.”

Price sets the picture down and Gaz reaches over and picks it up. It was Price and a man he’s never seen before. Big beard, wild hair.

“Zima was my shadow.”

“What happened to him?”

“Oh, he shaved and learned to style his hair, learned to fly. Now he wears stupid sunnies all the time to make himself look cooler.”

Gaz slaps the picture down, “NIK?!”

Price snorts as Gaz really looked at the picture. It really was Nik!

“He’s-“

“Old as shit, too. But I’m still older.”

“How is it possible for you to be-?”

“Immortal? I don’t know. None of us know, actually.”

“You don’t know how you’re immortal?”

“No. The Heaven’s Hands looked into it for almost their entire existence. But none could figure out why we were like this.”

“You said the Heaven’s Hands disbanded and that you went off to do your own thing… does anyone else know about… your age?”

Price closes the file and leans back, “Laswell does. She stepped up to be some sort of ‘handler’.”

That explained so much about why Laswell kept such a close eye on them. She was actually watching Price. Does she also watch Nik? Or does he have his own ‘handler’? Has Gaz met other immortals in his life without him knowing? Is anyone one else he personally knows immortal?

"I can only answer the questions if you actually say them out loud."

"Who else is immortal?"

"Nik is the only other one that you know who is immortal. He's the only other Hand I've seen since the disbanding."

Gaz went to say something but Price stopped him.

"Kyle, no one else can know about this. About me or Nik."

"Why not?"

"The Heaven's Hands did a lot during their operating days. Turned the tides of wars, fell leaders and empires while rising others in their place. Few know about them. For everyone's safety, no one can know."

Gaz swallows as Price takes the old picture of him and Nik and puts it back into the file, closing it.

"I need you to bring me everything that you can from that shed."

"Everything?"

"Mostly files about me. Those ledgers you can burn. Anything else you bring to me so I can figure out what to do with them."

Gaz nods and stands, heading to the door. He grabs the knob and Price says something else.

"I'm serious, Sergeant. Not a word to anyone. Not even Ghost or Soap. That's an order."

Gaz looks back at Price, finally seeing the countless years that the man has lived weighing on his soldiers.

"Yes, sir."

Gaz leaves the office, walking with purpose. He wasn't sure what he walked into, but he knew this was only the tip of the iceberg.

[pixelmensupremacy]

Connor with a short s/o would include

A/N: Here goes my 100th post! I haven't posted in a while, school is getting quite stressful, so keep in mind this is not proof read and it's very short.

Your whole life you were used to be shorter than most

Though when Cyberlife began launching a diversity of androids that came in all different sizes, you were intimidated by how tall some of them were

And Connor was no different

You were a tad bit uncomfortable with the hight difference, especially when you two first met in DPD

Not only was he the most advanced android in the world that exceeded humans in intelligence and physical strength, but he also surpassed you in hight

Soon you got used to the high difference, due to his angelic face and warm demeanour

It wasn't hard for you to grow attached to him and his kind nature (which totally evaporated when he's on duty both pre and post deviancy)

As much as it was shocking to you how quick the warmth in his features disappeared at an instant, there was something exciting about seeing him playing bad cop when necessary

Especially when he interogated suspects

You whenever you witnessed Connor interogating a suspect

He would be utterly fascinated with how tiny you are compared to him

The shorter you are the more likely he'll carry you around and nuzzle into you like you're a teddy bear

"For a person of authority, your size is incredibly unconventional."

If it wasn't for Hank, he would've had to repair his synthetic kneecaps

The more time he spends with you, the more he gets attached to you

He may or may not grow excessively protective of you, due to your height

He would and will do anything to get you out of harm's way

───── 🐝;; - - - - - - - - - -

Entering a suspiciously looking building, you held your gun in the air, ready to fire at anyone that may jump out from the shadowy corners. Behind, Connor followed, practically sticking to your back- cautious, considering the convictions of the suspect the two of you were currently after. The bright beam of your flashlight pirced through the darkness that engulfed the entire room, making it much harder for you to secure the space.

Silence was all that could be heard; you let out a sigh of relief, tricked into thinking the place was clear. A yelp suddenly escaped your lungs as a force brought you to the ground. You gasped as the air in your lungs forcefully escaped.

Immediately, Connor was alerted by the commotion and even before you could realize what was going on, he got a hold of your attacker, disarming him in the matter of seconds.

"That was close." You sighed; getting up and brushing the dust off your uniform, you looked at Connor, who handcuffed the suspect.

Burning red light caught your attention- Connor's LED. Even in the darkness, you could see his piercing gaze boring into poor man, locked in his grip. Shivers ran down your spine.

"You caught him. Good job, Connor!" Only then he softened.

"Are you alright? I should've found him sooner."

───── 🐝;; - - - - - - - - - -

In established relationship he would be quite affectionate

When he hugs you, you literally disappear in his embrace

At first, he would be extra careful with hugs, especially shortly after his deviancy until he's sure he won't crush you

Once he's used to the concept of physical affection, he wouldn't be able to get enough of hugs

He's literally a giant walking teddy bear

You didn't mind his cuddly side, but at times it was excessive

Like when he would cling to you in public

───── 🐝;; - - - - - - - - - -

"Connor, I have to do my paperwork."

"Go ahead." He replied nonchalantly, his grip around your shoulders only tightened. You sighed in defeat and typed away at your keyboard. Despite your best of efforts, you couldn't concentrate on your work with your partner planted on your shoulder, though things took turn for the worse once he began whispering in your ear.

"Hey! You two get a room!"

───── 🐝;; - - - - - - - - - -

He can lift you effortlessly

He would hold you for hours on end and he would refuse to let go

Oftentimes, he uses his strength to his advantage

Randomly, he would pick you up only to throw you on the bed and cuddle you

Unless he doesn't

You all know what I mean

In conclusion, I'm in need to have Connor in my life.

[totallynotandie]

A Lot’s On My Mind

Or, my rewrite of MH where Brian doesn’t die (It’s worse than death!)

God, he hopes Tim will understand.

It's the last thought The Hooded Man has before his head hits the concrete, the pain isn’t as bad as he thought it would be but the squishy feeling of the back of his head makes him feel sick. He focuses on Tim instead, almost missing the sight of his old best friend peaking over the balcony. He wants to know how he’s thinking, but the nothingness is too welcoming. He’s wrapped in it like a blanket, wrapping him up until it covers his eyes and he can’t do anything but sleep.

He can finally sleep.

The nothingness is still there but he knows he’s somewhere else. A place he has escaped time and time again but only really remembers when he’s there.

The Ark.

The last place he wanted to end up after that stunt. He can’t find it in him to stand again despite the pain being gone.

Everything Is Normal.

The sky is so dark that he can’t tell if he’s closed his eyes or not and the thought makes him so tired. He just wants to sleep now but if he is still alive then he needs to leave this place. He doesn’t want to know what would happen if he let himself drift away here.

Food For The Ark.

The thought hits him hard enough to make him fling upwards, the motion causing his head to spin. He brings his hand back to assess the damage, cringing at the squishy feeling of what could only be blood and deciding not to look for his sanity.

Everything Is Fine.

He decides that it's probably a concussion, not the worst thing he has dealt with and it won’t be the last - probably. He’ll have to worry about that after he escapes. He digs a flashlight out of his hoodie pocket, using it to at least see the ground in front of him.

The Hooded Man pushes himself to his feet, stumbling over his lanky legs while fighting the blurry vision caused by his small headache. That was the one thing he enjoyed about The Ark - its ability to at least numb most of the pain. His normally dry throat didn’t burn while he breathed, he almost felt like he could speak clearly if he tried but what was the point when there was no one to speak to?

A part of him missed talking, he remembers never being able to shut up when he was younger and made acquaintances everywhere he went. Everyone knew him- or at least knew he was a friendly guy. He was never alone, always having someone there to talk about the latest shitty movie or any other pointless thing that mattered at the time. But he was alone now, alone and staring down into a dark hole that seemed to go on forever.

Maybe a fall from there would work better.

He turns away from the hole and is met with the sight of someone else lying on the ground.

Jay.

By the looks of it, there's nothing left but a shell - A broken mind.

There is nothing he can do for him now and so he walks away. But the darkness swallows the light and causes his flashlight to be worthless.

Keep moving.

He can’t stop, he has to get out, he has to see them again.

His flashlight works enough to land on The Operator's blank face.

He is falling- no, he’s sinking in the water now. It's cold but that's the least of his problems with all the worries running through his head. He doesn’t want to die, he just wants to get away from its influence. He misses being normal, he misses his friends- He misses his mom.

He couldn’t stop himself from mourning a life he could no longer have- it infected him with something incurable, something that was going to always come back. The tears mix with the water while he thinks of the worst.

This is where I should stay now. Away from anyone I could ever hurt again. Away from-

He knew that white mask but he couldn’t bring himself to reach for it. He hadn’t seen Tim use the mask for months now. Had he been able to break away from it? Was he thrown down here to be taunted by it? Or was this just where things went when they weren’t needed anymore?

That made the most sense to him- what would he even do if he came back? He already proved time and time again that he didn’t have the guts to kill someone. That’s how Alex kept getting away from him and it made him feel like the biggest dumbass between the four of them. But he tried to fix that but helping in other ways- he tried to tell the others everything he knew, But no matter how hard he tried it only came out in riddles or code.

This was the clearest he’s been able to think in a long time.

He finally makes it to the end of the water but there's no ground, like a flipped image he falls through like the sky was just one big pond. He feels like he’s falling forever but he can’t bring himself to open his eyes. Wasn’t all this supposed to end the last time he fell? It made his stomach churn in the way it does when he sees blood just thinking about what a big splat he’ll make.

But he’s laying face first in the grass now and he doesn’t remember landing. He can’t even remember if he was falling anymore- was it just messing with his head? The air smells better here, smells familiar but he’s too busy collecting himself to connect what it is.

He rips his mask off after pushing himself up to sit on his knees, looking around dumbfoundedly at the familiar scene before him.

He was home.

But he shouldn’t be, dead people don’t get to return home.

But he also couldn’t ignore how…alive he felt. Like a video game character who just used a health potion. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good, even before The Operator he would always have something sore- a hangnail or a mosquito bite. It felt unnatural to feel no pain. But he could still feel- he felt his knees getting damp from the grass, the warm night air on his face, the cool feeling of breathing it all in.

He was home and he was…free?

Brian could still think clearly like he was in The Ark but the world in front of him was full of color. He was in the backyard of the house he grew up in, the house his mom owns.

I haven’t seen her since that morning I left to shoot with Alex...

The day Brian died The Hooded Man took his place, but Brian is back now and he misses his mom. He’s quickly on his feet and walking towards the back door, ignoring how the door is painted a different color. The familiar white is replaced with red and the chicken sign she always had hanging on it is gone too.

It doesn’t matter, people change and so do the things they own.

He doesn’t have a key, but years of accidentally forgetting his key somewhere made him learn how to learn how to pick locks. Luckily he remembers that he already broke the lock on one of the dining room’s windows when he was still learning. Deciding to work smarter, not harder, he rounds the house and tries to open the window.

It’s Locked.

It looks like his mom fixed it but he’s still able to pick the lock. It slides open easily and he still expects Cooper to run up and greet him- probably waking his mom with his barking. But all he hears is the ticking of a grandfather clock that he doesn’t quite remember his mom owning.

It’s been like, 6 years? I’m probably just isn’t remembering right.

He pulls himself in, his feet muffled by the new white carpet that his muddy boots soiled. He’ll have to clean that up later because he’s too distracted by all the new changes his mom put into the house while he’s been gone. The dining table stayed the same but where it normally had fresh flowers it now held some piece of modern art, he’s unsure what it’s supposed to be as it just looks like a white cube with more cubes flouting off it.

She sure has gotten some weird tastes since I’ve been gone.

He chuckles while he picks it up, flipping it around in his hand to look it over. He cringes at the mud that he leaves on it and decides it’ll be a better surprise if he cleans up his mess before she wakes up. The broom closest is where he remembers it, but the products in it are more expensive than he remembers.

Did dad start sending her more money?

He wonders, a bitter taste from the thought of his absent father whose only good came from the steady paychecks. Brian hasn’t seen him since he was 10, the last time either of them saw him while he gave his mother a wad of cash and flew off to Vegas. Brian thought he would have gambled everything away already, but it looks like his father took all of the familys luck.

He grabs some sprays and realizes the rags aren’t where they usually are. Looking around again he notices that the familiar tan wallpaper is now gone and replaced with an off-white paint, making the whole room brighter. Something about it made Brian feel sick, like he should be realizing something but his brain just wont let him.

I just need some water…can’t remember the last time I’ve had any.

He stumbles to the kitchen, trying to ignore his racing heart. He tries not to notice that he doesn’t recoganze any of the mugs, filling one up at the refurnished sink and chugging all the water down in big gulps. He repeats this a few times, not realizing how much he missed water even after having almost drowned 10 minutes earlier. When he’s done he leans back against the sink and lets out a sigh, basking in the feeling of being in his childhood home again.

But instead of smelling like breakfast food and cheap flowers it smells like artificial vanilla and pizza. When he opens his eyes he stares at the remodeled kitchen, unable to recognize anything from his childhood. He desperately tries to find anything familiar, pausing when his eyes land on the fridge.

Pictures of a family that looks too happy to be considered real replace his baby photos. He can’t help but to slowly walk towards it, pulling what had to be a stock photo off, letting the magnet hit the floor while he just stares at it.

This has to be some kind of sick joke.

“Put your hands where I can see ‘em’.” A man stands at the door in a bathrobe, a handgun pointing expertly at Brian's head. How long had he been staring at the photo? How is the stock image man in the same room as him?

“Why are you in my house?” His voice is deeper than he remembers but much smoother than it should be from not using it for the last 6 or 7 years. He keeps his eyes on the floor, hoping so desperately that it isn’t what he thinks is happening to him. Stuff like that only happened in cheesy movies.

“This ain’t your house, me and my family been living here for years.” The safety clicks and Brian looks up at the man, tears running down his face at a revelation that he was still desperately hoping to be false.

The older man stares at him for a moment, eyes widening before he slowly lowers his gun. “Wait…wait a moment. You’re that missing kid. Brian Thomas? We still have a paper up for you in the office.”

Kid? He had to be in his late 20s by now.

“What happened to my mom? Grace Thomas. She lived here.”

“Oh…kid.”

He didn’t need to hear anything else after that, a different kind of ringing filling his ears as if to try and protect him. But it quickly became familiar when he saw its face pushed against the dining room window, only slightly visible from his view from the kitchen and the off-duty cop in front of him. Thoughts that he knew now weren’t his filled his mind, thoughts of the stock photo family staining the stupid white carpet red.

How dare they live so happily in what was supposed to be his home.

He bites his tongue to try and ignore what the operator is putting in his head, but when did it get in the dining room?

Mom died because I wasn’t here to take care of her when she was sick.

He knows that. It doesn’t need to keep repeating it to him.

“What the fuck in that??”

Gunshots snap him out of it for a moment, watching the poor man in front of him desperately try and shoot at the creature and somehow miss every shot despite his close range. Brian can’t help but be a little impressed that he had the balls to do that, the thought had never crossed his mind.

There’s nothing left for me now, I might as well do as I’m told.

The gun is still in his pocket and while he knows that thought really isn��t his own he still can’t get over the relief he knows he will feel after he finally gets this all over with. Maybe it will finally leave him alone this time.

It’s not like his mom will get the chance to be disappointed in him now.

For the first time since he became The Hooded Man, he raises the gun with a clear head.

For the first time, He does as The Operator wishes.

[streaminn]

Enid's first few days inside the JPD

It doesn't go so well so keep that in mind while reading:

Enid really would love to put her days behind those bars in the past, but as they say; The past always finds you, always. 

It's no shock that it finds her during the nights she finally accepts sleep. It's been a few days since she had to settle into the much cleaner cell of JPD and her body couldn't keep up. She really wishes to not close her eyes because everytime she even tries to nap-

Her wrist aches and her hands spasms inside the mittens at the memory. 

Can't sleep can't sleep can'tsleep unsafeunsafe

What happens is a reminder and it whips into her with no mercy. Enid's mind can be so cruel and it descends like starved hyenas on dying prey the moment she slips into darkness. 

Her skin burns, it scalds like it's something unholy and she screams herself awake before she realises what's happening. 

Home, they cry, outraged. Where is home? 

It answers, resigned. Different cell, same outcome. 

They'll kill us either way. 

Bright spots flash onto her eyes: a flashlight, stinging blades and the deep red of her own blood rears into her head. A clang against metal leaves Enid scrambling back and the hazy silhouettes has her baring stained teeth. 

Hunters. 

Her nails slam onto the blankets with the want to pierce - no no no they took my claws - as she tries to tumble as far as she can from the light. It's not enough and Enid is suffocating. She can't move and the realisation is a whip over her back as she bangs her head into the nearest wall. 

Muzzle. 

She has a muzzle on. 

Her fingers paw helplessly at the metal digging onto the side of her face. Her head is so heavy and she slumps onto her knees as she does her best to dig her nails through cloth. She needs it off, needs everything to stop touching her, needs them away-

It's the hand on her shoulder that makes Enid pounce.

"Ma'am please," a voice begs and it pierces through the veil of buzz swallowing her. Enid snarls and she feels the wet staining her hands. "We need you to calm down, else we do something we'll regret!" 

Yes!

Something slides further into her palm and it's so familiar that she didn't need to know that it was blood. She’s slumped over a body and the lights are on. The smell in the room is sweet and so strong that the haze in her mind pauses.

Wolfsbane, it hisses.

Wait, she doesn’t remember wolfsbane in that room. Something struggles along her hands and on instinct, her grip tightened without thought. Just where is she?

Then a sharp rush of joy washes over her like a rollercoaster. Kill him, they cackle. Kill him!

“Wha-” her voice tapers from a growl and she coughs, stumbling back with harsh stuttering gasps. “What.” No! Not kill, killing is wrong.

They were going to kill home, it coos, grasping at her strings and tugging along. Get rid of them before they get rid of her.

“Ma’am?” It was an officer. She attacked an officer.

An apology was going to spill out of her lips, then she felt her own harsh breath and thought; y'know what, they deserve it. 

“Dont- don’t touch me,” she growls, eyes wide as she surveys the room. There’s four officers, two in the room and two outside.

They’re holding guns, she notes and she sees the way their finger’s press against a trigger. A cold chill in her mind digs with satisfaction and it leaves her with a pained realisation.

They could have killed me. 

They are going to kill me.

The apology that drags out of her throat is fake, bitter and plastic. There is no regret, only survival. “Im sorry,” she sniffles, forcing her lips to fall and it's enough for her to see the two outside relax. She plays it up and yet, the tears that slip out are true. Remnants of earlier. “I don’t know what happened.”

A hesitant brush against her shoulder has her flinching. Her head whips toward the other officer, a woman who looked like she didn’t know whether she should be there or not. 

“I'm sorry,” the officer said, voice so quiet and gentle that it awakened a wave of tears to spill. It was kind, kinder than Enid expected. It's enough to make her shoulders fall just a bit, but a part of her seeks for someone else. “I can’t remove the muzzle,” she strains and it's so apologetic that Enid would’ve fell for it, “But try to breathe as much as you can.”

It's in the repeating gasp for air, does she think. She has to breathe with every touch against her back. She has to ignore a part of her that screams at the intrusion and she thinks as her gloves get replaced, keeps thinking as she gets taken from the cold hard cell and into something a lot more padded.

I miss Wednesday, strikes her mind.

It's a fact, a longing stuck deep into her chest.

In the darkness and the words of “go sleep,” ringing in her head, Enid sits in her bed and simply thinks and misses.

Escape?

She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut. Going insane, she’s going insane. Hearing things in a cell.

She sounds like a man out of a crime show. A part of her wonders if Wednesday would've loved to watch her documentary. Its such a dumb thought that it has her let out a wet laugh.

I miss Wednesday.

Enid doesn’t sleep for another day.

[lady-ashfade]

Hi! I love your work! 💜

Could you please write a poly! Lockwood & Lucy x reader with both being overprotective of her/them?

Reader is a badass, can 100% take care of herself but they can't help being overprotective? Like, if reader got a single scratch they make a fuss over it?

Take care 💜🥰

🦇 anon!

Low blow

Poly!Locklyle x Fem!reader

Reader being sarcastic, and not taking anything seriously, me kinda making up a new type of ghost.

Warnings: Curing, blood, badly written actions scene.

You looked around with the flashlight and moved your rapier with each direction you looked. You slowly sneaked trying stay quiet incase you alerted the phantom, you had no idea where they had ended up. You pray they were looking after each other, your partners and best friend. You knew lockwood and Lucy could take care of themselves, and George knew how to take care of himself- But you desperately needed them to be okay.

As you took a step near a door but stop as you hear something behind you- It was forming behind you, shit. “Sorry, but this will have to wait.” You threw a bomb behind you and took off running down the hallway. You ran as fast as you could and you looked for your team in each door you passed, hoping the ghost wasn’t close behind you.

Then as you got to the large stairs you saw the shine of a flashlight and then disappear, “Thank god.” You sigh in relief then run up the stairs to find them. As you got to the top you walk to the right where the light came, and two doors down you saw a room lit up. You ran into the room and closed the door, knowing full well it wouldn’t help in the slightest.

You took a moment to catch your breath as they shined their flashlights on you and stared at you confused. “What happened?” Lockwood ask as he got closer. You smiled, “Me and the ghost decided to have a race, it was a great bonding moment actually-” you try and look up but the light blinded you so you blocked your eyes with your hand.

“Please, you guys are blinding me.” They quickly moved them down and Lucy came up to you and grabbed your face into her hands. “We haven’t found the source or anything- are you hurt?” She ask as she ran her finger over the small cut on your cheek. You laughed and pulled her hand away, “It was actually my fault, who knew glass was slippery.” You joked but her eyes held no amusement.

Lockwood walked up to you and you saw him reach in his jacket and you knew he was getting his emergency bandaid . “Not now. She is for sure about to be here. But I found something.” You took out the salt from your bag and placed it at the end of the doorframe. You walk over to the desk that was in the corner of the room, and pulled out a paper from your pocket and placed it down.

“Turns out we got the whole thing wrong, we’re looking for, Fiona Robinett. She died two years before her twin, horrible actually, she died by a flu of some sort. I know because she had a long scar on her face, like the one in the picture.” You pointed to the girl in the photo from what looks like a old newspaper. They look closer and listen to each word you say.

“Then that puts us with no information at all, I mean what could even be her source?” George asked as he panicked. You smiled and go to say something but the door was slammed open and you all jumped. “She missed me.” You smirk and point your rapier at her. The others followed and you look at your lovers as they stand in front of you.

“I don’t need-” you stop as a ringing in your ears making you groan, the other covering ears as the ghost screams. “George- If I get you a opening, somewhere up here is her old room and you’ll see a old teddy bear. Burn it.” You move over to him and look at him. He hesitated for a minute but nodded his head, “Good.” You patted his cheek.

“Lucy and Anthony, I’m going to need you to back me up and make sure she doesn’t come back and follow George.” They looked at you and shook their head. But they had no time to object as the woman came closer and you waved your rapier around, “Lets go on a tour.” You smiled at her and backed her out of the room and out into the hallway and down the stairs.

You screamed insults at her to keep her attention on you and not away, you pray George would find the source quickly. “Lovely dress by the way, really brings out your eyes.” You laugh but this comment seem to pissed her off. Your face dropped as a force sends you flying back and your body hit the wall. The pain in your body caused you to groan in pain and slowly sit up.

You watch as she gets closer and you look around for your rapier that you had drop. “Oh shit.” You panic for a moment. But you hear running and shouting, you look up to see your boyfriend standing above you and waving his rapier around. You get up to grabbed yours and stand behind him smirking, “Thanks pretty boy, but I told you to stay back.”

His jaw tightened, “Then you would have been dead, I can’t save you from upstairs.” You smile and look up at the ghost backing up. You saw her body light up the same way she did before she blasted you, so you pushed lockwood out of the way. You look right at her as she was ready to blast you then closed your eyes ready for the impacted.

But you open your eyes as you hear her screaming and slowly disappear, from the bottom to the top and you stare wide eyed. “He found it.” You say before getting a big smile on your face. “He found it! I knew I had to be right!” You shouted and looked down at lockwood and helped him up.

“What the hell were you thinking?” You took a step back as he shouted at you. You tilt your head confused, “What are you talking about?” You asked and he rolled his eyes. “You putting yourself in harms way, I saw what she did to you before and another blow like that could have hurt you, badly.” He pointed at the dent in the hall that you made.

“My sweet, I’m fine. I can take it, I know how to handle myself.” He huffed and took your arm and pulled you closer to check your body for cuts or bruises. “Anthony” you tried to stop him but he didn’t. You look at the top of the stairs and see the other two coming down, lucy saw you and rushed down the steps. “What the hell happened?” She looked at your bloody face and then to lockwood who had a stern look on his face.

“I’m fine, he’s over reacting.” You said then gasp as your shirt in the back was pulled up. “Look at this.” Lucy followed his gaze and a gasp of her own came out. The skin on your back was red and bruised already, it looked horrible and a big slash ran across your skin. “The ghost threw her into the wall, and she almost got hit again but you burned the source.” Lucy looked at you and you rolled your eyes.

“George, help me.” He looked at you and shrugged. “And do what? You know how they are.” You groan and pulled yourself away from them. “Let’s go home, you can lecture me later.” They followed right behind you and on your trail.

“Can you stop looking at me like that, if your going to yell just do so.” You look at the two in the corner of the room who stare at you. It was too much because you knew they were protective but this wasn’t a big deal, you’ve had worse.

“You could have broken something.” Lockwood crossed his arm. “But I didn’t.” You lean back onto the pillows of the bed and tried not to make a face at the pain. “You’re on house arrest.” You look at lucy with wide eyes, “What? I’m fine!” She shook her head.

“No, not until you’re fully healed and we go over some rules.” You throw your head back and groan. “I love you guys, but you both need to chill. I’m fine or have you guys forgotten that I have done cases on my own for years.” They walk over to the bed and sit down. The bed drips at their weight and you look over at them.

“And who knows what would have happened if I wasn’t there to save you, you’re reckless and more then me.” Lockwood ranted. “He’s right, no matter how long you can be in this field things, things go wrong. You need to wait for us, or at least talk to us.” Lucy reached her hand and held yours. You signed and nodded.

“I’ll try but I can’t help it. Though, if I get a kiss it might help me to remember.” You smirked up at her and she blushes and tired not to smile but it didn’t work. “You’re a idiot.” She laughed and leaned down to kiss your lips. She pulled back and you looked at your boyfriend with the same look, “Can I get one from you?” He couldn’t say no and leaned down to peck your lips.

“I just don’t get why you guys worry over me, when I can take you in a battle.” You declared. “Really?” Lucy leaned down to your chest and put pressure and your groan in pain, “Low blow.” You coughed at bit but couldn’t be mad at her.

“Bed rest for you.” Lockwood laughed at the two of you. “Yes, mom.” You picked up the blankets and threw them over you.

[all-that-glitters-is-goldfish]

Red

Summary: You try to surprise Luke for Valentine’s Day and it becomes a hot mess. (Just a lil drabble as I try to get back into writing!!) 

Pairing: Luke Alvez/Female Reader

Word Count: 759

“FBI, drop your weapon!” 

The bottle of wine crashed to the floor, a puddle of red liquid seeping underneath the white shag carpet. 

You definitely did not expect to have a gun pointed at the back of your head, a dark figure threatening to drive a bullet right into your skull. 

“I-” Throwing your hands up, you blink against the bright light as you slowly turn around ready to show that you were in fact unarmed despite the large shards of glass spread across the floor that could easily be used to slice the jugular of who had the gun that was now aimed between your eyes, but probably not as fast as they could pull the trigger.

“This is a misunderstanding.” You attempt, looking at the blood pooling up at the tip of your finger. You barely registered slicing it as you dropped the bottle, too startled by the booming echo of the man ready to end your life in a second.

“This is my boyfriend’s house.” You desperately explain, attempting to peer into the darkness and put a face to the intruder. 

Suddenly, the flashlight burning your eyes drops to the man’s side and you’re grateful that you weren’t blinded. 

“Y/N?” The agent lowers his gun and you finally see his face. 

“Luke?” 

“Oh baby I’m-” He holsters his weapon, crossing the room in one step to see if you were hurt. “I am so sorry. I thought you were out of town- I didn’t know who it was.” 

His hands are warm, one on each cheek as he examines you. You gulp once, twice, as you stare into his worried eyes. “I was, but I managed to catch an earlier flight, and I wanted to surprise you for Valentine’s…” 

The room was a mess. The red stain spread across the carpet, appearing disturbingly familiar to Luke and the countless number of crime scenes he had shown up to. “I should have known that surprising an FBI agent in the dark with no warning was a bad idea.” You laughed, but it was forced, and he noticed, not surprisingly, given his work with the behavioral analysis unit. 

His eyes dart back and forth as he studies you, gripping your hand tightly where he notices the small cut. His eyes don’t leave yours as he reaches to grab a kleenex from the table behind him, quickly pressing it hard against your thumb. 

“I’m so sorry, Luke.” What a mess. This is where trying to be romantic got you. Why did you take that advice from JJ? She and Will had been together for years, of course they’d try to surprise each other to spice things up! You do not do this to someone you’ve been seeing for less than a year, especially when they walk around armed with a weapon!

“Hey.” Luke snaps you out of your daze. “You have nothing to apologize for. I pulled a gun on you! I’m the one who’s sorry!” 

You shrugged your shoulders. “You thought I was a burglar.” 

His hand moves from your face to your shoulder as he sighs. “You alright?”

You nod. “I think the wine had it rougher.” 

Luke smiles, pulling you in close for a kiss. His lips are chapped, dry, but you still see the fireworks when you close your eyes like you had the first time he pressed his lips into yours. 

He pulls away, though you can tell he didn’t want to, but his face looked like he had better plans. 

“What is it?” You smirk. 

“I think we should clean up.” 

“Oh.” Frowning, you try to move past his tall figure to grab some paper towels from the kitchen. He caught you off guard as he playfully pushed you back. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“Huh?”

He pushes you towards the sofa, your back arching against the arm as he pins you down leaning in closely, feeling his breath on your neck. “I’m going to start a bath. And you’re going to grab the bottle of wine I was saving for when you got back from your trip.” 

Your heart flutters against your chest, butterflies swarming in your stomach. “Luke…” 

“Does that sound good to you?” 

Your grin practically stretches ear to ear, completely forgetting the mess. “I love you.” You blurt out, your eyes widening when you realized that was the first time you had said that out loud. 

He kisses you again and the butterflies settle when he pauses to whisper the phrase back. “I love you too, baby.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” 

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: III, Part Five

Keep in mind for one part of this, Vessel using 'it' in reference to one of three's murderers is in no way intended to insult anyone who uses those pronouns!

murder vessel <3 not particularly gory, though i did intend to go that direction. my brain simply failed me when i got to the murder V part, even though i was so excited to get to it

also III's murderers use slurs against the lgbtq+ community as well as vulgar language in reference to the vessels. bear that in mind.

longest chapter to date methinks

Word count: 16,687

AO3

Previous Chapter

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Masterlist

III cannot breathe. The arm around their throat only grows tighter with every futile attempt to escape. Harsh, ragged breathing is hot against his ear beneath his mask, and III is filled with all consuming panic.

Their assailant is bigger than them, wider and more muscled and III can't wiggle away, despite their thinner frame. The man must weigh at least fifty pounds more than III, all hard lines behind him.

What is the point in being a God's Vessel if he cannot even get away from a human man, regardless of their weight difference?

III kicks their feet out, trying to drop all their weight so that man has a harder time continuing to drag them deeper into the forest.

"This should be far enough. Not that anyone would come looking for you anyway." The man mutters, kicking the back of III's knee in and dropping to the ground at the same time.

III hits the dirt covered forest floor, twigs digging into their face through the mask before that man turns him around, a knee placed into his lower sternum, holding them down. A hand is used to hold III's wrists together to his side, pulling on one shoulder painfully.

There's a flashlight in his eyes, blinding their vision with white. It burns, like III was staring directly at the sun. They cover their eyes to escape the brightness, vision going white.

"Stop fucking struggling." The man spits, voice familiar in a way III can't place as they contemplate their ability to lean up and slam their head into the other mans.

III only struggles harder, more desperate to escape from the man and his dark tone promising violence.

"Let me get a look at you before I knock your lights out, freak. I've been waiting for the chance to get one of you alone. It might have been easier to get the little one."

The flashlight is still in their eyes, he can't see. It hurts, it hurts. There is such anger in them, too, at the thought of this man getting ahold of II instead. It wouldn't have gone as well, III is sure. II is far stronger than III and Vessel combined. He could probably overpower this asshole easily.

"Don't." III begs, trying to push them away from him as the man continues straddling them.

Wrongness was building up inside him with every inch of those fucking fingers closing in on their mask, the flashlight held in that very hand, too. Despite the situation, III can't help but think the man has some amazing dexterity.

His face belonged to no one but the other vessels and their God. No one else is supposed to see him. No one. No one.

"Shut up!" He hisses, leaning in close so III can smell the foul odor of his breath, "Your weird little friends just showed up one day and became the talk of the town with those stupid fucking masks, then you join them. Y'all in a cult or something? Can't show your face cause of some false God?" III kicks his feet at the insult to those they love, his God, aiming for a groin, a knee, anything.

"Fuck off!" III snarls, earning a knee in the ribs for their snark.

III lets out a grunt at the contact, at the ache it brought. The knee remains, like before but worse, holding him down and making their breaths come in short pants at the pressure placed right below their sternum. The man on top of him was burly, with a cruel smirk that twisted his facial features into something hideous. He could've been attractive if his personality wasn't so fucking atrocious. Watching him above them, like a beast over their prey, III is reminded very suddenly of their death.

Tears gather in III's eyes as they realize exactly who is on top of them, at the sharp pain slicing through their head.

III knows him, remembers what he did. Remembers the kicks to his ribs and stomach. There is a face to the memories now, that III didn't have before. He feels sick, like something has shifted inside them that should never have been touched. They weren't supposed to remember faces.

Just as Sleep took the faces of the people who knew the Vessels Before, He took some of the sway they held over the vessels. Memories can be so much worse when there are faces to those who hurt you. They are more tangible that way, something real and not just a distant dream that could be moved past. III could pretend, before, that they would never truly be hurt by them again. They were wrong.

III's head aches, like someone was repeatedly hitting them upside the head with a sledgehammer. The pain traveled from his temples, to the back of his head, along their jaw, down into his neck and spine. It hurt, it hurt-

Sleep's presence is creeping up on him, a low chorus of voices getting louder with every passing moment.

You should not remember.

You should notremember.

You should not remember.

There is crimson in his line of sight, and III wonders if it is blood, but no, the man's shirt is just red. They're the passerby from earlier. They must not have been close enough for who they were to click but III is a mess at the realization.

III looks around frantically, begging Sleep for anything that could get them out of this. His bonds were a mess of confusion and desperation, fear that was not his own. II and Vessel must be worried and III hates that he's causing those emotions. He should never have left. Should've known something was going to happen. Should've stayed with them instead of letting their newfound fear of bloody red get the best of them.

YOU SHOULD NOT REMEMBER.

The man manages to grip the bottom of III's mask, inching it up as he laughs at the revulsion in III's gaze. "I just want a peek. You must be pretty, must enjoy letting those weirdo's of yours fuck you, huh? Everyone has seen the way you fags act around each other. Disgusting. God didn't create man to fuck other men, but I bet the little one would be a good lay. He's small, pretty eyes and everything. If I keep the mask on, it won't matter if he's ugly underneath. I might even be able to pretend he's a woman."

The mask is up to his chin now, baring a small question mark freckle by his mouth, III radiating fury as the wrongness inside of him screams to get the man off. Get him off. Shut him up. He disrespected everything III cares for. Something itches at his side, distracting him for a mere millisecond before their anger overtakes him again.

The thought of this man touching II with even a finger, of even getting within touching distance at all, makes them sick.

III is still struggling, wiggling in the hold pinning them down to the forest floor. For a moment, the hold on one of his arms is gone, and just when III thinks they've found an opening, a fist is slamming against their cheek, forcing it to the side with the power behind the punch.

It aches all around one section of their face, now, as another blow in the same spot causes stars to explode across their vision.

"Stop fucking fighting!"

Rage is heating his blood to a boiling point, III is bursting at the seams with it, his lifeblood is going to boil out of his veins, overflow his insides with lava, its going to burn them alive- Shut the fuck up. Shut up, shut up, shut up- don't touch him- let them go-

Sleep's presence roars in his ears, righteous anger burning them up from the inside out, his skin itches fiercely, something within them clawing it's way to the surface.

YOU ARE MINE. YOU BELONG TO ME. YOU SHOULD NOT REMEMBER.

His arm shoots out, but its not the two held down. Its different, spindly like a spider with fingers long and thin with clawed tips. It knocks the man off them, and III sits up, pulling his mask back down from where it rests on his chin hurriedly.

Sleep is pleased, still upset, still raging in the back of his mind along with their migraine, but when that man was knocked off of them, the God calmed some, possessively lingering in III's bones.

The phantom limb fizzles away in a waft of pitch black smoke, and III wonders if they've finally lost their marbles completely.

In the next second, a blur passes by him too quickly for his eyes to catch, warm hands reaching out and pulling them up and to an equally warm body.

MINE. YOU ARE MY THIRD. MINE. YOU SHOULD NOT REMEMBER.

Sleep whispers in their ear, a cacophony of possessive voices determined to make sure III remembers who holds their soul in hand.

III looks up through blurry vision, relief filling them immediately at the soft touch. "Two. You're here."

"We came as soon as we felt something was wrong. I'm sorry we didn't get here sooner, he dragged you pretty far and we don't know the area that well." II explains, an arm wrapping around III's back to pull them closer, a hand cradling their head so gently against II's chest.

His heartbeat under III's ear is soothing, a slightly fast pace, strong, clearly telling of II's distress, of his relief in the bond, of them running here to help III.

"You came for me. No one ever- No one..." III cuts themself off.

III lets himself cry, salty tears glimmering with golden specks soaking into their mask, knowing that II would never hurt them. He came for him, II came for him. No one came for III when he died. No one helped him.

"Of course we came for you sweetheart." II soothes, visibly checking III over for any injuries but ultimately unable to tell due to their clothes.

"Vessel?" They asks, questioning where the other man is.

Did he stay at the car? Is he here somewhere-?

There is a resounding thud, a groan, and III moves their head from II's neck to try and look, but II shakes his head. A grunt of pain sounds from where II urged III not to look. III looks up at him with wide, confused eyes still leaking tears, and there is a hardness in II's gaze that III has never seen before, a fire heating up the blue, darkening it with II's anger.

II is watching Vessel, tracking every movement, taking no action to stop the other from whatever it is he is doing, is going to do. He felt the pain in III's bond, the strange sense of realization and the terror that followed, just as Vessel had. Anything Vessel does to this man will be well deserved.

Vessel stands over the man that had attacked III, all six-foot-something pulled up to his full height, usually hunched over to appear smaller. The lines of his mask seem harsher with his fury as the man attempts to push himself up from where Vessel had knocked him back into the tree, regaining his bearings after III had knocked him away just seconds earlier.

"You motherfucker!" The man yells, holding his head where a slit has opened up, dripping blood into his brown-colored eye.

"Silence." Vessel commands with a hiss, the tip of his split tongue peeking out from his mouth, fangs on either side, and the mans mouth falls shut with a click, staring up at Vessel with wide eyes, pupils mere pinpricks.

II and III have never heard that tone from him before.

"Do not touch them with your tainted fingers, ever again." Vessel growls, low and menacing, leaning in with a snarl so that his and the mans face are mere inches apart.

The man begins to get up, mouth curling back in disgust, a hand against the tree to balance himself. Another shove from an invisible force knocks his head into the tree with a loud thunk, a dazed expression falling over the mans features as he slumps over, body slipping to the side to the forest floor.

Vessel holds him down without any problem, vines growing out from the forest floor to wrap around the mans wrists and ankles, pinning him much the same way he pinned III earlier.

"Please, Vessel, can we go home? I want to go home." III begs desperately, clutching II to himself tightly, sick satisfaction twisting in their gut at his assailants pained groans.

II tightens the arm wrapped around III's back, pulling then impossibly closer.

Vessel reigns in his ardent rage, forcing a calm sea into his thoughts and across the bond. His anger still simmers, low but scalding where his heart should sit. It surges through his blood, the red and the black lit like a fire, his nerves aflame. Every atom of his being longs to just kill the man.

The thought should scare him. Vessel doesn't think he was ever inclined to hurt anyone, let alone kill someone, Before. He supposes now that he finally has people who show him care, he'll do anything to protect them.

Vessel reaches down to the mans temple, ignoring his angry cussing and slurs, and with little thought, puts him to sleep with the barest touch of his claw. Vessel fights back his nausea, not willing to let himself puke.

Vessel turns, leaving the man pinned to the foliage covered floor without a second glance, crouching before III and II. All six of Vessel's eyes soften, his eyebrows furrowing beneath the mask in fondness as he cups III's cheek.

III hisses in pain and Vessel retracts his hand hastily, an apology falling from his lips hurriedly. Guilt makes his insides squeeze, biting his lower lip harshly with a sharp fang that cuts skin, blood welling up.

"Not you, promise. He got a couple hits in before you both arrived." III explains, reaching out desperately for Vessel's hand as the man's gaze turns murderous.

He moves to stand, to turn right back around and stomp that fuckers face in, but III has taken Vessel's hand in their own again, pulling it up to rest Vessel's palm on their uninjured cheek.

III is shaking, small trembles every few seconds.

"I want to go home." III repeats, and Vessel shares a brief look with II before nodding shortly.

He stands, and II and III follow. Vessel squeezes III between them as they walk away, an arm around their shoulder, hand brushing II's shoulder as they walk. The gas station comes into view in minutes, and Vessel is pissed the man had managed to drag III this far in and had been able to hurt them before he and II got there.

III asks II to pick up the restroom key they'd dropped and return it, and II does so, leaving and coming back quickly to find III wrapped around Vessel like a koala, pressed against his back with their head on his shoulder. II smiles, a sad little thing tinged with surprise that Vessel is letting III that close without his usual layers.

III stays like that till they arrive at the car. Vessel hops in the drivers seat, putting the seat all the way back so he'll fit as II and III pile in to the back seat in a mess of limbs.

Vessel takes his cloak off of the back of the passenger seat, tossing it back onto III who still trembles, turning around to pull out of the parking spot when II starts spreading it over them as best he can.

Despite II's questioning gaze, Vessel pulls into a parking space outside of a phone shop. Without a word, he goes in and buys the best ones on the market with little thought to the price. The workers, a little intimidated, do not ask many questions as Vessel's tone, and the aura of danger surrounding him leads them to get him in and out of their shop as soon as possible. As Vessel signs his name on the needed documents, the words blur to his vision. His hand writes out letters in what he knows must be his usual cursive, but his eyes do not register the letters. Sleep graciously wipes much of the workers memories and fuzzes the security cameras, muddling them so they can't quite recall the name of the person who had just bought three expensive phones, instilling in them an unwillingness to investigate. Vessel is grateful for the intervention, sending that gratitude down the bond as Sleep's presence looms at his shoulder. The God is upset, lingering in the car with them after Vessel hands over the boxes containing the phones to a confused but accepting II and III. The papers containing their phone numbers is handed over as well.

'He isn't supposed to remember.' Sleep murmurs in Vessel's ear as he drives, and his knuckles turn white against the wheel.

'The Third is in pain. You were not meant to remember.' Sleep says softly, a gentle breath against the shell of Vessel's ear.

'How do you know, my God? Did they tell you?'

'No, he is unintentionally screaming of his hurts downthe bond we share.'

'Is there anything we can do?' Vessel asks, gritting his teeth and trying to focus on the road, not on the gentle murmur of voices in the backseat.

'You asked me once if I would tell you the names and faces of the humans who murdered the Third.'

The implication is there, and Vessel comes to the correct conclusion easily.

'Do I need to kill them?' Vessel glances at II and III behind him in the rearview mirror.

Their new phone boxes lay unopened in their laps, II nuzzling his nose into III's hair after they took their masks off. III is crying softly, still, head buried in II's shoulder, face barely visible past the loose strands of blonde curls that have fallen free of their bun. They are staring at II's hands, the way II's fingers caress III's knuckles with such gentle care.

Vessel does not allow his envy to overpower his rage. II and III matter far more to him than his own feelings regarding the two. Someone hurt III, put their grubby paws on him. If III wants to take comfort in II, when Vessel knows they've been growing increasingly closer, then he will not let his envy consume him.

'You were going to ask me to assist in ending their lives, were you not, my First?' Sleep asks, and when Vessel does not answer, only nodding imperceptibly, He continues, 'Their deaths are not necessary, no. I'm sure it would bring you great satisfaction to give justice to the Third. I can take their faces from the Third once more, and there is no chance of anything like this happening ever again, if you take their lives. The pain should dissipate regardless. I recognizeyour interminable need to temper their ailments. Decide soon, My First. The Third continues to be in pain.'

Vessel is quiet the entire ride home, contemplating if he really has the conviction to do something so drastic. II helps III begin setting up their phone sometime during the drive, and then when that is done, does his own phone. Vessel wordlessly hands his own phone box back, and II sets up Vessel's. Its quick work putting all of their phone numbers into their respective phones, and III is glad for the distraction of downloading apps or fiddling with games he may potentially like, head leant on II's shoulder. The pain doesn't abate, not in the slightest, but III feels its slightly easier to manage when they are so clearly cared for and safe in II's arms.

Vessel is quiet when they enter the manor, a wraith at their heel. Elvira tries to paw at his feet as he follows II and III up the stairs, so he picks her up, cuddling into her soft fur. She hangs limply, tail flicking back and forth as she lets Vessel do whatever he wishes.

Vessel lingers at the door, arms hugging himself, unsure how to help. Unsure what to do. Items in the room start to slowly, slowly lift from where they were placed, hovering gently.

When Vessel notices, they plop back down with quiet thunks. He stares at them, head tilting minutely to the side. With a little concentration, a stray pencil on III's desk beside the door begins to levitate, turning in a slow circle before plopping down quietly. Vessel thinks it must be his gift from eating the apple of Eden. For eating his own heart that has become divine after offering it up to his God. He wonders if he, too, has a weapon like II's battle axes.

II turns III's lamp on when he urges them to sit on their bed, crouching to pull out a medkit from under III's bed, and Vessel gets his first proper look at the purple blooming across one side of III's face. Anger surges through all three of their bonds, a raging hurricane that Vessel tries to reign in. His automatic reaction is to shut it down. So he does.

III lets out a pained whine as II snaps, not with anger, simply frazzled, struggling to keep his volume level, "Vessel, you promised!"

"Give me a second. I- I... just, please. Give me a second, I'm sorry." Vessel grits out, forcing words out of his mouth despite the tightening of thorns around his throat, crossing the room quickly and taking III's hand as he kneels in front of the bed beside them.

III and II were his. Vessel didn't care if they loved him or not. He loved them. As long as that love still lived in his soul, they would be his and he would protect them. III had been hurt. It was one thing for III to tell them that he had been hit. His anger had already consumed him at that time, what was a little more? Calmer now, to see what the asshole did to III... Vessel would take his hands for daring to touch what was Vessel's.

It's time to make a request of his God, one he knows will be granted.

"Shouldn't have let you go alone despite your insistence. I'm sorry, Three. I'm sorry." Vessel blurts, leaning his masked cheek on III's thigh, tears falling onto its inside surface and over the edges of the eye holes as he turns the bond back on.

Elvira starts up a purr, enjoying being pressed into Vessel's chest. Such an odd little cat. III tries to reassure Vessel despite the aching in their jaw, a hand coming to rest on his head and stroking gently over his hair and mask straps, but it is II speaking up that gets Vessel to calm some, "We won't go into town alone anymore. Groups of two, no one wanders off alone. It's clear now that it isn't safe. Our status as vessels is simply too dangerous a moniker, even if regular people don't know exactly what we are."

"He killed me. That man. I know it. He was one of the ones that killed me. I'm not supposed to remember his face but I do. He- Fuck. Fucking shit. It hurts." III whines, using their available hand to cover one side of their face, one side of their ribs beginning to itch.

There is murder in Vessel's six eyes at the admission, tears still leaking from his eyes. It merely confirmed what his God has already claimed, but Vessel is livid at the words falling from III's own lips. The way they had broken off in a pained moan, the way Vessel has truly taken a moment to focus on the pain down III's bond. Vessel has thought it was from where III had said that piece of shit hit them. That pain is there in the bond, but something darker lingers behind it, deeper in their veins.

"I agree with you, but this time it wasn't entirely just a random civilian. He had killed me." III finally responds to II's earlier statement, utterly miserable, the itch beginning to become unbearable as II leans into III's space, setting the first aid kit down nearby and wrapping them in a hug.

"Fuck. I wanted to be accepted." They sob, wiping furiously at the tears spilling angrily, despairingly, down their cheeks, "I wanted to be accepted and Sleep has doomed me to turn into a monster-"

II pulls them closer, letting III wrap an arm around him. A hand is carding through their hair so tenderly, the other arm wrapped around his lower back to keep them close.

"You're not a monster, honey. Don't talk about yourself that way." II soothes as III continues sobbing, Vessel wrapping his arms around III's leg.

They hiccup, blubbering, "You didn't see me! You didn't see what I did, what came out of me. It looked like the arm of a spider, it was disgusting. I'm disgusting."

II tries to keep from stiffening at the thought, his fear of spiders seeping into the bond even as he tries so desperately to keep it away. III feels it nonetheless, physically and mentally, and lets out a low keen of distress as they try to pull away, a hand clinging to II's shirt. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." They repeat, and Vessel is reminded very suddenly of himself.

He doesn't want III to feel that way, ever.

An arm emerges from III's side, startling all three of them. III shrieks, trying to move away but the arm simply moves with him, wisps of dark smoke trailing after the limb, clawing at their sheets and leaving deep slices in the material. Vessel watches, in some strange fascination and confusion, while II stumbles back, eyes wide as fear floods the bond.

Elvira scrambles out of Vessel's arms with a yowl, hopping out of the room quickly. Vessel doesn't even feel the new scratches on his hand, his bandages saving his arms from too much damage.

"Two, step out of the room for a second to calm down, please. It's still Three, not a spider. It's still Three." Vessel manages through the tightness in his throat as he notices II's breathing beginning to become labored and quickened.

II nods, unable to speak past his fear as he flees, sending strong feelings of regret and apologies through the bond so thoroughly it nearly drowns out his still present fear. Vessel can tell he doesn't go far, the door being left cracked open, and the slow sound of II sliding down the wall to sit just outside the room easily heard. II brings his knees to his chest, angry at himself for allowing such a stupid fear to upset not only himself, but also III. They don't need this right now. Tears slip down his cheeks as he tries in vain to lessen the tremble that has set into his bones.

Vessel moves to sit on the bed beside III, pulling them close and carefully avoiding the new limb more for III's sake than his own. "Two has a fear of spiders, this isn't your fault." Vessel tries, but III is quick to cut him off.

"No, no, Two is going to hate me. He won't want to be around me anymore because of this." III sobs quietly, also aware II is still near, clutching Vessel's shirt in hand with a tight grip.

Vessel shakes his head, "Two would never be so quick to leave you, Three. Have some faith in him, he cares for you. It will just take time for him to work past his fear. I've always been the one to remove any of the spiders in the house. He scared me half to death the first time he found one here."

"I have given you a gift, my Third." Sleep says, voices bouncing off the walls as their presence emerges from the darkness, no longer lingering at Vessel's shoulder.

Their upset is clear in their voices, hurt and offended. "You ate the apple of Eden. This power is what was given in return for accepting me. In time, the Second will learn to get over his fear. He must, for I will not take my gift back. Learn to use your power, it is not all it seems."

"Okay, okay," III takes a deep breath that hitches once in the aftermath of his cries quieting, steeling their resolve, trusting in Vessel, trusting in their God, "I'm sorry, Sleep. I- I just don't know what to think right now. I'm... Scared. I'm scared, but- Fuck, I believe you, Ves. Is this what you deal with all the time? This insecurity that the people you care for are going to leave you?" III asks suddenly, peeking up at Vessel through their eyelashes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that."

The question throws Vessel off, unsettling him as Sleep's presence fades to the background as He leaves at Vessel's silent, reassuring urging in the bond. He didn't realize that III knew what his anxiety whenever they left the house without him was about. Didn't realize they knew one of the reasons why Vessel was so hesitant to let himself be open with the both of them.

Vessel reaches out across the tether connecting their souls and really lets III's emotions wash over him. The self-loathing and the uncertainty, the biting anxiety that seems to eat away at his body until there is nothing left but a broken shell. Vessel hates that III knows what that feels like.

"Yes, it's a lot like this." Vessel finally admits after a moment of silence, hoping III will drop the topic to save himself the pain of admitting something so deeply ingrained in his very soul.

"How do I get this thing to go away?" III asks after taking a few more deep, steadying breaths, the phantom arm moving slowly with III's direction, seemingly not needing to use his other arm to spur movement.

Its hand tightens into a fist, curling and uncurling before each finger moves individually to touch what seems to be the palm. Vessel takes a deep breath in hopes to loosen the fist around his lungs, squeezing and making it increasingly difficult to speak. He hopes he can stave off his impending silence a little longer. He has things he needs to do. People he needs to hear him.

"When I first used Sleep's sleeping ability, it took some concentration and imagining what I wanted to happen. Try to picture the limb disappearing the same way it appeared, beloved." Vessel cannot stop himself from saying the endearment, hates how easily it slipped out.

III doesn't seem to notice, doesn't say anything nor pull away from Vessel, only closes their eyes to focus. Vessel knows he will be punishing himself for the slip-up later, cursing his lack of self-control. III attempts to do what Vessel advised, and on the second try, the phantom limb seems to be sucked back into III's body in a swirl of thick black smoke. III sobs with relief, curling into Vessel's side closer than before.

"You did so well, Three! I'm so proud of you." Vessel praises, calling II in once he's sure the spider-like arm won't come back.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." II blurts desperately as soon as he enters the room, hovering by the door hesitantly. "I brought an ice pack, for your bruising. I didn't think any of our stuff in the medkit would work. It's mainly for cuts."

Vessel does not miss the apologetic glance II sends him, nodding in acceptance. Its not like II is wrong. III looks up from where his face is hidden behind Vessel's shoulder, forehead resting against the bone, and makes grabby hands at II. II sighs in relief, the feeling echoed through the bond, crossing the room quickly and shoving himself into III's space for a tight hug.

III falls onto the bed with a soft oof, letting II hold them however he pleases. A hand blindly reaches for Vessel, holding tightly to his shirt again, and Vessel lets a soft smile pull at one corner of his mouth. II holds the ice pack to III's cheek as he continues to wrap around them like a koala.

"'S cold." III mutters into II's hair, eyes closing as appreciation flows down the bond, "Feels nice though. Helping my headache a little too."

Vessel's gaze seems to sharpen at III's admission, reminded of the events of the day. "Try to get some rest, both of you." Vessel urges, moving to stand.

"You're not staying?" II asks, as III follows it up with, "I was hoping you'd sleep here again. Well, not sleep, but... cuddle? As much as you're comfortable with?"

Vessel couldn't refuse, not with the way II turns to look up at him with such shining hope in his pretty blues, and III turns his own blue eyes on him, widening them a little for effect. And effective it is, because Vessel caves in immediately. They welcome him with open arms and soft smiles when he returns with his usual heavy layers and a thick blanket, and Vessel returns that smile. Its small, but genuine, and Vessel is happy.

He adores them.

When night next falls, Vessel has some bastards to send to his God. Tonight, he will relish in the touch of the two people he loves most in this world, will plot revenge on behalf of one of them.

Later, cuddled up under the blankets and fast asleep, holding onto II tightly with their head tucked into his chest, III stirs. Vessel, becoming used to this, sits up, his own blanket slipping off his chest as he places his book down, eyes alert and watching III for any signs of distress. Sure enough, there is a pained crease between their brow and Vessel pulls the nightmare III is experiencing from their temple. Like every other time, it slips down his throat with ease. Unlike every other time, Vessel is a little breathless at the ecstasy the taste brings. He craves the nightmares more and more, and knows he should not keep eating them.

The night of his assault, III dreams of their death. Dreams of desperately watching people pass by the alley they had been dragged into. When they see who is being hurt, who is begging for help with their eyes behind the hand covering their mouth, they glance away. Some look as though they regret their decision as they walk away, others sneer with a twisted sense of righteousness. III is left in the hands of those who will kill him. They dream of all their attacker had said that day, and then it isn't just III being held down. Its II, writhing in agony under the grip of the only man whose face III can see clearly.

Vessel waits long enough after the nightmare ends to make sure neither III nor II awaken, then flees to his room to puke up his guts. Nausea roils in his stomach, a relentless churning of disgust. Hopeless and powerless in the face of III's suffering and the concern they feel for II. He knows who he's killing first.

Vessel paces his room for nearly an hour, clawing at his arms in his anxiety before moving to his thighs as the punishment he knows he deserves.

A thought strikes him and he continues pacing, wondering if he should even ask.

"My God? Are you near?" Vessel whispers in question.

He knows he could just tug on the bond in his chest to ask, but doesn't see the harm in voicing his questions aloud when he is trying desperately to keep his voice until he has done what is needed.

"I am here, dear First. Is it time?" Sleep murmurs, voices a low croon in his ear.

"Not yet. I- I am waiting until tomorrow-" Vessel stalks to his window, pulling the curtain aside briefly to see the barest glimmers of orange peeking over the treeline, "Ah, tonight. I have a different question. II has his battle axes, III their spider arms. Do I have a weapon, and is this strange ability to levitate objects mine or something I have accidentally borrowed from you?"

"Hm, levitation is not one of my abilities, no. It is entirely your own. I'd imagine it is not something so weak as levitation, but perhaps a telekinesis of some sort. Your abilities are a little harder for me to navigate. As for a weapon, you do have one. The Third will as well, with the appearance of their shapeshifting. Yours has been with you since your awakening as a proper vessel, you need only learn to conjure it." Sleep informs him, and Vessel is glad his God seemed to be so willing to share.

If Vessel asks, then his God will answer.

As Sleep speaks, Vessel grabs his own medkit that II insisted he keep in his room, wrapping his arms and thighs with fresh bandages after disinfecting the new wounds.

"I see. Thank you. I will get to practicing right away. If I cannot manage it by the time night next comes, I will kill Three's murderers with my bare hands." Vessel resolves in a quiet hiss promising violence.

Vessel leaves his hoodie on his bed, changing into clothes more suited for movement. A pair of his looser jeans, and a tank top under a t-shirt. A hairtie pulls his hair back into a sort ponytail to keep it out of his eyes, and Vessel clips his mask to a belt loop at his side. As he leaves the house, bending to pet Elvira on the way out the door, Vessel realizes he should let the others know where he is going.

Vessel finds II's contact in his phone easily, sending a message to him, and then repeating the process with III.

Vessel: Out in the forest, practicing something. I'll be back in a little while. :::)

After a moment, Vessel decides to change their contact names. He sets II's to lowercase letters, two i's to represent two drumsticks. For III's, he puts two question marks, with a third one upside down in the middle.

A familiar fog lingers on the forest floor as Vessel walks, a destination already in mind. When he wasn't in the house, reading or writing lyrics or spending as much time with II and III as they would allow, much of his time was spent out here in the woods. Branches reach down to brush his shoulders as he goes, catching his hair and letting the strands go before they can pull too harshly. Vessel's hand trails over harsh bark and through low hanging branches, feeling the energy of the surrounding nature. The forest seems to breathe, to sing its own tune, with the whistle of wind and bird song through the canopies. He passes mushrooms of all types, and knows when night falls, the forest will be alight, and perhaps more beautiful.

The clearing he heads for comes into view within the hour, deeper into the forest than he usually ventures. Over time, he has come to know this place like the back of his hand, as every lifeform seems to react to his presence, leading him wherever he wants to go. Even though its a more unfamiliar section, Vessel isn't uneasy. This is Sleep's domain, and Vessel snd his beloveds are safe here.

Its a far cry from when he first arrived, stumbling and in pain, knees and palms meeting the foliage and its hard twigs and pebbles so many times before he eventually found the manor. The forest no longer leads him astray, as he is one with Sleep, and this place is the God's earthly domain just as much as dreams and nightmares.

Vessel loiters at the edge of the clearing for a few minutes, unsure what to do with himself, before he steels his resolve and takes that first step. He has some vague idea of how to go about this, he just has to put it into action.

Taking a deep breath, Vessel closes his eyes as he stands in the middle of the clearing. Another deep breath, and he imagines a weapon appearing, any weapon. He doesn't think it matters what he uses. He just needs something. Nothing happens for a long time.

He leaves the bond open, and as the day wears on, lets them feel his mounting exhaustion and anxiety and determination.

Sleep must take pity on him as noon rolls around and he has made no progress. Sitting on the ground with his head in his hands, Vessel leans imperceptibly into the small breeze that blows his hair around.

"My sigil on your neck is a symbol of your powers awakening."

"I have had this since the beginning." Vessel says, reaching a hand down to brush against the red sigil in the hollow of his throat.

It tingles faintly at the careful touch, "Do Two and Three have one as well? I didn't see one anywhere visible."

"They each have their own, yes. Your weapons will manifest with the help of something dear to you."

"Two's battle axes were his drumsticks." Vessel tries to think of what his may be.

"I don't have my piano." Vessel mutters, and Sleep's laugh reverberates in his skull, echoing around him and through the trees.

"A good guess, my First, but it is not your piano. Take another guess, what other instrument is dear to you?"

"My voice?" Vessel offers, head tilting to the side as he lifts his head from his hands.

"Your body, my First. Your voice, yes, but it is your body."

"I... My body is not dear to me, my God. I actively destroy it myself, frequently."

"Do you wish death upon me, my Vessel?"

"What? No, of course not. What does that have to do with-"

"Your body is your instrument of worship." Sleep says, knowing His vessel will understand from that alone.

Realization strikes.

"Oh."

Vessel offered his God his heart. Vessel offers His God his blood. He offers his past and his pain and the memories all held close in his soul to His God. He is going to use his body to protect the other vessels, is going to use it to avenge the Third. Even if he cuts into it, even if he kills himself, the damage is superficial.

If Vessel really didn't care for this body, for His God whose life is connected to his own, or so they say (Vessel questions the validity of that statement), then he would have taken a knife to the altar room wall where the sigil holding his heart rests.

But Vessel does not truly wish to leave His God, nor the other vessels. He loves them, and as long as they'll have him, he'll stay.

"Thank you, my God. I understand now."

Sleep's voices are fond as they fade, another breeze ruffling Vessel's hair, and he knows it's his God, touching Vessel in the only way he can. "Of course, my dearest Vessel. You have the knowledge you need, now you just have to utilize it."

Utilize it, he will. II had summoned his completely on accident, completely concentrated on himself and his instrument. Vessel decides to focus on concentrating on his body, as Sleep said it is what will help manifest a weapon.

Closing his eyes, Vessel relaxes his posture, and places his palms down on his knees. Then, he really tries to become aware of his own body. Vessel feels the dull ache in his knees, the sting of his fresh cuts, every inhale and exhale becomes deliberate. The dryness in his throat, the movement of his eyes behind his eyelids.

An ache starts in Vessel's spine, spreading around to his ribcage.

A deep breath in, a long exhale.

The ache disappears.

There is a weight in his lap, something hard under his palms. Opening his eyes, Vessel stands, his weapon held in one hand loosely.

The scythe is bone white, curved only slightly like the spine it is made of. Where spine meets the sharpened rib turned blade, a ribcage has been etched into the bone. In the ribcage sits a blackened, realistic heart, with spots of gold and red for detail. Vessel is reminded of daggers, and how some pommels are intricately carved. Its missing some vertebrae in a section towards the middle where Vessel's hand would grip the handle, black leather laced with a couple straps of white leather. The vertebrae are smaller after the handle, going down in size until they end where the sacrum begins, before going down into a sharp point of the coccyx, almost like a spearhead.

With an ease he didn't think possible, he swings it around so that it nearly aligns with his body vertically. Its almost as tall as himself, save half a foot.

Vessel grins, overcome with delight, and with barely a thought, the scythe disappears in a small shower of golden sparks. With a little concentration, it appears again in the same way.

II and III send down feelings of question, and Vessel responds by simply tugging gently on the bond, a faint thrum of excitement traveling down it. Vessel makes his scythe disappear as a text comes in a second later, from a group chat Vessel didn't start.

(Eepies)

ii: Are you coming back home now Ves? I made lunch. Did you want some?

Vessel: No, thank you. Go ahead and eat.

ii: Okay =)

III has changed the group name to Eepies (was Sleep's Vessels)

ii: III, honey, what does eepies even mean

?¿?: sleep's sleepies. y'know, sleeps vessels. eepies. and you're always sleepy

ii: Sure honey, that makes total sense

?¿?: is that sarcasm I feel like that's sarcasm >=/

Vessel: I'll be heading back soon.

ii: Did you finish whatever you were working on?

Vessel: Yes :::)

?¿?: stop being cute >=/

Vessel: Whatever do you mean?

?¿?: im not explaining, ii gets it

ii: The six eyed smiley face is adorable. Thats what III means

?¿?: aww =( =( =( you told him =( =( =(

ii: Ves would overhink it otherwise

?¿?: overhink

ii: Learn what a capital letter is sweetie before you mention my typos

?¿?: doll you dont seem to use punctuation consistently

II sends a photo of a pouting cat with a human middle finger plastered over its paw and III sends back some strange laughing face. Vessel frowns, looking up at the sky after glancing down at the time on his phone. Just past noon. He didn't think it was that cute, but those two confuse him so often anyway, he's not even going to question it. Not even going to question the teasing that hasn't turned into an argument, like Vessel thought it would.

Vessel: Heading back to the house now.

ii: Okay, be safe!

III sends a thumbs up emoji, and a few caret symbols, showing their agreement with what II had said. Shaking his head with a small smile, Vessel begins the trek back to the house. His phone dings numerous times for new messages, and when he stops to check, his anxiety making him think its something important, he sees that III has spammed the group chat with a bunch of photos with overlaid text. II calls them memes, and the word is familiar to Vessel, though he doesn't remember really ever having any sent to himself, nor sending any out.

Its cute, despite Vessel not really understanding any of them. He enjoys the smell of nature around him, the sun peeking through the overhead canopies warming spots on his face. The brightness stings his eyes a bit but Vessel has become more used to it as time goes on.

Passing by a mushroom cluster, Vessel decides to take a photo. He first has to figure out how. It takes a second, but he manages to get one and sends it to the group chat with a bit of difficulty.

The image is of a cluster of tall milky white mushrooms, with a wide, white head that goes into a dark, murky green in the middle. Vessel's fingers have accidentally gotten in the bottom of the frame, and the rest of the photo is a little blurry.

?¿?: oh thats a mycena chlorophos!!!!!! It glows a neon green at night!!!!! ^_^

ii: Nice photo Ves! Hold the camera still a little bit longer next time <3

Vessel grins, turning the phone around to take a photo of himself. He sends it to the group chat after a little deliberation, forcing himself to not think about it too much. Its blurry, moreso than the other one, only catching the top half of Vessel's face and a little of his proud smile, a thumbs up deliberately in frame.

?¿?: =O

?¿?: =D

?¿?: ^_^ youre so cute

ii: You're so cute.

Vessel blushes, turning his screen off to try and get rid of some of his embarrassment. The entire time spent walking back to the house is filled with Vessel overthinking what the fuck he just did. Why did he send a photo of himself? He shouldn't have done that, even if they said he's cute. He's not cute, and he definitely shouldn't have sent that photo of himself.

Upon returning to the house, Vessel finds that II and III have unloaded the car and gotten the TV and PlayStation set up in the downstairs living room. Miraculous internet and electricity access aside, Vessel is a little disappointed he didn't get to help. It would've been interesting to watch the set up process.

III hops up from the couch when Vessel enters the living room, taking his hand gently and pulling him excitedly over to where the TV is turned on, a game idling on the loading screen.

"You're back! We were waiting for you so we could start NieR: Automata."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to make you wait." Vessel apologizes, guilty, unable stop staring at the purple swelling on III's face.

The sight makes him so, so angry.

"No, no, Sugar. I didn't tell you we wanted to play anything, you couldn't have known. Besides, no harm done. I do have some patience in me!" III reassures before calling out to II.

II comes down the stairs, a couple blankets already in hand. He smiles when he sees Vessel, offering a greeting that he returns, and they all settle on the couch, blankets laid over their laps.

"Who all wants to play?" III asks, and Vessel watches as II shakes his head.

"I'm alright. I'm content to watch."

Seeing II decline leads Vessel to thinking its okay for him to do the same, "I'll just watch you play, for now. Later, perhaps."

"Aww, okay. That's fine. Well, don't laugh when I inevitably die. Repeatedly."

As the game starts, and the opening sequence begins, a woman begins speaking.

"Everything that lives is designed to end. We are perpetually trapped in a never-ending spiral of life and death. Is this a curse? Or some kind of punishment? I often think about the god who blessed us with this cryptic puzzle... and wonder if we'll ever get the chance to kill him."

Vessel is enraptured immediately, leaning into III and laying his head on their shoulder. III plays as a stoic android woman, 2B, one of many androids tasked with wiping out machine lifeforms so humans can return to Earth. She is joined by witty, emotional 9S, a surveillance type Android, and their pods, little rectangular machines with small arms designed to help with assault and data collection.

Despite III's words, they don't die that often. They spend a few hours just watching III play, and Vessel is intrigued by the story and the world instantly. The music is beautiful, and Vessel loves it immediately, would love to listen to it outside of the game even, to hear it better past all of the sound effects of the game itself. The boss fight against a machine who tries to make herself beautiful using the bodies of androids, all for the attention of another arrogant, narcissistic machine who never even knew she existed is terribly sad, and the first fight to kill III.

Elvira hops up in II's lap at some point, asking for affection insistently.

"Hi, baby, come to hang out with us?" II asks, petting Elvira's head as she leans into it with a short trill.

She leaves II quickly to curl up in Vessel's lap, kicking up a low purr as her tail brushes his arm. Vessel smiles, looking down for a second to pet her properly, keeping one hand running through her fur when his attention moves back to the game.

II pouts at the fact his cat just left him. Its a cute sight though, so he doesn't mind that much. II slowly takes out his phone, snapping a photo and setting it to his phone wallpaper, even if the angle is a little too far to the side. It shows III focused intently on his game, a little furrow in his brow, Vessel's head on his shoulder and Elvira sitting in his lap, nearly lost in the black blanket spread over both of their laps. Its so fucking adorable, II wants to explode.

They take a break when dinner rolls around, and Vessel escapes to his own room for a little while.

The others can tell he is distracted the rest of the day, zoning out frequently at the dinner table. There is satisfaction in the bond even then, telling of Vessel's success earlier that day with something he doesn't share with the others. They don't mind, happy to see him happy about something, whatever it is.

There is anger still fizzling under his skin at the pain III does not hide entirely, but clearly makes some attempt at lessening its flow over the bond. They had taken some medicine for it earlier, and while it seemed to help, it wasn't anything substantial.

II and III go to worship together, leaving the door open in case Vessel wants to join. He doesn't, leaving them to their worship. The smell of the floral incense III had gotten recently spreads to the rest of the house, a subtle scent that doesn't overpower any of their noses. The ink is still seeping back into their forearms when they leave the altar room, hand in hand.

Everytime they go in, Vessel fears they will hear his heart.

II and III are disappointed when Vessel doesn't come to bed with them like he had been. He instead urges them to go on without him, stating he wishes to worship for a little while. II frowns as Vessel avoids their question when III asks if he's going to come lay with them later.

There is guilt in the bond. It is not II or III's.

"Goodnight Ves!" III calls with a yawn, waving from outside II's door with his other hand pressing an ice pack to his cheek.

Though still a deep purple, the swelling has gone down at least. Vessel waves back with a smile, still a little curious as to why the other vessels sleep as humans do. His God had said so many hours would not be required, and yet, the others seem to feel exhaustion and tiredness as they used to, Before. A question for another time, perhaps. He turns one pair of eyes to II next, who clearly looks as though he wants to say something. There's a war going on in his eyes, indecision stark within them as they watch Vessel with something akin to curiosity. Vessel wonders if II knows what Vessel is going to do.

"Goodnight, Vessel. I- I..." II pauses, unsure, and ultimately does not finish what they were going to say.

Fuck, II loves Vessel so much. He just wants to be able to say it, to tell the other man. He wants to be able to tell III, too, but they both fear that Vessel will think they are leaving him behind if they confess properly to each other first. He wants Vessel to be able to tell him things, wants to share the weight dragging him down. Vessel has opened up so much since the beginning of II's time at the manor, is so proud of him for it. Fuck, II just wants to smother him and III in love without holding anything back.

He turns, tired eyes sad as he shuts his door behind him, leaving it open a crack in invitation.

Vessel stares after him, longing deep in his bones.

II and III cuddle close, II allowing himself to be the little spoon. "Did he seem alright to you?"

"Does Vessel ever really seem alright?" III mutters back sadly, burying their face in the back of II's neck, breath fanning against his nape and sending light shivers down his spine.

"Well, no, but I think he's hiding something." II says, stroking gently fingers along the length of III's arm that's laid over his side, pulling him close to the other.

"He could still be upset. I think what happened with that asshole yesterday ago shook him up more than me." III attempts to joke at the end, but it falls short.

"Don't undermine your pain, I had to wake you from a nightmare just this morning. I'll admit Vessel was the most angry I've ever seen him. He didn't seem to want us to see him that way either. His bond has been radiating guilt since dinner. He was so distracted after we stopped playing NieR. Do you think he hurt himself again?"

"It's definitely a possibility, but he's been getting better at coming to us or cleaning them himself. We can either ask or let him come to us."

"We'll ask in the morning. He's been getting better at telling us things, too. Though, he did leave his mask off today. He's hides so much from us with that thing on, even with the bond."

"Mm, his face is such an open book, its no wonder he hides it. Its clearly also a comfort thing too, he never sings without it." III says into II's hair, feeling the others bond beginning to fuzz up.

"I wonder what expressions he makes when he sings. I bet they're cute."

"Its Vessel, of course they're cute." III takes II's hand that has gone limp in their hold, bringing it to their lips to place a tender kiss against his knuckles.

II hums an agreement, drifting off in the following silence. III tries to pull him closer, but its impossible since their bodies are already flush together. He wishes Vessel was here with them.

Vessel waits in his room for a little while for his chance to worship. When he feels II's bond go fuzzy with sleep, feels III's follow a few minutes later, he heads to the altar room.

He kneels in front of Sleep's altar after lighting a match, all the candles then lit with a flame, except the red one which burns a shining gold. His God is already here, awaiting his word.

Taking a knife, one of many he keeps in his room, Vessel slices into his forearm, purposefully reopening a newer wound so that II and III are less likely to notice it. Human and divine blood drips steadily into the offering plate, and once he is sure there is a sufficient amount, he places a large, shiny moss-covered white stone in the center. He lets his bond close, not all the way, open enough for the others to tell he is still alive if they awaken unexpectedly.

Taking a deep breath, steeling his resolve, Vessel begins to speak, mask settled securely over his face.

"My God, I am formally requesting the names and faces of every person involved in Three's murder."

"As you wish, my First. Take a bite."

A glowing orb, iridescent in color, with wisps of light smoke floating off of it sits in the offering place, replacing the stone and his blood. It is almost like the nightmares he eats.

Without any hesitation, he picks it up. It slides down his throat smoothly, sweet and airy, like a dream. Perhaps that is what it is.

Vessel is in town, the light of the sun stinging his eyes as it creeps towards the horizon. Before him, walks III, maskless as Vessel finds himself, completely human, and like a beacon, radiating such life and energy, bouncing a little with every step. The sight makes Vessel smile. He's entering a music shop, and Vessel scrambles to follow. He doesn't call out, hates the attention it would bring, only follows closely behind them. Looking around the busy shop as III browses, Vessel tries not to think about all the people around him. At one point, III stops, and Vessel doesn't notice, colliding directly into them.

Only, there isn't actually any contact made. Vessel's whole body tingles, like every bit of himself had gone to sleep all of a sudden, and he phases right through III. It's disorienting and Vessel is left blinking rapidly in confusion. III doesn't seem to notice anything weird had happened, continuing on with picking up a CD and glancing over its back cover. They put it down, and Vessel continues following them for a few minutes. They leave the store without buying anything, muttering about nothing new being stocked yet. As they're leaving, Vessel recognizes one of the people entering.

III compliments one of the men in their group, and all three of them gain this strange, hateful expression. Vessel feels his stomach sink.

One swings an arm around III's shoulder, pulling him along with them as they crowd him in on one side, and the back. He couldn't escape, their placement intentional. III keeps eyeing the men around him nervously, shuffling along as they lead him down the street to a dingy alley, with closed down shops on either side. There are fewer people here, Vessel notices, as he follows at their heel.

He tries to grab III, to pull them away from these people, because he knows what comes next. III had told them, without such exact detail as witnessing it himself. Already Vessel feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, desperately trying to touch III, to get them away, to shove the men away from him.

His hands phase right through, tingling so badly he can barely move his fingers.

Vessel cannot stop the cry of rage, of despair as they corner III in a circle, as he is shoved against a wall and the first blow lands. Every one after is like a knife to Vessel's chest. When III slides to the ground, slumping over in a daze, and another kick sends them sprawling, Vessel falls to his knees at his side. Desperately, he looks around the alley, begging for someone to help III in his stead. A man passes by, glancing at them and then looking away as though nothing was happening. A woman and her boyfriend pass by next, and while she wants to help, the boyfriend pulls her along. All these people pass by as the sun sinks below the horizon, as a shifty streetlight blinks haphazardly at the entrance to the alley, and no one stops to help III. Its sickening.

As his tears fall, Vessel does not look away. He will not be like them. He will not hide from III's pain. He will not look away. It would be a disservice to the agony they went through. Vessel needs to witness every moment so he can return the pain tenfold to their murderers. So he sits, hands hovering over III's form as it jerks with the force of the blows raining down upon him. And watches. Continuously wipes away golden tears that blur his vision. He memorizes every crease, every freckle, the exact shade of their eyes and hair. Each pair of eyes is dedicated to flitting about and catching every minute detail. He listens intently to III's ragged breathing, their pained groans and whimpers, desperately wishing he could touch him, hold them close, save them from this pain. Listens to the words they exchange, the calling of names to let someone get a certain hit in. Listens to the timber of their laughs and the sounds of their gaits as they walk away.

Daniel Wright, Kade Schaefer, Denzel McBride. He will not let the three of them get away with this.

Vessel sits, ignoring the tingle where his limbs touch III as he bends over their limp body. An ear is pressed as close as possible to hear the ever fading sound of IIII's gurgling breaths beginning to slow. They cough, choking on their own blood as Vessel sobs over them, unable to help, blank eyes staring up past where Vessel tries to hold them in their last moments, but cannot. This has already come to pass. Vessel is merely here to be a witness.

A shuddering breath is like a cannon going off, a shrieking wail following when no more breaths come to pass. Vessel keeps trying to scoop III up in his arms, to hold him even though he knows he can't. Its agony, one of the worst things Vessel has ever experience in this life or Before. No, it IS the worst thing he's ever experienced. He hopes nothing ever compares to this ever again. If anything happens to II and III, Vessel can only hope to join them when he inevitably ends himself, completely and utterly. His only regret would be not being able to trade his life for theirs, for not being able to spare his God what would likely be a significant loss as His First Vessel.

Choking on a sob, Vessel comes back to himself, bleeding sluggishly onto the altar table, mask pressed into the empty offering plate.

Those motherfuckers will not be given the privilege of having their names uttered in Vessel's head. From here on out, they will be dubbed Dipshit, Fuckface, and It, in order of highest on his shitlist. Dipshit will be his first kill, Vessel has been wanting to get ahold of him since he'd dragged III off.

Vessel takes a moment to wrap his arm back in his room, deciding not to clean it and wanting to feel the pain. Vessel was simply going to leave in what he was already wearing, but his God's voice stops him.

'Adorn yourself in the cloak you arrived in.'

Vessel's confusion is clear in the bond, 'Yes, my God, I will do so. Might I ask why?'

'You are to offer me their bodies, yes? Your chest must be bare.' Sleep explains no further, and while Vessel remains confused, he does not question any further.

The house is silent, the others' bonds still asleep. Vessel slowly pushes II's door open, glad it doesn't creak. Emboldened by what he is setting out to do, Vessel creeps forward and places a gentle kiss each in II and III's hair. They do not stir, wrapped up in each other under a mound of blankets. Its cute, and it makes Vessel sad. He cannot allow himself that sort of closeness, even with all of his layers, and they respect that need for space. Vessel loves them, even if they don't love him in return. When they inevitably get together, Vessel will be happy for them. He can only hope they'll still want him around.

Placing his phone on the nightstand, he also puts a pre-written note that says he'll be back soon over the device, so it won't be missed. Vessel closes the door behind him with a soft click, Elvira following after him. She's at his heels all the way to the front door.

"You can't follow me, Ellie. I'll be back." Vessel promises, leaning down to pet her head.

She meows indignantly as he closes the front door behind him, and he chuckles a little at the pretty cats antics. He grabs his cloak from the car, stripping out of his shirts. Its a little awkward at first, Vessel unused to baring himself in such a way, but with every moment spent with only the robe on his back, he finds he enjoys the comfort of the material more and more.

His mask transforms, the mouth hole covered and the point elongating, twisting into something akin to a mouthless grimace of anguish to make the whole thing truly unsettling.

"Should I take the car?" Vessel mutters, "The old thing might wake the others up when I start it though. Its loud as shit."

'I will transport you to town. Find them, follow my pull in their general direction, enact the Third's revenge. You know their names, their faces. Lure them from civilization into the forest. End this.'

Sleep gives Vessel no warning before the ground beneath him opens up, dark tendrils wrapping around his legs and arms, pulling him down and swallowing him whole.

Sleep's power spits him out from the dark shadows of a building, gasping and trembling like a man drowned. The tendrils recede from his skin with a gentle caress, and Vessel sends his thankfulness down their bond as the dizziness recedes. Once he feels stable enough to stand, he does so as he looks around him.

'For what you will be giving me, this is nothing I will not easily gain back.' Sleep says, voices weak and shaky, and Vessel nods in understanding.

He must return this power to his God soon, if only to help them not sound so frail. Vessel does not like it. Vessel will force himself to sing in front of a crowd, if he must, if it will gain his God more worshippers.

Vessel pulls his hood over his head as he starts forward, a pull in his chest leading him east. He sticks to the shadows, confident the darkness will hide him from the view of the street cameras. His own phone could capture his face, he's not sure if other devices will.

'If you wishto be seen, you will. It will be inevitable when you eventually worship around non-vessels.' Sleep murmurs, still tugging him along.

People pass by him on the sidewalk, not sparing him a glance. Vessel eyes them with his usual anxiety, but does not stop moving. He comes to a stop outside of a crowded bar, the pull in his chest like a tether, pulled tight and threatening to break. One of III's murderers is in there.

Vessel walks in, no one sparing him a second glance. Scanning the crowd, Vessel spots Daniel Wright easily. Dipshit is laughing at the bar with his friends, tossing back drinks. Beside him, head leant back in a loud, obnoxious laugh that Vessel swears he can hear from the other side of the building, is Kade Schaefer, Fuckface.

Oh, he is in luck. Two of the three are here. Vessel navigates through the crowd, weaving in and out of the throngs of people as he makes his way to the bar. He stops perhaps halfway there, as Dipshit turns his head, feeling the gaze of Vessel burning a hole through his head.

Dipshit catches a glance of Vessel's mask in the crowd, freezing up in the middle of taking a sip of his beer. He chokes, coughing as Fuckface slaps his back in attempts to help.

"Did you see that?" Dipshit asks frantically, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Fuckface turns to look, confused, but Vessel is already lost in the crowd. "Maybe you've had enough to drink, man. You were already spewing bullshit yesterday."

"I'm fucking telling you the truth! One of those little assholes did something with the ground, with plants! It was fucking insane!"

"Sure, man, sure, and I'm a wizard."

"I'm fucking serious-!"

A hand reaches out and grips Daniel's shoulder. Daniel startles, turning to look at who is touching him and wondering why the color has suddenly drained from Kade's thin face.

Vessel smiles, though neither can see it, keeping his tone friendly. "I wish to speak with the both of you outside, if you could spare a moment of your time."

"Why the fuck should we do that, freak? Thought you'd had enough when you and your little fuckbuddies ran off with your tails between your legs." Daniel spits, trying to shrug Vessel's hand off as Kade watches Vessel warily.

Its hilarious that Dipshit doesn't realize the only reason he survived another day was III stopping Vessel. Its amusing that he doesn't realize Vessel's anger only grows with every insult towards his beloved's.

"What seems to be the issue? If anything were to happen, you could easily beat me. You held my friend down rather easily. You're bigger than I am. Besides, there are two of you, and only one of me." Vessel urges, head tilting just so to the side.

Kade eyes Vessel as though he is going to eat him alive. Perhaps Vessel, or rather his God, will.

"Hey, Daniel, maybe we shouldn't-" Kade tries, but Daniel cuts him off.

"Shut the fuck up Kade, what's the worst that could happen? Little cult freak is right. We outnumber him. Besides," Dipshit grins, eyeing Vessel up and down like he is already picturing what blows will cause Vessel the most pain, like he did to III, "He only wants to talk."

"Yes, just talk." Vessel confirms, turning his mask to watch Kade.

Kade doesn't seem convinced, but follows Vessel and Dipshit out of the bar anyway, after putting their drinks on a tab.

Vessel's grin grows wider, stepping out under the unnaturally bright moon. Vessel easily remains visible to the eyes pinned on his back, Sleep's presence prominent, though weak from the use of their magic.

He takes the lead, confident in his ability to fight back if the other two try anything. Kade and Daniel whisper conspiratorially, keeping their distance. They think this'll be quick, that no one will look for Vessel except the other freaks in their little cult. This will prove otherwise.

Vessel leads them around the back of the building, towards the forest that surrounds the town on all sides. More of the seedier areas, which to be fair is most of the town despite the peoples misplaced pride, are all on the outer edges.

It only makes Vessel's goal easier to reach.

When Vessel is sure they've not been followed, when he is sure they're deep into the forest, he turns. Dipshit and Fuckface stare at him, Kade eyeing him nervously as Daniel begins to walk towards Vessel.

"Well, you wanted to talk, freak. Let's talk." Daniel throws his arms wide, and Vessel lifts a hand quickly.

Kade flies back with a shout, hitting a tree as vines wrap around him to hold his body to the rough bark. Daniel is shoved into the ground with a flick of Vessel's other hand, vines wrapping around him too and dragging him towards the ground so tightly his body digs into the dirt. He flails, but his limbs do not gain any traction.

Once Vessel is sure neither will escape, he stalks forward with a pleased smile under his mask, robe trailing behind him.

Vessel straddles Dipshit, pressing his full weight onto him just in case and takes a good, long look at what he had achieved the day before. Vessel grins, lips bared in a snarl, like a feral animal as he revels in the sight of the bruising, the swelling, on the mans face from where Vessel had managed a good hit or two before III had called him back.

Vessel brushes a reverent claw over it, and Dipshit sneers under him, trying to buck him off and failing miserably. Vessel's digs that claw in as he drags it down Dipshit's face, watching blood bead up as he cuts a line down and off his jaw.

Daniel hisses in pain. "I knew you three were fucking faggots. Get your filthy hands off of me!" He spits, but Vessel only tilts his head a little to the side in amusement.

"Is that all you have to say? I expected worse, something more vulgar perhaps, after what you said about the shortest of us." Vessel keeps his tone light despite the anger hidden beneath.

Vessel's hands are around his throat, nails digging into the soft flesh sporadically. One long, sharp claw traces the mans jugular, slowly putting pressure until the man hisses in pain, then releasing, only to repeat. The entire time, Dipshit's breathing grows more labored, air supply slowly getting cut off with the pressure Vessel's hands are putting around his throat.

He is toying with him, like a cat with a mouse.

"Are you jealous, freak? What I said wasn't so bad." Daniel laughs despite the situation he is in, and Vessel wonders if he has any preservation instincts at all.

As though Vessel could speak of self-preservation instincts.

"You three should know all about sharing. Probably take turns passing him around like some useless little fucktoy."

Vessel snarls, leaning in closer, eyes glowing behind his mask. Daniel only continues, not realizing he is dooming himself to a quicker death, "or maybe you pass the taller one around? No, he got too upset when I said I'd fuck your little friend. He seems the possessive sort-"

Vessel has heard enough and in one movement, lifts a hand to dig a claw into Dipshit's temple, focusing so hard his vision seems to blur around the edges in single-mindedness. Vessel's gives Daniel a nightmare, he will suffer through every agony they wreathed upon III. He does not put him to sleep. He did make a promise, after all, and he truly intends to try and keep it. Vessel knew pain, it was easy to replicate the feeling on another through a dream.

Dipshit screams and screams, a symphony to counter the horrible sound of III's echoing agonies in Vessel's ears, muffled as Vessel wills vines to grow over his mouth.

Fuckface is struggling against the tree he is bound to, vines wrapped around him tightly as he yells helplessly beneath the vines over his mouth. He tries cutting through the vines faster, hand struggling to hold the knife in his sweaty grip.

Vessel isn't concerned. If he escapes, Vessel will simply chase him down. He'd likely enjoy it.

Daniel is panting when he is through the nightmare, and Vessel puts him under again. He continues screaming but Vessel isn't satisfied, still hearing III's own screaming alongside Dipshit's. He fears the sound will never leave him.

One pair of eyes glances down to Dipshit's hands, and Vessel thinks he has some idea of what might make this whole thing a little more pleasing.

When Dipshit comes to from the second nightmare, gasping in agony at the pain that was so real just a second ago, Vessel stands up, summoning his scythe.

Moving entirely off of him, Vessel poises his scythe's sharp, spear-like end over one wrist.

"These were forfeit the moment you decided to lay a finger on what belongs to me."

Wasting not even a single moment longer, Vessel brings his scythe down to sever the hand from Daniel's body. He screams in agony, trying in vain to move his head to see what has become of his limb. Vessel doesn't allow him time to process the loss, doing the same to his other wrist in one swift movement.

Sobbing now, the realization that Vessel is truly something other sets in. Vessel hopes Daniel realizes he isn't making it out of this alive. He couldn't imagine being so arrogant as to think yourself invincible to the wrath of something that clearly wasn't entirely of this plain of existence.

The masks alone should have been reason enough to leave them alone. Vessel hopes Dipshit regrets every cruel action taken against innocents.

"You get what you give. You reap what you sow." Vessel states, hand raising.

"No, no, please! Plea-"

The snap echoes through the tiny clearing Vessel lead them to, and Daniel's eyes go dull. His neck looks strange, turned at an unnatural angle and purple beginning to bloom under the skin.

Vessel turns to stare at Kade, who is still yelling behind the vines. Vessel wills them to recede, curious as to what he is saying, entirely unconcerned about him potentially escaping.

"Please, please let me go! I promise, I won't tell anyone what happened! Please, please! Spare me!" Fuckface begs, unable to tear his horrified eyes away from Dipshit.

His hand moves faster, finally cutting himself free. As soon as he is free to move, Kade books it back in the direction of town. A shame. If he had not ran, Vessel would have given him a nightmare, too. They all deserve to feel what they've done to III.

Vessel laughs, a low, hollow thing as adrenaline courses through him. He gives chase, reveling in the rush. Vessel didn't expect to enjoy his revenge quite so much. He'll punish himself thoroughly for such sick enjoyment later. For now, there are still two to kill.

"Death should not affect you so. You've killed before." Vessel calls, moving like a wraith over the forest floor, long legs carrying him with utmost speed towards his prey.

"How do you know about that?!" Kade sobs, stumbling over roots as they seem to appear in his way.

"You killed my friend. This is the punishment." Vessel is nearly caught up now.

Just a little further and his scythe will be within reach.

"Please, fuck, just let me go! Whichever one was your friend, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I'll never hurt anyone ever again! Please, God, I don't wanna die!"

There were more besides III...? Oh, perhaps Vessel doesn't regret this nearly as much as he thought he would. He is doing the world a favor.

"The God's avert their gaze from you, as they averted their gaze from my wrecked, wretched form. Fall at my hands, meet my God, the only one who will look upon your filth, though not with kindness as they did mine."

With a decisive swing, Vessel's scythe meets flesh, tearing through spine and viscera as though paper. Blood sprays, paralysis hitting instantly, and Kade drops, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. His death is quick, bleeding out from the large slash across his back. Vessel's scythe disappears in an easy twirl of golden sparks, and Vessel crouches to lift the mess of a body in his arms to drag back to the other. Blood trails thickly after him, the body nearly in half from the force of Vessel's blow, from the sharpness of the blade.

Blood that is not his own drips down Vessel's front, and he cringes a bit in disgust. If it were his own blood, he would not care.

Vessel lets Fuckface's body drop next to Dipshit's, lining them up in a neat little row. Satisfaction swirls in his chest, and Vessel, for a moment, is proud of himself. He did good, didn't he? He killed these two for III's sake. They won't be in pain anymore.

Will... will they appreciate what he's done?

Looking over the bodies and what he has done to them in his rage... Vessel doesn't think III will think much of him at all, after this.

They will both surely throw him away. It will have been worth it, to rid the world of two people who had enjoyed hurting others. To rid the world of those who had killed III.

Vessel drops to his knees as tears leak down his face under the mask, already grieving the bonds he will lose for his actions today. He hopes II and III will at least look at him when they leave him, even just for a moment, even if their pretty blues are filled with loathing. They always saw Vessel, never ignored him, never made him feel as though he didn't exist.

Sometimes, Before, he craved that in his relationships. Anything to get away from the pain of being seen. With II and III, Vessel wants to be seen. He wants to be heard. He wants someone to want him near.

Vessel's first boyfriend wouldn't even look at him when he left. Didn't care that Vessel was choking on his own sobs and snot, unable to breathe through the panic attack that had paralyzed him, left him stuck clinging uselessly to the doorframe of their shared apartment. Didn't care that all Vessel wanted was to be loved.

Shaking his head, Vessel tugs gently on the bond he shares with his God, who has lingered somewhere close the entire time Vessel has been away from the manor. He raises his arms to his sides, palms facing the moon.

"Sleep, my deity, this is a giving, an offering in your favour, a sacrifice in your name. I offer you the body and blood of those who have wronged me and those I care for. Devour them."

The sky goes dark as night truly falls, the moon hidden behind thick cloud cover.

Darkness overtakes Vessel's skin, turning him into a living shadow. His form blurs around the edges, like he is worshipping at his God's altar. Vessel cries out, claws digging into the dirt as his body goes weak. He crumbles to the forest floor, writhing in agony as a line splits over his chest, skin and muscle parting to make way for his ribs to be seen as red-black blood spills over the wound. Ribs splinter as they crack outwards, exposing the gaping hole where his heart should sit. From the darkness, teeth made from the splintered edges of his ribs open wide like a maw. Vessel pants through the all-consuming agony overtaking every one of his senses.

It was like ripping his heart out all over again, only the pain increased a hundred fold. An indescribable agony that Vessel will never forget.

Tendrils of inky darkness slither from his chest cavity as Vessel moans in pain on his back. He understands, now, why his God wished for Vessel to wear the robe he was reborn in.

'Sit up, my First.'

Groaning at the motion, Vessel half rolls over, shoving himself up with one shaking arm. Taking a deep breath, he shoves again, righting himself on his knees. Through sheer force of will, he keeps himself from collapsing forward.

Some of the tendrils have teeth, wrapping around the bodies and digging in. Soon, Vessel can barely see either of the corpses, covered in shadows and tendrils. They seem to sink in on themselves until nothing is left underneath, receding back into Vessel's body.

He shudders, pointing weakly at something his God had missed. "His hands. Do not forget his hands."

Another tendril reaches out, and Vessel swears he can almost feel the thing move from inside him, but knows that couldn't be right. The tendril picks up the hands, and they both disappear inside of the gaping maw in Vessel's chest.

The sight makes Vessel sick, gut churning with nausea.

'This is the first time you have manifested any of my form. Despite our bond, our linked souls, your human body is still incapable of properly taking on my essence in such a way. I will make note of this. It is not your own failing, my First. That you managed to do this at all is impressive. It is not an easy thing to manifest even a sliver of my being. I am proud of you, and yourbodyfornotgivingoutundertheweightofmy divinity.'

Vessel is not given a moment to relish in his God's pride in him, as a phone rings from somewhere nearby. It is not his own. Vessel lets it go, intending to let the phone die for all he cares, but a thought strikes him.

Two of III's murderers were together tonight. What are the chances the third was going to meet up with them?

Picking up the phone after lettings its ringing end, Vessel finds it easy to open. Vessel opens up the contact that has called, Denzel being displayed in big, blocky letters.

Vessel is utterly pleased. They've made this so easy.

Sending off a text saying that Kade and Daniel had wandered a bit into the woods, asking for Denzel to join them for some drinks, Vessel waits to see if he managed to replicate Kade's texting style. A couple missed punctuations, a purposeful spelling error there, and Vessel thinks he mostly got it right. A confirmation text comes through and Vessel smiles a little. He only has to wait a few minutes for another text to come through asking where Kade is. Vessel texts back that he'll meet him a little further into the forest, receiving an okay in return.

Heading in the direction of town, Sleep leads the way, a gentle pull under his skin guiding him towards Denzel's demise.

'He is near. You have the means to drag him here quickly. End this, my dear First.'

Vessel keeps to the shadows of the trees, the moon's light dim unlike earlier in the night. It helps to hide him from view, the only thing truly visible is the white of his mask. He sneers as Denzel comes into sight, phone pressed to his ear as he smokes a cigarette. The phone in Vessel's hand starts ringing, and he is quick to drop it, moving away silently.

Denzel looks to the sound, putting his phone down and taking his cigarette from his mouth long enough to call out, "Kade! Daniel! Where are you motherfuckers?"

"I can't believe I came out here into the middle of the damn woods for those fools." He mutters, taking another hit of his cigarette.

He walks in the direction of the phone, leaning around a large tree expecting to see his friends. Instead, Kade's phone lays abandoned, screen still lit up with the missed call he had just made.

"What the fu-"

A mass of vines crawl up his legs to the knee, pulling him deeper into the forest as he yells out in shock and pain as his back slams into the hard ground. There is quiet laughter echoing around him as he is dragged deeper and deeper. Yelling for help, Denzel struggles, cursing profusely, unable to reach his legs and free himself, flailing uselessly.

A white dot appears from the shadows, growing nearer until Denzel can see its a mask.

"You're one of those cult fucks!" He exclaims in anger.

Vessel only watches as the vines bring him closer, more coming to wrap around  his arms and pull them out to the sides in something akin to a t-pose. Lifting Denzel up, Vessel's telekinesis power brings him face to mask with Vessel, holding him in the air.

"What the fuck do you want from me?!" Denzel shouts as Vessel watches him silently.

Vessel lets him struggle futilely as Denzel's fear only grows with every passing moment of nothing but endless silence and a creepy, masked man simply staring at him.

"Fucking say something!" Denzel shouts, tugging so hard on the vines that his shoulder burn with the intensity, muscles bulging in attempts to escape.

"Your kind doesn't deserve to exist." Vessel says, and his eyes go wide.

No, It doesn't deserve the right to be called anything of importance. Not after what it did to Vessel's beloved III. He'll never forget the terror, the confusion, on their face as this fucker made that first hit that shattered III's cheekbone, laughing all the while.

Vessel hopes it remembers that it said those exact words to III as they were killing him. As he spit on them, giving a final kick to a body already broken beyond repair.

Vessel places a claw at It's temple, like he did to Dipshit, and the nightmare Vessel gives it is exquisite, leaving it trembling even as its eyes go listless, unseeing, caught in its own mind.

Its eyes clear, tears threatening to fall from thick eyelashes, but Vessel only puts it under again. And again. And again and again until it is simply a limp, sobbing mess that can barely speak past the hyperventilation.

When it comes to a final time, it chokes out, "Who the fuck are you?"

Vessel summons his scythe for the fear tactic alone, bone white gleaming under the bright moon above, Sleep's presence an encouraging croon in his ear, telling him to end it. End it, offer its body to his God. Vessel puts the scythe's sharp, rib turned blade to Denzel's neck. It nicks the skin, drawing red blood that drips slowly down the tan skin.

It pisses in terror, green eyes wide in horror. It shouldn't be afraid of the blade, no, it should be afraid of Vessel himself. It was this thing that had landed the killing blow on III, this thing that had deemed III as something unworthy of his precious life, this thing that had started the assault in the first place. Over a compliment.

The scythe disappears in a shower of gold, and Vessel raises a hand to trace the nick in its skin.

He moves his claw lower, digs it in enough to sting without injury, purposefully not breaking skin as Vessel drags it down over its Adam's apple, over the length of its throat and past the collarbones. Down further, until Vessel can feel a beating heart under his hand, all five fingers splaying over Denzel's chest. It struggles,  whimpering in terror as Vessel scratches at its skin so gently, like a lovers caress.

There's a wide grin on his face, sharp teeth bared so fully its nearly a snarl, all six eyes glowing a blood red through the holes of his mask. Golden tears of fury drip down and fall from his jaw, staining his teeth and lips. Behind him, a writhing mass of shadows looms overhead. The moon is brighter still, the bottom cast into darkness as Sleep awaits His next meal. When Vessel speaks, it is with many voices, his most prominent.

"I am the teeth of God, and you hurt what is mine."

He digs his nails in, shoving past skin and muscle, through the cracks in its ribs until at least one claw pierces a lung. A wet gurgle follows, a vine having grown over its mouth to muffle any unsavory sounds. Blood dribbles past the vines, leaves beginning to stain red as a cough splatters blood all over them.

Vessel pulls his hand out, shaking off as much blood as possible and takes a step back. Then, he waits.

Desperate pleas fall onto deaf ears as Vessel watches Denzel slowly suffocate almost the same as III did. This is far more satisfying. Denzel deserves this, Vessel knows he does.

There had been others.

When Denzel takes his final breath, Vessel does not do anything more than breath of sigh of relief.

It is done.

Vessel doesn't regret a single death at his hands, he only regrets what he will lose when he returns to the manor. He knows he would have regretted this, Before. He is not quite who he was Before. When his God intertwined their souls, He must have given Vessel some of His penchant for violence spurred on by possessiveness and protectiveness. The Wrath of a God at his fingertips.

Without warning, Vessel's skin splits, ribs splintering apart as his God's mouth manifests on his chest again. It is once more an awful agony, and Vessel cries, harsh breaths and pained whimpers falling from his pinched lips.

For a time, after his God has had His meal, Vessel simply kneels on the ground, panting with one hand clutching his chest. His side of the bond is a mess of emotions and he fears he will wake the others with it. He had taken great care to keep the bond as calm as possible this entire excursion, but he fears that now that it is done, his control will slip.

II and III remain asleep, safe at the manor and well away from Vessel. He isn't sure he wants to go back to the manor just yet. He is still so vulnerable, crumbling under the weight of what he has just done.

'Come, rest in my realm, my First. You've done well.'

'Should I not go back to the manor first?' Vessel asks, bone deep exhaustion laced in his tone.

'I wish to see you, I wish for you to see me. You have give me a beautiful offering today, I am much stronger than I have been in eons. I may yet be able to manifest some attempt at a visible form. Do not fret, you will find yourself at the manor when you next open your eyes. My realm will have been moved to somewhere else in this country, and the existences of the Third's murderers will beerased from all but the vessels minds.'

Vessel hums an agreement, eager to be with his God. To see his God. He looks up at the moon above him, and swears he sees many eyes, too many, blinking fondly at his still form.

Vessel closes his eyes, and when he opens them, he first sees a sea of red. Sitting up, there is an expanse of red trees as far as his six eyes can see. This place is familiar, and Vessel has often found himself here when his God has called upon him for lyrics or melodies.

Something approaches from behind a particularly large tree, shimmering gold and translucent.

Eyes, so many crimson eyes of varying sizes blink tenderly down at him, surrounded by pitch black sclera. They dot his cheekbones, his forehead, his temples. Thick, dark tendrils are pulled back into a long braid, many tendrils tied together to form the three main sections, exposing a long ear far more pointed than Vessel's own. His God's skin, though translucent and untouchable, wafts smoke like a shadow, darker than night, darker than anything Vessel has ever seen. Across that void of skin is little sprinkles of white, blinking and flowing over His bare shoulders like a moving galaxy of stars, ever changing. Few eyes of varying sizes, like His God's face, litter the skin of His arms, with an eye each on the back of His hands.

His teeth are bone white, rows of sharp points, mouth opened into something akin to a smile. Etched into the skin of his God's face, Sleep's symbol sits in the exact placement of Vessel's masks symbol.

Vessel averts his gaze quickly, remembering what His God had told him when they had first met.

A laugh sounds, and it is so familiar Vessel can feel his shoulders relaxing from their tense position.

The form glitches, magic wavering as Sleep moves closer. 'You can look upon me, my Vessel. You will only be able to see me in this form here, only when I can manage it. I am still so weak. It will be a long time before I can do more than this, but you have given this to me nonetheless.'

His God's many voices do not come from the smiling mouth, still heard, but from no clear place.

Vessel looks up, trusting his God. 'Come, my First. I would like to see your weapon up close. Then, I would like to hear some of your songs. It has been some time since I have brought you to my realm. Now that the Third is settled, I think it is time I resume your visits.'

Vessel follows dutifully, eagerly, even, as His God leads him further into the bloody forest.