#my tongue is trying to crawl its way out of my esophagus

[cretinous-creative]

The Scientist and the Stranger [ch 2]

Viktor x Fem!reader

Summary: After days and (mostly) restless nights trying to figure out the hexcore, Viktor found a combination for a successful transmutation. Except it wasn’t, and now there’s a stranger in the lab. Now, passed out and in critical condition the stranger has to bring Viktor to the hospital.

Warnings: mention of vomiting (not detailed), and anxiously waiting in a hospital

I tried to proof read this as much as I can, so if there’s any mistakes that are unbearable please tell me. Constructive criticism and thoughts are welcome!

Even in the dark you can see a streak of red running down his nostril and onto the table. His breath is weak and sounds close to wheezing thanks to the awkward position you left him in. Wincing at your carelessness you hook your left arm with his right and cupped his left shoulder with your right hand. With surprising ease you straighten his posture, leaving his head dangling. You then gently weave your hands into his oily roots, tilting his face up to yours. Now, you have a better look.

Your breathing hitches in surprise of how he looks like a tired skeleton. His eye bags are not a feature to ignore much like his unique beauty marks. The dark eyelids are very reminiscent of your time in medical school, but is thrice concerning for the lack of bucal fat on his face and how cracked his are lips.

When was the last time he ate or drank?

You bring one of your hands to his carotid artery on his neck.

Weak. He needs a help.

You jump when hear doors squeak open to reveal a brown woman with a fluffy mass positioned behind her head. Her gasp echos in the lab. Her blurry figure freezes then retreats a bit.

“Who are you?” Her voice cracked a bit.

“Uhh, the janitor,” you try to say nonchalantly.

“This late? Who are you and what are doing to… Viktor?” His head falls from your grasp like a rag doll.

“Oh Janna, Viktor? Viktor? Wake up!” She dashs and pulls him from you, shaking him a bit.

“He desperately needs a hospital,” you take your chance to explain, “He’s too weak and overworked, and he needs your help.” Those last words grabs her attention.

“He needs…” she trails off, “I’ll get the security guard. Start I—I don’t know, uh.” You save her from blowing her fuse out, “I’ll start bringing him to the entrance.”

“Yes, good idea, save as much as we can,” she scampers off, her heels making that addictive clicking noise behind her.

Without a second to spare you put Hector against your back, latching onto his slender thighs, you push yourself against him and hike him up your back to piggyback him. You struggle with him a bit in your grasp but start your way to the hallway, trying to figure out who you met.

That lady—Sike, Skylar—god it’s on the tip of my tongue, she was the one who Hector killed? Wait, it’s Viktor. God why would it ever be Hector, such a old name—well that couple did name their kid Harry. The mom was too enthusiastic about it, something about her favorite singer or what ever.

Then it dawns on you.

“Shit, where’s the entrance?”

—————

Sky—that’s her name—eventually found a security guard and you a few moments before you started to trek down the wrong hallway.

Within moments you three were stuffed inside a car, speeding down the streets which gives you a new view of the city lights you were just seeing from the lab

On your way the car drives up incline, giving you a view of one magnificent building.

Hex—something, “Hexgates! They’re those hex gates!” You loudly whisper to yourself.

The blue bands roar and rotate until a spear slingshots out of the ring’s center, a satisfying process. A beautiful work of engineering and fantastical magic. A chill crawls your spine, the thought of that word makes your back visibly tremor.

I’m not suppose to be here.

Reality of your situation kicks in and you sudden feel as if doom has you in its air tight grasp. Your gut doesn’t like it either; your esophagus is already coating itself with saliva, and something is making its way up.

You fumble with the window crank, which does nothing. You resort to making desperate eye contact with Sky beside you. She only gives you a confused look until her eyes and mouth widen in alarm when you spill your lunch onto the space bellow.

—————

“I’m sorry you had deal with that,” you say hesitantly in the waiting room, unsure about the mood and how she feels about giving the driver a hefty tip. Sky doesn’t even twitch her eye towards you. She sits right beside you almost curling into herself with her mouth covered by her right hand and brows knitted together in deep thought. It’s just the two of you in the corner.

“It’s alright,” she finally responds, “I mean seeing some one pass out in front of me I’ll be in shock too. And… throw up. Oh gods,” her voice drops to a mumble.

You see her hand gripping the chair handles. She’s tense and needs comfort but the staff doesn’t pay any mind. What about you?

I don’t think I want to. You’re taken aback by the thought. You’re going to die soon right?

You stare at Sky who looks like a minute away from eating her hands to the bone.

You’re not real. This place isn’t…real. Isn’t it? It’s all from the show. It has to be in a dream. I can’t be staring at a dead woman. Am I in a coma? Was I hit by my head and now I’m dreaming?

“Who are you?” Sky suddenly speaks.

Well you didn’t expect that.

You choke a little bit but her gaze flutters somewhere else. “Jayce. Sir!” She calls out in relief.

Thank you Wonder Boy!

You sink into your seat a bit, really wishing you were with Viktor instead. At least the unconscious don’t ask any questions.

“Sky! Where is he?” He says immediately as he anxiously cradles his assistant shoulders. “The doctors took him, he’s in a room right now. “We’ve haven’t heard any news yet,” she replies, she picks his hands off her and hold them down in comfort.

“We?” Wonder boy’s gaze looks behind Sky, landing on you. He scans you from head to toe with a slightly puzzled expression.

He lowers his tone but barely his volume, “who is she?” Sky actually whispers something back. His face still remains puzzled. “Why were you in the lab?” The wonder boy—it’s Jayce—asks.

“Oh, I’m—uh—it’s a long story,” you respond in a panic.

“Just shorten it.”

“Ah, okay, long story short, I’m not actually the janitor.”

“So why were you in the lab with Viktor,” Sky pries.

“I’m an old friend.”

“How?” “In what way?” Their voices overlapped each others’.

“It was during his time at school,” you’re pulling words out of your ass.

“Which school?” Jayce presses.

“The one upstream? Y’know the fancy one,” you’re losing confidence and the two of them are getting a bit to close.

“I was a rich student who didn’t want anything to do any work and since he was so smart I payed him to do some homework, but I then, umm, what was the word? Guilty! I felt so guilty that he did so much of my work I offered to do some of his art assignments for him. He didn’t agree and yeah,” you blurted out badly. It’s a terrible lie. If someone said those same words to you would probably smack the back of their head.

Thankfully you had another card to play.

“Could you both maybe stop crowding me, it’s triggering my anxiety, and—and I don’t want to go through that,” you said as innocently and worrisome as possible.

They’re expressions soften as they take a step back. Manipulation 101, making others feel like they’re bad guys. Creating an escape route and time to come up with a better lie.

However, an older man with a fancy white coat approaches you three.

“Are you Jayce Talis?” The man asks.

Jayce whips around, “That’s me.”

“Oh it really is,” the assumed doctor amazes, “The patient is now in stable condition, but there are a few things I need to discuss with you privately.” The man’s feet slightly shift in discomfort and hand grazes his mouth a little bit. Signs of discomfort and a reminder of which act of the season you got yourself in. The lovely act three. Aka, everything is about to go batshit.

Jayce nods and hesitantly turns to Sky with a glance at what you assume is a clock on the wall based on the hands, “It’s late, you’ve done a lot for us already. So go home and get the rest you deserve.”

“But Jayce, sir please” Sky pleas.

Jayce shakes his head, “Sky you’ve done a lot for him already. I’m his emergency contact, so I’ll bring him home once he’s feeling better. No need to worry. We both know he’s just overworked and exhausted.”

Convincing assurances and half truths litter their talk, you drown it out. Just contemplating on where you should sleep tonight and betting on whether the police of this up state area are actually kind enough to let some rando litter their streets. By the end Jayce quickly manages to convince Sky to head home. Which she does with big sad eyes.

Before he departs with the doctor, Jayce gives you a lingering glance clearly unsure about you and suspicious about your intentions, then, finally, you’re left alone.

All by yourself.

You look at the clock on the wall, reading shit but it looks like it’s early in the morning. You smile pathetically, trying to hold everything together.

I wish I got LASIK.

[askgeniealfred]

Alfred: And don’t forget to eat!

[narutos-fat-meat]

**”Yours”**

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*

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Tags: SNUFF, GORE, VIOLENCE, BLOOD, Slight non-con, dub-con, incest but like not really

*PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I FORGOT TO INCLUDE ANYTHING*

*THIS IS QUITE LITERALLY SNUFF HEED THAT WARNING AND IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY THAT KIND OF CONTENT SCROLL AWAY! THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING*

********

“Samu, god samu...I love you”, your whorish moans plague his mind day and night. How dare you moan like that for someone that’s not him? How dare that someone be Osamu. After he’d let him borrow your -no- his cunt to help him out of his dry spell he has the audacity to make you fall for him.

He’d set clear rules. Boundaries, he’d expected his twin to be courteous enough to follow seeing as it’s his girlfriend he’s been allowed to use.

No hand-holding, no prolonged eye contact, and definitely no fucking feelings.

Standard stuff considering he’d been allowed to pump you full of his cum as many times as he’d pleased.  

He’d crossed the line. And soon he’d find out Atsumu isn’t the type of person you wanna double-cross.

You both would.

It’s eerily quiet when you step foot inside your apartment a shiver immediately running up your spine at the odd sight of lights flicked off. Usually by the time you came home from work Atsumu was either in the shower singing off-key or in the kitchen cooking you both up a nice meal. Today your apartment lacked that warmth.

You shut the door behind you with a sigh. Maybe he got caught up at work you thought failing to notice the shadow of his frame sat on your couch.

You flick on the lights to see him sat there. The scream you were about to let out dies on your tongue at the sight before you. Your boyfriend, your sweet loving, caring, boyfriend is sat on your couch in your living room face and clothes stained with blood.

What’s worse is that you can see a tuft of dark brown hair on the floor peeking out from the side of that same couch, and you have a vague idea of who it could be.

Osamu.

For a second you think of running and it’s like he can read your mind.

“Don’t be stupid Y/N”, he spits “I’m an athlete”.

“I’d catch you in seconds and slit your throat”. And it’s then that you notice the blade in his hand.

He motions for you to sit down and you oblige.

“A-atsumu, what’s going on”, you ask voice trembling and heart pounding.

Out of the corner of your eye, you vaguely register Osamu move and you resist the urge to sigh in relief knowing somehow it would only piss him off further.

The seconds drag on and bleed into minutes until he finally speaks.

“I want ya to fuck Samu”.

“Fuck him like you mean it like I’m not here”.

You stare at him unable to form words.

“If I’m pleased I’ll let y’all live”.

His words resound in your ears.

Live. live? He’ll let you live?  What does that me- oh

The realization dawns on you and it’s like your lungs are about to crawl out of your throat,  like your heart is about to claw its way out of your chest and you know that it’s not ice flowing through your veins at that moment, it’s fear.

Pure unbridled terror.

You sit rooted to the spot you first sat down in, body numb as you watch Atsumu manhandle Osamu’s limp body onto a chair.

You can’t see the full extent of his injuries but from what you can tell his eye is badly bruised and bleeding. Not only that but he’s beginning to regain consciousness, making you wince. He’s attempting to thrash his limbs, trying to break free. His eyes jerk open immediately landing on you.

He tries to call out to you, but he can’t. Not when his mouth is duct-taped shut.

Showtime

You straddle his lap like you’d do if you were alone, grinding, desperately trying to get him in the mood. It’s not working, he won’t let you. Keeps trying to buck you off, his eyes searching yours, it’s as if he’s pleading “you don’t have to do this”.

Atsumu’s presence is daunting “tick, tick, tick”, he taunts a childish lilt to his voice. You’re running out of time.

You don’t have a choice.

You make quick work of stripping, working on pulling Osamu’s pants down just enough for you to pull his flaccid cock free. You spit into your hand, beginning to pump his length to at least half-mast.

“Please, please, please”, you beg voice watery. It’s not his fault, you yourself are the farthest from horny you’ve ever been, but you can’t help but resent him.

‘Fuck this’ you think deciding to forego foreplay altogether hoping Atsumu wouldn’t notice.

It’s hard and it hurts because your cunt is so dry but you manage to sheath Osamu’s soft cock fully inside.  

You start a fast, frenzied rhythm whimpering at the feel and hope to god that you’ll start producing enough slick to make the ache dissipate and that Osamu’s cock will get hard enough to cum inside.

It takes a few minutes but soon you’re a panting mess on top of Osamu, his feet planted firmly on the ground as he thrusts up in time to meet yours that are slamming down. You have to use his shoulders as leverage. Head spinning with pleasure, vision beginning to blur, you almost forget that you’re not the only two people in the room.

Almost.

A dark chuckle draws your attention to the space behind Osamu’s head and you force your eyes to focus on Atsumu’s face. He’s right by Osamu, licking into the shell of his ear possessively, never taking his eyes off of you like you’re his prey, one he’s itching to pounce on.

You’re so incredibly close to breaking, the stutter in Osamu’s thrusts lets you know that he is too, and you’re elated that it’ll all be over soon.

Your back arches and your vision blurs as you cum with a wail around Osamu’s cock. Just as you do Atsumu snakes his arm around Osamu’s neck, and with a smooth motion not lacking any force, he slices through his trachea and esophagus.

You hear Osamu take several giant gasping breaths through his severed windpipe, he’s gargling blood, coughing, dying as he paints your womb white. You can barely focus on that though because as that’s happening you’re also being bathed in his blood.

It’s a warm nauseating feeling.

You watch Atsumu grin maniacally, pleased, as he watches his brother’s blood spray onto your naked body. It invades every nook and cranny, fills your nostrils and mouth.

As much as you try not to swallow you do and Osamu’s blood is different. It’s salty and metallic and a little fatty.

“Good girl”. Atsumu coos, stroking your hair lovingly, he pulls you into his arms and you let him.

Exhausted. Defeated.

You begin to sob, body trembling, as Atsumu turns you to face him. He pauses for a second before forcing his lips on yours and savoring the taste. He moans against your lips and you resign yourself to the fact that nothing will ever be the same.

“All mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.”

“Yours”

********

A/N: AH I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THE FIC:) Let me know what ya’ll think I ALWAYS appreciate feedback so don’t be shy, and drop on down to my ask box and talk to me about it:)

Likes and Reblogs are very greatly appreciated!

(Hopefully you guys are enjoying reading the darker content as much as I enjoy writing it!:)

[greenninjagal-blog]

Another One Bites the (Star)Dust pt2

Hey guys! Welcome to the next part of the newest installment of the Space and Everything In It series! Buckle up; its a fun one! 

If you need a refresher, here’s the [previous chapter!]

Summary: Late at night, Virgil has a run in with the ship’s unfavored guest and Remus is rather insistent to turn it into a game of life and death. 

Words: 8016

TW: Blood, Non-con drugging, Mentions of murder, forced attempted suicide

Quick Taglist: @alias290 @chelsvans @coyboi300 @dante-reblogs @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @themultishipperchild @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders  

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

“Certainty” wasn’t something that Virgil had in excess of all the way out in Space. There were always so many things he didn’t know, didn’t understand, didn't think to think of. He was constantly having to rework his understanding of planets and governmental structures and alien niceties because he just didn’t know what he was doing. Roman, Patton, and Logan sometimes forgot that he didn’t grow up learning about interplanetary wars and peace treaties and trading policies and it always came as a shock to them when he had to ask what the hell they were talking about. Virgil lived and breathed by trial and error and tried his very hardest not to do the error part.

So certainty was hard to come by these days.

However, he was certain that if Remus didn’t let him go in the next five minsannu Virgil’s lungs were going to implode and his neck was going to snap and he was going to be a very unhappy ghost.

The dust was not grey, Virgil thought, even as he saw the flutters of it flash on the back of his eyelids, imprinted like scars on his brain that just wouldn’t heal over. The dust was not grey and it wasn’t real because there was no dust on Roman’s ship and-- oh god he was going to die and they weren’t going to find his body.

Remus’s tail jerked and Virgil felt where the muscle tightened and the half regrown bone plates  rotated in return, like knives all on their own. Virgil was pretty sure that his hands were bloody messes from trying to get between the mass and his throat, trying to loosen it a bit, trying to get air to his lungs and his feet back to the ground and his body somewhere that wasn’t there. 

His head felt like it was full of fuzz, full of buzzing and screeching and alarms. Even in the darkness he could make out Remus’s face watching him with deep dark eyes that were twisted paradies of Roman’s, because Virgil had seen Roman’s so often, so much and associated them with the driven determination that bordered on self sacrifice and these weren’t those eyes. 

Despite them being the same murky brown, Remus’s eyes different; there was something in them that Virgil’s panicking brain was screaming about, something that made his grin sinister where Roman’s was always charming, something that told Virgil Remus would enjoy watching the light leave his eyes. Something that told Virgil his own dull reflection in those eyes would be the last thing he saw before he passed on.

And Virgil did not come all this way to die because of Remus-- fucking-- Prince.

Really! At this point it would be a fucking insult to die becuase of an Erefren in the middle of space because he was too stupid to just go back to sleep and pretend like he didn’t need to see a space therapist for the traumatic-borderline-stupid nightmares he kept having.

He’d survived the accusation of murdering his best-friend-maybe-more, survived the humiliation of being stripped of everything that he owned by aliens, survived the Welsor Fighting Rings six fucking times, survived the mercanaries, the bounty hunters, the government agents-- everything that had come after him and his family in the past two years. He survived the Pol’turs and he survived getting Janus back. 

He survived that, and no one was ever going to know about it because in the end Remus was going to send his lifeless corpse out the airlock because it was that easy to get rid of the evidence when you lived in Space. No wonder the space police went around trying to catch them with illegal merchandise. It wasn’t like they could prove or solve murder--

He gasped for air that couldn’t fit in his fiery lungs, and his eyes felt a bit like they were going to pop right out of his head with the pounding pressure building up from a heartbeat that he couldn’t keep going. His vision blurred, bubbled and popped until all he could see were blobs in the darkness. Unrecognizable blobs. His legs kicked, jerked, swung...fell... and... his... hands…drop...pe...d….

.

.

.

Virgil gasped for air like a drowning man-- or a suffocated one. His lungs burned hotter than any star he’d ever had the pleasure of hearing Logan ramble about. His head swam in the agony, in the stimuli that screamed from so many places that he couldn’t even see what was in front of him. He was faintly aware of his shuddering chest, of his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and the raspy feeling of oxygen tearing through his esophagus like a pair of dull scissors through felt, handled by a second grader who’s fingers weren’t big enough to grip them properly.

His limbs were moving-- or rather being moved, but the moment the thought came to him was the moment he was also pressing his cheek against the cold polyfurnish flooring to alleviate at least one of the alerts in his brain. He thought he was crying, too. Crying over air that he didn’t think had ever been so sweet.

“Deathworlder, huh?” A voice said from over him, and Virgil tried to kick at it, only to find his legs weren’t moving quite right when the action jerked at his wrists and nearly dislodged his arms from their sockets and that was not good. “I used to think you guys were cool as fuck. Then I met one.”

Virgil coughed and curled in on himself, but his arms were trapped behind his back, and his shoulders cried weakly at the movement while his bloody fingers twitched. He shoved his face into the floor again, in a move that he thought probably looked really pitiful-- like if he couldn’t see the blob towering over him with a too-sharp-too-many-teeth grin, then Remus would just stop being there altogether.

Instead Remus’s foot came out and nudged his face. And then he kicked at Virgil’s knees and forced his body to twist until he was mostly facing upwards with his soft insides ready for plucking straight out of his stomach. His chest shuddered again, and his wrists yanked against whatever it was that Remus had bound him up with-- Virgil didn’t recognize the feeling of the material, but he was only used to being bound by polyfurnish chains that could absorb heat from an imploding star itself and metal handcuffs rom when the police wanted to pick him up for questioning for the second time in a week for something like jaywalking and ended up asking what he did to Janus Ekans anyway.

Whatever this was, it felt more like… like… fabric. Roman’s sash, or a T-shirt, but strong enough that there was no give, or knotted enough that Virgil’s stupid monkey brain couldn’t figure out how to undo it before Remus decided how to undo him.

Remus for his part just watched him for a minsannu, quisannu, phisannu-- Long enough that Virgil’s breath didn’t get any stronger and he couldn’t scream for help because of it. Remus crouched at his knees, draping his arms over his kneecaps, watched Virgil’s chest shake with a fascination while his fucking tail wagged in the background. Virgil caught sight of a dark liquid on one of the bone plates when it crossed into the line of red light and his entire body wracked with attempts to put distance between himself and Remus.

“Not so tough now, are you?” Remus said.

“Pl...eas…” Virgil gasped. “Fu..ck…Remus…”

Remus smiled wider, his lips cracking apart his face to show off all three rows of teeth that encircled his mouth and throat, sharpened like daggers. There was a chasm where his face should have been and Virgil tried to shove with his feet again, but they just yanked on his hands and forced his shoulders farther back like some type of back-fucking-bend.  

“Roman loved hearing tales about creatures like you,” Remus said casually, like his voice alone wasn’t causing complete terror to crawl up Virgil’s throat and yank out his tongue. “They always made you guys sound like juggernauts. Unkillable beasts. Gods. When Roman was ten revolutions old he said he was going to exterminate all the Deathworlders so that no one else would be scared anymore.”

Remus looked down at Virgil and his eyes were empty abysses larger than black holes and colder than them too.

“Doesn’t look like he did too well on that front,” Remus said. “Guess I oughta help him with that.”

Remus’s hand reached out suddenly-- but Virgil’s brain saw it in slow motion, like Remus was reaching through a bowl of Shishdouble to wrap his claws around Virgil’s throat again. Virgil babbled out something, begging, pleading, and his bruised and sore body writhed against his bonds and the floor in desperate, hopeless movements.

((Virgil never wondered what worms felt like when they were plucked out of the ground and suspended in the air. He wasn’t pleased to know.))

Remus’s fingers were cold-- cold like ice that Janus had once shoved down his back in the middle of the night while they were sneaking food from the kitchen, cold like the metal chair he’d been forced to sit in while police officers and detectives asked him the same questions over and over and over again, cold like the endless expanse of space that surrounded their very tiny ship in the perfect graveyard for souls no one would remember to miss.

Virgil could feel each of Remus’s fingers pressing over his heaving throat. His claws were close to breaking Virgil’s tissue paper skin and his thumb sat right on Virgil’s pulse feeling for the way his hummingbird heart struggled to keep Virgil functioning. Just a squeeze and Virgil would be gone, just a curl of fingers and his blood would be all over the floor, just a twitch and Virgil would never have to think about the difference between grey and blue or what the last thing he said to Janus was.

“But you know,” Remus said. “I’m a pretty generous guy! I’ll give you one chance to convince me not to!”

“Fu..ck…” Virgil managed. “You.”

Remus brought up his other hand, and Virgil reactively squeezed his eyes closed. His heart stuttered, stuttered, stopped in his frantic chest, holding and waiting for the pain from whatever Remus was going to do to him for that; his claws were sharp enough to drag down Virgil’s cheeks, to cut out his tongue, to carve out his eyes--

But in the end all he did was use a finger to lift one of Virgil strands of hair off his sweat drenched forehead. 

“That’s not very convincing at all.”

Virgil wanted to hiss at him, something threatening and violent like the Deathworlders of all the tales Remus was thinking of. But his mouth was dry, and all he could see was the last row of teeth in Remus’s mouth. He had never wished so badly that he was bad at math: because surely if he wasn’t able to count every inch between Remus’s pointed teeth and his own throat, then it wouldn’t be happening, right?

“Hmmm,” Remus said, possibly delightedly when Virgil’s voice failed him and his lungs begged for a mercy that Virgil couldn’t provide, because breathing means movement and the dumb rabbit part of his brain kept insisting that if he didn’t move, Remus wouldn’t see him. “Maybe I’ll just leave you here, Cikeriy-tied. Can you squeal, little Cikeriy? Squeal for me?”

Virgil didn’t make a sound, and honestly he wasn’t sure if that was the best move or not: angring Remus when he was already so close to death by not playing along with his sick-as-fuck game verses keeping what little diginity he had managed to retain after the Welsor Fighting Rings. Virgil’s throat tasted like blood coated dust and the bonds around his wrists and ankles dug into his skin the same way the chains at the Rings would, before Logan had come and freed him.

Instead he squeezed his eyes closed, counted to a frantic, unprovable five, and then he lunged straight up with all of his might. Remus didn’t have time to drop him, or move back and Virgil gladly took the blossoming pain in his forehead as payment for at least wiping that smug grin off the alien’s face as he hit the floor again.

Remus cursed in Erefreian, sounding a lot like Virgil’s Spanish Teacher when she saw the results after her quizzes and realized that bar Perfect Janus Ekans, no one was going to be passing her class that year. Remus pulled away and the red dulled light from the hall painted him in an astonishingly terrifying light. Virgil snarled at him the best he could when his heart was pounding in his ears and all he wanted was to scream for help but the words choked in his throat.

((Because if he screams, he thinks someone might come. And that would be a sight to see, wouldn’t it? Patton or Logan or Roman throwing open the door just in time to see Remus slice his throat open and spray his blood all over the Computer console? Virgil could forgive himself for a lot of things, but causing his family to think “if they had only been a little faster” was where he drew every single line every single time.))

Remus’s claws came back from his forehead, shamefully lacking any blood, though there might have been some type of bruising. Not that it would matter much considering the thickness of Erefreian skin; Remus wouldn’t even feel it in a few quisannu and no one else would ever know. He laughed, short, quick, and breathy and Virgil almost thought that he might be surprised. 

“Oh,” Remus said and Virgil didn’t know what that meant, and didn’t think he wanted to find out.

He twisted his fingers and grabbed a hold of the knot tying his feet to his arms with the little give that there was. His hamstrings whined at the pull but Virgil only needed a minasunnu to create the 3D model in his head so that he knew where to wriggle and where to pull and where to curl-- like the worst kind of interactive puzzle and if he failed, he was going to die.

No pressure.

Virgil yanked his arms free just as Remus lunged for him again. He rolled and the alien hit the floor heavily where he’d been, with his tail already swinging at where Virgil was going, which was hilarious on some level because not even Virgil knew where he was going, but Remus seemed to predict it anyway. The bone plates on the edge of his tail were sharpened and they carved violent arcs into the wall in front of Virgil forcing him deeper into the room and farther from any sort of help.

He blocked the way to the only exit and Virgil scrambled backwards until he felt the floor vent that circled about two feet from the escape pods under his shoes. His chest heaved, and his vision danced between being hyper focused on every detail about Remus and being blurred so badly Virgil couldn’t have seen his own hand in front of his face. Distantly his fingers were aching with the cuts from the bone plates already, his blood made it hard to concentrate on the here-and-now and not the there-and-then.

((The Dust is not real. The blood is his own. There were no screaming crowds, no beaming sun, no grit under his nails--))

The floor was clear, he was empty handed, and while Virgil’s handprint, however bloody, could probably open the doors to an escape pod behind him, he didn’t think he’d be able to close them before Remus could follow after. Virgil’s head rang from the earlier impact, turning his carefully cultivated plans to fragments in his head with nothing to do. He was cornered in the worst part of the ship, with the worst person to be cornered with. 

Remus was grinning again, crouching on the floor like a lion about to pounce, but wanted to have his fun first.

“What’s your plan here?” Remus asked. “Gonna call for help, little Cikeriy? Go on! I’d love to see the look on your face when you realize no one is going to come for you.”

“What… did… you do?” Virgil said between gasps. The chill of the ship cut through his thin sleep shirt, and made his skin feel too small, too little, not enough. Roman had been okay at dinner earlier, he knew-- a little more tired than normal, a little more snappish but he’d been that way since he had taken to keeping Remus away from anything important around the ship all day every day, because he didn’t trust Remus around any of the rest of them. Patton had made ten puns, which was one less than usual but Virgil had thought it was just because Logan had been excitedly telling them about--something fuck, a star? A research paper? Janus had kissed him like a nebula exploding and wished him a good night.

They’d been fine. Virgil had made sure of it. There was nothing that Remus could have--

And yet Remus’s grin etched wider, crueler, violenter. “Do you know the main difference between me and your lovely little Prince of the Stars? Other than the fact that I’m just the sexier twin, of course. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t know. Roman doesn’t like to talk about the family disappointment.”

Virgil took a step back and Remus took one forward, like a game of tag. His tail swayed behind him looking deceivingly lackadaisical for a murder weapon.

“You see little Crikeriy--” Remus said with his eyes glinting at the nickname. “Erefrens like to fight, and your little Princey over there is the perfect little soldier! A killing machine when he isn’t so concerned about messing up his hair! Those toxins of his? Wowza! They’ve always packed a punch. Even when we were kids!”

Virgil didn’t like how he said punch. He didn’t like the way that Remus talked about Roman. He didn’t like the implication that Roman used those toxins on Remus before. He didn’t like the idea of anyone screaming the way that Orlen thief had back when he’d first seen Roman use it effectively.

He didn’t like the way Remus’s head tilted, like he was remembering the feeling of all his atoms igniting on fire and wanted to see if Virgil could feel that way, too.

“The pack was so proud the first time his toxins came in,” Remus said. “Much less proud when mine came in; after all what is causing immeasurable pain to your enemies compared to simply putting them to fucking sleep?”

Virgil jerked back another step and Remus took a generous one forward. 

“It’s not glamorous enough,” Remus said, something slipping into his tone, dark and heavy and bloody. “That’s what they told me, my pack. There’s no honor in killing someone who’s asleep. No honor gained from resisting the pain when there’s no pain at all. It didn’t matter who I could knock out with just a drop of my toxins; I was always going to be nothing compared to Roman. He took my pack from me-- so I told myself I’d take his from him too. And I’d use my toxins to do it.”

“You…put them…?” Virgil dug his nails into his palms, his fingers sticking together in the excess of blood. “When... ?”

Remus laughed, “What, you think that anyone on this ship pays attention to what they’re eating? Roman is so wrapped up in his little fantasy that nothing can go wrong for him that he never notices when I put things in his drinks. Patton and Logan were child’s play. The only hard one was Janus-- ya never know with you Deathworlders what’s gonna work and what’s just gonna make you drowsy.” 

“You drugged them,” Virgil said, and fought not to think about Janus on the Pol’tur ship struggling to keep his mind focused and so out of it that he nearly knifed Patton when the Reytin was trying to help him, about Janus’s disbelieving eyes when he saw Virgil there and thought it was more likely he was a figment than real, about Janus clinging to him afterwards when they were back on their own ship and Janus didn’t want to fall asleep lest Virgil disappear before he woke back up. “You-- You--!” 

Remus looked immensely pleased with the fact, with his wording, with his anger, which made Virgil’s stomach roll all over again. Remus drugged his friends, his family, Janus. He drugged them and didn’t seem to look in any way sorry about it.

“Why not me?” Virgil choked out around the way his head was ringing, the way his blood was singing, the way that his fingers were curling and imagining the thump of a pulse under his thumbs, preferably Remus’s.

Remus flexed his fingers, his claws clinking together in a way that made the hair on the back of Virgil’s neck stand on end, even more than before. “Weren’t you listening? It’s not very fun talking to someone who’s dead asleep, now is it? Asleep people don’t scream the way awake people do.”

Wasn’t that ironic? Virgil’s heart thundered and he took solace in the idea that at least Remus had never been near him when he slept.

“I’m not going to scream,” Virgil said. 

“That’s what they all think,” Remus said back.

“I’m not going to scream,” Virgil said, this time with more confidence than he thought he’d ever had before in his life. Stronger than when he’d told Janus that they were going to be friends regardless of what their parents thought, stronger than when he told the police that Janus was not dead, stronger than when he swore to Logan that he was happy here, with them. He wasn’t certain of a lot in space but he was certain of this.

“I’m not going to scream, and you’re not going to get away with whatever the fuck it is you think you’re doing right now.”

He planted his feet on the ground and squared his trembling fists into something that resembled a fighting stance-- not that it was anything official, not that it was anything good, but it was the stance that he had picked up from the Fighting Rings and if he survived that, he was going to survive Remus Prince with it, too, regardless of what his lungs and throat and brain were telling him. 

Remus didn’t say anything for a quisannu. In the ruby light and the surplus of shadows it was hard to make out exactly what expression he was holding in his eyes, but Virgil hated how eerily similar it looked to Roman when he was trying to outsmart Logan with wordplay. 

“Boorrringgg,” the Erefren decided suddenly, drawing out the syllables until they grated around Virgil’s brain and didn’t sound like actual Common at all.

“What?”

“You’re boring,” Remus said, flicking his tail. “I’m bored.”

“It’s the worst when he’s bored,” Roman had said once upon a time so long ago when Virgil had first asked what the hell a Remus was and why they seemed to like sending waves of assassins and bounty hunters and pirates after them. “Things tend to get… bloody when he’s bored.”

Virgil whose fingers were pulsing from cuts, who’s throat was aching, who could taste copper in his mouth and see specs of scarlet in the dim hall light whether they were real or not, thought that maybe things were already a little bloody. And if that was what it was like before Remus was bored, Virgil really wasn’t going to like whatever was coming.

“I’m not here for your entertainment,” Virgil spat.

“Aren’t you?” Remus grinned again and Virgil flinched at the sight of it. His head screamed at him to get away, get out, get help. But the exit was blocked and Virgil didn’t want to know what Remus would do to anyone who came running to help him, if they came at all. “I can’t think of another reason to keep a little Deathworlder around, you know. You’re all like dangerous little pets no one else wants to get close to. I was thinking when I go off again, I’m gonna take Janus with me-- he’s pretty funny you know, especially when that Sblorp bit him and he was begging us to get it off him.”

((“It was my fault,” Janus had said in a medical bay on the floor, trusting Virgil’s shaking hands to touch when he had no logical reason to. “I didn’t even see the thing until it was two inches from tearing out my large intestine.”))

And Remus was saying that was funny? That he let that happen? That if Remus hadn’t taken pity and helped get it off of Janus Virgil would have never found him again because he’d be dead on some forgotten planet? 

Virgil’s nails dug into his palms, just to keep his brain focused on the present and keep himself from doing something extremely stupid, like lauching himself across the room at the smug Erefren and removing each and every bone from his body as painfully as possible.

“No,” Virgil said.

“No?”

“No!” He said again, “I’m not letting you take Janus.”

Not Janus who still smiled like Virgil hung the stars in the sky, who kissed like he wanted the whole cosmos to know Virgil was his, who had always been the strongest person Virgil had ever known. He didn’t care who Remus thought he was, didn’t care if Janus had been coerced to be part of Remus’s crew before, didn’t care at all. That was Janus and Virgil would not let Remus do anything else to him.

He was certain of that.

“Oh? And what if he wants to go with me?” Remus asked, like there was dimension out there where Janus might say yes anyway, where Janus had lost all his sense of self preservation among the nebulas, where Virgil wasn’t ready to claw through the fabrics of space and time and life and death just to make sure Janus didn’t have to.

Virgil tasted blood in the back of his throat, felt the grit in his teeth, smelled the burning of flesh in the air.

“Why would he ever want to go with you? If this is the shit you pull on him? If you’re going to get him killed just because you’re not being entertained? His life is worth more than that and I won’t let you convince him otherwise.”

Remus’s eyes narrowed: dark and dangerous and Virgil’s chest ached with the need to breathe but he ignored it. Alarms rang in the back of Virgil’s mind, singing out warnings that Virgil himself couldn’t even make out because if he took any of his concentration from Remus for a minsannu, everything around him would implode. 

“Oh? Well, what about this, little Cikeriy,” the alien said, speaking deliberately slowly so that Virgil couldn’t misunderstand him even if he wanted to. “Let’s play a game, just you and me. I’ll leave Janus all alone, I’ll leave Roman and Patton and Logan all alone, too! When we touch down on TS-625, I’ll take my lovely bag of tricks that you just found and I’ll disappear completely and none of them will have to see me again! Your perfect little pack here can sleep safely knowing that I’m not going to send anymore mercenaries or bounty hunters or government agents after all of you! Doesn’t that sound nice, Cikeriy? I’ll even swear to the great god Disney to never bother them again-- on one condition.”

Virgil’s heart thudded so loudly in his chest he almost couldn't see. Remus’s smile was sharper than a knife, sharper than any of his bone plates, sharper than anything that Virgil had even felt and it cut right through his flesh like it was made of melted butter.

Remus splayed out his hands and wiggled his claws in the darkness. 

“You just turn right around, get into that escape pod, and eject yourself into space.”

His lungs screamed as he became violently aware of the presence of the silent escape pods bearing witness to all this behind him. The pods that weren’t furnished with any provisions, that didn’t have any of his stuff because it was all in a bag that was behind Remus, that Virgil suspected weren’t made for humans at all and wouldn’t be capable of regulating the right amount of oxygen for his body for an extended period of time. The pods that Virgil had practiced piloting on a million times but had always flown right back here within the phisannu, because this was where he belonged. This was home. 

Remus wanted him to purposely leave that? He wanted to watch Virgil cast himself into the empty expanse because it would be entertaining somehow? Virgil’s knees felt weak, his stomach offered up hints of the dinner they had all eaten together phisannus ago. 

He’d have no food. He’d have no water. He’d barely have oxygen if he went.

And if he didn’t starve out there, or dehydrate, or run out of oxygen, and if the SOS system worked, then he’d be found by someone out there. If they weren’t pirates or smugglers that would sell him without a second thought, they’d be with the Universal Space Police Force and humans were illegal on this side of the universe. 

If he did this it would be a suicide trip.

“It should be an easy decision for you, right? You or the others,” Remus said. “You or Janus?” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Virgil hissed, and it felt like he was choking again, like Remus’s tail was hoisting in him to the air by his neck, like there was something in his throat that was blocking all the oxygen from making it to his chest. His hands were shaking and there was no hiding that. 

Remus stood at his full height, and he looked like he was having the time of his life all of a sudden. The red light made his smile look insane.

And for the first time, Virgil thought that maybe that wasn’t entirely wrong. 

Virgil didn’t know what growing up as an Erefren was like-- Roman was staunchy with the details and Logan and Patton were insistent that it was only Roman’s story to tell, despite them knowing it entirely. Virgil had wondered quietly, why someone whose species was supposed to travel in packs--teams-- families-- why Roman was floating out in space as a swashbuckling starlit hero without anyone else of his kind. Virgil had wondered.

He thought maybe he understood now, if Remus was the type to play this kind of sick game with people close to Roman, that Roman had left those people behind on a planet that Remus probably wouldn’t go back to. He understood why Roman had nearly begged them not to uphold the Oath of Brothers that Remus had enacted to get himself saved. He understood now, if it had been someone else with their backs to the escape pods being asked to make a decision like this. 

He understood Roman not wanting to talk about Remus when Remus was asking him to choose between the people he loved and himself like the answer was something he had to even think about in the first place.

“Come on, Virgie,” Remus said. “Entertain me a bit. You know not even I will risk going back on an oath to the Great God. Unless, of course, you really don't care about your friends all that much after all.”

“Make the oath first,” Virgil said.

“Open the pod first,” Remus countered, like he was waiting for it. His tail twitched, flicked and danced in the air like a creature all of its own. Remus tilted his head to the side, letting some of his wavy hair fall over his eyes, and once upon a time Virgil might have thought that made him look a bit like Roman.

Instead it made Virgil’s stomach clench and twist and crawl up his throat real slow like it’s own little horror movie. It was deceptive, it was cruel; he didn’t look like someone who would kill anyone and everyone for his own entertainment, who took joy in making Virgil bleed late at night when there was no one but them to see.

He didn’t look like that guy they saved on the Pol’tur ship who could barely keep his eyes open, but demanded that they also save what was left of his crew. Virgil didn’t know where that person went, or if he’d been real at all. But the terror in his chest and the bruises on his neck told him the Erefren in front of him was as authentic as it got.

Virgil took the last step back and his shoulder blades hit the outer door to escape pod Alfie-- Alpha. Virgil vaguely remembered that first time that he and Roman had done their driving practices out there in the middle of an empty quadrant, in the middle of nowhere and nothing. It had been just like Janus and him picking out some empty parking lot at two AM for Janus to go through teaching him how to drive because his own parents couldn’t have been bothered. Patton had affectionately named the little pod Alfie, and gone through the trouble of renaming the pod in the computer system with an alien-like flower emoji to make Virgil smile. Logan had rolled his eyes, but had yet to change it back.

The memory tasted like his own stomach acids now, burning its way up his throat, and making his whole body feel feverish. He thought that if he closed his eyes and took a break from staring at Remus, he’d see Patton and his bug eyes staring up at him with a question on his lips and “Oh kiddo how could you?”

Virgil reached up and crossed his body to slam his palm on the palm reader without giving Remus access to his spine, without trusting Remus enough not to slam his tail into Virgil’s lower back when he was already complying, without letting his eyes close because he wasn’t going to cry after all this.

He survived the fighting rings. He survived Earth. He survived to find Janus again and see that smile that Virgil breathed every breath for. He survived this much.

He’d survive Remus too and he wouldn’t let Remus think otherwise for a quisannu. 

The scanner was warm under his palm. For a moment there, Virgil was afraid that it wouldn’t recognize his human shaped hand amidst all the blood. ((He remembered when Logan first dragged him to the room to get his hand put into the system, an induction to the crew, back before Roman trusted him and Patton was still skittish and Virgil’s grasp of Common was barely more than the basics of conversation and necessity. Logan had been blinking lights a million ways, shining like a star all on his own, and it had taken Virgil too long to realize the dancing of his lower arms was because he was excited and happy and thrilled and that Virgil had made him that way. So different from the yesterday morning when Logan’s voice had dripped with an emptiness and “Did we make you unhappy?” )) 

The scanner beeped. The doors slid open. Virgil swallowed the lump in his throat like it was a chunk of a meteor and the edges were carving into his esophagus. 

Remus didn’t take the step forward to push him into the pod with his aura like Virgil expected. His tail froze motionless in the air beside him, more like a cardboard cut out prop than the weapon that shredded the wall to his right. The alien raised his left hand slowly, in something that looked so normal, so familiar, so human, that Virgil had to swallow the hysteria before it gained a hold on his tongue.

“I, Remus Prince, Denounced of the Prince Pack, Leader of None and Follower of Less,” Remus said, and the air in the room rang with his voice. Virgil willed back the weakness in his knees that threatened to send him to the ground at the rumbling of his tone. “I invoke the Great God Disney, Beholder of Oaths and Judge of Heroes, to witness here and now this vow: I swear to abandon my pledge to destroy all that my brother, Roman Prince, holds dear and resolve not to take human Janus Ekans with me when I leave, should human Virgil Storm press the eject button on the escape pod while inside it.”

Remus turned his palm upwards and tilted his head ever so slightly with a smug expression, nearly hidden in the shadows. “Does that work for you, Cikeriy?”

((“Does that work for you, Virgil?” Roman had said, when Virgil was frantically trying to wash blood off his hands in the bathroom and not crawl out of his skin. Virgil hadn’t been paying attention to anything other than getting the alien fluids off of himself, getting the feeling of a pulse dying under his fingers to fade, getting his breath to stop hitching at every inhale. There were a million other things that Roman should have been doing at the moment: helping Patton from where he was nearly shish kabobed, checking on Logan who they had to forcibly put to sleep because he couldn’t stop screaming at the brightness of the world around them once his visor broke, getting the blood off himself, getting rid of the bodies in the hall… but Roman was here talking to Virgil about everything and nothing and reaching out to turn off the water when Virgil wouldn’t stop scrubbing at his hands. “Listen to me Virgil. You’re okay here. You’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen.”))

Virgil was shaking so much he wasn’t sure that he actually nodded at Remus’s non-rhetorical question. It felt barbed, it felt cold and vicious of him to ask, and Virgil thought that maybe that was the point of it. Remus’s teeth bared in a parody of something comforting.

It was the same smile that Mayor Ekans had been holding when he had Virgil forcibly ejected from the mansion the first time, the same smile that his teachers had when they gave him yet another detention, the same smile that the police officers gave him when they thought they had caught him in a lie about what had happened to Beloved Perfect Janus Ekans.

There were less than two halls between him and Janus’s bedroom, less two quisannu to get from here to that room where Janus was sleeping unaware of anything that was happening, less than eighteen days that he got to spend with Janus in the grand scheme of things. 

It felt like a blink, like a mirage, like a dream that Virgil just woke up from and was feeling the blissfulness dissipate like he’d faced so many times before. The Hope had always been the worst thing about those first eight months: the hope that Janus would appear somewhere unconscious but alive, the hope that Janus would show up to clear his name, the hope that Janus would come back just to fix everything that had gone wrong with Virgil’s life when he was gone. 

Virgil, ever the fool, had fallen into the trap that was Hope again and let himself get comfy with the idea that this time he couldn’t lose Janus again.

“Tick Tock,” Remus said.

“You know, Remus,” Virgil spit out, “I feel sorry for you.”

“That’s nice.”

“You clearly never learned what the fuck it was like to care about anyone other than yourself, and I as much as I would like to hate ever fiber of your being, the only thing I can feel is pity  that you--” 

“Really, these are gonna be your last words?” Remus cut in with an undertone of something far less entertained.

“There are a billion civilizations out there!” Virgil said over him. “And you couldn’t find one person in there that you could care about? You couldn’t let go of such a stupid hatred of your brother-- for a pack that didn’t deserve you-- for a life that you don’t even know if you would have liked! You had all of Space for yourself and you chained yourself up just to get a chance to get back at Roman? How the fuck are you so stupid? Do you know what I would have given to be you?”

Remus wasn’t smiling.

Virgil thought that he was. Grinning full of adrenaline and shaking with rage and wondering if he would ever taste Janus’s lips again because certainty in Space was a fickle thing. 

“You had a spaceship. You had a crew. You could have gone anywhere and done anything with your life,” Virgil said. “And yet you chose to constantly come back to Roman. Dumbass.”

Remus made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded like a grumbling, a rumbling, a growling. Virgil flinched back into the pod, and he could already feel the artificial gravity loosening its hold. It took him another blink to realize that Remus was laughing at him, something darker and more dangerous than before.

He was insane and having fun before. Virgil thought that he might have just taken out the “having fun” and substituted in the “pissed off”.

“You know how long I’ve been thinking about this, Virgil?” Remus asked. “I went over a hundred different ways that I could have done this: I could have had you hang yourself, snapping your own neck. Could have given you the knife and told you to slit your own throat. Could have tossed you a Kochfas and told you to blow your brains out. I thought about making the others watch. And I wanted to see you do it so badly. Do you know what a pain it was to walk around these past disannu and see you with your guard completely down? To think of all the ways I would have killed you myself? I could have slit your throat and laughed as Patton screamed. But you know those rumors about Deathworlds say that you might have gotten up from that and I don’t ever want to see your stupid face again.”

Virgil’s chest heaved. He couldn’t tell if it was the thinner oxygen concentration in the pod, or just the rapid fire words in Remus’s mouth. The words that confirmed a suspicion that Virgil hadn’t realized he’d had this whole time. That this whole thing was too complex, too focused, too targeted. 

“Oh? Nothing else to say?” Remus asked. “You were almost entertaining there for a moment.”

“This wasn’t about Roman, was it?” Virgil said. “This was about me. You hate me.”

Remus stuck out his tongue and pressed a claw to it-- some type of motion that Virgil only recognized from the number of times that Roman had done it to Logan’s back after he stated something incredibly obvious and Patton had batted his thigh over. 

“Oh, is the little deathworlder getting the hint?” Remus asked. “What tipped you off? The drugging of all your friends or when I told you to eject yourself from the ship?” 

“What…” Virgil shivered with his whole body. “Why…?”

“Don’t chicken out now, Virgie,” The alien said. “I’d simply hate to have to go through the trouble of stabbing out each of Patton’s hearts because you got cracked bone plates.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, a fake expression that made Virgil’s stomach twist in on itself. “Or maybe I’ll just start with Janus, and see how much pain a human can actually take.”

“Don’t,” Virgil’s voice comes out as its own growl, sounding damn near inhuman. 

Virgil didn’t think about the Pol’turs, didn’t think about Janus on that table knowing that no one is coming for him, didn’t think about the scars on the side of his face that Janus pretended didn’t bother him, but Virgil had caught him pointedly not looking in the mirror so many times-- He didn’t think about it, but his brain screamed at him anyway.

“I don’t know what I did to you,” Virgil said. “But leave him out of this. All of them. Roman included. Look I… I’m sorr--”

The Erefren’s tail struck through the air and before Virgil knew what he was doing he slammed the button on the door lock and forced them shut. He stumbled deeper into the pod, nearly falling to the ground as the sound of Remus’s barbed tail spikes carved into the thick heavy metal separating them. The ship was so cold that Virgil could see his breath in the air, but all he felt was a feverish as he stared through the foggy window at where Remus was standing with an expression that was possibly more murderous than anything Virgil had ever seen before. 

Janus’s mother had been vile and sadistic when she thought that Virgil had killed her perfect son, the police had been cold and merciless when they called him a suspect, the people Virgil hadn’t even known had become ruthless and brutal when they glared at him doing anything out in public. His own parents had looked at him with hatred when they realized that the rest of the world would shun them just because Virgil was their son, but even that had been nothing compared to the look in Remus’s dark eyes. 

It was bloodlust. And it was directed at Virgil with no regard for anything else.

Remus sneered, almost loud enough for Virgil to hear through both the sets of doors and the static screaming in his ears. His mouth tasted like Dust, his skin prickled with a heat that wasn’t real, his fingers dripped with blood and ached in all the ways that his hands always did after he killed someone with them. He felt like if he took a single step he’d float right off into Space with or without the walls around him

Remus’s mouth moved, words or curses or whatever, but Virgil couldn’t hear them and cared even less. 

“I don’t know what I did to you,” Virgil said with his hands shaking over the square red eject button. Last words for only him to know and no one else to ever find out. He thought of Janus asleep in his bed, safe and sound and not knowing anything that was going on. He thought of the feel of Janus’s lips on his, the featherlight touch and sweet honey-eyed look he reserved just for Virgil. He thought of those words he last said to him, “Later Loser, Sleep well” and thought it was ever so poetic that they mirrored those last things that Janus had said to him before he disappeared off the Earth three years ago.

Virgil hoped that Janus wouldn’t take them to heart too much-- not like Virgil had when he agonized over them and wouldn’t believe that Janus had run away without telling him and the rumors had first started their rounds. He hoped that Janus would forgive him for being stupid in the middle of the night. He hoped that Janus would wait for him to find a way back to them.

Out in Space, he wasn’t certain of much, but he was certain that he meant it when he gritted his teeth together, and said, “Remus, I hope you rot in Hell.”

Virgil slammed his bleeding fingers down on the eject button, and at the same moment blinding white light filled the Transport Room from the hall. 

He got just enough time to recognize Roman’s unmistakable form stumbling into the room behind Remus, and then the entire pod lurched backwards.

[Part Three]

[hiyaluronic]

I am to the point where I am about to leave it as is and just move on because I keep getting hung up on the scene below... This is the 4th time I have seriously rewrote this scene. I am a little happier with this version but now my brain is stuck. I-just-errrrg... --

Joe gasped back to awareness against the echo of his name and the stinging ache of a fist to his jaw. He groaned against the pain and worked to keep his feet under him, to stop his weight from pulling on his already overworked shoulders. His arms were stretched high above him and held painfully in place by a pair of handcuffs and a length of chain. 

“I do apologize for the harsh treatment, Mr. Jones, but we are on quite the time limit.”

Joe squinted at the words and let his head fall to rest against his bare arm, his jaw throbbing as he worked to stretch out the sore joint. “Harsh treatment? I’ve raised goats that could hit harder than your man there.”

There was a spike of annoyance from the balding and heavily muscled man before him that helped soothe the hollow feeling which had been an uncertain companion since he’d woken here hours before, muddled and cold. He wasn’t sure if it was the last dregs of whatever drug in his system or the fact that he could no longer feel the warmth of Nicky’s consciousness curling up like a cat against his own, but the emptiness had created minute tears in his shields. Creating a constant low level feedback loop that reverberated around him that made it hard to focus. 

Joe had to maintain a constant situational awareness of his shields to keep from being overwhelmed. It’s why he missed the darkened figure in his periphery until he felt a slight pressure between his shoulders, a gentle touch that had his skin crawling. A greasy sort of sickness slithered up from the heat of the person’s touch and wormed its way through the cracks to settle like a heavy weight against the base of his consciousness. The unwanted intrusion left him nauseated.

Joe jerked away from the touch as best he could and swallowed against the queasy feeling he could feel slosh up his esophagus when the hand pressed tighter into the bare skin of his back.

With a sigh the hand slipped from his shoulders and Joe watched the shadowed form move to stand in front of him revealing the slender form of Sondermann. “Normally, You would be nothing more than a footnote on an otherwise boring business venture and I would be halfway back to London by now.”

Joe narrowed his eyes at Sondermann’s posh voice and the sudden flourish of euphoria that fluttered like butterflies around him, masking the snake-like undercurrent that Joe knew was still there, radiating under the suave mask of Sondermann’s overconfidence. He’d felt this glorious rush of amazement many times before from healers, religious zealots, to modern-day doctors, and various undefined people in-between and it always ended the same. A few more deaths and no new answers to speak of. 

“But, I must honestly admit, you have piqued my interest, Mr. Jones. How does someone so seemingly ordinary, not only manage to somehow dispose of my sniper but also manage to mysteriously rise from the grave after a particularly nasty shot to the heart?”

Joe leaned back as Sondermann reached forward to try and touch his cheek. He eyed the man wearily when Sondermann smiled gently at his movement, the man’s hand hovering so close to his cheek he could feel the warmth of Sondermann’s hand.

Joe bit his tongue when Sondermann huffed a laugh. He wanted nothing more than to jam his leg into the man’s gut and kick that stupid smile off his face but he needed to buy his time. He needed more information. Needed to know how much Sondermann knew and what exactly had happened after he’d passed out - where the rest of his family was - before he could start making escape plans.

Sondermann let his hand drop and shifted his weight to stand more comfortably. “You are truly a modern day Asclepius, Mr. Jones. The only true question I wish to have answered is...”

Joe locked eyes with the bastard as Sondermann questioned quietly, “What God resurrected you?”

Joe narrowed his eyes and kept silent.

“I don’t suppose you’d feel obliged to divulge your secret?” Sondermann looked at him, the man’s face a mask of softness, that smarmy gentle smile playing on his lips. Joe swallowed and stood still as Sondermann stepped closer to him, the heat of Sondermann’s overconfidence clouding his feelings and forcing him to take a deep breath to clear his head. 

“No, I suppose not.” There was a beat of silence where something thrilling overcame the excessive hubris of Sondermann’s emotions and curled tightly around his consciousness as Sondermann leaned forward, the man’s breath hot against his ear, “Though, I have to wonder if your partner will be more forthcoming? Tell me, Mr. Jones, how many times do you suppose I will have to shoot him between those pretty little eyes of his before he either breaks or stays down for good?” 

Joe tensed, hands clenched tight around the chain holding him steady, “Touch him and that’ll be your end.”

Sondermann raised an eyebrow, curious. “And whatever shall you do, tied up and useless as you are?”

Yusuf smirked, the sound of muffled pops echoing beyond the safety of the room. “Nicky doesn’t need me to protect him.”

[slimy-vore-bog]

Misunderstandings

Last story was my attempt at an April Fool’s prank... It wasn’t a very good one, but I translated the entire thing and here it is.  (took me 3 days, because I kept procrastinating)

It’s not a joke story btw. The joke was posting it in Danish

Anyways...

Contains: Pred Luz (pov character) prey Amity and Willow, mentions of fatal vore, slightly weird grammar because of translation and out of character actions and dialogue

The last part is because I view Saga (Amity in the Danish dub) differently than Amity. Voice actress makes her feel really different, dub Amity is a nervous soft girl who is clumsy and stutters after episode 7... I don’t like it, but I had to keep it somewhat canon... The second reason is that... I only watched the dub once and that this was really rushed. They all talk a bit too formal

Also I made a slightly inappropiate joke at the end. But it’s (hence the title) out of another misunderstanding. And it’s not like I actually even say what they were thinking. I thought it was funny so I’m keeping it.

Original Danish Version: Misforståelser

Word Count: 2.1k

***

“Amity, stop running away!” yelled Luz as the green haired witch ran away from her at a shocking speed. “I’m just trying to help you!”

The young witch didn’t stop. “No! I saw what you did to Willow; you ate her!” she screamed.

That… was true enough. The small witch was in her inside her stomach, but there was a good reason for it. “If you just let me explain, it’ll all make sense; I swear!” There was a kick from inside her stomach. “Willow isn’t dead!”

Amity stumbled in her run. Maybe Luz could get her to listen?

She turned around to look up at Luz. “What?” The witch stared up at her in confusion, but her confused stare quickly turned into a rage filled glare. “Luz are you complete out of your mind?! You ate your best friend! She might not be dead yet, but she sure as hell won’t be living long!”

Luz took a moment, before she could figure out what to say that would calm Amity down. “No, it’s a misunderstanding! For both of you!” She held her hand over her stomach. “Willow, you are okay, aren’t you? You can breathe just fine, and it doesn’t even sting, does it?”

There was no answer from her stomach, but the kicks stopped immediately. Luz could feel that Willow still had her feet firmly pressed into her stomach wall. A couple seconds passed, before her friend responded. “… no, I’m actually feeling fine.”

“She just answered that she’s feeling fine.” Luz did know that it could sound like a lie, but there wasn’t really any other ways to say it. “The reason I chose to eat her…” She looked up at the sky. “Well, just look up there for yourself, Amity.” She pointed up in the air to where a giant bird of prey was circling.

Amity turned her back to Luz with a distrustful glare. “I can’t see what you’re pointing at.” She spun around fast enough to nearly trip herself. “Don’t try to distract me! Throw Willow up right now, before you regret it!” She clenched her fists. “She is-or was- you friend!”

Luz was getting lightly irritated. “First, Willow is completely fine, and second, if you let me pick you up, then I can show you what you’re running towards.” She had a feeling Amity would run, but it wouldn’t be hard to catch her.

The moment the words left her mouth, Amity bared her teeth. “As if I’d do that!” She took a step backwards. “You… You’re just going to eat me as soon as you have me in your hands!”

Luz sighed. “Amity, if you really don’t want me to eat you, then I won’t do-” She suddenly felt a strong kick to a sensitive part of her stomach. “Ouch!” She curled around her stomach. It was mostly out of shock, but there was still a pinching pain. “Willow!”

“Why didn’t you give me a choice?!” she yelled, clearly insulted. “Are Amity feelings about this more important than mine?”

“No, of course not!” Luz could hear how dumb it all sounded. “I just didn��t want to… I just hadn’t thought it entirely through!” Luz could just have held them in her hoodie or in her pant pocket. “I don’t really think things through as well when turn into… you know, a giant.” To her it had seemed like the most logical choice to eat her friends.

She took in a deep breath, before she looked back down at Amity. She placed her hand down with her palm upwards so the green haired witch could climb up on her own. “Come on now, I promise you if you don’t want me to swallow you then I won’t.”

Amity eyed her suspiciously. “What was it that you pointed at earlier?”

Luz pulled her hand back. “A giant bird of prey.”

Amity nodded slowly. “Okay, what color is it?”

Luz realized that she was trying to figure out if she was lying. She looked back up at the big bird. “Blue with orange spots. No, wait, it’s a pattern, and its wings are white on the inside.”

Amity suddenly seemed more relaxed. “Are you sure Willow is okay?”

Luz nodded. “Completely sure.”

“Okay then.” She glared at her again. “But I’m still not letting you eat me.”

Luz smiled. “alright, Amity.” She placed her hand down on the ground again. “Are you going to climb on now?”

Amity eyed her nervously, before she nodded. She took a careful step forwards towards her hand. “And you’re not going to eat me unless I’m okay with it?”

Luz shook her head. “No, you have my word.”

Amity crawled up onto her hand. “Can you please hold me up to your stomach?” She pulled her legs up to her chest. “I want to talk with Willow, without you needing to eat me.”

“Of course, Amity.” She lifted her hand up to the lowest part of her chest. “Talk your head off.”

Amity cleared her throat. “uh, Willow?”

Willow’s voice was a bit cross. “What?” There were a couple seconds of silence. “Sorry, I’m not mad at you.” She gave Luz another kick. “I just don’t get that Luz is giving you special treatment! She ate me without giving me a choice!”

Amity shuffled a bit. “I just wanted to hear if you were doing alright.”

“Oh. Yes, I’m doing fine. Even if it’s awfully slimy in here…”

Luz felt a little embarrassed. It wasn’t because she had been giving Amity special treatment on purpose. “If you want me to, I can easily throw you up again.”

“No, it’s fine, Luz, I would just get cold.” But after she said that, she gave Luz tiny kick again.

Luz used her empty right hand to scratch her neck. “So, Amity, hoodie or pocket?”

Amity flinched. “Let me think for a moment.”

Luz waited. She had trouble keeping her hands still. She wasn’t trying to disturb Amity in the middle of her thinking, but she couldn’t stop moving her fingers slightly.

Amity sighed. “I don’t think it’s okay that you only ate Willow… It would only be fair, if you swallowed me too.” A chill clearly ran through Amity. “As gross as it is.” She took a deep breath, before she shook her head. “Willow, you wouldn’t mind company, would you?”

“No, I don’t.”

Luz cautiously lifted Amity up to her face. “are you completely sure? You’re first coming back out when we’re back in Bonesborough.”

Amity nodded. “I’m sure.” She moved her legs towards Luz’s mouth. “Besides, if I don’t let you do it, then Willow would be alone in there the entire time… I think this is better.” She gulped anxiously. “I can’t believe I’m about to let myself get eaten…” She mumbled.

“I promise nothing’s going to happen to you,” said Luz with a kind smile. “You two both mean so much to me.” So much was true. Willow was her best female friend and Amity… There was just something about the little witch that caught her. “But I can understand that you think this is gross.” Luz smiled nervously. “I would never had thought that I could think of this as anything other than totally disgusting.”

Amity rolled her eyes. “You’re such an idiot, Luz.” But Luz could see the small smile on Amity’s lips. “Just get this over with.”

Luz carefully opened her mouth. Amity wouldn’t fight against her, but the feeling of Willow that punched and kicking around herself in a startled panic still scratched in her throat.

Luz gently lifted Amity into her mouth.

She started slowly with her legs, before she thought about how Amity would slide down the easiest. Maybe it was better if she was lying on her stomach. Luz opened her mouth again. “I’m just turning you, so you’re lying on your stomach,” explained Luz when she saw Amity’s confused expression.

She pushed Amity’s legs into her mouth as gently as she could. She could feel Amity jolt, when her tongue pulled her farther in.

When Amity was completely in Luz’s mouth, she could taste her perfume, that burnt lightly on her tongue. She felt a bit embarrassed, when she needed to pull Amity out of her mouth again. “Sorry I keep doing this, but your perfume isn’t poisonous, is it?”

Amity writhed around to glare at her angrily at her friend, before she shook her head irritably. “No, Luz, it’s not poisonous.” She kicked out after Luz’s lips, but she missed. “Just get it over with!”

Luz was still careful, but she tried to hurry up a little more. She quickly got Amity completely inside her mouth, and began to try and soak through her clothes with her drool.

It was strange not to feel her fight against her, but it was alright with Luz. It made everything a bit easier.

She pushed her legs all the way back in her mouth. It wouldn’t be hard to swallow her. Just a single gulp would probably send her pretty far down.

She turned her head up to the sky, before she swallowed the low part of Amity. She had no trouble with quickly swallowing down the rest of her. It only took to fast gulps, and then Amity was already on her way down through her esophagus.

She swallowed a couple more times just to get Amity faster down. Finally Amity could be safe… Luz breathed out a sigh of relief. Now nothing could reach her friends…

There sounded a startled shout from her stomach after a few seconds. “Sorry, Willow!” yelled Amity, while Luz could feel them trying to find room in her stomach. “I didn’t know there would be so little room in here!”

Luz couldn’t stop herself from smiling at her. Her friends were amazing… She loved both the two so much.

“Amity, you doofus, of course there wouldn’t be a lot of room in here.” Willow talked loudly, but she was clearly just teasing. “Now move over a bit, so I can cast a new light spell.”

Luz giggled at them. “You two are so cute!” She let a lovestruck sigh slip out. “I love both of you so much…”

Willow laughed, while Amity froze completely silent. “And what’s that supposed to mean, Luz? Tell me did you didn’t get a crush on us, did you?”

Luz felt her heart skip a beat. “uh…” Did she have a crush on her friends? Oh no… She did. She laughed nervously. “No, no, of course not! I meant as friend! You two are really good friends!”

Luz could hear the sarcasm in Willow’s voice. “I so believe in that.” There was a quiet moment, before Willow continued. “But, Luz, I’m not really into anybody in that way… Boy, girl or anything in between, nobody at all.”

Luz felt a pang of pain in her heart. “That’s… That’s okay…” Her eyes went wide, when she realized what Willow had just said. “Wait, Willow, you’re asexual? That’s so cool!” She wasn’t heterosexual, just like Luz wasn’t! “Wow, nobody has ever come out to me before! Just think, you have two dads AND you’re ace! Are you also aromantic? Or are you only aro? Sorry, this is just so exciting! Have I ever told you that I’m bisexual?”

Willow chuckled. “No, you haven’t, and I’m both, but I think Amity has something she wants to say.”

Amity fell as soon as Willow said that. “I have a crush on you.”

Luz blushed, “you do?” That seemed a bit sudden for her to confess.

Amity sat back up again. “Yes, I… I can’t almost think of anything or anything other than you.”

Luz smiled. “Well then, would you say yes to a date tomorrow?”

“Yes! Absolutely yes!” A joyful screech sounded from her stomach. “I have a date with Luz…” Amity exclaimed slowly, yet just as excitedly. She squealed again, before she continued. “Where at? In the town? No, there will be too many people… In the forest?” She grumbled. “No, that’s probably not the best idea with Birdie out there on the loose… What do you think, Luz?”

Luz obviously wasn’t much of a local. “Where you think is best! I would say the Owl House for the privacy, but Eda is home…” It became dead quiet after she finished speaking. A few seconds passed, before Luz’s face flared up in a dark red blush. “No! Not in that way privacy! I just meant so we could talk without being interrupt, and Eda wouldn’t pry. Not… you know.”

Amity sighed with relief. “Okay… That’s good.”

Luz stared down into the ground, her face still burning in embarrassment. “Yep… Well, I should probably get you two home.”

“Yeah.” It sounded quickly from Amity.

“That would be nice…” mumbled Willow.

***

That was it! It was a fun project to translate, but not my proudest work... Also this is the creature that Amity called Birdie (Piphans in the original) I designed him, but there’s no reason he’s in here.. I just decided to keep him in... Anyways it’s my man here:

His head and neck is based on Hooty, obviously.

Fun fact: he was the creature I initially wanted to use for... Hold on, I don’t remember the title... Going Through Lots of Denial! There we are! Though... that was only because my friend liked him more... I personally always wanted to use a groundbound creature... I didn’t want the bird to fly off with Amity. (also part of the reason I didn’t actually used him in here. The second is that he would have crushed her. Look at those meaty murder feet)

This was all the creatures I made for it:

Anyways, that was all and it’s pretty unrelated.

Thanks for reading, don’t fall for any pranks, and have an amazing day! <3

[whumpywhumper]

Here to Help

I’ve been waiting to post this section for forever. 

Recently updated master post: Here

Follows: Aftermath

Edit for Masterpost

Tagging: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @0idril0 @captivity-whump @whumpitywhumpwhump @walkingchemicalfire @comfy-whumpee @insanitywishes @imagination1reality0 @voidwhump2 @untilthepainstarts 

`

Markus woke up abruptly, jerking into consciousness with pain spreading through his chest as he gasped a full breath into his battered lungs, his back arching as his muscles rebelled at the unexpected agony. His eyes snapped open, and he whined as his nerve endings fully registered the deep, penetrating ache that dug into every crevice of his body. The sharp, consuming wounds in his stomach and chest. 

His esophagus was raw from where the tubes had been removed from his throat, and it felt like he was breathing through razor blades. The breathing mask over his face pumped humid, tepid air into his mouth and nose, but it did nothing to soothe his abraded airways. The curtained area they’d moved him into was dark, the machines he was still connected to whirring and blinking, their small lights unable to completely light up the area. 

He felt his eyebrows furrow in slight confusion, even at night, the curtained area hadn’t been this dark. The constant fluorescents had peaked underneath the floor length fabric, the air flow creating a dance of lights in the closed area. Picking his head up slightly, his throat rebelled at the new angle, lungs contracting viciously.

His barking, choked off cough was snuffed out by pain that drowned him. Smothering and opaque, the pain blocked everything out as it swallowed him whole. He went down. 

Down. 

. . . down. 

Only to catch himself on the precipice, a sense of dread and fear keeping him from giving in to the tidal wave that threatened him. Something’s out there. 

He crawled his way back to consciousness, prying his eyelids open as he sought what put his senses on edge. A brief, staccato popping followed by a demonic screeching in the distance made him wince, a cold sweat enveloping him as his stomach sank. What is that?  

Markus felt his heart speed even through his drugged, feverish haze, his mind moving sluggishly as it tried to put two and two together. He startled as the blood pressure cuff around his bicep tightened, a lance of pain jolting through him with the unexpected movement. He moaned quietly, shuddering as the surge of adrenaline washed over him. Left him feeling so tired. He wanted to move, get off of the bed and hide, at least pull the blankets over his head. Feel safe. But that desire was futile. 

He was still restrained, the soft cuffs around his wrists keeping him from pulling on the tubes and wires that framed his torso. The “nurses” hadn’t taken them off since he had ripped the chest tube out, had instead replaced them with buckled restraints that clicked in place underneath the bed. Stretching his drugged senses, he tried to hear anything that would give him an idea of what was going on, but quickly gave up. He was was surrounded by quietly whirring machinery, the bubbles of the replaced chest tube filling his ears. And he didn’t have the energy to care anymore. 

Sinking into the pillow, Markus tried to ignore the pain in his body, letting his eyes fall closed. 

Sleep hadn’t quite claimed him when the sound of muted voices entered his ears.  

“Go, go, go.” 

The heavy tramp of boots and jangle of tactical gear made Markus blink his eyes open, an odd clacking on the tile tickling his memory; so out of place in the vampire nest. But a heavy, anchoring fear made him freeze, hold stock still as his brain went offline. He bit his tongue against a distressed whimper caught in his throat. Cutting his eyes to the side, he saw the jumping, jerking flash of lights under the curtain that surrounded him. 

Another soft voice, “clear,” followed the clink and slide of curtain rings in a metal track. He wanted to call out, but fear strangled him, made it feel like there was a fist clutched around his trachea. He was taking short, choppy, staccato breaths; the oxygen mask filming with condensation. 

He stopped breathing altogether when the curtain around his bed was thrown open, black clad figures drowning him in the excruciating light of their halogen flashlights. He flinched, hard, his arms tugging on the cuffs in a pointless attempt at covering his eyes. 

Markus could feel the gun barrels pointed at him, the deadly projectiles a hair pin trigger away from boring large, painful holes in him. He squeezed his eyes closed, turning his face away from the lights, and opened his palms on the blankets in surrender. Please, please just do it quick. 

“Non-hostile, sending in Delta.”

It was impossible for the weakened witch to go anywhere when the heavy tread of footsteps came closer, the clack on the tiles sounding through the room again, but he tried to sink deeper into the mattress. Shaking uncontrollably, pain and fear stealing his faculties. The heart monitor he was hooked up to started to beep in warning.  

A whimper forced its way out when a heavy weight bounced onto the bed near his knee, and he shrank away when something cold touched his hand. But the touch came back more insistent, the snuffling push and pull of air moving up his arm. The weight repositioned itself, pressing into the mattress by his ribs, away from the tubes and wires. Markus’s eyes fluttered open when he felt the tell-tale touch of a wet tongue against his cheek. 

A dog?

Markus turned his head, still shaking and feeling weaker and weaker the longer he held onto consciousness, and was greeted by the serious gaze of a German shepherd as the animal retreated and lowered itself to lay against his side. Its heavy head rested comfortingly on his good hip. 

Moving as far as his restraints allowed, he buried one hand in the dog’s soft fur, feeling the cold slide of tears down his temple. 

The soft voice from before made Markus’s gaze slide to the black clad men. “Non-hostile is not infected, Ben and Kincaid, prep for evac.” 

Two figures stayed behind as the rest of the platoon peeled off. The dog, Delta, jumped off of the bed as her handler fell back into his position. The retreating flashlights illuminated the rest of the room, and the pulled curtains partitioning the space into empty squares. 

Markus immediately missed the warmth of the dog next to him, feeling bereft and vulnerable again. A renewed, hollow ache in his chest feeling a little more ripped open. He was supremely conscious of the trilling of the monitors beside him. The way the oxygen mask stuck to his face with a wet seal from the condensation his uneasy breathing caused. 

Blackness was playing with the edges of his vision. It spread further when one of the men lowered his rifle, the shoulder strap making the gun swing to his back, and stepped toward him. He unclipped a small lantern from his belt, which he clicked on to illuminate the area surrounding Markus’s bed, hooking it to an abandoned IV pole from the neighboring cubicle. As soon as his hand was empty, he held it out to Markus while the other went to the balaclava covering the lower part of his face. 

He revealed a handsome face with a square jaw and a hint of black beard. The guy’s smile was strained, but his voice was gentle. “Hey man, we’re going to get you home, okay? My name is Kincaid and this is Ben—“ he gestured to the other man—“he’s gonna make sure you’re okay to move, alright? How does he look, Ben?”

The other black clad figure also lowered his mask, adjusting his gun so that it was on his back, out of his way. “Vitals are a little strained, cupcake,” he said to Kincaid, “but I think we need to know more about what’s going on first, huh?”  Ben’s smile was conspiratorial as he looked toward Markus, their flashlights and the lantern revealing the crinkle of his eyes as he stepped up to grab the chart from the end of his bed. 

As he approached, Markus couldn’t help drawing away, inexplicably terrified of this new person invading his space. He’s just trying to help, fuck. His hands fisted loosely in the hospital blanket, his fingers still trembling, and he felt a bombardment of pain through his torso as he tensed. Sucking in quick breaths, Markus felt like he was breathing through a straw, and the machine next to him gave an obnoxious, shrill screech. 

Kincaid’s eyes snapped over, and he opened both hands toward him. “We’re gonna move slow and easy, okay? I’m gonna tell you everything we’re going to do before we do it, and I promise that we’re gonna do our best to make this as painless as possible, okay? Can you nod if you understand me?” 

Markus could feel the steady stream of tears leaking from his eyes, fuck, he was so scared. But he gave a tiny, slow nod, locking eyes with Kincaid’s honeyed hazel ones.  

Kincaid smiled, keeping his open stance as Ben, in his hazy periphery, backed away to look at his chart. “Good, good job, is it okay if I come over there and take those restraints off?”  Another tiny nod. “Okay, I know I wouldn’t want to be strapped down like that, so let’s get those off.” He stepped forward, and Markus shuddered, swallowing roughly against the short whine in his throat. He stared at Kincaid’s square hands as they came closer, feeling his heart galloping in his chest. “Hey, sweet guy, look at me, look at my eyes.” The hands paused, and Markus drug his eyes up to the other man’s face. “Just keep looking at my eyes, I’m not going to hurt you, okay?” 

Blinking away tears, he nodded, taking a gasping breath. Kincaid didn’t touch him as he handled the restraints, clever fingers making quick work of the cuff even as he kept his eyes trained on Markus. The witch kept his hand buried in the blanket as the other man worked, too tired to even pretend to help. He couldn’t stop his sob when the cuff was drawn away, the bandaged scabs on his barely healed wrist aching.

“Okay, now for the other one, alright?” Markus nodded again, holding perfectly still as Kincaid leaned over him to reach the other cuff. He could feel his warmth through the blankets, and it was so fucking human that it made his heart clench. This time, when he was free, Markus turned his hand to grab the other’s, desperate fingers latching on to warm, human skin. Kincaid startled, and they both gasped as a spark of magic traveled between them. 

A wave of relief washed over Markus, and he felt the tension in his body release even as tears still coursed from his eyes. A witch.  

The other man closed his eyes tight as he gently squeezed Markus’s fingers, lips compressing into a thin line while he drew in a deep, shaking breath through his nose. 

“Kincaid?” Ben had shuffled forward, looking at them over Markus’s chart, worry clear in his expression. 

“We might’ve found who put that message out, Ben. . . “  His voice was strained, holding something that the barely conscious witch couldn’t identify. 

Markus couldn’t make himself move his eyes from Kincaid’s face to see Ben’s reaction, but his voice held a shred of surprise when he answered. “Okay, that’s good to know, think it will affect anything on my end?” 

Kincaid shook his head, opening his eyes with a sigh as he met Markus’s bleary gaze. His smile was even more strained than before, but Markus couldn’t find it in himself to worry anymore. Another witch wouldn’t leave him here. “No, it shouldn’t affect anything right now. Might help some things actually.” His other hand wrapped around Markus’s, warming the aching bones. His thumb rubbed a soft, comforting rhythm over his skin, interrupted by the bandages wrapped around his hand. He met Markus’s unwavering gaze, the sheen of professionalism worn away, “We’re going to get you out of here, okay?”  

He nodded, no more than a tiny inclination of his head, and felt his eyelids start to droop as his body took advantage of the relief he was feeling. The shrill beeping of the monitors quieted as Markus drifted. He was safe. 

“Kincaid, come here for a second.” 

With a final brush of his fingers against Markus’s, he tried to lower his hand back to the bed, but Markus whimpered. His eyelids flickered as his fingers tried to hold on to him. Don’t go, please. Kincaid hummed at him, “Okay, I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry.”

Boots scuffed the floor, and Ben cleared his throat before whispering to Kincaid. “This chart is fucked, babe. I want a closer look before we move him, but right off the bat, we’re going to have to keep a pretty close eye on his airway. He’s got a chest tube, multiple broken ribs, and he’s apparently been recovering from a recurring bout of pneumonia—that’s on top of being stabbed and beaten. Even from here, I can tell his lungs sound like shit.” He growled through his teeth, “I’m not sure what kind of idiot took him off of the vent so soon, but I can see why they’re not actually practicing in a hospital.” 

He sighed, “I’m going to need one of the e-vac gurneys, and a transport cart, but we’re going to have to wait until the area’s been completely cleared. I don’t want to run into any of the vamps while moving, and this bed won’t fit into the elevator. I’m pretty fucking sure none of the other captives we came across were this bad off, so we’ll have first pick of the ambulance, at least.” 

Kincaid cut in, his fingers still wrapped around Markus’s hand, “What’s his name?” 

“Hm?” 

“His name, does it say what his name is?” 

“Oh, uh, no. It just has some initials—“ there was the shuffle of movement, and Markus’s eyes slid open as a hand was placed on his arm. Ben hovered over him, on the opposite side of the bed from Kincaid, and lifted the corners of his mouth in a small smile when he saw Markus looking at him. “Hey there, honey, can you tell me your name?” 

Markus drew in a raspy breath, and tried to push the syllables out of his mouth. “Ma—“, but as soon as the soundless roll of the “R” hit his palette, his lungs objected. A violent, barking cough made his frail frame shake in the bed, harsh, wheezing breaths sucked in through the oxygen mask. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to relax his body against the pain of his ribs, unconscious, inaudible whimpers falling from his mouth with every strained exhale. He was drowning again, circling down, a numb darkness cloaking his brain. 

From a distance, Ben’s voice registered as he tried to breathe. “Shit, okay, O2 sats pretty low there. Try and breathe with me, honey. In. Out.”  He stroked his arm in time with his over exaggerated breaths, Markus doing his best to hold on as the pain morphed, centralizing to an area in the right of his rib cage. His head lolled to the side as oxygen finally made its way back into his body.

He didn’t even try and open his eyes again, let alone talk, laying limply in the bed as if pure exhaustion had bulldozed him. “Okay, don’t try that again, that vital crash was pretty dangerous.” The medic’s voice was detached as he spoke over Markus, no longer trying to draw his attention. 

“I need to see how bad this nest fucked him up. Can you go get that rolling gurney we passed in the hallway? Faster we get him loaded, the faster we can leave when we get the clear.” 

“Yeah.”

It sounded as if Kincaid stepped away, and Markus realized he’d lost physical contact with the witch in his coughing fit, his hand laying abandoned on the mattress. He couldn’t summon the energy to feel afraid, the lingering feeling of sparking magic calming him. The unexpected sound of ripping velcro, though, made him flinch, and he groaned. 

“Okay, honey, I’m going to listen to you with this stethoscope and try and get a feel for some of these other injuries.” Ben’s fingers started to peel back the blanket, and Markus didn’t offer any resistance as the medic pressed the cool circle of the tool to his chest, the bite of the metal dulled by his gown. He maneuvered the blanket out of his way as he listened at each new spot, making sure to keep Markus mostly covered and warm. 

Ben muttered under his breath as he worked, hissing profanities. “Fucking hell, honey, what did they do to you? They tore you the fuck up, is what they did. God, fuck these assholes, your lungs sound like shit.” Markus tensed when he felt bare fingers worm their way under the top of his hospital gown. His weak hand automatically went up to the guy’s arm, grabbing hold, eyelids fluttering. Ben’s voice followed, gently soothing as he pried off Markus’s hand and pressed it back to the bed. “I need to see these tubes and what we have under some of these bandages, so don’t fight, okay? We’re taking care of you, I promise.” 

The snaps of the hospital gown clicked open readily to the medic’s hands, and he concentrated on breathing through the harpoon in his ribs. Ben checked the placement of leads, his fingers clinically probing his chest as he methodically worked his patient over. Markus whimpered when that gentle probing turned painful, the medic’s fingers pausing as he found the insistent grinding in his side. “Fucking hell,” he growled, vehemently. Ben moved on quickly, loosening the sticky tape covering the bandages over his stomach to see his other incisions and stitches. 

Boots and the metallic clink of rolling wheels announced the return of Kincaid, “How’s he look, Ben?” 

He sighed, voice hard as he answered, “Like shit, how do you think? Come here, we need to get him loaded up.” 

The air shifted as the gurney rolled up next to him, and Markus heard Kincaid give a sharp inhale as Ben lifted the bandage over his stomach. “God damnit, Ben, you’re not joking.” 

“No, I’m not.” The tips of his calloused fingers nudged along his incision sites, and Markus flinched at how he prodded at the bruised and tender skin. 

A spark of magic traveled through him as Kincaid put a hand on the crown of his head, fingers brushing against his hair in a soothing, comforting rhythm. He forced his eyes open, and looked up at the other witch, his fatigued eyesight turning him into a hovering blur. 

“Alright, we’re as good to go as we’re going to be,” Ben pressed the bandages back in place before continuing, “just need to be careful of his breathing, like I said earlier. Help me keep an eye on that O2 sat, if it gets below 90%, we need to get him more oxygen.” 

The blur that was Kincaid moved to his side, helping Ben re-snap the hospital gown, before they tucked him into the blanket. The warm material was drawn up to his shoulders, trapping his arms against his sides. Markus swallowed heavily at the change, feeling the weak trickle of fear in his stomach from not being able to move. But Markus was too worn out to put any fight against being held down again. At least these guys are kind.

“Okay, sweet guy,” Kincaid murmured, thumbing away the tear track from under Markus’s eye, “let’s get you out of here.” 

He followed the other witch with his hazy gaze as long as he could, Ben taking care of the medical equipment as Kincaid prepped the gurney, before his heavy eyelids slid closed. Plunging him back into darkness. The coughing and physical exam—even as gentle as it was—had caused an inexorable wave of exhaustion to roll through him. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to rest. 

“Delta Team: Sparrow and Juniper, you are clear to move. Support headed up with rolling gurney now.” 

The breaking crackle of the radio through the quiet room didn’t rouse him, didn’t make the others stop their quick efficient movements other than to reply a terse, “Heard, no support needed,” with the accompanying click of hard buttons. 

Warmth wrapped around him, making his tired body relax, the slow meandering of his thoughts like molasses in winter. Markus sunk under, letting the sounds of their work roll over him. His awareness shrank to the feeling of blankets and bandages, the slow drag of air through parted lips, how his chest grated with the interspersed movement. 

He drifted, and sounds translated into images as the clinks of plastic buckles against metal brought him the vision of ghosts knocking their chains on pipes as they sought for anyone to hear them. Moving down a hallway, in that sluggish, dazed way only dreams can conjure, searching for the dark figures that the two forms around him had turned into, rustling and shifting like birds in the treetops, or wolves in underbrush. 

Something reached from the shadows, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him, Ben’s voice bubbling from the darkness—his gentle tone a stark juxtaposition to the macabre dreamscape. “Hey, honey, can you open your eyes for me?” 

Markus’s eyes were open, he was searching for him, where did he go? 

A warmth crept into his hand, and Markus found himself unable to look down and see what it was even as his stressed mind sought answers in the darkness. It squeezed around his hand, shaking it, voice louder than the other. “Wake up, sweet guy, open your eyes.” 

Markus didn’t understand—he was awake—he tried to move himself through the sludge that coated him and find the other witch. He felt as if he was trying to move his very soul from the depths of his body, but it was like he had become detached. He couldn’t even move his body, let alone search for the guy in the nothingness around him. He could feel Kincaid’s magic, that spark sending a light through his hazy vision but it was a light twenty feet below water—shimmering and dim—completely out of reach. 

A sharp pain lanced through his finger, and a moan hummed through his paralyzed vocal cords. His hand moved on its own, weakly pulling away from the spear through it. Help, please don’t. 

“Fuck, babe, we gotta move.” Markus could feel his body being lowered backward, how each pull of oxygen into his lungs stuttered as he fought for a deeper breath. “On three. One. Two. Three.” A weak, little cry of pain cracked his mouth open through his fugue as his body was lifted through the air. The talons of a huge bird were in his chest, digging through his torso as it carried him away before dropping him and tearing away all of his air as it burst from his lungs on impact.

“O2 is at 89%, Ben.” 

“Get his head up, grab that lever.” His head twirled with vertigo as the ground beneath him shifted, but air, plasticky and humid slid down his throat, and the fight to breathe wasn’t so overwhelming. “There you go, honey, O2 is already going back up. Hand me that strap, babe.” 

“He’s secure, go go go.” The ground rumbled and shook, trapping Markus with waving tree roots as he slid back into his dreams. 

[that-gt-and-vore-stuffs]

Karma’s A Bitch

So....I hear that people like my fearplay and I’ve been meaning to write something for @that-one-fandom-vore-blog ‘s shifter!verse for a long ass time. So that means.....

STORY TIME!!

I hope I have managed to do something worthy of your amazing AU. I absolutely love it and hope you can enjoy my attempt at writing for it

Vore under the cut :)

Something snapped. He felt it. Something snapped inside him. Something broke and his vision flooded with a red. A deep, crimson, blood red. His fingers twitched at his side, slowly curling into fists. His blinded eyes bore into the two his stare was fixed on, his pupils slimming to slits like that of a snake or cat. His joints and bones ached with an urge to change. An urge to move. An urge to shift. His vision drowned in red as he turned tail and ran.

Lucky for him, they followed.

Over rooftops, across roads, around corners he ran. His legs cycled and blood carried adrenaline though his veins. Left, right, left, right, left. Right. Over and over. One then the other, left then right. His arms pumped at his sides as he jumps over a half wall or slides under a low bar. With seemingly inhuman speed he ran.

He ran and they followed.

Finding his way to a more quiet part of town was easy. With the way his senses heightened he could tell who was where seemingly a mile away. Skidding on the slick stone roads, he makes a sharp left into an abandoned alley. He makes it to the end and into a little boxed off side area when he finally looses it.

Falling to his knees with a cry, he tangles his fingers in his hair. Why did this one hurt? Is it cause he suppressed it? Is it because of the boiling, white hot rage behind it? He didn’t know. He could feel his joints and bones shift as the world around him became smaller. People only seemed to be five inches tall and buildings seemed his height when he kneeled. Desperately intaking giant breaths of air through his now massive lungs, he struggled to catch his breath.

Footsteps began to echo in the alley. Itty bitty footsteps neared as his attention snapped to the exit of the boxed off little area. Animalistic eyes snapped onto the opening, his breathing becoming quieter in an instant as he crawled closer. He could grab them. He could just grab them and squeeze them until they pop or-

NO! Dear goodness no! What was he thinking? Had he lost it? He swore he wasn’t ever going to be a headline for a shifter attack! He made that promise to himself and to the others. To Crutchie....To Kath....To Race, Albert, Elmer, Specs, Les- To Jack.

He would just scare the shit out of them. Yeah. Just scare the shit out of them.

“Where th’ hell’d ya go ya freak?!” A voice rings out from one of the two as they stalk down the alley, kicking crates as if he was going to dart out from behind own. “We know You’s is here and we ain’t leavin’! Come out and face us if ya really wanna act all mighty, freakshow.”

He watches through red-blinded, slit-pupil eyes as the two pass the corner into the open. They don’t notice. They don’t notice him. Ha! Were they looking to die? A low growl surfaces in his throat before he can stop it. They turn, their expressions drop, and all color drains from their face. It’s their turn to turn tail.

Too bad his hands are faster.

That look.....they’ve seen it before. They saw it in the papers. They saw it on faces of others. Yet they’ve never seen it on the face of a pissed shifter. A pissed shifter the size of a building. It was something they’ve never wanted to see. Something they wanted to run from and forget. Something they’d never see again. Yet here they were. Try as they might to turn tail, it’s too late. Warm, lanky finger wrap around them and hoist them into the air. Air intake is restricted as they struggle the best they can against the grip. No. Nonono. Not this!

“You.” Davey growls, squeezing the two in his fists. It was about time they got this. Karma was coming to them sooner or later. That time was now and he was the lucky one to get to deliver it on a silver platter. “Give me one reason I should spare any, or better yet all, of your limbs.”

The two yelp, sputtering choking sounds drawn from their throats as they struggle to take in air. Their arms burn as they try and push out the fingers to allow just the tiniest bit of room to breath. Try as they might, nothing. Nothing as a minuet passes.

“Nothing?” Davey asks with a raised eyebrow. He breaths out a laugh. “Pathetic.” Reluctantly, he forces himself to loosten the grip so they can breath. “Funny, isn’t it? How some ‘freakshow shifter’ like myself can be more merciful then two normal boys. How does that work?”

Neither opened their mouth to respond. Neither moved. They just stared. Stared up at the boy who would plague their nightmares for months at this rate. Stared while they shook like someone trying to shake sense into them.

“No answer again? Interesting.” Davey lookes the two of them over. “See, I don’t recall you having mercy when you pinned Romeo to the street at the neck with a crutch until he passed out. I don’t recall you having mercy when you knocked poor Crutchie unconscious with his own crutch. I don’t recall you having mercy when you pinned Les’s arm to the gate and tried to snap it through the bars. So tell me....”

He took a moment to take a deep breath, eyes closing only to open to be filled with pure rage. “Why. Should. I?”

The two stop, the shaking going still, the breathing coming to a halt on its own. No. Nonono. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. No. No. NO!

“B-Because.....” one started before their mumbling became unintelligible. This only seemed to fuel the fire of Davey’s rage.

“What was that? Speak up unless you want a first hand demonstration as to why shifters are feared,” he growls, grip momentarily tightening just enough to squeeze an answer out of the boy.

“B-BECAUSE THEN YOU’D BE JUST LIKE TH’ SHIFTERS IN TH’ PAPES!!” They yelp, squirming hard in the grip.

Davey backs off, loosening his grip again. Huffing a sigh, he growls. “Your point is made. I would. I would be and I hate that. So I won’t kill you.”

The two in his grip relax. Thank god! It seemed like he was going to go full out and destroy them right here right now and-

“That means nothing about teaching you a lesson.”

-Fuck. That.....no. Nonono. That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all. No. No way. Again, they began to squirm. They began to fight. They needed to be free and get help. But how? How could they escape the hands of a furious shifter?

Davey looked the two over. Hmm....what could he do that wouldn’t leave them with anything too permanent on them? What could he do that would have no physical evidence against him? What could he do? “Now....what do you believe is a suitable punishment? Maybe knocking you out like Romeo or Cruthcie? Pressure like with Les? I’m not-“

A hollow growl rings through the air, cutting him off. A growl that makes his lips twitch into a near psychotic smile.

“Or....” Davey starts, licking over his lips as his gaze shifts over the two of them. “We could go the route you made poor Jack take~”

The two feel their hearts drop to their shoes. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. That’s not a good sign. No sir! Not with where Jack ended up and how they had a good chance of not making it out of there ever. “N-No.....nonono....”

Davey chuckled, switching his grip to dangle them by their clothing. One by their suspenders, the other by their shirt. This would be so so much fun. Fun and entertaining.

“Oh hush. Jack didn’t get a choice. This or certain death, had you said? Well, let’s give you the same deal~” Davey brought one forward, dragging his tongue up over him. He could feel and taste the fabric along with something salty. Sweat was his guess. “Mm....not bad.”

A low, empty growl rings in the smal side alley again. A growl that serves to make Davey’s smirk turn more sinister. “Look at that, my stomach agrees. Now...hmm....who should go first?” He shifts his position, getting more comfortable on his knees and sitting on his feet.

“N-NO ONE!!” The other, in suspenders, yelps. No. Nonono. This was horrible. Downright  horrendous! They squirmed the best the could. Fighting the terrifying future they were about to face. This couldn’t be real, right?”

“Aw~ how funny. You didn’t give Jack that choice.” Davey breaths with a soft chuckle. Boy this was entertaining. “One of you is going down. I think......Hmm.....Oscar.” With a simple flick of his wrist, he tossed the small, squirming body into his maw and snapped his jaws shut around him.

A scream tore from the teen’s throat as he was tossed without a second thought. Crap, no! It only gets worse as he lands against a wet, hot, twitching muscle, pearly white and razor sharp teeth snapping shut around him. Fuck! He tries desperately to coax his limbs into motion. To do anything to keep him away from the dark tunnel in front of him that was Davey’s throat. When the slimy muscle underneath him begins to move him around, he finally does. He kicks and pushes and squirms the best he can while Davey shoves him around. Left to right, up and down, knocking the wind out of him by squishing him against his palette, you name it.

Suddenly, there’s a gush of light and cool breeze that rushes over him.

Morris stared at his brother with a face pale as a ghost and eyes as wide as dinner plates as Davey parts his jaws to let them see each other. It only gets worse when the tongue seems to tip his brother back further and further and further until-

Gulp.

With a guttural cry of pure fear, Oscar disappears down Davey’s throat. Oh god....

He’s engulfed in the hot, tight, strong muscles of the shifter’s esophagus, feeling himself tugged down with each deafening swallow. Try as he might, he can’t squirm. He can’t fight. He can’t move. He can only sit there and scream until he drops into the teen’s empty stomach to be met with a pleased gurgle. This....this was sick. This was insane.

The shifter in question gives a second, softer gulp to send Oscar all the way down. He gave a satisfied sigh, tracing the lump down to his stomach. “Mm....a little salty for my tastes. Stale fabric too....mm.....but still not bad,” he mumbles to himself, clicking his tongue.

His eyes turn to Morris. The grin on his face becomes predatory again as he brings the quivering tiny closer. “Now....I wonder how his brother would taste? How would your flavor sit on my tongue before I send your small body down like the morsels like you are?”

“N-No. No. God, no. Y-You’s....you’s insane!” Morris yelps, fighting the best he can in the boy’s dangling hold. He’s.....he’s going down, isn’t he? It’s only a matter of time until-

A simple effortless flick sends Morris flying into the open maw of the hungry shifter. The shifter named David Jacobs. The giant teen relaxes back, hands folding over his stomach as he toys with the second of the brothers in his mouth. Just as salty, though the clothing is less stale. Hmm. Odd. Not to mention he seemed to be squiring a good bit more. Feisty. How fun~

Two practiced gulps send the boy down to his stomach to join his brother. With another pleased sigh, he traces the lump from his throat all the way to his belly. Once the feels him drop in, he pokes at his middle. “Ah~ I don’t know about you two but....heh....you really hit the spot. Salty, but good. Filling too.”

“WE DONT CARE ‘BOUT OUR FUCKIN’ TASTE OR HOW YA FEEL!!!” Oscar shouts, shoving at one of the walls. It’s hot. It’s wet. It’s cramped. Then the worst, it’s loud. Every growl, gurgle, or rumble echoes around them as the chamber they’re trapped in churns. They won’t go out like this....right? “LET US TH’ FUCK OUT, FREAK!!!”

Davey humms, relaxing as the squirming picked up. He’d forgotten how good genuine squirming felt. Was that bad? That was probably bad but- he couldn’t worry about that now. He wouldn’t worry about that now. No. There were more important things on his mind. Like the most comfortable position he could be in right here in the alley. “Mmm....I’d watch what you say. One wrong slip and...mm....no one could hear from you again, yeah?”

He knew that wasn’t the truth. He didn’t have it in himself to do that. He hated the idea of being one of the headlines his friends would have to hawk. He was just teasing but boy did it feel real. It especially had to feel real to the two in his gut. Heh.

Good.

He expected the squirming to stop, but to his pleasant surprise, it didn’t. It was like the brothers had ignored anything he said. As the squirming got stronger Davey relaxed more. His hand came up to knead small circles into his gut as he got comfortable.

“Mmmm....my word....you’re- ah- fighting more then Crutchie...!” He mumbles though a pleased sigh. He certainly didn’t mind. “And believe me, can he fight! Ohh.....mm.....oh boy...”

Small phrases escape him between heavy breathing. Ok, maybe he was enjoying this a bit too much...

....

Nah.

He deserved it. If the brothers wanted to fight thought their punishment for hurting his friends then he was allowed to enjoy himself. He was allowed to embrace the internal massage. He was allowed to let his eyes droop closed slowly. He was allowed to let himself drift off to sleep with them fighting away in the fleshy prision of his gut. It wasn’t like Jack would see him like this. He was busy caring for Crutchie, Romeo, Les and the others.

.....right?

[its-ya-boi-autumn]

Omg omg omg its me AGAIN. Idk how its possible but im in love all over again. I was thinking, like idk ive got so many ideas but like what if one day adeline is like 15 and she kills someone out of instinct, rage etc. And shes rlly guilty and chrollo happens to be in the same city/area n sees n hes gives her the talk??? Like "it is what it is". Maybe even helps her hide the body n evidence so his ex s/o doesn't flip? Totally understand if u dont wanna do 2 requests in a row, love ya xx.

I'm totally fine with doing two in a row baby~ I'm just a little slow is all 🤣 I've had a lot of social interaction going on today and then I came home and now I gotta fix my room so if this doesn't come out the same day I apologize 😅 (probably won't, I'm just super tired) Warning: abuse and violence

Adeline’s chest was heaving, her throat feeling as if she were breathing fire instead of air. Her chest and cheeks were colored an angry red and her legs were beginning to go numb. She couldn’t fall now, not when he was quick on her heels. Tears stained her cheeks, still falling from her eyes. The adrenaline continued to push her forward. To keep her running as fast as she could. The ponytail that held her hair up finally gave way, allowing her long black hair to block some of her vision when she turned around for a split second.

Danny was still too close for her to even begin to slow, his stamina almost inhuman.

A sob wracked her entire body at the sight and she nearly tripped. Her eyes frantically darted everywhere. Where could she run that would slow him down? Could she hide anywhere? Was there anyone else around? She had to find something to at least slow him down. Was there anything at all? Running straight through the pathway in the woods had proven to be a bad idea after she came out into a vast meadow of nothing but grass and dirt patches. 

“Adeline-”

“Leave me alone!” her voice screeched into the evening air, tearing at the tissue in her throat. She prayed her voice would be heard by someone. Anyone. Danny’s pace picked up, his arms quickly enveloping her, crushing her ribs.

“Adeline Lucilfer-”

“LET GO OF ME!” her fist reached up, coming into contact with his jaw and forcing his head up roughly. Danny released her, his hands covering his mouth at the throbbing pain he was probably experiencing. Adeline wasted no time to be proud of herself and began to run again, but her legs weren’t having it. The short time she had been stopped caused her muscles to relax and they wouldn’t cooperate anymore. Instantly, she fell forward, trying to force herself up again and keep going. She heard the deep groan of pain resonating in Danny’s chest. Her heart raced. What could she do? Her legs were rendered completely useless right now and there was nothing she could defend herself with other than her own two fists.

All the running she had done was starting to catch up to her too, her lungs having a hard time allowing her to breathe and her throat burning. Her body wouldn’t help her this time. She was sure she was done for. Adeline flipped onto her back, trying to almost crab walk away while Danny was still getting his bearings. When his eyes met hers, they were swirling with nothing but pure malice. He’d had enough.

“Adeline...” his voice was soft despite his hard face. Her own eyes grew wide, tears once again blurring her vision. The only thing she could actually see was Danny’s broad shape standing to his full height, strolling towards her slowly.

“No... no, no, no, no- Danny please, just leave me alone!” she opted to beg for him, hoping that some slimmer of his good side would show through, showing him what he was actually doing. What he was about to do. Danny didn’t seem to notice her begging or at the very least he didn’t seem to care. Adeline pushed herself up to run but she wasn’t fast enough. A harsh blow was received directly between her shoulder blades, forcing any air in her lungs out within a matter of seconds. She choked, falling onto her chest again. Coughing, she made another attempt to steady herself, but another hit was taken on her lower back. It didn’t hurt as bad as the first one, but the initial shock caused her to hesitate for just a moment too long. A rough hand snatched up her arm and suddenly her body was flipped onto its back. Danny dropped to his knees on top of her and she watched his fist slam into her chest.

Another hit.

Another.

And another.

Her face.

Her chest.

Her stomach.

Adeline was limp on the ground, her breathing becoming more and more labored as the sun set behind her. Her vision had gone completely blurry and she could feel the large bruises forming on her skin. He was brutal. Adeline was only 15, this shouldn’t of been happening. She should have listened to you. She should have listened when you told her to find Chrollo and bring him to her. She should have listened when you said to have Chrollo handle ‘daddy’. But she didn’t. Adeline thought she could protect you from Danny. She wanted to be the hero.

“Are you done running, Adeline?” his voice broke her thoughts. She couldn’t even bring herself to make eye contact with him, still watching the sun fall below the horizon, stars beginning to twinkle in the distance.

“Answer me.” the command shook her.

“Yes...” she tried to form the word properly but her tongue was too big for her mouth all of a sudden.

“Yes what?”

“Yes... daddy...” his sexualization of the word sickened her, but she couldn’t bear to be hit again. She might go unconscious if he struck another blow. He stood, taking her by the shirt collar and making her stand. She stumbled, coming across something in her jacket pocket as her hand fell in while she stabilized herself on her knees.

Her house key.

Hope pushed through her misery. She could put an end to this. An end to him.

“Hurry up, your mother can’t be alone for too long, not with that Chrollo guy running around still. Fucking scumbag..” Danny scoffed, turning to face her again. It hurt her to hear him call Chrollo such a thing. Chrollo had been nothing but sweet you her and you when he came over to see you. She wasn’t sure of why it was her specifically that he wanted to see, but that was probably what you meant to talk to her about today.

“Let’s go!” he ordered, waiting impatiently. Adeline didn’t move, thinking her plan out of how to end this man. This horrible, sick man. Her hand stayed within her pocket, fingering the key in thought. Danny’s teeth ground together, his feet stomping up to the young girl.

“Was I not clear enough? I said let’s go-” when he raised his hand to hit her again, he left himself open. Adeline slid the key out of her pocket and dug it across his throat. At first, she thought she failed as no blood even shown. What gave it away was Danny’s mere expression of surprise. An uneven white slit on his neck turned dark red as it spotted with blood. Then, it poured. The red liquid ran down his chest, leaving the man choking on himself. Adeline slowly backed away, hoping he wouldn’t charge at her in a spur of the moment. Danny did no such thing, solely focused on the fact that his throat had been slit. The fact that he was going to die. Adeline didn’t know what else to do other than watch him struggle to breathe. His hands covered his throat for a moment and wiped at the blood, pulling them away again to see the bright red on his fingers.

“You... you cut me...” his voice was weak and shaky. Adeline didn’t reply. She backed away more, falling onto the ground as her legs fell numb from running. She kept backing away from him, trying to keep her distance.

“Adeline...” he was trying to make her feel like shit, and it was working. What had she done? She just killed the man she called her father and for what? Her mother? Herself? She didn’t even know the answer as he crawled forward. She moved backwards, keeping her distance from him. Danny fell to his knees before her, hand outstretched.

“Why would you... why would you do this?” he kept going as if he didn’t know. As if he hadn’t been the cause of so many sleepless night for both Adeline and yourself. How was he not dead yet? He had to die soon, this was too painful for her to watch. Danny balanced himself on his free hand while the other tried to hold his neck closed, stopping himself from bleeding out. Faster, he scrambled towards her. Adeline held no mercy in her leg as it surged outward, kicking him in the nose. He recoiled on the dirt. Crying. Danny had never cried before, in fact, it was always Adeline and you who cried because of him. Nonetheless, listening to the man sob, helpless and dying in the dust made Adeline nauseous. She couldn’t take this, she couldn’t just sit her and watch him bleed out. But she felt like she couldn’t leave him alone here either. Dying alone was her worst fear. The knowledge of murdering somebody and leaving them to nature made her wretch up her dinner. Doubling over, she puked to the sound of Danny’s final sobs.

Her hands trembled as she held the key in her hand. Why hadn’t he continued to fight her? He still had a chance and he just laid there, surprised by her courage to go so far as to slit his throat. Again, her stomach shoved food up and out of her esophagus, a horrid stench clouding her senses. Her shoulders shook as she lay there on the ground. She didn’t even hear the footsteps come up from behind her.

“Adeline?” a gentle male voice startled her, making her gag on her own vomit. She turned, her eyes meeting Chrollo’s. His brows we’re furrowed, worry obvious in his features.

“What happened?” he kneeled down to her, ignoring her mess underneath her and behind her, curled up in the dirt. Dead.

“I... I can’t-” and she threw up again. Chrollo’s hands worked themselves into her hair, pulling it back for her to keep it out of her face.

“You’re okay, I’m right here.” he shushed her gently, his free hand rubbing her back in an attempt to comfort her shaking form. Another vile pool retched out of her mouth, hacking and dry heaving following suit.

Eventually, she managed to calm down. Adeline sat up and wiped her mouth with her jacket sleeve, quickly becoming disgusted with the action and discarding of the attire altogether. She wheezed against her sore throat, the tops of her lungs burning again like when she was running.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Chrollo didn’t even seem affected by the dead man right next to him, even taking a chance to glance at him. His eyes didn’t linger too long on Danny, obviously more worried about Adeline herself than anything. When his eyes met hers again, she couldn’t help but let those tears from before slip out and onto her bruised cheeks and chest. Chrollo didn’t push her any further, instead moving closer to her and embracing her. Every instinct told her to push him away, that she was a monster and that she didn’t deserve this kind of treatment, not after killing somebody. But her weakness didn’t allow her to fight back and she simply melted against Chrollo’s chest, sobbing and quaking. You always told Adeline that Chrollo was a sweet-tempered man, that he was always patient with you and with his friends. It seemed you had been right. He didn’t force Adeline to tell him anything, he didn’t shove her away or treat her unkindly. He knew she wasn’t a bad person and that she was in a state of distress. He had to of known that Adeline wouldn’t kill someone without having a reason. A good one at that.

“Now, Adeline,” he started, lifting her head up to look at him in the eyes. The same eyes as her own. Almost like staring back at her own reflection. It was strange, “I do want to hear about this, however we don’t have much time. We need to dispose of this immediately.” she could hear the urgency edging in his voice, but he still held a level of stability. Adeline nodded, pressing her hands into the dirt to push her body back upright. He followed her over to Danny and thought for a moment, hand on his chin.

“Okay, I’ll have someone take care of this here in a second. I’ll call him.” Chrollo was speaking more to himself than to Adeline, pulling out his phone and dialing a number before letting it ring. She didn’t hear the other end pick up, but it was apparently instant, as Chrollo began speaking to the other man. He gave him their location and the situation at hand, even mentioning his daughter.

At first, this confused Adeline. She wasn’t his daughter. She was Danny’s daughter... her brows furrowed and her arms crossed over her chest. What was he talking about? Sure they had the same eyes and the same hair, and even the same nose now that she really looked at him. You had never told her anything about Chrollo being your father.

“Alright, he’ll be here shortly-” he started after hanging up.

“You called me your daughter..?” she knew it was rude to cut him off, but she couldn’t help it. She felt like she needed to know, felt as if she had the right to know. Chrollo turned his attention her, setting his phone back into his pocket.

“Yes. I did. Y/n never told you?” even through the monotone sound Adeline swore she could hear the hint of pain there. You told her Chrollo didn’t feel much, but when he did they were pretty strong emotions.

“No...” it was the only word she could think of to respond with. At first, she didn’t know how to feel. She didn’t blame you or anything, understanding that she was young and you must not have wanted to confuse her. You may have even planned to tell her now. Then the reason behind Danny’s outrage hit her like a train.

She gasped out loud, her facial expression giving her away. Chrollo’s own features formed into a visual of worry.

“What? What’s wrong?” almost as if it was his instinct. That gave her even more evidence that he was truly her father. Danny never worried about her, but any slight movement drove Chrollo to panic.

“How long until that guy gets here?”

“Already behind you baby~” a deep voice sounded from behind her. Adeline turned around but was met with a stomach instead of a head. Craning her neck up, she found an exceptionally tall man with tan skin and fluffy grey hair. He smiled down at her.

“So this is Adeline boss?” he was addressing Chrollo, who nodded in response.

“Yes, she’s just finding this out as well. Adeline, meet Uvogin.” he explained. Uvogin made a face down at the both of them.

“Wait, you’re saying y/n never told you Chrollo was your daddy?” he kneeled down to her level, she could see his level of confusion even better now. She shook her head.

“Honestly, I suspected considering that my appearance is much like that of his own. Especially in the eyes and the nose,” she turned to face Chrollo who was also watching her, “and I looked nothing like Dan either.” she explained, finding herself being rather analytical. It wasn’t unlike her, as she grew she came to terms with the fact that she enjoyed learning and finding out new things. You always told her that she was intelligent. Uvogin laughed though, standing back up all the way.

“Damn boss she even sounds like you. It’s adorable. Anyway, where do you want me to put this thing? I assume this is Danny?” Uvogin wrapped his hand around the corpse’s waist, throwing it over his shoulder. The sight made Adeline sick and she doubled over again, nearly throwing up. Chrollo was at her side in an instant, holding on to her to make sure she didn’t fall.

“Sorry babe, I forgot you’re not used to that.” Uvogin turned his head away in apology. Adeline raised her hand to signal that he was fine but didn’t turn around for another minute or so, Chrollo soothing her the whole time. She felt dizzy when she met Uvogin’s eyes. The little names her called her were of some comfort, considering this must have been Chrollo’s–her father’s–friend. 

“Well, I’ll just take it with me so you two can have your moment or whatever. Tell her everything.” Uvogin sent a finger gun Chrollo’s way and sprinted off, leaving the Chrollo and Adeline alone. She was felt slightly perturbed by Uvogin’s absences, it was so quick.

And tell her everything is just what Chrollo did.

Chrollo told her about how he made you leave in an effort to keep you safe. He told her about his background, about the troupe, about you. About how much he missed you. About how badly he wanted to see Adeline born but he couldn’t because he was too far out. Adeline didn’t interrupt with anything, though she still had so many questions, but he kept going. He must have wanted to enforce as much trust in her as he could. It was working.

“I’m sorry for not being there and I’m even more apologetic for driving your mother away, it was for her safety...” his eyes never left hers.

“I understand, and mom does too. She was just upset.” Adeline accepted this apology even though she felt like he shouldn’t even be apologizing. It wasn’t his fault. He was just trying to protect you the best way he could think of. Chrollo let out a breath she didn’t know he was holding.

“Now, please, explain to me why you killed Danny?” there was no filter. It made Adeline’s stomach churn at the thought, the feeling of the house key tearing through his skin. She took a deep breath.

“I think mom was going to explain everything to me,” her voice had become shaky. She sat on the ground and curled into herself to gain some comfort as Chrollo followed, an arm draping over her shoulders and keeping her close, “and I think Danny somehow found out... and got upset about it. He liked when I called him ‘daddy’ almost in a like sexual way...” she tried to explain without crying but the word was almost triggering. She hated the way he’d make her use it. He become irrationally upset with her if she called him dad instead of daddy. It was disgusting...

“And I don’t know why... I think he... he just...” she was desperately trying to think of her next words. What could she say next? How should this all go? Chrollo was patient with her the whole time, never getting upset with her or scoffing. He just listened. She was so confused on everything that had just happened and the fact that it all happened so quickly.

“I don’t know, all I remember was that mom said she was going to talk to me and then I went in my room for like 5 minutes and then I heard her screaming,” she sniffled, not able to hold back her tears again. Her head fell into her knees for a few minutes before coming back up to take a deep breath, “and a loud bang against the-the counter. Dan was yelling at her about something, I can’t remember. So I went down to see her and make sure he didn’t hit her like I thought he did, but he did. Chrollo he hurt her...” Adeline was full on sobbing again, feeling another round of bile ease it’s way into her mouth. Chrollo’s grip on her tightened and he rocked her, letting one of his hands rub her arm. She laid her head on his shoulder and he rested his chin on her temple.

“Is she okay now?”

“I don’t know. She told me to just go and get help but instead I got upset and threw the pan she was cooking with at him. Obviously he got mad and started chasing me, so I tried to defend myself as best I could and-”

“It’s okay, I understand. It’s alright...” he continued his motions, keeping her at bay from breaking.

“Do you think you can take me to y/n?” Chrollo asked after Adeline had calmed down. She nodded, standing again.

“Yeah, I wanna make sure she’s okay after all of that. He didn’t get to hurt her too bad that I knew of.” she wiped the tears away with her hand, searching for her jacket somewhere. She found it next to a bush along with her bloody house key. Picking both items up she led Chrollo home, hoping to find you there, okay and at the very least, resting.

[cockymclaughlin]

cw: oral fixation, gagging, D/s elements 

Tip of his tongue to his teeth. 

He isn’t biting down, but he’s burying the question somewhere between his ribs like it’ll help him figure himself out better if he pretends it’s not there. Except he can feel it like a warm spot, winding around his bones and echoing a sound through his veins. 

There isn’t enough drama surrounding this for him to put a real name to it, so he doesn’t, but he loves the idea anyway. He loves the thought of reaching into himself and tugging free something of value, something tangible enough to make sense of. 

Instead, he’s got this vibrating tension threading itself through him indelicately. 

Link’s in the office when he needs him to be, which is a godsend, and Rhett’s barely through his shaky monologue before Link’s shushing him gently, getting his hands on Rhett’s waist to guide him over the couch. 

And this is-- 

Yes. Okay, yes. This is exactly what Rhett needs, because he can’t seem to figure out how to fully fit himself within the confines of his own thoughts, and he’s, maybe just a little bit, panicking about something he can’t put his finger on. It’s okay, though; he doesn’t need to. He doesn’t need to figure any of this out. 

Not right now, at least. And Link’s not sitting him down on the couch, he’s patting at Rhett’s sides and saying, “Come on, big guy,” as he plops himself down, spreads his legs to, presumably, make room for Rhett on the floor in front of him. 

“What-- um,” but Link shushes him again, gestures at the floor. He’s jittery, like usual, but hypersensitive to every single one of Rhett’s moves, it seems. 

So Rhett sits, careful and easy, on the floor between Link’s spread legs. 

“You’re interrupting my alone time,” Link tells him, just barely a murmur, and Rhett’s shivering when he gets his hands in Rhett’s hair. Both of them at once, fingers dragging along his scalp. It’s supposed to feel like a scold, but it only mostly feels like a swell of pride in Rhett’s chest instead. 

This is more important, otherwise Link would have shooed him away. 

When he catches a knot with his fingers, he’s careful, easy, gentle about untangling it, and Rhett tilts his head back to rest on Link’s lap, to look up at him. From here, he looks like the molten center of the earth, magma and energy, and Rhett doesn’t touch but he wants to. 

He wants to. 

He settles for looking. 

Link tugs at his hair, just a little bit, and smiles at Rhett. Tilted down, fingers still in Rhett’s hair, holding him in place just so he can smile down at him, let him know who’s got the upper hand right now. 

Rhett’s okay. He’s okay, and he’s opening his mouth on reflex, before Link’s fingers have even made their way to his jaw. But his entire body is attuned to a singular thought right now, his brain firing half signals that all meet in the same place. 

And he wants. It’s a direct line of heat, centralized at the very tip of his tongue. 

Pressed to his teeth. 

Uncurled now, and Link’s fingers are finally at his jaw, under his chin, tilting him impossibly further so he can laugh, not cruelly, dripping with globs of heat, and what Rhett might be so bold as to think is sympathy. Rhett’s mouth closes again. 

The pad of his index finger, pressed to the meat of his lower lip. He says, “Calm down, man.” 

He lets his eyelids flutter shut. He’s floating, just a little bit, at the thinly-veiled order. He’s trying. He’s arching into the contact, paying attention to anything that isn’t his aching jaw, his aching back, his aching cock. 

Gosh, he’s hard already. 

And Link’s finger finally presses inside, just between his lips to rub at his teeth, his gums. It’s not sexy, it’s not what he wants, but he thinks that’s the point. 

“Alright,” Link murmurs, soft and sweet, and the hand under his chin slips down to his neck, feather light, so Rhett can open his mouth again. 

Instead, he just unclenches his jaw, relaxes, his teeth separating so Link can press his finger to the flat of Rhett’s tongue in his mouth. 

He doesn’t moan, but he shifts against the floor to refrain. 

It’s the pressure of it. The weight of Link’s finger on his tongue, something inescapable as he’s held in place and made to take whatever Link wants to give him. His fingers are slender and careful, tracing along the ridges of his teeth, a second one slipping between his slick lips to match the other. 

He’s full, then. His mind a little blank, his jaw a little more slack. His skin is fitting itself back in place over his bones instead of crawling. He aches a little less. 

And Link sucks in a heavy breath, asks him, “You gonna open up for me some more, pretty boy?” 

So Rhett opens his throat, waits for the inevitable. Usually, Link curls his fingers now, pushing further back, resting the tips along the curve of his tongue, as far back as he can, and Rhett-- 

Gosh, he wants. 

He wants and he wants and he wants. 

But Link slips his fingers back out of Rhett’s mouth instead, and he can’t help the way he whines, now, how he lets the first bit of real noise leave his lungs for the first time since Link had him sit on this godawful floor like this. 

He’s shushed again, a bit harsher this time, but he’s not in the mind to care about it right now. Singular thoughts, singular goal, and he’s tilting his head back and back some more, furrowing his brow, unable to fully see what Link’s thinking. 

It’s only about a second before Link’s other hand is pushing his head forward, the one with slick fingers at his chin again. He opens, hopeful, and is met with two fingers at once this time, the middle and ring, long and perfect and curling and curling and pressing back and back, his other hand on the back of Rhett’s head, guiding him forward all at the same time. 

He gags with it, but Link doesn’t pull away, just shushes him some more, or maybe that’s the just sound of Rhett’s pulse in his skull. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how to care right now, not when everything is just starting to shift right out of their sockets again, only this time they’re realigning themselves even better than before. 

Link’s murmuring something to him, something about being good, about being open, about how tight and hot he feels, and--

And his palm is resting open and warm and slick with Rhett’s own spit on his chin, curled around the lower part of his face as he fucks-- really, honestly fucks-- into Rhett’s mouth with fingers. Like, like he’s fingering him open. Curling them up and pressing like he’s looking for something. 

He feels-- 

Fuck. 

Fuck, he doesn’t know how he feels anymore. Weightless. Like his head is full of cotton, like his veins and cells and atoms have all stopped in tandem to watch him tremble to pieces. 

Vaguely, he’s aware of his fingers digging dents into Link’s calves from behind him, searching desperately for something to ground himself with, but he doesn’t seem concerned, so Rhett isn’t either. 

He can hear the wet sounds of Link’s fingers in his throat, has to bite back another gag. 

He hears Link tell him, “Good boy, Rhett. You’re being so good.” 

And Rhett tries to say thank you. He tries to blink through the bleariness and get a better picture of him, but realizes there are tears in the way, a steady stream of them making a mess down his face now. He’s wet all over, from his eyes to the bottom of his chin. 

It’s obscene, and he feel so used. He’s being wrung dry, Link’s fingers rough and unforgiving in his throat, pulling out for just a moment, a beat, to let Rhett drag in unsteady breaths. 

He’s floating. 

He’s being held up by Link’s middle fingers on his right hand, curled deep in the back of his throat. When he tries to swallow, it’s just a pitiful, fluttering thing that has Link chuckling softly, saying, “Oh, try one more time, yeah?” 

So Rhett does, and it’s even harder this time for some reason, and Link presses back at the same time, and Rhett’s gagging. It’s harsh and it starts in his spine. 

He feels split open, flayed, raw, the corners of his mouth sealing themselves around the bulky knuckles of Link’s fist. He isn’t weeping, but he’s crying, he knows it. He can taste the salt of his tears on his tongue. 

But god, he’s floating. 

And by the time Link is pulling his fingers out, telling him, “Touch yourself,” Rhett’s just about somewhere else entirely. 

Fumbling with his zipper is too hard, so he just settles for cupping his hands over himself, rocking his hips into the pressure there. It’s easier, like this, to focus on Link’s fingers sliding through the stringy mess of spit again, pressing back and back and back and curling up and up and up. 

He’s ruthless. 

His mouth lands on Rhett’s forehead as he tells him, “There you go. You gonna make yourself come, pretty boy?” as he thrusts his fingers into Rhett’s throat. 

There’s a plea that he can’t quite form, right on the tip of Rhett’s tongue. Pressed to the meaty part of Link’s fingers. 

And when he comes, it’s because Link flutters his fingers, wiggles them inside Rhett’s throat, has him jerking into the feeling of it, another gag harshing its way out of his body. 

And he comes and he comes, his own hands pressed to his cock through his pants like he’s still learning how to jerk off, too desperate to take off his pants, to even dip his hand inside. Too invested in the feeling of Link’s skin on his tongue, the taste of his own desperation creeping up the inside of his esophagus. 

Link’s fingers still, just resting on his tongue, and he pets through Rhett’s hair with the other hand, cradling instead of jerking him forward into the movement. 

He falls back against Link, limp and tired and fuzzy. 

Link slips his fingers free from Rhett’s wet mouth, pauses for a minute and shifts before he’s wiping at Rhett’s face with something. It’s soft and careful, cleaning him free of spit and tears and whatever else. 

He leans forward, the shadow startling for all of a second, presses warm lips to Rhett’s forehead again. 

“Better?” he asks, 

And Rhett doesn’t trust his voice. He doesn’t know how he’s going to talk without the fluttering of Link’s fingers inside of him. So he nods instead. 

He swallows, and swears he can feel indentions where Link’s fingers were, where his throat has made place for them. 

Where he’s made place for him. 

He feels better. 

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Skin, Bone, and Scales

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

This is just 75% fire figurative language

Word count: 6098

TW: Blood and pus, minor body horror (as in: sunburns and peeling skin)

———————

“Oh my god, you’re like a tomato with hair!”

The peculiar call caught Anne’s attention as she was changing into better shoes for rehearsals. She furrowed her eyebrows in both complexity and amusement, recognizing the voice as her little cousin. A smile formed on her lips, shaking her head at what could have possibly elicited such a strange comment.

When she walked out to the room they rehearsed in, she quickly realized what the context was and that it made perfect sense.

—

Joan had never been so hot before.

Her skin was baking, studded with blisters and boils along her shoulders and forearms and back like scales, as if she were a reptile and not a fleshy mammal. Her limbs were sacks of hot stones and smoldering embers that she had to drag around with her, and her ears simply felt as if they were lit on fire. Her cheeks, however, were by far the worst. It was like someone was holding hot iron to the sides of her face and wouldn’t let go, no matter how loud she screamed.

To put it simply, Joan felt like a roasted lamb on a spit, rotating slowly above hungry flames. Sometimes, she had fallen into their orange-gold mouths. She could almost feel the flaming tongues licking at her skin.

So, yeah. Joan wasn’t all that comfortable at the moment. And Kitty’s loud, obnoxious comments about it certainly didn’t help at all.

“It’s, like—peeling,” Kitty felt the need to declare openly. She reaches for Joan’s shoulder, but her knuckles get swatted, and she pulls away. “Oh, gross!” She laughed. “Did you put anything on it?”

“That’s not your business,” Joan hissed. The fire that has lit in her stomach flashes higher, and she could almost feel whorls of smoke wreathing out of her nose and ears. “Stop trying to touch me!” She hit Kitty’s hand away again. “And stop looking at me like that!”

As much as she hated it, she didn’t blame Kitty or anyone else for staring- she would have, too, if it were one of them that came into work glowing neon red from head to toe.

“Sorry, I don’t speak lobster!” Kitty laughed loudly and then finally backed down. She spread her hands in front of her in a peace offering. “It's just funny!”

“It really isn’t.” Joan grumbled more to herself than to the girl in front of her.

“I told you to put on sunscreen,” Jane helpfully spoke up from where she was doing some warmup stretches. Joan dared to shoot her a distasteful look.

“I did!” Joan cried woefully.

“Not enough.” Kitty giggled. ”Make sure you do next time! We don't want you animorphing into a lobster!”

Joan scowled at her grinning face and imagined what it would be like to blow hot embers in her eyes. She erased the thought quickly- not because it made her feel bad for thinking something so morbid, but because she didn’t want to give the pink queen that much of her attention.

“Moving on,” She rumbled. Her throat and nose ached in a fierce, raw way as if they had been scraped out with a jagged branding tool. She lumbered sluggishly over to the piano in the far corner and delicately touched one of the cold, smooth keys, almost expecting it to melt beneath her fingertips. When it didn't, she sat down at the bench and considered it safe for her to play. “Let’s begin.”

—

The scaly blisters that are bristled across Joan’s back prickle painfully against her shirt. She wanted to scratch them so badly, but she knew her nails would sink in like a heated knife in butter the second she barely brushed the bumpy skin. It would be a mess of pus and blood that she wouldn’t be able to hide since she was wearing a simple white tank top (she couldn’t bear to have anything touching her shoulders, and white did reflect sunlight, so she thought it would be fine). So, she just had to grin and bear it.

But she couldn’t even fucking grin! Smiling pulled the dry skin around her mouth taut, to the point where it felt like it was cracking and flaking off. She was constantly licking her lips because of this, which set off tiny flames in them each time she did so (and didn’t help at all, mind you).

What’s worse- she felt something welling up within her. It was an uncomfortable sort of sensation like someone had released thousands of fire ants inside of her. It took her so long to realize that this was how she usually felt with a fever because of how hot she already was.

Joan blinked her eyes quickly, suddenly feeling very dizzy. She stared down at her hands resting on the piano keys and thought she saw light grey smoke hissing from underneath her fingertips. She gingerly raised her fingers and saw no damage- she must have just imagined it.

She sighed and scratched her itchy knuckles. A new stinging pain shivered through her tendons at this stupid decision, like thick, globby fire leeches were suckered on her skin and dissolving it into a soupy, gory mess. She squirmed awkwardly in her seat at its oppressive tingling and tried to keep her eyes open, but it felt as if a talon of fire was pressing into the socket, so she had no choice but to squeeze them shut. Sweat beads on her brow from the exertion of her simply trying to ward off the unwanted sensation and right as she thought she started to feel a little better...

Blinding pain.

“Hey, are we gonna get to my song or what?” Cleves had been saying loudly. “I’ve wanted to try out this new move-” And then she slapped Joan’s shoulder in a friendly way.

But it came off as a lot less friendly to Joan.

Flames burst through that shoulder, sprinting fast across her rash and setting the scales ablaze with fresh agony. It welled up in her throat like she was about to vomit molten lava and clouded her eyes with smoky hazes that usually came with near-unconsciousness. Her teeth dug into her chapped lips, cracking them with the pressure, but she wasn’t able to hold back a yelp.

“What the FUCK?!” She cried. She was half expecting fire to come out when she spoke, but no trace of flames appeared in her mouth. They remained deep inside the furnace that was her scorched body.

Cleves grimaced, although there was still amusement glinting in her eyes. She lifted her hand, and a comically pale print was momentarily left on Joan’s bright red shoulder before being devoured by the sunburn. It securely plated its blisters and scales back over the mark, spreading like a crimson wildfire until it was inflamed and itchy once again.

“Whoops- sorry!” Cleves said. She was genuinely apologetic, but it seemed worthless because she was still laughing about what she did.

“Are you- mmmmm.” Joan gave up on arguing, instead of turning to a much better option- grumbling like a teenage fire dragon that just got part of its hoard confiscated by its parent fire dragons for accidentally eating one of the sheep that was supposed to be saved for the fire dragon dinner.

(She didn’t like being a fire dragon. If she were ever to draw Killer Frost as a fire dragon, she knew it would throw a fit or come out of the sketchbook and strangle her with its bare claws.)

“It’s—fine. It’s fine!” Joan finally snapped. She glared down at the piano, not wanting to see everyone else’s expressions. She knew that would be finding this funny, and that made her want to shove hot coals up all of their noses until it turned their faces into a charred, tarry goop and they couldn’t smile or smirk or laugh anymore. “Let’s just move on!”

Her voice was coming out too loud. It was biting, but not in a cold way. It came out in a smooth, warm, sunny way that nobody could take seriously. They saw her as a baby sheep that was trying to bleat at a butterfly in its flower patch.

But she just saw herself as a sheep with its wool on fire.

Smothering, encompassing, suffocating, asphyxiating- the white-gold flames press in on her. She’s a ball of fire, fleece ablaze, hooves smoldered, horns like pillars of pyre. She opens her mouth to scream, and flames come pouring out. Her insides are bloated with smoke and ash, charred and singed, and she can taste their tarry remains on the sediments of her shriveled, black tongue. When she hooked her nails in her neck and tore open holes, thick streams of smog so grey they looked black come floating out.

Joan was screaming, clawing, burning two inches away from everyone’s faces, and yet they were blind to the golden inferno embracing her body.

( “They think it’s funny,” Killer Frost would probably say if it weren’t hidden beneath the hellfire consuming Joan’s entire being. “They think it’s just a little sunburn. Nothing more. But if it were Kitty that was as red as a fresh apple in spring...”)

Her subconscious’ distant words are drowned out by the overwhelming sound of the incendiary. Torches are sent flaring through her nerves like pinpricks of hot needles before extinguishing enough for her to realize she had been playing the piano throughout that entire conflagration.

Somehow.

Joan breathed out a soft, shaky breath. That feverish feeling reignited itself once again- or maybe it’s always been there, and she just hadn’t noticed. At this point, as her brain was melting inside of her skull, she didn’t know much anymore. She was working purely on muscle memory, but that would soon go, too, as her tendons and nerves and muscles would dry up from the heat and become stiff, fragile, prettified remnants of what they used to be.

She gulped dryly, as there was barely any saliva left in her mouth, and it felt as if she had just swallowed igneous rocks. They landed heavily in her stomach and set the bile into an uncomfortable simmer. She began to worry if the lining would catch fire and burn her from the inside out or melt open holes and douse all her other organs in the boiling acid.

Joan swallowed again, and whatever flaming creature had been trying to crawl its way up her esophagus and out through her mouth raked its claws down her throat on its way back down. Then, she coughed and was surprised to not see a plume of ash come out.

God, she needed water. She needed to get out of these clothes, too. Her legs were nowhere near as bad as her back and shoulders, but her pants were rubbing the scarred flesh uncomfortably raw and she would just prefer to have them off.

Joan bounced her knee, feeling miserable. Her skin was melting off of her bones, her stomach was boiling, she was running a fucking fever, she was somehow shivering, and, good lord, was the heater on or something?!

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Joan stood up, wincing as she felt crackles and flickers and pops go off in her legs. She walked on eggshells on the way to the bathroom after calling a break- if those eggshells were on fire and actually pointy lava rocks.

Right about now, Joan would really prefer actual eggshells because, what the fuck, were the soles of her feet sunburnt, too?!

She careened into the bathroom, clipping her shoulder on the corner wall in the process and sending that smoky haze from before momentarily hissing across her vision. She braced herself up against one of the sinks, pressing her palms down on the smooth, cold granite as hard as she could to soak up the coolness, and glared at her puffy, inflamed, red face in the mirror.

God, no wonder everyone was laughing at her.

She was like a poor immolation to the overpowering pyrolatry. A lamb to the slaughter, a ram to the flames, a ewe to the end of a burning knife-

A piece of charred meat in the mouth of hungry flames.

Joan slowly eased herself back, removing all the weight she had been putting on her hands. It felt as if she were rubbing bituminous coals against her palms, so she turned on the sink and let it run over her hands and fingers and wrists. She carefully dabs some of the cold water on her hot cheeks and sighed softly in content. For just a brief, fleeting moment, the stinging seized and was snuffed out by a torrent of coolness.

That lasted for only a few seconds, though. The water ran warm when it dribbled down the sides of her face, much to her dismay. It was stupid of her to think she could even get a moment of comfort.

As if to prove that, Joan’s back tingles again and, this time, she didn’t care about ignoring it. She reached her arm around and under her tank top and scratched fervently at one of her shoulder blades, hoping to relieve some discomfort.

Her efforts, of course, did the exact opposite.

Joan couldn’t help the startled cry that escaped her lips. She ripped her hand away, and it came back wet and sticky and absolutely dripping with pus and blood.

It was as if her touch was heated- the minute her nails came in contact with her shoulder blade, the flesh peeled back, blisters popped, and fluids came angrily billowing out of the abscess like hundreds of wasps from a destroyed hive.

Joan dissolved into pathetic whimpers as tears came streaming free. They were gasoline on her flaming cheeks- increasing the stinging until it felt like holes were being melted open in the sides of her face, and she frantically squabbled to wipe her eyes. The rough brush against her cheeks agitated the inflamed flesh, and it punishes her foolishness by breaking open and spilling its red tears down her face.

Joan would scream if she could, but the hellfire had her by the throat. So she just wheezed like the scorched furnace she had become and let the liquid fire drool out of gaping, fleshy ventilation systems.

What else could you do when in the mouth of an inferno?

———

Anne will admit that it had been her idea to go to the beach, but in her defense, Kitty made it happen. That’s exactly why she had consulted the girl about her idea because she knew nobody in their house could say no to her. Besides, it was going to be alarmingly hot for a spring day in England, so why stay in a house with no AC when you could go swimming? It was a brilliant plan! And it worked out perfectly! Except for the part where Joan fried like an egg in the sun, of course.

But still, in her defense, Anne had no idea the girl was so sensitive to sunlight! She had seen her put on at least ten layers of sunscreen every thirty minutes! How was she supposed to know she would shrivel up and die?!

Oh, who was she kidding? Not even her internal yelling debate could ease the guilt gnawing away at her.

Joan tagging along with them wasn’t her fault- that blame was shifted onto Kitty and Maggie, who were never a good duo when they got together, when they insisted that the “gang had to stick together”- but she still felt bad when she saw the girl’s awful sunburn. It was funny at first, but then she noticed the permanent grimace plastered on her face and the way she stiffly played the piano like she had lit matches dug into her skin, and the situation became a lot more worrying.

It was clear Joan was on edge and uncomfortable- they all noticed that. They just didn’t think of doing anything. A sunburn wasn’t exactly something you could just pop some pain pills for- it took time to go away and let the skin heal itself of the blemish. So, the others just didn’t pay it any mind (even if it was tough not to gawk at Joan’s firetruck red complexion).

Anne tried to do the same. She told herself there was nothing she could do and she should just laugh about it with everyone else, and she was so close to settling fully into that state of mind.

But then Joan called a sudden break and left the room without a word, and Anne was yanked right out of that belief.

Something was very, very wrong.

Now, believe it or not, despite her (slightly aggravating) stage persona, she knew what boundaries and personal space were. And she knew when to not bother a female. There’s several cases of when you shouldn’t bother a woman: when she’s breastfeeding, when she’s on their period, when she’s pregnant, when she’s being cheated on- but especially when she’s in pain and it was making her aggressive.

It’s, in a weird sort of way, like the time she found a stray cat on her family’s property when she was younger. She had cornered the frightened little thing and it arched its spine and hissed at her to stay back, but she was desperate for a pet, so she grabbed for it anyway. Naturally, she got scratched and that night, as her mother was cleaning the cuts, she was told to never approach a scared, cornered animal. It made them more likely to lash out, but if you wait and let them know you weren’t a threat, then they may calm down. And Anne has used this advice since then, and she still uses it with the queens and ladies in waiting when something is wrong with one of them.

Except right now, though. Because Joan has been in the bathroom for half an hour, now, and absolutely no one was batting an eye. Anne knew the girl was more likely to die and turn into a skeleton before anyone decided they wanted to check on her, so she excused herself from the game of Statues that Maria had started and walked out.

Now, Anne has seen a lot of shocking things in her life: the actual proof of Aragon’s divorce, her first miscarried baby’s withered corpse, Henry’s penis....but the musical’s bright red music director hunched in the bathroom with blood on her shirt and face and hands might take the cake.

In the bright bathroom lights, Joan looked a lot worse than she did in the rehearsal room. She wasn’t just red- she was raw.

The easiest way to explain it is to imagine a human being that just got all its skin peeled off and then was stung by at least two hundred bees in very specific areas. Scarlet stained almost every inch of her body, aside from underneath her jaw, amazingly. The burn was lighter in some places and darker in others, but her shoulders and upper back were by far the worst. There, scarlet faded into rings of dark crimson and blotches of maroon, both of which are spotted with tiny red dots, as if someone had crushed up rubies and sprinkled the shards over her to make the menagerie of sunburnt flesh look less like an eyesore. Paper-thin, translucent strips of varying sizes are frayed around the edges of the bigger blemishes, revealing raw pink hiding underneath.

To put it simply, Joan looked like a scorpion without its exoskeleton.

“Joan!” Anne cried in shock and worry. She leaped towards the girl and immediately picked up on the heat coming off of her. It was like standing too close to an active volcano. “Are you alright?”

Joan looked up in surprise. She had just been swaying there with her hands running under the sink when Anne came in. Anne guessed she was cleaning the angry red patch on her cheek, which was still crusted with blood around the edges.

“I’m— I’m, uhh—”

Anne couldn’t even tell if she was blushing in embarrassment or not, but it didn’t matter. Flustered or not, Joan needed some help.

“Honey, you don’t look so good,” Anne said gently. She reached out to grab Joan’s forearms so she could steady her, but the natural warmth from her hands seemed to set fire to Joan’s arms and she jerked away with a soft hiss. “Sorry! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s fine,” Joan whispered. She didn’t snap at Anne as she had done to Kitty and Cleves. Perhaps she liked Anne more than them, or perhaps she was just in too much pain to be angry- Anne couldn’t really tell. “I’m sorry— Everyone is waiting for me, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Anne said. “But forget that right now, alright? You look like you’re about to keel over from heatstroke.”

Joan actually managed to laugh weakly, but it quickly broke off into a keen-like noise as pain flitted across her burnt facial features.

“What’s wrong?” Anne asked. “Aside from, you know,” She gestured vaguely.

“I— I don’t know.” Joan whispered. “I-I think I have a fever...”

“Are you sure you’re not just hot from-” She gestured vaguely once more, but this time with a lot more enunciation in her movements.

“N-no, Anne, I’m—” She’s starting to shiver. Joan was fucking shivering. She reached out a hand to lean against the sink counter. “I— I just-” She pressed a hand to her forehead, breathing shallowly.

Anne frowned in worry at the girl’s inability to explain how she felt to her. Whether it was from embarrassment or deliriousness thanks to the pain, she didn’t know, but she had to do something, so she stepped forward and carefully placed her hand on the back of Joan’s forehead.

As expected, it was burning hot. She wished she could have said that it felt a little warmer than a normal sunburn, confirming that Joan did have a fever, but she honestly couldn’t tell. So, she convinced Joan to help her find the thermometer kept in the theater first aid kit so she could take her temperature.

38.8. That was the temperature displayed on the thermometer and Anne worriedly glanced over it to the weary-looking girl sitting in front of her. When she was caught staring, Joan looked up at her with grey eyes and red sockets.

“38.8.” Anne said, showing her. “I think you may have sun poisoning, love.” Joan tensed and Anne quickly went on, “No, no! It’s okay! That means we know how to treat it!”

“W-we do?” Joan stammered nervously.

“Well. I do.” Anne said. “The things I need aren’t here, but I know we have aloe gel at the house. So we’ll get you fixed up in no time!”

Joan didn’t look too happy to have to go over to the queen’s house in her current state, but Anne managed to convince her to ditch rehearsals early so they would at least be alone for the majority of the treatment.

When they arrived, Anne had to point out the elephant in the room- the stained mess on Joan’s back. She had been putting off calling it out, but now they had to do something about it. And she knew Joan was going to hate every second of it.

“Alright, how much do you like this tank top?” Anne asked Joan, who was sitting on the toilet seat in the master bathroom (Jane’s bathroom. It was technically Jane’s bathroom, but Joan didn’t need to know that. They needed space, and it was big, so Anne could take the fit Jane would surely throw when she found out later). “Because if you can’t move your arms, I can cut it off.”

“I think I can get it off myself...” Joan said although she didn’t exactly trust herself to do that.

Still, she grabbed the hem of the tank top, pulled it over her head, and Anne watched in concern as the skin upon her upper back cracked, contracted, and split open in a way that made it seem like the girl was about to sprout wings. It made her own shoulder blades tingle in discomfort.

“Ow.” Joan whispered. She shoulders shudder, flesh-scales bristling and flaking.

“Okay,” Anne started, looking at the gooey scratch fanned open on Joan’s left shoulder blade. It looked like a tiny pool of creamy pus, which was just barely managing to not spill over the edges. “Yeah... You’re not gonna like this part, sweetheart. In fact, you may hate me after it’s over.”

“Why?” Joan squeaked fearfully, but then she watched as Anne pulled a bottle of disinfectant out from under the sink cabinet. Her face went as pale as it possibly could with the sunburn coating it like a second skin. “O-oh.”

“Yeah,” Anne smiled pitifully. She wets a small rag that she hopes Jane doesn’t use to clean her body with (mainly for Joan’s sake). “Ready?”

Joan white knuckles a towel she had grabbed for grounding and nodded shakily. She couldn’t even be embarrassed over being shirtless in front of Anne, as she was too worried over the pain she was about to face.

The cry Joan makes is heartbreaking. It felt as if burning claws were stabbing and stabbing and stabbing Anne’s heart the longer she had to hear it and the longer she had to be the cause of it. But it had to be done and, after a few moments of flushing out the scratch with disinfectant, she pulled the rag back. It’s now covered in a thin film of yellow-white pus and brown blood.

“Now your cheek,” Anne said. She wets the clean side of the rag and gently lifts Joan’s chin. The claws return to her heart when she stares into the girl’s glossy grey eyes. “Take a deep breath, honey.”

She gave Joan a moment, then pressed the rag to the blemish on her cheek. Joan keened sharply and instinctively shook her head, but Anne managed to hold it still enough to clean her face. She could feel hot tears slip down against her fingers and she finished as quickly as she could.

“There,” Anne said. “All done, sweetheart. I’m all done.” She delicately brushed away Joan’s tears. “Shh, shh... You’re okay. You’re okay, Joan...”

“Fuck you,” Joan hissed weakly.

“I deserve that.” Anne laughed slightly. “I’m going to go grab the aloe vera, alright? And a change of clothes for you. I’m sure Kitty’s will fit you.”

She’s gone for maybe five minutes and by the time she returns, the little blonde fireball she left sitting obediently on the toilet seat seemed to look even more miserable: she was hunched slightly, sunburnt flesh-scales bristling in a painful way along her shoulder blades and upper back. Her eyes are slightly glazed over, reminding Anne of the fever she had, and she was starting to shiver again. Anne just hoped it was because she was shirtless in a cold house.

“Hey, sweet girl,” Anne’s hand hovered comically over Joan’s sunburnt knee, then her sunburnt shoulder, then her sunburnt back, and then she decides to just pat her head. It makes Joan look up at her with a weak smile. It reminds Anne of a picture Cathy once sent her of a lamb grinning. “I brought some water if you’re thirsty.” She frowned when Joan shook her head. She watches the girl lean over to the sink counter and bury her head against her folded arms resting there. “Joan? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” Joan whispered weakly. “Just a little nauseous.”

Oh dear.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Anne said, worry evident in her voice. “I also brought some ice. You gotta stay dehydrated, so do you think you could at least suck on a piece?”

Joan agrees and slips a chip of ice into her mouth. Before she can return her head to its burrow in her arms, Anne asks her to change into the shorts she brought in, so she sheds her itchy pants and gratefully swaps them for the airier bottoms.

“I’m going to put the gel on your back now, alright?” Anne said. “Then you can lay down in my room. How does that sound?”

Joan just nods weakly.

Anne gives her a warm smile, then dips her fingers into the bottle of aloe vera she had with her and gingerly smears it on Joan’s shoulders.

As gentle as she was, it seemed she just about poked Joan with a hot rod.

Joan yanked away with a yelp, nearly falling off of the toilet seat. Anne pulled back, meeting her eyes with a worried glance.

“Sorry. It hurts that much?”

“N-no, it—” It definitely hurt that much. Joan just didn’t want to admit it. “J-just warn me next time.”

“Okay.” Anne nodded. “Here goes.”

She put her hand to Joan’s shoulder again, much slower this time. Her fingers barely touch the girl before she’s curling in on herself like a distressed armadillo.

“Hey, sit still,” Anne said.

“I’m trying!” Joan takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, steeling herself best as she can. “Okay, okay. I’m- I’m ready.”

Still, she can’t help but flinch when the next stroke sears a prickling line across her back.

“I’m sorry,” Joan squeaked when Anne pulled back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” She scrambled up to her feet. “I-I should just go. I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble-”

“Hey, hey,” Anne tried to grab her forearms, but stopped herself from making contact. “You aren’t doing anything wrong. You’re in pain, Joan. You’re going to flinch.”

“B-but I’m annoying you,” Joan whispered. She lowered her gaze, but Anne slips a finger under her chin and lifts her chin.

“You’re not annoying me, honey.” Anne assured her. “I promise. I want to help you. So can you please sit back down?”

Joan nodded and sat back down. Anne didn’t miss the fresh glimmer in her eyes and she couldn’t help but feel so bad about how insecure and nervous the poor girl was.

“Ready, sweetheart? I’m going to start now.”

Joan’s muscles tensed up as soon as the touch came. The balm stings on her skin and in her nose- a sharp, airy scent of aloe. She bites down on her shredded, raw lip, trying hard to stop herself from whining, but a few pathetic sounds still escape her.

“One part done,” Anne said, her voice as soft as her fingers.

Joan just makes a noise through clenched teeth, pressing her face back into her folded arms. Anne’s touch is light, barely there over the biting of the salve. Every now and then, she stops to take more from the bottle, always muttering a quick warning before she continues. She’s going slow, steadily rubbing small circles all over Joan’s shoulder blades. The weird minty chill numbs the skin wherever her hands glide, to and fro, covering every inch.

“I’m almost done with this part, sweet girl,” Anne cooed. “You’re doing so good.”

Beneath her hands, Joan’s flesh was rough and bumpy. It was like rubbing lotion on the back of a horny toad lizard. It was so hot, too, like a piece of the sun was permanently burning inside of the poor girl. Luckily, the aloe vera seemed to soothe the cinders billowing about Joan’s body. The flames licking through her would flicker their way over to the cold, wet barrier and slow down, prodding the goop in a disgruntled manner. And then, they’re smothered by a glob of sharp-scented aloe, wisps and embers flying out in shock before they, too, are put out.

Anne moves to Joan’s legs next, then her arms, and then her neck and ears. Finally, she began to smear the gel onto Joan’s face, hearing her sigh softly in relief as she did so.

“All done,” Anne smiled. “I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

Joan was definitely blushing- Anne could tell just by the way she hunched her shoulders around her neck and looked away shyly.

“Come on. Put this tank top on and then you can lay down. Or you can stay up. Wanna watch a movie?”

Joan nodded. She stood up and her nose wrinkled. She was basically wearing a full body suit of aloe vera.

“I feel slimy.” She said. “Like a snail.”

Anne laughed. Her heart melted at how adorable the girl before her was.

“You are too cute,” She said. “Come on. Put the shirt on.” She tossed a basic pink tank top to Joan, who quickly pulled it on. She saw the fabric cling to the aloe vera almost instantly and Joan’s nose wrinkled once again. “Yeah, it’s gonna do that.”

After quickly cleaning up, Anne led Joan to her bedroom. Joan was hesitant to get into the bed, but Anne assured her that a little aloe rubbing off on the sheets wasn’t going to bother her, so she clambered in after the queen. They end up deciding to watch The Princess and The Frog right as the front door opened and closed from downstairs and several voices filled the house.

Anne expected Joan to get nervous or say she should leave, but, instead, the girl just scoots a little closer to Anne, who leans away in fear of hurting her burns. Joan seems offended.

“It’s gonna hurt if I touch you.” Anne reminded her.

“I don’t care,” Joan grumbled. Her fever and exhaustion was making her adorably grumpy. “Please just hold me...”

Anne’s heart fluttered- she couldn’t say no to those eyes!

As expected, Joan hissed when Anne put her arms around her and pulled her close to her, but then she sighed softly and rested her head against the queen’s chest.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered. “For helping me. I didn’t think anyone...”

“It’s no problem, Joan.” Anne quickly cut off her nervous comment. “I care about you.”

“...I like being cared for.”

Anne glanced worriedly down at the top of the frizzy blonde head resting on her chest. She pulled Joan even closer and pressed a kiss to her hair.

“You deserve it, Joan.” She said. “You deserve care and so much more. Never forget that.”

“Stop it,” Joan whined weakly. “You’re gonna make me cry on you...”

“Cry, sweetheart. It’s alright.” Anne said. “It’s not going to change what I think.”

“Thank you,” Joan choked out through whimpers. “Thank you so much...”

“No need to thank me,” Anne said. “Besides. You have my robe. It’s official. You’re, like, mine, now.”

“Your what?” Joan looked up at Anne timidly.

Anne shrugged. “Niece? Goddaughter? Granddaughter? Robe stealer?” She kissed Joan’s forehead, making her smile shyly. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I like all of those options,” Joan whispered, tucking her head back under Anne’s chin. “But I...I want to be your-”

“Annie!!”

Anne’s bedroom door swung open and Joan lurched away from Anne. She sat up straight, still, staring at the TV as young Tiana goes running out of her bedroom after a frog croaks at her. She doesn’t want to see whatever expression Kitty has on her face.

“What’s up, Kit?” Anne said cooly.

“Oh, I was just wondering where you were,” Kitty said, then glanced at Joan skeptically. Her nose twitched a little, but she quickly turned back to her cousin. “Cathy is cooking tonight. She wants to know if you still want to learn how to make that really good soup she made?”

Anne saw Joan’s shoulders droop just slightly. She quickly makes up her mind.

“Maybe some other time,” She said. “Call me when it’s ready, alright?”

Kitty blinked. She glanced at Joan one more time.

“Alright.”

Then, she’s gone. Joan still doesn’t move, so Anne has to ease her back into her arms, now stroking her hair soothingly.

“I could have left,” Joan whispered.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Anne reprimanded. “I want you to stay right here with me.”

Where you belong.

Joan swallowed a lump of emotion rising in her throat and nodded. She nuzzled closer to Anne, not caring about how it agitated the burnt skin on her nose.

“Thank you,” She mumbled. “I-I...”

“Shh...” Anne soothed her. “It’s okay, sweet girl. No need to thank me or anything. Just relax, okay? If you’re tired, sleep. I’ll be right here.”

Joan felt heat bubble up inside of her, but this time she knew it wasn’t from the sunburn or the fever, rather the heat came from the giddy blush that glows a refreshing pink along her flesh-scales.

“I’m... I’m glad.”

[vanosslirious]

Flash Fic: Vulnerable.

[notes] growing up, I suffered with nightmares all the time, sometimes night terrors as well. I had insomnia because of it. It scared me so bad that I couldn’t sleep by myself without a light. Now, as an adult, since I also have psychosis, I sleep with a lamp on in my room. I don’t turn it off. Anyway’s, I’m currently feeling depressed, and unsure of myself once again. :/ (I was also trying to comfort myself, but I really can’t when I’m dealing with my mental illness.)

[pairings] Minor Krii7y.

[wc] 749.

[warning] nightmares. angst. ptsd. mental illness. crying. comfort. platonic/romantic moment. literal sleeping together. panic attack. 

——————

It wasn’t a typical dream. Not the normal ones that Jaren experienced on certain days. This was different.

This was trapped creature trying its hardest to gain freedom from his chest, clawing its way up his esophagus, a screaming weight, wild and terrible. He fought against it, fingers digging into the skin of his throat, cold and clammy from the night, he could hardly breathe from the spasm of his body.

Then he was sitting up in the dark and he let out a ragged scream, gasping, a pain in his chest, a burn in his throat. His heart racing painfully inside his ribcage. He was frantic as he shoved away the warm blankets, fingers trying to get away until he tumbled to the floor, mind still reeling until his back hit the wall, and to break the barrier between sleep and being awake was the yellow light coming from the bedside table.

He flinched, trembling fingers coming to his throat where he recalled the bird fighting for freedom. The taste of its harsh feathers, and the bone of its small bodies sinking into the skin of his throat was still clear on his mind.

Jaren shook so badly, almost rocking back and forth as he brought his legs to his chest, and he started to cry. The tears had already slipped down his face, and he couldn’t stop it, it hurt, it hurt so badly he could hardly contain it.

“Hey, hey, SMii7y…” A voice, so familiar, so soft and warm, and sleep-addled, was close to him that light fingers touched his shaking wrists, and he flinched away only to find himself staring back at John. “You’re okay, you’re awake...you’re not sleeping.”

“I...I…” he gasped, his shoulders tensing, body curling in as he let out another ragged cry.

John was soft as he brought his hands to his hands, along his arms to his shoulders. “It’s okay,” he said, soothing Jaren’s panic, “it’s okay, you’re awake, everything it’s okay, you’re not dreaming, it was just a nightmare.”

A nightmare.

One he has had many times, and usually they weren’t of a bird, sometimes it was insects in his skin and he would try to dig them out with blunt nails. Other dreams were quick, a flash, a bullet, a train going off, the cold iron against the side of his face, the bruises that once marred his pale skin, the wire going in his skin to pull into a stitch. His shaking, numbing demeanor as he swallowed painkillers and the burn of alcohol down his throat, the distaste of iron and blood upon his tongue, the cry when one of his friends were shot, when he was helpless, when he crawled toward them, held them, called for anyone who could help him under the blotted out stars. To the days when he was helpless and worn out, sickened and dying.

“Bird…” Jaren murmured once he was able to speak, “in my throat…”

John sighed deeply. “It wasn’t your fault for what happened…”

Jaren shook his head, fingers still on his throat, tracing the scars on the back of his neck when blunted nails dug too deep, when his life flashed before his eyes, when he thought he was going to die. A bullet sunk into the head of the man, and the blood landed on his skin, and it always felt as if it was there, a reminder, a scar, something that shouldn’t have ever touched him. 

It did.

He chose it.

Not the death itself, but the shock of it all, the profession, his friends, when he picked up a gun and killed and killed and killed until it all caught up to him.

John wrapped his arms around Jaren, calming him down a bit more until he helped Jaren back into the bed. Instead of turning the light off, Jaren leaned against John, listening to his heart beat, at his breathing, at anything that wasn’t himself and the sounds inside his own head.

“I have those types of dreams too….”

“I know,” Jaren whispered.

John rubbed his arm again. “Everything will be okay.”

He wasn’t so sure, but for now, he wasn’t all that eager to fall asleep again. He wanted to stay in the warmth of the light, with John, away from the shadows that always seemed to close in on him, that always found him in a vulnerable state. 

He didn’t want to sleep, even though he was slowly closing his eyes.

[dingalingalingis]

Witch

(Cause @red-sterling mentioned it and my mind went WILD)

There's a deep restlessness in his gut, a twisting wiggling thing that spoke in verbatim imitations of tongues and breaths taken from other people and spiked up against the frail undertones of his ribs like it wants to rip out from under his skin and devour him with sharp needled teeth. He didn't choose this, this way of life but has learned to accept living so deep in the woods with dirt under his nails. 

His heart however? It was easy to keep at bay, the itch of its claws under his sternum, clawing ever so gently at the thrumming organ keeping his body ever so alive even when the people of his old home thought of him as dead, distance from the town he adored made it screech under his pulse point and stab into his lungs, but being near kept in sated like the animal it was, melting into hibernation in the pit where his organs were meshed together like a mess.

Red was a beast in himself, curled and sprung tight like a wire ready to snap and tear his maws into whatever feeble fleshed human cowered in his blood craved hunt. He never hurt people, he couldn't. The students, most died from the ferals in the woods, he remembers one named Green who was a sweet girl. She remembered him, brought him food sometimes but she was too scared to return to civilization. She lived close to Viridian forest's border by his woods, he directed her to Yellow. She would be safe there.

Chattering softly to the woods, his only true connection to the earth he could hear the pipes that were laid down years ago and it sounds like chittering metals being rubbed together, a deep bodied chill that crawls like little footed bugs under your skin. But the scratching thrum of whatever it was taking home in his gut where, as humans called it, the ‘butterflies, formed. It was pestering, a need never to be sated unless he fully delved into it’s deep desires, to curl into bodied warmth and divulge into a long session of cafune. He heard footsteps and his stomach dropped.

The stranger looked at his direction, half lidded and warm though distress was in his bright ocean eyes, a bag strapped to his cloak with an Eevee perched on his shoulder. From the top of the wooded hill Pikachu squealed, running out to greet the Pallet born and his pokemon. The stranger smiled, Red's stomach fluttered.

"Hello little guy, Pikachus aren't found this deep." He crooned, petting down Pikachu's fur as he looked around "I think I'm lost, you know how to get out of here?" His soft pink lips frowned when Pikachu shook his head. He looked away, pink cheeked under his fur cloak.

It bothered him sometimes, the feeling, because it grew. It blows into proportions that matches his true form more than the human body he was born with before he fell cursed in this… Blaire witch existence, large with gnashing teeth demanding of him. At first he thought about going to this stranger, but when he barely brushed his hand against the pale skin wrapped around the stranger's delicately scarred wrist he felt the beast null. Collapse into itself and purr throatily, that turned into a deep growl in unhidden contemptuous emotions when he tugged his hand away from the stranger's wrist as if he was burned. Blue looked around, eyes wide, fearful before relaxing, dropping down with a frown as he watched the ground darken with foreboding nightfall.

He looked at the bag, reading a name on it.

"Blue."

He likes that name.

He had been avoiding this stranger, avoiding the smell of shampoo and dust and the fragile scent of something maple that burned and his organs clench each time his attempts to flee are seen and not ridiculed but looked at almost forlornly. Blue didn't know if he was a skittish pokemon or the witched beast he truly is. He missed the times back when he was a child and not… This. Innocent Red vanished not long after he got his first pokemon. Red lived here now. Alone.

He would have liked the silence a lot more. He kept to himself though, feeling the writhing thing of inopportune feelings slithering in his veins and head, and stayed in the trees. Blue never knew he was there, and he had no heart to scare the lost stranger to leave.

He still stares out the treeline, waiting for the falling sun to fixate on an area of the woodlands still lush with frivolous life that refused to stop crawling up the stumps. He will wait, and wait, and wait, and hear the bag open and watch Blue easily slip into the coat with ease. He would wear gloves, there was never a time where he wouldn't he guesses in this winter weather, and gently rubbed his thumb along the thick white of Eevee's fur, inspecting, sometimes tugging away a falling out, or ticked, from its brothers and toss it before going to the next one. He never needs gloves for that, Red knows, he did it fir his Pokemon without them. He watched as Blue ran a hand through his hair that sparkled somewhat in the dewy sunset before reaching out to Pikachu.

"Ah." He breathed out, soft and warm under his cloak, his heart warmed.

Pikachu was feral now, feral as can be with a cursed witch as a trainer, a cautious mouse to things it considers a threat. Yet, he purred under Blue's careful touch, like how he purred to him when they would all curl up in the makeshift bed. Blue's nose turned soft red in the chilly cold, that reminded him of the bushels of roses he used to steal from a Pallet house years prior, he'd leave them at the house of the Professor. He heard that he had a grandson who was deathly ill. He hoped he got them. He waited, and watched Blue’s hands work to an even softer beat when he grazed his fingers over Pikachu's ears and watched more until he noticed the upturn of Blue's locks and breathed, unblinking when his eyes were locked to Blue's.

Even at the distance he noticed the light hitting Blue’s eyes in just the right way, mixing the dark bleak blackness with a light color of ocean hues. He watched, with an intrantment matching that of a child looking at something shiny, and blinked when Blue moved his hand from the yellow mouse in his lap. Blue rested his hand against his chest and stared for a moment longer before dropping back to his own fluffy pokemon.

"I'm ok Vee, just thought I saw something."

Red blinked, the beast only slightly sated from the attention before clawing at the muscle of his esophagus. He went back to staring idly into the space of his temporary wooded abode, thoughts twisting and pulling at his form until he decidedly slipped out of the brush. The light was still in violent reds and oranges, making the green leaves change to brown and it gave him time to think about just how long he hid up there. He winced when he reached the ground, the cold of the woods slipping into his toes. But he continued and turned on his heel, slipping into the bushline with practiced quiet ease.

His gift through his curse, he supposes, of being a wood bound witch.

“Did you know…,” Blue started, speaking lowly as if Pikachu was a frightened animal “In Johto Myth, the rainbow feather is bonded to love and foreverment?” His hands were raised, still gloved, cradling a mewling Eevee and a crooked Pikachu. The mouse made a sound, and Blue continued.

“The origin of the name was said to have come from a young man whose ardour to his Love ended in a tragedy,” Red closed his eyes and breathed, smelling the soft undertones of fruits, “The young man was named not, lost in time, but from what we know out of sheer determination to see his love swam the Hellespont every night.” He took another step, and he could hear Blue sway in his spot.

“In one dreadful night however, while trying to reach a feather of the plant for his Love, he drowned and so the sweet tryst of the lover ended. In the morning, his precious love longing for him can be seen shouting and with such forlorn cried “O Love!”, “O Love!”-” He could touch Blue’s gloved hand if he reached, he took another step “-in the banks until finally he was found and clasped in his hands were the feathers who had became a symbol of everlasting love, crushed in the hands of time.” 

He was almost pressed completely against the tree Blue was leaned against and raised his hand. He could feel Blue’s subtle shift, his lips pressing lightly against his wrist as he smiled "Now the lake of which those feathers were found were named the Lake of Rage, in memory of the Lover who cried out in angered anguish for the loss of their love." Blue looked calm, serene, glowing slightly from the setting sun. 

He reached, brushing his fingers against the side of Blue's hand. Pikachu 'cha'ed happily and scrambled out of Blue's hold to hop around the tree onto Red's fur coat.

Blue turned, watching the empty space with wide eyes. He blinked, eyes wide before standing up with Eevee on his shoulder. "Guess the Pikachu left. Sorry Vee."

Red stood in a tree a distance away, pulling back his hood to press his fingers against his lips, his pinks felt red.

The beast purred contently.

His heart felt light.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

I See You : Part 1

A/N: Billy’s awake... and he remembers everything. What’s his plan?

Word Count: 2,568

Warnings: graphic descriptions and foul AF language annnnnnnd M U R D E R. 😈

Six months. That’s how long it had been since he’d woken up in that dimly lit back room, cuffed with thick chains to the hard bed beneath him. The first few moments of consciousness were blurry as the exposed beams and overhead lights, the cracked and clouded windows and stained cement floor came into view, and his survival instincts kicked in telling him where he was. Warehouse. Breathing slowly through his nose to keep himself calm, he looked down at his right arm and saw that it was stuck full of needles and tubes. I.Vs. His eyes followed the clear tubing from the crook of his elbow to a makeshift stand, a nearly empty saline bag hanging from a bent hook, rundown, dated medical equipment beeping softly behind him. He swallowed, his throat bone dry and scratchy, as he tried to recall what had happened…how he’d ended up there. He tried to reach up to his face but the short metal restraints prevented him from doing so, clanging loudly and echoing in the cavernous room. So I didn’t come here on my own then… He scanned the room for any other clues, coming up empty until he spotted a non-descript black phone on a small side table. What the fu… He reached for it, wrapping his fingers around the cheap plastic before flipping it open only to find that it was completely devoid of any contact information. There had been no calls made and none received, but the battery had been fully charged. Billy set the phone back down, frustration growing by the second. Everything in him, all his training, his conditioning, all of it was telling him he was in trouble, sending him signals that he wasn’t supposed to be here, but there didn’t seem to be much he could do about it. He hated that feeling more than any other, that feeling of having no control, of being at someone else’s mercy.

He swallowed again, the sensation like sand paper on his esophagus. Fuck, I need water. He blinked his eyes a few times and realized that they felt dry, too. Jesus, how long was I out? He’d wanted answers but the longer he was awake, the more he looked around, the more questions he’d gotten instead. Unable to reach past the restraints that held both of his wrists in place, he looked down at his lap. Stretching the fingers of his left hand he gripped the threadbare sheet that had been draped over him and pulled it back. His eyes widened as they fell on the heavy bandages that covered his abdomen. Shit…I really… And then it hit him- he remembered. Everything. The fight on the carousel. The broken mirror. Frank’s face hovering over him, his gruff voice in his ear. Choking on his own blood, nearly drowning on it, the metallic taste of it coating his tongue. He remembered the last two words he uttered, and what he’d felt when he’d said them. “Kill me,” he’d implored his former friend, the man he’d called brother for years. “Kill me,” the two words he never expected to come from his own lips. It hadn’t all been vanity in that request, hadn’t all been about pain or suffering or consequences. There’d been some regret, some admission, some self-loathing in those words as well. He knew what he’d done to Frank’s family, and he knew Frank- knew that there was only one way that this all was going to end; with one of them dead at the hands of the other. Brothers.

The hum of the florescent lightbulbs, despite being 32 feet above him, seemed to grow to a deafening roar as the realizations struck him in waves. His breathing quickened through flared nostrils and the machine behind him increased its incessant beeping as a result of his heightened heartrate. He couldn’t reach his face, couldn’t know the extent of the damage there, but he remembered the sound of the glass shattering as Frank dragged his cheek along it. He remembered the inhuman screams from his own mouth, remembered Frank’s words “Dyin’s easy, Bill.” Yeah, Frankie, it is. And when I get outta here I’m gonna show you just how easy… Frank didn’t want him dead just yet? Fine. One at the hands of the other, right? He looked at his hands; at the cuffs clasped around his wrists, at the knobby bones protruding after the atrophy of however much time had passed and decided that these hands would serve him well for killing…just as they always had.

Sometime later, a pair of footsteps echoed from the hall to the right and Billy sat up as straight as he could, ready to face whomever those footsteps belonged to. He winced slightly as a searing pain shot through his abdomen, and he looked back at the bag hanging on the hook to see that it was empty. Putting two and two together he realized it must have contained some form of pain medication- something to numb the agony that he’d otherwise have been in. Good, I wanna feel it. He felt his lip curl as the footsteps grew nearer, a man’s form materializing in the darkened doorway. “You can stay right where you are, doc, until you start explaining,” he snarled as the man’s eyes widened upon finding his patient awake and alert.

“Didn’t expect to see you up,” the man said, scratching his chin. Billy felt an itch on his own chin that he couldn’t scratch and his anger grew.

“Well here I am, asshole,” he opened his hands. “So start talking.”

The man hesitated before taking a few more steps towards Billy. He squinted his tired-looking hazel eyes, dark puffy circles showing beneath them, and Billy guessed he was a doctor at a nearby clinic or hospital that was looking for a side hustle. The man’s eye’s flicked to the empty bag behind Billy and then back on the coal-black eyes burning holes through him. He nodded at the I.V. stand. “I could set you up again there.”

“Not interested in dope, doc. Talk.”

“Alright,” the man took another step. “You came in pretty messed up. What do you remember?”

“Everything.” Billy growled.

The doctor nodded again, pocketing his hands. “Guy that brought you in made me promise that you’d survive, told me to give you that,” he pointed to the phone on the side table. “That was about as much as I could get out of him.”

“Yeah,” Billy scoffed, “Frank’s not a big talker.” He felt a burning sensation crawl across his face as the nerve endings there woke up.

“You been here about a month,” Billy kept his stoic façade but that news socked him in the gut. A fucking month? In a fucking coma? The doctor continued. “Had to keep you sedated, keep you out of it so you could heal…he…I’m assuming it was the same guy who brought you here?” he paused and Billy nodded. “He did a number on that face of yours. Cheek flapping off the bone, ear nearly torn off. I’m good with a needle and thread but that” he gestured with two stubby fingers towards Billy’s face, “was a challenge.” He indicated Billy’s bandaged torso next. “Stab in the belly though, that’s the one that was really critical. That’s what I had to keep you sedated for- make sure you couldn’t move and rip out the internal sutures.”

“Well great job, doc, I’m alive,” Billy said sardonically. He’d have given the man a sarcastic round of applause if he could. “Now how about we get these cuffs off. I’ve got some business to finish.”

Something familiar flashed in the man’s eyes- something Billy had seen in dozens of eyes over the years- fear. “Sorry, can’t do that just yet.” The slight waver in his voice told Billy that he was right about the fear…but it wasn’t him the doctor was afraid of. It was Frank. He wasn’t going to deviate from whatever plan Frank had in mind. “You’ll still need supervision…you’ll need more medical attention…for a few more months before-“

“Months?!” Billy barked, the force of his question causing a pull in the wound in his abdomen.

The doctor nodded. “You have no idea…the shape you were in…the shape you’re still in…Hell, you sure you don’t want another round of morphine? You must be hurtin’…”

Billy just fumed silently in response as feeling started to come back all throughout his body. The pain would have made most men howl, would have made most pass back out utterly overwhelmed, every nerve in his body igniting with just the slightest movement- the flutter of an eyelash, clearing his throat, bending a finger. But Billy was not at all like most men. Instead the pain only made him angrier, only fueled the rage that caused his heart to keep on beating. “I’m good,” he refused the doctor again.

The doctor took a half step towards the I.V. stand. “You sure? I-“

“I said I’m good.” The definitive tone in his voice chopped through the air like a paper cutter and the doctor nodded quickly. “How long?” Billy inquired.

“Until you can-“

“Until I can leave. How. Long?” Each word dripped with venom- for the man in front of him, for Frank, for himself for getting into this situation at all.

The doctor ran a shaky hand through his hair and shrugged. “Two more months?” Billy’s eyes darkened and the man flinched. “Make sure there’s no infection…make sure you can walk without pain…without-“

“Make sure you follow Frank’s orders, you mean.” Billy fell back against the poor excuse for a mattress.

“Look, guy,” the man said, holding his hands up in front of him. “This Frank character? He means business. He shows up with you looking like minced meat, with his threats and his conditions…knows my name, knows my wife’s name…so yeah…I’m following his orders. Me and you…it’s not personal, but I’m not trying to get on his bad side like you must’ve.”

With that, the doctor checked Billy’s bandages, set up another I.V.- no painkillers, just fluids- and said he’d be back later with food. Billy watched him retreat down the same hallway he’d come from, and heard the distant sound of a door swinging on creaking hinges, scraping against concrete, before slamming shut with a heavy thud. As though the whole interaction was being screened, watched, the phone on the table next to him began to ring. Billy looked at it, eyes threatening to melt the piece of shit burner as he stretched his restraints to pick it back up. Flipping it open, he answered. “Frank.”

. . . . . . . .

He’d gotten out of that back alley hell two months later, like the unnamed doctor who now resided somewhere in a landfill with the contents of the dumpster Billy had left him in had said. Frank had called once a week every week, like he’d said. He never mentioned anything about keeping the doctor alive, and he either didn’t know or didn’t care that Billy had disposed of him. But he’d made it clear that his rules were to be followed- made it clear that he’d come after Billy if he got word that he’d stepped one foot outside the city limits of New York. He’d given Billy instruction on where to go, where to find work, where to live- all places that wouldn’t check backgrounds or credit or anything that would link the scarred, scruffy shell of William Russo to the remnants that Billy had become. Seeing no other option, and not having formed a bullet proof plan for revenge just yet, Billy had stuck to the script. Three months became four and four became six. Six months with just his own thoughts etching tally marks on the inside walls of his skull. Six months with just Frank’s weekly phone call, ensuring that he was still playing by the rules. But by the sixth month of his new life, the wheels of his old one began to turn and a plan had started to form.

He’d felt like a dog. On a leash. Beaten and abused. Rabid. Whipped. But you’re a dog too, Frankie, aren’t ya? You obey. You don’t defy. You snarl and you bite but you didn’t go for the kill. Well I’m breaking from the pack now. No more masters. No more leashes. No more squirming under someone’s thumb. He scratched absently at an itch near his nose, fingertips finding the jagged ridges and grooves of one of the many scars that made up his new face, lingering over the once smooth skin that was now rippled and taught, stretched and pulled. His top lip curled involuntarily at the constant reminder of what had been taken from him, what he’d built, what he’d lost, and how he’d be forced to live now that it was all gone.

Rules. Always someone else’s rules. Someone else calling the shots, someone else running the show and pulling the strings. His mother. The group home. Arthur. Rawlins. Frank. React. Endure and then react. That had always been how things had gone. He was tough enough. He could take it. Proud to handle it. But he was sick of it. There was always something to gain for being strong; had always been a reward for resiliency. Where was the reward now? There was no reward now, only a reminder. He dragged his hand down his chin where a rough layer of stubble grew in patches, before bringing it back up to the top of his head, scrubbing it over the bristly hair that had once been smooth and lustrous. Rubble. That’s what was left of William Russo, former Marine Special Forces operative and CEO of Anvil- the hollowed out remains, the crumbling edifice of a once proud structure, ravaged by firebombs. It was time to rise from the ashes.

Billy waited at the bus stop like he did every day, the hood of his white sweatshirt pulled up over his head despite the warm temperature. He checked the time. 2:42. The bus would be coming in three minutes, and so would Frank’s phone call. He turned the small rectangular phone over inside the pocket of his sweatshirt, waiting. As the minutes passed and more people gathered around the bus stop, he felt the phone vibrate and he pulled it out to answer, just as the hulking MTA bus rounded the corner. He stepped back to allow the other passengers to board before him, answering the phone as a lady and her young son made their way up the steps, smiling at the driver. “Hey, Frankie,” he answered, voice dripping with sarcasm.

It was the same call Frank always made. It was the same bus at the same time that Billy always took. But there were two things about that day that were different- two things that would change everything; one- Billy had a plan, and two- that plan went to shit when he heard a familiar voice address him once he’d ended his call with Frank.

“Billy Russo?” the voice was light and airy, female and sweet as honey. “Is that you?”

Billy froze in the middle of stowing the phone safely back in his pocket. Shit. Six months had passed and not one person had noticed him. Until he heard your voice. Shit, shit, shit.

@something-tofightfor @my-little-dumpster-fire @zaffrenotes

Let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tags!!

[acryofpain]

Whump Rewrites: Part 2

Excerpt from chapter 4 of John Dies at the End by David Wong.

•••

An hour later, I pulled my Hyundai into Shire Village. I couldn’t get a hold of John anymore, and every few minutes my phone would ring and then stop before I could answer the call, as if he was trying to contact me but failing. I resigned myself to the hope that whatever I had to do next would be apparent from a look at Robert’s place.

His trailer was one of only two that had yellow police tape over the porch and door, and the other one looked as if it had been abandoned months ago. I parked off in the grass across the lot and walked toward Robert’s abode. Nobody was there, or at least nobody that had come in a car. I knocked for some reason – brain still a little foggy and knee throbbing, producing a slight limp in my step – then went in.

They’d cleaned up the blood and guts. I guess that shouldn’t have surprised me, since I should have known they wouldn’t just let entrails collect flies for twelve hours. Still, I recognized the room from the photos I’d been shown, the scene of Robert’s spontaneous explosion. The carpet was a few shades off from its original colour and the walls were forever stained a faded reddish-brown. And there was a smell, awful and organic, sharp and rotten.

I decided right then that I would leave and go home and watch some TV and drink a –

Thump.

I nearly pissed myself. It was a faint sound, from the other end of the trailer. The kitchen end. I stepped into the hall, expecting to see a flame-shooting vampire, a squid-clown hybrid, the Devil himself.

Nothing. Probably just wind. A micro-earthquake. Sudden termite migration.

THUMP.

It was heavier this time, violent. Adrenaline set my muscles on fire and, like a dumbass, I moved toward the sound. Definitely from the kitchen. In seven steps I crossed the Robert Marley estate and my shoes hit linoleum. I looked around at the counter, floor, and appliances, searching for anything that might’ve been out of place. No elves, no gremlins, no nothing. Not yet.

Dead silence. I realized I was holding my breath and had gotten a little dizzy, still not completely recovered from earlier. I realized I was not holding a weapon.

THUMP.

The refrigerator.

THUMP.

No. The freezer section at the top. The little door up there rattled with the sound, like it was bumped –

THUMP.

– from the inside.

Get out. Get out, David, go, go go, go, GO GO GO

With one last thump, the freezer door flew open. A small, shiny, frosted metal canister zipped out and bounced off the panelled wall above me before falling to the carpet, bouncing, and landing next to my shoe. I steeled my courage, then turned and ran my ass off.

In three flying strides I’d made it to the exit, but a half second before my hand would have ripped the knob off the front door, I happened to glance out the window and see a sedan parked out there where none had been before. Plain white, too many antennas.

Cop car.

Somebody getting out.

Morgan fucking Freeman.

He lit a cigarette outside his vehicle, ten feet away from me. I spun around, eyes searching for another way out, but even if there was one it would mean stepping over the possessed jar or whatever had come out of the freezer. It was now sitting on the tile, rocking back and forth, steaming faintly.

No thanks.

A glance back outside. My cop friend was still there, leaning against the car and blowing smoke into the air like some emotionally damaged black-and-white movie detective.

Pock!

A hollow snapping sound. The canister hopped an inch off the floor and so did I when I heard it. It did it again, jumping higher, and I let out a low whine of frustration.

The rumble of an engine emanated from outside and I had the vague idea that maybe, just maybe, Morgan had changed his mind and was now leaving. But with a glance out the window I spotted the news van that was pulling up next to the cop’s cruiser, and he was straightening up, looking a little more than disgruntled with his visitors.

POCK! POCK! POCK!

All of a sudden being arrested didn’t seem so bad – even if it had to be on live TV – and I should have ducked outside with my hands raised high in surrender. Fear kept me velcroed to the doormat, though. I could hear the muffled voices of Morgan and a news reporter having a terse, forced-politeness contest, the detective very adamantly insisting that he had no comments about the tragedies that had taken place inside.

Without warning, and with an incredible, ear-popping snap, the canister erupted, two tiny black pebbles shooting out and ricocheting chaotically before clattering to a stop on the tile. My heart was trying to punch a hole in my sternum at that point and I craned my neck around to examine the scene outside, the cop turning right to me at that exact second to gesture at the trailer. I threw myself back down, cursing under my breath.

He saw you. Did you see the flicker of surprise on his face? He caught a glimpse of your head. Dumbass.

The two pebble things now sat innocently on the ground, unmoving. Waiting.

You know what those are, right?

Nope. No idea.

You know Robert had a stash of that soy sauce shit.

Faint voices, arguing outside.

He couldn’t just cram it under his bed. That shit moves. It has a will, an attitude. It bites.

And then I realized, all at once, what I had come here for. John led me here, of course. When I was on the stuff, the little hit in my bloodstream I got when it attacked my thigh, I could communicate with John. When it wore off, I could not. My one chance to save him lay directly before me, wicked as it apparently was. I picked up the pill-shaped... things, looking like two coal-flavoured Tic Tacs in my palm.

Suddenly, they launched themselves at me. I didn’t realize my mouth was hanging open until that moment and if I had known I would’ve closed it, I assure you. In an instant one was skipping off my tongue and I coughed, hacked, convulsed. It forced itself down my throat and I could feel it wiggling all the way down to my gut. I clamped my lips shut and slapped my hand over my mouth for good measure, pushing myself hard against the wall behind me as if that would keep the sauce away. The second pill landed on my left cheek and then there was pain, a bright, acidic burn that seemed to radiate down to my toes, mixed with the weird, buzzing itch that comes specifically with tearing flesh, the feel of whole nerve endings being torn from their roots and tossed aside. I tasted the copper flow of blood in my mouth, felt something moving against my teeth.

The fucking soy sauce was digging a hole into my fucking face.

I fell flat on the floor, thrashing and rolling like I was having a seizure. I forgot where I was, who I was, everything in my mind vaporized by a hydrogen bomb of pure panic. My face and shirt were wet and sticky with blood and I felt the second intruder crawl across my tongue and down my esophagus, my stomach wrenching with disgust. I heard footsteps outside the door now, felt relieved, knew I would throw myself at Morgan and beg him to take me to the emergency room, to pump my stomach, to bring in an exorcist, to call in the Air Force to bomb this whole town into radioactive dust and bury it under sixty feet of concrete.

And then, calm.

Almost zen.

Officer Freeman stepped through the door and stopped cold at the sight of me. I climbed awkwardly to my feet with my hand over my cheek as he glanced me over. He had two red plastic gasoline cans with him.

He’s gonna burn this place down.

And he’s gonna burn me with it.

He set the cans at his feet and lit another cigarette, likely because he hadn’t been able to finish his last one when the reporter – who he must’ve finally gotten to screw off – interrupted him. He smoked in silence for a moment, squinting past me like I wasn’t even there.

“So,” I began slowly, grimacing as the movement pulled at the hole in my face. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”

He shook his head. “Same as everybody. You’re trying to figure out what’s going on. I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing with these here gas cans.”

“I think I know.”

His gaze landed on the blood dripping from my jaw and trailing down my wrist, and he reached into his pocket to retrieve a handkerchief. I took it timidly and pressed it into place, stifling a noise of pain.

“Thank you. I, uh, fell. On a... drill.”

He didn’t acknowledge my lame excuse and picked up one gas can to screw off the cap, then started splashing the thick, rancid liquid around the living room. I watched him for a second before taking a tentative step toward the door. In a blur of movement, Morgan whirled, whipping his hand out. A revolver was now aimed right at my face.

“You leavin’ already?” I quickly shook my head. “Good. Help me.”

“I’ll, uh... I’ll be glad to. But first I want you to tell me what happened to John.”

“I figured he was with you.”

“Me? Didn’t he, you know, die?”

“Sure did. He was in the interrogation room and Mike Dunlow says to him, ‘look, we got dead or missing kids here so you’re gonna stay in this room until I’m satisfied or you die of old age.’ Your boy, when he hears that, he falls over dead. Just like that.”

“Yeah... that sounds like John.”

“And now he’s gone. Hospital says his bed is empty and there’s no sign of him anywhere.”

I carefully picked up the other gas can and Morgan put his gun away. My shoulders relaxed ever so slightly and I began to soak the couch, eyes flicking over to the cop every few seconds to make sure he wasn’t going to try and catch me by surprise. Gasoline dripped from the wallpaper around me, squished in the carpet at our feet, permeating the air. I eyed a half inch of ash that was hanging from the cop’s cigarette, watched apprehensively as it fell onto the floor.

It went out with a soft hiss.

He opened a closet and doused the contents inside and I half-heartedly splashed a few more things before I went down and tossed the half-full can into one of the bedrooms. The survival part of my brain was scrambling for a plan to get the cop’s gun or at least get it away from him, but in my current clarity of mind I understood the certainty of it all. Morgan was going to shoot me and leave me here, no matter what I did. I was just waiting for it now. It was an odd feeling.

The man moved over to the door, blocking my exit, and gestured to his gas can which seemed to be almost empty. “Pick it up and toss it out the door, into the yard.”

I hesitated. He put his gun on me again and I did as I was told, and he pulled out his lighter once more to ignite it. The gasoline fumes burned at my nose now and I was getting lightheaded, a bit unsteady on my feet. Man, I was tired. I hadn’t even slept the night before and then there’d been all this shit to deal with.

“Y’know, everybody’s gotta ghost story,” Morgan said out of nowhere. “Or something of the sort. And nobody thinks it’s real because they figure no one else saw what they did, but everybody’s got their story. Everybody.”

He gazed into the flame at his hand, like he was mesmerized by it. His gun was pointed downward and with a soft click his thumb pulled back the hammer, as if on its own.

“Now what I think,” he muttered to his lighter. “I think all that stuff is both real and not real at the same time. And I think the people who see it and the people who don’t are both right. They’re just like two different radios, switched to different stations. And I think somehow, through some chemistry or magic or voodoo, that faux Jamaican guy opened the door into Hell itself. He became the door.”

I nodded, opened my mouth to say something, then closed it again.

“And me,” he continued, stare hardening. “I intend to close it.”

He raised his gun, and shot me in the heart.

[jinhoex]

planted

↬ Mark x Reader (x platonic!Jinyoung) - Hanahaki au!

❛ Hanahaki disease - an illness born from one-sided love, where the patient throws up and coughs of flower petals when they suffer from unrequited love. The infection can be removed through surgery, but the feelings disappear along with the petals ❜ 

↬ genre [rating]: angst; language

↬ 6,5k +

↬ summary: The sink became a red mess shortly after, colorful specs of light pink and ivory coating the sink as his form hunched over it. Mark chocked through the fresh wave of flower petals, desperately gasping for air while he tried to even out his breathing. He wonders how something so petite and beautiful could cause so much pain to someone's heart. He was fucked.

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It had already been a tiring week for him. Just as Mark thought the roughest parts in his life at the moment have passed and he could completely focus on his upcoming comeback with the boys, his mind kept straight on the upcoming events, the small scratching in the back of his throat made him believe otherwise. It had only been a few days since the seed of love had first been planted in his heart, and with every passing minute he tried to distract himself from the problem at hand; it continued to grow within his aching muscle. 

The thin stalks had intertwined around his ribs, small flowers thriving in his lungs as with every petal bloodily coating the inner fabric of his mask were a grim reminder that his distractions weren’t working very well.

His eyes hurriedly scanned the wide crowd of fans, an unknown smile making its way onto his face. Waving kindly towards the screaming girls and following his bodyguards who were leading the way to the awaiting van, he still couldn’t stop himself imagining the way of your soft voice replaced by the loud noises surrounding him at the airport. He’d already fallen so hard for you.  Sitting down next to Jackson, the small space making him feel even more nauseous than the prominent sting in his throat, his hands moved over to his ears, slowly loosening the strings of his mask. He shortly glanced over to his seatmate that was, to his advantage, already drifting off into dreamland. These bluish, purple-pink anemones that constantly erupted from his moth beautifully stuck to the backside of the now bloodstained piece of clothing, while the prickle in his lungs slowly subsided as sleep overtook his racing mind filled with thoughts and fears. anemone: on a darker note indicates fading hope and a feeling of having been forsaken. On a positive note, it symbolizes anticipation.

Mark had quickly found he was good with distractions, playing various video games, training more than all the other members by staying longer in the practice room even after midnight or identifying the various petals that fluttered from his mouth on the internet in the early morning hours when he couldn’t fall asleep. It wasn’t your fault he felt the pain of unrequited love piercing through his lungs. It was his for not telling you sooner.    Mark wasn’t exactly sure when his seed of unrequited love first took root, but he can still remember in which moment it started to sprout. You’ve been friends since the day Jinyoung introduced you to his members shortly after the first win after their comeback a few years ago. It was only at the beginning of their career so you guys hung out more often since their own schedules weren’t as tight and packed as now. He could still remember the exact moment the two of you met eyes for the first time. 

[Y/E/C] eyes shimmering brightly in the dimly light room, his appearance sweaty and drained due to their stage performance only a few minutes ago. It made butterflies erupt in his stomach and he couldn’t stop smiling so himself the whole time the two of you shared eye contact. To him, you’ve always been more than Jinyoung’s childhood friend. Even after years passed and you became close with all the other boys, you still had a special spot in his now flower wounded heart. The more it hurt him, even more, to hear you mutter the words he never wanted to hear. 

You had a crush - no scratch that. You were in love with someone that wasn’t him. Not being that the only damage done to his fragile heart, it was no surprise the fucking luckiest man of the year was no other than your best friend. Jinyoung. Banishing his brother or even you from his life wasn’t an option after all, even though he’d debated on this quite frequently as the slightest sting that manifested in his lungs turned into a full-blown coughing session with the outturn of yellow carnations and small specs of blood decorated the expensive Persian carpet on the living room floor of his apartment.

„Where is she?“ Jackson’s voice could be sometimes overbearing. He was happy and full of anticipation walking over to the front door, his arms outstretched as he engulfed your tiny frame into his muscular arms while lifting you off of your feet and spinning you around for a few seconds before carefully lowering you to the ground. Giggles were bubbling out of your mouth and Jackson mockingly imitated you right after. A wide smile was spreading over your lips as you softly looked up to the boy in front of you. 

Mark despised this look of you directed towards another man that wasn’t him. It made a big lump form in the back of his esophagus and his stomach began to turn. 

Jinyoung carefully guided you towards the living room where the other boys patiently waited for your arrival, snacks and drinks already prepared for a night. And even though Mark hurriedly swallowed the lump in his throat seconds after you stepped a foot into the room, a new one was forming all over again with only the slightest glance at your face. His eyes still focused on the way Jinyoungs hand was softly placed at the small of your back. 

Yugyeom was the first to stand up from his spot on the couch as you walked in, quickly engulfing you in a warm hug before your eyes drifted towards Marks slumping form right next to the now empty spot. While still hugging Yugyeom, you could already hear the boys rocking with one another, Jackson trying to save himself the beanbag next to the coffee table.

„Hey.“ Was the only thing you made out in a huff before Mark wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, one hand grabbing the back of your head to press you towards his chest. You took in a sniff of his cologne, mixed together with the oh-so-familiar washing powder and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling into him.

„Hey, little one. How are you?“ His words were muffled In your hair, his arms now loosening so the only thing connecting you two to each other was his hand that was resting calmly on your waist.

Shrugging your shoulders, you swallowed the uncomfortable, scratchy feeling of blossoming sprouts crawling their way on top of your tongue as you smiled abruptly, even though the smile wasn’t reaching your ears like minutes before. „I’m good, really. How about you? You seem quite out of it today. Is everything alright? Do I have to worry?“ 

His mind focused on your neck, the delicate golden chain adorned your collarbones,  last years Christmas present from him. But his mind was torn away from the memory of the wrapping paper covered in a variety of those ugly candy canes and gingerbread men that the small box had been presented in when you nudged his arm playfully, tearing him away from his happy memories he’d so much feared to loose once his disease wears on.

„No, sorry. It’s just the pressure and stress and all. No need to worry.“ Mark excused himself more than once to go to the toilet as the night passed by, his fist filled with bloodied petals clenched tightly together as he quickly moved towards the bathroom before the suppression of coughing became unbearable for him. The sink became a red mess shortly after, colorful specs of light pink and ivory coating the sink as his form hunched over it. Mark chocked through the fresh wave of flower petals, desperately gasping for air while he tried to even out his breathing. He wonders how something so petite and beautiful could cause so much pain to someone's heart. peony: symbolizes bashfulness and compassion. It can also be used to express indignation or shame.

A few weeks later, he was quite worried about you. You haven’t called, messaged - not even Jinyoung really knew why you were shutting them out so much in the last few days. Or at least he promised to not tell the others. Marks eyes closed tightly, his lips pressed in a thin line as he heard the female voice pick up the other end of the line shortly before cutting over to voicemail. He wanted to throw this thing against the nearest wall if he didn't know better. Even his now sore throat and hoarse voice couldn’t stop him from leaving yet another voicemail, hoping for you to answer it as soon as possible. „Why can’t you just pick up the damn phone, [Y/N]…? You’re making me go insane.“ The few words mumbled under his breath didn’t go unnoticed by Youngjae, who was entering the quiet room at this very moment, a concerned glance was all it took to interrupt Marks soliloquy immediately. „Hasn’t Jackson told you yet?“ Mark had straightened back up by the seconds those words left Youngjae’s lips, his face unreadable even as he flicked his hair out of his eyes. HIs right hand was clutching to his phone tightly, slightly hoping for you to call him any second to reassure him everything was alright - you were alright. „Told me what?“ Youngjae grimaced at the incensed tone linked to his brother's voice, the dryness of his throat only adding a raspy note to it. He didn’t answer right away, too scared to tell Mark the truth about your absence. All the boys knew how much Mark cared for you, but only Jackson knew that those feelings he harbored for you in his now entwined heart were more than just friendly. „Jackson didn’t tell me what, Jae?“ His commanding voice made Youngjae take a step back. With a deep breath he leaned against the doorframe, his focus on his own fingers playing with one another as he softly spoke again.

Youngjae tried his best at explaining to the fragile boy right across from him, who’s thoughts only belonged to you and who’s  whole body erupted into fireworks by only mentioning your name, that, even though he’d be so obvious to his feelings towards you, you fell in love with someone that doesn’t return those feelings.

The dark haired boy couldn’t control his violent heaved breaths and nauseous feeling that overtook his entire form as he suddenly threw up a big amount of flower petals, a puddle of blood forming on the parquet floor before hearing Youngjae's voice calling the other members for help.

A sort of keen desperation took root in his chest alongside the blossoms. Mark longed to be close to you, to feel some sort of relief from the heaviness in his chest, but only the smallest though worsened his state. Every time he spent a millisecond thinking about you, he was reminded that he was a friend, only a beloved friend and nothing more. Because your heart belonged to someone else.

„Are you sure you’re alright?“ Jinyoung’s voice sounded fragile over your headphones. If you didn’t know any better, you could imagine the worry taking place on his face as he mutters into the speaker only for you to hear. You couldn’t stop the tiniest of a blush creeping onto your cheeks as you noticed how worried he really was about your wellbeing in the past few days. Of course, the other boys were worried as well, some more than the others but Jinyoung always made sure to call you and ask you about it. Still, the oh-so-convincing 'Yes, sure' and the sweet tone is your voice couldn’t quite cover up all the direness in your mouth and itchy, scratchy sensation in your esophagus as you tried to convince your friend everything was great. 

That the tissues that were now scattered around the whole apartment weren’t covered in blood-stained rose petals and that taking in deeper breaths wasn’t hurting your lungs one bit. So, of course, Jinyoung doubts your reassurance that everything was fine. „You know what, I’ve got some time to spare so I’ll be over in a bit, [Y/N/N].“ Pure Panik was written all over your face as you shortly considered Jinyoung’s idea. Your apartment was a mess, reflecting exactly your mental state at this very moment. „Oh, why don’t we hang out with the others at your place? I’m literally already on my way.“ „You sure? I guess the others would be happy to see you.“ Jinyoung smiled warmly, being happy that you and the others would be able to hang out for a while just like usual. However, his little moment of happiness was short-lived as he remembered who bad your current state must have really been. 

He’d lay wide awake at night, thinking about this disease two of his closest most beloved friends were affected by. It was a mystery to him how something as beautiful and rare as love could produce something so painful and destructive to the fools that fell for it. And he would lie if he never spent a moment thinking about the possibility that he might have been the reason for your misery. Jinyoung didn’t know who your heart belonged to. Sure, he always noticed the small blush on your cheeks whenever he’d wrap his arms around you, pat your head or simply take your hand in his whenever a place got too crowded, being afraid he might lose you in the mess of people, but that was simply an act of friendship, nothing more. And as often as he tried to picture you both together, in a more than friendly way, it just wouldn’t seem right. The way you always loved spicy food while he was the one preferring chocolate dipped strawberries on your movie night or the fact that he always enjoyed riding the bus rather than driving in the crappy little car of yours - it made him realize that none of you would get along well with the other in the long run. 

At least not as more than the best of friends. Even though he knew you loved him, he was sure it wasn’t the kind of love everything was thinking about the moment he told the boys your own had been unrequited. „I’m over in fifteen minutes. See you then, Jinyoung.“ You hung up shortly after leaving an uneasy feeling in the stomach of your friend behind with the signaling end tone beeping annoyingly from the speaker of his phone.

Luckily, one big hug from Jaebum was all it took for you to feel at home again. Even though you haven’t seen the boys as frequently in the past months, everything still felt as if nothing had changed. Yugyeom and Bambam were as annoying as always and wouldn’t let anyone destroy their high spirits nor would Youngjae's laughter boom thought the whole apartment complex any differently.

But you were still missing Mark and Jackson.

Both were nowhere to be found but with a reassuring smile plastered on the leaders face and his hands on your shoulders guiding you towards the living room, your worry washed away immediately. 

„Jackson is still in the studio.“ Jaebum said, his right hand grabbing his beer on the couch table as the six of you took a seat in the living room. You planted yourself closely next to Jinyoung, his arm protectively propped up on the couch rest behind your head, Jaebum sitting down on the armchair right beside the two of you and the others sat down on the floor while Bambam and Yugyeom argued about who could take the beanbag. Trying to hold in your giggles as Yugyeom playfully tosses yet another pillow towards his slightest younger friend, your lungs felt as if they were collapsing any minute. Your fingernails dug into Jinyoungs thigh tightly as a row of heavy coughs left your mouth, clutching your throat tightly. He was alarmed, even though you tried to play it down - tried to just hold in your breath and hoping for the worst to subside. With another suppressed choking, Jinyoung decided to place his warm hand on your back and leaning towards you. His hair tickled your face as the close space between the two of you. „Are you ok? Can I help? Is there anything-.“ You shushed him immediately, not wanting the other boys to see in what miserable state you really found yourself to be in. They were to engrossed in one of Bambam’s stories to really notice your struggle at that moment. „No - let’s just get out of here for a moment.“ With a nod, Jinyoung stood up, one arm supporting your waist on your way out onto the balcony. The cold night breeze made you inhale deeply without wheezing while your fingers wrapped around the railings. „You know, you should tell him. Whoever he is. He’s damn lucky.“ You couldn’t avoid the smallest of scoff as you heard Jinyoung’s faint voice.    „It wouldn’t change a thing. If I didn’t know his answer to my feelings, I wouldn’t be in this state right now.“ „Or maybe he just doesn’t know yet. You see, one’s love can be unrequited even if the other one does have feelings for them as well. It just so happens that none of them wants to admit it.“ Those words rang in your ears. You never wanted to admit it, but you always felt those butterflies erupting in your stomach whenever he’d kiss your temple or engulf you in a big hug. 

Mark has always been something more to you. You just never acted upon it, fearing he’d reject you and ruin not only the friendship between the two of you but also the one between you and the others. Especially Jinyoung. You didn’t want to lose him. Even if it meant removing all those built up feelings in the long run. Silence settled in between the two of you before you moved closer to him, eyes cast downwards while your cheeks got warmer by the second. „Jinyoung, I’m sorry but-.” „I know you’re not in love with me, dummy. But I’d lie if I would say I never thought about us ending up together. You know, my mother really loves you. She’d always tell me how pretty you are and what a lucky man I’d be if we both ever ended up together. She was right I guess.“ You nudged his side playfully while rolling your eyes at him mentioning his mother. She’d always be the one trying to set the two of you up since preschool. „Thank you. You’re more than just a friend to me, you know?“ „I know. But I’m also not Mark.“ You’re eyes widened in surprise. Never would you have let a word slip from your lips whenever a conversation between you both somehow slipped to this topic.

 He’d be so persistent and annoying, trying so desperately to find out which person made you feel unloved, sad. It wasn’t because he was that annoying friend of yours that just intended to gossip about it. He did it because he cared for you and was concerned about your well being. And if he found out he’d sure as hell tell the person to treat you the way you deserved to be treated. With love and respect. Even if they had to learn it the hard way. No matter how hard you tried to convince Jinyoung from the opposite through another fit of coughs, the little bloodied purple Aster in your palm told him otherwise. „How do you know it's him?“ „I guessed. The same loving look you give me…he gets that, too. Only a million times stronger than I do.“ Jinyoung only now noticed the smallest drops of tears cascading down your cheeks, with eyes glossy and a suppressed, breathy sniff it only took him seconds to wrap his arms protectively around your tiny frame. One of his hands held your head to his chest as a few more tears stained his jean jacket. 

He kissed your temple lovingly while you muttered words into his chest you didn’t really mean to. That you hated him for not loving you back and that you hated how much your heart desired to be with him although the man that held you tightly to him at this exact moment could have been all you ever wished for. And Jinyoung let you, in the belief that you only said those things because you were frustrated. You still loved Mark with all your heart, your cracking voice and heavy breathing only proved that. Your quiet voice and Jinyoungs soothing tone, drowned in the nightly wind and busied streets, were nothing compared to the laughter and constant chatter between the boys inside.    Mark wasn’t quite sure if it’d be a good idea to stay in the dorm tonight. The minute Jinyoung mentioned you’d be coming over tonight his throat closed up. He didn’t want to see you. He was sure it would just be a matter of time until Jinyoung developed feelings for you as well, how could he not? And that would only shatter his heart even further to the point he wasn’t even sure himself if a surgery and the following loss of memory and attached feelings towards you could even mend his broken heart. The jiggling of keys and the opening of the front door tore him out of his own thoughts. „Hey, you’ good, man?“ Jackson placed his hand on top of Mark’s shoulder after he put his sports bag down. He wore a big windbreaker and sweatpants while his hair was a mess and forehead sweaty but the worried look was still present on his face even after a long day in the studio. Mark nodded even though he himself wouldn’t believe that bullshit. But Jackson also knew better than to ask so he let it slip, not wanting this conversation to end like the countless other ones the two of them had in the last few weeks, always about the same thing. You. Jackson made it his mission to help his friend, handing him a beer after opening the fridge in the large kitchen and leaning on the counter while Mark mirrored his movements. „You already talked to her?“ Jackson took the first sip of his bottle, facing him. „No. Haven’t even seen her yet. God, I don’t think I can do it. Even thinking about it makes me sick.“ Muttering a short „Literally.“, Jackson patted his brother’s back swiftly. The look on his face was still concerned as he spoke again. 

„Well, you have to. You owe that to yourself at least. You and I both know that you’d be the one to regret not confessing to [Y/N] in the end.“ Mark knew Jackson was right, even though he hated him for that. Nodding again, both men walked out of the kitchen into the living room while immediately being greeted with Youngjae’s booming laughter and Bambam’s rambling voice. Jackson sat down on the couch while Mark scanned the room. His previous nervousness and anxiety of confronting you now turned into confusion. 

His gaze couldn’t find you sitting next to the boys, nor were you standing in the now dim lit kitchen. His body turned around slightly, his hands clutching the glass bottle tightly. „Mark? You ok?“ He didn’t even register Youngjae’s concerned voice the moment his eyes fixated on you, firm and lovingly wrapped in a pair of arms. He so desperately wanted to just close his eyes and act as if he hadn’t seen a thing and pretend the scene unfolding right in from of him wasn’t shattering his heart into tiny bits and pieces. The way Jinyoung was clutching you tightly to his body made Mark feel all kinds of nauseous. The smashing sound of glass breaking tore him away from you and with it came the feeling of suffocation and the panicked gasping of air as he clutched his chest tightly. The searing pain in his lungs was making him wince in pain while retching and spitting out gushes of blood and tulip petals. His eyebrows furrowed together as his face felt as if it was on fire by now. The hurried opening of screen doors could be heard as strong arms tried to help him up shortly after. Mark’s eyes were glossing over with tears which he wiped away angrily as once he felt as if he could breathe again. 

His breath stutters as he tries to take in a deep breath to calm himself down. But the minute he hears your cry and hurried footsteps, his throat closes up again. His jaw clenches tightly, muscles tensed as jealousy and frustration take over his body and he screams at you. His loud voice makes you stop in your act of trying to help him, trying to confess to him. „Leave [Y/N]! Can’t you see how much damage you’re causing already? Get the fuck away from me.“ You only stared him. Surprised, confused and angry. And most of all you felt hurt. You’ve tried so hard to hide your own feelings, still so desperately trying to keep the friendship the two of you had even though he shut you out from one day to another just with a snap of his finger. As if you weren’t worth his time. And apparently, you weren’t worth his love either  

„What is your problem, Mark Yi Eun Tuan?“ He scoffed in annoyance, breathing heavy and the sternest and intimidating look in his eyes you’ve ever seen. A sarcastic laugh left his lips as he moved one step closer to you, his breath fanning over your face as the stench of dried blood and alcohol hit your nose. „My problem? The fucking thought of you with somebody else, that’s my fucking problem. But you know what? Go on, be happy with Jinyoung. Just don’t rub it in my face and make me feel like shit. Because I can never be him. Damn, that’s why I’m the one throwing up fucking flowers in the middle of my living room.“ He yelled, his voice cracking several times while his mouth felt dry, the metallic taste of blood still lingering in his mouth. You too were furious by now. „You seriously think me and Jinyoung are a thing? How dense are you, Mark? You think you have the right to be angry at me? For what? Caring for you while you’re the one shutting everyone out? Especially me? If that’s you’re way of treating the people you love I sure as hell don’t want to be one of them.“ And with that you left, making sure to close the door behind you with a loud slam after turning to Jinyoung and muttering angrily at him to remind him to never take any advice from him ever again. Everyone‘s seen what comes along with it.

It didn’t take long until Jinyoung contacted you again, trying to convince you to talk to Mark, but any kind of making up with that boy wasn’t on your agenda any time soon. You weren’t just pissed at him for being such a dick at the moment - you were just hurt. Hurt that someone that claimed to love you wouldn’t have enough trust in you and Jinyoung even though you’ve always made it more than clear (at least in your eyes) that your heart and whole attention belonged to Mark. Not the other boys nor your best friend. It belonged to the person you so deeply fell in love with but shattered your heart into tiny little pieces in just a single moment. „C’mon [Y/N]. Let’s talk about this with a nice cup of coffee. My treat.“ 

You heard Jinyoung’s voice over the speaker of your headphones as you placed your bowl of cereal on the kitchen counter. Pouring some almond milk into the bowl you sighted disagreeably. „Jin- as much as I love you, we both know there’s nothing more to talk about." A grunt was heard from the other line and you could just imagine him rolling his eyes - annoyed at your lie. Jinyoung knew you better than anyone else - so of course, he knew you didn’t actually mean the words you said only because you were hurt. You were still in love with that asshole. You just wouldn’t let yourself admit it out loud. „Sweetheart, I know you better than that. You can’t fool me. Please give him some time to explain himself.“ „Explain what?“ 

Jinyoung took in another deep breath. He hasn’t seen Mark much in the last couple of days and if he did, which was a rarity, he had bags under his eyes, his hair disheveled and just looked totally devastated. He had a reason to feel like that though, Jinyoung knew that. 

The way Mark had talked to you so disrespectfully, it made Jinyoung livid. Not only because you were his friend who he loved so dearly, but also because he was aware of Mark's feelings towards you. So why could he be such a dick to the person he so heavily crushed upon? For Jinyoung, it was a mystery yet to be solved. „Why he acted the way he did. He truly is sorry, [Y/N]. Just hear him out.“ „No.“ With your eyes closed, spoon in hand, your voice quivered. Even though you wanted to, you really did - you couldn’t step over your pride. But the small word wasn’t even convincing you yet alone Jinyoung. „You’re making a huge mistake-" „Stop. Please stop talking about it.“ He understood not to pressure you any further into it so he kept his mouth shut. „I’m just- I’m tired. Tired of talking about him. So please, don’t. I just want to spend some time with my best friend, not my personal relationship advisor.“ A small chuckle left your lips before you took a big spoon of cereal into your mouth, cherishing the sweet taste of it. „Okay, okay. Got it. Then I’ll see you at that small Cafe downtown in an hour?“ You shortly agreed, happy to finally leave your apartment again and actually do something productive for one day. With the last spoon of cereal and the clanking sound of your spoon against the brim of your bowl, you jumped off the counter.

Within half an hour you were ready to go. Slinging your coat across your shoulder and grabbing the car keys you left your apartment in a hurry. It was  rush hour so you surely would take longer than your normal twenty minutes plus parking to your destination.

„Jinyoung, where are you?“ 

You angrily scoffed into your phone after the third time you tried to call the man. That you were majorly pissed by now would have been an understatement. It had already been fifteen minutes since you arrived at the location, standing in front of the small coffee shop in the cold. The temperatures recently dropped even lower making you wrap your scarf tightly around your freezing form. Jinyoung would get a good mouth full if he ever dared to cross paths with you again. You ended your voicemail with a grunt.

Of course, you could have just walked into the cafe, sit down in the comforting warmth and wait in the cozy shop but you had to make a point here. Ain't nobody gonna sit you up like that without having remorse afterward due to you getting sick.

A few more minutes passed before you seriously contemplated about going home or just getting into the damn cafe for a hot cup of coffee to warm yourself up a little. As you decided it would have only been a waste of gas for you to come all the way back here for nothing, your hand stretched out to the handle of the heavy front door of the small shop. Trying to lean against the door, you suddenly felt a huge relief as if someone yanked the door open for you.

„Here you go-.“

The voice had been familiar to your ears even though you haven’t heard it in a few weeks. Turning around abruptly you were met with chocolate brown eyes boring into yours just as surprised as your own the second you made eye contact. Clearing your throat, the scratching feeling still prominent, your eyes turned cold, your eyebrows knitting together.

Mark expression was the one of a deer caught in the headlights of a truck. Visibly holding his breath the second he recognized it was you he so kindly helped, he wasn’t quite sure what to say. „Hi - uhm…what a coincidence.“ Was all he could muster out loud before also clearing his throat while looking anywhere else but at you. He knew if he would, his heart would crumble just a little bit more and guilt would overtake his body immediately as he just remembered how the two of you parted ways the last time you saw each other. He was so utterly sorry that he felt embarrassed about it. 

Mark never felt such strong and possessive feelings towards another girl like he does towards you. Maybe that is the reason he saw nothing but red the night he witnessed you and Jinyoung cuddling up so close to one another. You, on the other hand, were more than just surprised. You were confused at first. This was your and Jinyoung’s place no one else, especially the boys, really knew about let alone visited frequently due to its rather secret location. And then it dawned on you. Jinyoung probably set this up so you would have no other possible choice than talk to the man you so desperately tried to avoid the past couple of weeks. What a bastard. „Look, Mark. If Jinyoung set you up to talk to me, tell him everything’s peachy, ok? Were fine.“ You tried to make this conversation as short as possible for the two of you. You weren’t expecting a heartfelt apology from him or anything like that really. You’ve tried to tell yourself that, maybe, this love wasn’t meant to be. Even though your heart, which was hammering furiously in your ribcage the moment you saw him and his dumb, handsome face, somehow betrayed you. „I-no, not all-.”  You interrupted him again by passing his form on your way out, mumbling a quick goodbye, rolling your eyes in the process of doing so. You speed-walked towards your parked car on the sidewalk, tears were welling up in your eyes, threatening to spill and you didn’t even know why your damn brain thought it was necessary to cry over a person just so easily. Especially about Mark, who hurt you with just a few spoken words weeks ago. He didn’t deserve your tears at all. 

Fast footsteps behind you made you yank open the door of your car, afraid he might have followed you back to your car. That thought only proved itself to be true as you weren’t fast enough to lock all the car doors before the other one was slammed shut, another presence taking place on your passenger seat. „Get out.“ Voice wavering and lips quivering, you became angrier with every passing second this man did so much as look into the same direction as you - let alone have the balls to set a foot into your car without your permission or invitation.  But much to your surprise and look that could kill, he didn’t move an inch. His eyes now bore into your own with such a sincerity and so much guilt, the steering wheel became so interesting to look at all of a sudden. „No, please. Let me explain first.“ His words, although he tried to hide it in front of you, weren’t as convincing he previously intended them to sound like as he prepared them a thousand times before in the comfort of his room. His voice wavered a little just like yours and it sounded more than a question than a statement. None the less, you let him. 

Maybe it was because you finally listened to Jinyoung to let the poor guy try to make up the mess he made, or maybe it was because you still felt the tight clenching of your chest and stupid butterflies in your stomach as you gazed at the man sitting next to your stiff body. Nodding towards him with an impatient expression, warning him with your eyes that if he wouldn’t try damn hard to set things straight again, you'd kick his sorry ass out of your car right then and there. Mark seemed to get that glare. „[Y/N], I am so incredibly sorry for the way I behaved back then. This is not an excuse for my actions, please know that, but I want you to know that I was just so- so hurt because my stupid ass though that….that…“ „That what? I and Jinyoung would secretly fool around? Because that’s just hilarious-." „Yeah, I know that now.“ Silence settled in for a short moment before Mark put all his courage together - inhaled deeply, coughing a bit as the cold air hit his lungs, his throat closing up a little, and gazed towards his hands. A small but still beautiful red rose was placed carefully between his fingers. On its burgundy petals were a few droplets of water, shimmering in the light of the faint sun rays coming through the tinted car window. „I’m not perfect. I make mistakes and…I hurt people in the process. Obviously.“ And if you thought his voice was on the brink of breaking before, it definitely was by now. But instead of letting him appear weak, it made him seem even more determined and strong in your eyes. His left hand sought for your own, squeezing it tightly as you let him hold it so easily - his eyes locked on your own bloodshot ones; a single tear making its way across your reddening cheek. „But when I say sorry I actually mean it. And I-.“ „And you what, Mark?“ You urged him on, desperate for his touch as he moved closer and closer towards you, one of his hands finding its way towards your neck. With a sharp pull towards him, he sealed your lips with his in an angry and needy kiss where none of you wanted to part again, too afraid this moment would eventually find an end. He found composure in his actions again as he slightly parted from your lips, the feeling of it already setting him in a haze and your big eyes staring at him so lovingly made him nearly lose his mind. „And I fucking love you, [Y/N]." red rose: an unmistakable expression of love. It conveys deep emotions - be it love, longing or desire but also convey respect, admiration or devotion. A deep red rose can be used to convey heartfelt regret and sorrow. 

↦ a/n: this one took me a month to write I’m not kidding lol. Still kinda proud of it though. pls leave some feedback or aks. thx guys. 💝