#no one remembers them. they're not free in death.

[andhumanslovedstories]

Something I've been thinking about in regards to the difficulty of writing about my job in the healthcare profession is that there's very different conversations happening at the same time. The first is that this is a job that gives us a lot of power over vulnerable people that is easy to abuse and easier to be passive about. The second is that people will never not bitch about their jobs.

What if a customer service job was high-stakes? That's nursing. It's not the only part of nursing, but cmon, anyone who has worked a public-facing job knows how some people can be. Hospitals are full of people having the worst days of their lives while also being tired, hungry, lonely, and bored.

Plus, it's not just the general population you're dealing with. Hospitals have a disproportionate amount of very difficult people. To draw some examples from my own direct experience: the dementia patient had become too violent to stay at home (unfortunately common), infected chronic wound guy who is so racist that his facility will not take him back, confused patient who screams unceasingly 24 hours a day until she passes out, sexually inappropriate guy who needs two caregivers at all time, another racist patient but this time they're also sexist, banned from multiple shelters for assaulting the staff, etc. Or what might be the most common: person who is too sick to go home alone but no one they know will agree to take care of them. Like, have any of you cut off horrible relatives or abusive partners? People who were in whatever way unacceptable to be around? Would you like to take care of them? And you KNOW they're also not doing any of the stuff that would help them heal so it seems like they will never leave.

I think the gap between healthcare as a Duty versus as a Job contributes to hostile conversations. When you're complaining about your Job ("that moment when you let a call light ring for a while in the hopes someone else answers this time because that patient is annoying as hell"), it's frustrating to get a response that solely looks at the situation through the lens of a Duty ("all patients deserve the same level of care and shouldn’t be ignored.") And it's also frustrating to have these legitimate criticisms ignored or disputed because people are like "it's not that serious, calm down, let nurses vent." And it’s also frustrating to feel so intensely monitored in your free time because of your job. And it’s also frustrating to see people in their free time display qualities that seem like they would have big, negative impacts on their job.

Thinking on this topic, I keep coming back to this one memory. There was a time when I responded to a Code Blue (cardiac arrest, guy’s heart has fully stopped) and was the fifteenth or so person to arrive. The room's full of critical care nurses, I'm not the direct care nurse, the rest of the floor is quiet. So basically, I'm useless to the emergency situation. I ran into a coworker who also responded to the code. I hadn't seen her in a minute, so we caught up. She showed me the new stickers on her water bottle. I don’t remember the exact sticker, but I believe it was a nacho-based pun. It was a pleasant chat.

Meanwhile during this entire conversation, within eyesight of where we are because we’re waiting around to see if we’re needed, people are trying to bring a patient back from the dead. What was happening in that room is life-or-death--to the patient. For me, it was an interlude during a forgettable shift. I only remember that code because the discrepancy between what I was experiencing and what the patient was experiencing was so stark. I don't even remember if the patient survived or not.

None of the patient’s family was there. If they had been, we would have removed ourselves further or not talked so casually. Probably. But if the spouse was there, it would be so insanely insensitive if we tried to include the patient's spouse in our chat about fun stickers. If me and that nurse had been casually in a different hallway chatting, it would be very abrupt for the patient's spouse to walk into our conversation and explain how the patient's death would be so hard on the kids. One of these examples is way more sympathetic and understandable than the other. And I want that spouse to feel comfortable coming up to me and discussing that! That’s part of my job! But also, you can get why that would be a distressing interruption to a moment of downtime.

In both cases, the people in the conversation couldn't be further apart in tone and investment. Neither of us are being bad people. We just should not be talking to each other. And the nature of the Internet and public posting is sometimes talking about my job feels like it's me, my coworker, the spouse, and the revived but severely affected patient in single group chat.

[tortoisesshells]

for the five lines meme: “one face, one voice, one habit” for Jeremiah/Vicki?

He laid awake at night, leafing through memories of his own life as he might a familiar book, looking for a half-remembered passage that might – illuminate the present. Miss Winters. A stranger. Some part of him knew that she preferred coffee to tea, and put a great deal of milk in it; that if he were to take it in mind to lead her, all he had to do was hold her lightly, by her little fingertips. But he had never known her before, and thinking that left him half-sick – aching, as though in fever – and nauseated, some foreign thing stuck in his guts.

Send me a character/pairing and a title to get five lines of an imaginary fic.

[marypsue]

Man, it's cool and all if you see a metaphor for marginalisation in the monstrous, and if you want the power fantasy of 'what if you could just eat anybody who threatened you/pissed you off'. Me too.

However, as soon as you start saying 'no, these monsters are a 1:1 on Specific Marginalised Group, and you have to treat them in the fiction like they are directly representative of real human members of the marginalised group', BUT you also, in the fiction, make them hurt/kill/eat humans? And then try to shame me, your audience, for noticing or engaging with the bit where they kill people, because you made them directly representative of a real-world marginalised group? You have lost me, and also, I think, the plot.

[justarandomhelluvablog]

sorry sorry last time I'm talking about huskerdust tonight but does it fuck anyone else up knowing that Husk and Angel basically lived at the same time but were on opposite sides of the country. But also Husk went traveling. Like these two could have met while they were alive and wouldn't even know it. They didn't even know the other existed until they met at the hotel

Like I have. so many thoughts about this.

[sunlitmiracle]

smashes my current interest together with my old interest (aka yet another "what Dungeon Meshi but Gamers?" AU)

Once when I was a child I had a complete crying meltdown over Creatures, because the manual insisted that the complicated AI of the Norns made them truly alive and 10-year-old me was freaked out at the idea of being solely responsible for making sure these real animals wouldn't die. The funny part was that this was the Playstation version of Creatures, which has no biochemistry and very basic AI compared to the PC/Mac games where players actually were debating whether or not it was true artificial life. A PSX manual gave me existential dread and it wasn't even telling the truth.

Anyway, kid!Marcille would also have a meltdown over the Creatures series, especially if she had the computer games and got to see how vastly different some breeds' lifespans are. Like in C2 where you have Norns that live for around 5 hours and Norns that live for 10, both of which are vastly more than Ettins who don't even live for 1.5 hours (and usually less due to radiation or starvation).

Lucky for her, having the computer version means she could download modified genomes made by other players that make creatures live longer or even outright remove certain death triggers. However I think she'd have more fun learning to read and edit the genomes herself, to get a better understanding of how the game works and how to change it to suit her own tastes. And because she could pretend she's one of the mysterious ancient Shee who created the Norns, Grendels, and Ettins and then vanished, leaving behind relics of their old society.

(Speaking of Grendels, she would unfortunately dislike them because they're the Designated Evil Species and she'd hate how they harass and attack her Norns. I think she'd also pity them though, because they get sick a lot and have short lifespans. Likely she'd just end up downloading/creating a genome without the aggression towards Norns. Ettins she'd like except for in C3 when they dismantle her meticulously-placed gadget setups, so she might mod out their hoarding compulsions too. Both of them would of course also live for however long her Norns would live.)

Also. While standard creatures' lifespans are counted in hours, if you modify the half-lives in the genome editor you can increase it to centuries. Or even just over a millennium if you set the half-lives to their max length (assuming you also leave the old age death trigger at its vanilla value).

and I like to think that elven Creatures players would pass around copies of what they consider a template genome that's appropriate to their own lifespans. Something that would make their creatures live for weeks or months of continuous play. I also like to think the Creatures DS Warp is still active in this AU because of the hilarious frustration when these long-lived Norns travel to worlds run by short-lived players whose Norns have vanilla lifespans, and vice versa.

(Most of the time in Creatures, offspring of parents with different lifespans will just have one or the other, but there's a chance the genes cross over right in the middle of the various age triggers and cause unstable aging rates. Like a Norn that goes through the childhood stages in hours but then has a very extended adulthood. Or a days-long childhood followed by suddenly dropping dead of old age once the vanilla adulthood genes kick in. Or, if the child has one parent's half-life decay rate and the other parent's age triggers, all sorts of odd things could happen. I once had hybrid Norns who lived for 20 hours and would die of organ failure before reaching the old age threshold!)

(Now that I think of it, Marcille would absolutely hate fast-agers. The first time she watches a creature hatch, turn old, and die in just one brief minute of life, she would be sobbing for days. One of the first things she'd learn to mod out would be mutations that cause the Ageing/Life chemical to decrease unusually fast.)

On a lighter note, while I don't know what her favorite designs would be I think she'd love choosing cute breeds to use in her world. Once she figured out how to give her creatures the comfortable life she wants them to have I can see her redirecting all her gene-editing efforts into changing color expressions. She might even learn to sprite or model her own custom designs.

[izzymalec]

i am not immune to companies selling branded socks

[imastoryteller]

20 Plot Twist Ideas That Will Shock Your Audience

One of the most effective tools in a storyteller's arsenal is the plot twist. A well-executed plot twist can leave your audience reeling, questioning everything they thought they knew about your story. It can turn a good story into a great one, leaving a lasting impact on your readers or viewers. In this post, we'll explore 20 plot twist ideas that will shock your audience and elevate your storytelling game to new heights.

1. The Unlikely Hero:

Turn the tables by revealing an unexpected character as the true hero. This can be someone seemingly insignificant or even an antagonist who redeems themselves at a crucial moment.

2. The Double Agent:

Introduce a character who initially appears loyal to the protagonist but is secretly working against them, only to later reveal their true intentions.

3. The Long-Lost Sibling:

Uncover a secret sibling, separated from the main character in their early years, and use their sudden appearance to shift the narrative.

4. Time Travel Paradox:

Play with time travel to create a paradox that forces the characters to confront alternate timelines or unforeseen consequences of their actions.

5. The Mastermind:

The story's villain is revealed to be a puppet in a larger scheme, controlled by a mastermind who has been operating behind the scenes.

6. The Supernatural Twist:

Introduce a supernatural element, like ghosts or mythical creatures, that the characters and audience believed were mere myths.

7. The Doppelgänger:

A character's doppelgänger appears, causing confusion and chaos as they try to determine who is the real one.

8. The Reversal of Roles:

Switch the roles of the protagonist and antagonist halfway through the story, making the audience question their allegiances.

9. The Untouchable Hero:

Create a seemingly invincible hero who unexpectedly meets their match, forcing them to reevaluate their abilities and tactics.

10. The Forgotten Past:

Unearth a character's forgotten or repressed memories, leading to a shocking revelation about their true identity or past actions.

11. The Betrayal Within:

One of the protagonist's closest allies betrays them, throwing their entire mission into disarray.

12. The Hidden Identity:

A character is not who they claim to be, and their true identity is revealed, impacting the story's direction.

13. The Inception Twist:

Blur the lines between reality and illusion, leaving the audience guessing what's real and what's a dream or illusion.

14. The Time Loop:

Trap your characters in a time loop where they're forced to relive the same events repeatedly until they can break free.

15. The Shapeshifter:

Introduce a character with the ability to change their appearance, creating doubt and suspicion within the group.

16. The Truth About the Mentor:

The mentor figure, who initially seems wise and benevolent, is unveiled as the story's true antagonist.

17. The Lost Artifact:

The much sought-after artifact or treasure turns out to be a fake, and the real item is something entirely unexpected.

18. The Pseudo-Death:

Fake a character's death to shock the audience and later reveal they were alive all along.

19. The Prophecy Reversed:

Subvert the traditional hero's journey by defying a prophesized destiny and taking the story in a different direction.

20. The Unreliable Narrator:

Reveal that the narrator has been lying or misrepresenting events, casting doubt on the entire story's accuracy.

Conclusion:

These 20 plot twist ideas are just the beginning, and by incorporating them into your narratives, you can leave your audience stunned, shocked, and eager for more. Remember that the key to a successful plot twist lies in its execution, so take your time and craft a twist that seamlessly integrates into your story, making it an unforgettable experience for your readers or viewers.

---

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[esyra]

Haven't heard from family in days. I feel like it's time to accept they're gone. I know in my heart Palestine will, one day, be free, but it wasn't supposed to be like this.

We feared another Nakba, and it happened. 700,000 pushed out of their homes in 1948 to 1 million being forced to leave their homes in 2023.

We thought it couldn't get worse or more deadly than the Israeli invasion in 2014, and it happened. We lost 2,251 people in 50 days then. Now we're past 2,300 in one week.

What I heard most from my grandmother the first days it's that "this time is different". And I feel like a rock is crushing my heart in pieces because i've been hoping that speaking out, teaching people about the historical oppresion of Palestine would help but it's not helping. Nothing is changing.

I feel like I'm screaming into a void. There's some sympathy from people online, until I see content documenting Palestinian oppresion being flagged as 'hate speech' or check the comments of any updates on Gaza and it's: "blame it on hamas", "tell them to give up hamas", "the hamas asked for it". They're not even among civilians!!!!!

My heart feels full seeing the manifestations in favor of Palestine, then I see police forces breaking protests apart and remember that the people that can actually save Gaza don't care.

If there's nothing left to do but to watch the extermination of my people, then I'm going to beg for anyone reading this to please don't forget. Please.

Israel is hiding behind Judaism to commit genocide against Gaza. Netanyahu supported the Hamas militant group to prevent the establishment of the Palestine State, and now he's using them to justify his agenda of ethnic cleansing. He abandoned Israelis and left them to die because he cares more about seeing Gazans dead!

Every single person and institution supporting and financing Israel is complicit. I hope the deaths of every Palestinian haunts you for the rest of your lives and that you never find an ounce of forgiveness, for you do not deserve it.

Just as in the Iraq War, the US government is financing and cheering for the slaughter of millions of innocent Arab lives. The media is complicit by engaging in biased propaganda and other nuclear powers, such as the UK and Germany, are complicit too. You are fascists and war criminals and every drop of Palestinian blood is in your hands. I hope every single day, for the rest of your lives, you look in the mirror and see nothing but the blood you've helped spill.

This serves as yet another proof that not a single Western in a position of power, be it in the media or in government, sees Arabs as humans beings.

For decades, the US has comitted terrorism and crimes against humanity in the Middle East and has NEVER been held accountable. Over one million in Iraq; over 150,000 in Afghanistan; and now they'll turn Gaza into a graveyard. Punishing selected soldiers over the years does not erase the fact that the American military and its government validates their crimes during execution and are never punished for it.

Please never forget: Joe Biden is a genocidal terrorist, Rishi Sunak is a genocidal terrorist, the American Democrat Party and UK's Labour Party are led by genocidal terrorists, the European Union is led by genocidal terrorists, fuckass Walt Disney Company is led by genocidal terrorists; every celebrity that called for Palestinian death or stood by silently while ignoring our suffering is a genocidal terrorist.

May Allah protect the people in Palestine and grant the martyrs the highest level of Jannah. Wallah what keeps me here is knowing that the Akhirah is theirs. May Almighty Allah grant us imaan and Taqwa as high as the people of Gaza. Ameen.

[xiaowhore]

genshin men as shoujo tropes.

characters. neuvillette, wriothesley, & alhaitham.

note. in celebration of the shoujo renaissance (and also bc im having a hard time finishing the drafts i left half a year ago) i present to you the ideas i had while half-asleep this morning. i dunno if this will ever be a consistent series but here are the first 3! (heads up: female pronouns will be used in this fic!)

neuvilette ; the duke

it has to be said. he's the duke of the north.

you belong to an aristocratic family, but you're basically neglected due to being your father's illegitimate child with a maid and your younger sister is much better than you at every way there is. appearance, etiquette, and intellect—she is far more superior than you at these aspects. countless men ask for her hand in marriage, while none asks for yours.

but honestly, you didn't want to be wed to a noble. you dream of being a commoner, free from the clutches of your family who looks down on you and solely dotes on your sister. you could be a baker perhaps, since you've always had a hobby of making sweets.

yet your parents suddenly announce you're now engaged. and to the duke of the north, of all people! he has made a great contribution for the war against the monsters within the continent, but he is more known for his ruthlessness and harsh temperament. if you were to be his wife, what would happen to you? the duke holds a lot of power, but no one wants to marry him because they're all afraid of him, you included.

as you're being sent to his castle by carriage, you're already trying to comfort yourself. at least you're away from your family now. he couldn't possibly be worse than them. and as ruthless the rumors all say he is, duke neuvillette is not the type of man to beat a woman who has done no wrong.

your first dinner with him is completely silent. the clacking of cutlery pierces through the air, the only sound you can hear other than your heart rapidly pounding in your chest. your head is bowed, too fearful to meet him in the eye, but you can't help sneaking glances at him.

the duke doesn't appear in most events hosted by nobles, too busy defending his territory from monstrous creatures to attend. but you see now that those rumors about him being unsightly could not be any more false. his long hair drapes over his shoulders, not a strand out of place. his gaze is calculating, a fascinating blue you can't look away from, and his nose cuts a high angle—he'd look fetching if he wore glasses as he does paperwork. really... how could this man be your husband-to-be?

as you're busy worrying over how you shouldn't offend him and appreciating his appearance, neuvillette is trying his best to appear calm. the woman of his dreams is right in front of him, whose hand was promised to him if he won against the dragon slumbering in the northern mountains. the woman he had yearned for years on end, the woman who gave him strength as he was on the verge of death during the war, the woman who doesn't remember him anymore—

but he promised you long ago he'll make you the happiest woman in the world, and he's intent on keeping his vows.

neuvilette may appear stoic, but he's nothing but sweet to you. he accompanies you at every opportunity he isn't busy with work, spoils you rotten, and makes you want for nothing. word spread throughout the land that duke neuvillette couldn't be any more smitten with his wife, erasing all rumors that claimed he was heartless. you were intimidated by him at the start, but as you spent more time with him, you learned that there was no reason to be.

...however, that only applies to you. although you never said it outright, neuvillette can tell your family didn't care for you properly. he already had reservations with them, and now he has other reasons to be angry.

when your sister comes to his residence and claims there was a “mix-up” in the marriage, that she should be the one wed to him and not you, he is furious.

but there's really only one ending for this story—after all, his heart only belongs to you.

wriothesley ; the bodyguard

you're the only granddaughter of a yakuza leader and wriothesley is your bodyguard who will protect you no matter what. (not claiming ‘a girl and her guard dog’ energy; there are plenty of other mangas who have this trope too.)

you're just an ordinary girl with a very extraordinary family but you want to live a normal life free of violence and keep your family background a secret. you beg your grandfather to let you attend classes at a normal school, and he allows you in one condition: wriothesley must be with you at all times.

so yeah. this tall and absolutely ripped guy is behind you every time you walk to school, in the corridors, on the way to the cafeteria, and the only time he isn't following you is when you go to the restroom.

very protective. never lets his guard down when you're talking to boys. doesn't understand what you see in the handsome guy that everyone likes when his looks aren't all that great (he's just jealous).

“let's go home. it's about time for the car to arrive... what do you mean you still have something to do? ...there's someone waiting for you at the rooftop? you found a love letter in your locker? ...i'll wait for you at the door.”

he does wait for you at the door, but he also tries to hear the conversation you're having. and maybe he scoffs a little when he sees the guy who's trying to vye for your attention, because clearly wriothesley worried for nothing.

there will be a lot of dangerous events involved (i.e. kidnapping for ransom, attempts to kill you as revenge, wriothesley's enemies trying to harm you because you're the person he loves etc.) but wriothesley will save you each time.

“i'm right here,” he says as he cradles you in his arms, hugging your trembling body. “you don't have to fear anything now.”

it's nothing serious. just a pathetic attempt at kidnapping by a bunch of idiots who want ransom money. you're safe and sound in the car, waiting for him to finish his business with the delinquents, but that fact doesn't make his anger fade at all. “if i see a single scratch on her, i'll kill you.”

his head is bleeding, dripping crimson over his right eye, but all he sees is your bound wrists, the bruise on your cheek, the blood on your lip. he's out of bullets. you're both surrounded by henchmen. he has a single blade in his pocket. still, he roars with uncontrollable rage, “no one touches her!”

(very important detail: he calls you “my lady.”)

alhaitham ; the nonchalant male lead

he's definitely the cold guy who's (at first) rude and blunt to the female lead.

you've liked him since you were kids. your moms are best friends and you live next door to each other. both of your parents seem convinced you're going to end up together, but he rejects every single one of your advances—not that it discourages you from trying again next time.

you try to walk to school with him even though he always goes to the library too early and you're the furthest thing from a morning person. you offer him the best parts of the lunchbox you cook for yourself. you give him a cold drink after gym class. you invite him out to the mall during the weekends to hang out. you doll yourself up everyday with cosmetics and accessories in hopes that he'll think you're pretty.

but alhaitham always just looks... disinterested. especially during dinners where both of your families are present and his mother teases him about dating you for what seems like the nth time that night.

and you know he's not obligated to like you back or anything. but you still want to get his attention. you want to improve yourself to get him to like you.

alhaitham may come across as cold-hearted, but he buys you bread from the convenience store on the way to school because he knows you missed breakfast just to go with him. he keeps an eye out for any stray balls hitting you during gym class because for some reason you attract them like a magnet. he often declines your offer to go outside during weekends, but he's willing to tutor you for the test scheduled next week.

so you like to think of yourself as someone special. because surely, he doesn't do these things for anyone else, right? you must be one of the closest people to his heart, right?

but then the pretty girl from the class next door confesses to him, and you think you've lost your chance. she's tall and gorgeous, her clothes are always the latest fashion, and you're pretty sure she's around the same student rankings as alhaitham. they're talking by the cherry blossom tree, and no one can hear what they're saying behind the wall you're hiding from in your quest to eavesdrop on them.

but then alhaitham leaves first, not giving her a single glance after what you assume to be a swift rejection. the girl isn't crying, but she looks a bit shocked as she returns to school, not expecting the turn of events.

your classmates don't even pretend to be decent; all of them are asking her what happened. “he says he's not interested in dating, that's all.”

and at that, you sigh in relief. even if you're not special to him now, no one else is either.

you don't notice her looking at you, envy burning in her gaze. she didn't say any lies—but she did omit something important.

“i think... i like someone now. the most important person to me.”

[senipsenipsenip]

Eventually, the scrapbook ended. The sun had fallen beneath the horizon hours ago, and some nagging part of Stan's brain was telling him kids shouldn't be up this late. Unless they're breaking into a mini golf course. He jerked his head back, furrowing his brow. That was...oddly specific.

"Grunkle Stan?" a little voice - Mabel - questioned. He looked down at his knee to see where his great-niece was sitting, eyeing him with no small degree of concern. "Are you okay?"

He ruffled her hair. "'Course, Pumpkin. Just trying to shake some of those memories back in the right place, huh?" He gave an exaggerated shake of his head, smacking the side like he was trying to get water out his ears. "Got a straggler! Hup! There we go," he grinned, lowering his hand. "Good as new!"

Whatever he said must have been the right thing, because Mabel's eyes had lit up like he'd told her he was turning the Mystery Shack into a cotton candy emporium and Dipper had a sudden death grip on his other leg.

"Geez kid, you're clawing through my pants here," he grumbled, making no move to take away his nephew's hand. "Haven't you chewed your nails off by now? How're they so sharp?"

"You called me Pumpkin," Mabel whispered.

"You remembered I chew my nails," Dipper said in awe. Then he frowned. "Hey, how come Mabel gets a nice one and I get a gross one."

Stan shrugged. "'Cause she's nice, and you're gross."

"Ha! Zoom!" Mabel pumped a fist in the air before collapsing back into Stan's lap in a fit of giggles. Dipper rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he settled back against Stan's other side. Ford stayed perched on the arm of the chair, smiling fondly, but eyebrows still drawn together.

"What's the matter, Sixer?" Stan frowned as Ford grimaced at the nickname. "What?"

Ford waved off Stan's concern. "It's nothing. It's..." Ford sighed. "I'm sorry. It's not nothing. I just don't want to..." He pursed his lips.

"Don't leave us hanging." There was a shake in Stan's voice, and Mabel shifted closer to her Grunkle.

"I'm glad this has been helpful to you," Ford muttered. "But...you don't remember everything. Not really."

"Whaddya mean?" Stan asked. "I remember you, the kids, Soos. The freeloading jerk who steals my sandwiches." Stan glared at Waddles who simply oinked and started trying to eat his shoelace. Whatever. Free pass for jump starting his memories. He better not get used to it.

Dipper sat up. "Yeah, what do you mean, Great Uncle Ford?"

Ford frowned. "I just... Hm." He seemed to be weighing something in his mind before turning to Stan with some resolve.

"Stanley," he began slowly. "I hope you appreciate what I'm about to do for you."

"That's not terrifyingly ominous," Stan muttered, glancing around at the available exits.

"Do you remember my - " Ford cleared his throat. "My first kiss?"

Stan froze. "What?"

"My first kiss, do you remember it?"

"I was there?"

"Yes. Unfortunately a lot of people were."

Mabel squealed beside Stan. "Ooo! Romance memories! How old were you? Was it high school? Was it a high school romance? Was it star-crossed love between the nerd and the cheerleader?"

"Mabel, I think Grunkle Stan is supposed to figure that stuff out."

Mabel sat up and stared at Stan expectantly. "Come on Grunkle Stan! I need details!"

Stan shook his head, nose wrinkling like he'd smelled something rotting. "How should I know? Who asks their brother that sort of thing?"

"Precisely." Ford spoke with the same air of professionalism he adopted when explaining his theories, despite the alarming shade of red his face was becoming. "So far it seems that your memories are returning based on external stimuli, whether that be Mabel's scrapbook or our own prompting."

"So, wait, you're saying I won't get all my memories back?"

"No! No that's not what I'm saying," Ford held up his hands. "What I'm saying is we can't expect them all to come back at once. And at the risk of turning the Shack into the set of the Johnny Carson show, we'll keep asking you questions."

Stan frowned. "What if I don't wanna remember my brother smooching some babe?"

Ford turned redder. "You do."

"I do? Geez, I was a perv."

"In the meantime," Ford pressed. "It's important to take note of any stimulus you experience that makes you remember something. Even if it doesn't paint the whole picture for you, we can fill in the blanks. Or prompt you to remember more details."

Dipper grinned. "And then we get to learn more about the secrets you've been hiding, old man."

Stan lifted his hand to give Dipper a well-earned noogie, but paused before he could make contact. "Old man...did you...did you tell me to shut up one time and then punched me?"

Dipper balked. "What? No I - "

"YEAH no WAY that'd be CRAZY!" Mabel interjected a bit too loudly. "Anyway let's get back to that kissing story, huh?"

"Actually Mabel, I don't know if I want to hear about Great Uncle Ford kissing anybody either."

"Oh come on, Dipper. Are you jealous that The Author got someone to kiss him and you didn't?"

"What? No!"

"Some girls like nerds."

"Mabel I don't want to think about anybody in this room kissing anybody."

"You could learn from him Dipper! Figure out how to wield your nerdish charms. Soon you'll be like a kissing machine!"

"MABEL -"

The twins were silenced by a sudden gasp from Stan. His eyes were wide and unfocused, his jaw hanging open as if someone had knocked the wind out of him.

"Holy - " he choked out softly.

"Grunkle Stan?" Dipper sat up fully. "Are you okay?"

Stan didn't acknowledge him, eyes darting around minutely.

"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked softly. "Did you remember something?" Moisture had begun to gather in the corners of Stan's eyes, one of his hands covering his mouth as he began to shake.

"Great Uncle Ford?" Dipper turned to Ford, worry stitching his brows together. But Ford didn't look worried. If anything, he looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor. His face was an alarming shade of red, nearly identical to his sweater. Stan let out another choked sound.

"Are you..." Mabel trailed off. "Grunkle Stan are you laughing?" He was quaking now, his hand falling from his mouth to reveal a wide, open-mouthed smile. He began slapping the arm rest with his free hand, eyes squeezed shut and tears rolling down his cheeks. Dipper and Mabel shared a look. Sure, they'd seen Stan laugh before, but it was usually a loud guffawing thing. They'd never seen him like this. They shared a tentative smile. Either this was the hardest they'd seen him laugh, or he had really snapped.

Ford seemed to pick up on their worry. "He's fine," Ford offered. "He's just...remembering my first kiss." At Ford's words, Stan let out a loud cackle, burying his face in his hands.

Mabel cocked her head. "But what's so funny about -"

"You children must be exhausted," Ford blurted out, standing abruptly. "Come now, go wash up then head to bed!"

"Oh no you don't!" Stan shouted. He wiped tears from his eyes, still smiling. "You're not getting out of this one, pal!"

"Stanley, this conversation is hardly appropriate for children -"

"You brought it up!"

"And now I'm putting a stop to it."

Stan grabbed his head. "Ooooo ow," he gave an exaggerated groan. "My poor head. The mean man won't let me share my memories so they're all going away!"

"Stanley, please don't joke about that."

"I'm fading away - "

"Stanley."

Stan crossed his arms. "You know, you really know how to take the fun out of amnesia."

"Yeah! Come on Grunkle Ford," Mabel pouted. "You can't just leave us hanging!"

"Yeah!" Dipper joined in. "If it's a funny story I want to hear it."

Ford spluttered, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater and looking around for an exit.

"Come on, Sixer," Stan chimed in. His eyes had gone soft around the edges. "I think the kids deserve a funny story."

After today went unspoken. Ford met Stanley's gaze, already feeling his resolve melting before he even turned to his grand-niece and nephew's inquisitive smiles.

"Alright," Ford conceded. "But to maintain the integrity of the exercise, Stanley will be the one to tell it. Whatever he doesn't remember, I can fill in."

Stan rubbed his hands together. "Oh boy, this'll be good."

"I regret this already."

"It's alright Great Uncle Ford," Dipper patted his shoulder. "We have a whole summer's worth of stuff we get to make fun of Grunkle Stan for. This just gives us stuff to use against you now. Levels the playing field."

Ford frowned. "Is that meant to be comforting?"

Dipper shrugged.

"Alright you two, enough yapping." Stan grinned, leaning forward in his seat and spreading his hands out in front of him. It was the same way he started his campfire tales. Mabel and Dipper met each other's eyes and smiled.

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl named Kiss-Bot..."

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Ooo you’re doing Pressure!!

May I request an artist reader who, throughout the journey found some paper, pencil and made a little makeshift sketchbook and when later bought Sebastian’s document decided to try and draw him? Like maybe both when human and current (and maybe the monsters)? 

Perhaps he saw them sketching, got curious and decided to look through it when reader left it somewhere or just straight up snatched it and held it out of their reach and sees those sketches of him. Could be hurt/comfort or angst/fluff.

Of course you’re free to change any of the details but please keep it platonic TwT

Aw love this idea! And it works considering all the paper and notebooks in the drawers of the blacksite.

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

"Great, [y/n]. One moment, you're doing some harmless graffiti on a brick wall nobody cares about. And the next, you're risking your life for a stupid crystal in hopes you'll get a federal pardon.."

Sighing, you held onto the overhead handles within the sleek black submarine, feeling it shake and rumble as it breached the water's surface. And after hearing the chime, the door hissed and opened up, the platform extending out onto the dock of a place already familiar to you: Hadal Blacksite.

'No place like home..' As you stepped out of the submarine, you could hear HQ over the PDA system informing you of your objective in reaching the crystal and collecting any "loose assets" you find along the way...

As if you needed any reminders of what you were doing here.

Immediately, you unlocked the first door with the keycard and began your journey to room 100. Along the way, you found a good handful of research data. Nothing too special aside from folders, USB drives, and a couple blue DNA vials.

Then after narrowly dodging the Angler in one area and avoiding Eyefestation's gaze in the next, you reached a room requiring yet another keycard to exit. You checked the nearby office cubicle, finding it in the first drawer you opened.

But that isn't what made your eyes light up. Rather, it's what was right next to the card that did:

A brand new pencil to go with the sketchbook you've been carrying with you.

Because you weren't given the luxury of doodling while sitting in jail for over 90 days, you felt your creativity flames being snuffed out, leaving you itching to draw something again.

Before all of this, you had a decent following on social media with your art skills, and you could imagine that they're worried sick over your sudden absence. But you hoped that, if you survive and succeed in this mission, you'll be able to come back and reassure them that you're very much alive.

And perhaps show them what Urbanshade has been hiding from the public...that is to say the sea monsters that have taken up residence in the Blacksite since its lockdown, freely roaming and haunting nearly every room you step into.

With the makeshift sketchbook you had (and somehow kept even after death), you've filled its pages with simple and detailed sketches of each creature you encountered.

But you doubt that they would let you leave with physical evidence of entities nobody else in the world should know about...unless you somehow convinced the guards that they were "original characters" that so-happened to look like them, but you had a feeling that excuse wouldn't fly.

Regardless, they've given you tons of artistic inspiration, despite your many close-calls with them in pursuit of studying their features from afar.

Thanks to the files Sebastian Solace has shown you, you've learned how to safely observe the Angler from a distance and better remember their details. They were merely a grotesque face surrounded by smoke, so you didn't have to worry about drawing any limbs or tails (assuming they had those).

You encountered their variants so many times that you could recall the little things that made each them unique--like how Pinkie had four pupils, how Blitz was missing pupils in one socket completely, how Froger was..well..a big frog with lots of needle-shaped teeth, and Chainsmoker was a sluggish blobfish through all that smoke.

Making eye contact with Pandemonium was a death sentence..as you've already learned after trying (and failing) to safely observe him through a glass window. So you draw him as you see him in his file.

The Squiddles' "intimidating" faces were scary in the dark when you least expected them, but they served as amazing inspiration. You even had a page full of what faces you'd think they make up to frighten others. It's too bad you couldn't show them, however, as that required you getting in their personal space.

Eyefestation, Good People, and the Wall Dwellers were quite..risky to observe, as they had ways of quickly and painfully sending you back to square one if you weren't careful. Even so, you made some pretty damn good sketches..and you wish you could show them off to them, too, especially to the shark who'd probably appreciate a human's drawing of herself.

Even the DiVine, who were always frozen in poses for some reason, joined your ever-growing list of muses. The oxygen gardens were a nice place for you to rest and appreciate the flora for a few moments--before an Angler came along, of course.

Then there was Sebastian.

While he was fully aware of your artistic passions, in the beginning he seemed a bit annoyed whenever you came into his shop just to sketch.....or if you took an unusually long time to reach him. He just assumes you've stopped to "doodle" and wonders if you really care about getting out of this place alive.

He'd remind you that HQ could get suspicious if you're off their radar for too long, but you've stayed in his shop for 10-20 minutes at a time and not once did your diving gear beep. So you reassured him not to fret.

It was kinda sweet that he worried over you, an expendable, although maybe that's because you actually treat him with decency..and don't take his snarky comments to heart whenever you died.

Aside from the occasional eyeroll whenever you brought out your sketchbook, he did inquire about some of the things you've drawn, and you'd show him, bearing a little pride in your work.

All you'd get in response was a "neato" or "wowie, that's how you see them?" and nothing more.

It wasn't insulting, so...you'll take that.

Obviously he was more concerned about how much research data you were willing to fork over in exchange for supplies, and how far that equipment will carry you before your next demise. So you'd eventually close the book and barter with him for whatever wares were on his tail.

Unbeknownst to him, you've actually started sketching him as of late. Now that you've met him dozens of times, it was easy for you to recall his features without needing to stare at him for reference every five seconds.

That would not only be rude, but very creepy.

Then one day, you showed up to Sebastian's shop with enough data to be able to afford his document, which described him as Z-13, "The Saboteur" who the company wanted "dead on sight" if he was spotted or trying to escape.

When you had time to read the file on your own, you learned some..pretty shocking things about how he caused the lockdown, went through torturous experiments, and was falsely accused of nine murders and was proven innocent far too late.

The most upsetting part was that he was never informed of this.

He learned that after presumably stealing his own document.

It made you feel sick to your stomach, knowing he's the reason you're being terrorized by those beasts, but you couldn't find it in your heart to be angry at him.

If anything you were angry at Urbanshade for their "guilty until proven innocent" system--or in his case, being proven innocent didn't matter.

His human mugshot was also included in the file, and even with the black censor bar covering his eyes, he still looked like quite a handsome fellow. You could make out some details, and ended up drawing him on a separate page, too, although part of you wishes you never started.

You doubt he would kill you or rip apart your book for drawing him, but considering how volatile and rude he could be at a moment's notice..you did your best to conceal the sketches when you visited his shop.

You didn't want him to be offended or reminded of his past..and make him resent the one person who he almost considered a genuine friend.

Unfortunately, you'd soon come to realize that your actions were only heightening his suspicions.

And that it was going to come to a head next time you entered his shop.

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

"Okay, I'm going to bite...what're you really hiding in that little book?"

"Pardon?" Pausing mid-sketch, you looked up at Sebastian, wondering why he appeared so disgruntled. "I'm..uh...just doodling like I always-"

"No, don't give me that "like always" crap." He huffed, flicking the end of his tail as he crossed his two arms over his chest, staring down at you. "Last time, you couldn't stop showing me a stupid face you'd think one of those S-Qs would make...and now you won't even let me have a sneak peak of your next "masterpiece"." He spat the last word, voice dripping with disdain. "Are you really drawing something...or are you secretly writing intel to give to Urbanshade?"

"...wha.." You blinked in disbelief, wondering where he'd get that assumption from. "Why would I ever do that?"

"Oh I dunno, maaaybe because you have access to my file and know my location? I bet you're gonna sell me out to those scumbags once you reach the crystal." He gnashed his teeth. "Did they say you'd get extra cash for leaving tips on my whereabouts, huh?"

"Sebastian, there's no reason for this hostility. I'm not giving any intel to anyone-"

"Then you wouldn't mind me taking a look at this, would you? Yyyyyyoink!" His third arm was quick to snatch your sketchbook away, holding it out of your reach as you jumped up in panic.

You were already dreading his reaction.

This could very well be the end for you.

"Please give that back! You'll tear it!"

"You look frightened. So maybe I should, considering you're writing secrets about.....about...." But as Sebastian finally looked at the page, all he saw were sketches of his current self, and you began to see a shift in his expression.

It went from pure anger, to surprise and confusion, and then to....something unreadable.

"These are...all of me?" His voice became quieter as he flipped the page, only for his breath to hitch upon finding the drawings of his human form.

And for once, he was completely speechless.

The details were immaculate, everything from his hair style to the scar he used to have across his face--given to him from an angry cellmate who thought he really did kill those people and tried giving him a "taste of his own medicine".

But the way you made him look was...incredible.

That's him.

That's really him.

The man--the human--he was before...

Before...

"Yes." Your face was burning with embarrassment, and your heart was pounding with fear of both death and ridicule, now knowing that your fate laid in his hands now. "I-I'm sorry. I should've asked for your permission and I know the details aren't perfect but you didn't let me........huh?"

Ceasing your ramblings, you noticed the tears welling in his eyes, and you were stunned. Then his shaking hands closed the sketchbook and returned it to you. "Um..are you okay? I'm really sorry if-"

"I...a-almost forgot what I looked like before all of this.." He raised a claw to wipe at his watery eyes, sniffling. "They're...good drawings, friend. I'm sorry..I...I-I didn't mean to..." His voice cracked, and he forced himself to stop, bringing his hands to his face. "Why am I crying over something like..t-this..?"

He hated looking so weak in front of you, yet he couldn't help the tears that kept slipping down his cheeks. A certain sadness was weighing heavily on his heart, yet at the same time he felt...honored that you wanted to draw him, putting your heart and soul into every sketch--with him getting the most effort.

You didn't overexaggerate him as the hideous beast he and everyone else was convinced he was, but just him as, well, himself. His smiles when he realizes it's you coming through the vent again, his cheeky grins when you buy up all his supplies, and even the one time he pouted when you died to Pandemonium because you risked it all trying to draw the moldy fish-creature.

The human ones, as you could tell from the way he broke down, especially hit home for him. Just from a mugshot alone, you were able to create a near-accurate depiction of him.

It made him wonder if you two have met before any of this happened.

Sebastian sniffled, struggling to stop the tears and expecting you to make fun of him as he finally uncovered his face. But instead he saw you standing there with your arms opened up. "I feel like you could use one of these. It's okay. I know you miss being human."

".........."

"C'mon, big guy. My arms are kinda hurting--oh!"

Without warning, he accepted your embrace and squeezed you tightly in his hold. Of course he was careful not to crush your diving tanks, and you smiled in appreciation and patted his back. "It's okay, it's alright..I got you. I didn't mean to make you cry."

He sniffled a few times, but otherwise said nothing and tried making sure you weren't supporting all of his upper body weight.

Curse his size. He wishes he could experience a normal hug again.

This one will do, though.

"I-It's...it's fine. Don't worry.." He finally spoke after a few moments, calming down. "As long as you don't tell anyone about this."

"I'll take it to my grave." You chuckled, letting go and stepping away so he could straighten his back out. While he did that, you gently tore a few pages from your book, to which he blinked in confusion.

"What are you doing with-?"

"Keep them." You insisted. "In case this sketchbook falls into a pit or gets waterlogged, I want you to hold onto these. Besides, I can tell you appreciate them a lot. So...consider it a gift."

"Why..thank you." A smile appeared on his face as he took the pages carefully. "Rest assured, they'll be safe and sound." He gazed at them both one more time, feeling a tug on his heart.

But it wasn't as heavy as before.

After neatly folding and stowing them away into his pockets, he saw you already sitting in one of the chairs, your sketchbook opened to a brand new blank page.

"Sooooooo what are you going to draw this time?" He tilted his head, ear fins twitching with curiosity.

"Hm...I did see a vision of a white glowing man a few rooms back. I think he was from...the Mindscape? There was a file talking about him and some floating gears and a white ball."

"Ohh yeah, he's an interesting guy. I'd love to see your interpretation of him." Now Sebastian was 100% invested, as he curled his tail around himself, resting his upper body on it so he could see your book better. "But y'know you won't be able to leave this place with sketches of-"

"I'm well aware of that...I could always change a few things and turn them into OCs."

"Hah. You should."

"Maybe I will." You snickered, grateful that you didn't have anything to fear.

At least somebody in the Blacksite appreciated your art.

[novelistwriter]

Phantom Puppet

DP x DC Prompt

Danny can't remember how long the GIW had him, days? Weeks? Months? Years? He lost track of the time when they injected him with a special Blood Blossom formula they made, it keeps him awake, but dulls almost everything for him, his eyes remain Void of any life, but he tries to hold on, hold on to hope that someone he knows will save him.

He hears the Agents and Scientists around him speak of something called the "Puppetmaster", no doubt something to be used on him.

He's got ecto infused strings sewn into his body, one for each limb, two for his mouth, and two for his torso, he's become their weapon, a weapon with no strength to resist, a weapon with no voice to protest, a weapon that is losing hope. The "Puppetmaster" remains invisible to those that haven't been touched by death, same for the strings sewn into his body.

His first target? Vlad. He is sent to Hunt Plasmius when the Ghost is sighted. The battle between them is fierce to those around to see it, but it ends with Plasmius beaten and Ended. His next target? All of Amity. Danny isn't aware for most of it, but he can recall bits and pieces (not like he wants to remember what his body was forced to do).

The GIW have a next target for their "Puppet" the Justice League, they know that the Justice League will take the side of the Ghosts, and they want to snuff them out before the laws allowing them to do what they want with Ghosts is noticed.

The GIW send their "Puppet" to attack League members when they are sure they're alone, but their "Puppet" is unable to finish off the League members because each time one is close to Death, they are aided by other League members to escape (The GIW don't know about the Zeta Tubes).

The League is scrambling to find a way to subdue the Meta Boy that's been attacking them, Justice League Dark is unavailable because they are handling something with a dimension known as the "Infinite Realms" and their missing King. It isn't until some of the League members who have died before report of their experience with the Meta Boy, their reports reveal that the Boy is not in control of his actions, strings are sewn into his body, while a machine above him controls the strings and forces him to attack them with electric shocks. Now, the League is set to free the Meta Boy from his captors. They just need to apprehend one of the White Suited people near the Boy and use the Lasso of Truth on the person they apprehend.

[steviesbicrisis]

A Barbie AU where the Kens decide, in order to get some recognition, to get individual names.

Steve, who’s just a Ken very good with kids, is having an identity crisis after his Barbie, journalist Barbie, broke up with him.

Not even picking a name as unique and special as Steve, so much different than Ken, managed to cheer him up.

Everyone keeps saying he should be happy about the change, and discover who he is outside of Barbie’s orbit, but he can’t see what was so wrong in their relationship. He loved waiting all day for Barbie to look at him, even if it was for a brief second.

As if going through an existential crisis wasn't enough, he has to do it under the constant mocking of his archnemesis, Ke- Eddie.

Eddie, with his long curly and annoyingly gorgeous hair, who has a sense of style he would give all of his rollerblades for, and who's always there to notice whenever Steve makes a mistake.

Eddie even has his Barbie still by his side, cheerleader Barbie, and every time Steve sees them together he gets a sick feeling in his stomach, like a tummy ache. Doctor Barbie visited him a couple of times and found nothing wrong with him, he imagines he's a little jealous of Eddie for being with a Barbie.

Steve talks about this with Polyglot Barbie, his best friend, annoying her to death.

"Why are we talking about Ken, again?" she interrupts Steve's retelling of his last encounter with Eddie.

"It's Eddie" Steve corrects her.

"Right," she nods. She's very supportive of their silly-name-thing (how most Barbies call it), but she still has trouble remembering all the names, "why are we still talking about him?"

They're hanging out at the park, sitting under a tree, Barbie's leg on top of his, and they're holding hands. It's nice. Steve is happy to have a best friend like Barbie.

Steve looks up, meeting Eddie's gaze. He's sitting at one of the picnic tables not far away from them, doing nothing besides glaring at Steve.

Barbie squeezes his hand to get his attention back, and Steve looks away.

"Because he keeps tormenting me! he's even glaring at me right now, I'm gonna get stress wrinkles!" Steve finally replies, in a distressed tone.

"You're being dramatic," she says, matter-of-factly, "Eddie isn't so bad with you. You know, he kinda treats you like his Barbie."

If Steve had a beating heart, it probably would've stopped right at this second.

"What?"

"You know, he's always looking for you, he is always giddy whenever you give him a crumble of attention. He hangs out where you hang out... why do you think he's sitting all alone at a picnic table, just staring at you?"

"Maybe he's waiting for his girlfriend" he suggests.

"Are you talking about Cheerleader Barbie?" she giggles, "she's not his girlfriend, trust me."

"But he picks on me! all the time! Like this morning, I tripped and he made a comment about my legs!" He gestures at his legs with his free hand.

Barbie tilts her head to the side "you mean this morning at the beach when he held you in his arms for ten minutes to prevent you from falling and Barbie had to tell him to let you go?"

"… yeah” he manages to say. He hadn’t realized how long Eddie held him in his arms, he was upset about almost falling in front of him, but he also liked the feeling of his arms around him.

Everything feels different now.

Barbie's look softens "How does this make you feel?"

"I don't know" he answers, honestly "I just can't stop thinking about him."

A loud noise at their right startles them off of their conversation. They turn around to see Eddie lying on the floor, a trash can at his feet.

Steve doesn't give himself the time to realize that Eddie has probably heard their entire conversation and has tripped on that trash can because of it, he just rushes to Eddie's side to help him out.

Eddie stammers while Steve pulls him back up, not making much sense.

Steve is used to see Eddie as an intimidating guy, someone to compete with for Barbie’s attention. He never realized how much he liked to have Eddie’s attention instead, nor how he loved to give that attention back in equal amount.

“Nice legs” he tells him, repeating the same words Eddie told him that morning.

Eddie stops his incoherent stream of words when he hears him “what?”

“You heard me” Steve says.

“I did” Eddie admits. He pulls the trash can back up, to have an excuse to not look at Steve when he asks “you can’t stop thinking about me?”

For some reason, that’s the easiest question Steve has ever had to answer to “yes, I can’t.”

Eddie jolts back up startling Steve, the trash can falling out of his hands and hitting the ground once again.

“Cool” he says, using all of his willpower to hide his excitement by keeping a relaxed face, failing miserably.

“I guess” Steve grins. Knowing he has that effect on Eddie is making him the most confident he has ever felt in his life.

“So, since you can’t stop thinking about me…” Eddie repeats, in a tone that Steve would’ve mistaken for a mocking one until few hours ago “…we could hang out on the beach later. I’ll bring my guitar.”

“I’ll bring mine too then” Steve replies immediately.

Eddie panics “We can’t both have a guitar!”

Steve crosses his arms on his chest “who says that?”

Eddie opens and closes his mouth a couple of times then mutters, defeated, “fine.”

“Great!” Steve takes a step forward and gives Eddie a peck on his cheek “I’ll see you later.”

Eddie, who makes a face again trying to hide his excitement, nods and turns away “cool.”

He walks away slowly, towards the park’s exit. Right by the gate, he throws himself into an hedge. Steve can clearly hear him when he screams words along the lines of “FINALLY”, “I HAVE A DATE” and “SUBLIME”.

Steve turns to Robin who has witnessed the whole thing, while Eddie is still screaming random words from the bushes.

“I think I’m in love.”

[violet-petals-in-the-rain]

Can yall imagine yourself being wen ning marching towards your death (this time willingly) with your sister's hand in your own, all to protect the people you love?

Watching them burn her to death and hearing that its meaningless and that they still plan to continue and kill everyone, you attempt to break out and rush back, but its not possible, and you're confined before long.

It isnt until time passes and in your confinement you hear of how the people you loved and would give everything to protect have all been killed and its through the guards holding you captive jeering and laughing and that the world is celebrating their deaths.

And you can't even weep because your eyes can't cry

They're all dead. What was it for? What was her death for?! What had his A-Jie been burned to death for?

Little A-Yuan,

Granny Wen,

Uncle Four... everyone is dead.

Young Master Wei....Wei Wuxian, the last sight you remember is him lying there helplessly calling for you to not go and you wish you had listened.

You can only greive now. The only thing you can do is scream, and its not enough.

Then they begin experimenting on you, and no one knows you're kept down here, locked away, all alone with people who don't consider you human.

Then you lose your free will, your thoughts and consciousness, until 13 years later.

13 Years Later, you hear a familiar melody calling for you and a seed of hope grows in your chest

[retrievablememories]

cherry bomb | jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

summary: “get fucked or die” becomes the motto to live by when a serial killer begins targeting virgins on your campus.

genre: smut, horror/slasher, college!au

word count: 7.1k

warnings: multiple minor character deaths, blood, gore, violence (including gun and knife use), mentions of alcohol consumption. virgin-shaming and slut-shaming, oral (fem receiving), riding, virgin!reader, first-time sex, protected sex, hair-pulling, biting, fingering, dirty talk, virgin kink/corruption kink, fuckboy JK. is JK a sub or a masochist here? answer: i don’t fucking know!

a/n: inspired by the movie cherry falls (2000). heed the warnings. remember that this is fiction, not meant to be entirely realistic, and characters' views/actions don't represent my own. if this kind of content is not up your alley just block me or make use of the wonderful filtering option in your account settings

sources for the fic dividers: one | two

link to part 2

CHERRY BOMB

don't wanna die? come out and hook up with a sexy girl or guy.

virgins get in free!

THIS FRIDAY

NOV 3, 20XX

[address here]

"very corny." you shake your head, looking at the party flyer in your hands. you'd just torn it down from the bulletin board in your dorm lobby; unauthorized advertisements aren’t allowed, and your job as RA involves these menial-ass tasks. "this is literally life or death...why are they turning it into a joke?"

"it is a joke," your friend camille says, snatching the flyer out of your hands to look it over. "think about it. 10 students get killed since we came back in august, and the semester isn't even over yet. the school administration and local police haven't done nearly enough to address it or stop any more deaths. and the common denominator is that all these people were suspected or confirmed virgins?” you haven’t seen the evidence yourself, but the daughter of one of the local policemen claimed every victim also had virgin carved into some part of their dead body. “yeah, i'd say it's a joke to pretty much everyone at this point. this is what happens when you let the students come up with a solution."

camille hands the flyer back to you, and you hold it limply. "but...it's not like you can look at someone and tell if they're a virgin. the killer must've known them all personally. it just doesn't make sense."

"some of those people had no mutual friends. nothing connecting them whatsoever. not even shared extracurriculars. it's gotta be a perverted stalker with a fetish, maybe. a scorned hacker who somehow got into their private conversations 'n' shit? or maybe he consulted the cards to know who’d fucked before and who hadn’t.”

“oh please.” you scoff. “now you’re being completely ridiculous. tarot cards aren’t gonna tell you if someone’s a virgin or not.”

“then you come up with a better explanation. either way, these folks—" camille points to the flyer "—aren't taking their chances."

"hm..." you keep staring at the flyer, looking at the shiny-red cherries, condoms, sex toys, and other sex-related objects decorating the paper. whoever designed this really wasn't playing.

"so, are you gonna go?" camille asks with a sidelong glance. "free admittance, after all."

your neck burns under the collar of your shirt. "are you?" neither of you have had sex yet, for differing reasons. camille's reason was almost complete indifference to the whole act.

she gives you a look that says i could give a shit. "...you know the answer to that one, dear. so you're not even thinking about it? as much as you have cried to me and lorelai about not being able to find a man you like enough to give it up for, our killer here probably already knows. you practically have a ‘come kill me’ bullseye on your back.”

"i don't know," you say, because you genuinely are thinking about it. “and stop trying to fucking scare me.” despite your logical brain trying to reason with you, you still feel a sense of underlying terror about being the next victim. "the virgin killer," as they'd nicknamed the freak, clearly prefers a specific type of victim, and all kills have been random and unpredictable other than that—and the fact that every victim attended your university. he also seems partial to using a knife on his victims, but even that isn’t guaranteed—3 of the 10 had been killed in ways other than stabbing. "i don’t know why you’re so nonchalant about this, though."

camille shrugs. "if he comes for me, i'll just spray him with my illegal mace and kick his nuts into his throat. then tie him up and wait for my dad to come blow his head off. there are some advantages to having a gun nut for a dad."

you chuckle at the absurdity of it. "you've got it all planned out, then."

--

FRIDAY, NOV 3

taking a rideshare to the party was a smart idea on lorelai's part, because the two little shots you took to pre-game already have you feeling woozy. or maybe it's just your nerves.

the cherry bomb is located at a mansion that isn’t really a mansion, but a large once-abandoned house one of the fraternities fixed up years ago for throwing off-campus parties.

the party is stacked wall to wall with people when you enter, though from what you can see, no one has actually started fucking yet—maybe they're saving that for the supposed orgy later in the night. you just hope you can get someone in one of the backrooms before that happens, because you're not really keen on having everyone in your class knowing what your tits look like.

you have one simple mission here tonight—lose your long-held virginity and get off the virgin killer's radar. once that's done, you'll make your exit.

"actually, i'm surprised anyone else showed up. other than you, who wants to willingly admit that they're still a virgin in college?" lorelai shudders. you roll your eyes and try not to feel offended, sucking your teeth.

"you were more than welcome to stay back at the dorm."

"no! i'm here for moral support, plus i don't want to be alone tonight. i don't care who this killer targets, it's getting too crazy out here to just be letting your guard down anymore."

well, you won't argue that.

you and lorelai dance to the song booming over the multiple speakers, scanning the room for potential hookups all the while. you become more alert when you recognize a familiar length of black hair coming through the front door, plus the tattoos and piercings to match.

you're not surprised jungkook came. he has his pick of untouched and easily corruptible virgins here, which has always been his thing; you've heard him brag about it to his seatmates more than once in your shared elective. not to mention the stories you've heard from the women who actually fucked him. as far as you could figure, it was the usual male ego posturing bullshit about being able to say he was someone’s first—and likely best. for that reason, alarm rises when he makes eye contact and starts making a beeline for where you and lorelai are.

"oh, here comes the campus bicycle," lorelai says, voice deadpan.

you continue watching him from the corner of your eye, trying to see if he's just approaching someone in your general vicinity, but no. once he shoves his way through the crowd of dancers, some unashamedly groping at his body as he does, he stops right in front of you two.

"so, are you here for the same reason i am?" he asks you, grinning like the devil himself. "or are you looking to get that sweet little cherry popped?"

the backs of your knees sweat. "um—latter, i guess." you hadn't meant to answer that honestly, but to say you are caught off-guard is understating it. you can count on one hand the number of times you and jungkook have talked to each other in class, and never about anything of this nature.

"you're not gonna ask me?" lorelai says.

jungkook gives a hearty laugh; you didn't think it was that funny. "everyone knows you're not a virgin, why waste my time?"

"wow, okay. fuck you. you're no saint yourself." she huffs.

"anyway…" jungkook returns his attention to you. "have you really never done anything before? not even sucked a dick? there's no way someone hasn't tried to hit that. not even some 'backdoor action only' like those weird religious girls?"

"is that any of your business? i didn't know we had to give a rundown of our lack of sexual experience before getting laid around here." you snap.

jungkook's eyelids lower a fraction. "i'm tryna decide how easy i should go on you, babe. i mean, if you wanna take this in one of the rooms. otherwise, i'll let someone else have a go if you're not interested."

unfortunately, you are interested, despite his overly blunt manner and objectifying language. even though you know you’ll just become another entry on his long list of flings—someone he’ll tell his boys about later—maybe the fear of death is making you impulsive.

but maybe his looks are playing a part in it, too.

he's imposing with his physique and his all-black attire, his shirt so tight that you can clearly see his pectoral muscles and his nipples, his unbuttoned leather jacket doing nothing to hide those details. you can easily imagine yourself running your hands across those pecs, squeezing them, rubbing your fingers against his nipples and making him moan underneath you, feeling and seeing his abs contract through this stupid-ass shirt that must've been painted on. this brief fantasy immediately dampens your panties.

"…i'm interested," you affirm, dragging your gaze back up to his eyes, and he smirks from knowing you were obviously checking him out.

knowing the direction this is going in, lorelai taps you on the back and whispers in your ear. “have fun but don’t do anything stupid, yeah? i’m not playing auntie to any offspring you and this dude pop out, sis. use protection.” then she makes her exit to go find herself a partner for the night.

“so, come on.” jungkook nods his head in the direction of the stairs, and you follow him through the crowd as he leads you up the winding staircase. you squeeze past two girls kissing on the staircase railing, their motions a bit unsure as if they’ve never done it before but clearly still enjoying themselves.

jungkook pushes a few doors in until he finds an empty room, and you try not to ogle at the random couples you see along the way. not even an hour in and the two shots must be wearing off, because your body is beginning to buzz with nervousness again.

jungkook closes the door behind him when you both step into the room, which is lit by one lamp on a nightstand and the open window beside the bed. he reaches for you, and you shiver when his hand grasps the side of your face, the other snaking around your waist.

“scared?” he asks, his voice low. you shake your head, and he grins. “relax.” he leans in as if to kiss you and you part your lips, but he doesn’t do that just yet. he traces your top lip and then your bottom lip with his tongue, dipping it into your mouth as he switches. the teasing nature of his actions makes your body heat up as you watch a string of saliva spread and then break between the both of you.

he presses back in for a real kiss this time, his nose bumping yours. despite all your fears about tonight, you’re able to unwind somewhat and just focus on the full sensory experience that is this kiss—the warmth of his hands and his mouth, the sappy sound your lips make when they separate and come back together, the scent of his cologne, the taste of his spearmint-flavored tongue.

you find yourselves inching toward the bed, him walking you backwards while keeping you steady. just as the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, there's the sound of a woman's bloodcurdling scream from behind you, and you nearly shove jungkook to the ground in your haste to run to the door. your fingers are scrabbling at the doorknob when you hear a burst of laughter. a guy you don't recognize crawls out from under the bed holding his phone up, displaying a youtube video of the shower scene in the movie psycho, which is where the noise is coming from.

"that was funny as fuck." the guy laughs obnoxiously loud, holding his stomach. “don’t get too carefree or you just might die, girlie.”

jungkook grabs the guy by his jacket collar like he's a kid and throws him out the door; the guy doesn't object because he knows this is preferable to getting his ass beaten by the bigger man. "fuck outta here, you jackass." jungkook snaps.

jungkook stomps over to the closet to yank it open. "any more idiots in here wanna show themselves?" he checks a couple more areas before deciding the room is clear and closing the door again, locking it for good measure.

“okay.” he sighs, stripping off his jacket and shoes. he takes your hand and pulls you toward him as he sits on the bed. “relax, baby. forget about that fucking clown. come ‘ere. why don’t you sit on my lap?”

with a heavy exhale, you try to steady your still-shaking hands as you shuck your boots off and pull your dress up slightly to comfortably sit in his lap, your legs loosely wrapped around his waist.

he squeezes your waist. “so, where were we? i don’t really remember…”

you huff out a half-amused laugh. “really? i’m pretty sure it was this…” you lean forward with your hands on his shoulders and press your lips back onto his. jungkook follows in kind, his hands running up from your thighs to your waist and back again. the rhythm of his hands is hypnotic, distracting you as you try to keep most of your focus on the kiss, and you fear you may be getting overstimulated before anything has truly began.

as you continue kissing, jungkook’s hands creep your dress further up your thighs until your panties are revealed. still feeling up your legs, his hands press further toward your inner thighs, and you gasp into the kiss when his thumb pushes against the seat of your underwear. they have been damp for a while now and you know he knows this, so you aren’t surprised when he breaks the kiss to smirk, though it makes you roll your eyes.

jungkook whispers against your lips, “let’s try something. will you sit on my face?” you stare at him without a word, not expecting this to be the first thing he proposes. at your response, or lack of, he adds, “i want to make you feel good. do you want me to taste you?” his voice is so soft, so unassuming and cloying, that it makes you feel like a lamb clutched gently in the mouth of a wolf.

your brain is already surrendering to it. “yes.”

you get another kiss and a smile. jungkook moves you out of his lap, shuffles further up the bed, and lies down so that he’s flat on his back, his head surrounded by the pillows. he gestures for you to follow.

taking your time, you slide your panties off and crawl up the bed until you’re near his face and he’s lying below you looking like he’s struck gold. he grabs your hips to bring you closer until you’re right over his mouth. you’re embarrassed to have someone looking at you from this angle for the first time, and you’re about to get too into your head about it when he french kisses your inner thigh, blanking out your mind.

the only thing you know from then on is that his mouth is burning hot. his tongue is everywhere. he licks at you delicately to test the waters, and then more firmly when your thighs tremble around his head, in an effort to elicit the same response.

the way he fits his mouth over your entire pussy and sucks it with just the right amount of pressure so that it won’t hurt makes you feel faint. the way he slides the flat of his tongue over your clit only to suck it gently at the end of the stroke makes you cry out louder than you intended. you’re glad he moved further up the bed for this, because you’re holding onto the headboard for dear life.

the only things you’re aware of are your own out-of-control moans and the wet sounds of jungkook’s mouth working you over. all of it has you so overwrought that you’re already reaching your peak, your grip on the headboard weakening.

jungkook seems to know this without you telling him anything. he pauses and looks up at you with a fucked-out smirk and a wet mouth. you don’t know whether to thank him or curse him for giving you a break. “before you come, fuck my face.”

“wh-what?”

“rub that wet fucking cunt on my face.” heat flares through your body at his frank words. “grab my hair and just ride my face.” he reaches up to take your hands off the headboard and places them in his hair. “you can do it, baby. fucking use me.”

it takes you a minute to get over the fresh wave of embarrassment and find a pace that works, because the connection between your brain and body feels like it’s frying and your coordination is off. jungkook helps guide your hips, especially with how you’re trembling from pleasure and close to falling apart. soon enough, you’re letting go of yourself and moving your hips enthusiastically, if a little clumsily, and chasing your climax. you savor the feel of your clit sliding across his wet tongue and his soft hair in between your fingers, and you push his head as close as it can get.

you come while screaming, dizzyingly immersed in the pleasure. you forget that you’re holding his hair as you yank roughly on it. the only thing that matters to you is that jungkook’s mouth is still sucking your clit through the best physical sensation you’ve ever experienced.

when he finally lets go and gives you reprieve, you collapse beside him on the pillows.

“i’m sorry,” you mumble, disoriented. “about your hair, i mean?”

jungkook laughs. it’s funny how shiny-wet his face is—and that you caused it, which is kind of hard to believe in the aftermath of it. “the pain is what gets my dick hard. don’t worry.”

you chuckle breathlessly at that, and for a few seconds you both have that funny little moment to yourselves in all the ridiculousness of the overarching situation.

then jungkook’s hand is reaching for you again. “i’m not done with that pussy yet, though.” he brushes a finger over your hole, and your body twitches from the sensitivity. he slides that finger through the wetness and then uses the lubrication to push only the tip of his finger in. he dips it in and out, teasing the nerves at your entrance, until you’re shifting your hips closer to him to implore him for more. he grants your request by sliding his finger all the way inside.

having a finger inside you feels okay at first, though not as good as his actions a few seconds ago. jungkook decides to amplify your pleasure by placing his lips on your neck, leaving gentle and wet kisses behind, and you become all too aware of the feeling of your hardened nipples against the material of your dress. the pleasure begins to heighten when his finger finds a place inside of you that makes you throb, your walls clenching around him.

“ah…” you gasp and shift eagerly against his body as he keeps stimulating that spot, not thrusting his finger into you but simply stroking it across that area in a come here motion.

jungkook pulls away from your neck to smile at his handiwork. “that’s better, right?” he whispers, watching your reactions. your lips form around the word yes, though it’s difficult to try to speak, and you worry how unsteady your voice might sound. he waits until you’re clutching at his arm, leaving red lines on his skin from your fingernails, to carefully push another finger in beside the first. you try to breathe evenly, though his refusal to let up on that spot has your lungs stuttering for air all over again. his nose nudges your ear as he leans even closer and whispers, “there are so many different spots to find, so many different ways to make you come; i wanna go looking for them all.”

jungkook angles his hand so that his palm is also stimulating your clit, his fingers thrusting slowly now. you turn your head away from him as your body becomes ablaze, unsure what to do with yourself as your climax nears quickly.

“would you let me do that? learn your body like no one else has done?” he kisses the shell of your ear, and even that small action is enough to tip you closer to the edge with how your body is already so fired up. “who else could make you feel as good?”

this orgasm makes your eyes fill with involuntary tears, and little clear droplets bleed down the sides of your face and towards your ears as your body convulses. jungkook kisses the wet trails they make on your face, still fingering you steadily and forcing another urgent cry out of you. you feel untethered from yourself, like you’re not in control of your reactions, and you don’t know whether to be afraid of that or not.

jungkook pulls his fingers out when you have mostly calmed down, watching strands of your wetness drip between them before sliding them into his mouth.

after you come the second time, you begin to tire. the deeds have been done, and if you want, you can confidently go back out to the party now and say you’re no longer a virgin; you’re off the unofficial kill list and can live the rest of your days without having to look over your shoulder with every breath.

…but jungkook is hard against your hip, and in all honesty, you don’t want to leave without knowing what his dick looks and feels like.

“you tired?” he asks, and the casual air of it makes your stomach flip, for some reason. he says it as if this is something you two do all the time and he’s used to asking you this after wearing you out during a good session.

but now’s not the time to get delusional.

“no. i want more.”

jungkook smiles broadly, teasing his lip ring with his teeth. he sits up to peel that skin-tight shirt off, and you don’t bother to stop yourself from staring at all that skin in front of you. your eyes drop further down when he removes his belt and undoes his jeans, pushing his pants and underwear down enough for you to see his v-line but not taking them off. is that an invitation for you to do it? "you hold the reins here," he says, lying back on the bed again. "do whatever you want to me."

“whatever i want?” you repeat, already sitting up. he nods, hands behind his head, and you take the initiative to straddle him again, knowing you’re getting his jeans wet.

you reach for his pecs first, just like you’d imagined downstairs. the firm muscle of them is mesmerizing; but when you slowly circle your thumb against his nipple and his eyes flutter, a small and breathy moan escaping his lips, you’re sure you enjoy this much more.

you play with his nipples and even work up the boldness to purse your lips around one, sucking it softly, and every noise that arises from him makes your clit tingle.

you eventually move your hands to his abs, enjoying how they flex at your touch. you didn't think his navel would be pierced, not hearing that detail in any of the sex tales you've eavesdropped on about jungkook, and you wonder what else you might find out about him tonight.

“you should do your nipples to match.” you suggest it without much thought as you’re teasing his navel piercing, though you don’t regret saying it.

“would you be into that?” jungkook sounds like he’s actually considering it, watching you from below his lashes.

you grin. you don’t know if you’ll actually end up having sex with him again to see them, but you answer, “i’d love it…it’d be sexy on you.”

sliding your hands further down still, you come to the waistband of his underwear, which is peeking over the top of his lowered jeans. for a second the nervousness returns; jungkook notices how your hands twitch with hesitation. “it’s fine, i’m not gonna bite you…unless you ask me to, though. here.”

he slips a hand into his underwear and grips his dick, though he doesn’t take it out right away; he strokes the shaft a few times, observing your reaction with expectant and hazy eyes. the scene before you makes your mouth dry. jungkook quickens his pace, twisting his hand at the tip and using his own precum as lube, until you are overcome with the desire to see it and you pull his underwear out of the way.

his cock is thick and flushed and glossy with precum. you don’t have much to compare it to, but it’s a good size, and all the previous women have said that he clearly knows what to do with it. he releases it and it slaps against his abs, leaving a streak of precum behind. when you look at him in anticipation of what he’ll do next, he grasps it again and starts stroking himself quickly, like he’s trying to get off. the wet slap of his motions and his quiet groans make your walls clench.

“i could keep fucking myself and you could watch, since you seem to prefer it…” he murmurs.

“no, i—let’s go all the way.”

jungkook smirks and answers your decision by pulling a condom out of his jean pocket. you watch as he unwraps it and slips it down his cock. though you’re already straddling him, he grasps your wrist and encourages you to draw nearer to him. “come here, pretty thing.”

when you’re hovering directly over him, jungkook grips the base and teases his tip against your entrance. “ready?” he asks.

“yeah,” you say breathlessly.

it’s a little slow-going, but you eventually end up with him seated inside you. it’s uncomfortable to be taking something bigger than a couple fingers, but it isn’t terribly painful.

“now, try moving your hips like this…” with his hands on your hips, jungkook helps you grind against him so that your clit slides across his pubic bone with every move. the discomfort begins to ebb out of your mind after a little while of doing this, and you laugh quietly.

“i thought…i thought this doesn’t feel good for men,” you sigh, your eyes closing from the bliss of his firm abdomen stimulating your clit. “this grinding thing, you know. or so a friend told me…”

jungkook laughs too, but he doesn’t confirm it like you expect him to. his only answer is, “a sexy woman on my dick will always feel good.”

he seems to be more about showing than telling, anyway. his hands reach for your breasts, groping them over the fabric of your dress before sliding underneath for better access. sporadic moans escape you as he plays with your nipples, making your clit throb harder and sending more warmth pooling in your abdomen.

your breath wheezes out of you when jungkook starts pushing up into you, his hands still squeezing your breasts. “you’re okay, baby…” he tries a few different angles until he pulls a visceral reaction out of you, your walls fluttering around him and your body shivering intensely. “mmm, there it is.”

your motions start tapering off as jungkook continues thrusting up against that same spot that had you in tears earlier. noticing this, he slips one hand back down to your hip and encourages you to maintain your pace, keeping your clit stimulated while meeting his thrusts. “you’re doing good…” he murmurs. “go ahead, keep fucking me just like that.”

you’re glad lorelai makes you go to the campus gym with her every week, because otherwise you’d be about to collapse riding him for this long. it takes more of your strength and stamina than you’d expected. no wonder jungkook stays in the gym.

“oh, fuck…” the way all his muscles flex as he repeatedly pushes up into you makes you wetter; you no longer have the wherewithal to be embarrassed about the gushy noises your pussy is creating. your whole world has whittled down to this one room, and all you can think about is your next orgasm.

“pull my hair again,” he requests, his eyes dark and lost in lust when he looks up at you.

"jungkook..." you grip his sweaty hair in your hand and pull it to bare his throat, and he gives a desperate moan, his member jerking inside you. you've never felt so in control of a situation before in your life. it gives you a straight adrenaline-slash-dopamine rush.

his neck is just there and exposed, flushed from exertion, and his physical responses make you feel so primal, like you could do absolutely anything to him right now and he’d enjoy it. because of this, you decide to bite his neck, if only to give your mouth something to do. his dick twitches again when you do, another pretty moan leaving his mouth.

his voice is strained when he says, “bite me harder.” when you let go, your mouth travels the expanse of his neck to leave marks in a few other places, digging in harder just as he asked of you.

“fuck, y/n—” the pain of your teeth is pushing him close to the edge too soon, so he slips his other hand out from under your dress and brings it lower to circle his fingers over your clit. jungkook adding his experienced fingers to his constant stimulation of your g-spot is enough to cause your release. your body slumps onto his as you squeeze around him, your head falling into the juncture of his neck and shoulder and your eyes shutting so tightly that you see wobbling shapes in the darkness.

jungkook gives you a few more thrusts rougher than the rest, causing you to cry out. your climax and the aftershocks have your mind so dizzy that you only just realize that he’s reaching his own peak, his muscles tensing and relaxing as he fills the condom with his cum. you hear him groan next to your ear, the sound of it filthy and uninhibited.

jungkook lifts your head from his shoulder, his thumbs on your cheeks, and his lips meet yours in a final slow kiss, his teeth leaving their mark on your bottom lip as a parting reminder.

you're still trying to get your bearings and slide him out of you when jungkook suddenly says, "what is that noise?"

"huh?" you remain immobile for a moment so you can listen more clearly, and you recognize the sounds of screaming and feet pounding on the floors in a bid to run away—both upstairs and downstairs. these don't sound like the same screams of pleasure from earlier. "what the hell?"

you and jungkook scramble to collect your clothes and get dressed, thankful that neither of you stripped down completely, and he throws the used condom into a random corner of the room. you're still making last minute adjustments when jungkook stands up and unlocks the door.

"the fuck is—?" his voice cuts off as if he can't finish his thought.

"what? what is it?" you stand up to get a better view around his body in the doorway, and you scream when you see a lone blonde girl lying a few feet away from the door, slumped against the opposite wall with a slashed throat. her pink party dress bleeds red, and her face that catches the illumination of the string lights glints with tear tracks. you look away from her unseeing eyes before you can cry out again.

jungkook seems confused, peering down the other end of the hallway like there'll be someone there to explain. "it...didn't work?" he asks to no one in particular, as you have no answer. you walk farther back into the room as if putting more distance between you and the body will provide some protection. bumping against the window sill, you turn around to look out the window and see several cars peeling out of the makeshift grass parking lot, nearly running over other people or hitting other cars on the way. you release a stifled scream from behind your hands when someone is too disoriented to get out of the way of the speeding cars and is sent flying through the air before landing painfully, their body now unmoving. the offending car never stops to check on them.

the screaming downstairs worsens, countless voices rising to a fever pitch of shouting and wailing, and you imagine this must be what the pits of hell sound like. jungkook whips around to look at you. “we gotta get the fuck out of here.”

you two inch out of the room with him in the lead, peering into jarred-open doorways to see if anybody could be waiting in the shadows. there are a couple of other bodies in two other rooms, and you wonder—even with the loud music constantly reverberating through the house, did you really not hear the struggles that led to these deaths in your throes of passion? the thought unnerves you. the idea that maybe you were only saved by jungkook deciding to lock the door…

the stair railing you’d walked by an hour ago is now broken in the middle, splinters of wood lying scattered on the stairs, along with more bodies lying on the steps just as haphazardly. the scene looks like the remnants of a stampede; you hope most of these people are just unconscious and not dead.

the dancefloor is a swarm of people in various states of undress pushing and pulling each other as they rush for the exit. there’s not as many people heading for the back door, everyone attempting to squeeze through the main entrance in their unthinking panic, so jungkook grabs your arm and the two of you pick your way through the bodies to get down the stairs as best you can. when you enter the mass of people, you’re exceptionally glad for his strength because it’s easier to get through the opposing crowd.

to reach the back door, you must first get through the kitchen. beside the kitchen entrance in a dark corner, you see someone doubled over and grasping the person in front of them for stability.

you realize belatedly that they have a knife in their stomach; the other person standing over them is the virgin killer himself, calmly watching them suffer.

the killer’s face is hidden by the mask he always wears, which you are seeing for the first time now, up-close—a hairy werewolf head with lemon-yellow eyes and a candy-red tongue. it’s so unexpected that you would’ve found it comedic if not for the context.

a guy in a blue sweater grasps the killer from behind in an attempted surprise attack, causing him to jerk the knife out of the other person’s stomach. the sudden movement causes a spray of blood to come flying off the knife, and you have to hold back vomit when drops of the warm, stinking crimson hit your face. though it feels like time has slowed to a mere creep, all of this happens within seconds.

you don’t see much more before jungkook is forcing you to move again.

you, jungkook, and multiple others barrel out of the back patio door, nearly ripping the flimsy screen door off its hinges in your haste, while the classmate in the blue sweater fruitlessly struggles with the killer in the kitchen. your leg muscles flex harder when you hear the person's agonized shout and the mushy rip of flesh being torn seconds later. almost everyone else has taken the same idea to run for their lives rather than stay and try to fight or disarm the killer; the streets are dotted in every direction with students running for any possible safety, many not having arrived to the party in cars to escape in.

thankfully, jungkook is not one of them.

he grasps your wrist painfully hard in his panic and yanks you in the direction of his car, which is so pitch black that you almost didn't see it sitting in the shadows.

when you get inside, you've never been so grateful to be within the safe metal enclosure of a car in your whole life. hands shaking, jungkook jams the key into the ignition and presses the gas pedal so hard your head jerks against the headrest. however, in your temporary relief, you think of lorelai. your vision doubles as you scramble to open your phone and call her, your head spinning with a new spike of fear. it rings for a while with no answer, and you try two more times only to get the same result.

"maybe she got to safety somewhere else?” jungkook tries to reason with you, his eyes bouncing between your face and the road ahead so he doesn't hit any other cars or any random students still running across the streets. "i didn't see her anywhere in the house before we ran out."

"that just means she could be hiding somewhere in there!" you shriek, unable to control your terror at your friend possibly being trapped in the house with the killer.

"well—maybe just let her stick it out, he won't find her if she just—"

"oh god, but i called her like three fucking times; what if he heard the phone ringing? i'm gonna kill myself."

“y/n, you’re overreacting like shit, there’s no way he’d hear a phone ringing in all that noise—"

unlistening, you drop your phone and bang your fists on your head in frustration and anguish.

sighing deeply, jungkook forgoes any attempt to do a 3-point turn, which requires more coordination than he has at the moment, and drives straight up into someone's yard to make a U-turn back toward the house.

you hadn’t gotten too far from the party house, so in another minute or two and with a couple messy turns that cause the wheels to ride up onto the curb, you’re back on the street leading up to the house. before you can reach it, though, jungkook slams on the breaks, and you have to throw your hands out onto the dashboard to avoid flying into it due to not fastening your seatbelt. you’re not very successful; the move hurts your wrists, and you’re pretty sure some of your ribs just got bruised anyway.

“what the fuck?” jungkook shouts.

the virgin killer with his lycanthrope mask is standing in the middle of the street; he turns to face the car. he has a chokehold grip on a guy you recognize as a popular frat member, who is almost bare except for his blue-plaid boxers. you remember seeing the frat guy dancing with his girlfriend when you and lorelai initially entered the party; he was in the group of guys who put this whole party together as a way to “save” the campus’s virgins.

the virgin killer is holding a gun to the guy’s head, and you have no clue where he might’ve gotten it from. the guy’s demeanor is weak, and he’s barely able to stand, which is obviously from the profuse blood loss he’s suffering; the killer has carved sharp letters into his stomach to form two words—“FAIR GAME.”

“fair game?” you mumble, a sickly realization forming in your mind.

“fuck no—" jungkook is already throwing the car into reverse when you hear and see the first bullet go off, exploding the frat member’s head into an unrecognizable mess and making you scream at the top of your lungs. you hear more shots after you close your eyes and tuck your body down, along with the sounds of bullets splitting metal and hitting glass, and you think you might be actively dying—or maybe you’re already dead. even that would be preferable to experiencing this nightmare.

you can’t think as you feel the whole world spinning, your body tossed violently around. in reality, the only thing moving is jungkook’s car as he whips the vehicle around and speeds down the same street you just traveled up.

for a few long minutes, you only hear your own heartbeat, his murmured and frantic curses, and the strained breaths coming from both of you. you keep your body curled up with your knees tucked to your chest and arms over your face. the car’s engine roars as it races down the highway.

you’re afraid to open your eyes and find out, but you have to at some point. plus, the uncomfortable position is making your body hurt. carefully, you unfurl yourself and turn to look at him. “did you get hurt?”

“uhh—no? i don’t think…?” he takes one hand off the wheel to feel up his body as if he’s just realizing that might be a possibility. “but i’m wired off pure adrenaline right now, so give me a few more minutes to be sure…” he looks to you. “are you?”

“no.” your blood still runs cold at the thought of lorelai being stuck in the house or navigating the dark neighborhood streets at this time of night. maybe she doesn’t even have her phone; maybe it was lost in the commotion. the number of possible scenarios makes you ill.

there’s silence for a while; you assume he must not be hurt after all. you start seeing familiar roads that lead back to the campus, and the gears in your mind begin turning, powered by fear.

“do you think it’s safe to go back to the college?” you ask, your voice small.

after a pause jungkook asks, “why not?” though his face begins to look like he’s second-guessing things.

“the killer could go back to the campus…i don’t know. there was so much violence tonight. it’s like he really has a grudge against the students from our school or something. what if he wants more victims? the campus police are already incompetent, but with most of them off the grounds and on their way to the party house…” you don’t finish your thought. you’ll need to warn camille of the potential danger.

“right, yeah…” jungkook’s hands flex around the steering wheel a few times. “we should…probably go somewhere else, then.”

nowhere feels safe. still, you ask, “where?”

changing his route, jungkook glances over at you. “to a friend’s house.”

[postmoe]

Moe im absolutely DROOLING at capitano 😵 May I request yandere! capitano preeety plees with a cherry on too 😫😫 U CANT TELL ME HES NOT JUST AHHXJSNSNSN HES SO FINEEEE

im sorry it's been so long life is just UGH i think we all need a bit of capitano rn-

i think i made the yandere a little too subtle but I hope it's still okay-

When you first fell to this world, no one believed you to be an outsider. You were just crazy, a patient who escaped the asylum.

It happened when you were out on a job, your last year of med school and you were doing your practical part, following along in ambulances and assisting paramedics. There had been a building collapse, chaos everywhere, dust surrounding the scene. You weren't supposed to stray too far, it's only when you heard a young voice calling from help did you separate, calling out your intentions to your colleague before rushing through the door with your bag of equipment held tightly to your chest. As you began through the doorway, it was as if an earthquake struck, everything trembling and crumbling. You couldn't believe your eyes, the way the ground turned blocky, a red and black colour eating the sides of your world like an 8-bit transition. Gravity hit hard as you fell through, the broken, wooden floors turning into a faraway city, canopies of trees, rivers, mountains - before you fainted.

When you awoke you couldn't find any injuries that would result from a free fall from the atmosphere, namely death. If anything, you were a little tender in the muscles. You found your med bag not far from you before awkwardly making your way, searching for help.

One lonely night you had approached a group of soldier-like people. They were part of the 'Fatui', which people seemed to fear but what other option did you have? You told them your story, begged for food, and out of pity some had helped you. A lot of laughs came your way, but even so, you sat at a table with drunken fatui and got a nice bowl of stew and bread.

Just as everyone was leaving, you felt a large hand on your shoulder. It was their Captain, who the party under his command conveniently referred to him as 'Capitano'. He holds out a small, woven bag once he gets your attention, dropping it in her hands when you hold them out. It feels like coins - Mora, if you remember correctly, the currency of this world - and regards you with only a few words, "I believe you. However, I cannot help you."

It was the little glimmer of hope you needed. You stored some leftover bread in your paramedic jacket, running after him and calling him to wait, to have a conversation but, he was a busy man. He retreated into a nice looking motel on the outskirts of the city, leaving you to sit outside.

So you did. You waited all night on the side of the road, resting until he eventually came back out.

.

Granted, following an 'evil' organisation wasn't the smartest thing, that's only if the words of the people you've met are to be believed. As of now, they're the only people who have reached out a helping hand, and Capitano, the only one to make you finally breathe and remember that you aren't insane; that this is real.

Still, you keep your distance, following diligently like a lost puppy. "Leave her be," Capitano had said when one of his men asked about you, "She is no threat." Later he would say he was hoping you would get the message to journey on your own, to find your own way.

On a cold night he had saved you, though to anyone it appeared as nothing more than an easy kill. Two hilichurls, you were half asleep, focused more on keeping warm than any dangers. It wasn't until you heard the slash of his blade did you even notice he was there, the monsters leaving behind blood and dust in their wake.

Capitano drapes a blanket over you, "Come." You follow him into the camp, beyond the guards and closer to a fire. He points to a sleeping mat, "If you're going to follow me then stay within the group." With that, he retreats to his tent. You can't help the tears of gratitude as you bathe in the warmth, your sleep the best it's been in weeks.

You make friends with the fatui, it's unanimously agreed that everyone in Capitano's ranks are morally... adequate, compared to other Harbingers. "Don't even get me started on Il Dottore's..." one mentions, and you think as a 'doctor' yourself, you couldn't handle hearing his horror stories.

Eventually, you become part of their medic team, showing them all the fun tools and medications from your world. Even if they don't believe you, they pretend to, and they show interest. You've only cried twice when reminiscing.

A few times you've seen Capitano enter the medic tent, he grabs some bandages and some ointment before retreating to his tent. "Would you like some help?" You ask, not for the first time, and it won't be the last.

His usual response is what comes, "No, thank you."

It's a routine, you like to think he appreciates it.

.

You're not a stranger to violence. During your schooling you saw a lot of gore, it never phased you in the ways it would others. Of course, it was sad, seeing children who needed to have a leg amputated, people being victimised by a violent stranger, you could only do your best to give them the rest of their lives.

War, however, was another thing. Footage does nothing compared to witnessing it, the people you eat dinner with being ripped apart by monsters, other factions of the land getting burnt to death by the power of their gods, or frostbitten and forced to watch their comrades suffer until they themselves succumb.

Capitano scared you, in a way. He was always so strong, so willing to give his all to anyone who had the courage to fight back. It was his way in honour. You're lucky he had a sense of justice, apparently anyone else could have killed you and be done with it. Sometimes you imagine what it would be like if he drew his sword against you, or used his large hands and wrap them around your neck, suffocating you until he saw the whites of your eyes...

He was a monster, but maybe compared to the other, real monsters out there, he was the better option.

Tonight he got hurt, enough to show the blood spreading through his clothes. Wounds and scars were normal but this made your stomach churn. You see a glimpse of a monster claw that he's tried to hide with his cloak. There's a tear in his sleeve as well, showing his long glove underneath.

Nope. You can't just sit by as he struggles, you signed a contract saying that you would help anyone, no matter the circumstance. As he walks back to his tent, you follow him closely behind, your bag in hand. He stops, the flap partially open as he turns to you and says in a strained voice, "I'm fine. Go tend to the others."

You shake your head defiantly, staring into the dark abyss of his helmet with conviction.

He huffs, entering the tent and murmuring, "Do as you please."

His tent is much larger than any of the others, perhaps the medical one only being marginally bigger. There's a fireplace, a desk with a multitude of papers, scattered, used bandages and a large pile of bed wrapping and furs. He takes a seat on the chair near the desk, removing his coat and grabbing the claw, about to yank it out when you slap his hand away.

You waggle your finger at him, crouching to get a better look at the wound, "You're only going to make it worse. Honestly, if that's how you treat yourself it's a wonder you're still alive. Help me get your shirt off."

There's a hint of hesitation in him, though you're only a little sure you see it. Your focus is on pulling it over the claw without moving it too much, it had gone through bandages around his stomach as well, wrapping over his chest, the rest of his body... Look over him, taken aback. His flesh isn't normal, what you thought were gloves was actually the decay of his arms. No, decay doesn't seem right either but even so, there's no life. He lets you take it in, waiting until your eyes look to his mask. "My body is rotten, rotting, still," he clarifies, and you realise that perhaps decay is the right word, it's just a different meaning in this world. "I'm fine," he says again, as though expecting this to be too much for you, "You can leave."

You wonder why the smell isn't so bad, the sweet tinge mixing with a sour after scent. It wasn't the most pleasant but if you're being honest, it wasn't horrible. You put this aside and give him a dead stare, "You're so aggravating. Are you just allergic to help? Shut up and let tend to you."

He sits still after that, leaning back in the chair as you get to work. You tell him when it might hurt, he doesn't even flinch when you're prepared to extract the claw. Even the inside of his body isn't normal, his blood seeming to pulse out than continuously flow, the colour off in a blackish way. You had removed the bandages before, so the feeling of his leathery skin was odd, there was an odd sense to it that you couldn't describe. Darkness? How could you feel darkness?

You're priority is the claw wound, which you diligently tend to, cleaning and stitching it until you were satisfied with the result. You have a gauze left that you wrap onto him, sitting back on your heels to admire your work. "I'll have to check on it twice a day. If you need help bathing let me know, or I can instruct one of your men how to assist you without infecting the wound," you tell him, expecting him to blatantly deny any outside help.

Instead, he changes the topic entirely, speaking lowly, "I still can't help you."

"What?" You ask, mind still on the topic of his wellbeing.

He rolls his shoulders and looks to his tattered shirt, reaching to put it back on, though leaving it open, "To get back home, I still can't help you. You're wasting your time here."

Oh, so that's what he meant. You haven't spoken about it with him at all, and you did have questions you wanted to ask but you're not even sure if you have the mindset to discuss your fate immediately after learning the man you've been following is rotting before your eyes. It feels kinda shitty to bring up your trauma over his. You reach forward, fingertips grazing against the damaged skin above his stomach, wishing you could do something more than than bandage a wound, "Does it hurt?"

"I've had worse, at least it didn't come out the other side," he tilts his head to the claw, and you can imagine he might have a disinterested look by the sounds of his monotone voice.

You laugh, and you're not sure if he's saying that so you don't bring up his skin but you honestly can't believe what you're seeing, "No no, your body. Your flesh. Does it hurt?" You distantly wonder if that little vial of morphine you saved would alleviate it. Would it be a blessing of reprieve or a torture since it won't last?

Capitano sighs, probably the first sign of true emotion you've heard from him, "Yes, it's very painful. I'm used to it, however."

"Does the ointment help, the one you get from the medic tent? God I wish I could just," you frustratingly clench your fist before opening your palm to him, exhaling in sombre, "Take your pain away. I'm a medic in my world, but here I feel really useless sometimes."

You sit in comfortable silence, still crouched down before him. He hasn't removed your hand, you're not sure why but perhaps the cool touch it soothing to him? His muscles tense underneath you, and you only open your eyes when you feel him relax again. You're face-to-face with a strange light from your palm, a swirling breeze like a vortex coming inwards. You freaked out, retracting your hand fast but only getting a fraction of a distance before Capitano grasped your wrist, forcing you to press back against him. It's too late, whatever concentration you had fades, as does the light.

The way his shoulders sag gives a sense of disappointment. "What was that?" You practically whisper, a little scared of whatever just came from you.

He finally relents your hand, leaning back in his chair, "I believe... It's an ancient power. I shall do some research."

Capitano is curt, his head turned to the side and away from you. You get the hint, knees cracking loudly as you stand, causing you to laugh anxiously while you dust off the imaginary dirt from your thighs, "Y-Yeah, okay. Thank you. I'll check in on you in the morning."

Your goodnights are brief, the flap of the tent closing gently behind you.

There's a pyroslinger skirmisher standing guard at his tent, you give him a pointed finger and declare, "If you see him take off his bandages without me, you let me know! I won't tolerate my patients disrespecting my orders."

He gives you a salute, playing along, "Yes ma'am!"

.

Capitano's body is corrupted by the abyss, he's been stuck in a torturous torment of decay for over 500 years. Your heart aches at this, a condition your mind struggles to comprehend but there is one saving grace you both had realised:

You have the power to ease his pain.

It's a form of light that counters his darkness, and whilst you can never truly cure him, you can certainly take the edge off and allow him to rest. Physical touch works the best, a few times now as you're focusing on his ailments has he fallen asleep. Now you provide mandatory rest, it had taken a lot of complaining and arguing but you finally managed to get him to take off his helmet.

"I've seen the aftermath of a person's skull from a violent car crash, I don't think it could be worse," you had told him.

To which he responded, "What is a car?"

Seamless to say, you were correct. If you were honest, you were expecting some sort of Freddy Krueger look, though he certainly didn't meet those expectations. What caught you off guard were the piercing blue of his eye. Sometimes, you had thought you'd caught a glimpse of them through the mask, whenever raw emotion truly shined from the Captain. Now, you know you weren't imagining things. One eyes was scarred shut, though he could open the lid, the eye itself was pale and sat naturally closed. The scar across it took up almost half of his face, his skin partially remained its true colour, though he says its faded over time. The blight that covers most of his body travels up his neck, like twisted vines growing along his cheeks and forehead. His long, black hair remained neat, only a few strands falling forward once the mask is removed.

The tent remains securely closed at the time, your back facing it as you both rest in the furs of his bed for extra security. You hum a song that doesn't exist here as you caress your fingers through his hair and down his neck, circling around his shoulders and along his spine. He rests comfortably in your lap while the light from you absorbs his pain. One of his hands reaches out, grasping your left hand and intertwining his fingers with yours, his own hand enveloping yours like a delicate treasure, "I'm not sure I could ever let you leave now. You should have turned around when you still had the chance."

You laugh, because you know Capitano and you know his values. Even as the alarm bells ring from the way he squeezes your hand, like he'll never let you go, you ignore them in favour of your naivety, "If I left then I would have been torn apart by monsters."

He grunts and rolls so he's on his back. Your smile is awkward from the position he's put himself in, your chin tilting up to lessen the double chin from looking down. His hand now reaches up to your face gently stroking your cheek as he thinks aloud, "So as long as I stay in dangerous areas, you won't run away."

His words are making you feel too uncomfortable, so you flick his forehead and scold him, "Stop being so weird. You've kept me safe this far along, right? As long as I'm here, I'm going to help you." You hold his hand against your cheek, hoping to comfort him with a smile, "Besides, who would I follow if not my Captain? Anyone else would just be a downgrade."

Capitano's stare is as piercing as ever. He takes his time sitting up, shirtless and uncaring of the cold temperature. You much prefer this angle, looking slightly up so you can still meet his gaze. True to Capitano fashion, he hits you with a curveball and says something that catches you off guard, "I want you to sleep with me tonight."

Your face goes red, eyes avoidant as you stammer, "F-For the comfort, right? To keep your pain at bay?"

You think this is the first time you've seen him smile and, if this is his joking tone then... What was everything else? "Of course, for the pain. Why, was there something else you had in mind?"