#now excuse me ill go scream into the void

[eli-artsblog]

Prince dynamite

[dontfindmerain]

she'll get me high (but at a cost)

my very late submission for the Common Fanfiction Trope Event created by the amazing @drop-of-void

CW!!! mentions of abuse, use of the word 'slut/whore', mentions of drugs, implied death, mentions of a gun, you/your pronouns, no use of y/n

wilbur x abused!reader - 877 words

notes: ive been very ill but i didnt want to miss out on the event so as per my usual way of turning assignments in, im doing this on the last day :) poorly written and not proofread, but enjoy

more notes: the character abusing the reader is not given a name and is referred to as he or him and is separate from wilbur.

“Fucking hell- You stupid whore you can’t do anything right c- can you?” he hiccups, slurring all of his words and screaming at you. “I tell you to go buy the drugs you fucking buy them!”

“You- you didn’t give me any money…” you whisper. He only looks at you for a moment before shoving past you and rummaging through the entire house. He comes back a while later on the phone with someone.

“... want as much as I can get for ‘em. No no, I promise, they’re quite the pretty thing. Five hundred? Oh come on. Fine, three hundred. Yeah yeah, we’ll be there soon. No, I won't damage a single hair on its head. ‘Their’, whatever.”

He hangs up and grabs your arm harshly, “Come on slut, we’re going for a ride.” He drags you to his beat up, shitty excuse for a car and restrains you, putting a blindfold around your eyes tightly. He throws you into the backseat and you can hear him start the car. He drives for a long while, swerving quite a lot. You would’ve slept if you weren’t scared shitless. At first all you hear is regular traffic and people bustling in the streets, which slowly turns silent. The sound of cars passing becomes less and less frequent, concrete roads turning into dirt as he leaves the city behind and drives faster. The faint light you can see through your blind fold is gone now and hours have passed.

When the car slows to a stop, he grumbles and gets out, leaving you there. You hear muffled talking and then yelling and then-

A loud gunshot sounds from outside.

You flinch when the car door to your left opens and you scream and kick when the mystery person drags you out.

“Hey hey- Stop- OW- Fucking stop kicking me- Darling I’m trying to help you-”

You stop. The voice belongs to a man, but not the one who brought you here. It’s sultry and… British?

The blindfold is lifted and your eyes are blessed with the sight of the most attractive man you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s on his knees to be at your level, in a white button down and black slacks. His sleeves are rolled up and the top three buttons of his shirt are undone. Holy fuck.

He chuckles, (music to your ears), and smiles at you. “Hello there, love. Might wanna close your mouth before you catch some flies, yeah?” He says, pushing your jaw closed with two fingers. Your face turns red and you look away from him, finally taking in your surroundings. The two of you are alone in a large clearing surrounded by tall grass and towering trees, the sky is almost pitch black and car lights illuminate his silhouette. He looks like heaven. You look at him again and speak in a broken tone, “Who are you?”

“The name’s Wilbur,” he replies, too casually, as if your meeting is the most normal thing in the world.

“Wilbur what.. What the fuck is happening?”

“Shh, come on pet, let's get you somewhere safe,” He coos, gently picking you up and placing you into his vehicle, climbing in with you to set you on his lap, “It’ll be alright love.” He speaks with two men outside for a moment, something about taking care of someone, before closing the door. Wilbur holds you calmly, softly speaking words you can’t understand and petting your head.

“Sleep, pet.” He commands, so sweet and addictive you’re sure he’ll rot your teeth.

Exhaustion from the adrenaline leaves you unconscious within minutes.

When you wake up, Wilbur is carrying you in his arms. He walks into a bedroom, shutting and locking the door and placing you onto soft, silk sheets darker than the night sky. “There we go, sweet thing,” he whispers, almost as if he’s talking to himself. He tentatively lifts the hem of your shirt, “Darling? Can I get you into some clean clothes?” The raggedy shirt that hung loosely of your frame was worn and smelled of cigarettes, weed, and sweat. You nodded and let him pull you apart, piece by piece until none of your body was covered.

It took everything in him not to worship and praise your body then and there, physically having to pull himself away to get some of his own clothes for you. When you slipped his large t-shirt over your head, it only made you more irresistible.

Wilbur showed you around, gave you his guest room, "If you disagree with the colours or the furniture just let me know and I'll have them changed to whatever you like, flower."

He was kind, loving and attentive. He kept your favourite foods stocked in his pantry and offered to take you shopping for clothes, but you wore his anyway, finding comfort in his scent surrounding you. 

His.

It was his arms you woke up in the next morning. His clothes you wore as you padded down the stairs, barefoot and confused. His table you sleepily ate breakfast at. You didn't ask any questions. You trusted him blindly, willingly.

Because this had to be better than every other morning you spent searching pointlessly for food in that shitty basement.

Right...?

[snarkylinda]

I’m very glad you’re talking about spencer being parentified because it feels like people sometimes gloss over it a bit? or maybe I’m just looking in the wrong places. if this isn’t something you do in you’re blog feel free to just. not respond but do you have any more thoughts or. idk headcanons on how that might have affected him as an adult?

Hi anon! To be honest I have no idea what is essentially discussed alot on the fandom other that a tiny fraction of it I expose myself to because 1#I am too tired and old to deal with fandom discourse about my blorbo, and based on my previous experience with fandoms I KNOW that the most popular the character, the bigger the discourse so haha no- 2# I joined in late lmao literally a couple of months ago, so I am super out of the loop just screaming to the void in desperate needs for someone to scream back 🤲🏼 do this kind of asks actually made me so happy agahagaha 🥰🥰 Buckle up bois this is LONG-

Ok now to those that might come across this and ask themselves what the hell does being parentified means, it's a broad term used for the phenomenon of (at best) a child sharing parental responsibilities due to x circumstance, or (at worst) downright having the parent/child dynamic completely swapped, with the child being the caretaker for the parent and household. You don't have to know deep CM lore knowledge to realize the latter is Spencer Reid to a T. Hell, they aren't even subtle about it lmao:

Btw parentification is often mixed in with abandonment and while they share the "child being forced to grown up" too quickly, the former is often distinguished by the fact that, more often that not as is this case, the parent still cares for them but are unable to do so how it should be (tho there are several cases where parentefication is an part of willing neglect, sadly) and added to the fact that they have to look after themselves- they have to look after another.

This is a really complicated, broad topic and I just mentioned this to go full disclaimer and that I don't blame Diana at all for how messed her son ended up since she can't help it- and to make a joke about how Spencer was abandoned and parentified. Also harassed. Guys he wasn't even 18-

Anyways but back to your question, how do I think that affected Spencer growing up....well in everything basically lmao

But I will take on two instances that had stood up to me the most: emotional management and hiding secrets.

The second one is easier: you would catch this man dead before he vents to you over something other than his shitty dad (that I find very funny tbh) and when he does is because he is at his limit and about to fucking cry.

Now don't get me wrong: we all are entiltde to our privacy. These are grown ass adults and they have lives outside of their working circle....

Right?

Haha we have an problem-

So yeah, Spencer kind of actually needs to rely on his co-workers because he has literally nobody else to rely on-

And yet

Oh here is the thing- Spencer is one polite boi but he is also blunt, if he doesn't want someone on his business he says so (look back when Alex discovered him and Maeve) this is literally "I wanted to tell you but I feel like I shouldn't"- this is not season 1 mind you, this is season 11, and yet here he was one of his oldest friends literally grabbing him by the arm and having to tell him it's never a bother- I am the only one fucking crying at this?

Excuses seems to come to Spencer like it's second nature- "sorry a tube on my apparment broke" "Oh I....I tripped!" "There was a lot of traffic so..." "I was watching an movie" and I am not am expert on USA's history or some shit, but Child Protection Services had been a thing since at least the 60s, so I don't think that a 10yo living alone with his mentally ill mother would have flown well- you get the idea.

I think this scene summarizes the whole thing perfectly

Get it? it's irony. (I love how Spencer is about to say something like dismissive "thank you" but because this shit hit too close to home to comfort he just gave a polite smile and walked away. That silence was LOUD) Because Spencer had always had done the former but the latter er.... :D

And it's not only when it concern Diane btw, any problem whatsoever Spencer would rather lock himself up (literally lmao) that sit down and talk about it- it's only when his bs is exposed and he can't refutage (like that little scene after Gideon's death when Rossi asks him if he had been there all night- he points out the fact he is wearing the same cardigan as the day before) that he opens up....or he runs away, which leads me to the second big point that I think shows how much Parentification fucked him up:

Spencer has the emotional maturity of a teenager.

I talk about this literally all the time so I'll be shorter lmao basically Spencer... has an issue- ok he has lot of issues- and that is the way he dislikes direct confrontation, so whenever he is hurt or angry he would rather be dismissive and passive-agressive that talk it out with the person- even going as far as turning away and storming out of the room.

(Here is the part where I put the screencaps but him storming off would be out of focus so lmao er.... Elephant Memory, Memoriam, Proof, a little part in 15x2 and The Gathering)

Now... I do think that a grown-ass man doing this shit is hilarious, like I love Spencer's bratty side so much lmao but it's an clear sign of someone that never learned how to deal with his emotions on a healthy way, someone that 6 out of 7 days of the week had to interiorize everything in and because of that holds on so much....resement, so much repressed anger but also without an stable force on his life to help him manage that- so we are left with an teenager trapped in an adult's body, loss at how to handle shit like he always did.

....And want to know the worst part about an Parentified boy onto adulthood?

That they don't know better.

[septembersghost]

Am I a bad person if I really want to listen to Taylor today...not excusing her but I miss her music so much

anon bestie. first, *hugs*. second, i do not know how to stress, plead, implore enough with you all that loving music is not a moral or immoral action. yes, of course there are particular artists i myself would never engage with (and that is due to extremes), and there are artists i just don't like for whatever reason and that's subjective. on the "i would never engage with ___" side, i can say that for myself, confidently understand why, yet recognize i still don't have the right to tell others to follow suit. people have different boundaries, different tastes, and different ways of going about separating their enjoyment from other issues.

i know there's sincere concern about supporting "problematic" artists, particularly financially, and i do think that's an important conversation to have, especially when we're discussing people actively doing harm to others or platforming hate speech. taylor is not an abuser, taylor has not been trumpeting racist or homophobic etc rhetoric. i also realize the issue of complicity has come into play here because of that man, and that's why there's so much anger and hurt and disappointment right now, but ask yourself: does that man, who is not in any way, shape, or form a part of any of her music, have the power to steal that from you? do you feel like you have to suffer the loss of her music, which is clearly valuable to you, over one dirty rag of a man? i've been upset and critical too, but also feel like there's a call for perspective here. taylor alison swift is not causing the world's ills. tbh that man has no significant power or influence even compared to, like, a local politician. bigotry should be confronted and called out. at the same time, this is a microcosm of a conversation, and that doesn't mean it's not important to have it, and that doesn't mean people aren't absolutely valid in their criticism or hurt, what it means is that it is not impacting society as a whole. we get very caught up in fury over small things, especially when it's connected to something we are invested in, because it feels simpler to fix or righteous in some way or like the onus is on us to definitively prove we're upstanding people who don't condone harmful things, and that's fine, but at what point does it become futile? at what point are we just screaming into the void and self-recriminating for approval?

part of what's making this harder is we've connected taylor's music to her very personally, and she has fostered that herself, but i think now is the time to change that a bit. detach it from her however you can and think about what it means to you. you singularly not listening to her on streaming is pennies she won't ever notice are gone, it is causing her zero consequence whatsoever, but it sounds like it's hurting you. that, to me, isn't fair. you're suffering for her mistakes? or because that dude is a dirtbag? you do not have to punish yourself and crawl on your knees for forgiveness because you'd like to play my tears ricochet every once in a while. how exactly is the moral burden on us, as listeners, when we aren't condoning any -isms, we just want to hear songs we love?

i sound hyperbolic here but i'm really serious, it's concerning me that we're tying individual morality - am i a bad person inherently? (bad people don't tend to ask this question because they don't care). does listening to this artist whose work i enjoy taint me in some way because they've done things i disagree with? - to enjoyment of art. it's frighteningly conservative to think that you and your character should be called into question because you love something that isn't causing any outside harm. engagement with art cannot make you a bad person! it's (if you've seen the good place) chidi and his almond milk. we're damning ourselves for miniscule actions and so trapped in the anxiety of that it causes far more important things to slip by. what matters is what we do, how we engage with others, how we take action in the world.

the fact that you're worried about this, which means you've been aware and empathetic during this time, proves you care and are not a "bad" person. i haven't been listening to her and it's not because i think that's giving me moral high ground (it isn't), it's because i am very sensitive and don't want any of that music emotionally tied to what's been going on because i do actually want to go back to it someday, it's too cherished and too intrinsically part of me not to, and at the moment distance itself is healing. i also don't believe her music being such an aspect of my heart says anything about my moral fiber, you know? if i suddenly wanted to listen to red tomorrow, i'd give myself permission to do so knowing it is no measurement of my intellect or my moral integrity, and we've got to stop acting like art can make you good or evil.

sorry this became a very long soap box essay! but i'm worried at how much of this specific idea, of someone so far removed from us making a bad choice reflecting on you and making you personally responsible or irredeemable for that, is being perpetuated. listening to an artist because they make you happy or bring you comfort is not having a measurable impact on human rights or global crises, and it just feels super unfair that we're burdening and judging each other with this idea that enjoyment or passion for something harmless makes you fundamentally bad. the world is hard enough. i promise you that it's okay to allow yourself joy.

[frogofalltime]

(i'm so sorry, this turned out to be a full essay. nobody has to actually Read this. i'm just posting into the Void because it feels better than keeping all these feelings inside.)

being at my parents' house after living away for a year is so weird. every time i return here i feel like i've stepped back into the person i was a year ago. i sleep in their room, i wear their pyjamas, i slot back into the roles they used to fulfil. if i could just switch off my brain, maybe i could go back to how things were before, when everything was buried deep inside my chest and almost nobody in the world aside from one or two friends knew that i was anything other than a girl.

and yet i also feel like i'll never be that person ever again. it's as if they were a character i played for a while, but now i have jumped off the stage, and landed in a place that feels so much better. i don't want to perform anymore; i just want to be Myself. i want to Scream and Yell and tell everyone i met before i went to university last year that they never knew me, that the old me was trying so hard to be something i am not, that i was never a girl and i just pretended to be because that was what i had to do. i want to shout at the top of my lungs, i'm a boy, i'm a BOY, please let me dress like one, please let me be what i am ! please love me even though i am not what you thought i was !

but i also know i Can't say that because they will never accept me. they probably won't even believe me. my parents won't ever call me Son; they'd never stop calling me their Daughter, unless they decide to disown me. they will think i'm mentally ill, brainwashed, or even possessed; they'll stay awake at night praying because they think i'm a sinner and going to hell, and i don't want them to go through that. many times i have tried to explain it to my mother but she wasn't receptive at all, so i diluted it down to basically nothing, feeble excuses for why i changed my style and cut my hair. and then my father. i can't even say a word to him. it wouldn't be safe.

every She, every Her, hurts me like an arrow in my chest. i don't want to be seen as female. i want to change my name because it feels like it doesn't represent me. i want to get top surgery and never again have to close my eyes when i shower or wear uncomfortable layers to hide my chest. but i don't think i ever can. what else am i supposed to do with this pain but endure it ? i have to keep acting, for everybody's sake.

i'm only here for three more days. i've survived so much longer in the past ! i'll be Home soon, but even there i won't be free, because my housemates also think i'm a girl. in fact they arranged their accommodation to be religious and female-only, but here i am, a fraud and a liar and definitely Not A Woman. if i told them this, i don't know how they'd react. i am sure it would not be positive.

at least my friends know the truth, and they do support me. i have a Found Family that genuinely cares and understands, and i don't know what i would do without them. maybe next year i will be able to live with them and that way i won't have to pretend anymore ? or even if that doesn't work out, at least i have stopped pretending to myself. i don't have to keep trying to "fix" my dysphoria by forcing myself to be feminine (which, of course, makes the dysphoria even worse). when i'm away from my family, i can dress how i want. i don't have to repress everything "deviant" about myself like i used to before. i am what i am and i love myself for it. nobody can take that away from me.

in fact, i'm really happy. truly, i feel better than i ever have before. realising that i am trans, that i always have been, and finally embracing it, was the most freeing moment of my life. it just hurts that i can't share this joy with my parents and that i have to hide what i am around them. but we can't have everything in life, i suppose.

[strangepumpkinfantasies]

My Prompts 🗡️

‘‘You stayed for me, I like that’‘

‘‘I’d do anything you want please don’t go’‘

‘‘I want you to be mine’‘

‘‘I knew you were jealous’‘

‘‘Heart cookies’‘

‘‘Took you so long, now make love to me’‘

‘‘Slow down babe, we have all the time in the world’‘

‘‘Quit teasing or else’‘

‘‘You better behave, my homeboys are watching’‘

‘‘I don’t want an apple pie, I want a creampie’‘

‘‘Fine by me, just don’t cry about it later’‘

‘‘The sight is astonishing’‘

‘‘You like riding motors?’‘

‘‘I prefer riding your motor *wink*’‘

‘’Excuse me? what’s my name again?’‘

‘‘Please, I’ll be a good girl.’‘

‘‘Call me a whore all you want, but Ik you want to touch me’‘

‘‘That’s so wrong, we can’t’‘

‘‘I want you to take my virginity’‘

‘‘If you weren’t so crazy I’d say you were insane’‘

‘‘I know you’re my kidnapper but I don’t care’‘

‘‘You’re such a brat’‘

‘‘You’re hot and I’m crazy for you’‘

‘‘What? You want me to get you pregnant?’‘

‘‘Let’s consummate our marriage’‘

‘‘You think you own me asshole?’‘

‘‘I’d gladly end your suffering’‘

‘‘The fuck I look like to you’‘

‘‘You’re gonna regret inviting me to your house’‘

‘‘I’m not the right guy for you’‘

‘‘That’s what you get for embarrassing me in front of everyone’‘

‘‘I won’t kill you yet, I thought I might have a little fun with you first.’‘

‘‘Sit on my face, lemme slurp you like it’s pasta’‘

‘‘As long as I’m your boss, you’ll do as I say’‘

‘‘Have some dignity, I said I don’t want you’‘

‘‘Stop with all the drama, isn’t that what you wanted?’‘

‘‘I’ll fuck your brains out’‘

‘‘I own this cunt, what you thought?’‘

‘‘I might be mentally ill but I know how to pleasure a women’‘

‘‘Please I can’t take it anymore’‘

‘‘I’m preparing you for the bigger prize’‘

‘‘No, not in my workplace, they’ll fire me’‘

‘‘That’s the beauty of taking a risk’‘

‘‘You can’t dominate me, I’m the man here’‘

‘‘Trust me, you don’t wanna trigger the monster in me.’‘

‘‘Sorry, I don’t do slow or gentle’‘

‘‘I’m a monster, I can’t be loved’‘

‘‘Being on your period or not you’re taking that dick’‘

‘‘Keep your mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you’‘

‘‘Try and make me’‘

‘‘Get naked or I’ll slash your throat’‘

‘‘No, we’re in public’‘

‘‘I thought you were better than that’‘

‘‘You’re so weak but has a sharp mouth’‘

‘‘I’m having you for dessert’‘

‘‘So you like choking? little slut’‘

‘‘I want everyone to hear your screaming’‘

‘‘I am dangerous so don’t uncuff me’‘

‘‘Bullshit! you’re drunk’‘

‘‘Playing tough, where’s your confidence now?’‘

I’ll write for the following:

Simon Ghost Riley

John Mactavish {Soap}

Evan Peters as {Kit, Tate, James, Kai, Jimmy, Kyle, Peter max}

Bill Scarsgard as {Himself, Roman, other..}

Billy Hargrove

Billy loomis

Manny montana {As Rio}

Damon Salvatore

Niklaus Mikaelson

Thomas Shelby 

Void Stiles 

Derek Hale

Isaac Lahey

Theo Raeken

Michael Myers

The joker

Yuri Boyka

Eddie Brock

Enzo

Peter Parker

Kai Parker

Others:

BTS members

GOT 7 members

BIGBANG members

BLOCK B members

MONSTA X members

NCT Lucas

Other korean actors as well.

Whenever I start simping over a new character, it’ll be added to the list.

Chose whatever you like from these prompts with whom you want it with, either from this list or not I accept new ideas.

A/N : Yes I’m bold enough to write any genre so don’t hesitate. 

S* Smut

F* Fluff

A* Angst

And yes I write non consent / Violence / Dark shit.

As long as you’re +18 we’re ready to dive in.

So don’t be shy, send requests.

Check this out: {Recently written}

Billy Loomis series.

[woahtics]

✨ an updated list/ rank of all my tics ✨

motor tics:

neck jerking: 3/10 its so repetitive and it hurt me when happens too many times

back+neck jerk: 2/10 ITS SO VIOLENT FOR NO REASON i feel like one of these days ill end up with a broken neck i hate it so much is so violent 😣

"look at the sky RIGHT NOW": 4/10 it's so dumb my neck just goes up and sometimes my column goes with it and i feel like i will fall on my back 🥴

blinking: 6/10 doesn't really bother me but when im outside it can be really awkward if someone's on my sight

eye rolling: 2/10 I HATE IT it hurts and i cant see shit and people can have the wrong impression if i do looking at them

eyes shut: 1/10 HATE IT SO MUCHHHH when im walking with my dog and my brain just goes hmm what about walking ON THE VOID NO SIGHT NOTHING BYT BLACK i hate to wait so i can /see/ again

bite/ jaw thing: 6/10 it doesn't bother me even if it might be bad for my teeth but its loud and annoying for others

bonk [body part - usually head] with my fist: 0/10 bro wtf why am i hitting my head so hard

slapping/ punching my face: 0/10 it deserves its own category cuz it HURTS SO MUCH i hate it so much my cheek and jaw hurt why are my tics so VIOLENT

shaking hands: 8/10 happy happy chemical 🙌 but it looks dumb when im outside (it looks like im stimming and i do stim but they. are different things.)

bonk on my chest + middle finger: 2/10 its my only copropraxia tic and it sucks :( sometimes i hit my chest too hard or hurt my hand if im wearing neckless 🖕

shaking my head: 5/10 i can use the excuse im fixing my hair but if it's way to many shaking i feel dizzy

the "arms go up" tic: 3/10 what the actual fuck why my arms are up i look like a inflatable station doll thing (+ when it happens with the back/ neck jerk its a 0/10 i feel like im gonna crack my back and fucking die)

closing both eyes hard + making a face: 1/10 I HATE IT wtf is wrong with my brain whats with the "i cant see" + "look like a toodler" combo

back jerking: 2/10 strong premonitory urge builds up like AGONY FROM HELL 💀

hitting things/ threaten to throw stuff: 3/10 hand go UP and im so scared to actually throwing stuff or hitting things (it happens rarely)

🤙 hand: 5/10 socially awkward but i look like a cool surfist

snapping fingers: 6/10 usually before other tics but it makes ✨music✨

snapping fingers making a "z" in the air/ snapping them 3-4 times: 4/10 i took it from pose. please im not a gay man from the 70s can i just be free (im literally a lesbian tho so dont get this comment as homophobic i just. why.)

breathing tic: 4/10 i cant breathe properly during it and it looks like im having an asthma attack 💔

shrug/ shoulder jerking: 5/10 not bad but i dont really like it its premonitory urge burns my column for some reason ?

knee going off: 1/10 i hate it WHY DO MY KNEES JUST STOP WORKING where do my bones go 🥸

literally hitting my little sister/ friends: 0/10 wtf why do i do that i feel so guilty of hitting them and going "sorry" after is almost involuntary at this point

typing tics: 5/10 if its a repeating tic i can just delete after it but if. its the. add dots. tic. it kinda pauses my thoughts too and. im to lazy to delete the dots

clapping hands: 4/10 it does bother me when im im class but other than that. usually happens when im listening to music or excited so i can disguise it well

kissing (?) the air: 3/10 hate it it looks like im making a face or something and its ridiculous.

vocal tics:

material gurl: 4/10 its a new tic, not that bad, but i often get stuck on a mat- mat- mat- loop until i can say material gurl (+ happens with the 💅 hand)

whistle: 2/10 HATE IT its annoying outside and it can be LOUD.

AHHHHHH: 3/10 i scream like im one of the chipmunks from alvin and the chipmunks and sometimes,, its a long long scream 😞 (and sometimes it comes out almost as a moan pls is so embarrassing)

ªªªª: 6/10 i scream. while. whispering.

ah: 5/10 i just literally say "ah" or open my mouth and emit No Sound its weird but not that bad

wow!: 4/10 happens a lot when someone shows me something its funny but so annoying

pop sound: 3/10 dont really like its loud and repetitive (palialia is that you)

click tongue(?): 5/10 don't really know how to describe it it has 2 ways to happen but yeah mid tic (BUT WHEN IT HAPPENS WITH THE BLINKING TIC IS HORRIBLE PLS)

ecolalia: from 2/10 to 8/10 depends on what/who im echoing and if the situation dont become awkward after

palialia: 4/10 repeating its cool ig but i dont like the stutter sometimes i cant say the most simple words and have to say a synonym for it 😞

"b": 6/10 when my sister says "ah" i tic back "b". like im a 6yo reciting the alphabet.

"gay": from -100/10 to 9/10 - if im with family BAD BAD NO NO RED FLAG if im with my friends or alone its so funny sometimes i look at them or a meme they send to me and just say "gay🏳️‍🌈" in a dead tone

"oh no": 7/10 i say it whenever something mildly bad happens it can be funny but if I say out of context its a 2/10

that one "what did i just say" tic: 2/10 i dont like shouting out whole ass phrases I didn't think of and didn't knew i was going to say until its already said

"haha": 6/10 not bad just a deadass no tone laugh

"hmm": 4/10 i dont like it but its not that noticeable so im ok with it

doing the sound my mom's car does when it's backing up: 5/10 its like a clock sound and its silly haha im a car kind of funny

"hum": 2/10 it sounds like a moan so awkward and dumb hate it

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

Just a 1am thought for you. You sneak onto Captain Blowhole’s ship bc the dicks just that good. When he catches you, he has to punish you of course. And find a way for you to work off your room and board in the captain’s chambers.

BITCH HERE IS YOUR WORST/BEST NIGHTMARE COME TRUE. THIS IS FOR SURE GOING TO HAVE ANOTHER PART TO IT. I ACTUALLY AM TOTALLY INTO THIS SHIT NOW. IM A PART OF THE PROBLEM. 

@safarigirlsp LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO! 

The swells swarmed the Atlantic in a storm like no other. Forty feet or more surrounding both sides of the Jolly Roger, crewmen frantically battening down the hatches, while Captain Flip manned the wheel as it spun furiously in the mood of the thunder and lightning. 

“Hold the sheet!” his crewman barked at the others spinning the mainmast as not to have it be struck down by the bolts that Zeus had rained down on them. 

“Watch the starboard side!” another shouted into the void of sopping men, struggling to keep the course for their next destination. 

“Captain, we need to find a shoreline or…. We’ll never make it!” his trusty first mate, Ron screamed his direction as his bulging muscles turned the captain’s wheel to the direction he pleased. Noticing his hat had flown from the gusts of wind, Ron picked it up and handed it back to him once the course was turned back to his liking. 

“Prepare for the worst, mate,” Flip solemnly nodded out of breath from keeping the course. He knew it was nearly impossible that he and his crew would make it out of the cursed triangle alive. He swore to himself when setting sail not even days prior that nothing ill would befall them. Karma certainly had its way of biting him back just as bad, if not, worse. 

Ron nodded back to him, returning to his post to keep the ship on course for as long as the storm would let the loyal crew set sail. Flip gazed out at the catastrophe before him, nearly tearing up at the fact that he may never get what he was fighting so hard for. He watched in slow motion as his crew battled the unforgiving waves, crackling lightning illuminating their horrified faces, the thunder drowning out their screams for help. 

Just then, a humongous bolt cracked down from the heavens into the front of the sip, sending a voltage of electricity through the wood of the vessel, causing a complete catastrophe. Crewmen flew into the abyss, shards of wood lost at sea. The last memory Flip had was his listless body sinking into the oblivion.

__________

His hearing returning to the real world echoed a mysterious melodious tune. A humming both angelic and alien in nature, his eyes fluttered as he took in his surroundings. Running his hands through the warm sun-kissed sand, his naked back on the heavenly shores of paradise. 

Putting his hand up to block the sun, of course to no avail due to the looming figure blocking the light. Thinking the shadow was a figment of his imagination, he moved to rub his eyes, groaning and flexing his tired biceps in the process. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, feeling like he had been hit by the largest monsoon this side of the Seven Seas. 

“Where the fuck…” he stammered off taking in the environment around him, the crashing shores, the palm trees swaying in the breeze, the beating sunlight of late morning, and that figure becoming more clear in his line of sight. 

The flowing locks in the breeze, the sunkissed skin of a goddess, the perfect form laying against the coarse sand, surrounded by sounds of seagulls and crashing swells. He blinked a few times to take in the fact that you were perched in the spot he’d seen previous, and sat forward, his muscles bulging, slightly burned himself from laying passed out in the morning light. 

“Hh-hello?” he questioned your direction, bringing his large hands around his thankfully clothed legs. You glanced over his direction, your naked form sprawled out facing away from him, only to show your globed asscheeks in the sunlight. Your alluring eyes batting those perfect lashes, your lip pursing into a gorgeous pout. 

“Well good morning to you there, sailor,” you sang his direction, rubbing your delicate hands over your side. 

“W-what happened to me? How in the fuck did I get here?” he suddenly and blatantly questioned you, still turned towards the ebbing waves of the Atlantic. 

You chuckled, playing with the shell you’d found while waiting for him to wake up, “Well, I saved you.” 

His eyes perked up at the out of this world comment you’d shrugged off, “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me, sailor,” you smiled over your shoulder, still rolling the shell in your hands, “I. Saved. Your. Ass.” 

Flip sat there completely dumbfounded. This gorgeous creature, dove into the abyss during a storm, of which he’d never seen previously, and rescued him from imminent death, dragged his burly over two hundred pound body, and brought him to an unknown shore, where you could have left him to rot in the sun and die. He wasn’t convinced given the fact that he hadn’t seen you on the seas the night before.

“No. No, you didn’t,” he shrugged and laughed as if he’d finally snapped. 

Taking his sarcasm as a complete insult to your kindness, you whipped your ethereal figure around, bearing your bouncing nude breasts and plump pussy to his eyes. 

“Yes. I. Did,” you asserted in the most melodic tone, floating towards his hulking body on the sand. “What?” you pouted, “Does my lil’ buccaneer not want to grasp the fact that lil’ ol’ me came from the depths across your lifeless frame, and scooped you out of near-death to save your worthless lil’ life?”

“Wait…” he stopped, standing to full attention, rippling pectorals, toned arm muscles, and a stern face staring into your soul, “you came… from the depths?” he cocked an eyebrow. 

You saddled towards his six-foot three-figure, no doubt him staring at your bare chest as you near him, and tilted his chin to your eye level, “Yes, sailor boy, I saved you. Do I need to spell it out any more than I already have?” boring your eyes into his, no doubt taking in the intense amber fired color they emitted as they scanned your every crevice. 

“N-no. No ma’am,” he gulped inward, simply agreeing under your entrancement.

“Thank you,” he whispered out, his trance only causing more tension between the both of you. 

“You’re welcome,” you murmured inching closer to his pink, full lips, taking in the rum-soaked breath he emitted. 

His eyes closed, and he moved in for the kill. Your lips suctioning onto each other, holding them there for fear of one rejecting the other. His calloused hands moving in synchrony against your warm body, feeling every single dimple, and curve you had. The left resting on one globe behind you, and the other snaking into your beach kissed locks, pulling ever so slightly. Your hands shot to his girthy chest, rubbing and caressing his peaked nipples beneath your dainty fingers. He gasped as you pinched the sensitive skin, pulling away looking half-lidded at your glorious features. 

“Who the hell are you?” he rubbed his thumb over your cheek, massaging the back of your head, causing your eyes to roll back into your head. Pulling yourself close against his swollen lips, you whispered on his breath, “Your dream come true.”

He smiled ever so slightly, letting out the smallest of chuckles, and shoved you back into his waiting lips, this time in a searing kiss that had his hands traveling down to lift you off the ground by your thighs. He shoved his tongue down your waiting throat, creating a symphony of moans and suction as he turned you around to lay your needy body on the sand. 

He loomed over you, pressing his very noticeable bulge against your pelvis. Grinding on you, eliciting more groans from his chest. He broke the kiss only to trace his wet lips along the outline of your neck, trailing to your budding breasts. He took one in his mouth, sucking ever so gently, and massaged the other with his mammoth hand. The sounds escaping you, only spurring his motions on even more so. He did the same with the other until you were writhing in pleasure and the buds turned to stiffened peaks. 

“God, sailor, I need you,” you pleaded, nearly out of breath, “Please.”

He looked up from the trail of his kisses on your stomach and settled his smiling face over your entrance. 

“Oh, now you wanna play nice with me? You haven’t even told me your name gorgeous,” he teased licking a stripe along your moist slit. 

“Uhhhh, fuck sailor, I could say the same to you,” you sang in euphoric pleasure. 

“Ladies first,” his hot breath sending vibrations along your clit. 

“Y/N,” you stammered unable to fully speak. 

He started to suck a welt on one of your thighs, and after breaking the suction looked up and moved his face to other, never breaking eye contact with your stare, “absolutely mesmerizing, Y/N,” bearing back down on the flesh, sucking for all it was worth. 

Just as he was satisfied with the bruising, he whispered back to you, “name’s Captain Flip Zimmerman,” and dove nose-first into your waiting hole, eliciting a scream from your lips. 

He traced circles around your pulsing vagina, humming at the thought of how turned on he was making you. His nose grazing your stiffening clit, every time his tongue entered your pussy. You twitched at every pulse his face was giving you. 

“Good, God Captain,” you cried out, “I-I’m gonna c-c-cum!” 

He moved his perfect lips to your aching bud, enveloped them in a French kiss, and sent you into the wildest orgasm you’d ever encountered. Crying his name out over and over again as he sucked relentlessly on your arousal. 

“There’s my pretty girl,” he cooed as you moaned in complete euphoria, “sing to me my sweet siren.” 

He slurped up your sweet release into his desperate mouth smiling in pleasure as his beard tickled your overstimulated pussy.  You came down from the high, as his face connected back to yours. Your hands brushing through his ebony locks, tasting your spend on his saliva. 

“Captain,” you gasped in between his kisses, “I need your cock.” 

He looked up with eyes black as his hair and began to pull his pantaloons down, releasing his Kraken of a cock to your hungry eyes. 

“You like what you see, siren?” he noticed your gaping mouth at his large member. 

“My God, sailor, your so fucking big,” pulling your hand over your precious lips, “do you think it will fit in my tight lil’ pussy?” 

“It will,” he moved to gather the wetness from his tip as well as the spend from your weeping entrance, and moved the mixture up and down his shaft. 

“You’re gonna take your Captain’s cock whether you like it or not,” he beamed back up at you, pushing his sword into your hole in a punishing motion. The stretch causing you to cry out over the crashing waves on the beach. He stilled, watching you writhe in pleasure and pain, drinking in your perfect little moans as best he could.

“Captain, please move, my pussy is so tight, I need you to stretch me out,” you begged, tears rolling down your face. 

“You’ll be patient and keep me warm, siren, I like watching you bend to my every will.” 

He stilled for a few moments, watching the tears roll, your lips gape open, and your sweet cunt flutter around his large dick. He could cum right there, he thought, watching the shadows dance on your pretty face. After a few moments of admiration, he pulled ever so slightly out and pushed back in.  

Setting a grueling pace, he emitted the deepest groan his chest could muster upon hearing the slapping of his balls on your ass, the squelch from your wet pussy taking every inch of him. He watched your face twist and turn as he pushed in and out, his pupils only dilating more as he took you in. 

“Siren, get on your hands and knees, face in the sand, ass up,” He pulled out, watching your tears fall at the loss of contact. You did as you were told, bearing your sand clad ass to his feining stare. He smacked it and a gust of sand fell to the earth, the roughness causing an instant handprint to show on your bare skin. 

“Motherfucker!” you steamed into the beach. 

“Watch your mouth, siren,” he smacked another hand on the other cheek, “no one like’s a dirty lil’ whore mouth.” 

He shoved his dick back into your gaping hole, setting an even faster pace than previously. The moans you both emitted spurring the release even sooner than you’d thought. His hands white-knuckled the sides of your hips, pushing your body impossibly closer. His balls slapping your skin, emitting howls as he plundered your special spot. 

“Fuck, Flip,” you groaned, “I-I can’t hold on much longer, I’m gonna cum again!”

“I’m. Almost. There. Gorgeous,” he punctuated on every thrust, bringing his hand to rub his thumb along your puckered asshole. Without warning, he punctured the perfect little hole, sending you into another earth-shattering orgasm. 

“Jesus. Fucking, Christ,” he screamed as you milked his cock of his sweet, succulent, spend, “Captain is blowing his whole load!” 

He stuffed you full of his cum, thrusting a few more times just to be sure it stayed up in your heat. Both breathless, he leaned over you, sweat dripping from his brow, hands gripping around your stomach. He pulled out, turning you over, admiring your utterly fucked face. 

“You alright, gorgeous?” he laughed towards you. 

“Y-yes, sailor,” you relented, “I’m more than just alright.” 

You pulled his face towards yours, tasting his salty sweat in his mustache. He grabbed both cheeks and shoved his tongue back down your throat, causing you to melt into his brawny body. 

He pulled away, “where did you actually come from?”

You smiled, looking away bashfully, “you really don’t understand do you,” pulling away and getting up from the spot you’d both wrecked each other in. You walked towards the waves, letting the cool water caress your feet the further you stepped in. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” he questioned almost alarmed. 

You looked back towards him, the smile eroding from your face, “home,” you said clear as day. 

And with that, a waterball formed around your goddesslike figure, consuming you in a snowglobe of sorts. A bright light emitted from your middle and expanded all the way around the cocoon. Your form changed from legs to a gorgeous aquamarine fin, your skin melding to the attachment, and the globe took you further out to the ocean. 

Flip stood there, dumbfounded again. He blinked a few more times, not even realizing what he had just seen. 

“Did I…” he told himself, “W-what the fuck.” 

He sat back down on the beach, contemplating what had just occurred, trying to justify the possibility that this was just his imagination. 

“I need a fucking drink,” he concluded. 

He scoured the island in search of more answers, only to come upon another impossible find. 

His ship. 

Parked on the beach, like it hadn’t been through any kind of storm in the slightest. 

He noticed his crew as well, packing goods away like he hadn’t witnessed them sinking to Davey Jones’ Locker the night before. He blinked several times, thinking it was all a mirage, or that he may have been drunk to no avail. 

Ron noticed his Captain gawking at the ship, and flagged him over, “Hey there Cap! Where ya been?” 

“I-uh,” he had no words for what had happened. 

“Hey Cap? Let’s get you back in the boat,” Ron pat his back, leading him to his quarters on the hull.  

After making sure Flip was okay to be left alone, he went back to his duties. 

The Captain sat at his wooden desk, feet perched on the top, his hands running through his mustache, trying to piece together what had just occurred. 

The storm, the destruction, you, his ship turning up unscathed. 

You. Holy shit. You. 

A fucking mermaid. You were a creature of the ocean, who had happened upon him during his hour of need, scooped him up and saved his entire livelihood in the process. You were enchanting. A literal siren song. He played through the moans you made, the sarcasm you shot at him, your whole aura was absolutely mesmerizing. He’d never encountered anything as perfect as you. 

He wanted to find you again. To feel your soft skin on his beard, look into those piercing eyes, and hear his name on your lips. He had to find you. If it meant he didn’t have any other purpose than that on the ocean. 

As he made his mind up, he took all the texts he had on your kind to study the lore, hoping to find the answer he so desperately needed. Upon hours and hours of inspection, he stopped at the Holy Grail. Picking up the map slowly, he chuckled like he’d lost his mind. 

The City of Atlantis. 

That had to be home. You had to be there. 

“Fuck,” he groaned out, now knowing what he had to do. 

He set the course, watching his crew scramble to get the ship headed the correct way, smelling the salted sea air on his nostrils. He tipped his buccaneer hat and looked into his spyglass. 

“Here we fuckin’ go boys,” he muttered, gritting his teeth, anxious to see you in the flesh again.

__________

CAPTAIN BLOWHOLE IS OUT TO FIND HIS LADY LOVE!

THANK YOU FOR YOUR THIRSTY ASKS PLZ SEND MORE I LOVE YOUR SICK MIND. 

🖤,

ray-nal-beads 

[angelic-kisses13]

Claiming- Part I

Authors Note: Here is Part I I hope you enjoy! 

Warning: Violence, gore, swearing, Vampire Charles Brandon, mentions the word Rape (Not described) 

“Master, the treaty has been fractured. Two bound of blood plotted against the all-knowing, thus leading to a betrayal of the Children of the Night. Inevitable despair of two warring Kingdoms will befall both heads of houses. “

“How do we halt this coming demise, Mother Seeress?” 

“The Treaty dictates an eye for an eye.”

Another war was close to brewing and Charles was close to just sending his men out and taking care of the neanderthals across the river. The memory of his best Generals head rolling across his throne room was forever ingrained. The trail of blood forever staining the stone. He remembered the rage and remorse that colored his person as he noticed the missing fangs. He had been dishonored by the beheading but the knowledge that someone had dared desecrate his culture and lineage would forever strike fear in his people. He would never forget the scent of the vile human carcass that dared trespass on his land. Since he was king, however, he couldn’t do as he wished, without causing massive disruption to his kingdom and the other neighboring ones. 

Charles forced his tightly wound body back against the carriage wall, he was on his way to the disgrace of a kingdom now, the King claimed to have a peace offering for him. A sacrifice for the vampires so that they would hopefully look past their transgressions. 

Charles was surprised at himself for the amount of rage he held for the whole notion, he was never one for sacrifices but he had to uphold the ancient traditions. It would make matters worse and as much as a war sounded fun and a great time killer, he wasn’t willing to put his people through that. He had seen enough bloodshed to last millennia. 

He was dragged out of his thoughts by the carriage stopping and his footmen opening the door for him. He sighed but pulled his robes around his body carefully, arranging them neatly. He climbed down the carriage steps, dusk had fallen and he relaxed under the twilight. 

A scuffle to his left drew his attention and he watched as a young woman was dragged across the courtyard, insults flying from her lips faster than he could process. A smirk fell across his lips as she turned and spat at the guard who had the gall to slap her ass in a warning. She was a plump thing, where there should have been harsh angles on her body, were instead rounded curves that screamed for him to run his fingers over. He had always had a soft spot for women who had more meat on their bones. The fact is that he had more to hold onto, more to drink from and more space to paint his mark across, making their skin his canvas. 

“I REFUSE TO BE USED THIS WAY! I AM NOT SOME COMMON CRIMINAL YOU CAN DO WITH AS YOU WISH!” Her words made his eyebrows raise in surprise, now this was going to be interesting. The guards all laughed in delight, 

“You’re the only criminal that no-one has claimed. The King, for whatever reason, paid your bail, therefore, you are owned by the King and he can do with you as he wishes.” Just as he was about to follow after the young woman, a stable boy came running up, he bowed before Charles, his little body shaking at the sight of him. 

“Y-your Majesty, the K-King awaits yo-your arrival.” Charles hummed as he put the young woman out of mind and followed the boy into the palace. The boy left him standing in front of the throne room doors, where two guards stood on watch. He watched out of the corner of his eye, as one of the guards turned his head and glared at him with disdain. 

A smirk fell on his features as he swiftly pinned the guard to the wall and bared his fangs, a glint entering his eyes as he sealed the man’s fate. He drank for a few moments before pulling away and dropping the man to the ground. He smoothed his cloaks out before entering the Throne Room. He was instantly assaulted by the familiar stench, his eyes narrowing on the three occupants of the room. He sniffed a couple of times, trying to ascertain the culprit. His senses zeroed in on the Prince. Satisfied he was the vile carcass, he then spots the trophies around the young man’s neck.  

“His Majesty” stood at the top of the stairs in front of his throne overlooking his kingdom from the stain glass windows, the prince lounging behind him, drink in one hand, the fangs of his General lay nestled against his greasy portly neck. His scrawny half-Witt of an advisor stood off to the King’s left. They were whispering, but Charles could hear every word. 

“King Charles’ sacrifice refuses to come out, the stupid girl is going to put us all in jeopardy with her tantrums.” 

The King sighed as he reached out and patted the Advisors shoulder, 

“Try and convince her one last time, King Charles will be here any second and I don’t want him to have more reasons to go to war.” The advisor bowed before turning around and halting in his tracks, Charles watched in quiet delight as the Advisors knees buckled beneath him. 

Charles grinned, the blood on his fangs glowing in the candle-light as he licked at the drop of blood on the tip of his left fang. He preened as the blood from the advisor’s face drained, an audible swallow was heard before the man kneeled. 

“Your Majesty. It is a humble delight to see you.” King Indulf stiffened before turning to face Charles, a strained smile painting his features. 

“Advisor.” That was the only word needed before the poor man was up on his feet and hurrying, in a dignified manner, back towards the Throne Room’s doors. It was silent as they appraised the other, looking for any tell-tale signs of weaknesses. One could only hope for a quick signal to end the other. 

“Charles, how kind of you to travel and accept our gift of dinner and women. I’m sure the one we have picked out for you will be enough to appease.” His tone was bordering cordial and impertinent. Charles’s jaw tightened, just as he was about to voice his displeasure about the ordeal, the doors were opened and in walked a delicate flower, brown hair done up in the traditional braids and pinned into an intricate bun on the top of her head, her skin was painted flawlessly and her white dress left nothing to the imagination, her skin showing through the sheer fabric. 

She bowed at their feet, before coming and kneeling on the second step, her hands resting on her thighs, back straight, head tilted to the right, baring her neck showcasing her pulse and vein beautifully. She was stunning, but she was meek and unfit to be the sacrifice.

“She is a fine specimen but she is unfit for the role, far too weak, Indulf.” The King spluttered, his face an ugly puce color as he refrained from shouting. 

“We were just supposed to give you a woman to sate your declaration of war, Charles. As you can see, we have lived up to our deal.” Charles snorted, unable to contain his mirth for a moment longer. 

“You stupid excuse of a King. The terms of the sacrifice were agreed upon when the contract was drawn up. Every detail drafted down for future generations. It outlines everything specifically, clearly, you have read it to be able to coach her on how to sit and dress. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice? This “sacrifice” is dying. Do you believe that this painted whore would hold the same status as my best General?” His voice became a roar by the end of his rant, his eyes a burning crimson. 

“King Charles, she was the only eligible candidate we had, surely you can overlook the one rule.” 

“Surely, you have noticed your ill-mannered son displaying the fangs of my fallen comrade. The contract is void, prepare for war Indulf, you have insulted me and my people one too many times this evening.” He hissed and turned on his heel, preparing to depart when the throne room doors were thrown open and a woman came in kicking and screaming. Her eyes flashing as her mouth opened in a snarl. She was tossed at King Indulf’s feet. 

Charles had just enough time to move out of the way before she was up and throwing herself towards the Prince. Her screeches and wails filling the hall, 

“I WILL NOT BOW DOWN TO YOU! I AM NOT YOUR CONSORT! I AM WORTH MORE THAN THAT!” The Prince quickly grabbed the little spitfires’ wrists before throwing her down and backhanding her face. She sprawled across the stone floor, a hand reaching up and brushing over her busted lip, coming away red with blood. 

“THAT IS ENOUGH YOU INSOLENT BITCH!” Charles’s eyes flashed when the scent of her blood hit his senses. She was delectable, fiery, and willing to fight to the end. 

Her chest heaved as she watched them, her tongue darting out to swipe the blood up. She grinned at the three men, her teeth painted in her blood. Charles had to suppress the growl that threatened to escape his mouth. He wanted to grab her by her meaty hips and pin her against the floor, his tongue diving into her mouth to lick every last drop of her blood from her teeth and tongue. Charles took a step forward only to be hit by the vile stench of the Prince. She was covered head to toe and it brought the memory of his dead General to mind. 

The enraged King frothed at the mouth, “I paid your bail, you ungrateful heathen, that means I own you, I can do with you what I want when I want. You are to be my son’s consort, a high honor if I do say so. One someone like you shouldn’t get, but your parents were good people and I promised I would look after you.” A manic cackle fell from the woman’s lush lips as she rolled from her side and onto her knees.  

“My parents were traitors that you honored to make yourself look good, they don’t deserve to have me as their daughter. I will never be your sons, I would rather be his sacrifice,” she angrily threw her arm out, finger pointed towards Charles, “than live in this palace and be raped by your precious prince another day.” 

“You think you are worthy enough to be a King’s sacrifice?” Indulf’s body was vibrating with barely contained rage. 

“I’m worthy enough for your son to be sullied over.” A laugh escaped Charles as he kneeled down in front of the woman. 

“My little lamb,” He smoothed his thumb over her bruised cheek before pulling his hand back, her warmth seared his skin, she was perfect. A raging inferno waiting to be tamed. He looked up at the King, a challenging glint to his eye. 

“Sacrifice accepted.” The occupants of the throne room gasped in shock as Charles bent down and swiftly picked up the dirtied and bloodied rag of a woman, before disappearing, a cool breeze rustling through the room in his abrupt departure.

Taglist: @agniavateira @cavillanche @cavillunraveled @dancingwendigo @dreamwritesimagines @ficsandcatsandficsandcats @hlkwrites @hnryycvll @honeychicanawrites @iloveyouyen @johnmotherfuckingshelby @ladyreapermc @laketaj24 @littlefreya @ly--canthrope @mary-ann84 @mrsaugustwalker @ohvalleyofplentyyy @omgkatinka @sciapod @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @supersweetstache​ @thethirstyarchive​ @the-winter-witcher​ @thegreattodd​ @tumblnewby @viking-raider​ @white-wolf-of-rivia​ @witcherwrites​

[castielsbeeslippers]

Part I

Summary: Dean regrets it instantly. The way he snapped , the words that tumbled from his mouth. The small argument between him and his little brother had escalated into a full blown screaming match , and now Sam was gone. Dean takes off to clear his head and ends up in an erie cemetery where he believes he is alone.

On ao3

Thank you to @wantstoflyafraidtofall for being beta 🖤you’ve helped me immensely! 🥺

The rumble of the classic car’s engine shook the stillness of the cemetery grounds rustling the leaves and still the air hung heavy.

With a soft screech of it’s black tires the car came to a stop. Dean must have driven over thirty odd miles to get away from that old motel that his younger brother had already abandoned. Dean just had to get away to anywhere but there.

He closed his tired eyes , feeling them sting.

He killed the engine and let himself go.

His guilt escaped from his gut-wrenching sobs. He was truly alone.

(The dead would never tell.)

Dean ran his callused hands over his soft eyes and sighed into them. He drug himself out of his classic car and did his best to pull himself together with each step.

He looked over his shoulder... nothing but the empty road.

He didn’t want to face the world or the reality of it all....His brother was god knows where because of him and that absurd fight. Dean had really crossed the line this time. A knot formed in his stomach as he recalled his harsh words.

The emotions bubbling inside him didn’t have a name. Frustration and fear didn’t seem to even scratch the surface.

His boots crushed the moist earth beneath them with unforgiving force.

A distant snap jolted Dean from his thoughts.

Dean without hesitation ripped his gun from his pocket aiming directly ahead into the stillness.

“Show yourself.” He spit into the air.

Whatever ghoul or spector was about to rue the fucking day. Dean was ready to whiplash himself from numbness to rage.

The wind only whistled in reply. It was probably just some wild animal. He let the mind drift for a moment keeping his defensive stance , still unwavering not letting himself be convinced.

Something far off rustled like a scared flock of birds, a whooshing sound rushing all at once into Dean’s ears.

Dean spun himself around only to see again the empty road that was now laden with a thick white fog... that Dean knew had to have just crept in.

It sent a chill down his spine.

‘Haunted cemetery, no shit’

He tensed his shoulders, mentally cursing himself. He already felt like roadkill and this was just adding to the fun.

Dean whipped his head back leering into the cemetery, his eyes catching on a shadowed figure.

Dean held his breath and crept forward his gun leading the charge.

The figure moved from darkness laying steady steps.

“Stay right there.” Dean warned through his clenched jaw.

The figure did not. His looming shadow turned to a man in a soft dirt colored trench coat, his hair a black tussled mess.. and his eyes pure electric.

Dean’s breath hitched , his eyes searching the man frantically.

His gun, unamused and unmoving.

“Hello.” The man spoke with a gentle monotone.

“Stop.”

“You can lower your weapon , I bear no ill intent towards you or any other human.” The man's voice boomed again.

Not human. Dean figured as much. He tore his eyes away from the man's eyes and steadied himself again.

“What the hell are you?” Dean growled. The figure's calm demeanor only pushed his buttons more.

“I’m Castiel, Angel of the Lord , Thursday’s Angel if you prefer a shorter title.” The self-proclaimed Angel said with a shrug.

“Yeah okay , and I’m Queen Elizabeth.” He chuckled darkly.

The Angel’s blue eyes gleamed as he tilted his head at the man's comment.

“You’re looking much younger.” He told the hunter flatly.

“Tryin’ to mess with me?” Dean snapped back.

“He’s not dead, Dean.”

“Excuse me?” Dean’s stomach lurched.

“I’m not supposed to be here, Dean.” The angel shook his head softly with a frown.

“I’m not even sure where “here” is.” He admitted.

Or when. He didn’t add.

Dean grit his teeth , the way he said his name with a familiarity on his tongue made Dean’s whole body tense up.

“Start talking , you’re acting like you know me.” Dean demanded no question in his tone.

Castiel smiled. A wide smile.

“I’ll tell you everything Dean, assuming you can do the same ”

Dean’s jaw clenched.

Castiel tilted his head to the right , careful to keep his lips in a line leaving his eyes wide, unblinking.

This Dean stood before him, turmoil swirling beneath his skin. Castiel felt Dean’s mind rapid fire, laden with guilt, which was so familiar, lost and searching.

How desperately the angel wanted to part the dark clouds and bring comfort to the man before him.

‘Gently , slowly. ’ He thought to himself , he didn’t want to approach this the wrong way.

“Would you sit with me?” Castiel asked cautiously.

His trench coat flowing softly after him as he turned on the ball is his dress-shoes.

Dean's eyes ever glued to the angel before him.

Dean held right to his pearl gripped pistol, still heavy in his right hand, he nodded and swallowed his protest.

“Sure.” Was the only thing he could muster.

They sat in silence for a while before Cas broke it with a soft boom of his voice.

“Dean,”

Dean's body thrummed again. The way his name was said made something deep inside flutter.

Dean only looked at Cas in wait for a reply.

The prominent sensation was still buzzing , the tickle of electricity on Dean’s skin that grew stronger with each step he took towards the angel-shaped man.

The metal bench was cold and damp beneath them. Castiel gave no reaction to this and Dean chose to ignore the damp spots forming on his jeans.

Dean carefully tucked his gun back away against his better judgement in an attempt to be polite, but something deep in his mind felt this “Castiel” could be trusted. He felt like he was losing it.

“I haven’t met you yet. This you….in the time I’ve come from we’re, and I quote “best friends… if you can believe it.” Cas started off slow with caution in his low tone.

Dean so far wasn’t buying it.

And Cas knew it just by the look in his eyes.

“I’m afraid I don’t know how much more I can say ,without upsetting the cosmic balance Dean...but I hope you can at least trust I care for you a great deal.”

A beat.

“You and your brother.”

That woke Dean up.

“Sam,” Dean grit out.“You mentioned him before, what do you know about my brother you holy tax account stalker.”

“I know he’s safe, I’m afraid I-“

Before Castiel got the rest of his sentence out Dean had jumped from the bench and was now standing in front of his eyes.

“Tell me.” he demanded.

“Dean please, you need not worry let me continue.”

“Please” he huffed softly.

And with that Dean did. He sat back down, still tense as he had been.

“He’s simply ‘blowing off some steam as you would put it.” Cas said softly.

“Yeah real awesome intel. Where ?”

“Not far, but please Dean give him some space lets-“

“Space?” Dean snapped.

“I can personally assure his safety… after we converse we can even go to him.” Cas said calmly.

“You want to just talk?” He raised his brow.

“I do.” Cas replied.

Dean swore he could see the gears turning in the dark haired angel’s (man’s?) head.

Reluctantly Dean gave in he really wasn’t sure what was coming over him. No matter how sincere those baby blue eyes were, he shouldn’t trust him. Not this quickly.

“Alright then start talkin’” Dean gave a huge sigh, his shoulders still stiff and unflinching.

“Please allow me a moment of just being… we’ve been through much...” the familiar words he’d spoken, and yet to speak forming on the tip of his tongue.

“Yeah… sure” Dean’s tone softened without permission.

He felt those damn eyes again all over him.

Castiel drank in this younger Dean. Still tough as nails, still loved his brother more than his own hide, but still, while familiar, Castiel couldn’t get enough. Not that he kept his eyes to himself at any point but this was something else. A Dean before perdition, before he’d rebuild his soul… his every fiber and cell.

“Listen .” A hard swallow. “I don’t know what we’ve been through in the future, but I’m not really getting this whole “Angel of the Lord shtick.”

Cas laughed lightly. Not at Dean, it was too gentle.

“You never really had faith in them.” Cas found himself putting emphasis on them…

It was them not him… Dean has faith in him. He was sure of that, even if he hasn’t always been.

“But you’re... Different?” It came out innocent.

A nod. “It’s the cracked chassis.” He said plainly.

Dean didn’t fully understand but he got a pretty good idea.

“You called them dicks with wings.”

“The other angels.” Cas added after a moment of silence.

Dean huffed. That did sound like him.

There was a lull in the conversation, the fog still thick around them.

“So... you really don’t know how you got here?” Dean finally settled on what to say.

“I have a working theory.”

“Which is?”

“I’m simply supposed to be.”

“That’s not what you said earlier.” Dean reminded him , not the slightest convinced.

Cas let himself smile again, his crows feet visible and crinkled.

“Changed my mind.”

“Alright.” Dean said standing up from the bench.

“Let's get a change of scenery, this place isn’t exactly what I’d call a hang out spot.”

Cas’ chest got tighter with a small rush of nerves.

“We can head towards wherever my dick brother is hiding out.”

“Alright, Dean.” Cas conceded , he really wasn’t in any position to argue with him.

This is part one ✨I might be posting this on ao3 but I’ll be and part two to tumblr soon ~ this should only be two or three parts in total ✨🖤

Tag list : @my-favourite-hellatus , @nguyenxtrang , @i-dont-even-wanna-know , @withclawsandsympathy , @sideofangels , @hazel-eyed-bi @lilac-void ,

🖤Feel free to ask to be added or removed ✨

[alottanothing]

Left to Ruin: Chapter Twenty-Three

Summary: Ahkmenrah wakes to find chaos befallen his great city.

Previous Chapters

Word Count: 3212

Warnings: A N G S T 

Tag List: @xmxisxforxmaybe, @r-ahh-mi, @hah0106, @rami-malek-trash, @diasimar, @sherlollydramoine​, @flipper-kisses​, @ivy-miranda-2390​, @txmel​, @sunkissedmikky​, @concentratedsassandcandy​, @edteche2​

(Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N:  I don’t have much to say this week, just thank you for giving the previous chapter love, and I hope you can forgive me for this chapter, and the next. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Again, as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible

The walk back to the palace after a night along the shores of the Nile felt like a shorter journey than the same path they strode only hours before. Nevertheless, Ahkmenrah was wholly at peace, enveloped in the warmth that true love kindled. Hope swelled in his breast too, a dull ember of blissful bright light, stoked to a flame by the news of his unborn child. The thought and the threats of war were far out of his mind, lost in the tranquility Nouke showed him on the beach of the mighty river. And the pharaoh hoped, beyond all reason, that terrible dread would stay lost.

When their feet led them home, the king and queen took their time placing the stones back into their respective places—a puzzle that had become second nature after dozens of trips—and they left a single brick askew with the promise of another trip beyond their cage. They stood for a long moment, marveling at the majesty of their garden under Khonsu’s glow. The picturesque sight pulsed with a blissful aura, the familiar fragrances and sounds forever adhered to their happiest memories. With a content sigh, Nouke wrapped around Ahk’s strong arm, their fingers intertwined as she rested her head against his shoulder with a soft smile on her features.

Ahkmenrah’s expression was a mirror of hers, the muscles of his face upturned with an air of whimsy as he recalled visions of he and Nouke running and laughing amid the lush green. He watched as his younger self chased his best friend in loops around the fountain before she playfully shoved him into the crystal clear waters, laughing. All too quickly those phantoms of his past faded to a far superior scene. This time he envisioned his children running and playing the same games, laughing and screaming gleefully while he and his beautiful queen lounged nearby, watching merrily.

Ahkmenrah would always fight for that future; whatever it took.

When those illusions faded too, they made their way through the quiet halls, stopping just shy of their bed-chamber doors. Ahk turned and met his guardian with a smile.

“Have I ever thanked you for never telling anyone about our secret passage?”

A kindhearted smile ghosted over Kamuzu’s lips, “There’s no need, my King.”

Ahk’s smile grew as he thought of every venture he’d ever taken through that crumbled wall; Kamuzu was always there, and never had he tried to keep him in his royal cage or told a soul where he had gone. It made the pharaoh profoundly glad.

“Rest well, my friend.”

“And you, my king.” Kamuzu bowed his head to each of them. “My queen.”

“Goodnight, Kamuzu,” Nouke said with a sweet smile.

Ahkmenrah watched his Medjay protector go, the tendrils of his love-filled heart reaching out to the man who had kept him safe his entire life.

It wasn’t until Nouke gave his fingers a squeeze and his arm a gentle tug that he turned his attention back to her as she coaxed him to follow. The glow of the torches was both inviting and whimsical as he watched the flickering luminescence dance across his wife’s figure, making her seem even more ethereal than he already thought her to be. A yawn broke his concentration; the dull light soothing enough to also remind him of the weight of his day; sleep was a pleasure he longed to partake in.

Nouke surrendered his hand as she politely excused the maidservants and the guards with a wave, and the pharaoh thanked them for their service as they left. When the heavy thud of the doors falling shut echoed in the vast room, Ahkmenrah turned his sights to where his wife stood near their son’s cradle. The way she swayed gently—like reeds in the desert breeze—as she hummed a lullaby, was spellbinding to behold. She smiled down at the sleeping boy, her open palm caressing the tiny swell of her belly. Ahk’s heart fluttered, and he sighed as he fixated the picture in his memory.

Ahkmenrah’s bare feet barely made a sound as they crossed the room to wind himself around Nouke’s strong frame, pressing against her back, his chin resting on her shoulder.

“I hope we have a girl,” Ahk mused, dreamily fanning his palm over the slight bump of his wife’s abdomen. “A little princess as beautiful as her mother.”

Nouke hummed agreeably, and he could hear her soft smile.

“Whichever the gods see fit to give us will be a blessing.” She kept her hand over his and added, “Prince or princess.” 

“You are right, of course.” Ahk laid a delicate kiss to the exposed skin of her shoulder, over a mark he’d suckled into formation as they made love on the banks of the Nile hours before. “But a king can hope.”

Nouke spun lithely in his arms and combed her fingers through his hair as her arms circled his neck. “Yes...a king can hope. But now the king must rest. Dawn will come early, and there is much to do.”

She kissed him before his lips could twist into a frown with the unpleasant reminder of duty, but she deftly chased it away. Nouke bled into all of his senses as he pulled her close: the texture of her lips and the nectary taste that coupled with every sweep against his. Every soft swell and curve of her body pressing against him as the floral scent of her perfume filled his lungs. Its sweetness was dull under the unique musk of sand and reeds: a fragrant remnant of their excursion on the shore.

Nouke was savoring him too; the pull of her mouth was a slow and sensuous expression of worship that made Ahk crave more than sleep.

When their kiss parted, his queen stayed close, circling the tip of his nose with hers before giving him a chaste peck, then led him to bed. Nouke curled against his side, and sleep found them both quickly.

The peaceful void of dreamless slumber had been elusive for the pharaoh of late, despite the joy in his life. His mind was overrun with concern and the well-being of those he loved, even without the threat of war. Some nights he would pace and ponder until his head hurt, or until Nouke coaxed him back to bed. She would lay his head against her chest, her fingers gently sweeping through his hair as she lulled his frazzled mind into submission—allowing sleep to, at last, claim him. Other nights he just laid with his eyes locked on the ceiling until the night sky was swallowed by the sun.

He hated those nights the most.

However, that night, the thoughts in his head were quiet and hopeful despite the threat they faced. For hours, or perhaps only minutes, the pharaoh found sleep restful nestled with the woman he loved until a strange commotion slowly pulled him from that dreamless void.

Ahkmenrah tired to ignore the somehow distant, but close, ruckus; clinging to sleep with a mighty grip. But when the sound of a shout mixed with the sound of the clamor, Ahk’s eyes fluttered open. It only took a moment for them to adjust to the darkness, his focus getting lost for a second in the peaceful sight of Nouke sleeping next to him.

The pharaoh smiled and carefully pulled free, standing to stretch his limbs as a yawn overtook his features. With a few lazy strides, he wandered to his son’s bedside; the upward curl of his lips growing as he looked at the sleeping boy.

There was where he lingered, watching Sekmen sleep—the strange commotion momentarily forgot—as he let his mind think more on the future awaiting him: evenings in his beloved West Garden with two children to play with. The notion filled his stomach with eager butterflies, his smile growing impossibly wider until that peculiar clamor hindered it.

All at once, the flitting butterflies in his belly lost their whimsy, quickly metamorphosing into sick, twisting knots. Smoke was drifting into the chamber from the open balcony much too thick to be from simple torchlight. Frightened screams registered next, rendering the pharaoh frozen as he turned his ear to listen.

More cries haunted the air, the sounds making his heart hammer and his skin coat with nervous sweat. Fear and curiosity coupled to urge him to investigate the billowing smoke and the refrain of laments as his breaths slowed.

Ahk could smell the fire—see the floating pieces of ash in the air—he could hear clearly the screams as he stepped onto his balcony. The pharaoh leaned over the rail, fear a curiosity writhing in his gut, and the devastation he found made his eyes grow impossibly wide, his mouth dry and his heart heavy with dread. Before he could take in the horror below, he hastily stumbled out of range, narrowly missing the strike of an arrow as if flew past his face.  He gasped as he careened backward, falling to the ground, the pain of the impact dull as panic consumed his every sense.

Quickly, the pharaoh staggered back to his feet and once more took to the wall of the railing, peering at the mayhem below.

And suddenly, Ahkmenrah felt ill.

Men were scaling the palace walls, setting alight anything that would burn: wood, idols, plants, people. The metallic clang of weapon on weapon split the air like thunder between horrified screams. Soldiers, guards, and Medjay laid dead or dying while their comrades fought the slew of invaders trickling over the high walls.

It was a sight Ahkmenrah never dreamed of seeing, and never would he forget it. Fear spread through him, ripping like icy claws. Kahmunrah had been right; it was too late to negotiate. War had come to them, and Egypt was not prepared.

A chill shook the pharaoh as he fought to quell the flooding of tears in his eyes; every one of his senses working at an impossible pace to comprehend the chaos. He needed to be strong, and to stay calm; if he allowed fear to settle too deep, he would surely seal his fate.

With a deep inhale Ahk attempted to push through the pandemonium of his emotions only to choke on the tainted air. He coughed and gasped and tried again, filling his lungs swiftly—like a man drowning and wheezed once more.

With the crook of his elbow to shield his breaths from the ash and smoke, Ahkmenrah slowly backed away, unable to tear his sight from the siege of his grand palace until it became too much. In an instant, his fumbling feet spun and broke into a run, his heart pounding in his throat, the mist in his eyes a cumulation of fear and the burning sting of the smoke-filled air.

His voice was raspy when he woke his wife as softly as he could, not wanting to cause her any more panic than he could spare. 

“Nouke.” Ahk shook her shoulder gently, but with enough force to pull her from sleeps grasp.

She threw him a look of irritated confusion, her heavy eyelids blinking slow.

“Get Sekmen,” the pharaoh ordered lightly. “We must find safety...now.”

Nouke shook her head slowly, still trying to fight off slumber’s laden trance, “Wha—”

A scream echoed through the chamber from outside, and the queen sat up straight, eyes blown wide. 

“What’s going on?” she asked, fear in her tone as she threw on the nearest article of clothing she could find.

Ahkmenrah did the same and chanced another glimpse from the balcony to gauge the severity of their situation—a foolish hope of finding peace, gone. Mere minutes had passed, and everything was worse. Men poured over the walls like water from a pitcher, their weapons glowing a fiendish orange as the surrounding flames reflected from the sharpened surface. Each of them was poised and ready to strike, militant men who knew war and had mastered it, unlike the pharaoh they sought to destroy.

“How could it have come to this?” Ahk said to himself in quiet disbelief as he watched his home fall to ruin. 

“What’s happening?” Nouke asked again from inside their chamber.

“We are being ambushed,” he finally told her, unsure of how to break the news without panic twisting onto her face.

Ahkmenrah crossed the room with purpose and retrieved the mounted khopesh on the wall nearest the door. 

For years the weapon served as no more than a decoration—a gift given to him by his father for completing his lessons in the training yards all those years age—that until then, the pharaoh had forgotten about. 

The moment it’s cumbersome weight was in his grasp, his memory flooded with visions of the summer his father taught him how to swing a blade. Even as a boy he’d never come close to mastering it—he should have tried harder.

Those few hours in the training yard, sparring with boys his own age, were lessons Ahkmenrah had allowed himself to forget. Those boys were always better than him, and it was those boys who became his soldiers, soldiers who were fighting and dying to protect a man who could not protect them.

Ahk’s stomach churned at the thought; they were fighting and dying—skilled men—what chance had he?

All at once, the pharaoh was too weak to wield his blade properly. Every ounce of strength he had he used to watch Nouke gingerly gather their son into her arms as he stood frozen. When her amber eyes locked with his, fear was hidden under her tightly bound composure. But Ahk could feel it.

“What do we do?” she asked, her voice impossibly calm.

“We need to find my brother.” Ahk knew she wouldn’t want to go to Kah, but the pharaoh could think of no better idea. Kahmunrah knew how to stay alive. “He will know what is best to do, and where to go.”

Nouke swallowed her prejudice and nodded, letting all her trust fall on his shoulders. “Okay.”

Ahkmenrah swallowed twice to fight the lump forming in his throat, suddenly more afraid than ever—he could not allow himself to let her down.

“Maybe they aren’t in the palace yet,” Nouke said, glancing towards the door.

Ahk turned his ear to listen; chaos rang, but it was impossible to discern where the clamor came from. Every scream that colored the air with shadow made the tension more palpable, forging a dreadfully crushing atmosphere. It stuck to the sweat covering Ahkmenrah’s skin; every bead at his temple feeling a thousand pounds.

When Sekmenrah began to fuss, the pharaoh wondered if his son could sense it too. His face was crinkled in fright, his tiny whimpers shaking his entire form as he clunk to his mother helplessly. The sight was like a knife in the pharaoh’s heart.

“Hush, my little prince,” Nouke murmured gently, rocking the boy to soothe him.

The sound of his mother’s voice and lulling gestures seemed to settle him until a loud bang hammered against the chamber door, causing them all to jump.

Instinctively, Nouke’s free hand gripped tightly at her husband’s bicep as she moved closer. “Ahk...” her voice was pleading and scared.

“Behind me,” he urged, quickly.

Another knock pierced the air, and Ahkmenrah stood with his shoulders squared, feet firmly planted, shielding his family as best he knew how. Adrenaline was beginning to eat up his fear allowing his focus to hone. Silently he prayed to any of the gods still listening to send him the strength to protect those he loved. Ahkmenrah could not lose them, he simply could not.

One more loud bang echoed, rattling his bones and some of his fear rekindled when the doors burst open like the sound of an explosion.

Medjay flooded into the pharaoh’s bed-chamber, their eyes lit with fire, blood on their weapons. Several barricaded the doors with only their joined strength, pushing against the entry with all their might.

Kamuzu was at their lead, shouting orders, his weapon stained red. The king was never more happy to see his dutiful protector. Kamuzu’s muscled arm was wrapped protectively around a young woman who was sobbing loud enough to muffle the clamor. 

“Set?” Ahk squinted through the haze.

“Ahkmen!” 

Setshepsut tore out of the Medjay’s grip and sprinted into his arms and he secured his footing so as not to fall as she collided against him. The abrupt onslaught of relief of knowing his sister was still alive crashed against the pharaoh with enough force he almost tumbled backward anyway.

“Set!” His own tone matched hers: glad but overrun with sorrow.

Setshepsut clung to him like a frightened child to her mother, sobbing into his chest as he held her. Nouke hugged around her too, as best she could, keeping her hand on Ahk’s arm.

A question pulled at Ahkmenrah’s brows, one that Kamuzu answered before the pharaoh even truly knew what it was he wanted to ask. 

“Her husband was found dead at his post. Not two minutes later, this started.”

“Satauhotep?” Ahk pulled his sister a little snugger as he fought back the lump in his throat. “He’s dead?”

Kamuzu nodded. 

The adrenaline vanished and suddenly, Ahk could feel his grasp on everything slipping. Each of his senses felt cold and emptied, as though his spirit was falling into a nightmarish black void. Nouke and Set clinging to him were the only tethers that held him within his crumbling reality.

He held all the power in the empire, and yet, the pharaoh had never felt more powerless.

“How did the Nehesyw and their allies get into the city?” Ahk asked, turning his gaze to Kamuzu.

His guardian pursed his lips as a strange somberness settled over his features that made Ahkmenrah’s stomach feel sick.

“No, my king. This is not the Nehesyw.”

“Who?” Ahk asked, his voice low.

Kamuzu hesitated, eyes drifting to the floor as he gathered his words, then he looked back to the pharaoh as though he was trying to save him from the truth by stalling.

“Kamuzu...” Ahkmenrah pleaded. “Who?”

The king’s Medjay protector sighed and shook his head apologetically. “It is your brother’s men who have lain siege to the palace.”

That bottomless black void returned, seeking to devour him, but this time, fire surged through Ahk’s blood, combating the lingering dread. 

“Kahmunrah is behind this?” His voice was scarily calm despite the anger writhing inside of him.

Kamuzu nodded, “The men he collected—they fight for him; against your guard, against your Medjay.”

“And my soldiers?”

“Some fight for you, others, against you,” Kamuzu confessed. “Tahut-Mut leads his garrison against you.”

Of course, Ahk thought. How could I not have seen that?

The siege Ahkmenrah had caught Kah and Tahut discussing was underway, and Ahk would never forgive himself for missing that clue.

More unsettling, however, was the blatant fear smoldering in Kamuzu’s eyes. In twenty-five years, Ahkmenrah had never seen a look of such distress on his guardian's face. And when Kamuzu finally spoke, his voice was gruff and soft—mournfully broken—the timbre of a man who was completely blindsided.

“You are in danger, my king.”

And Ahkmenrah knew then, the odds were against them.

[lancermylove]

Regret (HC)

Fandom: BSTS

Pairing: Rindou x MC/Reader

Warning: Contains blood, animal death, MC’s death, violence, angst, suicide

Requested by: Anon

Prompt: Okay.. Um this is a fantasy request! I hope it’s not to hard!! For a bsts and for Rindou senpai 😊 So... Rindou is a prince gonna get married with the MC but a random girl with a mark on her head says she’s the true lover of Rindou The father of Rindou says to ignore the Mc so he does.. MC makes friends with a cat but next day rounds it’s dead.. The girl comes and laughs then the MC gets so mad she puts a knife into her stomach.. she gets beheaded the next day.. What would Rindou’s reaction be?  Oh and Yeah! I didn’t give you the option thingy I couldn’t write anymore because I had to many letters— I hope you saw that before this— Can I get a head cannon? You do not need to do it if it’s to hard!! If you do it.. Thank you!!!!

A/N: This turned out to be FAR longer than I expected haha. 

———————————————

"Prince Rindou, I cannot tell you how excited I am. Well, excited and nervous! I can't believe we're getting married soon." 

Rindou chuckled and stroked MC’s cheek with the back of his hand, "I am just as excited, my soon-to-be princess." 

She looked around the courtyard to confirm that the two of them were alone. Leaning closer, MC placed a soft kiss on his lips, "I love you, Rin." 

While the two of them shared kisses, a pair of purple eyes stared at MC in anger. 

The next afternoon, Rindou decided to take a walk through the nearby forest. He generally visited the forest daily, but since he got engaged, he didn't have enough time. 

"Someone, please help me." An alluring sweet voice called out nearby. 

"Hm?" The prince followed the voice to find a beautiful woman with long purple hair. "Are you alright, Miss?"

"Prince Rindou, my foot is caught under tree roots. Please help me." 

Rindou didn't hesitate to help her. Once freed, she bowed and batted her eyelashes at him, "Dear Prince, if you permit, there is something I wish to tell you." 

He nodded his head. 

She brushed her fingertips on a green triangle on her forehead, "Prince, I am your true lover. This mark proves my loyalty to you. The woman you are with, she is an imposter." 

"E-excuse me?" Rindou frowns upon hearing her words, "I would kindly ask you to not speak ill of my fiancée." 

"If you don't believe me, then kindly ask your father, the king." With those words, she bowed again and left, her hair swaying behind her. 

For the time being, Rindou decided to ignore her words, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get them out of his mind. 

"Father, may I speak to you?"

"What is it, my son?" 

"I met a woman with a green mark on her forehead. She said that she is my true lover; moreover, she said to speak to you." Rindou frowned sightly, recalling the conversation. 

"Ah, so you have finally realized the truth, prince." The king smiled, "She speaks the truth." 

"Surely, you jest, father." 

"I do not. She is your true lover. Your betrothed is an imposter. Listen to me, son, cut all ties with the imposter, and ignore her." 

"B-but..." Rindou sighed and averted his eyes. He couldn't believe his ears. 

His heart didn't agree with his father's words, but the king wouldn't lie to his son, right? 

With a heavy heart, Rindou went against his heart and chose to ignore MC. 

No matter how many times she came to visit, the guards refused to let MC inside. She waited for Rindou, but he came to see her. 

Not knowing what to do, the confused girl roam around aimlessly through the woods, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rindou. 

'Rin, why are you ignoring me?' 

Meow. 

She looked down to see a grey cat with white paws rubbing against her leg. 

"Where did you come from?" Smiling, MC kneel and stroke the cat's head. The tiny creature stares at her with big blue eyes while purring in content. 

The following day, she make her way back to the area where she met her new friend. "Kitty, where are you?" 

Drip. Frowning, she wipe away the liquid from her cheek. Drip. MC once again rub her cheek, but this time, she look at her hand to find it stained red.

"B-blood?" She lift her head and scream, falling onto the ground. "KITTY!?"  

The once sparkling blue eyes now stared at her lifelessly. Tears race down her face as she avert her eyes from the corpse. 

Suddenly, MC heard menacing laughter nearby.  

Looking around, she saw a voluptuous woman with purple hair and eyes, laughing. 

MC's sadness turned into anger. How could someone laugh at her pain?

"Sorry, dear, but you left me no choice." She made her way to MC, hips swaying from one side to the other. 

"You...you did this?" MC stood up, balling her hands into fists.

"But of course. I still don't understand...how could the prince fall for someone like you?" She scanned MC up and down. 

"The prince? Why would you bring his name into this?" 

"Do I have to spell everything out for you?" She rolled her eyes and smirked, "The prince is going to get married to me soon. I am his TRUE lover. As for that cat...think of it as a gift from me and the prince." 

"You are going to get married to Rin? Shut up...you liar." MC said, gritting her teeth, "And gift? Do you call taking the life of an innocent creature a gift? You monster." 

Not being able to take much more, MC pulled a hidden knife from inside her sleeve, and without warning, she stabbed the lady in the stomach. 

The enchantress staggered backward and collapsed, hitting her head against a tree.

For a few moments, MC stared with her mouth open. 'What have I done?' 

Covering her mouth, she stepped away from the lady's bleeding corpse. 'I k-killed her.'

MC turned on her heels and ran as far away as her feet would take her. 

Meanwhile, a guard from the palace found the woman's body and immediately informed the king. 

The next day, MC sat with her knees pressed to her chest. She still couldn't get the woman's image out of her mind. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. 

"Open up!"

Startled, MC stared at the door. "Who could that be?" Wiping her tears and fixing her hair, she opened the door. 

Two guards, clad in full-body armors, grabbed MC's arms and dragged her towards the palace. 

"H-hey, let me go!" She tried to pull her arms out of their grip in vain. 

Only when they reached a scaffold with a guillotine did the palace guards release her. 

"W-what is this?" MC asked, staring at the large metal blade with wide eyes. 

A third guard walked in front of the scaffold, unrolled a scroll, and began to read aloud. 

"Yesterday, a guard found the corpse of the prince's fiancee in the forest near your town. The townspeople recognized the knife and stated that it belongs to you. MC, you are being charged for murdering the prince's betrothed. Under the orders of the king, you are to be executed by beheading."

"N-no, this is a mistake! She was the one who killed-" 

"You, who murdered the kingdom's future princess, have no right to speak. Execute her at once." 

The executioner tied MC's hand and placed her head under the blade. Not listening to her protests, ignoring her tears and screams, he untied the rope holding the blade.

With one clean hit, MC's head fell into the basket in front of the guillotine.

"What is all the commotion?" Rindou stepped out of his office and saw a few maids gossiping. Seeing the prince, the maids quickly scurried away.

A sense of foreboding tugged at Rindou's heart. He quickly made his way to the king's office. The door was slightly ajar. 

"Has the execution taken place?" 

"Yes, your highness." 

Rindou recognized the voice of his father's righthand man. 'Execution? Who got executed?' 

"The audacity of that girl to murder the future princess. She ruined our place!" The king hit the table with his fist, "My son believed that the enchantress was his true love. Had all gone according to place, the prince would have been killed by now." 

Rindou's eyes widened as he covered his mouth. 'My father wants to kill me?' 

"Sire, please calm down." 

"How can I be calm? Regardless, have you brought her head as proof of her execution?" 

Against his better judgment, Rindou peeked into the room through the gap. 

The king's righthand reached into a black satin bag and pulled the head out by the hair.

The prince's face drained of all color. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to look away, but he couldn't pry his eyes away from the dangling lifeless head. 

Tears clouded his eyes as he stepped away from the door. Still covering his mouth, he sprinted back to his room. 

Rindou fell on his knees and threw up on the marble floor. The image of MC's head flashed in front of his eyes. 

'She was my t-true love...what have I done?' He shut his eyes tight and cried his heart out. 

As hours passed by, Rindou spiraled further and further into darkness. He rocked his trembling body and kept repeating in his mind, 'It's all my fault. She is dead because of me. I killed my true love.' 

Not being able to take much more, he rose to his feet and started walking towards the window. 

His eyes and face void of color. His mind constantly blaming him. His body no longer under his control. 

He walked towards the image of MC holding her arms out for him. 

A small smile formed on his lips as he held his hand out to her. 

He felt nothing. No pain, no sadness, no joy. 

The kingdom mourned over the prince's loss, but Rindou was finally with his true love. 

[carriecutforth]

The Shit

Tumblr is telling me to go ahead, put anything...so here it goes

I haven't been public about this for reasons that will be apparent but gonna start this with all the trigger warnings. I'm writing it here cause I can't talk to the majority of people about it cause most people can't even grasp, and then questions start, putting me in the situation of feeling like my GIANT SWEATER of trauma is being unraveled answering questions that lead to more questions and gah PLEASE DO NOT RETUMBL-- I just need to scream in the void This is the shit: On the day my sister-in-law's mother died she had to call form-1 my baby brother because his psychosis (undiagnosed mental illness which I will get to) was terrorizing their family (three small kids). My mother WHO IS SCHIZOPHRENIC had him released into her and my ANTI-VAXXER ANTI-MASKER narcissist father's care, but NOT before they found out, incidentally due to the FORM 1, he is ALSO really sick with leukemia. I only found out because I decided to dip into the special folder for emails called MOM that I try to avoid reading as long as they can FOR REASONS. But I felt for some reason an urge to, and then I had to try to parse out what had happened from her ramblings that are A LOT. Then I had to confirm with my poor sil who is at her wits end and was in no position to tell me herself. My dad stopped talking to me back in November when I called him for his anti-vax rhetoric as being EUGENICS when he told me it is just the flu and only killing old people and the disabled. I reminded him I've been immuno-compromised my whole life (he KNOWS this) and got chronic fatigue after a flu in late 2016 (he knows this), and did he not care if I DIED? (apparently not) But I was like lol, fine, don't talk to me anymore. Die mad about it for all I care. A lot of people are like: 'oh, that's tough, losing a relationship with your father' and I'm like YOLO (it really isn't if you knew him). SO THEN I have to reach out to my dad: "Why isn't my brother in the hospital being treated by medical professionals for YOU KNOW, HIS LEUKEMIA." My dad responded that the doctors were JUST GOING TO PUMP HIM FULL OF DRUGS! And that HE is treating my brother's leukemia with I dunno baking soda (he told me before it is a cure for cancer). THEN HE GOES RADIO SILENT. I have no idea where my brother is cause they got him an apartment somewhere in Toronto. *though I do have a Machiavellian plan to try to find out. The reason my brother has untreated psychosis is that even though I've begged my parents since he was a TEEN to get him diagnosed, they refused. It's like they have the opposite of Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy in that their ABLEISM is soooo bad they refuse to see he has been very sick, and even if he was really sick, 'doctors are stupid' <--quoting my dad. This is the backstory. My dad was always on the road for his job. My mom had my baby brother AGAINST all wishes of her doctor to ever get pregnant again. I'm not talking aborting, she got PREGNANT on purpose again to SERVE GOD'S GREATER PURPOSE even though it might kill her and said future fetus. So he was born with a lot of issues because of the very bad pregnancy's complications on TOP of the very hereditary bipolar/schizophrenia, AND everything else we got going on besides. After he was born, my mom went into a very deep depression for years and then would vacillate between that and mania. Which meant me: THE ELEVEN year old was forced to raise a baby that wasn't hers and had no ultimate authority over. I was called by everyone his *BROTHER'S NAME* SECOND MOM. *More on this later Our relationship is very strained because of this, particularly when at 17 I had enough momming a child while being constantly undermined by my parents absolute shenanigans. So there was resentment when I quit being his 'second mom' and that he equally resented for things like, trying to put him into bed, when my mom would come in and say let him stay up all night or getting him to eat something other than candy for breakfast (you can guess the dynamic with my parents here). Even if my disabled ass could sue my parents for his

care, he doesn't WANT me to be in charge of his care.

And yet still, I tried to advocate for him for years fighting my parents TOOTH and NAIL to get him on disability and out from underneath their thumb so he could have a measure of independence and autonomy. They had every excuse in the book not to get him diagnosed including expense. It was so goddamned awful fighting with them on this cause in their mind: he was going to live with either them or me forever (they decided this for me and my ex-husband and kids with no consultation), so WHY bother set up his future for him??? So when he was 20?, I hatched a Machiavellian PLAN: I got him, against my parent's wishes, into college for the sole reason of getting the resources for him to get diagnosed so that he could get on disability. AND IT WORKED! (kinda) Except my parents twisted him so much into only talking about his autism spectrum symptoms and NONE of the psychosis because their ableism is sooooo entrenched. (but I did manage to get him on ODSP). And subsequent times I forced my dad to take him to a psychiatrist, he's like: 'oh, I forgot to talk about the psychosis we just talked about the aspergers. Besides people with psychosis are untreatable, you can't convince them otherwise' (see again, my mom). Over the years, I have begged my dad to take my brother to get properly diagnosed and treated (I'm not meaning forced, my brother is also agoraphobic, and won't leave his place UNLESS he is driven by my dad and was living in a city far away from me). I said, I was very concerned for his kids but my dad always gaslights me (and tells everyone I'm crazy -- the IRONY). So now my mom is writing me emails about how this is all my sil's fault because 'she is on drugs' (she is not), 'she is sleeping around' (she is not), 'her kids are scared of her not my brother' (it's the exact opposite). WHICH IS A HUGE TRIGGER FOR ME because She did the exact same thing to ME with my other brother (a diagnosed PSYCHOPATH) who used to beat me and the rest of us mercilessly when my parents weren't around (and they never believed me, and told everyone not to believe me because I was crazy), who pulled a KNIFE on me and threw a drawer at me when I was NINE MONTHS PREGNANT, and how absolutely awful I was AS HIS SISTER to kick him out of my house with no place to live or go (cause he was living with me and my ex-husband at the time because THEY KICKED HIM OUT OF THEIR PLACE and didn't want him back.) Are you beginning to get a sense of the dynamic of my family? Soooooooo the last few weeks my brain has just been in total trauma mode going processing, processing, processing, processing as the final total realization of how absolutely awful my family is finally laid bare (I mean I knew but at least I can stop feeling guilty about cutting them out of my life). So back to the 'second mom' shit, as relevant to my trauma brain processing the last few weeks. This whole shit above is just the tip of the iceberg. I was raised as a Joho in which a lot of my trauma comes from a pedophile left loose on three generations of girls in my family over a thirty year period, and if anyone came forward they were threatened with disfellowshipment and there is SO MUCH there it would take me several Tolkien novels to get how absolutely awful, extensive it was, and how the coverup went straight to the top. ANYHOO. So who was calling me my brother's 'second mom???' Well since, I wasn't allowed to have any association with non-witnesses, it was my congregation. No one questioned that I was being parentified and it was a deeply abusive situation. NO WHAT HAPPENED instead was, this sister in the congregation told everyone (when I was fifteen and 80 pounds soaking wet at the height of 5'10 1/2) that my brother WAS REALLY MY CHILD cause it was so obvious the way that I was the one who took care of him. And the elders of our congregation MARKED me as bad association for loose morals for having a supposed child out of wedlock when I was ELEVEN YEARS OLD. AND NO ONE in my congregation would talk to me, and I had NO IDEA why, cause they never told me that I HAD BEEN

MARKED. But the caveat was I was not allowed to talk to people outside of the faith. And we only found out about this a year an a half later when she said the same shit back in my hometown where he was born to a sister who was at the hospital where my brother was born. AND NO ONE thought, hey: maybe if we think she had a baby when she was eleven we should um CALL CHILD SERVICES or some shit? So i was like 16 1/2, not allowed to have any friends OUTSIDE OF MY PARENTS, find out THIS SHIT, and then people wonder why I had my first manic episode at 17??? Yeah, so this is where my brain has been stuck the last month, complicated that I knew I would be at risk for hypomania with things opening back up, and I'm supposed to be shooting a pilot for a potential series I'm the creator/co-shorunner of, so now I've had to go BACK on seroquel and it's the worst while i try to acclimatize myself to the drugs and stave off hypomania at the same time. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!

[curiousconch]

No Clear Skies Ahead

Chapter 1 of Ricochet (An Open Heart AU). Read the prologue here. 

Chapter Synopsis: An investigation is launched after a threat was sent to the DA's office. In an attempt to protect Heather, Rafael zooms in on the case but stumbles upon an inner struggle which leads to dire consequences.

Pairing: Rafael Aveiro x MC (Dr. Heather Song) 

Words: 3k+ | Genre: Crime, Mystery, Thriller, Romance

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / sex, mental health issues

Author’s Notes: Majority of the characters are owned by Pixelberry, except the main character Heather Song. There are also small references to canon, so spoiler alert for those who haven’t played OH 2 yet. This specific chapter was inspired by Bruno Mars' It Will Rain (Live version - X Factor).

Rafael dropped his bag on the apartment floor, an exasperated sigh escaped his lips as he waded his way to the kitchen. 

On a normal day, Rafael wouldn't be this ill-tempered. But today wasn't normal, normalcy went out the window since they received that threat. 

Two weeks has passed since, and both of their lives are imploding. He shook his head as he recalled their conversation that night, while trying to have a peaceful dinner for once. 

"I need to go, Raf. This is groundbreaking cancer research that may help some of our patients," she explained while she unwrapped her bibimbap. 

"How long will you be at Johns Hopkins then?" he asked, while he himself took a bite from his beef patties. 

"The initial plan would be at least a week. I'll fly out to Maryland on Monday, so I won't be back until Saturday morning. We want to be able to lend a hand to the planning of the clinical trials. Edenbrook wants to participate," her voice sounded excited. 

"I don't think it's a great idea right now, Heather," he shook his head gently, a genuine look of concern in his face. 

Heather wasn't entirely enthused by his response. 

"What, I can't live my life now because of that stupid note?" she said in a vicious tone. "If I let this thing hang over my head for the rest of my life, there's no use of all of this fuss."

"I'm just trying to look out for you, Heath," he replied, not wanting to spend this rare quality time arguing.

She got awfully quiet, as she averted her gaze. She was stubborn, but her behavior told him she was on edge. 

Resigned, he just nodded and expressed his agreement. He reminded her to come back as soon as possible, and made plans to pick her up at the airport.

He spent the rest of the night sucking up his frustration. They individually came up with an excuse and parted early, even the idea of sex was off the table. 

He grabbed a beer from his fridge and padded his way to the living room, switching on the TV to watch some late night news. 

A special report was playing, covering much of the recent developments in the case. It briefly mentioned Heather, making him frown. 

They only knew a few things about the note, including the fact that it was emailed directly to Bryce Lahela, the same prosecutor who executed Travis Perry in court. He suspected that It was meant to hit two birds in one stone - to threaten the DA and the doctor who reported the ruse. The mastermind is informed who was involved. 

The IT team were able to trace where the email was sent - it was from a terminal in a nearby public library. This was expected, and Rafael wasn't wrong to ignore his gut that told him this was just the start. 

A week after, a second note came. This time, faxed to Senator Ed Farrugia's office. But unlike the first message, it was wordless.

Instead, it contained two images - two shots of the politician meeting with associates at a nearby hotel. The office of the senator confirmed it to be taken the same day the fax was sent. 

The whole Boston field office was on full gear, with the Senate presurring the agency to reopen the case. The stakes were slowly becoming higher. 

This wasn't a childish prank, he concluded. It's the beginning of a well-planned attack. 

He waited for another move from the faceless sender. His training told him that this is going to be a slow burn. If the perpetrator waited months to put this into action, they wouldn't hesitate to wait for the perfect time. Raf's whole team were still clueless to the most important matter at hand - the when and the how. 

He wished hard for it to be nothing but empty threats, but he knew better. He struggled to stop himself from taking this too personally, convincing himself that he had a job to do. But he can't help himself. So he spent the past two weeks leaving no stone unturned. 

Meanwhile, Heather drowned herself with work. 

Rafael knew it was an effort of her taking control. In the few months that they were dating, he learned how she had to hide anything that was wrong. She was a doctor, and she was required to smile at her patients every single day. That's also how she coped - pretending that there's nothing wrong and pushing everyone away. 

His own attempts to comfort her proved futile as most of his time was also occupied by the investigation. 

It's not over, Dr. Song. Every single word in that short sentence cast a long shadow over his every move, beckoning a hidden resentment he never knew existed. 

The rising anxiety within him got amplified as their shifts ended in irregular hours. For two weeks, they barely saw each other. He would call her at the end of his day, but he felt that she involuntarily withdrew from him more over time. He knew it was her defense, Rafael himself a stark reminder of the threat that just overturned her life. 

Her shielded independence irked him greatly. He wanted her to rely on him, now, more than ever. He wanted to share this with her, and his concerns only grew every single day. 

He never thought  that there would ever be a distance between them. He hated the thought of Heather wanting to tend to herself. 

Did she not trust him enough? Didn't she want to rely on him? Can't she just lean on him, especially during this time? What else is this relationship for then? 

He knew she grew up independently, she was forced to rely on no one but herself for most of her teenage and adult years. She was strong and not fragile.  But he desired so much to protect her, to save her, just like the same way he did the year before. But he knew she wasn't that kind of girl. 

And when Heather shut him down another time tonight, he felt cornered.  She'll be out, indefinitely. Will she even miss me? His head hurt just thinking about it. He had a hard time sleeping that night, feeling an emptiness he didn't feel ever since he met her. 

It wasn't long when the void that he felt over her abrupt absence got filled by someone else. 

The week Heather flew to Johns Hopkins, a childhood friend came back to Boston. An ex, in fact. Sora, his high school sweetheart. It all began with a seemingly innocent chat, an invitation to catch up. 

But it soon escalated to him being more involved with her, volunteering his spare time to help her reacquainted to their neighborhood. With Heather dismissing him in every turn, he diverted his energies to spending time with Sora. For a few days, he didn't know why he kept her company, but as time went on, he understood. 

It was Sora's consistent need of him, asking small favors from him every chance she gets. It was the total opposite of what Heather was doing. 

She was familiar with Rafael, so she it was easy for her to feed his uncontrollable need to be someone's savior. Superman needed his own fix. 

It's partially the reason why he ended up being an FBI agent himself. It was his innate need to save someone from practically anything. He lived and breathed to be someone's hero. 

With no desire to spend another night at Donahues, he asked his high school friends to come over to his place on Friday after work for some movies and beer, a mini reunion, for Sora. He persuaded himself that it was nothing else but an effort to help a friend out. 

That night became full of nostalgia, as friends who showed up exchanged stories of their adventures from their childhood and teenage years. Over the next few hours, their friends left one by one, eventually leaving him and Sora alone. They each had a few more beers than they usually drank, and their chat unsurprisingly catapulted towards the end of their high school love affair. They talked about what attracted them to one another, eventually venturing to the regrets Sora had when they broke up.

"I think I never got over you, you know," Sora casually teased him, chugging down another bottle of beer. "Our breakup felt forced, and I hadn't been able to feel the same way with someone else..." her voice trailed off, her hand gently hovering over his thigh. 

He didn't push her away. Although he wanted to, but he melted in the attention she was giving him. 

He just nodded in reply, drinking from his own bottle, his mind racing, his heart beating uncontrollably in his chest. He knew he had to stop this, but he lacked the willpower to do so. 

With Rafael's pent up frustrations and Sora's voluntary prodding, they ended up kissing. Their hands roaming each other as they tried to rediscover their past, their clothes carelessly discarded one after another on his living room. Rafael's head screamed opposition, but his body cannot resist the contact. Shutting down the shouting disagreement in his mind, he let his hands take over him. 

He let his hands roam, feeling electrified by someone familiar, who knew his flaws, his body. He sensed that Sora felt exactly the same.  In the heat of their bodies, they didn't hear the keys jingling and a door creaking open. 

A sound of glass breaking made them look up. 

"What the hell?" 

There, standing in his dim entryway, was a flushed faced Heather. She held a suitcase, staring daggers at him and Sora as they were sprawled half-naked on the living room couch.

Shit. 

Sora followed his gaze, and a mortified look of shame filled her eyes.  Heather instantly fled, slamming the door closed behind her.  Rafael rose from the couch, cursing under his breathe as he retrieved his clothes and covered his body. 

He shot Sora a look of apology, and she understood. Grabbing his jacket and his keys, he followed Heather, running like he was being chased by death.  A bitter taste formed at the back of his tongue as his mind raced with the number of possibilities how this night would end. He shook himself out of his thoughts, surprised as rain fell over him the moment he stepped out his apartment building. November is Boston's wettest month. 

Despite the lack of visibility, his eyes shot in different directions, trying to find a trace of Heather. He saw her black suitcase just as it disappeared in the nearest street corner.

His shoes dug heavily on the wet sidewalk as he followed her sprinting shadow for two full blocks. He called out to her, unfazed by the fact that the pouring rain could mute him. 

At last Heather stopped. He saw as the lights of the stream of traffic shining at her small figure. 

He called her once more. But panic instantly filled him as he saw her advance the street in front of a fast-approaching car. 

He rushed towards her, pulling her back in time. 

"What the hell, Heather?" he looked down at her with fury and concern.  He was surprised with her strength as she pushed  him back, freeing herself from his grip. 

"I asked you first," she gave him an accusing look, poison in her words. He instantly remembered why he chased her. 

His stance immediately got defensive. Without thinking, he dragged Heather, ignoring her protests. He found an alley with some sort of roof, saving them from the downpour momentarily. 

"Meu amor," his raspy voice breaking as he struggled to make Heather look at him. He reached out to her, touching her shoulders. Her face filled with pain crushed his soul. 

"I don't have any words except I'm sorry." His whole body shook, his strong arms wrapping around her as he began to sob. "Heather, I... I made a mistake. I was weak," his hands gently cupped her face, his voice lowering to nothing but a faint whisper. "I just missed you so much, but I swear, I didn't mean for this to happen."  

Rafael felt stupid at the lame excuse he could muster, knowing full well how horribly he fucked up.

Being soaked through the bones did not numb the pain he was feeling. Her silence became more unbearable by the minute. He attempted to kiss her, but failed the moment she  avoided it. 

"If you wanted to give up, you didn't have to pretend." she hissed, with tear-stained cheeks and a gaze haunting back at him, speaking volumes. "If you didn't want me around anymore, you should have just told me." he saw her bite her lip, her voice filled with contempt. 

His chest constricted, realizing the damage he had done. "I want you, I still want you. I want no one else but you," he pleaded, wishing that there was a way to reverse what he had done. "Forgive me, meu amor, give me the chance to make this right, please," his voice shook as he begged her, his lungs about to give out, heavy of guilt. 

Her silence stung more than any word. Her rigid body, motionless against his shivering chest. When he couldn't take her refusal to speak anymore, he took one last attempt to pound down the walls she was beginning to build. Fueled by nothing but desperation, he took her hands in his and knelt in front of her, waiting eagerly for an answer.

But as he gazed up at her, the small glimmer of hope in him dissipated. The eyes that once shined like the whole universe was in it, turned empty, dark and desolate.

She retrieved her hands from his grip, Rafael's face twisted in horror as he felt her slip away. He knew right then that he just lost her.  "I can't, Rafael. I just can't right now."

In those few words, his world tumbled over. He watched her turn around and walk away, helpless. Once that he can no longer see any trace of her, his knuckles pounded the ground until it bled. 

The rain outside crept its way inside him. It will be a long time before it stopped.  

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

13. Exposing the Void Pt. 1

A lot of this chapter is straight up Simon’s thoughts, so it gets jumbled and possibly confusing. Let me know if there’s parts where things are unclear (most likely in those times, we’re inside of Simon’s thoughts). Word Count: 5969. Trigger Warnings: Self harm, child death, child abuse, mental instability, mental abuse, dehumanization, betrayal, delusions, intrusive thoughts... 

This chapter was actually the hardest for me to write in this story, thus far. And please keep in mind that in this space, there is no ableism allowed. So, refrain from using terms about psychosis or mental illness as insults towards the characters. The purpose is not to blame Simon’s actions on poor mental health or to excuse his behavior due to his trauma. The purpose is to understand a story in a world where mental illness is not necessarily the cause of why some people do evil things, but is sometimes a factor (not usually, as mentally ill people are generally more likely to hurt themselves than others), but yes, there are occasions where our psychosis can led to dangerous outbursts. Please don’t use the phrase “Go psycho” when referring to any variation of Simon Laurent, even this one. Thank you.

Previous

Simon was getting a tattoo. He’d already decided that much. He didn’t know of what, but he was convinced that he would think of something. It seemed healthier than self harm, at least… and a professional would mark him in this scenario. 

He had a full course on his schedule, additional hours of extracurricular activities and work, plus interviews and maintaining his website. Plenty to do to keep his mind off of it - the void. His nostrils flared just thinking about it. Sometimes, he found himself checking social media for updates from a backup account. He had been blocked under his personal and professional ones. But, it wasn’t back. The last post was the same post that had been shared to each of them by its team.

“Hello, Apex Members. On behalf of The Internet’s Honey, Miss Grace Monroe, we would like to express the sincerest apologies for the negativity that has been spread and for the things that Miss Monroe stands accused of. She is seeking help at a secure location, and it is our hope that she will return to you soon, in all of her glory, fully restored, healthy and well.”

The comments were thousands of “Fuck Grace Monroe. She’s cancelled.” etc. He had been amused before, but the more comments that were added, the more numb he became to them. He was numb to many things… still somehow… it left its mark on him. He pulled up his sleeve and looked at his tallies… it left several. “Fuck Grace Monroe,” he whispered, shook his head and said in a louder, more confident tone, “Fuck the void.” A little mantra before his early AM classes. 

Whenever he got home, though… He went through a range of emotions for a while. Everybody lies to me. Everybody leaves me… Even when nothing had anything to do with this thought process, if he wasn’t focused deeply on something else, there were the thoughts. Sometimes, even when he WAS working on something else. The thing about living alone and being at home was that he had a lot of time to get trapped in his harmful thoughts, and no Grace there to ease things. Not anymore.

It started with his mother. She was only going to be gone “for a little while.” 

Simon wasn't confident in his abilities to watch himself AND a younger person. He was a cub scout and even a careful child, but he knew that Hope could be a handful, sometimes even for their parents. “I don’t think I can watch Hope, Mom.”

“Oh, of course you can, Simon!” She cheered. “It’s only for a little, short, while, and you’re my capable little man.”

Hope laughed and said, “He’s not a man. He’s Simon.”

“If Mom says I’m a man, then I am!”

Their mom clarified, “He’s a big boy who gets to be man of the house when Mommy and Daddy aren’t here. Mommy’s Little Man. You’ve got this, Si. Like I said, only a little while.” She tousled his hair and filled him with confidence that he had not had a few minutes prior… then she was gone for what felt like forever. 

18 year old Simon knew that she had only been gone for 2 hours, but as a 10 year old watching a 4 year old who didn’t want to be watched by a “fake man,” it seemed like a lengthy stretch of time. With Hope doing things that she knew she shouldn’t, taunting him by telling him that he’s a fake man and that’s why he couldn’t stop her, and whenever she tried to go into the attic, that was the last straw. He had gotten really mad at her. She had been teasing him, calling him a fake man, a little baby, a small, small Simon… He didn’t mean to hurt her, but he was offended by her name calling. He was only going to drag her into her room and make her have a time out. 

18 year old him knew that he was angry when he grabbed her by the back of her shirt, as hard as he could, upset with her, but also needing to get her off of the ladder and into her room. 10 year old him yanked her off of the ladder and flung her to the floor beneath them with rage. She let out a screaming laugh whenever she went flying down, but when she hit the floor… she became silent. 

Simon shook his head. That wasn’t my fault. I was a child! The void had been right about that. “Who leaves a 10 year old home alone with a 4 year old?” He heard her voice ask, when they were kids. More than that - Who tells a boy that young that he is trusted with the life of a smaller child? That he’s “a man” because you need a little favor? Two. Hours!  

He still didn’t know how long he had sat there trying to wake Hope up before their mother came back or where she was at that time, but wherever she was, he hoped she thought about it every single day that she tried to blame him. He hoped it ate away at her and corrupted her from the inside out until her health faded and her heart stopped. He didn’t always feel that way. 

When he was 10, he blamed himself. He loved his mother. He wanted her back. He wanted to be her little man again, even though he failed her. He was still so young and confused, and nobody was helping him to understand it all. He couldn’t answer why he didn’t call 911. He was scared. He was crying. He... just didn’t think about it at the time. He hadn’t been prepared for an emergency.It was supposed to just be a little while! I was supposed to be the man of the house. Nothing bad was supposed to happen on my watch...

It continued with his father. So furious with his wife’s decision that he couldn’t stand to share the same breathing space with her most of the time. Unfortunately, that also meant not sharing it with Simon. He told Simon that he didn’t blame him. He lied. Some part of him had to, because otherwise, why would he have left him with the woman who had been so irresponsible that they already lost one child? Because… he died in his father’s eyes that night, too. The man was just too much of a coward to admit it. So, he just… left.

And Grace… He almost started crying, but shook his head and shook her it out of his mind. “Void,” he said and clenched his fists. Still… He missed her it. She It was the only thing that used to be able to get his mind off of his family, his pain, his guilt, his rage… 

For so long, she it was the only thing. Now, he was left to just force himself to live through this. He was better off. It was going to stop his full potential. It had already stunted him so much. He spent years building a fortress for it and throwing himself in front of everything that came its way. Never again. 

.

After they began officially dating, she was acting weird and he let it go. This was new for both of them and she was still trying to figure out her sexuality. He thought he was extremely understanding about her characteristics. As a matter of fact, up until the moment that he realized that she was a liar, he found no flaws in her at all. He loved all of her, perfect in every way and in the ways that she wasn’t, he never took notice. He just re-imaged those things as perfect, because they were things that were of Grace. Being a snobby, rich bitch - fine. Being lazy and irresponsible, sure. Being wishy-washy and confusing… he didn’t love that, but he accepted it and always assumed that maybe he was mistaken, or maybe she was the confused one in those moments. He never thought that she was deceiving him. Now, it was all that he could think about.

How many lies she must have told him over the years, how much of his childhood and adolescence was built upon those lies… He had to try to void everything that he had ever known her to be from his life, and from his mind.

“Do you not love me?”

“I do!”

Had he not been so blinded by his love, he would have known that she didn’t mean it. He would have heard it in her tone. He would have seen it in her eyes. “The void was just that good,” he told himself. “It tricked everyone. You watched it work for so long, you thought that you were exempt. It cares about nothing but itself.”

She seemed like she was withdrawing from him. He didn’t want to see it at the time, but he knew what that looked like. He couldn’t stop his mother from doing it. He couldn’t stop his father from doing it. He couldn’t even keep the pet cat around! How does one even run off an animal? 

The point was… he saw Grace leaving. He saw her packing up. He saw her setting out. He did everything he could possibly think of to prevent it, even before she realized that she was leaving. But, when somebody wants to get away from you, they’ll do whatever you let them do to get away. She should have thanked him. He not only let her go, but he removed her completely. That’s what she wanted, anyway. She made that decision herself. “The void would have taken everything from you. Everything you worked for. Everything you’ve built. Everything you set in place to manage without the liars, the leavers, the lost ones…” 

She first began slipping away from him before they became official. She started having problems with things that she didn’t have problems with previously… Honestly, she started the moment that she chose to leave him behind to tour for the summer when they were 15. The previous 5 years,  she had plenty of times she could have went on the road. She either blew off her auditions or she didn’t push herself as hard. She had said that she could show off her skills on the Internet and have just as big of a following, if not a bigger one than if she built a resume of dance troupes and traveling ballet. She even forfeited the chance to be in a Broadway production, because she was worried that she’d never get to see him again. Then, when they were 15… It became more important to her than him.

He tried not to take it personally, because she had sacrificed plenty of opportunities for him before. But, it was a bad time for him, and a busy time and… he needed her. He always needed her back then. He had never been prepared to not have her. Sure, he could have went with her, like she wanted, but if HE put off his things, he didn’t have rich parents to fall back on. He didn’t have parents to fall back on, period. She… was in more of a position to give up her goals… but she had decided not to. That was fair. He told himself many times every day that was fair and she deserved to choose herself sometime. She came back changed… or maybe he changed without her there. That much doesn’t matter, right now. What matters is that he TRIED to fix them. She leaned more into these changes. These changes that could tear them apart. Changes that would leave him lonely again, for the first time in years.

Grace was working on her music career junior year. After the tour, she had connections that she didn’t want to go cold. She would throw herself into those and into creation while Simon was working on a future that he still hoped was for both of them. He was working his ass off for them, but in hindsight, she was working hers off for herself. After she was Simon’s girlfriend, at school, things felt different for her. Everybody treated her exactly the same way that they always had, but everything was just different. 

Simon was either more social than she knew him to be, or had gotten that way overnight. Then again… He was in StuCo and held a position… so he had the social skills to at least win people over. She supposed that she hadn’t noticed because he was the one who she always had to talk out of a fight. He was more than that, of course, but… she guessed that she hadn’t realized how many friends he must’ve had, because he was doing a lot and having to leave her behind, most of the time.

Most times, he gave her a quick rundown of what type of stuff he had to do for the day, kissed her on the cheek, promised to see her later and rushed off. She chalked it up to the busy schedule that he had been speaking about for this year, at least a year in advance, and didn’t think much of it. At least, whenever they had space, she didn’t have to wonder what to do next. She didn’t have to decide if she should be sitting in his lap like his friend’s girlfriend, or in between his legs like that girl across the way, or straddling him like Shana sometimes did whoever she was dating, or… sit there, with her book, pretending not to see any of it and smiling at Simon whenever they made eye contact. 

Simon was always studying her, surveying, making inventory of her expressions and potential emotions. She could feel him investigating and she didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t know what to do with his findings… Why was she so uncomfortable when he looked at her? Why did she shy away from his gaze? What was wrong with her that she didn’t want his attention? She always wanted attention… it was basically her identity! Not only did she start to seemingly have problems with his attention, but also the rest of the world’s attention.

Being trapped in her room most of the time meant more work on her music. Anytime she posted something new, someone always showed up to remind others of how she "accosted an innocent woman on the train and threatened to ruin her life if she sought justice" and that she "is actually a terrible person." Sure, her fans defended her, but her focus was stuck on the negative feedback. Simon told her, “Don’t worry about those nulls. You’re Apex royalty. They’re scrubs.” He wasn’t remotely concerned about it. 

Simon had asked himself if he had defended her to them, would things have been different between them… but the previous times he had defended her, she got mad at him! It took him days to get her back to normal, and even then, she seemed tepid. She was letting a bunch of strangers on the Internet doubt herself. 

“She let a bunch of nulls weigh in on her confidence, then she got made at ME for agreeing with her parents that it was weak of her. It was! The Apex doesn’t care about the opinions of nulls!” He realized that he was speaking of the void like it was a person again. Personifying it. Humanizing it. That was sometimes difficult not to do. He would tap into his disappointment, hurt, and anger and he knew it was because of this rot that had spread in his life for years. 

But, every now and then a glimmer of her smile, her smell, her softness would hit him in the heart and he would forget about it temporarily. For a few moments, she would be the love of his life again… “It doesn’t care about you. It never did. The void is a parasite. It would have poisoned everything, if you hadn’t cut the head off and incapacitated it.”

He glanced over at a mannequin head designed to look like it. It had given him the idea, inadvertently whenever it jokingly accused him of being a life size figurine of himself. Immediately, he thought - I’ve gotta make her one of those! It was a passion project, and of course, he didn’t have a lot of time to work on it, but the head was complete by the time it showed itself as the hollow it was.

.

Grace felt like she hadn’t smiled for real in a while. Nobody really noticed. The Apex didn’t know her that well. Simon didn’t have time for her. Her parents probably never cared. She went into town with her flock of girls, these days. She felt like Simon was sending them to be around her and she didn’t know if that was sweet or creepy. But, she ditched them at the mall to go to see him. He was at work that night, at the learning center. He had a job helping to tutor struggling kids - one that his credits as a student tutor at the Academy, his grades, his position as one of the students enrolled in the early college program, and a recommendation from Mr. Monroe got him hired at, despite the fact that most of the staff here were actual educators. 

They didn’t even know about the fact that Simon had started a business of doing people's homework, projects, sometimes their tests from the time he was 11 until he was 15. He was definitely qualified for tutoring, but it was her father’s recommendation that really gave him the edge over actual teachers. He was satisfied enough there. He still did a project or two for the rich kids when he could squeeze something in, for extra cash. He was saving up to move out of his dad’s house. Now that his mother was at her mother’s, his dad was considering leaving the military and coming home. Simon didn’t want to be around for that, but there never seemed to be enough money for anything. That was his “adult” experience… Working all of the time, going to school, barely hanging on to his sanity, and yet being so broke that had his father not still been paying the bills, he knew he might be homeless and starving… so it was presumable that's how he might live once Mr. Laurent got back.

He couldn't ask the Monroes for more help. They had practically been taking care of him for the past two years. Mr. Monroe, at least, had been helpful in ways that Simon couldn’t describe. Sure, he believed he would have figured things out for himself , but thanks to the Monroes, he hadn't had to. He intended to pay them back eventually, but for now, he worked hard and loved Grace with everything else he had. 

"Hey." He heard her say, walking in with a bag and a cup holder. His smile was wide and his eyes lit up. That made her reflexively smile back. How many of those smiles were fake, he’d have to wonder for as long as he couldn’t shake her out of his mind. “Ditched the girls to bring you dinner. Didn’t know if you’d have a chance to get to some on your own.”

He checked the time on his phone, “Actually, you’re right on time. I was about to go into the computer room and work on homework before I head out.”

“Yeah! Great timing is a thing that I definitely usually don’t have.” 

They went into the breakroom to eat and Simon was on his phone, furrowing his eyebrows and blocking people in Grace’s comments. She glanced over and saw, then sank in her seat, not wanting to think about her latest post. “This sounds really good, Grace,” he told her.  And he meant it. The vocal coach that she had began to see so that she could confidently transition into singing was paying off. It wasn’t that she sounded bad before, but her voice was pretty bland and she didn’t seem to be able to find her range on her own. 

“I wish the audience thought that,” she said, with a sigh. The Internet was making her depressed and isolated. Every thing that she shared came with thousands of critics. As someone used to only either being complimented or ignored, criticism hurt a little more than she would have expected. Perhaps because she was too popular and therefore attracted more feedback than a person probably should have to be faced with at 16.

Regardless of that, Simon shrugged and said, “Anybody who doesn’t like it doesn’t have to listen to it. They’re there, so they obviously wanted to hear the song. Besides, I see way more support than hate.” 

“Maybe so, but there’s a LOT of hate, and it’s very aggressive and hurtful. Like… I don’t understand why me trying out a new song and someone not liking it can’t just be scrolled by. Why did this girl have to tell me: Ugh. Everybody tries to be a singer. You’re a lip gloss model, Honey. Keep doing that. Beautiful gowns.”

“Because, she’s a bitch,” Simon said and took a bite of his sandwich. Grace let out an irritated sigh that caused him to look up from his phone. “What?”

“You just… don’t get it.”

“What don’t I get? The song sounds good. You have excellent equipment. You wrote pretty clever lyrics, did your own music, sang and was proud enough of your work to share it with the world. Now that a few birds have come squawking, you no longer see the greatness in what you shared? I know you wouldn't have posted it if you didn’t think it was perfect. So, I get it more than you do. You’re distracted by someone with a crooked wig on in her profile picture?” 

Grace looked at the profile picture and saw that the woman’s wig definitely had been sadly placed onto her head. She laughed about it  and laughed at herself a little too… but this was always Simon’s reaction to her venting about the people that made her feel bad. He’d basically make her feel a little bit worse by not acknowledging that her feelings were valid and by pointing out how insignificant her critics were. The simple fact that he had a point, that they were nulls, and she was letting them upset her only made her feel worse, which she couldn’t tell him because he didn’t seem to take her feeling bad that seriously anyway. 

She knew it was because she had always prided herself on being strong and not caring what people thought about her… but she was handled a lot differently outside of her echo chamber. The Internet was global and her following was high, but some of the people who followed her seemed to do it just to see what to complain about, just to make a dent in her day. They succeeded, too. But, the only person she could admit it to just told her to suck it up. 

“I’m thinking about going to a performing arts college,” she said. Simon dropped his phone and stared at her. She smiled awkwardly and said, “I mean… You’re preparing pretty hardcore for college and I’ve dived into this music thing. Maybe, I ought to be more serious about it and actually get the official credentials..”

“Where are you thinking of going?”

“I’m thinking of trying to go to Julliard.” He relaxed a little bit at that. Juilliard was in New York. That would be farther from him than he  would like, but if he was at MIT, that would be about an hour away and if he was at Princeton… well… That would be 3 hours, or more… but… He had enough time to put these things into his planning and decision making. “Or… I might go uh, overseas.” Now, his frown was embedded in all of his features. “If I can’t get into the best one in the world, I’m going to shoot for the next best… that’s in Austria…” She bit her lip, waiting for his demeanor to change, hoping that he just had to think about it for a moment. His demeanor did change, but he seemed further away from what she wanted of him at the moment. “What brought this on?” He asked.

“Just… want to get more serious about my craft. Sure, I can spend hours and hours a day working on choreography and songs, training with some of the best professionals in the entire world, but people are still coming onto my dance video posts and saying things like, “I didn’t know that Grace Monroe could dance! I love her more now!” Didn’t know that I could dance? That’s like… the ONE THING that I can do with complete confidence! I’m trying to get my music career started when my first talent isn’t even recognized…”

“It IS recognized! It’s recognized ALL of the time. You’re just so focused on the dregs that don’t recognize, that you’re willing to go 4000 miles away from me, for years, to impress strangers on the Internet who probably STILL won’t fuck with you, because most of the people inciting you are people who just don’t like you, Grace!” He let out a chuckle of disbelief, but she hated it.

“Don’t laugh,” she said, very seriously.

“I’m not laughing,” he said, shook his head, then slumped back in his seat, resting his face in his palm as he tried to collect himself. 

"How could you have possibly taken everything that I just told you about how I'm feeling and what I intend to try to do about that and just… make it about you?"

He uncovered his face to look at hers. She looked like she was going to cry. He hated when she cried. It was too far away from her normal… at least it used to be. She was crying more and more lately. Sometimes from the littlest things.

"If you can't see how much a decision like that will affect both of us, then I'm not sure if I currently am in the mood to explain it to you."

"Whenever I shared my thoughts about how much people were hurting my feelings, you didn't care about how that could affect the both of us. You just expected me to deal with it on my own. This is my idea for how I deal with that."      

He leaned his elbows on the small table, steepled his fingers and rested his head against his hands. She wants to leave you. She’s using the excuse that people are hurting her feelings so that she can leave you and never come back. She never wanted you. She made that clear and you refused to see it. You thought that it was your brain being mean to you. She lied to you. She never loved you and she never wanted you. Now, she’s pretending that worthless people make her feel bad… She would rather look WEAK to you than to stay with you… 

“Simon?” She said. He scoffed. Fake concern. Don’t let her trick you with her soft voice. She’s venomous. She let you love her because she was bored, and now, she’s trying to abandon you like everyone else. “Simon,” she said, more stern. Drown her out. Drown her out. Drown her out. Drown her… “Simon!” She had gotten up and turned his face to look at her with her palm. She made him look into her eyes and he was powerless again. “Where’d you go?” She asked, smiling nervously.

“Did I do something wrong? Why do you want to leave me?” He asked, in a small voice. Maybe his brain was being mean right now. Maybe… it was all a misunderstanding? PLEASE, JUST TELL ME YOU LOVE ME AND THAT I’M OVERREACTING! I. WILL. BELIEVE. YOU.

“No. I did. I thought that I was ready to introduce myself to the world and now that the world knows me, there’s people out there who can’t stand me and I just… I don’t know how to do with that. In real life, they at least pretend to like me, you know?”

She rubbed her hands together anxiously. Lies. She can’t possibly care about the way these strangers feel. She’s Grace Monroe. She knows that she’s invincible. Caring about the movements of ants is futile… “Okay… What do you need me to do to fix it?” He asked, trying to ignore his brain’s warnings.

“Just, support me? I just want to take a step back from all the Internet music, maybe keep creating and try to get into a studio with something I’m proud of, instead of posting onto my websites, and… I really want to try to go to school, just to be more confident that I really do belong in the industry and that I’m not just Internet famous because I was a pretty face with the best organic lip gloss.”

“Support you… leaving me,” he said. 

She couldn’t pick up any emotion. It was like something had settled in his mind. Something that he didn’t let her know. “It would be temporary, Simon. Just like whenever you thought you would have to go to the military after graduation.”

“I recall very minimal support from you in regards to that.”

“Yeah, well… I stick by what I said. Our military is a global terrorist, oppressing and destroying civilization in mostly Brown nations. Juilliard is hardly like that, and I most likely will get in! I don’t think I'll HAVE to go to Austria. I wanted to be clear that it’s an option.  I just meant the time that we’ll be apart. Plus, I’d send for you if you ever need to see me.” She knelt beside him, cupped his face and kissed him on the lips. He froze in place. She NEVER kisses you on the lips. She always moves her face to make you kiss her on the cheek, or the nose, or… something. She’s placed her hand between your mouths, before! You can’t ignore this any further. It’ll break your heart. You’ve lost her. There’s a void where your Grace once was… Tears fell down Simon’s cheeks as he stared at Grace’s confused face.

She wiped them away with her thumbs and as his tears were being cleared away, so was her face. He just saw a blurry form in front of him, a dark shadow, with an aura of smoke. He looked terrified. She turned to look behind her, alarmed by his reaction, thinking something was hovering over her. She definitely felt a switch of things in the atmosphere. She didn’t see anything though. Simon did.

A void. It stood in front of him, speaking with Grace’s voice and trying to pass itself off as the girl he’d loved for as long as he knew her. That girl was obviously gone. No longer fit for him. No longer fit for the Apex. “Okay.” He said, suddenly fine, as far as she could tell. “I’ll support you.” She offered him a small, confused smile, but he didn’t return it. He didn’t even look at her again. He collected their trash, threw it out and took her hand, “I’ll get you home. 

.

Simon was silent the entire way to the Monroe’s estate. He didn’t get out to get her door, or walk her to the mansion, or talk with her father, so she knew that even though he said he was okay with her decision, that he wasn’t. It was best to just give him his space to work it out, she thought. She thought wrong... Simon tensed up whenever she kissed him on the cheek goodnight. As soon as she got out of the car, he peeled away, vigorously wiping the Apex red lip print from his face. She didn’t deserve to grant anybody that mark anymore. 

He drove with trembling hands and lips, talking to himself, arguing with himself about Grace. Grace that once hunted down his bullies with him because she thought he was the most important person in the world. Grace who had threatened anyone who so much as said something rude to him in passing. Grace... who used to want to be near him, and have his back. The Grace that couldn’t stand the thought of being anywhere without him at her side... She was as dead to him as Hope was. 

Speaking of... This had began right around the time that she brought him to the cemetery. Was it related? Had Hope somehow reached over and taken her vengeance on him by stealing away his Grace and replacing her with this dark spirit? This ghost? This VOID??? He pulled into the garage of his house, crying again. He left his backpack in the car. He wasn’t going to be doing anymore work that night. He passed the shrine that his father had in the workspace every time he pulled in, but usually, he avoided looking at it. Tonight, he paused and stared at her face. He... had forgotten it. He looked at the photos, wondering if she always looked that way? Not the angel that he remembered dying, but something sinister, smiling joyously at him as he shriveled in pain. “Did you do this?” He asked her. He could hear her laughs in his mind from that night. Her taunting him, making him feel like he wasn’t enough. “I didn’t mean it, Hope! It was an accident!” he yelled at the photos. 

“Fake man! Fake man! Wook at the widdle baby man! Can’t catch me! You’re not a man! Mommy lied! Mommy lied!” 

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to. I didn’t... Please, just... stop.” He whispered, crying more than he had in a long time. Her photos began to move, to cackle, to point at him and call him a baby man... He roared and punched the display, breaking the glass of the frame, which fell on it’s face, bounced off of the desk and crashed to the floor. Now, it was covered in blood. Only a bit of it was from his fist... the rest seemed to be seeping from the cracks in the frame. Like... he had killed Hope, all over again. He picked up a shard of the glass and clenched it in his fist. This was too much. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. This was his mind messing with him, He needed to center himself.

He raised his sleeve and looked at all of the tally marks that he had made for his Grace and he began to add on to them. “1 You are stronger than anybody you know. 2 You are smarter than anybody you know. 3 You can survive losing Grace. 4 Only you can get rid of the void that swallowed her whole. 5 You owe the Apex to get rid of the void. 6 You can do anything. 7 There’s nobody who could stop you. 8 You’re on your own now, but that’s for the best. 9 No one will hold you back. 10 No one can hurt you again, because everyone you loved is gone...” He took a deep breath, looked at the broken frame and threw his piece of glass on top of it. He didn’t even care about cleaning it up. The girl in the photo couldn’t hurt him anymore. And neither could the one in his memories... The one that he used to call Grace, “The void,” he said, going into the house. 

Next

[wienerbarnes]

Cheek to Cheek (3/5)

Pairing: Bucky x Criminal!Reader

Word Count: 1,497

Warnings: Injuries, creepy kidnapping environment

A/N: wouldnt be my series if i didnt post late :) ngl i got drunk and forgot LMAO but here’s part 3! ill post again tomorrow to catch up <3

SERIES MASTERLIST

Bucky ignores Sam’s phone call asking him to go help out the next day. He’s set up a last minute appointment with his therapist after what occurred in that room yesterday; an appointment he’s on his way to now. As he reaches a stoplight on his bike, he pulls out his phone and listens to the voicemail Sharon left him late last night.

“Hey, Buck. Don’t worry about helping out tomorrow. I know Sam will ask you, but I can tell you need to rest. We’ll get this case figured out; we’ve already exposed her as a fraud. We’ll probably do some more interrogating tomorrow, she’s probably orchestrating the kidnapping for some reason. I’ll keep you updated. Take care.” Her voice cuts off with a beep in Bucky’s headphones and he lets out a sigh as the light changes.

He continues along the road, absentmindedly looking about his surrounds, when something catches his eye.

A light up sign of a waterfall, the neon not yet turned on now during the day, with the word “NIAGARA” spelled out; the building looks like a bar of some sort.

“Waterfall. W-water falling. N-not water.” Your voice flashes in his mind.

Don’t let her get in your fucking head, Barnes. Fuck! Get a hold of yourself, Bucky scolds himself. As Bucky nears the corner of the next block, he sees a statue of an angel with wings.

“An angel of stone.” He’s reminded of you again.

He turns right at this block and decides to take the long way to his therapist’s office. He lets out puffs of breath to calm himself and stop from freaking the fuck out. “It’s nothing. You’re creating coincidences in your mind.” Bucky says to himself.

As he drives down the alleyway, he slows down next to a large building, a warehouse. There’s a sign on the fence that says “CONDEMNED”. The chain around the lock has been broken.

“A cellar… Warehouse, condemned.”

Bucky parks his bike. 

He quietly sneaks throughout the warehouse, gun and pocket flashlight drawn in front of him. The warehouse is almost pitch black inside, smelling of gasoline, garbage, and death. There’s a steady dripping coming from somewhere along the ceiling and an occasional flutter of bird wings of pigeons who got lost in there. He eventually comes up to an open space, still lit candles scattered along the ground. Must of been recent if they’re still lit. Something shiny catches Bucky’s eye and he kneels on the ground to get a closer look. A gold bracelet. A very familiar looking bracelet. A bracelet he saw in one of the photos of Elizabeth Hawley Sharon showed him two days ago. He picks up the bracelet in his metal hand and stuffs it in his jacket pocket. He looks forward a few feet in front of him and sees a wire coat hanger on the ground.

“A-and a hanger. They whip him with a coat hanger. A wire coat hanger…”

Bucky cancels his appointment and calls Sam.

…

“They made a positive ID on the bracelet you found, Bucky. Good work.” Sharon praises him as they meet back at the tower.

There’s a moment of silence as Sharon and Sam organized their notes from the crime scene they’ve just left. The crime scene Bucky stumbled upon.

“I lied to the FBI about how a found the warehouse.” Bucky blurts out, not making eye contact with either of his partners.

“Excuse me?” Sam stares at him.

“How’d you find it?” Sharon’s voice raises.

“...It was where she said it’d be.” Bucky says and his teammates sigh with annoyance.

“Bucky, what if it was a set up? You could be dead right now!” Sharon scolds him.

“We have to go back and interrogate her again.” Bucky says. Sam and Sharon glance at each other before looking back at Bucky.

“We have three more days until those kids are dead and then our only connection to this case gets lethal injection two days after that. It’s the only thing that’s worked.” Bucky rationalizes to them.

Bucky sees the gears turning in their heads as they think about the non-existent other options they have.

“I’ll call the ward.” Sharon says before walking out of the room.

…

“His eyes are cold. So cold.”

“Describe him.” Sam demands.

Your eyes look tired as they look at Sams. You almost look childlike. Like a toddler who’s gone too long without a nap. Or a hug. Or any kind of touch that didn’t inflict pain. Bucky doesn’t know what it is, but he feels something deep down inside him for you. Maybe it’s sadness. Maybe it's pity. Maybe it’s his own instinct to save and take care of people. Maybe it’s guilt. For what, he’s not sure. But he wants to help you so bad and you don’t seem to know what you need help for.

“I see a, a scar. Tall, pale guy. Late 20’s.” You begin. You pause and your brows furrow as your lip begins to tremble ever so slightly. “He’s looking at Elizabeth. He’s gonna get the hanger…” Tear quickly gather in your eyes and you shut them tight.

“Where is he?” Sam asks.

“By the window… he’s waiting… It’s a small boathouse on Lake Seneca.” You finally force out, your voice thick with emotion.

“You got that?” Sam turns to Sharon as she wordlessly finishes writing in her notepad before standing and collecting her things, Bucky following suit.

The three of them begin to file out of the room when she stops them.

“Miss Carter?” Your voice whispers.

Sharon turns to look at you, waiting for whatever you’re going to tell her. “Don’t go near the white cross… We see you down… and your blood spills on the white cross.” You warn.

Sharon looks at you for a few more seconds before walking out of the room, her two partners following after her.

…

The three suit up in silence in the jet ride there. Tactical gear, guns and knives, and bullet proof vest for Sharon. Bucky insisted she wear one after that white cross comment from you.

The boathouse looks abandoned. Grass is overgrown, floorboards of the front porch are torn to shreds and the paint is chipping on the sides of the house. There’s silence as they approach; not even crickets are sticking around this shit-hole. 

The air is cold and sharp, as though there’s thousands of needle pricks hitting Bucky’s skin as he walks, no matter how slow he steps. It’s the kind of atmosphere that makes you want to rip your hair out for no reason, or just scream into the void as loud as you can. It’s the type of atmosphere that can make a person go insane if they’re around here for too long. It’s eerie. And Bucky hates it.

The three of them finally enter the building, immediately finding Elizabeth and James tied up in the corner of the room. Sam rushes to them to rid the gags from their mouths and untie their restraints.

“Sweep the docks!” He orders.

Bucky and Sharon head off in a similar direction but split off at the docks to clear the area.

Sharon’s steps along the end of the dock are silent. She sees the water at the other end shifting calmly due to the small boat tied to the pillar. She raises her gun and flashlight towards the boat, the large tarp draped over it raising her suspicions. The longer she stares at it, the less sure she is that there is or isn’t something under there. 

It all happens in a second. It one small crease in the tarp that outlines a body and she yells, “Special agent! Don’t move!” before a shot is fired and knocks her off her feet.

Her back slams against the ground and a groan escapes her and the boat motor echoes into the night as it speeds off. She feels large hands rip her tactical gear open and she peeks down to see one single bullet lodged into the bullet proof vest. She glances at Bucky, who’s lightly feeling over her arms and the rest of her torso to ensure there’s no other injuries, and she closes her eyes again in both annoyance and getting the wind knocked out of her.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., get medical ready back at the tower, just in case.”

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky sighs and glances around the area before noticing something.

“Don’t go near the white cross… We see you down… and your blood spills on the white cross.”

A tall white cross, standing about fifteen feet tall stands at the corner of the dock where Sharon lays. If not for her bullet proof vest, her blood would’ve splattered across the white frame.

A shiver crawls up Bucky’s spine and a hand on his shoulder makes him jolt.

“C’mon, man. Let’s get her up. Hopefully Red Wing caught some footage of the boat we can analyze back at the tower. Elizabeth and James are waiting on the jet hooked up to IV’s.” Sam informs him, crouching down to his level so they can hoist Sharon up.

Bucky’s takes one last look at the cross before walking with Sam back to the jet.