#or cover him in massive amounts of blood and make him cry

[scandinavianfairytale]

Wanting

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Reader

Warnings: Consumption of alcohol, consumption of drugs, discussion on drugs, friends with benefit (somehow?), cursing, sexual themes & smut (DUB-CON, grinding, police van sex, drugged out sex, mention of public sex, mention of rape, mention of revenge porn (not towards Reader), mention pornography, mention of non-consensual filming, fingering, one pussy slap, unprotected sex, hard sex - Walter is not gentle & sees it like a punishment, multiple orgasms, drooling, crying, squirting, chocking, creampie, little bit of praise)

Walter disliked being on call on Friday nights. Ever since the new drug, Houdini, started popping up everywhere the police has been running around in circles, trying to find the main supplier, but has repeatedly come up short.

Houdini was a mixture of ketamine and ecstasy. A party drug that is supposed to highten your senses and drive up your sex drive. Sounds like a perfect mix, but what the dealers left out was the memory loss, the dehydration that followed and complete lack of mobility.

It was a mess all over the damn country - the rape cases skyrocketed, revenge porn sites were having a field day because of all the public fucking taking place, the emergency rooms were stacked with people on gurneys and everyone had to deal with victims with memory loss.

Everyone was having a bad time - the victims which were pilling up by the minute, the police that was understaffed had to do even more over hours and the doctors that had to triage almost every Friday night.

Yet people were still taking that stupid drug.

Walter was pissed off, to say the least.

How are people this stupid?

He thought as he watched a group of drunk women giggling after just snorting the Houdini. His blood boiled knowing damn well that he couldn't do anything about it. The amount of people taking this drug was too high for everyone to get arrested or booked. Priorities his superiors loved preaching.

One of the women left the group to get some drinks. Her dress barely covered anything, leaving very little to the imagination. He shook his head as he watched several heads turn after the woman. She definitely got the attention she wanted.

"Walter!" He heard and looked around to see who was calling him. Out of all the damned people, you were the woman in that short dress. The one that just snorted the Houdini. Walter clenched his jaw and his grip on the beer he was drinking tightened.

How can you be so stupid?

"It's been a while." You smiled at him. He could see how drunk you already were and he also knew the drug will take effect soon, if it hasn't already.

"You should come meet my friends!" You grabbed his arm and pulled him towards you, stumbling a few steps back as his massive weight crashed into you. Walter let you drag him to your friends, also because he knew that whatever attention you had on you would dissipate once he was next to you.

"Girls, this is Walter! The friend I told you about!"

"Oooooh, the policeman." One of your friends slurred.

"Are you here to arrest us? We're just trying to have a good time." Another winked.

"Oh stop it! He's the nice policeman. He would never arrest us." You leaned into him.

It already started taking effect.

You weren't aware of it yet, but you started lightly grinding on his leg. He heard how your breath came out laboured, and he knew he had to get you out of there. Grabbing your arm, he started dragging you away from your friends.

"Walter, what the hell?! Let me go!" You yelled, trying to resist his grip.

"I can't believe you out of all your stupid friends are acting this way." He grumbled. "You know better than anyone what's going on these days."

"I was careful." You whined, stopping him in his tracks. He turned around to glare at you, making you shut your mouth.

"Careful? You don't even realize that the drug has started taking effect. You can barely stand and I'm pretty fucking sure that if I let you stagger back to that bar you'd get lost."

"Fuck you."

"Right." Walter started dragging you to the police van parked in the small street.

"Get out." He barked at the man that was inside, surveilling the cameras around the city. The man tried to object but one stern look from Walter sent him out. Water threw you in the van, climbing in behind you and closing the door.

"What is your problem?" You yelled at him, tugging your dress down when you realized you were much more exposed than you were comfortable with.

"Now you're trying to cover up?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're more than happy to bare your ass to strangers but with me you get shy? What the fuck were you thinking taking the Houdini?" You never realized he was so big as just now that he was towering over you. Your pussy clenched as your eyes lingered on his cock.

"Tammy took it before and she said she had the best fuck of her life. I just wanted to see how it felt like." You bit your lip as he crouched down to you.

"You're taking advice from a drug addict. Are you stupid?"

"I didn't take the full dose." You defended yourself. "Just a taste, to see how it feels."

"And? How does it feel?"

"Antsy." You swallowed, trying to decide whether or not to tell your very angry friend what you were thinking. You shifted on the floor a bit and the cold steel flooring touched your soaked pussy, making you gasp.

"I see the Houdini is in full swing." Walter observed you.

"Can you help me, please?"

"I'm not going to be nice. You need to learn a lesson, and maybe next time, you won't go around experimenting with drugs." You nodded before Walter pulled your collar down, exposing your breasts. His hand cupped one and pinched your nipple, making you moan.

"Keep tour mouth shut." He slammed a hand over your mouth, grabbed your hips with the other, spinning you around, and pushed you into the wall of the van. He kicked your feet further apart, making you stick your ass further into him. You could feel your nipples harden at the contact with the cold steel material. His hand then traveled to the center, under your dress, before finding your clit and circling it, making your hips buck.

"You're dripping." He said into your ear before he forced two of his thick fingers into your still clothed pussy, making you moan into his hand that was still clamped over your mouth.

"Completely soaked." Walter commented. "That's the Houdini doing its magic. Imagine if I left you there, you'd be grinding up on some coked up asshole that'd fuck you right in the middle of the bar. Anyone could record you and you'd end up on some porn site, where strangers would jack-off seeing such a whore like you get publicly fucked out of her mind. Maybe a coworker of yours stumbles upon it - bye-bye that stellar career of yours." His voice was low and raspy. Somehow, that made you even more aroused. Your pussy had a mind of her own as you realized you have been incessantly humping Walters fingers.

"Mmph." Moaning, your tongue licked his fingers, making Walter tsk. You could see your release, just a few more grinds.

"You're getting hornier by the second." He chuckled and withdrew his fingers, taking away that sweet feeling, making you whine. "But I'll be nice and I'll take care of you." He rasped into your ear before he spun you around and bent you over the control table, your head laying on the keyboard. Tugging your laughably short dress up, he exposed your core to him. He slapped your pussy, making you yelp. He tsked again when his hand made contact with your drenched and sticky thongs. His fingers wrapped around the string, pulling it away before releasing it back on your skin. Throwing your gead back with a loud "God" your pussy clenched at the impact and your back arched at the sensation.

Walter chuckled as he watched your cunt throb as he started unbuckling his belt. He finally pulled down your thong and ran his leaking cock up and down your puffy pussy. Your chest heaved, and you made sounds you didn't recognize. All you wanted needed was his cock in your cunt.

"Remember that I'm not being nice." He warned before he seethed himself in you with one powerful thrust, slamming your hips into the control table. It hurt, but in the most delicious way that you have never experienced before. The pace he set was brutal, the letters of the keyboard scratched your face, adding to the mix of pain and pleasure you were feeling.

Your orgasm hit you fast and hard, your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your body spasming on his cock, but Walter just continued fucking into you. He was like a man possessed, grunting and moaning above you, his pace never faltering even after you clenched around him. He immediately pushed you into your second orgasm, making you moan out loud as juices squirted out of you.

"Fuck." Walter cursed as he felt your squirt wet his thighs. "Let's see if you can do that again."

His hand moved from your hip to your stretched pussy, circling the spot where you were joined, making you gurgle. His pace switched, his cock was slowly stretching your walls and with your drugged state you could feel almost every vein on his organ.

Mindblowing.

"Stop drooling over the keyboard." He stopped his adminitrations and grabbed a fistful of your hair to push you away from any electronics before returning his hand back.

"You're completely stretched, must be painful." He commented as he circled your full hole. You choked on your words and tried to shake your head.

"No? Good, you're taking me quite well." He praised you, making your legs shake a bit. His fingers lightly stroked around your pussy, purposefully avoiding your clit, making you whine.

"Walter...please..." You choked out.

"What is it?"

It was hard to formulate words, your body was on fire and it felt like cumming was the only thing that would put it out. But in the state that you were in, all you managed to let out was a hoarse "Cum.".

"You want to cum?" He mocked your meager attempt to communicate what you need.

"Mhm."

"So, if I touch you here," Walter tapped your clit which made your hips buck and him smirk. "then you'll cum almost immediately?" You could feel him starting to prepare himself for another round. One that you knew you were losing soon, not that there was anything to complain about.

His fingers framed your clit and his other hand grabbed at your throat. "Let's see how much you can take."

His pace again hardened, his first sharp thrust made your hips slam back into the edge of the control table, but this time he kept you firmly pinned by your neck, preventing you from slipping away. His fingers were rough on your engorged clit, but that just added another layer to your rapture.

You couldn't form a sound anymore. Your body just locked when the orgasm hit you, but then when your juices squirted out, you started convulsing. But he just kept going completely overloading you, your hand fruitlessly reached for his hand, trying to shove it away from your clit, but he wasn't bothered.

You couldn't handle another orgasm, but you had no choice but to take it. Both of you could feel how close you were to another peak again.

"That's it, come on, I know you have another one in you." His grip on your throat increased, making you release a choking sound, tears welling up in your eyes, but it also made your pussy clamp down on his cock, making you squirt again. A few thrusts more and finally Walter released himself into you. Feeling the few spurts painting your womb and his cock go slack, you finally let out a relieved sigh.

It was over.

"Good girl." Walter cooed, kissing your shoulder. He carefully let go of your throat and pulled his cock out and your body finally slumped, completely exhausted. Observing your abused and puffy pussy, his cock twitched as it refused to close. It really was a sight to see how his spend oozed out of your hole and he resisted the urge to push it back in.

He buckled up his pants and carefully pulled your thongs up, sitting you on the only chair in the van. He rummaged around to find a jacket before draping it over you, before he opened the van door again and carried you out in his arms. Your head lolled as your consciousness wavered.

Walter walked past the man who was previously thrown out of the van and the man immediately knew not to comment or bring up the situation again.

"Shhh, don't worry. I got you. Just rest now." Walter shushed you as you tried speaking. Nodding weakly, you let the darkness consume you.

Thank you for reading! 🙈

The GIF belongs to the amazing creator! 😊

[emeritusemeritus]

Vulnera Sanentur [Weasley Twins x Reader]

Part 13

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Masterlist

Title: Vulnera Sanentur

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley {established relationship}

Timeline: DH1&2- Initially set during the battle of the seven potters. Canon and certain plot points have been altered for the needs of the story.

Summary: The battle of the seven Potters throws your world into chaos when one of your boyfriend’s is cursed. As Snape’s ex-potions assistant and previous protégée, you recognise the inflicted curse immediately and demand answers from your mentor.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of war and Voldy, descriptions of injury and blood, descriptive smut, p in v sex, shower sex, tension. Outside sex. Semi public sex. None sexual nudity. Crying. Snape has a soft spot for reader. Arguments. Probably some cursing. Mentions of nightmares. Reader is part of the Order of the Phoenix. Mentions of death (Dumbledore). Mentions of Tonks’ pregnancy. On it got a angsty. So much angst I can’t tag it all. Not spellchecked nor beta read, we die like Madeye.

Additional Warning: this chapter contains some heavy themes, mentions of injury, torture (though only brief) and negative body image. If you aren’t comfortable with this please feel free to skip forward.

"Go shower baby, take all the time you need. I'll make you a cup of tea for when you're out," George says gently, his hands placed tenderly on your hips as he presses a kiss to the back of your head. You didn't protest, though for a brief moment you did think that it was strange that Fred hadn't joined you but you were too tired to really think, not wanting to begin spiralling again. You turned and leaned up to press a kiss to George's lips, a sweet and gentle peck that you probably needed more than him before you walked into the bedroom to get some fresh clothes.

The bed wasn't made and there were clothes littering the floor near the wardrobe, the doors still wide open which only proved the point that they had fled quickly to Muriel's without time to fix up before they left. You walked over to the large dresser and immediately spot two empty photo frames littered around, missing the photographs that had occupied them only a few months ago. You recognised the photos as one taken in your fifth year during a snowball fight with both twins and you stood proudly around a snowman you'd made in the courtyard. The other, was a photo of the three of you at the yule ball, all dressed up in your finest, their hands at your waist as you beamed into the camera. Not having the capacity to think any deeper about the missing photos, you opened the drawer with your pyjamas, searching for the coziest ones you could find, your brain screaming at you for comfort. You pulled out some underwear from the drawer below and then reached for an oversized T-shirt that had once been George's, or rather Charlie's originally, the quidditch print long since faded from multiple wear and washes but it was the comfiest thing you owned, having stolen it from George in your fifth year when he'd massively outgrown it.

You walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower, closing the door behind you and placing down your clothes onto the little wooden stool that was kept beside the shower. You took a deep breath, psyching yourself up to look in the mirror, reluctant to see what would be staring back at you.

You moved to the side in an act of sheer bravery and finally looked at your form in the mirror, the woman staring back at you feeling unfamiliar.

You looked ghastly, exhausted and hollow-eyed, so much so that you hardly recognised yourself. You had bags under your eyes that were a threatening shade of purple and your skin looked sallow and ashen, at least what skin you could see under the inconceivable amount of blood covering the entirely of your torso, chest and neck, some splatters even on your face. Your clothes were caked in dried blood, the various layers hardly decipherable between each other under the full coverage, the browny, crimson hue so distinguishable against the light grey fabric of your shirt. You peeled off your ruined jacket and tossed it only the floor, hearing a thundering clunk as it hit the tile, reminding you of the broken Lebetum still inside your pocket. You pulled off your boots, followed by your socks and then your filthy jeans, having to undo the belt you'd stolen whilst you were camping out in a caravan park, your trousers no longer fitting correctly. You bit the bullet and peeled off your T-shirt, feeling thankful that Bill's numbing spell was still holding up as you managed to get the T-shirt off without pain. Next came your bra, chucked without care into the pile of soiled clothes at your feet until you were stood in just your panties.

You turned back to the mirror and within seconds your lip quivered, a barrage of negative thoughts swirling around your mind as you looked at your disfigured body. Your eyes welled with tears the longer you looked at your figure, seeing it clearly for the first time in so long. Your bones protruded more than ever on account of your involuntary weight loss and your hips no longer felt as full, your regular curves dimmed, no doubt due to the sustained lack of food. Your breasts, thankfully, still looked the same if not a tiny bit smaller but they appeared to be the only part of your body that had come away unscathed.

Your shoulder looked hideous, the months of non-healing tissue finally knitting together to form jagged, raised scars from the multiple teeth marks that had dragged your skin apart as you were dragged down the blasted hole in the stairs, her mouth still firmly clamped around your shoulder. The black staining from the venom had long since vanished after your painfully drawn each drop out with your wand, though sometimes you could still see a darkened hue, a figment of your imagination that felt real. The two largest puncture marks from the front, venomous fangs still looked inflamed though admittedly did look better than before; still not exactly a pretty sight. You moved your gaze to look at the gashes on your forearm, remembering the pain and the blood dripping from the wounds as the venom mixed with your blood, burning you from the inside out. You thought of Nagini and how her own wounds had caused her to lurch and convulse violently.

You looked at your bruised ribs, the smaller cuts over your hands and all the rest of the marks you'd long since forgotten, all now visible to your scrutinising eye. Then, you looked up at your face and saw the scar on your cheek, though healed and white against your skin, from Bellatrix. You tried not to think of the torture you'd endured, knowing that Hermione had suffered a greater torment but that didn't mean that you didn't suffer too. She'd taken great pleasure in bestowing the cruciatus curse upon you multiple times and watching on as she sliced at your body, pressing in deeper and deeper with her dagger as Fenrir Greyback paced around you threateningly, his resolve only moments away from slipping. Your lip had healed thankfully without issue, the sharp edge of her bejewelled ring breaking the skin as she backhanded you with force.

You couldn't bare to look any longer and stepped away from the mirror, realising that the steam had significantly clouded in the unventilated room which you quickly cleared away with a flick of your wand. You peeled off your panties and grabbed a towel, stepping into the shower. You watched as the dried blood staining your skin drains away, circulating around the plug hole before disappearing, the water becoming clearer with every passing second as it cleanses your skin. You want to cry at the sight but you can't, too emotionally drained by the last 24 hours, and more. The familiar scents of your shampoo and body wash fill you with comfort, even more so when you reach out for a bottle of shower gel that Fred and George shared, their scent filling the hot shower as you poured a little into your hand under the running water, allowing it to bubble up and vaporise in the enclosed space.

You washed your hair three times, feeling as if nothing would ever wash away the grime which you felt lingered on every strand. You conditioned your hair fir the first time in almost a year, a luxury you had not been able to do in all that time away. You felt comforted and slightly happier now, at least more stable; the shower working it's magic to wash away the physical and metaphorical dirt on you.

Eventually, you felt clean enough to turn off the shower and reach for the large, fluffy towel, parting yourself down before quickly dressing, not wanting to catch an untimely glimpse of your body after your mood had improved. You quickly dried your hair with a wave of your wand, hating the sensation of wet hair and exited the bathroom to find your boyfriends.

As soon as you exited the bathroom, you noticed that the bedroom had been tidied. The bed was freshly made and the clothes that had been strewn across the floor had been put away. You smiled to yourself as you walked between the en-suite and landing, thankful for your boyfriends thoughtfulness.

Two arms engulf you the moment you walk into the room as if they were unable to wait a moment longer and you realise by the scent and the force of the hug that it's Fred clinging to you.

"Princess," his words fall flat and there's more emotion in his voice than you can fathom, a need so desperate that you feel your heart break just a little. No matter how many times you'd embraced in the time that had passed between your reunion and now, it never seemed to get less desperate, all of you needing to reconnect on a deep level.

"Your tea, Angel," George says and you watch from over Fred's shoulder, what you could see anyway due to the sheer height of him, holding a steaming cup of tea you were very grateful for.

"You wanna drink it in bed?" Fred says suggestively, lips close to your ear and not letting you go. "We could order some food or we can pick something up, we'll wake you up when it comes."

"And we can eat in bed, move the TV in there, like we're camping out," George adds, moving to stand behind you, caging you between them.

"That sounds perfect actually," you reply, dropping you head to rest on George's shoulder. Someone is stroking your hip and you can't tell which twin it is but it's soothing and comforting being held so closely between them. "Will you come with me?"

"Wouldn't dream of leaving you," Fred replies, the hand on your hip clutching tighter, making you realise that it's Fred's hand.

"Not going anywhere," George adds, his own hand resting on your side now. "We might need a shower first though."

You felt a tingle of guilt at his words, realising that you'd been selfish, knowing that they had gone through things too, the battle and the lead up during the war. You waved them off to go shower, wanting them to wash away the day just as you had and decided to wait for them in bed.

Crawling into your oversized bed with fresh sheets and clean pyjamas feels almost like a religious experience after sleeping on the uncomfortable cot inside the tent, floors, barns and the occasional car for months on end. The soft, warm sheets and springy mattress felt like a luxury as you crawled in and snuggled down into the soft bed. You wanted to stay awake desperately so that you could savour the moment the three of you were in bed together but you felt your eyes slipping, though you fought against it. Fred showered first whilst George ordered food for you all and dragged the TV into the bedroom so you could all rest and recuperate.

You watched him carry in the Tv, seeing the muscles in his arm bulging under the weight, his fiery hair stuck in every direction and to you he had never looked more gorgeous. You couldn't help but stare, committing every part of his body to your memory, feeling as if you had to make up for lost time. George then jumped in the shower after Fred and you watched as Fred changed into equally comfy pyjamas as yourself, the set you'd bought him for Christmas two years ago.

Fred climbed in beside you to your right, followed by George on your left as soon as they were both showered and dressed. When their arms reached out to pull you in, rolling your body onto Fred's chest with George tucked tightly behind you, you felt immediately that everything was right in the world again. Nothing was said, not even a faint murmur as you all soaked in the moment, happy to have the familiar bodies beside you.

"Princess... Sweetheart, food's here," you hear Fred say distantly from your dreamless sleep, exhaustion fighting against your consciousness until you force your eyes open. Your mind and body protests, needing so much more sleep than you'd taken but you fight against it, needing food and love too.

George had plated everything up and the TV was already playing some muggle show you remembered from before you left, though the name escaped you.

You tucked into the food enthusiastically, hardly remembering the last time you ate so well. You'd become accustomed to a diet of fish and mushrooms with the occasional tinned good you'd come across, though it was never certain when the next meal would come, most the time it was days before you were able to eat again. Your pacing with the food slowed quickly as your stomach began to lurch and gurgle violently, no longer able to process such rich food or indeed a hearty amount. You sipped some water slowly and began eating again, though much slower now so that you didn't irritate your tummy.

The twins began talking, mostly to each other or to no one in particular about various things, some mention of the shop and other parts just commentary from the show you were watching but you didn't really focus on their words, just enjoying the soothing tones of their voices, happy to hear it again. Once your stomach was full, your eyes began getting heavy again and this time you didn't resist, allowing the much needed sleep to take over you, knowing that you were safe between the men you loved.

When you woke again, it was completely dark outside, the curtains in the bedroom not showing any sign of light even from the sides, making you frown as you considered what time it could be. You looked at the clock beside the bed on Fred's side and saw that it was 3:23am, meaning you'd been asleep for nearly 11 hours. The twins were asleep either side of you and you noticed that the food had been cleared away and the TV was no longer on. George was snoring gently to your left, lay on his back with his hand outstretched towards you but not actually touching you. Fred's arm was thrown over you waist, hand resting on your breast as he always liked to, like it always was before.

You peeled yourself away from Fred delicately replacing his arm onto the pillow behind you and slipped out of bed to go to the toilet. After drying your hands, you crept out of the bedroom and slipped into the kitchen for a glass of water, taking a seat at the kitchen table as you shuddered, having not felt the cold air of morning until you exited the bedroom. It was silent in the little flat, with no noise for the vendors or late night delivered you'd grown accustomed to in the time you lived here before. You had to remind yourself that you were safe, that there was no threat and you didn't need to be on alert incase anyone approached, in stark contrast to the months you'd spent on the run. It was just the three of you. Voldemort was dead. His followers had fled, died or been captured. You were safe.

Your shoulder was aching, the numbing spell Bill had cast had nearly completely faded but the pain was manageable. You sipped your water and a thought crossed your mind, that for the first time in months, you hadn't had night terrors about Christmas Eve in Godric's Hollow. It could have been that Voldemort, and Nagini, were dead and no longer able to haunt you, or perhaps it was having the twins beside you again so you weren't alone or maybe it was just that you'd been so sleep deprived that you'd simply passed out for 11 hours.

It was strange to be home, to be surrounded by your things and all the familiar comforts that you'd been without for so long. Your mind couldn't register the change and you felt like an imposter in your own life, like you weren't actually in your body anymore. How could you ever process this? How would you ever get better? You thought of Harry, Ron and Hermione, wondering if they were all feeling it too, where they awake and lamenting like you were? Unable to sleep and yet unable to do much else.

You signed and placed your glass in the sink, deciding to crawl back into bed where you wouldn't be alone.

"Baby?" You heard George say in a small, sleepy voice as you crawled back into bed, under the covers between the two.

"Sssh, it's me, I'm sorry go back to sleep Georgie," you whispered, reaching out to place your hand on his chest, feeling bad for waking him.

"Are you okay?" He whispers back and you nod in reply, hoping he'd feel the movement against him. "Really though?"

"I will be," you say honestly, eyes not closing as you stare into the dark room, though you're not certain that you believe your own words.

"Come here," he says, reaching out to pull you into him. You melt into his body, his arms cradling you against him as you rest your head in his chest. "There's so much I have to say to you," he says quietly, his deep voice vibrating in his chest, "I'm so sorry for how I was before, how I treated you. All you did was help me and I pushed you away. When you left, I thought I'd never get the chance to apologise or to make it up to you, if something had happened to you I'd," he pauses, changing the trajectory of his speech. "I promise that everyday I'll prove to you how much I love you, how sorry I am."

"George, it's okay," you sat quietly, sitting up a little as you search through the darkness for the outline of his face.

"He's right princess," you hear from behind you, alerting you to the other twin who was apparently awake. You feel a tender hand on your back and know that it's Fred as he scoots closer. "We both have so much to make up for."

"But I left, I'm the one who," you begin to say, only to be cut off by George.

"Helped defeat Voldemort? Found and destroyed Horcruxes? Slayed the snake? Acted on the task you'd been given by Dumbledore? You did nothing wrong, you did what needed to be done, accomplished so much."

"But I left."

"You came back."

A moment of silence passed as the three of you realise that there is nothing to argue about, each of you carrying your own guilt and burdens but no one holding any grudge against the things you couldn't change. Fred turns and flick on the beside lamp, the room illuminated with a faint glow as he keeps it dimmed. You realise as he turns back to you, feeling both of their gazes on you that there's so much left unsaid, so many questions that need answering. You shift on the bed so that your knees are pulled up to your chest, facing the two of them. Even mussed up from sleep and still tired they look gorgeous, never more perfect to you.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Fred asks and you flick your gaze to him, mentally questioning yourself if that is what you wanted.

"Only if you're ready," George adds, a little more delicately. Truthfully, it's the last thing you want. You want to forget everything that happened, sweep it under the proverbial rug and carry on with your life as if nothing had happened, but that was impossible, they deserved answers. You open your mouth and close it twice before you find the right words to say.

"I'll answer any questions you have, you deserve to know but I don't think I can explain everything right now," you reply honestly, reaching for your ponytail and twirling the hair around your finger nervously. The twins nod, seemingly fine with this proposal, understanding that telling the whole story would be much too hard for you. Thankfully, Ron and Hermione had explained quite a lot of the general story up until Godric's Hollow, when Bill had intercepted and diverted the conversation away.

"How long? How long did you know that you'd have to leave?" George says, his voice holding an emotion that made your gut clench. He didn't sound accusatory or betrayed but you realised the small hesitation in his voice meant that he needed to know how long you'd kept it from them.

"Hermione asked me just before the minister came, I said I'd consider it at first but then Dumbledore left me something in his will and it became obvious that he intended for me to join them as well."

He seems pleased by this answer, expelling a large breath that he'd been inadvertently holding as he nods gently, understanding.

"That thing that protected you, and me, Dumbledore gave you that?" Fred asks, pulling the information from your answer, no doubt still confused by what had happened with the Lebetum.

"Technically," you said with a nod, pausing to take a deep breath as you realised how much you'd have to tell them. "Severus made it to give to me, through Dumbledore in his will. It was his way of protecting me, his patronus was inside it," you began to explain, feeling the weight of his revelation hanging over you. You'd have to tell them.

You shifted a little on the bed, pulling your knees closer to your chest as you begin to explain.

"When he died, he gave me his memories for the pensieve, so that I could understand everything. He made the Lebetum, the black device, it saved us so many times when we were out there searching for the Horcruxes. He made me his assistant so that Voldemort wouldn't notice me... he, he loved me."

After a moment of silence, you look up into the faces of your boyfriends, excepting to see disgust or anger but instead found empathy. George looked outright sad whilst Fred looked supportive, both of them seeming to understand.

"We figured," Fred says with a gentle shrug, though he isn't dismissive of the fact. "You're beautiful princess, hard not for everyone to fall in love with you."

"Shut up," you mumble with a shy smile.

"But seriously, I don't think anyone had ever heard him laugh except for with you, or smile. You're brilliant and it's kind of hard not to notice how gorgeous you are. Didn't realise he felt it so deeply though," George says, reaching for your hand. "If you felt it back, that's okay."

"What?" You say, flabbergasted by the notion.

"It's really okay," Fred answers with a nod, "you chose us in the end right? But we know how much he meant to you."

Once again you're rendered speechless, surprised by their reaction. In the grand scheme of things it didn't matter now, he was dead, but you couldn't help but think that there might have been something there, even if you'd never realised.

"So he protected you?" George says, slightly diverting the conversation. You nodded.

"Yeah, his patronus led us to the sword and out of Malfoy's murder mansion," you say, picking at the covers with your fingers. You look up again when they don't laugh or reply and realise that they hadn't been told any of that. "Sorry, bad joke."

"You were at Malfoy Manor?" George's tone sounds immediately uneasy, something in his voice alerted you to the fact that he knew something, probably horror stories from the order.

"We were caught by a group of snatchers, they took us there," you explained, hoping that they'd skip past the details. You felt suddenly uncomfortable, realising that you'd have to tell them everything, the scars that littered your body and the torture you'd endured. They'd see you different after this, never look at you the same.

"What happened?" Fred's voice is shakier than you'd ever heard it. You took a deep breath and sighed, trying to be brave.

"Bellatrix tortured us," you say, trying to get through your words, "Hermione had disfigured Harry and then tried to get Draco to identify him but he couldn't so she kept us down in the dungeon and tried to pull information from us individually."

"Angel?"

"Hermione got the worst of it, she's still shaken from it and I think Ron will hear her screams forever," you ramble.

"Angel." His word was identical but his tone was not.

"She had this dagger, she'd ask questions and dig it in more and more if she didn't like the answer, she called over Fenrir Greyback and he was circling like a predator just waiting, taunted with each cut. That's how I got this," you gestured briefly to the scar on your cheekbone. "And a few more. When that didn't satisfy her she used the cruciatus curse. Severus, the doe, he sent Dobby to get us out when I used the Lebetum, she launched the dagger as we were leaving and it killed Dobby as we disapparated."

You couldn't look at them for a few moments as you breathed deeply until you did brave a peek and saw very different reactions in the twins. George looked heartbroken whereas Fred looked furius, his hands clenching white at the information.

"He took us to the safe house, to Bill's, I'm so sorry we couldn't tell you, but after what happened at the Lovegood's we couldn't risk telling anyone about where we were and Mr Ollivander had to rest up, then we needed Griphook to get into Gringotts, I'm so sorry."

"We understand," George said, squeezing your hand that you realised was still in his own. Fred didn't reply and you figured it was far from fine with him, but he didn't say anything. "What happened after?"

"Bill and Fleur let us rest up, he tried to fix my shoulder but," you paused, realising what you'd said. You cursed yourself mentally and closed your eyes, hoping to avoid that very topic entirely. "But then we needed to get into Hogwarts."

"Your shoulder?" George asks tenderly and you can feel his eyes flicking over you, as if he'd see something through your shirt.

"Please, don't," you said with a weak voice, tearing brimming at your eyes already, not wanting to have to tell them the story of your shoulder, or re-live that night again. You drop George's hand and hug your arms around yourself, the internal scars from that night still haunting you more than ever.

You hear a rustle and feel the bed shift from under you and look up to see Fred walking out quickly without a single look back. A sob rises in your chest at his actions, expecting this to happen but not for it to hurt so much. George immediately pulls you into his arms, pulling you into his lap as his arms cradle you, rocking gently as he shushes you.

"It's not you Angel, sssh, it's not your fault," he says tenderly as you cry, knowing that you'd pushed him away. "None of this is your fault, you hear me?"

You don't believe him in the slightest, unable to reply as your lip quivers like a young child, consumed by your heartbreak as you realise now that you really had chased him away. This wasn't what Bill had said would happen at all, you were too damaged to be loved now.

"Baby he'll be back, he just needs to cool off."

"He won't," you cried, pulling away from George defiantly until you're stood at the side of the bed, arms still clutched around yourself as if you'll fall apart and shatter if you don't hold yourself together. "I'm damaged, I'm disfigured, I'm broken George! Who would want to love me now?"

"Me."

He steps towards you, sheets falling from around his waist as he moves to stand directly in front of you, bowing his knees gently until he's face to face with you, his hand resting against your cheek, thumb tracing the scar that marks your face.

"I want to love you, always, and I will. So will Fred. Do you love me any less because I only have one ear now?"

"What? No," you say immediately, if not a little defensively. There's a brief smile that crosses his lips at the quickness of your reply and his eyebrows lift just a little, as if testing you.

"Then why would Fred and I love you any less because of your scar?"

"It's not that one," you say with a sniffle, realising that he thought you meant the one on your cheek.

"It doesn't matter, not to me."

"Or me."

You ship your head round and see Fred stood in the doorway, looking at least a little sheepish.

"I'm sorry princess, you didn't deserve that. I just couldn't listen to anything else. The thought of you being hurt, it's too much," he slowly begins walking over to you though he's careful, as if you'll react badly to his presence. "The thought that we weren't there to protect you, to help you, it makes me sick. There's not been a moment I haven't loved you since we were in third year, maybe even before, and nothing would change that."

"Angel, will you tell us?" George asks delicately, his hand running up your back, stroking lightly. "Show us."

Looking between the two men you adored, fighting through the tears that still blurred your vision, you gave up. You began to pull at the bottom of your T-shirt and slowly dragged it up over your body, revealing more of your marred body to them until you were stood entirely topless, your arms instinctively covering your breasts. Your scars and bruises would be completely on show and your disfigured shoulder, open to their gaze. You can't look, care face looking at the disgust on their faces, horror, shock, regret; whatever it was that they would be showing in their expressions.

Your eyes fly open when you feel two delicate kisses pressed against the scarred flesh of your shoulder and you look up just in time to see them both pulling away, having pressed a delicate kiss to different parts of your shoulder. Your lip wobbles again but it's not over sadness or devastation anymore, but rather heartfelt gratitude at their tenderness.

"How did it happen princess?"

"Snake," you sigh, reaching for the T-shirt you'd stripped before placing it over your breasts to cover yourself as you sat on the edge of the bed. "That night in Godric's Hollow, it's was Christmas Eve and Harry wanted to visit his parents' graves. There was someone watching us, an old woman from the side of the graveyard. Harry recognised her as Bathilda Bagshot. She didn't speak but led us away, back to her house. She took Harry upstairs whilst he was trying to question her so me and Hermione stayed downstairs to look around. And then I saw it," you paused, feeling naseuous at having to experience it all over again in your mind, the sight and the smell making you pale. "There was blood everywhere, flies, everything was rotting. Then there was a bang and I ran upstairs to Harry, just in time to see Nagini slither out from Bathilda's dead body. It was awful, the smell, the sound. She attacked Harry to I stepped in to block him and she lunged at me, sinking her teeth into my shoulder and dragging me down the hole where the stairs had been. I managed to get away and Hermione blasted us out of there but she's already passed the venom through."

You look nervously at Fred, preparing for him to walk away again but he doesn't, instead he crouches down beside the bed so that you're roughly the same height and presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Hermione tried everything to get the venom out, my shoulder was burning, turning black, but nothing worked until extracted it by hand. I got the venom out but it never healed, burning all the time and then the connection happened." You looked between them, seeing them listening intently, encouraging you to go on. "That's the reason it had to be me killing the snake, things started happening, I could connect with her, see what she was seeing."

You began crying again, sobs making your chest heave as you relived the moment again, "I had to watch as she killed Severus, I was in her body, her mind, I could feel everything, it was like I was killing him."

A large sob wracked through you as your mind replayed that moment with excruciating detail. You could still feel the force of it within you, the fangs sinking into his flesh, the blood-thirst she'd felt. Fred lunged forward and pulled you into his chest, his big hands covering you at George still absently stroked your back, up your spine.

You sniffled and pulled back after a few moments, seeing tears in Fred's eyes and George's as your gaze flickered between them.

"It's why I kept passing out, every time Voldemort or Nagini tried to connect my shoulder would burn," you explained, feeling bad for keeping them in the dark all this time.

"Has it stopped now?" George asks delicately and you nod, pulling the T-shirt up to cover yourself further after it had slipped when Fred hugged you.

"Yeah, I'm just me now."

"Wouldn't want it any different," George says, not missing a beat.

"I'm so sorry for all of this," you say, not stopping even when they begin to argue, "for leaving, for keeping you in the dark, I never wanted any of that." You turn to George, addressing him specifically, "I know things weren't great between us when I left, I'm sorry that I left without explaining or sorting things, I never wanted you to think I'd left because of that."

He gives you a little one sided smile and moves closer, "it's all done now, and all of that was my fault. I figured you wouldn't want me anymore, that I'd always be the one you were stuck with and I couldn't bear to see it on your face so I pulled away." He crouches down beside Fred in near identical positions, "sound familiar?"

You bite your lip and nod, briefly looking at the beside clock, seeing that it was now approaching 5am.

"Shall we get some sleep? We can talk more tomorrow if everyone wants to," Fred suggests, making you nod. You weren't overly tired anymore but lying down in bed and resting did sound appealing. George agrees and rubs at his eyes, only now allowing himself to look tired.

You stand slowly from the edge of the bed and the T-shirt you had draped around your chest is pulled away quickly, making you squeal and rush to conceal yourself. You look to see Fred with a playful smirk, laughing as he holds onto your T-shirt defiantly, eyes glinting in delight. You laugh along, the first proper, honest laugh you'd let out and playfully paw at him to get it back. His little act has worked to break any tensions that had remained from the heaviness of the conversation and you continue to laugh as you grab for the shirt in his hands.

He gives it back to you immediately, not wanting to push boundaries and you slipped the T-shirt back on, not caring that you'd be inadvertently flashing them.

You look up again and they're smiling at you and everything suddenly feels better again as you all climb into bed, resuming your regular positions, just like normal.

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[malarkgirlypop]

MEDIC! Part 11 (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

HI Friends! Are you traumatised yet? Sorry it's been so sad lately. In one of the upcoming chapters I had to put a fun bit at the end cause I was just getting into this very depressed mood when writing. It hurts so much to write it but it's for the plot ya'll! I hope you enjoy another sad chapter! But oh god it's gonna get worse before it gets better, so hold onto your hats! I need a hug after writing this! This is based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters, no hate to anyone involved. Enjoy!

I sit in my foxhole, waiting, watching, freezing. I tip my head back letting the snow land on my face, the cool snowflakes melt when they make contact. Like soft cold kisses. I sigh, I’m tired but I can’t sleep, I’m restless but with nowhere to go, I’m bored but I don’t want to talk to anyone. The sound of engines pulled me from my daze. My eyes searched the trees, smoke puffed from the forest. My jaw clenched. What was coming? My stomach churned. I steadied myself with a deep breath. Silently praying whatever happened that there weren't massive amounts of casualties. Lipton ran past me, “It’s going to get busy Lane.�� The tanks came into view, popping out of the trees. I chewed the inside of my cheeks, ripping the flesh with my teeth, a copper tang filled my mouth. I watched as Spina jumped into Gene’s hole, they clambered out together, as voices filled the air. “Medic!” Gene rushed to the scene. I stayed still waiting. Gunfire could be heard over the roaring of the tanks that were steadily making their way towards us. The men called to each other, Lip gave orders to the men to stay low. “MEDIC!” My ears perked to the faint call. I run through the trees to the voice.    

I jump in the screaming man’s hole, he howls with pain, gripping at his bloody leg. I grimace looking at the wound, it gapes open, so deep I can see the muscle. Bullets whizz past our heads, as I work on his leg. He hisses as I pour the sulphur on the wound, gritting his teeth and tilting his head back in pain. I work quickly wrapping the leg and tying the dressing around it tightly. I duck as more bullets rip past, cursing under my breath. The sound of the roaring tanks getting closer. I look around for help but I can’t see anyone else around. Probably all hauled up in their foxholes not wanting to risk coming into the open. I pull the man to his feet. He gives me an unassured look like are you really gonna drag me to safety? I wrap his arm around my shoulder holding onto his waist. He half hops half runs, as we run back from the line. A hot flash sears into my abdomen, I stumbled from the pain shooting through my side, bringing us both to the ground in a heap. The man cries out in pain, as I apologise, getting myself to my feet to help him again. I stop a cry from leaving my lips as I pull him up. I inhale a deep breath. I will check later, I need him to be safe first.

“Hey, I need a jeep.” I yell to anyone, hastily checking around to see if I can spot another person. I see Luz pop his head up from his hole, giving me a thumbs up. I help the man over to the hole where George is, pulling him in to take cover from the onslaught of fire. George mutters into the radio, telling them that we need a jeep. 

“They’re coming!” George says as he puts the radio away. “Need my help.” I nod, not being able to answer as I puff from the effort. We hear a car in the distance, I brace myself to move again. Luz helps the man to his feet. We take a side each, carrying the man. I place him on the stretcher, “take him to the hospital!” I yell to the man driving, “I’m not coming, too busy!”

He doesn’t wait, pulling away with the man attached to the front of the jeep. Luz has disappeared back into his hole. I look down at my side, blood seeps through my jacket, mother fucker! I don’t inspect the wound further, I don’t need to be hit again while trying to look at the wound. I keep low while running, finding an empty foxhole, I jump into it, cursing as I hit the ground, the shockwaves from the jump increasing the pain. I sit down, pulling up the many layers I wear to get a look at the injury. I hiss as I expose my flesh to the biting cold wind. A wound above my right hip oozes blood, not deep enough for it to hit anything important. I’m happy to see an entry and exit of the bullet that has torn through my skin. Weird thing to be happy about but now I don’t have to dig it out, that would be a bitch to do myself. I open my bag searching for supplies. 

“LANE, LANE!” A man cries from ahead of me. Shit. I pull back down my top, tucking it back in. I can wait for now, I’m fine. I move to the voice, not as fast as normal, due to every step sending throbbing pain through my side. I reach the calling voice, it’s Lieb. He grips his arm, pain evident on his face. 

“You good Lieb?” I ask, slipping in beside him, he sends me daggers. I stifle my chuckle. He gives me his hurt arm, pulling his hand back for me to see. A slice through his forearm, a graze from a bullet. I look beside him, Babe watches the line holding his gun, he fires at the approaching tanks. I wrap Lieb’s arm, it’s an easy fix. “Do you want a jeep?” I yell over the noise as he shakes his head, getting back into a position to fire his gun. I duck down as bullets fly past.  

Gathering things back into my bag. I stand quickly, forgetting about my own situation. A dizziness overcomes me, hazing out my vision. I stagger back, trying to regain my balance. Babe and Lieb are both too busy to notice. I shake my head, scrunching my eyes closed. I pause, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass. I take a breath, opening my eyes. I crawl out of their hole making my way back to my own. I haven’t even made it back yet when, “MEDIC! LANE!” I turn around, Lip is waving me over to a hole closer to the front. I dive in barely missing the onslaught of machine gun fire. A man grimaces in pain, holding his shoulder. I rip open his top, entry and exit wound, I like to see it. I rip the sulphur open with my teeth pouring it on the open wounds. “ARGH!” The man groans, I move quickly wrapping his shoulder tying it tightly to help reduce the blood loss. “Can you walk?” Lip asks the man who nods, “Get out of here!” He doesn’t waste any time getting out of the hole and running back to safety. I stand again getting ready to leave myself, but my legs are weak, not supporting me, I fall back, landing on Lip. 

“Lane?” He asked, confused, looking down at me. Stars dance around my vision, I blink, trying to clear them.     

“Haven’t eaten yet today.” Best lie I can manage, I know if I tell him the truth he would fuss. I don’t need to be fussed over, I’ve already caused enough distress. Plus I can handle this on my own. 

“You look pale Em.” Lipton studies my face. 

“No, I'm fine.” I wave my hand, trying to dismiss his concerns. Lip doesn’t look convinced. His eyes scan me, I push myself into a sitting position, trying to not show how dizzy I really am. The trees sway in front of me. I feel like I have just gotten off one of those rides at the fair that spins you around really fast. 

I turn my body subtly moving my injured side out of his eyeline. I don’t want him to notice the blood that has seeped through my clothes. 

“What are you hiding?” Lip questions, raising his eyebrow. I shake my head, going to defend myself. But his hands are on me quicker than I can open my mouth, grabbing at my jacket, his brows furrow, pulling the jacket up to reveal the top I am wearing is covered in blood. Lip’s eyes go wide seeing the crimson stain on my jacket. I look down at it as well, bigger than before. 

“Jesus Em.” Lip gawks, I could lie, say it’s not mine. But Lip is too smart.  

“It’s fine Lip, I was going to fix it later.” I try to brush it off, make it seem like it’s not as bad as it seems. 

“Medic!” Lip yells, I lunge forward, trying to cover his mouth, he fends me off. “Medic!” 

I groan in pain, holding my side, from the quick movement. Spina lands in the hole, looking confused. 

“Everything alright?” He asks, eyeing the both of us. 

“Lane is injured.” Lip informs the man. 

“I can fix it myself!” I protest. Spina notices the blood, pulling up the layers of clothing to find the wound, “Entry and exit, it’s fine Spina, really.” 

“I’ll just do it now while I’m here.” Spina suggests, I sigh, nodding my head. I lean over so that he can see it better. He moves fast pouring sulphur on the wound and then wrapping it, I wince from his prodding. I lower my top, as he nods at me letting me know he’s done. He climbs out of the hole. As I follow after him. Lip stays in his position turning his attention back to the situation at hand. 

I didn't sit down once, we were able to stop the attack but many men got injured. By the time it was all over it was late in the afternoon. The pain from my wound radiated around my whole body, I felt like crying the whole time. I just wanted to rest but it was so busy. I stand in line, dazed, tired, sore. I felt ready to pass out, I couldn’t tell if it was from the blood loss or just from pure exhaustion. I had to change the dressing three times, each one saturated in blood. It had slowed but not stopped. I was thinking about stitching it up, or getting Gene to do it for me. I step forward with my cup collecting the food that Joe handed out. I muttered a thank you before finding somewhere to sit down. I found Malarkey and Penkala standing so I joined them, they spoke quietly while I sipped the soup. 

“You alright Em?” Don turned his attention to me, I felt like I was swaying on my feet. I gave a defeated nod. His brows furrowed, scanning me up and down. 

“You sure?” He doubled down. Penkala is now looking at me too. 

“You look like death.” Penkala said bluntly, I gave a weak chuckle, of course he would give it to me straight. 

“I got a bullet to the side.” I smiled wryly. Pointing at my injured hip. Their eyes widened. 

“I’m fine!” I reassure them before they call for a medic, or something else stupid. “Just tired and sore. Like we all are.” I have no right to complain about my aching bones when everyone’s bones ache, when we are all tired, I’m no different, I do not need special treatment. Malarkey stands closer to me, carefully pulling me into his side. I rest my head on his shoulder, leaning into him. I could fall asleep standing up. He keeps me close, even when Colonel Sink arrives wishing us a merry christmas eve and reading us a letter from one of the General’s. His hand moves up and down my arm as we lean into each other, the comfort I didn’t know I needed. Someone to hug and kiss me better. It makes me happy, fills my heart, better than any pain medication I could take. In his arms nothing hurts, his touch easing my pain, letting me forget all my worries. Just the simple stroke of his fingers against my cheek, I could be convinced I’m elsewhere, not standing in a snow covered forest in the middle of the war. He murmurs in my ear, I listen to him with my eyes still closed, his voice gentle and even, rich in tone, filling my tummy with butterflies.

Night falls again, I was dragged to stay in Don’s foxhole with him, Penkala and Muck. A tight squeeze but no one seemed to mind, happy for the heat of the other. I was ordered to rest, I refused at first, “What if they need me?”

“Then we will wake you!” Muck chimed in before Don could answer, a smile on his lips giving me the see-I-told-you-so look. I huffed agreeing. I nestled into Malarkey’s side once again, wrapping my arms around myself. I fell into a deep sleep, I was so exhausted my brain couldn’t even dream. 

“EM!” I was shaken away, I gasped, looking around confused, trying to get my bearings again, “Em, they're calling for you.” Don said, I could hear the distant yells for a medic. I sat up, hissing at the pain from my side. I move quickly, finding Welsh lying on the floor, Winters hovering over him. I stand looking at the two men, my legs won’t move, my brain won’t work, nothing is processing. 

“LANE!” Winters calls me. I snap out of it, kneeling beside Harry. Winters calls for Gene too. I put pressure on the wound trying to stop the bleeding. I rip open the packet of Sulphur with my teeth pouring it over the laceration. Harry screams in pain as Nixon holds his hand. I look behind me Gene stands still watching, I look over to Winters. “Roe?” He calls to the man, he blinks, coming too. Moving forward to help me. I press the dressing down into the injury while he tourniquets above the wound site. 

“I got morphine in my pocket, give it to him.” He tells Winters.  

“Where do you want it?” Winters asks, fishing the morphine from his pocket.

“Other thigh.” I say, motioning with my head as my hands are full tying the bandage to the leg.

In a quick motion Winters stabs the syrette into Harry’s leg, a sigh of relief leaves his lips as the morphine works quickly. Gene writes in Harry’s blood an M on his head, to let the others know we gave him the medication. The men lift him up and onto the jeep that arrived. Gene and I exchange a glance, I can see the tiredness etched into his face, wary from all that we have seen over the past couple of months. I think we can both say that this time spent in Bastogne has been the hardest. We know we won’t be the same after all of this. I think Winters’ noticed it too, when we both arrived at the scene we did the same thing, froze. Not something you want to see from both of your medics when their job is to act quickly. 

“Eugene, Emily, get yourselves into town and get a hot meal.” Winters kneels beside us talking quietly. We move, running over and getting into the jeep. 

Town is worse than the forest. I kinda wish I had just stayed behind. I look up at the sky, planes fly low overhead as bursts of gunfire fill the dark night. Fires rage in the barely standing buildings that remain. Bombs drop from the sky, exploding onto the surrounding streets. Civilians scramble past us, soldiers doing the same. Screams can be heard over all of the noise. We approach the hospital, but before we do the church explodes, plumes of smoke and fire rise from the windows and doors. I gasp, covering my shocked mouth with my hand. A building in front of us is bombed, firing debris and shrapnel over the street. I duck, covering my face with my arms, flinching away from the blast of heat. The jeep pulls to a stop. Gene and I exit the vehicle. I cough from the smoke, unable to see much in front of me. I walk cautiously. Following behind Gene. Men stagger out of the church, coughing and limping. I watch the scene unfold. Still following behind Gene, as he walks closer to the building. A car swerves into the road on fire, as whistling sounds. Another shell hits the ground sending up a fireball into the sky, I run trying to catch Gene who has moved forward further. A man runs out, warning us to not go into the building. Gene stops bending down and pulling something from the rubble, I approach him, he holds something in his hand. He turns it over, catching the light. My heart stops, I know that blue fabric. It’s Renee’s. Tears slip down my face. Gene turns to face me, shaking his head. I walk to him, he pulls me into a hug. I hold him tightly, he buries his face into my shoulder, we pull away after a moment. I take the blue scarf and tuck it into his pocket, resting my hand on his chest, he squeezes my hand. We share a look of sadness but appreciation for the other. I reach my hand up, wiping away a stray tear from his face. We don’t get any time to mourn, before we are called away to help.

By the time we get back it’s early morning and the sun has risen. We exit the car, I pull Gene in for another hug. We stand in each other’s embrace for a moment, needing the silence of the interaction. I place a gentle kiss on his cheek as we pull away. A sad smile shared between us. He leaves, wandering to the front. I do the same, needing a hug from one of my favourite people. I find Don, Skip and Penkala huddled in a hole. I almost break down from the sight. I leap into the hole pulling them all in for a group hug. They seem surprised at my sudden affection but go along with it anyway. 

“I don’t mean to sound cheesy but I love you guys.” I pull back tears in my eyes as I look at them all, they laugh baffled at my declaration of love. 

“I have a girlfriend!” Skip exclaimed, I shook my head hitting him in the arm as he laughed. 

“We love you too Em!” Penkala smiles, pulling me into his arms. The other men piling on top of us. I grin at the men, feeling better now that I was surrounded with their affection. 

“Aw you guys!” Tears slipped from my eyes but unlike all the other times, they were happy tears.

----------------------------------

Chapter 12

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Complications

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: 0.5k

Summary: Childbirth

A/N: This is another ‘what if’ but never gonna happen. I just wrote it while my brain was a little gloomy. I am going to keep writing now. Taking a break from Wanda being in the dog house. Moving on to something fluffier. 

Warnings: heavy angst, death, mentions of blood

The searing pain that shoots through Wanda is enough to blind her, and she screams as her body continues to fight despite the massive amount of blood that she’s lost. She can’t see where it covers the floor, but you do and you’re frantic as you look to the doctors that are moving fast to try and help her.

You don’t hear what they say, but they’re unlocking her bed and pushing her out of the room somewhere and you just follow after them. Your grip on your wife’s hand is beyond painful as the two of you stay connected as she’s rushed to surgery.

“Your wife is hemorrhaging. We need to do an emergency C-section.”

These are words that you’d only considered hearing in your darkest hours. It was your worst nightmare and you can’t find the words to respond as you look to Wanda to see her wide and fearful eyes. She looks between you and the doctor as you continue to near run down the hall.

“Y/n. You need—make sure they’re okay. P-please.”

You don’t know what to say to this and you honestly hate that you don’t have a response for Wanda before she’s rolled out of your sight and beyond your grasp. You have no power to do as she says, and if you did you’re certain you would make a different choice. Your wife is everything to you, and despite the intense desire to have a family with her, to meet your boys, you need her above all else.

You don’t get to say any of this to her, or even consider if she’ll be mad at you for it before you’re no longer alone.

Pietro nearly barrels you over as he runs up to you and grabs you frantically. He asks where his sister is and you just lead him to where she’d disappeared mere seconds ago. You’re both stopped from entering the OR of course, but you watch for as long as you can as Wanda’s put under and prepared for surgery before you’re practically pushed out.

“What’s happening? Y/n what the hell is happening??”

You turn to him in shock barely remembering when he arrived as you stumble over an explanation. You hit the important points regardless.

Hemorrhage. Emergency C-section.

High risk of mortality.

You don’t know how long you wait for someone to come out, but your friends all arrive before news of Wanda does. You hug them all and you’re crying as they shoot you stressed and frustrated looks. They wish you could be in there, but logically they know that it would put everyone at risk. Unfortunately the alternative is to watch you agonize over what’s happening just a room away.

An eternity later you are greeted by the horrific sight of a doctor coming out of the OR with bloodied gloves and a grim expression. You feel your legs give out as he tells you that your wife’s heart has stopped, and they can no longer hear your babies’.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Maximoff.”

The sound of your married name is what sets you off, and you collapse on the ground in hysterics. You don’t notice your friends come to your side as you realize that your dream of having a family has gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Masterlist

[powerfulscribbles]

In Need of Aid - A G/t Elden Ring fic (2)

Prologue | Chp. 1 | Chp. 2 | Chp. 3 | Chp. 4

Chapter 2: A Cry for Help

->Read the chapter on ao3 (registered users)<-

Chapter summary: Valyssa takes on the mysterious invader.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, excess of violence, sadism, an animal is wounded in a specific moment.

This story contains g/t stuff, so if that's not your thing it's in your best interest to click away! Thank thee kindly~

Words: 3,2k

° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ °

I have no idea where you came from, but now it’s not the time to be asking questions.

The invader slowed down his running towards her, which at first could make it seem like he was intimidated by her stance, if it wasn’t for his menacing walk.

Something tells me I should avoid his knives at all costs.

As to confirm her supposition, the invader sent a couple of airborne red blades in her direction, which she wasn’t able to dodge in time.

As they hit her, she instinctively hissed and staggered in place, dumbfounded. Despite the thick armor, those blades still cut into her? She could feel some wounds opening under her arming jacket as well, underneath her breastplate.

H-how?? Was that… blood?

She shook her head and took some steps back after the recoil, bringing Torrent’s finger whistle to her lips.

Ugh, focus Valyssa, focus!

She blew into the thin golden ring, summoning the spectral steed and hopping on his back immediately. Soon after she instructed him to charge straight at the cloaked opponent.

Grasping her greatsword in her right hand she held it to her side, ready to strike.

He’s definitely aggressive. But so am I.

... I have to be.

The invader seemed to notice her change in demeanor, so he fell back to draw out a couple of small pots from under his black robe; they were covered in maggots, red effluents running down from the cracked clay.

He flung one of the pots towards Valyssa, but Torrent dodged it swiftly. The container crashed not too far from her location, releasing the liquids and frenzied flies in the small area around it.

He tried to send some more on her way, but none of them hit neither the vagabondt knight nor her horse.

So when she managed to get close enough to him before he had time to react, she struck his torso with well-placed swipe, causing him to grunt and stumble backwards. Valyssa smirked.

That’s better.

She distanced herself from him, and turned Torrent around so she could approach the invader and strike him again.

This time though, he smashed some pots right around him, the enormous amount of flies hiding his presence completely and protecting him from the incoming attack.

She immediately lost track of him as she approached, so she stopped the horse before passing through the massive swarm.

Though the annoying insects set free from the pots very rapidly flew in her direction and surrounded her, their buzzing unsustainable as they assaulted her already injured self, causing much more bleeding. And while she was distracted by them, the invader took fully advantage of that.

He appeared right beside her out of the swarm and twirled around with both his blades, slicing right into one of Torrent’s back legs. The poor animal neighed in pain before crashing on the side, causing Valyssa to tumble in the river. A yelp left her mouth the moment her pelvis came in contact with the ground.

As her horse companion dissolved under her saddened eyes, the pain bloomed fast and made her hiss loudly. She got back up as fast as she could, but the aggravated blood loss started to seriously affect her, and the blunt blow significantly slowed down her movements.

I-i can’t give up now… I-I don’t want to…

Before Valyssa could even blink, two light blue pots were smashed on both her sides, releasing a freezing mist. The sudden crashing noises made her stumble back, more in shock than in fear.

And somehow, despite the heavy armor, the frigid temperature started seeping through, numbing her muscles and limbs. She was feeling a little cold already due her wounds, but now it was even worse.

Weakened, the girl stumbled and dropped right to her knees, losing the grip on her sword. Her gaze unfocused and empty, as she rattled her teeth and her heartbeat decelerated.

“So this is the Tarnished that has slain Godrick the Grafted…"

Hearing the invader speak so out of the blue made her slowly raise her gaze back up, so taken aback by his words.

“I was genuinely hoping for something more challenging. This was quite disappointing, to say the least.”

She did nothing but make a defiant grin in response.

“You took me by surprise, how were you expecting anything different? If you really wanted a fair fight, you should’ve just asked” she spat out mockingly, blood running down her nose and darkened lips.

The retort made the cloaked man growl in response and so he pushed her hard in the water. She whined quietly, and before she could stand back up he kicked her torso with all his strength.

“I don’t like your insolent attitude. This should wipe that smile off your face” he said, giving some more kicks.

Then again, and again, no matter how much she pleaded.

Once he grew bored of it, he climbed on top and sat on her throbbing waist with his knees, completely uncaring of her pain. Every single movement of his caused the woman to wail loudly, her breathing getting ragged and uneven.

He then grabbed her wrists and pinned her above her head, keeping them still with one of his grey-skinned hands as he searched for something in a pocket of his robe. Her attempts at dislodging him were futile, and the more she struggled, the more he pressed into her with his weight.

All of a sudden, two of the highwaymen emerged from the Murkwater cave, maybe attracted by all the screaming.

They checked out the area, looking for the source of all the noise and finally spotted the bleeding Tarnished. She glanced back at them and whimpered, struggling even more under the weight of the invader.

“H-help!! P-please…” she begged, her voice quickly turning into a whisper at the end.

The two bandits stared back at her, only to retreat inside without saying a word as they realized who her opponent was.

“N-no! C-come back! Please!!” she croaked out, the sight making her heart sink. The invader found their behavior incredibly hilarious, cackling as if it was the most entertaining thing in the world.

“Ha! Not even the deserters of a deceased demigod want anything to do with you! What a joke!” he insulted her.

Valyssa remained quiet, and despite the tears that were now running down her cheeks, she didn’t want to give up hope.

“But the fun part has gone on long enough, it’s time to finish you off. I’m sure this will be humiliating enough, for a runt such as you…” So he pulled out a tiny glass jar, containing a purplish and viscous substance inside.

“Oh, and it’ll do wonders with your wounds…” he said, his amused tone sending shivers down her spine.

She whimpered and wriggled more as he removed the cork with his teeth, shaking her head to make things more difficult to him, but he stopped her by wrapping his large hand around her neck and squeezing.

“Quit making a fuss! It won’t even be that bad.”

The poor Valyssa couldn’t help but gasp as she fought for air, and he fully took advantage of that to pour the strange liquid in her wide-open mouth.

She gargled as it ended up straight down her throat, any effort to spit it out nullified by the hand that pressed into her cold lips. He even released some of the grip on her neck for a quick moment, so that she could swallow the potion with effective ease.

The sensation was immediate and so… outwardly. She could feel the strange liquid doing something to her, and her body shone briefly with a blue light, which then turned dark red. And it did, the green-eyed woman strongly believed for a moment that her own blood had reached the boiling point.

She thrashed powerless underneath the man that had defeated her, her cries muffled by his hand as he still kept her mouth shut.

“Worry not, it’ll be all over soon… You will see” the man whispered, but not out of compassion or concern.

Before she could even grasp at what he was saying, Valyssa witnessed the world around her… slowly growing in size? She couldn’t even think of anything as she looked around anxiously. Instead, she just observed how the invader seemingly appeared further and further from her, and he removed both his hands off of her.

His face remained cloaked even with the increasing size difference, but she could feel his gaze was still fixated on her with the same malicious expression. And as much as she wanted to scream, her voice remained stuck in her throat as she just stared up at him, paralyzed in terror.

As if that wasn’t enough, the water where she was laying in now started to submerge her, with her own armor bringing her down towards the bottom. Just how small was she now?

Her hands immediately went to the leather belts holding her chest armor so she could get rid of it, but a bunch of giant grey digits pressed into her whole body to keep her underwater. And no matter how much she struggled and attempted to scratch him, she was passing out from exhaustion and the injuries. She clenched her teeth and tried to stay awake, stopping her movements at the same time.

“You know what? I had different plans to end you. However, since you’re already sinking on your own, I’ll just give you a hand.”

He pressed into her some more, but he soon realized that she was completely still. Even though he couldn’t see her through the murky water, he didn’t feel her fighting back anymore.

"You can’t even hear me now, can you? Well, that’s just perfe-���

His words were interrupted by a sharp, stinging feeling in the back of his hand and he cried out, retracting it instinctively. In a last desperate attempt, she had bitten him!

“Oh you little- So this is how you want to go down-“ he growled, getting ready to squeeze her underwater again.

But a long katana was thrust right through the middle of his chest from behind. The man stared at the blade with eyes wide and gurgled something, until a pointed metallic boot sent him face down to the ground as the swordsman extracted the weapon from his back.

Despite being mortally wounded however, the now downed invader merely chuckled between wheezing sounds, and managed to turn around to face his attacker.

“S-so you’re still around, old man…” he choked out.

“E-eleonora will not be pleased…” he finally whispered, exhaling his last breath before his body collapsed in the water, his dark red figure vanishing in the air.

The ronin simply watched, sighing deeply as he brought his hand clenched into a fist to his iron kasa, like he had done many times before. Some seconds passed and he seemed to be doing better, that’s when he quickly knelt down to pick Valyssa up from the river water, doing his best to be as careful as possible.

Although the woman had lost consciousness, she was still breathing. A little irregularly to be fair, but she was alive. Drops and drops of water were running down her face and the tufts of her rust-colored hair, now completely drenched. Blood was spilling from underneath her armor, coating his palms.

“What then, what’s going on here?” a voice resounded from the cave entrance, causing the katana wielder to turn his head. The untethered Tarnished made his appearance soon after, holding a spear and his greatshield.

“Oh it’s you! You’re Yura, right? Some of my men were alarmed and came to tell me about something, that’s why I’m here to check mysel-“

He paused abruptly as he realized what- or who, actually- was in the ronin’s hands.

“Wait… Wha… what happened to her?” Patches asked, completely astounded. “She… she was here just now, doing perfectly fine… And now she’s all passed out, bleeding and… just a few inches tall?"

“I am afraid so. She fought against a Bloody Finger. Nerijus was his name” Yura explained.

“Oh damn. I dunno what that might be, to be fair” the bald man confessed.

“Let’s leave the explanations for later and we take care of her first. She has to rest and heal.”

"Oh yes yes absolutely. There’s a warm bonfire inside my shop. It’s a peaceful place, right this way” the merchant said, reentering his cave.

“Excellent” the ronin complied, following Patches’ lead as he still held the senseless Valyssa protectively.

~°~

“Remind me Yura, who are you again?” the merchant asked the older man, both of them resting by the bonfire.

Valyssa had been placed in the near distance beside them, in an improvised tiny bed with some handkerchiefs (courtesy of Patches) serving as a blanket and pillow, and a few warming stones underneath her provided a small but constant output of healing power. She was still unconscious, but her breathing had stabilized now, and her chest plate had been very delicately removed, so that Yura could bandage her wounds and stop the bleeding.

“I’m a Hunter of Bloody Fingers. They are Tarnished held in thrall by cessblood. Zealots who stalk their own kind, and enjoy partaking in bloodshed like rabid dogs. My job is putting an end to their madness whenever it occurs.”

“Ah, I get it now. They’re like insane, bloodthirsty assassins who kill just to feel the thrill of it, right?”

Yura nodded in agreement.

“But then… why would someone do, uh, that to her?” Patches blurted out, pointing straight at her shrunken figure.

The hunter exhaled deeply.

“Nerijus has always been more on the wicked side, compared to other Bloody Fingers. And it’s likely he found a new way to mess with his targets, as we’ve just witnessed.”

Patches sighed. “Well, it’s a good thing you had those stones with you, though! They’re miraculous!”

"You speak the truth. They’re ruin fragments blessed with an incantation of the Two Fingers. That is why they work so well on a Tarnished. Especially one guided by grace, like her.”

“Uhm, right. I’ll make sure to add plenty to my merch then. They seem useful” the bald merchant observed.

Silence fell among them.

“Anyway, uh… Is there… is there some kind of way to… undo to what he did to her?”

The ronin shook his head somberly.

“It appears that what reduced her size in such a drastic way is either a kind of blood incantation that I unfortunately do not recognize, or something else entirely. A potion is not entirely out of question, either. No matter what it was, this is the first time I’ve seen it in use.”

“And you’ve been around for a while I bet, eh?”, Patches chuckled.

“For quite some time, yes” the hunter confirmed, with his usual serious tone.

“How are we going to fix her now, then? She’s basically helpless on her own!”

“I’d need to do some research first. Whatever Nerijus inflicted on her, it seems to be a very unique spell with a very specific effect.”

“Wait, so you didn’t actually see what he used on her?”

Yura sighed. “Unfortunately I intervened too late to prevent that. I deeply regret not arriving sooner to stop that madness.”

“Hey hey, you’re good pal!” the merchant reassured him. “At least you’ve killed him, right?”

“As much as I would like to neutralize the real Nerijus, that was only a copy of him. When Bloody Fingers seek their preys, they make use of a sort of phantom they can control, so they don’t actually receive fatal blows or perish in the attempt.”

“Ha, pretty smart of them” Patches admitted.

“But the real Bloody Finger can be defeated and slain, right?”

“They can, but it’s very unlikely for them to show themselves in the open in such a way. A substitute is much more convenient for their purposes."

“It makes sense, yeah. They almost sound like cowards, to me” the Tarnished commented with an annoyed smirk.

“And you are right to say that. That’s one more reason to end their continued folly.”

“Alright buddy, but I’ll leave that job to you, eh? In the meantime, we should find a way to help our now-tiny friend over here” the merchant said, looking over to her again.

“I’ll be departing soon, fret not. The sooner we find a solution, the better.”

“Great, I agree! Do you already know where you’re headed?” the merchant inquired.

“First, I’ll return to my shack, in search of anything from my Bloody Finger Hunter archives that resembles this kind of blood magic. Secondly, I’ll make my way to the Raya Lucaria Academy, in Liurnia of the Lakes.”

“Ah, a popular location I see! But if it’s okay to ask… Why the Academy, specifically?”

“There is a slim chance that such an important institution dedicated to magic might harbor the necessary knowledge to discover the hex responsible for her shrinking, even though it would not belong to the usual subjects of teaching. It’ll be worth being inspected as a second option, if we have not figured out the kind of power we’re dealing with by then."

“Sure, sounds good to me!” Patches exclaimed contentedly.

“Wait, don’t you need a key to access the Academy? Or is it just some unfounded rumors?”

“It’s true, one does need a Glintstone Key to enter the gates of the building. I do have one in my possession, thankfully. A… dear person gave it to me, long time ago, before she could use it” Yura explained, then briefly clutched a hand to his helmet again.

“Oh I see, it’s all good then!” the merchant said. He had noticed the ronin seemed troubled by what he had just mentioned, but decided not to pry.

“About Val though, is she coming with you or…?"

“As much as it’d be helpful for the research if she accompanied me, she’s not in the right conditions at this very moment. She’s been through hell enough for this day. And I would be lying if I said the journey wouldn’t put her through more unnecessary stress and danger.”

“Ah, right. That’s very true. Well then, in the meantime, I’ll wait here and protect her with my men. To see that no harm comes while you’re gone, you know? I’ll even close my shop for a while, so that nobody shows up and bothers us while you’re away. She needs all the rest she can get.”

“Nothing wrong with that. I don’t see another Bloody Finger coming for a while, but there’s no harm in keeping her safe while she recovers.”

“So it’s settled!” Patches proclaimed.

The hunter nodded as he stood up.

“I’ll take my leave now. Thank you for the essential cooperation and assistance.”

"Oh, what for? You saved my pal Val, it’s only natural that I want to help you in this rough situation” the untethered Tarnished said, smiling in grimace.

Yura nodded again.

“See you, then!” Patches exclaimed, waving at the other man, who only raised his hand in a formal manner as he left the cave.

Once it all went quiet again, the man in leather armor exhaled softly in relief.

“Well, sorry you’re gonna miss your little meeting friend, but there was little you could have done about it, it seems” he said, looking down at the sleeping woman.

“I’m sure your white-masked bud will understand.”

Back to Chapter 1 | To Chapter 3

[themostsanebug]

TEEHEHE!!! I WROTE MORE OC ANGST!! <33

[ooo,, this one is BAD,, blood, vomit, suicidal thoughts, and just,, massive amounts of physical and mental pain in general,,]

Boris gripped onto the radio that was now his head. The tips of his fingers had been sprouting into claws for a few weeks now, but he supposed now they were nearing the finish line. It felt like fire was being injected straight into his veins as the claws grew out and scraped against his head. He wanted to scream. Call out for help. Yet, he couldn't. He knew that stupid messenger god would shut him up.

Still. He called out. A strangled cry before the wound around his neck split open again and the blood poured out.

"Fool. There is no one here who cares for you. Just give in. Hand yourself over to me, body and mind." Tobias' voice boomed throughout his mind. It flooded all his senses and sharpened the feeling of pain without him. "For a feeble man your spirit is quite strong. How long will it take to break you down, young one?"

He wanted to sob. Everything hurt. The spikes shooting up from his spine, the tail growing from the end of it, the blood coating his newly formed claws from the gaping injury on his neck. It was all too much. He wanted to rip his head off. No.. he wanted to be human again. Not.. whatever the hell he's become. Whatever he has been turned into. Fuck, he'd ran out of bandages a while ago, leaving him unable to tend to the wounds he now had. Static cut through his speaker, his vision was starting to blur and his head felt lighter than usual. Shit.. shit, shit, shit.. He couldn't pass out now! He didn't.. he didn't need that.. thing in his mind when he slept. He didn't need it in his body.

He should never have joined that damned cult. All he wanted was to find a way to get this stupid radio off his head without dying in the process! Now dying seemed like the better option. Just rip off the radio and bleed out on the floor.

"Pathetic. You truly are a sniveling, slimy creature. You could make this so much easier on yourself if you just gave in." He winced as that voice overtook him once again. He wanted to slit that voice's throat. God or not, he wanted it gone. A scream cut through his speaker as the spikes growing along his spine grew out of the skin containing them. His breathing grew more ragged as a blur crept back into his vision. He scrambled to pull his shirt off so he could assess the damage being done to his body. He.. He really shouldn't have looked.

The mirror showed him that the area of.. infection from the god had grown up to the area around his shoulder blades, dark colored markings painted across his shoulders and steadily spreading. Turning around revealed his back was in fact bleeding from the unexpected growth of his spine. Some of the spikes had grown in improperly due to being rushed leaving a few gorey wounds behind that would take forever for him to heal. He looked disgusting. He was slowly turning into a monster his tormentor had created and there was nothing he could do. He felt light headed. Much worse than mere seconds ago which he had assumed was impossible. He felt nauseous. Seeing that much blood did something to him. All of that mutilation done to his own body. He turned back around and gripped onto the edge of the sink. His claws scraped against the glass, leaving marks in their wake and a horrible noise that rang through his head. He couldn't take it anymore. He leaned into the sink and threw up. The bottom of his radio practically split open to get out the amount of bile he coughed up. Once all of the vomit was out of his system, he continued to dry heave over the sink for a few more minutes. He could hear the mocking laugh of Tobias echoing in his mind. Whether he was imagining it or it was actually happening was hard to tell through the haze covering his brain.

He could tell his body was ready to give out any second. His legs about gave out from underneath him when he tried to walk. He settled for just sitting down on the floor and "resting" there. He was still bleeding, red pouring from his open injuries and covering basically everything. His vision blurred for the last time as he finally passed out. His body curled in on itself as he lay on the floor of his bathroom. Just an average day of the week for Boris Madden.

[toindeedbe-agod]

ill get into real posting in a sec i need to deliver new hcs for the modern au tho 🙏

neil

on the academic team at welton. he plays jv and is not great at it but damn does he try

spiritual connection to jeff buckley. the other poets are only mostly worried esp since he doesnt know how to swim

fucks around with his schedule so hard he ends up taking keatings three times in one year on top of also being his ta

has never climbed a tree ever

knows how to tie his shoes like, in theory

major gleek. dragged todd into it

absolutely cannot cannot cannot drive. do not trust him with it. he can get himself to school and back and only just barely.

considers himself Artsy and Pretentious. listens to dua lipa

last true high school shakespearian scholar

todd

holder of the groups dab pen 🙏

has a cat that charlie swears up and down looks like tom cruise. no one else sees it.

listens to midwest emo

insomniac.

watches the princess bride once a week

favorite author is ray bradbury

only one in the friend group who likes the great gatsby and it genuinely pains him to this day the extent he believes the others are misunderstanding it

secret lana del ray listener

unfortunate addiction to toaster strudels. school supplies $20 new books $70 toaster strudels $898759 gifts for friends $30 someone whos good at budgeting please help

charlie

#1 shenanigans getter-up-to. a real ne'er-do-well.

will do anything if he thinks itll be fun enough. starring in the school play w neil? sure. breaking into the local middle school? absolutely. helping film a music video for one of pitts' fave bands at 8pm cause hes the only one w a video camera? whatever dude just give him a heads up to put pants on

probably genderfluid but he has a job so he doesnt really care (<jobless loser tho)

hes actually native and not racist. trust im native and im literally him

wears the same busted ass pair of doc martens every day. theres a hole in both of them. theyre covered in what is either red paint or blood. the laces are in complete disrepair. theyre so so scuffed. he loves them

#gorewhore. #horrorfanatic. #fangs. absolutely loves horror movies, the freakier the better

takes naps like its his fucking job.

meeks

takes ap classes for fun. everyone hates him for this

has a deeply held suspicion that charlie may have actually boned his mom but it hurts too much to think about

tried so hard to be a twitch streamer when he was 12 and charlie will never let it go

tries every year to show charlie either 1. lord of the rings 2. dune and it never ever works.

made a tiktok recipe for a friend hang out once (1) and now he has to make it every time for threat of tears from charlie and neil

babysits for extra cash. teaches the kids how to swear

had braces from 7th grade to 11th grade

isnt allowed to eat white bread

gets sunburns in the shade

pitts

failed econ 🙏

has seen all the human centipede movies. thinks the first one is great but the second one is just awful.

plays crazy amounts of dating sims and visual novels and shit. steam account is literally radioactive

gets yelled at for wearing airpods in class once a day

only one brave enough to eat school lunch

secret soft spot for romcoms. dude just wants love

massive crush on natasha richardson he misses her every day

likes the star wars sequels. even ep 9.

keeps a shaved head (after he accidentally set his hair on fire)

totaled his car. was still bought a new one

has walked into hotels just to abuse the complimentary waffle machines

knox

also failed econ 😔

scared of the rock bottom episode of spongebob

big spongebob watcher in general

also a big stranger things watcher

lowkey if its a basic tv show hes watchin it. knox is helping to bring down the average media literacy rate of the world singlehandedly

obsessed with romcoms. especially terrible ones.

kiss me by sixpence none the richer can make him cry if you time it just right

#loverboy

would lose his head were it not attached to his body

certainly the prettiest crayon in the box, if not the sharpest

probably dyslexic but we'll never know

[ctheathy]

Hyoro reacts to fatally injuring his Darling

Hyoro x Reader

Heavy Angst Scenario

Heavily inspired by A Truly Dreadful Experience by wyverian-lady525 <3 Go check her out~!!

[Gender-neutral Darling|Female Darling|Male Darling]

Hyoro/Reader [Romantic]

Potential ⚠️TWs⚠️ :

!Reader’s demise! • Minor details of blood+guts

Hyoro looked mortified by what he had done. His eyes were wide, horrified by the scene playing out right infront of him. His breathing pace was in unison to your own and it was a complete miracle he didn't suffocate to death yet. He was shaking in his spot and wouldn't budge no matter how much his White Monoblos softly nudged him with its nose, trying to get its rider’s attention. It was like he was frozen in place, frozen in time...

All he could was stare in horror at the bloody mess infront of him. And it didn't help in the slightest that he could clearly smell the blood coming from his Monoblos companion, the dark red liquid visible on his monstie’s massive horn and scales. He, too, was completely soaked. His emerald armour was covered from head to toe and he could feel the substance making his clothing stick to his body. He glanced down at his hands... surprise, there was noticeably blood visible on those too and he was fighting every single urge in himself that just wanted to break down crying. Everything was just a permanent reminder of his deeds. A permanent reminder of his own lovers blood on his hands.

Tears were prickling in his eyes as he saw you twisting and turning in your lying position, as Avinia tried to keep a comforting grasp on your body who was currently doing everything it could to keep itself alive. He noticed you desperately gasping for air, wincing every time a little bit of air filled your lungs. Twitching as the pain overflowed you and as more blood poured over the grounds below... All while your peers desperately tried to keep you from losing too much blood, the massive hole below your lung being far too big of a wound for a high chance of survival. some guts were even scattered across the ground, making the scene all the more gruesome and traumatizing for anyone around.

Hyoro could feel himself getting closer to the verge of absolutely losing it every time a sob or another movement of pain left your body, a sad attempt at trying to ease the unending pain that your nerves were signalling. His own breathing was getting more unsteady with the second the more he looked at your dying silhouette. His teammates, Cheval and Mille were just trying to pull him along, scolding him and yelling at him in the process. Seemingly just wanting to flee from the fight for once and for all. And this distraction seemed like the perfect opportunity to do so.

It wasn't until he noticed your hand shakily moving upwards that he noticed you were trying to get his attention. He wanted to get close, hold you, mourn over his actions and apologise. But his cowardness held him back on a leash. He could hear a somber sob leaving your mouth once more, before you forced some words out of your vocal cords. “H-hyo...ro...” your vision was blurry as your eyes seemed to grow more teary the longer you looked at the male infront of you. It was like looking at a stranger. “...d-don’t leave... please...” you practically begged as you tried to force yourself up, wanting to go to him yourself, but briefly being put back down by the sheer amount of pressure on your body.

Hyoro’s heart was shattering into pieces, letting out a small gasp at your call to him, especially considering the fatal state you were in. But one harsh pull from Cheval was all it took for Hyoro to let out a loud cry, turning around and mounting his monstie to flee the scene. Tears drenching his face along with his shaky form clinging to his white Monoblos in a desperate search for comfort, but nothing seemed to remove the current guilt and pain that was eating him alive. Resulting in him running away from his problems and responsibilities like he always does. Even as it left his mind and heart crumbling in the process. Leaving you behind distraught and letting you down for one last time ...

You just looked to the side as you lost your view on the boy you loved, trying to ignore the circumstances despite it being impossible. A singular tear dripping down your cheek and your breathing only became weaker. Your eyes grew droopy and heavy as your heartbeat was getting slower and slower. It had gotten to a point where you were barely breathing at all, only occasional heartbeats pumping the blood through your veins. You were growing ice cold ... Your companions and monstie desperately tried keeping you conscious. But you seemed to have given up. Even with your failed attempts to grasp some air back into your system, You tried calling out his name for one last time ... only for you to choke up on your own breath. Your allies begged you to speak up on what you were trying to say, just wanting to hear your voice for one last time.

They never did.

[addisonryder]

point of no return

bnha. dabihawks. 3585 words. (18+)

this one is dark friends, please mind the tags.

tags: serial killer enji todoroki, blood and torture, death, character death, fire torture, enji todoroki is a terrible father

His mother’s ring felt scalding against his skin.

Promise me, Touya. Promise me you will never become your father.

---

Touya Todoroki had promised himself, from a young age, that he would never become his father. But when his father, escaped serial killer Enji Todoroki, takes the one thing Touya had ever dared have for himself, Touya realizes just how similar they might be.

Takes place separate from saved from our misery but same Serial Killer!Enji premise.

---

Touya slipped into the dockyard at the cover of night, a vice grip tightening around his lungs with each step he took. He’d warned him. He’d warned him. His father was not someone to be trifled with. Any promise, any bargain he would offer, came with strings. The type of strings that would wrap around your throat and string you up from the nearest tree - and then he would light you on fire for good measure, just to be an asshole.

And now he had Keigo.

Touya didn’t know how this had gone so wrong. Keigo hadn’t even told him that he was looking into his father again. Touya would have warned him away from it instantly - which, now that he thought about it, was probably why Keigo kept it from him. Keigo had always been insistent that he needed to stop living with the sword of his father dangling over his head, but he didn’t understand! He didn’t understand that it was safer to live with that sword, safer to spend every day of the rest of his life checking over his shoulder at every turn, than to try to face the man head on.

He would always outsmart them. He would always win.

He knew where his father would be. He’d brought Touya to these docks as a kid, to the last warehouse on the left. It was where his father stored his victims.

It had been a slow realization, when he was a child. His mother had given him the first clue - when he’d crawled in her lap at five years old, telling her how he wanted to be just like his father. She’d burst into tears, clinging him to her chest and making him promise he would never become his father. She disappeared less than a year later; Touya wouldn’t know until he was much older that his father had overheard him that night. He said their mother left them, chose to vanish into the night. Touya knew better now.

He’d never hurt them. But with the amount of time he spent away from home, Touya essentially had to raise his three younger siblings after his mother left. But he never doubted his father, back then. His dad was trying to do this all on his own - he did whatever he had to keep them happy and safe.

The day he became a teenager, his father took him aside - told him he was finally old enough to learn what his father did on his nights away from home. He took him to the docks, showed him his warehouse, showed him his collection. Trinkets, stolen from women that he’d killed and buried beneath the floors of the warehouse. A lock of hair here, a scrap of fabric torn from a dress. Touya still remembered the tears stinging his eyes when he spotted his mother’s wedding ring sitting among the collection. His father hit him for crying.

She betrayed us, Touya. Betrayed me. Anyone who betrays me deserves the justice I bring to them.

Touya didn’t see any justice in that dimly-lit warehouse. That was the first moment he’d truly feared his father. He’d tried to flee, stumbling into a dark corner of the room as far away from his mother’s ring as he could get, and that’s when he heard the dripping.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

His nose wrinkled as an acrid scent overtook him. He whipped around to bolt, running straight into a pale, naked form dangling in the air in front of him. A brunette woman, strung up by her ankles, swung from a beam overhead. Blood dripped down her slackened face from the massive wound on her throat, mixing into her long, curly hair as it pooled on the concrete.

Touya screamed, shoving himself away from the dead woman and casting around for something, anything to use to defend himself. His father caught him before he could make it more than a few steps. He’d hit him again, for making so much noise, and then he’d dragged him home, making him swear that he would tell no one what he’d seen. If he did...if he did, the woman he’d seen would look good compared to what his father would do to him.

Touya hadn’t celebrated his birthday since. But he held his tongue - when his father realized his control was slipping, he would threaten his siblings. If he told anyone what he’d seen, it would be Fuyumi who paid for it. Or Natsuo. Or Shoto - perfect little Shoto who had already been through so much. Who had managed to get a burn across the left side of his face - Touya hadn’t been home the night Shoto got hurt, and his brother was silent about what had happened. But Touya knew. Touya knew it was their father, and he realized it didn’t matter if he kept his silence or not. They weren’t safe. His siblings weren’t safe, no matter what.

It took six months. Six months for his father to slip up. Six months for his father to relax in his control and overlook something. Six months to trust his son. And that spelled his downfall.

When Enji left that night, Touya sprung into action. He’d bundled his siblings up in their winter coats and walked them the four miles to the police station. He’d had to carry Shoto most of the way, and Natsuo had given Fuyumi a piggy-back ride the second leg, but they made it all the same.

The police had believed their story. The determined word of a half-frozen teenager clinging to his three smaller siblings was easy to believe - even when it was directed against one of the most prominent businessmen in town. They’d arrested Enji Todoroki that night, and though Touya hadn’t followed the details of their investigation, he did know that they’d managed to identify most of his victims, closing dozens of unsolved disappearances from the last twenty years. Digging their remains from the concrete under the warehouse. Giving their families whatever solace they could.

He’d tried to shield his siblings from the worst of it, but he could only do so much before they were all split up. With no family left to speak of, they’d been sent to different homes, and even though Touya desperately tried to find them, he’d had no luck, year after year. Eventually, he’d had to give up, focus on keeping his feet under him. Trying to make something of himself, something that his father couldn’t touch.

And then he’d met Keigo. And Keigo never judged him, taking the time to get to know him and slowly break down those walls. Touya had tried to keep him at arms’ length, tried to stop himself from getting attached. He knew better. He knew that getting attached only gave the world something to hurt you with.

But then his father escaped from prison, and everything changed. And Keigo learned the truth and still didn’t leave. And Touya let himself believe that he could have something, one little ray of light that his father couldn’t touch.

He should have known better.

He’d gotten the message from his father that morning. On his personal cell phone, because of course his father would have had his phone number. He could never keep anything from him. How long had he been watching him, watching them? Just biding his time and waiting for the perfect moment to let Touya know that he would never be free.

He just had to hope he wasn’t too late.

Touya clambered up the shipping containers as quietly as he could, making his way toward the last warehouse on the left. The windows had been broken years ago by teenagers, eager to take some sort of honorable revenge on the serial killer who’d lurked there. Touya slipped into the warehouse through one of those broken panes, finding his footing easily on the metal catwalk.

A lone light glowed at the far end of the warehouse, and he could hear an eerie creaking drifting across the concrete floors. Touya’s stomach twisted as he moved forward as quickly as he could without alerting anyone to his presence.

He caught sight of his father first, a large hulking figure standing with his back to Touya at the far end of the warehouse. The mantle of flame that usually enshrouded him was dormant for the moment, which served to make him even more unsettling.

And then he moved.

As he stepped to the side, Touya’s heart stopped. Keigo hung by his wrists, the chain looped over one of the catwalk’s support beams. He was still wearing the shirt he’d been wearing when he left their apartment that morning, but it was barely recognizable, laying tattered on his shoulders. Gashes criss-crossed his chest, blood trailing over the sculpted abs Touya so often traced with his tongue. Feathers littered the floor, broken and plucked from his wings, which lay at awkward angles from his back - probably dislocated, if not worse. His head hung, blond hair mixing with blood on a mottled face, but he could see his lips moving, mumbling a response to something Enji had said. He was still alive. Now Touya just had to get him out of here.

He could melt through the chains. He just didn’t know how well Keigo could catch himself if he did it from above. The cleanest way to do it would be to deal with his father first - how quickly could he incapacitate him before his father started fighting back?

“Oh, but wait - I think we have a guest.”

Enji turned, piercing blue eyes meeting his son’s on the catwalk above them. Touya froze, a chill running down his spine. He should have known. He could never get the jump on his father, no matter how hard he tried.

“Come on down here, Touya.”

He couldn’t light the warehouse up, not with Keigo still chained to the catwalk. Instead, he dropped lightly onto the concrete floor below him, facing his father with squared shoulders. Golden eyes raised from the ground, widening with panic when Keigo focused through the swelling on his face.

“Touya, no!” His voice broke, his wrists jangling the chains above him. “No, get out of here, you can’t - !”

Enji cut him off, pulling one of the remaining feathers out of Keigo’s wings and incinerating it without a thought. Keigo whimpered, biting on his lip to try to silence the cry, and Touya took a step forward.

“Let him go.”

Enji turned, a wicked grin spreading across his scarred face. He hadn’t been scarred when he’d gone into prison - though, Touya supposed, prison wouldn’t likely be kind to a man with his father’s personality.

“My boy!” Enji boomed, turning fully from Keigo, his hostage forgotten. “So glad you decided to join us. I was just telling your pet here that it was only a matter of time until you arrived to save him.”

Touya took another step toward them, his fingers tensing into fists at his sides, blue flame licking at his skin. His father’s eyes flicked down to his son’s hands before his grin grew.

“Now now, Touya. There’s no need for that. I’m more than willing to let Keigo go.”

“Then do it,” Touya bit out, watching the blood slowly trickling down Keigo’s chest.

Enji glanced over at Keigo, humming thoughtfully, and Touya recognized the look that took over his father’s face. Enji never did anything without a reason. His victims had been people who wronged him, people who owed him something - people who had embarrassed him. Touya could feel the weight of his mother’s wedding ring where it hung against his chest, the chain heating along with his skin - a warning. His father certainly was willing to let Keigo go, but what did he want in return?

Touya probably should have been more concerned by his determination to give his father whatever he wanted. He would do anything, as long as it meant Keigo was safe.

Enji chuckled, the sound absolutely humorless as it echoed through the empty warehouse. “Well, son. I can’t do it without you.”

Touya’s jaw clenched, but all it took to break him was a glance at Keigo, his bronzed skin paler than it should have ever been. Keigo’s eyes were locked on him, wide with desperation as he shook his head. Touya watched those eyes flutter as Keigo’s vision spun, watched the lazy path the blood took across his face.

“Touya…” Keigo breathed, his usual strength gone from his voice. “Touya, no. Please, don’t listen to him, don’t -”

“Quiet,” Enji said sharply, flames flaring to life on his face, a warning clear in the action. “I’m talking to my son.”

Touya took another step forward before his father’s patience could wear too thin. He needed to get Keigo out of here. Everything else was a distraction.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, keeping the shake out of his voice. He couldn’t be sure if his voice was shaking from anger, or from fear - with his father, he could never be certain.

Enji’s grin sharpened, his eyes narrowing very slightly. Touya had learned at a young age how to measure his father’s moods - how to read the slightest shifts in his energy. He had been hyper-aware since the age of three - he could never let his guard down around his father. He couldn’t slip. If he slipped, someone else would pay the price.

He stood with his shoulders squared, refusing to shy away from the danger he saw in his father’s eyes. He would not fail Keigo the way he failed his mother.

“Well, that’s simple,” Enji murmured, smiling with something almost akin to warmth. “Take your place at my side, and I’ll let him go.”

Touya froze, his blood turning to ice in his veins, and his father seemed to revel in the shock on his face. He turned back to Keigo, running a rough, flaming hand over the raw skin of one of his wings. Keigo cried out, the sound hitting Touya deep in his soul.

“Now we’ll see how much my son truly loves you,” Enji muttered, his voice dark with the danger that Touya had dreaded. His father was serious. There was no doubt in Touya’s mind that he would kill Keigo in a heartbeat if Touya didn’t agree to join him.

But he’d spent his entire life trying not to become his father. Sometimes, late at night, he would think he could feel his father’s rage, his father’s darkness, curling inside him. Then Keigo would roll over, take him into his arms, and show him exactly why he couldn’t become his father. Listening to Keigo’s breathing in the dark, Touya made the promise to himself, night after night, that he would not fall to it. He would not let his father dictate his life. He would not let himself become his father.

Enji was always convinced he’d return, always convinced Touya was destined to follow in his footsteps. And now, he had all but ensured it. He took the one thing that Touya had always managed to keep out of his reach.

“Unchain him first.”

Keigo shook his head fiercely, fighting against the chains as Enji approached him, energy seeming to flood into his limbs. Or was it desperation driving him forward?

“No! Touya, no, you can’t! Please, don’t - don’t do this! I’m not worth -”

Enji melted the chains in a quick blast of fire, dropping Keigo unceremoniously to the floor. He cried out as he fell into a heap on the concrete; Touya moved without thinking, rushing to his side. He dropped to his knees, ripping his hoodie off to begin trying to stem the flowing blood. Keigo grabbed at his shirt, his eyes desperate and pleading.

“Don’t do this. You can’t do this, don’t throw your life away for me. Please, please! Touya, I love you, please -”

Touya ducked his head to brush a kiss against his lips, clinging to his last chance at happiness. His last chance to have the life he wanted. But he couldn’t keep it. Because he had never deserved it.

He should have known. He was the son of a monster. He didn’t deserve a chance at happiness. Everyone could see it - everyone but him. And Keigo. Keigo had never seen the darkness lurking inside him. He was about to show him - the faith that Keigo had in him was misplaced. He had never deserved Keigo.

“I love you,” Touya whispered, resting Keigo’s hand over the hoodie pressed to his chest. “Keep this here. Help will come soon.”

“Touya,” Keigo’s voice broke, bloody fingers trying desperately to grip Touya's hand. “Please. Please, not for me. This isn’t you. This isn’t you, Touya.” When Touya pulled his hand away, Keigo let out a choked cry. “No! Touya, no, don’t do this!”

Touya stood slowly, every fiber of his being urging him to go back to Keigo, wrap him in his arms, take him somewhere far away from here. But he couldn’t do that. He knew he couldn’t do that. The only way to save Keigo was to embrace his destiny.

Enji grinned, an obscene sort of glee flickering through the flames on his face. “That’s my boy,” he held his arms open wide, clapping them against Touya’s shoulders. “We’ll call an ambulance for him once we’re safely away.”

Touya was going to be sick. His father had finally made him who he always knew he’d be. He let his father grip his shoulder, turn him heavily toward the door, his deep voice rumbling about some plan or another.

He glanced over his shoulder, looking at Keigo one last time while he still could. While he was still someone worthy of Keigo’s attention - someone Keigo could love. Keigo’s eyes were locked on him, tears mixing with the blood on his face. His lips were still moving, though he’d lost the energy to give his words volume.

I love you. Please. Please don’t leave me.

Touya leaving wasn’t what Keigo should have been worrying about.

All at once, Touya’s fist wreathed in blue flames, slamming into his father from behind, sinking deep into his back before his father could react. Enji’s body swelled into an inferno, his own flames surging to attempt to fight Touya off, to stop the inevitable he’d fought so hard to bring about. Touya could feel his father’s flames rending his skin, but he couldn’t stop now. Touya poured every last bit of his flame into his father, burning him from the inside out, listening as the man finally let out a tortured scream, his body glowing with the internal heat of Touya’s flames.

He finally let his father fall, watching as the mountain of a man sank onto his knees, his fingers scrabbling at his own chest like he could rip Touya’s fire out of him. Touya knelt down in front of him, his face impassive as he watched his father struggle.

Enji stretched out a hand for him; Touya smoothly leaned back, out of his father’s reach. Enji dropped onto his hands and knees, coughing blood onto the concrete floor below him. Touya leaned down, watching to catch each wheezing breath.

“I will never be you. And you will never hurt anyone ever again.”

Enji’s bloodstained lips curved into a smile, the flames flickering out around him, making him look smaller somehow. His hand fell heavily to the concrete as he began to slump, the fight going out of him.

“My boy….” he said faintly, another cough wracking his frame and splattering blood across Touya’s face. “You are my son. You are exactly like me.”

Touya watched his father go still, staring at him for a moment longer than necessary. He had to be certain. He had to know his father was dead.

His father may have forced his hand, but when the moment came, Touya didn’t hesitate. He’d always thought, when the moment inevitably came, he would at least hesitate. But he’d killed his father without a moment’s hesitation. What kind of person did that? What kind of monster did that?

“Touya…”

Keigo’s voice was faint, and it re-centered Touya’s world. His father didn’t matter. Touya surged to his feet, hurrying over and sweeping Keigo up in his arms. Keigo cried out with the movement, but Touya didn’t have time to be gentle. He needed to get Keigo to a hospital. That was what mattered. Keigo could tell him to leave once he was safe.

“I’ve got you,” he promised softly, unable to look Keigo in the eye.

When Keigo’s arms wrapped around Touya’s neck, Touya thought he might shatter apart completely. He hid his battered face against Touya’s shoulder, clinging to him like he still feared he might disappear.

“You aren’t him,” Keigo whispered insistently, his lips moving against Touya’s throat. “You saved me. You saved me. I love you. You are nothing like him.”

Touya wished he could believe that. Touya wished he could believe Keigo meant what he said. But he’d just shown himself to be exactly the same as his father. He’d murdered without hesitation, spilling blood and burned flesh over the floor of the same warehouse.

His mother’s ring felt scalding against his skin.

Promise me, Touya. Promise me you will never become your father.

He’d failed his mother’s memory and granted his father’s dying wish in one night. It was only a matter of time before Keigo realized exactly who he was.

---

Find this fic on AO3.

[shatteredhope123]

Sunsets (part 1 of the latest rewrite)

Lavender was just a little kid, she was out in the backyard with her brother Derek, she was 5 years old, and she was currently playing with her brother, both kids were laughing loudly while the others watched in amusement, Derek was 7 years older than Lavender, he raised her with help from the others as he wasn't exactly sure how to raise her as he was still just a kid. Derek stopped playing with her "Let's watch the sunset" he had a few large bruises on his face and body but didn't care as long as he kept those same bruises from happening to Lavender. The two sat together and watched the sunset, she was amazed by the golden glow that was covering everything she could see "Why do you and dad fight so much?" She asked him curiously, she didn't understand that Derek got the bruises by keeping her safe from their dad. "It's not fair that he doesn't care for us, his top men shouldn't have to do this for us" Derek told her and held her close to him "one day I'll get us out of here so we can do whatever we want, we'll sit on buildings, buy massive amounts of candy, we'll look at the stars, watch sunsets, sunrises and so many other things" he whispered it to her as he didn't think that the top men were trustworthy as they were only loyal to Dad. "We should get inside before dad starts looking for us" Derek got up and started walking inside, she immediately grabbed his hand, she was very attached to him as he was the one who takes care of her, she happily walked inside with him. Derek sometimes got angry at how clingy Lavender but he understood that it wasn't her fault it was their dad's fault, he was determined to make sure that Lavender didn't learn how much of a monster their dad was. Unfortunately for both of them, Vesper was looking for both of them "I thought I told you to limit her time outside" he immediately raised his hand to hit Derek, Lavender immediately stood in front of Derek, she had witnessed this before without either of them knowing. "Don't hit him! I asked him to take me outside" That outburst earned her a punch to the face, tears immediately filled her eyes, thankfully she had fallen back on Derek, he stayed standing, he wouldn't make eye contact with Vesper out of anger "Both of you get out of sight, I can't believe I've got two useless disrespectful kids" Vesper said as Derek quickly picked up Lavender then quickly went to the bathroom to Lavender. Lavender's bottom lip was bleeding, she was silently crying as she was worried that Vesper would hear if she didn't stay silent, Derek gently dabbed the blood off of her "why did you stand up for me? It's my job as your brother to protect you" he told her and smiled at her "I also wanna protect you because who's supposed to protect you if you're busy protecting me" she told him and hugged him, he immediately held her close, he buried his head in her shoulder as he started to cry.

[deludedfantasy]

Trimax Vol 9 Ch 4-6

Honest to god, I don't think I'm going to survive next week considering what the last half of this volume did to me, especially the last chapter. I'm an emotional pile of goo right now. But here are some thoughts, and more reasons Nicholas D. Wolfwood makes me wanna cry.

Ch 4

The chapter with death in the title is number 4 again…stop with the symbolism Nightow, I can’t take it.

The fact that Livio doesn’t even need the vials to regenerate fucks me up for one very specific reason: what did they do to him to make him that way? I mean, what barbaric fucked up shit did they do to a little kid to put him into that body and turn him into a literally unkillable man? What they did to Wolfwood is horrific, but what they must have done to Livio is worse. 

There’s something about the way Nightow draws Wolfwood when he’s spitting blood and covered in it that makes it at once horrifying but so hard to look away from. It’s just so dynamic.

Wolfwood just keeps getting hit! He’s barely keeping up with Livio. He had the advantage of surprise earlier when he first shot Livio, but not anymore. Also, Livio is fighting to kill, unlike Wolfwood. He doesn’t have to be careful or pull his punches. 

But Wolfwood isn’t stopping, despite the frankly ridiculous amount of bullets he’s been hit with. This is the first time we’ve seen him be so determined to do something. He’s not giving up, not for anything, and there’s no doubt in his mind about what he’s doing.

I suddenly can’t help comparing this to the first time we saw Wolfwood in a fight, back when he was battling Ninelives. He was absolutely feral and unhinged during that fight and dealing with so much internal doubt about what he was doing. But now…when he has a clear mission, Wolfwood is just as cold and focused with purpose as Vash. 

I mean, it’s certainly still pretty reckless with the way he fired that rocket when they were so close together but there’s a lot more intentionality to it is what I’m getting at. 

Oh my god, the way he embraces Livio when he shoots him. This is his only way of showing love and mercy right now. He’s pinning him in place for the shot, but also begging for him to live through it. So much love in such an act of violence. 

Ch 5

YEAH GET FUCKED CHAPEL. WOLFWOOD IS A SMART FIGHTER!!! He doesn’t just rely on brute strength. He’s calculating and quick on his feet and he didn’t get any of that from you!!!!

Chapel gave that little boy a weapon that is bigger than him, a literal cross to bear. I also might be mushing different canons but it fucks me up that it’s specifically the gun that is called Punisher. So when Wolfwood is called Punisher or Nicholas the Punisher, he is literally being called a weapon and a tool, having his agency taken away from him. When he is Punisher, he is a weapon of the Eye of Michael, theirs to wield as they see fit. At times, he forgets he was ever a boy named Nicholas. 

Chapel truly made his own enemy by taking on Wolfwood as his disciple. One way or another, there would’ve come a day where Wolfwood’s better nature would win out over Chapel’s indoctrination. It’s just that with the way this world works, it happened this way.

Oh, those creepy dudes with the crosses on their backs who’ve been watching this whole thing are back and now they’re coming for Wolfwood. But not on Chapel’s orders?

Livio is somehow up again except the body language is so different. It’s much more open and bombastic, as opposed to the reserved, resigned way Livio carries himself. Big props to Nightow for how he portrays the differences between Livio and Razlo because it makes this whole section so chilling. 

I love how immediately Wolfwood sees that it’s not his brother. It might be the same body, but it doesn’t move the way he knows him too. Despite how long they’ve been apart, Wolfwood still knows him so well. 

Absolutely insane how he has a third arm hidden under that jacket so that he can use three massive Punishers. It’s cool but also scary as fuck. Peak character design right here. 

Ch 6

Ok, I don’t know a whole lot about DID, but the way the Eye’s doctors describe it seems pretty accurate from what I’ve read about it. Which like, big props to Nightow because when this was being written, I’m not sure there were a lot of positive or correct portrayals of it out there so the man did his research. 

Also, it really puts that earlier scene where Livio is crying about how he misses his parents into a new perspective. He was severely, severely abused by them and he still misses them. Is it because he doesn’t remember because Razlo always took over in those moments? Or is it more complicated than that? It also seems like Razlo killed his parents and Livio probably doesn’t remember that. 

But now it also makes sense why Razlo is the way he is. All he’s ever experienced is the abuse. He’s never been around for the good moments, the times when people showed Livio kindness, so it makes sense his philosophy would revolve around brutality and nihilism. If people are gonna hurt you anyway, why not hit back as hard as you can? Who does being good even matter if everyone you encounter is evil?

I’m gonna keep harping on this, but I love the way Nightow shows the separation between Livio and Razlo. When it’s Livio, the right side of his face is exposed, but the left is covered by a skull mask. It’s like a representation of his other half, the killer and the death omen. When Razlo is in charge, the mask is gone and the left eye is wild and wide open, while the right is obscured by his hair, like Livio is hiding behind it, refusing to acknowledge what’s happening. It’s the scared little kid hiding behind his dark shadow again. 

Wolfwood is having a very bad time right now and things aren’t looking good, at all. Livio was a good fighter, but Wolfwood could outsmart him. Razlo is literally so strong, so fast, and so powerful, that Wolfwood can’t keep up. He’s just being thrown around like a rag doll. 

“Even in a fight to the death, you still gave thought to your opponent.” Me, sobbing on the ground: WOLFWOOD STILL CARES. HE CARES SO MUCH. HE LEARNED FROM VASH AND HE DOESN’T WANNA KILL HIS BROTHER, EVEN THOUGH RAZLO IS ALSO A PART OF HIM. 

Somehow, someway, Wolfwood sees a path to redemption for Livio. He isn’t going to give up on him again. He failed him once as a child. Now, he’s older and he won’t let that happen again. That’s why he won’t kill him.

Cue incomprehensible sobbing noises. Wolfwood himself once believed he couldn’t hold the ideals of an immortal, that human life was just misery and killing, because that’s the way it had to be. And despite how much Vash scared him at times, Wolfwood couldn’t help seeing something beautiful in his ideals. Some small kernel of hope, to be more than a demon or a devil. 

Wolfwood gives himself this moment to be overcome by the beauty of Vash and everything he believes in, and everything he now believes in himself. It’s such a pure expression of love and devotion. Like, look at him, he’s on his knees. 

What Vash believes in isn’t easy, but that’s the point. Doing the good thing is hard. Sacrificing to do the good thing is hard. But also, Wolfwood realizes that sometimes, to do the good thing, to do the hard thing, without killing in the process, you have to put yourself on the line.

Wolfwood has always feared death. Above all, he wanted to live. Vash taught him that he has a choice about who he wants to be, yes. But the reckless way Vash has conducted himself has also taught him giving up his life is worth it for what he believes in.

It’s heart-wrenching, because this is the moment that Wolfwood truly and fully embraces Vash’s ideals and becomes the person he wants to be. But it’s also the moment he decides that he’s going to die for this. He’s going to die to save his home, and the last lines of this chapter, white against a white background really seal in his decision. 

Any other time he’d been on the verge of death, he’d probably heard that iron bell tolling. I imagine it was a funeral bell, telling him that his end is near. He knows he should hear it now, but he doesn’t. Because the threat of his impending death doesn’t matter anymore. It doesn’t scare him. He will die, and he’s okay with that. 

Okay, I’m gonna go curl up in a ball and cry now. I’m not gonna survive reading volume 10 next week. 

[starwrighter]

(Yeah baby!!!! That’s what I’m talking about!)

Danny’s in hell, that was the only explanation for this torment! Bright lights shining from a brilliant gold chandelier dangling from the ceiling. A snobby show off of wealth but that’s what Vlad thrived for. What a joke. But there was the fruitloop, chatting up some snobby rich lady, no doubt trying to dupe the poor lady out of whatever fortune she has. Danny stood beside the man, all he could see was the sleazy conniving monster the man hid away. Anyone could tell there’s something off about Vlad if you actual knew him, chances were if you actually knew him he’d have already tried to kill and or ruin your life. Yet here this entire gala was practically eating out of Vlad hands. Hands that had not even a hour ago been covered in his blood.

Danny winced rubbing the back of his neck with a sign. Vlad had decided out of the blue to host a gala of all things! The moment he announced what he’d planned to do every rich person in a million mile radius was flocking to attend. Swarming to be apart of something they deemed important, everyone wanted to know what “Hermit billionaire Vlad Master’s” was up to.

A whole lot of evil that’s what.

Danny didn’t know who was more more pitiful. Vlad? Or the rich people? Either way this was a massive opportunity for Vlad’s poorly crafted mask to… Slip.

Oh what a shame it would be if a poor unsuspecting guest were to stumble upon Vlad’s secret basement~ A smirk played on his lips. Even worse if Vlad’s poor god child were to spill the beans about the billionaires reprehensible secrets~ Only… Vlad had secrets about him too. His face fell.

This was bull crap… A gala created specifically to torment him. Even worse! Vlad’s ego was inflated to a whole new level by the news that Bruce Wayne and his gaggle of children were attending. While if the rumors of the Wayne kids chaotic behavior rang true, this party was about to get a whole lot more interesting. Danny didn’t like the idea of Vlad having all of Bruce’s wealth and assets handed to him on a silver platter. He especially didn’t like how Vlad wouldn’t care if that platter was given at the cost of human lives.

Bruce was as good a guy as billionaires get, a lot of people depended on his constant community support to survive. If Gotham somehow gets worse with Bruce’s fall from power it’d quickly spread to other areas and he had a feeling he knew what the main area of bloodshed. None other than Vlad Masters main place of residence aka amity park.

Aka he couldn’t let this happen.

Vlad is a moron. He didn’t understand the consequences of his actions, he never had to face them. The only big consequence he’d faced gave him super powers and an immense amount of wealth. So Vlad doesn’t exactly know what catastrophic consequences would look like for him. Danny does, and it doesn’t look pretty! It meant more work for him to clean up. Because Vlad was the type to disembowel himself before cleaning up his own mess.

Danny sighed sneaking away from Vlad’s all but vigilant gaze. This suit was way too stuffy, raven black shoes cramming his toes and a tie like a noose around his neck. This was horrible but he has to power through! If he could convince one of Bruce’s kid’s he wasn’t just making up stories for attention he could get Vlad jailed for good… Or Vlad would chose to end this with them both tied to a dissection table. Not good.

Oh!

He could convince Bruce to leave!

Vlad would be watching Bruce like a hawk. But he wouldn’t be watching the man’s kids! All Danny had to was pick out the one who’s easy enough to annoy and bing bam boom! Rich kid goes crying to daddy, big dramatic spectacle happens, the rich guys go home, crisis averted!

But which Wayne kid would he pick…

Danny scanned the Gala locking eyes with his target!

A boy, around his age with emerald green eyes twisted into a disdainful glare. His suit was well kept, not a crease or fold in the pitch black fabric. The boy’s posture was stiff, his face screamed he’d rather be anywhere but here and he wasn’t even going to try and hide it! Perfect.

Danny made no hesitation as he approached the far side of the room where the boy was standing idly by a window. It was hard to explain, but this dude looked…Stabby? He looked tough, like Danny’s whole annoy until wailing to daddy plan would need a few extra steps. Then again. If Danny got stabbed that was a reason to end the gala early. Same would be if a lot of accidental damage happened to Vlad’s mansion. The latter would be more devastating for Vlad but either would work.

“Hello!” Danny kept a smile on his face only thinly veiling his intentions.

“What do you want?” The boy snapped, giving him a death glare that truthfully, would’ve been more effective had he not already been half dead.

“Has any anyone told you, you look stabby?” Danny asked a teasing taunt to the edge of his voice.

“Multiple people have, Including my father,” The boy replied flatly, a hint of pride that Danny just barely caught.

He laughed, at least this rich person was straight forward.

“I like you, we should be friends,”

“No,” He rejected coldly, but friendship wasn’t the point of this.

“I won’t degrade myself to involving myself with Master’s spawn,” The boy spat.

Red hot anger flashed through him, he didn’t even bother to hide it. No, He couldn’t hide it.

“He’s not my dad he’s a total creep!” Danny hissed giving the boy a glare deadly as belladonna. Maybe a fight would be what it took to send these fuckers home.

“…Apologies,” The boy said hesitantly.

“It was under my assumption that Vladmire Master’s was your father,”

“Your assumption was wrong,” Danny spat and if his words were venom they’d be burning through the tile floors taking this rich boy out with them.

“It’s what he told us,”

“What part of he’s a creep isn’t getting through your skull,” Danny question any friendliness from before evaporating into thin air with every word this boy spoke.

“I thought you liked me?” The boy questioned, Danny scoffed.

“That was before stupid came pouring out your mouth,” Danny sneered. “You should apologize to women,” Danny stated plainly,

“I- what?”

“It’s offensive to all women for you to imply any of them would degrade themself to sleep with Vlad,” Danny gagged at the end shaking his head. Surprisingly, the rich kid laughed.

“I suppose you’re right he’s sounds vile from what I’ve heard,”

“Is what you’ve heard from me? Because if it isn’t you’re about to be real surprised,” Danny smirked catching the flash of curiosity in they boy’s eyes.

“Oh, do tell,”

“No~” Danny said short and sweet swaying on the balls of his aching feet.

“Why not?” The boy demanded puffing up like a offended bird.

“What happened to hello? Do you even know my name?” Danny taunted hoping for either a punch or a disgruntled kid running to his papa.

“Your name is Daniel,” Stabby boy replied quickly, Danny frowned.

“Close enough, but now I feel bad, because I don’t know yours”

The boy paused and Danny continued.

“I only approached you because you look stabby and a stab wound seems better than whatever Vlad has planned,”

“You and you’re family don’t want to be here for what Vlad has planned trust me,” Danny warned his eyes went dark.

“What?” The boys eyes narrowed.

“I know something that could destroy your entire family,” Danny whispered, the boy freezing. What Vlad would do to them would destroy them.

“I’m saying this because Gotham will be devastated without you,”

“You-“ Danny interrupted him before he could continue his sentence.

“ Vlad is too stupid to understand the consequences but you aren’t. I’m telling you to go home, it’s for your own good,” Danny warned, desperation clear in his voice.

“Just…Make it look natural,” Danny added.

“I’ll be dead if he thinks I did something,” He whispered under his breath,

“You want natural?” The boy queried, cocking his head.

“Then play along,” Danny nodded confused for a second as the boy grabbed his hand pressing a kiss to the back of his scarred hand.

“My name is Damian, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Danny could feel eyes burning into his back. Soft gasps and murmuring from the guests of the Gala. He felt cheated, what part of this was natural?

The boy-Damian smiled at him. It felt wrong on him, this smile was fake and both of them knew it. But nobody else could ever guess.

“I- uh,” Danny wasn’t good at this rich person speak. He’d be much better going home to sleep.

“I know this is sudden, but I’d love to see you again,” He could feel Damian’s teeth against his hand, the bastard. It’s like he’s starting shit on purpose, people were oohing gushing about how cute this was. Danny’s trapped Damian was going to claw information out him like the fbi.

“I- That sounds lovely,” Danny stuttered with faux shyness, taking a step backward.

“I think I should go talk with my godfather,” Ancient’s he almost gagged and that wasn’t even the official title.

“Please think about it,” He slowly let go of his hand, the warmth from the other boys hand draining from Danny’s ice cold hands.

He had a feeling he’s totaling fucked over.

Dead serious (sort of) prompt:

Danny goes to a gala (because Vlad is being a bitch) and immediately clocks the angry kid in the corner who looks like he’s about to start stabbing, and immediately decides that this kid will be his friend by the end of the night.

Even if he has to annoy the boy into it.

[carnihell]

“Oracle, darling?” Pentious, sitting in front of a vanity mirror, was idly moving to scrub at his face with a make-up wipe, glitter and various amounts of eyeliner away from all four of his eyes, dressed in a plain white frilled blouse shirt, a far cry from his usual caped ringmaster attire.

A figure appears behind him in his room, a large, looming being, even taller than he, draped in a ornate cloak that seemed to shift in color every time one looked away. The cloak was massive, covering their being from sight, and within, no features at all could be seen. “Yes, Ringmaster?”

“Be a ram and tell my followers that tonight’s sermon will have to be..” He pauses for a moment, clearing his throat a touch as his shoulders briefly shake, like he was holding back a cough. “…postponed. Not for long. Only..an hour or so.” His voice sounds a touch thin.

“Of course, Ringmaster. But are you certain you only want to push it back to an hour?”

“Yes, of course I am. I haven’t flaked out any sermons in around 50 damn years and I’m certainly not about..” He takes a slightly labored breath, and he pats briefly at his forehead with a handkerchief. “…not about to start now.”

“…You seem out of breath.”

“I’m fine, darling. Thank you for your concern. But I’m fine.”

“…Is it your injury? From the Holy Rot?”

“Oracle.” His voice dipped into a slightly low tone. It was a warning.

“..Understood, Ringmaster.”

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t move until he can sense she was gone. One moment she was there, the next she was gone, and he lets out a heavy sigh, his heart thudding harshly in his chest, like he had just sprinted a mile and didn’t stop for breath. It felt like before. Felt like that chill was still inside him. That cold, cold bite of death that squeezed it’s jaws around his lungs. Made it hard to breath. Choked his windpipe with blood. It was awful. Damn near unbearable. But he tried his best to take deep breaths and shove the feeling down as quick as he could, rubbing at his chest with a hand through his shirt, patting it, trying to jar the heavy pressure from his scales by brute force.

…He just hoped Angel wasn’t dealing with such horrid phantom pains.

[wroteclassicaly]

May I Taste Your Sin

(Michael Langdon x Female Reader)

Pairings : Michael Langdon x Female Reader

Warnings : Language, smut, blood, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, blood play, & period sex.

A/N : This fic has been a loooong time coming! I’m sorry it’s taken me this long, but now that I have inspo I wanted get this out for y’all! The warnings are obviously self-explanatory, so skip this if you don’t like the contents it’s gonna contain! Michael Langdon eats human hearts, and he’s a demon, before anyone starts to fuss over this, lol. I’m sure menstrual cycles with his partner would be a dessert to him!

Enjoy! This one is pretty intense, so I’m nervous about it! I also have more installments with different characters coming in the next few days! :)

Check out where I first posted the teaser for this fic, and check out these period sex headcanons I wrote for Michael!

~*~

He keeps staring at you. You try to move about, do your tasks, even attempt conversation with people you’d tried so hard to avoid these past several years. Your abilities to function like the human being that you are, seemingly vanish whenever the tall honey blond is within your exhausted proximities. You aren’t sure if you’d like to let out the loudest echoing scream and see where it ends up in this place, or let your wildest carnal urges guide your hormones into a literal sticky situation. Or, at the very least, let yourself fantasize about seducing him in your own self-created version of reality.

You’ll have to settle on the latter, unfortunately. Pocketing the cream colored dish rag, you place the last row of finely printed novels on the book shelve. Your fingertips linger, attempting to find a portal through their leather cover tops. Your tongue slicks your parched lips, neck stretching to crack out the tension. You aren’t trying to do anything but stealing some relaxation, when a largely hot hand is pressing a knot-out in a knead on your shoulder - clasping, settling a risky purchase.

You don’t have to make an educated guess to know whose hand that belongs to. He practically spews out his control and ownership of this place every chance that he gets. Biting down a venomous sigh, you coerce yourself into a turn around - gathering an eyeful of Langdon’s fancy black vest. That’s not good enough for the King, apparently, as he fits his pointer finger underneath your chin in a tuck, thumb pressing against your jaw to tilt your gaze to his own.

“Did you forget your manners, Miss Y/L/N?”

The way his shining eyes are sizing your attention, captivating your unwillingness to comply to how Langdon makes you feel - it can’t be humanly possible, can it? There’s that possessive ache that begs you to launch ownership over him and his entire body. Why is everything so widely dramatic whenever he’s around? Is he just full of himself or is it something way more than you’re aware? A crackling parch winds its pathway around your throat, sealing your breath in.

Nothing comes from between your lips. You’re frozen solid, legs a weightless press. Each touch this... man brings upon your body is like a bass thump - pumping you towards his secretive rhythm. All you can do is sway with the beat. Langdon smirks coyly, his other hand resting behind his back in an idle grace.

Neither of you dare utter a word. However, Langdon is seemingly content in making you squirm and you try to focus on everything but his perfectly crafted jawline, and how eagerly you’d suck on it if asked. You swear you can hear your heartbeat galloping off, so strong that it can tear your heart right out of your chest along with it. His colorful eyes glance over you in a brief stamping sweep, lingering at your sore breasts and your waistline.

What is he even doing...?

“Excuse me, but Ms. Venable did not authorize any private conferences with the help.” A cold and steel - grasped voice chills your bones down, dusting your cheeks with a reddening humiliation.

You haven’t even so much as spoken to Langdon, yet it feels like you two have been clawing and scratching at each other all over this fucking outpost, riding one another until you can’t fathom walking upright. You still can’t speak, but Langdon takes care of that for you.

“Interesting, and did Ms. Venable give you permission to waltz in here when you weren’t requested or required, just to give a meaningless order?” Langdon is mildly amused in his question, his hand still paused on your chin, thumb now swiping in a tickling drop with his fingertip - along your jaw.

Ms. Mead looks comical in her brief attempt at forming a snappy comeback, only to go silent in defeat. You take this tension as your escape line - quickly edging from the sacred confines Langdon has built for you two, and you all but run out the door. You’re clutching your shirt collar, punching a two pounce path up the staircase and to the help’s quarters.

Chores now, panic later.

~*~

Five minutes. Five fucking minutes in this place that you’ve served without question, complaint, for nearly two years - is all you want. But as the heavy handed rasps of Mead’s knuckle bones beat on your bathroom door, you know that is a simple pipe dream. Her low voice is harsh with you, making your headache unfold into a full blown migraine. You shift uncomfortably, knees knocking together, thighs sore against the cool porcelain seat below you.

Langdon must’ve massively pissed her off... Good.

Your palms collect purchase to your cradle your face, your eyes glistening with tears, throat burning with frustration. It hurts too much to stand upright this time. Normally women would lose this in stressful situations. Add the apocalypse and barely eating, you’d peg it normal to receive nothing. However, your predicament is much worse, fucking you over once more.

Your body welcomes Mother Nature each month. Unpredictable, yet there. Heavy, excruciating. You could list on and on reasons that don’t amount to much. You’re stuck with a part of you that won’t ever come to fruition.

Not in your former life, especially not in this one. Another reminder that carries an award winning irony. Sighing, you peer down at the red dish rag you were given. Literally on the rag, what a joyous harmony. The elites of course, are given the tampons and pads.

You have to use scraps of fabric you’re forced to wash in the bathtub if you move too fast or sneeze. And on your heavy days when you haven’t the time to stop your duties to wash and air out the towels, things are much harder. At least before the apocalypse you had chocolate, feminine products, a warm shower to take your time in, movies to curl up with, and a place of your own to cry where no one could hear you. You sniffle, hormones locking down your heart.

Most recently the outpost had welcomed the cooperative leader Langdon. He had interviewed everyone but you, uninterested, only flustering you a few times. Him being here just makes your period a more unwelcome storm. This morning as you were passing him on the landing of the staircase, delivering the bath towels to elite rooms, he stared at you. Right into you, nostrils flaring, tongue rolling out to slick his plump lips, blue eyes darkening.

Then there was this afternoon. How could I forget...?

The encounters were over quicker than they took place. Still, his acknowledgment of you didn’t bring your interview, nor did it promise your application for the sanctuary he preaches about. Forcing your tears to bank, you stand with your dress skirt and apron held up, staring at the stained rag in your panties. You turn and flush the toilet, eating back around to the shock of your fucking life. There, just feet in the from the doorway, is Langdon in all his glory.

It makes you swallow harshly, stomach drawing off the butterflies that have grown claws. You feel winded. His ring covered fingers bring an object to your sights. A thinly wrapped stick. You don’t answer, you don’t move, you don’t protest him approaching until he’s directly in front of you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You try, a mere whisper betraying your bravery.

“Helping you,” He answers simply, a heated slide crossing his mouth. You can practically taste him, damn near swaying forward.

You start to snap back into your senses, ready to cover your remembered modesty back up. He grasps your wrist, a hungry look soft in his features. “Will you let me?”

You’re shaking, body on fire at him touching you, you try to keep your legs from clenching, that want. You know what will occur if you let yourself. He is gentle with you, admiration clear. Why? You don’t understand this.

“You’re bleeding, I know.”

Jaw unhinged, you stand upright, his fingers still ghosting your skin. An unlucky movement on your part, the warmth spills from you and you look down between your thighs in horror at the red lines running down your legs, pattering against the floor. Langdon is breathing heavily, practically panting, stunning you once more. His other hand grips your cheek, thumb swiping your lip, eyes not breaking contact from yours.

“Do you know how good your cunt smells? Every pathetic person in this outpost is starving and you have the best meal between your fucking legs.”

When your silence stretches on, Michael nudges forward, careful with you. “May I feast?”

It’s all too much to handle. Having him talk to you, you speaking to him. And now this? How? You begin to grow dizzy, hands trembling as you try to pull your clothing back up. Langdon’s hands grip your wrists.

“Please don’t do that.”

You want to stun him incredulously, backhand him. None of that is happening, not even the urge. Instead, your want for him is magnifying beyond any feigned ignorance. Your tongue slides out across your lips, teeth biting down on your bottom lip in a brisk chew. Langdon hooks his middle finger between your teeth, releasing your lip and combing the blood across in a coppery gloss.

Your chest is startled, rising and falling in quivering quakes, ears hearing a static rush. Everything inside of you is alive and crying out in need to be sated. Langdon grips you around the waist, lowering his forehead to rest atop your own, his middle finger - still doused in your blood - slithers past his own lips, which close in a sticky suckle. A vibrating moan pummels his throat, causing a constricting swallow that showcases his Adam’s apple.

If I could only just lick that...

Langdon is sly and devilishly cunning to a fault - fast in his next movements. He presses a designer boot down over your skirts, successfully preventing them from being made up. “Leave them here for someone else.”

“I... I can’t. This is too much, Langdon —“ He chuckles at the formality.

“Since I can see your womanhood running from between your legs, I suppose it’s only fair that we skip some formalities, don’t you agree, Y/N?” Your eyes are probably wider than necessary - a cartoon like sight. He’s used your full name in an authoritative command, leaving no room for question. “And you may call me Michael.”

It’s all a little more frantic from this point. He gives the slightest of information, and you see your skirts and panties gliding across the floor in a winded push. Michael brings that wrapped item back into your eye-line. “We won’t be needing this for a while.”

“I didn’t say yes.” You try, swallowing a weak, whimpering stifle.

“But you didn’t say no, did you?” That shit eating grin. He has you and he is all too aware - elated to the brimming brimstone of hellfire you’re about to bestow upon yourself.

Your insides melt into the trenches of red hot, raw ravishment. Michael drops his left arm down, hand palming his hardening cock through black slacks, eyes encouraging you in a chained bind. “Let’s go and make a mess in my room.”

Now or never. No more of this, back to reality, maybe some place better. You’re spinning in a foiling encasement, precipice wide and open - hungry to pull you under. And you dive in, you let it all go. Michael looks satisfied, sharing something with himself that you don’t know... yet.

Taking Michael Langdon’s hand, you’re led into the unknown.

~*~

Langdon leads you down his own separate corridor, your free hand scolded for trying to hold yourself over your uniform.

“I want you to make a mess.” Michael says.

You hope that you’re not the one who will be paying the cost for your own said mess, or cleaning it up. If it’s up to Venable - you’ll be licking it, all the way to her high heeled boots.

Once inside the confines of Michael Langdon’s bedroom, you take the time to look around, enjoying the perks this situation is bringing. The room isn’t any different than what the purple elites get here, it is bordering on a more... lived in feel, which is ironic when you consider that Langdon hasn’t been here like everyone else has for the past three years.

Guess he’s just more comfortable? He does look like an English vampire half the time..

On that note, a particularly harsh cramp antagonizes your uterus, causing you to clench your abdomen, choking out a acidic slice. “Fucking demonic cramps.”

Michael - now clad in his all black ensemble, minus the overcoat - chortles, knotting his fingers together behind his back and strolls forward, wetting his lips as the firelight crackles a sparking soundtrack. “It’s ironic how you refer to it as “demonic”, when Satan really has nothing to do with this. I mean, it’s not on him that humanity failed their pitiful guidelines for sobering temptation. Wasn’t it your lord and savior that bestowed this curse upon you?” He finishes, giving a head tilt to your unhinged stun.

“Are you religious?” Is all you can come up with.

Michael sneers, looking slightly offended. It fades seconds later. “Depends on your definition of religious, and then there is what one believes in. But I guess you can say that I’m devoted to... a certain cause.”

“Were you this mysterious before the apocalypse, or is that why the cooperative gave you the job?” You try, a discomfort crackling at your inner thighs.

They’re probably smeared... And not just with blood.

“I bet you’re uncomfortable.” Michael teases, snapping his fingers at the fireplace. Did your eyes betray you, or did the flames flicker?

You want to give a snappy comeback, but it feels unwise. You nod like the sap that you are, nails biting your palms. Your heartbeat has begun to accelerate, a visible sight beneath your apron. Langdon guides himself to step in front of you, leather shoes drumming across the floor beneath. Every sound in this forsaken room is flowing through your eardrums - Michael’s scent on the tip of your tongue.

You need him. More than your body has to have the air that filters underneath this mausoleum. You’re so unsteady, eyes brimming with the smoking arousal, blocking common sense. Michael catches you as you collide with his chest, wrapping your fists into his vest. His blue irises are disappearing to a canyon of night sky - lavish black so sinful that it steals the breath from your lungs.

Drizzling off your tongue is a hesitation. “Won’t we get into trouble...? Venable -“ Those rough fingertips hold a softness that hushes your lips, denting.

“Can watch me with my face buried into your cunt. The humiliation will arouse her.” Michael answers in his own finish.

You aren’t sure why, but that grates your mouth into a sneaky grin, shared with Michael’s, sensing that slapping throb at his phrases. He pinches your chin, nuzzling your head to the side, his lips sloping a map across your neck. His towering physique backs you by knocking his knees into your thighs, delivering you to the edge of his bed. You drop like wild weights, looking towards the ceiling, trying to take a deep inhalation. Langdon crouches, pants rustling as they tighten around his temptingly thick thighs.

He tuts in a scold, chiding you furthermore. “You will watch what I’m getting ready to do to you! Is that clear, Y/N?”

You don’t answer fast enough, Michael’s hand wrapping around your throat, eyes burning hellfire through you - dusting your bones to ash. Your throat is wet with the clingy, unshed tears. Fuck, you have to be filled up until you’re hollowed out. Michael is languid in grace, hand toppling into your lap, joining his other.

“Take down your hair, Y/N.”

Like a puppet, you obey your new owner. Unwrapping the pointed bun, you shake your locks free, sighing in an eased tickle.

“What a good and obedient girl that you are. Those who obey, shall reap the riches.”

“Why are you doing this?” An ignorant question on your part.

“Because,” As if it’s the most simple answer in this broken world, Michael let’s his hands start to unbutton his vest, carelessly sending it, his attention not wavering off you in the slightest. “I’m hungry.”

A literal moan comes from you, making Langdon hiss through his through his milky white teeth. He resumes his former position, hovering.

“Spread.” Michael says, a quaint wonder adorning him, his palms sliding up and down your legs to feel you part them. The blood is mixing some fucked out potion with your creamy arousal for him, and he knows it, has it right into your tremble from the exposure.

Your skin is steaming in scrapes, responding so vulgarly to Michael, that he is hooking his wrists under your knees, bouncing the flesh into his awaiting hands, and claiming. He hoists your legs over his shoulders to arch you to his idea of perfection. You should be protesting, in a shambled shyness. That is gone, no place here. Michael let’s his nose rest in the crease of your thigh, crudely sniffing like some beast.

His sopping tongue finds a striking stroke along your ruby red, damp thigh.

Closer... He’s getting closer...

When you can’t feel that warm and snide air he possesses, you lock to load a question. Michael is shedding himself of his remaining clothing in a cocky crawl. His hair curtains his face as he sees you seek out his cock - thick and heavy, weighted and wet with pre-cum.

“Finish taking off your clothing.” You’ve never done something so fast in your years alive.

You have to admit, being so vulnerable like this - naked and bleeding, it has you buzzing.

Michael outstretches a veined forearm, the back of his rings swirling in desiring dances across your breasts. “Do these hurt?”

Your lashes are slicked in perspiring tears, the tired soreness harassing your chest. He has his truth. His trim form bows to you once more, placing your legs back where they belong. He knuckles a pressing push into your abdomen. “Bear down.”

It isn’t an accident this time, it’s not a discreet secrecy. Michael wants you this way. All of you. Finding a confidence, you give yourself a high and sink your fingers into his hair, toes tickling his shoulder blades in a forwarding nudge, doubling down on your muscles. That warmth spills out of you and Langdon takes you, tongue parting your swollen folds. He regulates his tongue in wet paints, licking and sucking everything you give him.

“Please—“ You’re already begging. It’s so fucking intense and intimate that you can’t formulate your own damned name.

“Are you really going to ask, or would you just like to feel good?” Michael vibrates, his mouth visible and shining crimson as he seeks you out between your slippery thighs.

It’s outright feral. His irises are coal black, blue lost in some combing canyon that’s crumbled around sin. His digits prod at your sensitive opening, being accepted moments later. His lips close over your clit, tongue slithering back and forth to assist his beckoning fingers. He gathers more from you - his purpose.

That quenched fold starts to seize you early on, your pattering breaths signaling the orgasm that is about to tear the screams from your fucking diaphragm. Michael’s hand smacks and rolls your swollen breast - permission granted. That’s all it takes and you’re falling back onto the mattress, back arching in a lined drag, pussy flattening against his mouth. He jerks you impossibly closer, your vision whiting out into dark spots. You tangle your fingers further into his luscious strands, holding, pulling.

In the midst of close recovery, Michael is plowing you with a short lived let down, his mouth leaving your pussy. You can’t complain, no time available, as his hips slot in a frazzled fit between your legs. His pelvis is tense, sheathed in sweat. His chest smashes your breasts, his hand reaching down to guide his cock inside you. You can’t speak, but cling tightly to his back. He growls a sound that you’ll never forget, the fire bursting behind him, flames licking the rocked cove that houses them.

His mouth is covered in your essence, your cunt bathing his dick with each violent thrust. It’s pouring in drenches, salty perspiration, pooling blood - both of you losing yourselves in the mess. Michael props himself up, digging into a dipping slam, meeting your mouth in an ending kiss. His hair tickles your shoulders, nose nudges your now blood caked mouth, and he gives the warning.

“Spill your fucking curse all over me!” And you come undone, glued to him in puzzled entrapment.

Your thighs are wrecked, his bedsheets useless, and then there’s Michael, who forces you to look at him and really see him. There’s only black in his eyes. You sputter a disbelief, bracing. His mouth parts, tongue flicks across to gather more, leveling off into his jagged movements. He swells inside your cunt, dousing your walls in his warm cum.

He doesn’t leave you, not even when it’s over. He simply takes you with him. You aren’t sure where you get the courage to speak - body shaking and shivering.

“What... Michael, who are you?”

He cups a hand over your cunt, rolling onto his side, keeping you held to him. He lightly blows away a pesky lock of your hair, then maneuvers another behind your ear.

“I’m the man who’s going to save your wretched existence.”

Tag list : @littledemondani @dark-mei-rose @fckinsupreme @angelicmichael @icylangdon @ritualmichael @sojournmichael @celestialrequiem @instinctsxbaby @infernwetrust @ferndolan @9layerdevilfoodcake @bloodcoatedeclipse @wormycircumstance @antichristsxbox @xavierplympton @xavierplymptons @ramona-thorns @lovelylangdonx @langdxn @codyarchives @dailylangdon @codyfernuk @langdonsjoyy @7-wonders @blakescoven @holylangdon @bitchchatter @suspiriva @taskmastter @kitty4860 @ladynuwanda @langdonsexual @sammythankyou

[demonprincezeldris]

𝕊𝕦𝕔𝕔𝕦𝕞𝕓 𝕥𝕠 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕠𝕤 (ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟚)

ᴛᴡ: ɪɴᴄ*ꜱᴛ, ᴄᴏᴍᴇ-ᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ꜰᴏᴜʀꜱᴏᴍᴇ, ᴀɴᴀʟ ꜱᴇx, ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜱᴇx, ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ꜱᴛʀᴀᴘ-ᴏɴ ꜱᴇx, ᴄᴜᴍ ɪɴꜰʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ꜱᴇx ᴛᴏʏ (ᴀɴᴀʟ ᴘʟᴜɢ), ꜱɪᴢᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ

１８＋！ Ｍｉｎｏｒｓ ＤＮＩ！

If you are sensitive to any of the above topics, please click away now!

Meliodas moaned as your hands and lips trailed all over his body. His chest, nis neck, his face. Everywhere you could find any skin your touch was there, skimming over him and making him melt in your arms. Zeldris panted hotly as he breathed against the juncture of Meliodas’ neck, flicking his tongue out to lick against his brother’s skin, then biting down hard. The Dragon Sin gasped, jerking in your hold as Zeldris drew blood from the wound, quickly cleaning it with his tongue.

Your eyes flickered down, more than pleased to see the curve of his erection pressing against the white fabric of his pants. In a quick movement, you crouched down, swiftly pulling them down around his ankles. Your mouth watered as his hefty erection popped out, poking against your lips, pearls of precum already beading at the opened slit. Meliodas whined, the sound muffled as you gently mouthed at the head, quickly moving down to trace along his dick, your tongue trailing along the underside. Your eyes glanced up, your suspicion confirmed as Meliodas’ head was turned to the side, Zeldris’ hand clenched on the underside of his jaw as he kissed him passionately.

Feeling fresh heat coil in your gut, you continued your experimentation, your head lowering to mouth his balls, sucking one inside your mouth, then moving on to the other. You quickly moved back up, swallowing his cock with ease, hearing Meliodas moan, his back arching to push his cock even deeper into your mouth. “That’s it,” Zeldris murmured in Meliodas’ ear, both men looking down at you. More focused on pleasing Meliodas, you started bobbing your head up and down at a furious pace, breathing deeply through your nose.

“Zeldris,” you heard Arthur call out to the demon. After a moment's pause, he spoke again, “Why don’t you prepare him for me?” Zeldris practically purred in delight as he listened to Arthur. “W-wait a minute! Zel, what are you- AH!” he gasped loudly, his cock jerking forward in your mouth. Zeldris had also crouched down to the other side of his torso, his hands spreading his cheeks wide and pressing his head forward. Meliodas jerked between the two of you, his moans bouncing off the walls at the double pleasure that assaulted him.

Meliodas’ hands clenched in your hair, rhythmically rocking forward and back between you. He shuddered uncontrollably as you continued your wet movements. “Enough, my pets,” Arthur murmured after a few minutes. You pulled off the demon’s cock, turning to look at Arthur, Zeldris doing the same. Arthur’s eyes were dark with lust as he curled a finger. “Come to me, Meliodas,” he purred. You both watched, crouched on your hands and knees as Meliodas stumbled towards him. Arthur was quick to discard his vest and shirt, chucking it on the ground and trailing his hand over his abs.

Arthur’s eyes shone with lust as he looked at the eldest demon. “I’ve said this before, but I admire you so much, Sir Meliodas,” he said. “So much so that I’ll give you a special treat that nobody else can do. See, my pets over there are submissive to me. I haven’t gotten the chance to see what it’s like. In short, I want you to fuck me. Only you, my idol for years, will be able to shove your cock inside me.” Meliodas nearly collapsed at the mention of pleasing Arthur. He took a deep breath as he tried to get words to form. “Arthur. W-what are you saying? I can’t possibly-”

The King of Chaos was quick to push himself forward, locking their lips together. Arthur stood up, maneuvering them both so that Meliodas was seated on the throne, Arthur climbing over him as their lips stayed glued together. Arthur straddled the Dragon Sin, both you and Zeldris whining as you saw Arthur press back against his cock, sinking down slowly. You watched as Meliodas’ dick sunk into the king, Arthur leaning his head back to moan and praise him. “Yes, yes! So good, so fucking big for me!” Meliodas couldn’t do anything but moan as Arthur’s ass settled over his hips, stretching the king over his massive girth.

You heard Zeldris whine as he watched Arthur and Meliodas. “Oh fuck,” he moaned, “This is so hot! I… I want more.” You heard him shuffle around, turning your head and sucking in a sharp breath as he turned on his back, pulling his legs back and whining. “Please, Y/N, fuck me! I need it! I need to be filled, just like brother’s doing to Arthur,” he whimpered, his pleas turning into ramble as he begged for you to fuck him. You licked your lips as you looked at his pitiful state, before looking to the side, crawling over to the side and grabbing a strap-on, securing it around your hips and going back to Zeldris. The small piece of lace was still around his hips, the fabric stretched taught around his rigid cock, outlining the anal plug that was still wedged inside him.

With gentle ease, your fingers curled around the lace, pulling it off his legs and tossing it to the side. Your mouth watered as you beheld the sight, your fingers dragging over his hardened erection, hearing him whimper at your slow pace. Your fingers curled around the handle of the plug, slowly easing it out of him. It finally released with a squelching sound, Zeldris leaning his head back at the sensation. You braced yourself over him, pressing the fake dick at his hole. “ Do it,” he moaned, “Fuck me.” With a quick thrust, you slid inside with one stroke. You immediately began rocking your hips, brushing your lips together in a brief kiss as you drilled into him. Each hefty thrust into the demon caused a small amount of cum to squeeze out, running down his plump ass and pooling onto the floor below. In the background, you could hear the mixed moans of Arthur and Meliodas as they continued fucking.

It wasn’t long before you heard Arthur’s voice call out to you, hoarse and raspy. “Y/N, come here,” he moaned. Zeldris whined in protest, but you were quick to obey, pulling out of him and turning to Arthur. Meliodas was on the ground, panting at his feet. Arthur gave you a crooked smile as he beckoned you forward. Slowly, you stood up, making your way over to him. Arthur’s amethyst eyes trailed over your form, reaching out to brush your hair as soon as you reached him. “Hello, my beautiful pet,” he murmured, “Did you and Zeldris enjoy seeing me get fucked hard by the eldest demon prince?” You nodded your head in confirmation. “Yes, master,” you murmured, your eyes half-lidded. The King of Chaos smiled as he caressed your cheek. “Good, I’m glad you enjoyed the show,” he whispered.

He patted his lap as he drew his hand away. “Come. Sit on Daddy’s lap. You’ve been such a good pet for me, and it’s time to be rewarded,” he murmured. In a split second, you were turned around, pressing back against Arthur’s chest as his arm traced the inside of your leg. “Meliodas,” he said, looking to where his newest pet lay. Meliodas looked up at him, the question clear in his eyes. “Why don’t you finish what dear Y/N started, hmm? Zeldris deserved to feel good too. Deserves to be stuffed with your fat cock.”

Meliodas’ eyes darkened, his demon symbol bleeding onto his forehead as he stared at where his brother lay, legs spread wide as copious amounts of cum dribbled onto the floor below him. You watched as Meliodas crawled over to him, a sexy growl emanating from his chest as he stared at Zeldris. With a startled cry, he was turned over, his ass in the air as Meliodas mounted him like a dog in heat, driving into him hard. As you watched, a hand made from Arthur’s Chaos magic curled around your other leg, hoisting you up, situating your other hole over his dick. You cried out as Arthur pushed you down hard onto his cock, spearing you with his length as pleasure spiked through your entire body.

You heard Zeldris cry out in pleasure, too focused on yourself as you bounced on the king’s cock. “Zeldris,” Arthur growled after a few moments, his movements stopping altogether, allowing your head to fall back on his shoulder. “Come and clean me up.” You raised your head briefly to watch Zeldris quite literally crawl over to Arthur, Meliodas pulling out of him and staring right at his ass. As Zeldris settled between his legs, Arthur began bouncing you again. You cried out, unaware of when he would start again. Arthur moaned in your ear as Zeldris began licking the place where his brother had just cum. “Such a good pet for Daddy,” he groaned, his eyes half lidded as he watched Zeldris clean his brother’s fluids.

This continued for a while, Arthur looking down as he asked Zeldris, “You liked that didn’t you. You liked the feeling of being filled by your brother.” Zeldris pulled back as he nodded eagerly, his mouth covered in saliva and semen as he nodded hazily to Arthur. “I loved it,” he moaned, “I loved being filled by Meliodas. Big brother’s fat cock is so big, he fills me up so much.” You let out a low groan in his ear at the words, Arthur’s eyes flicking over to where Meliodas still was seated. “Well then, we shouldn’t keep either of you waiting now can we?” Meliodas immediately took the hint and rushed back to his brother, immediately stuffing Zel’s ass again, the youngest crying out as he was shoved forward violently with the force of Meliodas’ thrust, his face almost pressing into Arthur’s backside. He moaned loudly, his tongue flicking out to continue his task.

Zeldris looked up after a while, panting as he tried to form words as he was continuously fucked brutally from behind. “Daddy I-I’m done,” he whined between thrusts, the smacking of flesh filling the room. “Good boy,” Arthur purred as he patted his head. You moaned as he summoned a tentacle of darkness, curling it around the strap-on still attached to you, pulling it away to expose your clit, which was soaked and glistening. “Here’s your reward,” he purred. You gasped as Zeldris immediately pulled himself up, bracing his hands on the edge of the throne and pressing his mouth against your mound. His tongue swept up and down your clit, making you cry out in need at the fresh pleasure that spiked. Zeldris’ tongue licked and sucked, even pressing you apart to reach deeper and taste the inside of you. You were so overcome by pleasure, unable to do anything but lean your head back and moan.

You heard wet sounds beside your ear, opening your eyes briefly to see that Arthur had pulled Meliodas close and was making out with him fervently, their kiss sloppy. You felt your orgasm quickly approach as the pace continued, too overcome with the feeling of Zeldris’ mouth around your clit, Arthur fucking your ass with his cock, and the sound of him and Meliodas kissing right beside your ear. Your moans quickly turned into wails, your hands clenching in Zeldris hair as you held him against your clit as you began to orgasm, Zeldris’ tongue never stopping its movements. It wasn’t long before the others' orgasms approached, Meliodas and Arthur groaning as they came together, prompting Zeldris to finally cum, moaning loudly as his face still pressed between your legs as his brother came inside of him.

Arthur gently pulled you off his cock, all four of you panting heavily as you came down from your orgasms. “Well done Meliodas,” Arthur purred as he cradled you in his arms, Meliodas pulling out of his brother and sinking to his knees. “Yet another obedient little pet for me. You’ll fit in quite well here.”

[isleofdarkness]

Alrighty, time to yell about Yen Sid.

He's kind of bigoted to the Isle kids. He doesn't view them as normal children or even children acting out due to their shitty circumstances, he views them as child Villains. In his eyes, they don't need a first chance, they need to redeem themselves. So he doesn't give them a chance. If they go to him and they want to be good, which most of them won't, he'll teach them whatever he was teaching the Anti-Hero Club, but if they don't, they're Villains to him and they don't deserve sympathy, kindness, trust, or help. He also views some of them- Harriet, Rose, Ace, Jay, Anna, Belle, Zevon, Lydia, etc- as beyond redemption. Even if they were to go to him wanting to be good, he would refuse because he believes they're too far gone and can never be good. Because Harriet has killed people. Rose and Ace have tortured and murdered people and committed acts of terrorism. Jay is a prostitute who steals stuff he doesn't need. Anna and Belle have been pregnant as teenagers. Zevon is a terrorist. Lydia continues to torture, murder, and destroy. Those crimes makes them beyond redemption, he doesn't care about the details.

If someone who hasn't redeemed themselves in his eyes (pretty much every Isle kid ever) comes to him for help, even if they're having a medical emergency and just need him to get Shan Yu or something, he will refuse to help them. He'll turn them away, shut the door in their face. He did this when Malachi, covered in wounds and begging to be taken off of the Isle, even if they just took him off the Isle and killed him, asked him to have Ben consider him for the VK program. He sent Malachi away without even a tiny bit of sympathy. Sure, Maverick found Malachi literally a few seconds later, but Yen Sid didn't know that would happen. For all he knew, Madam Mim would recapture him and punish him for trying to escape.

He did this to Anna, too. She was in labour with Ash and having complications that were causing a massive amount of blood loss (complete uterine rupture, which was also causing internal bleeding into her pelvic area,) and she needed him to get help. He was closest and she knew he wasn't dangerous (she was eleven, she was scared, and he was an adult who wouldn't commit an act of violence against her,) so she went to him because she could barely walk. He looked at that tiny girl, sobbing and crying in agony, standing in a growing pool of her own blood, clearly panicked out of her mind, and he turned her away. Told her he didn't help villains. And shut the door in her face. Anna was close enough to Uma's territory that she managed to walk there and was lucky enough that a patrol had been nearby and found her in seconds, at which point they got her to the Shoppe and she got some very intense medical treatment, but it took a while because she could barely stand, let alone walk, was is agony, and was bleeding out. If any part of this process had taken even a couple minutes more, if anything had gone wrong, if Lydia hadn't been visiting Uma's ship to check up on Gil, Anna probably would have died.

He's ignored kids in distress on the streets just because he saw them as villains. He's refused to help people who begged him to help because he saw them as villains. He's even refused to help people having medical emergencies because he saw them as villains. These are only two of many examples of him doing things like this. It's happened so many times that Mischa and Ivy live close to his house, a few doors down, just so that anyone in that area who needs immediate help can go to them rather than try to go to him and get turned away.

He's not actively evil, per se, he's just heartless towards the suffering of others. So he's close enough. Plus he's a snitch.

As far as I've gathered, Yen Sid seems like a villain in your AU. What's some thing's he's done? I'm morbidly curious 👀

- Rot

I'll answer more specifically when I'm home from work but I'm gonna warn you ahead of time how shit he is so you can be angry alongside me.

Turning away Malachi was far from the most heartless he's ever been. He once refused to help Anna when she came to him for help because she was in labor and he was close. He believed she didn't deserve help. Anna nearly died. If she hadn't managed to get to Uma's territory or if that patrol had been even a few minutes later in finding her, she would have bled out.