#or pulled or jammed... or slashed through the heart

[yiirlzsinked]

[trashcanfanfics]

Savior

"You're hurt." You could hear the ragged breathing even over the phone. He huffed out a small laugh. You bit back the urge to snap at him. This was serious, you didn't even know where he was.

"I've had worse, trust me. Just a typical mugging but the guy got a lucky shot." His casual response made your blood freeze. He was shot?

"Shot?" Worry filled your voice and your thoughts immediately went from being worried and angry to worried and panicked. "By a gun? Where are you?" You were already standing and grabbing your keys, shoving your feet into your shoes. He let out another wheezing laugh. You were getting sick of his nonchalant attitude.

"I'm...I'm not shot, just a slice." He breathed in deeply. "I'm at my place, taking care of it." You were grabbing your first aid kit, thanking every star that you were paranoid enough to buy an army grade one. Out the door and into the elevator.

"I'm on my way." You didn't give him time to answer as you hung up and stepped out into the car park. Quickly getting into your car and driving as fast as you could.

You arrived to his apartment building and basically threw yourself into the elevator, jamming your finger into the button. Your leg bounced with every second. What if he bled out before you got there? What if he was already unconscious? Why did you hang up the phone? The elevator dinged and you rushed to his door. Cursing as you riffled through your keys to find the right one, your thoughts drifted for the worst. Finally , you thought as you got the door open and rushed into the apartment.

"Jason?" You called out into the empty living room. You made your way to the bathroom. "Jason?" You pushed the door open to see him on the lip of the tub, blood covering his hands. His shirt was off and he was pressing gauze pads to his side. You rushed in and moved his hands quickly and gently.

"It looks worse than it is." He was still trying to make light of the situation. "You didn't have to come, I was handling it." You looked to his blood soaked hands and the bloody paper towels surrounding his feet. He noticed your gaze and you looked back at him. You sighed, part of you horrified by the fact that this was his blood. The other part was busy controlling your hands, which were going through your first aid kit for the peroxide.

"Hold still." You grabbed a few paper towels from the roll waiting on the toilet and splashed some of the peroxide on it before gently wiping the blood away from the, still bleeding, wound. He hissed as it made its way to the slashed skin. "Sorry." You really were. Your heart clenched at the thought of him hurt, but this needed to be done. After the blood was cleared and the soaked gauze pads were removed, you could see it wasn't that deep. It didn't even need stitches, which you thanked everything for. You let out a deep breath.

"See? Not that bad." He tried to ease the tension in the air. It didn't work. At least not for you. You scowled and tossed the paper towel into the trash bin. He called your name and you refused to look at him. He called you name again as you reached for your own gauze and gently covered the wound with it.

"Arms up." He complied to your demand and you grabbed out your own gauze pads, placing them on the wound. He hissed again and you let out another muttered apology. You dug around in your kit and pulled out wrapping gauze.

He called your name again. "Look at me, please." He said it so softly that you had to listen. You looked up at him, frown still in place. He reached up to touch your face then thought better of it, his hands still covered in his own blood. His own blood. "I'm fine, it's really not the worst I've had, I promise." That was the worst thing to say to you right then.

"That's not the point." You glared at him, frustration tears filled your eyes. How can he not see what that it didn't matter? That this happening to him was still bad? "It shouldn't have happened in the first place." He looked down at that and you started to wrap the gauze around his chest. The only sounds after your comment were the scissors cutting the wrapping gauze and securing it to him. You grabbed the peroxide again and more paper towels.

"I thought we were done with that." He's really trying to alleviate the tension. You poured the peroxide onto the towel and grabbed his hand, gently cleaning the blood from it. "Oh..." He sounded like he didn't think you would help him clean up. You grabbed his other hand and started cleaning it.

"I wish I was there. I could have saved you." You mumbled, more tears spilled over. You sniffed. "You're always saving others." He grabbed your face and leaned in to gently kiss you. He pulled away slightly, you could still feel his lips as he spoke.

"You save me every day." He gave you another kiss, a deeper one. "Thank you."

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 55

Part 1 Part 54

Alright, tell me what’s going on with you.” Dr. Owens says, smiling down at Will all genially. Steve doesn’t trust it. “Tell me about this episode you had?”

Will shifts his eyes over to Steve, looking guilty and small. Steve reaches out across his own bed to grab Will’s hand, squeezing lightly until he turns back to the doctor. “I was on Mirkwood–” he starts, shifting his eyes toward Steve guiltily before darting them back. “I heard this noise, and it was like I was back there.”

“What were you doing on Mirkwood, honey?” Ms. Byers asks, eyebrows furrowed as she holds onto Will’s other hand.

Will’s eyes shift again, transparently guilty as he says, “I was just with Steve.” When Ms. Byers looks his way, Steve nods, and Will slumps bonelessly into his bed.

The doctor’s staring intently at Will’s face, like he’s trying to dissect every microexpression, looking for cracks. , the paper spitting out of Will’s machine, needle thing writing its squiggly lines at an alarming pace. “Did you see anything?”

Will looks down at his knees, bare beneath his tissue paper hospital gown. “No,” he says it quietly, almost ashamed. “I don’t think anything really happened. I was just scared.”

Steve squeezes his hand again. He lets his heart bloom when Will squeezes back.

“Alright,” Dr. Owens says, smiling that same untrustworthy smile, “thanks for sharing, kiddo.”

They’re shuffled out of the exam room in short order, left abandoned on benches in the hallway like children while Uncle Wayne and Ms. Byers have the adult conversations. Even though Eddie’s long learned Uncle Wayne will tell him word for word what he was told, Eddie’s still made a habit of pushing his ear against the door, catching snippets of conversation where he can while Steve and Eddie giggle at his antics.

This time, his face goes serious, dimples nonexistent with the straight slash of his mouth as he eyes the door like he’s going to wrench it open and start beating someone.

“Eddie?” Steve calls quietly, not wanting to draw attention to his sleuthing.

Eddie looks his way, face grim. He eavesdrops a few seconds more before slinking back over to Steve and Will, jamming his ass in the nonexistent space between them.

“What did they say?” Will says. Steve leans forward to look at him around Eddie’s big head. His eyes are big and wide. He looks scared.

“It’s all bullshit,” Eddie says, shifting on the hard bench. “I didn’t hear it all, but they said it’s gonna get worse because the anniversary of, uh, you know is coming up.”

He doesn’t look at Will when he says it, though. He’s looking directly at Steve, and Steve knows they’re both thinking of the same thing. The looming shadows, the thing he’s caught glimpses of, towering over buildings, eclipsing the sky. The way he’s there less and less as the days pass.

Eddie’d taken away his keys the week before, and it was supposed to get worse?

“–and we’re just supposed to pretend it’s not happening?”

Ms. Byers voice drifts through the door, high-pitched in her stress. Will’s shoulders hunch until Eddie wraps an arm around them and pulls him in. He holds his other arm open behind Steve’s back, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively until Steve leans in with a roll of his eyes.

Eddie squeezes them both tight enough Steve can feel it in his deep tissue and begins shaking them around like a dog with his favorite toy. “There! One big happy family!”

When Will starts laughing, Steve does, too. He can’t help it. There’s just something about Eddie Munson that makes him feel like he swallowed fizzy lifting drink and can’t get off the ceiling of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.

But then Uncle Wayne and Ms. Byers walk through the door. Uncle Wayne looks as deadpan as usual, but Ms. Byers looks one second away from her head exploding.

“Is he serious?” she asks, running her hand through her hair, yanking it the rest of the way through when it gets stuck on a knot. Steve winces, scalp tingling in sympathy.

“Anniversary affects a real thing,” he says, looking down at all three of them with pensive eyes that settle on Steve a little too long for him to be comfortable. “It’s as good a ‘planation as anything, ain’t it?”

Ms. Byers sighs. She sweeps her eyes over all three of them, looking remarkably like Jonathan in that moment with the way her eyes go intense and seem to look right through you to the secret heart of who you are.

Seeming to come back to life, she hops up to them and holds out two hands. “Come on, sweeties, up we go!”

Will and Eddie take her hands without hesitation, and she begins to pull them up. Eddie’s arm stays around Steve’s shoulders, so he’s pulled up along with them. Ms. Byers almost falls with the combined weight of three growing boys before Eddie drops her hand, laughing sheepishly as he stands on his own two feet.

“Come on, boys,” Uncle Wayne says, leading the way down the hallway. “Some of us have got places to be.”

They all fall in line, hurrying out of the building they all hate. Steve doesn’t breathe easy until they're all packed away into Wayne’s truck and well into the forest. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, and all that other shit Eddie’s always spouting off that Steve only pretends to understand.

Eddie rubs the pulsepoint of Steve’s wrist gently enough to make him shiver before taking his hand and letting them settle in the cramped space between their legs.

And miles to go before he sleeps, Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand.

Part 56

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect

[medra-gonbites]

More than your Magic

A one shot chapter for @bloodweaveweek 2024

Day 4 | Sussur Bloom

Word Count: 948

SFW - Violence, Blood

Saying they were currently stuck between a rock and a hard place would have been quite an understatement. Rather between a flesh-eating bird and the trunk of a strange and dangerously high tree.

As the group was exploring the underdark, a mad drow had frantically ran towards them and had attacked unprompted. He had let out a sharp shriek summoning abominable bird-like monsters: talons like razors, beaks like arrowheads, blood thirsty and crazed: Diatrymas.

The battle had been fierce. The drow was dead, as well as most of his vulture familiars, but Lae’zel was unconscious. Shadowheart was prone on the cold earth below, fallen from the branch of the glowing tree that had become their fighting ground as they were desperately backing away from the last remaining enemy.

Gale stumbled on the wood and almost plummeted off, like the cleric had a moment ago. In front of him, Astarion was keeping the foe at bay, slashing and stabbing with agility and speed.

That was usually how it went during battle. Lae’zel and Astarion would rush forward, and the spell casters stayed at the back to work their magic and deal some damage remotely. Usually, the vampire would use the shadows to his advantage as opposed to Lae’zel more frontal approach. But right now there was nowhere to hide and Lae’zel could not help anymore. Astarion had to be the blade for the both of them.

He was covered in blood and his brow was damp with sweat. Despite his fearsome and vehement attacks, he was slowly losing ground, backing away ever so slightly with every offensive strikes of the bird.

Gale focused intensely. Flickering his fingers in the air, he enunciated an incantation that rang deep and distorted through the weave. Fire frizzled from the tip of his fingers before disappearing in a puff of smoke. The wizard hissed and shook his hand, an uncomfortable tingle coursing through his veins.

He reiterated the operation, changing spells: Electricity jolted from his palm and a bolt started to take shape before it disintegrated pathetically with a sad crack. The tingling sensation intensified. Gale could feel it spread through his arms and chest, ponding at the center of the orb. He looked around and realized with horror where they were standing.

The glowing blue of the bark. The honey-sweet scent of the bloom. The ominous buzz he could hear in the atmosphere.

Of course! How did he not see it before?

This was a Sussur tree. What more it was fully in bloom; its blossoms, potent magic suppressors and the blight of any weave wielder. A plant that rendered him utterly useless. For who was he without his magic? Just another random human, flawed and imperfect.

Gale gritted his teeth. He despaired over the loss of this one asset; just like that, he was thrown back to months before, prostrated in his tower, cut off from the weave and from the world, ready to give up on everything and everyone. He was nothing without magic. He was nothing without Mystra. And that was yet another proof.

A choked cackle pulled him out of his downward spiral and, as he looked up from his worthless hands, his heart jumped in his chest.

Astarion was propped on his elbow, the creature hovering over him. One of the needle-pointed talons was jabbed in the spawn’s thigh, nailing him to the wood and preventing him from crawling away. The beast pushed down on him, its jaws mere inches away from the vampire face in an attempt to peck his head off. Its beak was held open by the dagger that was jammed in there.

Gale did not think twice at the sight of Astarion’s distress. Magic be damned, he ran towards the monstrosity, firmly clenching his quarterstaff. The metallic pole whistled through the air as it twirled and swung into the skull of the beast with a mat thud, followed by a wet crack.

The winged monster cried before falling limp, tumbling off the shiny branch. With a violent thump, the body split open, impaled on a pointy boulder below. The rachitic wings twitched for an instant before stopping still, a last gargle echoing through the evernight of the cavernous area.

Gale almost dropped his staff. His arm was strained by the impact of the blow and he had difficulty closing his fingers around the shaft. He had never striked something so hard in his life.

He offered Astarion’s his other hand and pulled him back on his feet. The elf grimaced, trying to put weight on his wounded leg; he immediately flinched and Gale retrieved him before he could fall back. He grabbed the spawn by the waist and seized his wrist to propped him up around his shoulder, serving him as a clutch.

“Why Gale,“ Astarion mewled, despite the sharp ache in his thigh, “I did not know you could be so… brutal.”

“Neither did I…” The wizard chuckled.

As they were walking away from the treacherous tree, Gale felt as if something within him was flowing again.

He was relieved, of course, but he also felt something else. He looked at his stiff hand, cramped and sore, his finger frozen in the shape of a weird claw. Magic flickered once more from the pad of his fingers, but it was the unfamiliar pain he was proud of. He turned to Astarion, a new kind of pride blooming in his chest. He knew he would protect this man with all his might. Magic or otherwise.

“I’ll always have your back.” Gale whispered in the pointy ear next to him.

Astarion planted a gentle kiss on the wizard’s lips.

“I never doubted that, my sweet.”

[tmntxthings]

∑一Heart to Heart Pt. 2。・゜・

author’s note: it was a close race in the polls but here we are ladies and gents! the sequel :D it has been awhile so i suggest rereading the first part if anyone’s confused, alsoooo i feel like this chapter is kinda all over the place but we posting it anywayssss here’s to hoping y’all enjoy xD

warnings: impending angst, multiple povs, fluff, female reader, cloaking brooch au, unedited, cursing

previous - next?

—————————————————————————

Previously. . .

“Now give me back my cloaking brooch!! NOW!!” Missiles were firing as Leo finally undid the necklace. It was a miracle he could do so while in a full on sprint. His true form shifted back into view and Leo clenched the chain in his left fist as he pulled out an odachi with his right, slashing for a portal and shooting a wink at his enraged twin. “Buhbyeee~~” he cackled. Watching as everyone lunged for the portal. He wondered how the turtle pile felt without him as they all fell short to the pavement.

One week and a few days had passed by since then. You had almost forgotten about the encounter entirely. Though dark green eyes like those were hard to dismiss completely from your thoughts. It was your day off, Saturday, and you had plans. These plans had been months in the making. College was hectic, so getting a volleyball intramural team together was pretty tough. Everyone had different class schedules. Everyone worked whether it was internships or part-times. This was one of the first games of the season! It was imperative that all of your teammates showed up. Everyone had said they would. But they said the same thing for all the practices too. And let’s just say there was never a full attendance during any of those.

Your hopes were high despite what the past indicated. You were optimistic! It was two hours ‘til the game and you were out on a quick trip to a sports store. In your experience as captain for the past two years, one thing remained the same. Someone always, always forgot their knee pads. Literally the only thing they needed to remember. It was kind of ridiculous so you made sure to keep a spare. That was one of the reasons you were going, another was because your pair was getting a bit tattered. They had lasted through the practices but with the first game of the season coming up, you rather just get a new set while you were buying the spare anyways. Two birds, one stone.

Keeping your pace as a quickened step, you got off the bus and made your way down the street. It wasn’t that far of a walk, New York was jam-packed with stores. And rats. You thought as one scurried in front of you. Holding back a scream, you continued on your journey. The mental clock in your head ticking as you finally reached your destination. The sliding doors whisked open for you, the cool air from the a/c immediately making your shoulders relax. “Alright, knee pads, knee pads..” you muttered to yourself. Most all-inclusive sport stores had a very small section for volleyball. It just wasn’t as popular. Football/soccer? Rows upon rows. Basketball? Baseball? Same thing. Little space was left for the rest of the odds balls. Including in your humble opinion, volleyball, golf, swimming, rugby, and ping pong! You knew this store well enough so you went for the quickest route. Straight through the four basketball isles and then—

You sped-walked right into someone. With a resounding smack as your nose collided into a chest. “Ow, shitttt! I’m sorry!” You apologized, super embarrassed and already trying to escape the situation. Just get the damn knee pads and get the fuck out! “That’s alright, are you okay? Sounded like you took the brunt of it!” Now you had only sidestepped to move out of the way. So when you heard his voice it was one that you faintly recognized. Which led to you lifting your head, turning it to the side and meeting those deep green eyes. “It’s you!” You stated in shock, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Ahhhh lookie here is this fate or what!”

Two rows deep in the basketball area, the bus stranger you had practically forgotten was here! “Something like that I guess,” you couldn’t help but agree. Out of all the stores in New York. Out of all the people and just the sheer luck of timing!? “Looking for more Hamato gear?” You questioned though you weren’t planning on sticking around for the answer. You didn’t have the time! Though the encounter was neat you had plans and the captain could not be late. “You remembered my favorite too? Have I been occupying your mind?” He sounded like he was following you with a smug expression. You kept your back to him, making your way out of the basketball section and into the small row for volleyball. “Hardly! I just have good memory,”

“Uh huh,” he hummed. Then he was walking right beside you. Stopping when you stopped as you gave him an inquisitive look. “Well I too seem to remember that night and some sort of a deal?? That pertained to..” he pointed a finger out to the sign that hung above them. ‘Volleyball’ That was right, you had said something along the lines of playing a match with him. “I don’t even know your name!” You started with your first excuse. “Easy, Leo’s the name, and you?” You shook your head. Walking ahead to the knee pads and looking at the sizes as you replied. “Pretty,” he said smoothly, continuing by your side and picking out a pair of knee pads. “Ah, look, todays not a good day I’ve-“

Your second excuse was interrupted by a vibration in your pocket. You grabbed for it, answering on the third ring. “Hello?” The phone call was one that you were hoping not to receive. One of your teammates canceling, and apologizing profusely. “It’s alright, thanks for letting me know,” you sighed. It seemed they weren’t feeling good, something about a headache or a stomach ache? You had tuned most of it out because you were watching as the bus stranger kicked off his shoes. He was trying to pull up the knee pads he selected but they were wayyy too small for him. The phone call ended and you couldn’t stop your laugh. “Too small dude,” and you handed him a larger size for him to try. The pair had hardly went up his calves.

“Thanks!” He smiled as he traded you. You put the small pair back on the shelf. Then it struck you. “So as you were saying? Todays..?” You cleared your throat as you kept staring at the pads. “Todays actually perfect, I’m down one player so if you’re free-“ he cut you off excitedly, “Heck yes!!! I’m totally free!! So this is like an official match?!?” He wanted all the details and he forgot all about pulling up the knee pads. You told him about intramurals, how it was a official game, one of the first this season. He was practically buzzing! You grabbed another pair for yourself and headed for the checkout. “But we gotta head there like now if we wanna be on time!” Leo had quickly shucked the pads off, put his shoes back on, and was bounding after you. “Can’t be late to my first game ever!!” He beamed and easily passed you, grabbing your free hand and tugging you along.

He let go once the two of you had reached the registers. He sure was forward, or maybe he was just easygoing? Both of you paid for your gear and then you were back out on the sweltering sidewalks. “Thank god this sport is inside,” Leo spoke up, swinging his bag that contained his purchase to and fro. “Yeah, the college gym has a pretty big facility. They have four courts altogether so we’ll have plenty of room!” The bus ride to said gym was filled with questions. He wanted to know the positions. Which position would he be playing? Who was the enemy team and were they any good? Among many other questions…

[🐢 Leo’s pov.💙 ]

Talk about coincidence! Now this was.. what his sixth time sneaking out with the cloaking chain? Yeah we’ll go with sixth, because honestly he lost count after the second time. Leo had convinced Donnie he had lost the cloaking device, and the purple brother had almost drilled him. Thankfully Raph didn’t condone murder so he was safe for now. Probably until Donnie finally figured out that the cloaking chain wasn’t lost and that it was in fact around Leo’s neck right now as he stretched out around a bunch of other college students. You had introduced him quite quickly before telling everyone to start warmups. Yeah. Donnie would probably choke him with said chain. Oh well, Leo planned on never being found out!

That lasted all but two days if you wanted to count the fact that Mikey knew… BUT he was swore to secrecy. Anddddd Leo was also sharing the chain with him when he wasn’t using it. So there! Anywayyys Leo was chatting it up with his fellow teammates, practicing bumping the ball among other volleyball techniques that he didn’t know the name of. All he knew was that he was good. Damn good. Because everyone caught oohing and ahhing which in turn inflated his ego so much that he could probably float all the way back to the lair later. But the compliments that mattered most came from her. From you. Because as he watched everyone else practice he could tell you were better than them all. Now it was Leo’s first day and all, but he liked to think he was right behind you skill wise.

That may just be his inflated ego talking though. Insert metaphorical shrug here. Now Leo would loveee to go into detail about the game. But let’s just say they won. He won. And sure he got a volleyball to the face more than once, but that didn’t matter! Nope a win is a win in his book. The rest of the team dispersed after celebrating, talks about the next game and when the next practice was. Leo had the dates in his mental calendar. He was totally on the team now. “Hey thanks for filling in!! You were great out there!” Ending your sentence with a smile. Leo beamed back, “No problemo, I’ll be your fill-in anytime!” Giving you a smirk and a quick wink.

Leo watched as you shook your head, completely unfazed by his antics by now. He had upped his game during the actual volleyball game. Once the team had a pretty big lead he had quite blatantly flirted with you. Who could blame him?! You looked absolutely divine with your hair up. Cheeks flushed from doing your best during the game. “I told you they didn’t quit! This was just a one time thing!” Rightttt, Leo wasn’t actually on the team. Though he felt like he fitted right in! Leo made a face, pouting, “So what happens when someone else bails hmmm?” You chose to ignore him, pulling down your knee pads to your ankles. Leo took this opportunity to creep forward silently, and when your frame moved to upright itself he watched as you jolted backwards. He closed the distance again, “C’monnn Captain, you know I’m the best player you got!! My skills slayed on the court, add me to the team! Please? Pretty please??”

Leo wasn’t above begging. And he kept up the charade until he watched your eye twitch, then you blew out a long winded breath before holding out your hand reluctantly. “Alright gimme your-“

Of course Leo wouldn’t let you finish! He grabbed your hand shaking it vigorously whilst saying you wouldn’t regret your decision. And thanking you in abundance. Then going a step further, pulling the hand he held to him, smiling brightly as you stumbled forward into him. Squeezing you into a hug and picking you up off the ground to swiftly twirl you with limitless excitement. “Woah, WOAH! Hold up- Wait- LEO!” He released you seconds later smiling sheepishly. “I was asking for your phone you dummy!!” Your face was a darker flush than before, hand still outstretched for his phone but you were no longer looking at him. Cute. Were you embarrassed? Leo thought so. Hehe. Cute. You were absolutely adorable.

“Ohhhh rightttt my number huh? Couldn’t wait?” He teased further. Enjoying himself throughly as you turned a shade darker. “I swear to god I’ll change my mind rig-“ Leo was quick to place his phone in your hand. Still smiling more to himself but decided he wouldn’t push his luck any further. The game has definitely brought the two of you closer. The whole team had to work together but with Leo’s skill level almost to yours, the two of you played really well with one another. It had bolstered his pride and confidence, making him a bit more insufferable than usual. “Here,” you handed him back his phone. He checked the screen, noting your contact was added with a volleyball emoji. He’d have to change that later. It was fitting but maybe something more blue?

“So what’s the plan now? Wanna go grab something to eat? I know this great pizza place!” You made a face and he almost did a double take. How could someone not like pizza?!? Until he remembered you worked at a pizza place. Rightttttt. “Or you know whatever you feel up to eat!” He amended. He wasn’t a picky eater. You were slipping off your knee pads finally, stuffing them in the bag that carried the spare. “Uhhh yeah I know a place, it’s pretty good do you like Mediterranean?” Leo blinked. That was a big word. A Donnie word. He just nodded along, he’d figure it out eventually! Turns out he did like Medtiranean-whatever-its-called!

From that point on Leo spent more time with you. He messaged you often, and saw you at least twice a week. The perks of looking human were immense. Leo found himself not wanting to share the cloaking chain with Mikey, but he was threatened on more than one occasion that said brother would snitch. Luckily Donnie was building another one, and the nerd definitely made sure it was known that Leo was not allowed to use it. Which was fine since he had his own. Leo felt like he was being conspicuous with how much time he was spending with you. Whether it be checking his phone at random or giving odd excuses to leave the lair. He thought he was being pretty smooth but Mikey had informed him that Raph and Donnie were getting suspicious.

He’d have to get them off his trail somehow. And no, he would not be spilling the beans or telling the truth. That was not an option. Lest he be choked to death remember?? Other than that things were going well for the blue turtle. He enjoyed the competitions and the practices. He enjoyed being able to go out topside and not worry about ninja-stealthing. Or wearing layers upon layers of clothes. Or acting like he was a cosplayer. But what he enjoyed most was you. And he was starting to think you liked him too.

.

[criticalrolo]

who wants to read about Hal having the worst day of his life! Arty and Halion's first meeing (Arty belongs to @actionsurges, thanks for letting me bounce my guy off of yours)

dissonance || Halion & Arty, 2.6K

Hal can’t see. 

That’s not exactly right – his eyes are open. All his eyes are open. The world is completely flooded with ultraviolet light that blocks out everything else around him. There must be something out there beyond the all-consuming radiant light, but it’s so bright that his head feels like someone has reached in and squeezed his brain in a vice-like grip that just won’t let go.

And then there’s the screaming.

It’s a constant, high-pitched shriek echoing in his mind. For a moment, he worries that it belongs to Elwa, that she’s being hurt somewhere. But as it goes on, it sounds closer to a child’s voice, desperate and terrified. The sound reverberates around him, pitching and rolling and coming from all directions, but always at that same agonized pitch. Covering his ears does nothing – it takes him a while to remember how to raise his hands up to find them, and when he finally does the screaming almost seems to intensify. 

He starts to wonder if it’s just one voice, and how it can go on for so long without stopping for air. The longer it stays at the same pitch, the less it sounds like screaming, and the more it sounds like singing. A chorus of voices, in perfect unison, tuned to the same piercing note forever. 

He’d try to fall to his knees, if he could remember how. He’s gone completely blank except for the constant, overwhelming need to make it stop.

Distantly, a handful of words trickle into his mind. Maybe their sound waves are just different enough to register underneath all the noise, he’s not exactly sure, but he thinks he hears the words “what did you do,” a laugh that sends a bolt of adrenaline through him, and “replacement.” The scream rolls on, and he wonders if his ears are bleeding. Or if he still has ears at all. 

Something shifts in the light. It’s not that he can make out any details – more like he can see a shadow where the light used to be more intense. It’s vaguely humanoid in shape, although it towers over him by a full foot at least. The light still blinds him, but he thinks something like an arm reaches out to touch him.

His mind locks onto the movement like a rabid dog clamping down on a limb and refusing to let go. Something instinctive at the base of his brain says that stopping the shadow goes hand in hand with escape, and before he has time to register what he’s doing, he’s lashed out at the shadow faster than even he thought possible.

He must be holding something in his left hand, because he rams it through the shadow with all the strength he can muster. 

Something beats underneath his breastbone, around the intersection point of the Y-shaped scar carved into his chest. He remembers – Lady Seryan pushing her hands into the incision, pulling at his bones from the inside out, and his own faint voice gasping out the oath she’d drilled into his memory while the room lit up with otherworldly light. Whatever lives inside his chest is thrashing wildly, spreading out beneath his skin, racing down his arm and driving into the shadow. It staggers backwards, giving Hal an opening to jam his right hand up as well to let even more energy pour out of him.

The shadow twists, in pain or in shock, and then brings its other limb around to smash into Hal’s torso like a hammer.

The ongoing scream pulses, pounding in time to the beat of the thing crushing his heart. Hal’s head is spinning violently as he reels back, trying to duck when the shadow swings again and getting caught in the side for his trouble. He makes a sound halfway between a shout and a snarl, like a feral animal, and tries to go for the thing’s legs. He thinks he slashes it in the hip, sending out a surge of energy as he does his utmost to destroy this thing before it’s too late. 

Something whispers he’s done enough damage to kill most things in the universe, but… not enough for whatever this is. 

The shadow pulls itself free from where Hal tried to cut it in half, then grabs him around the middle. Hal jolts, terrified, as the shadow grapples him and pins his arms in a mockery of a bear hug. He writhes in the thing’s grip and grabs onto its thigh, trying one last time to smite it out of existence, but the shadow doesn’t even seem fazed. Hal tries to twist away, and it grabs the back of his skull. Before he can try anything else, it bashes his head into something solid with a sickening crack.

Hal goes limp in the shadow’s arms. Suddenly everything, even the cacophonous screaming and blinding white light, seems very far away. Underneath the screams he can hear enraged shouting that sends a shudder through him. The screaming twists and roils, coming at him from all sides, so he’s not quite sure he hears the quick “sorry!” before something smashes into his head one more time.

This time the world goes dark and still.

He wonders what Elwa would do if she was here. 

When he starts to come back around, the only high pitched ringing he hears feels natural instead of otherworldly. His eyes are closed. Just his two eyes. He spends a moment drifting in the comparable quiet before he realizes the ground is swaying beneath him because he’s being carried.

He jerks forward automatically, writhing and trying to escape.

“Woah – hey, stop, stop! You’re okay!” The arms holding him clutch him tighter.

He blinks, trying to clear his blurry vision enough to figure out what’s going on. A face swims into focus above him out of the dark. An absolute giant of a man has him hoisted in his arms, carrying him bridal style without breaking a sweat. He has shaggy brown hair, heavily scarred facial features, and green gold eyes that won’t quite meet his. Hal realizes it’s because the man is looking at the scars carved into his own face, like he’s searching for something. 

“What – ” Hal croaks, barely gasping out a sound before he’s doubling over again, choking on some strange dark fluid that bubbles up his throat and splatters out against the giant’s chest. It joins an assortment of deep red stains on the man’s coat, and Hal realizes that he is covered in blood. 

A foggy memory surfaces of an enormous shadow he’d repeatedly tried to hack to death. Hal feels the blood drain out of his face as guilt coils like a snake in his gut and starts to burn. 

“Did I hurt you?” he mumbles thickly, trying to figure out how the stranger holding him is still standing at all, and why he apparently didn’t finish the job killing Hal.

The stranger smiles, just faint enough to make the scar cutting through his top lip twitch. “Hey, it’ll take more than a few hits to kill me. I’m fine.”

He’s still coated in blood, sweat, and whatever black substance Hal just spit all over him. Hal sluggishly raises his hand and presses it over the man’s heart. Something tugs in his chest, and he feels the dredges of magical energy pass like sludge through his veins as he tries to heal the man up as much as he can in one burst.

“Oh, you don’t have to – you definitely should save that for yourself.” The man shifts to carrying him in one arm so he can pull Hal’s hand away. “You’re gonna need it if you’re gonna get out of here.”

Hal’s mind goes blank in a terrifyingly familiar way. “Get… out?” The words rattle around his skull and for a second he can’t even process what he means.

“Yeah, I’m getting you out of the Kennels. You do want to leave, right? You don’t want to stay here with Seryan, or whatever’s left over of her by the time we’re finished.” The man looks blatantly concerned, and his fingers flex tighter where they’re gripping his arms and legs.

Hal’s stomach spins like he’s in freefall, even as the stranger's arms stay locked tight around him. He hasn’t entertained the idea of leaving this place in what feels like years, but now that he’s heard the words it’s like he can’t parse anything else. He stares up at the man – his rescuer – with wide eyes and gives him a nod. He doesn’t trust his voice not to shake if he tries to speak as he’s seized by the almost physical presence of the idea of escaping. 

“Oh good, that’s going to make this way easier,” the man says, clearly relieved. He comes to a stop by a window. Glancing out through the frosted panes of glass, Hal can see it’s late at night, moonlight barely peeking through the heavy grey clouds of mist that cover Metrol. They are also somewhere close to the top of one of the remaining vermishards, several hundred feet high. 

Hal abruptly realizes he hasn’t seen the sky in years and barely stops himself from swaying as the man sets him down on his feet. His knees threaten to buckle, and fortunately the man grabs his shoulders to help him balance as he pulls himself together. 

“You all good?” he asks. Hal nods silently.

“Great. You were casting spells earlier – you have anything left in the tank that’ll get you down to the ground safely from here?”

Two nerve points on his back between his shoulder blades blaze hot at the idea of finally unfurling up high in the air like they were supposed to. He nods again.

The man unsheathes the weapon holstered at his side. Hal tamps down the instinctive urge to fight or run that flares to life and keeps himself stock still while the man shatters the window with his lance sword. 

“Once you get to the ground, keep yourself hidden while we finish this here, and then wait for me to come find you. We’ll be keeping everyone pretty distracted. If you need help, look out for members of the Unbroken. That’s the resistance movement I helped start in Metrol. You can tell them that Artorias sent you.” The man – Artorias – is searching his face for something. It takes him a moment to figure it out.

“...I’m Hal. Halion,” he says.

“Good to meet you, Hal. And…I’m sorry about this.” Artorias gives him a tired smile, and Hal wonders what on earth he thinks he has to be sorry for. “You should get out of here. I’ll see you on the other side!”

And then Artorias is running off, sprinting back towards the faint sounds of fighting drifting in from down the hallway, still only half healed and coated in blood.

The wind is howling through the broken window. Escape smells like smoke and iron from the fight behind him and the city below him.

Smoke, iron, and ozone as his wings flare to life with the sound of a thousand screaming (singing?) voices in his head and he leaps into the open air.

He’s never flown higher than ten or twenty feet. The ceilings in the basements of the Kennels weren’t high enough for Seryan to experiment with taller heights. Hurtling through wide open space is immediately far different, and for a heart-stopping second he can’t figure out how to angle his flight feathers to slow his fall at all. He whirls in the air, the wind blowing past him at a shrieking pitch, before he snaps his wings open wide and pulls himself out of free fall into a sharp descending glide. 

He’s done it. He’s out, he’s free, he –

The flash and shock wave of the explosion hit him before the sound, punching the breath out of his lungs and sending him careening wildly through the air again.

He gasps, struggling to flap hard enough to pull himself upright, but managing to twist back around to the vermishard, because he has to see what just happened. He turns just in time to see the billowing tower of smoke expelled from the gaping hole that used to be the top of the vermishard, and a tall figure in a long bloodied coat plummeting towards the ground with no way to slow his fall.

Hal lets out a choked moan as he realizes what’s happened, and blindly takes off after the figure, but without anything to slow him… Artorias drops out of sight towards the ground within a second. 

Hal can’t breathe. He’s hovering in the air, wings pumping hard to keep him in place, and he can’t breathe. If the sound of alarms from the ground and Queen’s Guard searchlights pointed up at the sky hadn’t shocked him into movement, he’s not sure he would have remembered how to move.

No one could have survived that fall. Certainly no one already battered half to death by a failed experiment lashing out blind against a hand that tried to help it.

Hal lands in a dark alley, touching the ground outside the Kennels for the first time in years.

“What did you do?” Elwa shrieks behind him. Her hands shove into the back of his neck, grabbing him and digging in her nails into his skin. He staggers, wanting nothing more than to sink to his knees and let the ground swallow him up.

“You killed him, you monster, you killed him,” she moans. “He gave you the chance to get out of hell and you killed him!”

“I know,” Hal says hoarsely. He spits out more of the black bile still coming up his throat. There’s no way he lived. He’s dead and it’s his fault. 

“You can’t go to the Unbroken now. You killed their leader. They’ll kill you too and you’ll deserve it.” Elwa’s nails are like claws, piercing through the skin of his back. 

“I know.”

He can’t go to the Unbroken. But he can’t stay here, either. The sirens are starting to ring in this sector, and already he can see lights turning on inside windows as people start to investigate what’s going on outside. Soon this whole street will be swarming with Queen’s Guards, and no matter how heavy he feels inside, he will not be returning to the Kennels in any capacity whatsoever. 

He turns towards the maze of dark alleys behind him, and runs. 

[mashedpotatosinacup]

Movie Night (words: 2473)

ITS FINALLY HEREEE so nervous to post this but wanted to write something so here’s some sibling antics w Stu and Connor so enjoy brothers watching movies :3 (some angst !) I made it a little complex so I’ll probably rewrite it at some point , but basically Connor is a big scary cat

also this is my first time writing a selfship piece … be nice plz (although polite critiques welcome and encouraged especially tips on how to write better sibling relationships ^_^ I wanna write more silly brothers w less angst) I wanna try and make this a regular thing tho bc it was rlly fun …

anyway enough yapping (divider)

pr0/c0mship dni !!!

Movie nights in the Macher household were never dull, that’s for sure, but that was never more true than when the parents were away.

The two brothers of the family had just returned from the video store, barging in through the front door and plopping down onto the sofa. Stu had decided on the movie of the night, a fact that was enough to evoke a sense of dread and anxiety from his little brother.

Connor enjoyed spending time with Stu, but he absolutely hated the movies he chose. They were almost always something horror, a pattern that continued as Stu slipped the Friday the 13th DVD into the player. Usually he would’ve invited Billy over for something like this, but he and Connor hadn’t been spending much brother time together. It was time to change that!

“Alright! Now we’re moving.” Stu returned to the couch, seating himself next to Connor and wrapping a throw blanket around the two of them. ”Trust me, this is gonna blow your mind,” he grinned, pulling Connor next to him.

“… Just don’t tell Mom and Dad,” he added quickly.

Connor technically wasn’t supposed to be watching something like this, but Stu didn’t care about those dumb rules. He was sharing the greatest movies of all time with his brother! To him, that should never be forbidden. He just didn’t know how much his brother liked the rules, especially with the recent death of Casey Becker just the night before.

Despite it, Connor nodded in agreement. He wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to spend time with his brother, especially after all his struggling to get Stu to hang out with him on his own accord. Even if it was for something like this.

Connor and Stu rarely hung out together anymore. It made Connor feel dejected to think Stu didn’t want to hang out with him.

His thoughts were quickly pushed away, however, as the TV lit up with the title screen and Stu quickly hit play.

The opening scene began as Stu put down the remote and got settled in. Connor took a deep breath and tucked himself under the blanket as the movie opened on a cabin, a pit already forming in his stomach as the picture of Camp Crystal Lake appeared on screen and the singing of campers was heard.

The segment continued, the campers singing happily in the dead of the night, crickets chirping outside, and an imminent sense of dread in the air as the background music changed to something darker.

The familiar “ch ch ch ch ah ah ah ah” sound sent a shiver up Connor’s spine. He jammed his eyes shut as the two teens from the camp group snuck away and began to kiss. Bleg. The only thing he was getting from the movie now was the sounds.

Just having the audio was somehow worse than both the audio and visuals.

It wasn’t long before the smooching turned to screaming and slashing. Connor peeked just one eye open, only to see one of the characters on the ground bleeding out from his stomach. He immediately shut his eyes again, still listening to the screaming. The background music was high tempo and urgent in a way that made the boy’s heart race. He didn’t like it one bit.

An image of Casey flashed in his mind, making Connor wrap his arms around himself and tuck his head down. He wondered if she had felt how he was feeling in the moments before she was killed. Except that had been real.

Stu glanced down at his brother as he felt him tense up. A smirk arose on his face at the sight of his little brother spooked. He wrapped his arm around Connor, playfully yanking him close.

“Oh, c’mon you big baby,” he teased. “This isn’t even the good part!”

The pit in Connor’s stomach didn’t let up.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

By the end of the movie, Connor was shaking. He’d practically forced his eyes open throughout the whole thing, not wanting to hear Stu make any more comments about him being a scaredy cat. He was, but it felt bad when Stu pointed it out. The shaking was enough to make him feel self conscious, and he hoped it wasn’t noticeable.

The final few minutes were playing out, Mrs.Voorhees swinging her knife at Alice while she scrambled to get away. Connor had to hold back a yelp as the scene played out, eventually watching as Mrs.Voorhees’ head was sliced off. Sure, the special effects weren’t the best, but they were enough to make Connor’s stomach lurch.

Stu’s eyes were locked on the TV, a huge grin on his face as he watched the familiar sight. He’d seen the movie countless times and this scene was always his favorite.

He was too focused to notice his brother receding under the blanket, holding his breath and trying to keep his eyes open.

The movie was finally within the last few moments, Alice finally escaping into a canoe and floating away into the lake. Connor’s heart was pounding horribly in his chest, his mind only comforted by the thought that the movie was over. Alice had survived. That was enough for Connor, that at least someone had made it out. It was daytime. The police had arrived. His heartbeat slowed.

The feeling was immediately revoked as a figure suddenly burst out of the water, wrapping its arm around Alice’s neck and pulling her under as her boat tipped upside down. The scream she let out made Connor’s stomach drop. He pulled the blanket over his head, his chest clenching. He felt nauseous, even as the actual final scene played out.

The last part took place in the hospital. Alice was alive. Connor could hear her from under the blanket. But he didn’t trust it after the scene before.

Even if Alice was safe, Jason was still out there. Even as the credits rolled, a deep sense of dread was toiling within Connor. Before he realized it, the blanket was lifted off of him by his brother who had a huge grin on his face.

“How awesome was that?!” he exclaimed, not noticing the way Connor had curled up in on himself.

The boy gave a weak smile. “Totally awesome,” he mumbled shakily, trying not to look too spooked. He was a big kid, he wasn’t scared of some movie! At least, he hoped it didn’t look that way.

Stu was thrown off by his brother’s reaction. He could easily tell when people lied to him, especially someone as bad at lying as his brother.

Stu’s grin flattered as he scooted closer to Connor. “What? What’s wrong with it?” he asked. As enthusiastic and energetic as he was, he was still concerned for his little brother.

Connor felt his heart pound as Stu started questioning him. A new kind of fear was growing within him. An anxious kind of fear. He stumbled over his answer, not looking Stu in the eye.

“Nothing! Nothing, it was awesome!” he affirmed, wrapping the blanket up around himself and moving closer to the edge of the couch. His eyes darted back up to Stu’s, trying to make himself look more confident. Stu raised an eyebrow at the shift.

“You’re a bad liar,” he responded, putting an arm around his brother. His voice was only half-teasing now. He didn’t pull him closer, but he wanted him to know he was there. Stu could feel Connor’s body shaking.

Connor didn’t know how to react. He frowned, his anxiety mixing with an awful sense of guilt and shame.

“… Sorry,” he mumbled softly. He looked down at his shoes, biting the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from overreacting. It was a stupid movie. It wasn’t real.

Except, real things like it were happening around him. Connor felt like throwing up.

Stu pulled Connor into his arms, letting out a soft chuckle. “Too scary?” he asked, his grin softening. A small feeling of guilt dawned on him. The idea of his brother being afraid had crossed his mind, but he didn’t think it was a big deal. It had always been funny to him. But it felt less funny when Connor wouldn’t look at him and wasn’t talking.

Connor didn’t answer. The answer to Stu’s question was no, but the circumstances around them made it a yes.

Connor was scared and he absolutely hated it. Jason wasn’t gone, and neither was the Woodsboro killer. He vividly remembered the death of Maureen Prescott from the year prior and all of a sudden it was happening again, this time two people instead of one. Connor had a horrible feeling there would be more. That maybe he was next. That alone was enough to make his stomach churn.

“Sorry…” he muttered again, biting his tongue and trying to clear his mind. He’d completely ruined the night, hadn’t he? All because of some stupid movie and some stupid fear. He was too old for this to be cute anymore, now it was just plain embarrassing. He was a teenager and he couldn’t deal with his own panic? He couldn’t just sit there for an hour and a half and watch something scary?

Connor started to stand up. He didn’t want to keep ruining things and he didn’t want Stu to see him break down. He teased him enough for being such a girl, he didn’t need to give Stu more fuel to rag on him. He wanted to go back to hiding, the fear of being murdered fresh in his mind.

“You should invite Billy over and rewatch with him,” Connor excused, his words catching in his throat. He was starting to feel dizzy. He needed to get out of there. He knew he was overreacting. He always did, but he couldn’t stop it. His mind was spinning, barely noticing as Stu pulled him back to the couch.

“Hey, hey, I rented it to watch with you. C’mon, bro, it’s alright.” Stu‘s eyebrows furrowed and his grin became a frown. He was conflicted. He’d just wanted to spend time with his brother! Why was he acting like this?

Then again, he hadn’t really asked him if he wanted to watch it. He couldn’t remember the last time Connor picked the movie. What did Connor even like? Stu was disappointed in himself that he couldn’t come up with a good answer.

Not only that, but it had never dawned on him that Connor was scared of what was going on around town. A whole new wave of guilt and realization slammed into him.

Connor jammed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t start crying. He just wanted to disappear. He’d ruined it all and here he was, still acting like a brat. He wished Stu would let him go. He’d have more fun with his friends anyway.

Connor was immediately pulled out of his thoughts as Stu hugged him tightly.

“I’m sorry.”

The words made Connor freeze. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Stu apologize so wholeheartedly. Another wave of guilt hit him at the thought. He immediately shook his head, immediately starting to ramble.

“No, no, no, it’s my fault. I-It’s a stupid movie and I couldn’t just sit through it and enjoy it-” he was cut off by Stu giving him a small squeeze. Connor hadn’t realized that he had barely been breathing, his body still shaking. With his eyes open, his tears didn’t have anything to block them from being visible. They weren’t rolling down his face, just welling up in his eyes and making it hard to see.

“It’s not your fault.” Stu’s voice was more calm and quiet than Connor had ever heard it. There was no more hint of Stu poking fun at him. It was a strange feeling.

Slowly, Connor hugged Stu back. It was nice. Stu was always a hugger, so it wasn’t uncommon, but this one felt different. It was softer and gentler than usual. Like Stu finally realized how fragile his brother was, or what he was doing to him…

Connor didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Long enough for his breathing to calm and his heart to slow down. He felt half asleep by the end of it as Stu hesitantly pulled away, not fully moving just yet. He put his hands on Connor’s shoulders, looking him in the eye.

“We don’t have to watch scary movies anymore,” Stu pronounced. Connor frowned.

“But you like them…” Connor mumbled in response, his chest beginning to hurt again. He couldn’t take that away from Stu.

“And you don’t,” Stu retorted, his tone very matter of fact although not accusatory. He gave Connor’s shoulders a squeeze and pulled him back into his chest. “We don’t just have to do things I like, y’know… I like watching them with you, but not if you’re not having fun.”

Connor didn’t want to ruin movie nights for his brother. He’d learn to sit through them. He wanted to spend time with Stu without being just his annoying little brother. It felt more and more impossible by the day to get Stu to willingly hang out with him. He frowned slightly, now leaning against Stu.

“I don’t want you to have to not watch them anymore because of me.” Connor’s voice was quiet so only Stu could hear. “They’re fun sometimes…” His voice trailed off. He didn’t want to finish his thought, but Stu was pretty sure he knew what he was thinking.

They weren’t fun now when they felt so real, when what was happening around them in actual life was enough to make Connor feel sick.

“… I don’t want to annoy you,” was what Connor ended up ending with. It hurt Stu’s heart to hear him talk like that. He never knew his jokes made Connor so self-conscious.

“You’re my little brother, you’re supposed to annoy me. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend time with you.”

Stu pressed his cheek against the top of Connor’s head and took a deep breath. He held him tightly, as if scared to let go. Connor was a bit confused on why Stu suddenly seemed so earnest and sincere. Even in their serious talks, Stu was always a lot goofier. He was good at cheering up his brother. But this felt different.

“… Thank you,” Connor replied. The guilt wasn’t completely gone, but it was fading. Stu was his brother. He wouldn’t abandon him for his friends and he would be more open to hanging out with him. That was enough for Connor tonight.

Stu closed his eyes. “Don’t mention it,” he murmured, letting out a soft hum. It was too late at night to do much else, but tomorrow night, Stu would let Connor pick the movie. He promised.

[novankenn]

Coco's Search for a WAIFU or The Purgatory of Jaune

= Sixteen = (Master Chapter List)

Jaune was still upon his bed, silent and immobile. His eyes closed as he allowed his mind wander, seeking the answers to the desires of his heart. He was finding little of use, but he continued on, searching for a direction to follow. As he continued to meditate, the final bell of the day sounded.

The instant the classes let out, Beacon's halls became choked with the crush of students trying to make their way to Training Room One. Word had passed through the student body, and not a single one wanted to miss Nikos and Adel going at it. One a champion and THE strongest of the first year combatants. The other, infamous in her own right, but arguably one of the strongest second years.

The conflict made all the juicer by the whispers that it was about a boy. It was made even more unreal when rumour mill finally made it know, who that boy was. Jaune Arc, the weakest and worst student in all the history of Beacon. Some scoffed at the notion, but it didn't dissuade them from trying to get a seat.

It didn't take long for the bleachers and the observation room to be filled to capacity, while on opposite sides of the central sparing ring, the two women in question faced each other.

Yang: As agreed. This is a SPAR! First to bring the other into the red wins. Are we synced?

Velvet: (Standing besides Coco) Yes.

Nora: (Standing next to Pyrrha) Yep.

Yang: Standard rules apply. You will give quarter if asked. Also, as agreed, I have the authority to stop this SPAR at any point I see fit. So you will listen to my instructions when given. Understood.

Pyrrha/Coco: Yes.

Yang: Everyone out of the ring. (Yang steps back out as the protective barrier is raised.) BEGIN!

Gianduja spun up as Pyrrha ducked to the side and covered herself with Akouo. A hail of dust rounds tore up the floor and slammed into Pyrrha's shield. She grunted from the impact of the absolute body shaking force, that threatened to push her backwards. Digging in her heels, she pushed forward, using a slight tilt of Akouo to deflect the rounds over straight-up blocking.

Coco adjusted her aim, but something felt off. It was like her weapon was heavier than it should be. She struggled to keep the stream of rounds aimed at Pyrrha, but she found herself deviating. Gritting her teeth, she pulled against the force that was pulling her aim off.

Still hunkered down behind her shield, Pyrrha inched forward, closing with her opponent. Seeing that Pyrrha was pushing to get into melee range, Coco activated her semblance, instantly increasing the power of her rounds. The sudden added intensity caused Pyrrha to waiver. Gritting her teeth, she pushed against her shield and dove to the side, out of the line of fire.

Coco twisted on her feet, pivoting about to bring the tidal wave of rounds to bear upon her opponent.

CLICK! CLUNK!

Coco: SHIT!

With the stream of rounds gone, Pyrrha launched herself forward, Milo in spear form chamber to strike. Dropping her more than likely jammed gun, Coco dodged to the side, moments before Pyrrha's strike could land. Rolling to her feet, Coco counter-attacked. Pyrrha weaved away from Coco's punches and swapped Milo to sword form. Using Akouo for cover, she spun about in a low slash.

Coco saw the rapidly approaching weapon and kicked out, catching the blade with the sole of her boot and surprisingly knocking it from Pyrrha's grasp. Even though she was shocked at the force Coco had delivered with that kick, Pyrrha didn't hesitate to let the force of that strike help reverse the rotation of her attack.

Coco staggered sideways as Milo skittered across the floor. The edge of Akouo having smashed into her side. Coco shook off the hit and threw a flurry of punches and kicks, forcing Pyrrha to dodge, weave and block. Spinning about, Pyrrha attempted to once again strike Coco with Akouo's edge, only to have the fashionista intercept the strike.

The force with which Coco latched onto Pyrrha's shield and then ripped it from her grasp was something she had not expected from Coco. As Akouo clattered across the ground, Pyrrha retaliated. Throwing her own combos of kicks and punches, that forced Coco to cover up.

Pyrrha knew now she was faster are probably more agile, while Coco was much more gifted in the physical strength department. But Pyrrha knew other things as well. Strength did little if you were on your back. So instead of continuing to throw strikes, Pyrrha pulled a shoot. Driving her shoulder into Coco's gut, Pyrrha scooped her legs and drove her backwards into the floor.

Pyrrha: (Raining blows down on Coco's covered up head) Someone like you shouldn't be anywhere near Jaune! You're a selfish, manipulative cunt! Why would someone as shallow as you ever notice someone like Jaune?

Coco knew she was steadily loosing aura, but she really didn't care at this point. She just had to fight back. To give as good as she got, and make sure the Invincible Girl remembered her. Thrusting up with her hips, she interrupted Pyrrha's storm of punches, and in that short moment Coco grabbed Pyrrha's flowing locks and dragged her head down into the path of an elbow.

Coco: Fuck you! You self-righteous coward! Pathetic simpering bitch!

The onlookers were rather shocked as the spar devolved into a full on cat-fight as the weapons were forgotten, and skills were abandoned. The two women now rolled about, hands tangled in each other's hair, fists falling and striking without precision, and screaming obscenities at each other.

Coco: I know what I did was fucking wrong, you cow! But at least I did something! I got his attention! I made him notice me! All the while you cowered in your little fucking corner like a pussy!

Pyrrha: You would know about pussy, wouldn't you! How many did you dive, dyke, before you found out you needed cock?

Coco: You fucking slut!

Somehow, both combatants managed to break free of the other and roll to their feet. Gasping for breath, they wasted not a second before latching on to each other again. Hands grabbing hair, and closing upon throats.

Yang: Enough! I'm stopping this spar!

Neither woman paid Yang a lick of attention, as they continued their assaults upon each other. With a wave of her hand, others rushed the ring, and forcibly separated the two. Even then, they continued to struggle, spitting vitriol at each other.

As the audience slowly filtered out, those left, team RWBY, CFVY and the remainder of JNPR stayed behind. Keeping the pair of enraged women as far apart as they could, physically.

Yang: (Struggling to held keep Pyrrha contained) We need Jaune! These two are not going to stop without him stepping in!

Nora: (Also assisting in keeping Pyrrha away from Coco) He should be in the dorm, right, Rennie?

Ren: (Trying unsuccessfully use his semblance to alleviate the pure rage in Pyrrha) Yes. He should be there.

Yang: Rubes! Go get Jaune!

Ruby moved away from those holding down Pyrrha and vanished in a blur of rose petals.

Yang: (Shouting over her shoulder towards the ground, trying to control Coco) We're getting Jaune!

Velvet: Is that even a good idea? They're fighting over him!

Yang: We have to try! When he gets here, Ruby can go for Goodwitch!

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Batshit on the Battlefield (Short)

Islanzadí wouldn’t say she liked to fight. The unhinged aggression and feral unpredictability of open combat such as the pitched battle she was currently in set her teeth on edge, felt inherently wrong after being taught to value life as the elves were. She could understand the drive and fire of defending others, defending her people, but after the adrenaline and gore was washed away, the queen was always left with a sour taste in her mouth.

Her blade slipped effortlessly into the torso of the man to her right, flashing under the sheet of blood as it slashed up and out his shoulder. His giggling took on a wet gurgle, and with a disgusted twitch of her lip Islanzadí lopped off his head on the backstroke. These Painless soldiers were a hassle only due to their tenacity and numbers. Their press prevented her from wielding Gungnier as she normally would, so blade it would be.

To be completely honest, Islanzadí despised combat this close. Gungnier kept most opponents at bay a nice five or six feet away from her, left her room to breathe and deploy magic without quite as much worry about timing as bladework did. 

Ah. Timing. 

An artillery shell impacted mere meters away. Islanzadí pitched forward, the blastwave breaking her stance just enough to throw her towards one of the Painless. In the half breath of her moment of weakness he was on her, using her momentum, turning her, pulling, pushing her down, his shattered sword raised as he followed her towards the ground. 

Her wards would take it. But it didn’t stop the surge of fear, of instinct, of a heart stopping glimpse of her own death and–

A wild screech bloomed from her right. A dark form, screaming and snarling, slammed into the Painless above the queen. A crunch of bones heard just through the cacophony of feral rage, a fount of blood, and the mess of a man was catapulted several meters, his attacker going with him. The knot of man and fury carved a furrow through the throng, knocking over Painless and leaving a twenty foot path of clear ground.

Islanzadí was on her feet in an instant, bounding after them, determined to watch her, entirely unnecessary, savior’s back while they disengaged from the giggling corpse. 

Disengaged was…not the right word to use, however.

Arya was pulling her sword and half her forearm from the soldier’s destroyed ribs, face streaked with gore and a wild fire in her eyes unlike Islanzadí had ever seen. 

“That’s!” Arya slammed her hand against the giggling man’s throat. His windpipe crushed, the incessant cackle turned to a wheeze. “My!” The young elf let him go and, in a single sharp motion, jammed her blade forward in a direct chop, severing the still smiling head at the neck. “Mum! Jackass!”

Islanzadí couldn’t tear her eyes away. Even with the battle raging around them, everything else felt distant. 

The woman in front of her didn’t…didn’t feel like her daughter. Lithe, armor clad, blood splattered, the young elf rose from the mess of shattered bone and pulverized muscle she had left in the vague shape of a man. Pitch black hair braided and swaying with her movement, the shift of her weight back as she stepped away, swiped the gore coated blade of a dead king clean on the blended spidersilk of her combat pants and turned. 

Arya always had a fire in her eyes, bright and glimmering with wild energy and fierce determination. But this woman. This woman held an inferno in her eyes, an emerald blaze of unbridled feral spirit and an unmatched delight of freedom, the freedom of a place and time where everything else was cast away, stripped life down to attack, defend, protect, survive, fight. 

It reminded Islanzadí of the dragons of old. The untamed joy the majestic creatures vibrated with during and after flight.

How…how could this woman. How could she be the same daughter Islanzadí had–

Arya caught Islanzadí’s eye. And beamed.

Islanzadí’s breath caught in her throat. 

That smile. 

The way her eyes crinkled at the corners. The absolute glow, radiant and carefree. She saw Evandar there, in that moment. 

And she saw, in those bared teeth, the double canines and the exuberant lift onto the balls of her feet, a little elfling with skinned knees and bark in her braid. A stoat skittering over her upturned hands and up her arms, over her shoulders, onto her head. Grateful to the scrawny little spitfire that had defended its burrow after tolerating it following them around for the entire afternoon. 

And then the battlefield returned, and it was the queen of the elves, her wildchild daughter, and the chaos of war.

Arya bounced on her toes, still smiling. It took on more of her wild exuberance. “Good fight!”

Islanzadí nodded slowly. “Good fight.”

With the reciprocated proclamation Arya whirled around. “Come on, Glen! You’re too slow!” 

The medic trotted by Islanzadí. He turned as he passed, danced backwards on the balls of his feet with the casual fluidity of a man used to navigating the uneven and chaotic terrain of open battle. His dual shortswords tilted out as he put his hands up in an apologetic shrug, giving Islanzadí a somewhat helpless but no less wild grin before half falling, half twisting back around again to join his kindred companion. 

They tapped vambraces with a satisfying clack and bounded off into the fray. Islanzadí watched them go for a moment longer, felt her lips turn up when Glenwing offered up his metal forearm and Arya leapt up, braced her foot against the proffered step and was launched above the mass of struggling men and women with an exuberant whoop.  

The queen shook her head slightly in amusement. Gungnier darted out, impaled a charging man up through his exposed soft palette as he laughed and screamed in challenge. With a firm yank the slender spearhead retracted back to half staff, spun easily in her hand to block an oncoming blow from the other side. The two young elves had cleared enough space for her to wield the weapon again. 

As Islanzadí slid back into the focused zen of attack and defend, kill and live, the faint smile on her lips never faded despite her dislike for the activity. Brom’s description from years ago echoed in her mind, and she had to stop herself from shaking her head again. 

‘Batshit on the battlefield, indeed.’

[j4y-lvr]

[12:04 am]

sunghoon x gn!reader x jungwon

wc: 681

warnings: profanity, death, blood, attempts to kys, quite twisted

sunghoon was dead. you survived. you attempted to join him multiple times, leaving your roommate jungwon, who worked nightshifts at a mattress and pillow store, worried for your safety.

you never questioned why he worked night shifts at a mattress store through the night? he had gifted you a memory foam pillow and bidden you goodnight like any other time he left for his out-of-the-ordinary night shift.

you doze, reminiscing about your now dead boyfriend, and drift off to sleep. all while your memories seem too real. almost as if you were reliving your life. the sweet taste of the bread and jam sunghoon placed together and fed to you underneath the blazing heart.

the soft and fluffy moments you relived began worsening to the moment your hands gripped his neck and pressed his chest to the ground roughly as he hurried to push you off. you tied the boy up and got on top of him, a blade in hand, threatening to thrust it into his abdomen.

you fiddled with the instrument even though he pleaded with you to put it away, clasping both your hands in his, holding onto his life, quite literally before you shoved his hand away, shouting, "i know what i'm doing," you teased, the sudden shift in weight as he sat up straight sent you falling forward, slashing through his abdomen.

you did not know what you were doing and where this memory originated from when sunghoon died in an accident, where you were absent. you huff, springing up with a huff, beads of sweat clouding your forehead.

you get up for a drink to soothe your racing heart, calming down, convincing yourself it was just a nightmare. you resume your slumber on the same pillow jungwon gifted you, snuggling into it as the joyous memories with your dear boyfriend.

and it started again.

your hands poking the knife into his abdomen, his blood painting the scene, and his scream ringing in your ears. you panicked and discarded the blade, cupping his face with tears streaming down your face. strings of i'm sorry left your lips repeatedly, and sunghoon remained stagnant, breathing heavily, still attempting to push you off.

how had you got yourself in such a situation?

jungwon clamored through the doors and gave you a look of insanity, visibly scared of what he saw. sunghoon motioned to you, struggling to get you off him. jungwon rushed to the boy and pulled you off him, with no restraint from you as you sat shock-ridden.

you watched jungwon wrap the large wound you caused, gushing with crimson liquid while he hastily tried to stop the bleeding. "what the fuck are you doing, call an ambulance!" he shouted at you, and you froze.

sunghoon's breath shallowed and shut his eyes, drifting to eternal rest, dying in the boy's hands. his pale face left a last impression on you as you sat with a scream.

you turned to the now soaked pillow, the sweat dripping off you corroding the memory foam pillow jungwon handed you earlier that night. you rushed to him, who stood at the counter and murmured a few words to himself.

your disgruntled state, shaking him awake from the drowsiness he previously felt. you sprinted to him and wrapped your arms around him, absolutely shaken. the pillow, he gifted long forgotten.

"what happened?"

you explained your nightmare to him, panting with a squeak. tears fell, and he wiped them away, bringing you close to him as the aching in your heart subsided. "it's alright, go to sleep right here, i'll be with you, by your side,"

you worriedly laid on the mattress kept in the store and fell asleep, all while jungwon sat beside you, running a hand over your hair comfortingly with a twisted grin. he was the one who comforted you now.

you were his. he could manipulate your memories to his liking all with his memory foam pillow. you were wrapped around his finger now that sunghoon was out of the picture, just like he envisioned.

"glad you liked my present,"

idk what this is👩‍🦯

[lorellaishc]

Purpose

(( @daily-writing-challenge February 2023, Day 7, Event, Recovery, CW: violence, gore))

The proto-drake's roar echoed off the nearby cliffs as it swooped down, scattering the adventurers who had ambushed her primalist servants. Her flames, hot as the Firelands, blasted down where they had stood, driving them away from the precious, stolen eggs they sought.

"Not good!" Lorellai shouted, shouldering her now empty rifle and drawing her sword. "I'm almost out of bombs!"

"We're all feeling a bit spent, miss!" Edmund shouted as he grabbed Cay out of the open with one big arm, and dived with them behind a boulder to evade the fiery blast as the drake slammed down.

"INSOLENT TITAN BORN WRETCHES! YOU WILL NOT STOP US!" the drake roared, unleashing flame in all directions, superheating the air of the battlefield, heedless of any of her primalist servants scattered about who might still have been clinging to life.

Lorellai's comm flared to life, and she heard Pin's voice come through. "We need that drake out of the way, what do you have left Lorellai?"

She patted down her vest, and pulled out her last blasting charge. "Just one blaster and my sword, ma'am!"

"We'll get you an opening, try and get it somewhere it'll do some damage." Pinapple replied, and Lorellai saw the sky above begin to roil with cloud, and her heart soared as she saw Shansii step to the edge of one of the nearby rock pillars, her hands aglow with lightning. There weren't any primalists to contest her for the power of the storm now. Lightning shot up out of her hands into the clouds, and then moments later shrieked down, slamming into the drake as she rose her head to blast the draenei girl.

"NOW!" Pin's voice called out as she broke cover, charging the drake. Behind her, Edmund roared and followed her in, slamming into the drake shield first as Pin slashed as hard as she could at the drake's underside. Both staggered under the immense heat the beast gave off, but the glowing energy of Cay's healing chants surrounded them to fight off the wounds. Lorellai charged forward, setting the charge for a thirty second timer. One way or another it would be over by then.

The heat was intense as the drake reared up, throwing off the shackles of lightning and batting the warriors away with her wings, both of them flying past Lorellai as she rushed forward. She could hear her friends calling for her distantly, but the roar of flame all around her muffled the sound. Time seemed to slow as she approached, the massive, fire-infused drake still reared up, eyes on the retreating draenei, seemingly heedless of Lorellai's advance. Getting in close, Lorellai realized what she had to do. Pin had cut through one of the armored scales of the drake's underbelly, exposing the broiling innards of the creature. Lorellai set and fired her hookshot, striking the dragon and hauling herself in close to the wound. The heat and noise were all but unbearable, but once again Cay's healing magic surrounded Lorellai and held the worst at bay. Shouting at the top of her lungs, still impossible to be heard over the cacophony, Lorellai jammed the charge into the wound, shoving it as deep as she could, before the drake leapt into the air, shaking the dwarf loose. She hit the ground hard, looking up to see the dragon hovering over her, mouth filled with flame.

"PATHETIC CREATURE! NOW YOU WILL B-" the drake's sentence was cut off as the timer hit zero, and the charge exploded in the drake's chest, showering the area in searing hot viscera. Lorellai scrambled to her feet and drove away as the drake fell, slamming into the ground with a thud, lifeless.

----------

Hours later, the team made it back to the life pools, precious cargo intact. A wagon full of drakonid eggs, ready to be returned to the care of their parents and caretakers.

Lorellai all but collapsed onto the bench next to Shansii, the two leaning on each other, exhausted from their exertion. Pinapple looked at the two of them, and was about to approach when Edmund caught her eye.

"Have to say miss, these primalists sure seem to believe they're on the side of righteousness. Didn't even consider surrender once we'd had them surrounded and outgunned."

Pin brushed some errant hair out of her face. "Unfortunately, these cults tend to breed that kind of thing. I know they're wrong though."

"And how's that?"

"Because any group with goals that are actually worth it doesn't have to threaten so many innocent people to make their dreams come true."

"Fair enough. You want some help getting those two back to camp?"

"I don't see why I would need..." Pin started, turning to see the girls very much asleep, leaning on each other. "Ah. I'm sure the reds can set aside some space for us to rest after all that."

"As you say, I'll go ask then."

Edmund wandered off, waving at Cay and going to talk to the drakonids as Pin walked over to the two, and smiled. "You two did good work today. Enjoy your rest, you've earned it."

[toomanyf4ndoms7]

Slash/Match: Jennifer Check:

Play style: While she might look a typical top of the hierarchy school cheerleader, Jennifer is far from that. Using her charms and demonic abilities, she gets what she wants one way or another.

Special attacks:

(Grab gives 20% drain energy.)

Levitating: Jennifer levitates into the air, can swoop down and bite the opponent. (Gives 25% drain energy.)

Heart-pulse: Jennifer activates a field of damage over time, that gives her drain energy from the opponent’s health.

Missed me: Needy charges by with a wooden stake, but Jennifer moves out of the way and the stand hits the opponent if they don’t block. Jennifer says “Aw, nice try.”

Show some spirit!: Jennifer pulls out a pair of cheerleading flags and does a series of swipes at the opponent bedside jamming them against the opponent’s temple. The swipes themselves don’t do much damage, but the final hit does a good amount for a single attack. (Each landed hit gives 2% of drain energy.)

(UNLEASHED) After enough “drain moves.” Jennifer has the option to unleash her succubi energies to enhance her special attacks and higher defence. This only lasts for a limited time and she will be weaker for a time once it runs out. You can also use a portion of it to recover lost health, but only if the bar is below 100% full.

Super move:

Low Shoulder: Jennifer swipes a flag at the opponent’s eye. If it hits, the screen goes black, before the opponent is alone in a secluded band room. Jennifer waves them off before slamming the door. As the opponent is attacked from behind the door, Jennifer redoes her lipstick and winks at the camera.

Slasher move: (Finishing move.)

Check Out: Jennifer slowly walks up to the opponent and sinks her teeth into them, draining their life away as they wither. When it’s done, she pulls away and wipes her lips with a satisfied smirk.

Killing blows:

Grab: Only in unleashed mode: Instead of simply biting the opponent’s neck, Jennifer tears out their neck and bites their head. After a moment, she recovers and clears her throat. “Sorry, cravings.”

Show some spirit!: The final hit jams the flag ends through the opponent’s temples, killing them.

Ending:

“This place has been a dream come true. So many souls to feed on, to keep me beautiful as ever. But I have to admit, I was getting a little homesick. Even with these fancy new powers.”

(Shot of Jennifer walking through bloody streets, looking a little lost.)

“But then, I saw a lonely girl in a white dress. She looked so upset, so miserable, and then I learned she was meant to go to prom.”

(Jennifer sitting beside Carrie, half listening.)

“Prom, the perfect place for teenagers to let loose and dance the night away. AKA: my perfect buffet. “

(Shot of Jennifer grinning to herself before transitioning to her being all friendly to Carrie and opening a portal back to her reality.)

“So, I decided to join Carrie back home, to ensure she has the best day she can, and that I have a perfect supper buffet.”

(Final shot is of Carrie being crowned prom queen while Jennifer is behind the curtain, surrounded by drained corpses.)

@ohbee-whatcanyoube

[notchainedtotrauma]

From My Patreon: My Favorite Bits Of Fiction I Wrote As  Emotional Responses to Songs

0:00-0:27: Rushed silhouettes, floating buildings, she was heaving and panting through the streets, the screeches and profanities watery, damp against her head, intent on running. She had established a rhythm she could lock herself in and yet always about to miss a beat, slow down and collapse. The backstory was both arid and sinister. Still, in her mind, she remembered the blood soiled bed like muted faces as silent witnesses, fingers sticky with blackberry jam, her body burrowed into her. Bits and pieces doused with that summoning song, the continuous soundtrack of something she couldn't hold together yet.

I tightened against the slipperiness of the wheel, waiting for May to say something, at long last. It wasn't their lithe body, slumped against the back seat, the unremarkable outfit, a mundane stud uniform, but the hushed collection of glares, their  knuckles tense inside their lap. We weren't quite sure of each other, as long as we'd worked out our siblinghood together, the slurry of kisses, the gut bursting laughter, the unceremonious nonchalance. And still, a crevice. And maybe we left each other, in some ways. The passenger side unceasingly wounded; eyes shrunk and blinking, bleached with anguish, her pleats an act of self admonishment. I could sense the belt slash into her chest and her head lolling from side to side. I took her to sever her trailing rope of confessions. They trumpled on her for so long and with such horror that she was here and there, a mind airless in poisonous water. I sped up, because there was no one, and nowhere, and I wanted her through the window, eyes wide open, even.  

I had hovered above the sinister mapping of the hospital, looking for a reward yet to be named, stung with the viscous trickle of hand sanitizer, and how did I end up here, and why did I remain. I could craft the series of flashing images; the hard metal chair, the glassy borders, and the cop, or the detective, or whatever, reaching down my throat for the scene of the crime. The hospital had been closed for a while. I wanted to remain there forever. I wanted to let sickness carry me even as I was holding sickness at arm's length.  

3:48-3:49: I didn’t ponder on violence often; I dutifully ripped, smashed, folded, clawed, worked away at thick flesh, waiting for the blood to spill, for a crease through the face or bruised arms. Every day, I labored on the push and pull of foreign bodies, of interlaced voices, my hands woven through their armpits, their eyes blinking, the mutilated geometry of their noses. And yet, ultimately, always this green fog, a film of bitterness in the mouth. He had barely glimpsed at me the first time, muttered “There”. I needed to leave; too much was happening, the unsettling sway of fractured hips, too much dried blood, something liquid and acrid coming up my throat. I had done the last of it.  

He wasn’t there. She wasn’t there either, crouched on the still damp couch, her eyes enormous and sharp. The screen before her, with its glut of movement and sound, people sizzling everywhere, and her not following the thread, having lost the story halfway through the needle rattling her heart. She dashed out; she wanted to know midnight. She wasn’t dressed for any occasion; tattered sweatpants, a large cotton shirt. She trailed her hand across the bar, her nonchalant walk, hoping the moment would get caught in an endless loop.

The bacon and the plate beneath, looking at it, she was exhausted. She ignored what to make of all of this. She had been starved, and suddenly not. Two hours of damp showering, not even a trickle, she yearned for the water bandaging her skin. What was she to do with that bacon, growing cold, the bars of greasy meat, dripping on all that white ? It was sinister, not to know what to do about food. Every morning, she dropped a pack of instant popcorn in the microwave with weary indifference, poured the syrup. Her life seemed, to her, regulated by the consistent reality of food. Or aimless sex. Everyday, there was the bed, reluctantly open, her wet thighs, her eyes, enormous, her ordinary orgasms.  

[medicus-mortem]

   Her response draws his gaze to her, golden eyes locking with deep brown. For a moment there is a pained look on his face, a fear peeking through his control. She says she can handle it and maybe she can, but Law isn’t sure he can handle how this truth about himself will change how she sees him. He has no delusions that Nami isn’t aware of his brutality, his sadistic cruelty. She reads the newspapers. She would have read any number of articles about this that paint him in a terrifying light, but there is a huge difference between reading about it and seeing it in person. Nami will see and she’ll think him a monster. She’ll hate him.

   For a moment Law considers just teleporting them onto the Tang. Take the choice from her and hide the destruction but he pushes that thought away. Taking Nami, a woman so in tune with the weather, from one set of constricting walls to another would do her no good. She needs to see the sun, see the sky and know she is now free from this ordeal. Law knows she needs that, just as much as she needs to be home on the Sunny.

   His selfish fears are second to her needs right now.

   “Fine,” he sighs, voice heavy and gaze turning away from Nami.

   His jaw tightens and he steps forwards, guiding Nami to the heavy door ahead of them. He tries not to imagine the fear and disgust on her face. Tries not to think about those moments when she showed clear discomfort with his power. He pushes the fear down and jams Kikoku into the gap between door and doorjamb. A levering tug has it creaking open, warm sunlight streaming onto their faces.

   Trafalgar Law leads Nami up the stairs and out of the underground dungeon she’d been kept in. The final step brings them out into a scene of devastation. Rubble and debris litter the ground. A small building lays crumbled to the side, its torn foundations pointing to the sky. Law had ripped it from the ground and thrown it across the compound. A show of power and a weapon all in one. The surrounding wall has been slashed through in one spot. His entrance destructive. Even the main building faced his rage, cut to pieces and splayed open like a concrete flower.

   Structural destruction isn’t the only sign of the Surgeon of Death’s wrath. Bodies are everywhere and not all of them are intact. Some are cut to pieces, others crumbled as if crushed in a giant’s hand. Others have holes in their chest where hearts should be and more than a few have been fused into fleshy amalgamations that still wiggle and writhe. And at the centre of it all, in a brick cobble courtyard that is unnaturally clear of debris, is a body splayed face down over a table with a blue bubble encircling him.

   A day before this was the imposing leader of these pirates. A vicious man with an equally vicious mythical chimera zoan power. Now he’s a display meant to fuel the Surgeon of Death’s infamy. A message in blood and pain to anyone else who might think it’s smart to kidnap Nami. His back has been opened up, lungs pulled out and placed like wings on his shoulders. Limbs are limp, unmoving as the man still breathes. Still living and with that Room attached to him he’ll remain alive and suffering until someone arrives to put him out of his misery.

   With the conflicting emotions of satisfaction and shame warring within him Law picks up his pace, hoping to get Nami through this quickly.

Had she been in better spirits, with her regular, more vivacious spunk that she always carried, she might have scoffed at his comment. Funny --- she knew of a certain surgeon who happened to err on the side of stubborn, as well. Perhaps the lack of sass was another indicator of how unwell she felt. How tired she was. She missed home so badly. She missed her crew, and she missed Law. She missed her trees, and the way the sun rays beamed bright through the branches... it was almost enough to make Nami want to tear up, right then and there, with her hand supporting her body against concrete.

A quiet sniffle, although she held the emotional dam threatening to burst, tightly in her chest. She didn't want Law to see her cry --- not over something that felt so silly. Not when there was no real reason to cry, to begin with. She had buried that human part of her for so long, and she'd only just begun to feel safe to feel again. She was safe to be scared, to be sad, in front of her crew. She wasn't sure if Law was safe, too.

That didn't mean that Nami didn't want Law to be a safe space --- another safe person, to find comfort in. Still, another part of her feared how he might view such a soft side of her as weakness. The tears could wait, until she was alone in her room. When this was all over.

Her head tilted at the sound of his voice, a thin brow arched. Was that... shame, that she heard? She knew Law didn't give a damn of what others thought of him; along with it, everyone knew what he did, to become a warlord. It wasn't like Nami thought he would keep his hands clean --- she never realized the lengths he would go to, for her, but that was a different story.

She didn't like blood and gore, and Law knew that. Maybe he was trying to look out for her best interests. The notion that he felt a need to protect her, only made her want to speak out, even more. Nami didn't want to be thought of as delicate.

"... You did it for me, didn't you?" Part of her felt she should see what he'd done, for her. Who he'd destroyed, for her sake. An arm hooked through his, for balance. A gentle tug, urging him forward. She wanted to leave. "I can handle it. I know when I've had enough." Did he not understand how important it was, for the navigator to see the path ahead?

"Just take me home, please."

[bullet-prooflove]

Postcards: Horacio Carrillo x Reader

Tagging: @616wilsons​ @mysun-n-stars​  @xmoonknightlyx    @nessamc  @crazy4chickennuggets

With Love from Madrid.

The first postcard wasn’t signed but you recognised the writing, his looped scrawl reaching out over eight thousand miles until it reached you in Columbia. The picture was vivid, an art deco version of a landmark that you had no reference for. Still, it was beautiful in its own way. Primary colours that reminded you of the Columbian flag. Horacio’s way of maintaining some link to his homeland. You stuck it to the fridge with one of the circular magnets you used to leave notes to yourself.

The second one came at the end of a bad day, one with bloodshed, violence, and death. You’d gotten slashed across the face during a raid, Connie had managed to patch you up, but it would scar, she had informed you. From cheekbone to jawline, you would carry the indentation of La Quica’s knife for the rest of your days. It was a small price to pay compared to the alterative. You wondered what Horacio would think of it as you sorted through your mail and discovered the postcard. Spanish words written in red blocky letters, all centring around the heart in the middle.

My life is here, but my heart is yours.

It had been six months since you had laid eyes on him, but those feelings hadn’t resided. You still thought of the nights you spent wrapped up in his sheets, his warm hands caressing your skin as made love to you by the night of the moon. Your fingers itched to pick up the phone, you longed to hear his voice, the smooth whisper of Spanish in your ear.

You read the third on the balcony whilst smoking a cigarette. A vintage image of Madrid in sepia, the colour leeching out of it. It was different from the others, darker, you could sense his pain over the slant of his handwriting. You wondered what had happened that day that had led him to this image.

It took me an hour to get to know you and just a day to fall in love, but it will take me a lifetime to forget you.

He missed you, the same way that you missed him. It had been a little under a year since his reassignment and the way you felt hadn’t changed. You still thought about him every morning. The way he smiled when he sipped from his coffee cup savouring the taste. The brush of his hand when he passed you a cigarette. The way he kissed you, like a man starving for oxygen, like every time would be the last.

“Cute postcards.” Pena said, one day when he stopped over at the apartment to pick you up. His fingers trailed over the laminated paper. “You got a friend out there? A boyfriend?”

“I don’t ask about your private life Javier.” You reminded him, snatching your gun up from the kitchen table and jamming it into the holster.

“Hey, I was just showing an interest.” He said holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You gonna shoot me for it?”

You picked up your badge and clipped it to your belt, alongside your weapon.

“I know exactly where your interest lies.” You reminded him, looking pointedly at the crouch of his jeans.

Javier rolled his eyes and placed his hands on his hips.

“You act like I’m some sort of dog.”

“If it barks like one.” You shot back, shrugging into your jacket.

“You hear the news about Carrillo?” he asked you, grasping the apartment door and holding it open for you to step through. You heart stopped in your chest, the air rushing out of your lungs as he pulled the apartment door closed behind you. “He’s going to be back in the country this afternoon, heading up Search Bloc. Looks like the gangs getting back together again.”

The final postcard was on your desk when you arrived at Head Quarters. It was of brilliant blue skies and plush hills, the trees in the background painted with hues of evergreen. It was beautiful, the two of you had been there once upon a time, a rare quiet in the storm. A private place where Horacio went to think. The moment your eyes had locked you’d known how he felt, the two of you had spent the afternoon making love on a picnic blanket amongst the grass.

8pm, he had written on the back.

You had the time and of course you knew the place.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[loveoaths]

🌹

The Father, The Son, and the Unholy Ghost: Luke likes Din. Din likes Luke. Din is less crazy about Luke's insane, evil father who keeps trying to kill him from beyond the grave.

In Din’s defense, he’s never been much of a drinker.

So when Luke sets a bottle of cheap liquor on the hotel suite counter, looks up at him through this thick blonde lashes, and asks, “Ever done a handle pull?” with that sneaky grin, Din is already half-way to drunk. 

The liquor just hastens the inevitable. 

The last thing he remembers is Luke laughing too hard at something terrifying he’d said — No matter what Din tells him, Luke never seems to get squeamish, and that’s something Din likes about him: he knows there’s more blood on Din’s hands than skin, yet he still lays those long fingers over worn gloves with an ease that reminds Din that, actually, Luke’s body count is much, much higher than his own — and then he remembers Luke floating their glasses in the air with one hand, his other hand running up his arm to the broken seal around his neck, warm knuckles brushing against exposed brown skin. Din had swallowed, torn between acknowledging the touch and ignoring it in case he was misreading the situation. He’d chosen the latter. He nodded his helmed head toward the glasses.

“Cool Jedi trick,” he’d said, like an idiot.

And Luke, bright, terrifying, ridiculous, gorgeous Luke, had fixed him with a look like molten silver and tipped his chin back toward the bedroom door behind them.

“Thanks. Wanna see a cooler one?”

A more suave man would have had a line ready to reel him in, but seeing as hearing those words nearly killed him, Din’s just glad he could fumble out a quiet “Y-yes please,” before Luke changed his mind.

When he wakes up, he feels like he’s run over by a transport, and then seven more after that. In the dark, Din rolls over with a groan and immediately regrets it: his breath is sour and overwhelming inside the helmet, which is backwards. He lifts a hand to right it when something tightens around his naked waist.

He’s desperately trying to remember where his blaster is when the something shifts and strokes hot up his bare stomach, and Din freezes. 

Slowly, carefully, quietly, Din works his helmet right way forward, and looks down.

An arm. An arm is wrapped around him.

Luke Skywalker’s arm.

He is in bed with Luke kriffing Skywalker.

For the first time in his life, Din wants to throw up and grin at the same time.

Din relaxes, slowly, pressing back into unfamiliar pillows and turning to look down at the messy blonde mop poking out of the sea of blankets. As if by instinct, Luke turns sleepily toward him and shoves his face against Din’s chest with a warm, unintelligible murmur.

Din dares to settle beside him and stroke a golden lock. The curtains are drawn shut, but he wishes he could steal over to pull them open a sliver, if only to watch a strip of light set it aglow. He smiles a secret smile down at him, ignoring the way his heart shudders to life in his chest like a vintage cruiser raring for one last race.

What he cannot ignore, however, is the furious blue glare hovering over Luke’s sleeping sun-kissed shoulder.

“YOU.”

To his credit, Din does not jump or curse, despite the disorienting hangover. He instead snatches the small vibrodagger sheathed between the mattress and the headboard and jams it into the figure’s jugular — 

It passes right through, no more than an impotent suggestion.

“If you’d had this sense of self preservation last night, you wouldn’t be here,” the figure snarls and presses forward, pushing through Luke’s sleeping face to fix Din with a bloodcurdling sneer. "At least you've more vim than the last one." The last one? Din ignores the way his heart sinks and slashes at its head this time. The vibrodagger passes through once more. The figure snickers. “Oh, please. It would take more than that to kill me if I weren’t already dead."

Din retracts the blade for Luke’s safety, but keeps it in his hand, braced for attack. Blinking through sleep and confusion, Din tries to understand what he’s seeing. A man. A handsome man with knives for cheeks and sour gold eyes and a strange, breathy voice, not unlike someone speaking through an outdated rebreather. Shiny slivers of fractured durasteel and shattered black armor circle his head like a crown of ruin. Long brown hair waves to tanned shoulders fissured through with cracks of throbbing red and orange and yellow, and where hair and skin meet, the follicles burst into sickly flame. His hands are wicked black metal curdled with smoke, and they grasp desperately for Din’s throat, but they, too, pass through. The man clicks his tongue like he expected this, but is annoyed by it nonetheless.

Din wraps his arm around Luke’s back and pulls him toward him protectively. The man’s eyes immediately drop to the hand on Luke’s back and for a moment Din swears he sees them glow. “What are you?”

“Your worst nightmare,” the apparition sneers. With a crack Din feels in his bones, the shade grows, looming impossibly large in the small room, “I am Luke’s father. You will know me as… DARTH VADER.”

His voice whips through the room, an unholy heat radiating from his furious form.

A pregnant silence settles into the room.

The figure pauses, as if expecting something.

After a moment, Din realizes he’s waiting for a reaction.

Din looks down at Luke — still asleep in his arms, somehow, and something about that makes Din's heart squeeze — and then back up at hell’s most flamboyant reject.

“Sorry,” Din clips, wondering idly if ghosts can burn people to death, and if so, how badly that would hurt, “Darth who?”