#picture it man: you throw yourself down a hole to end with your miserable existence

[grumpyghostdoodles]

The unexpected continuation of this post! And just like that one, I had to stop multiple times bc I was laughing too hard at Chara's first face

Based on these glorious dogs

[yandere-wishes]

A Story Told In Maybes  {Part #1}

🗡️Yandere! Enma Yuuken x reader

🗡️Summary: Enma Yuuken lives on the fine line between "Hero" and "Villain" but his story will never end in a "happily ever after" or a "tragically ever after" it will only end in Maybe...

🗡 Edited by the amazing @tealyjade-libran

🗡️ Alternative title: How many times can Genie use "Damn" in a story...

Maybe in some other world, they could have been lovers

Imagine that...

picture it as vividly as a fresh stab wound to your heart. Sketch the vision of a red waterfall carrying away your life. 

Now picture two people. A young man and woman, sitting on a park bench, holding hands and laughing, inching closer and closer. 

Imagine love, happiness, tranquility...

But those things only exist in fairy tales. And his life was most certainly not a fairy tale. 

They were foreigners, outsiders, aliens. Banished into a strange land were twisted fairy tales, roamed the earth. Where magic and mischief came as naturally to the inhabitants as breathing. Where nothing mattered, because nothing was. Everything is and thus it isn't. Nothing made sense, and sometimes, in some rare moments of stolen repose, Enma Yuuken was scared that nothing would ever make sense again. 

All of it, every microscopic thing about this 'new world' was wrong, abnormal, twisted. 

Everything except his traveling companion. Another lost soul as disjointed and out of place as he was. Another ghost trying to survive in this matrix of a so-called reality. 

There was no shock initially, no surprise in not being the only normal creature to be transported to this bizarre world. Enma knew full well that he wasn't special in any way. Another foreigner being here was one of the few things that actually made sense. 

But as the old expression goes, everything comes at a price. 

Someone else just like him being here, being stuck in this nightmare, made sense. Yet the price of logic was a thread of hysteria that had woven itself deep within his battered heart. A maddening sense that gripped his lungs, robbing them of breath. That picked off pieces from his tattered mind, replacing them with clear cutout thoughts of her. It was always only her.

His companion in this broken world just had to be you. A frail, naïve little girl with no sense about her. Some pretty-girl protagonist straight out of the pages of Shojo Beats. The kind of girl who finds her happily ever after no matter where the hell she is. 

Yet he did not have that luxury, his life was dictated by a series of maybes and could bes. He was a secondary character at best, a background shadow at worst. With no purpose other than smiling and waving. And listening to the protagonist weep about their love-driven woes.

Some days, when the dreary bell chimed for the last time, when the students marched back to the solitude of their dorms, Enma would wander around the halls, squirming in his own misery. Pondering why, oh why of all the people, in all the towns, in all the worlds, did you have to be the one to wind up in this grim land along with him. 

Why fate always had to be so cruel, so domineering, thinking it knew better than the people whose miserable lives it toyed with. He wanted to be your lover, your prince, yours. But what would a guy, who doesn’t even belong in this backward world, have to offer some heroine-type sweetheart? 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

The Ramshackle’s flickering porch light glows in the distance. Like a dying star beckoning him to a destroyed paradise. He knows what's waiting for him behind the worn door. He knows you'll be there standing by the cracked dinner table, laying out days-old sandwiches for dinner, while Grimm rangles with an expired can of tuna. He knows you'll smile with tears in your doe-like eyes as you retell the fables of your endeavors. Telling him in great detail how the so-called king of beasts overpowered you in the school garden. How the King of poisons stole yet another kiss. The tales go on and on. Never-ending, never stopping, never giving him the chance to scavenge the fragments of his shattered heart.

You play your role so damn well. You know how to be the damsel in distress, the poor thing in need of saving. It's repulsive, disgusting...but only because he doesn't know how to be the hero that you need. 

If he was being honest -something he rarely did nowadays- Those "prefects" were the root of all his problems. They were the evil that made this dark world an endless horror. They'd been the ones to drive him into the "caring older brother" role. They had twisted his hand, leading him to the role of the "side-hero" like a lamb to the slaughter. Made him into a prince charming in a world that ate princes alive and spat them out once more. 

They had sealed his fate with a few insults and loaded threats. With just a few longing stares overflowing with lust and envy. They were villains, in a world that celebrated sinners. A world that cheered when the dragon steals the princess and rejoices when the evil king sits upon his skeleton throne. They were villains in every dreadful sense of the damn word. 

It's hard to be in love when all odds are against you. 

When your fate binds you into one role with no way out.

Like a rabbit hole made of quicksand. It dragged him deeper and deeper into intimate madness.

Maybe in some fair world, those leeching villains could keep their greedy blood-drenched hands off of you.

Maybe in a world where the sun never dies, you could bring yourself to love him.

Maybe he could have been the love interest, maybe, maybe, maybe.

It's always only MAYBE!

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

"Welcome home Nii-san," 

It's a sweet greeting that ties his guts into ribbons. His hands grow damp as his heavy eyes stare into yours. His lips curl into a painted smile, shielding you from the pain that's clawing in his stomach.

"Hi..(Y/n)"

His voice cracks and croaks like a dying frog. His lips feel abnormally dry and his eyes sting as if they've been pierced by diamond daggers. His steps are heavy as he plops down in his seat. The weight of his worries pulled him down harder than gravity ever could. He watches you through tried, restless orbs. Watches as you waltz over to your seat and sit down with the half grace of some future queen to be. It's bitter, dreadful, leaving a sickly toxin-like taste in his mouth. The mere thought that someday one of those, sinners, will take your hand and drag you to some kingdom far far away makes Enma want to claw his brain out with his bare nails. 

Enma's focus shifts over from his traveling companion to the silver-coated fireball licking his paws. Grimm's teal eyes scan him nervously before he offers a nervous smile, a rarity for the narcissistic cat. He's usually so talkative, so boasting, there was never a moment of tranquility with that cat around...

It takes a moment. A steel coated moment before the gears in Enma's head begin to turn. Before he can place his finger on the heavy abnormality weighing down the atmosphere. His nerves jolt to life, leaving a freezing sweat behind their trail. The room is spinning like a ballroom floor. Something's off, something big and obvious and hidden and...

Maybe...

"So..."

It's your sweet voice that breaks the tension creeping into the air. Melodic and luscious just like the sensation of a blissful dream. The room freezes in its tracks. The heavy atmosphere melts away like a cube of ice. Normality has one foot through the door. Behind it, hope and tranquility peek their heads through the tiny gap.

 Maybe just maybe everything is alright. Maybe it's just him, his stress and anxiety are starting to play cruel jokes on his wonder mind. Maybe he's just going mad. Yeah, that's the sanest conclusion to draw from all this. 

Enma cranes his neck to the side to get a better view of your face. Distress is scribbled all over your skin, like pristine razor cuts. You shift around in your seat, clawing at your uniform skirt as if the midnight black fabric is cutting off your circulation. Your fingers nudge the entrance to your pocket fiddling with something he can't quite make out. 

His voice is low, shaky, as he replies. The unusualness of the situation has him on edge. Nervous to the bitter bone. Maybe he was wrong, maybe his nerves were right to be wary of whatever this was. This uncertainty permeated the air-tight room. 

"What is it?" 

Slowly you drag out a white envelope flooded seven times over from your pocket. You stretch out your hand placing it in between his fingers. Enma throws a passive look at the note, his nose wrinkled up at the familiar scent that pervaded from the paper. 

"What's this?" 

It was rhetorical, asked out of dull, morbid courtesy. This time he didn't bother looking at you, in fear of seeing you look -lord forbids- gleeful. 

"A love letter, Grimm found it in our locker after class." 

There was a pause, lengthy, nerve-wracking, heart wrenching. Yuuken could hear the way your breath hitched in your throat, he could almost feel the excitement radiate off your body. 

"Can you believe it Nii-san? Someone actually left me a love letter!"

It hurt it really did, this time his heart didn't shatter. It simply broke, in two or three or maybe four. Who knows, who cares.  They had escalated from simple harassment and unsightly displays of public affection to leaving you love letters. How ungodly, how absurd, how brave...

He laments, eyes tracing over the fog of his breath as it wafts through the musty room. He wants to rip that damned piece of paper, shred it into millions so the words become ineligible, so you'll never read those horrible words again. So you'll forget that some damn fool other than him can actually love you. But he doesn't, he has too much self restraint and too much respect for his dear "little sister" to actually do it. 

His arm stretches over the table, skin illuminated by the dying candle on the center. He places the letter back safely in between your fingers. His eyes meet yours for only the second time that night. He takes in your face, Committing every piece of it to his miserable memory. The heartily glow in your crystal eyes, the faint schoolgirl smile dancing across your lips, the rose blush kissing your cheeks, the way the candle illuminates your skin, wrapping in a sparkling glow like the princess from those tales of old. You're mesmerizing in every way, it would be reasonable for other men to notice your elegance. No wonder those "prefects" were drawn to you so naturally like moths to a golden flame. 

"Who sent it?" 

His voice comes out like a block of ice, shielding away any and all his stray emotions. He doesn't want to know how doleful he is, he just can't have you taking pity on him. 

Your smile fades ever so slightly, your brows draw closer. Confusion is etched on your face. You haven't got a clue. 

"Well...I'm not sure, but they did say to meet them at the school gates when the clock chimes twelve."

Oh, joy, another fairy tale reference. It's comedic how fairy tales have begun to dictate his life. Everywhere he turns there's a grim tale awaiting him. Yuuken spares a quick glance at the crooked clock hanging by a loose thread. It’s a minute to midnight. 

"I should come with you" 

It's not a request but you take it as so. 

"No need to bother, I'll take Grimm, he could use the walk. He's starting to bulk up a bit"

"HEY! The great Grimm-Sama doesn't "Bulk up" He only gets more powerful!" 

Before the older male can protest, you're already halfway out the door. Grimm scurrying to follow you on all fours like a pesky rat. The door slams on your way out, leaving Yuuken alone with his morbid screeching thoughts. 

There goes the only good thing in his life. Into the arms of another. 

For a second he contemplates leaving you to fate, after all, who's he to disobey fate, go against whoever orchestrates this universe. But it's only a second, short lived and quickly died. 

Maybe he's a hero.

Maybe he's a Prince Charming.

Maybe he's a villain.

Maybe he's just some honorary older brother looking out for his kid sister.

Maybe, just maybe, he's your future lover;

and he'll be damned if he lets you slip out of hands. 

Enma's quick to grab his old practice blade from the overstuffed closet. It's not much, but it's all he has from the normal world, from his world. 

The door grates for the last time that night as he steps out into the cold midnight air. The stars blink in some sort of secret tongue, either warning him or encouraging him, he doesn't know. Nor does he truly care, for Enma Yuuken is done letting life and fate and villains decree his meaningless life. Here and now that's where he'll make his stand, he'll save you. Kiss you. Love you. Marry you. You, You, YOU

But there's still one nagging thought that screams inside his head as he dashes for the school gates. This world worships villains, prays at their feet, and hands them death and destruction on golden plates. And he's no villains, he's some sort of upside-down, in-between. Rotting alone in the border between Hero and Villain. By law of society, he's a reject, a useless foreigner, an alien, an outsider. 

and MAYBE he's already too late...

Who wrote the love letter? Was it the head of the savanaclaw dorm or maybe the head of the heartslabyul dorm ? Maybe it’s the ever mysterious  Tsunotarou... 

[yespolkadotkitty]

Agh!! Nudie Anon here. I’m open to any Ezra nickname at all!! Thank YOU!

Rainfall

Gorgeous gif by @ithinkwehitametaphor - thankyou! and thanking @mourningbirds1 for the beta read.

Warnings: dark(ish) Ezra, mild violence, swears.

****

“She’s fine, your little bit, ain’t she? Seen her somewhere before - that’s it. Men’s room wall in a bar named Hook, Line & Sinker on Aperture-4.”

And with those words from a fellow grifter he’d been drinking with, Ezra had taken off like a rabbit with its tail on fire. 

No one got to look at you that way, especially while taking a shit.

He stalked through the crowded bar, not caring who he pushed aside, a tall, striking man with a mouth made for sin, soulful, whiskey-brown eyes that could nonetheless communicate your doom, and a natural blond streak on the right side of his head, the lightness commanding attention among his tousled, hazelnut curls. 

A kiss of starlight, you called it.

And your words made him feel like he was made of starstuff. Made him feel like more than a one-armed, washed up Prospector, a harvester who couldn’t really harvest anymore, reduced to grifting around the Universe for whatever jobs he could charm his way into.

He’d always been lucky with his charm. Could talk his way into any woman’s smalls; but those days, the days of faceless women  to drown his sorrows in,  as interchangeable as any liquor bottle, were behind him since he’d met you.

Rainfall, he called you. Because you were essential to him the way rain was essential to most of the early Terras of the history books you so loved. Because he was sure as shit that he’d die without you. Waste away, become nothing but a footnote in the life you’d continue to shine in without him.

And he wouldn’t let other men look upon the one gem he’d found that was a thousand times more precious than aurelac.

Priceless, in fact.

He stormed into the men’s room, the stained door rickety, swinging in Ezra’s angry wake.

An unfortunate man - a floater too, by the look of him - stood by your picture, leering, his hands under his long jacket. In a second, Ezra could guess what the charlatan was up to.

Fury rose, dark like demon’s wings, in his gut.

He crossed the dirty space in three strides, ripped your picture from the wall, stuffed it in his pocket.

“Hey, fuck you man,” the floater began. “I don’t see your name-”

Ezra’s knife, concealed in a custom-made pocket on his sweater, was at the man’s throbbing pulsepoint in a hot second. He might only have one arm now, but he’d learned to use it with pinpoint accuracy. “Might want to rethink your words there, friend,” he said silkily, his tone soft. Deadly. “Lest they be your last.”

“Whoa, whoa.” The man held his hands up, empty palms out. The front of his coat darkened and Ezra noted with faint disgust that the stranger had pissed himself. “I didn’t see nothing, all right? Please, don’t kill me.”

“Killing you would be a waste of resources,” Ezra sighed, smiling cheerfully at the shuddering man. “I’m thinking it’s kinder all around to let you live out your miserable life. Don’t you?”

He pulled his knife away, leaving a single drop of blood to run down the shivering stranger’s pale, fleshy throat, and left the men’s room, pushing the door open so hard it creaked on its old, rusty hinges.

Once safely outside under a canopy of lab-grown trees - the only way trees existed in the mess they called cities, these days - he took the flyer out, studied it.

There you were. Rainfall. He mouthed the moniker he’d given you. Your breasts spilled out of a corset, half-drawn so your nipples could be seen, tempting, round. Your legs were curled under you but you wore no underwear, so the curls between your legs peeked out.

He knew you were no blushing virgin when you’d met. You had known other men. You had trusted them.

And this was how one of those men had thanked you for your trust, your body, your heart.

Ezra recognised the little doodle in the right hand corner of the flyer. He’d seen it before, on counterfeit ales, on counterfeit... Recreational substances.

And thanks to his grubby past, he knew exactly where to find this particular felon.

*****

“Rainfall?”

You looked up from the bread you kneaded - an outdated by enjoyable pastime, sometimes made tricky by the fact you could only get soya flour (crappy rise) - to see Ezra coming in through the door.

“Ez. I was worried! You’re two days overdue.” You left the bread in a sorry heap and crossed the room, throwing your arms around him, burying your nose in the curve where his shoulder met his neck. He’d taken his suit off in your makeshift porch, and wore his undersuit and boots, his hair a little sweaty, curling at his nape and over his forehead. He nuzzled your hair. 

“I’m as sorry as can be, Rainfall. Had a little extra business to take care of.”

It was then that you noted the smear of blood on his forearm. “Ezra.” You snatched his arm, searching for the tear in the suit.

“Oh. Ain’t mine, sweet girl.”

The breath whoosed out of you, and you lifted your face for his kiss, so happy to have him home, this man who made you complete, whose broken parts completed the missing pieces of your own personal jigsaw.

Ezra indulged you, pressing his lips to yours, and you opened greedily for him. He snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you close as your tongues danced. You drank him in, the flavour of his habitual chicory coffee, mint chocolate protein bars, and something distinctly Ezra that you could never replicate in a thousand cycles.

“Found a flyer of you, Rainfall,” he muttered against your cheek, his facial scruff tickling pleasantly. “Adorning the filthy wall of a restroom on Aperture-4. Cheap entertainment for those without morals, men passed over by common decency, with gaping holes where their souls should reside.”

You bit your lip. “What the hell-”

“The culprit must have been a former paramour of yours, sweet girl.” Ezra let you go to pull the flyer from his pocket, showing it to you.

Your face fell as you took it, examining the picture closely, memories churning. “Yes. It was…. Almost ten cycles ago, now. He said that was for his private collection. Then, soon after, I found other girls…. Posing for his ‘private collection’ and I ended it. Oh, I should tell him-” You crumpled it in your palm, angry with yourself.

“A chore you need not trouble yourself with, Rainfall.”

You looked at Ezra askance, and then something dark passed over his face. The way Ezra could switch from charming to sinister in a heartbeat was one of the things that had most intrigued you about him, when you’d met two cycles ago.

And then you had dug deeper into this gorgeous puzzle of a man, and found light and shadow, softness and jagged edges. And you had fallen, hopelessly, for every part of him, even the missing ones, because they too, told a story.

“I may have had a fair illuminating conversation with your old flame.”

“Ezra…”

“The temptation to kill him was strong, I must confess, but I let him live, with all his appendages attached.” Ezra gazed down at you fondly, cupping your cheek. “Seems it may be a while before he’s moved to approach another woman, though.”

“Sometimes, Ezra, your moral compass is skewed just right.” You held him tightly. “Thankyou. The thought of a private picture, being shared that way-”

He nuzzled your hair, breathed in, sighed happily. “Can’t say it was entirely altruistic, Rainfall. Don’t sit well with me, others lookin’ on your beauty. You’re mine, and I don’t share well.” He kissed you fiercely, his arm banded around you, holding you close as could be. 

“Yeah? I don’t share either.” You nipped at his lip. “I’ve missed you, and you interrupted at the perfect time.” You nodded towards the sorry-looking dough on the kitchen counter. “No way I’m getting a rise out of that.” Cheekily, you slid a hand down his body to cup him where he’d started to grow hard for you. “But I might be in luck, now you’re home.”

Ezra turned you in a circle, walking you slowly backwards towards your bedroom, dropping kisses on your neck as his hand worked the buttons of your rainy-stay-home jumpsuit. “My sweet girl. I’ll always endeavour to come home to you.”

Tagging the Pedro pals: @songsformonkeys @dornish-queen @lackofhonor @buckstaposition @pedropascallion @starlight-starwrites @thegreenkid @keeper0fthestars @opheliaelysia @a-seeker-of-imagination @nelba @scarlettvonsass @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @cryptkeepersoul @alwaysbethewest @emmy-dandiliom918 @agirllovespasta @marydjarin @littlemissthistle @holographic-carmen @phoenixhalliwell @knittingqueen13 @badassbaker @chews-erotically @10-96dispatcher @pascalitomorales @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @seawhisperer @readsalot73 @alldatalost @abuttoncalledsmalls @winters-buck  @jaime1110 @mrsparknuts @oloreaa

And people who did not ask to be tagged but might like this: @ezrasarm @summersong69 @havenforafrazzledmind @maytheglitter @gamingaquarius @lackofhonor @roxypeanut @ohpedromypedro @auty-ren @queenofheavenandhell @annathewitch @theravenreads @this-cat-is-dea

Please ask to be added to, or released from, the tags!

[chaniters]

ALONE

I wrote some Sidestep angst.

Hope you enjoy!

*warning, my MC has the suicide scar. 

You stumble through the streets with no fixed destination.

The plan... your plan, has so many holes. You've stayed up all night trying to find the way to get around every obstacle, look for a way to come out on top in the end.

It's all useless. In the end, you just crumpled the sheets of paper, threw the board against the wall and stormed out.

You can't remember how long have you been walking. And then you stop. Why did you come here?

The bridge... and the sea underneath...

Is this...

Yes. Your subconscious is acting up again. Your stupid scar...

But you want to do it. You are so miserable. Why not stop it all now? Why continue to suffer...?

You feel anxiety building up, and stop yourself from giving another step forward.

No. No, you're not going to go there and look over the edge. You're not going to let ... it... take you. Not again.

You sit on a bench, covering your face with your hands, trembling.

You know it's the only true way to stop this.

You resist the poisonous sweetness of the voice. Fighting this urge is especially hard on days like this... where you feel like the colors have left the world and there is no meaning to anything you say or do, nor anyone who would listen.

"Are you ok?" the voice startles you, bringing you back to the present. You open your eyes, paralyzed.

It's... not him. It's an old man, with a dog. He has a hand over your shoulder. He is concerned. He sees a young man having a panic attack by the bridge... he knows what's up.

You stand up and walk away without saying a thing. None of his business.

People pass by your side, and you just raise your shields until they don't even seem to be there. If you can't feel their minds, they don't feel real. Nothing does.

Parks. People jogging around. Memories of jogging with your friend. But he isn't your friend. He left you. As did everyone else. Nobody cares about you, and you can't blame them.

It was your makers who took you in. They were the only ones who really wanted you in the end. They punished you with the stick. But then they had you try the carrot. They wanted to see how strong you could grow. Foster your talents, they said. Let you be all you could be.

The same cage, painted with gold.

They drugged you... turned you inside out, until you couldn't recognize the man in the mirror. Until you no longer wanted to kill yourself because you weren't sure if you were really alive.

The experiments... they weren't painful this time. They didn't want to see what they could do to you. They wanted to see what you could do to others. And you could do so many things. So many.

The only wanted to use you. To exploit you until there was nothing left of you inside. Make you into a perfect tool, that would do everything they commanded. And they succeeded for a time. Until you started tricking them not to take your meds. Until you started digging into their minds. Until you possessed them like puppets and figured out their game.

And so you escaped.

And now you have no one. Not your captors, nor your supposed friends. Time went by, surely they've moved on.

You are on your own... It is what you wanted, and somehow it's even worse. No one to speak to, to tell your problems to... You wish you had told someone your problems before. But now it's too late.

No one understands you at all. You doubt you could understand either. Something went wrong with you... You're not even sure if it was the farm, Heartbreak, or your own stupid self. Nothing fits, and you don't even know where are you supposed to go.

A flock of birds distracts you momentarily. Your shields are so strong you don't fear being absorbed inside their little minds, but their flight is enough to startle you.

One of them lands on top of the large sign. The city's cemetery.

You've been here a few times before... when Elyise died. You never told anyone her story. She must be in the hall of heroes...

You go inside... the parks within are a good place to lose yourself. Elyise is not the only old so-called friend you have here... Maybe since you can't talk to any of the living, the dead can receive you instead.  

You head into the hall of heroes... stopping by the tombs. You only knew a handful of them. They draw a few smiles when you remember fighting alongside them. Or the memory of wounds you took for each other. You were so stupid and naive back then... but it's the only time of your life you can remember with some fondness.

Elyise's grave is well marked. There are some flowers. Her family was rich, and it is well taken care of. You wish she had been a real friend. Perhaps in another life, you could...

And then your attention is drawn towards another pair of graves. You do not know them.

You walk slowly towards them...

And you freeze.

Anathema.

It is his grave...

There are some flowers lying on top... a few messages written on pieces of paper with stones to keep them there. A small portrait of him...

You approach to look at him. You hadn't seen his face since that... that day.

The tears are coming now, and you don't even clear them. He died because you were too slow, too smug, you didn't think anyone could happen. You were careless and stupid and. It’s your fault. All of it...

And then you notice the other grave.

It has the name you chose for your heroic identity. Sidestep. There is...

There is a picture...

A picture of you and him...

And there are so many flowers...

And a message underneath

You feel the temperature drop and a cold breeze chills you to the very bones. The past... haunting you?

You can't stop yourself. You take the piece of paper and read.

"I will always miss you, my friend. Rest in peace." and the signature. Ricardo Ortega.

Your legs fail, and you find yourself kneeling, crying uncontrollably.

This is... you can't. You can’t deal with this... 

The memories... so many... So fresh. You want them to stop. But you remember him smiling at you. Telling you about his life and dreams... explaining movies you had never watched... Yelling at you for ruining his car... 

You lose track of time. The sun has moved further down the sky by the time you finally manage to stand up... 

And then something else takes over your wheel. 

Burning hot rage, surging through your chest and making the sadness fade into the background.

You are not dead. Not yet at least.

You rip the note to pieces and throw it to the wind. You take the flowers and stand up, leaving them inside a trash bin.

Someone seems about to say something to you, but you simply stare at him, and he forgets why he came here in the first place.

You're not dead yet. You'll show them.

You start the long way back, to finish your plans.

____________________________________

My Fanfiction: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero    

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

[cozycarson]

donttrustme - Chase Brody

totally inspired by one of @lum1natrix​‘s anons who had proposed that maybe Chase isn’t as good of a guy as we all like to think ;) let’s ignore the fact that this was supposed to have been on Chase’s birthday and had a completely different ending

Warnings: blood, guns, and knife mention

Word Count: 2660

Chase ran his hands over the smooth tabletop surface, eyes burning holes into the back of his hands. He was trying so hard to not let his mind stray from such the simple task for fear of what he might do otherwise. It was hard to keep yourself at bay when left with a constant reminder of what a fuck up mess you are.

He let his hands flop by his side and placed his head down, losing himself into the monotonous ticking of the wall clock. It had to have been behind an hour at least, he meant to turn it back -he had ended up getting swarmed with paperwork however- but before he knew it the time had gone back to normal. He secretly hoped that the time wouldn’t have been the only thing return to normal that year.

It was a pipe dream to even imagine that Stacy would want him back in her miserable life. She had left him for a good reason. He was a “danger” to the kids she’d say. God knows she didn’t shut the hell up about it. Courts favor the crying mother who fears for her life more than the desperate father anyway. It was rigged for Chase from the moment he put the ring on her finger.

Chase’s hands curled into fists and his jaw clenched tightly at the memory. It was all a fucking lie and she knew it. She knows how much the kids meant mean to him. She knew how much he depended on them for his own mental sanity. She knew damn good and well that leaving would have only pushed him to have another one of his “spells”.

His mind conjured up the last time he saw his family happily together, without officers and agents surrounding them. It felt as if it had been a decade since then, and it wouldn’t be wrong to say it wasn’t nearing that long either. Life begins to drag on by when you’ve lost everything you’ve ever cared for.

Chase bolted up right in his seat and opened his mouth to scream, half expecting for a large black cloud to leave his body. However, all that left was a gut-wrenching cry that would have sent shivers down even the strongest person’s body.

“Goddamn it!” He smacked his hands down roughly on the table and launched himself up from the chair, letting it hit the dry wall behind him. He turned towards the dull “thud” and threw the chair to the ground, making sure to give it a few good kicks once it had landed. Chase’s hand collided with the painting and cracked the glass, splitting the skin between his knuckles. “I hate you!” He doubled over and ripped at his hair wanting nothing more than to make this stop. He just wanted everything to cease existing for a single fucking moment.

A small chuckle rang throughout the room, only adding fuel to his inexplicable rage. Chase let out a low growl, pulled himself up with the help of the table and let his gaze settle on the puppet sitting haphazardly across from him. Chad’s stringy hair covered his eyes, sequined silver bowtie inches away from his lifeless body, shirt crumpled at the back at if he had been tossed onto the table with reckless abandon.

He could feel the doll’s hateful gaze on him. This one stare from a fucking children’s puppet felt a thousand times more harmful than that of his friend’s. It didn’t make sense to him how an inanimate object made feel him so uneasy.

He bent over the table and grabbed Chad by his small hand, holding him a few mere inches from his face. “You think you’re so much better than me, huh? How about you try focusing on your own damn life instead of mine for a change!” The doll swayed from side to side in Chase’s grasp and stared at him with hollow eyes.

Chase quickly flung the poor puppet to the opposite side of the room causing it’s small body to land with a loud and sickening crunch. The room grew incredibly cold causing Chase’s breath to come out in visible wisps of smoke.

All of the rage previously bottled inside the man had disappeared, soon replaced with regret and fear. He moved towards the lump on shaky legs -careful to keep his distance in case Chad suddenly sprung to life and attacked him- and moved a strand of yarn to the side. “Chad?” His voice came out in a broken whisper, clearly on the cusp of a breakdown. “Chad, you okay? Come on buddy, say something…”

Chase’s vision had grown steadily darker, leaving nothing but him and the bloodied mess of skin and bones in front of him. His brow furrowed in confusion at the sight. It didn’t make sense for there be a puddle of blood under Chad. He was a doll, full of stuffing and stitches for god’s sake! The worst that could have happened to him would be for an arm to tear off, but not…not this.

His breath hitched in his throat as he realized what was actually in front of him. Of course it wasn’t Chad. “N-no! I didn’t mean to!” Chase scrambled over to the child’s body, not caring that his hands were now covered in crimson. He rocked the body gently in his arms -as if it would heal the bones sticking out at various angles and the large gash in its’ forehead- muttering to himself.

Sobs racked throughout Chase’s body causing his throat to close up tightly and his chest burning as though he was being stabbed repeatedly between his shoulder blades. He could feel the blade slowly twist and turn inside of him, fucking his lungs.

The little breath he still had left his body in one fell whoosh. Chase gripped tightly at his clothes with one hand and gritted his teeth. He knew he deserved this pain but it’s not say it still didn’t hurt like hell to him.

He pushed himself up -nearly falling down face first into the table- and shook his head, pushing his own problems to the side. Chase hugged the figure tightly to his chest and looked around the room frantically. He had to get help. Even if it was a passerby who heard him screaming, he still needed someone to hear.

He stumbled towards the door and flung it open, being greeted with an impenetrable void. Before he could so much as mentally form a sentence, he was knocked back into the wall. His head lolled to the side like a broken puppet thrown to the side by it’s puppeteer.

“Now now, do you really think I’d let you get away that easily Chasey?” A laugh echoed throughout the room, changing frequency with each bounce off wall. Chase attempted to tilt his head towards the voice, only to fall back down at the sudden jolt of pain. He was sure he had pinched a nerve in his neck, at least, if not fractured his skull. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting help for this thing?”

Chase frowned and looked down at his lap to see that the child had gone, now in Anti’s possession. The demon twirled his knife and smirked down at the lump, before throwing it towards the large window. Chase watched helplessly as it bounced off the glass and landed at his feet. He half expected to see a puddle of mush in front of him.

Anti crossed his arms and snapped his fingers, hoping to get the other man’s attention. “Earth to Chase.” The demon growled out, growing frustrated with the silence. He kneeled down in front of the man and grabbed a handful of stuffing. “It’s fake. Stuffing. Chad.” The young man in front of Anti seemed to tense up at the name and then relax once he had understood the context. It was just a doll. It wasn’t real.

The demon huffed and crossed his arms again. “It’s no fun tormenting you when you’re stuck thinking about your bitch of an ex wife. You know she left you for good reason. Get over it or do something about it.” Chase pushed himself into a sitting upright position and stared at the demon confused. What did he mean by “do something about it”? Of course he had tried doing something about it! He spent months after months in couples therapy trying to make her happy, he let her go out and meet new guys in hopes she would come back and realize that Chase was the only man for her. He’d give his fucking life for her if he had to. So of course he tried doing something about it.

The demon leaned on the table, smirking down at Chase, his knife idly twirling in one hand and Chase’s phone in the other. The words rung loudly in the other man’s mind, trying so desperately to find a connection to what he was seeing.

Get over it or do something about it.

Chase swallowed hardly as he came to the realization of what the demon meant. It wouldn’t have been hard for him to put two and two together earlier if he wasn’t in this current state.

“It’s up to you. Your fate, your choice.” Anti continued to absentmindedly play with his knife, careful not to cut his hand open. “I’m just here to help give you nice little nudge in the right direction. But I should let you know that you’re on a timer here, Chase. And if you don’t pick soon, your dear family will end up like your old friend Henrik.”

Chase pushed himself up slowly and braced himself, trying to find another way out of this situation. All he needed was time. Time for someone to come in or call or something.

“Anti, can’t you find it in yourself just once to feel pity? I know it’s hard for someone as ancient as you but,” Chase shrugged his shoulders, unsure of where this would end up going. Anti just rolled his eyes and unlocked Chase’s phone with ease, scrolling through the countless photos of his family that were still on the device.

Anti landed on a photo of what seemed to be Chase and Stacy’s first date and he felt his heart sting at the sight. He really had fallen madly for this girl. Fuck, it was clear in his smile from all the pictures that he had really wanted the relationship to last. It was sickening to Anti.

The demon’s thumb hovered over the “delete” button. He wasn’t sure if he was doing this to anger Chase or help him. Anything had to be better than watching the poor soul going through memories and crying at them all the time. Just as the demon was about to press the button, he heard a poorly choked back cry from the man across from him.

Chase pointed towards Anti’s hand with an open palm, inviting the demon to hand something over. Anti held the phone above his head between two fingers, not letting it slip from him just yet. “Is this what you want? It’s pathetic that you’re still so obsessed with them when they so clearly despise you. There’s a reason nobody enjoys your company for long, you know.” Anti let out a huff when Chase hadn’t so much as blinked at his taunt.

Chase shook his head slowly and pointed behind Anti’s head, at the upper section of the cabinet. A single key hung to the side, with a note that read Keep from Chase during his episodes. Anti glanced between the note and Chase’s open palm before putting the puzzle pieces together. Chase was finally going to do something about all of this for once and Anti had the pleasure of front row.

The demon’s heart fluttered slightly as he made his way towards the lock and key, trying not to let his excitement show. Anti let out a short laugh as he pulled the oddly heavy toy gun down. Were they really concerned about him killing himself with a NERF foam dart? They must have been as crazy as Chase if they believed it would actually hurt him.

Anit slid the toy across the table to Chase, eagerly wanting to see if would do some actual damage or just bounce off Chase’s thick skull. The demon would never admit it, but, he secretly hoped for the latter. As nice as it would be to know you helped someone make the right choice, it was even more satisfying to know you had done it yourself.

Chase stumbled over the table, his fingers gripping the round edge tightly, and let out quick, shaky breaths. He mulled over his two options, silently weighing the outcomes. Either way, someone would get hurt -more than likely to be Chase in both scenarios- and he had wanted to avoid that as much as possible. However, if his own demise meant that there was a chance his family would be safe, it was a chance he was more than willing to take.

After all, he had said he would die for them.

He didn’t have all day to waste waiting for an outcome, he had other things to do. More pressing matters that watching this wreck of a man. Anti snapped his fingers impatiently in front of Chase’s face. Chase jumped slightly and placed a shaky hand on the toy gun. It was now or never.

Anti couldn’t hide his glee as Chase raised it to his head, finger so close to the trigger. “It’s about time you listened to my advice, Chase. You know, I’m gonna miss this when you’re gone. All good things must come to an end, right? You of all people should know the best, considering your extensive track record.” Anti chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t tell anyone -or else I’ll have to kill you my damned self- but you were always my favorite. Maybe if ‘Ze Good Doctah’ is back in good working condition when I return, we can have this fun again.”

Chase figured that now would have been the perfect time to tell Anti off, to tell him everything he thought about him. But, he found it quite difficult to think clearly with a gun pressed into his temple. His unspoken words will just have to be lost to the wind this time around.

He knew when to pick his battles -which ones he would have a chance at winning and which he would majorly fail at- and he knew that this wasn’t one he could end up winning. Not unless he had a miracle of some sort happen and Lord knows he was out of luck now. Chase just hoped that Anti would keep his word and leave everyone else alone, but it’s hard to know just when the evil deity in front of you is going to keep their word.

“You win this time round. I hope you’re happy to know just how much damage you’ve caused.”

A deafening bang rang throughout the room, causing even Anti to flinch to cover his eyes. He didn’t really think Chase would have gone through with this, he half hoped that he would have tried to turn the gun towards himself. He always thought that Chase would have gone out like a hero -just like his old friend Jackaboyman- but endings aren’t always set in stone.

Anti leaned over the table and scrunched up his face at Chase’s body. That was going to cause a lot of trouble for Schneep to fix up later. It was a good thing he had some practice in raising the dead. “You’re right, I do win.” Anti snapped his fingers and watched intently as the blood slowly fading away. “Now, if you don’t mind I’ve got a flight to catch. I only wish you could have joined us.”