#see the good thing about a wheelchair is more room for knives

[ridiasfangirlings]

Wheelchair user Saruhiko because I have to use a wheelchair and want comfort.

Wheelchair Fushimi and the first thing S4 has to do when he’s hired is make the place more accessible because all those stairs are not disability friendly, Munakata you should be ashamed. Imagine Fushimi who has always needed to use mobility aids in some capacity, maybe he can stand if needed for short periods but largely he needs the wheelchair for day to day life. He has a ton of trouble at home though because his giant house also has a huge staircase and you know Kisa wouldn’t even care that her kid can’t physically get up the stairs, his bedroom is on the second floor and if he has to literally drag himself by his arms to get there then oh well. Since normally no one is home Fushimi just commandeers one of the first floor rooms to be his, sleeping on a couch because he can’t bring the futon down from the other room by himself. Niki probably enjoys causing Fushimi a lot of trouble with the wheelchair too, hiding it when Fushimi’s sleeping or throwing it down the stairs and breaking it and Fushimi has to drag around this rickety wheelchair held together with duct tape because he can’t get a new one.

At school he’s allowed to just coast through because no one expects anything of the kid in the wheelchair and Fushimi figures if they think that way then why should he even try. When Yata saves him from being bullied Fushimi assumes it’s pity for the poor wheelchair kid and throws that in Yata’s face. Yata ends up troubled by it because he didn’t expect Fushimi to have such a sharp tongue and was he assuming stuff on his own. Imagine once they become friends though for Fushimi it’s like this is the first time someone’s seen past the chair and treats him just like anyone else. If anything Yata thinks the chair is cool, like Saruhiko’s so good at maneuvering it and you can go so fast, with the right tools Yata’s sure Fushimi could make a super awesome futuristic wheelchair. And because of this Yata is the first one Fushimi ever allows to help him too, like anyone else who touches the handles of Fushimi’s wheelchair gets a glare (imagine he puts spikes on them or glues knives on) but he’ll sometimes let Yata wheel him around when he’s feeling lazy and doesn’t want to push himself. (Yata also visits Fushimi’s house, sees Fushimi sleeping on a couch in a side room, and brings the futon down from upstairs without needing to be asked.) When they move in together imagine Yata being really conscientious of what Fushimi needs too, like they took a room on the first floor but there’s a single step to get in the doorway and Yata gets some wood and nails and bangs together a ramp so Fushimi can easily get around in his chair on his own.

In Homra is when all the old feelings of uselessness come back, Fushimi feeling like of course Yata thinks Mikoto is so amazing, Mikoto can walk. I imagine a lot of the Homra members at least initially being wary of Fushimi being a member too because of his chair. Even Kusanagi is hesitant for a moment, like them being middle schoolers already gave him pause but he’s really not sure about putting Fushimi in danger this way. Fushimi just glares when he starts to say anything though, and Kusanagi quickly realizes how competent Fushimi is regardless of the chair. Despite that trust Fushimi pushes himself more and more to be stronger, imagine he gets super skilled at maneuvering his chair in a fight and his chair is probably just decked out in hidden knives (oh imagine he can even pour his power into the chair too, Fushimi would totally be willing to run over anyone who pissed him off). 

When Munakata first shows interest in him Fushimi assumes it’s just being patronizing but it turns out that no, Munakata thinks he’s useful even with the chair. I imagine once in S4 Munakata gets Fushimi like the best chair money can buy and maybe Fushimi even customizes it too, like it’s got a computer built-in and Fushimi has fun with that. He adds more hidden knife compartments too, it’s pretty much a combat wheelchair at this point (and then he has a second more ‘normal’ wheelchair for when he’s in the office doing paperwork, and he can ‘accidentally’ run over Doumyouji’s feet with it when Doumyouji doesn’t finish his reports on time). Fushimi won’t admit it out loud but it’s important to him that Munakata sends him on missions alone and doesn’t act like he’s fragile or can’t do things, and even the squad think he’s super amazing. There’s probably some grumbling when he becomes third in command due to both his age and disability but anyone who works with him quickly finds out that the wheelchair in fact just makes Fushimi more dangerous.

[tbmaybank]

Hello, I was wondering if you could write a Rafe Cameron imagine where the reader had there baby quite premature due to the stress they were going through with Rafes and his family. Thank you so much !! Your writing is so good !!!

Warnings: near death experience, premature baby, angst.

A/N: I hope you like it! I added a little bit of extra drama for some ✨s p i c e✨

Requests Are Open

——————————————————————————

You sat there, listening to your boyfriend rant about the latest thing the Pogues have done to inconvenience him and his family, as he paced back and forward in the living room of his bedroom.

“Rafe, love, please calm down.” You say as your hand rests on your growing belly. You were finally getting close to the end of your pregnancy, only 10 weeks left. Granted right now, 10 weeks felt like an eternity.

Rafe doesn’t even hear your words as he just works himself up more and more. You understood, the whole situation was extremely stressful on both of you. You did try to hide how much it stresses you out, but knowing there’s a group of people trying to get your boyfriend and the father of your child put in jail was taking a toll on you, and him shouting about it wasn’t helping anything. The more he went on about it, the more you could feel your blood pressure rising. The cramps you’ve been having all day weren’t making anything easier either.

Finally you pull yourself to standing, officially mad at the fact Rafe won’t stop.

“Rafe I need you to stop!” You yell, causing him to immediately shut up and turn to you, eyes wide. You never yelled at him, even through all the pregnancy hormones and everything else. “You have to stop,” you continue, “I can’t take it anymore! Yes, what they are doing is terrible, I hate that all of this is happening. But ranting and raving isn’t helping anything!”

“Okay, okay. You’re right, I’m sorry.” He says pulling you into a firm but gentle hug. “I love you so much.” He says while running his fingers through my hair.

“I know. I love you too, I just-“ suddenly you feel a small pop, and a gush. You’re eyes get wide as you look up at Rafe. “I think my water just broke.”

“What?!” He yells, panic filling his voice. Before you can respond hes already grabbing his car keys and rushing you to the truck. As soon as you start driving, the cramps you were feeling get more severe, almost like knives being twisted in your abdomen. Tears start falling heavily.

“It’s too soon for this, Rafe. It’s too soon.” Sobbing into your hands. He just reaches over and lightly rubs circles on your back as he focuses on driving to the hospital as quickly as he can. Thankfully the ride only takes a few minutes, but by time you get there the pain is making you scream with each contraction, squeezing his hand. He throws the truck in park outside the emergency room doors, and runs in asking for help before he returns to help you out. A few nurses ran out to get you in a wheelchair as he explains what’s happening.

“She’s only 30 weeks. Her water broke and her contractions are 3 minutes apart.” You hadn’t realized he was timing them. If you weren’t scared and in so much pain, you would be impressed by how he remained collected enough to think of timing them right now.

————————

20 minutes later, you gave birth to your little boy. He was immediately rushed into the NICU, so you just got to see a glimpse of him. Nurses and doctors were surrounding you too, but you didn’t know why. You didn’t care why, all you could think about was your son, and how much you ached to hold him, and how you needed him to be okay.

“What’s happening?” You hear Rafe ask, sounding like he was holding back tears.

“She’s losing to much blood. We’re going to have to take her into surgery right now if we want a chance at saving her.” The doctor explains to Rafe.

I’m bleeding? You think to yourself. You hadn’t even noticed. You try to sit up to see, but as soon as you do, you feel yourself fall back into the bed, everything going black.

———————

When you finally wake up, the first thing you notice is that you’re in a different room. Still in the hospital, just a different room. The next thing you notice is Rafe. He has a chair pulled up to the bed, holding your hand while he rests his forehead on your hand as well.

“Please wake up. Please be okay, y/n.” You hear him mumbling.

“Rafe?” You say quietly, not sure why it hurts to talk so much. His head shoots up shoots up to look at you.

“Don’t talk, y/n. They had you intubated for surgery. Here,” he says turning around to grab something, “drink this.” He holds a cup of water with a straw towards you, and you drink it the best you can while laying down. “You lost a lot of blood after he was born, they had to take you to surgery to stop it, but they did it and you’re okay.” You’re thankful that he starts explaining everything without you having to ask. “And he’s gonna be okay too. He’ll have to stay in the nicu for awhile, but the doctor said the survival rate for a baby born at 30 weeks is very high, and that he seems very strong.”

You close your eyes when you hear this, giving a small sigh of relief. It was far from over, but it was looking positive, and that’s what you had to cling too right now.

“I got to go see him.” Rafe keeps going, filling you in on everything. “Obviously I didn’t get to hold him yet. But he’s perfect, y/n. Tiny, but perfect.” He kisses your hand as he says this. “They said they’ll be able to wheel you in there later to see him, as long as your vitals stay good.”

“Thank you.” You whisper, the water you drank making it hurt slightly less when you talked.

“For what?” He says, raising his eyebrows in confusion.

“For being so great during all of this. You held it together so well for us.”

He chuckles slightly. “Not really. The second you passed out in that bed, I became a blubbering mess, and stayed one until you said my name.”

“Still. The ride here when I was having a panic attack, you were so great. I’m sure you were just as scared as I was, but you didn’t let it get the best of you. I mean, you remembered to time my contractions in the chaos of it all.” Both of you have tears rolling down your face, when you hear a knock before a nurse enters.

“Oh good! You’re awake!” She says, checking all the machines. “How about we go see your son?” She asks.

——————

So now here you were, sitting in a wheelchair, next your your boyfriend. Staring at your son through glass. And yeah, Rafe was completely right. He is perfect. A total of 3 pounds, 2 ounces. Both of you are completely entranced by him.

“Y/n?” He asks, you humming in response. “We still haven’t picked a name.”

You look at the tiny baby, thinking for a moment.

“I like Elliot.” You say, smiling.

“Elliot it is then.” Rafe says, returning your smile, before turning his attention back to your son. “Hi Elliot, I’m your daddy.”

[arrowflier]

Something major feelsy for Ian and Mickey possibly inspired by this: The only Heaven I'll be sent to

Is when I'm alone with you

I was born sick, but I love it

This took a while because I'm still not satisfied with it, but I suppose that why it's a speedwrite! Warning: Terry style homophobia

“Get your sick homo ass out of my house!” Terry shouts from his chair. His eyes are wild, and spittle coats his chapped and broken lips. If his body allowed it, he would be shaking with rage, but as it is he can’t even turn his head away from the scene that provoked his ire.

That scene is as follows: Mickey puttering about the small kitchen of the new Milkovich house, putting together the unappetizing mush that is all Terry’s doctors say he can digest, while Ian opens the fridge to fetch the beer that Terry definitely shouldn’t have but won’t take his medication without. Unthinkingly, Mickey presses a hand to Ian’s lower back as they brush past each other, a casual intimacy that he gets to have whenever he wants, now. Ian leans back to drop a kiss behind Mickey’s ear as he walks past, and Mickey gets a brief second to cherish the exchange, now a common thing, before his father ruins it all.

He tenses immediately at Terry’s explosive reaction, hands tightening on the bowl he holds. He drops the spoon entirely, watches it clatter to the floor next to Ian’s boots, splashing them with lumpy brown sauce. He stares at it as his father’s voice echoes in the room, followed only by harsh breathing.

There on the floor, the lukewarm food looks like shit. The shit his father has put him through all his life, the shit he’s done himself. All of it, his whole shitty existence, dirtying his husband’s feet.

Ian reaches toward him with a cautious hand, and Mickey is suddenly aware of how hard his heart is pounding.

He’s had enough.

He takes a breath. Picks up the dirty spoon, wipe’s Ian’s shoes clean with the rag he would have used to wipe his father’s chin. Sets the bowl carefully on the counter, takes the beer from Ian’s hand and puts it there too.

Then he storms over to Terry, puts his hands on either side of his wheelchair, and leans in until he can’t stand to be any closer to his filth.

“Fuck you, dad,” he whispers in the man’s shocked face. “Good luck conning any of your other sons into giving a shit about you.”

It’s almost funny to see how wide Terry’s eyes can get when the rest of him can’t move, but Mickey doesn’t linger to watch. He goes to the door, throws it open, and looks back at Ian.

“You comin’?” he asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer before he walks out.

Ian follows.

His bravado fades as soon as the door closes behind them, cutting off Terry’s rancid shouts. Mickey takes two steps forward and sags against the porch rail like a puppet with cut strings, burying his head in shaking hands.

He can feel Ian's hand on his back, right between his shoulder blades, a grounding presence in the storm of his fucked up life.

Neither of them say anything, but eventually, Mickey's body relaxes enough for Ian to tug him away and down the stairs. They walk quietly through the detritus of the front yard and down the sidewalk, up the mirrored stairs of the Gallagher house. Ian opens the door and stands back, letting Mickey enter first.

Going inside is like coming home. It is coming home. Mickey had never lived in the house next door, but something about it had always reminded him of how he grew up, and Terry had never been a highlight of that experience.

The Gallagher house was different, with its warm colors and soft furniture, framed photos on the mantle instead of guns and knives and drugs. It calms him, calms them both.

But it still isn't quite enough.

They pass through the house like ghosts, sides brushing until the reach the staircase. They stop there, long enough to look at each other, and Mickey knows Ian can see the tears in his eyes that he'll never let fall. Ian lifts a hand to Mickey's face, just briefly, and he turns his head into it with half-lidded eyes.

Then they climb the stairs silently, Ian guiding Mickey by the hand, backing into their room to keep his eyes on Mickey's own. He lets go once they're inside just long enough to close the accordion door behind them and shed his bulky camouflaged jacket, taking his phone from the pocket and fiddling with it before dropping it on the dresser.

As he approaches Mickey again, takes him easily into his arms, the strains of a familiar song start to play from the tinny phone speakers.

Mickey laughs, and if it comes out a bit strangled, neither of them mention it.

"You're a sappy motherfucker," he murmurs into Ian's neck, and feels him nod.

“My lover’s got humor,” Ian sings along lowly, ignoring Mickey’s resulting scoff and swaying them both to the music. “He’s the giggle at a funeral.”

“Knows everybody’s disapproval,” Mickey chimes in reluctantly, pulling back to raise his brows. Ian huffs a laugh and pulls him closer.

“I should’ve worshipped him sooner,” Ian continues, and Mickey rolls his eyes as he leans further into him.

He breaks the lyrics to mutter “Not possible,” and Ian smiles in knowing agreement, bending down.

Their lips meet to the swell of the music, and it's like a release.

Mickey breaks, clinging to Ian's shoulders, mouth open as he gasps wetly into Ian's. Ian's arms around him feel like the safe haven he's never had, tightening around his waist until his spine bends with the need to be closer. Always closer.

"Mickey," Ian whispers against his lips, leaving his mouth long enough to brush fleeting kisses against his cheeks, his nose, his burning eyes.

"The only heaven I'll be sent to," Mickey murmurs back with the still-playing song, clenching a hand in Ian's hair to bring his face back down, "Is when I'm alone with you."

The kiss again, deep and sweet. Mickey's teeth ache with it, as he runs his tongue into the space behind Ian's like they can fuse through sheer force of will.

"Command me to be well," he offers next, and it's a lyric but so much more on his lips.

Ian backs them to the bed, falls over Mickey as they go down. Mickey lets himself be handled, lets himself be cradled in his husband's arms, one cushioning his head and the other glued around his waist. He gets one leg around Ian's hips, pulling him even closer, the other running down to twist somewhere around his knees.

He seals their lips together, and ignores the wetness on his face. He doesn't think of Terry, or his distant family. He doesn't think of the pain, or the terror, or the jeers at his perceived weakness. He just thinks of Ian, his husband, there with him, around him, inside him as his tongue slips back into Mickey's mouth on a sigh.

He gasps when they part for breath, faces still close enough that he can nudge his nose into Ian's cheek to whisper in his ear.

"Take me to church, Ian," he breathes.

And he lets himself go.

Take me to church/I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies/I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife/Offer me that deathless death/Good God, let me give you my life/Take me to church

[killian-spey]

Death Would Be Kinder [Ch. 2]

Prev. Ch.

[Drusilla/Spike/Calendar!Reader]

Words: 2276

Fic Concept: Jenny Calendar’s sister spends some “quality time” with the Season 2 Vampire Squad. This chapter takes place during [BtVS S2:E15]

TW/CW: violence, kidnapping, chains?

AN: Idea came from @prose-for-hire ‘s submission to the fic title game. Taglist is at the bottom, let me know if you want to be added!

You’d been sitting silently, watching Spike wheel himself back and forth across the factory. If you didn’t know better he looked like he was pacing. In reality, he was probably checking behind the pillars and corners of the factory for any sign of your friends. It seems the vampires were expecting Buffy to come looking for you. As the time dragged on, your suspicions became reality; Buffy had prioritized the threat of the Judge over saving you. You had to admit, it stung a little, but it was only logical.

Spike peeked his head into each doorway adjoining the main factory floor. You could tell he was getting restless. You contemplated your odds carefully before you decided on taking a calculated risk.

“You lose a sock?” you yelled.

“Did I what?” Spike wheeled back into the room, an odd expression on his face.

“I asked if you lost a sock.” You paused, his intense glare caught you off-guard. “You know… Because of all the pacing. And popping your head in and out of every room in the place. Somebody’s going to think you lost a sock.”

“Well, I didn’t.” He chuckled a bit before going quiet again and stalking around the factory in his wheelchair. You nodded to yourself, deciding to quit while you were ahead. After that, the only sounds left in the factory were the spinning of wheels and an occasional bumping of door frames and frustrated curses.

It had only been a couple hours of his pseudo-pacing before Angelus and Drusilla stumbled their way into the factory. Spike took one look at the state Angelus was in and hid a smirk under his hand by scratching his nose.

“Well, you’re home early. Slayer hasn’t even tried swiping the girl yet.”

Spike’s good mood vanished as he watched them come down the steps. Drusilla was beside herself, and for a moment you found yourself feeling bad for her. Then Angelus opened his big fat mouth and you remembered who these people were.

“Yeah, well things didn’t go exactly according to plan, Spikey.” He prowled the room, circling like a big cat before he gravitated towards you. Your nerves peaked and you swear you saw a glint of pride behind Angelus’ eyes as he heard your heart pick up. He stepped within arms’ reach of you and sneered.

“What I can’t figure out is, why would she abandon you like this?”

“Where’s your big blue friend?” You swallowed your anxiety and stared up at him in challenge, you weren’t going to tell him a goddamn thing. Might as well give yourself a fighting chance. If he figured it out, you were dead already. You were going to be careful, of course, but that didn’t mean you were going to let him win.

Angelus roared, grabbing your face by the jaw. He was suddenly wearing his game face front and center. ‘Buffy really rattled him, huh?’ You remained stoic, as statuesque as you could muster. If you had misjudged his mood, this might be one of your last moments alive.

Drusilla had floated her way over, leaning into Angelus and hugging his arm to her side. Your staring contest interrupted, Angelus pulled away from you. You took the free moment away from the spotlight to run your fingers against the grain of the armrests, trying to ground yourself in the feeling of the wood underneath you. Your panic was bubbling to the surface, tension and pressure building in your ribcage. You caught Spike’s knowing glance towards you as your eyes flickered between the vampires. You dropped your eyes to the floor, frozen as Drusilla subtly coaxed Angelus away from you. Before long, Angelus had stormed out of the factory again, mumbling about sending Buffy a message.

You were grateful and more than a little stunned. Drusilla saved your life. In her own, subtle way she’d dismantled Angelus’ rage and directed it somewhere else. She’d spun him out of the factory towards Buffy with little more than a subtle flirtatious gesture. You practically gawked at her as she made her way into Spike’s lap. She had these men wrapped around her finger and they didn’t even know it.

Well, maybe Spike knew, but he certainly didn’t mind. He was running his fingers through Drusilla’s hair, comforting her as he spoke.

“If you like the hostage so much, maybe you should have a little fun, Ducks.” He wrapped an arm around Drusilla’s waist to steady her as he wheeled towards you, continuing. “She was supposed to be the distraction for the Slayer, after all. That is what went wrong with the plan, wasn’t it?”

Drusilla lifted her head, gears turning as she looked between Spike and you. Your mind rushed with your fears of what she was contemplating. You didn’t put it past them for ‘playing’ to mean something rather unpleasant for you. Drusilla hummed under her breath excitedly, springing from Spike’s lap and practically skipping out of the room. Spike nodded at you, raising his eyebrows as if to say “Hey look, I fixed it!” and wheeled himself into a good position to watch from, a smug grin on his face.

Drusilla returned with two fistfuls of chains and your heart dropped. She fussed with them somewhere behind you and left the rest in a pile as she ducked off again to the other room. Spike flicked his eyes between the chains and his girl curiously, but said nothing as she flurried about the factory. When she returned, she was holding a long carrying case and a small over-the-shoulder bookbag. She dropped them beside the chains and left again without a word.

“Ducks, what is all this stuff?”

Spike called out to her and wheeled over to the bags. He unzipped one when she didn’t answer. You couldn’t see into the bag from your position and Spike’s exasperated reaction didn’t help you either.

Drusilla returned one final time, holding a large blank canvas in each hand. The left was maybe a 20”x24” and the right was maybe a 24” square. (50cmx60cm or 60cm square).

“Which one does the artist like best?”

You paused, unsure if there was a right answer. After a couple moments you pointed weakly to the left canvas. Drusilla smiled at you and put the square canvas down. Spike scoffed as Drusilla set up an easel from the carrying case and put the bookbag on a table beside it.

She dragged the chains over to your chair and kneeled, carefully untying the knots around your right leg. You studied her face; she bit her tongue lightly as she worked, pulling at the ropes with deft, perfectly manicured fingers. After she’d untied your legs and shackled them, she let your arms off the armrests.

She took your hands in hers and pulled you up to stand for the first time in almost a day. You scanned her expression and glanced backwards towards the easel, then back to her with trepidation. She glided you in front of the daunting white canvas and left you, sinking backwards and sitting in Spike’s lap.

You stood, dumbfounded at the prospect of Drusilla wanting you to paint, of all things. She seemed unimpressed by your inaction after a few moments, and had begun whispering into Spike's ear. He'd leaned into her, pulling her closer and snickered at what must have been a rather amusing comment. He flicked his eyes at you through his lashes, a predatory glint flashing behind his eyes as his smirk grew. He straightened in his seat with satisfaction, head held high.

“Paint for the lady or get eaten. Your choice.”

Drusilla’s eyes wandered back to you and provided no comfort, but then again, why should it? You turned back to the canvas, feeling both their eyes staring at you. A calming breath later, you assessed the materials on the table.

The canvas bag she'd brought had a full set of oil paints- far nicer than you'd ever been able to afford. You didn't dare think of the poor shopkeeper she'd probably killed for them. A person just like your Uncle. He was just another obstacle in these people’s way, and for that he was murdered. You shoved the paints to one side of the small table and began assessing the tools. A somewhat rudimentary selection of spatulas and brushes. You could make do just fine with these.

You set up a palette with some blue, red, white, and black to start. A color palette often was the first thought you gave to a painting. This painting would be mostly blues, purples, and grays. Without turning your head, your eyes flicked towards the vampires just off your left shoulder in the periphery. You had never really let anyone sit and watch you paint. It was hard enough showing a finished piece to someone other than family.

You mixed a deep lilac and raised a palette knife to the canvas. You paused, unsure where to place the landscape. The creeping feeling of being watched was throwing you. The white snow canvas was taunting you, paralyzing you. But you weren't about to let it win. Any of them. You closed your eyes and just swiped the palette knife confidently in a bold first stroke. Now you had a puzzle. How does this fit into a landscape? There was no going back now, it had to work.

It was a mountain slope. The hue you used was suitable for a distant fixture seen from a twilit glade. You could lean into that, thinking on how to keep the morbid whimsy of the piece consistent as a theme. You blocked out the clearing and plotted out the forest behind and around it. It fell silent in the factory as you worked, only the scraping of palette knives and brush strokes echoing in the room. Pieces fell in place as you added gnarled willows at the tree line, white ghost pipes and fungi crawling on the foliage, and sickly green fireflies in the weeping branches and crooked thorn bushes. You didn't like how the overall feel of the piece was so damp and dreary. It felt too muted, too blue for what you'd envisioned. You added nettles to the glade in a redder purple, almost magenta, to tie the piece back into the mystical tone you wanted. A few more touches, a ray of silver moonlight here or there, and you stepped back. You contemplated the piece, for some reason feeling unfinished. The glade felt completely untouched, too alone by itself.

You almost jumped when you heard Drusilla shift off Spike’s lap behind you. You froze, dropping your gaze to the floor, unsure of her intentions. With three clicks of her heels against the concrete flooring, she stopped just behind you. So close you would have felt her breath on your neck if she were human. She leaned forward and pulled your hair behind your ear. She placed one hand on your shoulder and raised your head with a finger under your chin, guiding your eyes back to your work.

“Don’t you like it?”

“It’s not bad, actually.” Spike wheeled forward a pace or so to take a closer look at it. Drusilla still seemed to be waiting for your own answer. You studied it again silently.

It did feel telling, in an odd sort of way. It was invisibly and indescribably alive, despite the darkness and isolation. Could be a good metaphor for vampires... Alive and free only after their own deaths. Sure, they may not exactly live up to society’s expectation of a good neighbor, but you couldn’t say they let being dead keep them from living.

Still, the painting felt unsatisfactory, felt incomplete. You shook your head and pondered. You drew up a couple new colors, a ghostly blue and a red-brown clay. You loaded a palette knife with the clay tone and hovered over the painting, indecisive. The central piece as of now was a large, twisting willow on a small inclined mound of earth. The whole painting felt like background to an invisible subject. Nothing tied the eye to the painting, there was nothing to follow. No movement in a living place.

Drusilla took the palette knife from your hand and set it down. She pulled you lightly to step away from the painting, lightly petting your hair.

“Let it rest, you’ll do more later. With a clear mind,”

You let a heavy sigh escape your lungs. She was right. If you kept going now, at the end of your rope, you’d risk doing something that detracted from the painting entirely. You jerked your head up at a loud scraping sound from above you. Angelus had swung the door open on the mezzanine of the factory. He had a vicious grin and a playful look in his eyes, leaning on the guardrail and looking down at the three of you.

“Did you have fun with the Slayer, then?” Spike called up to him.

“Oh, she makes it so easy!” Angelus threw himself at the spiral staircase and rushed down them with glee.

“I barely had to lift a finger to throw a wrench in her little puppy problem.”

Drusilla twitched her head and glided towards him. She was staring at his face, fixated on something you didn’t pick up on. She swiped her thumb across the corner of his mouth and brought it to her own lips.

“Did you bring any home, Angel? I taste a young one on you.”

“Not today, darlin’. Besides, you have that one.” Angelus gestured to you and sauntered off, calling back as he left. “She wasn’t really any use anyway.”

[Next Chapter Soon!]

Tags: @prose-for-hire @soggy-enchilada @misselsbells06

[realm-sweet-realm]

Allies in Ink Hell

So... @lonelyghostwriter and I came up with the idea of an AU where Henry reunites with a partner while in ink Hell and they’re both perfect toons. So I decided to write this. 

Also for the sake of this story I’m not doing shared consciousnesses. Instead, I’m going to go the route of certain ink creatures having certain strong instincts.

I hope it’s half as cute as I was trying to make it!

---

“He meant the world to me,” Grant said, probably not for the first time that day. His hands were shaking as he held the cup of tea in his hands.

Joey patted his back in a gesture of comfort. A mere few minutes ago, Grant had been knocking on his door, expecting to find… what? His former employer with a knife to his husband’s throat? He hadn’t known. All he knew was that two weeks ago, Henry had gone missing after he’d gone off to pay Joey Drew a visit, and the police hadn’t found the faintest trace of him. Of course, when that apartment door had opened to reveal an old, decrepit man in a wheelchair, Grant’s wall of denial had come crashing down. Henry was gone. And Joey, apparently changed by the years, had been kind enough to let him in, offer him a drink, and listen to him talk about Henry and the life they’d shared together. Joey, too, seemed shocked and horrified to hear of Henry’s death, but he said that his stories could wait.

“Thank you for listening. And I’m sorry you had to hear about Henry’s death from a perfect stranger. I just- I thought- but then I saw that you couldn’t have.”

“It’s fine,” Joey said, “Grief does that to people. I would know. Tell me, are you starting to feel light-headed?”

Grant nodded. Somehow, despite the strange question, he felt almost supernaturally calm, like an anesthetic was kicking in.

“That isn’t grief. And you were right about me. I made Henry a Boris and put him in a loop. Sent him to another dimension to try and give my story a happy ending. You know how a frail old man like me manages to kill someone as strong and healthy as he was?”

Grant’s eyes went wide for a single second of realization, then rolled back in his head. He collapsed unconscious on the table. “Poisoned tea.”

Sacrificing a person was an arduous task at Joey’s level of mobility, and he didn’t have forever before the poison wore off and the man woke up. Lacking the strength to move the body to a more convenient place, he was forced to draw a pentagram in the middle of his kitchen, navigating around table legs. He also drew a second pentagram to rid the area of the body, the bloodstains, and the pentagrams themselves. Thankfully, he’d remembered to bring his knife with him before getting out of his wheelchair and onto the floor, because getting back up again was a challenge. After slitting the man’s throat, though, it was just a matter of waiting for the machine to do its thing. Within an hour, an Edgar came out of the ink machine, unconscious, just as Henry had been. Joey put it into the sketch dimension and considered the crisis averted. It would have simply been too dangerous to have a suspicious person on the loose.

---

The first thing Grant could feel in the sketch dimension was an overpowering animal instinct to find... something. He wasn’t sure what, but the desire was desperate and overwhelming. Everything else could wait. Thankfully, being uh- whatever he was- also came with some perks- namely, sticky feet that allowed him to climb. As soon as he found the ink machine room, he was skittering down the chains until he came upon five creatures fighting. On one side, there was a monkey-looking creature and a creature that looked like a decapitated pirate with its head held by a fishing rod. They seemed incomplete somehow. The other side had the same two creatures, and also a spider-like creature. Grant knew, instantly, that that was how it was supposed to be. He screeched to the two butcher gangs, and as soon as they saw him, the fight broke up. The complete butcher gang left, and Grant jumped over to join the other two creatures.

Once he was alongside the other two creatures, the high of animal instinct subsided and everything about his situation hit Grant in the face at once. The cartoonish environment. His tiny, ridiculous body. The fact that Joey had killed both him and his husband, and that Henry was still out there somewhere. The butcher gang passed by a dead cartoon wolf strapped to a stretcher. Grant stopped to stare at it before the Charley pulled him along. Had that been Henry? Like there were multiple of whatever he was, were there multiple of those? And by extension, had that Boris been a person, too? Had the two creatures he was currently following? This world was so new and strange.

---

Sadly, for a long time, it seemed that there was no way to find Henry. By the standards of an ink creature, Grant was doing well- he and the other two butcher gang members had a home in Bendyland, a protector who took the form of a possessed amusement park ride, and clever leader in the form of their Barley. Even more lucky than all that, though, was the fact that his two companions had once been his old friends, Shawn and Lacie. At least, Grant thought that until he realized that that meant his friends and died and spent over a decade in this place.

Grant didn’t know when he first saw the Boris his husband had become. It had seemed like any Boris. The Boris had distracted him and his companions in order to switch a lever. It was back three days later, and then another three days after that, and after that, and so on. Each time, it went and damaged Bertrum afterwards, forcing Lacie to repair him. And this coincided with Alice speaking over the speakers. Grant couldn’t understand her anymore- English was lost on him, and apparently on his companions as well- but she had always sounded so threatening.

I put him in a loop...

The next time the Boris passed by, Grant refused to follow the sound of the can (not easy while his butcher gang instincts were telling him to). The Boris was unphased and threw a can at his head instead, forcing a squeak out of him. This wasn’t working. Grant ran into the little storeroom and pulled the lever for him. Henry smiled (even in wolf form, Grant could recognize that smile), patted him on the head like a pet, and left for his next objective.

No, Grant thought, That can’t be all I can do for him.

That night, he explained everything to Shawn and Lacie, and they planned for the next loop.

---

Henry was so accustomed to the loops by now that nothing about them phased him much anymore. After defeating Bertrum this time around, he’s walked into the haunted house as always, and as always, the cart had taken him to a part of Alice’s laboratory, where he was strapped down. He waited for her to finish sharpening her knives and begin the agonizing procedure that would make him strong enough to protect her from anything. After the procedure he’d turn on her, kill her, and eventually make it to the basement to kill Bendy and start the cycle over. Again. And again. And again.

On the other side of the room, chattering sounded. This was no surprise- butcher gang members often chattered for no apparent reason, and Alice had at least ten of them in cages or in gurneys. The noise picked up, as though they were all trying to be as loud as possible, and under it, Alice could hear the sound of a cage unlocking. She stood up to see seven members and counting who were roaming free and freeing others. She ran over and slashed at them with her knife, but it was no use. Two Charleys grabbed onto her arms and pulled her to the ground as three other butcher gang members crawled over her. Soon, they had pounded her into a puddle of ink.

Lacie took a good look at the ratios- they’d freed three full butcher gangs, who were now leaving peacefully. There were two Barleys and an Edgar left bound. They’d have to be freed later, and very carefully in order to avoid disputes.

Grant went over to Henry and undid the straps that were holding him on the gurney. Henry smiled. It must have been his little friend from the last loop! And it did have similar body language to it. Very familiar body language- not that Henry could quite place it. Once Henry was free, the little Edgar tried dragging him somewhere by the arm (though Henry eventually picked him up and let him point instead, so he wouldn’t have to be awkwardly bent over). The other two members followed. It took him back to the room with the switch. It was his little buddy.

Borises did not understand the language of butcher gang members. Only butcher gang members did. But Borises were expert at non-verbal communication, and soon he’d figured out that the Edgar wanted him to stay. Henry couldn’t- not for the long run, anyhow. He had a time loop to escape from and a life to get back to. But he may as well have had a home base to plan his next move. This was quite the unconventional loop after all.

From that point on, Henry stayed at least one night with the butcher gang with each loop, after they saved him. Often the little Edgar would crawl in with him, and Henry would hold him against his chest like a teddy bear. He’d wondered if the Edgar was Grant at this point, but chose to deny it. There was no reason for Joey to have gone after him, and it was easier on his mind to believe that this was just an Edgar that shared Grant’s mannerisms. Henry missed Grant terribly, especially when he was with this Edgar who reminded Henry so much of him, but it was better to think that Grant was safe, rather than enduring this alongside him. He could have written out the question and asked the creature, but truthfully, a part of him didn’t want to know.

With each loop, the Edgar would follow him up to a certain point, then leave to be back with its gang. Instincts were powerful. After a few loops, the entire gang started following him. They helped him in combat until they were defeated, and the Barley knew the location of all sorts of hidden rooms.

The studio was Hell. But Henry was glad to have allies.

[severetimetravelnerd]

Hatred and Love (ft. G Dragon) Mafia AU

Part 14

Jiyong realises something very important.

(I don’t own any of the images used. All credit goes to the original owners.)

Taglist:

@unabashedturkeytreeslime​

@happiestgirlontheeastcoast​

@kwonnansi​

@aarfyie​

@suhappysuho​

If there is anyone else who would like to be tagged, you can comment or leave me a message :))

I only write on this blog on tumblr, so if you see my work on any other platform, please let me know immediately.

Now, things are coming to a close. It has appearances from Daesung, Taeyang, TOP, Mino, Hanbin and EXO (mostly Kai). This continues with the EXO storyline, but again, I have nothing against EXO :)) I love them, but I had to use someone for the plot. This chapter has a lot of Suho. It also has a good amount of Xiumin:))

This is the last part of the series and I’m so sorry it took me so long to upload it :(((( I know it’s been ages, but after all of this, I just blanked out when it came to the ending. Thanks for supporting me and following the story :)) I’m going to miss this one :))

Warnings: Violence, Death(not main character), Injury, Blood, Eventual smut, Abduction, Guns and Knives, language. 

————————————————————————–

You had no idea what to expect. You turned to Jiyong, eyebrows raised, wondering what Joonmyeon could possibly want, but Jiyong looked just as stumped as you. He was also way angrier. His eyes immediately became cold and hard. 

“What does that fucker want now?” 

You gently took his hand, trying to calm him down. 

“Let’s go into this with an open mind? Maybe he wants to come up with some sort of agreement?” 

Jiyong tried to conceal his anger but that didn’t work very well. His jaw was absolutely taut when he spoke. 

“Y/N, he wants to fuck things up somehow. Why else would he want you there? You’re the one person I’m scared of disappointing.”

 You planted a light kiss on his cheek, instantly making him relax.

 “Then maybe that’s a good thing. You won’t do anything that would disappoint me.” 

He sighed, but he kissed you back.

 “You’re right, Y/N. You’re the only person I can stay calm for.”

The two of you walked into Jongin’s room, that had been turned into a makeshift conference room. Joonmyeon was there in a wheelchair. Yixing and Sehun were also there with their hands bound, both flanked by Hanbin and Mino, making sure neither of them try something funny. Jiyong took his place at the head of the table, prepared to let Joonmyeon start, but Joonmyeon looked up straight at you. Still looking at you, he said, 

“No Jiyong. That seat isn’t for you. That seat is for her. Your side of the table is over there.” 

Jiyong stretched his neck, unable to believe what Joonmyeon just told him. You were also in complete shock. Why would he want you at the head of the table? Before you could overthink it, Joonmyeon said, 

“I want Y/N to be the head and mediator of this meeting. She can guide us towards a merger.” 

His eyes were thrown at you, as though daring you to take up the challenge, daring you to mess up. Jiyong eyes turned dark with pure, unadulterated rage and he was about to step in when you met Joonmyeon’s gaze. This guy had messed with you one too many times. You had had enough.

 “Okay Joonmyeon. I will.” 

Every single head in the room whipped towards you, wondering what you were playing at. Jiyong, still in shock, quietly got up and went to his seat. You sat down, slowly crossing your legs. Your eyes were so determined, they were nearly piercing through Joonmyeon. No one there had ever seen you that way before. Not even when they first abducted you. Staring straight at him, you began. 

“Well, Joonmyeon, what did you want to discuss?”

 Your gaze was hostile, openly challenging him to try and mess with you. Joonmyeon hated it. He hated that he felt so guilty about harming you and Jongin. He hated that he owed you his life. He hated that he couldn’t completely hate you. This was just his way of trying to find reasons to hate you. But none of this struggle showed on the outside. Eyes cold and calculating, he said, 

“If we’re doing a merger, only I have control over my men.”

 Even before he finished the sentence, you could feel the anger and the protests from the rest of the room, including EXO, but you silenced them all with a glare. Joonmyeon just wanted to make things messy and you wouldn’t let him. Jiyong snarled when he heard that, but he calmed down when he looked at you there, his grip on his gun slowly loosening. Your voice was quiet but firm when you spoke. 

“Joonmyeon, I don’t think you understand your position. You asked for a merger. Not a partnership. With a merger, you become part of an organisation and work the same way the organisation had worked. So, no. You won’t be the only person to have control over your troops. You will be at the level assigned to you. And you will have to report to Jiyong.” 

Joonmyeon already knew all of that, but he just wanted to get a rise out of you. Nonchalantly stretching, he said,

 “Okay, but I’m second in command.”

 That was too much for Jiyong to bear and he scoffed. He threw his head back to laugh and then he slammed the table. His voice was dangerously detached when he did speak. 

“Joonmyeon, is this a joke to you?”

 You saw the glint in Joonmyeon’s eyes. He was happy he succeeded in getting a rise out of Jiyong. He felt that it somehow validated his behaviour and his deep-rooted hatred for them, although he knew they weren’t that bad. You had saved his life. Jiyong saved his men. He was just clutching at straws to justify his behaviour. You were determined to not give him those straws. You would make him realise that there wasn’t any justification for his behaviour. He would take accountability and realise where he went wrong, so that he could go back to being himself, instead of being obsessed with taking Jiyong down. Your hand quietly wrapped around Jiyong’s hand, silently urging him to not say anything. Jiyong eyes flashed, and he glared at you, annoyed that you were telling him to not react, but he kept quiet anyway. You tried to look at Joonmyeon, but he was refusing to look at you. He didn’t want to make eye contact. He could only put up the act as long as someone didn’t see through him. You tried to get him to peacefully meet your gaze, but when he absolutely refused to, you resorted to desperate measures. Standing up, you grabbed his chin and forced him to look straight at you. Your voice was still calm when you said,

 “Joonmyeon, you and I both know that’s not going to happen. You might not even get a commanding post for a while, because you, Yixing and Sehun have to prove your loyalties first. How are we supposed to trust you after everything that happened? You turned on Jongin. Why wouldn’t you do that again?” 

Joonmyeon could feel this crushing pain when you said that. He didn’t want to accept that he did that, but there was no other way to it. Joonmyeon lost all fight when you said that. You had seen through him. He quietly slipped out of your grasp and turned to Jongin, bowing deeply before saying, 

“Jongin, I’m sorry.” 

Jongin sat there, on his bed, in complete and utter shock. Joonmyeon hyung never apologised, especially not in front of other people. He was too in shock to say anything. Heart sinking even further, Joonmyeon turned to you, bowed and apologised. He then looked up and for the first time, his eyes were genuine. 

“Thank you for saving my life Y/N.”  

Everyone other than Minseok was in shock. Minseok had the slightest smile on his face. 

“Maybe we will get out Joonmyeon back after all.” 

Sehun and Yixing were both furious, and they were about to protest it, and Hanbin and Mino were ready to supress it, but you beat them to it. Voice cool, you said,

 “To prove their loyalty, Joonmyeon, Yixing and Sehun will work directly under Minseok and Youngbae for the next three months to start with. They’ll work on the Hongdae area.”

 Joonmyeon’s head shot up when he heard you. You were giving them control over Hongdae? The area that they’d been fighting for? Joonmyeon’s eyes teared up a little. He would finally get to take care of his sister’s grave. Joonmyeon immediately bowed before you. Yixing and Sehun were too shocked to do anything except stare at you in disbelief.

 “Thank you, Y/N. You don’t know how much this means to me.” 

You had the slightest smile on your face when you replied, 

“You’re welcome Joonmyeon.”

Jiyong sat there watching all the events unfold, feeling detached. He didn’t mind that you were making decisions for him. he knew the others wouldn’t mind either. He knew it was only because of you that they managed to resolve things with Joonmyeon. But he was more worried about the other things. The slight tremble in your hands from dealing with this. Your pale and tired face. Your tendency to flinch slightly when people make sudden movements. The near imperceptible tremor in your voice. You weren’t used to this, and it scared you. He felt awful. You didn’t deserve this. You had been through so much. You needed a break. And he would make sure you got one. For the first time in his life, Jiyong decided he would take a break with you. It wasn’t because he wanted to take a break, but more because you needed him around. As weird as it was, although Jiyong was the one drawing you into this world, your only way to feel better about everything was around him. And also, for the simple reason that he missed you, and couldn’t stand being away from you any longer. He was staring at you, making up his mind about exactly what to do when you turned to him.

 “Jiyong, that’s okay right?” 

He didn’t hear you. He had zoned you out, wondering how he got so lucky as to have you in his life. He would protect that at all costs. He would protect you at all costs. He would protect your happiness at all costs. You raised your eyebrows, wondering why he didn’t reply. You mentally scolded yourself for shooting your mouth off like that without talking to him first. You turned to Jiyong, much more nervous. 

“Jiyong? All okay, Love?” 

The vibe of the meeting had changed. Everything was much more relaxed. Sehun was trying hard not to cry, Yixing was apologising to everyone, Jongin was playfully guilt-tripping a very apologetic Joonmyeon about his injuries. But when you said that, everyone turned to Jiyong, a little nervous. He had a rather…intimidating reputation. Youngbae was the only one who was sure Jiyong would be okay with it. He was more interested in watching the drama between you and Jiyong unfold. Jiyong just stared at you, looking at him nervously. There was one thing that was different about you. No matter how nervous you were at that moment, there was no fear in your eyes. You looked at him trustingly, knowing fully well that no matter how dangerous a man he is, he would never hurt you. Ever. Jiyong didn’t bother answering your question. Jiyong just stood up, leaned over the table, grabbed your face and kissed you. A deep, hungry kiss. All his longing, all his fears, all his worries were in that. He deepened the kiss because as he felt your soft hands gently caress his bruised knuckles and kiss him back, he realised that there was something he needed to do. He needed to meet his grandmother.

You were very surprised when you were pulled up from your seat and kissed like there was no tomorrow, but you kissed him back equally longingly. You had missed him. You had never stopped worrying about him. You were right. You didn’t know whether there was going to be a tomorrow. You kissed him until you felt like you had the feel of his lips committed to memory. Cheers erupted all around you, although the two of you were quite oblivious to it. Hanbin rolled his eyes, laughing at the two of you while Jongin whistled. Hanbin leaned over and muttered to Jongin. 

“Thank god the two of them are back together. I didn’t think it was possible, but they’re more annoying on their own.”

 Jongin scoffed. 

“Hanbin, I can see that you’re tearing up.”

Jiyong pulled away first, both of you gasping for breath. You blushed at all the hooting boys around you, some newer than others, but all equally determined to embarrass you. Jiyong didn’t even bother to acknowledge the hooting. He just turned to Youngbae and whispered something in his ear, making you look at him quizzically. He turned to give you a quick, reassuring smile before speaking. 

“Okay. Now that the merger is done, I have an announcement. I’m going to be away for a month. Youngbae is second in command. Don’t try to reach me unless it’s absolutely urgent.” 

Your heart fell. He was going to be away for a month. After everything. When you had just gotten back together. You had missed him so much. But you tried your best to not let your face fall, sticking a weak smile on your face. If he was leaving, it had to be important. You would talk to him about it in private. Everyone nodded except Hanbin. Hanbin was pouting when he said,

 “Who’s after Youngbae hyung?” 

Jiyong froze for a second, staring at Hanbin before sighing and answering. 

“Seunghyun hyung.” 

“After him?”

 “Daesung.”

 “After him?” 

“Minseok.”

 Minseok looked surprised while Hanbin’s pout deepened.

 “Hanbin, are you really going to make me list this out in order?”

 “Yes.” 

Jiyong glared at him and answered. 

“Then it’s Mino. Then it’s Jongdae. Then it’s Baekhyun. Then Chanyeol. Then it’s you. Then it’s Jongin. Then it’s Kyungsoo. Then it’s Joonmyeon, Yixing and Sehun. In that order.”

 While the others laughed at Hanbin arguing with Jiyong, you struggled to keep that smile on your face. Jiyong playfully glared at the rest of the room before grabbing your hand and walking out of the room. Your heart sank even more. He was going to say bye. He was going to leave again. You were staring at the floor, letting yourself get lost in your thoughts when he tilted your head up and beamed at you, the smile leaving quickly when he saw that you weren’t smiling. 

“What’s wrong love?” 

You bit down on your trembling lips and looked away, not wanting to make him feel worse. He gently cupped your face and made you look at him. 

“Talk to me Y/N. Tell me what’s wrong.”

 You took a deep breath.

 “I’m just going to miss you Jiyong.”

 He looked terrified. 

“Why? Why’re you going to miss me? Are you leaving me?” 

You stared at him confused. 

“No. You’re going somewhere, remember?”

 Jiyong’s brows knitted together in confusion before he laughed and pulled you into a hug. 

“Sweetheart, if you think I’m going anywhere without you after not having seen you for the past month, you’re in for a surprise.”

 It took a while for it to hit you, but when you finally realised he wasn’t leaving, you hugged him tight, burying your face in his chest. You looked up at him, confused.

 “You mean I’m coming with you on work?” 

He leaned in and nibbled on your ear, pressing a light kiss against your neck before saying,

 “No. I mean we’re going on a holiday.”

 Two weeks later, you lay down on the plush bed in Jiyong’s hidden away holiday home, buried under the blankets and wearing his hoodie, so utterly happy with how everything just felt right. You closed your eyes and buried deeper into the bed, enjoying the warmth of it. You felt the bed dip as you heard Jiyong’s sleepy morning voice.

 “Good morning love. I got you your tea.”

 He sat and was about to sip his tea when you crawled into his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck, snuggling into him. Amused, he asked,

 “Do you not plan on letting me drink my tea?” 

You took in a deep breath, letting Jiyong’s familiar scent wash over you.

 “Nope.’’

 “Do you plan on moving from here?”

 Pressing a light kiss against his smile, you said,

 “Nope.”

 You stared out of the balcony. It was 3 am on your last night there, and you were lost in thought while you stared at the stars. That one month was magical. You had Jiyong all to yourself, and both of you sat and worked through the problems in your relationship. You knew you loved him. You knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. You knew you weren’t scared of him. You couldn’t live without him. You didn’t realise how windy it was until he walked out behind you, wrapping a blanket around you. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled into your neck. 

“Love, you have to be careful. You can’t stand out here in just my t shirt.” 

You turned around to face him, wrapping the blanket around the both of you. 

“Jiyong, you came out here in just your boxers. I don’t think you should be lecturing me.” 

He had this blissful smile as he kissed your forehead.

 “I couldn’t help it Y/N. I just needed to be out here with you.” 

You had the same blissful smile as you kissed him, letting yourself get lost in the kiss. He pulled away, suddenly looking nervous. 

“Y/N, I know we’re going back tomorrow, and I know I’ll get busy, but like we discussed, I promise I will always make time for you.” 

He paused to take a deep breath, desperately trying to calm down that rising feeling of nervousness in him. 

“I know you can do way better than me, and you deserve way better, but I promise I will always respect you, and I will do anything to make you happy. I’ve realised I can’t live without you, and I know this might be too sudden, and I don’t want to put any pressure on you, but you’re the only person I want to spend the rest of my life with and start a family with. So, Y/N L/N, will you do me the honour of marrying me?” 

You stared at him in shock for a minute, unable to comprehend what was going on before a single tear slipped down your face, and you burst into the largest smile you had in you. You nodded vigorously. 

“Yes, Kwon Jiyong, I would love to marry you.”

 Jiyong felt all the nervousness leave his body only to be replaced with an overwhelming, indescribable feeling of joy. There are no words for how he felt in that moment. And as he slipped on the beautiful ring his grandmother had given him to give you, he lifted you up and kissed you, knowing that everything finally felt right.

[rokhal]

Roberto and Gabriel, Our Cousins from Los Angeles

When Robbie and Gabe first arrive at the Addams house, Robbie realizes that what had sounded too good to be true (long-lost, filthy-rich distant relatives willing to hide them from the cops and supervillains and superheroes indefinitely, no questions asked), really was too good to be true, because every single one of these people is batshit insane.

The first two weeks, they sleep in the library while Gomez’s contractors knock out holes in the exterior walls to mount an elevator. “It’s no trouble, dear cousins!” Gomez bellows. “Sooner or later Granny’s joints will give out, and in the meantime the children will love playing in the elevator shaft!”

“Also, it will be so convenient to lift my African Strangler vine so she can take in the view from the belfry,” Morticia adds.

Despite being so very rich, the bedroom they eventually offer Robbie and Gabe has no mattress on the bed. Just boards covered in an antique buffalo hide. Robbie manages to convince them that Gabe needs a mattress, and they look puzzled before apologizing profusely. “A medical need--of course! We will send for one of those---those soft cushions.” Morticia says this with a slight shudder.

Robbie doesn’t ask for a mattress and moves the buffalo hide onto the floor. It’s...supportive.

After the first couple weeks, Robbie stops sleeping in Gabe’s room and circling around him like a nervous Doberman Pinscher; Grandmama Addams hasn’t poisoned them, Gomez hasn’t actually stabbed either of them, and Pugsley, Fester, and Wednesday haven’t murdered them with one of their explosive punji-stick traps. Gabe’s actually settling in nicely. Usually, normal people are scared of Gabe, because he’s in a wheelchair and he has a speech impediment and they can’t stand anybody who’s not exactly like them. The Addamses don’t have this problem. They just fucking talk with him and ask him questions like he’s a human being, and Gabe loves it. Grandmama teaches him how to feed the piranhas and leeches that live in the tank in the kitchen, and Morticia and Wednesday snag him upstairs for seances, and Pugsley grabs him whenever Uncle Fester is in a mood to teach electrical wiring, and Gomez invites him to blow up toy trains in the attic. Gabe is thriving...and he doesn’t need Robbie anymore.

Robbie might go half a day without seeing Gabe, and when they reunite at dinner, Gabe is always fine, and he’s always happy. It’s a good thing.

Robbie doesn’t need to go to work. It’s not safe for him to leave the house; he’s wanted by the police of three different states, the FBI, the NSA, Interpol, and the Nova Corps. So he hangs out with Lurch, learns how to maintain the Rolls Royce in the garage, and putters around the house, looking at the eerie paintings and the suits of armor and the stuffed carnivores and the endless racks and shelves of guns and knives and poisons.

Robbie doesn’t much care about the Addams’ weapons collections. Eli loves them.

Eli is selfish and lazy, and he also has trouble concentrating. He’d been resigned to leave Robbie in control for weeks on end, back when Robbie was working, because Eli hated drudgery, and if Eli screwed up Robbie’s job, then Robbie might be out on the streets, which was guaranteed to make them both more miserable. It took a good fight, or the prospect of a kill, to really wake Eli up and give him the motivation he needed to fight Robbie for control of the body. But now, with the Addamses taking care of them, they don’t have those considerations. And the Addams house is full of things that Eli finds fascinating.

It’s harder for Robbie to fight Eli down, and he has fewer reasons to do so. He’s so tired. And Gabe doesn’t need him.

It gets to the point that the only times Robbie is in control of the body are when Gabe is in the room, or when he’s working on the Charger or the Rolls. The rest of the time, it’s Eli crawling through the secret tunnels, or testing the knives, or trying to skim all the demonology books in the library in six hours.

And the Addamses, damn them, tolerate Eli, too. He gives Wednesday a two-hour lecture on body-disposal while Morticia sits nearby, knitting a sweater with three arms and occasionally adding commentary. Fester used to break people’s knees when he’d been a loan-shark with his fake mom; he and Eli talk shop about the enforcer business and commiserate about how horrible it is when family think they have the right to mold you into someone you’re not, just so you can be useful to them. Gomez hugs Robbie and Eli without regard to who’s in charge, and Morticia always makes it a point to greet both of them. And the whole time, Robbie can hear Eli’s thoughts from where he slumps in the back of their head, how Eli thinks they’re stupid, they’re suckers, they’re ripe to be robbed, and if this ridiculous family would ever keep regular sleeping hours, he’d murder them all and keep the house and everything in it, except then who would do the cooking?

Robbie knows Eli well enough by this time to understand that Eli’s laziness and vanity, plus the Addams’ natural deadliness, really are enough to protect them. They don’t just tolerate Eli, Robbie realizes: they accept him. Just like they accepted Gabe. Robbie doesn’t even need to be there. Who is Robbie Reyes, anyway? Gabe’s brother, Gabe’s provider, Gabe’s friend. He used to street race, and he likes punk rock.

Eli wanders into the “playroom,” where the Addamses keep the rack, the stockades, the Iron Maiden, and the other instruments of torture. He’s impressed. Robbie’s the one who actually lies down on the bed of nails, though. It’s not like he can be permanently injured, and he heard there’s a trick to it: you have to keep just the right amount of muscle tension to spread your weight over as many nails as possible, so none of them goes through. It’s something to concentrate on, and once he lies down, it doesn’t hurt that badly. Getting back up is the hardest part, because if you do it wrong, you stab yourself in the ass, and now that Eli gets the body so often, he’s become hesitant to injure it. So Robbie lies there on the nails for hours, feeling the hundreds of points digging into his skin while his mind goes quiet. It becomes a weekly thing, then a daily thing.

Grandmama’s cooking takes a bit of getting used to, but live leeches are chewier and better for him than Hamburger Helper. Grandmama’s mysterious teas stop making him sick. He discovers he doesn’t need to bleach the streak in his hair anymore; it starts growing in white from the roots.

After they’ve lived there three months, and pretty-well settled in, Gomez starts grabbing Eli/Robbie and dragging them to his office to learn some incredibly complicated dance with knives that for some reason involves sword-swallowing. Eli, predictably, takes over for this part, tossing and swinging and whirling knives and sabers, until Gomez throws a knife at them and Robbie abruptly finds himself back in control. He ducks.

Gomez grins, showing all his teeth. “Come, now, Cousin Eli. Trust me.”

“It’s Robbie now.” Robbie hands him the knife back, hilt first. “I’m supposed to catch it, right? Let me try.”

“Of course you may try!” Gomez exclaims. “More than that, you shall succeed!” He backs up ten paces, flips the knife up and grabs it by the tip, ready to throw.

Robbie feels Eli pulling at his legs, trying to move him out of the way, but he’s seen Gomez’s laser-sharp aim, he knows he’d never hurt them, and he holds the body still. He lifts his hands, relaxed, ready, palms open. “I’m ready,” he tells his cousin. “I got this.”

Gomez throws the knife, and the handle smacks into Robbie’s palm. Robbie didn’t even have to move.

“¡Olé!” Gomez claps his hands. “I knew you’d be a natural!”

Robbie shrugs, shakily. He’s not as comfortable around the Addamses as Eli is. The only times he’s himself around them is at dinner, while he’s sitting next to Gabe.

“Now that you’re out, I can teach you both! Throw it back, throw it back!” Robbie pitches the knife, trying to imitate the muscle movements from when Eli had thrown the knife with his arm, but the knife goes wide. Gomez lunges after it and manages to snag it out of the air. “Tsk, tsk. You’ve got catching up to do. No matter! Fester and I will have you trained, in time for our yearly ball.”

“Trained for what?” Robbie realizes he’d missed a few things, sitting in the back of his head letting Eli drive.

“Why, to dance your Mamushka!”

Robbie blinks at him.

“Then! You will truly be...An Addams!”

Okay. He feels Eli’s interest in the proceedings fade rapidly, and his control strengthen. Whatever a Mamushka is, Robbie is on his own for it. “I’m gonna need some more pointers on sword-swallowing.”

[horrorslashergirl]

Chromeskull x Cop!Reader x The Collector

A dark themed erotic novel for the twisted minds

Resume: You finally come face to face with your past and present nightmare, only to see that what you thought it would happen is far from it. Swallowing your pride isn’t easy, is it?

Chapter 1: Nightshift Turn Out

Chapter 2: Twisted Tongue

Chapter 3: Rising from fire like the Phoenix

Chapter 4: Video Shadows

Chapter 5: New beginning and Past memories

Chapter 6: Lovers Reunion

Chapter 7: Sweet Blackmail (You are here)

Chapter 8: False Freedom

Chapter 9: Ugly Jealousy

Chapter 10: Sinful Ecstasy

Warning: Just the usual manipulation of mind.

The ride back to Jesse's place took almost one hour and a half all thanks to the traffic, Asa's form in the passager seat next to the driver's seat that was occupied by Jesse, driving to his house. He was glad the black-eyed man next to him had put a bigger dose of injection into your system because he wasn't up to you waking up in the trunk of his car and screaming.

Finally, they arrived at Jesse's place, the silver big gate coming into view and opened when Jesse pushed one of the buttons from the dashboard of his car, the gates opening automatically. If one thing could be described, Jesse loved to live in big style, the perfect lawn, modern luxury mansion, marble steps, two pools; one on the front, the other in the back.

After he parked the car, both of them stepped out and walked to the trunk, opening it and seeing you, still knocked out. Jesse picked you up, throwing you over his broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes, then went with Asa inside, to the large living-room, setting your form on one of the black velvet armchairs, binding you to it with chains. They sure wouldn't risk in you running around or lashing out like a lion.

They stayed and watched you for some 15 minutes, hoping you would wake up and get the 'thing' started. Of course, this kidnapping operation wasn't all random and out of the blue, they had it prepared for some time, and Asa had to give credit to Jesse for most of the plan, they didn't even know if you really needed to be restrained, especially when you would find out why you should stay put like a good little pet.

A groan resonated from you, as your eyes slowly opened taking in your surroundings and you gaped as your gaze stopped on the two tall males, looking at you, without their masks on. You never would have guessed that behind the black foam mask the Collector looked so...appealing? He had sandy brown hair, swiped back little, obsidian eyes that were shining, the black paint smeared from his eyes across his stubbled cheeks. Next, your eyes moved to the taller male, all dressed in black, bald head and one single brown eye that had a glimpse of curiosity and amusement in it, but what caught your attention was the scarred and roughed up the skin of his whole face, but despite the disfigured face he still held that certain...charisma? Maybe it was the sharp jawline? Or the way he looked at you?

"Finally you're up." the Collector said, walking towards you and extending his hand to cup your chin, only to almost get his hand bitten by your lashing teeth, a deep glare sent towards him, his eyes were wide, maybe by the shock that you actually had the guts to do such a thing, despite your current position.

You were ready for a slap, a punch, a sharp blade to impale you, but nothing, only a glare similar to yours. Well, that was new. You struggled against your bindings, the cold and sharp chains, digging into your biceps and sides, making you hiss in discomfort.

"Too tight?" the Collector asked into a mocking voice, making you furrow your brows more.

"Let me go, you sick and twisted psychopaths!" you screamed, a snarl pulling at your lips. Jesse was smirking at your spitfire attitude; he loved an aggressive girl, all the more fun to fuck the more submission into her and you were just too much enjoyment to pass up.

"When I get out of here, I swear I'm gonna kill you both!" you threatened, wishing you would have a chance to stab both of them between their legs.

"I don't think so." the Collector said, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his lips pulled from a thin line into a lopsided smirk that streamed danger, the kind of danger that makes your skin crawl and chills run down your spine.

A confused look crossed your face from the hateful glare, making Jesse shake his shoulders up and down in what could one say is a silent laugh. You saw him pulled out a phone from the pockets of his black slacks and beginning to type on the phone amazingly fast, only when he was finished to show you the screen, seeing a message.

'I would listen if I were you, piggy. Unless you want to feel guilty for the rest of your life.' You looked from the screen up to the scarred face of your captor, and you knew he read your still permanent confusion from your eyes.

He pulled the phone away from you and began to type on it, then he showed the screen again, only for your eyes to widen and your face to go as pale as a ghost. On the screen, it was a live video of your brothers' living-room, and he was there in his wheelchair with his girlfriend, Spann who massaged his shoulders. Your mouth parted and tried to say something, but you were left speechless, gulping down in total anxiety.

Jesse pulled away, only to type again on his phone, then again showed you.

'Got to say, your brother is quite the loverboy with my assistant. Now, it would be a tragedy if something bad might happen to him. Don't you think, little piggy?'

Your whole attitude changed, your struggling stopped, your glare vanished and you looked at the two with a look that would pretty much resemble a stray cat.

"We got your attention now. Good." the Collector said, moving closer until he was sitting on one of the armchairs, close to you and that didn't help your tension to calm down.

"Think about it like this, your brothers' life is in your hands, and you are into our hands. One wrong move from you and he is gonna end up with the skin of his back ripped off, spread like butterfly wings." the Collector hissed into your ear, making you close your eyes, feeling a bitter taste into your mouth from the words.

'Looks like the kitten lost her claws.' a robotic voice spoke, making you open your eyes, seeing the taller man leaning against the other arm of the chair, pretty much you were between them, their gaze making you feel like an ant, so easy so squish under their feet.

Your chin was caught into a firm grip, making you look gaze with the black eyes that haunted your dreams for a long time.

"Well? Are you going to behave or should we put a demonstration?" the Collector said, making your eyes widen.

"N-No!....I-I am going to behave." you whispered, swallowing down your pride, nibbling on your bottom lip in nervousness, until he tugged on your bottom lip with his thumb.

"Stop doing that, unless you want me to do it for you." the Collector said, his tone and vibe screaming authority, without having to raise his voice too much.

You felt the chains been undone, your arms and body now free, but your mind screamed to stay put, you couldn't risk your brother's life because you were stubborn. The screen of the phone was flashed again in front of your eyes and another message.

'Sweet! Now let's get to know each other. Name's Jesse Cromeans, the infamous Chromeskull, little piggy, and my friend over there is Asa Emory, better known as the Collector.'

So these were their real names?

Jesse got up from the arm of the chair and beckoned you over with his index finger, making you gulp down, not knowing exactly what you were supposed to do. You got the silent answer as he flashed in his other hand one of the large hunting knives, twirling it in an impatient way. Slowly, you got up and walked towards the bald man, until you were in front of him.

Your eyes were trained on him as he raised his hand, moving to the back of your hand where he tugged on your hair-tie, your hair falling on your shoulders, free from the ponytail.

'Wear your hair down from now on. I like it better this way.' he typed on the phone, making you feel your cheeks warming up at the words.

He moved his knife in front of you, the sharp tip of the blade moving to your chest covered by the police uniform, popping the first button of your shirt, then the second and third, until your bra-clad chest came into view. The bra was black and lacy, and you saw Jesse shiver, his tongue coming out to lick his upper scarred lip, brown eye drinking in your form.

'Doll, are you asking for it?' he typed fastly on his phone, making you blush deep red at the suggestion.

"W-What? N-No...I wouldn't..." you shuttered, taking a step back, only to collide with the bulky form of Asa, a squeak leaving your lips from the sudden contact, only for your body to move forward, your face now buried into Jesse's chest, the scent of his expensive cologne and cigarette smoke invading your nostrils and making you feel a little dizzy.

You felt his chest rumble, a silent chuckle vibrating. The next thing you felt was a hand pulling gently on your hair from your neck, exposing your left ear and the back of your neck, hot breath hitting your skin there.

"You know. You should feel very grateful, little pet. Normally, anyone else would have either ended up dismembered and assembled as an insect or either gutted in the most disgusting way and put in a coffin." Asa whispered into your ear, making you whimper, only for Jesse's hands to come on your waist and back, rubbing there in a soothing way, but you knew it was all mockery.

"A-Are you going to kill me?" you asked, your hands grasping onto Jesse's shirt, feeling like the darkness would swallow you up between these two dangerous men.

"Kill you? That would be a waste, butterfly. Such a pitful waste." the man behind you said, his lips hovering just an inch from the nape of your neck, shivers running down your spine.

This was insane; you would have probably guessed they would kill you, torture you, but not this form of kidnapping.

"Y-You're blackmailing me." you stated, tears forming into the corners of your glassy eyes.

'I wouldn't call this blackmail. I prefer the term a sweet trade. All you have to do is be a good little doll.' the electronic voice from Jesse's phone spoke. From the looks of it, he was a mute, but that didn't make him any less dangerous.

"P-Please...I-I don't want this." you tried to put some sense into them, begging, but you knew it was all in hopeless ways.

"Shhh...We didn't ask. We DEMAND it." Asa snarled, his teeth sinking into the back of your neck, a loud cry leaving your lips, only to be silenced by Jesse's rough ones, your eyes wide open seeing his half-lidded brown one.

'Enjoy, sweetheart.' Jesse's phone spoke for him, his thumb whipping your tears away from your flushed cheeks.

[that-one-gay-girl]

Gone - Ch.3

Pairing: Dean x Reader 

Word Count: 1522

Warning: show level violence 

Summary: Y/n is taking steps to get back to hunting, Dean suggests a lazy day and some information is revealed...

A/n: I hope y'all enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think. I loved writing it, especially the end.

Two weeks had gone by and now you were seated in a room, waiting for Danny. Today was the day you were doing the prosthetic casting, the next step was getting the actual leg.

You were restless, excited to get back to hunting. No more doing research because you had to be sidelined. This leg would bring the normal you back.

A knock on the door has you looking up as Danny comes in. “Nice to see again Y/n, how are you feeling today?” he looks through your chart.

“I'm good, a little nervous but I’m good.” you respond with a small smile

“Alright, well I’ve got all the casting supplies ready. This is going to create a mold for your prosthetic and once it's ready we will do several exams and scans with you to make sure everything is fitting in the socket correctly.” he tells you as he begins the process.

Dean sits in the impala listening to Metallica as he does research on how to help you with physical therapy at home once you get your prosthetic. He wanted to be fully prepared to help you.

After the casting process you walk out to the impala, with a smile on your face, “Two weeks until I get the prosthetic!” you say excitedly. “I’ll be back in the game before you know it.”

“Let's not rush anything Y/n, take it one day at a time.” he covers your hand with his. “How about we have a lazy day? Popcorn, chocolate, nachos, beer? The works!” he asks you. Dean wouldn’t admit it but he was terrified of you hunting again. He had always been protective of you, but you’d never been hurt so badly...so permanently.

You smile at him leaning in to kiss him softly. “Did I ever tell you how much I love you?”

“You could mention it a couple more times.” he teases

“I love you Dean Winchester.” you kiss him again lingering against his lips before you sit back. “To the bat cave!” you joke

After stopping at the small store in town the impala was full of groceries.  “I think we’ve got enough food to last us a month.” you tell dean

“Maybe a week.” he jokes

Pulling into the garage Dean helps you out of the car before grabbing the grocery sacks. Once inside you sit down in the wheelchair, your arms beginning to feel sore.

“Do you want to pick a movie? I’ll make nachos?” You question, rolling into the kitchen.

“Do you want help?” He asks as you shake your head

“I’ve got it Dean, I’m a big girl.” you smile up at him

“I’ll be gone 10 minutes tops, I’m going to grab a quick shower.” he kisses your head before going into the bathroom.

Turning the oven on, you grab a cooking tray lining it with foil. Finding the bag of tortilla chips sitting on the counter you open them spreading it across the tray.  

Realizing the cheese is on the top shelf of the fridge you lock your wheelchair in place standing up slowly holding onto the edge of the counter. Gripping the edge tightly as you balance yourself.

“You can do this y/n.” determined you maneuver yourself towards the fridge. Carefully grabbing the cheese you toss it onto the counter, trying to move carefully back to the chair.

Sitting down you take a deep breath, pumping a fist in the air in victory. You were doing better and nothing could stop you now. FInishing up the nachos and putting them in the oven, Dean walks in with wet hair and a wide grin.

“Pie to go with those nachos?” He asks pulling out the apple pie like a  kid on Christmas morning

Nodding your head you set the timer for 5 minutes, “Did you pick a movie?” You ask

“Batman!” he says with a childish grin

You can’t help but smile up at Dean. Seeing Dean happy and relaxed was the best. In this life, things were different and you’d do anything just to see Dean happy.

When the timer beeps Dean pulls out the nachos, dishing them onto plates. “Come on slowpoke” he chuckles as you follow behind him into his man cave.

Popping the first DVD into the disc player you get comfortable on the bed, munching on the nachos as Dean grabs two beers, sitting down next to you.

“Love you” he mumbles against your skin as his lips touch your head.

As the movie Texas Chainsaw Massacre plays in the background, your eyes begin to drift shut.

It was dark and foggy, you could hear screaming all around you. Looking around confused you spot a small light in the dark fog. Walking towards it you look down, your leg is there. Like it had never been taken. Touching it, pinching it, your eyes widen as it feels real.

“What is happening?” The screams begin again, only louder. Running this time towards the sound, you come across a disturbing scene.

Dean and Sam were pinned against the wall while the witch threw you across the dirty floor, the sickening sound of your bones cracking echoed through the room as you hit the ground.  

Watching in horror as the night you lost your leg plays in front of you. You must be dreaming. You think to yourself. You were on the floor trying to break free from whatever kept you from moving when multiple knives cut through your body.

This was the last thing you remember from that night. You watch as the dream continues to play in front of your eyes.

Another knife was plunged through your body all the while, the witch laughed maniacally. Screams tore your throat apart as the witch continued her assault. Dean and Sam's shouts were barely heard over your screaming. Before anyone else could move Cas appeared behind the witch driving a blade through her heart, killing her instantly.

Looking wide eyed at the dream version of cas you then look down at your dream body. Cas presses two fingers to your head a few cuts healing slightly, but nothing more. “I’m sorry Dean, I’m too weak to heal her.”

Dean's hands press harder against your abdomen trying to stop the bleeding from the biggest wound. “You are not dying! You h-hear me? Keep those beautiful eyes open for me baby.”

Dean picks you up as you groan in pain, you cough harshly as blood spills from your mouth. Dean gets into the back carefully with you as Sam slams on the Gas speeding to the hospital. “D-Dean, I love you.” Your voice cracks weakly as your eyes grow heavy. “Y/n open your eyes! Y/n!”

Dean continues to watch the movie as you sleep, your head lays on his chest like always. Running his hands through your hair as you sleep, Dean looks down as your face scrunches up and your head moves down, gripping Dean's shirt tightly, all of these were telltale signs you were having a nightmare.

Dean had seen it enough times to recognize it, shaking your shoulders lightly he tries to wake you up. “Wake up baby.” he urges. Dean hovers against you shaking your body violently as you begin screaming in your sleep. “Y/n open your eyes! Y/n!” Dean shouts.

Gasping awake you scan your surrounding pushing your body away from danger. “Calm down y/n, just breathe.” Dean puts his hands on your shoulders as you regain your senses. Recognizing your shared room and seeing Dean you begin to calm down.

Dean wipes the tears away from your face as he sits and pulls you into his chest. “What happened baby? You’ve never had nightmares that bad.” he mumbles as he strokes your arm.

After a few minutes your breathing is back to normal as you look at Dean. “It wasn’t a nightmare.” you mumble into the quiet room.

“What do you mean?” he asks you

“It wasn’t a nightmare, I saw what happened that night. The night I lost my leg.” you respond

Dean doesn’t say anything as he looks at you wide eyed. “Why didn’t you tell me I died? I died in your arms Dean.” you cry

After a few moments of silence he responds, “That was one of the worst nights of my life. I never, NEVER want to relive it.” he tells you as tears fall from his bright green eyes.

Looking into his eyes you realize Dean hasn’t stopped since the accident happened. No one has cared for him or looked out for him. He’s been working to make you better from Day 1 and now he was at his end.

“Dean, I’m sorry. I haven’t been there for you. We need to do better, we need to communicate. You can’t get this bad and not tell me” you kiss his lips softly.

Laying down you move his head onto your chest as you stroke his hair. You feel wetness on your shirt as several tears fall from his eyes. “I can’t lose you” he whispers.

Chapter 4

Dean/Jensen Taglist:

@akshi8278​ @hobby27​

Forever Taglist:

@winchest09​

[ridiasfangirlings]

How do you think Saruhiko would personalize his wheelchair? I'd imagine it to have a lot of dagger holders, at the bottom of his seat and behind the wheels. What type of model would he prefer though? Would he want it to be cushioned, retractable maybe? Would he want a backpack on it or for it to be able to turn into a massive killing machine like the old lady in despicable me 4?

Fushimi absolutely wants to turn it into a killing machine, if he has to use a wheelchair it will be optimized for murder XD I could actually see him having a couple chairs now that I think about it, like a lightly customized one for doing office work or hanging out in his room, and then a combat chair for when he actually goes out into the field. Considering S4 he’s probably got an unlimited budget anyway, you know Munakata isn’t going to spare any expense for his favorite, so Fushimi basically has access to whatever he wants in regards to the wheelchair (maybe he even has three, the ‘regular�� chair, combat chair and one that’s kinda in between for when he’s doing missions that need more stealth than the combat chair provides but he wants to be armed just in case). All his chairs absolutely have plenty of places to hide knives, I imagine Fushimi taking full advantage of the extra space and Munakata has to gently remind him that he should prioritize his comfort over his hidden weaponry, please do not hide knives in places where they will make you uncomfortable to sit. Even his normal wheelchair has some knives built in, even if it’s just like strapped under the seat or on the inside of the wheels. 

Besides the weapons the type of chair he has is probably based on what he’s using it for. The regular chair would definitely be the most comfortable one and I could see that one being the heaviest as well, basically it’s made to get around the office and maybe go out on days off but it’s not made for speed or agility. He would definitely have a cushion and probably a good back rest, it’s something that’s comfortable for him to fall asleep working while sitting in (which isn’t the best thing to look for in a wheelchair but Fushimi gonna Fushimi). I definitely see him going for an electric wheelchair for the office at least, because he has skinny little arms and he probably hates having to propel himself, and even more hates having to ask for help. He might have a lighter manual wheelchair though for if he’s going outside the office, so he can get around easier, and his combat chair I imagine is a mix of both (S4 can afford super high tech wheelchairs), like it’s light for easy movement and can be powered manually but it has electric power too in case Fushimi needs his hands free for moar knives.

[theparanormalperiodical]

The 13 Scariest Paranormal Investigation TV Show Episodes You Need To Watch - And The Links To Watch Them For Free!

As a paranormal blogger, I’m used to fangirling with other occult-obsessives about anything that’s spooky. 

It could be a scary movie. It could be a ghost they’ve seen first hand. It could even be an urban legend that frightened them to their very core! Either way, they always have a turning point in their life that pushed them towards the paranormal. 

My epiphany was different.

Sure, I’ve always had this constant connection with otherworldly spirits - but it was developed by one thing: paranormal documentary TV shows.

Most Haunted, Ghost Adventures, Celebrity Ghost Stories…

Each and every one made me want to be there with them!

I wanted to wander ‘round castles for a living. I wanted to read ghost stories everyday and explore the history behind them. I wanted to connect the dots and explore a new, hidden world.

It’s for that reason that I’ve decided to share my love for these shows with you, dear reader.

I’ve brought together the best episodes from Most Haunted, Ghost Adventures, Paranormal Lockdown, Celebrity Ghost Stories, Ghost Hunters and Paranormal Witness, explained the ghost stories that are the centre of the episodes, and have even provided links (and the terrifying timestamps) to the episodes. 

All you’ve got to do is press play!

Oh, and leave a comment on which one traumatised you the most…

Now, let’s get spooky.

#1 - The Dorothy Puente Murder House - Ghost Adventures (S12, E3)

Ghosts give me the heebeejeebies. Demons make me want to hide under my quilt and cry to a Sigrid song. But it’s stories of entrapment that really fuck me up. 

This is one of those stories.

Dorothy Puente was a landlady who ran a boarding house in California for elderly and mentally disabled residents. Don’t be fooled by her charitable exterior, though - what was happening inside the boarding house was a very different story. 

Puente was a serial killer who committed 9 murders - a number which is still disputed to this day - throughout the 1980s, and then cashed their social security checks. 

Whilst there are a number of details to this case, I thought I’d leave that to be discovered during the episode. 

Nevertheless, I thought I’d wet your appetite with some seriously traumatising tales:

In 1985, she hired someone to do wood panelling in her apartment. Not only did she give him an old pickup truck that I assume contained traces of evidence of her crimes, she asked him to build a 6-by-3-by-2 foot box. In non-maths terms, that’s the dimensions of a coffin. 

Claiming it was full of books and other small items for disposal, she journeyed with him to a local dump to dispose of these, uh, books, and stopped him before they reached the local area to dump the waste.

She directed him to instead drop it into a river cause that’s not suspicious at all.

But suspicions were roused when she began repeatedly hiring a local homeless man to do certain tasks like digging the basement and removing soil from it, or putting concrete in the garage. It was when he disappeared that the pieces began to connect together. 

Given the dark details behind the case, when Zak Bagans and his squad rocked up, they were on the receiving end some of the most striking paranormal activity they had ever witnessed:

Featuring EVPs crammed full of aggressive growls and demands for them to “Get out!”, or Ovilus Voices spewing words eerily similar to the murders and how the bodies were disposed of, this investigation stays true to what happened there.

But outside of the equipment used, the physical effects on the investigators was incredible!

One medium felt a choking sensation believed to channel the feelings of victims being force fed sleeping pills and then left to die in the Death Room. And the other? She drew a picture uncomfortably similar to a spirit seen by a tenant of the house - the spirit of Dorothy Puente. 

The other physical contact experienced includes pain felt in Zak’s lower back, as well as Zak entering this trance like state from which he fell off the bed!  

Here’s the episode:

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x55gpad 

Want to seem some spooks, like, right now? 

09.10 - an EVP with Peggy, the resident who sees Puente’s spirit frequently.

13.10 - a medium begins to sense spirits and experiences some shocking effects.

17.30 - a medium produces pictures of the spirit she senses.

25.20 - EVPs in the backyard - where the bodies were buried - answer some of the questions that still go unanswered. 

30.20 - Zak Bagans begins to exhibit extremely peculiar behaviour.

#2 - Idaho State Tuberculosis Hospital - Ghost Adventures (S18, E10)

Whispers, children and angry old men.

No, it’s not the title of Fall Out Boy’s latest album - it’s just a few of the current inhabitants of The Gooding Inn.

Once a TB hospital that was shut down in 1976, this building has witnessed its patients literally choke and drown in their own blood as their lungs fill up. 

But what’s seriously scary about this episode is the effects on the most recent residents of the inn:

Not only was the housekeeper clearly upset about her encounter with an angry male ghost, she clearly feels the negative energy such spirits embody.

But it's when the current resident is interviewed that the reality of this location is realised. Two of her children had died whilst living in the former hospital, forging a strange link that is explored in the episode.

Yet before I spoil the whole show, here’s a taste of what’s to come:

A playful child spirit and a woman with a child make their own appearances, as well as the strange tale - and even stranger spirit - of Anton Beaver.

Ready to watch?

Here’s the episode:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tdCxNtshvhg

Looking for a quick fear fix?

These are the timestamps of note:

05.25 - Zak Bagans starts the show with the housekeeper’s own tale of the hauntings she’s witnessed.

10.00 - One woman recounts the potential impact of the hauntings on her family.

12.15 - a paranormal investigator brings his own footage and experience of activity in a passage from which gurneys and wheelchairs would bring in the patients

16.00 - Zak Bagans researches those who died there - and creates a sudden shockwave of paranormal activity across the building.

21.50 - a weird non-human noise is heard when a dark shadow appears.

32.00 - pranks set by a spirit of a former child patient begin to haunt the team.

#3 - 30 East Drive - Most Haunted (S18, E1 Halloween Special)

Take a look around my blog - no, seriously, look at what I write about: old manors, haunted abbeys, demonic forests… They all seem to stand out. And I think that’s what makes this tale - and this episode - quite so scary.

Welcome to 30 East Drive, a council house nestled in Yorkshire, England.

It started in 1966. The Prichtard family had just moved into a new home when they started to notice rather peculiar occurrences:

A fine layer of dust fell on everything in the house, puddles would appear from nowhere, even if one was cleaned up, the tea dispenser would go off randomly, and items would levitate!

Given the evident paranormal resident, clergymen were called to exorcise the house. 

They were not successful. Holy water would leak out of the walls, ghostly hands would appear and ‘conduct’ the hymns being said to remove him, faces were slapped and people were pushed. Despite the rather playful poltergeist at first, this spirit slowly became more aggressive:

The daughter, Diane, began to find scrapes and bruises appear on her body, and was even dragged up the stairs by her hair! It was eventually deduced that this could be the spirit of a Monk whose body was discarded down the well that the house now sits on. Why was he thrown down a well?

Because he - or perhaps his twin brother - raped and murdered a young girl.

And as he is often seen wearing black robes, the house was given labelled the Black Monk House. Fancy a watch? You’ll be spoiled for choice then - Paranormal Lockdown also had a stay in the house.

Here’s the Most Haunted Episode:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dO3EeYBGNuo

“But, spookyllama, where are the timestamps?”

I couldn’t find any timestamps of note because the activity in this episode is constant!

Within the first 1 and a half minutes, a marble is thrown, echoing one of the most common hauntings in this house. Knives were also found sticking out of sofas, as was a crucifix jumping off the bed. 

#4 - The Wentworth Woodhouse - Most Haunted (S17, E6)

Our next episode also features a ghostly monk, but this time we see activity beyond marbles being chucked at cameramen. Indeed, this episode is just as iconic as the former - this is due to the controversy surrounding the evidence captured in this video.

One of the most famous hauntings of the Wentworth Woodhouse is the first earl of the house walking down the main stairs of the house. Only he’s headless. And they claimed to capture this footage:

https://www.mirror.co.uk/tv/tv-news/most-haunted-team-finally-catch-12417869

This footage only taps into one component of the paranormal activity seen in this house, however.

This house has seen centuries worth of aristocratic family feuds, deaths and drama which still roam its halls. Whether its footsteps, ghostly laughter or opera singing, it seems all past residents never actually left. 

Yet aside from the earl taking a nightly stroll, the scariest spirit has to be a ghost that stands still during his hauntings, leading many people to think he’s a statue. 

Specifically, the most haunted locations - aside from the library - are the George VI quarters. With shadows tracing the walls and dark figures standing in the doorways, the Most Haunted team were certainly not alone.

You can see the episode here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NdTnJC4cO54

Want a speedy scare?

28.00 - a door rattles and sounds as if its being opened, only its not - it’s locked and there’s no handle.

30.00 - The team hears a whistle, so they whistle back. What happens next is mind-blowing…

50.00 - The crew hears a couple of footsteps follow them around a part of the house.

#5 - The Washoe Club - Ghost Adventures (S16, E7)

The Ghost Adventures team might have investigated this wild-west location 3 times, but it gets no less spooky as time goes on. The oldest saloon there, The Millionaires’ Club, is the centre of the activity as a former exclusive saloon for rich businessmen.

Upon Zak Bagans and his team’s final return, they are reduced to tears by the activity witnessed.

This activity includes the spirit of a prostitute who committed suicide in room 77, a full-bodied apparition in the ballroom, a brick thrown in the basement and a women, Lena, haunting the staircase.

The episodes in particular have also captured EVPs saying their names: “Zak, look out”, and "Nick, Zak, coming..., they're scaring me".

Ready for a trip to the Wild West?

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/xqhyh6

#6 - Hinsdale House - Paranormal Lockdown (S1, E5)

If you thought these buildings were scary, wait ‘til you hear about the Hinsdale House. Question is, what separates it from the other contenders? 

This is a demonic haunting.

Considered this generation’s Amityville, the whole property exhibits signs of activity an exorcism couldn't rid it of: mysterious phone calls, chanting from nearby woods, animal hybrids and full bodied apparitions are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to this house.

Lucky for us, the Paranormal Lockdown team spent 72 hours here, investigating the hauntings both during the day and night.

Within the first 7 minutes of filming, an abundance of flies fills the house, not unlike horror films that trace the stories behind houses just like this. The following emotional impact on Nick further forges a link to the supernatural. 

Featuring choking, consistent EVP’s saying Nick’s name and even Lorraine Warren on the blower telling them to get out of the house, negative energy is an understatement for this house.

You can watch it here:

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6tujvf

Head to 25.00 if you want to see their investigation of the forest - including the Gregorian chanting that is claimed to still echo on this former Native American burial ground.

28.00 - when Katrina asks spirits to go to Nick and show their presence when he’s in a different room, the spirits follow orders.

Unfortunately, the spooks don’t end when the credits roll:

Nick claims spirits from this house followed him home and told him to go to a little house tucked away in England.

And that house was 30 East Drive.

#7 - 30 East Drive - Paranormal Lockdown (S2, Halloween Special)

So, we know Most Haunted’s verdict of the Black Monk House - what about Nick and Katrina’s?

Having spent 100 hours there - one of the longest amounts of time they’ve been in lockdown for - they witness apparitions, marbles flying across the house, a scar appears on Katrina’s stomach, and even a murder attempt by the spirit.

That’s right - a Grandfather clock is pushed over, nearly killing Nick! 

You can watch that happen here:

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6azzx0

#8 - The St. Augustine Lighthouse - Ghost Adventures (S2, E19)

Haunted locations aren’t just famed for paranormal fanatics like me rocking up.

It’s the history which matters. 

And this haunted lighthouse is celebrated for its history with its own museum denoting the things it was witnessed as a part of America’s Oldest Port. And with multiple people living and dying on the property, the subsequent variety of activity is what sets this lighthouse apart from, well, non-haunted lighthouses!

But it's that history repeating itself that makes this one of the scariest episodes included on this list: a woman in white roams both the nearby forest and the top levels of the lighthouse, a man walking in uniform wanders round the basement, and spirits make use of the famous staircase that fills this building.

Have I piqued your interest? You can satisfy your supernatural needs here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FHsNtvT8uHU

Check out the walk through of the lighthouse and description of the main activity at 05.30.

19.45 - you can hear the chattering of multiple spirits on the staircase - and you might even see someone - or something - walking down it, too.

24.00 - this is the most incredible evidence they’ve ever captured - trust me.

#9 - The Stanley Hotel - Ghost Hunters (S2, E22)

Famous for inspiring the Stephen King classic, The Shining, this hotel is infamous for its real life haunted history. First opened in 1909, the 420 rooms - including an underground cave system - hold many ghosts who still make regular appearances.

Room 217 for example, once belonged to a housekeeper. Often visitors to this room notice their luggage is unpacked, items moving, or the lights flickering. Oh, and she’s not a fan of couples sleeping together in the same room, either!

After that, why not visit the Concert Hall? Haunted by a spirit who was once believed to be an usher, you may hear a voice telling you to leave, a nudge, or even see flashes of light of his torch.

You might even hear the giggle of a child echoing down from the attic, a former nursery.

Question is, why is it quite so haunted? There’s 2 claims behind this: the crystals in the cave system below the hotel channel the energy, and the staircase is a vortex for ghosts, allowing them to come and go as they please.

Ready to see what happened?

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6ekji3

#10 - The Rain Man - Paranormal Witness (S1, E6)

Ghosts and spirits, demons and death; all the episodes mentioned in this post stick to relatively confined notions of the spiritualistic and pagan religions. However, this episode takes us further than I ever expected.

Paranormal Witness is a show - a bit like Celebrity Ghost Stories - where paranormal stories get retold and acted out.

And this episode follows a young man, Don, who becomes possessed by his abusive grandfather. Having displayed the typical signs of possession, he then began to have strange encounters with water. 

Water began to seep from the walls, and then from the ceiling. But this wasn’t water - when someone touched it, it felt sticky.

It was only when Don was stuck in a trance, that water began to go upwards, towards the ceiling, and pots and pan began to rattle.

When religious rituals were used to cleanse Don, the water was directed towards the bible and person performing the cleansing.

This was only the start of Don’s new powers. And they were to intensify during his final stint in prison.

Hungry for more? Check out the full episode here:

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2hvjvg

#11 - The Haunted Highway - Paranormal Witness (S1, E2)

Like I said: Paranormal Witness doesn’t stick to the typical hauntings we see. And this episode involves a UFO.

This story - without spoiling the episode - revolves around a mother and son who go missing in the desert. With a relative’s strange dreams pointing her to where they might be and a medical mystery twisting the tale, all that is left is one question:

What really happened in the desert?

You can watch this episode on Amazon for £1.89.

#12 - Celebrity Ghost Stories (S1, E9)

This episode featuring Morgan Fairchild, Lili Taylor, John Salley and Vincent Curatol is considered one of the scariest episodes of this popular episodes from which paranormal experience are acted out.

Here’s the synopsis to tickle your tastebuds of terror:

“A young Morgan Fairchild is abused by a spirit when she moves into her new husband's family home; an unidentifiable stranger comes to John Salley's aid during a nightclub shooting; Lili Taylor hears unexplained noises when she goes on retreat.”

You can watch this episode on Amazon for £1.89.

#13 - Pendle Hill - Most Haunted (S6, Halloween Special)

Pendle Hill might feature as a hiking opportunity in the Pennines, but it actually has a history - and a haunting - to boot. 

Back in the early 17th century, a family of peasants were believed to possess a variety of paranormal powers. And the effigies they made of human hair and teeth didn’t make them appear any less suspicious, either!

The Pendle Witches, as they were known, were arrested, tried and then hung on Pendle Hill.

The witches never left the hill, however. 

Not only did the neighbours of the Pendle Witches experience and die from mysterious illnesses, to this day supernatural activity has stuck close to this location.

Teeth have dropped onto tables during seances, and unnaturally frequent rainfall on the hill is a common occurrence. 

So, what did the Most Haunted team see when they visited the site?

Acorah was apparently possessed by a witch, and a table and a glass smashed during the seance. Oh, and the whole cast and crew felt as if they were being strangled at certain points during filming.

Were they experiencing the final moments of the Pendle Witches as they were executed for their crimes?

You can check that episode out here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wu7yRqoLxLc

Or, you can have a speedy spook, instead!

30.00 - the equipment batteries drain, a classic indicator of paranormal presences.

32.00 - Acorah begins his readings of the area, and clearly becomes quite emotional and intense when describing the spirits he sees and hears.

45.00 - Acorah exhibits strange behaviour, and is on the receiving end of harmful spirits.

59.40 - Acorah sees a spirit - or perhaps an otherworldly being.

01.48.00 - the team perform the seance.

Now it’s time to hear what you think.

Which episode are you watching tonight?

And did I miss any seriously-spooktastic episodes out?

[youbloodymadgenius]

The Viking King and the Pancakes (Ivar x reader)

A/N: Modern AU but not exactly Modern!Ivar, you’ll see. 

This is not the second part of Pancakes in Bed again? But if you haven't read it, it would be better to read it first. Here 

Thanks to @inforapound​, without whom I couldn’t do anything 💖 And thanks to @ivaraddict​ for this precious gif 💖

Summary: the reader wakes up and finds out that she is not alone in bed. When she realizes who is lying next to her, the shock is even greater. 

Warnings: None besides my wacky ideas ; shaggy dog story. Ah yes, swearings too. 

Words: 2136

Lazily opening your eyes, you startle when the sound of snoring wakes you completely.

Snoring?? How could this be?? You have been sleeping alone for… for… weeks? Months? So long that you actually aren’t sure… It could even be years…  

Immediately you are wide awake and screaming as you realize that a man is lying next to you. In your bed! Under your sheets! A wave of panic hits you. What did you do last night? Had you been drinking? Eating mushrooms?

Where did he come from? How did he get there? And more importantly, who is he?? And… did you have…? Oh, no, no, no, no! Looking under the sheets, you see that you are still wearing your pajamas. Phew!!

Releasing a loud sigh of relief, you hear the stranger growl as he shifts in the bed. Looking at him carefully, you are frightened – there's a man you don't know anything about in your bed! – and also fascinated – from what you can see, his muscles are… impressive…

It's highly inappropriate, but you are drooling.

Move a little more so I can see your face, you urge him silently.

It worked! Rolling onto his side, the man slowly faces you and…

FUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!

"By the gods, who are you?"

From his thick accent you know he's not fluent in English. But you still understand. Which is good, as your knowledge of Old Norse is limited to "Du kan ikke drepe meg!" Although, thinking about it, telling him he can't kill you might not be totally stupid.

"I..I.." You pathetically babble. Fuck. Fuck! You must be dreaming, right? You pinch your arm, bite the inside of your cheek and end up slapping yourself in front of a dumbfounded Iv… No! It can't be him! It can? Noooo! Fuck, even after five slaps, he's still there.

"I'm Y/N," you finally say and are rewarded with a puzzled look.

"Strange name."

A man of few words, no doubt about it. Rolling your eyes, you sigh. Maybe you like it better when he doesn't say anything.

"And you?" Your question is somehow rhetorical as you already know who he is. But you need to hear it, clearly, from him.

"Ivar the Boneless, son of Ragnar Lothbrok and Aslaug Sigurdsdottir, king of Kattegat and leader of the great heathen army."

It sounds like he's reciting his service record.

Wow, wow, wow! The guy is slightly showing off, isn't he? You'd like to put him down and hesitate to remind him that unless you're mistaken, Bjorn overthrew him and he's not really king anymore. But it doesn't seem particularly wise, so you choose to keep quiet.

Not him.

"Are you my new slave? A gift from Ubbe, my silly brother, as a sign of his repentance and total allegiance?"

A slave??? You are in my fucking house, man!! And in my bed!!!

Six months later

You hurry up, eager to get home, looking forward to finding your man, Ivar the Boneless; the ruthless king. The bloodthirsty, fierce, cruel Viking. Your lover. Your Ivar.

Pushing back the door with your foot, you hastily lock it behind.

"Ivar?"

Not getting an answer, you put down your bag and take off your shoes before walking through the apartment. Putting your phone on the kitchen table, you inhale deeply, enjoying the delicious smell of a lamb stew that has certainly been simmering for hours.

Eventually, you find your great warrior asleep on the couch, the old wheelchair you unearthed in a second-hand shop right next to him. Smiling, you take your time, admiring his features. His facial structure, so perfect. He's astonishing, breathtaking. Painfully handsome.

He belongs perfectly in your living room and simultaneously seems completely out of place. You can't help but smile seeing the contrast of his hairstyle – "Never without my braids, woman!" – and his outfit, sweatpants and white T-shirt.

"Hi, my love!" Blinking, he almost purrs as you kiss his forehead.

Using his powerful arms to draw you close, he flashes you a broad grin as you carefully straddle him. With modern drugs working wonders, you taught him to rate his pain on a scale of one to ten and he's rarely over two. Yet, you haven't found a way to prevent him from breaking a bone at the drop of a hat.

"My queen!"

Your laughter fills the room. No matter how much you tell him you are not the queen of anything, he seems hell-bent on it so you let him, amused and surely flattered to be loved by a real king.

"Dinner is almost ready." You shiver as he kisses your temple, your cheek and eventually your neck. "And then…,” his voice is suddenly hoarse, "… you and I will make love."

Six months earlier

"Tell me again??"

The frightening Viking glares at you, threateningly, driving your heart rate crazy. Fortunately, you confirmed he came unarmed in your bed and then you took care, before inviting him to sit at the kitchen table, to lock up all the knives and sharp or pointed tools.

"I say…,” ashamed, you know you're blushing, "… that I have called the gods, yours as well as the Christian god."

"And for what purpose?" His piercing blue eyes are scanning you, his features harsh.

"I….” Your voice is shaky. "I have already told you."

Before you realize what's going on, his hand is on your throat, and he's squeezing. The little bastard!

"I said," he roars, "For. What. Purpose?"

Freaking out, it's hard for you to breathe and you can hardly speak, your face red, your eyes bulging and begging him for air.

His eyes demanding an answer, he barely releases his grip. You're sure he won't hesitate to strangle you if you don't say anything.

"I have… I begged the gods because I wanted… I wanted you in… my bed… Well, not you…" Suddenly your words are rushing out. "I wanted the other Ivar, the Ivar of the TV show, this TV show that you don't know but in which you play the lead role. And yes, I'm aware that you don't know what a TV show is, I'll explain later, but that's it, it's you I wanted, that's why I called the gods and I don't know why but apparently it seems they heard me."

Ivar's hand doesn't move but he doesn't squeeze anymore, allowing you to breathe freely. You can see a slight change in his eyes, and his face softens.

"You… You wanted me in your bed? …..Why?"

Suddenly, there's no longer a frightening warrior in front of you but the terrified little boy from the eleventh episode of season four. His huge, wide eyes screaming all his insecurities. You are dying to tell him that Margrethe is nothing more than a stupid girl who did everything wrong. After all, you'd only be telling the truth!

But because he's unpredictable and because you don't know him well, you choose to say something more simple. "Because you are extremely attractive.”

Pleased by your words, he puffs his chest, flashing you a cocky grin. "And what did you want to do in bed with me?"

His rapid mood swings are fascinating, even more impressive in real life than on TV. Weighing the pros and cons, you eventually decide to be honest. "I wanted to have sex with you.”

Six months later

"I'll take care of everything, just go chill."

Nodding gratefully, you watch Ivar, who's setting the table while stirring the stew and keeping an eye on the cooking pasta. Smiling, you can't help but assess the progress made.  

In six months, Ivar had become a perfect househusband.

Neither you nor he were able to explain by what miracle, sorry, by what magic, the word miracle made your proud pagan throw up, had him get there. But you didn't complain.

Neither did he – he who confessed that the last thing he remembered was fleeing Kattegat, alone, abandoned by all, hiding in the back of a stinking cattle cart.

Of course, you had to teach him everything and at first, it hadn't been easy. But he quickly got his bearings, at least in your apartment. Outside was harder. He was afraid of everything. Too much noise, too many colors, too many stimuli all the time.

That's why he spent most of his time inside. Running errands was terribly worrisome for him. Eating out too. At most, you forced him to go out sometimes late at night to get fresh air, and three weeks ago you managed to take him to the mountains. He loved it.

On a daily basis, you two didn't get out much, but you didn't mind. In your home, your cocoon, you were able to forget more and more that Ivar was more than a thousand years old. Forget that he was a character from history books as well as one of your favorite TV show. And the fucking fictive guy you've been fantasizing about for months!

He had adapted quickly enough to modern technologies, had discovered running water with delight and had been fascinated, almost mesmerized, by the Internet. It was so he could use it, he asked you to teach him how to read.

Learning in record time, you realized that the show had some truth: Ivar was certainly a brilliant and intelligent person.

Since he could read, he'd devoured every book he could find. He read all your books, even burning one that described the point of view of a Saxon monk during the Lindisfarne raid. The best thing about this interest was that he was always looking for new recipes on the web. "Helga would have been crazy with such a tool!", he told you after explaining that it was Floki's wife who had secretly taught him how to cook.

"Take your seat, my queen.”

Wheeling towards you, Ivar hands you a glass of wine. "For you." You thank him and then you both raise your glasses before clinking them. "Enjoy your meal!"

Bringing your fork to your mouth – Ivar, your stubborn Viking, still eats everything with a spoon – your eyes shoot wide as you let the flavors spread through your mouth. Once again, his meal is excellent, a true feast for the palate.

"Ivar!" Talking with a full mouth, you're slightly ashamed but know he won't hold it against you. "It's simply a pure wonder! Exquisite and perfect!"

Smiling proudly, your Viking king is sincerely happy. He doesn't need much. What he told to that bitch Freydis was the truth: all he wanted was to be loved. And in truth, he doesn't care about being king. For the first time in his life, he can be himself. With you. And that's enough for him.

"I'm glad you like it." Waving his spoon in front of you, he furrows his brows. "Are you working tomorrow?"

You can't hide the small smile curling the corner of your mouth up.  Ivar still has trouble with some concepts. "No, my love, tomorrow is Sunday. I never work on Sundays." Seeing that his face lights up, you know he has an idea in mind. "Why?"

"Nothing… I was just thinking… I could try to prepare… pancakes. And we could eat them in bed."

You are sure you've never mentioned pancakes and wonder when he heard about them. But whatever, you're in. "That's a great idea! I'm sure you'll do well."

Now, Ivar's biting his lower lip suggestively and you wonder what he’s up to.

Putting his spoon on the edge of his plate, he wheels towards you. "I'll prepare toast, eggs, and bacon too."

You can't help but feel aroused by his hoarse voice, even if it's ridiculous. Who would have thought that breakfast could be a turn on?

Wait. Wait. Fucking wait. Pancakes. Toast. Eggs. Bacon. Seriously???

"Why?!" You startle, slightly distressed. "I mean, what are you talking about? Why are you talking about that? Why do… Why do you want to eat that tomorrow? I mean, exactly that?" You know you're pathetic, but Ivar only smiles at you lovingly.

"Because I want to.” Stroking your breast, he leans forward and his mouth meet yours, giving you shivers. "And once I've eaten all this…,” backing up just enough to look you in the eye, his hand brushes your crotch, making you shutter, "… I'll enjoy my dessert."

Standing, you take a few steps back, panic setting in while you try to put the puzzle together. Your heartbeat becomes frantic when you eventually understand what it means. What he means.

"Ivar… You…?" Blushing, a lump forms in your throat, you can’t speak anymore.

Nodding at you, again and again, a broad smile on his face and his gaze almost naughty, he’s obviously having fun. Fucking pompous asshole!

"Yes, my queen. I found your Tumblr blog. And I read your fanfictions."

OH!! FUUUUUUUUUCK!!!

🛡⚔️🛡

@waiting4inspiration​ @saldelys​ @lisinfleur​ @honestsycrets​ @gearhead66​

[apex-academy]

Chapter 5: Caring Is a Hazard to Your Health (#21)

The rest of the day is a blur. Some pool. Some Centipede. Some vapid conversations I barely remember as I’m having them. A cooking lesson that’s more lecture on Japanese sauces than actual cooking.

I don’t run into Aidan again. I’m not sure if I want to. Certainly I’m not going to try anything now, but... I don’t know. I don’t know.

I end up in the sauna dangerously late in the day. The only exit is to the bathhouse, which closes at nighttime... Would I be stuck in here overnight if I stayed too long? Punished? I bet I could stay awake. Wonder what happens in the restricted rooms at night. Cleanup and restocking or something. Maybe I should try staying in the kitchen. Eat some coffee beans straight up to keep from falling asleep and see how the heck Monochap sneaks in and out of there.

But for now, I’m just...

“...”

It is kind of pleasant in here. I may be bundled up a bit too much for a sauna, but it’s supposed to be hot anyway, right? As long as I swig plenty of water after this, I should be fine.

“...”

“After this” might need to be “right now,” actually. No use getting too light-headed. Or, well, I don’t mind having fewer thoughts, but I probably shouldn’t be taking health risks. I can worry about nighttime escapades later. I should... attempt to get some sleep.

After a cold shower. I don’t think I’ll be needing a warm bath after this.

...

"Um, hello! Good morning! It is now 7:00, so the off-limits areas have been reopened! I-I hope you all have a nice day…!"

I wake up again. That’s always good.

But when I make my way towards the cafeteria...

“Sounds like some kind of ruckus going on.”

I open the doors, but...

“.....”

No people, less noise. Uh.

I back up into the hallway and try next door. The gym. Sounds like maybe the hubbub is in here instead? Did I miss a summons to an early morning sports tournament?

Is someone...

“........”

No, that has too be too many voices. Right? If someone had been discovered, the jingle would have played...

“......”

It still takes me a minute to open the door.

People are still talking over each other, but I don’t see any bodies on the floor or fists flying.

Knives, maybe. But not fists.

A thud rattles the still-collapsed bleachers behind Kaichi’s shoulder. In true Kaichi fashion, he hardly flinches.

“Woooooow!”

“I’m next, right? I’m next?!”

“No way, dude!”

“That’s right! No one is going next!”

“What?! Nono I’m next!”

“Wh...”

“This is a completely unnecessary risk! Cease at once!”

“Risk? Surely you don’t mean to question my skill.”

“Seems pretty skilled t’ me.”

“.............”

I always manage to forget I should worry much less about these people dying than just being idiots.

Before anyone can notice I’ve joined them, the knife digging into the stands slowly tilts, then falls. Kaichi manages to pull his foot to one side before the blade clatters to the floor.

“Haha, whoopsie! You okay?”

“Looks like I still got—” he tilts his head down to check—”ten toes, s’. Yeah, sure.”

“That—”

“That makes it clear how dangerous this is!”

“Like, nothing happened, though?”

“That was a matter of luck!”

“Fool! You think any part of this is merely a throw of the dice? No divine weapon of mine will harm anyone unless I bid it.”

“Considering how consistently you threaten everyone, I don’t find that comforting!”

“So, anyway, it’s totally my turn, right?”

“It’s no one’s turn!!!”

I walk inside just as he’s about to blow a gasket. The door falling shut behind me is enough to get a little attention.

“I would ask what’s going on, but I think I have a good enough idea.”

“Ah, Kogamino!”

“If you understand, would you mind talking them out of it?”

“I’m afraid I’m having little luck.”

Another thud interrupts before I can say a word. Ichiriki starts laughing.

“Woooow, that one was super close! Ahahaha!”

Standing stiffly, Kaichi cranes his neck just enough to get a good glimpse of the knife now separating his face from his surfboard.

“Nice.”

“There.”

“Now the next wretch may step up.”

“I’m the next wretch!!”

It’s surprisingly hard to jump in and stop something when you can’t fathom why they started in the first place. Are we seriously that bored? Didn’t we just wake up? At least eat before you start throwing crap at each other, geez.

“Nuh-uh! I’m next!”

“How did this even start?”

“Well, like, Yuks was gonna make omelettes this morning? So we all kinda ordered ‘em or whatevs, and, like...”

“...”

“Amid the conversation as we waited, that one saw fit to issue a challenge.”

“I did?”

“And then things happened, and now we’re here!”

He finishes, as if he’s being the most helpful one here.

“I had been assisting with the cooking when I realized everyone had left, so I peeked out to see what had happened...”

“And you were met with a fun surprise, huh.”

“Yeah-huh! It’s super fun!”

“That’s great.”

“Actually, I just came over to see who got the first omelette? Because it’s finished.”

“Ah, first should have been... Riseiin, I believe?”

“Nice. ’m out, then. Later, brahs.”

“I don’t think the rest are far behind, so if you’d like your food warm, you can come back to this later.”

“I suppose that may be for the best...”

“Consider it a mercy to those of you bound to time, hmm?”

And just like that, the party dissembles to go for the door. Tsunyasha walks—like a normal human being—over to the stands to retrieve her mystical-whatever knives. Mahavir stays back, presumably to make sure she doesn’t kill me while we’re still here.

...I really hope Yuki’s almost finished. Maybe I don’t need to follow everyone over all that quickly.

Tsunyasha gets all her knives put away in quick order, but we’re still the last ones out. Mahavir, as usual, spares me from having to open the door.

As we cross into the hallway, I see Monochap opening the doors to the dorm area. Before I can wonder what he’s up to now, Aidan wheels himself out, with an uttered sound that I don’t think is actually a thanks. Upon seeing us, Monochap gives a little wave and a disturbing giggle before fleeing towards the Main Hall.

Aidan seems a little more pleased to see us.

“Good morning! I hope I haven’t missed anything?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.”

“...”

“Has Monochap been opening doors for you?”

The handicap buttons in this place haven’t been working since we woke up here. I hadn’t spared them a second thought, but now we actually have someone in a wheelchair. Guess that’s how it usually goes.

“When necessary.”

“Unfortunately, my student ID was reset to its original settings before they gave it back to me. But whoever did that also added an option to signal Mister Monochaperone for assistance.”

“It isn’t my favorite recourse, and I’m not sure why it’s necessary when it isn’t that difficult to summon him otherwise, but it can be useful.”

“Ah, to have a demon at your beck and call.”

“Quite fitting for a black-hearted sinner like yourself, hmm?”

“Don’t you start this again...!”

Aidan holds up a hand.

“Calm down, Mister Attenborough.”

“Miss Tsunyasha, I appreciate saving your comments for a more private discussion, but I’m afraid they are still highly inappropriate.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion of me, but I fail to see how repeating it does you any good. I cannot take back what I’ve done, so I would prefer to focus on what I can do at the moment, if possible.”

“Oh? Is this a sorely misguided plea for mercy, worm? You think I must gain something from this?”

“It is merely my job to ensure those of your corrupted ilk cannot walk away from their sins freely.”

He’s not doing much walking at the moment, in case you haven’t noticed.

“You call this walking away freely?!”

“Mister Attenborough.”

“.......”

Aidan turns back to Tsunyasha.

“Whether it’s sufficient for your tastes or not, I assure you I have most certainly been punished.”

“I can’t ask you to approve of my sins, as it were, but if you truly care about doing the right thing, your priority should be ensuring the safety of the other people here.”

I only see a flash before there’s a knife at Aidan’s neck.

“Then I should eliminate you now, yes?”

Aidan stares evenly back at her.

“Do you really consider me such a threat? I am incapable of physical combat, I am unarmed, and I would have severe difficulty engineering anything to kill another in this state. No one here has anything to gain from my death.” His gaze strains towards the knife. “This is nothing but a very rude gesture, and I would like you to stop now.”

“Oh? You still think I would follow a worm’s orders?”

“Why don’t you follow this?!”

Mahavir lunges at her. Aidan winces as the knife skirts along his jaw. Tsunyasha hops back an extra pace, and Mahavir tilts dangerously before catching himself on the wall. Huffing, he doesn’t seem able to push himself back up too quickly. I put myself between Tsunyasha and Aidan for good measure.

“So you’re relying on your little guard dogs, are you, whelp? You truly think they’re any match for a Holy Assassin?”

“I’m not a guard dog, you just need to stop?”

“I am not trying to rely on any physical enforcement here—” a pointed look at Mahavir—“nor am I giving you orders. I am merely pointing out that there is much more to being ‘righteous’ than harassing those you deem to be sinners.”

“So you question my judgment, worm?”

Your judgment is nothing if not questionable.

“More like questioning your ‘righteousness,’ or ‘holiness,’ or whatever else you’d like to call it!”

He finally shifts his weight back onto his feet.

“Regardless of who did and didn’t die, at least Doppler has done everything he can to help us!”

“What have you EVER done for anyone else here?!”

“Stir up trouble, mostly.”

“Hmph. Only just now I was providing you ungrateful whelps with entertainment, was I not?”

“And no one died, if I must remind you of that.”

“As a fluke! You easily could have injured Riseiin! It was only a matter of luck that he didn’t have any toes sliced clean off! And I shouldn’t need to tell you even foot injuries have the potential to be lethal!”

“...What did I miss here?”

“We can worry about that later.”

“The potential, certainly.”

“But a far less sure shot than firing a gun into someone’s chest, hmm?”

“But that wasn’t for amusement!”

“And yet it still happened.”

“I truly don’t understand how you could possibly favor that sinner’s actions, but I suppose your wicked ways are just that far beneath me.”

“It’s because you don’t understand that you’re the only threat here!”

“Oh, I’m quite a threat to those who would dare try taint my holy name. Would you like a demonstration, whelp?”

“No one would like any demonstrations!!”

“Of course you wouldn’t.”

“We get your freaking point, okay? You could stab a serious burn victim and a wheelchair-bound child to death with ease if you really wanted to. Congratulations.”

“You want to prove you’re such a great assassin, how about you wait until practically anyone here is in decent physical condition? You’ve held out this long. I’m sure you can handle a little longer. Or is patience suddenly not one of your holy virtues?”

“Hmph.”

“Don’t think for a moment you can understand the essence of a Holy Assassin, fool.”

“Oh, believe me, I don’t.”

She spins the knife once around the gloved part of her finger and sheaths it.

“Very well. I tire of these pitiful negotiations of yours.”

“I’ve a reward waiting for me, anyway.” 

She takes a few steps towards the cafeteria.

“Use this opportunity to think about what awaits you.”

Not an omelette on my end, I’m guessing.

“Any more of this and I assure you, whatever awaits you won’t be a reward.”

“Mahavir. That’s enough.”

“........”

Mahavir stares Tsunyasha down as she walks away. Even when the doors close behind her, he doesn’t turn away.

“......”

I hear a rattle and open my eyes again. Aidan’s started to wheel himself forward.

“Miss Kogamino. Thank you for stepping in.”

“No problem.”

“...”

“I’m halfway surprised you’re not upset about being called a child.”

“Well I don’t appreciate it, but I can understand it was for emphasis.”

“Right.”

He scoots himself closer to Mahavir.

“....................”

“Mister Attenborough?”

“.........”

“...I’m sorry. But she...”

“She can’t just...!”

“I know. She has no right to be making these sorts of threats, but pushing back like that will. Not. Help with her.”

“...........”

“So take a deep breath and come on. We have a meeting to get to.”

“........”

Aidan moves as close to the doors as he can, but Mahavir doesn’t follow yet. Guess it’s not that easy to let it go.

But everyone else is already in the cafeteria, right? No harm leaving him alone to cool down a bit.

I don’t want to think about what could happen if he ran into Tsunyasha again too soon.

[BACK] [NEXT]

[mwolf0epsilon]

Last one for a while. Maybe a story were Sammy and Norman go to war together.

This went into more Canon Divergent AU territory and I'm not even sorry.

Summary: War had given them a clearer perspective of just how dark and dreary the world truly was. So honestly when they'd gone back to the studio with Henry, they shouldn't have been surprised that Joey Drew was a vindictive creature underneath that deceptive smile of his.

---

     All things considered, being drafted hadn't been the worst thing to happen to them. Sure, the military was no place for a man of the arts or someone with a tendency to wander, but Sammy had been raised in a farm before moving to the city and Norman's father had been a soldier. They weren't strangers to waking up early and pulling their weight. Sammy having had to help his father clean the animal pens and lug around heavy bags of feed, and Norman being forced to run drills in the wee hours of the morning in case he ever found himself in a bad situation. One positive was they were in relatively better shape than when they'd still been working at the studio. Another was that they ended up in the same platoon as Henry. None of this erased the horrors of the battlefield though. When they'd finally gone home and begun the reintegration process, it had been... Difficult.

     Henry had been mildly disfigured in an explosion, the left side of his face a grim reminder of what he'd had to endure as it seemed frozen in an ugly droopy smirk. Norman's hearing had gone completely thanks to all the gunshots, years earlier than his doctors had estimated, and his bad eye had been gauged out by an enemy soldier in a knife fight, so he'd been gifted an eyepatch to cover it up. Sammy had lost his left arm, and his right hand had lost its pinky. Lucky sniper shots that had obliterated his ligaments, and basically obliterated his finger. They weren't intact, but they were alive. And going back to the normalcy of civilian life was hell on their traumatized minds. No one really gave a rat's ass about veterans, not as much as they claimed anyway. They'd gotten counseling, Sammy had been fitted with prosthetics, and they were expected to carry on as if they hadn't been trained and set loose like glorified attack dogs. Thankfully they had each other and their families to rely on. That bond did wonders for them. So imagine their surprise when one day, all three received a letter from one Joey Drew.

-

  "I knew I should have followed my gut feeling..." Sammy sneered as he stared at the seeing tool in his hand. By the 414th run, they'd all realized they each had one and that they'd been doing this song and dance for far too long. They were trapped, with no conceivable way of getting out. Because there just was no satisfying Joey Drew. The man was a goddamn perfectionist of the worst kind.   "You've been saying that for the last 10 loops." Henry pointed out as he balanced carefully on Norman's shoulders, reaching for a can of bacon soup in a very high shelf. "At this point I'm starting to think you're just cranky from being hungry."   "I'm not hungry! And I'm not cranky!" Sammy huffed angrily as he looked around. The messages on the wall still unsettled him whenever he read them. He couldn't recognize the handwriting. That's what bothered him the most.   "Sure are Sam." Norman smiled, having long since learned to read lips. He was in no position to sign however, so he was speaking up for once, that southern drawl of his still comforting to hear despite the rarity of having a fully vocal conversation these days. "Yous been bumpin' gums cuzz your feathers are all ruffled like one o' them birds a paradise."   "Why does everyone keep comparing me to a bird?!" Sammy looked at Norman in disbelief.   "It's the nose." Henry chuckled. "And the way you move..."   "You do this... This thing where yous crane your neck and look 'round an' 'bout all quick like." Norman said, tapping his chin thoughtfully before grabbing onto Henry's leg when he began to shake too much. "My Nanna had a parrot that did that too."   "You're comparing me to an old lady's parrot?! How dare you!"      Before the music director could get any more agitated he paused when he heard something fall in the next room. They hadn't quite left the music department yet (not until Sammy could mourn it for the millionth time), so movement this early was odd. Henry also found it strange.   "Looks like things might be changing up this run." Henry noted as Norman helped him down.   "Great... I hate surprises." Sammy sighed, tapping the prosthetic pinkie he'd been fitted with against his fake arm. The sharp little notes were somewhat soothing to him. He'd not lost his musical talents despite being unable to play as beautifully as before. Practice and patience,his sister often reminded him.   "What don't you hate?" Norman snorted, making the blond man pause in consideration.   "Chocolate." He noted. "And your face sometimes."   "Awww..."   "Guys, you can be sweet and flirt later. Let's see what's up ahead of us this time." Henry reminded them (or at least Sammy) as he approached the door.   "If we're lucky, permanent death!"   "What an optimist yous turned out ta be Sammy!" Norman rolled his eye after reading that particularly "chipper" suggestion. He quickly signed at him to cheer up a bit instead of souring the mood.   [Someone's got to be a realist] Sammy opted to sign at him so that Henry wouldn't tell him off for it. Best not test an artist's patience when anxieties were high. Especially when they'd be facing potential nightmare fuel unlike anything they could ever imagine. Because really, the world was messed up and people were out there killing each other, but at least you knew what to expect of a bunch of people with guns, knives and explosives. This voodoo witchcraft shit Joey had gotten into to get revenge on them? This was new territory and honestly the most vindictively ludicrous thing they could ever expect out of that devil Drew.

-

     Joey sighed, dissatisfied with yet another attempt to finish the story. It just never came out right. Their chemistry was good for slapstick comedy, and separating them gave the plot some good drama and angst, but overall he never quite found the proper ending his carefully crafted storyline required. Changing things up also did little to nothing. He'd given them so many good companions and plot points too... Buddy Boris, Alice Angel, Tom Wolf and Allison Angel, even a few restored Searchers and Lost Ones whenever he felt Sammy might need someone from his department to break out the guilt of his past unpleasantness... It just wasn't good enough. It never was!

     A knock on the door brought him out of it. Now... Who could that be at this hour? Turning his wheelchair around and moving out of his study and towards the entrance door, Joey was faced with someone he didn't at all expect to see.   "Nathan? Nathan Arch?"   "Joey Drew... My good friend..." The toothy smile leering down at him gave Joey a strange uneasy feeling. "We need to talk about something most... Interesting." His perfect ending would have to wait.

[doodlingstuff]

Comeback, part 5

Chapter 13: Wherever you are right now, know somehow

Keep reading here or jump to AO3 for the whole thing :)

All comments, kudos, likes and shares make my day shine ❤

***

Fuck recoveries.  

They were long, difficult, painful, and boring. And that was without counting the insufferable amount of people constantly coming and going. Cheering, talking, bringing useless things, offering nonsense, trying to be useful when they were the exact opposite.  

That’s why Andrew preferred to stay with Neil at night when things went quiet and no one but him could bring the striker out from his panic attacks or his stubbornness for keep pushing when he was supposed to be resting.  

Some of those nights were actually good. They got to spend time alone. They could talk. Andrew would tell in full detail what he did to keep Neil safe. The boy would listen and maybe, he would offer a memory or two from his years on the run. The places he went to, the landscapes he saw, the good thing he had.  

Other nights weren’t so good. Neil would wake up screaming, drenched in sweat, glassy eyes, and shaking hands, desperate to get up, to run again, to do something, and Andrew would grab his neck, force him to breathe, make him focus on one thing only instead of the full road ahead. Make Neil see his achievements and not the losses until he was calm enough to sleep again.  

There were fewer occasions when the terror in Neil’s eyes won’t leave him as one nightmare overlapped with another, and the pain returned fresh like Riko was still chaining him to a bed to use his body as a canvas for his knife skills, making Neil fight against the cuffs pinning him on site and rubbing raw his skin. Shouting until his voice was gone or a heavy cane, mad because of the noise, would beat him unconscious for Riko to keep doing his will on a marred and limp body without restrictions.  

On those few nights, Andrew would ask, force an answer from Neil’s fright, and the blond would climb to the bed and sit beside his frightened pipe dream, allowing him to grab Andrew like a lifesaver. Those rare times were also terrifying for Andrew. He never pictured Neil like the type who cried. As tears wet his jeans, the twin would make his best to offer comfort, even if he didn’t know how. He would streak the auburn locks, let the striker squeeze his arms and hands, allow him to hold onto his waist like Andrew was the only thing who could keep the both afloat until the memories resided and his breath became even again.  

That’s how the next fifteen nights went by, and then, Neil was allowed to go home.  

***  

Neil’s release is on Saturday. After tons of arrangements, several arguments, and a few knives out to make some points clear, Andrew is driving to Abby’s place. The auburn-haired fast asleep on the backseat, cuddled with the bunch of blankets and pillows that Andrew shoved in for him.  

He is being extra careful on the way to avoid startling Neil. Even Nicky is silent during the ride and although Kevin and the twin are again on sort of speaking terms, the big man has very clear that  Exy won’t be an accepted topic yet. Maybe not ever. There is still a long way to go for that, and no one is ready. But banning the talk doesn’t necessarily mean that he is going to be useful or smart anytime soon.  

When they arrive, Aaron heads straight for the house without losing a second. At least he leaves the door open. Nicky and Kevin rush to the trunk to get out Neil’s things and the fucking wheelchair. Andrew really wants to shove it inside of their asses. And for the millionth time in the past weeks, he wants to bring Riko back to life and kill him over and over until he gets tired, which is  highly  unlikely after all the damage he managed to cause.  

By the time Andrew makes it to the back seat, Neil is flinching at the sight of the chair.  

“Yes or no?”  

Scared glassy eyes turn to Andrew, then the fucking chair again, and back to the blond. “No.”  

It’s too easy to take the damned thing out of the way and scoop Neil up. He is still too skinny, so it takes no effort for Andrew to carry him inside and place the man on a bed in the room that used  t o be Andrew’s when he stays for holidays.  

In a couple of minutes Neil is settled, and the rest of the day goes by between visits and Abby’s care. Andrew tries to vanish a couple of times, but the striker asks him to stay every time, so the blond stays until they are left alone again and Neil asks him to get by his side.  

As Neil is about to fall asleep, Andrew allows himself to get lost in his new features. The sharp cheekbones, the hair that seems darker in the dim light of dusk, his eyelashes extending over the fucking four tattoo. The scars that frame his jaw, his eyes, his nose. It’s almost too much to bear. The blond has the sudden urge-as he’s had for the past weeks-to make Neil wake up and ask for a kiss. Or two. Or a lifetime of them, if truth needs to be told.  

Being like this, it’s too hard to remember that he wants nothing, and yet, the pipe dream proved to be real, so it catches Andrew off guard finding himself about to brush his lips over the reddish hair. He is even more surprised by what he discovers in his faint slip.  

“When the fuck was the last time you got a shower?”  

“ Mmm ?” He was probably already asleep, judging by his hoarse mumble. “I don’t know. I didn’t like everyone’s hands on me.”  

Andrew starts moving before he can give much thought to what he is about to do and gets out of the bedroom to get ready everything he needs.  

When he gets back, Neil is cuddled against the pillows. It’s almost cruel to disturb him when he looks so peaceful, but he  stinks . There is no softness in Andrew when he rips the blankets from him. “Yes or no?”  

Neil blinks once. Twice. It’s the first time he sees Andrew without his armbands. Icy blue eyes are awake again and traveling the lines that the twin carved over and over so many years ago, when shouting and crying and fighting wasn’t enough to let all of his pain out. Lines that were cut open again in December by Proust, while Neil was thinking that his sacrifice had been respected.  

“Yes?”  

“Try again until I believe you.”  

“Yes,” He repeats, more secure.  

Andrew lifts Neil again and heads to the bathroom.  

“Can you stand for a while?” Neil nods.  

The twin takes off Neil’s socks before placing his feet gently on the floor. The boy is as unsteady as a newborn deer, but he holds tight to the sink. Andrew turns on the shower and gets back to undress his striker. He takes his time. He tries to fool himself thinking it’s because he wants to be careful, but he is also taking in every inch of Neil.  

Awe and hatred fight inside his belly, the same way that beauty and brutality mix in the striker’s body. Andrew contemplates every scar and bruise, old and new.  

His deal with the  Moriyamas wasn’t fair. They should’ve granted him a full year to make the job as painful as it could be, for as long as it could be, in order to try to make them suffer as much as Neil has along his life.  

A trembling hand clenching the collar of his shirt snaps Andrew back to the bathroom. The touch wasn’t allowed, but it doesn't feel bad. In fact, he wants more, but Neil can’t hold himself anymore.  

The blond carries him again and places the skinny body on the plastic chair he got inside before. Then, he gets rid of his shoes and socks and decides at the last moment that he doesn’t want the feel of wet pants, so he takes them off too. There is something in his face that wants to resemble a smile when Neil swallows at the sight of his bare legs. He steps in.  

In theory, Neil has enough strength and he’s been to sufficient therapies to work through a shower on his own, but Andrew wants to try and see if whatever is fluttering inside of him gets bored with the tasks, or gets to summersault as it does with anything concerning Neil Josten.  

He works efficiently through his hair and limbs and lets the striker take care of the rest.  

The deep red marks on both of Neil’s ankles make Andrew kneel in front of him and inspect them closely. During the stay at the hospital,  amputation  was an ugly word repeated constantly on Neil’s back. Fortunately, the gashes are healing. Too slow, but steady, and the blond can release some tension he didn’t know he was carrying.  

Then, all his thoughts turn into white noise when he gets distracted by the striker's  crotch.  

Hunger that Andrew thought was well satisfied growls furious inside. He uppers his gaze to regain control, but Neil’s blushed cheeks and parted lips only make the hardness in his underwear get worse. He gets closer to that pretty mouth.  

“Yes or no?” He asks with a sharp breath.  

“Yes”.  

When their lips touch for the first time, is every bit as sweet and savory and delicious and addictive as Andrew had wondered since they met. Their tongues meet in a dance of doubt and delight. He wants more, so more. There is no room for nothing inside of him anymore. Not after everything is filled by the man in front of him.

Neil has his scarred hands holding at the sides of the seat. Andrew releases his hold on the back of the chair and takes the boney fingers in his to guide them towards his neck. “Only shoulders and up.” he indicates with a jagged breath before taking another try of Neil’s mouth.  

Hands get tangled behind his neck for a moment before making way up through his half-wet hair. They curl and tug and dig deep into his scalp.  

Next time he opens his eyes to get some air back, he notices the striker is hard as himself. He takes a hand closer to the boy’s thigh, without touching, but the message is clear. “Yes or no?”  

The grin he receives is enough to light the whole house. “Yes. Always yes.”  

The urge in both is thicker than the vapor around. However, Andrew wants to savor the moment in case there is no replay because  if he has learned something, is that every pipe dream always  vanishes .  

His hands cradle Neil’s hips. They are narrow and sharp. Several pounds below healthy, and beautiful regardless of the rips in his skin. His thumbs work slow circles around, finding without rush what they come from. Expert fingers take care of teasing the dream’s lower body while the twin leaves a trail of kisses along every reachable scar. Skin below his  lips shudders depending on the place, but there’s never a call to stop as he leaves a trail of goosebumps, so Andrew goes back down, down, down, down, and swallows him whole.  

It’s not forced. It’s not an experiment. If heaven existed, that must be what it tastes like.  

The grip on his neck turns stronger as Neil gets closer and the hungry beast roaring inside of Andrew curls in pleasure once the striker has his release.  

The blond has no intention of taking time to kiss his way back up again, so he clashes Neil’s mouth with another kiss.  

“Do you want me to-” Andrew doesn’t let him finish the question. He goes in for another of his perfect kisses while his hand leaves Neil's hips to take care of his own needs. He wants Neil to do anything and everything to him of course. But not now. Not when he is still weak. Not after having so many boundaries pushed in one night. In the past weeks.  

Andrew can’t tell yet what it means.    

When he finishes, his breath is shaking against the arm with which he held to the back of the chair. Lips on his neck startle him. He really wants to be angry, but it’s impossible with those bright eyes bringing light to every shadow of his soul. He swallows and stands before he loses the last thread of control left.  

Andrew helps Neil get dry and dressed. The boy is too tired to stand again, but neither care. The blond spares a glance to see if there’s anyone around, and when he makes sure the path is clear, he carries Neil back to the bedroom. His head rests on Andrew’s shoulder and he notices the moment when the  auburn-haired  falls asleep in his arms.  

It’s harder than it should place the sleeping striker on the bed instead of keep cradling him, but Andrew is getting cold and a shower on his own should be enough to ease his nerves standing on edge after feeling  so much.  He thought that wasn’t possible, and there was Neil Josten to prove him  wrong  again.  

Once he finishes cleaning and dressing, the twin wants to grab some food, but light blue cuts his path. “Sleep with me?”  

There is a small smile behind the exhaustion and Andrew know as he approaches the bed and gets into the covers, when a “yes or no” is thrown at him and he has an arm holding him like he is something precious, that he belongs  to the pipe dream and there is nothing he won’t do to keep that smile on his face.  

That night, was a good night.  

[jinmukangwrites]

From the Ashes (2/???)

Summary: In a modern version of Hyrule, a young man finds himself in a world filled with nothing but white walls, studying faces, and tests after tests. Something is different about him, and the world seems very interested is seeing what makes him tick. (A modern, BOTW/LOZ “Labrat” AU)

Chapter 1, Chapter 3 (to be released for all Partron's today, July 11th for Tumblr)

Warnings: Death, torture, blood, description on injury, experimentation, dark themes, emotional abuse, abuse.

Make sure you read the warnings, be safe.

-o-o-o-o-

Today there's autopsy, he died during it, but there's still an autopsy. They give him the numbing agent like always before they secure him down, but there's nothing that can stop the pain of a scalpel cutting down your chest, nothing like the skin being torn apart in different directions, nothing like ribs being pried apart so they can get a better look at your still beating heart.

They're careful at first, making sure he lives long enough for them to get their samples of tissues and muscles and fluid until they do what they always do instead of stitching him back together; they kill him. It's effective. Whatever brings him back to life whenever he dies heals everything and leaves nothing but a scar on his skin. He wakes up moments later completely healed and ready for whatever they want to do to him next.

It seems today they also want to test his endurance, because right as he wakes up from his autopsy, the mask that always kills him is strapped on and soon death takes him again.

The black lasts longer this time, the warmth comes a little later and just a bit duller, but he wakes up again, fine, breathing, good. Then the mask kills him again, it takes longer, again, it's colder. He wakes up. He dies. Again.

Longer. Colder. Alive. Dead. Again. Again.

Six times he dies until the machines scream at them to stop when he can't. He's dizzy, the phantom pains of knives literally in his chest burn and his lungs are begging for fresh air. He can't feel his body as they undo the straps and place him in a wheelchair for transport. Soon, he's wheeled into his home, the only place he can call his, and left there to blankly stare at the white walls until he can find the strength to move.

It takes a few hours, but he finally manages to wobbly stand up from the wheelchair. It's a practice he's mastered, this is nothing new. He doesn't bother to look back at the observation room connected to his with a panel of glass. He knows that the main scientist is there, observing him while he nibbles on the end of his pen. He's the same man who killed him for the first time in his one and only true memory. He hasn't seen that nice woman since, he wonders where she is.

Anyway, he ignores the observation room. They usually go away and turn on the cameras once he's collapsed in his small, threadbare bed. There's not much to observe when all he has energy to do is clutch at his thin pillow and breathe until sleep takes him. Why waste time watching him sleep when they could be preparing for the next experiment, the next sample, the next death.

The moment he collapses into his bed, on top of his blanket and pillow not even properly placed under his head, the bright lights in his cell turn off and multiple blinking green dots appear in the dark corners of his cell near the ceiling. His eyes unwillingly slip closed, he wishes he could keep them open, yet he knows fighting sleep is useless.

At least, when he's asleep, he has a name and family. When he's awake, he's got terror. When he's dead, he's got nothing.

Though, nothing is starting to sound very nice, and if only it would last forever.

-o-o-o-o-

There are sometimes days where they do nothing to him. He cherishes those days. He has time to do whatever he wants (within limited restrictions and boundaries of course) just as long as he does their mandatory workouts and therapy sessions.

The workouts are easy. He's brought to a large gym where there are treadmills and tracks and weights; there's an instructor and two guards and he does what he's told for about an hour to two depending on what the instructor determines what his body needs. The foods they feed him are filled with vitamins and minerals, so it's not like he's bone skinny, but he's not muscular either. Despite the things they do to him, they want his body to be healthy, that way results are not tainted by starvation, exhaustion, and a poor immune system.

He likes climbing. Out of everything they have him do during workouts, it's climbing nets and walls that he loves most. Running is fine, stretching and yoga is sort of okay, lifting weights is boring and he doesn't like that, they had him try swimming a couple times but both times he almost drowned so they got rid of that, but climbing is something he would willingly do.

There's something freeing about lifting himself higher and higher with nothing but his own strength. He likes to pretend he's climbing a mountain, a very tall mountain. One where if he ever reaches the top, he will be free from labs and experiments, he will be able to swing his arms out and lift his face to the stars and never have to go back.

The worst part about climbing is having to come back down.

Today he ran, he didn't get to climb, but there's always a next time.

Therapy sessions are a bit harder because it's a full two hours where he's expected to communicate, and he doesn't very much like the therapist. He can't speak, no matter how hard he tries to make sounds or how long they grill him in basic vocal practices it just doesn't happen. He somehow knows a bit of sign, but just the simple ones, limited to mostly letters. Most of the therapy sessions involve him trying to spell out how he's feeling with his hands and the therapist getting impatient with how long it takes for him to sign S-C-A-R-E-D or H-A-P-P-Y or H-U-R-T when he theoretically could just say the words and move on. He gets yelled at a lot, which he doesn't think getting yelled at is a part of therapy but he has to remind himself that he doesn't know what therapy is outside of the labs, so for all he knows getting yelled at for things he can't control is what therapy is all about.

Thankfully, today the therapist looks happy. When they're happy, they talk a lot about themselves instead of him. Apparently their brother got married and they got to go back home to the Zora's Domain to visit. He only knows a couple Zora, the therapist being one of them, the others being various scientists and nurses. There's a Goron on the security team, but the rest are all Hylian. He hears stories of the Gerudo sometimes, but he's never seen one. They sound beautiful, especially since none of them come here to the labs to hurt him.

After a whole long story about how the therapist got to go cliff driving with their siblings (oh cliff driving sounds wondrous even though he can't swim well) the therapist sighs and clicks a pen against the clipboard in their hands.

"Okay," they grumble, "let's get this over with. How are you feeling today?"

It's a question that should be genuine, but the therapist says it like they'd rather be sleeping.

Today, he doesn't hurt, today's a free day. He got to work out, but he didn't get to climb. He came to therapy and hasn't been yelled at yet. He's okay. A little tired from working out, a little hungry, but he's okay.

O-K. T-I-R-E-D. W-O-R-K-O-U-T

"Yesterday Doctor Marras tested your endurance, how did that go?"

He lifts his hand up to his chest, his fist shaped in the sign for "A". He moves his fist down like a scalpel would. His sign for "Autopsy".

D-I-E.

He makes the shape for "D" now and puts it over his nose, the sign for the mask used to kill him.

Six. No / R-I-S-K / seven.

"How did you feel?"

He brings his hands out in front and touches the fingertips of his pointer fingers a couple times. Hurt. He then opens his palms across his chest and drags them outward while slowly closing his fists. Afraid.

The therapist sighs and he puts his hands down to his lap. This conversation sounds old, feels repetitive.

It doesn't matter. He knows it's just a way to make sure he's still capable of thinking and living. Losing his mind would be almost as bad as letting his body wither away. Almost. They'd rather his body is peak physical condition than his brain fully functional, which is probably why his work out trainor is actually very good while his therapist doesn't help that much at all.

Whatever the case, he's asked a couple more required questions and he's not yelled at at all before he's escorted back to his cell where a small number of activities await him. By his cot is a small pile of books, a sketch pad, and some pencils. On the small plastic table next to the bed is a black tablet with apps for learning basic math and science are downloaded on, along with an app used to help him learn more words in sign. There's a paper cup of water placed next to it, right beside a protein bar which is certainly a rare sight. He's usually fed the same gray, tasteless goop every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If he's given actual substance, he must have done something good. Or they're all just in a good mood.

Not one to pass up the opportunity of actual food, he grabs the bar and gently tears it out of it's wrapping. He sighs in content as the flavor hits his tongue, it's bitter, but he can still taste chocolate. Content, he plops down on his cot and opens the sketch book. He flips through the pages he's already sketched on and lands on a blank page. Tapping the pencil against the paper in thought, he glances up quickly at the observation room. Today the glass has been changed into a mirror, which sends a wave of uneasiness through him. Whatever is going on behind that mirror, they don't want him to see today.

He sucks in a breath and turns back down to his sketchbook.