#the man behind the slaughter is a little silly today

[minutestildawn]

Man behind the slaughter?? More like uh. Erm.

[loveandmurders]

Hey I love your writing! Can we get house wife reader with Billy and stu. Where a victim find reader hoping they'd save them and reader ends up killing the victim themselves

Hello darling, thank you so much for your kind words; I'm glad you're enjoying my work <3

And thank you for this cute request, I hope you'll enjoy it as well! <3

NO BLOOD ON MY FLOOR!! (female reader x poly!Ghostface)

Warnings: no proof reading, murders, blood, violence, sexual desires, pissed off reader, murderous reader, reader is wearing a dress and lingerie (no other physical description).

When Billy and Stu told you they were going to bring two victims home to play with them, you quickly told them you didn’t like that plan at all. You were even against it and you warned them you were going to be very mad at them if they still did it.

It wasn’t because you didn’t enjoy them killing people. On the contrary: whenever flash info was talking about all the terrible things Ghostface did, you were all hot and bothered, and you needed the two men to take care of you, as soon as possible, in the most delicious way they knew. No, it wasn’t about that. 

And it wasn’t because you were afraid to be hurt either. You knew that Billy would always keep an eye on you to make sure you stay safe and sound. It wouldn’t be the first time that Ghostface was killing someone while you were in the same house or in the same room, so you knew how to behave and they were very attentive to not put you into too much danger. They needed their pretty little wife to be alright anyways. No, it wasn’t about that.

What was bothering you was the blood. You knew that your lovers weren’t the most clean killers in the world because they were playful and sometimes a little bit clumsy and silly (but don’t tell them). And you perfectly knew you would be the one who would clean up the blood and all the stains after their slaughter. 

You weren’t a happy bunny about it.

But Billy had already everything planned and Stu was very excited about it, so you knew they wouldn’t listen to your complaint. No matter how much you were going to pout and to sulk away. You even promised yourself to not let them seduce you in bed after the killing… or in the shower as a matter of fact. Actually, you were planning on sleeping on the couch to show them how upset you were with them. Even if it was hard to be mad at them, because Billy was a sweet talker and manipulator and because Stu was an excited puppy who was way too adorable for your own good.

The afternoon of the killing arrived. You had prepared some tea and cookies for the guests, like the good housewife you truly were, despite everything. Stu was chatting around, a hand on your thigh under the table, until he excused himself, saying he needed to check on what Billy was doing. You sighed to yourself as you reached for the security home remote and you turned it on. All the windows and doors were perfectly locked now and metallic curtains lowered down over the possible exits of the house. You liked how safe this installation always made you feel. Your two killers were a little bit paranoid, but you didn’t mind it. And it gave you all the privacy you needed when you were having sexual games… But today it was a bloody one.

The two guests noticed that everything was locked up pretty quickly because of the sound of the curtains. They started to worry, wondering what was going on. They were about to ask you when Ghostface appeared in the room. By the way the man played with the knife, you knew it was Billy. You sat on the kitchen counter so you could watch what was going on without being in the way. The men ran away, as Ghostface followed them without any kind of hurry, knowing they had nowhere to go anyways.

You felt arms wrapping around your waist from behind and you turned your head to find another Ghostface hugging you. You scoffed at Stu and unwrapped his arms from your body.

“Go play now. I’m pissed at the mess you’ll create in my house” you pouted and Stu removed his mask.

“Ah come on, baby girl. We’ll take good care of you tonight… And we both know you enjoy the killings. It has been a while since you have been able to see everything with your own two eyes. Don’t you like that?” he asked while gently kissing your shoulders and neck.

“I like it when it’s in someone’s else house” you replied and you pushed his face away from you “I thought about sleeping on the couch tonight, but maybe I should make you sleep outside actually” you huffed

“We promise we’ll make it up to you, princess” Stu said as he put his mask back on and left the room. 

You sighed once again when you heard someone scream in agony at the other side of the house. You just hoped there wouldn’t be any blood on the walls. Because the floor was one thing, but the walls… With the paint and sometimes the wallpaper… Gosh, you knew it would be just impossible to clean up!

You got startled from your own thoughts when one of the guests stumbled inside the room. He was hurt, clenching at his side. He saw you and hope lit up in his eyes. He was certain you were going to help him.

“You need to call the police” he told you as he came closer to you and you simply smiled at him.

“Oh yes, of course” you hummed without moving an inch. You were deep down a little bit annoyed at your boys for leaving a victim so close to you. They really weren’t that careful because it was inside their own house, and it was truly upsetting you, and in a different way that the blood was annoying you.

“Please, please, do something. We need to find a way out of your house… We need to… Why aren’t you scared?” he whispered as he was now leaning against the wall next to you. You hummed in disapproval when you saw blood stains on your floor and walls, but also on the pieces of furniture he leaned on to help himself walk to you. You hated this mess already.

“I really hate that. I’m married to idiots who don’t care about me” you grumbled

“Please, do something!” the man yelled at you, not understanding why you weren’t reacting and what you were talking about. “Ghostface will kill us both” he added, thinking you might not realise the seriousness of the situation.

“No, they won’t” you finally said as you got up. The guest relaxed a little bit, thinking you were now understanding what was going on and that you were going to find a way out of your own house. He frowned when you opened a kitchen drawer and grabbed a long knife from it.

“No, no, we can’t fight” the man reached for you.

“I’m not going to fight, I’m just going to kill you myself” you smiled at him before stabbing him before he could react from your words. He screamed and fell on the ground. He tried to protect himself but you were already straddling him and stabbing him over and over again. You never stopped smiling as you did so. Your dress, skin and hair were covered in blood, as well as your floor and kitchen furniture. But at least you were the one creating the mess and it was making you feel better. A lot of the tensions left your body.

Stu and Billy had finished the other man off and they were wondering where the last one went. They grew concerned when they heard a scream and they started to think that it might have been a mistake to bring them here: they wouldn't forgive themselves if anything happened to you because of their dark hobby and carelessness.

They ran through the whole house; Billy was looking for you and Stu was trying to find the last victim to kill him. They both ended up in the kitchen. And they paused when they saw you.

You were looking like a divinity of death to them. You were leaning against the counter, your arms crossed on your chest. You were covered in red. At your feet, the man was dead, with the knife still piercing through his heart. Blood was leaking from him and you had to sit on the counter to avoid your shoes being also coated in the sticky and red liquid. Billy and Stu removed their masks.

“You killed him?” Billy asked. If you had always been a fan of their work, you had never killed anyone before. No one they knew about at least.

“Nah, he fell on the knife” you rolled your eyes “Yes, I killed him. You both better get rid of the bodies! Right now!” you screamed at them. They exchanged a look and smirked. You were so hot when you were pissed at them, covered in blood.

“A kiss first, baby. And then we’ll even help you with the blood” Billy purred as he walked to you. “Didn’t know red suited you that well either” he hummed as he wrapped an arm around you. You tried to push him away but he was stronger than you. And soon enough Stu was also cornering you.

“Maybe we should help you with your bloody clothes first, darling” Stu added “Because if red suits you, I’m sure that your dress on the ground will look even better” he smirked and you hated how you felt yourself blushing at such raw desire from them.

“I’m still mad at you” you tried to resist. 

Billy shushed you before his lips found your neck. He brought you back on the floor, despite the pool of blood at your feet. He pushed you against the nearest wall. Stu followed the movement and he kissed the other side of your neck. Their hands were all over you as they started to undress you. You would have loved to say that you resisted, but you didn’t. You let your head go backward so you gave them more room. You also let your dress fall on the ground. They had a little look at your body and they groaned in want. You were always putting on some cute little lingerie under your outfit, and the boys were never disappointed.

“A shower is mandatory” Billy said as he tugged you

“You’re still sleeping outside tonight. Both of you” you warned them. Then the memory of how upset you were before killing the man hit you. “Hey, you left me alone with the victim. You let him talk to me while you were God knows where. I thought you cared about your wife” you told them as you stopped walking, frowning at them. They exchanged another look.

“I’m truly sorry about that, Y/N. It won’t happen again” Billy promised with sincerity. “Let us take care of you now as a way to apologise for what happened” he continued

“You’ll clean up,” you said. They weren’t too happy about it but they nodded. “And you’ll bring me to a nice restaurant tomorrow evening. I want something romantic” you added because you felt you could get away with absolutely anything at the moment. 

Billy wasn’t too impressed but he couldn’t displease his wife any more he already did so he nodded. Stu enjoyed how you were playing them.

“Of course, baby. But first… a shower.”

[bestiarium]

The Sottai [French-Belgian folklore]

Few folklore traditions are as common throughout Europe as the supposed existence of a race of tiny, dwarf-like creatures. Usually hidden from human society, these beings are usually not evil or malicious but do tend to be tricksters.

The Sottai, also called Sotê or Sotai, is a species of tiny leprechaun-like creatures living in Vosges and Lorraine, in France, and also near the Amblève river in Wallonia (Belgium). Specifically, in Belgium they are said to inhabit the caverns of Remouchamps.

The Sottais are characterized by their laziness and absolutely detest physical labour, but they are nevertheless helpful and usually willing to help out people in need. Indeed, there are stories about Sottais helping out workers and farmers and only demanding food in return.

It is known that these little creatures greatly enjoy parties and festivities, and they happen to be excellent dancers as well. Though not particularly dangerous or malicious, they are also exceptionally skilled archers. As a local story from the Ardennes goes, emperor Charlemagne of the Carolingian Empire was greeted by a troupe of Sottais when he was travelling through the Ardennes. Impressed by their archery skills, he invited them to become a part of his royal entourage, but the creatures refused and returned to their homes.

The name ‘Sottai’ might have been derived from ‘sot’ (silly or foolish) or ‘les sottes gens’ which means something like ‘the silly people’. This implies they were known as tricksters and jokers.

The Sottais, however, are all gone today, as they have all been killed by soldiers from Luxembourg. The soldiers collected bundles of dry wood and lit them on fire at the entrances of the cave system which the little folk inhabited. After being smoked out of their homes like foxes in a hunt, the Sottais were slaughtered. Those who managed to escape found out that the military men were being aided by the local population, which the Sottais had always helped out. Shocked by this betrayal and the cruelty of humans, the little folk left forever.

One Sottai remained, however: a local legend from Wallonia tells of Glawenn, a young Sottai with curly hair, the only one who stayed behind. He did not leave with his brethren, because he was hopelessly in love with a human girl named Garite. The tiny Sottai had been friends with the girl since they were little, and he would often bring her gifts which he had crafted with great skill. Garite eventually married a farmer named Thomas, and though it pained Glawenn, he accepted his fate and told Garite that ‘everything I do for you, I would gladly do for your husband and children’.

As the story goes, Thomas had sown rye on his field, but he had rotten luck and nothing would grow on his lands, even though the fields of his neighbours were full of life. One day, in a fit of rage and frustration, Thomas yelled ‘the devil may have this field and everything in it!’

Unexpectedly, a strange whispering sound came floating on the wind and it sounded a lot like someone saying ‘thank you’. Thomas was chilled to his very bones when he looked at his fields and realized that Pierre, his 4-year-old son, was playing there. He understood now that he had given his own child to the devil, albeit unintentionally.

Uncertain what to do, he told everything to his wife Garite. Garite, in turn, went to the cave where the last Sottai lived, hoping that her childhood friend could help them out. Meanwhile, the rye was growing very well, and her son Pierre had grown tall and strong as well.

When the time came for Thomas to harvest his crops, a strange man emerged from a nearby shrub. He was ugly, tall and thin, and wore a strange costume that didn’t resemble anything the locals wore. The man stopped Thomas, and told him that the crops rightfully belonged to him, as did his son Pierre. Thomas had, after all, given him his land and everything in it.

But Thomas was brave and argued that the devil did not have the right to take these things based solely on a loose promise made in anger. The devil retorted that Thomas had indeed given him these things, and it was because of the devil that the crops had grown tall. And so the two argued back and forth until the devil came with a proposal. The next morning, they would play a game, and the winner would receive both the land and the boy.

For the first round, both Thomas and the devil had to bring one animal: their opponent had to guess which species it belonged to. In the second round, both players had to come up with a task – something doable and natural – that the other had to complete.

Thomas told the entire story to his wife, who yelled at him for being a complete idiot. She went to see Glawenn again, and the little leprechaun told her “tell Thomas to show up half an hour early, and to do everything I tell him to. I will help him win this contest.”

The next morning, Thomas saw the strangest animal he had ever seen: it was about 60 cm (2 feet) high, had 4 legs, and was covered in colourful feathers. In truth, this was Glawenn, hunched over and covered in feathers. Sure enough, the devil showed up and he could not guess what strange animal Thomas had brought. But he himself had an even weirder creature, the likes of which Thomas had never seen. Luckily, Glawenn saw through the fiendish ruse and understood that it was nothing more than a goat in a fancy disguise. He whispered ‘it is a goat!’ to Thomas and so they had won the first round.

For the second game, Thomas gave the devil some of Glawenn’s unnaturally curly hair, and told him to straighten it. But try as he might, even the devil himself was unable to accomplish this.

Realizing he was defeated, the devil retaliated and told Thomas ‘for your task, you will throw this leprechaun in the Adseux river, and if you refuse, I will have both your son and your land.’

The past few weeks had seen heavy rainfall, and so the Adseux was wild and deep. There was no way Glawenn could possibly survive this. But Glawenn accepted his fate and, with his hand on his heart, proclaimed his love for Garite one final time before jumping to his demise. Mercifully, death came quickly, for the tiny man was smashed against the sharp rocks almost immediately. The river carried his remains to the cavern of Remouchamps, where he was born. Defeated, the devil disappeared.

And so the last Sottai died.  

Sources: La Garde, M., 1865, Le val de l’Amblève. Histoires et scènes ardennaises, 2ième édition, Ve Parent & Fils, 468 pp., p. 237-251. Méchin, C., 2010, Petit dicionnaire des mythes et légendes en Ardenne, édition 2010 revue et augmentée, The Book Edition, 250 pp., p. 227. Institut Archéologique Liégeois, 1852, Bulletin de l’Institut Archéologique Liégeois, Volumes 1-2, Maison Curtius, 568 pp., p. 273-274. (image source 1: Victor Prouvé) (image 2: a 1923 poster advertising the caverns of Remouchamps, where the Sottais supposedly lived. Image taken from ClassicPosterGallery)

[mind-the-wanderer]

To the Tune of a Broken Record

A retelling of this story made to tie up loose ends. Untangle this complex story. Give you more of this silly little wanderer!

The Fall and Rise (Pre CJRP)

"Im sor..." His words fell into the air. Useless in the drastic weight of the pain he'd caused. Shushed by a gentle hand. Mind was never expecting him to kill them. He loved his friends. Fuck he loved them. But he had won. And they had lost. He'd never ever see them again. And it hurt. Silence slowly came from those around him... a painful silence. He cries, clutching the cold figure that was still holding him. All of them released. He felt harsh hands grab him from the pile.

"You've won! So why cry little friend? I thought you wanted power." World. The one who had caused all this. He stood up tall, completely overshadowing the much smaller wanderer. His brown hair encircled his face, giving it a shadowy look in the darkness of the night. World had been the one to kill his friends... but ultimately they lead themselves to the slaughter. It was their choice to join. Their choice to get themselves wrapped up in this fight for power.

"Tomorrow marks the start of your first day truly living. Power, status, all yours. Magic at your fingertips. Safety from those savages you call the Fearful. You are the last of a dying breed. You needed to win. Do not feel remorse or guilt now."

The wanderer would only sigh. Now being allowed to retire to sleep. He didn't have a singular pleasant dream that night. Pain making him feel sick. Regret gnawing and clawing at his mind. He arose with a sick feeling still sitting in his stomach and chest. His black hair was a complete mess, and his blue eyes were puffy and red from the tears. But he pushed himself up anyway, he slipped into the clothes he had been given. He brushed out his hair carefully, and after what seemed like hours of him fiddling with his sleeves, he left, finding World waiting for him just outside in the hall.

"Took you long enough Starboy. We have a whole conversion spell and power exchange to get through today you know." Worlds voice sounded playful, but the undertones suggested the true rage and contempt he was feeling.

"My apologies World..." Mind pulled the hood over his head. Cape dragging.

"No matter. Come come. We have to get things in motion right away!" Mind tagged behind World swiftly. Returning to the open arena was painful, reminded of the blood he'd spilt merely two days prior. But it looked different now. Not even taking in to account the circle that was now in the center of the circular giant. Maybe it was entering it without the pressure and fear of all the other times. Whatever it was, entering it now was not the same.

"Sit in the center. Do not stand. Its much easier if you're sitting when the conversion happens." World's warning made him nervous but he did as told. World left seemingly to grab something, giving the boy time to study the subtle details of the area finally. After being forced to be in the arena so long you'd think he'd have seen what it looks like well enough. But he was too busy fighting for his life to truly notice how old the place truly seemed. Vines grew off of nearly every surface, contrasting the boring brown that plagued the rest of the area. The walls were so tall it'd be hard to imagine a bird even being capable of flying over top of them. World returned with a book in hand. Starting the spell.

Mind waited patiently. Watching as the ground around him began to glow. He felt pain beginning to surge through his body. Painful stabbing in his back and head was relentless. Screaming so loud it could wake up a dead man. Sobbing so intense he could create a whole ocean.

When the pain nearly subsided he realized what had happened. Soft, feathery, black wings draped over his back. Big wolflike ears sat delicately on his head. A tail doing the same on his lower back.

"For the love of everything you're loud." World seemed to care not what he had just experienced. Just helping him stand and leading him elsewhere. A giant throne room with walls of concrete. Grand pillars stretching from floor to ceiling. Light streamed in from the open top of the room.

"Your new throne room. King of the gods." The smile was obvious in World's voice as he declared this.

"Finally I can get my much needed rest. Your job is to keep everyone in line. They will listen to you no matter the request. You are in charge now. Make good use of it." With that the overwhelming presence of World was gone. Mind hopped up into his new chair. A new dawn. The dawn of his first day, as World put it, truly living.

[hangon-silvergirl]

au where chrissy is a runaway bride and eddie is a stranger who happens to be driving by (or riding by on his motorcycle idk) and gives her a ride out of town

God, I love it.

It's a massive, overdone, circus of a wedding. The whole relationship, from start to finish, has been a circus. Chrissy hasn't had any say in any of it. She didn't have a say in dating Jason, in getting engaged to Jason, or even in mundane things like choosing colors or flowers or china patterns. She doesn't know who's on the guest list, but she knows that it's more people than she knows, or who really know her. She didn't even get a say in her own dress. Chrissy is a footnote in the social even of the season, and she feels like Bride Barbie, stuffed into a tulle monstrosity that is more or less an itchy, overstated cupcake costume. The veil she didn't choose has a mind of it's own. The underwear she didn't choose pinch. The shoes she didn't choose hurt her feet. Her jewelry, her hair, her make-up... Everything is wrong. And everything is shadowed by Laura Cunningham's gloating self-satisfaction, as she makes every decision for Chrissy, and as she hovers on the fringes of everything like she's Chrissy's stage director. (Or maybe even her warden.) She knows that Chrissy doesn't want this, and she knows that Chrissy isn't happy, but she doesn't care; Laura thinks she knows better, and that's that.

The bridesmaids (in their pink, poufy, satin gowns and silly little hats) disappear one-by-one into the church ahead of her. She's looped arm-in-arm with her stout little dad, who's decked to the nines in a tailcoat like he's escorting Princess Diana to Prince Charles. He's humming to himself, indifferent as always, situationally blind. Can't he see that she's vibrating out of her skin? Can't he see that she's a pig that he's leading to slaughter? Hasn't he noticed, once, in her twenty-one years of life, that she's not been able to make a single decision for herself? He gives her a reassuring little pat on the hand, and she grimaces.

They step up to the doors, and the organ starts in on the Bridal chorus. The massive, faceless congregation stands at their cue, and turns to face them. Jason is at the front with the priest, but he's not looking at her in all her fabric-smothered glory; he's elbowing his best man and guffawing. Jason isn't ill-at-ease, and he's not here today because of love. This is just another check on his list. Next comes the sex, and then the babies, and... then what? Then what? Everyone is staring expectantly. Laura's eyes bore into her. Her father is trying to tug her forward, is whispering, "C'mon pumpkin, lets go!" But she can't. She can't!

"No," she says, and she sees her chance. Her only chance. Chrissy slips her arm out of the crook of her father's elbow. She drops her massive bouquet of roses to the floor. She gives her mother a fraught look, as if to say this is your fault, and then she turns, hikes up her dress skirts, and she runs. Chrissy bursts out through the lobby, crashes through the front doors and into the afternoon sunlight. She hops down the church steps two-at-a-time in her stupid, stupid shoes, and she sprints as fast as she can through the parking lot, toward the road. She hears the commotion behind her--her mother screaming her name, Jason yelling--and Chrissy tastes the scandal of it all; it makes her gleeful, makes her smile despite the tenuousness of her freedom. She barely looks both ways before continuing, tearing across the street and through a busy children's playground. Little faces stop and turn to look at her with confusion and awe. Chrissy keeps going and going and going, doesn't look back; she doesn't stop until she's three streets away, through a back alley, pressed against a brick wall behind a dumpster, gasping for breath. It's just her, a grizzled looking cat on a windowsill, the dumpster full of foul smelling garbage, and someone's old motorcycle. She puts a hand on her chest, against her beaded, sweetheart neckline and the swell of her breasts, trying to will her heartbeat to slow. She takes deep, deep breaths. She closes her eyes. She did it. She left. But. ...Now what?

Chrissy isn't sure how much time passes, but eventually the clang of a door swinging open and then shut again startles her back to reality. She opens her eyes and comes face-to-face with a very confused pair of brown eyes, peering at her from beneath a curly fringe of hair. His hair is longer than hers. He's wearing a leather jacket, and a denim vest, and it's covered in patches and pins and logos of bands (she assumes bands) that she's never heard of. His jeans are full of holes. He's got a helmet in his hands, and he's wearing motorcycle boots. "Uh. Hi?" he says. She gives him a panicked little wave. "Sorry," he continues. "I didn't mean to scare you, but. Uh. Well. I don't typically find many brides back here. Are. Are you okay?" And just like that, he's the first one to ask her.

Chrissy tells him the truth. Tells him who she is, that she didn't want to get married, so she ran; she's still running. They're going to try and find her and make her go back, and she doesn't want to. "Well. That's some bullshit," he says. "Do you have anyone you can call? Anywhere you can go?" The answers is, unequivocally, no. The man seems to mull this over for a bit, chews on his bottom lip with hesitation. Then, he hands her his helmet. "I'm, uh. I'm Eddie. And I have a couple of friends who might be able to help. Nancy. And Robin. If you want." She takes the helmet slowly. He shrugs, the very slightest of smiles playing at his lips. "And we can go by the church, if you want. It's on the way. If you really wanna drive the point home." And oh, does Chrissy ever.

It takes some work to get her situated behind him on the bike in all her finery, but they pull it off. The helmet squashes her hair, and she wraps her arms around his middle with only the slightest hesitation. He puts on a pair of aviators, and revs the bike up. When they drive off, the layers of Chrissy's dress and veil billow behind them. When they get there, the church parking lot is still full of people, her mother and Jason in the middle of all of the confusion. Someone spots her--she hears the yell--and then the beautiful, aghast sound of Laura Cunningham's shock carries over the combined din of the motorcycle and the wind. Chrissy can't help it: She cackles against Eddie's back, smile big and broad and elated. She has no idea where she's going, or what she's gonna do, but it doesn't matter. She could die happy right here and now. "Ha! Fuck them!" Eddie yells back at her, and Chrissy laughs again.

It's the start of something beautiful.

I mean. I pretty much wrote most of a fic there. 😅

Thanks for the ask, anon!

Request comes from this post:

Send Me an AU & I'll Give You 5+ Headcanons About It.

UPDATE: I turned this into a fic!

You can read the scandal of it all on aO3!

[ace-of-squirrels-card]

Turpentine is my all time favorite song. It was my top song from Spotify wrapped in 2023 despite being released on October 20 (wrapped was released Nov 29 lol). It's about searching for meaning in a meaningless life. Let me tell you what's so fucking amazing about this song: an essay, by me, ace of squirrel

Soak your clothes in kerosene

Cleanse the mind of ketamine

Slide your mom on top of me

Wash yourself with turpentine

Okay this song opens with very classic Tom lyrics. Wacky, silly, seems meaningless, casually vulgar. In many ways this entire album feels like a return to form, and that opening verse is a great example.

My arms, I've raised again

Today I don't feel bitter

I have no path within

Don't know if I'll get better

My own mind's unclean

Can't taste anything

What if I'm not like the others?

A broken man, a Frankenstein

What if my heart won't recover?

I'll clean myself with turpentine

Then there's an immediate tone shift to these really raw lyrics. These lyrics are heavy. It gives the impression of someone who woke up one day, no longer recognizing themself. As if to say "Is this what I've become?" Feeling like somehow, the whole is *less* than the sum of its parts. We're all just these broken pieces, haphazardly sewn together and hoping it holds. 

Meanwhile the guitar has this desperate, almost panicky feeling behind it. Somehow this is also very classic blink.

I feel like I'll cave in

I'm anxious, I am weathered

I've lost my way again

I know there ain't no treasure

These lyrics *kill* me, my god. These lyrics are saying we're crumbling apart, breaking at the seams. We're on this journey, we're lost, and we know that nothing good awaits us at the end? There's such a hopelessness to this verse.

My mind breaks with ease

Sticks and stones and dreams

We already have the ingrained association of sticks and stones being things that hurt us. Now you want to lump dreams into that category? Oh honey, who hurt you

Sharks smell the blood in the water

We're all just lambs to the slaughter

It's only all the time, this time

A generation lost and forgotten

Clawing at the lid of the coffin

Your God ain't coming back this time

We have this fun little moment that is very Mark here. We see these "spoken word"-like verses from Mark in a lot of his other songs (and especially collabs like Find My Own Way or Let Me Down). While a lot of the lyrics sung by Tom feel like an internal monologue, Mark's verses look outwards. The world around is more than uncaring. It's actively harmful, maliciously negligent. There's a sense of desperation and utter loneliness and constantly fighting to survive. 

Quit your job and have a drink

Take a pound of ecstasy

Blah, bla-blah, bla-blah, fuck

Wash yourself with turpentine

This ^ *this* ^ 

Self destructive, desperate. It's like they want to convey how meaningless everything feels and the best way to do that is not even bother writing a lyric here. Love it. 

Light me like a trampoline

Stick your dick in Ovaltine

Snort a bag of Dramamine

Douse yourself in gasoline

Throw up in the limousine

Jack off to a magazine

Wash yourself with ... turpentine

Goddamnit

Ughhhh this last verse. Amazing. It's back to classic goofy Tom, but it feels *very* different given the context of the rest of the song. Theater of the absurd. It really pulls together the meaning of the entire song. Its not so much some silly lyrics, and more like a desperate attempt to feel something. Anything. Self-deprecating at best and horribly self destructive at worst. 

Just from the perspective of a rhyming scheme, the structure is *chef's kiss*. They're showing off a certain mastery of language in this song that I would've expected from more ....respectable artists.

The song as a whole is about searching for meaning but struggling to find it. Filling the void in your heart with whatever you can, but never being fulfilled. Doing all this dumb shit, acting a fool even if you're not, because you feel so broken on the inside. It's this delicious dichotomy between deeply meaningful and hopelessly meaningless. Now THAT is classic blink (just look at Take Off Your Pants and Jacket, which somehow has a really heavy song about about a broken family dynamic but also a song about grandpa just ate seven fucking hotdogs). 

You can hear it throughout the entire album, theres this  apology to each other. It's all of them saying "I lost track of what was important. I forgot who I was because of dumb shit that didn't matter." And turpentine is that introspective lynchpin. 

Anyway y'all thanks for reading, that was a lot to come out of an account that mostly reblogs weird Danny phantom content. 

[babblydrabbly]

The Crazy is Mutual || Vigilante x Reader || Oneshot

Pairing: Adrian Chase x gn!reader

Warnings: Language. Canon-typical violence. Blood. Kissing. Some frottage.

Wordcount: 1k+

[ A/N: Spoilers for Peacemaker S1E5! My first Vigilante fic, technically. This one's mostly just silliness with a little spice. ]

You join the team, and Adrian does his best to stick to his guns. Sort of.

“Dude.”

“What?”

“Dude.”

“What, man?” Chris glares up from his ammunition bag. “You’re making me lose count of my shit!”

“Why is Y/n L/n sitting right there?” Adrian whispers, subtly pointing at your back.

You type away on your laptop across from Economos in the dusty little video store that serves as the team’s base. You don’t know exactly why you’re here, but your history of discretion seems to appeal to the man in charge- Mr. Murn. It’s enough to get you hired onto this temporary team. The pay isn’t stellar, but you’re happy for something more interesting to do than your usual gig- catching partners cheating over social media.

Chris glances over his shoulder at you. “L/n? I don’t know. Doing computer shit.”

“I thought Economos was the computer guy!”

Chris zips up the canvas bag with a little extra force. “They wanted someone more familiar with Evergreen to narrow down all the GPS shit, okay? I told them L/n was a good hacker. Now L/n’s here. …The fuck are you doing?”

Adrian is hidden away behind a narrow beam that does little to conceal his body, his limbs twisting more and more around it, as if climbing it will better shield him from view. He lets go and grabs Chris by his uniform sleeve, quickly dragging him to the bathroom and shutting the door.

Christopher slaps him away, but the small space is barely enough room for either of them.

Adrian exhales nervously. He almost doesn’t want to get the truth off his chest, but he just knew Chris would give him the hero counseling he needed right now.

“Look, I’m gonna be honest, because I don’t want to compromise this very important mission. I might possibly used to have a small crush on Y/n in high school.”

Chris stares down at the younger man and waits for more. “Okay? So?”

“So? That’s the definition of compromised! I don’t know what will happen to my moral compass if they’re on the same team as me!”

Chris considers how satisfying it would feel to dunk Adrian’s mop of dark hair into the toilet beside them, like the good old days. Instead, he crosses his arms and sighs tiredly. If he doesn’t humor him now, he’ll never hear the end of it.

“This crush. Still got it?”

Adrian reddens, adjusting his glasses. “I- no. That would be- really sad!” He laughs. Chris arches a skeptical brow as he continues on, his tone mocking himself. “Harboring a crush for ten years? When I’ve talked to Y/n, what, a handful of times in our lives? Ha!”

“...Alright. Just… focus on killing whoever we gotta kill today, dude.”

Adrian brightens at the mention of justice and slaughter. He nods and pats Chris on the bicep, who slapped him away again petulantly.

“I knew you’d tell me what I needed to hear. That’s what best friends are for!”

+

You scream with frustration as your laptop flies from your hands and lands onto the floor in pieces.

Grabbing a fire extinguisher off the wall, you swing it around with all your weight and crack whoever is behind you over the head with it. The warehouse employee collapses to the floor, their skull and brain matter entirely exposed. When another one of those things peeks out, you scream again and stomp your foot down into all the viscera, killing the insect.

At least you assume they’re insects. No one is telling you a goddamn thing.

It wasn’t enough that the warehouse had some form of technological cloaking you’ve never once seen in your life before. Harcourt had ordered you to come inside and try to decrypt it where the signal was stronger- clearly uncaring about whether you were capable of defending yourself or not. One of the other members on the team- Vigilante- had volunteered to escort you, but Adebayo insisted splitting teams up via rochambeau was the only fair choice.

Speaking of the masked man, your head snaps up at the call of your name. You’re met with a splatter of blood to the face.

Another employee falls to their knees in front of you, a bullet from Vigilante's gun still smoking in their skull.

“Heads up again!” He warns.

Before you can respond he’s leaping in front of you into a mass of bodies, all clambering for both of you. Time seems to slow as Vigilante whips out a blade and begins cutting dozens of people limb from limb, their blood painting every surface. His movements are sure. Confident. Relentless. You stare in awe until Vigilante finally finishes the last one off.

Adrian wipes his visor with a wet squeak. He chuckles as he turns to you.

“That got a little messy.”

“I…” You can’t help but stare at how his suit- white, black and blue just moments ago- was now soaked with deep red. “What… what are you doing after this?”

A pause.

“Huh?”

“If we don’t die, what are you doing after this mission?” You repeat.

+

Adrian’s offense over Economos’ using the chainsaw evaporates as soon as you grab him by the collar of his suit and yank the bottom half of his cowl from his neck, exposing his mouth. You silence the man with a hungry kiss before he can protest- not that he wants to. His arms catch you as you wrap your thighs around his waist. You both clunk against the side of the team van loudly. Adrian’s head bounces off the surface, but it doesn’t deter him from returning your kiss with vigor.

“Gross.” Economos mutters as he passes.

You kiss Adrian breathless until he can’t help but roll his hips against your pelvis, his length thick and bulging, even through the layers of his uniform. You grind back, your nails digging into his shoulder blades. “Holy shit,” You pant. “I always knew you started working out- I just didn’t know it was for kicking ass.”

Adrian peppers kisses along your throat, a proud smile forming. “You knew I started working out?”

“Are you kidding? I stalk the shit out of your instagram.” You admit happily.

“I- wait.” Adrian stops rutting helplessly against you, much to your dismay. He feels for his mask, confirming that it’s still half on. “How did you...?”

You flush. “I might just be stalking you period. Your Vigilante stuff and you, I mean.”

“Since when?!”

You giggle shyly, canting your hips. It earns you a groan. “Since the twelfth grade?”

“Oh,” Adrian can’t form much of a thought after that when you continue grinding against him in earnest.

Your lips find his again, tongue pushing into his mouth fervently. A deep sound catches in his throat when you reach down and grasp his length through his costume. He spins you around, slamming your back against the van this time.

“Are you two done fucking?” Chris calls from inside. “We’re leavin’ in two minutes.”

“Okay! Just– Just let me be compromised,” Adrian pleads. “T-Two minutes.”

You laugh, pressing your forehead against his. His flushed cheeks and smile are cuter up close than any selfie you’ve ever stolen from his phone.

“Bet I can make it one.”

[ginki]

Release Me┊ ┊ ┊ Gojo Satoru x Reader

⚘ Pairing: Gojo Satoru x gn!Reader

⚘ Genre: angst (woowee surprise!)

⚘ Word count: 1.3k

⚘ Content warnings: mentions of chronic pain

Oh boy this was really more of a vent fic tbh. Hoping and praying that Gojo isn't ooc but... I will let you decide.

No curses to exorcize today. No missions to work overtime for. No meeting to get berated at. It was just a straight shot to your house at this point and he couldn't wait to jump in the car to go see you. He felt his pulse rise as he closed the gap, a natural grin making its way onto his face. Seeing you, it made him almost giddy. How silly of him, right? A grown man getting giddy like some crush-struck kid. Gojo had to admit though, you two had grown really close recently- close enough he even considered calling you his best friend. However, he would have to consult Nanami about giving the honorary title to someone else before he made it official. Wouldn't want to hurt the poor guy's feelings.

Enough about Nanami though. He was all orderly and square (just like his suit) and downright boring sometimes. You were wonderful- fun and full of life and things to say. If he dared show any amount of vulnerability, he'd say you made him comfortable. You were easy to breathe around. He laughed deep in his gut at your jokes, enough for him to feel sore the next day. Even the thought of your smile eased his shoulders.

More than that, you listened to him. You talked philosophy with him and big ideas. You let him rant about how he wanted to change the corporate nature of the sorcerer world. You checked for wounds every time he came to your door after work. You cared and you showed it. It was like a balm on his spirit. You were good for him. It made his heart clench for a second thinking about the possibilities of more between you two but he quickly pushed that aside. He was lucky to have you in his life at all. He wouldn't push it- no matter how much he felt himself falling for you. He wouldn't do that again.

Shoving heavy memories to the side, he made the effort to lighten up as he made his way up the sidewalk to your door, humming a little tune as he reached his hand for the doorknob; you had told him the door would be unlocked by the time he got there. He paused, trying to think of a witty line to say upon entry. When he had landed on one he liked from the abundant catalog in his head, he flung the door open in a grand gesture, already kicking his shoes off to make himself feel at home.

"Did someone order-"

He was greeted by a cry that echoed throughout your home.

It was wailing, like the souls of the damned had embodied your house, groaning shooting off of every closed door and loose board. A dreadful feeling crept through him as the cries grew in volume. Crying quickly turned to screaming. He ran to your room, padded feet matching the erratic beating of his heart. He prayed that nothing had touched you, that he wasn't too late.

When he slammed your bedroom door open, every inch of him was ready to fight whatever was attacking you. Except there was nothing. Nothing but you curled up on your bed, head wedged between your knees like you were trying to block something from reaching your ears. Your arms were splayed in front of you and your nails clawed at your sheets as your body quaked. You sounded like you were being slaughtered, as if your chest was being ripped apart. Your mouth opened wide to relieve any pressure of the pain. He felt dread seize him.

He called your name, trying not to scare you. You didn't flinch. He asked you what was wrong- pleaded for an answer to your anguish.

"I- I can't," you yelled, your grief too loud to notice.

"Can't what?" He asked in a voice a little too tight, a little too worried, but you couldn't pick up on it. You were lost. His hands trembled, warily letting go of Limitless, as he reached for you. He tried to find you as he knelt behind your frame, his arms laying over your shoulders, forehead on your spine, hoping to protect you from what he couldn't see, hoping to hear an answer in your lungs.

"I don't-" you choked out, another sob ripping through you and echoing through the room. "I don't want to be- to be in pain. I don't want to be in pain anymore."

You had mentioned the pain once before but brushed it off as if it was nothing. How he wished he knew how big it really was; maybe he could have helped before you crash landed here. He was useless now except to listen as you let it go.

"I hurt," you confessed, as if being in pain was a sin- one you had always practiced in private, keeping to yourself. Your self was not enough now. "I hurt so bad. All of- all of the time."

His heart- oh, his heart- it was breaking with each of your desperate gasps for air, with each fall of a word, with every crack in your voice. He moved to shield the entirety of your back, his arms pulling yours into your chest and crossing over them, holding you just tight enough to keep you here, with him. Your curled hands moved from the sheets to his arms, holding onto him as your only support.

"I'm sorry," he croaked out, desperately trying to consume your anguish. "I'm so sorry."

You howled and he swore it could have shattered the world. You were in agony. He could feel it as if it were etched into his own spine. You shook like a dying man terrified of what came next. You shook and it knocked his tears loose.

It felt like hours that he held you there, keeping himself an anchor for you in your storm. He wanted so desperately to pull you out, to keep you from pleading to the universe, for apologizing for something that wasn't your fault, but he didn't know how. He had never been much of the comforting type but now he wished he had put in the practice. At least, if he couldn't pull you out, he could be there when you did it yourself. He could be your harbor. You could always come back to him and be safe.

"I'm so tired," you whispered in a shattered breath.

"I know," he whispered back, the air around your melded bodies too fragile, like glass at its pressure point. "It's okay. It's all going to be okay."

You really were tired. Your body had been devoured by anguish. Time had seemed infinite in your fight with heartache but now reality slowly resurfaced as the hurricane died down. You slumped into Gojo's arms and your hands released the vice grip on his sleeves, leaving them to lay loosely against him. Your breathing was evening out. Your body shook from strain rather than misery.

He was there to hold you steady at the end. He lifted you up as he sat against the pillows and pulled you to his chest. The raised surface helped clear your sinuses as your head laid comfortably in the crook of his arm. He gently dried your tears with the blanket as he lifted it over your feverish body. It still shook against him.

"It's okay," he whispered again. "I'm here. Just try to rest."

He rambled his affection as your remedy, telling you sweet words that loosened the coil in your muscles. As your body fell limp next to his, he placed his cheek against your head, sighing in relief that you would have some peace for a bit.

He would tell you sweet nothings forever if it meant you didn't have to go through this, but he wasn't a miracle worker. He was just a man who loved you.

[lonely-lost-soul]

Under The Floorboards pt. IIII

(Technoblade X Reader): Pt. I, Pt. II, Pt. III, Pt. IIII, Pt. V

Whipping the sweat off your brow you placed the honey jars you collected on the ground, Phil really built this farm efficiently. However, that didn’t stop you needing to collect honey pots here and there, now that the vault was complete you could actually use the honey for normal things. Technoblade would never admit it but he loved when you put honey in his tea, contrary to popular belief he wasn’t a fan of plain black tea or coffee. You rolled up your sleeves and adjusted the sunhat that sat lazily on your head against your better judgment you had left your armor inside. The only thing on your person was a netherite ax Techno had enchanted for you, it was an effective weapon but without your armor, you were a bit of a sitting duck. As the bees buzzed and bumped lazily into each other, you couldn’t help but smile fondly at the sight. They were just so silly. You picked up the crate of jars and turned around, your eyes narrowed as you saw some movement by the trees, it was still too early for Tommy and Technoblade to be back...so just who was snooping around the property. You felt very naked in your sun hat and overalls, especially if it was Dream himself that you were about to encounter. Your worry only increased as you noticed four men all in netherite armor walking towards the house, their swords were drawn. You had a feeling that these were the men who took Technoblade the day prior. They were like a little gang all dressed the same way, bloody aprons and all they really had the executioner vibes down. 

    “Hello, gentlemen.” You smiled giving them a wave while you adjusted the box of honey, “beautiful day isn’t it?” 

The first to answer was a man who had a scar from the tip of his eyebrow down to the bottom of his lip. He sent you a smile and you noticed a tooth missing from the upper row, a navy blue beanie held his dark hair in place. 

    “Very beautiful, it’s always a good day when the sun is shining.” He mused the sun in question reflected beautifully across all their netherite armor. The one thing you decided to leave inside, you weren’t intimidated nope not at all. “What’s your name sweetheart?”

    “(Y/N).” You responded with a hum, “Is there something that I can help you all with today?” Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed two of the men moved to surround you, they thought they were slick. The only one who didn’t move was the tallest of the children there, he looked to be half Enderman. He also looked like he wanted to be anywhere but where he was right now poor thing. Drawing your gaze back to the other three men, you noticed one was Tommy’s age and had small horns atop his head, along with goat-like ears. A burn scar also took up half of his face. It made you frown distastefully, what was with these kids getting traumatized? First Tommy and now the half enderman and the goat kid, you couldn’t adopt all of them, well you could but it’d be a lot of work. The other looked to be part fox after all the big orange ears and the fluffy tail was dead give away, wait didn’t Ghostbur say his son was a fox. “Are you Fundy?” You asked, suddenly tilting your head to the side.

    “How do you know my name?” Fundy’s face flushed a little and he shuffled on his feet, his hand twitching to grab the sword that was at his side. 

    “I talked to your father earlier today. I’m assuming that’s how you found me?” You took the hat off your head and rested it on Carl’s stable. The fox gave a reluctant nod of confirmation you licked your lips and put your hands behind your back. “So? Do you have a problem with Technoblade or just me specifically?”

    “Wow, she’s not even a little bit ashamed.” Quackity mused and you frowned, “We’re here because your boyfriend blew up our country. He also disgraced our President right Tubbo? Don’t know if you’re aware of that or not but he escaped his punishment. So we intend to make him repent.” He walked towards you and you took a step away from him. 

    “That’s far enough thank you.” You held up your hand in hopes it would stop his trek towards you, Quackity did pause for a moment. He let out a chuckle and smiled. He thought your tough attitude was cute, but he was clearly mocking you. 

Jackass. 

    “Quackity maybe we should leave her be...she didn’t do anything.” The young goat kid murmured his ears flicking as he looked up at you. 

    “Quiet Tubbo. Let the adults speak,” Quackity snapped at him before clearing his throat and looking back at you. “Listen (Y/N) was it? We’re going to have to ask that you come with us. If you don’t we’ll have to take you by force.”

    “Wait, couldn't Technoblade have trained her?” The half enderman spoke holding up his finger in the air but no one seemed to pay him any attention. 

    “I guess force it is. Although the fight is a little unfair.” You took out your ax and twirled it in your hand, “Something tells me you don’t exactly like fair fights.” Fundy took a hesitant step backward not really wanting to lose a life for this of all things, but he pulled out his sword just in case. Clicking your tongue in distaste you sent a bloodthirsty smile their way, one that rivaled Technoblade, “Come at me.” 

Without hesitation, Quackity charged at you with his sword he didn’t aim to kill, just disarm or injure. You blocked the swing with the wooden part of your ax and spun around just in time to dodge an attack from Tubbo. You managed to elbow him in the back and he stumbled forward into Quackity, the man made a grunting sound before shoving Tubbo off of him and into the snow. Fundy moved next and managed to land a hit on the side of your arm, you hissed loudly glaring daggers at the fox. His ears pressed against his head and he let out a small whimper, “sorry!”

    “Don’t apologize to her!” Quackity groaned, “You guys are the worst gang ever.” He slapped his forehead as you readjusted your posture, “I have to do everything myself.” Quackity snarled charging at you again you sidestepped out of the way. As he stumbled trying to regain himself he knocked over the honey pots and they shattered against the ground. You swung your ax and managed to land a hit on him in the back of the legs, he let out a strangled yelp and fell on his face into the snow like Tubbo had done earlier. Yanking out the ax out of the leader of the gang blood splattered all over the ground and stained the snow. Little red beads dripped off the ax as you held it by your side, the man only let out another scream as it was torn out of him. 

    “Back. Off.” You repeated again baring your teeth with a hiss, “Turn around and go back to L’manburg and I won’t kill you. Got it.”  The ax was pointed at all of them, you saw the half enderman nod vigorously, 

    “Yes ma’am.” He nodded rapidly grabbing Tubbo and Fundy by the arm and pulled them back, the three of them watched as Quackity snarled and backed up to join them. You watched them cower and you dropped your ax on the ground so you could press the palm of your hand into the wound on your arm. You quickly turned and ran back into your home to collect bandages and fix yourself up, blood speckled the floor as you made your way into the bathroom. You tore off your overalls and shirt, washing out the wound before wrapping your arm in bandages. You didn’t know how long you stood there in front of the mirror but you looked worse for wear. 

Technoblade was going to lose his shit.

---

All Technoblade could think about on their way back to his retirement home, was you. He could only put up with Tommy for so many hours until he needed to talk to literally anyone else. He was ready to get your relaxing date night underway; he could already feel your fingers running through his hair braiding his as you went. He hummed fondly listening as the voices called him simp repeatedly, he didn’t mind this time considering he was when it came to you. 

    “That’s still cringe chat.” He murmured to himself as Tommy continued to scream about something in the background, “Yeah, yeah I love her.” He heard the chat flip their shit and he fondly chuckled, intermixed with their happy cries there was a distinct sound of ‘E’ as well as ‘nerd.’ He almost didn’t hear Tommy’s worried shouting. He frowned and rolled his eyes back into his skull, 

    “What Tommy?” 

    “Technoblade! Technoblade!” The teen bumped back into him, Technoblade grunted and looked down at him. He followed Tommy’s eyes and spotted the blood littered snow outside his house. Technoblade paused and his vision went red around the edges, his eyes stayed trained on the bloodstains as the voices began to roar within his skull. His head shot up and he saw the honey box spilled over on the ground, glass littered the snow, your hat hanging loosely on Carl’s old stable. 

     “T-Technoblade.” Tommy stuttered again looking up at the pig-man, seeing how glazed over his eyes looked. He swore steam was coming out of Technoblade’s nose and his hand drew out his pickaxe gripping it so tight his knuckles turned white. He felt his tusks grow in size and his face began to shift into his pig form. Tommy’s voice was drowned out by the flood that was the voices in his head: 

‘SHE’S GONE. THEY HAVE HER. KILL THEM ALL. BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD. WE DEMAND BLOOD. E. SAVE HER. YOU’RE A FAILURE. YOU DIDN’T PROTECT HER. SLAUGHTER ALL OF THEM. SHE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. SHE NEVER HURT ANYBODY. YOU BROKE YOUR PROMISE. BLOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD.’ 

Technoblade took a step forward to which Tommy rapidly backed up in response. He’s never seen Techno this gone before, oh shit he has it bad for (Y/N). However, Tommy didn’t make a move to stop Technoblade; he didn’t want him to release that rage on him. Technoblade walked into the house, stepping on his glasses that fell off his face. He threw his door open with a loud slam, he needed potions and he needed a new sword. 

Whoever did this all their cannon lives were gone he’d make it long and torturous.

A soft voice broke him out of his stupor his entire body went rigid. 

    “Bubs…” He slowly turned around and came face to face with you, you looked so small, so delicate standing in the doorway. You were wearing your pajamas, soft blue with little sheep all over them. His ears twitched and his shoulders softened considerably seeing you standing safe in the doorway, however, he tensed again the minute he saw the bandages tied around your arm. Blood leaking through them, he growled eyes locking in on the spot as you made soft shushing sounds at him. 

‘SHE’S HURT. SHE’S ALIVE THOUGH. BUT SHE’S HURT, THEY NEED TO PAY. ATONE FOR WHAT THEY DID TO HER. BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD. SPILL THEIR BLOOD THEN MAKE OUT WITH HER. SHE’LL LOVE YOU MORE IF YOU DO. BLOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD.’

Technoblade jumped feeling her hand caress his cheek, “Bubs it’s alright I’m okay.” Your voice was smooth and soothing, his eyes dilated as you spoke to him. His face shifting back to normal as he breathed heavily through his nose, “See?” You brought his head down to rest against your chest, it looked uncomfortable the way that he was bending. However, he could feel your heart beating in your chest, he made a soft whimper and grabbed onto your shoulders his pink hair tickled your chin. You brought your hands up to run his fingers through his hair as he finally calmed down enough to ignore the voices for the time being. Right now they were just commenting on how nice and warm her hands were anyway.

    “What happened to you? There was blood everywhere I was so scared.” His voice broke a little bit as he pulled away from you. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest Technoblade had never looked so broken. 

    “The butcher squad came and attacked me. They wanted to use me to get to you but I fought them off just like you taught me.” You couldn’t help but smile proudly at him and he let out a disbelieving laugh. His hands moved from your shoulders to your back as he cradled you gently in his arms, you both stood there rocking back and forth together until Technoblade was satisfied. 

    “That’s my girl.” He finally murmured backing away from you, you flushed at the compliment. Whenever he called you that it made you flush all over, you let out a loud flustered whine and whacked him on the chest. Technoblade laughed at your flustered expression, it was a rare moment the tables were flipped like this and Technoblade was going to take full advantage of the situation. “Princess what’s with that look? Am I, thee Technoblade, making you flustered? I know I’m a lot to handle, I beat Dream once, I never die, I’m not homeless. Guess what?” 

    “What?” You couldn’t help but let out a giggle as he circles you eyeing you up and down. 

    “I’m single.” 

    “Oh really?” You cocked an eyebrow, “I thought you had a girlfriend.” You twirled your hair around your fingers and you felt his strong hands rest on your waist. 

    “Hm I don’t think so. You might need to refresh my memory,” Technoblade mused kissing your neck tenderly. 

    “Well she’s stunningly gorgeous, and tough as nails,” Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned back against him. “She absolutely adores you and how protective you are of her, and how much of a gentle giant you are.” He made a noise of protest and rested his chin on the top of your head. You could tell he was pouting at you, 

    “See, not only is that super cringe but also factually incorrect. I am not a gentle giant, I just committed vast sums of minor terrorism and I also kill orphans so what would my girlfreind say to that huh?” He huffed clicking his tongue distastefully. 

    “She would say that you’re right but also she sees the way you take care of Carl, and how you put up with Tommy. You’re totally brothers. That makes you at least a little bit soft” 

    “Not brothers and I don’t like him.” 

    “Right sure,” You giggled a little and kissed his chin lightly. 

Technoblade let out an indignant sound before muttering, “Oh we should probably tell Tommy you aren’t kidnapped. Also discuss what to do about L’manburg now that they know you exist.” You blocked out that last part and made a beeline outside to find Tommy. The teenager in question was fumbling with his hands over by his cobblestone tower, you ran over to him and engulfed him in a hug. 

    “(Y/N)!” He shouted letting out a disbelieving laugh hugging you back with a childish smile. “You’re okay! Holy fuck I totally thought you were dead and shit! Technoblade was going fucking apeshit! His face went all pig like n’ shit totally thought he was gonna kill everyone for you! Not that I was worried.” He added quickly shoving you away crossing his arms. 

    “Of course you weren’t THE Tommy is never worried.” 

    “Yeah exactly Miss Blade you get me.” You smiled fondly at him and you ruffled his hair and he shouted at you to stop. You did so sensing Technoblade approach the both of you, Techno interlocked your hand with his own and squeezed it tightly. “You chill now Big T?” 

    “I’m always chill Tommy. Only nerds aren’t chill.” He mused with a scoff, “Hence why I always call you a nerd.” 

    “WHAT THE FUCK TECHNOBLADE! I AM ALWAYS CHILL! I’M THE CHILLEST MAN ALIVE I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW!” 

    “Stop shouting,” Technoblade groaned burying his face in your hair as you laughed fondly at their antics. Although L’manburg knew about your existence now, and although you knew Dream probably wasn’t too far behind in learning that knowledge either, you felt everything was going to be okay. 

All you needed was each other, Technoblde, Tommy, Phil and you. Together you four were gonna do great things, you just knew it.

~~~

I do plan on making another part because people seem to be enjoying this story a lot more than I originally thought when I first posted it. Which is amazing thank you for all the love and support! New stuff is also in the works, thanks again for reading and enjoying! Stay safe guys! 🥰✨

[heaux-burrow]

Come Away To the Water. Book III

(book 1) (book 2) (book 4) & (book 5)

Come away little light, come away to the darkness To the ones appointed to see it through In the shade of the night we'll come looking for you Come away little lamb come away to the water Come away little lamb come away to the slaughter Give yourself so we might live anew fandom: midnight mass pairing: Father Paul x 2nd person OFC (Helena Belleforest) summary: "That's my job. To know the people in my community." “You mean the sheep in your flock.” “Especially the little black ones that like to wander off.” His voice is so tender. You wonder if Jesus spoke with this same tenderness. You think, if he did, you would've defied Rome for him too. a/n: I couldn't fully confirm if Bev is a Deacon but I grew up in church like, she seems like she's a Deacon so we're running with that. taglist: @shannon-posts

The first knock comes at 5pm.

And like clockwork, it’s the Virgin Mary herself.

“I’d imagine you have more important matters to attend to than me, Deacon.” You can’t even look Bev in the eyes, gaze scanning the path behind her, fearful of the entire congregation following after her to finally drive you out.

“Well, it was a busy afternoon.” She offers you a sickly sweet smile, full of poison. “Noticed you were kind enough to grace us with your presence in service today. My, you know… I think it’s been at least three, no four years since we last had the privilege. And here I thought your soul was just beyond saving. It’s truly a miracle what prayer can do, isn’t it?”

Blinking slowly, it takes all your strength not to close the door right in her face.

“It’s so kind of you to pray for my soul, Deacon. When there are so many others, far more deserving of your attention. I thank you.” Your tone is anything but thankful.

“Oh, of course. I always had so much respect for your family. Your grandfather in particular, God rest his soul. Well, you know that. You saw the way I cried at his funeral. I felt so silly. But he was such a good, God fearing man. Never missed service. And always helped us hand out sandbags in a storm. He deserved as much and more.”

“Well, I imagine he’s at peace now.”

“You are so right. I’m sure he’s smiling down on you, so proud that you finally made your way back to the flock…” Her eyes flicker with hunger, dying to know what it is that you must know. And finally, she breaks, unable to stand the mystery of it any longer. “Forgive me but...I must ask, given recent events, what it is that Father Paul suggested might happen at mass today that inspired your return? I mean, today of all days. Well, it just begs such curiosity. Surely, you understand.”

Ahh, there it is. The reason there isn’t a burning cross on your lawn right now.

Dragging in a deep breath, your fists ball for only a moment before you flex your fingers back outwards by force so you can’t punch her. Though it doesn’t stop a few silent hexes from whispering around in your mind.

“Father Paul had no idea I would be in attendance. In fact, I didn’t either.” She opens her mouth to contest your statement, but you raise a hand to stop her. “And I know you don’t believe me, but… I woke up this morning and… Gosh, you know, I guess Holy Spirit was just alive and moving inside me. Telling me to get up and go. So I listened. Guess I was meant to bear His witness, Deacon. Just as you were.”

You can tell from her stunned silence that she doesn’t appreciate this accusation. That God sees the two of you on any sort of equal footing. But that’s exactly why you said it and you can’t help savoring just how uncomfortable it’s made her.

Good, you think. It’s your turn to squirm, you self righteous bitch.

And you feel no guilt for these thoughts. You outgrew feeling guilty for your sins a long fucking time ago.

“Well, I do hope we’ll continue to see you at mass. I truly think it’s just what you need. God can forgive anyone you know. Even you.” There’s that Willy Wonka smile again.

Dragging in a breath, you can’t help leaning out of the doorway just slightly as she turns to go.

“Beverly?” The sun has dipped low enough to set the sunlight softer among the clouds. Like brush strokes of oil paint lovingly caressed across the sky. On the breeze, you can hear the horn of a ferry calling out its goodbye as it starts back towards the mainland. You hate to ask her anything. But you can’t help worrying. And crossing the island to check on Paul yourself seems like a stupid idea given the circumstances. If Beverly thought your timing was suspicious, surely she’s not the only one. “Is he alright?”

“I’ve attended to him.” She assures you with a small but proud smile, as if this answers your question. Animalistic jealousy flares in your veins as if she’s stolen a privilege from you. But if you’re honest with yourself, she can’t steal something from you that isn’t yours. “He’s resting now. In peace. And we should let him. He’s had a very long day. The last thing he needs is more trouble.”

Bobbing your head in understanding, you close the door.

Tonight, you double check the locks, before going upstairs to dig out your cleansing sage. You are not letting her sociopathic energy infect your house. Not even the front step.

~~~

The second knock comes just after 7pm.

Hope runs unbridled through your chest and you nearly jump off the floor.

You’d been sitting by the fire looking at star charts, trying to figure out if there’s something going on astrologically that could explain anything you saw today. Trying to ignore the bible your grandfather left on the table by his chair. Trying to ignore the impulse to march across the island and demand answers from Paul. To check on him. To cradle him and swaddle him and pet him until he falls asleep, with you guarding his doorstep. You’re sure half the town has been biting at his ankles today. You know now isn’t the time to ask more of him. But it doesn’t stop the wanting.

You fight hard not to let disappointment drain your features when you open the door to find Erin Greene on your step. You’re never sure if it’s the pregnancy or just her own natural beauty, but sometimes you catch yourself staring at her. The woman is like a damn Botticelli fresco. She’s also your only real female friend on the island and you cherish her company. You just know she doesn’t have the answers to any question clawing around inside of you. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe you both just need to talk it out. That’s what the women of the village do, right? Talk it out of themselves until that something is no longer clawing around on the inside.

“Don’t look so excited.” She chuckles, observant as ever despite your efforts.

“Sorry, just been a long day.” You offer her your best smile and step aside, ushering her past the threshold. “Everything okay?”

“Sort of.” She shrugs, wandering in. “I mean, yeah...Today was weird, right?”

Apparently, you’re not the only one struggling with how you’re supposed to feel. Of course, you’re happy for Leeza. Everyone is happy for Leeza but... what the fuck?

“They talk about misdiagnosis in pre-med a lot. Maybe...I dunno…” Your head feels fuzzy from lack of sleep. You’ve never been a morning person, barely functional before 10am and always awake past midnight. But you were up at a blistering 8am today and you haven’t been able to nap. It’s only then that you remember you haven’t eaten either.

“Mm,” She nods in agreement, moving to stand near the star maps laid out across your wooden floor. You can see her head tilt as she tries to make sense of them. “Riley mentioned something about that… but then…”

“But then how did Father Paul know?” Digging through your fridge, you pull out the leftover vegetable soup you’d thrown together last night. “I’m dying to ask him.”

“So...he didn’t tell you anything?” She catches your arched eyebrow from across the kitchen and throws her hands up in surrender. “I just know you two like to talk. He… seems like...he confides in you.”

“Trying to convert me, more like.” You scoff, ladling soup into two bowls. “There’s a decent amount of salt in this, is that okay for…”

Your eyes drop to her belly and she laughs.

“Salt is the least of my worries. Hell, I live on a little salt rock in the middle of a salt-water desert. I sure hope it’s alright. Did you know that? That the ocean is actually a desert.”

“I did not.”

“Yep. There’s no drinkable water and you can’t grow agriculture on the open ocean.”

“Hmm. That’s interesting.”

“I mean, it was. But then I watched a paralyzed girl get up and walk today so my range on interesting has shifted significantly.”

For the first time all day, a laugh bubbles up out of you and it’s only then that you realize how badly you needed it. Thank the goddesses for Erin Greene.

“Do you think our grandmothers were friends?” You muse her way, setting the bowls in the microwave with a paper towel over them. “Or maybe our great grandmothers?”

A bright smile tugs at her mouth and takes over her entire face. The thought clearly warms her as much as the fire she’s lingering by.

“I hope so. I hope they sat by the fire and gossiped about everyone in this town and laughed at how crazy this place is.”

“And helped each other clean up after storms.”

“And took turns watching each other’s children so they could bathe and eat and sit in quiet for a few minutes.”

“I hope they helped each other feel understood. You know? I feel like women never got to explore who they were beyond what they could do for their families back then. Jesus, sometimes even now.”

“I hope they were happy.” Her eyes are on the ocean now, staring out the big windows that face east. The moon is rising steadily over the water, creating ripples that reflect her light right back and make her seem even bigger than she is.

“Who couldn’t be happy here?” Your playful sarcasm tugs her out of her thoughts and the two of you share a soft laugh.

“You really don’t know, do you?” Her big sea green eyes search yours as the truth finally settles in that you hadn’t shown up today to watch a miracle happen. “Everyone thinks you know...so...if you didn’t show up for Leeza, then...”

The recognition that flickers across her face triggers an eyeroll from you, followed by a gentle laugh.

“That’s not it. It’s not.” You shake your head, knowing full well that you’re lying to her face. Before this morning, you might’ve told her the truth. That when Paul looks at you, speaks to you, you feel so much more than holy.

“I mean, if anyone could make a man break his vows of celibacy…” Her smirk is infectious and you shake your head, setting her soup on the round kitchen table by the east facing windows.

“That is not what is happening.” Heat creeps up your neck and you can feel a burn in your cheeks.

“Yet.” Sitting at the table, she plays her spoon around in the soup and eyes you playfully through the rising steam. With a heavy sigh you sit down beside her to eat your own soup. Under the table your foot gives her ankle a friendly kick and the two of you share a laugh. You wonder if your great-grandmothers’ friendship ever included teasing each other about the handsome men around town and kicking one other under the table for it. You sincerely hope it did.

~~~

The final knock comes at 1am.

You’ve just fallen asleep, curled up on your bed in the pale moonlight with star maps scattered across your blankets.

But you know this time. The second your eyes fly open, you can feel every cell in your body stand at attention. You know it’s him.

And you know this is a little stupid. He should be resting. You should be keeping your distance. Still, you pull on a robe and brush the maps over onto your desk and scurry to the door like a moth eager to let the flames consume her.

His forehead presses to yours as he steps over the threshold. His hand is big and warm as it rests on your waist, curling into the thin fabric of your robe in sync with the deep breath that expands his lungs.

“I can’t sleep.” It makes your knees tremble the way his voice rumbles in his chest. So low and private, his words meant for no one on this earth but you.

“I thought we couldn’t…”

“We can’t.” He swallows hard, clearly struggling with this fact and hoping that saying the words out loud will strengthen his resolve. “Believe me when I say it’s not because I don’t want…”

“I know.” The pads of your fingertips rest against his perfect mouth, hushing him. You fight hard not to show what the feeling of his lips on your skin is doing to you. Taking a step back, you force him to follow if he wants to keep any distance between your bodies closed. And he obliges. “No, I know. It’s fine. It’s okay. We can just… I don’t want to be away from you either. We’ll figure it out, hmm?”

Paul uses his foot to nudge the door closed and you reach around him to do up the lock. The action triggers a small chuckle in his chest and he pulls back to find your eyes in the pale moonlight.

“What are you so afraid of out here, hmm? Nothing is going to get you. I won’t let it.” On pure instinct, you lean into the brush of his knuckles across your cheek. Hum softly as his fingers comb up into your curls, just as his nose dips into the warmth of your neck. “You looked different today…”

“I straightened my hair. Dug out some make up.” You muse softly, stretching an arm out across his broad back. A moan slips out before you can stop it at the heat of his breath on your skin as he nuzzles into it. Drinking you in like your scent is a drug.

“For me?”

“No, for Jesus.” Your trademark sarcasm earns you a firm nip to the neck and you squeal breathlessly in surprise. Giggling softly, you shuffle backwards on your tiptoes towards the spiral staircase that leads to your bedroom. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“Painfully.”

“Well, it could be worse. I could’ve promised my whole body to him for life…oh wait.”

When you pull back to gauge his reaction, you find his eyes narrowed playfully up at you while you navigate the stairs. His grip on your waist tightens, keeping you fixed in place for a long, breathless moment.

“You looked beautiful…” He whispers across your lips, cradling your neck as he gently guides you down to meet him. His mouth catches yours and it’s like a thousand champagne bottles pop off inside you. Like the piercing heat of a shower spray streaming over your spine. Like warm honey dripping down your throat and through your core. But better.

Despite the tension, you can feel this kiss is anything but sexual. Nothing but attachment and neediness and pure intimacy. If you could, you’d rip open your chest and let him burrow inside your ribcage. But kissing him is a sufficient alternative. Particularly when you never thought you’d get the chance.

Without warning, his hands grip your waist as if that’s what they were made for, and lift. Your legs wrap around his middle and he carries you the rest of the distance.

“Why did you come today?” His voice is muffled, buried in your hair as you wrap your arms across his back. He’s stronger than he looks. And it’s only now, with his body pressed right to yours like this, that you’re able to appreciate how much bigger he is than you.

“I wanted to see you.”

“It is written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer,’ but you make it a den of thieves.” He sighs playfully, feigning Jesus' disappointment upon finding merchants in a temple.

“I didn’t steal anything!” You laugh in response.

“Didn’t you?” The smirk is evident in his voice and you giggle at the implication. Stole the priest’s attention from mass? Stole Beverly’s place at his right hand? Stole the man away from God himself? All of these accusations delight you if you’re completely honest. You revel in the unholiness of being his darkest temptation.

“So you want me to lie to you on top of it?”

“No,” Now standing in your room, he pulls back to caress the back of his knuckles along the underside of your jawline. With his arms still around you, Paul slowly lowers himself to sit on the edge of your bed. He keeps you in his lap, hands brushing down your spine and then back up. Somehow the electricity in every small touch is more erotic than anything else you’ve felt in your life. “I never want you to lie to me. Ever. Your honesty is…not just refreshing. It’s intoxicating. Brutal. Blistering, even. But… that’s why I trust it. Trust you. I trust you even more than I trust myself. That must sound childish, but…”

“It doesn’t.” Curling your fingers under his chin, you lift his head until his eyes find yours. Gently holding his jaw in place, you lean in to kiss him again. Soft but deep. Humming low in his chest, Paul caresses a hand up along one smooth thigh until his touch is edging under the fabric of your robe. It’s enough to make your toes curl and your spine arch a bit.

“If I stay here…”

“I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise.” You flash him the smile of a child who's been promised ice cream if she's very good, nuzzling the tip of your nose against his. The thought of keeping him all night thrills you like the unexpected sight of a shooting star blazing across the sky.

“Trust me when I tell you, I’m more worried about my behavior than yours.” He chuckles under his breath, before carefully shifting to stand and lay you in bed. Pushing yourself up on your elbows, you watch him tug his cardigan away. Then undo his shirt cuffs. “If I stay here… would it be too much to ask if I wanted to hold you? All night.”

“I’d be very cross if you didn’t.”

“Scoot over.” He nudges at you with a smile, toeing his boots off. Something about the sight of his priestly collar being stripped away and set on your bedside table makes your stomach tighten.

“What happens if I don’t?”

Arching an eyebrow, Paul rolls his sleeves up slowly. One knee dips the mattress beside your right thigh. Then the other, as he crawls over you like he’s sizing up prey.

“I thought I was promised your best behavior, little girl.” A shiver rolls down your spine at how low his voice can get when he means to weaponize it against you.

Eyes wide, you can’t quite think of anything smart to sass back at him when he’s straddling you and calling you ‘little’. Wetting your lips, you manage only a shaky nod. Following closely on its heels is a sigh of relief when he rolls off of you, a knowing smile on his lips. You scoot across the bed willingly this time, resting your head on his chest and stretching an arm across his ribs.

“Good girl.” He muses low, nuzzling into your hair as one arm wraps around your back, clearly cognizant of his effect on you. The other works to pull your thick comforter blanket up so you’re both swaddled in warmth against the wet, cold chill of March. “Sleep now, hmm?”

You try and fight it. For once, not to be stubborn, but to savor the feeling of his chest warm and solid and as close as you’ve ever had him. The feeling of his lungs rising and falling with each breath. The feeling of his hand covering your arm. Of his nose buried in your hair. Just for one moment more.

Then one more.

Then one more…

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: NHS non-fatally qi deviates. How do NMJ and the others take that?

ao3 

Untamed

It had always been something of a behind-closed-doors debate – a chicken-and-the-egg problem, what came first, what was the cause and what was the symptom.

Was the Nie sect’s atypical cultivation method the reason behind the notorious Nie temper? Or were they born with the temper, and the cultivation method merely built upon that? Which one was the reason for their clan’s tendency towards early qi deviations?

Nie Huaisang usually threw his money on the “blame the cultivation style”, almost entirely for the sake of pissing off his brother.

He was starting to think, though, that he’d been wrong.

Aituan wasn’t even anywhere nearby, after all, when he started bleeding out of his qiqiao, his qi disordered and violently raging inside of him and still somehow, somehow not enough to assuage the rage in his heart, in his head –

“Nie-xiong! Nie-xiong! Nie Huaisang!”

Nie Huaisang turned with a snarl, but Wei Wuxian was already holding up his hands in surrender, Jiang Cheng quickly following suit a second later, and in the end he wasn’t really angry at them.

“I’m pretty sure you’re done,” Jiang Cheng said cautiously. “You’re – you are done, right?”

“I dunno,” Wei Wuxian muttered. “I don’t think Wen Zhuliu is entirely paste yet – there’s still a few bones Nie-xiong hasn’t crushed down into dust…”

“Shut up.”

“I will not.”

The familiar bickering was soothing, like slipping into a hot bath at the end of a tough day – like arguing with his brother about silly things, scoring a clever point and getting one of his brother’s rare smiles. Nie Huaisang felt his shoulders relax a little, and he lowered the stick –

“Why am I holding a stick?” he asked blankly, looking down at it. He didn’t remember picking it up at any point. “And why is it…uh…”

“Covered in the blood and guts and possibly brain matter of your enemy?”

Nie Huaisang swayed, suddenly light-headed. “…that,” he agreed, voice weak.

He slowly became aware that there was something squishy and wet under his feet, soaking into his shoes, and he very carefully did not look down.

“What happened?” he asked faintly. “What did I – actually, on second thought, don’t tell me.”

Jiang Cheng’s expression was a strange mix of being impressed with him and pitying him, and honestly Nie Huaisang preferred the pity. No one was impressed with him, not ever, and in retrospect he rather liked it that way, if the alternative was…

“You defeated the Core-Melting Hand in one-on-one combat,” Wei Wuxian said. “Congratulations.”

Nie Huaisang gaped at him.

“Don’t you remember?” Jiang Cheng said, blinking at him. “He said something about your brother, and you suddenly lost it –”

Nie Huaisang remembered, suddenly, and he felt a sickening lurch in his stomach as his vision flickered red around the edges again, and he imagined he could hear Aituan shouting his name from thousands of li away. How dare that man, that stone-face bastard who looked so long-suffering and yet underneath it all was so cruel and unfeeling – how dare he say such a thing about his da-ge –

Nie Huaisang had been angry the entire time he’d been here at the indoctrination camp.

Really angry, not the silly little temper tantrums he usually threw back at home or the occasional shouting matches he had with his brother to vent steam. He hated it here. He hated the fact that he was here in the Nightless City, the one place his brother had always refused to bring him no matter how embarrassingly impolitic it was, the place Sect Leader Wen had murdered his father over a stupid dinner table conversation. He hated the fact that his brother had tried to protect him, and failed only because he’d gotten distracted by Meng Yao of all people.

(He hated the fact that he’d had to learn that fact from one of his retainers, weeks too late and him already gone to the Nightless City, too late to apologize or make it up; hated the fact that the last words he’d said to his da-ge on the subject were cruel ones, blaming him for sending away his friend, when in fact his friend had torn off his face to reveal something dark beneath. He hated that his brother had just taken those cruel words from him, suffered under his accusations, without defending himself from them, because he blamed himself for – for what? For being just, the way he was supposed to be?  For protecting him?)

He hated the Yin metal, the vile corruption he could feel for all that they were in a different part of the palace. He hated Wen Chao making them memorize and recite, which he was terrible at, and he hated him for making them do it outside in the hot sun and the hot earth until he fainted from heatstroke, his weak golden core insufficient to protect him the way the others did them.

He hated Wen Ruohan, he hated Wen Chao, and he hated, hated, hated Wen Zhuliu.

Most of the boys at the indoctrination camp had gotten the idea that he wasn’t that bad, for all that he was terrifying, because he always looked so bored about everything, like he was having to fulfil all of this as a torturous duty instead of a pleasure, but he’d been the one to carry Nie Huaisang back inside after he’d fainted and he’d said some things about his brother then, when Nie Huaisang was too weak to do anything, and today he’d come by, watching Nie Huaisang struggle to set up the small tent he’d been given for their travels, and he’d said them again…

“He wanted to steal my brother’s cultivation,” Nie Huaisang said through numb lips. His hands were clenched, quivering with rage that was impossible to bury down in his heart – was this how his brother felt all the time? No wonder he was so straightforward about most things; forget scheming, it was amazing he could even think. “He wanted – he didn’t even think of him as a person. Just dirt beneath his feet, fruit ripe for the plucking, some animal he could slaughter as a prize to give to his wretched master –”

He’d even said, today, that they could use what was left over as a corpse puppet, and chuckled when he thought of what the great Chifeng-zun would have thought of that.

Nie Huaisang had been angry ever since they’d arrived, full of bile and choler and rage.

His family never did handle their rage well.

“You had a minor qi deviation,” Wei Wuxian said solemnly, looking at him. “You’re still bleeding – your eyes, your nose, your ears…We need to get you to a doctor.”

“We need to hide the body before anyone finds it, that’s what we need to do,” Jiang Cheng said.

“We can do both! Multitasking!”

He was very lucky to have such good friends, Nie Huaisang thought to himself, and toppled over.

He woke up back in the sorry excuse for a camp, with Wen Qing acting as his doctor and Wen Ning as her assistant, taking care of him (it had taken an embarrassingly long while before Nie Huaisang remembered their names, for all that they’d come to lessons at the Cloud Recesses, too, both of them, and even though they’d all gone on a whole mission to the village with the goddess statute together afterwards, but in his defense he was really bad at memorizing - anything), and while Wen Qing kept herself nice and professional, Wen Ning kept shooting him extremely impressed looks that Nie Huaisang didn’t think he deserved.

He hadn’t actually defeated the Core-Melting Hand in one-on-one combat, no matter what Wei Wuxian said. He’d launched a surprise attack at the back of a man who wasn’t expecting it, because no one ever expected anything from Nie Huaisang.

“You have remarkable arm strength,” Wen Qing said (she had looked amused when he asked about her name, blushing with shame), sounding casual but clearly fishing a little. “It’s hidden by your thin frame, and even further minimized by your choice in clothing, but actually you have significant muscle there.”

“Saber practice,” Nie Huaisang explained. “Sabers are heavier than swords, and rely more on brute force. At home, you train a lot with heavy things even before you get your own saber, just to make sure you can wield it properly – you have to have a good arm.”

He’d been barely mediocre by his sect’s standards, and even that level he’d only achieved through years of nagging, threatening, and occasional bribery on his older brother’s part. He shouldn’t have been able to win, but Wen Zhuliu hadn’t even been looking at Nie Huaisang when he’d said what he said, hadn’t seen the moment he’d snapped and attacked, his disordered qi giving him extraordinary strength even as it turned against him to destroy him internally, and if there was one thing that saber style taught you it was not to let someone who’d fallen to your blade get up again.

(Had his brother brought out Baxia against Meng Yao, before deciding to let him go? He couldn’t help but wonder – it was bad luck if he had, a severing of the relationship in an unfixable way, but he wasn’t sure his brother would be strong enough to resist trying to repair it if Meng Yao ever came back. Where was Meng Yao, anyway?)

Attacking a man from behind wasn’t really honorable, he thought glumly, and he thought he understood for the first time why his brother was so strict about such things: it didn’t feel good to have done it this way. It felt like cheating, made every approving gaze feel like a lie, like something he didn’t deserve.

“So what happens now?” he asked, and Wen Qing shrugged a little helplessly. “Does, uh…”

“Wei-gongzi and Jiang-gongzi are hiding the remains,” Wen Ning volunteered. He looked way too cheerfully when he said ‘remains’. Possible budding mass-murderer? Or maybe he’d just been a doctor’s assistant for too long. “Wen-er-gongzi hasn’t noticed yet – he’s still with Wang Lingjiao.”

“But he will notice,” Nie Huaisang said.

“As long as he doesn’t blame any of you, does it matter?” Wen Qing said.

“…if you have an example of Wen Zhuliu’s handwriting, I can probably forge it to look like a note saying he was summoned back by Sect Leader Wen.”

Wen Qing and Wen Ning exchanged looks he didn’t quite understand, but they brought him what he needed, and by the time they got trapped in a horrible underground cave with a gigantic man-eating Xuanwu the next day, Wen Chao still hadn’t figured it out, though he’d been in an awful mood the entire time.

“Why are you sitting down?” Jiang Cheng scolded him even as he dashed around fighting Wen sect soldiers, and see, this was why Nie Huaisang didn’t ever fight. It only made people expect him to do it more – Jiang Cheng hadn’t scolded him at all for hiding behind things before…

Before.

“Leave him alone,” Jin Zixuan said. He hadn’t been there, so he still looked disdainful and dismissive; it was amazing how much of a relief that was. “He can’t help anyway.”

“But –”

“My head hurts,” Nie Huaisang said plaintively, and it had the benefit of being both true and working very effectively to get Jiang Cheng to head as far away from him as possible in a sudden rush. After a while, he got up and picked up one of the swords some unfortunate Wen sect retainer had dropped.

“I have no idea what I’m doing with this,” he said, very seriously, to yet another unfortunate Wen sect retainer, before lifting it and bringing it down, saber-style, the way his brother had all but beaten into his head.

That one didn’t seemed like he was expecting it, either, even though Nie Huaisang was right in front of his face and everything.

It felt a bit better, though – Aituan didn’t like the Wen sect one bit, he thought a little muzzily, and wondered why he’d thought that, since after all Aituan was all the way back at home – and he was a little less ashamed to stand with the rest of them as they tried to figure out a way out of the cave.

“You probably shouldn’t do that,” he said to the Lan disciple who picked up a bow and was trying to aim it at the Xuanwu. “You’ll miss.”

The Lan disciple glared at him.

“Not as bad as I would, mind you,” Nie Huaisang said, looking at it. He felt as though he was standing behind a pane of glass and nothing could touch him - not pain or fear or anything, anything but rage. “I’d probably miss the turtle entirely. I’m just saying that it’s angry now, so the shot’s a lot harder to make; maybe five people could make that shot.”

“Lan-er-gongzi could make it.”

“Yes, well, Lan-er-gongzi isn’t human,” Nie Huaisang said, quite seriously, and the Lan disciple’s lips twitched. “Seriously, don’t waste your time – or your arrows. If you’re anywhere good enough at archery to even think that you could make that shot, you need to keep them to protect me.”

“Are you in need of protection?”

“Oh, always,” Nie Huaisang said blithely, the way he always did, then paused and grimaced. “Most of the time, anyway. I got sick, earlier.”

He was pretty sure the Lan disciple didn’t understand what he meant by sick.

“You don’t really want me to protect you,” the disciple said, frowning. “Do you?”

Nie Huaisang wanted everyone to protect him. He never wanted to fight again in his life.

But the Lan disciple looked like he was a little pleased to have been asked, like no one had ever asked him before, and Nie Huaisang suddenly felt a sudden stab of empathy hitting him straight in the heart.

“I do. I’m pretty sure all the other Nie disciples here are short-range fighters –” His brother had sent as few of them as he could manage, and only sent any at all because he wanted someone there to keep an eye on Nie Huaisang. To protect him. “– and they’re mostly hotheaded idiots –” That was definitely true. “– and I really, really don’t want to end up in another situation where I get sick again, because my brother will never forgive me. So I could use an archer.”

“…okay,” the Lan disciple said. “I’m Su She.”

Nie Huaisang nodded. “I promise to apologize to your sect later on for taking up your time.”

He managed not to be sick the entire journey home.

Maybe it was an aberration, he thought, maybe –

When he got home, his brother was holding Aituan in his hand instead of Baxia – she was in her sheath on his back – and he rushed over to him at once, presenting the saber to him before he did anything else; confused, Nie Huaisang accepted his saber, wondering if he was going to need to go practice or something, and the second his hand wrapped around the hilt –

Oh.

Oh.

His head abruptly cleared, the fog he hadn’t even realized was there finally lifting, the rage draining out of him and back into Aituan – not an especially angry saber, as they went, but still a Nie saber with all that entailed. His qi finally, finally straightened out, stabilized, and he felt like he could breathe again, his mind free and clear now that he had a saber in his hand.

Like all the other Nies before him.

Doomed.

And then he was in his brother’s arms, being held tight.

“Oh, Huaisang,” his brother said, and his voice sounded raw and broken, almost as if he’d been weeping. “I never wanted this for you.”

Nie Huaisang hugged him back.

“It’s okay,” he said, and the buzzing in the back of his head that was Aituan agreed with him. He’d been there the whole time, ever since the first incident; it didn’t matter how far away from each other they were. “It was a small one, it passed, it’s fine…”

It wasn’t fine, and they both knew it – Nie Huaisang might not know the details of all their clan secrets, but he knew enough to know what it was he was so carefully not knowing – but what was there to say?

It was still his family. It was still his heritage.

(He wondered what Meng Yao would say, if he knew. He wondered if he would pull his saber back the way his brother had, if Meng Yao ever betrayed him.)

“At least I can help fight now,” he said, joking, and his brother glared at him.

“Not a chance,” he said. “You’re going to go somewhere safe. You can go with –”

“Su She.”

“– with Su She back to the Cloud Recesses; it’ll be more secure there than here.”

It was about what Nie Huaisang had expected.

“Okay,” he said. “But not now.”

His brother’s eyes flickered down to his saber. His lifeline.

“No,” he said. “Not now.”

[remsmoonlight]

— title : west side polaroids

— word count : 2.4k words

— pairing : john wich x reader

— summary : the first day unbound by the table is marked by you both.

— warnings : none except minimal mentions of death and descriptions of blood

note: please please please go easy on me i have not written any john content in months but omg i adore the song west side by ariana .. issa dreamy vibe , but yeah i couldn’t decide the title so i merged them ..... anyways :)

                     ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open !   *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Life that does not revolve around the endless cycle of death and immorality is still new to John, the colour of crimson may have well been his favourite colour with how much he’d found it coating nearly every inch of his skin on a frequent basis. Some nights he’d awake and was sure he could see the stains of blood dried into his nails, though the flood of a bedside lamp would soon flush that worry away. Never had he been the one to imagine a life outside of what he knows, though as he stares at his image in the lengthy mirror before him, that’s what he observes in this moment. A free man.

A whole thirty days had passed since that fateful night when he secured his freedom from his .. job, wanting to allow a sufficient recovery time. Any longer and he knew you well enough to know you’d be breaking his front door down. Luckily, many of the cuts and furious bruises had almost completely healed, while some more stubborn than others were covered with a little more difficulty than he’d prefer. Still, he hopes that your reaction isn’t too explosive. With great reluctance he’d shared enough details with you to understand him and why he is the way he is, and should he not make it back you wouldn’t be left in limbo waiting for him to return. Knowing how often you found yourself worrying over him. Since when did I deserve something so good? he asks himself now and every day that greets him.

He never wants you to be left with a ghost. Especially when you had dug so deeply to prevent him from being consumed by the repetition to death and destruction by his ability to maximise results from his body when required.

Contact had been scarce between you both, and you accepted it. Knowing just what was transpiring as you went through your daily activities, wondering what John could be up to. Staying honest to yourself, your mind had conjured up the most ghastly images, a mental sketchbook where the next page would only be worse than the previous. Though, the moment you heard his voice through your mobile, you felt all the tight tension that wracked your limbs alleviate to nothing more than a dull ache that you have since forgotten.

John is a good liar however when he shared the intricate details of the life he had led, his eyes shone a truth and a pain of growing tired of all the slaughter he’d had a hand dipped into many a time. You believed him and you still do. In spite of this it’s still a difficult task for your mind to wrap itself around but for John? You would.

“ there you are, stranger! “ you greet warmly as you open your arms to finally embrace him after so long.

Your eyes shut while you relish the physical contact that you have sorely missed, you release a heavy breath of air as the moment you have been counting down to is here and you can grasp it with your fingertips. Sensations unreliant on your eyes hone in on the comfort you now feel, the smooth material you can feel to the smell of the cologne worn by John ⏤ a gentle smile drifts softly onto your features in response to the warm shield of solace envelopes you whole.

“ it took longer than I thought. “ he says as he shakes his head, you feel the action from your position

“ I'd say.. I thought I’d never see you again. “

“ I wouldn’t let that happen. “ a low whisper travels from his lips, you can feel his warm breath on you as he leans down, the action causing you to shiver at the faintly sinister tone that had been so close to overwhelming them.

In your heart you feel the strength in his words, it’s not a statement but a promise with all the faith and trust poured into them. Never had you met someone as dedicated and resolute as the man, you’d have called him a psychic because whenever he says something it often comes true, born into existence from his drive.

“ that is something I believe. “ you reply, your voice dulling ever so slightly in octaves.

A mighty stone wall had once been John, any attempt to get to know him proved a punishing task. Though, when a crack had become apparent it became obvious that a gentle touch had been a foreign concept for him but when he’d accepted it as real? The taste of what life could transform into made him want more, to open the door he’d never once entertained of unlocking. John is incredibly grateful you’d never become frustrated and left as soon as you’d arrived in his life, refusing to want another life without your touch.

“ so, are we going to stand here all day or are we going to get in that car you adore so, so much? “

With the barest of groans escaping his throat, he reluctantly disentangles himself from your form, already missing the contact with you. Turning, you move with an energetic vigour buzzing in your toes ⏤ from your position you fail to realise John has himself glued to your form with an affectionate warmth pooling in his eyes. The corner of his eyes fondly crinkle ever so slightly at the view.

A forceful wind erupts in the car as it picks up, you can feel the pleasant freshness dance carelessly on your skin, tickling the strands of hair left loose. It feels like a dream you muse as you shift your gaze to John, really beginning to understand the butterflies that all these television shows and movies talk about as you take in the concentration forging itself into his features as his eyes never leave the road. You don’t believe in the idea of destiny, but you can’t help but note how it feels how the stars modified and aligned themselves for you.

Recently, the purchase of a polaroid camera had arrived on your doorstep and today would be the best opportunity to try it out!

“ they’ll leave me alone ⏤ “ he stops suddenly as he assures the unspoken question between you both. Can we live in peace? “ ⏤ us alone now. “

“ you’re sure? It sounds like a shady business, what if someone doesn’t take note? “ worry bleeds into your expression as your foot begins to tap nervously, with only a peek into another society it has left you concerned when John is involved.

“ one thing my world thrives on is rules. Codes. “ he assures you gently, aware of how the other side of the world lives out its gruesome fantasies in real life shocks you.

A heavy hand lays dormant on your leg, coarse fingertips only moving every so often to draw trails on your clothed skin, as if to discover a depth that lays hidden from view. Of course, you both know that John knows every inch of you as you know yourself, many nights spent burning the entirety of the other into your minds with only the moonlight acting as your guiding light.

“ well, I can say that’s good to hear. “ is said by you with a short bout of nervous laughter. “ you can be sure? “

“ you have nothing to worry about. “ he remarks with confidence, attempting to soothe any and all of your fears you have in regards to your situation you both now share.

“ okay, “ you say with a nod, trying to affirm yourself of there being no phantoms pursuing the man behind you from the shadows. “ I trust you, John. I’m just being silly. “

“ you’re not being silly, I understand. “

Silence overwhelms the confined space you share, you take in just the lack of pretence in this moment. Nothing felt between you is forced, an affection woven with a glistening thread so naturally that the bond had been shaped into your reality before either of you had even realised. All John knew was that the curious feeling would be strengthened would he follow his emotions, and that is exactly what he did. Gratitude leaves his heart feeling full at the choice, finally realising that he can settle into a life of normality. An adventure he has never once had but a glow radiates within him at being able to share it with you.

A salty fragrance slowly seeps into your sense of smell, the sounds of seagulls erupting in the distance as you realise just where John is driving you. The chance, living in a city, to go to the beach is scarce thanks to the distance, so you can feel a childish elation swell deep inside of you. Running on this emotion, you pull out the camera held safely in the confines of your bag. Turning it around and shifting your body so suddenly you poke your tongue out and a brief, blinding flash of light erupts before disappearing from existence as soon as it came.

“ oh, now this is a good one! “ you cheer as your lips curve so smoothly into a satisfied grin as you gaze upon the small print held between your fingers.

John says nothing, only knowing of his amusement through the abrupt laughter and warmth blazing so intensely in his eyes.

“ you’ll have to put those into an album or something. “

“ that’s actually a good idea, or a scrapbook? “ you ask with the idea brightening your entire expression. “ documenting this notable day! “

“ yeah, exactly. “ he agrees, a short laugh is shared with you in response. In awe at your naivety, once he’d been envious of the trait ⏤ because you’d never have seen the things he has, but he understands it now. Neither of you can help what you were born into, but he can have control over the person he becomes and that does not include harbouring resentment over something so trivial. The idea seems so foolish now, as it has become something he has grown to adore.

The two of you exit the vehicle, effortlessly your hands find each other through the lengthy space to the other's warmth in yours. John is unable to stop himself from admiring facile peace that clouds your features as you stare upon the limitless majesty of which the deep richness of the blue of the ocean expands way beyond what the eye can distinguish. There’s no worry nor emotional strain colouring itself into burdening your relaxed features.

Your fingers get to work photographing the scene before you, wanting not to document the beauty before you itself but rather the sentiment that dominates the moment with a heavy hand that you’d dare not maneuver away.

From behind you can feel arms encapsulate you against his chest as he parts his lips, as if to say something, mutter some romantic words but he stops immediately. His being wanting to fully submerge himself in a feeling of being enveloped by the serenity. Right now, it’s just you in each other’s company with nothing of the outside world being able to scratch and claw at your attention. He can finally allow himself to be lost in something good, someone who does not see him as a monster, no matter how many atrocities have occurred by his hands. God forbid any ghastly spirits should try to end the dream of this life, he would go to the ends of the Earth to shroud you from any harm from the shadiness he once delved into.

He leaves a flutter of sweet kisses on the crown of your head, you allow a nonchalant smile to illuminate your lips, a soft giggle at the action hovers between you both. John moves his grip to release your waist from his hold, a slow movement towards the bulky camera that lays safe in your grasp. He steps back with a gentleness that he’d never imagined could be contained within his form, and lifts the lens up to his awaiting gaze. You turn just as he lays pressure onto the button, a flash greeting you as you do ⏤ you’re caught off guard, his favourite version of you.

“ come on, John! “ you complain, fingers move to fuss with the loose ends of your hair played with by the tempestuous winds.

“ I couldn’t resist, I’m sorry. “ he apologises with an accompanying smirk, fondly eyeing the photograph of you being caught unaware.

“ it better look good. “ a warning falls from your lips, of course, it’s an empty one ⏤ you wouldn’t spit any venom his way over something so inconsequential.

“ you always look perfect to me. “

With a flood of tenderness and devotion filling your vision, hands inch higher and higher as they snake up the chest of John ⏤ he knows the movement well, a permanent muscle memory that brings him closer to your lips. The touch is so faint, almost feather like, this kiss lacking the pleading need and instinctive desire from his direction ⏤ instead, this one he takes comfort in your presence. He knows you both now have all the time to get lost in one another.

“ you think you can get around me easily? “ you question him swiftly, a good natured air of audacity sparkles in your gaze as you stare up to the tall man.

“ I know I can. “ John promises, already missing the lingering touch you leave behind like a tattoo on his mouth.

“ you sound so sure.. “ you remark, an amused tone coats your words heavily in its substance as your fingertips trace nonexistent patterns in the back of his neck.

John fights himself to prevent a groan of pleasure at the action from clawing its way free from him, already feeling himself melting into your form. He’s surprised you’re not one person.

“ Because I am. “ he states, a lone nod accompanies the action before he descends once more, itching to feel the silk of your lips on his once more on his.

Lifting the camera up at a slant, the crashing of the waves drowns out the click of the camera, he takes out the physical memory of this period of tranquility and adoration. You take it from him, your sight examining the image before you. If you’d had doubts before, you would no longer ⏤ a permanent reminder in picture form of the intimacy and care you share equally.

This is a day to remember.

“ I guess you’re correct. “

[amostimprobabledream]

And He Walks With Flames (Dabi x Reader) - Part One

They say humans, in a strange, ironic twist of fate, owe their magic to demons. A thousand years ago, they walked the earth, wreaking destruction and chaos wherever they tread. Humans were no more than meat for the slaughter, or glorified playthings for their amusement. The first generation of humans to fight back against their monstrous oppressors did so by a peculiar, ancient magic. A power that could repel demons and bring hope to all humanity. A terrible war raged for the fate of the world and the humans managed to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. The demons were banished to their land of origin, sealed away in defeat. But seals don't last forever. While historians argue on how literal these legends may be, there is no denying that ancient creature have begun to stir, appearing in our world again with growing frequency. And soon there might- The last paragraph was torn away. "Oh, for god's sake," you tsk. Sunlight pours through the large, high window of your lecture room, dust motes dancing in the golden rays. Though you were engrossed in your book, once you look up, the spell is broken, and the clear sky outside once again has your eyes wandering to it. It seems that you are not the only one getting distracted, either - even the professor keeps tapering off at the promise of an afternoon outside in the gorgeous spring weather. "Well," the professor says, shuffling the papers in front of her. "That's all for today. Please revise over the material and we'll discuss it in further detail next time. You are all free to go." You're only too happy to comply, putting your things away and scrambling to your feet. Everyone else is hurrying to get outside, pouring down the stairs to the doors, chattering to one another as they go. Normally you love going to lectures, but it's just too nice outside to be cooped up indoors. You push open the doors and step outside, a muted sigh of pleasure leaving your mouth. Your university, the Royal Academy of Magic, has the reputation for being tough, but so far, you've been enjoying the work. Learning about the different faces of magic, its uses, and the history of it, it's all so very fascinating to you. You've been able to use magic since you were young, but it's studying it here that will really help you unlock your true potential, and hopefully give you a concrete idea of what to aim for with your career. So far there are so many options a magic-user might do that it's been a little overwhelming trying to decide. As you cross the lawns, grass crunching beneath your feet, you decide to swing by your dorm first to drop off your books - they may contain a lot of knowledge, but damn if they're not heavy - your mother pointed out that you've developed something of a slouch since you started studying here. "I'm back!" you call as you push open the door of your dormitory. "Huh?" Kendou looks up from her bed, where she has a couple of books sprawled out next to her head, notes scribbled in the margins of her notebook as she looks over her textbook. Her red hair spills down her shoulder, coming loose from its signature ponytail. "You're back early!" "Yeah, they let us out sooner than I expected," you reply with a shrug and a small laugh, dropping your bag on your own bed and stretching, wincing as a kink in your shoulder pops. "Oh, well, that's good timing, someone came by earlier with a message for you," Kendou says, pushing herself up into a sitting position, apparently deciding your arrival is a good a reason as any to take a break from studying. "Your mother wants you to go down to the Imperial Research Centre to get your father." "Did she come by here?" you ask in surprise. Normally your mother arranges to meet you after lectures or seminars if she wants to see you during the week, and she's a rather busy woman besides. "No, she left a message at the front desk and someone passed it along," Kendou shrugs. "But she also said you guys are doing something tonight, right?" "Oh, yes, I'd forgotten all about that!" you say, feeling silly that it could

possibly have slipped your mind - you love it when you get to go out for a meal with your parents and often it means one of them has some exciting news to share. "Thanks, Kendou, I'll head over there now." She grins and gives a little wave. “No problem!” You suppose it's fortunate that the Imperial Research Centre is only a short walk from the campus and that you're very familiar with the place, since your father's been working there for so long. Anyway, it's a pleasant walk, the way there is lined with rows of trees that are only a week or two away from growing from dark to light pink and shedding their blossoms. When the street is in full bloom, it's like there's been a wedding. You even find yourself humming as you walk, breathing in the subtle smell of flowers on the breeze, wondering to yourself if the blossom trees were planted before or after the buildings were founded, but either way, whoever was responsible for them made a good call. The Imperial Research Centre is a peculiar building, made of blue stone and with a roof that boasts four conical points, one in each corner, making it resemble a castle from bygone days just plopped in the middle of the city. There's an aura of mystery to it, too, hinting at the all-important, life-changing work that’s always going on inside. If ever cutting-edge technology is released to the public, odds were that the Centre had a hand in making it. The building is cooler on the inside than it is outdoors, powered by a system designed to spread cool or warm air throughout the entire building, depending on the system. You approach the front desk, wishing that you'd thought to bring a jacket, because it’s always cold in here during the warm seasons, and the receptionist glances up on you with a slightly dismissive expression on her face. It's probably because she thinks you're an overeager student or some hapless intern, it's very rare a researcher your age would be able to work here. "May I help you?" the receptionist asks in a cool, professional tone. "Yes, I'm here to see my father," you reply. "He's one of the vice executives here." You give his surname, and the woman pauses. Is that a trace of nervousness you can see? "He's downstairs in Containment Room 1A," she says, checking a sheet of paper on the desk, which is littered with various papers, random pieces of stationary and one of those magitech intercom systems that they use. They have something similar at the Academy too, though of course, the Centre get the most high-tech version of everything. "All right, thanks," you say, turning to head for the elevator. "Wait!" the woman cries out and you glance back, confused. "I'm sorry, but you can't just walk through here, especially to the lower levels! You don't have the clearance and it can be dangerous." You scoff in disbelief. You have visited your father here before, many times, and this has never been a problem for you before. You always just tell them who you are and then get a visitor's pass. You even know some of the codes to the doors, thanks to waiting around for your father to finish work so often. "Well, please can you have someone go fetch him for me?" you ask, going to reluctantly perching on one of the chairs in the waiting area. "Can't it wait?" the receptionist asks impatiently, and maybe it can, but her attitude is starting to piss you off, so you shoot her a frosty smile you've perfected after watching your mother pull a similar face at people who don't meet her standards. "No, it can't." The woman sighs but she dutifully presses a button on the intercom system and speaks quietly into it for a moment or two, while you idly pick at a loose thread on the chair you're sitting on. She then glances back at you, eyebrows raised. "A messenger has been sent down to speak to him. Hopefully he should be upstairs shortly." "Thank you so much." you reply sweetly, the last words with heavy emphasis. After that, the two of you sit in a mutually frosty silence, with the woman sorting through paperwork on her desk and occasionally

directing people who approach her desk to the correct floor (which seems redundant to you - why can't people just read the clearly printed sign on the wall next to her desk ?), while you flick through some glossy magazines without actually taking in a single word. But you're not leaving until you've spoken to your father. Minutes tick by and you start drumming your heel lightly on the floor, leg jiggling with impatience. You wonder if the woman just lied about sending a messenger down to the Containment Room in an effort to pacify you, in the hopes you'll just get bored and leave. You grit your jaw at the thought, ignoring how cold you're getting, sitting here doing nothing. After maybe ten minutes, a man in a lab coat approaches the front desk, leaning over to speak to the woman. "Kino, could you come with me a moment? Hannah can start her shift." "Oh, I'll be right there!" Kino says, flustered, getting out from behind the desk and following the man as he walks briskly down the corridor, without a backwards glance at you. No doubt her replacement will be along any moment - perhaps she's running late? But you don't plan on sticking around. As soon as the receptionist rounds the corner, out of sight, you spring up and walk briskly across the room to the elevators, stabbing the button and stepping through the doors. You don't bother to fight the smile that spreads across your face as the doors slide shut. ~ "Father?" There's always something slightly creepy about the lower floors. The orbs lining the walls that are designed to keep the machinery running in case of a power shortage cast an eerie glow in the corridors, washing everything with a pale blue light that makes it seem far colder than it actually is. It reminds you a bit of walking through a tunnel of ice. Your boots click on the stone floor as you follow the lights to Containment Room A1. Finally, you reach the double doors leading inside, flanked by two windows each side. You can see your father inside, his back to you, so you rap on the windows. Nothing. You try again with more force, hurting your knuckles, but he still doesn't turn around. Perhaps it's soundproofed, so whatever's out here can't disturb whatever's going on in there? You glance at the keypad next to the doors, but you've never been to this particular room before so the code for the doors on the upper level is unlikely to be the same one for down here. Then you see movement, shadows beneath the crack between door and floor, and the doors slide open with a mechanical swish and two scientists in lab coats come out, comparing notes and murmuring together excitedly. You slip inside before they can slam shut again, unwilling to stand outside in the chilly corridor for any longer than necessary. "Father!" you call out as you enter. But then you stop dead in your tracks. Ahead of you, trapped behind some kind of containment field...is a monster. "What-?!" you hear your father say in surprise at his daughter suddenly marching through the doors. "What are you doing in here?!" But you don't answer. You can't look away from what's in front of you, even if you wanted to. You know without being told that this is a demon, but it's certainly not what they looked like in any of your history books. A tall, humanoid being that is undoubtedly male and you can tell from where you’re standing that he’s tall. The demon's huge, black wings arch out from behind him, reminding you of a bat. Two horns jut out from a crown of spiky black hair, but aside from that, you're surprised by how… human he looks. Your cheeks warm up as you notice he is shirtless, peculiar burn marks covering over half of his body and seemingly crudely stitched together like a patchwork doll. Despite that, he's impressively sculpted, sinewy muscles on full display and you know that demons were said to be uncommonly strong. Your eyes drift further down, and you spot a whiplike tail wrapped around one leg, topped with a pointed barb at the end, like a club in a game of cards. His arms are in restraints and so are his

ankles, yet he doesn't seem stressed in any way, leaning against the back wall of his holding cell as though he's waiting for something. "What...is this?" you breathe out, finally turning to your father. "This is our latest research subject," your father replies beside you, also staring at the demon, though his expression is surprisingly somber, considering just how amazing it is that they have been able to capture and contain a demon. You've never seen a live demon before, and something tells you that the one before you certainly isn't any garden variety one. "Director Fuji is very excited about this. It's not every day you see a demon this high ranking." Slowly, the demon stirs, raising his head a little. You're perfectly safe outside the containment field, as well was the multiple other safety measures both inside the cell and out of it, yet the sensation of being watched makes your flesh break out in goosebumps. From beneath spiky fronds of hair, the demon's eyes - so blue they almost don't look real - stare right at you, his gaze alone rooting you to the spot, laying all your defenses bare and leaving you feeling bizarrely naked before that look. Watching you without once blinking or breaking his gaze, his lips part in a sneer to reveal two rows of teeth, the fangs sharp and white as an icicle. You find yourself holding your breath as your father speaks again. "Sweetheart, meet Dabi."

[melancholyblues0]

𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊

𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝓃𝑒 : 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝒶𝓃𝓎

brian may x reader series

warnings : swearing, alcohol, future chapters will have smut so... be aware of that ig lol. like tiniest mention of weed

a/n : thinking of making this a bit of a series but we’ll see ? i also have a heavy week of exams next week but i am free from school for like three months (yay fucking hey) so i’ll try to prepare a second chapter because we all know i won’t revise lol. also loosely based off of a roger taylor x reader fic i read a while ago ! i can’t remember the name/author, but if i find it again i’ll tag the author. all characters are mine, aside from brian may/anita. thank you for reading ! this is set in 1994, and freddie doesn’t die/ john doesn’t retire because we’re not gonna deal with that kettle of fish in this fic.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧

it wasn't raining today, surprisingly. it wasn't as if it was unusual for the uk - it was always like this - rain, and then a week straight of blazing hot sun. you could even say you'd grown to love it. you'd enjoyed playing with little anya colston the day before, the thirteen year old who lived next to your parents. you'd been in the pool her parents owned, when you heard of a new couple moving in two doors down. rumours had gone round of the husband being famous, but for what you nor anya knew. you both just hoped they wouldn't be as dull and empty as the other adults were (something you and anya had bonded over - your mutual hatred for prissy adults).

~~~

"y/n, darling, please hurry up. you know your father and i don't want to be late." your mother called up the stairs, watching as y/n slid down the bannister. "and the countless times you've slid down the bloody bannister. you'll break your neck one day." she added, sighing as she gave you a once over. "where's xavier ? xavier, hurry up !" she called, and the heavy footsteps of her older brother sounded above them. "why is he always allowed to be the last one out, but i get a bollocking if i am ?" y/n groaned, sitting on the step. "because, you know how xavier's like." your mother said, sighing as xavier finally made an appearance. you huffed as she stood up, and stalked towards the door, xavier not far behind you. 

the second the family entered the maybank home, your mother made a beeline for the champagne flutes on the breakfast bar; your father to the men outside (also where more alcohol was), and xavier followed suit, albeit reluctantly. and although you could think of nothing worse than talking to the women, you followed your mother - entirely for the champagne. "y/n ! how are your a levels going ?" diane asked, peering at you over her wine glass. "i think she's doing alright - she did drop literature for psychology, but i suppose it's better than what she could've chosen." your mother smiled patronisingly. "oh ! darling, this is anita - she's just moved in." diane smiled, gesturing to the woman next to her. you had to admit, she was beautiful. and even better, she didn't share the same patronising smile your mother and the other women donned constantly. "it's nice to meet you, anita." you smiled, taking a sip from your flute. "not too much, sweetheart," your mother said. always the one to take the fun out of everything - and what was the point in not being able to drink; these gatherings were hardly tolerable sober, and you were seventeen. "i'm gonna go find the kids." you muttered, snatching your glass from the table. 

soon enough, you found three girls, only a few years younger than you, sat by the pool. "y/n ! c'mere !" anya called, waving her hand. you made your way to the girls, and anya introduced you - louise was the older girl, recently turned fifteen, and emily the younger, was ten. they were the daughters of the new family, so you and anya made sure to give them the run down on who was who. dominique and otis rains, your own parents; they only had you and xavier. diane and emanual colston were anya's parents (admittedly the least snobby), and had anya and carlson, who was louise's age. then there was adrianna and henry maybank, who had mina (the only girl your age, but after her parents found the pot you frequently smoked under her bed, they sent her to boarding school somewhere out west in the country). florence and alistair bohr (florence was the youngest and prettiest, but the one who tried the hardest. alistair was a sixty - something year old ceo. in your eyes, a perfect match). then finally, there was louise and emily's parents, anita and brian may. they said they also had an older brother, jimmy, who, when you looked over, looked deep in conversation with xavier. the girls appeared to sound equally as disdained by the adult snobbery as you and anya were (mina also - speaking of, it was a shame she wasn't here. you thought she'd broken up from school by now). you warned the girls of the sunday brunches too. it was either you tired yourself out by playing tennis, or you drinking sangria's and champagne with the women, who all ogled the fit male tennis players and bartenders, and seemingly had endless shit to talk.

you glanced up at the men - the very people you found trying to avoid at all costs, but you were curious as to who this brian was. you could've sworn you recognised his name, but from where you couldn't recall. as you scanned the group, you noticed an unfamiliar mop of curly hair - in which became familiar to you very quickly. how could you not know ? that was when the memories of your poster clad walls, concerts that left you and mina with sore throats, and various records with those four faces adorned across the front strewn across your bedroom floor rushed back. "one second." you murmured to the girls, as you got up, and dusted off your skirt, making a beeline towards the group in a spurt of confidence. 

"y/n ! i was wondering how you had been with those women for so long, i didn't see you leave. this is brian, our knew neighbour." your father smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "my youngest, y/n." your father grinned to brian, and you looked up at him. and christ, you knew he was tall, but he was a bloody giant. "i think what my father really means is that it'll be nice for another man around. he's getting bored of these three dinosaurs." you grinned, the same cheeky grin you'd inherited from your father. "glad to know you don't seem like the others." he laughed, shaking your outstretched hand. "god no, i like to think i taught her better than to end up like those women. in secret, of course, the missus would slaughter me." your father laughed, the others following suit. but you liked the look of brian, a lot. more than you should, but who could blame you ?  you'd practically been in love with the man since you were twelve. not that you would tell him of course. and then you heard the squeal, one you'd known all your life - mina was here. "i'll be back." you smiled uneasily, and rushed inside to find the tall brunette in the doorway. "get here you silly bitch !" she shouted, barrelling into you, tackling you to the ground. "language, mina." adrianna sighed, tossing the keys onto the shelf near the door. she too, like your mother had, rushed to the wine and the women. she needed a drink, after picking up her spritely daughter and managing to cope for a two hour car ride. you and mina rushed upstairs into her bedroom, and you slammed the door behind you. "right, do not freak out. we have new neighbours." you began, looking at mina's flushed face. "and ?" she asked,

"it's brian may."

"it's who, now ?"

"brian may."

"brian may ? the new - new - new guitar guy ? the man we've been gushing over since before we had tits ?"

"yeah, that's the guy."

mina laughed, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. "good god. glad you haven't pounced him yet. if it was roger, i know i would've." she smirked, making sideways glances to her own queen poster above her bed - that had been signed by every member during their '86 tour. "well, not only is his wife and three kids downstairs, he was bombarded by males. shame, really." you joked. 

"kids ?" she gasped, hopeful they were like anya. 

"thankfully, louise and emily are exactly like anya." you smiled. 

"i'll finish this later. i wanna meet the newbies." she wiggled her eyebrows, running out of her room, with you tow.

[vannahfanfics]

Unpredictable

Category: Drama

Fandom: FullMetal Alchemist

Characters: Envy

Hey, everyone! I’m happy to finally present the piece I wrote for the @devilsplaygroundzine​, which centers on Envy!

The flickering orange tongues of the crackling fire several yards away reflected in Envy’s eyes as he crouched in the dirty, dank alleyway. It was one of the many neglected nooks and crannies that abounded the Ishvalan slum encroaching upon the outer rim of Central City. It truly was a miserable place, Envy decided quite early on in strolling around; nothing but ramshackle hovels and ash-choked firepits and rank outhouses.

It was also the perfect domicile to have himself a bit of fun. Lounging around in those stinking sewers torturing the chimeras had grown quite dull. Thus, there Envy was, hunching down in the darkness opposite a small hovel watching as the Ishvalan refugees obliviously went about their business. It was a family, parents with a daughter who could be no older than five. They kneeled beside the fire, above which several sticks of freshly-caught trout were just nearly roasted; their hands pressed together while their heads bent in prayer. Envy sneered at the notion. So stubbornly, they clung to their God, which had allowed them to be massacred like sheep among wolves. I suppose they have to believe in something, lest they fall into despair.

That’s what Envy found so infuriating about humans, their unyielding tenacity and nauseating bonds. It’d be so much easier if they just wallowed in self-pity and defeat. The Homunculi pitted them against one another, and then suddenly, they’re preaching forgiveness and empathy. Envy’s teeth dug into his bottom lip as the image of a certain blond-haired, golden-eyed, loud-mouthed twerp who so embodied those ideals materialized in the gloom. Go away, FullMetal brat, he growled silently and waved a hand to banish the phantasm. It dissolved into dust, joining the thin coating on everything in the miserable slum.

Forgiveness and empathy could only last so long, however, until indomitable rage consumed them. Sneering roguishly, Envy crawled on all fours towards the humble little family, while his body morphed into the likeness of an Amestrian soldier. I’ll destroy it, he swore. I’ll destroy the hope and togetherness you covet so much!

“Good evening.” Envy froze mid-step when the Ishvalan man suddenly addressed him. It wasn’t right. Why was the monk not cowering in fear? The Ishvalan’s hands calmly rested upon his lap, and his white eyebrows curved slightly from the welcoming smile adorning his face. Still half-cloaked in shadow, Envy’s false blue eyes were wider than the full moon shining above. The mother had not even moved to protect her child. She ignored Envy and poked at the embers to send the dying fire gushing up once more. The flames licked greedily at the underbellies of the fish, charring the flesh. One, two, three… four, he counted blankly, though he knew not why. It wasn’t right, not at all. Where was the fear? The hate? The despair?

Why the hell were they smiling so contentedly, dammit?

“You must be tired from your patrol,” the man continued. Envy’s wits trickled back through the dam that had blocked the river of his mind. Patrol, yes. He was wearing the skin of an Amestrian soldier. It would make sense that he was patrolling the slum. Envy’s gold eyebrows quirked when the monk gestured to one of the cooking trout. “Please, we have one to spare. Help yourself.”

Envy was utterly flabbergasted. I don’t understand. I don’t understand. Ishvalans should hate Amestrians, especially the soldiers that mercilessly murdered their people by the thousands. Envy remembered it so well, corralling them to mow them down with machine guns, driving bayonets into long-dead bodies, children and mothers and even hardy men wailing in terror. This man should be slamming him up against the dirty brick wall, driving a fist into his jaw while the mother screamed and held her crying child. Yet, he was… inviting Envy to eat with them? He didn’t understand it, none of it.

Especially the fact that he wanted to agree.

Envy regarded the man suspiciously. Perhaps it was a trap. Yes, that’s what it could be; lure him in a false sense of security so his fellows could strike at Envy from behind. What a fun alternative. They could stick his back with so many daggers that he looked like a blood-soaked porcupine; it didn’t matter. Envy wouldn’t die. He found himself grinning at the bloody slaughter that would follow. Sure, old man, he cooed in his demented mind. I’ll play your game.

Envy smoothed the creases of the fake uniform before strolling over to the fire. The little girl’s red eyes bored into him as he knelt before the flames. Envy plucked the charred trout from the sand and scrutinized it. The scent of smoke and salt and even a few seasonings wafted up his nose, and despite himself, his mouth watered. One would think with their status, the Homunculi would eat well, but only Pride and Wrath had that honor. The rest of them had to go scrounging around like common urchins. Envy felt a little silly for salivating so excessively over some smoked trout, but his growling stomach soon overrode any prideful inhibitions.

“Thanks, old man,” he grunted before tearing his teeth into the succulent flesh. His eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head when the flavor exploded over his tongue. A hell of a lot better than the plain slop he stole on the daily around Central. Within seconds he was ravenously shredding into the fish. He paused, juice and bits of scale and meat dripping from his chin, as the Ishvalan laughed heartily.

“I knew you had to be hungry. A soldier’s duty is a demanding one.”

“Oh yeah?” Envy asked, eyebrow creeping up his forehead. He wasn’t quite sure where the monk was guiding the conversation. His ears pricked, listening for the sound of shuffling in the surrounding darkness, but he could not discern the presence of a potential surprise attack. The man’s kind face revealed no hostile intent. Envy finished off the fish and tossed the white bones into the fire, then began picking his teeth with the skewer. “Old man, I don’t get it.”

“Get what, young man?”

“Don’t you hate Amestrians?” A confused look passed over his face. For the first time, the woman stiffened and reached over to grasp her daughter’s hand. Envy watched, internally squirming with glee, as the man’s brown face sagged into sadness. Yes. Get sad. Then hate me. Then try to kill me, you foolish, predictable little human.

“No,” he contradicted, and Envy’s mouth fell agape. “I do not hate Amestrians.” Envy thought that surely, he must be lying, but it was hard to believe that when the older adult flashed him a soft, genuine smile. He did not care to elaborate, either; he just took his fish from the fire and calmly consumed it. Envy stared down into the orange flames. He had seen so many of them in his lifetime, gigantic white-hot flames that destroyed everything in their path - homes, crops, people - indiscriminately. Envy’s eye twitched as he struggled to comprehend the human monk.

I don’t understand. How can humans just so easily extend their hands and say, “it’s all right?”

Envy turned his head at the distant sound of screams and wails, rapidly growing closer. The end of the street was glowing auburn, just like the fire casting light upon his pale face. Little golden lights began to bob amongst the gloom, their ovoid forms growing with each passing second. From the darkness came frightened Ishvalans, tripping over their sandaled feet in a terrified effort to escape what was approaching. One of them, a twenty-something, stumbled and landed in the dirt on his belly behind Envy. The Homunculus stared disinterestedly at his hyperventilating form, while the monk scurried to his side. “What is it? What’s happening?”

“Amestrians!” the boy gasped. Envy’s mouth twitched into a sneer, which he hid in his palm. “An entire mob stormed across the river to the west with torches and weapons,” he sobbed and covered his head when a building a few houses down exploded. Scorching wood and glass bits rained down upon them. A few of the sharp objects sliced into Envy’s skin; the Ishvalans were too busy panicking to notice the small red lightning that skittered over his healing flesh.

“They must be angry about the fishing party earlier today,” the mother whimpered and hugged her daughter into her bosom. The little girl’s red irises swam in a sea of white. Envy stared thoughtfully at the skewer, then flipped it in his hand to brandish the pointy end. The monk had just finished bustling the man to his feet when he turned to Envy, who was languidly rising.

“You must leave. A single soldier cannot quell this hateful mob alone.”

“And what? You think a pacifying monk can?” Envy leered. The man winced; Envy had hit the nail of his intentions on the head. The next building erupted into flames, sending the shriek of hot wind and agonized screams into the air. Envy could leave, if he wanted to, and watch the slum burn from the tops of Central Command. He stared thoughtfully at the pointed wooden stick in his hand.

I don’t understand it, he thought once more with a small sigh. I really don’t, these humans and their kindness. However, he grinned seditiously, and his skin began to morph, the visage of the Amestrian soldier falling away to reveal his skinny and long-haired self. I understand the Amestrian’s hate perfectly fine. The family was finally cowering in the entrance of their little hut, which was no more than some cloth draped over some stacked boxes.

“Mister,” the little girl squeaked. She jumped when he turned his eyes on her. “What are you?”

“Oh, me?” he grinned and dramatically placed a hand over his chest. “I’m a monster.”

“What are you going to do?” the monk asked him with narrowed eyes. Envy shrugged and began strolling off toward the fiery carnage. The Ishavalans were attempting to throw pails of water onto the burning houses. Within seconds the angry mob of Amestrians cornered them and began beating them with sticks and fists. Envy sneered. So unpredictable yet so predictable. What a dichotomous breed. “What are you going to do?” the man yelled after him insistently, and Envy tossed a bored look over his shoulder.

“Me? Well, I’m going to do what monsters do best.”

It didn’t take long. Humans were just frail sacks of blood and meat. Still, a casual bloodbath was preferable to an actual challenge in this case. Constantly regenerating was exhausting and annoying. The Homunculus came strolling back to the little hovel, where the family still huddled inside shaking. His body still sparked to heal the bloody knife wounds he had incurred. Envy stopped in front of the shack and dropped the skewer in front of them. It was now dyed red and dripping with blood, just like his body. Their equally red eyes beheld it with a mixture of awe and horror.

“Thanks for the fish, old man,” Envy smirked and turned on his heel.

“Wait!”

Envy’s eyebrow raised as he looked over his shoulder. The little girl stumbled out, ignoring her parents hissing at her to get back into the tent. Envy’s eyebrow climbed higher when she offered him a little white weed flower. Her hands trembled as she crushed the green stem in her small fist. “Thank you for saving us.”

“Heh,” Envy grinned and took the flower from her. “Don’t thank me, squirt. I was just having some fun.” With that, he whirled on his heel and melted back into the darkness. Eventually, the slum fell behind him, replaced with dark woods. As Envy strolled along the path, he gazed thoughtfully down at the little flower, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger.

Humans, he frowned and tucked the flower behind his ear. So unpredictable… I hate them for that. 

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH109

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 109: Slaughter Secret Society (XI)

{cw: brief transmisogyny}

"You are in a very dangerous situation," Mrs. Kathleen said to Red while enjoying Ashley's black tea.

Red was still careless. He gave Mrs Kathleen a smile after hearing her words.

Ashley, who stood on the side, was worried. Although it hadn’t been long since he’d become a follower of Slaughter, he’d already seen blood shed in several selection ceremonies. Those candidates had put aside their tasks and become absorbed in dealing with their own kind, and almost every time all would be killed except the final winner. He couldn't help but worry about Red. He had heard that he’d left the Underground Ant City’s branch of the Slaughter Secret Society several years ago, so it was inevitable that he was unfamiliar with the situation in the Slaughter Secret Society now.

"If you’re worried that Lie Yang will suddenly attack me, hehe, I think I’m a little smarter than him." Red pulled out a cigarette for himself, threw another one to Mrs. Kathleen, and then looked straight at Ashley.

Axi went red in the face, bending down to light Red’s cigarette.

From this overlooking point of view, he found for the first time that the intimidation had faded away from Red’s body. He was still indifferent and careless, but under the thick makeup, he seemed to have a delicate face, which was both strange and novel…

Feeling his line of sight, Red raised his face to look at him, and his light brown eyes reflected the scarlet light of the sunset. At close range, this was more terrifying than he was in his succubus state.

Ashley went back to Mrs. Kathleen in a panic and lit her cigarette. Mrs. Kathleen said jealously, "My underling seem to like you very much."

"No, ma’am..." Scared, Ashley hurried to defend himself.

"He's cute, but unfortunately I'm not interested in this kind of soft boy." Red gave a smile as enchanting as a passing cloud, flicked the cigarette butt, and continued, "You didn't come here today just to tell me about Lie Yang."

Being ignored, Ashley stood behind Lady Kathleen. Still, every time Red ignored his existence, it made him feel more silly about his feelings. He would rather choose a man who was useless in bed, or wasn’t concerned with greetings, or was even stingy with kisses. When would he be able to talk and laugh with him like Mrs. Kathleen? Would there really be that day? Ashley, who was eaten by his inferiority complex, watched secretly, and his heart was filled with humble acidity.

"Lie Yang is also very wary of me now because I’ve referred you, but I still have good relationships with a few friends, so I will hear some things. I suggest that you complete the task as soon as possible and bring the target’s body into the field as soon as possible. It’s best if before Lie Yang is ready, I threaten him with my friends and 'force' him to hand over the ring," Mrs. Kathleen said.

"As long as the ring is still in Lie Yang’s hands, he won’t hand it over," Red said coldly and smiled mockingly. "I prefer to bring my prey into the field alive and begin the ceremony by watering the altar with his and Lie Yang’s blood.”

With a hand over his heart, Red spoke with a look of longing and enthusiasm: "Only in this way will my Lord notice me, and see that I’m his most loyal believer!"

Mrs. Kathleen's expression was stiff. Obviously, she was not such a fanatical believer. When she met a fanatical believer, she would feel uncomfortable: "If you insist on this, it will be risky. After all, your prey is a firm hierophant. You might not be able to control him."

"Compared to my Lord, this danger isn’t worth mentioning," Red said, his expression decisive.

"OK..." Mrs. Kathleen's expression could be summarized as: Although I don't quite understand what you crazy believers think, it's good that you’re happy.

Mrs. Kathleen left. Although she couldn’t reach an agreement in this meeting, she was still willing to bet on him. She also inquired about Ning Zhou. Qi Leren vaguely said that he’d formed a relationship with him by approaching him while pretending to be a woman. After all, hierophants of the Holy See resisted same-sex love. Mrs. Kathleen looked at him with surprise and even her subordinate, Ashley, was shocked.

They thought it was a terrible thing to let the world know that you used to change your hat and dress as a woman.

Ning Zhou, who was sitting in the basement with his black bird, must think so, hehe.

　　&&&

The underground cave filled with hot lava was once again opened to the Lord of Slaughter’s believers. This half-field was like a solidified space, with no potential for growth, but it was an excellent shelter that allowed believers to not have to gather in a specific place in the Twilight Township, thus reducing the risk of being caught by the Court.

But today, it was about to fall into enemy hands.

Luo Yishan, standing at the edge of the altar, looked dignified. He didn't expect Red to play his hand so fast. When he was still searching widely for clues about Ning Zhou, Red had already completed the task. Although he hadn’t had enough time to finish the task, it was enough for him to arrange manpower to deal with Red. As long as he killed Red, he was the only candidate. Even if he didn’t not finish the task, the ring in the half-field belonged to him.

On the stone bridge over the rolling magna, holding a chain in hand, Red laughingly came to the altar, and the crowd made way for him spontaneously.

He dragged the man dressed as a Vatican exorcist, but the collar of his shirt was half unbuttoned, revealing large areas of kiss and scratch marks on his clavicle. He looked ahead with empty eyes, wearing a metal collar around his neck and with his hands bound in metal handcuffs, and he walked forward silently and blankly. In this half-field where the heat was like hell, all the places he stepped seemed to be covered with invisible snow and ice.

Red, who showed signs of demonization, looked back lazily, stroked the beautiful abstinent exorcist's face, and winked in Luo Yishan's direction: "The exorcist of the Holy See, I brought him alive. How about it? Don't I have a good style? This fallen pure soul is the best gift to sacrifice for my Lord."

Red eyed Luo Yishan's ring. Luo Yishan immediately felt his line of sight and a wave of anger welled up in my mind. He would never hand over this ring! The manpower had been arranged, as long as he gave the order…

Red suddenly showed a strange smile, and the chain held in his hand loosened and fell to the ground with a crunching sound. He had rushed to Luo Yishan like an arrow, and with a wave of his dagger in the air, he moved like the wind - his cheetah-like speed was too fast and amazing, and he threw him to the ground!

"Start it! Get him!" There was a chilling coolness from his wrist, and the severe pain turned Luo Yishan's command into a scream. The left hand wearing the ring had been cut off by the dagger, and the blood flowed wildly. The defensive shield he used to protect himself was immediately broken, and Red flew out like a bullet. However, he flew too much, and Red fell directly into the rolling magma, turning to ashes in an instant.

Luo Yishan and his men were still stunned by the sudden end of the battle, when an arrow flashing with a silver luster flew like thunder, and the translucent shield was like glass, crashing and breaking under this arrow!

The Vatican exorcist, who had originally been controlled like a marionette under Red’s masterful technique, had opened the shackles on his hands when everyone’s attention had been turned, and Red, who had disappeared into the magma, appeared in front of him again…

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Editor’s Notes: I honestly found the end of this chapter super confusing when I first read it, everything happens so fast... Hopefully my editing has made it easier to follow.

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