#torn between enjoying the horror and being horrified

[sinnamon-wade]

i like horror, i really do! recently i’ve been getting into more online and analog horror, the story telling can truly be impeccable but sometimes the horror and imagery can be too much for me. i literally can’t watch these videos unless it’s through these explanation videos like i need some kind of barrier between me and the actual horror. even though i like horror my anxiety has me feeling like the monsters are going get me now oof. i’ve been spooked out trying to sleep after watching videos before bed and i have the compulsion to check behind the shower curtain when i use the bathroom and at night i hate looking down the hallway.

i like horror too much to stop so i’m watching all these videos diving deep in these stories i’m just doing my best not keep creepy images in my mind because the second i get a nightmare with some kinda otherworldly monster it’s gonna be it for me 🫣

[unproduciblesmackdown]

Tonight’s bill is a big one! Little Shop of Horrors at the @GuthrieTheater! Break a leg to the entire cast and crew! And a special “Welcome to Minnesota” to the wonderful @will_roland! pic.twitter.com/5Nsq3i2ykr

— Joe (@joescranium) June 29, 2024

followed by this review:

LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS at the Guthrie Theater Hosted by the Guthrie Theater

A strange and unusual new plant is being featured on the Guthrie Theater’s Wurtele Thrust Stage and it’s got an appetite for blood. Yes, Little Shop of Horrors is back on the Twin Cities stage in flashy, yet campy, fashion. The 1980’s classic musical based on the 1960 film of the same name, tells the story of a down-on-his-luck florist, Seymour, who spends his days in a florist shop in Skid Row, tinkering with odd plants and counting down the days until the store closes from lack of customers. Without warning (and with the help of a total eclipse of the sun), his luck changes when he stumbles across a “strange and unusual” plant that, when placed in the shop window catches the eye of passersby. Feeling like the tides are turning, Seymour’s boss, Mr. Mushnik, demands that he take care of the plant at whatever costs to keep business booming.

Sounding like an easy task for him, Seymour attempts to perk up the little plant, Audrey II as he has named it, but there is one catch: Audrey II prefers a different kind of plant food. Blood, and lots of it. Running out of fingers to prick, Seymour must turn to other methods to feed the plant and as Audrey II grows, so does the admiration of the people around him, including his co-worker Audrey. Though she is a nice girl, her dentist boyfriend is anything but. Torn between the new found fame of having such a strange plant that requires extreme measures to keep alive and the love he has for Audrey and a life he dreams they could have, Seymour must make a serious of decisions that will affect every single resident of Skid Row….and perhaps the world. While Little Shop of Horrors has been produced hundreds, if not thousands, of times throughout the decades, the Guthrie has taken a new approach to their production. Instead of basing Audrey II off of a normal Venus fly trap, they have opted to base it on the aptly named Corpse Flower. A flower that only blooms every few years and when it does, omits a startlingly grotesque smell. Seemingly the perfect flower to base a man-eating plant off of and maybe not so coincidently, the Como Park Conservatory in St. Paul, Minnesota has one on display periodically when it is set to bloom. Not only has the Guthrie changed the type of flower but they have leaned very heavily into the B-Movie vibe of the story that seems to be scrubbed away in most productions. Even though the production is flashy, loud, and a spectacle to watch, it carries a fresh campy-ness that makes the show feel fresh and new. Even for patrons who think they know what to expect will find a plethora of fun surprises waiting behind the doors of Mushnik’s florist shop. Bringing charm and nerdiness aplenty to the role of Seymour is Broadway actor, Will Roland. Known for his roles in Dear Evan Hansen and Be More Chill, Roland tackles Seymour with his iconic comedic timing but offers a large splash of humanity across his whole performance. He brings out the raw emotions that Seymour feels with every breath and note. Whether he is elated with the success he has stumbled into or horrified at the lengths he has to go to, to maintain that success. Roland takes us on that journey with ease and it is a treat to enjoy, even if he does have to get a tad murderous.

Standing side by side with Roland every step of the way is China Brickey who brings Audrey to life with incredible vigor and camp. If there is anyone in this production that throws themself fully into the B-Movie vibe of the show, it is Brickey. She is hilarious, heart warming, and heartbreaking all at once. Brickey clearly knows the precedent that actors before her have brought to Audrey but she doesn’t give a recreation of any of them. She breathes her own life into the role and her delivery is sensational. The physicality and facial expressions that she is able to deliver, especially in the final moments of the show, are beyond impressive and memorable. Playing off one another with such ease, Roland and Brickey have such chemistry together as Seymour and Audrey and that is shown to high acclaim when they deliver their truly show stopping edition of Suddenly Seymour. Suffice to say, it may be one of the best performances of the song in recent memory. The delivery that they bring to the tune is both goofy and touching but it ends on such a triumphant note that the audience was practically jumping out of their seats to laud Roland and Brickey’s dynamic performance. It is worth the price of admission just for this moment. It would be unfair to single out one other member of the company who certainly delivers some of the highlights of the show. David Darrow. Embodying the sadistic and maniacal dentist, Orin D.D.S., Darrow is an absolute star. From his mischievous laughs as he inhales copious amounts of nitrous oxide to his aggressive and abusive attitude towards anyone, and everyone, he deems his victims…um…patients. There is no shortage of devilishness in Darrow’s performance and even though the audience despises him and waits for his inevitable demise, they can’t seem to lap up enough of his performance. While his main role is portraying Orin, Darrow takes on a slew of other roles throughout the production and he nails every single one of them without missing a beat.

It seems to be a rare feat now days to have a complete smash hit show in this day and age but the Guthrie Theater’s production of Little Shop of Horrors is firing on every cylinder. There are laughs, spectacular musical numbers, and plenty of horror to go around. So grab your friends, family, neighbors, and anyone else that you wouldn’t mind sacrificing to an alien plant and check out this can’t miss show of the summer because, if the opening night crowd is any indication, the run is sure to sell out and fast. Oh and remember, whatever they offer you, don’t feed the plants (unless you want all of your dreams to come true).

[clickerflight]

Lawnmowers are scary: Joseph Part 3

This is the last of what I have for this guy. I might write more because I did quite enjoy this story line but IDK

CW: Vampire whumpee, body horror, the horrors of growing back your body, left on the side of the road, lawnmower scare, we do get to see an actually decent person in this one though!

Taglist: @whumpsday

Part 1 : Part 2

......................................

Night came again and Joseph was back to growing. He could feel his consciousness fitting back into his body more and more, making him more and more aware as a skull formed, the brain growing every night. Joseph was not looking forward to being able to be completely aware of his body again. 

The 6th night out in the evening. He convulsed again, this time more painful and he sucked down his first breath of air as his brain kicked into gear. Joseph cried out softly, shivering as the cold became apparent, his limbs aching where they were supposed to be. He couldn’t see, his eyes still not formed. He only had one arm, the other one a stub that ended just before the elbow, and no legs to speak of. He sobbed, barely enough energy to keep breathing. He could feel the last of the energy granted by the blood injection trickle to a stop as he started to hear the things around him. He could hear small insects chirping and the occasional passing car. 

On instinct, he tried to drag himself forward with his one arm, but didn’t get anywhere. He sobbed again, opening his mouth with a half grown tongue, whispering for help, his words unintelligible. 

Sunrise came soon after.

Joseph determined that he was on the side of the road within the deep grass. It was dry and prickly against his skin and all he could really do was lay there and cry between naps. Without blood, his only energy came from sleep, but that wasn’t much with how much there was still to grow. 

Day came, bringing with it more sounds of cars. Joseph wondered how long he would have to be out here to be able to drag himself to the road in the hopes of getting help. He wondered if a blood moon would come along and give him strength soon. With his luck, he doubted it. David was the lucky one. 

Joseph heard heavy machinery start up, something that sounded like a heavy duty lawn mower. Horrified, Joseph realized that the prickly growth around him was dead grass and the lawn mower heralded the first step to keep fires from starting up on the sides of the freeway. 

And Joseph was hidden by the grass. He flinched as images of being torn apart by a lawn mower before the rider realized he was there flashed through his mind and that spurred some sort of adrenaline reaction out of his newly formed glands. He flailed in the grass with his arm, his fingers not even fully formed as he hoarsely cried out. 

“I’m here!” he said, trying to be heard, though he knew he wasn’t getting up loud enough to even possibly be heard by whoever was riding the mower. 

“Please,” he sobbed, his lungs aching from the effort. “Please, no, don’t hurt me. Please not again. I can’t do this again!”

The mower was deafening now and Joseph curled up as much as he could, putting his arm over his head as his body was wracked with sobs. 

The mower, like a blessing, stopped and was turned off so quickly he almost wondered if he had imagined the sound. 

An older man’s voice came to him with an empathic expletive and Joseph felt someone’s rough, warm hand between his shoulder blades. 

“Are you alive?” the man asked.

Joseph sobbed, shivering violently as he nodded and the man quickly patted his back.

“It’s alright there, I’m here. Uhh, I think I have a sterilization thing in my truck. I’m going to clean off my arm and I’ll be right back.”

Joseph couldn’t help the begging cry that escaped his throat and the man said, “I promise I’ll be right back, okay. Here.”

Joseph felt a coat drape over him and the man said, “Give me just a minute.”

The man disappeared and Joseph curled up under the coat, breathing quickly. His mind went numb in the face of being saved. 

The man was back. “Have you fed from someone before?” he asked gently, carefully levering Joseph into his lap.

Joseph nodded. “I took-took the classes.”

“Okay. Can, um, can I clean your teeth for you?”

Joseph opened his mouth and let his fangs flick down from behind his teeth and felt the man wipe off all of his teeth before putting his wrist to Joseph’s lips. Joseph concentrated, trying to remember what he had learned in those classes. He carefully licked the man’s wrist, tasting the alcohol there to clean it. He carefully bit down and started swallowing. He took a few swallows. He remembered that it was considerate to stop at three swallows, but when he tried to pull away the man said, “Do two more. You need it more than I do.”

Joseph gratefully did before pulling off, licking the wound closed. He gasped as more pain sprouted in his limbs as they started growing again and the man said, “I’m sorry man, this has got to suck. I called the police. They’ll be here soon.”

Joseph felt the rest of his tongue fill out as he said, “Thank you, thank you. I-I thought you were going to hit-hit me with the-with the…”

“I was scared too,” the man said. “I hope they find whoever did this to you, man.”

Joseph didn’t really hear anything else as his body decided that now was a good time for a factory reset. 

Part 4

[more-than-a-princess]

Continued from here for @electricea due to new blog + beta editor!

She didn't doubt it, as she listened to Ryuji with a strained, sympathetic smile. Until she moved abroad for school, Sonia's idea of owning a shop had been nothing short of an idyllic romance. A pleasantly simple life of stocking shelves and helping customers who were always polite and thankful to do business there. The reality, she'd learned after beginning her time at Hope's Peak Academy, had been something rather different. And by the time she and Ryuji met that fateful night a few months ago, she hadn't even been surprised by the rude customer behind her, demanding she speed up her transaction. Her lack of expedience and perchance for manners, particularly as the clock neared midnight, had turned her into a blonde, foreign annoyance for the other customers behind her as she'd chatted amiably with Ryuji behind the counter.

It was far less aggravating, she supposed, for everyone that she spend time with him like this instead. Surrounded by various prepackaged offerings and waiting for him to bring a selection of sodas, she found she rather preferred it too. He didn't have the same tone he utilized behind the counter: it was the sort new members of staff used when working for the Royal Family, before they came to know the family they worked for, and they with them in turn. "When I was younger, I loved reading anything I could get my hands on, really!" She admitted, smiling fondly at the memory. "I think I mentioned that I was tutored at home until middle school and my parents chose my friends for me, so much of my way of learning about the world was through books or television. I still must read quite a bit for work, but it's usually news reports or various proposals. For fun, I like novels, particularly gothic romance and horror, and manga as well. They are very soothing for me."

If he was imagining something akin to a library in an animated enchanted castle, Sonia would have to admit that it wasn't far off. Except instead of being full of fairy tales and love stories, it was full of texts on history, language, philosophy, mathematics, science, and more. Though she'd taken care in finding all the fiction she could, including books that her parents would've been horrified to know she found, and read, as a young girl. They should've stored the naughty books somewhere a bit more discreet, she thought as he returned with the drinks. Or at least somewhere a young child wouldn't be compelled to climb up a ladder to reach.

"When you aren't here, where do you like to go to have fun?" she asked, now torn between her inquiry and the vibrant, colorful sodas and their labels he set before them. "I'm afraid I'm not terribly familiar with energy drinks! Do they simply contain a lot of caffeine?"

Her version had always been tea or, if absolutely necessary, coffee with enough sweetened syrup to take away the bitterness of roasted beans. Hopefully energy drinks weren't as sour or bitter as plain coffee or espresso was: she wouldn't enjoy it if that were the case. Unlike the strawberry soda he now held out to her, eliciting a bright smile and a nod from the princess.

"Oh yes, I agree, everyone loves strawberry. That is an excellent choice, thank you," She agreed, accepting the bottle. It wasn't the most unique flavor, but it was reliably enjoyed. Ryuji would know, Sonia thought as she uncapped the bottle: he was the one selling them.

Still, her eyes widened at his description of the seasonal noodles. Not only seasonal, but autumn and Halloween appropriate. Precisely the sort of thing that sparked her interest, causing her to set her soda aside for the moment. "Oh, pumpkin noodles!" She exclaimed, "I should like to try those. But you are right: I like to try new flavors, as long as they aren't terribly sour, bitter, or plum. I often am introduced to new foods when I travel for work, so I take those opportunities as they come. They aren't quite like this though, convenience shop food and such. I'd imagine you like to try everything the shop gets in stock!"

[kcnrqz]

YOUTUBE SCRIPT

GREAT WHITE SHARK BITES TEEN IN HALF

It was a bright and sunny day at the Surf Beach in California, a popular destination for locals and tourists alike. It was a long stretch of golden sand, dotted with brightly colored umbrellas and beach chairs. The water was a vibrant turquoise blue, and the waves were gentle and inviting.

There were several volleyball nets set up on the beach, and people could be seen playing games and lounging in the sun. Music played from portable speakers, adding to the festive atmosphere.

The beach was flanked by tall cliffs on either side, creating a natural amphitheater that amplified the sound of the waves and the laughter of the people on the beach. The cliffs were covered in lush green foliage, providing a striking contrast to the golden sand and blue water.

At one end of the beach, there was a small harbor where boats could be rented for fishing or sightseeing. At the other end, there was a rocky outcropping that jutted out into the water, providing a popular spot for cliff jumping.

There were several amenities on the beach, including restrooms, showers, and a snack bar. Lifeguards were on duty throughout the day, keeping watch over the water and ensuring the safety of the swimmers.

A group of teenagers had decided to go for a swim in the ocean because it was a hot summer day, and they wanted to cool off in the water. They had spent the morning playing beach volleyball and lounging in the sun, and as the day wore on, the heat became almost unbearable. Among them was 17-year-old Alex, who had always loved the water and was an excellent swimmer.

The water looked inviting, and they could see other people swimming and splashing around, so they decided to join in the fun. They had heard rumors that there were sometimes sharks in the area, but they didn't think much of it. After all, they had been swimming in the ocean before and had never encountered any dangerous predators.

As they waded into the water, the teenagers felt the coolness of the ocean wash over them. They laughed and joked, splashing each other and enjoying the freedom of being in the water.

They swam out further and further, enjoying the waves and the sun on their skin. They didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, and the water seemed calm and peaceful.

Then suddenly, Alex felt a sharp pain in his leg. He looked down to see a massive great white shark, its razor-sharp teeth sinking deep into his flesh. The force of the attack knocked him off his feet, and he struggled to stay afloat as the shark dragged him underwater.

The group of teenagers witnessed a horrifying and violent attack as the shark's teeth sank deep into Alex's flesh, causing him to cry out in pain. The other teenagers screamed and tried to swim away, but the shark was too fast. As the shark circled back around for a second attack, its jaws gaped wide open as it prepared to strike again. This time, it bit down hard on Alex's torso, severing his body in two.

The teenagers saw the full extent of the damage it had caused, as their friend's lifeless body floated to the surface, torn apart and mangled beyond recognition. They watched in horror as the shark continued to thrash around, hungry for more.

The other teenagers in the group realized they were in danger and quickly began to swim away as fast as they could. The water around them was churned up, making it difficult to see where the shark was, but they knew they had to get as far away as possible.

As they swam, the teenagers could hear the shark's powerful thrashing in the water behind them, which only spurred them on to swim faster. They knew they couldn't outrun the shark, but they hoped to create enough distance between themselves and the shark to give them a chance to reach the shore.

Despite the terror and panic they felt, the teenagers remained focused on swimming and tried not to let their fear get the best of them. They swam in a zigzag pattern, hoping to make it harder for the shark to follow them.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the group reached the shore. They staggered out of the water, panting and trembling with fear, but relieved to have escaped with their lives. They looked out at the water, watching as the shark continued to thrash around, its massive body visible in the churning waves.

The attack of the great white shark sent shockwaves through the beach, and people quickly realized that they were in danger. As the other teenagers in the water tried to swim away, people on the shore began to scream and shout, urging them to come back to the beach. The beach quickly became a scene of chaos as people scrambled to get out of the water and call for help.

As news of the attack spread, more and more people on the beach began to panic. Parents gathered their children and ran for safety, while others called for help and tried to get as far away from the water as possible.

Emergency services arrived on the scene quickly, including ambulances, police, and rescue teams. They quickly assessed the situation and began to take action to control the situation and help the victims.

Lifeguards were the first to respond, jumping into the water to try to reach Alex and the other teenagers who had been swimming with him. They could see the water turning red with blood, and they knew they were dealing with a serious situation.

Paramedics and ambulance crews arrived next, and they immediately began to tend to Alex. Despite their best efforts, however, they could not save him, as he had been bitten in half by the shark.

The police arrived on the scene soon after, and they began to cordon off the area, preventing people from getting too close to the water. They also searched the surrounding area for any sign of the great white shark, hoping to capture or kill it before it could attack anyone else.

Meanwhile, rescue helicopters circled overhead, searching the water for any signs of the shark. They used thermal imaging cameras to try to detect the shark's body heat, but they were unable to locate it.

As news of the attack spread, more and more emergency services arrived on the scene, including marine patrol units and coastguard vessels. They scoured the water for any signs of the shark.

The beach became crowded with onlookers and many people were outraged that such a dangerous predator could be lurking so close to shore and called for increased measures to control shark populations.

For the family and friends of Alex, there was no comfort to be found in the aftermath of the attack. They were left to grieve the loss of a young life cut tragically short, and to wonder how something so horrific could happen to someone so innocent. 

The memory of that day would haunt them forever, a reminder of the brutal and unpredictable nature of the world we live in.

[korebringerofded]

Missing Persons-A Prohero!Deku X F!Reader

AUTHORS NOTES-Okay so this might be messy. Saddle up. Might make this into a full length thing. Please interact if you guys enjoy the interaction really encourages me to keep writing! Also my requests are open so please send me what you would like! I write for a bit of everything! Okay now for the stuff.

Summary- Izuku Midoriya is a pro hero now in his prime and living the life he only ever dreamed of when he was a child. Despite the joy he formed with you a storm of cruel proportions and horror will begin to swallow him whole. A new villain with a horrifying quirk is looking to catch the attention of Izuku Midoriya. How will the pro hero respond when everything and everyone he loves is torn apart? Not well tbh.

Warnings-Eventual gore, serial killer mentions, angry Deku being an absolute babe, a possible series?? Angst, talks of dead people

This is teaser to see if anyone likes the concept!

NSFW MY PAGE IS NOT FOR KIDS STAY AWAY

Having his own agency was much more work than Izuku Midoriya ever could have realized, late sleepless nights at his desk were becoming a regular event. He groaned softly as he pulled his face off of the cluttered surface of his desk, taking a moment to wipe the drool off of his chin. He glanced at the clock and leaned his head back, it was almost midnight. 

He had been completely distracted dealing with a long string of murders tied to a new upandcoming villian. He has an absolutely horrible quirk, one that Midoriya’s agency still couldn’t quite understand other than the fact that the victims of this villain would be left in strange distorted positions as well as a horrifying and twisted look on their faces. The scenes were less than messy and rancid. So for now most of the pro-hero’s time was taken up by staring at the victims' files, their faces. He would avenge each and everyone of them. He couldn’t rest until he did. 

Despite these troubling thoughts while Midoriya sat at his desk his eyes fell on the small picture at his desk, at your smiling face being illuminated by the sun. He really couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming guilt. He had promised you countless times he would be home at a reasonable time and he had once again not been able to do as he promised. He knew it worried you, but what would sting the most was how understanding and kind you were. You knew his work was hard, and as his wife you loved him regardless. You only ever welcomed him home with a smile and a kiss. Being with you was a dream for him. 

Midoriya was pulled from his thoughts with a jolt as he heard his phone vibrate softly on the table. As he glanced at it he felt his heart fall to his stomach.

Another attack. 

Here is the location. 

Followed by a link that connects Deku to his gps. It was close to the apartment he shared with you. Icy cold fear rushed over his entire body. After clicking through his phone to your contact page he hit the call button as he pulled his hero outfit on, holding the phone between his cheek and shoulder. 

“Pick up, baby, please…” His voice was pleading and desperate, tears forming in his eyes as the phone rang once, then twice, then a third time. Each ring passed in agonizing succession as the fourth rang played out followed by your tired voice.

“Hmm? Is everything okay?” You yawned into the phone. You had been asleep, you were completely safe. Midoriya could have broken out in sobs as your voice played methodically through the speaker of his phone. 

“I just needed to hear your voice, princess. That's all.” He smiled, sniffling softly. “I gotta go, I’m sorry. I will be home soon.” 

There was silence for just a moment

“Be safe, my hero.” Your voice cut through and Midoriya breathed a sigh of relief before hanging up.

He had a job to do. Then he had someone to get back to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Entering the scene was difficult, easier knowing it wasn’t your body, but still difficult knowing how the other victims had looked when he found them. Upon entering the dusty abandoned building his anxiety continued to grow by the second as his boots sank into a thick crimson liquid on the floor, he kneeled down for a moment and stuck a gloved finger into the foregin liquid. It wasn’t blood but instead a thick clumpy paint, coating the floor leading into the other room of the tall warehouse. Following the trail of blood into the other room Deku channeled flickering electricity over his entire body, he was supposedly the first on the scene and it was possible the assailant was still somewhere nearby, he had to be ready.

The only thing in that room was an odd shaped lump, slumped against the wall, and covered in the same thick paint as in the other rooms. Deku was sure it was a body but as he approached it was a bag stuffed with what he could only assume was rotten meat. It had been stuffed into a large duffle bag and was brown and gray. The room was filled with a putrid stench that made his eyes water, as weird as the scene was it wasn’t necessarily anything dangerous so Deku settled for calling it in to get a proper analysis on that meat, as long as it wasn’t human there wasn’t really a crime here. Probably just some kids pulling a weird ass prank.

It was only as he turned, putting his cell back in his pocket and staring at the far-left wall. He hadn’t noticed it before, but written in thick messy letters was a message, the paint was still dripping down the wall in slow meticulous movements. His breath caught in his throat. He knew the message was for him, he just knew it.

Come and find us, hero

He was drowning in his panic as he rushed out of the building, his hands trembling softly as he called your number, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as it rang once, then twice, and then a fourth and final time before your bright voice playing your voicemail was all he heard. He hung up his phone and channeled all of his abilities in his legs, cracking the cement beneath his feet as he launched forward. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He couldn’t bother with the door, his panic had him blind and trembling. Deku ducked his head to climb through the window of the apartment the two of you shared, you had a habit of leaving it open for him. 

The apartment was in shambles, furniture tilted over and the front door busted open, dangling off of its hinges. Izuku Midoriya was not one to lose his temper often but upon seeing a large thick message written on the wall he felt all at once his anger burning him up from the inside as he read those words written in a shiny crimson fluid. Not the clumpy paint he knew but what he could only believe to be blood. Your blood.

Three days. 

After reading that his body grew hot, a sharp electric cloud circled around Deku, his hair flickering and shifting as tears streamed down his face. He would find you and destroy whoever thought they could take you from him.

PART 1 END

Please please let me know what you guys think, if you want another character please please send me a request! I am really trying to expand this page and would love to get some more interaction.

[yandere-sins]

Stares

Horrortober Day 5: Disturbance “Nothing can interrupt us now.”

I will admit I wrote this one way too late into the night. I should go to sleep yikes :’D Enjoy!

Warnings: Yandere, Body Horror, Kidnapping, Molestation, Harrassment, Sexual Innuendos/Actions Characters: Sukuna x Reader

It was rare to see the King of Curses calm and even a little approachable.

Not that you liked seeing him at all, but you preferred it this way than any other. Ever so often, he peeked out of Itadori Yuji’s face, taunting you, belittling his host. However, you were just glad to get through with your work that day, teaching the boy the necessary theory he had to learn. You’d be gone before you had to deal with the host or the curse inside of him, just like every day. Routine, that’s what Nanami called it. Routine would benefit all of you, but you still hadn’t come around to like what you were forced to do.

Morally, it was wrong to call the boy a curse. He ate something cursed, and now he was beyond screwed, but still… Whenever you saw him, pure survival instinct ran through your veins. You wanted to defeat him, end this miserable life, but you weren’t allowed. Sorcerers weren’t supposed to teach curses, just kill. But you were torn between your orders and duty, looking at what was sitting in front of you.

Asking other sorcerers for their opinion on the matter, and you were faced with the same responses. The same struggle and conflict you were facing, except, maybe, Gojo, who seemed to be unbothered by what he dragged into your holy halls. However, the most unnerving thing that came up in conversation was how often Sukuna showed himself in your class… but not in the others. Given, they did see the casual third or fourth eye, or one mouth too many. Still, even if the others were unnerved, they chose to ignore, while you were the only one to actually have spoken to the king—though it was no honor.

“Brat, the teacher’s staring.” Instantly, Yuji’s attention shifted to the extra mouth on his cheek and then to you, expecting you to say something. You quickly caught your composure, not having realized you’ve been staring - probably in disgust - at him, almost feeling bad. Clearing your throat, you picked up your book again, shaking your head in denial before continuing to monotonously read the text inside of it out loud. Sorcerer history hadn’t been your favorite subject either, but you were stuck with it, unfortunately. Yuji was diligent enough, but even while you read, you couldn’t get your mind off the threat in front of you.

Especially not when long, clawed fingers gripped your book by the spine, lowering it with surprising force.

“No, you’ve been staring. There’s no denying it, Sorcerer, spit it out,” Sukuna grinned at you cheekily, having temporarily taken over your real student.

“I was trying not to vomit looking at you,” you snarled back, slapping his hand away that he retracted in fake hurt. “Bad liar,” he called you before the marks suddenly faded, Yuji going back to being himself.

“Ah, sorry about that,” he muttered apologetically like so many times before. And you sighed, assuring him it wasn’t his fault.

»»————————

It wasn’t his fault either when Sukuna cornered you in one of the hallways around the school. Being cornered by strong two arms did not give you the butterflies that all these novels always tried to sell. Granted, you flinched pretty hard, but once you were face to face with him, your anger far outweighed your fear. He was scary, no question asked. Sukuna could destroy you with a flick of his finger. But somehow, naively so, you didn’t believe he would. Something about ‘he could have, but he hasn’t’ made you bold apparently. Stupidly so.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you hissed, and he rolled his eyes. Yuji’s body looked stupidly wasted on him, the boy being such a ray of sunshine in contrast to his evil counterpart. Sukuna didn’t become him. His attitude didn’t.

“You’ve been staring at me,” he repeated. Why was the topic so important to him?

“So what? What is it to you?” you returned snidely. Lips curling into a grin, you felt like you had actually humored him. Not the direction you wanted to go with the King. “Well, I wanted a good look at you…” he mumbled, his eyes driving from the shirt on your collarbones to the shoes you were wearing slowly, noticeably, and… lusty.

“...too,” he finished his sentence before licking his lips.

“Disgusting,” you whispered dryly, staring at him perturbed, and Sukuna chuckled at your obvious rejection.

“Well, I have what I wanted.”

Before you could repeat, he disappeared, leaving behind a slumping student of yours, and you cursed the King of Curses quietly, dropping everything to had in your arms to support Yuji. “Asshole,” you mumbled, and for a brief moment, you thought you heard him chuckle again, but you couldn’t be sure.

»»————————

It was him. He was planning something all along, and you knew it.

But no one could see it since this plan almost exclusively involved you.

“Shrivel and die,” you told him through gritted teeth, pushing at his chest as hard as you could. Sukuna was undeterred, pressing you against the old chalkboard and nibbling on your earlobe. Why did no one believe you when you swore up and down that he wasn’t just a quiet bystander? That he indeed was trying to do something—or someone?

“I do love a filthy mouth,” he sighed, making you want to throw up just from the implications alone. Even with your elbow between you, there was no movement. The other sorcerers had told you about Yuji’s strength, but you didn’t think you couldn’t handle it. Apparently, however, you couldn’t, and it was infuriating. While Sukuna was doing as he pleased, you decided on a different approach, opening your mouth to scream.

Finally, it caused some reaction in him, his head recoiling at the jarring sound, but before long, your lips were captured with his, a fight breaking out between your mouths. He was trying to silence you efficiently with his tongue in your throat, the mere thought of kissing a student repulsing you, and you were biting at his lips which didn’t seem to bother Sukuna at all.

“Someone will come,” you reminded him fiercely as he broke away to give you some air.

“Silly,” he only commented before kissing you again. You were hammering at his chest, trying to make your disapproval evident, but it was to no avail. Sukuna wouldn’t budge. Only when he, mercifully, allowed another breath, you screamed again, using your palms to defend from his face closing in to shut you up. The weight of his body was pressing you into the wall painfully, but realizing your powers simply wouldn’t show no matter how hard you tried was even worse. Did he have some kind of ability that stole your energy from you? Was it fear that blocked you from using it? Were you afraid?

You were. 

It was indeed silly, even if it was painful to agree with Sukuna. You never feared for your life, taking every day and mission as it came. But you were scared now because of the monster in front of you. You had been right: you should have killed him when you could. Stupid! Absolutely stupid to keep around!

Even you understood that it wasn’t death you feared. You feared Sukuna’s presence and the effects it had on you. How defenseless you were suddenly and how, even though he always disappeared in the end after annoying you, he just didn’t seem to let go of you now. 

“Scream some more,” he taunted, and you weren’t going to object. Immediately, you put up the fight again, feeling your lungs clench when you robbed them of all the air to get some help. But nothing happened. “I like it when they struggle,” Sukuna laughed, crazy, madly, victoriously. As if he won a war you didn’t know about.

“Come, open your eyes! Look where you are!” he encouraged you, grinning from ear to ear. Confused, you looked around, seeing the same old classroom that you always had when teaching Yuji. The sight slowly began to shift, fog collecting at your feet and the walls moving unnaturally under your gaze. You’ve been scared before, but it was nothing compared to what you felt as everything shifted. 

You hadn’t realized it. 

Not for one moment did you know he activated his domain, something no one had been able to explore until now. It was different from what you expected, much more vast and deadly. But you also saw the remainders of the classroom, and you wondered how much of it was taking up the actual reality. Horrified, you looked around, now knowing your screams wouldn’t echo for no one but you two here. You always thought you were a decent sorcerer but maybe… maybe you were nothing at all. At least not in the eyes of Sukuna.

“Finally,” Sukuna sighed, satisfied and seemingly exhausted by effort you didn’t know he was making. “Nothing can interrupt us now. I just needed you to lower your guard.”

“You…” Your mumble was met with deafening silence. Not even Sukuna’s breathing made a sound in this space, and you immediately felt claustrophobic in the pitch black that encased the realm. His realm.

“I was nice. I waited. Those… manga said it was proper in these times, though, I don’t care for them. But you kept staring at me as if you were trying to kill me. Do you know how hard it was to wait? A king shouldn’t have to wait-no. I shouldn’t have to wait for you when you are coming on to me.”

Blinking a few times, you looked back at him. Perhaps, for the first time, you were truly meeting his gaze, always finding a reason to not look at him directly before. But not anymore. Now you were indeed looking at him, not remembering those times he said you stared when this was the first and only time you really saw him. “It’s been too long that I had company. How nice of you to offer yourself up to me~”

“I never did-” you tried to argue, but you were swept into another kiss, flailing in his arms as you feared falling. Endlessly. You could no longer discern where the realm started and ended. “You’re mine now,” he growled, unhinged.

“I will devour you, Looker. It’s punishment for not welcoming me sooner. There’s a lot to make up for.”

You’ve never seen Sukuna calm before. Because if what you had witnessed was what you called calm, it had been because he was waiting for the right moment. The right moment to pounce, and to your misery, it was now. Stares could kill, people said. It was true, you found out, as you killed yourself with it by making the King of Curses recognize you. Though, you wished you were dead.

You merely killed your freedom with your actions, as there was no way Sukuna would let you have that ever again after you piqued his interest unwillingly.

[inkykeiji]

just this once

character: sawamura daichi

genre: smut

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), praise kink, manipulation, size kink if u squint, dacryphilia

words: 4k

synopsis:

And, being as stubborn as he is, it takes him a few months to finally admit to himself that his feelings toward you are more than platonic. It’s a horrifying realization—one that has his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach and bile rising in the back of his throat—that hits him with the force of a fucking freight train one night when he catches you in the hallway wearing nothing but a skimpy little tank top and a cute pair of lace-trimmed panties, and his first thought is how badly he wants to slam you against the wall and fuck you stupid.

Daichi isn’t sure what he did to deserve such a beautiful punishment, but you are the most gorgeous creature he has ever seen.

And you’re entirely off-limits.

He has to admit, he was fairly excited when he found out about the engagement, eagerly awaiting the day that you’d be moving in with your mom. He enjoys being a big brother to his blood siblings, but they’re so much younger than he is, and he can’t wait to have a sibling closer to his age.

But, Christ, he doesn’t expect you to be so fucking pretty.

It’s unfair, really. The gods must be mocking him, because forcing him to live with a cute little thing like you is downright cruel, as far as he’s convinced.

You have him wrapped around your pinky finger the moment your eyes meet. Just one look—a soft, shy gaze through your thick eyelashes as you introduce yourself—and he’s sure he’d do anything for you, pull the moon out of the goddamn sky for you, if you so desired.

And there’s nothing wrong with that, right? Big brothers are supposed to be doting and protective of their younger sisters, aren’t they?

He’s thrilled to hear that you’re just as excited as he is to be step-siblings, to have a niichan, being an only child yourself. The two of you get along instantly, staying up until the early hours of the morning planning all of the things you want to do together, all of the things you weren’t able to experience before, all of the things he’ll teach you.

You fall into such a natural routine so quickly, Daichi can barely remember what life was like without you—what were his mornings like before, when he didn’t have to drop you off at university? What did he used to do with his nights, before you two had developed the regular habit of binging old sitcoms and shitty rom-coms and horror movies?

And he’s sure you don’t mean it…he’s sure you don’t even realize what you’re doing when you curl up next to him on the couch after a stressful day, nestling into his side perfectly, resting your head on his chest as you sulk about school, or professors, or assignments, or anything, really. You know you can come to him with whatever problem your having—he’s told you a thousand times.

He’s sure you don’t think anything of the way his fingers comb through your hair as you complain, the way he’ll occasionally press gentle kisses against your scalp, the way he automatically lets you crawl into his lap when the day’s been really bad, thighs straddling his hips as you collapse heavily against him, nuzzling your face into his skin.

Of course you don’t. Why should you?

And he knows he should feel awful—does feel awful—that these are kind of his favourite days, because he gets to put his hands on you, feel you relax into him as you mumble against his neck or shoulder, feels adulterous pride swell in his chest when you sleepily admit that he always makes you feel so much better, that no one else is able to cheer you up the way he is.

It’s torture in the most delicious way, even if it sometimes hurts to watch you lean against the counter and stare up at his best friend with stars in your eyes, giggling softly as Suga pays you compliment after compliment. So it makes his chest and throat burn with the sting of jealousy a little—that’s normal, right? He’s just being a little protective, is he not? He just doesn’t want to see you get hurt, alright?

And, being as stubborn as he is, it takes him a few months to finally admit to himself that his feelings toward you are more than platonic. It’s a horrifying realization—one that has his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach and bile rising in the back of his throat—that hits him with the force of a fucking freight train one night when he catches you in the hallway wearing nothing but a skimpy little tank top and a cute pair of lace-trimmed panties, and his first thought is how badly he wants to slam you against the wall and fuck you stupid.

The thought feels like it comes out of nowhere, making him audibly gasp, as he tries to fool himself into thinking that he hasn’t been forcing back such lewd thoughts since the day he met you.

But that thought finally snaps open the floodgates in his mind, rendering him instantly powerless to the explicit and obscene scenarios that flash through his brain without his permission, eyes glued to your ass as you walk away.

Except then you stop, turning back to look at him still frozen in the hallway, cocking your head to the side and uttering a soft, “Dai-nii?”

“M’fine,” he says roughly, his voice not his own. You frown—you can see right through him. You’re walking towards him, and he wants to tell you to stop, he wants to turn away and hurry into his own room, but his feet are bolted to the floor, gaze captivated by the teasing cleavage that tiny tank top affords him.

He wants to believe that the way your eyes, glossy and half-lidded, slowly rake over his bare chest and land on the tent in his flannel pj pants, is entirely innocent. He desperately wants to believe this.

But the way your lips part with a quiet gasp that fades into the softest whimper, tells him otherwise. Your eyes slowly meet his, breathing a little laboured.

“I…” you begin, frowning a little as your eyebrows knit, as if you’re unsure how to express this thought. “Do you want—”

“No,” he says instantly, finally regaining control over his traitorous body and taking a large step back from you. He doesn’t want to know what you were going to ask, doesn’t even allow himself a second to think about all of the possibilities. “Go to bed, sweetheart,”

Then he’s gone, walking hastily down the hallway and disappearing into his room. And you’re left standing in alone, confused as to why there’s heat pooling between your thighs and why your chest stings so bad from his vague denial.

Such thoughts don’t stop after that night—he can’t help the way his cock twitches in his jeans when you lick honey from your thumb innocently, his mind automatically wondering what those lips would feel like wrapped around him; or the way he wants to pin you down and fuck you until your crying when you look up at him with those pretty, pretty eyes, the ones you use when you’re asking him for something.

It’s okay, he reasons with himself, even though he feels like he’s being torn apart at his very seams by guilt and lust. It’s fine as long as he doesn’t act on them, right?

Your happiness is more important than his anyway. Any good niichan would know that, would value their siblings’ feelings over their own.

Because the way your eyes light up when you talk to him about something you love, the way you’re always so excited to tell him about a new development in your life—whether it be a good grade, or a new crush, or something you and your best friend did over the weekend—and the way you cherish his opinions so much…

Those moments mean more to him than anything else, and he’d never want to do anything to lose your trust in him, your unwavering faith that simultaneously warms his chest and makes his stomach churn.

Yes, he’s positive he’d do absolutely anything for you.

So when some stupid boy breaks your heart, has you hesitantly knocking on his bedroom door at three in the morning with your arms wrapped unsurely around yourself as you try to stifle your soft little sobs—well.

He’s ready to go out and beat that motherfucker to death for even causing you to shed a single tear.

In fact, you find yourself having to talk him out of it in that very moment, little fingers curling in the coat he’s in the middle of shrugging on, tugging and hastily asking if you can spend the night with him instead.

And he should say no. No matter how hurt you are, no matter how much he wants to hold you in his arms and wipe your tears and make it all better, it’s wrong.

Or, at least, that’s what he tells himself. More than anything, in reality, he just doesn’t trust himself. It doesn’t matter that it’s wrong.

But, goddamn it, he can’t say no to you.

And you know. He knows you know, can see it in the way your eyelids flutter a little as you gaze at him through your lashes, glistening with unshed tears, can see it in the way you squeeze your arms around yourself just a hint more, pushing your breasts up, can hear it in the way you whimper out, “Please, Dai-nii?”

And despite the fact that he knows, and that he should probably be furious at you for exploiting his weakness, manipulating him and turning him into putty in your soft little hands—he can’t.

Because he loves it just as much, because even if you didn’t know, he’d still never be able to refuse you. And he hates himself for it, blames himself for it, would still never even think to blame it on you. You’re his perfect little angel, anyway, aren’t you? Actually, now that he thinks about it, there is a chance you might not even know what you’re doing, isn’t there? You’re just so upset right now, clearly not in any sort of stable mindset, he tries to reason with himself, tries to alleviate even just the tiniest hint of the guilt crushing his chest as he caves, nodding and opening the door wider, inviting you in.

He can’t stand the way your voice gets all tiny and frail when you ask again if he’s going to stay with you as he tucks you into his bed, almost as if you’re afraid of the rejection. How can he say no, when your fingers are tangling in his t-shirt and pulling him closer, pleading softly with him.

How can he say no, when you tell him that you feel better simply being in his presence, looking as though you’re about to burst into tears all over again when he hesitates answering.

“Of course, baby,” he says softly. “Of course I’ll stay,”

He tells himself it’s fine as he crawls into his bed next to you, allowing you to latch onto him immediately, fingers tracing patterns on his chest. He promises himself just this once, just because you’re broken-hearted and he doesn’t want to upset you more, wouldn’t be able to handle the look of hurt on your face if he denied you.

But you’re nuzzling your face against his chest, crying softly and begging him to just make it go away already, make the hurt stop even if it’s just for a little bit.

And, God, what he’d give to just take it all away from you, to cradle your face between his big hands and kiss you until you’re breathless, to make you cum until your mind’s numb, until you literally can’t think of anything but him, until your throat’s sore and you’re about to pass out from exhaustion—

No. No, this is wrong. It’s wrong to take advantage of you in such an emotional, vulnerable state.

Except then you’re grinding against his strong thigh, wedged between your legs, and making these cute little noises, soft whimpers of Dai-nii and tiny gasps that get caught in your throat.

He wants to tell you to stop, opens his mouth to firmly order that you cease these actions, but all he can seem to force out is a soft groan, tongue turning to sand in his mouth.

Because—well, your sobs have stopped, haven’t they? There are no longer tears leaking from your eyes or little sniffles hitching in your throat, right? What if this really is what you need, a good orgasm to help you forget, to help you sleep?

He makes a mental deal with himself, manages to talk himself into it, deciding to indulge himself just a little, just for tonight, just enough to satisfy the desire blazing in the pit of his stomach.

Large hands settle on your hips, aiding you in moving against him.

“Does it feel good, baby?” he asks, voice husky, words leaving his lips without his permission.

You nod, humming a little and nuzzling your face into his shoulder.

“Tell me,” he commands softly.

“F-Feels good, niichan,” you breathe.

“Yeah? Think you can cum from just riding my thigh, babygirl?”

“Uh-huh,”

“Show me,” he whispers. “I bet you look so pretty when you cum, don’t you? Let niichan see,”

Your hips pick up speed, broken whines falling from your lips as you aggressively grind your cunt against him.

He should tell you to keep it down or slap a hand over your mouth and muffle the noises with his palm. Really, he should. You’re loud, probably too loud, and he’d be surprised if your parents can’t hear you though the thin walls, just a room over.

But he can’t bring himself to do it, can’t force the words out or move his arm at all, greedily enticed by your sweet sounds—sweet little sounds your making for him, because of him.

“That’s it,” he encourages, pressing his thigh up into your dripping core more, flexing the strong muscles and making you cry out softly. “Make a mess all over niichan’s thigh, come on,”

And then your gasping out his name, breath hot against his neck, hips stuttering as you gush all over him, a pleasant warmth spreading across his thigh, seeping through the flannel and making the material stick to his skin as you try to squeeze your legs together, whole body curling into his chest.

He forces you to keep moving your hips through your orgasm until your body is jolting and trembling from every drag of your sensitive clit against his hard muscles, until your whimpering for him to stop, it’s too much! and going boneless against him.

A deep chuckle vibrates in his chest, gentle fingers combing through your hair as he hushes you, satisfied that you seem tuckered out and telling you to sleep now, princess, before pressing soft kisses to your head.

Just this once, he vows to himself as your breathing evens out, eyes slipping shut. Just this once—he got a taste now, got to see how pretty you look when you cum, got to hear you moan out his name, and that’s enough. That should be enough to satiate the voracious lust that curls in his stomach and rises in his throat every time he sees you.

Except it isn’t.

He’s terrible, awful, should feel so fucking ashamed of himself when you show up outside his door only a few nights later, shyly asking if you can ride him again and he has to restrain himself from jumping you right there.

“But, um,” you whisper, eyes darting to his and then away, fingers twisting together in front of your body. “N-Not your thigh this time?”

He can barely comprehend the words spilling out of your mouth, stares at you with those wide, warm, sweet eyes, breath coming out in short huffs through his slightly parted lips.

“You—What?”

A frown graces your lips, anxiety from the potential rejection beginning to build in your chest. “I want to ride your cock,” you whimper, eyes finding his again. Your heart is pounding, slamming against your ribcage, those six little words hanging in the air between the two of you.

He makes a soft, hurt little sound in the back of his throat, chest beginning to rise and fall quicker.

“We—” he stops to clear his throat, attempting to rid his voice of huskiness. “We shouldn’t,” he aims for stern, but his voice only sounds strangled, and the way you’re staring at him with those eyes makes his entire body feel like it’s just been set aflame.

“I-I know but I—” a little hiccup cuts you off, vision blurring with tears. “I just c-cant stop thinking about how good you’d feel, how full you’d make me, all stretched out and—”

No, he wants to scream. Not the tears, anything but the tears.

“—Please, Dai-nii?” you sniff a little, gleaming eyes pleading with him, bottom lip pushed out into a pout. “Ju-Just this once? I just—just wanna—” a choked sob cuts you off, and you rub at your eyes with your fists, chest beginning to stutter.

And he breaks.

“Oh baby,” he’s cooing, wrapping strong arms around you and holding you to his chest tightly. “Shh, quiet honey,” he’s hushing you as he sits on the edge of his bed, pulling you to straddle his lap. “Niichan will let you ride his cock if that’s what you want, sweetheart,” he says softly, brushing your hair away from your face. “Okay? You want that? Will it make my little girl feel better?”

“Y-Yes, Dai-nii,”

“Alright, stop crying, pretty girl,” tender thumbs swipe across your cheekbones, catching stray tears and wiping them away.

His heart feels like its shattering in his chest, and he hates seeing you so upset, pressing your lips together and trying to swallow your pathetic little sobs, but he can’t lie—you begging to ride his cock, wanting it so bad that you’re crying for it, has his brain hazy with lust, clouding his judgement as blood rushes south. His mouth is dry, cock throbbing impatiently as he helps you out of your cute little pj shorts, unable to stop the involuntary sharp inhale of breath when he finally sees your pretty little pussy, unable to help the soft noise that gets caught at the back of his throat as you tug a little at the waistband of his pants, looking at him through your lashes as you free his aching cock.

And then he has you whimpering as he pushes into your tight cunt, praising you as you stretch around him. Really, he should’ve taken the time to prep you properly, should’ve scolded you and been firm with you when you got a little bratty, refusing his fingers and whining that you want his cock now.

“Look at how good my little girl is,” he breathes out, leaning back from you while large hands steady your hips, eyes focused on his cock as it slowly slides in. “My precious baby, taking my cock so well,”

“Y-Yeah?” you ask in a tiny voice, looking at him in near desperation, needing to hear the praise again. “Hurts a little, niichan,”

“You can do it, baby,” his fingers flex on your waist, never slowing as he forces you down onto him, his hips pressing up to meet yours halfway.

His cock is thicker than anything you’ve ever taken before, and it burns a little as he finally bottoms out, tiny hole fluttering as it tries to accommodate him.

“See,” he pants. “You took the whole thing,”

“I-I swear I can feel you in my tummy, Dai-nii,”

“Christ,” he nearly whines, shutting his eyes tightly as his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips. He breathes out hard through his nose, gathering up every ounce of his self control as he begins to gently rock your hips against his, teeth clenching while he tries not to buck wildly into you.

You whimper a little; it still hurts a bit, but it’s beginning to fade, Daichi whispering gentle praises, breath hot against the shell of your ear as you bury your face in his neck.

“I know it hurts right now, baby,” he breathes out, still steadily rocking you on his lap. “But niichan’s gonna make it feel so good, okay?”  

And he does. He lets you grind against him, hips moving in little circular motions, forces not one but two orgasms out of you as tender fingers slip between your bodies to rub at your clit while you bounce shallowly.

It’s fucking torture for him, to feel you cream on his cock like that, tight little pussy clenching around him as you cry out breathless little ‘Dai-nii’s.

“S’it,” he praises hoarsely, thighs trembling from the effort of restraint. “Niichan’s gonna fuck you now, okay sweetheart?”

He keeps you on his lap, since you were so adamant about riding him, but holds your hips still as he begins fucking up into you. He starts off slow, letting you get used to the deep thrusts, cockhead nudging your cervix every time, but it isn’t long before his restraint completely snaps, unable to hold back any longer and begins ramming into you.

He tells you you’re so good, that you look so pretty as you take his cock, tears rolling down your cheeks and quiet grunts sounding from deep in his chest.

You whimper when he cums, begging him to fill you up, have him shuddering out a breathy, “Fuck,” as his hips still, cock pressed tightly against your cervix as it throbs.

And just like that, just this once turns into only a few times, and grinding against his thigh turns into his cock buried inside of you, his tongue shoved down your throat, your moans muffled by big palms.

And you love it. You love the way his chestnut eyes darken as you sink down on his cock, the way his voice drops so low it makes your stomach swoop, the way his entire demeanor—the air around him, his very aura—changes the moment you begin acting like a brat.

It’s exhilarating, intoxicating, addicting. You love the groans that fall from his lips when you tell him no one has ever—no one can ever—fuck you as good as he does. You love the way he loses himself in it, hips slamming into you hard enough to jostle your entire body up the bed, the way he leaves bruises in the shape of his hands on your hips, your thighs, your ass.

And although the guilt eats him alive—erodes his insides, rots him to his very core—he can’t stop.

He should put a stop to it. He wishes he were strong enough to put a stop to it.

He should, he should, he should.

He should do a lot of things.

But he won’t.  

Because he’s too selfish, too greedy, to give you up. He’ll bear the sins and suffer the consequences if he just gets to call you his, if he just gets to hear you cry out his name into his palm as he rams his cock into you with a hand slapped tightly over your mouth, if he just gets to fill you up with his cum every night.

He feels disgusted in himself, disgusted in his pathetically weak resolve that you know how to break with just a look and a soft niichan, disgusted by how much he fucking loves every second of it. But he’d do anything for you, just like any good niichan would, right?

[kisstheashes]

How to Write Gore: From a Gore Writer

To start: Gore ≠ horror genre. Gore and body horror is a TYPE of horror, but it does not encompass the entire genre. Think of the difference between SAW, American Psycho, and Pan's Labyrinth. All horror, not all focusing on gore.

However, gore/body horror is a part of many genres of fiction. It shows up in fantasy, action, drama, sci-fi...so knowing how to write it can be pretty important. And here, I'll be running down how to write explicit gore, not unlike truly horrific carnage you'd see in the worst crime scene photos. Obvious TW for examples I'll be using (which will be long)

Pick a POV. Is this going to be in the POV of the victim, or the instigator? Or will you switch between them, or will it be a third limited? You should know this before you start the story, but especially make sure you know what voice you'll be using for scenes like this.

Use all five senses. Sight, touch, sound, taste, smell. What is being seen by your POV? Do they hear bones cracking, skin ripping, fluids squelching? Do they smell metal, or blood, or old rot? What are they feeling, physically? Are they shivering in pain, if it's a victim? Or are they steady, or shivering in happiness, as an instigator? Are they biting their tongue so hard they taste blood? Example:

JJ tried struggling and turning his head away, but it was no use. The monster forced his eye open and slowly started taking his toy's eye.

His body strained and he struggled. Nothing Anti had done before compared to this pain. Blood streamed down his face and squirted everywhere. JJ's eye started popping out of the socket as the pain consumed him, making him sick and dizzy.

Anti bit his lip, breaking the skin and drawing a few droplets of blood to the surface. He contained himself and kept a slow pace, enjoying the sight of his toy's eye falling out of its socket. Bright blue and stark white covered in shiny red. Anti felt his borrowed heart start pounding, his hands shaking. He'd waited years for this. Everything had gotten in his way.

Blood poured down half of JJ's face and soaked the thread in his lips. His vision was flashing red and black and white. He could barely breathe and tasted copper. His body was giving out, muscles spasming and limbs going limp. His good eye was blurry with tears.

This could be refined a little more, but I think you get the point. Capture the whole moment, even if it takes you a while to do so.

Get creative. Everyone has read about people getting shot or stabbed during interrogations, torture sessions. Take it a step further. Use the knife or gun in an interesting way, or use a different, unexpected tool altogether. Example:

Maze tipped his head back, running a hand through his hair as Chase brought the cheese grater back. "Take it across your right arm." He slid his eyes over to Chase as he did so without hesitation. The first thing Maze saw had been the blood start making rivers down his arm. When the cheese grater was pulled away the skin had divorced from the muscle and hung in the air, making a V shape with his arm. Maze let out a disgruntled noise as he watched Chase bring the cheese grater to his arm again. Flecks of skin caught in the ridges of the grater and fell to the floor as Chase's blood cascaded down his arm. He could hear Chase's skin ripping off of his arm and his blood dripping to the floor. He could see how the grater tugged at the skin before ripping it off and the skin falling to the floor, into the blood. The whole of his bicep was bloody and torn apart before Maze commanded him to stop.

I first wrote this cheese grater scene in 2018. My friends still say they can't look at a cheese grater the same lmao

And finally, get descriptive. Show, show, show. Be visceral. Be upsetting, be horrifying, and vomit-inducing. Write vomit if you want! Get into the nitty-gritty, show how awful it is, and how inescapable it is for your characters. Yes, it's okay to be panic-inducing! This is horror- and not just horror. This is gore. This is explicit pain and suffering. It's not meant to be soft. It's meant to kick your reader's teeth in. It's meant to get under their skin and make them so uncomfortable it's hard to get through. It's like a car crash, or train wreck, or witnessing a murder. I don't think I need a final example, but I'll give you one anyway. Example:

"Attack." The wasps dived in, stingers first, as they attacked the one Sadreen wanted.

Pinpricks of powder blue blood left the other as the wasps stung, his screams turning to shrieks and confused begging, as they begged whatever held them to let them go.

Sadreen approached the swarm of wasps with even steps and the other, his smirk falling into place again. The other spotted him, shaking his head as he tried to contain his screams.

Sadreen stood in front of the other, inspecting them. Their blue blood dripped out of their wounds, not enough to fall or move. The areas of skin around the wounds blackened, the open wound pulsing with venom, the green-tinged sickness spewing and dribbling out of the wounds, mixing with the drops of blood.

“You should not have meddled with what is not yours, little one.”

The other tried to speak, cut off by blood shoving itself up to their throat, falling out of their mouth in waterfalls, and filling their mouth with their tainted blood.

In their binds they spasmed, foam leaving their mouth. Sadreen uncoiled his tendrils, their form collapsing to the ground with several cracks, as now brittle bones from the venom snapped on impact.

And to close out some final advice: Never, ever, ever let anyone bully you into dumbing down these scenes. They are horrific on purpose. Slap your TWs at the beginning, and keep moving. You gave readers a fair warning, if they read it and then still trigger themselves, that's on them. I know people have had raging issues lately with dark fiction, not to mention horror, but those puritan rules don't apply here. Go wild.

Go completely feral.

You deserve it.

[too-lit-for-fanfic]

A Traitor In Our Midst

PART III OF III

PART I

PART II

PART III

And it’s done! What a wait! And for that we are very sorry. For a long time we just couldn’t finish this closing chapter in a way that felt right or akin to the characters and their little story so it has undergone several re-writes. This final part isn’t as long as those previous, or as technical, but we hope you enjoy! There’s fluff, so hopefully that makes up for it! Thank you everyone who has supported this little series! As always, constructive criticism is appreciated!

Summary: Cal Kestis x ex-Galactic Empire!OC, but can be treated like an x reader, ugly secrets from her past are resurfaced. In light of the truth Cal and crew no longer feel as if they can trust the newest member to the trio. Tempers flare, sacrifices are made, and the truth finally comes out.

Warnings: Torture is featured/referenced in this chapter so be warned. Angst, Blood, Violence, Swearing, Torture, Interrogation tactics, Emotional Manipulation, PTSD, Trauma

“...just to protect those who would never do the same for you?”

It had been two weeks since Aylin and BD had been trapped on the Star Destroyer, Cal and crew in the middle of negotiating with Saw Gerrera to organise a rescue mission, the stubborn man finally agreeing once it had been revealed BD had failed to return, the ship the duo had commandeered having been seized by the Empire. Cal, Cere and Greez huddled around the small monitor in the centre of the hull, deathly quiet as they listened to the conversation taking place between Second Sister and their former crewmate. On their rounds of the ship, BD had managed to return just in time to spot Trilla entering the prison cell, and now they waited anxiously, hidden under a series of shelves in the outward corridor. All three members of the crew looked positively sick, Cal in particular turning a ghastly pale as he held his breath, dreading the events to unfold.

“Oh isn't that just sweet.” Trilla’s shrill voice mocked lowly, eerily echoing down the corridor. “You really did care about them didn't you? Isn’t it a pity how they’ve left you here to die?”

“Fuck you.” Cal had to strain to hear Aylin’s response. She sounded weak, worryingly so, the venom in her words sounding as if it pained her to push it past her lips.

“You’re not denying it.” 

The silence that followed was deafening.

“That pretty red-head might have come to save you once, even I can tell you were very important to him-”

Cal involuntarily lurched at his mention, his muscles twitching so as to distance himself from the screen, an icy grip encasing his heart.

“Not anymore.” 

Cal physically felt his heart whither in his chest, his knuckles turning white.

“Not anymore.” The sick woman almost sounded joyful. “All because you were born on the wrong side of the war. How ironic, an unforgiving Jedi.”

‘oh force...’ Cal withdrew, his heart plummeting to his stomach as the words echoed around his skull. Greez’s clawed hand landed on his elbow in comfort but the redhead payed him no mind. ‘please say something’ he silently begged, desperate to know that Aylin didn’t really think the same of him.

She never responded.

“I can’t watch this.” The red-head made an effort to move away from the screen, fully intent on hiding in the shadows of the cockpit. The entire conversation felt like a knife to his heart, and it only became worse when he realised anything could have been happening behind those closed doors, and he was powerless.

“And Cere, she wouldn’t even come to save me.” - A muffled ugly gasp - “Why are you protecting those who would sell you to the order for far less?”

Silence followed, and the trio held their breaths. A strangled cry abruptly cut-off, Cal very nearly almost throwing up as a strangled chocking gasp broke the silence, the sounds of boots scraping and struggling against a metallic surface drowning out the conversation.

A sickening thud.

Murmurs.

Screams.

Another bang.

“No- PLEASE!” Shrill blood-curdling screams assaulted their senses, Cal flinching away from the screen. The trio waited a moment, Cal’s hands covering his mouth, agape with horror - the begging screams didn’t stop.

“We have to do something!” Cal burst, a red hue overtaking his sickly complexion, flinching again at a particularly desperate yell.

“What do you suppose?” Cere bit back harshly, the stress and helplessness of the situation fraying all of their nerves.

“Something! - Anything!” Cal racked his brain for a solution, the echoing screams resonating from the monitor throwing his thoughts into a frenzy. “We need to get Trilla out of the room. We need to get her away from her!”

“And how are we-”

“BD!” Cal lurches towards the screen, shaking hands frantically typing a message to the small BD-unit. “If we can just get her into the main hull of the ship, it would be perfectly reasonable for the trooper who requested her presence to have moved to a different location in the ship.”

“Cal, think about this-”

His hand hovers over the ‘enter’ button on the holopad. His wide bloodshot eyes searing a hole directly into Cere’s skull.

“What is there to think about?” As if on queue, another scream wafted through the monitor. That solidified his resolve, hitting the key before Cere or Greez could even blink, BD immediately setting into motion. 

The cell doors opened with a resounding hiss as BD finished inputting the code, the little droid rolling to the side to enter the cell. The sight that greeted the crew was worse than they could have possibly imagined. The young woman strapped to the table in the centre of the room resembled a corpse more so than the confident and head-strong blonde that had departed from their ship only two weeks prior. Her imperial jacket barely hung to her beaten and bloodied frame, the torn and tattered fabric had been roughly tugged from her torso, wound into a crumpled heap around her waist and elbows, bony shoulders jutting up through the ruins of a once white tank top, now stained crimson. With every breath her ribcage shuddered, ribs pressing against her beaten and sullied skin, protruding almost painfully with every twist and struggle, skin taught. Any part of her not covered in crimson was mottled in varying shades of black and purple, the angry discolouration winding around her ribs and disappearing behind the remnants of her undershirt.

Cal felt positively sick. Anger bloomed in his chest as despair gnawed at his stomach, bloodshot eyes transfixed on the image before him, the sound of blood rushing through his ears, and Aylin’s screams echoing through his mind drowning out the conversation taking place. A muscle in his jaw twitched and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the table ledge with all the might his exhausted muscles would allow, his breath clogging his throat and chest as he forgets himself, his one and only concern the one person in the entire galaxy who he couldn't reach.

Trilla hovers over her diminished frame, elbow harshly dug into the blonde’s exposed ribs, gloved hand wrapped languidly around a blade buried to its hilt, fresh crimson pooling along Aylin’s collarbone, spilling onto the table and then onto the cement floor, glistening sickeningly in the overhead lighting. Noteful of BD’s presence, his frantic panicked beeps finally reaching her ears amongst the screams, Trilla leans back, still leant heavily on Aylin as her cold amber gaze lands on the small BB unit, anger and frustration etched across her face. A sickening thud echoes around the metallic room as the blonde’s head falls back pathetically, unaware of the cause of the interruption. She looked barely conscious, beginning to dance across the line of life to death, who’s arms were already open and willing to hold her in their cold embrace.

With all the languidity of a senator, Trilla leisurely pulls the blade from Aylin’s exposed shoulder, leisurely wiping the blood covered blade on her tattered jacket, a cruel smile adorning her features all the while. Aylin barely moves, eyes half lidded and body slack, the only indication of life the erratic yet shallow rise and fall of her chest.

Her head tilts to expose more of her hollowed features, Cal’s horrified gaze locking onto her own, the breath he had been holding escaping his lungs and his shoulders falling with the guilt that clawed its way up from his stomach, a tangible trepidation reverberating throughout the force. What little fat she had possessed had surely withered away, her cheekbones appearing almost sharp underneath her taught and sunken complexion, ivory skin now pale and shining a ghastly yellow under the blaring overhead lights, a stark contrast to the maroon-dried blood coating her temple and jaw. Her bloodshot and sunken eyes blearily gaze towards the ceiling, no sign of the life that had once illuminated their honeyed depths, the life that had spilled from her being in abundance no longer to be found.

Cal’s focus finally turns back to the conversation at hand, breaths shallow, BD beckoned from the room with an indignant “Droid.”, the tall figure of the second sister glowering at them from the entrance of the cell, evidently annoyed at the intrusion. With one final glance BD reluctantly turns to leave the room, following the second sister dutifully in their search for the non-existent trooper in the main hanger.

Cal collapses onto a sofa across the room from the monitor, the horrific image of Aylin strapped to a metal table, looking closer to death than life, and drenched in her own blood, permanently burnt into his retinas. A sight to haunt him for a lifetime.

“Fuck Saw, we’re getting them both, tomorrow.”

----------

With little convincing Greez had quickly succumbed to Cal’s persuasion, the two men - after much deliberation and heated debate - had also successfully convinced Cere of their plan. Truthfully, Cal had been conjuring ways to coordination a rescue ever since Aylin and BD had been captured on the Star Dreadnaught, and as he prepared for the events of the day, no doubt entered his mind that their two companions would be with the crew by the end of the day. Companion - Cal almost scoffed to himself - the two were far more than that: BD, in many ways, had become a best friend to Cal in the past few years, the companionable little droid with a taste for adventure never failing to offer a sense of comfort and joy, even in some of Cal’s darkest times, in many ways resembling a younger sibling Cal had never before had the pleasure of having. Aylin, on the other hand, in the time the pair had known one another, had somehow wormed her way into the isolated Jedi’s heart, always offering her support in his times of need, encouraging him with his training through her self-proclaimed ‘tough-love’, becoming a source of confident resolve and rationality - a sense of stability in the ever changing galaxy. 

Cal remembered their many nights spent on some unknown planet, the pair sat beneath the many stars and moons of the galaxy, sharing tales long into the night. Cal had never had a relationship with anyone like the relationship he had formed with the stubborn blonde: heatedly sparring before patching one another’s wounds from the scuffle; longing glances spared with every tranquil moment, hidden behind excuses of exhaustion or a poorly constructed insult; grins and soft smiles shared over meal time or upon their own hidden adventures exploring new planets; a hand reaching out for the others in a busied market or times of comfort; an eye searching for the other in a crowded room; simply basking in one another's presence in the quiet hours of the morning, relishing every moment where they could just be. Cal knew he was a fool, a disgrace to the Jedi code he had spent his entire youth obeying like a holy script, he knew he was a fool the first time the enigmatic blonde had saved his life in her third month of joining the crew, standing over his tired and weary frame with a cocky smirk and a calloused hand outstretched, making some smart-arsed comment as she hauled him to his feet.

Attachments were forbidden, Jedi were trained from birth to let go of everything they were afraid to lose. And Cal? He was terrified to lose her - he had already broken his sacred vows, he had become attached, and he would be damned before he sacrificed one of the only things he was afraid to lose. He would never be a Jedi, yet perhaps that was okay, perhaps there was something more to this world that he had only realised upon stumbling across the Mantis and her crew. 

He had never been that dutiful of a Padawan anyway. 

The point seemed ever more poignant as his cerulean eyes stared conflictingly at the reflection in his mirror. No longer did he adorn the trusty combat trousers, baggy shirt, chest brace, not even his trusting poncho that seemed to make up his daily attire. Instead, a version of himself he had spent endless nights battling against stared back at him, the ironed and pressed midnight coloured uniform clinging to his lean frame. After a pit stop or two he had successfully acquired a knock-off Imperial General’s uniform, a notable fake with the lack of an aura emitting from the otherwise haunting apparel. Tugging harshly at the collar that bit into the skin of his neck, a habit he had seen Aylin recount numerous times in her preparation for the mission, his tired eyes trail over his figure, hoping to all of the stars and force wielders in the galaxy that his Master couldn’t see him now. 

He clears his throat to relieve some of the tightness that had gathered in his chest before he leaves his sleeping quarters, rolling his stiff shoulders as he makes his way into the main hull, lightsaber already hidden beneath his newly acquired jacket.

“So,” The red-head steps before Greez and Cere - already equipped in her own better-fitting storm trooper armour - who had been typing away to BD on the small holopad in the main hull. “How do I look?”

The pair glance up at the young man, Greez’s beady little eyes widening considerably, a good natured grin enveloping his face. 

“Kid-” Humour laced his tone, his dark eyes taking in the sight before him. “Let’s just hope you won’t be on that ship for too long.” In comparison to how Aylin’s uniform had fit her frame, Cal’s uniform may have well as swamped him, the thick fabric creasing at his waist, his belt fastened at the smallest capacity and yet somehow still too big, sitting notably lower on his waist than it should have, polished and barely scuffed boots a size too large, the one thing that actually fit being the pair of leather gloves over his shaking hands.

Everything just seemed slightly wrong, just a little bit askew, just a little bit... fake.

By all respects, Cal had certainly gone to the effort of impersonating an Imperial soldier, skin scrubbed clean of the dirt and grime of the galaxy, hair slicked back under a hat slightly too large for his head, he had even cracked into Aylin’s limited makeup supply and attempted to conceal the many scars he had gained through his years, as well as the stress-induced darkening bags under his eyes. The Empire wasn't him, and it was painfully obvious to all who spared him a second glance. 

“Say all you want, old man.” Cal jibes light heatedly, beginning to head towards the cockpit. “Have you forgotten your own disguise?” The redhead sends a pointed look in the direction of the shell of a modified astromech droid, the humour in Greez’s eyes quickly dying as his gaze lands on his ingenious costume.

“If I have to come and rescue you all in that thing.” Greez stares uneasily at his heavy, small costume. “You owe me a spa day.”

----------

After commandeering a small transport shuttle from a neighbouring planet with a rather small Imperial presence, Cal and Cere bid farewell to Greez, who was to remain with the Mantis and communicate with them through BD and the data pad.

“Be careful.” Cere warns, arms wrapped around herself as she watches Greez fiddle with some mechanisms on the inside of the ship with dull eyes. “We won’t be able to come and rescue you if you get caught.”

He waves her concern off with dismissal.

Cal appears next to her, materialising from the bowls of the Mantis, smoothing his jacket out once again. The older woman turns to the young man, barely out of adolescence, and feels the corners of her mouth tug down. This could go wrong, this could go horribly, horrendously, atrociously wrong, and with Cal’s loosening grip on his emotions, his anxiety rolling from him in waves through the force, chances of failure were ever high. Cal was only young, having grown up during some of the darkest known times of the galaxy, his future destroyed by a war begun before his birth, and now he was to be thrust into the heart of the conflict, into the home of those responsible for all of his suffering. Cal was a victim, just like all those who had lived during the raising of the Empire, his body and mind more marred and scarred than most, but he was a survivor, scorning and mocking the Empire with every day lived. Cere hoped he continued to be a survivor, one of the few specks of light in an ever darkening galaxy, yet this rescue mission threatened to snuff his light out for good.

Her mind wondered at the cause of the young man’s anxiety as she watched his hands tremble as he straightened his leather belt, surveying the pasty sheen of his skin and the poorly-concealed bags under his flitting eyes. As harsh as she had been on Aylin when her past had been revealed, it was undeniable that the two women had held a close bond, and secretly, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself, Cere had missed the girl terribly, her own guilty conscious gnawing away at the edges of her conscious whenever she tried to rest. Last night had been particularly bad after the events that she had witnessed unfold on the small data pad yesterday afternoon, the image of her companion, beaten and bloody, a mere fragment of how she remembered the blonde girl on her departure. The image haunted her whenever her eyes had finally agreed to close - as obviously was the case with the redhead stood next to her, exhaustion palpable on his features underneath the mounting anxiety and adrenaline - the added guilt, knowing similar treatment would have faced Trilla due to her own selfishness, depriving her mind of rest, gnawing at her innards and haunting every fibre of her being. 

She hoped desperately for her crew to return, all of them safe, once again, in their home, the Mantis.

“Cal,” She turns to the tall red-head, hands gripping her arms more firmly, “I know what your goal is, I know how badly you want to bring her home.” The red-head watches her with steady eyes, shoulders raising in defence. “I want them home too, but- but please remember yourself. I can’t loose all of you.”

The sounds of the local wildlife and fauna fill the steady silence as Cal mulled over her words, hand running over the saber tucked into his side.

“Don’t worry Cere,” Cal begins heading down the ramp, taking long purposeful strides towards the Imperial ship, Cere’s more tentative steps following in his wake. “I’m going to make it back, and I’m bringing everyone with me.”

Cal didn’t know where the certainty had come from, his voice didn’t waver and his steps didn’t falter. He would do this. He would bring his two best friends back home, and one day he would make the Empire pay.

----------

“We’re here.” Cere slips out of the pilot seat, allowing for Cal to take her place, grasping her blaster in a vice-like grip as she sits stiffly towards the back of the shuttle. She watches as Cal heads to the front of the ship, manning the controls for their landing, frown deepening behind her helmet as the star destroyer encroaches, fear clawing at her throat with every memory resurfaced from the devastation following Order 66.

“We head out the Western exit of the docking bay when we land.” Cal rattles off, flipping some switches as their small vessel is pulled towards the star destroyer. “BD should meet us somewhere in one of the closest corridors and we follow them to the cell, remember to stay behind me, if you don’t they’ll know something’s wrong straight away.”

Cere watches as Cal’s grip tightens around the steering controls, leather gloves straining taught over his knuckles, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his eyes stare unblinking towards the star destroyer.

“Are you ready?” Her voice is stern -  shocking her with how it echoes back to her within the suffocating helmet - echoing around the small hull, yet Cal nearly doesn’t hear her, distracted with the storm brewing in his mind, consumed by a rising tidal wave of anxiety, determination and fear.

His eyes finally dart away from the destroyer, turning to glance at his companion over his shoulder, his blue irises red-rimmed and owlish in the overhead lights. The uncanny figure of a storm-trooper greats him, black visor reflecting his own distorted expression back to him from an impenetrable mask of white.

He nods lightly, determination sparking in his weary eyes, the collar of his jacket rubbing uncomfortably against his nape. There was no going back now, he couldn't go back.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

----------

Cal squints as he exist the transport shuttle, the overbearing overhead lights bearing down on his frigid frame, the jelled hair peaking form underneath his hat shining with every tilt of his head. The first foot fall on the metal floor seems to resonate throughout the entire hanger, vibrations wracking the bones in his leg, tremors coursing throughout his body and echoing in his ears as several troopers’ heads turn towards the new arrival. His breath catches in his throat and the courage in his stomach withers as he takes another feigned purposeful stride away from the comfort and security of the shuttle, and in towards those waging a war on the galaxy. With every feigned purposeful step shockwaves scatter throughout his tense body, the tension in the air threatening to suffocate him, his heart hammering restlessly against his ribcage and lungs struggling for breath as if he had just ran through the last twelve parsecs. His cerulean eyes lock on his exit from the hanger, offering him a brief solace from the white masks that consumed every corner of his vision, Cere’s steady footsteps behind him offering a further sense of comfort.

By the time the pair finally exit the hanger Cal can practically feel the sweat that had broken out across his body, swiping his forehead to rid of any precipitation that had gathered. His shoulders and spine ached with the effort he had put into maintaining his posture - much in the way he had watched Aylin enter the hanger only several weeks prior - and he couldn’t quite seem to catch his breath. Although on the outside he may have appeared like ay other Imperial General, cold, unpleasant, perhaps even bored or apathetic to all events that seemed to have been happening around him, inside he had never felt so rattled, his mind a muddled mess, his blood coursing with fear and anxiety which only seemed to mount with every passing second. The panic within thinly veiled with calculated disgust.

Almost as soon as Cal and Cere enter an adjacent corridor to the main hanger, BD comes scuttling around the corner, the pair not recognising the droid in its new round body - Cere’s gloved fingers wrapping dangerously around the hilt of her blaster - until its excited little beeps reach their ears.

“Buddy!” Cal’s facade cracks, grinning down at the little droid as he fights the urge to reach down and give them a hug, worried incase someone should see. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

The little droid, on the other hand, is positively ecstatic, practically vibrating on the spot in both glee at being rescued and frustration that they couldn’t jump straight into Cal’s arms. Truth be told BD had deeply missed their old body during their time stranded on the Dreadnaught. Not waisting any time the little droid rolls behind Cal’s trouser clad legs, ramming into his calves in an attempt to nudge him in the direction of Aylin’s cell and whirring heatedly.

“I know, I know.” Cal steps forward, resolute stature returning to his pale features as he prepares to round another corner. “We’re all going home.”

----------

Within minutes that felt like an eternity the three rebels found themselves amongst the holding cells, BD finally taking the lead to guide them to Aylin’s cell, his happy chirps long silenced as the three grew nearer, all three dreading the sight to await them. Much like when they first arrived, Cal felt suffocated by the pristine atmosphere that seemed to cling to his clothes and hair, dirtying his skin and clogging his throat. It felt fake... the whites and slanted greys, the cleanliness and order, the peace and harmony. The presented image of purity and order, worked into the very steel framework itself, felt so wrong and dirty with the suffering taking place throughout the galaxy at the hands of those that inhabited the ship. Cal could feel the misery and terror that emanated from the dreadnaught itself, seeping into him through the walls and floors, mixed into a terrible concoction with the pride and honour from the officials that walked those very corridors.

It was beloathed, and yet prideful.

Uncomfortably, it reminded him of Aylin.

The red-head tugged at the collar of his jacket as BD came to an abrupt halt at a large durasteel cell door, his mind thrust back to the present. His breath catches in his throat as BD scuttles forward to open the cell door, gloved hand wrapping around the hidden saber at his hip, listening for any approaching footsteps down the corridor. Truthfully, he felt a nervous wreck, the beads of sweat forming along his brow and his greying pallor more so linked to his worry for Aylin than anything else. He could fight if they were caught, and chances are, with both himself and Cere combined, they could easily commandeer an escape shuttle, but he wasn’t certain if he could recover Aylin from the state he had seen her in on the small holopad. At the very moment he couldn’t be sure, and a part of him, a cowardly disdainful part of his conscience, feared opening the cell door to confirm his worry, feared being faced with the broken shell of a woman he couldn’t save. Another person he had failed, a person who had saved him more times than he could count.

Perhaps it was love - his worry at knowing the truth, his fear of seeing the situation first-hand. Cal was ashamed to think such a way.

The cell door hisses open, cool air caressing his feverish skin as he steps through the threshold, the overpowering scent of antiseptic hitting him full force, yet the familiar metallic stench of blood followed. His breath remains in his chest as he takes in the sight before him. Bright eyes widening as they flit about the empty room, landing uneasily on Aylin’s still figure. Cal holds his breath, silently begging her to move, for her head to tilt in his direction, for her closed eyes to open, begging her to do anything at all.

“Aylin?” The word echoes around the room, Cal’s voice shaky and cracking around the word, his mouth parched like the deserts of Tatooine. Somehow his palms become even more clammy, and he tosses his gloves to the side without a second thought, small crescents visible in the palms of his hands from how he had clenched them on their short journey. He takes a small step closer.

She doesn’t move.

Cere watches him carefully from behind her helmet as he calls Aylin’s name again and steps further into the room, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. BD, clearly unsure of what to do, hovers around Cere’s ankles, little camera flickering between Cal and Aylin, a barely audible humming even sting from the little droid. She turns to the closed cell door, blaster gripped tightly to her chest, wary of an intrusion.

Things had barely changed from the last time Cal had seen the room through BD’s holopad projection and he was thankful to note that it didn’t look as if Aylin had sustained any more injuries from the day prior, however, that was hard to determine with the crimson that coated her body, undoubtedly hiding wounds from view. Cal stops next to the metal table, peering down at her sullen features, her sunken maroon-bagged eyes closed to the world, chapped lips barely parted. The holopad had failed to pick up many of the finer details, and Cal was horrified to see the blossoms of purple and magenta that littered her face and neck, a particularly worrisome lashing of purple winding around her throat - Cal noting with disgust it’s resemblance to a handprint. Her blonde hair appeared dull and lifeless, slicked back from her face and coated in sweat and blood, a small lesion at her temple and brow trickling into her hairline, pooling in the rivets of her angular features. Blood - darker, older - had been smeared across her cheeks and jaw, cracking along the lines of her face and flaking from her skin, leaving it stained red underneath.

“What did they do to you?” Cal questions softly, not expecting an answer. Gingerly he places his hand on her shoulder, careful to avoid any hidden wounds.

His heart almost lurches from his chest when she flinches from his touch.

“Aylin!” He almost cheers, glee coating his voice as he leans closer, a smile cracking his features. Slowly, weakly, her eyes flutter open, familiar hazel eyes squinting up at him through all the blood and gore. She looked exhausted, eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, her left eye only partially open. “Aylin, oh my force, it’s me. It’s Cal.” Lost in his own elation Cal fails to spot the weariness to her features, nor the way her gaze turns to the ceiling, vacant and unseeing. He reaches for the cuff around her wrist, but her hand jerks away from his touch. He pauses, forehead creasing. “Aylin, come on, its me, and Cere, we’re getting you home.”

Her eyes flicker to his for the briefest of moments, brightened under the harsh lighting. “Trilla,” Her voice is hoarse and weak, a husky whisper of what it once was, lined with guilt and exhaustion. She tilts her head away from the red-heads confused gaze, something awful gnawing at her stomach. “leave me alone.”

Silence consumes the room, Cal’s gaze landing on Cere who simply shrugs her shoulders in response. He reaches for her again, swiping a strand of hair from her face, hand retreating just as quickly when her eyes snap open in alarm.

“Aylin, its me, come on-”

“You’re not here.” She was trying to convince herself, not daring to allow her hopes to rise. She was in pain, she was beyond exhausted, and she was dangerously close to giving up, hoping for death as some sort of escape. “You’re not real.” She glances down to his hand that rests against her exposed forearm, mind barely registering the warm pads of his fingers pressing against her pulse. “Trilla, we’ve done this before. You’re a cruel woman.”

She glances away as pity overtakes his features, staring blankly at the ceiling, body slack against the tabletop. ‘We’ve done this before.’ Had Trilla done this before? How many times had versions of himself and the crew attempted to rescue her? How guarded had she had to be, not even trusting her own dreams for fear of revealing what she had tried to keep from those who sought to harm them. He was furious - the anger that had lapped up his throat all week rising like a tidal wave - and he would make them pay, but first he had to get everyone back.

“No, no, it’s us, it’s me. I promise it’s me.” He tries, attempting to scrub the makeup from his face, scars glossy under the harsh white light. He catches BD out of the corner of his eye. “Look!- We’ve got BD, we’re all going home.”

Finally she picks her head up, wincing at the effort. Her wide eyes land on the little droid across the room, mouth agape as the air leaves her lungs and her shoulder slump. Terror and disappointment gnaw away at her conscience, the familiar feeling of helplessness returning full force. “They found BD.” She mutters to herself, defeats palpable in her voice as she allows her head to fall back against the table, eyes glossy with unshed tears.

Cal, in a stressed panic, and unsure of what to do, reaches out through the force, attempting to project his memories, something no one else could possess. But, as he pressed forward a force stops him in his tracks, Aylin’s body tensing at a presence surrounding her mind. “I can show you, just let me- let me in.”

“No! No, no, no-” Cal had never seen so much fear in her eyes, and he withdraws, hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, I won’t, I won’t.” He quickly retreats as her panic rises, cuffs clanking against the table as she feebly squirms, force signature returning to his own aura, yet outstretched and welcoming, more than willing for Aylin to make the first move. He wracks his tired and frantic brain for a solution, her panic feeding into his own, not expecting her to have such doubts. They needed to be quick, he knew, but there was no way they could coax her out of the room in the state she was in. “I know you. I know things about you the Empire- that Trilla would never know. Do you remember that time on Hoth when I ripped a glove and almost caught frostbite, I’ve only still got ten fingers because you managed to skin that little creature. What about that time I accidentally singed some of your hair off with my saber when I tried to use it as a torch, I had to pay for you’re haircut afterwards and you got the most expensive treatment just to prove a point. I know you have two sugars in your tea but only every other day; I know you always insist on playing with your knives no matter how many times I ask you to stop; I know that you’re favourite game to play is blackjack because you can count cards and know how to cheat, like that time you scammed me for half a brownie.” He was getting emotional now, the stress and turmoil of the past few days causing unshed tears to gather, his knuckles turning white as he wrings his hands together. “I promise you it’s me.”

They’re in you head. Her conscience echoes, the blonde fighting back tears at her own failure. They know, they know everything. Trilla’s playing, she’s already got what she wants.

“You can’t be here.” He voice cracks and wavers, throat scratchy from misuse, her mounting emotions not helping. She wished he was here, with every fibre of her being she wished Cal actually stood before her, frown on his face and eyebrows knitted together in concern. It couldn’t be true. If he was truly here she might’ve cried, and if this was all another elaborate hallucination created by Trilla then she’d probably cry even harder. She so desperately wanted to go home.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to believe me, you don’t have to do anything.” Cal reaches again for the cuffs binding her hands to the table, one hand reaching for the saber at his hip. “But please let me help you.”

She doesn’t say anything as his hand wraps around her thin wrist, saber igniting   and casting blue light across the room. Within seconds both cuffs are cut from her wrist, falling against the table with a thud. She rubs her wrists gingerly, wincing at the cuts she has sustained during her stay. Grasping her forearm in a delicate grip, other hand sliding behind her shoulder blade, Cal eases her up, wincing at every gasp that leaves her lips. A jaw in his muscle ticks with every sound from her mouth, pity and fury blooming in his chest. 

“Agh-” She grimaces at the pain enveloping her side, ribs protesting against the movement, healing wounds reopening with every twist of her muscle.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Cal urges her on, arm sliding underneath her legs and behind her back, drawing her to his chest as he rises to his full height. Aylin’s head lolls against his shoulder, scared to hope any of this was real but revelling in the familiar warm comfort seeping from the redheads chest.

With a nod shared between `Cal and Cere they depart, deadly silent as they leave the cell, not a trace of their presence left behind. Cal glances down at the woman in his arms, beyond grateful to have her back within arms reach, satisfied with the knowledge no one would be able to harm her now. He had her and he wasn’t letting go.

Cere freezes in front of him, BD rolling into the back of her legs, and Cal’s heart stops in his chest. She urges him back, but as they’re retreating two troops round the corner, halting in surprise. Both troops helmets slowly turn towards the blonde nestled in Cal’s arms, and their blasters raise, shouting commands. Cal ducks as Cere fires, shielding Aylin as well as he could, BD taking refuge behind Cere’s legs.

Within moments the corridor plunges into silence again, two dead troops lain before the four rebels. Cere glances back to Cal, charging her blaster.

“Tell me if you need me to slow down.” And she runs, sprinting in the direction of the escape shuttles - just to the left of the hanger - with BD trailing behind, Cal sprinting to keep up. Rounding another corner he almost crashes into Cere who doubles back, the pair just managing to dodge out of the way of oncoming blaster fire as they disappear around another corner, the slap of their boots against the metal floor drowned out by the shouts of troops on their tail.

“We’re not far.’ Cere calls, throwing her helmet to the side as she gaps for breath, Cal only a few paces behind her. The pair, plus BD, emerge in a small hanger, smaller, more compact escape shuttles lined on either wall, a squad of five stormtroopers ready and waiting.

Cal’s eyes widen as he watches all five troops raise their weapons, heart plummeting to his stomach. There was nothing he could do, he just hoped they granted them death instead of subjecting them to the fate Aylin had been forced to endure. Cere reaches back deftly and grasps his saber from his belt, igniting the blade mere moments before the first blaster fires. She works in a blur, deflecting shot after shot, blue light cast across her features as she steps closer to the enemy, Cal and BD close behind. It wasn’t often the redhead was able to see Cere in combat, usually taking missions with the girl in his arms, and the skill she displayed, surely a product of the wisdom she had amassed over her years, was awe-inspiring. Every movement is precise, each twist and flick of her wrist purposeful, the weight of the saber in her hand appearing little more than a feather with the ease she displays. She deflects and a troop falls, killed by their own shot. 

Slowly but surely the trio make their way towards the closest shuttle, Cal and BD baking away into the ship whilst Cere remains on the defensive, deflecting shot after shot, a bead of sweat running from her brow. Cal places Aylin down on a small cot in the corner of the cramped shuttle, instructing BD to stay behind whilst he collects Cere, running to the boarding ramp, the sounds of blaster shots once again reaching his ears.

“Cere!” He shouts, hanging out of the shuttles door, unable to do much without a weapon. “Cere!”

The older woman retreats slowly, continuing to deflect as she backs up the ramp, the red-head scuttling to the front of the shuttle and switching the engines on, awaiting the sound of the door hissing shut before doing anything drastic.

“Go!” Cere calls and he immediately sets into action, flicking a switch to his right and grasping the steering in both hands, sighing in relief as the shuttle lifts from the floor, paying no mind to the blaster shots that ricocheted off the steelwork around him. Cere appears, clambering into the co-pilots seat, saber grasped tightly in her hand as the ship lurches forward, charging full speed out of the small hanger, Cal frantically inputting the necessary codes for hyperspace, hands flitting about the dashboard in a blur.

With one final lurch the shuttle departs, the red head sighing and collapsing back into the pilots seat, chest rising and falling as he revels in the safety of hyperspace, stars dancing across his vision and illuminating his weary features, the stresses of the day lifting from his shoulders as he watches galaxies stream past. But the day was far from over, and in moments he’s clambering out of his seat, mind once again consumed by the blonde that hadn’t left his thoughts for an eternity.

Leaving Cere in control of their heading Cal retreats into the cramped hull, making a beeline for the blonde huddled atop a thin casket, BD dutifully waiting by her side, camera trained on her intensely, and rolling anxiously from side to side. Cere stares after him, wanting to offer her services, but ultimately deciding to remain in the cockpit, radioing Greez back on the Mantis, knowing that the redhead needed some time with Aylin, alone. 

“I’m back.” Cal announces, sitting on the edge of the small cot, dropping a small medkit onto his lap the he had found in a compartment. His eyes land on the blonde’s pale face, eyes softening at the worry etched across her features, eyebrows knitted together in both pain and concern. He opens his mouth to speak, protruding a set of stims from the cluttered medkit. “I’m going to patch you up and then we’re going home. You’re safe, Trilla can’t get to you anymore.”

Aylin hums, head tilting to the side as she finally makes eye contact with the red head, looking as if she was only truly seeing him for the first time. Her eyes widen and her chapped lips part, a shaking hand reaching out to rest against his own, testing her own reality. Cal smiles softly as she watches him with curious eyes, shallow breaths parting her lips.

“Cal?”

“Yes,” his voice breaks as she finally looks at him, truly looks at him, hazel eyes brightening with every second, fighting back against heavy lids. “yes it’s Cal. We’re going home.”

A small smile fights its way onto her lips, although the joyous moment is broken abruptly, the smile quickly twisting into a grimace as her body finally begins to acknowledge the trauma it had endured, old and new wounds reopened in the frenzy to escape. Her eyes flicker, hand beginning to feel slack against his own. Cal pales, hurriedly uncapping the stim in his grasp.

“You stay awake, you hear?” He jabs the stim into her bicep, preparing the other one in his grasp. He had her, he couldn’t lose her now.

“It hurts.” Her voice is strained, a pathetic replica of her true nature.

“I know, I know it does. I’m going to make it stop, I just need you to stay here, stay with me.” Her eyes flutter again, and Cal is grasping at straws, digging through the medkit for something, anything that could work. The stims hadn't worked as he hoped and now he wasn’t sure what to do. 

“Hey- hey! You keep those eyes open. Don’t you dare-” Fear grips him like a vice. His blood running cold as he leans closer, both hands grasping her shoulders, uncaring for the blood that caked them. He felt helpless, utterly, hopelessly helpless. It had been bad when he had been forced to endure being trapped behind a screen, but oh, this was so much worse. She was right here, he could touch her, talk to her, feel her weak heart beating underneath his very own fingertips, and yet he couldn't do anything. “Look at me. Look. At. Me. I want to see your eyes. Come on.”

Try as she might, her body was beginning to fail and with every passing moment the darkness that had clouded her peripheral for the past few days encroached, the lights in the hull dimming and dimming, until all she could see was Cal’s hazy face staring down at her, his hands clasping either side of her face. “Please.” She couldn’t, her walls finally falling and mind succumbing to the rest it so desperately needed.

“Cere-!”

He sounded desperate. He sounded scared. And for the briefest of moments, Aylin felt guilty.

And then the darkness consumed her.

----------

Cal drifts in and out of sleep, dozing comfortably with his head propped atop a familiar cot in a familiar ship, hand delicately grasping another's with his legs curled under the old chair he had stolen, the hazy figure of Aylin comforting him in his peripheral. It had been a few hours since himself, Cere and BD had returned to the Mantis, patching up Aylin to the best of their ability before tucking her away in her room, on course to the rebel base in order to take up Saw’s offer of medical assistance once word had reached him of their rescue mission. Although Cal had arrived back to the Mantis full of energy, spurred on by his panic and worry for the girl who had practically collapsed in his arms, the hours and hours of stress had worn him down, the young red-head finally agreeing to catch some rest, but refusing to allow Aylin to leave his sight. 

In his half-conscious state, he fails to notice the way the blonde’s lips twitch and eyelids flutter, barely registering the way her fingers flex against his own as the darkness finally releases her, mind and body returning. Aylin stirs quietly, every muscle and joint aching, the soft fabric against her skin a welcome change from the metal table she had called home for force-knows how long. With every passing second her mind returns, cogs turning as the days events come back to her full force, the sight of Cal’s worried gaze seared into the back of her eyelids, her lips parting in a gasp and her body lurching up out of slumber. Her eyes snap open, crazed and panicked as they dart around the dimly lit room, a groan parting her lips as her ribs protest, the gaping wound at her side, now haphazardly wound in fresh bandages, protesting heavily agains the sudden movement.

Cal is startled awake, almost falling from his chair at Aylin’s abrupt movement hazy eyes fighting for clarity amongst his foggy thoughts. “Hey,” He mutters groggily, mind desperately fighting against the sleep that had consumed him only moment before, hands reaching out to grab Aylin’s shoulders. “hey, hey, hey. It’s me, Aylin it’s me.” Finally, the frantic woman’s eyes meet his own, her body relaxing into his touch as he gently guides her back down, the pads of his fingers digging into the exposed flesh of her shoulders. “It’s alright, you’re safe. I’ve got you.” She takes in a shuddering breath as Cal gently sweeps her messy bangs from her eyes, palm resting against her forehead a moment too long, simply savouring that she was here, she was back, she was safe.

Cal sits back in his chair once he makes sure she was okay and settled, fretting like a mother and readjusting her pillows and pulling the thin sheets back up to her chest, fingers smoothing out the white tank top she had been changed into. His cerulean eyes, still slightly blurry with sleep, never leave her figure.

“What happened?” Her voice was quiet, a mere murmer whisked away on the wind. She runs a hand along the bandages freshly wrapped around her shoulder, noting the wraps of gauze around each of her wrists.

“We got you. Cere and I, we went and got you. You were pretty beat up.” His voice cracks and he quickly clears his throat. Aylin pays it no mind, wide owlish eyes staring at him from underneath a pair of heavy lids. “We’ve fixed you up the best we could, Saw’s offered some rebel facilities if we need them.” The small room plunges into silence, neither of them glancing away, Cal’s thumb unknowingly rubbing circles into the back of Aylin’s hand. As an after thought he adds. “We’re at the other end of the galaxy, there’s no way they can find us here. You’re safe, you can get some rest.”

As if she had suddenly remembered, Aylin reveals her force signature, the walls that she had held around her mind - and that she had habitually rebuilt when she awakened - coming crumbling down. Cal watches her shoulders visibly relax as the final remnants of tension leave her body, allowing his own force signature to branch out, enticed yet apprehensive of the new presence.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” She mutters, eyes falling from his gaze.

“I get it.” He smiles softly, thumb continuing to run soothing circles on the back of her hand. As much as he may have been hurt that she hadn’t told him, he couldn’t deny that he understood why, the events of the last two weeks evidence enough of the consequences. “We can talk about it later, you need some rest.”

Silence envelopes the room, the pair simply content with one another's presence. Cal rests his head on the palm of his hand, eyes beginning to close once again, happy that they had a second chance. Undoubtedly the pair had much to talk about, the crew had to figure out how to move forward, but at least they had that chance. For a long time Cal had feared he would never get that chance and now that he had it, he was not going to let it go to waste. 

Things weren’t perfect, not by any stretch of the word, but the universe had given them the opportunity to try and make things right.

Suddenly, Aylin stirs again, wincing as she attempts to sit up, eyes wide and unblinking as they flit about the room. Cal’s hands shoot out again to stop her. “Where’s BD?” The urgency to her voice was hard to miss, resembling its older self. “Is he alright? Did you find him? I saw-”

“It’s okay, we’re all back. BD’ll be over the moon to know you’re awake, they’ve been peaking into your room every chance they get.” Cal coaxes her back down, more concerned with her reopening any of the wounds the crew had spent a painstaking amount of time trying to patch up than anything else. “And we managed to extract the information you both collected. It’s really going to make a difference.” He pauses, unsure of his next words, wondering how inappropriate they might be, unsure of how the blonde felt about him after her departure. “Thank you.”

Aylin smiles fondly at his worry, allowing him to secure her back in place, delighted that her earlier assumptions hadn’t been true, that Trilla wasn’t just playing some sick mind game, that BD was safe and sound, on the Mantis where they belonged. Then, the words fully register, and her forehead creases in confusion. “For what?”

Cal leans back in his chair, hands running through his disheveled hair, the bags under his eyes more visible with the guilt festering in his chest. “You didn’t have to do that. You could’ve let anyone go and collect the data, and anyone else probably wouldn’t have been in the same danger as you.” His bright eyes drift to the bandages wrapped around her shoulder, flitting across the many bruises visible just from her neck up. “But you did and I- thank you. Thank you for doing this and I know-” He was rambling now, his hands running through his hair as Aylin watches him, a small smile tugging at her chapped lips. “I know I acted like a bit of an ass before you left- and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He hesitates again, reaching forward to intertwine their hands, seeking comfort in knowing she was here, that he hadn’t failed her as he had done his master all those years ago. “I heard some of the things Trilla said to you, and I’m sorry you ever thought I wouldn’t come to get you. It was all I could think about since they caught you. Truthfully I don’t know what I’d do if I hadn’t gotten you back.”

The room plunges into silence once again, uncomfortable and stifling, Cal feeling overwhelmed at the emotions that echoed around him through the force, not daring to reach out to the blonde before him, fearful of what he might discover, fearful of heartbreak. Aylin gazes at the red head from under heavy lashes, weary eyes begging to close. The poor boy looked as exhausted as she felt, deep dark bags under his eyes, skin as pale as snow causing his scars to look red and glossy, highlighting the greyness to his pallor, his hair a dishevelled mess atop his head, tufts sticking out in every direction from the endless amount of times he had ran his fingers through his hair, tugging harshly at the roots in frustration. He had changed since she last saw him, donning a pair of cargo trousers and a comfortable sweater she had suggested he buy form a marker stall once, the navy material bunched up to his elbows, creased and crinkled from the stresses of the day. As tired as he looked and as rough as she felt, she doubted she had ever before been so ecstatic to see him, to see that he cared, even despite the truth of her history. Warmth spread from everywhere he touched, his soft touches and gentle caresses a stark contrast to anything she had felt before; it was everything she had hoped it could be. 

“I remember seeing you in that uniform.” Aylin whispers, daring to break the silence, exhausted yet hopeful eyes boring into Cal’s own. “I’m surprised they didn’t realise you weren't one of them sooner.”

He was taken aback at the abrupt shift in conversation, cerulean eyes boring into Aylin’s own hazel pair with curiosity, his mind reeling at the exhaustingly dazzling smile she sent his way.

“And why’s that?” He questions softly, thumb unknowingly continuing to rub gentle circles on the back of her hand.

“Your eyes.” Cal’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, beginning to wonder if she had been able to understand his words in her drugged state. “They’re too kind.”

A moments pause. Cal could feel the familiar bloom of heat along his cheeks spreading to his ears, he dreaded to think how flushed he must look.

“They didn’t match the uniform at all.”

“You’re obviously delirious,” he deflects jokingly, voice just as soft, warmth spreading through his cheeks and neck. “the uniform didn’t even fit-”

“The eyes are the window to the soul.” She mutters defiantly, determined even despite her dazed and exhausted state. “I’ve seen the eyes of some of the cruelest men and women in the galaxy. You’re too good for them Cal, you’re too good for us, you’re too good for me. I don’t know why you came to save me, but I can’t thank you enough. I never thought I would get to see your eyes again.”

Because I love you. He wanted to say, yet his mind wouldn’t let him, forcing partial truth from his lips.

“I was worried I’d never get to see you again.” Cal admits, leaning forward in his chair. “You have no idea how worried I was. You’ll be the death of me one day.”

His eyes study her face; the softness of her cheeks, the angularity of her jaw, the curve of her lips. His eyes flicker from her eyes to her lips and then back again, watching a small smile carve its way across her small lips. He felt like a boy again, unsure and uncertain, inexperienced and insecure. He had felt like this many times around the blonde, but this time, he wouldn’t shy away. She was a shining star in an ever darkening galaxy, and he’d be dead before he let her fall from his grasp again. Mustering all the courage in the galaxy, his lips part. “I was worried I’d never get to do this.”

Some part of him, the part that remembered his time with the Jedi before the end to it all, the end of an era, stirred fear in his heart; fear of attachments, fear of loss, fear of love. A life of solitude and harmony he had practiced like a mantra, and that in every step of the way, when it came to the blonde in front of him, he had failed, time and time again. He remembers how he had felt when she had been captured, the way his heart had seized and his world had stopped, how his life since than had been nothing but worry and hurt, nothing but pain for what could have been and what might never be, the pain of loving someone and not being able to do anything about it, not being able to protect those he cares for more than anything else in the galaxy. 

He had never been that dutiful of a Padawan anyway.

He leans closer, impossibly so, watching the grin grow on Aylin’s face as her eyes flutter shut. His lips connect with her own, melding together in an innocent affair, a hand coming up to cradle the side of her jaw, the other tightening its grip on her hand. He presses forward, heart hammering out of his chest and blood rushing through his ears as she kisses back, her free hand coming up to tentatively grasp the back of his neck, drawing him down to her; the girl he had been so close to losing, the boy she had been so close to forgetting. It was brief and uncertain, testing new waters both had been too scared to explore, but every emotion they had kept bottled for so long came bubbling to the surface; the hurt, the pain, the helplessness, the love. In moments that felt like an eternity Cal pulls back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, wide uncertain eyes locked with her own with haggard breaths falling from his lips.

“Took you long enough.” She grins from underneath the sheets, her own heart ready to explode from her chest.

“Get some rest.” He mutters behind a laugh, pulling back to sit back in his chair, arms crossing to prop his head on the corner of the bed, one hand outstretched to hold her own in his strong grip. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[crimsonrae]

Alluring Studies

Summary: AU Practicing high level spells at Brakebills was nothing new to anyone, and neither was the trouble it led to - but for one first year student, she would have to answer for indiscretions with her favorite professor. Magic Professor!Henry. Magicians crossover sort of.

Henry Cavill XOFC

Warning: Nudity, Student-teacher relations, and mentions of fellatio.

Rating: Mature

A/N: I just finished watching the last season of The Magicians and I’m both happy and heartbroken. I had a small what if thought about Henry being a Brakebills Professor... hope you all enjoy. Non-beta’d and really just trash, but I’m posting anyway. I may delete it later or add another part. I’m debating.

Alluring Studies

It was so intoxicating.

The heady thrum in her veins felt like home and hot tea and ice cream – everything good. It felt right. Magic felt right. She couldn’t believe how long she had lived without it, had been blind to its presence. Discovering Brakebills...

Well, Brakebills discovering her had been a gift that she wouldn't trade for the world. Who wouldn’t choose magic? Who wouldn’t choose this school?  

Or its teachers, a small voice whispered distantly and a vague image of her phosphoromancy professor danced behind her eyes.  

Professor Cavill was a dreamboat and a slave master. Strict with each of his pupils in a way that a father was strict with his kids. It frustrated most of the students to be treated like children by a man that was barely a decade their senior... but she relished in his attention. She had come to live for his quiet praise with each spell she mastered and lived in fear of his hearty admonishments when missteps occurred.  

She wondered if he was as strict – as demanding in bed. A hot string of want tinged between her swelling petals, invoking her magic. She suppressed a moan as that comforting thrill spilled into her fingers, warming her soft prints as she began to cast on the library rooftop. The Physical Kid’s Cottage was too loud and rambunctious for her to concentrate enough on these spells... and partaking in the wild mesh of alcohol and incantations was too tempting for her. She was sure that something would go horribly wrong.

A small cloud coalesced before her. It's fine vapors twisting and writhing as it grew and flashed with new colors.

Plum.

Crimson.

Verdant.

Sapphire.

So pretty. So brilliant.

Thunder rumbled from the forming nebulous startling her faintly as her fingers flinched. 

That had been a mistake. 

The cloud grew exponentially, falling from her control as wind whipped around her body in a horrifying spiral. Her colorful fun, now twisting into something larger, darker, and more dangerous.

Her heart spiked as she tried to regain control. Her hands moving double-time as the first shape of a funnel spiraled below.

Fuck.

She had made a fucking tornado.

Air sapped from her lungs, in the face of her error. The rainbow whirl now bloomed further up into the sky as it’s pull became even stronger.

She made to scream, but by some miracle it stopped. The writhing smoke stilling with the wind before shrinking down into nothing but a wafting mist. She blinked, unsure what had happened to stop her dangerous blunder.

“That spell is beyond your skill. It was stupid to attempt it unsupervised.” A crisp British lilt rebuked from behind her.

She closed her eyes at the sound, feeling mildly horrified to be caught by a professor... by this professor of all people. Heat rose to her cheeks as peaked over her shoulder to see reapproving cobalts staring sternly at her as he finished his casting.

Long, strong fingers danced gracefully in the air as he wove his spell. Disappointment laid heavily between them and yet all she could think about was how she wanted those fingers to dance in her. The man was a walking sex-bomb and she longed to detonate him. The anticipation of his recriminations only made her want it more.

“You’re lucky I was walking past when I did.” Professor Cavill chastised as he waved off the last of the vapors, “Weather manipulation is difficult to begin with, adding in phosphoromancy without adequate training is simply suicide. You could have been torn apart.”

“It felt right.” She defended weakly as she turned to face him fully. It had felt right, her fingers had moved with a mind of their own, merely following the whispers of the circumstance.

Professor Cavill hummed as he eyed her with an arched brow, “Until it didn’t.”

A humiliated flush burned her blood as she snapped her gaze away, unable to disagree. It had felt right and true and beautiful until she had lost the thread. That steady thrum had turned wild...she hadn’t been prepared for that...had been scared by it.

Taking pity on her, Professor Cavill sighed and murmured quietly, “You got rather far for a first year before it went tits up. Control will come with time.”

“I had it.” She replied woefully as her gaze slid woefully back to his stunning face, “It felt so right, so good...almost -”

If it were possible his brow arched higher as an amused glint sparking his orbs at her sudden hesitance. He supplied for her, “Almost orgasmic?”

Her embarrassed flames flared, and she tried vainly to ignore the warm twitch from her core as she silently agreed. Still, she smiled wirily, “Something like that.”

“Then I suggest you simply get laid next time or rub one out.” Professor Cavill intoned dryly, “Doesn’t usually result in death.”

She stifled a gasp at his coarseness, not used to hearing the usually mild manner professor be so blunt. Her stare narrowed almost challengingly, “Was that your remedy? I’m sure your hand grew quite cramped – surprised you can do spells then.”

Far from being insulted, Professor Cavill grinned at her, “Not as cramped as some people's mouths.”

She gaped slightly, her eyes falling unbidden to his crotch. Her mouth watered with desire as the thought of tasting him suddenly seared her mind. Only his faint chuckle brought her back to her senses as his fingers pressed beneath her chin, firmly shutting her mouth before tilting her head up, “Don’t beg like a dog, my dear. Simply ask.”

Her thighs clenched under the faint command in his rich baritone. For a moment she forgot that he was a teacher, and she was a student. They were both adults and she’d be a fool to pass up a ride on this beautiful beast, to fully study her master. His thumb pressed upon the slump flesh of her lower lip, teasing the flesh down as he eyed her darkly. Promise lingered in his sapphire gems, calling to the dark desires in her heart.

A shuddering breath stole from her lungs as her delicate fingers wrapped around his wrist, “Please.”

Henry smiled slowly, “Please what?”

“Fuck me.” She whispered, “Please fuck me.”

“Someone’s angling for an ‘A’.” He murmured teasingly as he flicked his gaze down her curves in sinful consideration.

He devoured her body with a single glance, and she was hit by that heady thrum again. Magic soaked the air like an opiate, enhancing her arousal as she soaked her panties.  

If she had been wearing any.  

A cold breeze caressed her skin and she glanced down to find her clothes now gone. Her gasp had him chuckling again – she hadn’t even seen him cast.

His hand trailed a fiery path down her throat to her taut breast. He hummed thoughtfully as he pinched and twisted at her pebbled nipple, enjoying the way her silky skin licked his palm. It had been some time since he had slacken his lust. 

She moaned like a wanton whore, leaning into his touch as she reached for the buttons of his shirt.

Yet, Henry denied her and twisted her tit harshly, making her cry out before he forced her to her knees. She stared up at him tearfully from the exquisite pain as he cooed, “I do not reward foolish behavior and you were foolish tonight. Suck me off and if you’re good, then I might let you feel good.”

Her nectar flowed like a river at his words, even as her stomach clenched with a bewildering mix of arousal, shame, and horror. And yet, she found her nose nuzzling the growing bulge in his trousers as she whispered, “Yes, Professor.”

She missed Henry’s dark smile at her instant submission... He had found his new toy for the semester. Now that was what he called magic.  

[cookinguptales]

So I use mynoise a lot while I’m writing, usually layering over music. Like when I was writing Dracula, I went for a windy rainstorm over somewhat spooky classical. The Muppets is always lively jazz piano with cafe sounds. You know, that kind of thing.

I usually just use music from Sleep No More while I’m writing that, but I was having a hard time with this fic and couldn’t put my finger on why... (I have since figured out what needs to change.) But I was playing around with different noise machines and ohhhh I love layering this one when I’m writing Fulton POV. I turned the priest’s voice all the way down, but the rain, the footsteps, the WHISPERS, the faraway church bell... It fits so well with what I want from him, especially when I want to write him feeling particularly trapped.

EDIT: and if you want to know what my brain is like while I’m writing Fulton, click that link above with those settings, then click on this one too and play them together, with the song turned down quiet. This is what I make this poor guy experience at all times. lmao

[cut for way too many emotions about Sleep No More, cunning folk, and the Paisley witch trials]

I swear, every time I go to Sleep No More, I end up following Fulton around like a lapdog. I’m obsessed with the fey voices that he hears that obviously torment him. The way Hecate grins at him from the street and he can only watch her with horror. Standing by the doorway of the rave with him and watching the chaos of a raucous bacchanal while standing still, still. Transfixed with unholy terror. I can’t soothe him. All I can do is watch and witness and offer my presence as he needs it.

The first time I ever went to SNM, I found a dictionary in his office with red thread sewn over particular words and I just?? I’m obsessed with him. The bird, the bones, the feud/affair with Bargarran, the salt heaped up in little mounds all around his shop, each proof of a soul that he’s trying to protect. I found an old torn-out page from a book on folk magic there, too, all about that salt. I mean, the salt’s a dead giveaway already, but it was nice to see them spell out exactly what they meant by it. Salt can be used in so many ways.

There’s something about a cunning man, y’know? Poised on a knife’s blade, perched precariously between religion and magic. The Lord’s Prayer read over an old, dead crow. Blessings marked with funeral ashes. A Bible, cut and sewn with hope and heresy. I often find him reading Job, a book in which Man is tested, but so is God. There’s a power to Fulton and a helplessness that I can’t help but be drawn to. He can’t stop Hecate, but god, does he try.

Like... you get some similar vibes from the Porter, but he’s almost too helpless for me. Helplessly in love with Boy Witch, helpless to stop him from leaving, helpless to save Lady Macduff, utterly unable to escape the time loop that only he seems to be able to see... But FULTON. He’s fighting. He isn’t succeeding, not yet, but he’s fighting. He’s horrified and he’s worried and he’s angry and that extends to his relationship with Bargarran, too. Bargarran, named for one of the last witch hunters in western Europe to actually exact a horrible and bloody vengeance on his community... Fulton, named for one of the witches he saw hanged...

And Fulton himself being a cunning man, who were used by their local communities as guards against witchcraft until they were banned as heretics themselves. Too magical to be human, too human to be a witch... A liminal creature, and all he can do is his best in an increasingly dangerous world.

Oh--! I love the McKittrick. ;;

The Bargarran I saw last time was as obsessed with Fulton as I am. I mean -- he’s always kind of obsessed with Fulton, isn’t he? But this last time he was more erotically obsessed with Fulton, which was a lot of fun. I so enjoyed creeping on Fulton with him, peering around the doorway like a weirdo. I nearly swallowed my TONGUE during that coat dance. When he pulls Fulton in close, close, and takes Fulton’s hand, slides it into his own pocket so he can make him take the bone? OH... An unabashedly horny Bargarran... So new and yet absolutely what I wanted.

I’m also told that you can now see some truly uhhhh interesting sketches for taxidermy mounts in his sketchbook, if you look. I couldn’t see for shit last time I was there, so I didn’t exactly go through paperwork like I usually do, but I’ve taken up the pieces of this new Bargarran that I’ve seen and heard about through the SNM grapevine, and those are the things that I’ve sewn up into this new SNM fic I’m writing.

Is it good? uhhh unsure. Will it get weird? Let’s hope so. Am I following in the footsteps of the horniest dance involving a coat I’ve ever seen in my life? Absolutely.

I know, I know, there are roughly like five people who ever read my SNM thoughts and even fewer who read my fic. But I had to get it all out... Feelings spilling out of me like whispers from darkness. Sometimes you just have to ramble a little before you keep writing.

but back I go!! before the sun comes up and takes my ability to write with it.

[generoushelpingofwhump]

TW: graphic violence, character death, broken bones, blood, beating

This got longer than anticipated but I hope you enjoy!

Noah almost can't watch the scene in front of him. He's pretty sure it's just horror stopping him from looking away. And he is horrified. Even if he didn't know Quinn, the person being beaten into to pavement, he would have been. Even if he couldn't hear the crying sound they make when their bones break. Even if he couldn't imagine in all-too-painful detail the grimace that he knows they're wearing. Even if it wasn't their blood on the ground in splatters, on their hands where they tried in vain to cover wounds, on the knuckles of the masked supervillain standing over their kneeling form.

Quinn stands up again from where they'd fallen while the Butcher draws an axe from a loop on his belt. Their left arm is pulled close to their chest, wrist broken by the looks of it. They're favouring one leg too, shifting weight to accommodate for what's probably a sprained ankle, likely from when they were picked up by the throat and dropped gracelesly near the beginningof the fight. But the redness on their neck is already turning purple, visible through the torn black fabric, below the mask that covers the lower half of their face. The fight has already gone on too long for them.

Really, they'd never stood a chance alone. Not against the Butcher, with no powers to speak of that would help here. They'd known that, of course. They aren't stupid. But they also know they need to buy time for help to arrive. That's what they'd told him. Rogue, as they're known to the masses, was the only super around when the Butcher showed up, but they aren't strong enough for this, and they're fast running out of time themself, with no sign of help on the way.

When he sees them get up, the Butcher tilts his head as if fed up with a child's misbehaviour and hefts the axe, walking forwards with purpose.

Noah watches Quinn ready themself, bringing up their good arm. Their eyes stay fixed on the looming figure, but there's a slump in their figure, and their legs are shaking just enough to be noticeable. If nobody comes soon, they'll be buying this time with their life, for nothing at all.

The Butcher swings the axe in a wide arc with one arm. They try to block but it puts them off balance and he takes advantage and pushes them, one hand by their collarbone, hard enough to send them sprawling. He could swear he sees the wind leave them, with the force they hit the ground. They lay there for only a moment, seemingly dazed, but it's a moment too long. The axe comes down towards their chest-

The kick aimed at the Butcher's knee lands squarely, and when it hits Noah can see the falter, just enough to stop the axe short of killing them, but Quinn's scream tears through the air. The supervillain drops his weapon to clutch at his knee with a curse, and it lands where Rogue had been lying a second before. But they've already rolled away, and now they're lying on their back a metre to the side, heaving breaths between sobs. They put both hands over the wound in their chest, just below their lungs it appears. But even from where he's standing Noah can see the blood flowing. Too fast, too much of it.

The Butcher looks at them with a fire in his eyes, and it's all it takes to send Quinn crawling back with their one good arm, heels scrambling for purchase, until they hit a wall. A fist comes down to meet their head with the full weight of the man behind it. They crumple again. They raise their hand to try and block the next blow, but their bones give way without even seeming to slow the descent. They cough and heave and grasp at the gaping wound in their chest, the weapon that carved it out lying forgotten in the owner's rage in a red puddle, the black paint of the axe head masking the crimson on the metal. The onslaught of blows doesn't stop until Quinn is still. Ragged drawing of breath is the only thing that moves them.

The crowd steps back almost in unison when the Butcher turns away from the limp figure beneath him, hundreds of feet backing up at once.

"This should be taken as a lesson."

His voice is quiet, barely heard except for the fact that the crowd is near silent.

"If you interfere with us, you will die. It will not be quick. It will be slow, and painful, and public. An example. So to those who would fight us, I invite you to watch closely."

And he turns back to Quinn, who hasn't moved even an inch, and picks up his axe. The steps he takes are deliberate, confident, even if he's limping. Noah can't hear what's said to Quinn as he crouches beside them, but the look of defeat in their eyes says enough. They just stare up at the Butcher, not even trying to stem the blood flow now. The Butcher stands and goes to raise the axe, and Quinn closes their eyes, and Noah just can't take it anymore.

"Stop! Please!"

He doesn't even realise he's the one that spoke at first, until that hulking figure, almost a foot taller than him, turns to see who dared to protest, and lands on him. The eyes of those around him are either staring in his direction, or cast down. But the fear turning his insides over doesn't seem to matter right now. Not with Quinn dying in front of him.

"I'll get to you in a moment. Wait your turn."

It's a snarl more than anything, but Noah still steps forward.

"Please! Don't you think that's lesson enough?"

He's sure he must sound desperate, even pathetic, but Quinn is barely breathing now. He has to do something.

The Butcher takes one look at Rogue, before turning to face Noah fully.

"So eager. You couldn't just keep to yourself. But since this one isn't going anywhere..."

He barely takes a step towards Noah before something bronze-coloured falls out of the sky between them. It takes Noah a second to recognise Zephyr, but when he does, he can't help the sigh of relief. He nearly tears up. Zephyr turns her head half towards him as she stands, keeping her eyes on the Butcher.

"Sentinel will be here in a moment. He'll help with Rogue. Go make sure they're alive."

Noah nods and quickly skirts around the edge of the crowd, keeping as big a distance between himself and the Butcher as he can. When he reaches them, other heroes and superheroes begin to arrive, but he doesn't pay attention to that.

Quinn opens their eyes sluggishly when he falls to his knees beside them. They try to say something, but no sound comes out before they start choking, blood trickling down their chin as their eyes glaze over.

"Quinn no, Quinn look at me!" He shakes them just a little, and their head lolls, but they seem to focus their eyes somewhere just behind his head. "You need to stay awake okay? You need to stay awake, Quinn, because help will be here any moment now alright? Can you hear me?"

Their head nods, but slowly, and every time it seems to sink lower, until their chin is resting on their chest.

"Quinn, look at me. Look at me! Quinn please!"

They move their head just enough to look up at him from under their eyebrows, and with more energy than they should be using they find his hand with theirs and give it a short squeeze, the way they'd done since primary school whenever the other was upset, or in trouble, or just wanted to hold someone. The corner of their mouth twitches up into a fleeting smile, before their head sinks back onto their chest, and their hand lets go of his.

He doesn't let it fall. He squeezes harder, other hand on their shoulder to shake them, trying to get them to look up at him again.

"Quinn? Quinn! Please no, please don't. Please don't! Please-" He devolves into sobs, crying so hard he feels hollow. He doubles over until his forehead rests against theirs. Footsteps on the other side of Quinn force his head up to look. A figure dressed in white and green stands above the two of them, before he drops to one knee and places two fingers on Quinn's neck. Sentinel. He waits, then moves his fingers, then checks their wrist as well.

There's a long pause before he lays their hand on their lap, falling more than anything else as he kneels fully and sits back on his heels, eyes closed.

"What are you doing? You're supposed to help them, why aren't you helping them?"

"Don't you think I would if I could? They're gone. Even I can't heal that."

There's grief there, and guilt, both in his voice and the way he doesn't look up at him, even to speak. Noah hadn't even known they knew each other. But that doesn't console him.

"You haven't even tried!"

Noah only realises now that the commotion behind them has faded away. The crowd seems to have mostly dispersed after the fight that clearly happened while he was distracted. The Butcher was kneeling between three heroes, hands bound behind him, face bloodied. Two other heroes were making their way over. Zephyr was one. The other was a newer hero, Spectre. Both stopped six feet back, eyes downcast.

"They're-"

It was Spectre that said it, a question left half-asked, looking at Sentinel, who just nodded once.

They kept talking, but Noah stopped listening. He just held his friend's hand for as long as he could before they took the body away, leaving him feeling numb.

[dawninlatin]

Happy Halloween

Part of the Manorian Teacher AU

Words: 1782

AO3 Link

Masterlist

Summary: Manon and Dorian celebrate Halloween together for the first time

Dorian Havilliard was finally beginning to understand that Manon had been serious when she’d uttered the words I don’t play Halloween. This was the first holiday they would spend together, and Dorian knew he’d be in for a rough month when his girlfriend had woken up on October 1st, a disturbing smile on her face, and declared the day to be the first of Halloween.

Manon was slightly terrifying on any given day, but Manon during the spookiest month of the year…Dorian suppressed a shudder at the thought of how she practically buzzed with giddy excitement.

And how his girlfriend, it seemed, went all out with everything.

Stepping into the kitchen, which had been transformed into the lab of a mad scientist, Dorian filled the giant bowl standing on the counter with candy for any trick-or-treaters that might dare knock on their door.

Normal people usually went with one theme when decorating their home, but theirs looked like a haunted mansion, a new theme in every room. Their garden was now a graveyard, the downstairs bathroom could have passed for an asylum, the living room was a murder scene, the hallway was filled with your average spider webs and skeletons, and in the kitchen, there were jars filled with very realistic eyes, creepy, rusty instruments hanging on the walls and vials with green smoke coming out of them. Manon had assured him whatever she was brewing was perfectly safe, «just don’t, under any circumstance, ingest it.»

Not playing, indeed.

One would think having Aelin Galathynius as a friend for most of his life would make him immune to anything spooky, since Halloween practically was a religion to her, but compared to Manon, it was all child’s play. No surprise those two had gotten along so quickly.

Throughout the month, they’d watched more horror movies together than Dorian had his whole life, and every day, Manon found new, creative ways to scare him shitless.

Dorian often wondered how he hadn’t had an actual heart attack yet, with all the ways she’d managed to make him scream in horror, whether that was by jumping out from behind doors or placing severed limbs in the fridge. Not even work was safe, since they were both teachers at the same high school.

He couldn’t help but look a little forward to tomorrow, when it would all be over, their lives back to normal. Of course, he would never tell Manon that. As much as he hated being scared, the look of complete and utter glee on her face whenever she managed to scare him made up for it.

It wasn’t that Dorian didn’t like Halloween, either, they just had completely different views on how to best spend it. His ideal Halloween meant watching a cozy movie like Halloweentown or A nightmare before Christmas while shamelessly eating a ridiculous amount of candy. Manon’s motto seemed to be the more macabre, the better.

But instead of complaining, Dorian looked forward to Christmas, when he would guilt her into partaking in every cheesy, fluffy tradition there was while feeling the joyous spirit of Christmas. He could already picture how hard Manon would roll her eyes at all the Hallmark movies he planned to show her.

After filling up the huge bowl of candy, Dorian stepped out into the hallway, placing it on the console table next to the door. Hopefully he would get to eat most of it by the end of the night, since he doubted anyone were brave enough to walk up to their dark, old house. He sure as shit wouldn’t have been.

As he passed the large, full-length mirror, Dorian couldn’t help the satisfied look on his face. He’d done an excellent job with his costume this year. A sheer blouse, a pair of high-waisted black pants, golden jewelry, golden dust highlighting his cheekbones, pointy ears, a tail, all pulled together by the goblet of wine he was holding. The one good thing about Halloween was that it allowed him to dress up as his favorite book characters.

He shifted his gaze downward for a moment, adjusting his clothes, and when he looked back up, he let out a yelp at the creature standing behind him in the mirror. Thunder crackled outside as Manon leaned her head back and laughed manically.

She was a truly horrifying sight to behold with her wholly white eyes and bloody grin. Her white hair was smeared with what could only be described as gore and her throat looked to be slit. She looked like a nightmare, and judging by the satisfied smirk on her face, she knew it too.

«You ready for some scary movies?» Manon asked him, giving his costume a nod of approval. Absolutely not, Dorian wanted to say, knowing she’d saved the worst movies for last.

Instead, he took a shuddering breath and said, «Can’t wait.» His voice was tight, shaking slightly. The look Manon gave him made him want to turn the lights on and hide under a blanket.

-

They were only fifteen minutes into A Nightmare on Elm Street, but Dorian was already clinging to Manon, his face buried in the crook of her neck. How could she be so calm right now? She seemed to be enjoying it, even.

Someone knocked on the door, and Dorian jumped, his heart racing. It’s just trick-or-treaters, he told himself. Definitely not a psychopath killer.

«Fucking finally!» Manon exclaimed as she paused the movie and got up, heading towards the door. Dorian was torn between wanting to run out and protect her from the killer that was surely waiting behind the closed door and begging her to not leave him alone.

Calm down you idiot, he told himself. What kind of killer knocks on the door?

Then it hit him, all blood draining from his face. It would be a genius move to just knock on the door if you wanted to kill someone.

As he was about to run into the hallway and hide behind his girlfriend as she dealt with the threat, he heard the door open, followed by the sound of giggling children. Manon’s words from earlier, when he’d asked why she loved Halloween so much, echoed in his mind: «I get to scare little children while looking awesome! What’s not to love?» The more he got to know this woman, the more she amazed him.

After a moment, Manon said something he couldn’t make out, but he could hear the kids scream as they ran away, then the door slamming shut once more. The sound of Manon’s evil laughter filled the eerie house as she stepped back into the living room. «I love Halloween!»

-

Dorian was sure he’d never been more relieved when the movie finally ended and Manon turned the lights back on. That relief was quickly replaced by dread though, when a loud thump sounded upstairs.

«What was that?» Manon asked, casting a worried glance at the ceiling.

Dorian eyed her suspiciously, knowing she was surely the one behind this.

«Why are you looking at me like that?» she hissed when she noticed his accusing stare. «This isn’t me, I swear!» His face paled at the truth he could hear in her voice.

«It’s probably nothing, right?» Dorian tried to hide the fear in his voice with a nonchalant chuckle. Their house was old, so it was normal for it to make a lot of scary noises. Although…

«That came from the attic, right?» Manon whispered from her spot next to him, her breath hitching as they heard another thump.

«I think so,» he said, swallowing audibly.

«Maybe we should check it out…»

Dorian shook his head. «Fuck no! The one thing I’ve learned from all those movies you’ve made me watch is to never check out weird noises.» No way was he stepping foot into the creepy attic. He’d avoided it as much as possible since moving into the house a month ago.

«Fine, then I’ll do it,» Manon declared, giving him a nasty glare. Yet he didn’t miss the way she rose a bit reluctantly, her voice shaking.

When she was halfway across the room, Dorian let out a defeated sigh, quickly trailing after her. He didn’t want to find the source of the noise, but he most definitely didn’t want to be left alone either.

He made sure to keep close behind her as they carefully treaded up the stairs, the howling wind making the entire house shake.

As they reached the top, Dorian put on a sweet face and gestured to the door. «After you, darling.»

Manon scoffed, rolling her eyes, but she didn’t move to open the door leading into the dark attic, either. Almost as if she was…hesitating.

«Don’t tell me you’re scared, Blackbeak?»

«No,» she claimed, but he could hear the fear in her voice. «ButifwedieIloveyou,» she blurted and opened the door.

Dorian knew the thought of something scaring Manon should have made him turn around and run for his dear life, but he was also eager to see what happened next.

Manon lifted a shaking hand to flick on the light, Dorian holding his breath. As her eyes fell upon the source of the noise, she let out a high-pitched shriek and ran into Dorian’s arms.

The shock of hearing Manon Blackbeak shriek erased all trace of fear lingering in him, and as he peered over her shoulder, into the attic, he leaned his head back and howled with laughter.

For there, in the middle of the floor, was Abraxos, trapped under a white sheet, a knocked-over box next to him. «Meow,» he said, as if in greeting.

Dorian pulled up his phone, snapping a picture of the little ghost. Then he turned around and took another, of Manon, who now stood at the middle of the landing, arms hanging limp at her sides, a mix of fear and confusion on her face. He should have felt guilty for laughing at her, but revenge tasted so sweet.

Her frightened look quickly turned into one of rage as she noticed what Dorian was doing, his laughter dying at the murderous glance she threw him. «Meow,» Abraxos said once more, unknowingly stopping Manon from killing Dorian with her eyes.

After freeing the poor kitten, Dorian turned towards a glaring Manon and said, unable to hide the amusement in his voice, «Is a harmless kitten all it takes to scare you?»

Her face broke into a terrifying grin. «I wouldn’t look so smug if I were you. There are still a few hours left…» Then she just turned on her heel and began walking down the stairs, glancing over her shoulder. «Happy Halloween, Dorian.»

A/N: Remember when I said I'd have lots of time to write? Yeah, me neither...

I am very sorry for not updating anything, but I barely have the energy to keep up with school these days, so things will take time:(

Feel free to leave feedback if you want to! It's a huge inspiration to keep writing<3

Taglist: @fireheartdreamerstarborn​ @bookishwitchling​ @ladywitchling​ @kit-12​ @onfma​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​ @sayosdreams​ 

I keep a separate taglist for each ship, so let me know if you want to be added to this or any other:)

[lulzyrobot]

Pokemon Dynamorph AU Masterpost

Based on THIS POST 

The short of this AU is that the climax of the Eternatus fight had an even more profound effect on the Galar region and its people. The excess energy made people fuse with their pokemon! Oh boy! So below the cut I’m going to outline all the ideas behind this AU thanks to everyone’s asks showing an increasing curiosity about all this! I’m used to writing original content, nothing based on an existing property so bare with me…

Events Leading Up to The Dynamorph Event

So for this AU, the events of the game leading up to the Eternatus conflict are the SAME except for some details. 

Gloria/Victor and Hop never encounter Zacian or Zamazenta. The Rusty Sword and Shield were lost to time.

When Leon goes to confront Eternatus, he is joined by everyone up on the roof. The Gloria/ Victor, Hop, Bede, Marnie, the Gym Leaders (minus Opal because she’s back in Ballonlea enjoying retirement.) 

This confrontation happens AFTER Gloria/ Victor beats Leon, for simplicity’s sake.

So when everyone confronts Eternatus, thanks to Rose’s eager impatience to do good for the Galar region, they are unable to stop it properly since Zacian and Zamazenta are nowhere to be found. Instead, the combined efforts of everyone force Eternatus to flee.

But not without releasing an overwhelming blast of Dynamax energy.

The blast rippled throughout a portion of Galar, and had a chain reaction with power spots and the dens of the Wild Area. When the dust settled, the pokemon everyone had out that they were using in the big fight were...gone. Not in their pokeball, just..gone. Naturally, people assume the worst but they have a lingering feeling that the Pokemon are still...here somehow. But they don’t know why. So when everyone’s calmed down, and clean up begins, they all go their separate ways.

About a day passes, and then it starts to happen. From the time of the blast and when the changes start to happen externally, everyone experiences some oddities superficially (better hearing, acute sensitivity to stuff etc.)

 Leon was in his newly acquired office and the just obtained Battle Tower. He had the blind closed, sat in the darkened room thinking over everything that happened, and his loss of the Champion title. When the changes started happening, he nearly burned the office, leaving claw marks in his desk, the floor, and the walls. The noise attracted someone from the Battle Tower staff and he yelled at them in panic to call Sonia. His own phone started ringing. It was Hop.

Gloria/ Victor (I separate them cuz it's more of a ‘who you imagine in this role.’ Can only have one Champion) were being briefed on Champion duties and what that entails. It’s a boring meeting, but they excuse themself to go to the bathroom. In reality they duck away outside to just get a breather. They suddenly feel a sharp pain and start to change, probably biting into their arm to muffle any scream to prevent causing a scene.

Bede headed back to Ballonlea, distraught that Hatterine was nowhere to be found. He wanted to distract himself by continuing his gym leader training, but Opal sat him down for some tea to talk about grief and loss. She’s way older and definitely has experience in that field. What she doesn’t have experience in, is what to do when your protege starts growing traits of a pokemon…

Hop, after that whole ordeal, missing Dubwool, and having lost the gym challenge just had so many feelings to vent out, he wanted to just scream. So he heads deep into the Slumbering Weald to just scream out his frustrations. When he sits down after tiring himself out, his changes start happening. In pain, scared, and alone, he calls Leon.

Marnie went back to Spikemuth with Piers. Team Yell welcomed them with open arms and gave them the idea to have a tribute concert for the pokemon they believe they lost. Marnie declined, electing to stay at home and be alone for a while. She didn’t want to be around people right now. Then her changes started happening, and she uncontrollably let out a burst of electricity, causing an outage in Spikemuth. 

Piers, meanwhile, was setting up for an impromptu concert. He dealt with his feelings by doing literally anything to distract him from them so yelling into a microphone for a couple hours seemed like a good idea. Just as he was about to test the mic, a huge power surge came from his place and shut down all of Spikemuth’s power. Concerned for his sister he runs off stage, taking alleys as a shortcut. In his adrenaline he doesn’t even realize his changes started until he tripped over his own new claws and writhes just outside their place.

Raihan, being in Hammerlocke, wastes no time in helping with the clean up. While at the highest point in the city, he and his gym trainers were hard at work. Until Raihan collapsed, trying to hold himself up with his broom. His trainers looked on in concern and horror as he began changing, even starting up a sandstorm in the process. As a result, one trainer almost gets pushed off the roof but, bearing through the pain, Raihan leaps in and grabs them in time.

Gordie and Melony head back to Circhester. On the way, they had talked a lot about their issues and gripes that had torn a rift in their family, in earnest. The assumed loss of their pokemon worked as good common ground to remind them about the importance of family. They were both at Melony’s home when it happened. The heat and cold put a completely new kind of barrier between the two.

Bea wanted to get her mind off everything that happened by training in the outskirts of Stow-on-Side. She pushed herself too far, and her pokemon urged her to stop. But she fought them off. At first with difficulty, but then as her changes happened, more easily. Her pokemon backed off and started looking for help.

Alister, figuring that his Gengar maybe wandered off on its own again, headed to the graveyard during the night. One of Gengar’s favourite spots. For a moment, Alister thought he heard Gengar’s chuckle and it’s cry but turned to see nothing. Something compelled him to look down at himself and he could see himself becoming translucent and a suspicious shade of purple. He had always had an affinity with ghosts but becoming one was something else entirely. Ensue panic attack.

Kabu returned home to quietly meditate and think rationally about everything that happened. In a trance-like state, he could feel Centiskorch right there next to him. He felt at peace. The smell of burning snapped him out of it, however when he realized he, as well as a good part of the room, was on fire. He quickly escaped, realizing the fire didn’t hurt him. 

Nessa just wanted to be alone, so back at Hulberry, she walked along the docks, shrouded in early morning fog. Her changes started happening, but she really only felt itchy as the scales came in. Upon checking her phone, did she herself in the screen’s reflection and freak out.

Life moves on and Milo had a farm to tend to. His family urged him to take a break but he smiled back at them and assured them he was okay. He wasn’t. While working was when his changes happened. His whole family rushed to his aid. And again, through a smile, he insisted he was okay.

Oleana was working feverishly on getting money together for lawyers and bail money to get Rose out of his self-imposed jail sentence. She knew all he wanted was good for the region, but he was just too blind to see the potential damage he was causing. She wanted him to have a second chance. But her changes slowed her down. 

Rose, in a cell, reflected on his actions. How rash he was that he didn’t see the big picture. He should’ve listened. When his changes happened in his cell, he was horrified. Not at what happened to him, but what was no doubt, happening to the others. And probably more. What had he done? He needed to fix his mistake. 

The ones present at the event were not the only ones to change, however. This was happening all over the region, closer to power spots (which includes the towns, but the morphs aren’t all as drastic) and the wild area (trainers fused with wild pokemon and went hostile. This is covered in depth in another section). After one of the quickest trials, Rose had offered to the court that instead of a full prison sentence, he spent his entire resources and wealth into funding on solving this new, now coined ‘Dynamorph Crisis.’ They agreed and the Macro Cosmos got to work.

How the Dynamorph Actually Works

Bare with me because this is where I kind of bend canon and make assumptions about things for the sake of explaining how this AU even works. So. Eternatus caused all this by basically converting things into energy. On humans, it would just tear them apart. On pokemon it would just turn them into dynamax energy temporarily. The normal situation is that dynamaxing makes the pokemon grow and change form, yeah? Well for this AU, the pokemon, seeing that their trainers are potentially going to die, decide to fuse with them to ‘fill in the gaps.’ Saving them. At first, it appears like they were able to change into the parts missing, but after a while, the pokemon traits start showing, which is my excuse for why the actual changes were delayed. 

The severity of the dynamorph is dependent on proximity to the blast/ powerspot. And just personal preference if you wanted to make your own trainersona dynamorphed (which I totally encourage! It’s fun and I like seeing what you all come up with!!). 

Dynamorphed trainers gain the physical traits, special abilities, movesets and odd quirks that come with the pokemon they are dynamorphed with. (Bonding with Morpeko makes you hungry, bonding with a Xatu lets you see the future, etc) Though, since the humanity is still there, they are able to curb some of the more aggressive quirks with diligence.

If the pokemon bonded is not fully evolved, applying the correct evolutionary method will evolve and change the outward appearance of the dynamorphed trainer. Normal level up are accomplished by fighting, not by age. 

Since being part pokemon, the trainer is a lot more resilient and could, if they REALLY wanted to, fight other morphed trainers. Trainers feel the type weakness and resistances. They would faint just like a pokemon fight. Potions and pokemon centres would help them recover. Though death is still something that can happen. 

Trainers fused with food-like pokemon are not edible please don't eat them, there's a place where the food stops and the flesh starts and we don’t need to find out where that is ok??

Normal pokemon that are caught and trained will REFUSE to attack a dynamorphed trainer unless absolutely provoked. So you can’t really have a pokemon battle where a dynamoprhed trainer is beating up a pokemon or vice versa. That’s messed up.

Dynamorphed trainers cannot be caught in any kind of pokeballs. That’s also messed up.

They cannot breed to make a weird hybrid plz stop asking.

Dynamorphed Trainers can NOT be Dynamaxed. Too much energy, man.

Trainers CAN bond with more than one pokemon, but that's where complications start to occur. The more pokemon bonded to the trainer, the harder it is form them to hold on to their humanity. 

1 Pokemon = Okay

2 Pokemon = A struggle to keep humanity, but it’s possible.

3+ Pokemon = This is not a person. It is a hostile beast.

There are no legendary pokemon/ ultra beasts dynamorphed. They’re all in other regions and wouldn’t be in the Galar region when it happened so there just wouldn’t be. But if ya’ll make one with one anyway, I won’t stop you but the legendary pokemon may be too strong for a trainer to handle.

If the pokemon’s nature is different than the trainer’s than it might affect their personality. The extent of this is varied.

**No two dynamorphs look the same! If you have two trainers bonded with like...a Pikachu for example. One might get yellow fur, ears, and a tail while the other only gets a tail and the cheeks. Go nuts.

If the pokemon dynamorphed with the trainer is the opposite gender, the result is whatever you want. 

Speaking of complications, that brings us to the next part…

The Wild Area Trainers

During this whole event, I previously mentioned that the Wild Area was significantly affected. Those unfortunate enough to be out camping during the blast had the chance of 1 of 3 things happening:

They dynamorphed with one of their pokemon. 

They dynamorphed with with more than one of their pokemon

They dynamorphed with one or more wild pokemon Examples found HERE.

In the case of being bonded to a wild pokemon, this takes a heavy toll on the trainer’s mind as its constantly fighting with a wild pokemon. This causes them to lose their minds and become hostile, just like a wild pokemon. Unfortunately a large number of “Wild Trainers” roam the Wild Area. Their previously caught pokemon usually try to flee or stick around to protect their trainer out of sheer devotion. As mentioned before, they cannot be caught with a pokeball. But the region is working on a program to deal with this. …

How the Galar Region is dealing with the Dynamorph Crisis

Professors Sonia and Magnolia are appointed the top researchers, being granted the resources of the Macro Cosmos thanks to Oleana and Rose, wanting to atone for his mistakes. However the government, doubting Rose’s competence, sends out their own officials to oversee and make decisions. (I have no idea how the government of this region works. Is there a parliament? Is the gym league the authority? I’ll say for this AU there is actually a system of government…). 

They have labs and rehabilitation centres set up to be able to study and help help dynamorphed trainers cope and eventually go back home. They are not kept there against their will. Most, anyway. The main cast were quarantined in a lab/ facility for the early stages of the crisis so they could learn/ test their capabilities in a safe environment. Shenanigans ensue. Because of this, the crisis put a hold on the gym challenge league entirely. 

At first, the authorities wanted to keep this under wraps in case their morphs were an isolated incident but quickly realized that was going to be impossible. Travel to and from the Galar region became incredibly restricted. Dynamorphed trainers are not allowed to leave the region, for everyone’s safety (don’t want to risk an outburst that could harm anyone :c ), but unchanged people were free to travel once they were confirmed as ‘human’ by a mandatory test. 

The Wild Area became a huge problem, what with Wild Trainers running about. Defenses were set up just in case to prevent Wild Trainers from wandering into populated areas and causing havoc, though a few occurrences still happen, what with flying pokemon and all. Eventually, a special force was assembled that consisted of consenting dynamorphed trainers that were tasked with going into the Wild Area and subduing and retrieving Wild Trainers to bring them to a more secured location to help study them and to try and find a cure. And to confirm to families the fate of their missing family member(s). The attempt is to be as humane as possible. 

The special force (Do I really wanna call it Dynaforce? I feel like I’m abusing the prefix if I do), consists of all the current gym leaders, Piers, Leon, Victor/ Gloria and a bunch of other trainers who signed up who are 18+. (you don't want to send kids out doing this kind of dangerous work, I know pokemon is all about children taming powerful animals but you gotta draw the line in the sand somewhere. Gym leaders are exempt because they why not. They insisted and already proved their strength to the region. It’s an AU based off a fuckin game/ anime.) This force has two jobs:

Go into the Wild Area to subdue Wild Trainers and bring them home

Protect the towns in case any wild trainers get in. 

So what happened to Eternatus if it just escaped? Theories indicate it might be living in a massive den in the heart of the Wild Area, waiting to strike again. There are a lot more Wild Trainers near this area, so excursions here are difficult.

Is a cure eventually found? Honestly this is just an AU so that's up to you. My personal answer is no. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. //Bear Grylls voice

So….this is a lot. This is just some silly AU that inspired me to expand on it for fun since you guys showed a lot of interest! I’ll edit this as I get more asks about things I may have missed, but I will be going in and deleting a lot of previous asks so I can clean up my blog a bit. I had WANTED to keep a lot of this ‘secret’ cuz I wanted to draw stuff for it. I STILL WILL DRAW for it, but realistically I don’t have the time or energy ahah. Especially for an AU of a published franchise aha. 

If you want to make a dynamorph trainersona, totally go for it! Just tag me when its done! I love seeing what people do!

[sylvanfreckles]

One Day Too Late (Regret)

By Grace Undone: Chapter Seven

A devastating betrayal and an arcane ritual leave Castiel fighting for his life...his human life. When his grace is brutally torn out of his body and he's left to die on earth the only thing the Winchesters can do is try to pick up the pieces.

(I'm just doing one story for the entire month, so please enjoy the thirty-one chapter beginning of the flare 'verse. You can read other stories in the 'verse here, and you can read this fic on AO3 here.)

Dean was vaguely aware of Sam running up with the big first aide kit from the infirmary and an armful of clothes. The younger Winchester settled behind Cas and flipped the kit open, reaching over to hand Dean a pack of baby wipes. “I thought…” Sam started, his expression uncertain, and held up a can antiseptic spray.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. Wasn’t much they could do here, but maybe they could keep Cas from getting worse. He settled down to sit cross-legged and gently guided Cas’s head to his knee. “This might sting, buddy,” he warned as pulled a baby wipe free to gently dab at the dried blood on Cas’s face. The dark-haired man had closed his eyes again, though he seemed exhausted and not actually unconscious.

While Dean worked on cleaning Cas’s face, Sam gently pulled Dean’s jacket down to reveal the damaged skin on Cas’s back. He sucked in a breath at what he saw and glanced up at his brother for a moment. “It looks like…” he started, brushing his fingers over the back of the other man’s shoulder.

“No!” Cas jolted up and flailed against Dean, who caught him by the upper arms. The injured man twisted in his grasp; his voice broken. “There’s nothing left. Please.”

“Cas,” Dean kept his voice gentle, ducking a little to try to meet his friend’s gaze. “We just…”

“You took it all.” Cas’s eyes were wide and bright with fever and pain. “I have nothing left.”

The fight suddenly left him, and he slumped against Dean, trembling with cold and exhaustion, breath wheezing in and out in pained gasps. “No more.”

Sam looked devastated, and maybe a little sick to his stomach. Dean gently combed his fingers through Cas’s hair and tucked him closer against his chest. “Sammy’s just gonna put some medicine on your back,” he tried to explain.

“Please…” Cas’s protest was weak, but it still broke Dean’s heart a little more.

“We gotta clean you up, just a little, to get you home, okay?” Dean briefly squeezed Cas’s upper arms—the only undamaged skin he could reach. “You’ll feel better once you get home.”

Cas let out a low, keening sound and shuddered in Dean’s arms. “I have no home.”

“Oh god….” Guilt burned in Dean’s gut as he curled around Cas, shutting his eyes at his brother’s horrified expression. Had they done that? Did Cas really think, after all this time, that he wouldn’t have a place with them. “God, no, Cas. You do. The bunker, man. Your home is with us, remember?”

He wished he could take it all back, roll the clock back ten years and start over. Make sure Cas felt welcome with them, felt like he always had a place. Skip all those stupid fights and all the times he’d demanded too much. See the bigger picture and not his own petty little problems. How many times had Cas walked away just because Dean didn’t make room for him to stay?

Hell, did he even have a room in the bunker? To Dean’s horror, he realized he didn’t know.

Cas shifted and mumbled something, and Dean felt the color drain from his face. That had sounded an awful lot like “but I couldn’t stay”.

He’d been human before…and Dean had just shoved him out the door.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean pushed him away and braced Cas’s face between his hands. “Look at me.”

The angel…former angel…stared at him, eyes nearly wild from fever and pain and despair. “I swear to you, you belong with us now and nobody’s gonna take you away. Your home is with us, you got it?”

Tears were leaking down Cas’s cheeks. Dean brushed at them with his thumbs and waited. “Dean?” Cas finally asked, in a small voice.

“I swear it on Sammy’s hair,” Dean said, flicking a glance at his little brother. “We’ll shave it off if I’m lying.”

“Hey!” Sam protested, but that little spark of levity seemed to bring a spark of life back to Cas’s eyes.

“I mean it.” Dean tugged Cas against him and hooked his chin over the other man’s shoulder. It wasn’t a real hug, not with the mess of blood and torn flesh on Cas’s back, but he hoped the physical touch would help ground his friend. “You’ve been a Winchester for years, man. I’m sorry we never told you.”

“Unfortunately,” Sam piped in. “Being a Winchester doesn’t come with the best luck.”

“But you get good company.” Dean relaxed his grip but kept a steadying hand on Cas. “Hey, Sammy, show him that spray stuff.” Maybe if Cas saw it for himself, he wouldn’t react so strongly.

While Sam knelt at Dean’s side and explained the antiseptic spray, Dean busied himself with cleaning away the blood on Cas’s face and dabbing at the raw wounds on his wrists. Then Cas rested his forehead against Dean’s shoulder while Sam gently sprayed at the wounds on his back and tried to clear away some of the debris.

“These look like they were cut, then burned,” Sam murmured. “There’s a pattern here, see? I can’t quite make it out.”

“Cas?” Dean gently jostled the man leaning on him, though there was no answer. He could feel how hot the injured man’s skin through his shirt; no wonder Cas was still so out of it with a fever that high. “Take some pictures, we can study it later,” he advised Sam.

The younger Winchester nodded and turned back to treating Cas’s back. “I think we should just tape gauze over here to keep his back clean…to stop it getting dirtier, I mean. We can treat him more fully back home. I brought some stuff….”

They worked quickly, the rising sun peeking through the cracks in the barn giving them better light than the flickering bowls overhead. Sam carefully taped gauze over the worst of Cas’s wounds, then helped him into a plain white undershirt followed by a thermal Henley. Then Dean coaxed the former angel into drinking half a bottle of water with a dose of aspirin, while Sam busied himself pulling the Impala as close to the barn doors as possible and laying out blankets and pillows for the ride home.

Then there was just the question of how to get him out to the car.

“Here, Sam, you take one side,” Dean suggested. He looped Cas’s arm around his neck and shifted himself around to a squat. “We can grab him around the waist, right?”

“We have a stretcher at the bunker,” Sam replied. “When we get home, I mean.” He took Cas’s other side and they cautiously eased him up, together. Cas tensed at the movement and tried to double over, as though just standing up hurt, but the brothers waited until his body relaxed to try to walk him to the car.

It was slow going, but when they finally reached the Impala Dean slid in the backseat first and let Sam tuck Cas in after him. He stuck a pillow on his lap so Cas could like on his side, facing toward Dean, and curl up on the seat. Sam gently spread another blanket over Cas and passed Dean a bottle of water and a straw, to try to coax some more fluids into Cas during the drive home.

“He’s really hot, Dean,” Sam commented.

“Glad you noticed,” Dean teased, ducking to avoid the swat his brother aimed at him. “The aspirin’ll work. Give it time.”

Sam looked at him over the front seat for a long moment. “You sure you’re okay with me driving all the way home?”

Cas chose that moment to let out a sigh and blindly reach out to grab a handful of Dean’s t-shirt. He was here. Bloodied, broken, and human…but here and realand Dean could actually touch him. “Just get us home, Sammy.”

[Previous chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)]