#tw implied toxic relationship

[the-sidekick-club]

The Professor

Origins: Shadow Wraith - Part 1

Written by: ​​@heroes-villains-side-blog​​★@tratieisdabest★@just-a-space-rabbit​​ 

TW:Implied toxicity, Implied manipulation, and Implied toxic relationship

☰☲☷★☷☲☰

The old classroom was filled with the sounds of keyboards and hushed conversations. 

Lukas, the youngest student there, was sitting in the back corner talking with some classmates while they completed their notes for the day. 

His friend, roommate, and longtime tech rival, Elliot, was just about to get to the punchline of the overdramatized ‘adventure’ he and Lukas had been on the week prior, when a student walked up to them.

“Hi, are you Lukas Aelius?” they asked. 

“Yeah, he is! And who are you?” Elliot huffed, annoyed his punchline had been halted. 

“Professor Andaka told me to give you this,'' the student handed Lukas a note, not sparing a glance at Elliot. 

“Professor Andaka?” Elliot yelled in a mocking tone. “That weirdo who’s so busy studying Aura that he forgets that he’s a teacher? What does he want with Lukas? He’s not even his student!” The student just shrugged at his questions before leaving.

Lukas, who had remained quiet, looked down at the note. It was true that he was not technically part of Andaka’s classes, but that never stopped him from sitting in and listening in on them anyway. But Elliot didn't need to know that. 

Lukas looked down at the note which was just a piece of paper ripped out from a notebook, with some text in a wobbly handwriting.

"Hello Mr. Aelius, hope you had an egg-cellent holiday. Would you please do me the kindness of visiting me in my office after your class at 16:30?

Kind regards,

Professor E. G. Andaka”

Lukas had just started wondering what Professor Andaka could possibly want him for when, “Oooohhh! Someone’s in trouble!” Elliot teased. 

Lukas gave him a light shove, “It’s just an invitation!” he said, placing the note and the rest of his belongings back in his backpack. 

“Yeah, I know that!” Elliot said smugly, rubbing the shoved shoulder, “I mean you're in trouble for being late, since it’s already 16:28.”

Lukas's eyes shot to the clock by the door which indeed said 16:28, “Shoot!” he muttered under his breath, before bolting out the door. 

His departure only elicited an exhausted yell from the teacher, “No running allowed!”

As Lukas was sprinting down the halls, he wondered why Professor Andaka had called him. 

Lukas, though only 18, was an engineering student in his final year in university, a field that was nowhere near Andaka’s studies about the human body and the strange inner workings of Aura. 

Yes, he had been allowed to sit in on his classes but that was only out of, well… personal reasons. 

He opened the front door of the tech building and looked in the direction of Andaka's office. He quickened his pace as he ran over the January snow that was blanketing the ground. It was fresh enough that he didn't have to worry about ice, and there was barely even a crunch as he rushed over it. 

Reaching the first step to the Aura building, he slowed down, panting heavily. The building laid silent in front, the dark stone bathed in the orange and red of the setting sun, a stark contrast to the white snow surrounding it. After collecting himself, he walked up and into the building's shadow.

It took some time to find Professor Andaka's office. After asking the janitor for directions, and walking past it twice due to its confusing placement, Lukas finally knocked on the door. 

At once, there was a sound of something hard hitting the ground with a loud thud, followed by hasty footsteps. “AH! Mr. Aelius, you're here!” said a soft-spoken voice as the door opened up revealing the professor. 

“I’m so sorry! I got the message late and then —”

“Oh, no need to worry! Truly, it is perfectly fine. You are here, and that is what matters,” the professor said, welcoming Lukas in. 

Inside, Lukas was immediately hit with the strong smell of coffee. The office might have been of decent size to the average professor, but to Andaka? Well, papers and books mingled with old and new machine parts. Several cups of coffee were spread around the room, likely the source of the strong smell. There were books on chairs, coats on bookshelves. Even the cute little vase with a single flower in it had been covered with multi-colored sticky notes. And almost like a wash over a painting, the room was submerged in the small amount of orange sunlight slipping past the blinds. It was a mess all around, and yet… Lukas took an instant liking to the room. 

“Now,” Andaka clapped his hands together, “I have seen you sitting in on some of my classes about Aura and its history before, but I don’t think we have formally introduced ourselves. So, hello. I’m Professor Egor G. Andaka,” he said with a grin, holding out his hand. Lukas took it, and introduced himself back. 

“Now, you may be wondering why I brought you here today. And not to worry it’s not just for a cup of coffee!” he laughed at his own joke, a habit Lukas found a bit silly but endearing. “Ahem. Sorry. No, I asked you here for something special!” 

Special? Lukas wondered, why would the professor invite him for something special? 

“I heard that your studies are going well, yes?” Andaka suddenly asked, catching Lukas off guard. 

“Huh? Oh, yes, they’re going great! But not easy though.”

“Well, what's the point of studying if it’s easy?” Andaka chuckled “Still, though, good that you’re doing well. For I have an opportunity for you here. See that on my desk?” He pointed to a highly secured box. 

Lukas had completely missed it in all the chaos. “What is it?” he said as he began moving closer. Andaka grinned as he got to the box, “It arrived this morning, I wanted you to be the first person I show it to,” Andaka smiled as he opened the box.

There was an instant change in the room. It felt colder, the warm sunlight was instantly drowned out by the bright blue light coming from a small oval object placed securely in the box. “This, Mr. Aelius, is the Ekalf zaar ruhatama e wafiz, an ancient relic with an ancient name from a bygone era.” 

“Wow,” was all that Lukas was able to say. Staring at the relic, he felt a rush of questions flow up at once, “How did you- What is- Why?!” uncompromising questions were all that he could get out, far too curious and shocked to be intelligible. 

“Easy, now! I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but you only have one head!” Andaka laughed.

Lukas didn't feel like laughing at his joke. 

“As I said, this is an ancient relic and little is known about how or why it was made,” Andaka emphasised the last part of the sentence, making Lukas ponder more over the strange object. “Its name means 'holder of a thousand souls', and it is believed to be able to separate an Aura from its body,” he said, picking up the egg and turning it in his hand. 

“Godness!” Lukas exclaimed. “Why would you hold it?”

“Don’t worry! There's no danger while the relic is in its current state,” he said, before handing it over to Lukas, who took it after a few moments of hesitation. It felt like he expected, cold to the touch, but as he got closer to it, the beauty of it finally struck him.

As he turned it around, the insides seemed to shift and move, almost like a liquid. Were there really souls in there? The thought sent shivers up his spine, but there was one more question he had. “What is it you want this, um… this relic for, exactly?”

“Well, I’m glad you asked!” Andaka beamed, clapping his hands together. “Well, first of all, I have gone and officially changed the name of the relic from Ekalf zaar ruhatama e wafiz to the easier and improved name: The Emanation And Growth Genesis.”

“The Emanation and — wow! That's not an easy name either!” Lukas said, finally moving his eyes away from the relic and back to the professor.

“No, it isn't.” Andaka chuckled, “But that name was only chosen so we can use the much superior abbreviation for it."

Lukas stood still as he began to think out loud, "Abbreviation? The Emanation, growth, gene — EGG! YOU NAMED IT EGG?! You renamed a legendary and dangerous relic 'EGG'?” he exclaimed, not sure what to feel. Granted it was kind of egg shaped, but still, something so legendary. It was just… madness to call it that.

"Yes, yes, my new dear friend,” Andaka said as he gave Lukas a hard pat on the shoulder. “Maybe that name wasn't all it was… cracked up to be. I was egg-xercising my right to improve the longevity of this relic by giving it a name fit for the modern age. Also, it's my research so I do not need to walk on any eggshells around it." 

Lukas stared at him with his mouth open. 

"Anyway," the professor pivoted, like he hadn't just altered the course of history for the sake of goofy puns. 

Respect, Lukas thought. 

"I'm currently working on plans to build a machine that can activate the EGG's abilities. The hope is that we can control it, and be able to safely remove people's superpowers!" 

"You want to use it to remove powers?!” Lukas froze at the words, “Isn't that… like, villainous, and unethical?"  

"Oh, we won't be removing powers against their will! No, no! This will be entirely ethical, Mr Aelius. I have partnered with the Aura committee who will be overseeing the project and that it will all be handled safely.”

“Yes, but… removing a part of someone’s Aura? A literal part of their soul?” Lukas bit his lower lip, this felt wrong. But Andaka placed a reassuring hand on Lukas’s shoulder.

“Some powers are scary, Mr. Aelius. Dangerous, even." He said in a careful tone. "Those born with powers and those born without have no say in the gifts given to them, and there should be no shame letting them give the gift away.” 

Lukas felt his stomach twist at the words, knowing too well about unwanted gifts. “But what if they want the powers, but… er, others do not?” he asked.

“The machine is only for people who do not wish to have powers themselves, and it is entirely their choice. Neither you nor me nor the Hero Agency gets to have a say in it. Not even your parents" 

Lukas nearly dropped the EGG, “You know?!” he yelped. 

“Mr Aelius. Your mother is a well-known elder in the hero agency, and your father is a Desolite guardian. I may not have powers of my own, but I have a keen eye. I have seen the way you seem to disappear in the shadows — what a fantastic power!”

Lukas was completely bewildered. No one apart from Elliot knew about his powers. “You may think they are fantastic,” he said with a defeated tone, “but, my parents disagree. They only see them as a bad omen and would rather have me be born without them.”

“Bad omen?!” Andaka spat, “There is no scientific proof that a person's powers mean any such thing! And no power is inherently good or bad!” Andaka stopped himself from talking further. 

“Sorry about that. I dislike people who forget that Aura is not some mythical thing that brings good or bad fortune." Andaka turned and placed his hand on both of Lukas’s shoulders, and looked into his eyes "Now, Lukas. Please tell me. Do you like your powers?” he said softly.

There was a meek “yes” from Lukas. 

“Then that power is yours, and it is a part of you.” Andaka said in a soft tone. “And no one should ever take it away from you. But to get this conversation back to the EGG," he said, before they both dropped their gaze to examine the artefact again, "For some people, their powers do not feel like a part of themselves. They do not feel that their power is theirs.” 

"Do such people exist?" Lukas wondered aloud. 

"All types of people exist, Mr. Aelius. And some people would want to remove their powers for a whole wide range of reasons. Maybe their powers are awfully inconvenient. Or, as I previously stated, they might be dangerous. It can also just be a personal choice for reasons that are not ours to know." 

Lukas nodded. He finally understood Andaka’s vision. He understood completely. And his respect for Professor Andaka only grew. But there was only one question he had left. “Professor Andaka? Why are you telling me all this?”

“Goodness, me! I skipped the first step!” Andaka jumped. “You see, I need a partner!”

“A partner?!” Lukas’s face contorted in confusion; this was the last thing he had imagined him say.

“Yes, I may have a great knowledge about Aura, and trust me, I know a good amount about machine building as well. But I would want to have a partner who can really help with the machinery. But also, you know, have some knowledge about Aura as well." Andaka fixed Lukas with a determined gaze, "And that is where you come in,” Professor Andaka smiled. 

Lukas was in shock. “You're giving me a job?” was all that he was able to say.

“YES! You have your final exam in the spring, correct? If you pass it, then you can come here and work for me… that is, if you want of course.” Andaka said as he placed the egg back into the box.

“I would love to!” Lukas almost yelled out, already excited to start.

"Well, I'll be looking forward to breaking a few eggs with you in the future, Lukas. You're as good an egghead as they come. A proper good egg." 

Lukas stared for a few seconds, then finally asked the question that had been running through his mind all this time. “Professor… are you hungry? Would you like me to make you some eggs?” Lukas joked.

At that, the professor clearly deflated. His shoulders slumped and his gaze never met Lukas'. “Yes, please. I don't remember the last time I ate, to be perfectly honest.”

…

Meanwhile outside the office window, Elliot grunted to himself as he heard the two making more egg jokes before leaving. “Got yourself a new job with the professor, ey?” he said to himself “I can’t believe you would go behind my back like that! And for that egghead? If you think I'm going to just let you win at everything. Think again!' He clenched his fists and grit his teeth, “Seems like I was too soft. Time for more drastic measures.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

[absolute-flaming-trash]

Pairing: Yandere!Alastor x Reader

SFW

Word Count: 2'627

Warnings: Yandere behaviour, Implied forced relationship, Implied captivity, Toxic relationship, Possessiveness, Invasion of personal space, Non-consensual touching.

Additional Notes: Do be kind, I have not written for this man before and find him exceedingly difficult.

Every week at the Hotel, there was something new Charlie had planned.

Trust exercises. Ice breakers. Activities meant to bring everybody closer together as a group. To try and get people to open up and show a side of vulnerability that - she believed - would help sinners take one step closer to salvation.

Most of them were awkward, and a lot of them never went as planned. A fact she realized and, after a near mental breakdown, had her promptly take advice from Vaggie and agree to try something different.

The task was very simple compared to the previous activities. She requested everybody to think about redemption and what it meant to them.

Thinking about the definition itself took little to no effort.

Redemption (noun): The action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil.

But it was clear that Charlie wanted more than just a quote from the dictionary. She wanted residents of the Hotel to mull over it while looking deep down into themselves so they could share their stance on the matter later on.

That was the tricky part.

From how you saw it, “saving yourself” from sin was easy enough to accomplish. ‘Just don’t be a dick and avoid the bad shit.’ was the first thought that came to mind, but where you hit a snag was based on what Charlie had shared about Heaven. According to her, even so much as breathing in Hell was enough to solidify your place in the inferno, yet she made it clear that actively resisting sin wasn’t something to go unrecognized.

It took a lot of effort, energy, and courage to do so, and it was hard to disagree even if Heaven didn’t see it that way.

Error was a bit harder. In your opinion, nobody could be saved from that, at least not entirely. Eventually, inevitably, you or someone else would do something wrong, it was just a matter of degree. It could be something as minor as bumping into somebody by accident or as major as Angel relapsing for what felt like the hundredth time, but it would happen and it was only a matter of time.

Charlie did bring up a rather good point, though. Apologizing when you realized you had done something wrong was the best thing someone could do, and it was the first step in the right direction.

You had to give her credit where it was due for that.

But evil was a different matter entirely.

Evil lurked everywhere in Hell. Across every street, around every corner, evil was out in the open for everyone to bear witness and see. None of it was hidden. None of it was meant to be hidden.

What would be the point? You and every other sinner were already in Hell - and many would argue that hiding it would be counterintuitive to being there in the first place.

Charlie tried to plead the case that everyone had good in them. A good that could be tweezed out if given the right chance, and the right environment, which the Hotel was perfect for.

You wish you could agree.

Evil was in the hotel itself, not that Charlie was fully willing to see it.

You believed she was careless there. Little Miss Bleeding Heart wanted to see the best in people, and by god did you ever want to know what it was like to see through such rose-tinted glasses, but you knew you never could. Not in this place.

Stepping a foot into the building was the worst thing you’d ever done because it showed you just how wrong you were about evil being so out in the open. It still had the ability to lurk, something you learned the moment you shook hands with Alastor.

You could see it on his face upon meeting him for the first time - the way Alastor’s perpetual grin widened upon seeing the goosebumps that lined your arms when he clasped your hand in his. No comment was ever made on the matter, but the way his lips peeled back to reveal the black of his gums before he pressed a brief kiss to your knuckles said enough.

Something utterly sinister reeked from him in a manner you couldn’t describe, so you took your own advice and applied the same thing you did when it came to sin.

Avoidance. As much as you could, at least.

Some moments were easier than others. The distinct metallic clack of Alastor’s microphone against the floor combined with a surge of radio static usually bought enough time for you to make whatever excuse you needed in order to leave before he arrived.

Other times you weren’t so lucky, and Charlie’s group meetings were usually to blame in that regard.

At first, you made a great deal of effort to put as much distance between yourself and the Radio Demon as you could, which worked for a time. Unfortunately, Alastor caught onto what you were doing much faster than you would’ve liked.

He reveled in it. You knew he did. After a while you had the gnawing suspicion he was purposefully going out of his way to make you as uncomfortable as possible for his own entertainment. You saw no other reason as to why he’d consistently move so close to you that you could literally feel him breathing down your neck.

Lately, he had adopted the skin-crawling habit of locking eyes with you the moment you stepped foot in the room and patting the seat beside him - reserved specifically for you. Accepting the gesture felt like swallowing nails, but being openly rude to Alastor was something that you knew better than to do.

Instead, you began to find excuses for skipping the meetings entirely and have Angel or Husker fill you in later, which was exactly what you were doing now.

“To be honest I wasn’t payin’ much attention,” Angel said while he scrolled through his phone, resting his chin in his upper left hand while his lower right swirled alcohol around in a glass. “Was the kind of thing that could’ve been sent in an email.”

You traced your finger around the rim of your own glass, its contents untouched. “Still, I want to know what I missed.”

“He’s right, it wasn’t anything special,” Husker replied, slinging a cloth over his shoulder from behind the bar. “Same old bullshit about salvation with a new coat of paint on top.”

A pang went through your chest, but you pushed it down. “So nothing new?”

Angel scoffed and looked up from his phone. “Trust me, dollface, you did yourself a favor.” He downed the rest of his drink in one go. “What were you doing anyways?”

“You know…” You replied with a shrug, glancing down. “I went out.”

Angel smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Out?”

“Yeah.” You tapped your nails against the edge of the glass. “Things were feeling a little claustrophobic, so I went out for some air.”

Husker made a noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah, I know how you feel, kid. This place is a mess.”

Angel tilted his head, placing his phone down on the bar and leaning forward a bit. “So where’d you go? Anywhere fun?”

“Where indeed~.”

All your movements went rigid. After a few seconds, you slowly turned your head to look over your shoulder to see Alastor standing barely a foot away from you, staring down at you with a tight, closed-lipped smile. You hadn’t heard him coming in the slightest, which you immediately could tell was intentional.

Whether he’d used his shadow or had actually stalked up behind you wasn’t something you wanted to think about, and if Angel or Husker picked up on the immediate tension, neither of them said anything about it.

“Hey, Smiles.” Angel greeted with his usual flirtation, placing the elbows of his upper arms on the bartop as he turned to face Alastor. “Fancy a drink? You look a little stiff” He gave Alastor a very long once over, “and I’ll have you know I know a few ways I can help relieve some… tension.” 

Alastor’s lips curled back to reveal his teeth, the muscle in his cheek spasming for a moment.

Mentally you were kissing Angel on the cheek for the save as you slowly picked your coat up off the bar and slipped it on, concealing the goosebumps already present on your skin. Husker gave you a glance from the side and gave a very slight shake of his head, silently advising you against your unspoken desire to leave.

“I assure you, such a thing is never going to happen.~”

“You sure?” Angel rested his lower right arm on his hip. “I have a few tricks that can loosen you up.”

The leather in Alastor’s gloves audibly squeaked as his grip tightened around the staff of his microphone and his attention immediately shifted back to you, ignoring Angel entirely.

“My dear,” His voice dripped with such a saccharine sweetness it made you feel sick, “Could I speak with you for a moment?”

Fewer combinations of words could instill such a unique feeling of encroaching dread all at once, but you refused to let it show as you nodded and turned your body on the bar stool to face him fully; waiting for him to say the first word.

His eye twitched ever so slightly.

“Privately.”

That made you swallow.

“Sure.” You slid off the bar stool, doing your best not to appear as reluctant as you felt.

“Lovely.~” He said, promptly turning on his heel and walking towards the staircase - expecting you to follow.

You glanced back towards Husker and Angel, each giving you looks of grim sympathy and confusion respectively before you took a deep breath and forced one foot in front of the other, following Alastor up the steps.

You thought he would talk along the way. Engage in some form of idle chit-chat where he’d be pulling the strings, or even hum along to the countless jazz tunes that he played in the halls over the Hotel’s sound system.

But no such music played and he remained silent. A few minutes into the walk you gathered enough courage to glance up at him and found his eyes locked straight forward, not even sparing you so much as a glance.

You averted your gaze, the hem of your sleeves suddenly the most fascinating thing you’d ever seen.

Eventually, he came to a stop, and he held out the end of his microphone to prevent you from going any further down the hallway.

“Here we are!” Rather than producing a key from his coat, a green flash emanated from the lock when he placed his hand on the handle and opened the door.

He all but leered at you as he gave a small bow that didn’t feel genuine in the slightest.

“After you.~”

Like the alleged gentleman he was, Alastor held the door open for you, eyes never leaving your form as you walked inside his suite.

The smell of dampness and soil hit you immediately.

Alastor’s suite wasn’t the worst thing you’d seen in Hell by a mile, however, it was still eerie beyond words. The skeletons that hung along the walls and mantlepiece of his fireplace became less complete and increasingly disorganized as they led further into the room - which itself gave way to a swamp-like environment halfway through. Undoubtedly a result of whatever hoodoo, voodoo bullshit he was capable of, and while it still wasn’t the worst you’d seen, it served its purpose thoroughly.

It creeped the shit out of you.

“Now, then.” Alastor clicked the door shut, his body half-facing yours as his hand still lingered on the doorknob. “I'm sure you have a good explanation for what you’ve been doing.~”

The immediate dryness in your throat was hard to ignore. You knew what he was talking about, and you knew that he knew, but you still attempted to buy some time as you tried to figure out what to do.

You cleared your throat. “I was just catching up with Angel and Husk-”

He chuckled, the sound like that of a radio shifting stations. “Don’t be coy.” His head turned towards you with a sickening, ossified crackle that bent his neck in a manner that made your stomach lurch. “You’ve been avoiding me, and I’d like to know why.”

Fuck.

“I haven’t.” Lying to Alastor was a mistake, but you still decided to risk it since it wasn’t entirely false. “There’s just been a lot on my mind recently.”

“Hmm.” Interest and something much worse flickered behind his eyes as he faced you fully with another crack of his vertebrae. “Such as~?”

You shook your head, looking away from him. “That’s private.”

There was a quick flash of red, and the tip of his microphone turned your face back towards him - the cool metal of the edge digging into the skin of your cheek. You had to bite back a grimace.

“Not when it concerns me.” His tone was sharp, a stark contrast to the faux politeness he was putting on before. He kept the tip of his microphone where it was to prevent your eyes from looking anywhere but him. “And trust me darling, when it comes to you, everything concerns me.”

His words twisted in your gut. “...I’m not sure what you mean.”

Alastor tutted, his smile widening once more. “Don’t be stupid, darling, it’s unbecoming of you.” The way he said it was patronizing, like he was scolding a child. “You know precisely what I mean, so I’m going to ask again, as much as I hate repeating myself.~”

Cool metal was replaced with the warmth of his hand as he tilted your head up and brought his face frighteningly close to yours.

“Why are you keeping yourself from me?”

It was an odd sensation. Being backed into a corner, both metaphorically and physically. A frightening one that all but yanked on your instincts to do whatever it meant to get the fuck out of there, but you knew that was the worst thing you could do.

Alastor was a predator, a creature designed to prey on those he deemed weaker, and turning your back on a predator would almost certainly trigger a series of events that would not bode well for you.

So you did the next worst thing.

You told him the truth.

“Because I can see you.” The words felt wrong to say out loud. “I can see you for what you are, I can feel the absolute malevolence that radiates off you in waves, and it’s suffocating.”

Saying any more was a horrendous idea, but you couldn’t help but add one last thing.

“And if I want any chance at leaving this god-forsaken place, I can’t be around you.”

The silence that stretched on afterward was deafening.

Mentally, you were bracing yourself. Alastor had killed people for far less, and you expected nothing different for saying something so daring to his face.

You could see it too, the anger that simmered underneath his gaze. You expected the red of his sclera to flash black and his antlers to extend with his body in a grotesque display before you were ripped to pieces while he laughed.

What you didn’t expect was for his eyes to narrow into slits and his expression shift into one that was far more genuine than you wanted it to be, and it was then you knew that being saved from this kind of evil was never going to happen.

“Oh, my dear, you don’t need to worry about something silly like that.” Alastor all but cooed.

“After all, what makes you think I’d ever let you leave?~”

© absolute-flaming-trash 2024. Do not repost, modify, copy, or claim.

[angelyuji]

homelander realizing that you could make a great mom to ryan and kidnaps you, but realizes you were partly why ryan is not like him??? yeeah im thinking thoughts.

tw // physical abuse, mental/emotional abuse, implied noncon, homelander being homelander

honestly the ending got pretty sad idk why i think its cuz i feel so bad for ryan becuz he deserves so much better than shitty homelander and i wish his mom didnt die poor baby angel :( anyway....

"what have bullshit are you teaching him." john's face, twisted with wrath, was only a few inches away from you. you try to inch back, but he grabs your face. gripping your jaw with one hand, he forces you to look back at him. "answer the fucking question, (y/n). what poison- what LIES are you teaching my son?" your face hurts and you feel tears well up in your eyes.

"dad, she's not doing-" ryan tries to interject, to stop his father, but john raises a hand at him.

"don't. don't protect her. talk now, (y/n), before i really get angry." his eyes flash red and you feel your heart stop.

you sniffle, "john, i swear i'm not teaching him anything. i don’t know-” before you could finish, john backhands you, sending you to the floor. your vision goes white from the pain and you can’t help the screaming sobs coming out of you. when you look up, you see ryan in tears. you can’t even muster a smile to make him feel better.

“ryan, go to your room.”

“but-”

“NOW.” you hear ryan’s defeated steps go up the stairs. your scalp stings as john grabs a fistful of your hair to pull you up. “my son is the most powerful creation on the planet alongside me. i will not let you turn him into a pathetic, worthless worm like you. understand, (y/n)?”

his face is close to yours. you can feel his fury and you nod, afraid to speak.

"say it. say you understand."

you choke, "i understand... i'm sorry, john." his grip loosens and you collapse to the floor, shaking wth sobs. you hear him huff quietly to himself.

"so fragile and weak, why would you think ryan should be like you and not me, his father?" you look up at him and he stares down at you. you try to speak, but he holds a hand up. "i don't want to hear it." you look down. the room fills with silence, interrupted occasionally with ryan's footsteps from upstairs. "fucking pathetic." you hear him mumble. "go upstairs and collect yourself. i don't want to hear your sniffles when i fuck you tonight." he rolls his eyes and waves you away.

you stumble up the stairs and finally make it to the bedroom, collapsing into the bathroom. you sit in the bathtub, knees against your chest, sobbing.

"y/n?" a small voice comes from in front of the door. you quickly wipe your tears.

you clear your throat, "come in, sweetheart!" you watch as the door is opened, hesitantly. ryan comes in, slowly, and closes the door behind him. he looks at you, eyes filled with guilt. he sits down next to the bathroom. "you're growing up so fast..." you try to smile and brush your hand through his hair.

ryan puts his head down on the edge of the bathtub, "i'm so sorry, (y/n)..." your heart hurts and you cup his face in your hands.

"none of this is your fault, ryan. you did nothing wrong." you watch tears fall faster down his face. you pull him into a hug. the edge of the bathtub was digging into your skin, but you felt ryan relax and you knew you could be in pain for a little while longer.

[duskoon]

Yandere!Toru x Reader (General Headcanon):

A/n: It ain't a request, but oh god I simp for this man so hard. He is my personal favorite Jojo villain so far, closely followed by Pucci then Valentine. It's shame he is overhated and underrated, so I'll give him the love that he deserves. Rejoice Toru lovers, I got your backs. Also, Jojolion is severely underrated and deserve some love. First Jojo post, let’s go.

Tw: Afab!reader, Jojolion Spoilers, Canon Divergence, Yandere themes, Obsessive/Possessive behaviours, Toxic relationship (Somewhat of a parasitic relationship), Co-dependancy, Stalking (Classic Toru behavior right here), Abandonment issues, Implied murder, Manipulation, Creepy undertones, Age difference (Reader is 25+ and Toru is canonically 87+, rock humans can live up to 120 and age very slowly in comparison to carbon-based humans), Interspecies relationship, Abuse of Authority, Medical malpractice (illegal usage of sedatives), WoU.

Note: Text = “Purple” = Wonder of U speaking.

╭──────༺♡༻──────╮ [Now playing: The Scientist] 𝟙:𝟘𝟙 ─────|───── 𝟝:𝟙𝟘 ↻ ◁ 𝕀𝕀 ▷ ↺ 𝕍𝕠𝕝𝕦𝕞𝕖: ■■■■■□□□ ╰──────༺♡༻──────╯

❦ “Tell me your secrets and ask me your questions..” The lyrics were blaring loudly through his earbuds, as Toru hummed along with it. In the reverie he was engrossed in, he accidentally collided onto someone. Consequently, dropping his phone in the process.

❦ Before the phone could clash with the ground and break, however, a gentle hand took hold of it and rose up to pass the device to him.

❦ “My apologies, sir. I was in a bit of hurry, you see. Please... Find it in your heart to forgive me.”

❦ Soft, yet a kind slant in the stranger’s voice snapped him from his previous stupor. As his mauvish-crimson irises wandered to meet her (e/c) ones before taking his earbuds off.

❦ “A-Ah. You don't need to apologize, miss. If anything, it's me who should apologize. I must thank you for your trouble, though.”

❦ Toru spoke with an alluring tilt in his tone, almost too charming if it weren't for the hollow eyes of his. He was the master of both guises and words. Like a jester that wore multiple masks to appease his audience.

❦ He had lived amongst organic humans for so long. Observing and adapting to their behaviors accordingly. Integrating in, yet never fully becoming one of them.

❦ He could truly never become fully human, Toru was painfully aware of that, even if he wished to be one. It's pointless to pursue such unattainable endeavour, especially if it goes against his inherent nature.

❦ The only way for him, as he thoroughly believes, to be as close to one is by accomplishing something grand. That way he’ll leave his mark permanently. That way he won't be forgotten, nor will his existence amount to nothing.

❦ Looking at the lady, he could see her wearing a navy blue medical scrub and a familiar lab coat. Is she a doctor in TG University Hospital? If so, how come he wasn't notified? He knew everyone there, aside from her. Perhaps a new hire? His curiosity has been piqued.

❦ “How intriguing…” The dark haired man thought to himself, as he shoved both his phone and earbuds into his yellow pant’s pockets. Toru chose to follow behind her. Not too far that he loses her out of his peripheral sight, but not near enough that it alarms her of his presence.

❦ In his eyes, it wasn't stalking at all but rather an observation to be made. After all for the majority of his long isolated life, he has been detached due to his “unique” circumstances.

❦ There’s something that allured him to her, was it perhaps the working of her stand? Was it fate itself? He wants to—no, must know. Yusaho was a means to an end for him, albeit you—for some odd reason—had managed to tug at his rocky heart.

~~~

❦ Due to his nature as a Rock Human… I personally believe Toru would take a long time, before he even realises his affections toward his darling is genuine and not born out of ulterior motives. Unlike, what had transpired between him and Yasuho in the past.

❦ Maybe it was your indiscriminate kindness that had enticed his voracious attention, especially since it was out of good heart, just like how a Venus flytrap secretes a sweet nectar to ensnare an unknowing prey into it’s grasp.

❦ Or by some sheer luck, he had somehow managed to flee the Higashikata’s before they could finish him off. His life was on a single thread ready to fall at any moment, if it weren't for your intervention.

❦ Perhaps you were a miracle worker of some sort that could cure the rock disease; That he had sustained from the equivalent exchange with the Higashikata’s youngest child, or you have a stand that could heal it? It doesn't matter the reason, he doesn't understand why… But he feels indebted to you.

❦ “Urgh.. Hah.. Thank you.. Thank you for saving me..” Toru muttered weakly, looking deeply into your beautiful eyes as you carefully stitched his wounds close to prevent external bleeding. It was beautiful to him. Just like the sheen of rainbow after a long storm. The eyes of his saviour. If you weren't, then one of Wonder of U endless calamities would have already stroke you.

❦ “Shhhh.. Rest your mind, I'll take care of you.. Don't stress yourself. By heavens… what… to… you?” You replied back softly, carrying the injured oddly dressed stranger to your home. Your mellifluous voice—in spite of cutting off—soothed his fears, as he closed his eyes. No longer dreading what Toru thought was his near death, because the dark haired man knows he’ll come back just fine. Your words and actions remained etched into his mind.

❦ One thing for sure… Once Toru comes into terms with his feelings, things will roll so fast and unbeknownst to you. You’ll suddenly feel scrutinizing eyes following you everywhere—whether be it his own (most likely), one of his cohorts, or even his own stand under a guise of a close relative—most likely an older man—of your own. It's not like he had a hand in said relative’s death who may or may not figured what he is up to, it was merely an… accident.

❦ Toru is extremely obsessive, as he is attentive to his darling’s habits and needs and personal preferences to a tee. From knowing ordinary things like their favorite genre of music, videogames, flowers, to their favorite food, and all the way to their medical records (Ex: If his darling’s family—by extension his darling— had a record of a hereditary diseases he’d know, to monitoring their menstrual cycle, his darling’s exact blood pressure and whatnot, and etc..) and other personal information.

❦ Whatever information regarding his darling he will covet it like a greedy dragon that preserve it’s treasures, whether through his status as a head doctor in the hospital or/and as the leader of Locacaca Organization. No one would ever suspect him of doing that, and if they do… Well.. It's a shame that they’ll met a misfortune end, eh?

❦ “Don't worry, sunflower. I will protect you, provide for you, and alleviate any kind pain you have. What kind of lover would I be, if I can't do all of that? There is absolutely nothing that I won't do to guarantee your safety and happiness except if it meant you're going to abandon/replace me. You're my first priority!”

❦ Paired with his obsessiveness, is his manipulative and sly nature. Don't let his playful and laid-back nature fool you. What lurks under his unassuming mask, is a dark and selfish urge to obtain you all for himself. Cut you off from the greedy world, only for his eyes to relish and keep.

❦ With his forbidden knowledge of his darling intricacies and inner secrets, the rock human will emulate whatever you like and would condemn what you hate. However, he is smart enough to share something of his own interests lest you suspect him.

❦ “Toru-san, It’s nice to see you again here! But, why are you here? Aren't you busy at the moment?” You asked; Voice soft, sweet, and innocent unaware of the “young” doctor’s true intentions. You were about to leave your office to head back to your home, but Toru’s sudden appearance has halted you. It's quite surprising that he precisely knew where you had worked, let alone the exact time your shift ended. Must be a coincidence, or is it?

❦ Your ardor and charity was one of a kind. Toru couldn't help but yearn for it, yet he only desires it for him and himself only. It irritates him when you share it with others, but he hides such distaste beneath a veneer of charisma.

❦ After all, he doesn't want you to be scared of him. He wants you to come to him out of your own will, and vie for him like he does to you. He is a patient man, after all. Whatever competitor/s he has for your heart are already taken care off with utter apathy toward their untimely demise.

❦ “I just finished my shift, sunflower.. I came here to ask you.. If you would like to accompany me to the theatre? I heard they'll be playing some of Tchaikovsky works, and I thought about inviting you along since you're a big fan of his works…” The young man offered, seeing your eye light up in excitement and brought a smile onto his unblemished face.

❦ “Really?!” You exclaimed elated, before deflating as you remember your current situation.

❦ “I uh.. really want to, but I… can't go.. Well.. I have a low budget at the moment… hahaha..” You continued shyly, yet that didn't stop the charming man from pointing his pointer finger ontop of your delicate lips almost to shush you in a teasing manner.

❦ “Don’t worry, If money is your concern… Then I can just cover for you! A diligent employee like you deserve a break from work. After all, stress is the greatest killer. Let me relieve some of your burden!” Toru muttered offering his right hand for you to take, while his left pointer finger is still caressing your lips.

❦ “Bu—” Before you could argue back, the dark haired man interrupted you with a playful smirk. “It is no trouble at all, sunflower.. You do not need to repay me with anything. Your presence is more than enough for me.”

❦ He is very lucid about his unhealthy obsession. Instead of rejecting it, however, he wholeheartedly accepts it. Due to his nature, he sees it as normal. Wouldn't you like to be pampered and loved like a pet?

❦ Toru is affectionate, and a tad bit physically clingy. Nothing too alarming at hindsight. Do you blame him? He had been so alone for so long without any connections, and whoever came after him succumbs to his stand’s lethal ability spurring his loneliness even further.

❦ All except you for some reason. Was it your stand that is protecting you? It doesn’t matter. He had a taste of you, and he won’t let you go. Toru refuses to go back to the agonizingly meaningless existence that he had before meeting you.

❦ What triggers him so quickly is the idea of his darling forgetting, rejecting or/and replacing him. It is his primal fear above anything else. You are the only person, who made him think of someone else besides himself.

❦ It’s enough he was rejected once due to his youthful appearance, he won't let that happen again especially with you. He had already latched onto you.

❦ “Ahahah.. Sunflower.. Please don't leave me.. I'll be good.. I'll be what you want me to be.. Just please, I beg you, don't leave me.” Toru dropped on his knees, with his two hands clutching yours tightly in a desperate manner.

❦ To an untrained eyes, you might be in the wrong for breaking this poor man’s heart. Yet, you knew better than anyone how dangerous this man was. How his obsession run deeper than still water. Or in this case, endless stream of blood and death.

❦ If only you knew back then, saving him would lead him to slaughter anyone who came close to you. All in the name of protecting and loving you.. How delusional.. Love begets altruism, not selfishness. Though, you doubt he could comprehend that.. Left completely in the dark about his inhuman nature.

❦ You’d have let him to crumble like dust, but it was far too late for that now. As he brought your hands, to where his heart supposed to be.

❦ It is often said that human response to danger was flight or fight, yet there was a third option that is often forgotten about. Freeze.

❦ Taking advantage of his beloved’s shock, he swiftly administered a sedative into her body. Slowly watching her body fall limp. Before your head could reach the concrete, he held you close to his chest.

❦ “Tell you I'm sorry. You don't know how lovely you are…” The rock human muttered softly, carrying your unconscious body to his “home” that he had bought for you. Away from civilization, just the two of you living together forevermore. The notion that you're dependant on him for everything, puts a smile on his face. He wants to be your world, just like you are to him.

❦ Escaping him is pointless, since the rock human has his connections everywhere. That, and his obsession for you had gone so far, that even his stand has inhibited some of it.

❦ Whenever Toru goes in his habitual sleep cycle like most rock humans do, Wonder of U most likely is keeping watch over you. It's very apparent since disasters and freak accidents follow you like a moth to a flame. It may not harm you directly, but the guilt that eats your mind for being the indirect cause of the bystander’s death will prevent you from trying again.

❦ “I must commend you! Not only were you clever to discover a way through my abilites, yet found a way to run away from my user. However, it's no use fleeing from us… You will only bring calamities to innocent bystanders… You do not wish for that, would you? The moment our eyes laid on you, human, it was preordained for us to be one. It would be best for you to make amends with your fate.”

[morgan-angel]

I wish people talked to me the same way I talk to them.

I wish people made passionate responses to my vents like I do for them.

I wish I could read and feel the same amount of support, dedication, and reflexion to people's responses, as I do for them.

I wish I could meet someone who can fully understand me, who can fully cares about me and my emotions, who can tell me the words I always wanted to hear.

But that f*cking person is myself.

Sometimes I even cry when I write responses for other people's vent. Sometimes I even had panic attacks, freaking mental breakdowns and more. I truly feel and understand what they said. That's why I "always say the things you wanted to hear". But nobody's ever doing that for me.

I could literally talking about the most vile things and people will be like "aww man" or "://" or "that sucks".

I know some of y'all truly don't know what to say. And that's okay.

But when I talk about about parental abuse, kil*ing myself, being sequestered at my house and all and your response is "good luck"... You're not. Fucking. HELPING.

And then you're wondering why I didn't talk for 3 days.

I know y'all aren't supposed to be my therapist. But you're supposed to be there for me. To give me love and support.

And I clearly don't feel this while reading your f*cking messages.

[blaisenova]

what's up gamers, sorry for disappearing for a while there. life's been kicking my ass lately LMAO

to all the people who've sent in requests, i'm working on them!! as for why they're taking so long, see above.

been writing some stuff on and off for a bit, and i'm sure my fellow writers know how it is. when inspiration for something hits, you just kinda shit it out and then move on. i try to put a little more effort into my requests LOL. but i love killer and i also love hurting him, so this is what came out of that. yippee!!

this one goes out to all the people with complicated romantic lives!!!!!!! i see you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

so, take this piece of shit to tide you over. thank you guys for your patience <3

content is below the cut due to length and sensitive subjects. as always, it can be found on ao3 in the reblogs if that's your cup of tea.

cw/tw: major character death (offscreen, but a main point), implied/referenced toxic relationship, implied/referenced suicidal ideation, an all around shitty situationship

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Grains of dust fell between his fingers and into his joints, making them crackle when he gripped the faded red scarf in his hands. It was so like when his brother had died, and there was something poetic about that thought, and that poetry was the highest insult the multiverse could have asked him to endure. Nevertheless, there was a distinct lack of snow, and, though his surroundings were deeply familiar – the cool toned darkness of the castle’s atmosphere, broken only by the warm, orange glow of the castle’s mounted lanterns – they would never be as familiar as limbo.

Dust piled beneath his knees, scraping against the bone and leaving it raw, but all Killer could do was press his forehead into the pile before him and hold his breath to prevent it from dispelling; to be as close as possible without disturbing the remains.

When a voice rang out from the shadows, he didn’t startle; its presence had been imminent from the start. It held the same chilled, deep tones of the castle, broken only by the warm dredges of poorly concealed laughter behind its words. Despite himself, Killer found that the tension in his bones melted away at the sound.

“So, you finally killed him.”

It wasn’t a question. There was no surprise.

Voice hoarse, Killer laughed, and the dust darted away from his breath and stuck to the liquid determination that marred his cheeks. “He was hurting me.”

Beside him, someone knelt. Fingers, dark with viscous negativity, ran through the particles and pressed it together testingly. The other hummed, then shook the dust from his hands, as if it were something dirty. Killer shouldn’t have felt so offended at the thought.

“Well, obviously,” Nightmare responded, voice flat with disinterest. “It’s about time that you did something about it.”

Clutching the scarf to his chest, Killer’s soul wobbled unsteadily, and he wheezed. “Do you think– Will– He’ll… He’ll be better when he comes back, right?”

At that, came Nightmare’s laughter – warm, comforting, and Killer hated himself at the feeling – and a hand came to rest against his back. Fingers danced what might have been soothing circles over the fabric of his jacket, coaxing out small noises of misery that Killer hadn’t realised he was holding back. “He’s not like you, Killer,” Nightmare hummed. “He won’t come back.”

At that, came Killer’s laughter – warm, comforting, and Killer hated himself at the feeling – and he curled further into the dust as it continued to try and run away. “Oh,” he breathed. Then, again, “oh. That’s– That’s not what I wanted.”

There was a beat of silence, and Killer breathed in the judgement in the lack of words. “Then,” Nightmare finally drawled, steady in a way Killer could not be, “what did you want?”

A sound was pulled from his chest at the question, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I just wanted it to stop hurting,” he hissed. “I… I didn’t want to lose him forever.”

With another hum, Nightmare’s fingers pressed more firmly into Killer’s back, drawing him out of wheezing breaths he hadn’t realised he’d been taking. “Why not, if he was hurting you?”

“Because I loved him,” Killer spat; immediately; bitterly. Then, through a lump in his throat, “love. Because I love him.”

For a moment, Nightmare’s steady ministrations faltered, as if the admission surprised him, though Killer was certain he must have known; must have felt it even through every other emotion that had led them here. Just as soon as he began to miss the touch, though, they started up again, and, once more, he choked on a sob as his soul spasmed against his chest. Each breath was suffocating and filled with dust, coating his bones from the inside out and sticking to him in a way that made him feel sick.

“I didn’t want this,” Killer repeated, like a plea. “What did I do wrong?”

It ran deeper than a slash across the chest and bones crumbling between his fingers, blood painting his sweater bright red. It must have. It must have been more than the final blow.

“I– I fucked up somehow,” he wheezed. “If I just knew how, I… I could have done better. Should have done better. Then, maybe…”

“There’s no point in trying to fix it now,” Nightmare chided, with a subtle gentleness that Killer might not have recognised if not for the tenderness of the hand that pressed between his shoulder blades reassuringly. “You’re agonising over your relationship with a corpse. It cannot hear your apologies.” A beat. “Although, perhaps, it wouldn’t matter even if it could.”

Sockets squeezing shut, Killer bit back a wail. His knuckles ached from the force with which he clung to the scarf, and the soreness extended to his chest, right where his soul sat. “I hurt him,” he said. “He’s gone.” 

All at once, he sat up, and Nightmare’s hand darted away in surprise, cyan socket wide. Dust speckled the dark streaks across Killer’s cheeks and clung to the bone where he’d feverishly pressed his skull against the pile, as if it might feel his touch and spring back to life. Dull, pale eyelights trembled in his sockets, and the expression of pity before him was blurry and unclear, though, something about that was a mercy. 

At the thought, Killer scrubbed at his sockets furiously, trying to deny himself the grace he didn’t deserve. The moment his vision cleared, however, it was blurred again by tears. Idly, he found himself thankful for the threadbare cloth in his hands, without which his fingers would have found their way to his soul and tried to pry the feelings out themselves; another mercy he refused to indulge.

“He’s gone,” Killer repeated. “I was in love with him. And, now, he’s gone, and it’s my fault. I hurt him.”

Through fuzzy vision, Killer watched Nightmare bare his teeth; it could have been a snarl, or maybe a grimace. “You’ll live.”

“I don’t want to live,” he wailed, unable to stop himself. He blinked, and tar-like tears smeared down his cheeks. They dropped down to his chin, then fell into his lap, and a choked sound of anguish left him as he realised the scarf was stained with them. The damage was done, though, and he sobbed louder as he pressed the cloth to his face. His words were muffled through the barrier, “I loved him. I loved him. Why did I hurt him? Why did he hurt me?”

“The multiverse is cruel,” Nightmare said, “and we are but inhabitants of it, carefully crafted to perpetuate its cruelty. You asked too much when you sought out happiness.”

“Then,” he breathed, pulling himself together long enough to speak, “what was I supposed to do?”

“You shouldn’t have fallen in love,” came the answer, simply. “Certainly, not you. Certainly, not with someone like him.”

His breath faltered once more, and something giddy made his soul tremble. A soft rattling emanated throughout his bones, nausea making some deep, magic based part of him broil and burn. He made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and held the scarf over his eyes as if going blind to the situation would make it disappear. “Maybe I deserve everything he ever did.”

With a huff that might have been laughter, Nightmare hummed, “Maybe you do.” He gestured to the messy pile of dust – the thin fabric of the scarf easily showing the shifting shadows – and Killer shuddered at the reminder. “And, maybe he did, too.”

At the notion, Killer’s shoulders sagged, and, tiredly, he shook his head. “Not him,” he whispered, reverent. “Never him.”

Again, came that laugh, and there was something frustrated in its bitter tones. “Oh, what a pedestal you’ve placed him on,” he drawled.

“Why don’t you care?” Killer spat, and anger sparked alongside despair like a match to gasoline. All of the exhaustion from before was driven away, and fevered fury took its place. His soul spasmed painfully as he finally yanked the scarf back down to face reality head on, staring Nightmare in the eye with a strange sort of determination to condemn himself. “He was yours, just as I am. Why don’t you care that he’s gone? Why don’t you care what I did to him?”

Refusing the vitriol that he’d been met with, Nightmare’s tone remained carefully even. “And, forget what he did to you?” His head tilted to the side curiously, and he regarded Killer’s crime with indifference. “You’re hardly being fair. It’s not as if you haven’t killed others for much less. It’s not as if he’s not just as replaceable as you.”

Tiredness returned, like a weight in his bones or a fist around his soul, making him wilt. Unconsciously, he leaned towards his king, and Nightmare mercifully closed the distance between them, allowing Killer’s skull to rest against his shoulder. Shame burned alongside misery as he found miniscule comfort in the familiar worthlessness. “No. He was different. He tried,” he mumbled. Then, insistently, “He tried, and he loved me. Who else has ever done that? For me? I don’t deserve it.”

“And, yet, it wasn’t enough,” Nightmare replied, and Killer couldn’t help but cringe at the callousness.

“Well, it should have been,” he persisted. “It should have been enough for me.”

“And, yet,” he repeated, “it wasn’t.”

Scoffing, Killer shifted, pulling his knees up to his chest. He hoped that he looked as small as he felt. “Gee, thanks, Nightmare,” he murmured. “Like I wasn’t already feeling like a piece of shit.” Then, with another scoff and marked bitterness, “I mean– Shit, it’s not even like I was asking for very much, right? Or– Or, I was, I guess, but it shouldn’t be so hard… right? How many people are there in the multiverse that have perfectly healthy relationships? Where they feel like people? Why not me?”

He ran a hand over his skull with an exasperated laugh, pressing his forehead against his knees. “I mean, I know why not. I’m not a person, but is it so much to ask that someone pretends? That… That I don’t fuck everything up without even trying? That I don’t deserve to be hurt?” he hissed, sharply. “That I don’t earn mistreatment simply by being?”

Thick, black rivulets of determination fell from his sockets, and Killer raised his head once more, meeting the chilling cyan of Nightmare’s gaze and feeling an awful lot like he was asking for answers he didn’t really want. “He was trying, Night. I know he was. I saw it,” he insisted, though his words grew soft as his shoulders slumped forward again. “What does it say about me that even when someone is trying not to hurt me, I make them do it anyway? Without even meaning to?” 

He cringed, the tips of his fingers pressing into his bone with a satisfying sting. “And, then, I hurt them back. God, like I don’t deserve it when they do it, right? Like– Like they did?” His gaze went back to the pile of dust. “Like he did? I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t, but I did it anyway, knowing it would hurt, because I’m so selfish that I wanted it to stop hurting me. Like it would ever stop hurting, even if he was gone.”

Finally, Killer fell silent, with a shrug that he could only hope would communicate everything he could no longer force past the lump in his throat and the way his soul wobbled painfully in front of his chest, fighting to make him feel all of the emotions he’d crushed down and bottled up for so long. His sockets burned unpleasantly, but he didn’t dare blink, afraid that the motion would start up a sickening sort of sobbing that he wouldn’t be able to stop until he passed out or died. An unfitting way to go for someone like him; it would hurt, but not enough; never enough, when wallowing in his own self-pity.

When he looked up, he was met with the scrutinising glare of Nightmare’s eyelight, and he felt himself unconsciously straighten, as if that would make him appear any less pathetic.

“Do you know what I think?” Nightmare began, haltingly. “I think… you’re reading too much into the actions of someone who was just as broken as you. Regardless of his intentions, he hurt you, and, now, you’ve hurt him. And, the worst part?” he hummed, almost pleasantly. “It was entirely inevitable. You shouldn’t have fallen in love, Killer.”

Not trusting himself enough to speak, all he could do was nod.

“Pick up the dust of your ruined relationship,” Nightmare continued, and he gently knocked Killer’s skull away from his shoulder as he urged him towards the scattered pile. “Store it away somewhere that you won’t forget; close to your heart, but not in it. Then, move on. There’s nothing more you can do now but that.”

Shaking eyelights, darting from the dust to the tattered scarf gripped between his fingers, stared down at the macabre display of an end that was, in many ways, poetry; poetry of insult. He swallowed his agony. “Will that make it stop hurting?”

Without looking up, Killer could feel the way that Nightmare regarded him, somewhere between disdain and pity. “No,” he said. “But, it’s a start.”

Another dust filled urn on the mantel, each gathering a thin layer of grime that dulls the shine of their golden casket with time. This one would remain golden for a while, like the last, marred by nothing but fingerprints from when he would take it from its place and hold it in his arms. But, eventually, it, too, would lose its beckoning lustre, and its tarnish would mean healing.

Another dust filled urn on the mantel, and here’s to many more.

[elliesspacee]

Been left on delivered for 2hrs, might as well just go on and kms, to make him feel bad.

[karen-chasity]

“Thanks, char.”

[karen smiled back, tilting her head to the side as she looked at the time, and realized her order was finished.]

“Oh— alright..well, I have to head home, but..do you wanna come with? We haven’t really talked like this in awhile.”

[She sits at a table in a corner at beanie's, carefully sipping her hot tea. She opens a book and starts reading. She's wearing her usual long skirt and dorky sweater.]

( @dorky-cat-sweaters )

(ooc: hellooo! Feel free to answer this whenever! Absolutely no pressure! /gen)

[it was a quiet day beanie’s, only a few people were inside. Eventually, Karen walked in with her purse, going over to the counter]

[strange-doll-child]

M o a r

[hazyaltcare]

A gold and neutral green moodboard with themes of yellow flowers for a Frisk (Undertale) who was in an inappropriate relationship with Chara and Asriel.

Mod Haze (❤️Alice❤️)

[the-sidekick-club]

The Haven

Written by:

@heroes-villains-side-blog★​​@tratieisdabest★@just-a-space-rabbit​​  

TW:Implied toxic relationship, Spies, Weapons

❘〣❘〣❘★❘〣❘〣❘

It was a gloomy morning as Kim walked down the old avenue. In the summer, it was filled with a bunch of different old shops and restaurants, and was a very popular place for tourists who were more drawn to the historical parts of Nizorro. 

But on a rainy early autumn day like this, it was almost empty. 

The old avenue was also the last place you think anyone would hide the infamous and unofficial Villain community center, The Haven.

Kim was not so focused on seeing the shops around them as they were concentrating on moving as silently as possible; they'd begun using their powers the moment they entered the street, hoping to go unnoticed. Normally they would just sneak into the entrance easily without being seen, but today they took no chances.

Going up to the little shoe shop with the bright blue door, Kim quickly slid inside the main entrance. After checking that they were alone they said the latest safe words “New Save” and within seconds a hidden door opened up, revealing a set of stairs going down lit by false torches. It almost looked like something out of a video game. 

“Hey, Kim! You're here earlier than usual,” commented a cheerful voice from behind the counter as Kim entered the medieval-styled tavern.

“Fantasy style for another week?” Kim joked, trying to calm and hide their nerves. 

“Well, I can’t redecorate all the time!” Dan joked, just as Kim came up to him. 

‘Oh, you very much so could,’ Kim thought, but would never dare say that to him out loud. 

Dan had, at least in Kim’s eyes, the coolest power to ever exist. The power of game code summoning let him drag out any person or object from a video game that was nearby. 

No one knows if the characters that he summons are under his control, or if they have a sentience of their own and just choose to listen to him. Still, though, to see video game characters in the real world, breaking the fourth wall in the coolest way possible? How could it not be the best?

That was how The Haven always hid from the agency, as Dan would simply summon The Haven back into its own custom little game and quickly move it somewhere else. But it was also how Dan had a lot of fun changing everything up all the time with ease; when it's your own game, you don’t have to pay for items from the "shop". 

“What can I do for you?” Dan said, giving a small smile, before immediately dropping it as Kim looked worryingly around the tavern, their eyes latching onto the few people that were there. 

Most seemed to be asleep from a night of partying, while others were deep in conversation or negotiation. This was a common sight here in the Haven, being the best neutral ground for all kinds of villains in Nizorro. 

“Kim?” Dan said in a lower voice. 

“I…” Kim spoke barely above a whisper, “I need your help…” Dan seemed taken aback by the words before yelling out, “Lara! Take over for me!” 

A tall, slightly scary looking woman came out of the kitchen door as Dan got up to move. 

“Come on, Kim. Let’s go to my office to talk.”

…

The two entered the office and as Kim looked around, they became a bit more at ease. It was a stark comparison to the medieval tavern they just walked out of, having almost a cozy coffee shop feeling. There was an area reserved for almost every game you could think of. But there were also more typical office things; a lightly stained wood desk, an overly worked computer, tape, and many bookshelves which held both books, games and some vintage video game consoles that he enjoyed collecting. There were also a few normal weapons, which was typical for a villain. But Dan, seeing as it was his office, was only focused on Kim. 

“What can I help you with, Kim?” Dan asked in a gentle voice. With most people he would not have been as patient as he was, but he and Kim had known each other for a good while now. Dan and Kim’s ex-mentor, Lukas, went way back, as they were old friends who had managed to find one another again when Lukas and Kim moved to Nizorro. 

He studied them closely, as Kim shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. They had got thinner since they left Shadows over a year ago, and more shut in emotionally. “Is this about Vulcan?” he asked.

Kim’s eyes shot towards them. It seems that Dan guessed right. He, like many others, was shocked when Kim had left Shadows, and they were even more shocked when later on it was revealed that Kim was the one behind the mask of Vulcan's new top henchperson, Void. 

Dan didn't believe it was them until Kim themselves admitted it to him. He remembered how hurt Shadows was from everything. So, while he didn't want to push Kim, he wished the two would reconnect. And Kim seemed to be shrinking into themself at the mention of their current mentor. “I need you to hide something for me.” Kim was staring at Dan with such worry that he couldn't refuse. 

“What is it that you want me to hide?” Dan asked in a blank tone. Kim couldn't tell if he approved or didn't, only that he was willing. 

At that, Kim brought out a small box with something inside. “Vulcan wanted me to get this for him, but… he can't be trusted with it. It’s too dangerous!”

Dan carefully removed the package from Kim's hands. Holding it in his hand, he studied it closely, trying to figure out how something so small can be so dangerous. As Kim went on, “I don’t know for how long it should be kept hidden. But I soon need to leave on a mission for almost two months. If it’s too much to keep it hidden I can take it back after then but, in the meantime, please don’t tell ANYONE about it. Especially Shadows…”

His eyes returned to Kim’s as he gave a small smile, before going and locking the object inside a hidden safe. He then reassured Kim, "That Vulcan is strong, but I'm stronger, especially here." At that, he gestured to the office, filled with dozens of video games; potential weapons. "Your… package will be safe from him." 

Kim let out a breath of relief, some of the tension in their shoulders loosening. "Thank you so much, Dan. I owe you one."

"It's nothing kid. Though I am curious, are you safe from him?" Dan asked, nose scrunched up. 

Kim, who had started to turn to the door, froze, before slowly turning back. After a short silence, they spoke in a low voice “Can I ask you a second favor?” 

Dan nodded silently. He'd noticed the avoidance, but didn't do anything to stop them. 

“If I don’t return after the mission, can you give the object to Shadows for me?”

“Of course, I will. And neither of those are favors; you don't owe me for this.”

After that, Kim quickly left, but not before Dan was able to give them some of their favorite food to take home. 

But, as Kim went up the stairs, they did not notice Hawk Soul, one of Vulcan’s business partners, sitting in the corner and keeping a close eye on their every move. “Well… Kim having a secret chat with Dan? I wonder what Vulcan is going to say to that,” she smirked.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

[cruilty-ink]

Yipeee I finished this 2 minute animation

Would recommend reading tags before watching, cus there's a lot of triggers

[madeofmosaic]

all snakes tangle up

a.k.a. i wrote a poem about... a few topics in one

"you know I never mean it", you say, you always say that.

you're crying, even if I didn’t feel the tears running down my collarbone, I would still know.

because that's just how you are. you lash out, get angry and yell at me. you occasionally punch the wall or break my wine glasses. I stopped offering to clear the blood off of your knuckles after a few time this happened.

I also stopped buying new wine glasses and hid the rest, away from your angry, harsh and calloused hands. now your hands wrap around my thin neck instead of delicate glass.

after that you go away, sometimes you go for a cigarette, or you visit the pub down the street. I always wonder what you do when I can’t smell none of it on you.

I always wonder what went south, where did we go so wrong.

I wonder what goes through your mind when you see blinding red behind your eyelids and on your hand.

I ponder what you do when you don’t come home to me for the night, and only come back when the sun start to rise above the sleeping city.

but without a beat, you still crawl back to me. crying, begging and apologizing.

“I’m sorry” you say, hugging me from behind, burying your head in the crook of my neck. your eyelashes gently sweep over my shoulder and I can feel the tears that are stinging your eyes. how I wish I could swipe them away and make it all okay.

“you know I never mean it” you’re crying. your tears fall to my collarbones and pool at the dip of it. I don’t pay attention to it or you any more.

sometimes I wish I could cry with you, hold you in my arms like I always used to. that was then, and now is now, so I don’t share my tears with you.

“please don’t leave. you’re all I have left, I could never live without you.” half-truth, half lie. perhaps I’m the last person on earth that still cradles your face, but you would never struggle without me.

you would find another girl. a prettier one, a naiver one, a more forgiving one and forget about me. you wouldn’t hold me when I call out your name and beg you to come back, the same way I do with you.

perhaps if I keep you wrapped around my fingers tight enough, you won’t leave me. right?

I stay wrapped around your fingers, too, just tight enough so I don’t choke in your hold.

we will stay just this way.

her body between my soft hands.

and my throat in her fists.

[silent0utspace]

Argon Sonaris!!

The guy!!

My evil fucking Absol Gijinka!! He led the man he loves man to suicide!!

[starryvomit]

[blaisenova]

shit sucks. i'm working through it.

ao3 link in reblogs, as always. thanks for your patience.

if i'm missing any triggers, please let me know idk lol

cw/tw: implied/referenced toxic relationship, injury, self-harm (technically), just a generally unhealthy relationship

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was something like walking barefoot atop a path of glass shards; stepping lightly and praying that the shards wouldn’t cut you anyway.

Or, it was something like wishful thinking, for glass doesn’t care how lightly you step, only that you stepped at all; like that was your mistake, and, really, maybe it was. After all, it’s in the nature of the sharp to cut, and the fault is on the one foolish enough to try to traverse the path anyway.

Killer had always liked sharp things, both at a distance and up close; had always flirted with the danger they posed, as easily as he breathed. (He couldn’t remember the last time he’d loved anything that didn’t have the ability to gut him completely. How long had it been, now?) There was just something unbelievably alluring about the things that hurt, and it was difficult to tell if his infatuation was a result of his self-destructive tendencies or simply an accustomation to the pain. In reality, it was likely a mix of the two, but there was no use in dwelling on the matter when one was dying a death by a thousand cuts.

It was exponential; a slow decline that rapidly grew in speed. Where, once, he could relish in the sting, the pain quickly lost its charm once he became numb to it, but it was too late to turn back now. When his feet were too shredded from the shards of glass to continue to stand, and he was forced to his knees, like the pathetic beggar he was, so that he could bloody his palms as if the sacrifice might bring him mercy.

“Look!” he’d say, smiling as he offered his hands to someone who could never appreciate the bright crimson that they bled; to the one that walked the path with him and made it look easy. “Look what I did for you. It’s what you wanted, right?”

Hooded eyes, glowing in a way his could not, would peer upon the damage with vested interest. Gentle fingers traced over the cuts, his other hand holding Killer’s steady by the wrist, and Killer would flinch at the contact with a smile. The man would pause, considering, then glance up with a frown Killer couldn’t understand. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

His head cocked to the side, browbones furrowing. “Does it matter?”

Bright sockets narrowed, and a finger carefully circled one of the worse wounds. “So, it does, then.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, afraid to step; afraid to hold on. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“I don’t want you to hurt,” came the return, as if it really were that simple.

Smile wavering ever so slightly, Killer laughed; something strangled and ugly, just like the rest of him. “But, I thought you wanted this.”

Careful fingers picked the shards out of his wounds, and, strangely, the tenderness of the action made Killer’s stomach churn in a way that was equal parts unpleasant as pleasant. “I do,” the man admitted. Mismatched eyelights focused intently on the task at hand. “Not if it hurts you, though. We can find another way, if it hurts you.”

“Another way?” Killer echoed.

“Sure,” he said. “We could figure something out.”

At the mere thought, the glass cut deeper beneath him, as if trying to root him in place. To ask for anything else was to ask the sharp to change its nature, and sharp things were unfeeling in the same, immutable way as their sharpness; in part, because they were unaware of the way that they damaged so easily, and, in part, because they had no soul with which to feel the remorse. Perhaps, it didn’t even know that it was cutting. Perhaps, it couldn’t hear him when he told it as much. Perhaps, he liked the way that it did it anyway.

Cautiously, Killer stepped. The words echoed with a crunch. “Like… what?”

For a brief moment, the gentle ministrations faltered, and the grip around Killer’s wrist tightened sharply – alarmingly, like the sound of breaking glass – before the dullness of before returned; as if it had never left. “Well, I don’t know,” the man said. “I’ve never thought of an alternative to something I always viewed as so typical. I’d never imagined it would be so difficult for anyone. I’m sure we can think of something, though.”

Wincing, the glass shifted beneath his knees once more, and Killer exhaled a short breath that was only a little pained – a little confused on just how it should feel – and something brewed in his chest that ached. He shuffled forward again, nevertheless, knowing it would hurt. “Sorry,” he bit out, shortly. “No one’s ever expected this from me. Not like this.”

“Then,” he tenderly sneered, “I suppose I’m the problem, aren’t I?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he said, moving further still; pushing the limits in a way he’d long since learned he should not. “I understand what you want. I just feel like maybe you’re expecting too much from me too quickly. I’m trying,” he insisted. “It’s difficult for me, and I’m sorry for that.” The glass crunched beneath him as he pressed close, and something metal glinted nearby. “I’m trying.”

Picking out another piece of glass, the hooded man shifted; considered. “I know you’re trying. I appreciate that, and I should really be more patient with you,” he sighed. “It’s just frustrating sometimes that you struggle so much with something so normal.” He gestured to the glass beneath his own bloodied knees nonchalantly. “It shouldn’t cut you like it does, see?”

With a surprised blink, Killer’s sockets narrowed at the sight. “But, you’re…”

“If you really wanted to,” he continued, undeterred by his own wounds and not bothering to struggle against them, “it wouldn’t hurt you like that. You know I don’t want you to do things you don’t want to. It’s just difficult for me, too, because I can’t understand why you wouldn’t want to do this for the person you love.” His fingers caught on an embedded shard, and Killer bit back a noise of pain as it was smoothed back into its rightful place. “It makes me feel like you don’t love me.”

“Of course I love you,” Killer breathed, sockets going wide again. “That’s why I’m doing it.”

“Sure,” he agreed, then paused, sighing, and he placed Killer’s hand in his lap. There was an exhaustion in the shadows that veiled his face; one that drew guilt – a dark feeling of responsibility – from Killer’s unstable soul despite his best efforts to squash it down. “But, it hurts you. Which means that you don’t want to do it, and I don’t understand that.”

“It doesn’t hurt me,” he mumbled, and the words were unconvincing even against his own ears; again, unbidden remorse bounced off of his soul. He flexed his hand in his lover’s lap, fighting back a flinch at the dull agony the movement caused, breaking through the numbness. Then, he tried again. “I do want to do it. I…” 

The words trailed off, and, testingly, he ran his hand across the glass once more, glancing up for a reaction with bated breath, met with the same rigidity of anticipation. To love someone was to compromise – to do things to make them happy, even at the expense of yourself – wasn’t it? When they ask you to bleed for them, it’s only fair to, if they’ve already bled in return; even when you didn’t ask them to; didn’t want them to; right?

All the sharp knew how to do was cut – whether it was aware of that fact or not – but it desired to be caressed anyway. Could it really be blamed for that? Could it be blamed for asking; begging; pleading; doing whatever it had to, to get what it needed so desperately? Could it be blamed for the hurt that was caused when someone said yes; acquiesced; submitted; gave in? Whose fault was it when they bled? Did it matter?

Harshly, Killer scraped his palm across the shards, and his breath caught in his throat — froze him solid — so as to not demonstrate any pain as fresh crimson bubbled to the surface, and he choked on the relief. Again, he lifted his bloodied hand up to be scrutinised, and, again, he smiled. “See? It doesn’t hurt. I do want to.”

Again, the other took his hand into his grasp, examining the wounds with a withering suspicion. “It doesn’t hurt?”

Nevertheless, smile widening, Killer nodded eagerly. “No. It doesn’t.”

For a moment, bright sockets simply traced over mottled hands, and, for a moment, Killer hoped that the bleeding might be coaxed to stop beneath tender touches once more; that sharp could become soft. He carefully examined his love’s expression — or what he could see of it from the shadow that seemed to constantly haunt his expression and exude displeasure — and his smile faltered as bright, glowing eyelights were narrowed once more. “You’re trembling.”

“…Am I?”

A finger pressed against his wounds, and Killer managed to only flinch minutely – no longer fully able to feel the pain, but, somewhere deep down, instinctually aware of it anyway – before schooling his expression back into a bright smile; happy to feel nothing at all. The man’s mismatched gaze bore into him, searching. What for, Killer couldn’t be sure, and he could be even less sure whether or not he found it, but, either way, he was sure of the reaction; sharp edges pressing against him.

“If you really want to, I want you to stop acting like this when you do it,” he said, and it felt like taking a step on glass coated feet. 

Belatedly, Killer blinked. “Acting like what?”

“This,” he said, shaking Killer’s hand as if to remind him. “Trembling. Holding back flinches. Smiling completely emptily. You do this for me, then you become numb – like a robot; like it’s hurting you – and that’s hurting me,” he insisted, sharply. “You say you understand and that you want to do it, but the way you behave says otherwise.”

His free hand pressed against his chest, steadying the dull throb in the way his soul spasmed unstably. “I… don’t get it.”

“You don’t act like you want to do it,” he reiterated firmly. “You’re not convincing. I just want you to act like you do, if you do.”

“I want to do it,” Killer insisted again, smile growing tense. “You want me to do it, so I want to do it. I want to make you happy.”

“No,” came the response, sharp. “I want you to do it because you really want to do it. Of your own volition.”

It had been so long since Killer had known what he’d wanted; been even longer since it had mattered in any genuine way. How long had it been, now? Why didn’t it scare him that he couldn’t remember? When other people’s wants had become his own, replaced like bad code – like a robot – and he’d been left with the aggravating residual resistance of the ache in his chest. Never had he been unfamiliar with the necessity of doing things he didn’t fully want to for the sake of someone else – with the necessity of wanting it simply because they did first – but never had it been so unequivocally demanded of him that he want it for any other reason than the fact that it was being asked of him. Never had he been faced with the notion that what he wanted could matter so deeply while, simultaneously, somehow, not mattering at all.

Did he want to? Did it matter if he didn’t? Did it matter when to not want to was wrong? Did the cutting make a difference when it was the only option; when even feather-soft touches were sharpness in disguise?

Did the pain mean a lack of desire? A lack of love? Was there really no other way?

A strangled sound – something like a laugh – managed to worm its way out of Killer’s mouth before he could stop it, and he pulled his crimson coated bone from his love’s grasp as if it was just as sharp of an agony. “Okay,” he said, hoarsely. “Then, what’s my other option?”

The words were met with a scoff, and, through the shadows, Killer could almost make out a sneer – or maybe it was despair; maybe Killer had hurt him again. “Seriously?”

“Do I have an option or not?” he bit out without thinking.

“I’m not forcing you,” came the response, equally as cutting, and the glass crunched beneath them. Then, suddenly, tenderness returned, and it hit him like a blow. “Or– am I? I’m not trying to. What you want matters to me. That’s what I’ve been trying to say,” he insisted, gentle. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. I don’t want to force you. You’d tell me if I was, right?”

“Aren’t you?” Killer asked, equal parts rhetorical and genuine, as if the answer were obvious and unknowable all at once, and maybe it was.

Browbones furrowing in either anger or sorrow – Killer couldn’t be sure, when the result was the same in the end – silence lingered for just a second too long. “…How do I know you’ll do this for me if I don’t?”

Tiredly, Killer blinked in momentary thought; considered keeping his sockets closed; decided against it. “I guess you don’t,” he spat, exhaustedly, mistakenly. “I guess you’d have to trust me.”

Sharpness bristled once more – as if the mere notion were ridiculous, and, really, it probably was – and serrated their wounds. “Then, you wouldn’t,” he hissed in return. “Why wouldn’t you want to do this for me?”

“I’m already doing what you want,” Killer retorted with equal vitriol, ignoring the sharp agony in his shins tucked beneath him and the equivalent agony of his lover, “what you’re asking me to do. Because I love you. Why isn’t that enough?”

“Because,” he hissed back, standing to his feet and reminding Killer, startlingly, how small and helpless he really was as the man so easily stood atop the shards –  in a way that Killer, for the life of him, could not – as if they weren’t there at all, “if you really loved me, then you would want to do it. I wouldn’t have to ask you.”

Was it true when he said he couldn’t feel the pain? Did that make him sharp, too?

For a moment, like fire doused with gasoline, resentment flared in Killer’s chest.

The ground crunched beneath him as he struggled to stand, pushing himself upwards with hands that were already glass-coated and bloodied. “I’m trying,” he insisted; ignored the way that his voice pitched upwards as his hands slipped beneath him. “I hate that I have to prove myself – prove that I mean it – like the fact that I’m doing it in the first place isn’t enough,” he hissed; grunted as he forced himself to one foot, then stumbled again. “I want to do this for you. I want to. It doesn’t come as naturally to me as it does to you, but, I swear to you, I am trying.” He managed to get onto only one knee, glaring up at his love with determination; as if the struggle itself would ever be enough to stand as proof. “I love you. I do love you.”

And, coldly, bright purple eyes stared down at him, dousing his fire. “Then, why don’t you stand up and come to me, Killer?”

Frozen for only a moment, “…Fine.”

If Killer had any room left amongst exhaustion to feel shame, then he surely would have been humiliated by the way that his fingers continued to slip beneath him and painted the glass red; by the way that he only managed to put weight on a both feet for a fraction of a second before he was sent sprawling back downwards – face first – yelping as shards made a home within him. It was strange, then, that, yet again, guilt somehow found its way in instead. Hatred, though he couldn’t be fully certain for whom, broiled in his soul mutedly at the realisation, but there was little room for it to take root.

A grimace strained his expression as the first tears mixed with determination – called to the surface by an instinct that he was sure he’d stamped out like the rest of his emotions; like his self-preservation – and, after managing, with great effort, to push himself back up onto his knees once more, he went rigid, unable to fight against the tremble in his arms, revelling in what once he knew must have been agony; when did that change? How long had it been, now? 

He wiped watery determination and crimson from his cheeks, only dirtying himself further in the process, and, slowly, allowed his skull to press forward against the glass again; bowed before his love in a crude mimicry of submission despite the position’s inherent disobedience.

Above him, dismay sounded, and his failure solidified, “That’s all you can muster for me?”

“I’m sorry,” Killer wheezed, helpless in a way he had grown used to.

“You’re always sorry.”

“I’m– I’m trying,” he insisted again, and the shuddering breath with which he spoke disturbed the glass beneath him. The assurance felt empty in a way he couldn’t hope to achieve. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t love me anymore,” came the damnation.

“No. No, I do,” Killer began, desperately. He clutched shards between his fingers, grounding himself in the familiar way the blood seeped into his joints, then reached, pathetically, for his partner; like he couldn’t help but to reach out for the sharpness even when it wasn’t being asked of him. “I love you,” he pleaded. “I’ll try harder. I’ll do better.”

Glass crunched around him, and he didn’t bother to temper his wince as his love knelt and gently – in a way that Killer hated to think of as uncharacteristic – guided his chin up from the ground so that their eyes could meet. Again, tears that he didn’t really feel pushed their way out onto his cheeks, falling in dark streaks. Sharp purple searched his empty sockets, and, this time, Killer knew exactly what it was they were hoping to find.

“I love you,” he repeated, more firmly. His hands wrapped around the other’s wrists, smearing them in blood just the way he liked. “I love you, and I’m sorry. Please.”

One more moment of silent consideration – though, really, it felt more like condemnation – passed before, finally, “Okay,” and that single word was enough to allow the tension he hadn’t even been fully aware of to leave Killer’s bones. Gentle fingers wiped at crimson on his cheeks, a pathetic reflection of earlier, and Killer leaned into the nauseating touch. He couldn’t be sure if the pain that flared was from the shards embedded in his bone or from the touch itself; wasn’t sure what that meant; wasn’t sure it mattered, in the end. “I believe you. It’s okay. I’m sorry for getting upset.”

“I love you,” Killer slurred. His chest ached, but he ignored the feeling.

“I love you, too,” he returned. Then, softly, “Are you mad?”

With a shake of his head, he immediately insisted, “No. Of course not. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” A beat, and his sockets narrowed. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Killer echoed. He pressed his skull against his love’s hand, allowing his sockets to slip shut tiredly; in a bone deep exhaustion that he was well aware sleep couldn’t drive away. How long had it been, now? “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he repeated, and something like a smile made its way onto his face. After a moment, he released Killer’s skull, offering his hand warmly. “Here. Let me help you.”

There was a hesitance in the way Killer examined the subtle sheen of his partner’s hand, one that he squashed down as he placed his hand in the one proffered. When they touched, red blood of shard imbued bone painted the porcelain white of the other. The contact was torture, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of old wounds or new ones; wasn’t sure what that meant; wasn’t sure it mattered, in the end.

The shards made music with each step as he was helped to his feet, leaned against his lover for support; the soundtrack to their romance in the same way as dissension; as the sharpening of a knife. Each step was no tremendous amount of effort; as easy as breathing, the way it was meant to be. He didn’t feel a thing as they traversed the glass; as easy as breathing, the way it was meant to be. But, even if he did feel something – and he didn’t; couldn’t – it would have been his fault for stepping in the first place, really. 

As usual, he was the fool for playing with sharp things. Damned the second he felt himself bleed and didn’t turn around; didn’t let go. Doomed the moment “I love you” became a plea.