#tw brief mentions of death

[thatsashitplan]

the haunting of bly manor/thobm incorrect quotes/textposts part 1!

[arttsuka]

Sorry for this super depressing poll but

[system-hottakes]

Not a serious hot take, but the endoskeletons from 2014 indie horror franchise Five Nights At Freddy's are the only endos I support

-- Umbrella

lmao, same. the only endos I support are Fnaf endos, because at least they're honest when they try kill me

[beranibear]

Bindi, my sweet potato of nearly 13 years passed away a few weeks ago. She was my assistance dog of 8 years and my world.

So here is my tribute to her always happy attitude. She would get happy and wag her tail even if you just looked at her. I wanted to make sure even if she isn’t here physically, that I’d always be able to see her smiling face.

- Tattoo done at Carrot Tattoo Studio in Melbourne

Took about 4 hours to complete. I’ll cherish it forever.

[3-2-whump]

Mistaken Accusation

<prev next>

Well, let's get into it. Beginning of the end. Special thanks to my beta readers @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz ! Do mind the tags, and enjoy

This chapter does reference The Hit, so please skim that first if you are not already familiar with it

Author's Note: This is where shit gets real (more real, that is), and where the author may make some decisions that might not vibe with the readers. To those readers, all I will say is fanfiction is a thing, canon divergence is a thing, and I will honestly be more intrigued than mad if you end up scrapping this part and writing your own version! (Just lmk, like tag me or dm me so I can see?) But, um, yeah, onto the chapter!

TW/CW: description and mention of STD, prostitution whump, mock execution, gun violence (brief, but there), collared whumpee, bound and blindfolded whumpee, shock, emotional whump, fear of death, pissing oneself out of fear, emotional angst, degrading language, toxic relationship, manipulative whumper, possessive whumper, intimate whumper

As Khaled relieved himself in the office bathrooms near the end of the day, he hissed under his breath at the burning sensation coming out of him. That can’t be good, he thought. What would make it feel like he was passing acid or fire down there? He looked down at his dick, eyes widening a little as he saw how inflamed his urethra looked. Khaled let out a mortified little squeak. What’s wrong with my penis?

Should I tell Master? Telling his master that he suspected he’d caught something would only lead to probing questions about Khaled’s sex life, even though he wasn’t the one who had visited every whorehouse within the tristate area. Probing questions about his sex life would mean admitting that he was sleeping with Julio, and admitting that he was sleeping with Julio would only fuel his master’s possessive side and make things far worse for him. Khaled could imagine no situation in which he would come out unscathed if he told Thomas about it. So, he decided not to tell him.

He didn’t have to endure his secret for long though, because as soon as he came back into his master’s office, he could sense the energy had changed. 

“Is there something wrong, Boss?” Khaled asked nervously.

“I have just received information from our foot soldiers and informants that the motorcycle that my would-be assassin rode when he got away came from Alvarez Auto and Motorcycles, a known front of Juicio Divino,” Thomas gritted out.

Khaled’s jaw dropped as his mind slowly put together the pieces that he had in his hands all along. Of course, it was Julio, how could I be so blind?! he thought. Just over a year ago, Khaled himself approached the scrapyard assassin asking him to teach him how to kill, and had been crawling back to him in various states of distress ever since. Julio was one of two people on earth who knew how badly Thomas actually treated him, and, combined with his overprotective tendencies, Khaled mentally beat himself up for not suspecting his boyfriend sooner. 

His master’s stormy gray eyes narrowed at Khaled in a piercing glare as he pushed his tablet across the desk. “Incidentally, you have been visiting Alvarez Auto pretty frequently over the past year, haven’t you?”

Khaled’s stomach twisted in dread as he leaned in closer to read it. There, opened on his slave tracking app, was a map with pins of most-frequently visited locations he had been tracked to, and there was a damning bright red pin at the address of Julio’s garage. His mouth went dry as he opened and closed it in shock, trying to collect the right words to say as the opportunity to beg for mercy slipped through his fingers like sand. “I- Master, I- it’s not what you think-”

The older man disdainfully held up a hand, a nonverbal cue that he didn’t want to hear it. Khaled shrank in on himself. “How did you even pay for a hit against me, huh?” the boss asked. “I know you haven’t made that much money since I’ve started paying you! How could you afford to put out a hit?” His voice lowered to a growl. “Did you bend over for that cholo son of a bitch? Did you let him fuck you like I fuck you? Is that why you’ve got an infection –don’t deny it, Khaled, it hurt when I pissed this morning!”

The world seemed to stop as the air quickly left Khaled’s lungs. Wait, what? He was being accused of conspiring against his master, then of being a whore within the same breath? And to make matters worse, he somehow gave his owner an STD before he realized he had one himself? His breaths came out shallow as his body began trembling in fear. What does this mean for me? What’s going to happen to me? He nearly passed out as his imagination went wild with how severe his punishment would be. “Master, please, I had no idea-”

“Shut up!”

Khaled ceased his begging instantly, a nauseous wave of dread coiling in his stomach as he waited for his master to dole out his sentence. “You will never see anybody besides me again,” his master said, glowering at him in contempt as Khaled’s eyes widened in horror. He got up from his chair and circled around Khaled, with a familiar black shock collar and a length of chain in hand. “I’ll give you a chance to say your goodbyes before we leave.”

Khaled regained enough of his senses to shake his head and back away from the man approaching him. “But, Master, I didn’t-”

The world snapped to the right in a stinging blow as Thomas backhanded him. Khaled rubbed his sore cheek and winced in pain. “You’re lucky I don’t outright kill you, though I still might, if you keep whining like that!” he yelled. Khaled turned silent and sullen, still cradling his sore cheek as the collar tightened like a noose around his throat. “Now, come on, let’s make your final goodbyes count.” His master attached the chain leash to a notch in the shock collar and pulled Khaled towards the exit.

-

Khaled was pulled through the whole office and out to the guard shack like that, stopping periodically as his master made him explain what was going on and why he was leaving to everyone they met. Khaled’s voice was shaking like a leaf the first stop they made; by the time they made it to the guard shack, he was unable to utter anything intelligible past his tears. Nico’s jaw dropped as Thomas explained what had happened and why Khaled was never going to see him again.

“But, he didn’t do it, sir!” he objected, pushing himself out of his desk chair and standing up to face him. “He had no part in it! I can prove it, just listen to me!”

As much as Khaled wanted to interrogate that ‘I can prove it’ claim just a little more, Tom ignored him. He pulled the leash taut and yanked Khaled away. Khaled frantically pulled at the collar around his neck, emitting choked gasps as he stumbled along and struggled to keep up.

They ended up back at the car, where Tom unclipped his leash and pushed the button on the key fob to unlock the trunk of the car. Khaled was shoved up roughly against the side of the car as his hands were gathered behind his back and bound tightly by a soft and silky material, most likely a necktie. “Master, please, please, hear me out –I didn’t put a hit on you, I swear!” he once again tried to explain through a mess of snot and tears. “I don’t want to kill you, why would I want to kill you? Please –listen to me! I don’t want to kill you; I swear I didn’t know!” Thomas dragged him to the back of the car, where he stared down at him in cold fury. He took out a dark cloth from his pocket and unfolded it. Khaled preemptively opened his mouth to receive it, but then the man tied the cloth around his eyes to blind him. He quietly shut his mouth as the blindfold was tied tight enough to catch his hair. He heard the trunk of the car quietly whoosh open before he was picked up and shoved inside. The door of the trunk slammed shut, sealing him in an extra layer of darkness.

The ride seemed to stretch on forever as Khaled shivered in the darkness. It was still far too cold to be riding back there without anything to keep him warm. Throughout the darkness he begged, then screamed, then cried, then sniffled, knowing damn well his master couldn’t hear him.

Time seemed to work differently in the dark, cramped confines of a car trunk. Khaled was unsure of how much time had passed since he was shoved in the trunk, but he was more than concerned that they seemed to keep driving far longer than it usually took to get back to the apartments. He’s never going to forgive me, he realized as he rested his head onto the floor of the trunk. He really thinks I planned to kill him, and now he’s going to take me out into the woods and kill me, or do something so horrific it will make me wish I had died. A fresh round of tears soaked into his blindfold as Khaled whimpered pathetically. I don’t want to die, not like this.

Goddamnit, Julio, you tried to be the hero, and now I’m gonna end up dead in a ditch somewhere, Khaled cursed in his head.

The car rolling to a stop and faint click that preceded the trunk unlocking made Khaled’s heartrate speed up. A new wave of anxiety hit him much like the blast of midwinter air when the trunk was opened and he was pulled out. He didn’t feel concrete underneath his shoes, and the fresh icy chill of the air around him told him they weren’t in the parking garage. We really are in the woods somewhere, he thought, his hopes sinking like lead as his master’s hand gripped his elbow and steered him along to an unknown destination. He’s really driven me out to the woods somewhere to kill me. Khaled stumbled as his foot hit an unseen obstruction, but his master dragged him along regardless. This is it. I’m gonna die. His breaths started picking up, heart racing as that last thought worked him up into another nervous state. His owner stopped and threw him forward onto the ground. Khaled landed face first into a cold and wet patch of snow, judging on how it felt when it absorbed his impact. “Get up and kneel.” Khaled’s breaths stopped in his throat. There was no room in his master’s frigid tone for argument. He pushed himself up the best he could with his hands bound behind his back, shivering not just from the cold as he assumed a kneeling position.

A cold, metallic object pressed against the back of the young man’s skull. “If you’ve got anything to say, say it now,” his master’s voice said behind him. A wet and warm spot began to soak his pants in the front. Khaled’s mind went blank. He was so scared he nearly forgot his owner had asked for his last words. He caught his trembling lip between his teeth before shaking his head. Whatever he could say for his last words would go unheeded anyway, lost in the winter’s chill and the indifferent New England woods. He hung his head in resignation, ready for the explosive pain followed by sudden oblivion and nothingness, or whatever it was that lie ahead.

He had at least hoped he would see his father’s face before the end. But the only image his shielded eyes could conjure up before he died was a pair of sharp, steel gray eyes.

Click.

Nothing happened.

The gun lowered, and heavy footsteps crunched in the snow as his would-be executioner walked around to the front of him.

Khaled was still alive. Somehow, he was still alive. There was a light brush of hands reaching behind his head before the blindfold fell away, revealing a familiar face staring down at him with those same steel gray eyes. Khaled’s breath shimmered in the cold moonlit night. He was alive. He wasn’t going to die. He was alive.

All the fear and tension left his body like his vaporous breath in the night as he slumped forward, crying tears of relief into his master’s shoulder as he caught him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” he sobbed between each breath.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s alright, it’s alright,” Thomas soothed as he reached behind Khaled to untie his hands. “I believe you for now, it’s alright.” As soon as his hands were free, Khaled wrapped them around the older man’s neck, hugging him close as he bawled into his shoulder. “I thought about it, but there is no way I can definitively prove it was you.” A muscular pair of arms wrapped around him and held him close, drawing him into the warmth. “And besides, my favorite fuck toy, plotting to kill me?” His master laughed. “No way you’re smart enough for that! I didn’t buy you for your brains, you know!”

“Yes, yes, I’m stupid, I am so fucking stupid, thank you!” Khaled cried. He nuzzled his cold wet face into Tom’s warm neck and peppered the man’s jawline with kisses, murmuring his gratitude between every kiss. He was alive, he didn’t die, and that was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

“Let’s go home,” Thomas said, hoisting Khaled onto his feet. “The takeout I bought is getting cold, and you need a change of pants.”

He led the young man through the woods back to side of the road where he had parked his car. “I was completely serious about you never seeing anybody else again, by the way,” he reminded him as he opened the passenger side door. Khaled slid gratefully inside, happy to be in the heated part of the car. “You are relieved of your duties to the organization from now on,” Tom continued as he joined him on the driver’s side, “You are demoted to domestic service. You will stay at home and keep the penthouse spotless, welcoming me to it every evening with warm food and your warmer body. You will stay in the apartment and not leave for anything unless it is with me or a trusted associate. You will never see anybody again. That’ll keep you from conspiring to kill me, or from spreading your legs for anyone else but me, and only I will decide when it’s time to bring you back out again.” He pushed the button and started up the vehicle, setting the heaters to full blast.

Khaled nodded. What did he care about being stuck at home and never seeing anybody again? He was alive, and right now, as he held his freezing fingers close to the vents, that was all that mattered.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire

[gaylittlemans]

I am so inexplicably tired and vessel!Dazai has been haunting me so I will info dump about this dumb little AU because I can

This probably will not make sense, will make it seem like I don’t understand his character (who actually does? Besides his creator, obviously. Probably), or won’t have proper grammar but in the world of this shit, he will become a part of my personality if I do not write him down. So!

First, little stuffs about this AU because I can:

Dazai is trans here (FtM) because I kin him inexplicably and so am I, but he doesn’t experience that much gender dysphoria (mostly because he feels just a little disconnected from his body) and honestly what is the point of worrying about what body you have when the embodiment of the allure of death is currently using your body as her host? Exactly. There isn’t one. Also because I want to give this man a break on hating himself.

Basically everything about this AU is the exact same as the original, but Dazai is the vessel of a god, similarly to Chuuya. Some people do know about the whole kinda being a god thing, but not everyone. When he was Demon Prodigy, Mori kept and convinced Dazai to keep the vessel thing mostly a secret because it was better to keep as much information about him shrouded in mystery and basically make speaking his title mean the invitation of death, rather than let Dazai go and murder everyone as a vessel. I will sort of expand on this later. Probably.

Chuuya still has Arahabaki. He gets called ‘Baki’ in the rare times his name is mentioned in their world because I refuse to respect the god of destruction (Dazai started calling Arahabaki ‘Baki’ and Chuuya eventually found himself calling him that too). Dazai’s possessor’s ‘Machiko’, but might sometimes be called ‘Chiko’ or some other nickname instead.

Dazai is just slightly cannibalistic.

I ship Soukoku, which will probably be obvious by the way I write them. Neither revolves around the other, but they are both permanently drawn to one another.

Dazai struggles with skin picking in this au because he kinda craves the taste of blood thanks to Chiko so he does care a little bit more about his hygiene in this au so he doesn’t have anything to pick. His hands are very soft in his world. My man is moisturized 😚

So, Dazai.

He’s around seven years old. His life has been nothing but dehumanizing and cruel and cold. He’s being raised in a neighborhood of rich assholes who think they’re all better than one another because of meaningless, materialistic means. (Death will claim all of them in the end, so it doesn’t matter what they do, anyhow. He won’t say anything about them, though. If they need to hide from Her gaze, he won’t judge.) His parents are controlling and overbearing and want him to grow up to be some rich asshole’s trophy wife. He doesn’t want that to happen, but his body will not let him say anything to disappoint them. He can’t afford their ire; he’s seen what they do to people who think they can and the least he can say is that it looks painful.

He’s been raised by nannies and caretakers his entire life thus far and some of them were nice, but most of them just followed his parents orders to make him behave.

Modest, pretty, demure.

Modest, pretty, demure.

Those were the most important things for a little girl his age to learn. Of course. He is nothing, he is not human, if he doesn’t behave. If he doesn’t act modestly and polite. If the boys in the neighborhood tug on his skirt, he is to hold it still so they cannot expose him. If the girls in his private school pick on him for his doe eyes and thousand yard stare, he is to be reserved and accept their insults graciously and not respond to their taunts.

He is a monster if he raises his voice, or disobeys his parents or caretakers or teachers, or acts out of line—acts like a child. His purpose of being brought into the world is to grow up to serve his future husband and children and be pretty.

So he kills them.

The voice of death herself whispers in his ears at night, when the moon is full and bright, that they do not deserve their gifts, they do not deserve their gifts of breath and life.

So he takes them away like she says to.

He stands in the woods beyond the gated mansions in a white, blood splattered nightgown and a pair of what are probably Mary Jane’s, but he’s not for certain and white, just as blood splattered, socks. He doesn’t remember much of what he did, but he does not mind. The cool night, late summer breeze reaches his skin through the minuscule layers he wears. He has always run cold, kind of like what you would expect a corpse to feel like (they’re actually room temperature), and has yet to build the habit of halfway mummifying himself. Bad circulation, doctors had told him. How fun.

Here is where he sees her for the first time, the woman—the God—who changes his life forever, with the handle of one of his father’s expensive kitchen knives grasped in his right hand as the left toys with the seam of his dress. She’s beautiful. She speaks to him, but he does not remember all of what she says. He remembers “Machiko”. It must be her name. He also remembers her permitting him to call her a nickname, as he’s young and he deserves to choose what he calls his friend.

Chiko offers him her hand and Dazai’s left hand goes numb. As if puppeteered, he moves to take her hand and she smiles at him. For only the second or so time in his life, he feels warm.

Dazai learns a lot from her. He would kill without her influence, but she tells him to embrace death and its endless, inescapable dance and he does.

Perhaps too much.

Mori Ougai was a man, a doctor, whom was highly praised by rich folks he’d grown up around (and consequently been raised by after the murder of his parents). He had met the man before, who had said he was interesting and reminded him of himself. In his adulthood, Dazai was ashamed to have felt pride at the fact Mori found him intriguing, or that the man saw himself reflected in the shattered, blank soul of his.

At fourteen, his adoptive parents rushed him to the doctor another attempt at death. He woke up, hazy and exhausted, and strapped to a bed with an oxygen mask, IV in his arm, and a heart monitor. Machiko screamed at him, for his safety and his body, to not listen to the man in the white coat who offered him a reason to live, a purpose to life outside of being a vessel. Just like he’d subconsciously been searching for.

He did not listen to her.

Dazai would say he was built to be a mafioso. And it was easy enough to sever ties with his adoptive family—they weren’t too attached, anyways—and old life.

When he was fifteen years old, he met the most annoying person on earth; Chuuya Nakahara.

Every move the boy makes is so completely full of life and energy. Dazai would say he was envious, but he was not. Machiko was drawn to the boy, though, or—as he truly found out—she was drawn to Arahabaki. Death and destruction go hand in hand, he supposed. And it seems Dazai wasn’t the only one who felt that pull towards the other.

Boo. Feelings sucked. He wouldn’t say he had a crush on Chuuya, no, never, but he was drawn to the redhead like the pull of gravity said redhead controlled.

But the first time he had seen Corruption, seen the final form of Upon The Tainted Sorrow, Dazai had been mesmerized. For all his wit and bravado, he still had no explanation as to why he found this redheaded slug so enchanting, even seven years later.

Machiko still hailed over him, but she was not his puppeteer. She guided him and attempted to help him through inexplicably human issues, but she did not attempt to forcibly take control of him. If she was in charge of his body, it was entirely because he had allowed her too. He spoke with her on the regular—she was a mentor who hadn’t forced herself into that roll exactly as Mori had.

Machiko was the god of death, yet also the god of allure, of temptation, of beauty, and of yearning. Some called her the moon. Others simply didn’t know of her existence. It didn’t matter to Dazai. His mentor knew how to be merciful, despite the blood and desolation she craved.

Chuuya clearly remembered the day he’d discovered Dazai was also a vessel.

Things had been dangerous and he had still been injured from a mission Mori had sent them out on previously. He had been occupied by a horde of enemies when he’d lost track of Dazai amongst the commotion. Grunts were incapacitated or dead at his feet before he knew it.

Now, he would never admit it, but looking around and not finding the dark, sullen eye of his partner watching him from a safe distance had scared him. Made him anxious.

He pushed his way into a corridor that had been blocked by debris during the fight that he could almost sense Dazai’s shenanigans coming from and walked—maybe just a bit quicker than normal—until he saw bodies scattered and crimson pooling. In the center of this crop circle of cadaver was his partner, small, white, star-like marks twinkling across what very little skin was exposed to the open air, ripping out the throat of one of their enemies with his teeth. Blood soaked his clothes and his bandages.

Chuuya felt unreasonably calm, and oddly awestruck, at the sight.

And that’s all I can write 😚 ‘cause I am so tired. I dunno what else to say, ‘cause this is just about all my smooth little brain has let me know about the blorbos of today, but yeah. Thank you if you actually read all of this. :3333

Have a good day/night/morning/afternoon/evening!! Remember to drink water, eat, take your meds, all that.

Byeeeeee <3333

[lika2]

Ah yes. In order:

The 26 yr old who decided it was totally ok to murder a sheltered 16 yr old for accidentally disabling two people and not understanding the repercussions of that (because nobody would tell her)

The man who shot a lion and covered up a horrible accident, refused to let his daughter face the consequences for her dumb mistakes, and put the paraplegic on the 3rd floor, so he couldn't leave his room w/out outside help. Moe's room is on the 1st floor.

The 22 yr old who tried to go on a date with a 16 yr old

And the 16 yr old whose negligence and blaze attitude towards danger and death led to the permanent maiming of two of her co-workers.

"Not a single one of them was a bad person on the inside, huh?"

Are you sure abt that Maya?

[serickswrites]

Make Me Your Villain XXVII

Master list link here (includes chapter links, character bios, and summary)

Ok, so we are now winding down with the story gang. This is the last main chapter, though there is a very cheesy epilogue out next week.

Warnings: death, blood, gore (brief mention), broken bones, grief, mcd, funeral, grief rituals, heart break

“I would like to pay my respects,” the red-haired man said once Nova had let Henry hold her. Someone had set his wrist. She would heal it later. Right now she barely had any energy to keep her eyes open. Not that she wanted to keep them open. Liam was dead, what did it matter. Did anything matter? “When you are ready of course. My family and I would like to say thank you once more.”

“We would as well,” another civilian family said as they stepped forward.

Nova looked around in awe as more and more of the civilians Liam had worked so tirelessly to save stepped forward. He had saved countless lives. A significant portion of Hiraethian’s population was alive because of Liam and everything he had done.

The mayor stepped forward. “I would like to offer the opportunity to all of those whose lives have been impacted by Liam by offering a state funeral.”

She couldn’t be serious. “Absolutely not,” Nova said angrily. She would not allow the mayor make a mockery of Liam.

The mayor’s eyes widened in surprise. “Of course I don’t mean to intrude on your mourning. Perhaps instead of a state funeral, we can still have an chance to honor him. Let him lie in state.”

Nova opened her mouth to give a scathing reply, but Henry cut her off. “We would be honored. Thank you.”

Nova glared at him but didn’t say anything. They could fight when they got back to the Haven.

The mayor’s eyes brightened a touch. “Wonderful. I will have the best funeral director in town meet with you later today. They can go over with you how you would like to have him arranged and interred.”

“I don’t want that. He wouldn’t want that. I want to take him home.” Nova had stopped listening to the mayor. Had stopped listening to anyone as she stared down at Liam once more. She wanted to take him home, clean him, put him in his best clothes, and then…Then she could begin to say goodbye.

Henry quickly added, “We would be happy to host them and go over how to arrange the ceremony.”

Somehow they got back to the Haven. Nova wasn’t entirely sure who was with them. She didn’t care. She just wanted to be alone with Liam. It had taken two people to carry Liam into the med bay and lay him on the exam table. Was he always this big? Had he always taken up so much space? He was a giant among men. She stared at him, the painful silence in the room growing.

“I’m sorry,” she finally whispered as a lone tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry I failed you.”

She stood over him and cupped his cheek. His skin was cold and sticky where the flecks of blood had dried. “I wish it was me. It was supposed to be me. You should have let it been me.

“But you wouldn’t be you if you let it be me.” She wiped her tears away.

Nova went to the sink and filled a basin with water. She grabbed towels and a chair. She placed the basin and towels on the instrument table and placed the chair by Liam’s head. “I love you, more than anything, Liam,” Nova said as she dipped a towel in the and wiped along Liam’s jaw.

She repeated the process over and over. Until the basin was filled with pink water. She started the process again, when Henry walked in. “Oh,” was all he managed to say.

She didn’t respond. She just kept dipping the towel in water and wiping Liam’s face. His neck.

“Can I join you?” Henry said, finally breaking the silence.

Nova nodded, not trusting her voice. It should have been her. This was her fault. She failed. Failed all of them.

Together, Henry and Nova cleaned Liam’s body. They worked in silence, each in their own grief. They cleaned and combed his hair. Cleaned his face, neck, chest, stomach, and arms of all the blood coating them. They removed the tattered shirt from his ruined chest. Nova began to sob again as the extent of his chest wound was revealed. Jude had punched clean through Liam’s chest, completely destroying his heart.

Eventually, after they had dressed him in his finest outfit—the suit he had worn when they got married—Henry spoke again. “I’ll go see if the funeral director is here. She will stop him from….,” his voice broke, “from decaying. You two can discuss what you want to do after.”

Nova nodded again. She didn’t care if the funeral director could make him look like he was alive. She couldn’t bring him back to life. He was gone. She had failed in healing him. She stared down into his eyes once more. Eyes that she had stared into endlessly. Eyes that she knew better than her own. Eyes that, as her grief became all consuming once more, she would never see smile again. Never see laugh. Never see as he made love to her. Never see again.

“I love you, forever and always,” she said, wishing she could hear and I love you, gorgeous, in this life and the next one more time. She kissed his lips delicately. Then she kissed each cheek. And finally, she kissed his forehead as she closed his eyes, one last time.

The funeral director, as it turned out, had powers. She could freeze time, and her assistant was a green-crafter—someone who could manipulate plants. They had laid out a plan of letting Liam lie in state in the open air, wreathed in flowers of Nova’s choosing. Nova didn’t really care for the discussion until the assistant asked her for plans for after the ceremony.

“He wanted to be cremated,” Nova managed to say softly. That was all she knew about his wishes. He had believed he wouldn’t live long enough to really have a funeral plan. Nor one that would have so many attendees.

“And after?” The assistant had warm, hazel eyes. Her dark hair was in a neat knot at the nape of her neck.

And after didn’t matter, Nova wanted to say. And after and everything is over. But she couldn’t say that. Couldn’t do that. Because the truth was Nova didn’t want to let him go. She couldn’t bear the thought of him being somewhere in a wall or the ground.

The assistant nodded at Nova’s stomach. “I hear a congratulations are in order, but I’m sure it doesn’t feel that way now. Perhaps you want something for your child to know him by.”

Henry hugged Nova close as Nova began to cry again. “Could we take some time to think about it? What are our options?”

“Well, of course you can take your time. As for options—“

“Can you make a tree grow from seed quickly?” Nova said, not caring that the woman was in the middle of speaking.

The assistant smiled. “Yes, yes I can.”

“I want him here. At the Haven. We have plenty of space. Could you make a willow grow?”

“Over him? Yes, I can. And I can make it so it will never die. It will grow old, large, and strong, but it will never get sick, never fall, and never die.”

And not only be an undying symbol of her grief, but also of his triumphant victory. “Your child will be able to swing safely from its branches, to climb its boughs, and rest under the cool shade of their father’s tree. I can do that for you, Nova. And for him.”

***

Nova found herself sitting with Henry opposite the glass casket that they had laid Liam in. He was wreathed with hundreds upon hundreds of roses. The fragrance was sickening. She watched as the crowd passed him. Some paused to stare, while others paused to speak a few words. Several tried to touch him, hence the glass casket.

She could barely stomach the affair. These were the same people that had thrown rocks at his body, had spit on him, cursed him, and celebrated his death only days ago. These were the same people that had shunned him for fifteen years. Had blamed him for the evil of the world.

“They’re so fake,” Nova said to Henry.

Henry flexed his newly healed wrist as though it was still sore. “Not all of them. There were the ones he saved. The ones he told to keep quiet to keep safe until it was time. And it is time.”

“But that’s not all of them here now, Henry.” Nova hated this. Hated every moment of this. But she couldn’t bear to part with Liam. Not yet.

“They didn’t know, Nova.”

Nova crinkled her nose. She would never smell another rose again after this. “They don’t deserve him. They don’t deserve to pay respects to him.”

Henry turned and looked at her full on. His face was pinched with his sadness. “But he does. He deserves the respect and so much more. He deserved to live. To be happy. And to live a long happy life with you. With us. But that didn’t happen. Let him have this. Let him have the love and peace he so desperately fought for. That he died for, Nova. Let him have that.”

Nova opened her mouth and closed it. Henry was right. Liam deserved the world. And he didn’t get it. She swiped at her eyes with a tissue. Liam deserved this. She wasn’t going to take this away. No matter how much it hurt her. “They don’t deserve forgiveness. I can’t forgive them.”

“And you don’t have to. He would have, of course,” Henry said with a soft smile. “But he was better than me.” Nova nodded in agreement. “Better than me.” She leaned her head on Henry’s shoulder.

Henry wrapped his arm around her. “He was the best. The world didn’t deserve him, Nova. And now that he’s….gone,” Henry’s voice caught for a moment. “Now that he’s gone, we can only honor him. Honor his memory. His legacy.”

Henry nodded to Nova’s stomach. She put her hand on her stomach, wishing she could feel the baby. She scanned her body, feeling the baby’s heart pulsing, feeling its peacefulness as it grew within her.

“I won’t let his death be in vain. I will fight to maintain this peace he created. Until my dying breath. I will keep the two of you safe, Nova. For as long as I live.” Henry squeezed Nova’s shoulder as they watched more civilians trickle by.

***

Three days later, he held her as the funeral director’s assistant planted a seed above the compostable urn containing Liam’s earthly remains. Nova had planted the urn, despite her hands shaking uncontrollably. This was it.

“It will take a few moments to grow, but it will be full grown within the hour.”

Henry guided Nova back to a safe distance as they watched the seed take root and grow. By the time the tree’s leaves kissed the ground, the branches towering high above them, Nova was a sobbing mess on the grass, shaded by the tree. Because Liam was really gone.

Tags: @dutifullykrispyland@jesssmolfur@parad0xical2@st0rmm@keeper-of-all-the-random-things

@pigeonwhumps@gala1981@allylovessweets@whumpitywhumpwhump @giggly-evil-puppy

@cravesunconditionallove @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @ay5ksal @celestialsoyeon

@hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @knightinbatteredarmor @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@whump-me-harder

[ofvolatile]

//   (  oktay  çubuk  .  cis  man  .  he  /  him  )  .    ⸻  taylan yalçınkaya ,  a  twenty-six  year  old  ,  has  survived  another  day  in  red  creek  where  they  have  lived  for  almost  their  entire  life  .  the  dirtbag is known  for  being  headstrong  and  volatile  and  is  often  associated  with  sorrow lurking in a ferric heart as it beats stubbornly ,  crimson  stained  &  battered  bruised  knuckles  , and   all the charm and temperament of a junkyard dog .  in  a  small  town  where  they  work  as  the  co - owner of amrak grocery store  &  professional hockey player for  the  nhl  word  travels  fast  .  it’s  hard  to  keep  a  secret  ,  and  it  looks  like  the  boogeyman  knows  that  redacted  . 

𝗜 . STATISTICS

full name : taylan deniz yalçınkaya . nickname : tay & knuckles by hockey fans because of his eagerness to fight . age : twenty - six , april 18 1998 . horoscope : aries . gender + pronouns : cis male he / him . orientation : biromantic , bisexual . place of birth : red creek , michigan where he lived for twenty - years , but he moved to vancouver six years ago for his sports career . career : professional ice hockey player for the vancouver canucks ( played 5 seasons as right wing player , fighter & enforcer for the team ) currently on suspension . he is also the co - owner of a family run business , amrak grocery store . siblings : twin sister selın yalçınkaya . parents : father is a police officer , and mother is the founder of the grocery store . partner : single . children : none . living arrangements : he has an apartment in vancouver , but in red creek he lives with his twin sister . positive traits : headstrong , brave , spontaneous , social . negative traits : volatile , impulsive , reckless , defiant . moral alignment : chaotic neutral . hair color : brown . eye color : hazel . height : five foot ten . tattoos : a bunch of small scattered stick & poke tattoos , and one big back tattoo , see pinterest . piercings : both lobes , tongue , double on his right eyebrow . scars : with hockey being a violent sport , he has a lot of scars , but the most notable ones are , the cut between his left eyebrow from a fight , where hair won't grow anymore & the scar on his throat where he was accidentally cut by a player's skates , its 10 centimeters long and it took one hundred and fifty stitches to close his wound .

𝗜𝗜 . BACKGROUND

trigger warnings for injury , near - death experience , trauma , drug abuse , toxic sport environment & abusive relationships . - his parents named him taylan , hoping he would be as gracious as the name that he carried , but he quickly proofed to be a difficult child , and by the time he was a teenager , all he had ever done was creating problems for himself : underage drinking , trespassing , vandalism , settling any and all disputes with violence . he was a regular at the police station , only made more awkward because his father is a police officer . the father and son never had a healthy relationship . with his narcissism and superiority complex his father held a tight ship in the household , with strict rules and high expectations that taylan had no interest in meeting . - start trigger warning brief mention of emotional abuse . a cop with big dreams of being the sheriff one day . his parents have always been very involved in the community of red creek , which his father flaunts to make himself seem like a good person , hoping it will increase his chances of becoming the town sheriff . however , he never got the position and to this day the subject remains a sore spot for him , looking everywhere else except within and taking it out on his son , blaming his bad reputation around town for staining the family's name . end of warning . - taylan's interest in hockey came at the age of five in the garage of his childhood home where he would shoot pucks in a make-shift goal . as he grew older the sport became an outlet for him to let out that aggression for the way his father treated him . he was part of the hockey team at school and immediately after graduation taylan started playing for the junior hockey league ( his first step towards reaching the big leagues ) , while his twin sister was their father's favorite , taylan was their mother's , and he needed her to sign the contracts since he was still underage . it was one year later , that he got drafted for the NHL when an incident led him to jump into opposing bench in an attempt to fight with the opposing players , whose team was in the lead . after the game ended , he was approached by scouts who were impressed by his courage , and drafted him for the vancouver canucks . by this time taylan had become completely independent from his family , and the only one he was staying in contact with was his twin sister . sick of living in their small town that felt more like a prison then a home , he made the decision to leave his life behind .

- start trigger warning . away from red creek and in the big city were his best years of his life , doing what he loved the most . however , everything came to a crashing halt during his last match . after colliding with a opponent , taylan got his throat cut by the player's skate blades , lacerating his carotid artery . the accident was traumatizing for him ; bleeding out on the ice , thinking that he would die . taylan needed hundred fifty stitches to close up the wound . less then a week later and still not fully healed mentally , his coach saw him fit enough to play again . the relationship taylan had with his coach was a toxic one , and abusive , that combined with taylan's own competitiveness had him biting his tongue . he was used to the years of verbal abuse from his father , and instead he let out all his anger out on the ice . however , after the accident his performance had noticeably declined . while abusing pain killers was not something unspoken in their field , developing a problem for them and testing positive for hard drugs before a match was not something they could ignore . the manager of the team saw him as a liability , casted him out as a black sheep , despite his own coach enabling his harmful habit for so long . they had the pr team working overtime to hide the suspension stating that his current absence is because of his injury . end of warning . - needing to rest his injury out and bitter over how things went down . taylan is back in his hometown where his relationship with his father still is on bad terms . he helps his twin out as selın takes over the store from their mother's hand , anything to make up for the time he been away . no one knows about his suspension , and the team likes to keep it that way ( but if they are sport fans they could have seen the accident when it aired on tv , that part is not a secret ! ) HOWEVER , this is not the secret that the boogeyman knows of course , there is something else he's hiding hehe .

𝗜𝗜𝗜 . HEADCANONS

1 . ) trigger warning for abusing painkillers . while taylan has a high pain tolerance , he still uses medication to treat the injuries he has acquired during his years of playing hockey . the pills were basically handed out by his coach like tic tacs , pushing him to play more games despite his chronic injuries . definitely not a healthy work environment . his suspension has put him in the NHL players assistance program that helps him deal with his trauma , which also comes with frequent drug test , so outside of prescribed painkillers and sleeping pills , he tries to not use anything else , because he wants to get back on the ice as soon as he can . 2 . ) he doesn't have a healthy sleep schedule . it started back in his teenage years . when he was staying out all night and past his curfew , and it only got worse with his disruptive schedule as a hockey player where the matches ends at ten and the adrenaline keeps him up all night , flying of to the next match the following day . when he can get some rest , he likes to take afternoon naps . 3 . ) he has a bunch of stick & poke tattoos on his arms . there was a phase back in high school when he wanted to be a tattoo artist and practiced it on himself . 4 . ) he likes to collect zippo lighters and has a nasty habit of smoking cigarettes . tried stopping multiple times by chewing on tobacco , but always falls back to smoking .

𝗜𝗜𝗜𝗜 . CONNECTION & WANTED * work in progress .

selın yalçınkaya his twin sister . tba . cousin from mother's side ( see wanted connection here ) . more to be added .

[justaberri]

just read gyokkos backstory, and wow- manz got some issues huh? i mean, always knew he had a loose screw, i mean, hes an artist what did you expected besides an unhealthy obssession over blood gore and dead bodies? /hj (Do they ever tell Gyokkos backstory in the anime? cause if they do, i dont remember)

anyway, gonna go back writing right now, but imma defineatly use this newfound information for sum good ole angst in the nearby future

[kudossi]

carry me to innisfree

She finds herself on a precipice, grass under her paws and gray sky overhead. The smell of salt and the sound of crashing waves fill her senses; her claws dig into sand-strewn soil; her fur lifts with the ocean breeze, strong and stalwart, whipping steadily away from the rising sun. Below her lies ocean, depthless and desperately, achingly blue; beyond her lies water, leaping endlessly toward the golden, rocky shore.

The sun-drown-place, she thinks, and feels at once the age of eight moons and eighty season-cycles. She reaches at once for Feathertail, dead for countless pawsteps; for Tawnypelt, buried seasons ago; for Stormfur, lost to the crags of the mountains; for Crowfeather, who had closed his eyes only moons ago and had never opened them again. She does not reach for Bramblestar; she does not question why. She simply exists, with the ghosts of her friends almost corporeal at her sides, and watches as the wind plays with the waves, salty ocean spray spattering at her paws.

A pale bird swoops overhead, white and soft, feathery gray; with a bolt of delight, Squirrelflight recognizes it as a gull. It had been so long since she had chased them over sand and into the waves, their calls echoing against rocky cliffs. Brambleclaw had snorted, unamused; Feathertail had joined her, swimming through whitecaps and pouncing clumsily on birds until, with the exaggerated air of someone too good for noisy, troublesome birds, she had pulled the largest fish Squirrelflight had ever seen from the waves.

“You look like a drowned rat,” Squirrelpaw had told her, laughing, as Feathertail struggled with a fish bigger than both cats combined.

“Better than looking like a drowned squirrel,” Feathertail had countered, and then Tawnypelt had joined the fray, chasing an odd-looking creature across the shore, all hard shell and hard, straight tail and weird, wiggly, bug-like legs.

“What is this place?” Stormfur had asked, tipping over a bug-prey of his own.

“I don’t know!” Squirrelpaw had replied, delighted, and gotten a mouthful of saltwater for her trouble. She sputtered and spat and dissolved into giggles, lungs seizing and aching and burning, happier than she’d ever been.

[purgatory-is-life]

Mechtober prompt 22/day 22-immortality

i keep putting marius through the horrors and i probably won't stop. i swear i love him he's just so easy to make angst of.

@mechtober-2024

Uncertainty and Immortality - Reality666Rift999 - The Mechanisms (Band) [Archive of Our Own]

tw; temporary character death, character death, mentioned/implied violence, Out angst, some minor suicidal ideation, implied/mentioned gun violence, blood, gore, a bit of eldritch horror, probably more than that, please let me know what i need to add!

----

Marius didn’t necessarily know if he believed in immortality.

Of course, the Mechanisms were probably immortal–they died-revived-died all the time. They killed-revived-killed each other all the time. They had forgotten Brian in a star for a century, and he was mostly fine—after a while. Marius had died so many times, had died to become Marius. How could he not believe in immortality? It’d been thousands of years since he’d gotten his arm. Probably more, probably much longer.

But he didn’t necessarily know if he believed in immortality.

Of course, the Music explained to him in sweet symphonies and gentle decrescendos and brassy tunes, over and over again– he was here forever. Always to be its voice box, always to play along. And if he leaves? He would only join the cacophonous chorus, his violin joining all those before him that had been cursed. But the Music didn’t want him to join just yet, as much as it could want anything, and so he was here forever.

But the Music lies.

It always had, and always would.

Marius thinks that’s where he got it from, where every other sentence a falsehood came so naturally from. Marius is the Music’s most recent Voice, and the Music lies, and so Marius lies. Just like the rest of the Crew, he spoke in songs and lyrics and stories, concocted and written out to be nothing but that– a story. True or false, who’s to say at this point. The Music lies, and so Marius lies.

And Marius was pretty sure the Music lied about the Mechanisms living forever.

Whenever one of the Crew died, there was always a spark of anxiety, a spark of fear as that oh-so familiar Song played quietly in his mind, that feeling of, Oh, they’re not going to wake up this time, are they? But they always do. They always wake up, and the Song fades, and everyone goes about their business, and Marius forgets the feeling until the next time.

It’s always different when he’s the one who dies, even though the Song doesn’t change. It’s more of a feeling of, They won’t have to deal with me anymore. Maybe I can rest. And yet he always wakes up. It’s less of a fear, more of a quiet hope. Sometimes he does remember to be afraid, he remembers to worry–will his friends miss him? His friends still needed him, he still needed his friends��

And then he wakes up, and everything goes back to normal. The keening Song fades once again.

That’s just how they worked, they died-killed-died-revived all the time as if it was second nature. Perhaps it was, at this point. They shot just as quickly as they gave kind smiles. Jonny shot more than he gave any sign of kindness, really.

The killed-died-revived so frequently, that eventually the fear and Song just became background noise. He still tried to avoid it, still pushed it down and ignored it when he could, but it kind of just became a fact of his seemingly never-ending life. Every time he or one of the other Mechanisms died, there’d be a little seed of doubt in his mind about whether or not they’d wake up. They always did. It wore on them, Marius could see it so clearly, in their aimless destruction and heavy shoulders and tired eyes. But Marius was always grateful when they woke up. I’m not ready yet, he’d think, for them to disappear. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready, constantly dreading the day their mechanisms finally gave out and they’d die for real. Always afraid, always hesitant to harm because what if it didn’t heal.

He was still much quicker to harm than any average mortal, he still did his fair share of killing and maiming of the Crew–especially when they stole his kneecaps. A little revenge never hurt anyone for too long. Much better than getting Lost in the Music on purpose and wandering the ship with his mournful violin, as that often only led to his kneecaps being stolen again. And getting Lost was never a pleasant feeling.

He still hovered, though, especially when it was their mechanisms that had taken damage. None of the others liked him poking at their mechanisms, despite the fact that he was probably more qualified to work on them than he was on the fleshy bits. To be fair, they didn’t exactly like Raphaella messing with their mechanisms either– Jonny was the most common culprit, but many times the others liked to avoid maintenance as much as possible. Marius never pushed though, it’s not like he didn’t understand. He only let Raph work on his arm every once in a while, preferring to do maintenance himself. (The Music lies like it is the most natural thing to do, every note misread and every string misplaced, but Marius did not want to risk its warnings of what could happen should Raph or one of the others be faced with Marius’s mechanism maintenance. The Music did not like to be Seen, after all. Only heard.)

But whenever their mechanisms were damaged, he hovered off to the side until it was fixed–manually or by their healing factors. Just so that he could be sure that they were alright, that they’d get up again soon. He tried his best not to be clingy, usually, tried his best to avoid taking up too much space around them or invading their personal space when it wasn’t welcome, but his anxiety was never quelled until he saw that they were okay, and that they were going to be alright.

Marius, admittedly, was not a person who enjoyed uncertainty. He was almost sure the doubt of ‘true’ immortality was what made him scared more than anything, the possibility of losing one of the others suddenly and without reason.

And of course, that is what happened, when Nastya went Out.

He and Nastya weren’t especially close, Nastya spending more of her time hiding away in the depths of the Aurora and doing whatever-it-was she did as an engineer and as Aurora’s girlfriend. She only ever showed up for meal times or for Crew Night and concerts, or during the occasional crew-wide tea party hosted by The Toy Soldier. She tended to disappear whenever they were planetside, her own wanted posters popping up without fanfare or loud explosions like Tim or Jonny or Ashes. And besides, half the time planetside, Nastya rarely left the Aurora.

But that changed one day, out in deep space.

And she left, disappearing.

Possibly forever.

Something changed among the Mechanisms, there was a loss that felt… Well, it felt final and it was strange.

Marius found himself hovering more, clinging even though he tried not to. Worrying, heart racing, every time someone died. That fear that had become background noise was almost always present and in the forefront.

One day, while staying in the cockpit with Brian, the brass pilot said quietly, “She’s probably cold out there. It was so cold…”

His voice was tinny and distant, and Aurora creaked sadly in response.

“I hope she’s not cold… I hope we find her soon…”

Marius didn’t say anything, remaining silent. Just climbed into Brian’s lap and purred till the both of them fell asleep.

Marius did not like being uncertain.

Perhaps that was why he latched onto Lyf so strongly.

They were temporary, and it was a guarantee that they were temporary. The system was doomed, crushing Songs and endless Noise and it was fragile and temporary, so very temporary. Obviously, going into something and knowing it won’t last for-probably-forever made it easy to not get attached…

One would think.

But Marius fell fast, and when he fell he fell hard. Always had, probably always would. What started as teasing and making fun of the inspector in charge of the three of them eventually turned into something a bit softer, something a bit–perhaps not kinder, but gentler. Something a bit more akin to care, as close to care as one could get with the Mechanisms.

And then the train arrived, and he and Ivy and Raph left, and Lyf was gone.

And it hurt.

It was awful and Marius could barely think past the pain in his heart and the Songs screaming from the remains of Yggdrasil, but it was expected. He could bury his grief and fear with more, different grief.

And then they returned, Lyfrassir managed to escape somehow and they were back. And they somehow managed to return to Marius’s life, even though they hated him. He didn’t mind, hating him was fine. He couldn’t force Lyf to feel anything. He was content to just appreciate that they were there.

Of course, though, they were still temporary. They were still definitely going to die one day, and maybe it was odd that he found a sense of comfort in that. Maybe it was wrong. But it was true, and that was comforting to Marius. Because it was expected that he’d lose them, that they’d disappear. He didn’t have to deal with that aching fear as much, that feeling of They won’t get up, this is it our luck’s run out, because when they died there’d be no reason for them to get up and start walking.

That didn’t stop the pain when they did die, though. That aching, familiar fear creeping in.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this, after all. This wasn’t how they were supposed to die. They weren’t supposed to die by a bullet to the head, a bullet probably meant for Jonny as he was only a few meters behind them and had done significantly more to anger the people on this planet– they were supposed to die old and withered when Marius was ready. When he could actually look death and eternity head on and say ‘I’m not afraid’. They weren’t supposed to die only a few short years after joining them, after starting to travel with them.

And then… Well, perhaps, the most unexpected thing happened.

Lyf’s dark blue blood that was starting to stain Aurora’s silver floor started glimmering and glowing, turning into a prismatic array of rainbow hues.

Lyfrassir’s glassy eyes widened, and their voice was pulled from their throat without them having to speak.

Y’ai ‘ng’ngah Yog Sothoth hee-l’gleb f’ai throdog

Uaah ogthrod ai’f geb’lee-ee’h Yog Sothoth ‘ngah’ng ai’y zhro

The rainbow blood rose off the floor, the staticky colors making it hard to look at without gaining a headache but Marius couldn’t force himself to turn away as the blood stitched, slowly, painfully, stitched the wound in Lyf’s head closed, the reality warping as the wound disappeared, as if it never existed.

The iridescent blood seemed to stain Lyf’s pretty silver hair, colors seeping into their locks from their roots, most prominent and most vibrant where their hair was already stained with blood. But the blood was disappearing into nothingness but heat auras and steam around Lyf’s forehead quickly, a light returning to Lyfrassir’s eyes.

The wound seemed to stop existing as it was restitched by Lyf’s blood.

What was Marius so concerned about again? Why was Lyf on the floor?

Lyfrassir blinked, sitting up. Their white pupils had taken on a slightly iridescent hue, their hair seemed to move on its own, like there was wind on Aurora that there shouldn’t be. Splotches of their braids and their roots were stained with that same slightly iridescent hue. They looked around at the Mechanisms, who were staring at them with various looks of horror or concern.

“Wh… What happened?” Their voice was hoarse, like they hadn’t spoken for a while.

“I-” Brian was the one who spoke up, voice cracking as he did so, “I think you died.”

“I…” Lyfrassir’s eyes widened almost comically. “I died?”

“And then you came back,” Raphaella agreed. There was likely more said, Marius could see Lyfrassir’s mouth move as they talked, could see Jonny waving his arms as his tail swished and flicked angrily while he paced, could see Tim fiddle with xyr gun and Ivy snapping and Raph’s wings fluttering and Lyf grabbing their hair and Brian wringing his hands– there was likely more said.

All Marius could hear was the symphony screaming and shouting over itself, a Song oh-so familiar to Odin’s Void and the Bifrost’s whippoorwill call.

Lyfrassir disappeared into their room for a few months, and no one did anything to try and coerce them out.

Marius could barely be around them, the screaming Void and Whippoorwills and yelling symphony overwhelming him, only serving to get him Lost.

Marius didn’t know if he believed in immortality, the Music lies and Marius was sure one day their mechanisms would give out and wouldn’t heal anymore.

Whenever Lyf exited their room, they were disgruntled and their braids looked rougher than it ever had in all the time Marius knew them. Their hair was still stained with rainbows and their eyes still shined with opalescent colors, but the keening Void and keening Whippoorwills had calmed down, simply matching their usual background noise.

Marius approached them, after that.

“I think I’m glad you’re not Temporary,” he admitted. “But it scares me more than I’m glad.”

Lyfrassir replied with a confused ‘thank you’. They didn’t look at him. “I didn’t want this, when I escaped. I just wanted to live, but not like this.”

“You didn’t deserve to be Taken by something like our Music. But it probably only let you escape on purpose, for this.”

There was a moment of silence. “I think eternity is a long time. I don’t want to live forever.”

“I’m not certain we will. But at least we’re here, for however long ‘forever’ really is.”

After that, things returned to mostly-normal. It was strange, and everything was different, but it was like nothing had changed, in a way.

Marius just had one more person to hover over, whenever they were injured and whenever they got killed. To make sure that they lived, that they came back.

Marius just had one more person to fear losing.

Marius really hated the uncertainty of immortality. Marius really hated how scared it made him.

But it was something he was going to have to live with probably-forever.

Hopefully Nastya was somewhere warm.

[icycoldninja]

He failed (Angeal x reader angst)

TW: Blood, death, brief mentions of guns, dark themes, and angst themes. If you are not comfortable with these themes, DNI.

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

It was late at night; you were returning from visiting a friend's house, though you probably should have stayed the night. It was dark, the streets were empty, and most people, save for a drunken man crying on the curb surrounded by empty beer bottles, were asleep. You sighed, wrapped your arms around yourself, and kept walking down the cold roads.

"Probably should have stayed at F/N's house..." You mumbled, wrapping your arms around yourself when a chilly wind whipped past you. You continued down the street, nervously glancing around, making sure you weren't being followed. Several minutes of unsettling silence passed before you heard a loud clattering from somewhere behind you. Startled, you whirled around and peered into the shadows, not finding anything. Disturbed, you turned and broke out into a mad dash, heading towards a busy intersection. It was then when you heard them approaching.

"Heya, baby girl. You look lost."

You turned and saw three burly men, far bigger than you, standing there with weapons. You gasped and turned, trying to run away, but one of them rushed forwards and grabbed you by the arm. It was so fast, so sudden. You were scared out of your mind right then--how could anyone move like that?! You struggled, but their grips were like iron vises; escape was impossible. You screamed for help, but didn't get to for long, because one of them clamped their meaty hand over your mouth, silencing you.

Still, you continued resisting, all the way until you caught sight of a white feather falling from the sky. Your eyes widened in surprise as you watched it delicately land on the ground, unnoticed by the thugs. Hope rose in your heart as a familiar figure crashed to the ground, startling your assailants.

"What the-?! Who the hell is that!?" One of them shrieked, unhanding you and staring up at your rescuer with fear.

"Angeal!" You squealed, happily running into his arms.

"Y/N," He greeted, wrapping you up in his beefy biceps and pinning you to his chest with his fluffy, white wing. "Are you alright?" You nodded, turning back to look at the terrified street punks who'd run off crying for their mommies.

"I'm so glad you're here. I was afraid..." You sighed, burying your face in his pectorals. Angeal chuckled softly and kissed your forehead.

"Don't worry, I'm here now." You nestled deeper into his touch.

"Thanks, Angie. I love you." Angeal kissed you again, then wrapped an arm around your shoulder and led you down the street.

"I love you, too, Y/N. I'll always be here to protect you." You laughed and hooked your arm around his lean waist, snuggling against him as you walked.

"I'll hold you to it."

About a month or so later, Angeal huffed out a worried sigh and checked his phone. 12:45 A.M.

You were late. Too late. He sank back into the couch and folded his arms, trying to calm the uneasiness brewing in his heart--a feat that proved impossible.

"This doesn’t make sense." He grumbled. It really didn't. You hadn't gone anywhere except to work. Coming home shouldn't take until midnight! Angeal stood up and headed for the door, sure that something bad must have happened. He was already halfway down the road when his phone rang. It was from your phone. Relieved, he answered the call. "Y/n, I've been so worried-"

"Hello, S.O.L.D.I.E.R." Rasped an unfamiliar voice. Angeal's pulse suddenly went into overdrive. He'd been right, something had happened to you. His white feathered wing burst from his back and he rocketed down the street.

"I bet you'll be excited to know that we have your little girlfriend," Continued the thug. Angeal's breath hitched at these words, but he continued speeding onward. "If you want her back, you'll meet us by the old warehouse in the Sector 8 slums. You come alone. Bring anyone with you, and we'll kill the bitch." The thug then laughed and hung up.

Angeal's heart throbbed in his ears as he raced towards the location the thug had described. He didn't care what he was running into, saving you took top priority. He was a S.O.L.D.I.E.R. anyway, a few punks meant nothing to him. He soon landed in front of the warehouse, finding it to be dirty and decrepit, though that was hardly a surprise. As he approached the door, shock and panic overcame him, for on it hung a note with the words "Fooled ya!" Scrawled on it. Angeal stared at the note and knew what it meant: He'd been tricked.

"Y/n!" He shouted, literally ripping aside the door. "Y/n, where are you?!" It wasn't until he heard a weak voice call out his name--your voice.

"Angeal...."

Internally panicking, Angeal followed the sound of that tiny voice to a stack of steel boxes supposedly filled with sand in orderto make them difficult to move. Adrenaline fueling him, Angeal threw the boxes aside, revealing the bleeding, bound woman behind them.

"Y/N!" He shouted, dropping to the floor and hastening to undo your binds. When you didn't respond, he shook your shoulder gently. "Y/N...look at me, please."

Your eyes drifted in the direction of his voice; glassy and dull.

"Angeal....that you? I...I can't see...it's so dark..." Angeal pressed you closer to his body, tears starting to run down his cheeks.

"Shh, save your strength. I'm here. I'll get you help." Wearily, you reached out a blood-soaked hand, struggling to close it around his large forearm.

"I...I...just wanna tell you..." You paused to slowly take in a deep, agonizing breath. You felt so unbelievably winded, as if you'd just run a marathon even though you hadn't done anything. You were aware of the cause of this--the bullet wound that burned and ached in your lower abdomen, as well as the river of blood that bled out from it.

"Y/N, please..." Angeal begged, clasping you so tightly, it hurt. "You cannot die. I-I promised you...." A weak, soft, barely noticeable smile crept across your face.

"I want...you...to know I...love...you...Angie..." You tried to hang on, but you felt so, so, tired. Your breath left your body in a long, slow exhale, feeling the pressure and pain coursing throughout your body slowly dissipate as you did so. The last things you heard were Angeal's stifled sobs as he clutched your corpse to his chest.

The man who had once promised to keep you safe now held your dead body in his arms, crying over it because he failed.

[electrozeistyking]

Normally, I don't make posts like this.

But something you gotta realize about me is that, while I'm revisiting NEXO Knights and drawing art for it because I actually have the ability to now, I actually don't remember anything beyond the first episode.

So I'm planning on rewatching the my childhood favourite show, or else it'll become abundantly clear I don't know what I'm talking about. Especially the seasons with Electric Jestro, I don't remember diddly SQUAT about those ones. Which is especially silly, considering the fact I'm working on an AU where he fucking DIES for ten seconds upon being electrified and then going off from there.

You know what, going back through the show and genuinely taking notes for myself to remember should be fun! :D

[lanayru-the-water-god]

After healing

Lanayru wakes up slowly, the weakest she’s ever been, but still realizes that Nerin isn’t quite right. Something happened…and Nerin won’t tell her.

(Lanayru is ~900 years old)

Word count: 1301

“…..ru?”

“…wait…takes a minute…”

“Lanayru?”

Slowly, the first feelings of consciousness emerge from the peaceful dark void.

“Lanayru.”

The Water Goddess groans, stirring only slightly.

“Shh…give her a minute…”

“Are you with me?”

…Nerin?

The black void begins to dissipate, pieces of awareness floating into her mind. Lanayru groans again, eyes too heavy to open and body melting into a soft surface…Where’s Nerin?

“….she’s coming around.”

Huh?

Who’s…that?

Her hands are cold, so cold, tucked under something warm and fluffy…her entire body seems to be covered. Almost like…a blanket.

Something, or someone, is pressing down on her chest, moving softly. Cool hands touch her face, making her wince, and she takes in a slow breath.

“Hrrmphhh…” With what little energy she can muster, she peels her eyelids open halfway, lifting her head only slightly. Through bleary eyes she can make out an incredibly blurry mass of white atop her blanket. “Wha…?”

“Lanayru!” The white shape moves suddenly, making her head spin. “Hi, waterdrop! Can you hear me?”

“Mmm…” She rests her head back down, closing her eyes. “…yeah.”

“Oh, thank goodness! It is so good to see you, my darling.” The pure relief is evident in Nerin’s voice…telling her something has happened. Her friend had been waiting.

“Lanayru, welcome back.” The other voice is speaking now. “It’s me, Starlight. Just relax, okay? Take it easy.”

Another groan escapes her lips, and she can no longer feel Nerin’s weight on her chest. It’s just the three of them, right here, in what she assumes is her bedroom…everything before that is…gone.

“What…happened?”

Nerin takes a second to answer.

“You don’t remember, waterdrop?” A hand nudges on her shoulder. “Come on, look at me.”

It takes an immense amount of effort to open her eyes, her blurry vision swimming, but she can see the outlines of her best friend standing above her.

“Here, what’s the last thing you can recall?”

Lanayru gazes blearily at Nerin, growing ever more fatigued from the attempt to think…

Nothing.

Nothing is coming to mind.

“I…” she croaks. “I don’t—“

“There has to be something! Please think, waterdrop!”

“Nerin, darling,” Starlight’s calm voice interjects. “I am afraid Lanayru’s memory has been compromised. You must tell her what happened.”

“No…no, I-I can’t…”

“She deserves to know. Please.”

Wh-what’s going on?

Something horrible must have happened. If only she could remember what…

“Lanayru?” A soft hand touches her chin, turning her head on the pillow. “No, don’t fall asleep, come on—“

Slowly she peels her eyes back open- when had she closed them?- and her gaze is once again met with Nerin’s blurry figure. From what little she can make out of her friend’s face, something stands out to her, something running down her cheeks…

Tears.

Nerin is crying.

“Hmmm….you’ok?” she slurs out, the deep exhaustion still evident in her voice.

“Am I—Lanayru!” Nerin gasps. “Look at me…look at you! Please…try to remember?”

She wants to remember, more than anything…but oh Gods, her fuzzy brain won’t comprehend.

“…‘can’t…’m sorry.”

Somehow, Nerin won’t tell her. It’s almost as if her friend is…dreading the thought of it? Her head pounds slightly and her weak body threatens to drift off once again…Stay awake, Lanayru. She keeps her bleary eyes open, heart aching at the sight of Nerin in such distress.

“Okay,” The Swan Goddess sighs, wiping the tears with her hand. “RuRu, you saved my maiden’s life. Ivory would have… died if it wasn’t for you, waterdrop, but you’ve been gone for…” She sniffles. “…a long time.”

“Thirty-five days,” Starlight adds. “Four less than last time, but your Swan Goddess couldn’t wait. She was desperate, she’s been waiting here for days—“

Nerin holds up a hand. “That’s enough, please, don’t overwhelm her.” She then moves her delicate fingers to Lanayru’s forehead. “Now, anything coming back to you yet?”

Lanayru racks her muddled brain, things sounding so familiar…you saved my maiden’s life…Ivory…thirty-five days…last time? Whatever she had done, it happened before, but what…

In front of her, a hazy image appears. Her body glowing white, the life seeping out of her, a woman’s pale form lying on the ground…

Healing Grace!

Lanayru lets out a quiet gasp.

“I…healed her,” she chokes out, and Nerin lifts the hand off. “…Iv’ry.”

“There you go, that’s it!” The Swan Goddess sighs, in what seems to be relief. “You just finished recharging, waterdrop. I know you’re still out of it, but I’m here, Starlight’s here…you’re gonna be okay, you’re back with us. With me.”

Lanayru blinks, as her companion’s face comes more into focus. “Mrmmph…” she mumbles, keeping the warm blanket over her ice-cold fingertips.

“How are you feeling, Lanie? Do you need anything?”

“…’m tired…” The image of a bleeding Ivory drifts through her mind again, the last thing she can remember. “…’s Iv’ry ok?”

“Yeah, she’s doing much better,” Nerin replies, smiling through the tears. “Back on her feet and fully recovered. Thanks to you, waterdrop.”

“But…you lost me…”

“Yes.” Another tear runs down her friend’s cheek. “It was a horrible situation, Lanayru, trust me that you did the right thing. No matter how hard it was for us.”

The Water Goddess groans again. She doesn’t know if it’s the exhaustion talking, but Nerin just seems…off. Almost like she’s hiding something.

Healing Ivory must have killed her. It had to…right? And Nerin’s tears are not of joy but of agony. Something happened. Something else happened…

Was she there?

Did she…

Lanayru whimpers, vision continuing to clear. The look on her friend’s face is enough to break her heart right in two. She almost wishes she was still unconscious.

“Hey, are you alright? What’s wrong?”

“I-ugh, I…don’t know.” The more she tries to gather fragments of her memory, the more her head spins. “Y-you’re upset…”

“I’m sorry,” Nerin mutters, quickly wiping her eyes with one arm. “I shouldn’t overwhelm you, Lanayru. You’re still so weak, and chances are you won’t remember this conversation later. That happened last time—“ The Swan Goddess briefly buries her face in her hands. “Argh, I can’t help it.”

“It’s okay, Lady Nerin,” Starlight assures her. “And Lana, your friend is right. You should just focus on resting…I should have considered how you may not recall much of this, my apologies.”

Ignoring the Dweller’s comment, the Water Goddess continues to gaze at her companion with tired eyes.

“Lil’one…if I won’t remember this…then—tell me what’s wrong.”

“Lanayru, I can’t. It will upset you too much. Just listen to Starlight, okay? The sooner you recover, the sooner we can get this all sorted out.”

“But…’m recovered…”

“No, you are not.” Nerin’s voice is surprisingly firm. “You’re fighting just to stay conscious, I can tell. You are too weak to even sit up, waterdrop. So I would hardly call that recovered.”

Lanayru sighs, her heavy eyes drooping again. If Nerin really was there, then—

She thinks back to her friend’s head on her chest, and her own heart sinks.

Then Nerin saw me…stop breathing.

“Urrgh…’m so sorry, lil’one…” she groans, rubbing her pounding head. “So sorry…”

“For what? Oh, Goddesses—“

The darkness begins to welcome her with open arms…

“Lanayru?”

Slowly she blinks her eyes back open. “Hmm?”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Ivory is okay, I’m okay…soon you’ll be okay too. You saved her, waterdrop, never forget that.”

“Nerin…were you there?”

The Swan Goddess falls silent, eyes widening. She seems to be struggling to respond, but that is all Lanayru needs. The answer is finally clear.

“You watched me…”

“Shh…relax, waterdrop.” Nerin gently soothes her. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

No…

I died and she watched me.

Floating on the edge of the comforting darkness, Lanayru feels the sharp pang of guilt in her chest, taking over her senses…

“You can go back to sleep, okay? I’ll be right here.”

[leoneedincorrectquotes]

Warning: Below is a slightly niche reference to something, death is mentioned. Also has very little to do with Leo/Need, I just felt the need to reference this

Mizuki has had nightmares about being locked in a freezer and hit with a guitar... Rui has nightmares about being killed by a swordfish... Ichika has nightmares about robot monkeys... Tsukasa has dreams about being pelted with tomatoes by robots... none of them know why