#tw brief violence

[syncopein3d]

Left Alone Part 10: Silencers 2

Big weekend update, so I split it up!

Tropes/content warnings: M for mature themes overall. vampire whumpee/caretaker, male whumpee/caretaker, non-binary whumpee/caretaker, general morbidity, and in this chapter, mind control and death by vampire bite. The person who is killed is a woman, if that's something you need to know for trigger reasons, but it's in a fairly straighforward combat way.

There will be a lot of play with, and discussion of, the concept of consent in this series, as it applies to many topics. There will be angst. Vampire biting can be painful, platonic, or NSFW and I'm not sure what direction that will take, but Tolly will definitely continue to fantasize about subtextually or literally sex-murdering Arden, as vampires often do.

If you would like to be added to, or removed from, the tag list of this series, please let me know!

Part 9: Silencers 1

“So, no kids this time,” Liam said. He drove the electric Sprinter that night, because it was his turn to drive and Chase's turn to ride shotgun. Both of them were dressed in black tac gear, black Kevlar vests, helmets buckled on their heads decaled with the name of an armored car company. It was a different armored car company each time, matching the temporaries on the outside of the van. This time it was Merrywether Armored Transport. A green pine-shaped air freshener dangled prosaically from the rearview mirror. Armored cars were generally diesel, not electric, but diesels were noisy. The fully electric Mercedes Sprinter could glide up to a place in near-total silence.

Liam wasn't his real name. Chase wasn't his partner's real name, either, nor Madison and Michael in the back. None of the party of four Silencers knew the real names of any of the others. No one could be cursed except by the name they most believed to be their true one. As a consequence, they rotated sobriquets every few months. If you used a false name for too long, you might start to believe it was your true one. They rotated call signs, too.

“Naw,” Chase said. “No kids. The mark's 28, if that makes you feel any better.” He and Liam weren't that different-looking from one another: both brown-haired, brown-eyed guys in their mid-twenties, just under six feet tall, excellent physical shape. Both were veterans of overseas infantry operations. Both tended to look very closely at sudden noises.

Both had steel amulets under their black tee shirts to keep the voices out.

Liam knew that they had almost nothing in common besides this, that he was an FPS gamer in his off-time and Chase was more of a watch football and grill kind of guy, but to know that you'd have to get to know them both. And you didn't get to know people on the Silencer teams unless you were on one yourself.

“Don't use that tone, man,” Liam said. “You didn't like that, either. You know you didn't.”

“Course I didn't,” Chase said. He continued to look from front window to side window mirror and back almost mechanically, shifting to keep his sidearm from stabbing him in the hip. “But we got it done. That's all that matters. You can't hold onto that shit, or it'll eat you alive. Pray to the Crone for mercy, isn't that what you do?”

“The Mother,” Liam said. “The Crone has no mercy. I'm impressed you remembered that much, though. I didn't think you were listening, you being a Secular and all.”

Chase shrugged. He also had a scar running along his right cheekbone, and while he was steady as a rock, it turned pinker when he was excited. And he did get excited on mission in a way Liam didn't.

“I don't need a word for it,” Chase said. “You were raised Catholic, that's your real problem.” He glanced at Liam and away again, fingers shifting on the grip of the razored shortsword on his hip. The stalk of bamboo sat further back, recently cut to a sharp point and still alive. They didn't expect to need them today, but it was standard issue and they would never be without razored steel for Hunters and living wood for the Undead.

Madison was busy checking and rechecking the contents of her cleanup bag, rolling the bags tighter, making sure all the bottles of disinfectant were full. Her lips were pursed tightly when Liam spared a glance for the mirror. She had hands like a stevedore and she was built like a coat rack. Madison never said much, but from the way she handled firearms he was pretty sure she was some kind of vet, too. He knew she and her wife socialized with Chase sometimes, so maybe she was a Marine, like he was.

“I don't like it when there's kids,” said Michael from behind them. “And I'm Secular, too.” Michael sat on the opposite bench with his ankles crossed, arms folded. He was the only current member of Silencer Team NW-4 who was black now, because a corpse had gotten Jaden last month and a fifth hadn’t been assigned yet.

“Yeah, but were you raised Catholic?” Chase asked.

“Jehovah’s Witness.”

“I never knew that,” Liam said. “Are you still?”

“Nah. I have a different family now.”

“In silence,” Chase said, leaning forward with uplifted fist. Michael leaned in to smack the bones of his forearm across Chase’s in an X.

“In night,” said Michael.

“What about you, Mads? How you doing back there?” Liam asked.

“Fine,” Madison said. “It's going to be the same shit either way. It's a job needs doing. We do it.” Her icy tone thawed slightly as the pale grey eyes glanced up at him and back at what she was doing. “Pilot car who gave the okay said it's for sure just Arden Telep, remember. Immediate family are all mundane, and he’s still on witchbane, thinks he’s undiagnosed schizophrenic. The house is out in bumfuck nowhere. It'll be quick. Easy. So don't worry, Liam.”

“That name sounds familiar,” Liam said.

“Cause of Nicholas Telep,” Michael said. All three of them looked at him, Liam more briefly and in the mirror. “What? He was a big damn deal around here when I was a kid. Arden’s got to be some relation. Way I heard it, Nicholas Telep was Silenced. Maybe it was for fucking with the Hunters. That would explain,” he waved a hand. “This whole thing.”

“Above our pay grade,” Chase said.

Michael shrugged. “You're not wrong."

"There's the turn," Liam said, and took them down the narrow road, the headlights lighting up a traveling oval of the dense green walls of the evergreen forest. It was mostly pine out here, closer to the ground, clearcut sometime in the last fifty years and not yet replaced with the taller Douglas firs. You could get cut up like you'd run through a car wash full of nails if you tried to walk through these woods, between the sharp-needled pines and the wild blackberry vines that choked the roadside and the thickets. There were probably dynasties of rabbits out here that had been around since the pioneers.

After about a half-mile, the dirt drive opened up and became a paved driveway leading up to an elegant loop in front of the battered-looking house. There was a row of lamps along the drive, but most of them were out, leaving irregular patches of darkness and light. It didn't look like much, a rambling old pile with chipped blue paint, but he felt it when they crossed a certain threshold. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and his ears rang like he'd just come off an airplane. He hit the brakes immediately. Without the steel amulet he knew he’d be bleeding from every orifice in his head.

"Wards of Alarm," he said. "If he’s sensitive at all, he'll know we're coming."

"It won't matter," Chase said. 

"It never does," said Liam.

Inside the house, Tolly reached for Arden’s shoulder. “Arden. What is it?”

Their eyes snapped to his. “I don’t know! It felt like – I can’t describe it. Like getting cold water thrown on you but like someone’s standing behind you, too!”

“I don’t underst - ”

Someone was opening the front door and the back door, not the one by the kitchen, but the one on the other side of the laundry. Tolly could hear the faintest clicks and clacks of the lock being tinkered with.

“Someone’s here,” he said. “Arden, go downstairs.”

“Tolly - ”

“Downstairs,” Tolly said in an urgent whisper, switching his grip to Arden’s upper arm. “Now, Arden. I’ll come and get you when it’s safe.”

He let go as Arden turned, and he heard running footsteps in the hallway, then the basement door closing more quietly than usual. The front door was open now, and he could hear a heart beating: high enough from the ground to be a very tall woman or a slightly tall man, steady, barely elevated. He was not nervous about what he was doing, or he’d done it many times, or both. Then the back door opened, too: shorter person, even less concerned than this one.

Tolly went that way first, pushing his sneakers off to make less sound on the hardwood floor of the downstairs. He glided into the shadow of the stairs, peering into the back hallway: whoever was back there had not yet left the laundry room. He slid into the doorway of what proved to be a large dining room and flattened himself against the wall. Scents wafted to his nostrils in the faint breeze from the laundry room door opening: Adult female, healthy, wearing some kind of dense artificial material with a strong smell. Boot rubber and leather. Gun oil. Metal. Fresh bamboo.

Bamboo was a frequent choice as a melee weapon against vampires, because it grew fast and stayed alive for hours after it was cut. That didn’t tell him whether it was a team of Witches or Hunters. The former might be able to throw fire at him; the latter might have senses approaching the keenness of his own.

Who would know he was here? He couldn’t imagine Nicholas would tell anyone, and Arden definitely hadn’t. Someone must have already been watching Arden on their trips to town. But that was speculation. He needed hard facts. And Arden wasn’t here to see anything he did…

As he was contemplating this, the barrel of some sort of long gun with a bulky silencing attachment glided past the open door beside him. Tolly grabbed and yanked, pulling her off balance and into the dining room. The woman in the black tactical gear had extremely good reflexes, but they were mortal reflexes. He dodged a blow that struck wood chips from the doorpost as he snatched her shoulder radio away and tossed it onto the long table behind him. She snapped a kick at his shin that could have shattered the bone. He slipped it easily as he slid behind her, yanked the bamboo from her belt, and tossed that, too. She couldn’t turn fast enough to follow him even in his current state, and then he snatched at the fastener of her helmet and flicked it away. He was ducking to set it on the floor so it wouldn’t clatter when the razor sword whistled over his head, long microseconds too late. Her shirt under her heavy vest had a high, stiff collar. It shredded like paper under his talons as he grabbed at it.

Scraping a bloody welt into her throat was not part of his plan. He needed someone to interrogate. But his talon scratched her as the collar came away, and then the scent of fresh blood hit his nostrils and the world went red. Black Tolly slammed her into the wall with the full weight of his body, hip turned against the attempt to knee him in the groin, and it was only accident that his hand found her wrist before she stabbed him. She dropped the weapon as bones cracked under his grip, hissing in anger as much as in pain.

He yanked her head to the side with his other hand, completely ignoring her repeated blows to his ribs, and sank his teeth in around the big artery in the side of her throat. His lips sealed against the skin just in time. Blood shot down his throat so fast it would have drowned him if he’d inhaled. Overwhelming ecstasy blotted out every conscious thought for what felt like forever, time pulling out like taffy until a second was an hour. He felt himself changing, felt his true strength returning, and he gloried in it.

He felt the soldier’s struggle weaken almost immediately, arms dropping as her weight sagged against him, and then only the pressure of his weight and the wall held her up. He held on even as the flow started to drop off, even as her heart gave out and her body stopped twitching. He did not regain even the slightest capacity for conscious thought until he could get nothing more. But finally, even suction could get him not one more drop, and he took his mouth away with a rough lick. Now that he was fully himself again, his saliva made the little wounds shrink and close. That would only work in a living victim or one very newly dead, so it was important to do it at once.

Witches and Hunters would know what an exsanguinated body with no visible marks meant, of course. But their organizations might not be the ones to find the body first, and secrecy must be maintained.

Tolly lowered the body quietly to the floor, trying to remember through the fog whether either of them had made enough noise to be heard from the front vestibule. He’d hit her against the wall hard. Whether through stoicism or an attempt to avoid alerting Arden, she had died without crying out. He heard footsteps, but they were investigating the kitchen right now.

“Mads?” whispered the radio on the table. Tolly rifled the body quickly and found the amulet around her neck. It was plain steel, in the shape of a crescent moon crossed with a longsword. Witches. She had not tried to use any kind of spell. Maybe she couldn’t use them in combat, and that was what had made her expendable to this sort of mission in the first place. He had no idea how any of it worked. Nicholas had not been stupid enough to give him details.

She had died too fast to suffer. Still, he had learned almost nothing. Black Tolly pocketed the amulet and turned to stalk back out into the hallway, toward the sound of shod feet on the kitchen tiles.

Part 11: Silencers 3

@fleur-a-whump, @bitchaknso, @valravnthefrenchie, @thewhumpcaretaker

[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

[booasaur]

Teen Wolf - 3x23 || Teen Wolf (2023) - Lydia saving Allison 15 years late

[jankwritten]

Jasico Bingo Challenge: Jason Remembers Nico

Sunlight streaks in through the half-open arena roof, bathing their section in warm, mid-afternoon gold. Jason, who has decided to spend their short mid-class break sprawled out in the dirt, basks in the warmth of it. 

He’s hot from training, sure, and maybe everyone else is smarter for seeking shelter in the shade of the spectator stands, but something about the afternoon sun is like wrapping up in a blanket. A cozy, tingly kind of warmth. 

Maybe, in another life, Jason was a child of Apollo. Wouldn’t that be something? Jason Grace: still a child of the sky, but without all the pressure. It sounds pretty nice, he won’t lie. 

As the class murmurs in the background, Jason lets himself relax. Really, truly relax, starting with his shoulders, down his arms, his wrists, his knuckles. He loosens his back on a deep exhale, and down his legs, until he feels as boneless and one-with-the-earth as he possibly can. 

A cool shade passes over him. It settles across his face, as if something has come by and blocked out the sun. 

He peeks. 

“You’ll get a sunburn,” Nico says, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, face in his hands. 

“And you won’t?” Jason closes his eyes again. Honestly, having Nico’s chilly aura nearby is kind of awesome when the sun’s this perfect. Yin and yang, right? Balance. 

Plus, y’know, doesn’t hurt a guy’s pride to have the well documented people-avoider seeking him out. Even if it’s to save him from himself. Score one: Jason. 

“My hair will spare my neck, I’m sure.” 

Jason smiles. “I like your hair long, you know. I wish I could grow my hair out like that.” 

Nico makes a scoffing sound, like he can’t decide if he wants to be amused or offended. Jason peeks again. 

“Perfect Praetor Grace wants to look like an unwashed rat?” 

“That’s not what I said. I said I wanted to grow my hair long, like yours.” 

He watches Nico rolls his eyes and shake his head, but he doesn’t push the point. 

Score two: Jason. 

A breeze rolls in off the strawberry hills, bringing the scent of grass and summer in to mix with the kicked up dirt and metal of the arena. Jason lulls into it. 

Gods, this is peaceful. It probably shouldn’t be, in the middle of teaching a class on self-defense. Jason’s always been a creature of habit, though, and battle was always an ironically safe space for him. Let out his aggression in a semi-healthy way, or something. 

Back at Camp Jupiter, they would have him fight in the coliseum every so often, a demonstration of his power, his capability to lead. They called him ruthless. He only ever lost one fight, which earned the victor a massive wave of support when it came time to elect praetors. 

It’s a strange memory, but one he smiles at nonetheless. Reyna was nothing short of vicious when they went toe-to-toe; she was the only person who ever fought the way Jason felt like he needed to, like it was sink or swim. Victory or death. 

There was one match, after Reyna, after people realized that Jason could be beaten, where he accidentally let too much of that side show. When he threw down his sword and took his opponent to the ground to fight like the wolves did, in the grass with teeth and claws and the rest of the pack swarming around them, snarling their approval. 

One face stood out in that crowd, afterward, of people stepping around him, giving him a wide berth while he scrubbed the blood off his mouth. It was a boy, wearing a too-loose purple shirt and a look on his face like he knew exactly what he’d seen. A boy with hair that turned brown in the light and eyes like nothing Jason had ever seen - not quite haunted, but certainly too old for the face they sat within. When the light hit them, it almost seemed to disappear. 

Jason never spoke to the boy. 

He opens his eyes again. Nico blinks down at him, his head tilted, eyebrows creased and mouth frowning. 

Jason grins back. Nico’s eyebrow twitches. 

“What.” 

“Nothing,” Jason says. A lifetime ago, Jason singled out one boy in a crowd, and despite having forgotten, lost everything, built himself anew—here that boy sits. Shielding him from the sun. Still, somehow, knowing Jason better than he’s ever known himself. “I’m just glad we’re friends.” 

“Ugh, gods,” Nico’s face goes pink, and his hands move, covering over his mouth and nose. “You’re worse than Will.” 

“I’m doing my job well, then.” 

Nico shakes his head, his hair drifting over his shoulders in the process, hanging in the air between them. Jason wants to reach up and touch it, fiddle with the strands like Leo does with Piper’s hair when they’re hanging out in the bunker. 

“I should let you burn,” Nico says. He doesn’t move. 

The victor in the colosseum would have shored up his walls at that. Closed himself off from the boy with underworld eyes. Heard nothing but the implication that Jason needs someone else to keep him safe, to keep him from getting himself hurt. 

Maybe that’s why Nico never spoke to him, back at Camp Jupiter. Maybe that’s why Jason never got up the nerve to approach him. Too scared to let himself trust. 

“I put my life in your hands,” Jason teases, crossing his arms behind his head. 

The sun is warm on his skin. The chuff of Nico’s disbelieving, snorting laugh is warmer. 

[dsm--v]

tw: vent, mental health discussion, bad parents, written in second person for some reason

hi.

let me set the scene for you. you, a 14 year old boy, have always struggled with people. they’re so complex and confusing and you hate most of them. you have two sisters, an older sister, the scapegoat and a younger sister, the naive one. and you. the golden child.

two mentally ill parents in the process of getting a divorce. you find yourself on your mother’s ‘side’. your father…is bad? he wasn’t involved in your life much, or so your mother tells you. you don’t remember your young childhood very well, honestly.

your mother….hm. your mother is a terribly insecure person, and was subject to some form of emotional abuser from your father, as she very frequently reminds you. she relies on you heavily. **heavily**. not just for helping with your siblings, but for…emotional support, often in the form of venting to you about your father. you have a tumultuous relationship, somewhat, at least. often very close, but it can turn harsh very quickly. your mother has few friends, and rarely leaves the house, making you one of her main forms of interaction and connection.

your father. your..father. you don’t know where to start with him, really. not like it’s a dramatic thing, you just….dont have much to say about him. apparently, he is an abusive person and a narcissist (to be clear, i am not a person who thinks ‘narc abuse’ should be a term that’s used). that’s what your mother says. and maybe he is. he probably is. but, as previously mentioned, not much of your childhood can be recalled, so you can’t be sure for yourself. he clearly favors your younger sister, and makes your mother and older sister out to be terrible people. where does that leave you? it’s subject to change. everyone always stays in those positions, but you. you fluctuate in his mind. sometimes he tries to keep you ‘on his side’ and sometimes he sees you as siding with your mother. you haven’t figured out why you were singled out. you may never.

so what is there to do? you are a mentally unhealthy teen who daydreams about violence and spends far too much of his life online and withdrawn. you want to change this, but you can’t. you just have to wait until you can leave your family, or at least distance yourself.

[kaizenkhaos]

Harringrove Lovefest: The Back Up Plan

The 10th of February's prompt I chose is The Back Up Plan ^^ The boys are going to Prom. But their dates are sick, so.....maybe they should just go with each other ^^ Next fics will be the 13th and 14th :D Enjoying seeing peoples' content so far. Hoping to look at more over the next few days ^^

Prom was one of those stupid traditions which schools seemed to have where people had to dress up, dance. Felt like they had to choose a partner. Stressed out. Be the best dressed. Be the best full stop.

Or maybe Billy was just feeling bitter about it because his date was sick.

He'd spent several hours getting things just right. His hair, his suit, his cologne. Something not too strong but with the familiar smell the girls now associated with him. He was in a suit. Shirt button up in a fashion that felt foreign to him. He even had one of those stupid flower things on his lapel. A bright red carnation. Apparently it signified love and stuff. Whatever, he'd just liked the look of it. He'd even got a matching one for his date. Being sick was a valid reason and he knew that but there was something about going to prom alone which felt….not great. They'd expect him to walk in with a date. He'd had so many people ask him and now he was stuck alone. Anyone in their right mind would have gotten a date by now or be going with friends. Something else Billy didn't really feel he had. It wasn't as if he could pick up the phone and call someone. No chance he was calling Hagan; he'd not appreciate a third wheel on his wagon tonight. If he didn't go, people would talk. If he did still go, people would talk, and he wasn't staying here dressed to the nines. That was his decision made for him.

"I'm going to the prom."

No answer, just as expected. These days, that was better than the answer he could get, so he took it and walked out. Ready to bomb away in the Camaro and forget Lacey. Maybe someone would sneak in a 'beverage' and this night would be better than he thought it would be. School was almost out for him. What were they going to do? Expel him? Heading past the Harrington household, Billy was surprised to see Harrington's BMW still parked out on the drive. Slowing down, he took a glance and realised it wasn't just the car that was there; so was Harrington and he was getting out the car with flowers. Running his hand through his hair before heading back to the house. Had he just gone out to get flowers for his date? When he returned alone, Hargrove knew that wasn't the case, so rolled to the side. Cut the engine and got out, leaning against his car as Harrington was about to get in his own.

"Buying flowers for yourself Harrington?"

He could feel the look Steve gave him without being able to properly see. That withering look, the eye roll and here it came; that stance where hands went on hips and he knew he was in for a bitchy response.

"They're for my mom. Why? You wish they were for you?"

Billy laughed, casually reaching in his pocket for his smokes. Seeing right through Steve's lies. For his mom…. Maybe now but he knew originally, that was not the idea.

"You on the bench then?"

He saw the slight shift. The stiffening and knew he'd hit a nerve. Harrington didn't have a date!! Now how's that for a turn up for the books. King Steve didn't have a Queen for his carriage.

The way the guy didn't speak for a moment and leaned on his own car, the door open, like this conversation was soon going to be over. As far as Steve was concerned anyway. Billy was in no hurry to leave.

"She got sick. The flu or somethin'." He shrugged as if it either didn't matter or he was pretending to not be bothered. Could be either, hard to tell. But Billy smirked regardless. He'd not expected Steve to be so open. Perhaps….it would be fun to toy with him but clearly King Bee here wasn't in the mood and Billy for once didn't fancy getting into a fight. Going home with a bruiser would just get him more. "Funny that," Billy started, staring down at his cigarette before looking up at Steve who was clearly listening. Eyes set on the blonde as he leaned forward a little. "That's exactly what my date said too. You think perhaps we've been stood up and they're going together?"

It was a joke but he could see the cogs whirring in Steve's head. A laugh brought it crashing down and with a sneer, Steve got in his car. Wrong move. "Wow, really touchy Harrington." He made no effort to move his car, which was partially blocking the drive and headed up it. Uninvited with the chance of Steve trying to bump him but he didn't care. Steve however seemed to realise this and instead sat in his car, clearly displeased about his unexpected guest and rival turning up at such a time..Or perhaps anytime.

"Well how about this amigo," Billy said, now leaning against the BMW as Steve wound the window down. Still stony faced but at least he'd not put the foot on the gas.

"Looks like both of our dates are either actually sick or have ditched us. Their loss man. But we're both dressed to the nines and ready to go. So how about it?"

"How about what?"

Billy shrugged, as if what he's about to say is nothing.

"We just rock up together. Show Hawkins how it's done."

The truth was Casey, or Laura or whatever her name was hadn't been Billy's first choice to Prom. Reality sucked but in this hick nation of a town, going with a girl was as natural as taking a piss. But going with a guy….not only would it be the talk of the school but the talk of the town, and as soon as that talk got back to his dad… It wasn't worth thinking about. But now said guy was sat smart and still stone faced next to him in the Camaro, it was hard to not think about all the things that came to mind when he was alone and the house was silent. Steve had been the one he'd really wanted to go to the prom with. But he'd pretend that he was just doing the guy a favour. It was just a back up plan; once they got to prom, they'd go their separate ways and that would be that. Billy would offer to take him back or he could get a cab, he didn't care. Really….. He wasn't thinking about post prom….he wasn't thinking about….

"I'm surprised you're not blasting us with that music you listen to…."

The softness of Steve's words managed to cut through the silence and Billy blinked. He was right; he'd not even done his usual routine. Slam on the gas, slam on the tunes.

"Seeing as you ask so nicely…."

The music flicked on, Billy laughed as Steve visibly winced at the volume but he wasn't in the mood for being a total asshole. So he turned it down just a notch. The radio was just finishing one tune and going onto the next. Boston's More than a Feeling. Ironic. He didn't show it though. Maxine must have been messing with the station again. Next time she was in the car, he was going to mess with her.

Metallica started to blare out instead. Four Horsemen, definitely an improvement. No sappy rock in this darn car. Not whilst he has the King Bee looking like he'd eaten wasps next to him.

"How'd you get into this?"

It's a question that Billy wasn't expecting at all. Ever. Steve being interested in his music taste. Was he feeling okay?

"Mom got me a radio when I was little," he started, gripping the wheel a little tighter on mentioning his mom. Not who he wanted to think about, but again, he wasn't going to be an asshole. And Steve actually sounded interested. There wasn't that bitchy tone to his question. "I was just messing around with it and on came Sabbath. Black Sabbath, you know Ozzy Osbourne, Tommy Iommi…. Paranoid. I was hooked man. Never changed the station after that. Now when Metallica started…."

He looked at Steve, expecting to see glazed eyes and was shocked to see the opposite. Engaged, looked like he was actually listening, interested to hear Billy talk. Strange. Get a grip.

"When we get there, don't expect me to stick around. Happy to give you a lift back but…."

"Yeah yeah." There was the bitch again, Steve looking out of the window. Hands gripped loosely on his trousers. Billy couldn't help but gaze at him before he drew his eyes back onto the road and the school which was rapidly approaching them. Steve looked….great. As always. Not a hair out of place, a fancy suit and no doubt his shoes would be like a mirror. Maybe so shiny he'd done his hair in them. He was wearing some kind of cologne; Billy had gotten a sniff earlier and had tried not to fixate on it. It suited him and all Billy could think of was how he could get close enough to smell all the undertones. Maybe him wish that he'd just gone with his own old familiar. He missed smelling like himself.

The party had already started when they finally walked through the doors, a mere nod before Billy's plan played out. Steve disappearing to wherever and Billy scoping the scene. Looking for Hagan and Carol but also any girls which had been on his list of dates to ask and perhaps should have been his choice other than Lacey, Macy…whoever she was. Hagan and Carol were holding part of the drinks table to ransom, some of the younger students side eyeing them as Tommy stood there, leaned on the table with no intention to move. Carol in his arms and trying to steal his drink; she had one of her own but when did that ever stop her? Billy was tempted to join them, but noticed a couple of girls over at a quieter part of the table. Where the finger food and whatever the school had provided was. Food at a prom, well wasn't that something? Guess the school knew some of the students were likely to be drunk or get drunk no matter what they did and at least this way, they could line their stomachs first. The two girls smiled as he approached, him keeping his distance but nodding to them. Clear that he was ready to give them attention if they wanted it but would move away if they didn't. Billy may be many things, but sleazy? Wasn't his style.

"Looking fine there ladies. Real nice."

"Thanks Billy," one of the girls chimed, the other blushing as she glanced at where his buttons would usually be open but currently weren't. Maybe he should change that. The open shirt look after all was his style and if the teachers didn't like it, well, like with the drink thing. What were they really gonna do? "You're looking mighty fine there too," the other girl chipped in, her looks even more obvious than her friend's as she checked him up and down. Clearly looking what she saw as she began to lean forward a little. Crossing his ankles and angling her body in his direction. After a while of mindless chatter, it became clear the girls were happy with a two for one offer and like hell was he going to turn that down. A few dances later and Billy was out for now. Lacey, Macey whoever was no longer on his mind at all as he finally spied the drink table being quiet and not crowded by increasingly rowdy students. Time to go out for a smoke, grab some fresh air and get back to the girls he'd been dancing with. That lovely pair of ladies who were eager for his attention and he was very happy to give them both. But now, a drink or…maybe a break first. A space on the wall near the table had also come up so that was where he headed to instead.

He'd not been leaning very long when he saw someone out of the corner of his eye. Only moving slightly but like they'd been there for a while, and he'd not noticed them arrive at all.

Where did he come from? Leaning against the wall with still not a hair out of place, Steve sipped at whatever was in the cup before holding a second one out to Billy. What was….

"For the ride. And don't worry, I checked it. It's not spiked. It's from the clear bowl. The others though…yeah I'd be careful."

He wasn't gonna ask. He knew that Steve had taken a sip and he wondered what side his lips had touched before pushing the thought aside and downing the drink. Some kind of weird non alcoholic punch. But he had to give it to whoever in the school had made it; it actually didn't taste like shit.

"Been thinking of me Harrington? Ain't that sweet."

The look Steve gave him had 'Bite Me' written all over it. The jock turning away to look over the dance floor again. Oh, how Billy would certainly bite him if he got the chance. Sink his teeth right into his….

"So, not totally sucked for you then or?"

"If you mean, have I made up for my date ditching me? Very much so." Billy grinned, his eyes trailing from Steve's neck to his face as the other teen looked over at him.

"How's your game been?"

Steve shrugged, the now empty cup lingering in his hand as he pushed himself away from the wall. Looking for somewhere to put the cup.

"Gimme that."

Before Steve could protest, Billy swiped it, pressing it into his own before tossing them on the ground next to him. They'd get picked up later by someone.

"Come on man. There's no way you've been out on the bench."

"Nope," Steve responded, popping the p in that obnoxious way he did but Billy didn't care. Too busy staring at the pretty boy. He already knew Steve had been busy, but the way he was reacting was like he wasn't interested. Either in the girls or the event itself. Steve had game and yet wasn't using it. Most girls here would more than happily grab any bit of attention from him. Instead he was here. Looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"I need a smoke." Billy glanced over at Steve before shrugging. "They're in my car."

"So….Metallica."

Billy glanced over at him, the smoke from his cigarette curling up into the air as the statement hung between them. The pair were stood by his car, the party a little distance away. Not like either of them cared.

It took Billy a moment to remember the conversation on the ride here. He'd cut off mid sentence but Steve was now determined to get it out of him. Wasn't gonna let the subject drop, and Billy appreciated it. People didn't really take an interest in him. More the aesthetics. More the charm and the car. His music? It came with him but rarely did anyone treat it as a part of him other than himself.

"The Kill 'Em All album man. What an album. That opening, the riffs…." Right away Billy felt himself drifting into his happy place. A content smile as he sucked on his cigarette. Harrington bathing him with that look again. The same one as the time before.

"The Four Horsemen. Motorbreath. Metal Militia. Just the entire album man. If you ever wanna know what I'm talking about, get the album. I know you're more a Toto kinda guy." He snorted, glancing at Steve who is blowing smoke to the side and rolling his eyes.

"But I think even you might be able to appreciate it if you gave it a try."

"Do you have it in the car?"

"It's only the CD I was playing on the way here," he grinned, stomping his cigarette butt into the ground and fishing out his keys. Was he dreaming? Steve actually wanted to listen to it?

Well he wasn't gonna let this opportunity go.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd sat back in his car and listened to an album like this. And it had been even longer once he'd had someone to do it with. They didn't talk, it felt like they barely even breathed as Metallica reverbed around the car, Billy glancing at Steve now and then. Expecting any moment for the show to drop and for him to tell him to turn it off. But he didn't and even more surprisingly, he was sat there listening. Like, not rolling his eyes or spacing out. But sat there, relaxed. His eyes on the radio then the dash as his fingers tapped away to the beat.

It's everything Billy didn't realise he'd wished for.

It was in-between tracks when Steve finally broke the silence. But it wasn't to ask about the music. It was about something very different.

"Why didn't you ask?"

Wasn't that just the question. One that Billy'd thought about. Had danced on his lips but been drawn back in. Had played on his minds but felt just like a fantasy. And finally it was out there. Billy didn't think he'd feel any different but the relief he felt to hear it? He couldn't describe it. It felt like a massive rock had been lifted off his chest and he was finally free but even that didn't cover it.

"You grew up here right? Do you really need to ask?"

He could see that Steve got it, even before he replied. The way there was a flicker across his face before Steve looked away. He knew Billy couldn't have asked him. And that neither of them….

"It's so stupid. Like why do we have to choose a girl and make both people miserable instead of just…."

"Being able to ask. Yeah I know. Fucking stupid man. Would have been easier in Cali. Maybe…. I dunno."

"And what would we have done in Cali?"

The smirk he knew Steve knew very well appeared on Billy's face and hands on the wheel, he glanced over. Pulling out a white carnation from his door and putting it on the dash in front of Steve.

"Well I could tell you Harrington. But I think it would way more fun if you just found out…"

[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.

[mekachu04]

9. Loyalty

Kidd - 15 | Killer -19 (only talked about - not actually present for this one)

Tags specifically for this chapter:

Kidd's named himself Boss of the Heaps

Teenagers in danger

Kidd gets himself shot

future crew cameos

Names

Read at A03 linked above or here below cut

Drabbles from Pocket Jack's KiKi-tober Prompt list

Somehow in the last year - Kidd's gotten himself an entourage.

A half dozen were older kids that he and Killer had kicked the asses of at some point over the years. There was the not!sisters that went everywhere together, and Kidd welcomed them with a heavy heart, feeling his own former partner's betrayal even time he saw the duo. Wasn't their fault though, and Kidd was getting better about not holding that against people as of late. Throw in a handful who were just sycophants that he'd fallen in with, and then one or two city folks that ran out of luck and had headed to the Heaps to hide.

They'd been under the impression the Heaps where no man's land - they didn't know the it was Kidd's now. He'd nearly turned them away, sent them back to the city, but they'd prostrated before him and he'd never seen anyone do that before. Curiously had kept them around, nothing more.

And then Boogie had brought him another outsider, a large monster of a woman that had nothing but disdain for Kidd and clearly wanted to be anywhere but the Heaps. She had, like the others from the city, had run afoul of one of the bosses. Unlike the others, she knew immediately who he was.

"Solider Boy talks about you."

Kidd froze in place, his people turning to look at him curiosity. "Sorry," Kidd decides finally, "Don't know any solider boys."

She shrugs.

"What did you think the name drop was going to get you?"

"One more night still breathing."

"Hmm... Fine. Granted."

***

Being a teen and the boss did mean people thought he was an easy target. Unfortunately, sometimes it was people he'd given a second chance to. There weren't a lot of guns on Kutsukku - smuggling weapons past the Marines out in open waters carried too high of a risk, and few on Kutsukku had the funds for the payment demanded for them.

But just because there were not a lot of something did not mean none were on the island. Kidd just learned the hard way what a bullet felt like, hot and sharp in his side. It had completely blindsided him, not even an option in his mind, and he had stood there dumbly as his brain attempted a reboot.

A second shot never came - not because Kidd or any of his crew reacted, but instead the woman, the one from the gang Killer ran with now, stood over his crumpling assailant, rusting pipe in hand. She looked about as shocked as he did, stepping back uneasy as he was rushed by his own people.

The bullet responded to his -pull- gracefully at least, and he held the small ball of metal in his palm as someone else saw to the blood pouring out of his gut. It -sang- harmlessly in his hand now, the treacherous little thing, and Kidd -rolled- it over and over, committing its weight and song to memory so as to not ever fall victim to it or its kind again.

His man named only Sunglasses watched the little bullet -dance- in his hand uneasily, before Kidd closed his fist around it, face daring the other to make a comment.

None came.

***

"What was your name again?"

She shrugged, rubbing at the bracelets on her thick wrist. Kidd could understand that.

"Why'd you save me?"

"I told you, Solider Boy talks about you."

"You mean Killer, don't you?"

"Boss Athair doesn't think he's earn a name like that yet, took it away."

"Fuck him." Kidd growled. She smirked. "How.... how is he?"

She looked contemplative, "Quiet. He follows order, doesn't complain, and personally, I think he's damn proven himself. Ceannard, Boss Athair's second, has taken a shine to him, thinks he's got promise. Honestly, I think more of us like the two of them than Boss Athair these days."

Kidd picked at his bandages. "That's why you're here. Because you picked Killer over your boss."

"Solider Boy convinced me to leave before I ended up.. well," she gestured to the man whose skull she'd bashed in, "not unlike him."

Kidd looked at the corpse.

"He had a gun."

She nodded. "City Boss - one of the big ones. He's got god money, and delusions of grandeur. Buys up all kinda of shit, all kinds of people. Kinda man you don't tell no too."

Kidd scowled. "Well, fuck him too. That trick won't work a second time."

"Hope not." She said, so quiet Kidd almost missed it.

"Well..." he hedged, "at least while your own boss has a stick up his ass, as long as you don't mind the smell and the toxic waste, you're welcome to run with us."

[etphonemom]

I'm Never Going to Summer Camp Again

TW in tags

Last school year we had a new kid, let's call her Tiffany or Tiff for short. She definitely reeked of R & R (Rich 'Rents) which made sense because I go to a private school on scholarship. Any who, we became friends pretty fast. She hated the other kids in our grade, especially because they tried to suck up to her the second she walked into class. Apparently, she was draped in the best designer, some before they were released to the public. Everyone wanted to be her friend and there were rumors her parents were celebrities or something.

Tiff transferred in near the end of the school year which was odd and she never explained to me why. I didn't care too much if I'm being honest. She invited me over for dinner one night and I was excited because she told me all about her dogs and cats! It was a fun night of cuddles, pets and the most delicious pizza I have ever had the honor of eating. They make it in their yard on a grill/smoker whatever. It held all of the finest ingredients and danced in my mouth all the way down to my stuffed belly.

Her parents asked her if she was excited for summer camp and she shrugged, leaning her head on her hand, "I thought it'd be cool if I could stay here with Bella for the summer..."

They looked at each other and sighed. Simultaneously they perked up and faced us, you could almost see the image of a lightbulb hovering above their heads. "Why doesn't Bella go with you? Wouldn't that be fun?"

She sits up straight and asks me, "Would you want to? Would your mom let you?"

I look down at my lap and fiddle with my fingers, "I don't think we could afford it. I'm sorry."

I never was a clingy person, nor did I care about having friends or not, but I suddenly felt a wave of separation anxiety at the thought of not seeing Tiff during the summer. I hope she wouldn't find a new best friend and forget all about me next year, or worse; transfer schools again.

I flinch when her parents laugh together. Her Mom cradling a glass of wine with her other hand over her chest, "Oh nonsense! If your Mom is okay with it then we wouldn't mind taking care of that for you!"

I perk up, but sink back down after thinking about it for a moment, "My Mom would never accept that... She hates when people try to help us with money."

Her Mom does that thing people do when they are reacting to something they think is sweet and pitiful, making her look like one of those fish with upside down looking mouths. Tiff's Dad speaks up, "Well, we do get a discount now that Layla works there! We can talk to her ourselves if you'd like!"

I turn my head to the side and Tiff understood my confusion, "Layla's my big sister. She's a camp counselor there, but she's totally lame now."

We giggle and her Mom rolls her eyes then playfully back hands her Dad on his shoulder when he begins to chuckle too. "Well that settles it! We can talk to your Mom when we drop you off later!"

I was surprised when my Mom said yes, but I didn't dare question it either. Camp was supposed to start a week after the school year but I was packed way before then. When her parents come to pick me up, my Mom ran through the long list of things I already triple checked that I packed. We gave each other a tight, long hug. This is the first time I have ever been away from home for longer than a night, let alone three hours away from each other. I'm not one who normally gets nervous, but this is new for me. I'm so used to being able to run to my Mom whenever I was in trouble or worried about something. What if I hated camp? I couldn't immediately go back home even if I wanted to! I mean, I know if it was an emergency she would drop everything and find a way to come and get me. The good thing is Tiff's parents said they have great cell phone reception so if I'm feeling homesick I can call her whenever I want.

When we arrived at camp, all of my anxieties fell away. It was beautiful! There were 100 kids of different ages gathered in an organized crowd and a straight line of 12 adults, one being Layla who was pointed out by Tiff.

There were 10 cabins, a mess hall, a lake, and a huge boathouse all that surround the gorgeous center of the campgrounds. It reminds me of the quads I would see on my college visits, but less artificial.

The grass was mowed recently, but was left with a couple of inches which complimented the bushes, trees and flowers in bloom. There were a few boulders that one could easily climb and sit on with a friend, and there was one in particular that stood out amongst the rest. I don't even know if it qualifies as a boulder, or if you would call it a mini cliff. It was in the shape of an upside down scalene triangle. It doesn't look naturally shaped that way, but it feels as if it has existed here longer than anything else.

When I would inch closer to it, an eerie feeling crawled along my arms and spine giving me goosebumps. I didn't think too much of it at first, but I always fastened my pace whenever I walked by it.

Towards the end of our time at camp, we were getting ready to have a final celebration. There was going to be a performance given by each cabin; some dance numbers, singing and one cabin even wrote their own little play to perform. I didn't want to leave! Everyone was so nice and fun, we did all sorts of cool things but I knew I'd be back one day. Hell, this made me want to become being a camp counselor. That was until, the day of the performances. The last day at camp.

I found out that we would be performing under the creepy boulder, as an odd stage of sorts. I thought maybe since the boulder slanted up at an angle it helped block the sun or something. When I asked why, nobody knew. Tiff said it's just what they always have done.

The counselors laid out a bunch of picnic blankets for us to sit on, separating us by cabins and organizing it in order of performance. There were two rows, and each group would get up starting from the first set of blankets on the left to the right.

The energy was off somehow, I couldn't figure out why. I couldn't enjoy myself through the performances, I faked my applause and smile. My heart rate spiked a bit more after every performance. Ours was the last to go on; our cabin had been practicing a dance but I was awfully embarrassed to dance in front of a crowd, so I exaggerated how bad my period cramps were so they wouldn't force me to participate.

When our cabin was done, a woman took the 'stage' and her booming but melodic voice slid into my ears, temporarily drowning out the uneasiness that has grown in the pit of my stomach. At first, I assumed she was a camp counselor but the longer I looked at her I couldn't place her at all in my memories.

"Wow those were some amazing and creative performances! Let's give it up for each other and ourselves! Now, the moment we all have been waiting for! A tradition we have been maintaining for almost 170 years! The Treasure Hunt!"

Everyone around me cheered and I gave Tiff a confused look, but she just kept staring straight ahead. I gently nudged her with my elbow and she didn't budge. I thought it was weird but brushed it off as her trying not to be rude while the lady was talking... which in hindsight, was a first.

"Now you all know the rules and you all know the stakes! All around the campgrounds are 111 hidden bars of gold! You will have to look high and low, sometimes even deep! Whoever takes one will get to bring it home with them and whoever doesn't..... welll let's hope that isn't you!"

She laughs and everyone joins her, but all of their laughs are the same... and every single one of them is laughing, at the same exact intervals. The monotone choir filling me with apprehension towards this treasure hunt. I nudge Tiff again and she doesn't budge, just continues to laugh. I wave my hand in front of her face and nothing! I wish I ran as far as I could, but I didn't know then what I know now.

"Alright Campers! On my count! 10!"

I jump as the choir shouts in unison,

"9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1! TAKE IT ALL!"

Within milliseconds everyone, including the counselors, collectively shoots up and runs in every single direction. I'm glued to the ground and am frozen in shock at the events that follow.

Maybe a dozen kids stay close by and dig into the ground with their arms, eyes expressionless but the rest of their face is scrunched as they ferociously heave dirt out with occasional grunts. My eyebrows arch in confusion and concern, some of them are digging so fast they constantly fling dirt in their own face and yet they remain unfazed. Focused.

I look back at the 'stage' and the lady is still there, standing in the same exact spot, unbothered. She halfheartedly observes with a neutral expression on her face.

I finally gain the strength to stand, and I turn around and see a few kids had climbed on top of the cabins. One of them is jumping up and down, holding what I assumed is one of the 'gold bars'. In what felt like slow motion, I reached my hand forward and yelled "WATCH OUT" as I am forced to observe only the first act of viciousness of the afternoon. Behind him a girl shoves her shoulder hard into his back and he stumbles close to the ledge. The gold bar falls from his hands and something compels me towards it.

Without realizing, I am sprinting in the direction of the cabin and I pick up the bar. Once it's in my hands, time stops for a moment. It's not warm or cool. The texture is like flour, but when I remove one hand, there is no dust, powder or excess of any kind on my fingers. It's a single solid piece of gold.

My worry snaps me out of the time trap when I feel a hard thump echo in the ground below me. I slowly turn and see the boy laying on the ground, groaning in pain. It wasn't a deadly fall, but he definitely broke his ankle. He's laying on his stomach and his foot has twisted in a 180 motion as the toe of his shoe points at the sky.

All of a sudden, I feel it. I feel the collective hunger within me; it's not greed... no it's, it's like an urgency. I don't want to hold this bar... I need to. The girl jumps off of the roof, rolls on the ground into an upright position and stares through me. I hold the bar like a football in my left arm, and I hold up my right arm in front of me, bending 90 degrees at the elbow horizontally as I slam the side of my forearm into her neck. She gasps and steps to the side holding where I took her breath. I run without giving her a second thought.

I run towards the boulder. There are maybe 20 kids sitting down, scattered amongst the blankets. Once I reach my cabin's blanket, I recognize the familiarity of the current seating arrangement. Everyone is sitting back to where they originally were seated, some of them with dirt stuck to their arms and faces. Some with random cuts and developing knots. Out of instinct I didn't have before, I lift up my legs in a half jump and land hard on my ass. It hurts, but the anxiousness has completely disappeared.

I look around back to the grass and there are only a few kids still digging and two kids wrestling over a bar. Wait, no. One of them is a counselor. They both end up back on their feet and in one swift motion she kicks the kid square in his chest. When he falls backwards, she scoops the bar and sprints back to her cabin's blanket.

I glance back to the kid and watch him start to dig another hole, until a bar soars through the air landing in front of him. Unflinchingly, he immediately grabs it and zips over to his cabin's blanket. I look in the direction of which the bar came from and there are a few kids who have now separated, continuing the search for a gold bar.

A sense of calm has taken over my mind and body, I don't even register Tiff sitting back down next to me. She doesn't acknowledge me and faces forwards towards the 'stage'.

Kids and counselors zoom in sporadically until almost everyone is back in their seat. Out of the corner of my eye I see a woman limping towards us. It's Layla. I thought she might've broken her foot, but there is a kid clinging to her leg. She's clutching the bar tight and every few steps tries to shake him off but he won't budge. Once she gets close enough that I think she's going to make it, he opens his mouth wide and chomps deeply into the side of her calf. Her blood cloaks his braces, lips, chin and runs down to her foot. He lets go once she drops the bar out of pain. He snatches it up and races to his spot, not even bothering to wipe the blood off his mouth.

The lady on the stage bellows an apology,

"I'm sorry, but that was the last gold bar. Congratulations to everyone that has successfully taken one! You should be very proud of yourselves! As for you, Layla is it? I'm afraid we can't help you... you will be missed."

My fear roars back into my stomach. What the fuck is she talking about. Layla collapses onto her knees, sobbing. The lady gives us a final statement,

"Alrighty, well I'm afraid that's the end of today's festivities! Thank you for sharing some of your lovely summer with us, we hope to see you again next year! Grab your bags from your cabins and make your way towards the parking lot, your families are waiting for you there. Take care now!"

Tiff snaps back to life and looks at me, smiling,

"Did you like it here? I know it's kind of lame and childish, but I had a lot more fun since you came along!"

My jaw drops and I am too stunned to speak, all I can muster is the smallest of nods. She gives me a confused look with a small smile. She giggles and pulls me into a side hug,

"Thank you for making me feel like I am not alone. You're my best friend."

My bottom lip becomes dry because I lost all function in my face, I gain enough strength to squeak out,

"Uh huh."

She let's go of me and runs to the cabin. I reluctantly follow after her and we walk to the parking lot in silence. When we get there we see her parents are already there and they're talking to Layla. At once, they hug her tightly and ignore the bleeding on her leg. Her mom opens her eyes, pulls back and grins at us when we walk up,

"Hey girls! How was camp?"

Before she can reply, Layla walks away like a zombie back to camp. Tiff rolls her eyes and hides a smile,

"I guess it was good, thank you for letting me bring Bella!"

"Of course! We love Bella! I'm glad you two had a good time! Hey Bella, did she tell you this is where her father and I met?!"

"Ughh Mom, I don't want to hear this again!"

"What? I just wanted to tell Bella the story, she hadn't heard it yet! C'mon now it's a funny story!"

Tiff grunts, rolls her eyes and grabs my bag. Her Dad then steps forward and grabs our stuff and throws it into the already open trunk. He slams it shut, places his hands on his hips and smiles. He arches his back, reaches one arm over his head towards the opposite side and then after a few seconds he repeats with the opposite arm.

"Alright my fair ladies, let's get this long road trip moving! Bella, I know your Mom misses you a ton, let's get you back A S A P!"

Layla walks back by us with a bag towards what I assume is her car. She opens the door and carelessly tosses her bag in.

Tiff covers her eyes with her hands,

"God Dad, you're so embarrassing! Let's go."

She moves to the car, but I can't take my eyes off of Layla. I can't shake off everything that has just happened. Why the fuck are they all acting so casual? Layla opens the driver's door and slides in. She turns on the car, resting her hands on the wheel and stares through the window.

"Bella, you coming?"

After a few seconds, I walk to the opposite side of the car and hop in without saying a word. Her Dad turns on the radio and starts singing along to a song he clearly doesn't know the words to, making her Mom laugh and clap. He reverses slowly then gears into drive. He starts to turn but before he can move forward, Layla's car screeches and cuts in front of us. She swerves to the right and maybe 100 feet later she crashes into a tree.

I can't blink, I can't breathe, I have loss control of my regular bodily functions. The only relief I get is the thought of her parents finally addressing whatever the fuck this is! But, to my dismay, they continue to sing along to the radio and drive carefully unperturbed.

As we drive by, I stare at Layla's destroyed vehicle. Her head crashed through the front window, colliding with the tree. The glass shards sticking out of her sides, bleeding profusely. She twitches a few times, and I can't take my eyes off of her. I turn and look through the back window and watch her go limp. Her Dad turns up the radio even louder.

(below is the ending I added to fit r/nosleep's guidelines)

When I got home I collapsed into my mom's arms crying and I tried to tell her what happened. She called Tiff's parents and they said that Tiff was an only child, there is no Layla and insisted I was sleep deprived because I was homesick. We looked it up online and there were no results for the suicide, a car crash at a camp or a Treasure Hunt tradition at the camp.

I know what I saw was real, I know Layla was real. My mom believes me but didn't believe the story. She was confused when I pointed out the discount her parents said they had because Layla worked there and she looked at me concerned,

"What discount? They told me parents donate money so there are a few beds dedicated for kids who normally wouldn't be able to attend."

Still, doubt creeps into my mind sometimes but I know what happened. I will never ever go to a summer camp again. Tiff tried to call me a few times but I didn't pick up. When the school year started she wasn't there. I still don't know if that's a good or bad thing and it keeps me up at night even now.

Thank you for reading ! Hope you enjoyed ! If you want to support my writing you can buy me a human beverage ! Find me on my reddit for more short stories or my response to writing prompts on this page !

Stay unidentified & friendly 👽🖖 ~ E.T.

[mariocki]

Funny Games (1997)

"Why are you doing this to us?"

"Why not?"

[dolce-tenebra-toscana]

Hi! 💕

Can you please request about how Melone's former love reappears in his life to return the relationship. But there is one point: Melone meets with the reader. How would Melone react and solve this issue?

Thanks 👾

Hello darling! So sorry for answering to your request this late but i hope is gonna be worth the wait! Thanks again for checking my askbox and for being patient (that’s how i understood the request, i hope it’s ok) :)

Request: Melone x reader where his old love comes back and how he reacts to it.

TW: brief violence cause Melone has all the right to be mad

You and Melone have been together for almost 2 years, and you could proudly consider yours a serious  relationship: you had your routine, your own apartment, you even adopted a cat!

Whenever one of you came home from a mission/your job the other had prepared a cozy meal, put on a vhs to watch together and then go to bed to either snuggle or make love.

It was pure domestic bliss, sure you did fight and sometimes you needed time apart from each other to clear your minds, but in the end the door of your shared aparment would open and let the two of you embrace and mumble a “ i’m sorry, it won’t happen again”

That day Melone had prepared a surprise for you; it was your second anniversary and he had asked Risotto a day off to get everything he needed to welcome you later that night to a “homemade spa”

He was just to start putting candles and rose petals around the apartment when he heard someone knocking at the door. He was sure it wasn’t you cause you never forget your keys (it was one of the rules for your own safety, especially if he wasn’t around: never lose your keys and always lock yourself in) so he carefully shouted a “ who is it?”….His blood froze in his veins when he recognised the voice behind the door

Melone rarely loves, even if his whole persona is very laid back and flirty, but when he does it’s HARD. He gives 100% and more in a relationship( for the best and the worst, he’s human too after all)  cause he truly believes in the “ happily ever after”, but if he gets his heart broken in tiny little pieces, is humiliated and left to rot in his own sadness like the person in front behind the door did to him years ago….that’s another story. HERE you see the dangerous mafioso he is, here you see why Risotto specifically asked the Boss to put him in his team…

Melone opens the front door and stares at his former lover with an emotionless face and fakes to listens to their words. He sees the lips moving, those same lips that spat such hurtful words to him in the past…are now trying to win him back with phrases covered in honey and lies. He mantains position, he has to wait for the perfect moment to strike.

When he feels the arms of his ex lover embrace him and whisper seducing promises to his ear, truly believing he was so stupid to fall for that trick…He quickly stabs the person in the back with the knife he used to cut the strawberries that decorate your chocolate lava cake.

he looked at their painful and surprised expression when he let them fall to the ground, trying to crawl away to safety and only asking “ why..did you do this…i love you..”, only for melone to sit next to them,  giving them a cold stare and saying  “ i called my collegues earlier, they’ll leave you in front of a hospital. You have exactly five minutes to cry for help before the blood loss kills you…You know i could have slaughtered you here and now, but my beloved y/n is coming home in a couple of hours and is a special night for us…blood on their favourite carpet is not a nice gift don’t you think? Stay.away.from.us…and if i ever see you, hear you, even sniff that cheap cologne/perfume you still use even tho smells like cat piss…next time i won’t “ miss “ the artery…”

He hears footsteps and stands up only to see Illuso and Formaggio: one is smirking like a devil while the other is as bored as usual. Illuso picks up the person laying terrified and wound on the floor and enters in the mirror world, while Formaggio shrinks the blood on the floor so it’ll be easy to clean with a sponge in a couple of minutes. He thanks his teammates and tells them to bring his ex lover to the hospital, he is a man of word…unlike them. Once the pair disappears in the mirror he calms himself down, clean up the now small spot of blood, quickly puts his clothes in the washing machine and dress up fancy for your arrival.

You had a very stressful day at work, so the thought of coming home to your beloved boyfriend to celebrate your anniversary was sure the only thing keeping you from passing out on the floor. Once you opened the door you saw your cat, Luigi, coming into your direction and meowing what in human language could have been “ Y/N HELP, GET THIS THING OFF ME!!”

You laughed so hard at the poor thing, wearing a pair of cupid’s wings with the note “ Follow the little plumber cat  to the bathroom, i have a surprise for you my love”

You took off your shoes, picked up the annoyed furball and happily ran across the apartment, seeing petals and candels everywhere…you truly felt like a kid during a treasure hunt.

 You stop in front of the bathroom door, finally free the poor kitty from his costumes and, while giggling, you knock on the door. You hear Melone’s excited voice say “ come in!!” and once you opened what a wonderful surprise was displayed in front of your eyes: the bathtub was filled with warm water and bubbles, your favourite wine was in a cooler on a small stool, you favourite tunes were on from his boombox and there was the man of the hour, laying on the carpet dressed like soap opera hero, a rose in his mouth, wiggling his eyebrows…

You literally jumped at him, covering his face with kisses and telling him how much you loved him, how much your relationship meant to you and how happy you were he chose you as his partner.

Melone hugged you back, he took the rose from his mouth and put it in a small vase beside the tub, and with a relaxed tone said “ I know you do my love, i can feel your feelings are true…and that’s the most beautiful gift you could have offered me tonight”

You could sense something troubled his soul, but you quickly shook your head and started kissing him again.

Whatever happened wasn’t your business, and if it was…tonight wasn’t the night to talk about it. Tonight it was all about the two of you and your love.

[twentydaysofdrabbles]

The Concierge Delivers a Message (Part 15)

It’s deep into the early hours of the morning now. Too late for night owls, too early for early birds, leaving you alone in the empty lobby. You had dismissed the night receptionist who was meant to take your place - too keyed up from interrupting someone’s attempt to have a good night.

One dead. One whose fate rests in the Manager’s hands. Another who yet runs from you. 

Thinking of it causes the corners of your eyes to tighten, the corners of your lips to dip. It was not just Sans who was attacked. No, if it was just Sans, you doubt you’d be so...so restless. Desirous to rip and tear, but in a different way. 

It was that bellboy you had introduced to the Cartel Lieutenant not too long ago. Someone who was in service, who could be of assistance. He was young, oh so terribly young. Too young to be found with a bullet through his head, a boot mark on his chest, multiple bruises on his skin, stuffed into a corner in the utility room just behind the pool pumps. His key was taken - it could access the staff rooms, and from there the tunnels beneath the hotel. 

One of the Continental’s. One of yours. 

No doubt that the Manager would know what to do with the guest once they were found, but you would take your satisfaction from their sentence one way or another. 

Once, you would have been the one with your nose to the ground. Tracking your prey, flitting from shadow to shadow, melding into the crowds. Hunting them down until you had them cornered. Taking their hearts and returning your trophy to your--

No. 

It’s not like that any longer. 

Now you sit and wait for someone else to report their whereabouts. You don’t deny that a part of you itches to be out there. To sink your teeth into a trail, to see them run from you, to...

Alas, that is not your place. Not anymore.

Now your place is to follow afterwards. A hunter trailing after a hound, firearm in hand. A text causes the screen on your phone to light up under the counter, casting a cool glow on your face as you open it to read its contents. 

A name, a number, a location. 

The muscles of your face strain at the appearance of a feral grin. Picking up the phone, you dial the number and dial back the savage expression on your face. Professional, you must be professional. “Good morning, sir. I apologise for calling you at this hour...”

.

.

.

Now, your place is by the Manager’s side, striding out the front doors of the hotel in the company of several guards. Outside, you had already arranged for a valet to come and take you to the Coliseum. A park located within the city, historical and green with a stunning amphitheatre, and most importantly, deserted at this time of the morning. You had made sure it would be. 

The sky bleeds red as night gives way to the early hours of dawn. The wind is biting against the bared skin of your face, tossing your hair ever so slightly. Hidden as you are in the wings, clad in black and melded into the shadows, you can see everything. Including the stands and its many pathways and stairs, stairs which a limping man slowly traverses. As well as the sounds of cars pulling up beyond the entrance, of boots on gravel and asphalt. 

Ah, of course. One would be foolish to come alone. But even more foolish to think additional company would be unexpected.

Wild hair, wild eyes. Ink crawling over his skin. A history, a life, written in black and grey on a tanned canvas. Black leather jacket, tactical pants, heavy boots. 

Down the stairs, up to the stage. Stops, waits, his head on a swivel. Wary. He knows something is coming.

It doesn’t take long. 

Dark figures break away from the shadows of the pillars, the stands, every little crevice, until the man is surrounded on all sides by men and women who bare their guns in their relaxed hands. He stops, tense, and hovers a hand over his belt. 

“No,” he hisses in Spanish through gritted teeth.

The amphitheatre is built for performance. For sound. Its very shape, designed and built in ancient times, causes everything to sound so much louder than it should be. So much so, in fact, that the Manager need not raise her voice for the man to hear her.

“Dearest guest,” she purrs as she sashays over to him, her heels clicking on the stone. “As much as we have enjoyed your patronage, it is time we parted ways.” Coming close enough to him that he could conceivably lash out and strike her, she smiles coyly, her hands in her pockets. “By your own actions, you have broken the rules of the Continental. As such, your membership is now...revoked.”

The man snarls, a hand flying to the gun holstered in his belt, “Fuck you--!”

His swear is cut off by a hand settling on his, pinning it to the gun’s grip, keeping it holstered. He tries to spin around, tries to see what has snared him, and immediately crashes into a firm body. 

Yours.

“Good morning, sir,” you intone with a polite smile, your dead eyes warming to life, like ink slowly bleeding upon parchment. Staring right into his own. “We hope you’ve had a pleasant stay.” 

You can see the blood drain from his face.

“You,” he tries to choke out. His body moves, goes to break the hold you have on his hand. 

Ah, but you are faster. Though it has been a long time since you have seen active combat, this much, your body remembers. Coiling the muscles in your body. Pushing off a foot, gathering the strength from your legs to your hips to your chest, your shoulders. Chambering your arm for a close-range punch to the chest. 

The fingers of your free hand curl inwards, touching the hidden mechanism near the heel of your palm. And with the lightest of deliberate touches, a blade comes flashing out. Darkened steel, sparks of white flashing through it like stars in the darkness, spearing out from under the cuff of your suit, your shirt, affixed to the device hidden around your wrist.

Striking like a bolt of lightning, forceful and in the blink of an eye.

The feeling of metal sinking into soft flesh, then firm muscle. The strength it takes to press on, to scrape past bone and sinew and then--

Ah, the softness that parts around the sharp tip. A wetness leaking forth, faster and faster with every beat of that frantic heart. Dripping and staining your gloves. Your freshly changed gloves. But ah, for this, you won’t mind the chore of cleaning them later.

The man chokes, gripping at your hand with the one not pinned to his gun. He struggles with a hoarse wheeze, snarling into your face with bared teeth, “La devoradora...”

Your eyes, formerly so empty as to reflect the endless abyss of the sea, twinkles - a burst of bioluminescence in the darkness - and you murmur, “Hola.”

You don’t give him a chance to respond.

One move to rip the blade out of his chest. One to break the grip on your wrist to seize it in your grip. Another to rip the gun out from under his hand, to thumb the safety and fit your finger around the trigger in one smooth motion. And then one more to fit it under his chin.

There is only one heartbeat to savour the look on his face, the fear in his eyes, the recognition of who presses the gun to his throat.  

Your hand is stiff, flexing it is like moving through clayish mud. Your repaired ligaments, your scarred muscles feel like stone entombing the grip of the gun and its trigger. For a brief moment, you don’t think you can command your finger to pull it. But then--

And then it is gone with the sharp pop of a gunshot, initiated by a gentle pull of the trigger that sends a shock through your aching hand, your strong forearm.

You relish it all, even the slight ringing in your ears from the gunfire. But perhaps most of all, you revel in the liquid warmth on your face that quickly cools as the cold wind rushes past you. Yes, yes! In that heartbeat, you feel like your old self again. Younger, faster, stronger, perfect. Unscarred. Alive.

Alas...

The corpse, now missing the top of his head, topples over as you push it down and away from you. 

The heavy thud echoes in the amphitheatre, like thunder cracking through the sky, and that is signal enough for three more figures to come trudging down the steps.

All of this, you register somewhere deep in your mind. That and the gunfire and yelling coming from beyond the stands. Of it dying down and the dragging of bodies.

But you are so preoccupied with the feeling of cool wetness dripping down your face, your hand. The cold grip of the gun that feels so right in your palm. So familiar. Crimson drips off your blade, bared still as it spears out from your sleeve. Plopping like thick drops of rain escaping from fat, heavy clouds. A sign of what’s to come. 

You cannot see it, but you are sure your face is far from its normal neutral expression. Your eyes must be afire with warmth. Your heart thunders, adrenaline rushing through your veins. Yes, this is--!

“My Heart,” comes the soft voice of the Manager. A hand drops on your shoulder; firm but gentle. 

The clipping of your leash back onto your collar.

The woman turns you around and winks with a smile, “You’ve not lost your touch.” She nods to the gun in your hand, the bared blade affixed to the other. 

You blink. Ah. The gun is made safe and given to the Collector’s man, who reaches out for it to toss it unto the body being cleared away. “One must adapt,” you murmur with a small smile, a true smile, pressing the mechanism in your glove to retract the blade into its sheath. 

The Manager only laughs, her hand still on your shoulder to start leading you away from the scene. Black clad guards disperse into the shadows, some to your side. “They said you had been declawed,” she gestures to the corpse as she says that. The Cartel. Then she looks into your eyes, eyes that now reflect back at her with nothing but a flat emptiness.

This was a warning. A message. The Continental has made an example of one who has broken the rules.

Shown that its owner and her weapon would not hesitate to bite.

Your lip quirks in a flat smirk as you reach for a pristine white handkerchief to dab at the blood on your face. “They were wrong.”

Very, very wrong.

[jankwritten]

jasico bingo challenge: crossover

Nico tries extra hard to keep his ears still as the humans descend to the surface. 

His suspicion is reasonable, even if Leader keeps snapping at him to reel his emotions in. Nico might be young, but he isn’t naive. He’s heard whispers throughout the universe of what humans do to each other, do to their planet, for the sake of greed and power. 

In his not so humble opinion, humans and Galra are not different in the slightest. If humanity had even a sliver of the technology that exists this far out in the cosmos, Nico’s positive they’d have two empires to overthrow. 

Tucked near the back of the group (likely to hide his obvious opposition to this alliance), Nico can only kind of hear what the human donning black armor says to Leader on his approach. His handshake looks solid enough. 

“That’s the one who was captured,” Hazel whispers to him, always flanking his side. Her fingers curl around his forearm, digging in. “He’s dangerous. Titan Slayer.” 

Nico can’t stop his ears from swiveling flat. He wishes he had the facade of his mask to hide behind, so he could bare his teeth in displeasure. 

He knows of the Titan Slayer. One of the only survivors of Kronos’s coliseum. A being so wholly destructive, so eager for blood, he was rumored to feast on the remains of those he slayed. 

“I thought he’d be taller,” Nico mutters back. 

Hazel snorts, just loud enough that Leader’s right-hand woman turns on her heel and stakes them with an evil eye. 

The Paladins, so called defenders of the universe, are the sort of lively that Nico associates with space madness. A chaos created by a mind untethered. The one dressed in red sticks by the Titan Slayer and speaks to him so fast, Nico’s translators can hardly keep up. The one in green and the one in yellow monitor the edges of the room, observing from a distance, occasionally peeling apart some piece of technology that they then stitch back together before someone of importance catches them. The blue one is the friendliest to the Blades, though it doesn’t earn her much, in Nico’s books. She speaks as if they’re all equals here. It puts his teeth on edge. 

“Quit your brooding,” Melinoe says. She tugs once on Nico’s hood, then wraps her arm around him when he’s off balance, holding him hostage to her side. “You don’t have to like them, but you have to respect them.” 

“Do I?” Nico mutters, bitter. What have these Paladins done to earn his respect, aside from endangering some of their most vital members, threatening their whole network of undercover agents within the Empire? 

“If you ever want to be off base again you do,” Melinoe says. She flashes her teeth at him and nips not-so-playfully at his ear. “Your choice, kitling.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“I call you whatever I like.” 

Nico’s ears flatten down as he slumps, folding his arms across his chest, glaring daggers in the opposite direction. 

Melinoe’s laugh is more of a bark, hard and ringing. 

As the base lights begin to dim in preparation for the sleep-sequence, Nico escapes the still ongoing welcome celebration for the more secluded decks. He’s sure his disappearance will be noted, but Leader can’t hold it against him if his excuse is habit and schedule. Nico has hardly slept well a day in his life, but he always goes to bed on time. 

This cycle, he taps into one of the common areas and slouches onto the plush cushioning arranged by whomever used the room last. He doesn’t want to go to his own room yet, worn out as he is. He needs to keep an eye out. It seems everyone else is swept up in the revelry of their guests, but Nico isn’t fooled. 

In the common area, he’ll be able to hear unfamiliar, human footfalls coming or going. He can remain on his guard in an open area. His room would just feel claustrophobic. 

Arranging himself so the entrance remain within sight, Nico finally allows himself to relax just the slightest bit into the comfortable cradle of cushion. 

He snaps awake to the sound of the doors wooshing shut. 

The Titan Slayer blinks at him. “Oh,” he says, in that strange, human tone. “Sorry. I- didn’t know, uhm, someone was here.” 

Nico bristles, unable to keep himself from going on the offensive. His shoulder hike, and he bares his teeth. 

“I’ll just go,” The Titan Slayer says. He puts his hands up. “My bad.” 

“You are sneaking,” Nico hisses, rising to his feet. He’s still in his armor. If he needs to, he can yank his hood on and strike fast, strike hard. Strike first. 

“I was just trying to find some water.” The Titan Slayer keeps his hands up, perhaps a defense? “I’ll go back to my quarters.” 

“I will follow,” Nico says. The Titan Slayer’s eyes widen slightly, as if shocked. Nico wants so badly to bare his teeth. “To make sure you find your way.” 

The human lowers his hands, finally. He tips his head forward in a nod not dissimilar to those given in respect to commanders, generals. “I’d appreciate that,” The Titan Slayer says. 

Though he takes the long way, there are no deviations from the path the paladin leads back to the guest quarters - a sliver of space set up with cots, furnished just enough to feel better than nothing. 

Nico watches from the doorway as the Titan Slayer pads near-silently to the empty cot across the room, between two of the others. The yellow and blue, Nico thinks. They look smaller without armor. 

The Titan Slayer looks up at him. If he’s surprised to see Nico still there, he does not say. Instead, in the otherwise silent space, he murmurs, “I look forward to working with you. I don’t believe I caught your name?” 

The translator catches for a moment over the word name, though the translation suits Nico fine. A name is not a title. There is not much to giving it. 

“Nico,” he says, gruff and short. 

The Titan Slayer smiles, that strange, bare human expression. “I’m Jason,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you, Nico.” 

Nico narrows his eyes suspiciously, parsing apart the tone, the word choice. To meet under these circumstances is not nice. What games do the humans play with their words? To lie so blatantly? 

“We will see,” Nico says. He steps backward through the still-open doorway, refusing to look away from the Titan Slayer. Jason. Danger. 

The door hisses shut. 

[friendofthecrows]

You thought I forgor, didn't you?

Ha! Detective character sheet be upon ye!

[click for higher resolution]

I wrote a lot (sorry) so it's not a terribly traditional character sheet. I just started thinking about this detective and then Didn't Stop. Meaning when it came time to display the information I was like "Ah. how am I going to fit this."

More details and fun stuff under the cut!

I did a -2 to 2 scale for the traits with zero as "neutral" or "average" bc I thought the comparative %s of the polls looked worse and were harder to grok at a glance.

I tried to include the comments from the notes as part of his description and backstory <3 (mostly in the flop era lol).

I hoped a lot of people would click vanilla extract as a show results button, so that I could take it differently and make Shivmei vanilla scented! And you did :) He loves vanilla flavored and scented things, which is why he smells like that. It is both a blessing and a curse.

Fun fact: what took me the longest in all of this...designing sleuths scarf. Scarf was tied with sharp features for the second most trait, so when I imagined this detective, I imagined the scarf, and the scarf that popped into my head was so pretty I desperately wanted it. Cue hours of research and designing my own fabric print patterns (though it's canonically embroidery that's too hard for me lol). I saved a file with just the flat print w/o the fabric warp or cut-offs in the scarf if anyone wants it. It's a cross between a damask, ikat, and ogee, with some Moroccan influence.

Ah and there I go writing a lot again...

Also, I did one of those bag contents sheets for fun :3

(I named the sidekick Leon via the Behind the Name random name generator, and when I instantly got the name of my favorite knight of the round table, I knew I was going with that one.)

Look up "design a detective" on my blog for the polls that caused this!

Now all that's left is to write a story about our collectively designed detective :D

[most-definitively-a-human]

I find it very funny that I enjoy reading Corpse Knight Gunther yet stopped reading a romance because the couple was slightly mean to each other and their friends.

Maybe it's all about my expectations? Promise a sweet kind relationship and give subtle cruelty that's never addressed and I am out. Promise grimdark and have the character be just slightly less of a relentless asshole twenty chapters in? Hell yeah I am cheering for them.

Brains are weird man.