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ashintheairlikesnow · 1 year ago

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The Nightingale's Song

CW: Dehumanizing language, use of ‘it’ as pronoun for nonhuman whumpee, sadistic whumper, creepy whumper, intimate whumper, fade-to-black noncon implied, magical whump, captivity, minor side character death

One year after the events of The Seas No More

Gilly, fingers itching to close around the old biddy’s skinny neck, settled for laying the cool compress over her forehead, taking pains to look like nothing so much as the devoted tenant helping his landlady through some terrible mysterious illness.

It had been a very, very long eight months or so since he'd started this little act, feigning devotion and care for the old woman, and it was with very real relief that he finally saw the end in sight.

Mrs. Neumann’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her little yappy dog running circles below her where she was laid out on the chaise in her less-fashionable front room. It stopped, now and then, to lick at her fingers, and then ran in circles again.

“Water, please, Gilly,” Mrs. Neumann croaked, and he smiled solicitously as he tipped the cup to her lips, allowing her only a few sips before pulling it back away. “Thank you, you sweet young man.” Her cold bony fingers closed around his wrist and Gilly suppressed a shudder only with effort. "You have been so good to me, in these hard days..." Her eyes, when they met his, were strangely foggy, as if covered with a sort of film that stood between her and the world. “You have been such a boon to an old woman with no one to care for her. There is some infection, I should think… We must send for the doctor, mustn’t we?”

“The doctor has already come and gone,” Gilly said, leaning close and half-shouting in the hopes she could hear anything he said. Her mouth worked aimlessly, and he gave her more water, although it didn't seem to help. “Do you not remember?” Her hearing had gotten even worse since her illness had taken hold of her - or since the siren's song had convinced her that she was ill, anyway - and soon enough, he thought, all this shouting could finally cease.

“Oh, he did?,” Mrs. Neumann quavered, eyes watering. But then she seemed to forget her emotions and looked to the side. “I suppose so… He must have. Oh, but Gilly, who is singing? The voice is so fine…”

In the corner, Gilly’s siren sang, plaintive and mournful, as he’d been ordered to. He hadn’t wanted to turn his song to Gilly's will, but with a year of careful teaching he had taught the creature to obey him without hesitation, and they were finally ready to put Gilly’s plan into motion.

It began here.

His future would start here at Mrs. Neumann’s sickbed, where beneath the notes of the lovely song were the commands being worked into the elderly widow’s malleable little mind while she burned with unchecked fever.

The doctor came and said there is nothing to be done now but rest. Gilly Wentworth cares for you now. Leave him everything you have. He deserves all you have and more.

He deserves everything.

“He's a friend,” Gilly replied to her question, shouting right against her ear and getting almost no sign she was aware of him at all. Her eyes shifted, moving as if following the notes of Areyto’s beautiful song. The clouds over her irises were thickening. “He sings well indeed! It was a miracle I found him!"

“As the hart on the mountain so was my love brave,” The siren sang, powerful tenor rising and falling. Its eyes were distant, its body relaxed in a way it never was otherwise. But even Gilly could see that the siren loved the act of using its voice, not only for luring wayward sailors but simply to sing at all. “So handsome, manly and clever. So kind and sincere and he loved me so dear - oh, Edwin, thy equal was never..."

“How beautiful,” Mrs. Neumann whispered, lips barely moving. He watched the fog on her eyes overtake them entirely as the spell in the siren’s voice took hold of her. “Oh, Gilly, you have done more than anyone could ever be asked to do for me… it's a pity, what happened with your father… you should have kept your riches…"

“Yes,” Gilly whispered, leaning closer. “Yes, I should have…"

"A pity," The old woman repeated, reaching blindly for him, unable now to see anything but what the siren commanded. "Such a pity… you deserve everything…"

Gilly shivered with anticipation, breathing harder. "Yes, yes, I do…"

Even the little yappy dog had gone silent, now, head cocked with its ears up as it listened, seated on the ground. Gilly wondered idly if the dog would try to give him all its stupid little bones or something, if the siren’s magic could speak to the hearts of animals, too.

It didn't work on animals, everyone knew that. But then it wasn't supposed to work on women, either, and here was Mrs. Neumann wholly ensorcelled by it.

He would have to go see Atabei, and tell her, after this was over.

“You have been such a good and kind gentleman…” She murmured, and he held her hand in both of his, soft papery wrinkled skin cradled between his palms. “I will leave you everything, everything you deserve…”

“Yes," Gilly repeated, more insistently this time, leaning even closer. He could smell her now, the rosewater she dabbed at her neck and wrists each day like clockwork when she rose, the sour note of her sweat beneath. It wouldn’t be long now.

As soon as she signed.

“But now he is dead and gone to death’s bed,” The siren continued, “He’s cut down like a rose in full bloom. He’s fallen asleep and left me here to weep by the sweet silver light of the moon…”

Mrs. Neumann’s mouth had fallen open, a look of serenity overtaking her features entirely but for the clouds over her eyes. Gilly left her for the moment and went over to a table near to the door, grabbing the sheaf of papers there, an inkwell and pen. He returned, settled himself back next to her, and began to speak to her in a soft voice.

She heard, somewhere, deep beneath the deafness that had come on her with age and the siren’s song. The siren commanded her to hear him, so she did.

He explained how important it was that she leave her wealth to someone who would use it wisely, that her friends and the church could not be trusted with it - only Gilly Wentworth, who cared for her so faithfully, deserved her fortune.

She nodded, and wept a little at the selfless nature of such a man, and then she took the pen.

The old woman signed every paper he gave her, her signature unmistakably her own and unwavering, even though she never looked directly at any of the words. He’d had these drawn up himself by a solicitor who had remarked, also, on the fine quality of his friend’s singing, before his own eyes had clouded.

When they had left the solicitor's office, the man had remembered no such song, only Gilly himself, and how kind he was to care so for an old woman alone in the world.

He would file the papers, once Mrs. Neumann finally kicked over the bucket and went on to the endless pile of her previous beloved yappy dogs in the sky, waiting for their mistress to greet them. Really, it wasn’t like she was doing anything with her wealth anyway.

Gilly intended to do quite a lot with her wealth.

“Roll on, silver moon, guide the traveler’s way when the nightingale’s song is in tune,” The siren’s voice shifted, went so painfully sad that tears welled in Mrs. Neumann’s eyes, moved by the mourning the siren could mimic but, Gilly thought, not actually fully feel. “Never more with my lover shall I stray by the sweet silver light of the moon…”

She signed.

And she signed.

When he had all he needed, he put the sheaf of papers back, poured a glass of a scarlet liquid into a crystal cordial glass, and then set it into Mrs. Neumann’s hands, closing her fingers around it. She didn’t seem to notice, frozen in place by the strength and power of the siren’s song.

Smiling, Gilly walked slowly towards the corner where his captive magic creature stood, lit by the strong yellow sun coming in the windows. Despite the immensity of emotion in its song, there was an emptiness in its dark eyes that sent a thrill down Gilly’s spine and pooled a greedy heat within him begging to be released. The sun touched the edges of its black curls and turned them to gold, shone warm on smooth brown skin.

Naked, it was a vision, an ancient statue brought to life by the favor - or curse - of ancient gods. Gilly came to a stop beside it, looking over its finely-formed face, the imprints of his fingers still, eternally, written clearly in purples and reds around the slim column of its neck. His eyes moved down, following the complicated swell of magical symbols that held it firmly in check, bound it without question to his will. The siren looked down and away from him, the song… shifting just a little.

The note of wistful loss that the words called for became something stronger but far more painful to hear, a wailing plea to the heavens for help trapped within its perfect pitch. And yet no help could come.

Not for such a monster, not with the magic keeping it still for Gilly’s every touch, for as long as he commanded it to be.

“His grave I will seek until morning appears and weep for my lover so brave…”

Gilly laid his hand against the siren’s face, palm to its cheek, and its voice wavered a little as its dark eyes closed.

“I’ll embrace cold turf and wash with my tears the flowers that bloom o’er his grave…”

With avid delight and no small amount of desire he followed the trail of a tear that ran down its other cheek and settled at the corner of its mouth. He touched his thumb to the spot and then licked the salt off it. To see the creature at its wicked work was… truly beautiful to behold. To know that it wept because it could do nothing but obey him - him, Gilly Wentworth, just a man in a world full of men and yet now one of the most powerful men alive - was… incredible.

Awe-inspiring.

And they had only just begun.

“Never again shall my bosom know joy,” The siren’s voice dipped to low, a hushed and mournful lament. “With my Edwin I hope to be soon. Lovers shall weep o’er where we both sleep by thy sweet silver light, bonny moon.”

Gilly checked back on Mrs. Neumann, and smiled. She stared off into space, her chest moving fitfully with emotion. The money, the house, the horses even… all of it would be Gilly’s very, very soon.

Really, it was like she was investing in him.

Just like everyone else was going to do.

Pity she wouldn’t see the returns.

“Have her drink what’s in the cup,” He whispered. The siren took a breath and obeyed, changing its power minutely.

“Roll on, silver moon, guide the traveler’s way when the nightingale’s song is in tune…”

Gilly watched as Mrs. Neumann, seemingly in a trance, lifted the cup to her lips and drank it all, swallow after swallow, some of the liquid running from the corners of her mouth to wet her hair and the chaise beneath her.

He smiled.

“And never, never more with my lover I’ll stray by thy silver light, bonny moon…”

The final note hung in the air, as Mrs. Neumann’s eyes slowly closed. She relaxed back into the chaise, her hand dropping, the cup clinking onto the floor and rolling away, the last drops of poison spilling like water to evaporate and leave no trace of themselves behind.

Gilly exhaled, then walked with purpose back to the siren.

It raised its eyes, briefly, to meet his just as he grabbed it by the arms and shoved its back against the wall. A gilded mirror hanging next to it crashed to the ground, cracking into pieces, and the little dog took to yapping again.

It stared at him with naked, unhidden fear.

“Good,” Gilly murmured, an inch from its false man’s face. Uneven breath on its lips, those eyes like pools of deep water locked on his. There were still red welts on its back, new ones thanks to Gilly discovering that even its pain sounded pretty, and he enjoyed the soft sound the siren made as its back was ground against the wallpaper.

He put one hand around its neck, thumb pressing just over its pulse, and felt it flutter and jump under his touch as the siren bared its neck to him, as he had taught it always to do. To defy even this touch would result in a misery the stupid sea creature could not bear. Even the dumbest animals could be trained, after all. Even the stupidest, most stubbornly beautiful man-shaped things could learn.

Its voice was thin and airy. “M-Master-... please-"

“You did wonderfully,” He breathed. “A perfect tool for my will. Now we must find someone to take the dog - it’s irritating but I won’t leave it to starve here, will I? I’m not so heartless as all that - and then we’ll sell the house and the horses and all this nonsense and frippery she keeps… and then we’ll be on our way, won’t we?” He leaned forward, speaking against the siren’s ear just to feel the way its body shivered against his. “You and I. Now. Kneel for me.”

“Yes, master.” Its voice went dull. Its mimicry lost its shine, and everything fell flat from its mouth like heavy stone. It always spoke like that, when he commanded it to its knees.

Gilly didn’t mind.

Behind him, as the poison took hold, he heard Mrs. Neumann's breath go suddenly rapid and rasping, heard her fall from the chaise to the floor, arms and legs rigid, muscles spasming.

It would only last a few moments.

Then she would slip into unconsciousness and finally to her death, and Gilly would be one step closer to everything he'd ever wanted.

He let go and stepped back, watching the siren gracefully sink down onto Mrs. Neumann’s expensive woven rug.

Gilly put a hand in its hair, gripped tight enough to make it whimper with the pain when he pulled its head back. “I need to write a letter to Atabei." His other hand worked at his breeches, and his eyes took in the way the thing shuddered at the sight with greedy, rising lust. "Have to tell her it worked on a woman. I should see if it works on other women... Need to tell Beibei I finally have the coins to come see her for a visit. Be dressed in real finery, for once."

"Yes, master."

"Sssshhh. Open your mouth for me."

He closed his eyes, buried both hands in the siren’s thick hair, and gave himself over to his triumph and the perfect pleasure of the siren’s tears.

Taglist: @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings

Covers @whumptober prompts 13, 14, 15

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beanghostprincess · 11 months ago

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Just thinking about the fact Sora died because of the poison she drink to save her kids, because she is gentle and kind. And her only son who the desesperate act work is as kind as her.

But the StrawHats don't know she did that, this is something he don't have the courage to tell. And they know even less that Sanji is ready to do the same.

He isn't pround of that, but he ends up discovering the poison she drink and even have the recipe of how to do it. Because the germa soldiers teached them this and others poisons.

And this little fact is like a silent threat, a thing that if the crew discovers this, would be attentive about anything he drinks until they're certainly he's not gonna do the same thing his mother did.

And when the StrawHats learn about this fact, the exactly thing he expected happens, he notice Chopper and Robin always near the kitchen with the excuse of how's there was calmer, Nami and Usopp start to do his drinks for him or always are looking him while he's doing it, the others does things too. And Sanji notices all of this.

It's needed months to calm the crew, but still after they stop, all of them always have this fear in the back of they're minds (Luffy even goes as far as asking Law to do a check up on Sanji the next time they meet), that he will do this, but they want to believe he will not. They really want to.

(Just a thought that come to my mind yesterday, and I wanted to share, y'know? Based on some headcanons)

Oh, damn. This honestly hits close to home and it's really interesting so I wanna talk about it. But, you know, it's a serious topic so:

TW // Suicide, poison, self-harm, depression, etc etc you know the drill about Sanji and his issues. I don't go deep, tho, so It's not THAT explicit but could be triggering.

I think that after WCI and Wano, they'd all be worried. Sanji has always been pretty self-sacrificing with everyone and he doesn't value his life in the slightest. He doesn't show signs at first of being actively suicidal but the way he treats his own life makes it clear that he gets into self-sabotaging situations to the point of it being considered self-harm or even passive suicidal behavior. He just- Doesn't care about dying because he puts others first all the time. He has been doing that forever and Skypiea is just one of the times he does that. But, y'know, they never notice that. At least not everyone. I think Zoro is the first to know because of Thriller Bark, honestly. That's one of the biggest signs imo. But then they're separated and it's not like they can talk about it. Then two years happen and uh, shit goes downhill after that because WCI is just utterly traumatizing for Sanji and Wano makes everything worse to the point of asking Zoro to kill him if he loses himself. And we always say that's really gay (because it is) but we ignore the whole point of Sanji genuinely asking somebody to kill him without any fucking hesitation. And he spends all of Wano having the biggest crisis of his life wondering if he's human enough or worthy of being in the crew and???? What the actual fuck. Anyway, I think the crew ends up finding out about everything and I don't believe Sanji is well mentally after all of this. I know they don't write it like this because things are happening and they have to go to Egghead, but I think Sanji would end up really fucked up after WCI and Wano to the point of being worrisome.

If they do find out about the poison thing and Sanj's suicidal thoughts (honestly, I don't know how they would even find out about it unless Reiju tells them or Sanji snaps and yells about that, but, y'know. The point is that they know and Sanji is getting worse) I think you're completely right and they'd be all over him. Because that's exactly what happens when somebody acts this way. They look after him to a suffocating extent and watch his steps. They take turns to watch him. They prepare his drinks. They even make up something so he doesn't have to be on night watch so he can sleep, because he's probably not sleeping either. Or eating well, for that matter, which is what makes them all worry even more in the first place.

And hear me out, because I think he would try to do it. Like- Commit, I mean. Not gonna get into the topic too deep but I think he'd try and I think it wouldn't work because somebody would help him right away and I think he'd try to play it off as a mistake and a misunderstanding, but everyone would know. And he'd just try to ignore their pep talks and interventions.

This is projecting from personal experience and everyone goes through these things differently, but God, I think he'd fucking hate it if they looked after him. Because he knows he won't do it again. At least he doesn't want to do it again. But everybody keeps looking after him like he's about to break at any moment and it's so damn annoying to not have any type of privacy because they think he's gonna off himself the second he's alone. And he gets why they're doing it and appreciates their efforts to look after him, but acting this way is not the answer to his problems. It's just asphyxiating and it isn't helping him get better. You know how the crew is, they're NOT subtle and careful with anything and they're just-- They have good intentions but it's suffocating and he can't handle it anymore.

And I think he'd snap. I actually want to write a fic about this if you let me use your idea (I will credit you, ofc) because I think it'd be great to make him snap at Nami, specifically, and then regret it completely.

Long story short because this is getting long: I think Brook and Robin would end up talking things out with him because they're the ones who understand him the most in this situation. He'd apologize to Nami but also everyone else would apologize too for acting this way, they were just worried and wanted to look after him. I think, after this, the only ones watching Sanji would be Brook and Robin and they'd do it carefully, supporting him and helping him get better. And the whole crew would be next to him along the way but doing it with less assertiveness and just gentler.

I think the concept of Sanji thinking about death so often is great because it adds depth to his character and it's not a crazy thought. I think it's pretty damn canon, actually. At least him being careless about his own life.

#so i never talk about these things here bc trauma but i've gone through shit like this and people don't let me go near medication alone #and it's been YEARS #and it's only stressful because they don't let you do anything on your own once shit like this happens and you lose all sense of privacy #like your whole identity and intimacy you could have fades away and i understand why sanji would snap at them #i think he'd regret it right away and he'd apologize and nami would understand perfectly but damn it hurts anyway #i could go deeper on this analysis but idk if it's a topic i should talk about on tumblr bc it's triggering for some #i think you understood what i wanted to say tho #he gets better dw #robin and brook are like- obviously the ones who have gone through shit like this ofc they'd understand him #anyway i always love to talk about sanji's mental health issues #he's very depressed has anxiety and probably bpd and an ed but that's a topic for another day #and he's also a sweetheart and deserves to be happy #we're all about positive thoughts here and i swear he gets better #one piece #black leg sanji #straw hat pirates #tw self destructive behavior #tw suicide #please be aware of the tags it's a really sensitive topic and i don't want any of you to be triggered :(

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uniquezombiedestiny · 1 year ago

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"haha, i'm just like you!"

#bella #lc ocs #art #if this needs any extra tags/cws/etc lmk!!#okkkk rambling time! :3c #i used some lines/hatching brushes to mimic mika's style a bit #+ lots of watercolor; pastel/charcoal; nets and sparkles and all that #allll kinds of brushes!#originally this was brighter and the alternate was gonna in black and white but it didnt work out #then i went to fully saturated #then i hit it with the red exclusion layer and eeeeeverything came into place #this was kinda covered up in the end but the alts smile is stretching her skin a bit - there's like bunched up skin right by her hair/eye #i put bellas lineart on top of the alts as well to really put in the like. im you thing. so there's multiple linearts!#as well as her eye fading into the normal bellas closed one just a bit #and finally: bellas little green hair ties stand out for once :)#tw scopophobia #scopophobia

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resident-gay-bitch · 1 year ago

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Day Two of @steddie-week - bittersweet / fluff and-or angst / fade to black

find the previous day here :)

Eddie never thought he’d end up here.

After all this time, he never thought Steve would be the one cradling him and checking over his wounds. He’d always had to fight the urge for it to be the other way around, to hold himself back when he’d see Steve get shoved to the ground, or after he showed up to school with bruises on his face, or that night after the mall fire when he was in the back of an ambulance beaten and bloody and crying.

Eddie had always wanted to comfort Steve, but he’d always stopped himself. Steve had other people. People that mattered more. People that weren’t Freaks (except like Buckley now, but she was a cool freak, so…). People he’d actually like to be helped by.

But fuck, the universe was never good to Eddie, was it?

First it gives him the most heart harrowing crush on Steve fucking Harrington and burdens him with it for four long years, and now it makes Eddie bleed out in his tanned, muscular arms.

What a way to go, huh?

“Hey man… don’t… don’t close your eyes.”

Eddie could barely shake his head as he tried his best to smile, “Couldn’t keep ‘em cl- closed if I… wanned too, St-Stevie.”

“Why’s that?” Steve sobbed, his minds focus set on keeping Eddie talking, not really thinking much about it, as his hands applied pressure where the blood seeped from his pale skin as Nancy tried her best to tie his wounds off. They could both hear Dustin wailing into Robin's shoulder in the near distance.

“Cause you’re… beautiful.” Eddie managed to croak out, his mouth filling with more blood as he coughed and spluttered and whined when he saw it splashed up onto Steve’s wet cheek.

Steve was covered in his blood.

Eddie’s blood.

Eddie was going to die like this, and the last thing he’s going to see is Steve crying and covered in his blood.

The universe was so fucking cruel.

Eddie couldn’t do this anymore.

“Hey! Hey!” Steve was slapping his cheek and Eddie forced his eyes open.

He was so tired.

“I’m…m’wake…” Eddie slurred and huffed and attempted to roll his eyes, “Ms…” he clicked his tongue and hoped Steve would get it.

Steve did. He let out a tiny little laugh and shook his head down at Eddie. Only then did Eddie realise Steve had a hand under his head, because he felt Steve’s fingers scratch his scalp and it was a very nice feeling. Eddie suddenly knew exactly how dogs felt now. He wanted Steve to do it again.

“Don’t worry, Eddie.” Steve said, his voice as calming as he could make it in this moment.

Eddie could tell it was hard for him to do, his tone still strangled, but god he appreciated it. He appreciated everything Steve had done for him and all his little sheepies now. Steve was far better than he’d always thought, and maybe that’s why the universe had pushed Eddie to fall for this pretty disaster. Maybe the universe could see Steve needed someone a little different like Eddie to love him. Someone who never cared about social status, or the prejudice shit thrown his way every day, or anything like that. Maybe Steve just needed someone with a big heart and a lot to give to hold his hand through all the bullshit he’s been through. Maybe the universe was trying to push Eddie towards him from the very start, because maybe that would have changed things. Maybe that would have made things easier for the both of them.

Either way, Eddie loved Steve now, every little crack and splinter of his hollowing heart- because Steve was good. Steve was soft, and kind, and yeah really bitchy but in a good way. And Steve needed someone to love him.

And Eddie could have been that person.

But he guessed he’d never know now.

“Ms. Clicks not here right now.” Steve forced a smile, “Don’t worry… don’t worry-“

“Good.” Eddie gritted out, and he was really struggling now. He could feel Nancy's nimble fingers working double time to keep his blood in, but he could just feel it spilling out in other places, “Hurts.”

“I know.” Steve said, and it was softer. It hurt more. Eddie didn’t like that tone. He didn’t like it one bit. He didn’t want Steve to hurt anymore. He hated he was the one hurting him right now, “I know, Eddie.” He scrunched his fingers against Eddie’s scalp again and it was heavenly, “It’s okay, you’ll be okay.”

Eddie smiled and shook his head, “N-nah… man.”

“Yes.” Steve said, and it was almost forceful.

Eddie looked at him for a moment, tracked the fresh tears that ran down Steve’s pretty cheeks and carried away the splattered blood. Eddie had about a hundred new songs swimming around in his head right now, ones of love and loss and hero’s. It’s a shame he’d never get to write them. A shame he’d never get to play them for Steve.

“Ok-ay.” Eddie whispered and attempted to nod his head.

He gritted his teeth because it hurt. Everything hurt.

He looked back up at Steve, and he could barely comprehend anything else. Steve was looking at Nancy, they were talking, but Eddie couldn’t understand. He couldn’t focus on their fast paced words and half their conversation was shared with silent looks anyway. Eddie didn’t need to understand to know it wasn’t good.

He’s already made as much peace with it as he could.

“I wish you’d notice me.” Eddie spoke softly, because it’s all he could muster at that moment, his eyes boaring right at Steve as if looking at anything else would bring his end along quicker.

Maybe it might.

Maybe he’d live a minute or two longer, just for Steve.

“Huh?” Steve turned his attention dead on Eddie (yeah, I know, not the best use of words right now), “Oh… I notice you.”

Eddie smiled softly, blinked a few times, “I… I wish you’d… see me.” He swallowed, and he hated the metallic taste that came with it. He wanted this to be over already. All of it, “S-see me… th-the way I…”

“Take your time.” Steve whispered, his hand that was drenched in Eddie’s blood moving up to cradle his cheek so softly.

“I… s-s-see y…ou.” Eddie spluttered, and it hurt. Not just everything, but his heart. It felt like it was being split in half right now.

“I do.” Steve muttered, learning over Eddie more, his bloody hand smoothing over Eddie’s wet cheek and holding him tighter in place, “I do, Eddie.”

Eddie shook his head, “N-no… I’m- I m-mean, I-“

“I know.” Steve sobbed and kissed Eddie right between his eyebrows, “I know… and- and I see you. I see you so clearly. You’re the brightest star in my galaxy.”

Eddie sobbed and hated - more than he’d hated anything in his life before - the blood that bubbled between his lips and spluttered out onto Steve’s face again. His own pretty lips and cheeks now splattered scarlett red and stained with Eddie’s death. He tried his best to raise a hand and wipe it away. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t move. He was paralysed.

All he could do was cry.

“I’ve got you, Eddie.” Steve whispered and pressed their cheeks together, his voice a soft song in Eddie’s ear and he hoped it would play for the rest of his life, “I see you, and I’ve got you.”

Eddie nodded his head and felt Steve’s fingers scratch against his scalp again.

Fuck the universe.

Fucking fuck!

They could have had everything.

But soon they’ll have nothing.

Eddie would just have to pray that now was enough for Steve, because it was certainly more than Eddie could have ever asked for.

Eddie mustered the biggest smile he could give, and gave it all to Steve, “Y-you’re s-o… beaut-beauti…ful.”

“So are you.” Steve muttered, cradelling Eddie close, and he could feel hands on his body and movement all around him, but he didn’t care about any of that, he just begged his eyes to stay open so he could keep them on Steve, “So beautiful, Ed’s.”

“Mhm.” Eddie swallowed and spluttered again, a groan when someone’s hand hit a tender spot on his stomach, “S-Steve…”

“Eddie.” Steve whispered back, “Eddie Munson.”

“F-f…reak.”

“Mine.”

Eddie whimpered and felt his heart clench. All the pain in his body suddenly went numb. All he could feel was Steve.

“Do you like that?” Steve asked, his eyes darting out and around before focusing back on Eddie below him.

“Mhm.” Eddie mumbled, struggling to get his thoughts together. His eyelids were so heavy, “S…te-eve.”

“That’s me.” Steve said quietly, “Steve Harrington.”

“K-ing.”

There was a moment of hesitation before Steve nodded and said, “King Steve.”

Eddie tried his best to shake his head and smile, “Was.” He said simply, “N-now… m-mmm-mine.”

Steve almost laughed at that, and Eddie didn’t exactly understand why. He thought maybe he’d gotten it wrong. Maybe Steve wasn’t his afterall. Maybe he’d gotten his dumb stupid wish and been like one of those many girls he’d send dirty looks to that hung off of Steve’s arm each week. Maybe he was Steve’s, but Steve wasn’t his.

“Yours.” Steve repeated simply, “For as long as you’ll have me, Eddie.”

Eddie would have him forever, if he could.

But now would have to do.

He closed his eyes.

“O-k-kay.”

“Okay.” Steve said back.

“G’bye… S-ste…vie.” Eddie choked out. He wished he could see whether Steve was smiling right now. He hoped he was. He hoped he’d die with Steve’s pretty smile shining down on him. But he was far too tired to open his eyes again, “S…ee y-you.”

“Soon.” Steve said, like a promise, “I’ve got you, baby… I see you.”

Despite being on death's doorstep, Eddie did feel pretty damn good right now.

read Day Three here

\/ a dodgy art piece for this one \/

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serickswrites · 6 months ago

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Close Your Eyes

Warnings: betrayal, head injury, fade to black, unclear character status

"Just a bit further," Friend said as they urged Whumpee forward.

Whumpee walked carefully through the darkened cave. They didn't want to slip and fall on one of the numerous sharp rocks lining the cave. "Are you sure you saw a pictograph this far back?"

"Very sure," Friend said, their voice sounding stilted.

Before Whumpee could reply, their head exploded with pain. They tumbled forward as they screamed out. Whumpee's pain addled brain couldn't quite put together all of the information as they tried to roll onto their back.

"Don't move," Friend ordered. "Please, don't move."

Whumpee managed to flip over enough that they could stare up at Friend. "I....I....d-d-d-on'ttttt," they started as they stared up at the person they thought was their good friend.

The person who was standing over them with a very large and very sharp rock. Friend's eyes were filled with tears. "Whumper promised they wouldn't hurt my family. I...I'm sorry, Whumpee."

"Pl-Pl-Please," Whumpee whispered.

"Close your eyes. Close your eyes, Whumpee. It will all be over soon. Please......just close your eyes."

And though Whumpee knew that closing their eyes was a bad idea, they couldn't stare up at Friend as Friend brought the rock down towards their head again. Couldn't watch as their closest friend betrayed them. Couldn't watch as their world was going to end.

Whumpee closed their eyes. And their world became quiet. And still.

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw betrayal #tw head injury #tw fade to black #tw unclear character status #mwm2024 #mwmday23 #mwmday24 #prompt: “close your eyes”#prompt: cave #queue

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tayloralisonswift · 8 months ago

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jar half empty (grandmother is alive) / jar half full (grandfather is dead)

#my mother just showed me a class photo of my dad when he was eight maybe?#he had a faded black eye #he was eight. god it makes me sick #tw abuse

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letsbenditlikebennett · 1 year ago

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TIMING: Current PARTIES: @ironcladrhett @magmahearts & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Rhett can sense there's a fae nearby and ends up following Cass towards the Magmacave where she's meeting Alex for date night. Having met Rhett before, Cass is friendly... Rhett? Not so much. CONTENT: Eye trauma, unsanitary (blood)

Date night was something Cass took pretty seriously now that she had a designated date night partner. There were so many things Alex hadn’t experienced throughout her life — an unfortunate side effect of her upbringing and her parents, the oread knew. It made her angry to think about, sometimes, made her upset to know that her girlfriend had suffered so much under the ‘care’ of people who made an active effort not to understand her… but it also meant she got to be the one to help rectify that. And that wasn’t all bad. She could show Alex the best movies, introduce her to the coolest comics. She got to be there to see the way the other girl’s face lit up when she experienced all of that for the first time, and that was a good thing.

It also meant that Cass was bound and determined to make everything as special as she could. She knew what Alex liked now, and she always made an effort to make sure she had as much of it as possible. Everything in the Magmacave was ready for a new kind of movie night. A projector she’d ‘acquired’ from Walmart that worked with her phone, a bunch of snacks she’d stored away just for this moment, blankets and pillows of every shape and size… It was bound to be one for the history books, she thought. She was just finishing up her very last snack run before Alex’s arrival, grocery bags slung over her arms as she made her way back to the cave with the less ‘nonperishable’ of movie night snacks. It was perfect. It was going to be perfect.

She walked towards the cave with a spring in her step, pausing momentarily at the sound of something rustling behind her. If this was a monster that was going to ruin movie night — or worse, try to steal her carefully acquired snacks — she was going to be mad. Cass turned around, putting a hand to her hip as she prepared to scare off whatever animal was there, only to come face to face with a man instead. He looked familiar, though it took her a moment to place him. “Hey, I know you. You were at Alan’s that one time, right? With the pool!” She offered him a bright smile. “You probably shouldn’t be out here at night time. There’s animals and stuff in the woods, you know? You don’t wanna get eaten!”

—

It had been happenstance, really, that he saw the fae girl at the store. He’d not even been inside, but walking past outside when he felt that familiar, horrible feeling that accompanied the presence of fae. Diverting his path and forgoing whatever plans he’d had in mind, Rhett followed the sensation until the girl was in his sights, then tailed her at a respectable distance. She seemed distracted, which was good, or she might’ve noticed sooner that she had a shadow that was following her out of town and towards the Flat. He dropped back even further as their location became more and more remote, careful to just use his senses to keep track of her, even when he couldn’t see her. Not like his eyes were much fucking good, anyway.

She stopped, he stopped. Must have reached her destination, then. Or—oh. No. She’d spotted him. But she wasn’t scared, she was smiling. She recognized him.

He managed to mirror the emotion, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Aye, with the pool,” he confirmed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “That so? Well, don’t worry, I think I can handle any ol’ animal what wants to tango with me,” the warden chuckled. He glanced past her at the cave, brow raised. “You live in there?” he asked. “No judgment… live out the van, myself. Cool cave.”

—

What was he doing out here, she wondered? Had he seen her and grown concerned? It wasn’t entirely unheard of for people to worry when they saw someone Cass’s age walking alone into the woods at night, and he had met her at Alan’s, so maybe he felt some… silly sense of responsibility. It might have been exciting if she didn’t know it would likely be a temporary thing. Most adults only cared about a kid until it stopped being convenient for them to do so, and she doubted Alan’s boyfriend was any different in that regard.

She glanced back to the cave with a shrug, opting not to answer the question verbally. He said he wouldn’t judge, but… Wait. He lived in a van? Cass squinted at him. Hadn’t Aria said the man who’d put her in his van had long gray hair, too? Uneasiness crept down the oread’s spine, but she was quick to shove it away. Alan trusted this guy, and Alex trusted Alan. It was probably just a coincidence, wasn’t it? “What are you doing out here, anyway? Just walking around? It’s kind of late for a hike, moke.” She let her tone take on a teasing lilt in spite of her uneasiness. It wasn’t fair to be suspicious of him, not really. Driving a van and having long hair wasn’t a crime or anything.

—

“Oh, night time walks are pretty much the only thing keepin' me sane these days,” Rhett laughed, though the gesture of friendliness didn't quite meet his eyes. It never seemed to, these days. He thought about how he needed to get in closer without spooking her off, and decided to lean into the misinterpretation she and Alex had had regarding his relationship with Alan. Or lack thereof, if you were the type that cared about semantics. Rhett was not one of those people.

“Anyway, Alan says it's good fer me, so here I am. Walkin' out all the ol' troubles.” He was doing a pretty good job of being convincing, or so he thought. “Spotted you not far back... sorry I didn't call out sooner. Didn't wanna scare you. Guess followin' you ain't a much better choice, eh? Whoops.” He shrugged. “Say, Alex ain't around, is she? Been meanin' to ask her for a wee favor in regards to the grumpy ol' man back home, but ah... if she's here, could just get it outta the way now. You know how it is, I ain't great with the technology.” Now he was just lying, but it didn't really matter if this fae was going to die in the next ten minutes, did it? Besides, he felt this was a pretty decent way of making sure she was alone before moving in for the kill. Or... kidnapping. Again? Couldn't rightly kill her here, what if someone else did show up? What then? No, there'd have to be a secondary location. Didn't matter much where, just not here.

—

Old people did like night time walks, actually. Cass was pretty sure she’d seen commercials featuring old people walking at night while a disembodied voice read off a list of potential side effects, so it made sense that Rhett would rely on them. They probably kept him feeling young, or whatever.

The oread softened a little at the mention of Alan, too, thinking of the two of them at Alex’s mentor’s house the night with the pink pool. Most of it was a little hazy — in retrospect, she so should have recognized the whole ‘high on mushrooms’ thing way before she had — but she remembered thinking they seemed good together. Balanced each other out, in a way, with Alan’s seriousness and Rhett’s willingness to join in on her and Alex’s little game.

“Yeeeaaah,” she said with a small laugh, “following a girl alone in the woods at night isn’t the best way to avoid scaring her, dude. But that’s okay.” At the mention of her girlfriend, she perked up a little. “Oh, she’s not here right now, but we’re meeting up later. I could pass along the message for you? No offense, but I don’t really want you crashing date night with my girl.” She wrinkled her nose at him, a teasing glint in her eye.

—

“Ah! Of course, totally get that, no problem. Here, ah…” He patted his pockets for a second before fishing out a scrap of paper and a pen. “I’ll write it down just in case, howzat?” Not giving her much time to respond, the warden scribbled… well, nothing. It was just scribbles. Clicking the pen shut, he pocketed it again before folding the paper and closing the distance to hand it to Cass. “‘Preciate it, kid.”

As he held out his hand, waiting for her to accept the paper, his heartbeat quickened. And when she mirrored the motion to take it, he struck out like a viper. The paper was dropped as that hand came to circle her wrist instead, the other jumping to her throat. He wasted no time with words, simply twisting them both around until he stood behind her, pinning her arms to her own torso while the other jumped to cover her mouth and stop her screaming. Alex was coming, and there was no telling when she’d arrive. Couldn’t stay here. Rhett began to back away from the cave entrance, dragging the nymph into the brush with some difficulty but not too much, thanks to his superior strength.

—

“Oh, that’s a really good idea!” If he wrote it down, they wouldn’t have to play the telephone game and whatever it was he needed to say wouldn’t have to go through Cass before getting to Alex. She’d probably have a hard time remembering it; when Alex was around, most of Cass’s thoughts were reduced to the gay kind. Rhett writing his thing down was a relief, and she waited patiently as he scribbled. It looked like it was probably going to be messy — she hoped Alex would be able to read it.

When he held out the page, she flashed him a quick grin and reached for it. But before her fingers could close against the paper, he grabbed her. His hand around her wrist was like a vice grip, too tight and bruising. The way he twisted her arm behind her hurt, too; she felt something snap under the pressure, but the resulting scream was muffled by the sudden presence of a second hand covering her mouth. The pain was momentarily blinding, and she checked out for half a second. When she was back to herself, she was already moving. Already being moved. He was dragging her away from the cave, and that was bad. She needed to be in the cave. She didn’t understand what he was doing or why, but she knew she didn’t want it, so she fought back. She kicked at his knees as best she could, tried to bite the hand over her mouth. Her glamour dropped, and she kept screaming throughout even though it was muffled. What was this? Why was he doing this? She didn’t understand.

—

Nearly the whole trek to the magmacave, Alex found herself wishing that she could convince Cass to stay at the cabin with her. She wasn't under some illusion that anywhere in Wicked's Rest was safe, but she at least knew there was no goo at the cabin for the time being. Every time she saw one of the faces around town, entrapped in the sludge that hardened around them, Alex couldn't help but see Cass. The pure black of the sludge was different from the obsidian and magma that made up her girlfriend. Light didn't catch the abnormality or the sludge in quite the same way. It was like there was only darkness there and it scared the hell out of her. She supposed that was part of the problem now. Her heart was too full. There were too many who's single misstep into the goo could break her. She didn't want to keep being a broken thing, not when she was only starting to piece together what she looked like as whole.

Still, Alex wasn't going to let her own worries ruin date night. She was dating a superhero, a little bit of danger came with the territory. If she stopped Cass from protecting her cave, she'd be asking for her to give up some fundamental to who she was. It was part of her. That bravery and dedication to protecting her little piece of nature was something Alex loved about Cass. She found her cheeks grew flush at the thought and she held the little pouch of rocks she'd collected close to her chest.

Her feet followed the familiar path to the cave and Alex smiled at the way she knew the way like the back of her own hand now. It was a pretty thought that was rudely interrupted as she heard what sounded like a whisper of a scream, as if it had been stamped or drowned out, and she felt something shift in her. All of her senses went into overdrive and she followed the sound of footsteps and dragging ahead past the cave.

Part of her wanted to call out, but Alex didn't dare alert anyone to her presence. She could hear sounds and while there was no scream that followed, something heavy was dragging against the forest floor along with the footsteps and she had to follow it. She could smell Cass and something else vaguely familiar.

She ran past the cave with careful steps. Alex moved as quickly as she could, avoiding patches of dead leaves that would crumble under her steps and alert someone to her presence. It had been a good move because when she rounded a tree, she was taken aback by what she saw. Cass's glamour was off and she could see a charred mark around her wrist.

Then there was Rhett, holding her by the throat with hand over her mouth and Alex felt sick. What was this? She knew. Part of her knew right away, but it couldn't be right. Cass wasn't a monster to be hunted. It didn't compute in her mind despite what her eyes were showing her. Her eyes had to be betraying her.

“Cass,” she called, “Rhett.” She looked between the two, begging for the picture to adjust and show her anything else, but it never did. Her fists clenched at her side and her features hardened as she found herself glaring at the warden. “Let go of her,” she demanded coldly, “Now.“

—

Rhett paid the screams no mind, determined to get Cass away from the cave mouth before someone came along. Someone like Alex. But, as was typical of late, the universe had other ideas, and those ideas consisted of throwing as massive a wrench in his plans as possible.

Goddamnit.

“Doin’ you a favor, kid.” There was no surprise in Alex’s voice to see the nymph looking the way it did now, glamour dropped. That didn’t make things easier. She was a fae sympathizer. Fuck. Well, there was no point in trying to haul it off somewhere else before killing it, now. The thought that it might traumatize Alex to see her friend be killed crossed his mind but he didn’t care—just like he didn’t care about the fact that this would certainly… complicate things. He’d be alienating himself again. From Alex, which was no great loss, but then also probably from Alan, who he had a feeling she’d tattle on him to. That one hurt a little, but there was nothing to be done about it. The fae had to go. He’d wanted to see if it knew of anyone in the area named Ophelia, but that wasn’t gonna happen now. No, all he could do was draw his iron dagger and press it to Cass’ temple, his battle-hardened gaze fixed on Alex.

“Go on, nymph. Tell yer girl here how you’ve definitely never ever hurt someone. Definitely never killed anyone with yer promise binds.” It was literally a shot in the dark, but honestly, Rhett had met more fae that had killed with their words than he’d met ones that hadn’t. Not that it mattered, not that it’d stop him from burying that blade in the creature’s skull. But maybe, just maybe, it’d give Alex some clarity on the situation.

—

She was afraid, and she hated that. She hated the way her heart was pounding, the fact that she couldn’t think straight. She was a superhero. She was supposed to be a superhero. And what good was a superhero if she was trembling? What was a terrified hero worth?

(About as much as a dead one, she thought, and if the hand around her throat was any indication, she’d be that soon, too.)

She kicked and struggled and screamed against the hand still pressed over her mouth, but Rhett was strong. It was like he didn’t notice her struggles at all, like she was a fly pounding against a glass someone had trapped her in. Her arm hurt where he’d twisted it; she thought she could feel bones grinding together in a way they really shouldn’t have been, like maybe something had broken. And the only thought her half-hysterical mind could come up with was that she’d never had an x-ray before. She’d only ever seen them on TV.

There was a quiet vibration of approaching footsteps, muted by her panic. She screamed against Rhett’s hand again, as loud as she could, and it was shameful. She wasn’t someone who needed saving. She was supposed to be the one who did the saving, supposed to be brave and fearless and invincible. But she saw a flash of red hair cutting through the brush, and all she could feel was a crushing relief because Alex was here. Alex was here, and Cass would be safe because Alex wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

The hand covering her mouth vanished, but Cass had only a moment to bask in the relief of it before something cold pressed against her temple. Even without the sharpness actually being driven in, the mere presence of the metal against her skin hurt. She didn’t understand it for a moment. Not until she remembered what Alex and Teagan had told her about fae and iron, about how there were metals made to kill her. Cass froze all at once, terrified that any continued struggle might make that blade find its home in her skull.

Rhett spoke; she felt the vibration of his voice rise up from his chest, like a dragon growling into the darkness. Her heart stuttered, because how had he known about that? How did he know about Kuma? Her eyes darted to Alex, fear suffocating her just as much as the hand gripping her throat. If Alex knew, would she leave Cass here? Would she walk away the same way everyone always had?

“How many people have you killed?” She ground out, her voice distorted by the lack of glamour and strained by the hand around her throat. “You want to — want to talk about hurting people? You’re the one with the knife.”

Avoidance. It was a good way to lie without lying. Cass had always been so good at that.

—

There was a breath of a second where Alex found herself unable to move. She didn't trust herself to move. Every muscle in her body was already tensed as she watched the pained, contorted expression on Cass's face and the way Rhett seemed almost amused by it. Her arrival seemed to be more an annoyance than anything else and she wasn't sure she had ever felt so much anger coursing through her. It took everything in her to not snarl and pounce the moment she saw him, but maybe he didn't know.

How could Rhett know that Cass was a superhero? How could he know that she spent her nights looking for people to help? She was good, maybe if he knew that, it'd make a difference. She wanted so badly for it to make a difference.

It was naive. Alex knew as much. Without the beard, there was no hiding the determined look on his face. There was a stubbornness in the tightness of his jaw that she recognized too well and even his touch was hurting Cass. “You're not doing anyone any favors here,” she spat, “Cass is good. She saves people and picks up litter... Doesn't look like you bothered to ask that though.”

Because Alex knew that when he happened upon her, Cass hadn't been doing anything out of the ordinary. She was at the cave, probably about to get it all set up for their date night. She wasn't hurting anybody and here he was, holding her tightly in his grip like she was a thing that needed to be put down. He wouldn't even say her name. Her fists curled into balls at her side. “I don't need a man to tell me anything about my girl,” she barked out, “I know everything I need to know about Cass and she's good.”

'Unlike you,' she thought bitterly.

But then the iron blade was pressing into Cass's temple and Alex knew this was useless. That look in Rhett's eyes reminded her too much of her father's. There was no reasoning with that look and suddenly all the anger she had finally allowed herself to feel towards her parents had a convenient outlet.

Alex let the green backpack slide off her shoulder and into the mess of fallen leaves on the ground. She thought of warning the warden this was his last chance to get away unscathed, but a warning was more kindness than Rhett deserved. Even with her true face, stony as it was, Alex could see the fear in her glowing eyes and her voice was so strained. He did that.

She didn't let her eyes leave Rhett as she focused on the shift. Alex had been practicing and even had some success when it came to tracking down Gael with Ren, but she always closed her eyes when she pictured her own shift. She found she couldn't do that now and her glare remained trained on Rhett as she focused on the feelings in her body. She felt the ground beneath her boots and concentrated on how it felt when it was the forest floor beneath her paws. She imagined Rhett as the moose, muscles and sinew pulling apart beneath her claws and teeth. She remembered that feeling of connection that came with being part of a pack and how she felt more connected to Cass than any of the werewolves she knew.

Alex tuned into how the werewolf in her felt when it was protecting Alan and she felt the claws emerging from her fingers. It stung lightly in the way they ripped from her skin, but it felt almost natural now, like slipping out of her sports bra at the end of a long day. Her bones creaked under her and red tufts of fur emerged from her skin, but icy blue eyes stayed trained on the warden, as if she could pounce mid shift if he so much as moved another inch to hurt Cass.

She stood taller once her bones all shifted into place and drool was already hanging from angry jowls as she snarled at the warden. One last chance, the wolf thought. If her mark moved a muscle, she would tear out his gut and leave him there on the forest floor.

—

“I don’t kill people, I kill abominations. I kill killers. S’what I was made for.” Rhett’s expression was callous, his heart unsympathetic to the claims that the nymph in his grasp had done good things in its life. That didn’t matter, that didn’t make up for the bad. Hell, it didn’t even make up for the potential bad, as far as he was concerned. That was what he’d been taught. They’d all do bad, given enough time. It wasn't their fault, not entirely. It was just in their nature. But that didn’t mean he had to sit by and let it happen. And he wouldn’t, not if he could help it. Not ever.

There was something about Alex’s body language that felt threatening, and soon enough, the warden was made to see why. Ah. Well… that was… a surprise. His eyes narrowed, his grip on the fae tightening. He didn’t have a lot of experience fighting werewolves, or at least… not shifted ones. He knew a bite from one would be his undoing, if it didn’t kill him. Which it seemed like Alex kind of wanted to do. Couldn’t blame her. Didn’t change anything, except that he’d have to try and kill her as well.

Hey, at least then maybe the news wouldn’t make it back to Alan. Silver linings.

The werewolf was staring him down like he’d be an easy meal, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what he looked like to the supernatural things he killed. Hm. Wasn’t really food for thought. To the matter at hand—Rhett wrenched his arm up beneath the oread’s chin to hold its head in place so he could drive the blade into its temple, but he’d barely pierced the soft, thin space between rocky plates when the werewolf adjacent to him leaped forward, claws reaching out and slashing across his face, massive digits hooking around his head and ripping him away from the nymph. His blade did find purchase, but it was in the top of the fae’s shoulder, digging deep before his grip on it yanked it back out as he was thrown to the forest floor. He screamed, not out of fear but out of anger, feeling the adrenaline dump in his system as he wrestled with the beast atop him, trying to avoid a bite from those slobbering jaws.

—

Abominations. Killers. The words were hurled out in a way that was so matter of fact, not even spoken to Cass. Like she wasn’t worth speaking to at all, like she was nothing. She thought of the nymphs back on the island who’d never seen her as anything more than an inconvenience, of the kids she’d met throughout her ‘adventures’ as a homeless teen who were lost and traumatized just like she was and didn’t know how to get away from that without using someone else as a stepping stone. She thought of Kuma, of the look on her face when she’d finally seen Cass in her true form, of the fear in her eyes when she spat out the word monster instead of her name and told her never to come back.

So many people, throughout her life, had treated her like she was nothing at all. She’d been a problem in the making in Hawai’i, a ticking timebomb whose eruption no one had wanted to be in the blast zone of. After, when she’d found herself alone on the mainland, she’d been largely ignored. Homeless kids were hard to look at, after all. They made people feel ways they didn’t like feeling, and it was so much easier for someone to avert their gaze than it was to do anything to help. Kuma hadn’t been a bad person, either, not really. She’d been afraid, but not malicious. Cass had just been a little too much for her, the same way she was a little too much for everyone.

But she wasn’t too much for Alex.

Alex didn’t look at her like she was nothing, didn’t avert her eyes. In fact, Alex looked at her like she was everything. She looked angry right now, but not at Cass. Never at Cass. Instead, she was angry for Cass. She was furious on the oread’s behalf, and how many people had ever been that? How many people would have stood up for her against a man with a knife and a terrible certainty that what he was doing was right?

It didn’t remove the blade from where it rested against her skull. It didn’t ease the grip holding her in place. But if that knife found its home in her head, if she died on the forest floor just feet away from the cave where she would have been safe, at least she’d die seen. She’d never thought she’d have that before.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaked out. Not to Rhett. She wasn’t sorry to him at all. But to Alex. That she was here, that she had to see this even if Cass was grateful for it. There was more she wanted to say, too, but it seemed cruel, almost. To say the only other thing in her head and die right after would be terrible. Alex would never be the same.

But… hope sprung up in her chest as Alex’s skin began to ripple. Cass knew she’d been working with Alan, training to shift without the moon, but she hadn’t known how far she’d come with it. She never would have blamed Alex if the shift hadn’t come, of course, never would have held it against her. But her bones were cracking and her body was changing and maybe things would be all right after all.

Or maybe they wouldn’t.

One hand moved under her chin, holding her in place. Cass struggled anyway, letting out a scream as she kicked and swung her elbows and did anything she could to make the target harder to hit. She felt the knife pierce her head, and she closed her eyes and waited for it to go the rest of the way through, but it didn’t. Alex was there.

There was only a heartbeat of relief before the pain hit. For a moment, she hadn’t even realized that the knife landed someplace else. She was so happy to be alive that it took her a moment to process the knife in her shoulder, buried to the hilt. The moment her mind caught up, the pain hit. With the hands holding her in place gone, there was nothing holding her upright, either, and Cass staggered forward, falling down to her knees.

The knife had been yanked messily from her shoulder when Rhett fell backwards, leaving nothing to staunch the bleeding. The blood had followed the knife like a fountain when it was removed, and was gushing pretty heavily now. Cass moved to put a hand on top of it, because wasn’t that what they always did in the movies? But her arm hurt from where it had been wrenched, and any pressure applied made it so much worse. The blood seeped through her rocky fingers, staining stone.

She felt cold. And that was funny, wasn’t it? She didn’t think she’d ever been cold before. How could she? There was magma running through her veins, lava pumping through her. Volcanoes didn’t get cold, and neither did Cass. So why was she shivering now?

“Alex,” she gasped out, looking for the wolf. There was blood on the ground. Not all of it was hers. Fear gripped her by the throat. “Alex. I — Alex, are you hurt?”

—

The furious gaze of icy blue eyes never left the warden. They couldn't—- not while Cass was so firmly in his grip. Alex felt a low growl rumble through her. He regarded Cass like she was nothing and it all clicked into place. Nothing was ever black and white and men like Rhett, like her father, were too stubborn to see anything else. It was its own form of evil and she knew he wouldn't let Cass go. As the warden's arm began to move, the werewolf sprung forward claws first toward him.

Alex dug her claws firmly into the side of his head and dragged down his face, clinging onto him as her momentum sent them tumbling to the ground. Too much of the blood she smelled in the air wasn't his and it sent a guttural snarl through the wolf as jowls hung over the warden's face. Some part of her wanted to let go of control and tear into his throat. It'd be so easy even as Rhett wrestled beneath her. Both the wolf and person in her understood one thing, this man threatened the pack— her family.

The warden wrestled beneath her and Alex rustled atop of him keeping sharp claws at the ready. Several blows were delivered to her sides before the warden managed a shove that sent her stumbling back with her claws dragging as he pushed her away from his head, leaving shallow claw marks down his chest. It ignited more of a fighting instinct in her, more feral than anything trained, and the pulsing in his throat was something of a temptation. The coppery scent of his blood already coated the air and he was beginning to look like more of a meal. And some instinct in her knew that he deserved it.

But then the sound of her name came out as a gasp and Alex was pulled back to what was important. Cass. The werewolf bellowed and put all her strength into a swipe at the warden's upper leg. More blood splattered onto the werewolf's coat and she knew the warden wouldn't be moving for a while. Some bitter part of her hoped he bled out there.

The werewolf dashed towards Cass and stood in front of her protectively. Alex grabbed the fallen iron knife with her still clawed hand and waited a beat, panting heavily as she watched the warden to make sure they were safe to run.

As her breathing slowed, Alex relaxed back into feeling like herself. She needed to help Cass now, she was bleeding and it was pooling all around her. The sight made her sick but her bones shifted back into place and her form turned back into something more human. The air was chilly against her skin, but she still felt like she was on fire.

“Cass,” she murmured, “I'm fine— I'm...“ Alex looked over Cass and there was so much blood. Fuck. She needed to get help. “He hurt you,” she said solemnly, grabbing for the bag that had fallen to the ground and throwing on an oversized t-shirt. They needed to get far away from Rhett.

She knelt down beside Cass eyes still watching the fallen warden. Alex extended her arm and braced herself to take on Cass's weight. ”Come on,“ she said, “We have to get out of here— I'll take care of you, ok? You're going to be ok.“ She had to be ok.

—

For the briefest of moments, there was a flash of fear in the warden’s eyes. For a moment, terror gripped him, plunging him into an proverbial ice bath and delivering a shock to his system that woke parts of him that’d been dormant for decades. He didn’t beg, though, no—he only grit his teeth, set his jaw, and closed those useless eyes as he hiked his legs up to his chest and delivered a two-footed kick that knocked the werewolf away from him. The claws that raked across his chest and stomach pulled a groan from him, but he quickly tensed again as he waited for the beast to return. He couldn’t muster the strength to rise from the forest floor, and just as quickly as that instinctual drive to stay alive had descended upon him, it fled and left him empty once more. He coughed, blood staining the backs of his teeth, and then he felt the thing tearing into his leg. It ripped through denim, muscle, and bone with ease, and the pain was blinding. Truly blinding. What little sight remained in his right eye flashed with white and all he could do was inhale sharply, feeling that he might die. Was this it? At the mercy of a werewolf? Motherfucker.

But then the monster was gone, retreating to aid the fae he’d stabbed, and Rhett let out a low, miserable moan. He tried to pick himself up, but his leg was ripped apart and the wounds on his face were bleeding into his eyes and everything hurt. All he could do was lay there, listening to them speak, promising to take care of one another. It made him sick to his stomach, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He was down, and unless someone came to get him like the werewolf was there to aid the fae, he’d probably bleed out.

He waited until their uneven footsteps retreated before he dared move again, lifting his ass off the dirt with a pained grunt and digging his phone out of his back pocket. Holding the device between his teeth, the warden summoned the last of his strength to drag himself over to the nearest tree and prop his back against it, spitting out the phone and retching from the pain along the way. Once he was as settled as he was going to get, he reached for the phone and unlocked it, staring at the screen with exceptionally blurry, reddened vision. His thoughts were disjointed and growing more so by the minute—the clock was ticking, he knew. He thought about contacting Emilio, but… no.

His thumb found Parker’s name instead, and he pressed the call button. There was only a brief wait before the other warden picked up, and Rhett wasted no time with pleasantries.

“Werewolf got me. Probably got ‘bout twenty minutes afore I bleed out. Bring supplies. It’s safe now. Send you the coordinates in a sec. Somewhere near the edge of the Flat.” He didn’t even wait for the other man to respond before hanging up, looking up his longitude and latitude and sending the number his friend’s way. If he made it out of this alive, he was definitely going to have to spring for that eyepatch. He was pretty sure lefty was toast based on feeling alone, but didn’t have the stomach to reach up and touch it. The phone slipped from his hand then, head leaning back against the trunk of the skinny tree, eyes closing again as he focused on keeping his heart rate down.

Hellfire, that hadn’t gone to plan.

—

Black spots danced around the edge of her vision, and wasn’t it strange how everything hurt when she’d only been stabbed in one place? There was just that — bleeding more than she’d thought it would — and the broken arm, but wasn’t it silly for those two things to knock her down this hard? She thought of the comics she’d read, the movies she’d seen. In media, this kind of thing would have never been enough to keep someone down. People on TV got stabbed and finished the fight before they realized it had happened at all. People in comics lost limbs and stayed on their feet. It was misleading, she thought; none of it ever told you how much things hurt.

Alex’s face was blurry in front of her, those black spots trying as hard as they could to blot it out entirely. Cass squinted around them, letting out a small sigh when she came into focus. Alex didn’t look hurt. There was blood on her, but Cass couldn’t trace it back to any injuries. More likely, the blood wasn’t hers. She wondered how much of it was Rhett and how much of it had come from her. If she weren’t so out of it, she might have asked, might have said something about how it was almost romantic to see so much of her on her girlfriend’s skin. “You’re so beautiful,” she said instead, the words a quiet breath of air.

“I’m okay,” she murmured softly, reaching up to twist a strand of Alex’s hair around her finger absently. It hurt, but it was worth it, anyway. Alex’s hair was always so pretty, and Cass hadn’t touched it enough. She should have always had it twisted around her finger like this, should have kept it there. “I’m just kind of tired.” She knew you weren’t really supposed to sleep at a time like this, because that was always a dramatic point in every show, too. Someone was bleeding, someone closed their eyes. The episode faded to black, the words to be continued flashed across the screen. The audience waited weeks or months to find out if those eyes would open again, or the show was canceled and they never found out at all. Either way, it was simpler to experience it from your sofa than it was to live it. When this screen faded to black, Cass thought, she might never even see the words.

Alex reached down and helped her up, and it hurt, but Alex wanted her to walk so she walked. Or… maybe walked was a generous term. She was dragged, she was half-carried, she was draped over Alex and guilty for making her girlfriend do the majority of the work here when she’d done so much already. She stared at her feet, tried to get them to move. One foot in front of the other. One foot. The other. God, had her feet always been so heavy? Had it always been so cold here?

She faltered, tripped, would have fallen long ago if not for Alex holding her up. The black spots were bigger now, the world felt darker than it ought to. One foot stopped in front of the other, and she couldn’t lift it again. Her knees buckled.

The screen faded to black, and she was right — she couldn’t read the words there.

#eye trauma tw #unsanitary tw #wr cass #wr rhett #threads; with cass #threads; with rhett #threads; with cass; fade to black #threads; with rhett; fade to black #(the moonlight is blinding) ;; season 1 writing #(never been a natural all i do is try try try) ;; writing

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sirmariusrenathyr · 5 months ago

Note

Yes sir..

So obedient... Now get to work.

#goon at noon asks #edge of midnight #legends of avantris #ask marius anything #tw suggestive #// fading to black I guesssssss

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scratchandplaster · 2 years ago

Text

Stack The Deck - PART 5

CW: reluctant Whumper, way too much exposition, card games, insults, alcohol, fade to black gore

PART 4 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 6

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

There was no way to tell how much time had passed now, the barricaded window frames didn't even let a sliver of sunlight crack through them. Elliot doubted to get any kind of power or heating going, though the temperature inside remained at a continuous chilly level. If he had to guess, focusing on what his gut told him, they slowly approached the late afternoon. Not that this changed anything, the brightness of Morris' table lamp dictated any change of lighting, he didn't want to find out what would happen if the battery ran out.

What started as a quick match of Crazy Eights turned into hours of shuffling, dealing and frustrated sighs Morris let echo through the tension between them. Looking the man up and down, with long stubble slightly darker than his chestnut curls, Elliot noticed how he also started to relax into this new dynamic. If only for a second he could forget how they came to be here, his designated company would deserve to be this enjoyable.

This satire of a game night was originally supposed to get him more leeway, along with acting as some sort of damage control. His anxiety-induced fits had irritated his opponent visibly, so he was lucky to be given a chance to make this right.

Make him like me, whatever that means-

To humiliate him back was a tempting option, but only if he decided that his bones weren't vital anymore. Sadly, both were well-versed enough in the children's game to keep each other on edge, dragging a single round into infinity.

So what's the right ratio of wins to satisfy a sadist? Elliot had to ask himself that question after a particularly tricky match, as his victory let Morris' face bloom with an unhealthy crimson hue. 2 to 1? Or even a 70 percent success rate?

Only one truth was disclosed to him: The man really loved Crazy Eights. Taking every round as a fight for survival, Morris chewed his nails down to a stump, frantically looking at his hand and back towards the upcard of the waste pile. Elliot decided to lose this round again, preferably before the air was squeezed out of his throat.

Their game was barely interrupted, aside from a bathroom break and dinner consisting only of a protein bar. Elliot couldn't remember when they properly started to talk about all the world and his brother, but Morris tried desperately to enthrall him for the local baseball team, just to be rewarded with fake enthusiasm flowing into trivial queries about sports. The questions were genuine, though, Elliot couldn't keep him going otherwise.

Card games: fun. Screaming and crying: no fun. Doesn't really sound like a textbook sadist. Not that made a difference, at the end of the day, Morris was just a man. A violent, reckless one, but still a man.

I can work with that.

It was sad in a way, how much he seemed to enjoy his unwilling company. Maybe that's what the wanted all along: friends for rent.

What felt now like an age-old question continued to nag the back of his mind, the key component to his escape: Why him?

If he was acting hard to get, then Elliot would need to get a little more brisk.

"So, what do you do when you're not teaching me basic sports knowledge?" he asked, using a beat of Morris' pause to start the offense. He wouldn't spell out his social security number, sure, but it was worth a shot.

"This." Blunt in his reveal, Morris didn't even meet the eyes of his captive, too busy planning out a winning strategy. Elliot found himself to be less than underwhelmed, hoping for a helpful twist he could use as bait.

"We can't all sell stocks, now can we?"

"I...don't. Who told you that?" The ransom aspect made a lot more sense now, someone really had to hate him to make up those kinds of lies. His only answer was a shrug.

"I'm a part-time office clerk." he tried to explain himself, not sure if it would really help his case, "I-I write you an email if the gas prices increase again or your energy was shut off, but I have nothing to do-"

"Thrilling, really." Morris responded dryly, only slightly irritated he played the seven of clubs.

He does make losing difficult. Ignoring the couple of clubs already in his hand, Elliot drew another card. Walking on eggshells with that kind of opponent is risky, I shouldn't push too hard.

"Your turn," he said instead of another lecture.

He lost this round gladly, managing to turn the atmosphere into a relaxed caution of both parties again. During his shuffle to prepare the next one, Morris seemed to reflect.

"What about the other part? The one where you're not a corporate slave?"

So you don't know everything, alright.

"I use the office to finance the half of my life I really love: Music!" he explained, hoping to get some bonus points for dramatics, "When my colleagues and I start to play together-"

"You're in a band?!" During his short stay at Morris unusual establishment he already got used to being interrupted, at least the bait finally worked.

"Well, I-"

A short buzzing stopped him again, but this time they stayed quiet. Morris just got a message. Eyeing the phone on the table with a breathless intensity, Morris just had a mild sigh to offer: "Don't get too excited now, it's not what you think."

He laid the stack of cards face-down onto the table, careful not to scatter them everywhere, and fished for an object in his inside pocket. During the rummage through the leather jacket, Elliot didn't dare to speak, not wanting to ruin the sprout of hope inside him.

Morris finally got a grip on his desired object, pulling out another phone. Elliot would recognize the slick wooden case anywhere, his father bought it for his birthday. The screen was marked with fresh thin cracks, probably caused by his drop on the wet concrete.

I fell, he grasped, No! He made me...

Without warning, Morris reached over the table to grab the other man's right hand, still rubbed open at the wrists. Elliot let himself go limp, like it was already trained response, while his thumb was pressed against the front of the screen. As quickly as Morris grabbed him, he also released.

With now unlimited access to his data, Elliot could do nothing but gawk at the audacity with which his captor seemed to navigate through his phone, reading the newest message in silence.

Keeping it on - practically running around screaming to be arrested. He was no sadist, just a big fucking idiot. Elliot prayed that he would act exactly as stupid as he seemed to be. His colleagues ought to be too angry with him to just ignore his absence. A call had to be made, one he didn't accept, so they started to worry...

"Brooke wishes you a speedy recovery!" was all Morris had to say. Brooke Hoffstetter, first violin, just a few rows in front of him. "A bit late, but still very considerate of her."

"Why?" he whispered, his hope slowly shrinking.

"You have a nasty stomach flu and couldn't make it to practice, it seems," Morris casually told the man he had the nerve to impersonate, "Let's hope I don't catch anything."

"Fuck you!" The words just tumbled out of Elliot's mouth, unable to hold it back anymore.

He felt like crying again, the same helplessness overcoming him in waves, just like it had many hours beforehand. He thought he made progress, but he was exactly where Morris wanted to have him. Nice and quiet, stuck to a chair. No one was coming.

"You know, I like you better when you stop shoving your head up my ass," he continued, a sound close to a chuckle carried his words right to Elliot's ear, turning fear into anger.

"At least they don't hate you for coming late again. She claimed that your conductor was pretty pissed, but don't worry, everything is taken care of. I'll just send Brooke a thumbs up, she seems so well organized."

The inside of his mouth had started to bleed. Elliot bit down on his cheek with such a force, so any other insults would be kept at bay; he wouldn't fall for this obvious trap.

Fucking with the feelings of a desperate man: fun. Being insulted: fun. Good to know.

"Cute, how much you enjoy your work," Elliot began to press out between clenched teeth, the metallic wetness still coating them.

"Don't be like that, I have to make sure everything is running smoothly."

He began to shuffle again, slower than usual, matching the rustling of the cards with Elliot's controlled breathing. Still smiling, but in a more understanding way than before, it looked like even the abductor didn't want to ruin the mood further. "Ready for another round?"

Elliot never felt ready in the time he spent here, but the exhaustion lingered even heavier on him now. His bound legs screamed for release while his still pounding head wanted nothing but to rest, the dirty foam mattress looking awfully comfortable.

"I'm tired. Can I lay down again?" he asked, polite enough to charm every degenerate in a four-mile radius, but not Morris. Suddenly on edge again, he looked back blank.

"Listen, I know this is stressful for you. We can play something else if you like. Do you know Mau-Mau? Or Switch?"

Desperate, all of a sudden. Tough shit.

"Isn't that the same game all over again?" he asked, digging through his worn mind to recognize what the topic was even revolving about. "I don't even know what time it is, I just want to sleep for a bit."

He didn't trust Morris a single inch, but the fatigue would be his main obstacle in the coming hours, so nothing granted him much of an alternative.

"Around five in the afternoon. I bet it's just your blood sugar, Elliot, you can handle that! I'll even do quartets if you like."

Digging through the duffle bag, he pulled out another protein bar, proudly pushing it towards Elliot. He had never seen a man so desperate for a game of cards, it was mind-boggling. "We play for a bit, and then we take a break, okay? Asshole, you know that one?"

"I actually know a lot of them." The biggest sitting right in front of me. Still, he didn't even touch the well-meant peace offering, instead resolving to lean back in this chair, making himself as small as possible.

"We'll make a deal, alright?" Elliot said after a few seconds, "Worked fine until now, so it shouldn't be a problem, right?"

"I'm not negotiating with you. Even though I do appreciate you finally growing a backbone," Morris replied hesitant.

"You tell me why this is all happening, and I do whatever you like." Wording, you fucking moron. "Damn, I'll even play... I don't know, blackjack with you."

It was the worst offer Morris had ever heard, but he would accept it one way or the other. Far over twelve hours had passed, without a single reaction or phone call. If he was forced to do something he ought to avoid at all costs, Elliot had at least to understand why. He didn't seem to be half as bad as Morris had imagined. So he gave in.

--------

They went back to Crazy Eights again, naturally. A last round which kept one of the parties busy enough to ignore the looming threat inside the room, tainting their domestic game night. With five cards still in his hand, Morris lost without question. He wasn't a sore loser, but the truth still tasted bitter on the back of his tongue. This would take time none of them had left.

"So," Elliot asked again, his voice shaking so badly it nearly broke at every other syllable, "why are you keeping me here? Did my parents accept a sketchy loan or something?"

Morris just now understood that the poor man was under the assumption his mother would ignore violent threats of a stranger. No wonder a few hours in duct tape messed him up so deeply. He wondered in what manner he should break the news to Elliot, to avoid any ugly tantrums. Now, with his arms freed, he could do a lot more damage than just yelling; a fact the dull pain between his legs kept reminding him of.

"Your ex..." Morris claimed, at last being filled with a sense of release.

"Which one?" Elliot asked back, though not even needing an answer. He knew exactly who brought him into this mess.

The beat of silence stressing his statement was suddenly broken by a heavy and rich laugh, making the walls around them shake with honest delight. Morris bent over himself for multiple minutes, being shaken by his own wit for what felt like an unhealthy amount of time. At one point it sounded like choking, and Elliot prayed to no one in particular to make it real. Finally calming down from his sudden lapse, Morris just had one thing to say: "You get around, huh?"

"From time to time."

Elliot didn't understand how he could remain so calm inside. Gallons of anger or betrayal had to explode any minute, filling him up with a deep rage to outgo all his previous fits. But there was nothing to wait for, whatever he expected left him behind a long time ago.

So he just stayed still, watching Morris wipe some tears of joy out of the corners of his eyes.

"What did she do?" he dared to ask after his captor settled down again.

"Mhh?"

"Amber, what did she do to you?" Of course, it was her. When his life went down the gutter, you could place bets she was standing right on the sidewalk.

"Amber, yes..." Morris looked so much smaller for a second, like it physically pained him to even say her name. "She owes me money, among other things."

"Fuck, I can get you money. I'll pay you back whatever she forgot to. With interest, I don't care."

Over the past hours, he had grown accustom to Elliot's whining and bargain, it was like second nature to him. Morris shouldn't punish him for that, it's just what happens in these kinds of circumstances.

"It's a matter of principle, you don't fuck me over and then disappear from the face of the earth." Yeah, sounds like her.

"We- we broke up months ago. I'm not useful for any of this," Elliot whispered desperately, still not seeming to grasp the position he was in.

"She still loves you, don't you know that?"

"Sure, she loves me so much that she doesn't even bother to answer you," he spit with all the venom he had left. It didn't help Morris already helpless expression. "Lets me rot in a fucking asbestos den..."

„Don't be so bitter about that. She broke up with you for a reason."

He sounded so convinced in his delusion, Elliot caught himself agreeing with him for a second.

"And don't worry about yourself, we have time." Liar.

"Service's working?"

"Yes."

"And you're sure she'd seen the pictures?"

"Yes," Morris said unbothered, lying more to himself than the twitchy stick of a man in front of him.

Obviously, she had seen them, after all these hours, she had seen it all. The threats, the blood... All for a phone call she was too proud to make. Morris realized his chronic misjudgment with a sour expression: She didn't take him seriously, she never did, and this farce wouldn't change a single thing about it. But maybe he didn't have to carry that burden alone anymore...

"Why did she end it?" he asked, this time genuinely invested.

Elliot, covered in dried sweat and blood, still looked like a top-drawer son-in-law. Someone who would braid her hair if asked nicely enough.

"First of all, I did!" the twitchy stick spit at him, his feelings stewing up after months of simmering under his heart, "Second, that shouldn't concern you." He was fed up with the small-talk.

"Tell me, or I gag you." Morris threatened with aloof implicitness, acting more and more offended as his delusion fell apart. Elliot wished every kind of misery upon this captor, including Amber's ongoing company.

"Cheated on me with her fucking weed dealer." Tension was thick between them again. "Among other things."

"Oh, sorry." It was comical, in a sort of way. Elliot scoffed quickly, ignoring that Morris apologized for the only crime he hadn't committed.

"I have nothing to do with her anymore. Don't even know where she lives now. You should have taken any of her friends, not me. She probably won't recognize me anymore!"

"Would have saved you a lot of stress, if you knew her current location."

The sad undertone Morris' claims carried didn't do anything to help Elliot accept his helplessness. If he made it out alive, he would live in the nearby monastery, single for the rest of time.

"I know where her friends live," he tried instead, not a sliver of guilt in sight. He knew exactly where they were hiding, being dragged to all the awful house parties turned out in his favor after all. Morris eyed him slowly, humored by his sudden proactivity, and admittedly impressed.

"You'd rat out her friends?"

"So what? Are their kneecaps more valuable than mine?!"

His captor smiled again, thin and knowing.

"You really are the same. You and everyone who came before." Elliot didn't know what to answer, so he let it be.

"I understand that you're upset, and believe me, I would like to watch her obnoxious circle to shut up in an instant. But it has to be you, it's just how it is."

"Definitely not personal, I see."

Retorting with a sigh, Morris stood up for the first time in hours, ready to end this try at a peaceful mediation. Elliot really was a handful, he decided and smirked to himself. Pulling a wooden wall panel aside, digging through the empty space behind it, he grabbed a dusty bottle which was still filled to the brim. No need to scare him anymore, he could be open for once.

"Last time I was here, I spend so much time with solitaire, I nearly went insane. So I decided to make some moonshine; makes the whole thing less lonely!"

You seem to have a problem with that. Can't blame Amber for running. Wishing he had been just as successful as his ex-lover, he accepted the small glass Morris presented him with.

"A shot for every time we lost!"

With 34 to 13, if Elliot counted correctly, he would get alcohol poisoning before the sun even rose again. Maybe the better alternative.

"I don't know if-"

"Wasn't a question, Elliot." He poured them each a shot, the clear liquid spilling over the edge. Elliot couldn't handle his booze very well, a lightweight through and through. Not wanting to be pickled by his oh-so charming captor, he thought of an alternative.

"We could play for that, starting fresh. Each time one of us loses, they have to drink."

"I don't think I'm in the mood anymore." Expectantly, Morris stared him down.

Taking the first shot as a well-meaning sign and desperately trying not to spit it out in an instance, Elliot bent to his will again.

"Could take longer than I expect." Morris mumbled, also downing his own. Liquid courage, he told himself.

"But we have time, right?"

"Yeah, sure."

Silence settled over the pair. The quiet clicks of nails against glass was the only noise disrupting the thick atmosphere. Morris was the first to speak again, slowly lifting the bottle to pour another round onto the leftover droplets.

"Drink," he pressed out, not even bothering to keep the act up. "Please don't make this difficult, come on."

Despite his stern tone, Morris' continued to stare blankly at the stack of cards, still itching to be used again. Even though both men knew that wouldn't make a difference anymore.

--------

Morris tried to shake him back to consciousness, once or twice. Spread out over the table, Elliot long dropped his ability to stay awake; the mixture of low blood sugar, exhaustion, and dehydration was to blame for it.

Slowly, Morris grabbed his shoulders to lean him back onto the backrest, but keeping his hands firmly on the now soaked wood. Quiet murmuring was the only sound of the last half hour; at least Elliot appeared way less miserable and tense in his drunken state and if Morris had to guess, he wouldn't be able to feel what was about to come.

He warned her insistently, multiple times in the last few hours, and even tried to call again. Nothing. She witnessed it all, he was sure, but decided just to watch the message preview instead of taking the commitment seriously.

He didn't plan for this to happen, not really, but that what he thought he deserved for underestimating Amber. He let the drowsy head tip back to better reach the gag still bound around Elliot's neck, gently putting it back into place without any protest. It would be a bummer if he accidentally bit his tongue, Morris honestly enjoyed the little banters they had.

With Elliot's fingers now forcibly spread apart, Morris reassured himself this gesture was a necessity, a sign for her to finally take his demands seriously. Examining the dazed man beside him, he wondered how he managed to free himself from her. Nobody just breaks up with Amber like that.

The edge of his old switchblade pressed lightly into the base of the ring finger laying flat against the wood, teasing the joint apart. But Morris hesitated, not entirely sure why so. The messier, the better, he thought by himself, knowing exactly how much she hated the horror movies they watched together.

It wouldn't be fair though, he recalled, and very unhygienic for the both of them. Imaging a brand-new game of cards, the deck smeared with various bodily fluids a human could provide, he was certain that Elliot would never go for another round. Even if his severed finger was just laying next to him, no threat would convince him otherwise. It was better this way. Tidy.

Morris didn't think about Elliot when he positioned the knife far lower on the back of the hand and turned it around, the point of it facing the ceiling. He didn't think of the whole day they now knew each other, more or less, and he also tried his hardest to ignore the light twitch shooting though his own body.

He thought of Amber and how happy they could be together, if she would just answer - as he let the far end of the knife smash down into the bones underneath, again and again.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2023 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

#whump #whumpblr #creative writing #whump community #whump drabble #febuwhump #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday20 #captivity #alcohol #tw drugging #threats #betrayal #fade to black violence #why is this so long #took me 3 days #and now im behind schedule 👀

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ashintheairlikesnow · 2 years ago

Text

She Tells Herself

CW: Noncon fade to black (implied), intimate whumper, noncon touch, threats made about children (no children harmed), forced relationship, captivity

The Motherfucking Gallaghers masterlist

Jax belongs to @comfy-whumpee and is used with permission

For @amonthofwhump day 12: Forced to Perform

He tries to get away with just a cuddle, tucking his head under her chin, but Savvie isn’t having any of it tonight.

Instead, she puts a hand up to his face and presses a kiss into his hair, slides her hands down to cup his face on either side and turn his gaze back to hers. His neck is bare of the shock collar he wears at home, but when they go on vacation, she takes it off.

He won't run, and she knows it. Not anymore.

Not when she makes sure any place they travel to is at least a day's worth of plane rides away from the house where their two-year-old daughter stays with Savvie's uncle while they’re gone.

She tells herself he doesn't want to run from her. Sometimes, for a few minutes at a time, she even manages to believe it.

She pretends now that she can’t see how tense he is, how he holds himself like a tree about to snap in a strong wind when their eyes meet. She tells herself he isn’t repulsed by her. It's just that he just doesn’t know how to love very well, that's all. He feels it, of course he does.

She tells herself he just isn't good at showing it.

She tells herself a lot of things.

The warm breeze blows in through the open window, ruffling the gauzy curtains pulled to each side. The stars are brilliant in the inky sky, the smooth constant rush of the ocean against the shoreline - only a few dozen yards away - a constant white noise that covers their whispered conversation from being overheard by anyone who might walk by.

"What are you doing, sweetie? You've been avoiding this since we got here."

He came to bed after his shower in a t-shirt and thin pants, even though she'd been making the right kind of suggestive comments all night. She'd flirted with him on the beach while the two of them soaked up the sunshine, kissed him until she could feel what she told herself was arousal but really was just tension about to snap.

She'd even rubbed her hand along the inside of his leg under the table at dinner while he gave his food order to the waiter, smiling as his voice trembled, just once, and went back to being emotionless and even just after.

If he didn't really physically react, well, she told herself he just had good self-control in public. But here, now, he tries to break her perfect romantic delusion.

"I'm j-just tired, Miss Savvie," He answers now, but he can see in her face that his excuses aren't going to work, not tonight, not this time. There's a flicker of a deep exhaustion that moves across his face, immediately buried. Under that, in the very core of him, loathing.

She sees it.

She tells herself she doesn't.

"No, you're not." She smiles, shaking her head. The vast curtain of her long, wavy brown hair settles around them, tickling his neck over the scars the shock collar has left, permanent after years of being burned slowly into him every time she's unhappy. Every time she doesn't believe her own performance, or sees the artifice in his. "You slept forever last night."

"Did I?" His tone is mild, and he doesn't lean into it when she kisses him, but he doesn't pull away, either.

"You did. We went to bed early, and you fell asleep right away." She drops one hand to press over his heart, against his chest. The other she uses to hold his face in place so she can kiss him again.

He lays awake at night next to her. She knows it, but that's not the story she wants to tell.

They both know the other one is always lying, but it's Savvie who shapes the narrative, who sets the scene and frames every shiver as something other than a repression of how much he must hate her.

He doesn't say anything the second time, but she doesn't want him to. She keeps kissing him, opening his mouth to hers. He allows it - he always does, in the end - and he allows her to pull his shirt off, too. He never volunteers a motion, only reacts, in dim subdued ways, to hers.

He doesn't react where she wants him to, though, no matter how her hand wanders, explores. A ripple runs through his muscles, but still he stays soft, uninterested.

Repulsed, and she knows it.

She tells herself she doesn't.

Finally, she pulls back, exhaling with a frustrated sigh. She leans her weight up on her elbow, looking down at those empty hazel eyes. "Jax. We are on a romantic trip. Do you not know what people do on romantic trips or something?"

His jaw might work, a little. His voice is low. "Sorry, M-Miss Savvie, I told you-... I'm just tired-"

"Tired or not, I want you. You are my husband. I want to make love to you."

He doesn't even try to answer. Just looks at her, eyes slightly wide, eyebrows a little furrowed together.

He just looks at her.

"Sweetie… listen. I booked this trip because I feel like we haven't had enough time, just the two of us, since Bella was born. You're always with her."

Now something brightens in him - not like a child shown a birthday cake, but bright in the way light flashes off a knife. "She's been an infant, Miss Savvie. She's only just started walking."

"Still." Jealousy is an ugly heat sending blood to her cheeks, rushing in her veins. "Still. You hardly even look at me these days. It's like you don't even want to."

He swallows in a way she can see in his throat. Deep down, she knows he wants to tell her to go fucking die or something, that he wants to say I don't want to look at you, I hate you, I would kill you right here if I could or whatever awful things run through his mind.

But all he says is, "Of c-course I want to look at yo-ou, Miss Savvie."

She falls back onto her back on the soft bed, staring up at the ceiling. There's a ceiling fan spinning lazily, and she follows its slow deliberate progress. "Honestly, Jax. I just don't think I can even stand to get on a plane feeling like we're still so far apart."

He stills, beside her. "Miss Savvie…"

"I'll call Isaac tomorrow, and ask him if he can keep Bella for another couple of weeks. I just think we can't go home until I feel like we both want this marriage to work."

She delivers the threat, barely veiled, in a tone of wistful sadness, pure and perfect innocence, the ingenue afraid she is losing her true love.

"But-... Bella-"

"Will just have to wait. I can't go back with you and take her into a broken home, Jax, I just can't. We'll just have to decide whether or not we can even keep our relationship going. Do you want to go back to England?"

She's pushing it. She knows she is, as she looks over to see his expression. It's flat and empty but his eyes - there's something burning in there, behind his control of himself, and she thinks it's her. To a crisp, just ashes and brown hair. He doesn't speak, but she can't tell if it's because he has nothing to say, or because he's afraid of what might come out if he opens his mouth.

"I'll buy you the stupid plane ticket." She bats her eyelashes, heavy with sudden tears. She's always been good at crying on command. "I will, and Bella and I will just… we'll just have to keep going without you." She sniffs, just a cherry on top of the sundae.

She dangles the loss of his child over his head, a guillotine blade hovering just before the rope is cut. Savvie doesn't know if she's lying or not, in the moment - only that she can sense that she has him, this way, has him so wrapped up that he can't take a step to escape.

Or won't.

Because of Bella.

The jealousy rises again. He would run from her, but he'll stay for his daughter. His stupid whiny crying daughter. What is there in Isabella that Savvie doesn’t have? What makes Bella worth staying for?

And why can’t Savvie make him want to stay for her?

"Miss Savvie-"

"Just call me Savvie, Jax, you're my husband!" She cries out with artificial despair but secret triumph, and makes a show of turning away from him. He follows the cue and puts a hand on her to pull her back. She pauses. There might be a breath, or even a sigh, before he’s moving to climb on top of her.

The weight of him is a welcome sign that he'll do what she wants, tonight, however she wants him to. She wins, this time.

She always wins, in the end. Mostly. Except for the nights she can't rouse him enough to pretend desire, not even in a desperate way like this.

His mouth moves against her jaw and down her neck, focused and intense. As she tangles her fingers in his hair and hums, his kisses move lower, down her chest, over her stomach, and finally his head dips between her legs.

"Say you love me," She commands, head thrown back, eyes closed, feeling only him. His hands are on her thighs, fingers cold. She’s loud enough to carry out the window towards the ocean's rise and fall.

For a second, he doesn't do as she tells him, and she digs her fingernails into his scalp.

"Jax, say it now."

He lifts his chin just long enough. His eyes are so empty, of desire or love or even hate. Just empty, as if he's stepped out and let someone else handle this. "I l-love you, Savvie," He says, hoarsely, and then lowers his head again.

She tells herself she doesn't know he's lying.

She tells herself it's real.

She tells herself a lot of things.

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