#tw: death timer

[cutiepieautistic]

Emily Merrimack stimboard

×/×/× ×/× ×/×/×

[calmcoldevening]

Santa Art the clown || SMUT

Tw: nsfw, adult content, no minors, babe. Just missed this boy

It's been quite a while since you last saw your boyfriend Art. The collision with the girl Sienna did its job. But you had a strong feeling that he was about to come back to you, you were sure of it.

Your body spun easily around the house as you continued to decorate the rooms for the approaching Christmas. And although you were still sad in your heart, you intended to spend this holiday with your family or friends to fill the void of longing and pain. All this time you couldn't find the strength to find another partner, Art was too dear and irreplaceable in your life with all these oddities and habits.

You were standing in the kitchen making chocolate chip cookies. Even if you no longer believed in the good old Santa, you still cooked this sweet as you once did in childhood. Something akin to tradition. Having already memorized the recipe by heart, you expertly quickly and carefully prepared the dough and began to add chocolate chips. Finally, you put the future cookies in the oven and set the timer with a satisfied smile. Suddenly, you felt two hands with cold palms hugging your waist. You instantly shuddered, convulsively remembering how you could not close the front door. But then your gaze slid over the stranger's gloves and hands, and an obvious supply of blood hit your nose. You instantly relax and lean back against the man's chest. His chest is shaking with silent laughter.

"God, babe. You scared me to death.."

When awareness fills your frightened brain, you turn around in the clown's tight grip to face him and hug him tightly in response, burying your nose in a warm sweater.

"I missed you. I missed you so much," you mumble like a desperate mantra, his hand finds your hair and starts stroking it slowly in a soothing manner.

Despite his demonic nature, you can say with some certainty that he missed you too. Maybe it's his calm demeanor, or maybe the tenderness in his touch. You don't know. You just feel it.

Art leaned back possessively on the back of the sofa, legs wide apart. You can already imagine how long it will take you to wipe the blood off the upholstery of your favorite sofa. But it doesn't matter now. You slowly crawl up to him on all fours and settle between the man's legs, gently squeezing the soft fabric of Santa's costume in your hands. The clown's face curves into a sadistic smile and he shakes his hips slightly, watching you with obvious glee in his eyes. With eyes trembling with anticipation, you unbutton his belt and slightly lower the pants of the suit, releasing a hot cock. You softly wrap one hand around his penis and gently run the tip of it over your lips, mixing precum and blood from previous victims with your saliva. You literally feel like a starving man at the sight of his throbbing length. Not long, but thick enough to make you see the stars.

Finally, you lean forward and take his cock as deep as possible into your throat, feeling the gag reflex from not using your mouth for a long time. Your chin rubs against the pleasant fabric of a soft red suit, and shiny tears appear in the corners of your eyes. But pain at the same time brings you a strange perverted pleasure, you already feel how your thin, delicate underwear gets wet.

As your movements accelerate, you feel Art's hips begin to move towards you, his fingers burrow into your sweat-soaked hair. A painful mumble escapes from your throat, and you already feel an unpleasant burning sensation from swallowing. His precum slowly flows down your throat while the throbbing head continues to hit the back of your throat, causing unpleasant spasms. Your free hand finds his balls swollen with semen and begins to slowly massage the places that you know he loves. Art's head falls back in a silent groan.

Finally, his movements become more frantic and animal, your jaw aches from his massive cock, you start to suffocate. The feeling of someone else's blood leaves an unpleasant gnashing on the teeth and a taste of metal. Art's fingers dig into the skin of your head when you get into his particularly pleasant place. He enjoys seeing your face covered in tears, cum and blood. Finally, he cums with a silent scream, pouring a generous portion of hot sperm down your throat. His cock twitches in your mouth, rubbing against your swollen tongue. Art is breathing heavily, looking down at you, and slaps you on the cheeks a couple of times, checking if you've swallowed his Christmas present. When you obediently open your empty mouth, he grins sadistically and pulls his cock out of your mouth, leaving traces of sperm on your lips and chin.

With one sharp movement, Art pulls you onto his lap, squeezing your juicy thighs in his hands. He forcefully presses your clothed warmth to his penis, which was still wet from your saliva, which was slowly starting to harden again.

The man leans forward and grabs your lips in a nasty hungry kiss. You moan with pleasure, finally feeling the familiar sensation of his heavy tongue in your mouth. Your senses are filled with his musky scent and the taste of blood on his lips. His movements are full of pure animal hunger.

Without warning, Art grabs you by the hair, throws your head back and exposes your throat to his perverted desire. His painted face is decorated with a sadistic smile. He looks at your stained and swollen deer eyes. His free hand wanders over your body, quite caressing your soft breasts and sides. He leans closer and begins to leave quick, careless kisses on your throat. Your skin is slowly covered with traces of saliva and black lipstick. His lips stay on your pulse point for a particularly long time, circling your artery with obvious pleasure. His hand slides over your thick thighs, squeezing this flesh he loves, and finds the edge of your panties, starting to massage your throbbing clitoris with unprecedented skill. A pathetic meow escapes from your lips and you bite your lower lip. Art giggles soundlessly and grabs your mouth in another clumsy wet kiss, wanting to take every sweet moan of yours just for him. His fingers slowly sink into your welcoming wet warmth, and his thumb continues to expertly massage your clitoris. Your pussy instantly squeezes his fingers into a vice, which makes his eyes roll in pleasure. His fingers begin to lead in and out of your hungry pussy with a perverted squish, sliding over the wet folds with undisguised glee.

Finally, he pulls away from your mouth, and his fingers come out of your pussy, leaving you whimpering because of the sharp feeling of emptiness. Art giggles silently, enjoying this hot sight.

With one sharp movement, Art rips the fabric of your panties, pulling out a surprised sigh from you, and impales your pussy on his proudly standing cock. You desperately shout his name with a mixture of pleasure and pain. Your hands squeeze his shoulders and you bite the inside of your own cheek until it bleeds. Art's mouth opens slightly and he begins to breathe rapidly, enjoying the long-awaited feeling of the wet warmth of your pussy. God, he missed that feeling. Art squeezes your hips in his hands and starts moving slowly, his massive balls slapping hard against your ass. Your face is blushing in obvious anticipation of how his suit is going to be damn wet with your juices running down your thighs.

He pulls you closer to him and begins to slowly kiss your neck and shoulders, his overgrown nails digging painfully pleasantly into the flesh of your ass. You whine softly, silently begging him for more. Art grins sadistically, speeding up the pace. The wet slaps of his body against yours fill the room, interrupted by your voluptuous moans. Gripping your hips tighter, he leans into that perfect spot inside, enjoying the way your inner walls contract and pulsate around his throbbing length.

Reaching down, he lock his hands together behind your back, lifting you nearly upright as he continue to hammer into your dripping cunt. Your tits bounce wildly with each forceful thrust, pale flesh jiggling obscenely. He feels your inner walls clamping down on him in a vice-like grip, your pussy quivering on the edge of a toe-curling orgasm. With a final, particularly vicious thrust, he bury himself to the hilt and still inside you as he feels your cervix ripening, your womb clenching in eager anticipation. He holds you in that perfect position as a tsunami of pleasure crashes through you, milking his shaft for every last drop of semen.

Finally, the pleasure subsides and you go limp in his strong embrace, feeling fuller than ever. You mumble softly, hugging his neck and burying your nose in the warm fabric of his Santa suit. Art pulls you closer, still breathing heavily, and pats your trembling back.

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader Pt. 2 ✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

☆ A distance night with Mohawk ♡ ☆ Pt. 1 ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻) Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ First Watch ‧ ₊ ˚

☆ WC: 4k+ [Part 2]

☆ TW: Major Fluff ♡

☆ Authors Note: Mohawk acts like a turd but I believe he's good at heart. (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡ He's just on the cusp of a broken mind, def the one to talk to himself for comfort.

–––––––––––––––––– ♡ Mohawk Marks p.o.v ♡

Six fucking hours.

Mohawk Mark stared down at Y/N's unconscious form, still hardly believing she was real. The cabin felt too small, too quiet after the others had left—each of them casting lingering glances at Y/N before departing with thinly veiled reluctance. He caught Sinister's black and yellow suit from the corner of his eye, the demonic bastard's lips curling into that signature psychotic grin that made Mark's blood boil.

"Yeah, fuck off," Mohawk had sneered as they filed out, making sure to flip off Emperor Mark's retreating back, the yellow and blue-ish gray fluttering around him like he was some kind of goddamn royalty. "She's mine for now."

When the door finally closed, leaving him alone with her, the gravity of the situation hit him like a cement truck. She was here. Actually fucking here. Different universe, same face, same everything—but alive. 

Not dead like his Y/N. And from that fight she'd put up against all eight of them, she was fucking strong. Stronger than his Y/N had been.

"Shit," he muttered, running his hand through his now-drooping mohawk, the black tips falling limply over his forehead. Dismissing his tattered suit, he looks around the cabin. "This place is a goddamn mess."

His eyes fell on the crumpled body of the cabin's former occupant, still leaking blood onto the rough wooden floor where Sinister had left him. The old man's eyes stared at nothing, his throat a gaping red smile courtesy of Sinister's unnecessarily theatrical kill. The crimson puddle spread across the uneven floorboards, seeping into the cracks between the planks, filling the musty air with the coppery scent of death.

"Fucking drama queen couldn't just snap your neck, could he?" Mohawk grumbled, grabbing the corpse by its ankles, lifting the man like he weighed nothing. "Had to make a whole production out of it. Typical Sinister bullshit."

He carried the body toward the door, the blood trailing, leaving a dark smear across the floorboards. The dead weight was nothing to him—he could bench press a tank without breaking a sweat—but the awkwardness of maneuvering the stiffening corpse through the narrow doorway had him cursing up a storm.

"Motherfucking!—Tiny-ass—backwoods—piece of shit—CABIN!—" Each word punctuated with a violent tug of the fat man's body through the door frame, not wanting to destroy the cabin. Finally, with a sickening snap of ligaments, he just ripped the man's arms off and easily pulled the torso outside, blood spattering across his blue and black suit.

He stood on the small porch, taking a moment to breathe in the nice crisp cold night air. The forest surrounded them, ancient pines stretching toward a star-studded sky, their silhouettes black against the deep blue canvas. No fire, no blood-curdling screams or destruction… His life felt instantly peaceful, now that he had Y/N back in it. A foreign feeling after eighteen months of rage and pain.

He sighed softly, scanning the dense forest surrounding them. No witnesses, no neighbors, nothing but trees and wilderness for miles. Perfect isolation.

 With casual disregard, he hurled the corpse as far as he could, making sure to yeet the two severed arms as well, sending the body parts arcing high above the treeline miles away before disappearing into the forest with a distant, muffled crash.

"Rest in pieces, old timer," he snorted at his own joke, wiping his bloodied hands on his thighs. "Nothing personal. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong universe."

Back inside, he surveyed the cabin with critical eyes. It was rustic, to put it kindly—a single room with a small kitchenette in one corner, its countertops stained with years of use, cupboards hanging slightly askew. A bathroom barely large enough to turn around in, with a shower that probably hadn't seen hot water since the Cold War. And a bed that had probably been new when Nixon was president, sagging in the middle under a faded quilt that smelled of mothballs and regret.

"This is bullshit," he muttered, kicking at a worn rug that might have once been colorful but now was just a sad, faded thing covering even sadder floorboards. "She deserves better than this shithole."

His eyes returned to Y/N, still lying motionless where they'd placed her on the floor. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her face serene despite everything she'd been through. The angry red marks where the collar had dug into her neck stood out in stark contrast against her skin. A permanent scar burned into her delicate skin, a constant reminder of the GDA's cruelty.

"Fuck," he breathed, anger bubbling up inside him like magma. "I'll kill every last one of those GDA assholes. Turn their fucking building into a crater. Make them wish they'd never even thought about putting a collar on you."

He stood there for a moment, fists clenched so tight his knuckles cracked, before forcing himself to focus. She needed rest, comfort. Not him raging uselessly about revenge.

"Let's get you somewhere more comfortable than the fucking floor," he said, kneeling beside her. His hands—hands that had crushed throats and shattered bones—hovered uncertainly above her for a moment before he gently steadied one under her head, the other beneath the small of her back. It felt strange being so careful—he'd spent most of his existence breaking things, not cradling them.

He laid her on the bed, but immediately grimaced at the musty smell that rose from the ancient mattress, picking her back up and gently tossing her over his shoulder with one arm. "Jesus Christ, this thing reeks worse than Prisoner Mark's armpits. And that's saying something—dude smells like he bathes in toxic waste."

On impulse, he stripped the bed, yanking off sheets that might have once been white but were now a dingy gray. They came away with a cloud of dust that had him coughing and cursing.

"Fucking disgusting," he spat, bundling the offending bedding and tossing it out the window, the glass shattering with a spray outside at the immense force. "Great, what now, genius?"

He searched through the cabin's sparse storage, finding only one spare set of sheets that didn't look much better than the ones he'd discarded. 

Still, he struggled to make the bed, wrestling with fitted corners that refused to stay put and a flat sheet that somehow ended up more wrinkled than when he started.

"How the fuck does anyone do this shit?" he growled, giving the sheet a violent snap that nearly took out a lamp. "Is there a goddamn degree in bed-making I missed? No wonder Viltrumite Mark has that stick up his ass if this is what 'domestic life' is like."

After ten minutes of increasingly creative curses, he'd produced something vaguely resembling a made bed. It wasn't pretty, but it was better than the floor.

With exaggerated care, he placed Y/N on the fresh—well, fresher—sheets, arranging her limbs in what he hoped was a comfortable position. 

Her hair fanned out around her head like a dark halo, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but stare at her bruised face, so peaceful in unconsciousness, so heartbreakingly familiar.

"There you go, sleeping beauty," he murmured, his usual harsh tone softening despite himself. "Not exactly five-star accommodation, but it's safe. Nobody's gonna hurt you here. Not while I'm around."

He stared at her face, drinking in every detail like a man dying of thirst. Same full lips, same curve of her cheekbones, same tiny scar above her right eyebrow. His fingers itched to trace that scar, to feel the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips, to reassure himself that she was real and not some cruel hallucination.

"Not gonna be a creep while you're knocked out," he told her unconscious form, shoving his hands to his sides, pinching at the fabric of his suit. "I'm an asshole, not a fucking monster. Though Sinister probably would've—" He cut himself off, unwilling to even think about what that psychopath might have done if left alone with her.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to move away from the bedside. Instead, he dragged over the cabin's only chair—a rickety wooden thing that groaned ominously under his weight—and sat down to keep watch. The fading light cast long shadows across her face, highlighting the delicate arch of her cheekbones, the soft curve of her jaw.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly, marking off the seconds of his six-hour vigil. Outside, daylight was fading, golden light barely painting the darkened sky, filtering through the dusty windows and painting long shadows across the uneven floorboards. A tiny beam of sunlight caught particles of dust, making them dance like tiny stars in the otherwise dim room.

"So," he said to the silence, his voice oddly loud in the quiet cabin as he tapped his fingers together.

"Guess I should introduce myself, huh? I'm Mark. Well, obviously I'm fucking Mark—you've seen eight of us now, poor bastard. But I'm the best one. The rest are just cheap knockoffs."

He chuckled humorlessly, dragging his hand through his mohawk again, trying to reshape it into its usual spiky glory without much success. The blue and black ends stuck out at odd angles, making him look more deranged than usual.

"They call me Mohawk Mark. Creative as shit, right? But in my universe, I'm just... Mark. Mark who fucked up. Mark who couldn't save you."

His voice caught on the last word, raw emotion surfacing before he could shove it back down. Memories he'd tried to bury came flooding back—her smile, her laugh, the way she'd roll her eyes at his worst jokes but laugh anyway. The way she'd been the only one who saw past his bullshit, who wasn't afraid to call him on it.

"You died," he said flatly, the words falling like stones in the quiet room. "In my universe. You fucking died, and it was my fault..."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at his bloodstained hands. Hands that had failed to save her when it mattered most.

"We were... together. Not just fucking—although that was pretty goddamn amazing—but really together. You were the only person who didn't take my shit, who pushed back when I was being a dick. Which was, you know, most of the time."

A bitter smile twisted his lips.

"I was such an arrogant prick. Thought I was invincible—ha, get it? Fucking hilarious—thought nothing could touch me. Or you, because you were with me. But then this asshole came along, this nobody with a grudge and some Viltrumite tech he'd stolen. Didn't even see him coming."

Mohawk's voice dropped to a whisper, his usual bravado stripped away.

"You pushed me out of the way. Can you believe that shit? ME. The guy who can stop a bullet with his fucking eyelash, and you... you just..."

He broke off, the memory too vivid—her body, broken and bleeding, in his arms. The way the Viltrumite tech had torn through her like she was made of tissue paper, leaving a gaping hole where her heart should have been. The way her blood had felt, hot and sticky, pouring over his hands as he tried desperately to hold her together. The light Instantly fading from her eyes as he screamed for help that wouldn't come in time.

"There was so much blood," he whispered, his voice cracking. "All over me, all over the ground. I tried to stop it, tried to hold you together, but it just kept coming. And you—you looked up at me, and you fucking smiled. Like you were happy it was you and not me. Then you tried to say something, but there was blood in your mouth, and you just... you just stopped. Right there in my arms."

He swallowed hard, his throat tight.

"You died protecting me. Me! The biggest asshole in the universe! The Invincible one! Who does that? Who throws away their life for someone like me?"

He stood abruptly, the chair skittering backward as he paced the small confines of the cabin, too much raw energy coursing through him to stay still. His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, a counterpoint to the ticking clock.

"I buried you myself," he continued, the words pouring out now. "Wouldn't let anyone else touch you. Dug the grave with my bare hands, six feet deep in that spot by the lake you loved. Covered it with those wildflowers you were always going on about. And then I hunted down the fucker who killed you. Made him suffer. Made him beg. And when I was done, there wasn't enough left of him to bury."

He paused, staring out the window at the setting sun, its dying rays painting the forest in shades of gold and red.

"And then this multiverse bullshit started, and Angstrom found me. Said I could take my anger out on another world, another universe. Destroy a place where nothing mattered because it wasn't my reality. Sounded like a pretty sweet fucking deal at the time."

He stopped at the window, his brown eyes staring out at the darkening forest. The first stars were beginning to appear, tiny pinpricks of light in the deepening blue.

"But then we found you. Or I found you, I should say. Those other dipshits would've just zapped past you if I hadn't recognized you first. Would've missed you completely, the blind bastards."

He turned back to look at her, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable, all pretense and bravado stripped away.

"And now I don't know what the fuck to do. Because you're not her—not my Y/N. But you look like her, sound like her. And those assholes out there?" He jerked his thumb toward the door. 

"They're going to try to take you for themselves. Each one of them. Emperor Mark with his 'I rule the world' bullshit. Viltrumite Mark probably wants to breed a whole army of super-soldiers with you. Phantom Mark might seem nice, but he's just as fucked up as the rest of us. No-Mask can't shut up about his friend William, but he'll want you too. Omni mark may seem mature and collected, but he's got a dark mind beneath that fucking stoic face. And Sinister?" He shook his head, a shiver running down his spine. "That guy gives me the creeps, and I'm not exactly squeamish."

He returned to the bedside, carefully perching on the edge of the mattress. The bed creaked beneath his weight, but held firm.

"But I found you first," he said, a possessive edge creeping into his voice. "And I'm not letting you go this time. No fucking way. I'd rather tear this whole universe apart."

He tentatively reached out, finally allowing himself to brush a strand of hair from her face. His touch was surprisingly gentle for hands that had torn through concrete and steel. His fingertips lingered, barely touching her skin, as if afraid she might shatter like glass.

"We should've had more time," he whispered. "In my universe, we should've had years. Decades. Instead, I got eighteen months, two weeks, and four days."

The specificity of the number hung in the air between them—every day counted, treasured, mourned.

"This time will be different," he promised, his voice hardening with determination. "I'll kill anyone who tries to hurt you. Including those alternate versions of me. They didn't protect their Y/Ns either, so they don't deserve you any more than I do."

A humorless laugh escaped him.

"I sound like a jealous psycho, don't I? Guess that's what losing you did to me. Made me fucking crazyyyy. But I don't care. You're here. You're alive. And I'm not letting you go.”

Outside, twilight was deepening into night. Through the window, stars were beginning to appear, pin-pricks of light in the growing darkness. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance, the sound carrying clearly in the still air. Mohawk Mark settled more comfortably on the edge of the bed, his large frame incongruous with his gentle movements.

"Not gonna lie, this is gonna get messy," he told her unconscious form. "Eight Marks, all with their heads up their asses, all thinking they have some special claim on you? Recipe for disaster. Especially sinister…" He shook his head, a soft groan running through him. "Better if you stay far away from that psychopath."

He sighed, rubbing his slightly bruised face with both hands.

"And me? I just want a second chance. To do it right this time. To keep you safe."

His eyes drifted to the clock. Five hours and twenty-three minutes left of his watch.

"You know what's really fucked up?" he said conversationally, as if she might answer. "In those shitty romance movies you used to make me watch, there's always some speech about how 'if you love someone, let them go.' But that's bullshit. I let you go once—not by choice—and it broke me. So this time?" His jaw set in a determined line. "This time I'm hanging on. I don't care if it's selfish or wrong or whatever. I get a do-over, and I'm taking it."

He reached out again, his fingertips barely brushing against her hand. Her skin was warm—alive—and the contact sent electricity shooting up his arm. How long had it been since he'd touched her? Since he'd felt anything but rage and emptiness?

"I just need you to wake up," he whispered. "Wake up and remember me somehow. Not likely, I know, but hey—a multiverse exists, so anything's possible, right? Maybe there's a version of you that remembers a version of me."

Outside, an owl hooted softly, its call carrying through the still night air. Inside, Mohawk Mark settled in for his vigil, his eyes never leaving Y/N's face, as if by sheer force of will he could bring her back to consciousness.

"Take your time," he said softly. "I've got five hours left, and I'm not going anywhere."

The cabin creaked and settled around them, the wooden beams contracting in the cooling night air. Moonlight now streamed through the window he'd broken, casting eerie shadows across the floor. 

In the silence, his thoughts wandered, memories surfacing like bubbles in still water.

"Remember that time we went to that shitty carnival?" he asked her sleeping form, a genuine smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You made me ride that ferris wheel even though my legs were too damn long for the seat. When it stopped at the top, you kissed me and said you liked seeing me vulnerable for once."

He laughed softly, the sound strange even to his own ears. When was the last time he'd laughed without bitter sarcasm?

"Or that night I came back from that fight with those Dinosaurus, all bloody and fucked up? You didn't say a word, just cleaned me up, bandaged what needed bandaging, then tore me a new one for being reckless. Said if I got myself killed, you'd find a way to bring me back just to kill me yourself."

His voice caught on the last word. The irony wasn't lost on him.

"Guess I'm the one who found a way to bring you back…"

He glanced at the clock again. Four hours and fifty-seven minutes.

"Sinister's got next watch," he muttered darkly. "No fucking way am I leaving you alone with him. Guy's more unhinged than I am, and that's saying something. The things he did in his universe..." He shuddered. "Let's just say even I've got lines I won't cross."

Mohawk stood up, restless energy making it impossible to sit still any longer. He paced the length of the cabin, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight.

"You should see Emperor Mark," he continued, needing to fill the silence. "Strutting around like he owns the fucking multiverse. 'I am the supreme ruler of Earth,' blah blah blah. Bet you'd have knocked him down a peg or two. You never did have patience for that kind of bullshit."

The memory of her standing up to him, hands on hips, not backing down even when he towered over her, made something twist painfully in his chest.

"You were never afraid of me," he said quietly. "Everyone else—even other heroes—they'd flinch when I got angry. Not you. You'd get right up in my face, tell me to stop being a dramatic asshole." He smiled, a genuine one this time. "God, I loved that about you."

The word 'loved' hung in the air, and he froze, suddenly aware of what he'd said. Loved. Past tense. Because his Y/N was gone, and this woman on the bed, no matter how identical, wasn't her.

"Fuck," he whispered, running both hands through his hair. "This is so fucked up."

He moved to the kitchenette, rifling through the cupboards for anything to distract himself. Finding a bottle of whiskey, he uncapped it and took a long swig, grimacing at the burn.

"Tastes like piss," he muttered, but took another drink anyway. The alcohol wouldn't affect him—his metabolism was too efficient for that—but the ritual was comforting in its familiarity.

A sudden sound from outside had him instantly alert, the bottle forgotten as he moved silently to the window. His enhanced vision cut through the darkness, scanning the treeline for any sign of movement. A deer stepped cautiously into the clearing, ears twitching, and he relaxed marginally.

"Just Bambi," he said, returning to Y/N's bedside. "Though with our luck, it's probably Bambi with a grudge and a nuclear warhead."

He settled back into the chair, bottle dangling from his fingertips. For a while, he just watched her breathe, the steady rise and fall of her chest hypnotic in the quiet room.

"You know what scares me?" he finally said, voice barely above a whisper. "That you'll wake up, take one look at me, and see a monster. That you'll run screaming. That you'll hate me for what I am, what I've done."

He took another swig from the bottle.

"I wasn't always like this," he continued. "The hair, yeah—that was a rebellious phase that stuck. But the rest? The violence, the rage? That came after. After you died, after I realized that all my power meant jack shit when it mattered."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"I killed him slow," he admitted, voice flat. "The guy who took you from me. Made it last days. Kept him conscious the whole time. Told myself it was justice, but it was just... emptiness. Trying to fill a hole that couldn't be filled." He laughed bitterly. "Pretty fucking poetic for a guy who didn't graduate high school, huh?"

A soft moan from the bed had him instantly on his feet, bottle clattering forgotten to the floor. Y/N's eyelids fluttered, but didn't open, her face slightly contorting in pain.

"Y/N?" he whispered, heart hammering. "Can you hear me?"

She shifted slightly, a frown creasing her forehead, but remained unconscious. He exhaled slowly, equal parts disappointed and relieved. He wasn't ready yet—didn't know what he'd say when those eyes finally opened and looked at him without recognition.

"Not yet, huh?" he murmured, gently adjusting the blanket around her shoulders. "That's okay. You've been through hell. Take your time."

He retrieved the bottle from where it had rolled under the bed, setting it on the nightstand.

"When you do wake up," he said, sinking back into the chair, "things are gonna get complicated. Eight Marks, each one thinking they've got dibs on you? It's gonna be a clusterfuck of epic proportions."

He studied her face in the moonlight, memorizing every detail all over again.

"But I'll be there," he promised. "I'll keep you safe from them, from the GDA, from whatever other bullshit this universe throws at us. Even if you don't remember me. Even if you never..." He swallowed hard. "Even if you never feel about me the way my Y/N did."

The clock ticked on, marking the passing minutes. Three hours and twenty-two minutes left.

"I should probably talk strategy," he said, switching gears. "Sinister and Emperor are the obvious threats. They'll try to use you, control you. Viltrumite's more subtle, but just as dangerous. No-Mask and Prisoner are wild cards—unpredictable. Omni should be okay for now, he's a wait to the last second type of guy. And Phantom..." He frowned. "He's the one to watch. Plays the sympathy card, all 'I miss my mom' and shit, but he's got an agenda. They all do."

He stood up again, too restless to remain seated.

"Only safe Mark in the bunch is me," he declared with dark humor. "And I'm a complete psychopath according to most psychiatric evaluations. So that's saying something."

As if in response to his self-assessment, Y/N's fingers twitched, curling slightly into the sheets. He was at her side in an instant, his eyes glued to her hand, then her face, back to her hand. watching intently for any sign of consciousness.

"Y/N?" he whispered, hope creeping into his voice despite his best efforts. "You with me?"

Nothing. Just the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing.

"Fuck," he muttered, running a hand down his face. "Now I'm seeing things. Get it together, Mark."

He retreated to the window, staring out at the moonlit forest. The night was clear, stars scattered across the black velvet sky like diamonds. In another life, they might have been lying on a blanket somewhere, her head on his chest as she pointed out constellations he pretended to be interested in.

"You used to love the stars," he said softly. "Could name all the constellations, all that shit. I never got it—they're just balls of gas burning billions of miles away—but you'd talk about them like they were magic."

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass.

"After you died, I couldn't look at them anymore. Kept thinking about how the light from some of those stars takes years to reach us. So maybe, some of that light started its journey when you were still alive. Like some part of you was still out there, somewhere."

He laughed at himself, the sound hollow in the quiet room.

"Pathetic, right? Big bad Mohawk Mark, getting all philosophical about starlight." He shook his head. "The others would never let me live it down if they heard me now."

The thought of the other Marks sobered him. Each one was dangerous in his own way, each one a twisted reflection of what he might have become under different circumstances. And each one would want Y/N for himself.

"I won't share you," he said, turning back to face her. "Not with them, not with anyone. They can have this whole fucking universe to tear apart, but you? You're off-limits."

He returned to the bedside, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress. His hand hovered above hers, wanting to touch but hesitating.

"I know it's selfish," he admitted. "You're not my Y/N. You don't know me, don't owe me anything. But I've spent eighteen months in hell without you, and now you're here, and I just..." He exhaled sharply. "I just need a second chance."

Finally, he allowed himself to take her hand in his, engulfing her smaller fingers in his palm. Her skin was soft, warm—alive. The simple contact made his chest constrict.

"When you wake up," he said, voice rough with emotion, "you can tell me to fuck off. You can run as far from me as you want. But until then, I'm staying right here. Keeping you safe."

A memory surfaced—Y/N in his kitchen, attempting to cook something complicated, cursing colorfully as smoke billowed from the oven. He'd laughed until she threw a dishrag at his head, then pulled her against him, still laughing as she pounded her fists against his chest in mock outrage.

"You used to say I was the worst boyfriend in the multiverse," he recalled, a smile tugging at his lips. "Turns out you were right, just not in the way you meant. There are literally seven other versions of me, and every single one of them is fucked up in their own special way."

He glanced at the clock again. Two hours and forty-five minutes.

"You know what? Sinister can go fuck himself. Emperor too. I'm not leaving when my time's up. If they want to try and move me, they're welcome to try."

He shifted, carefully arranging himself so he was sitting with his back against the headboard, her hand still clasped loosely in his. For the first time since she'd died, a flicker of something that might have been hope kindled in his chest.

"Wake up or don't wake up," he told her. "Either way, I'm not going anywhere. Not this time."

Outside, a wolf howled, the sound echoing through the trees. Another answered, then another, a chorus of wild voices in the darkness. Mohawk Mark settled in, Y/N's hand still in his, to wait out the night.

"Take your time, sleeping beauty," he murmured. "I've got all the time in the world."

–––––––––––––– Next chapter may be freaky, or just crazy lol. haven't decided yet ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ Pt.1✧ ✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ Pt.3✧ Pt.4✧

Pt.5✧

[dearestzaychik]

Our Forsakened Destiny.

[ Forsaken x Isekai'd Reader ]

[ Gender Neutral Reader! ]

TW: Reader experiences a bit of Body Dysmorphia.

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Chapter 1.

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Reader's POV.

It felt cold.. Too cold. Everything that happened up to this point felt like some sort of nightmare, seeing how your body wasn't responding to your movements at all. You were conscious, but all you could see was black. Seems like your body was still adjusting to whatever happened earlier.. How long has it been ever since the time you got pulled into your monitor? You couldn't keep track of it.

You were stuck in a black abyss, It felt like it was staring back at you. Feeling a sense of unease as you looked around to find at least a light in the darkness but to no avail. It felt like the darkness was consuming you whole bit by bit..

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ThE aiR is HeaViEr oUt theRe, IsN't It?

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I'vE bEen wAitiNg fOr yoU.

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ThEre's nO whErE to hIdE.

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dOn'T maKe mE fINd yOu.

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Wake Up.

W4ke Up.

W4k3 Up.

W4k3 ∆P.

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Your eyes opened almost instantly, sitting up as your heart raced. You could've sworn that there was something there that was about to lunge at you if you didn't wake up in time. Looking around, you seemingly woke up in a familiar looking graveyard. Wasn't this graveyard apart of a map from the actual game? Nobody was around right now, but one thing was for sure.. This was the Yorick's Resting Place Map in Forsaken.

In further observation, your body felt and looked different. Your once human appearance seemingly became blocks now, referencing and looking like how roblox avatars looked like in game. There was a timer up in the sky, 1:13.. There was no doubt that this was an ongoing round.

"..Over here!-"

A yell was heard at the distance, it seems like most of the `Survivors` were near the mansion-part of the map. It gave you more time to process everything that was happening to say the least, but it didn't mean the heavy feeling in your heart left. Did you even have a heart in this body? Who knows.

Right now, you could notice a screen right in front of you as you stood up from the ground. It shown your stats, with having 100 HP and 90 Stamina. No abilities seemed to be in sight though, but it was understandable to say the least. After all, you didn't even know what you were supposed to be right now. You were used to seeing your body actually having fingers and other human parts, but.. You can see in the reflection of the black screen on how different you looked. At least your body looked different, but it was still off-putting and felt uncomfortable even if you were just looking at yourself. You were too focused on your own looks, you didn't manage to hear anything as two voices rung out in the air..

"..I se€ y0u..."

A voice called out, before a sword being thrown can be heard. You barely had any time to register what was happening as you were still in a daze with how you looked like. This can't be real, Can it?

"W-wait! Watch out!-"

A yell could be heard, making interrupting your own thoughts. The moment you snapped out, you looked up to the side of the voice, seeing a Pizza Delivery Man looking at you with surprise and concern. Looking right in front of you once more, In another direction a glitched sword was heading to your direction and was about to hit you right in the head before..

[ The Round has Ended ]

[ The Survivors won. ]

You stumbled backward, as the map changed around you once more. This time, you were actually in the cabin on where the lobby was in Forsaken seemingly saved from death last second. A Hand.. no, Arm was stretched out to you as you looked up to see the Pizza Delivery Man once more. If you weren't mistaken... His name was Elliot.

"..Hey, are you alright?"

Elliot stated, helping you get up as he pulled you up to your legs as he looked and studied your figure before resuming..

"You seem to be another victim to this game, Huh?.. I do hope you weren't frightened as much earlier."

Looking at you with a pitiful expression, he shook his head before raising his hand to you once more. Seemingly offering a handshake with an awkward yet welcoming enough of a smile.

"Never the less.. I'm Elliot, Nice to meet you."

It took you a while, but never the less you took and shook his supposed hand. You definitely needed to get used to this type of.. Interactions.

"..I'm-"

You responded, before getting cutted off as a Familiar voice rung in the air.

"So this is the New Survivor that spawned in the middle of the round right when Last Man Standing was about to happen.."

A deep voice rung in the air, coming from the Second Floor, You could see a Blue-haired soldier seemingly peering in front of the railings of the second floor.. You didn't need time to process to know that this was Guest 1337, the one that seemingly yelled earlier during the round and probably died to the killer especially seeing how he had bandages around some parts of his body.

"Oh, Guest. Are you alright after last round?.."

"Some sword slashes won't take me to my grave. They'll have to try harder than that."

The two had a small conversation until their eyes focused on you once more, with Elliot continuing to the conversation he started with you.

"..Sorry, You can continue speaking."

Elliot said, apologizing for the sudden cut off you experienced, giving you a greenlight to continue speaking.

"..I'm [ Y/N ], Nice to meet you as well."

Elliot gave a small smile from your response, seemigly about to respond until footsteps can be heard as three Individuals came to the main area of the Lobby.

"..So no wonder there was another Survivor Room that Magically appeared once more."

The shortest Individual among them said, Wearing a Hard Hat with tools around his belt. This was no doubt Builderman, seemingly already done with everything especially since another person was patting their back, laughing at the man's misery.

"Hahaha!- Poor Builderman over here started freaking out when another room magically appeared in the Cabin once more, and searched everywhere for the newbie was only for the newbie to spawn in the middle of the match!-"

The man said, having brown hair and a shirt stating the sentence `BLAME JOHN.` He was most definitely Shedletsky.

"..That said, It is the first time an Individual spawned right in the middle of a round. You already seem like a Trouble Magnet there, Buddy."

Someone said as a coin flipped in the air, chuckling along as their sunglasses blocked their eyes, but they were most definitely looking at you. There was no doubt that this was Chance, especially when you were playing as him before you even stumbled upon here.

Seemingly slapping off Shedletsky's arm, fixing his figure as he stared at you. An intuitive gaze befalling upon you as he lets out a sigh.

"Enough of that.. Welcome, [ Y/N ]. There's more of us but the others are cooped up in their rooms. You'll be able to meet them eventually, The name's Builderman by the way.."

Builderman said, before his gaze befalled Shedletsky who finally finished having the last laugh in the end, looking at you as he smiled.

"Shedletsky's, Nice to meet ya Newcomer."

Shedletsky said, grinning from ear to ear. Chance seemingly sat down on one of the couches, flipping his coin before catching it, revealing to be heads as he had a smug smile.

"Chance, the greatest gambler you'll meet."

He said, tipping his hat. He sure is one smooth talker, but none the less you at least knew all of their names, so the introductions were definitely spoiled. None the less, You had to at least act you didn't know them. After all, this situation was still too much for you. Nobody should know you weren't even supposed to be here in the first place, who knows what danger you'll face if even one individual knows. You were already panicking again, but your thoughts were interrupted as Builderman coughed, grabbing everybody's attention to say the least.

"For now, if the situation is too much for you.. You can go to your room for the time being. We can all regroup once you've fully grasped the situation and able to process everything that has happened. The others aren't here yet anyways."

Said Builderman, despite having a bit of skepticism against you. But even so, he was kind enough to let you have time for yourself as he seemed to have noticed how uncomfortable you seemed to be at the moment.

"..If that would be fine, Thank you."

You said, thanking the man. The least you can do is thank him, especially how the situation weighed heavily on you. He could only nod as Shedletsky took over.

"Your Room is right infront of Matt's Room in the Left! Oh wait.."

Said Shedletsky, mentioning 'Matt'. If you remembered correctly, Matt was Dusekkar. You remember how your friends seemed to fond over Shedletsky and Dusekkar's interaction with one another when Shedletsky asks the pumpkin for protection.

"He meant Dusekkar's Room."

Builderman quoted, letting out a sigh as Shedletsky chuckled, scratching the back of his head as he avoided Builderman's gaze.

"..Don't blame me, Its a Habit."

You slowly walked away as the noises of conversation went further and further away from you. You let out a breath you didn't know you were even keeping as you finally escaped their gazes. The more you seemingly fell into this rabbit hole the more it felt like it wasn't a dream.

As you passed by the hallway of rooms that seemed to belong to each survivor, you knew this wasn't in the game to say the least. Was this an addition supposed to be added later updates? Or was it just your mind fooling you once more? Stopping in front of Dusekkar's room, You looked behind to see a door with your name right on top of it. You were the newest addition to the team, and you didn't even know if you belonged here. Let alone even be able to help, opening the door, your room looked like your room back in the REAL world, but technology or any source of Devices and Gadgets that can be used as Communication device weren't seen. Probably to ensure you wouldn't be able to contact any relatives nor friends.

Even if this wasn't your actual room, it brought a sense of comfort after everything. You could only wonder how your friends are managing, especially since in their perspective you might have just disappeared and vanished without a trace. Stumbling to your bed as you laid down, looking up at the ceiling as you did breathing exercises. Everything will be fine, You just need rest right now and time to process on what to do after this. Whatever will happen next... That would be a problem for future you.

Third Person's POV.

As the New Survivor left, everybody started chatting. Especially considering the events that happened today. A voice rung out, capturing everybody's attention in the room.

"..Don't ya think the New comer is a bit... Off?"

Chance mentioned, his smug smile long ago as it was replaced with a blank expression. It was met with silence at first, before a voice called out to defend them.

"I don't blame them.. They literally spawned in the middle of a round right when Last Man Standing was about to happen. I think its justifiable that their a bit shakened from what happened earlier at least."

Elliot replied, remembering how shocked you seemed to be when a Sword was coming to your direction. It reminded a bit of himself when he first came here and was forced to enter a round. Thankfully, this was the last round they had to 'Play' for the day. Meaning the rest of the time that's left can be spent on doing their own things.

"..Yeah, that does sound reasonable."

Chance said, as the discussion goes back on how to handle the situation of a New comer once more. Right, Not all of them knew what happened today yet. The others will learn about it eventually as the time comes.

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???'s POV.

Far away from the survivors cabin hidden away from it, an ominous chuckle can be heard as a deformed spike landed on the floor, the spike itself going through the poor wooden floor.

"Another one, Huh?.."

Said the figure, the deformed spike actually being his right arm, having a red glowing eye as his other arm had black claws. Corruption lingering in the air, looking amused at the situation.

"A new person to play with!! Seems like this won't get boring after all!"

Another giggled uncontrollably, jumping up and down as they were excited for the next upcoming batch of rounds tomorrow. Having the sentence, `team c00lkidd join today!` visible on his torso as his body was solid red.

Another individual didn't seem to care to respond or react to the information they were given today, seemingly up in his own world as he murmurred to himself. Talking to his `Mother`, as he had a Hockey Mask to cover his face and had a chainsaw strapped to his back.

"..L0ok$ l1k€ th1πgs ar€ ju$t 4b0ut t0 g€t 1nt€rest1πg."

Said the last individual that was present in the main room, looking at the sword that was once so close to hit the said `New comer` during the time they played last round. They couldn't help but scoff, remembering how their win was taken away by this New Comer suddenly joining in the middle of the round. Their zipper like teeth grinding against eachother as a domino crown was worn on their head.

"We have plenty of time to get along with them, Don't we? Let's just see how fast they get on my nerves."

Said the Individual with the deformed spike as his right arm, as he looked up to a text with a grin of malice. His red eye glowing even more as his eyes glinted with expectations, looking at the text that was informing for who the killer would be tomorrow.

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[ Next Killer.. ]

John Doe.

Taglist

@takingnap55 @vyn-nn @ilikedrinkingsoda @g4tyjust4tw0

[ If you want to be apart of the taglist, Don't be afraid to ask! ]

onto the next chapter..

CHAPTER 2 :

https://www.tumblr.com/dearestzaychik/778097510583500800/forsaken-x-isekaid-reader?source=share

NOTES

So.. I may have accidentally posted this a few hours ago when I wasn't finished at all!! But its okay, Crisis was averted in the end. This was supposed to come out a few hours ago if it weren't for the fact that I had a Stage Play Practice in the upcoming day, so very sorry for the wait!

I decided to add a little part for the Survivor's Cabin and Killer's Cabin where theres a hallway of rooms, and each time a new survivor is added a new room magically appears! Hence why Builderman managed to figure out there was a New Survivor that was Forsakened in the Realm ( also so that it wouldn't give me a hard time explaining how it makes sense in the future.. ) :3

The survivor's are also aware that they're in the Realm and the fact that they're in some sort of sick game they're forced to participate in, But they are unaware of who's really in charge as well as being actual game characters back in the Human World.

as for the Survivalists of the Survivors, you'll be able to meet them next chapter! (●'◡'●) and also to note, Some Skins WILL be featured as a different / seperate character ( ex. Mafioso, Bluudud, Eunoia, Nashatra, etc. ) as well as being able to interact with some npcs.. ( Jane doe ). As for upcoming killers / survivors, It will HEAVILY depend on how much we know about them as of far. An example of this is Azure and Guest 666, Upcoming Killers I can probably be able to write decently about with the decent amount of Information we have for them!

Edit :

John Doe's ability to actually talk is uhm.. Yes! ( I lowkey forgot this man was so corrupted to the point he cant even talk.. ) Lets just view it as some sort of headcanon that he can talk, but its definitely very painful and taxxing for him to do so..

[highway-143]

number 10- nishimura riki

genre: smut, desire : unleash engene ver. au, based on this ask

pairing: contestant!riki x fem contestant!reader

taglist: @urlocalmultigroupfan @minkilicious @vrusha01 @shyoko @planetmarlowe

word count: 1.6k

now playing: confident- justin bieber

a.n- teehee ty anon for the request, i kinda had to interpret the concept video weird for it but i think its a similar concept, idk

tw: death/murder, graphic explanations, oral (f. rec), unprotected, dom!riki, profanity, scary themes idk

(mostly proofread)

all scenarios are fake and are not meant to represent any idol in the story.

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running was getting fucking hard.

you were panting, hands clawing against the bloodied walls while you tried to get away, tried to escape this stupid prison.

the metal collar around your neck wasn't helping either. it weighed you down, making you slower, as if it wasn't already tracking you.

and then the figure appears.

tall, only a few yards away, yet shrouded in darkness on the other end of the hallway.

you freeze, hoping it wouldn't notice you.

but it already had. the thing walks closer, taking slow, almost cautious steps in your direction.

"hello?" it whispers.

you breathe out a sigh of relief. thank god, another contestant.

but then you see it, him, in the faint green lighting.

he was beautiful. dark and rumpled hair, sharp features, and a strong jawline.

"thank god, you're one too. i'm 99, jay."

"i'm y/n, 03." you say, wavering a little in case he's someone you need to avoid. "have you seen anyone else?"

"not yet," he mutters, looking around. "you wanna team up?"

you watch him carefully. he adjust the collar, shifting it around his neck. he looks nice enough, what could it hurt by sticking with him, at least for a little bit.

"sure. let's go that way."

you and jay walk through the halls, taking turn after turn until-

a dead end.

mostly.

a metal door obstructed your path, and jay turns to you.

"want me to check?"

you nod, trying to bury the fear building up in the pit of your stomach.

jay opens the door, taking a slow, experimental step in and looking back at you.

and then he steps all the way in.

big mistake.

you watch as the door slams shut behind him, the handle stuck when you try to open it again.

you try to listen through the door.

nothing.

but then you look down.

and there's blood pouring out from under the door. you slam a hand over your mouth, holding back your choked scream.

player 99 was dead.

you watch as the thick, red liquid pools around your boots, staining the white material.

you almost throw up, but you walk away, trying to find a way out of this damn hell hole.

you find another room, this time peering in before stepping inside. not like you could see anything anyways. and thank god, because you didn't meet the same fate as jay.

instead, the lights snap on, the door shuts with a click behind you, and your eyes practically disintegrate from the newfound brightness.

you aren't fully prepared for what's in front of you.

it's another player, a man again, tied to a chair with black ropes and facing a metal table with a flashing box on it.

"finally, somebody else fell for it, come and untie me."

you roll your eyes and crouch behind him, fingers setting to untie his bonds.

"how'd you get in here?" you ask, pulling the rope away and letting him flex his wrists.

"same as you, just walked in. somebody was in here and tied me up though, but they left."

you nod, looking around the room. now that you were used to it, the lights weren't that bright at all. in fact, they were dimmer than before. there was a camera in the corner, the head pointed directly at the table.

and then, the device.

it didn't take long for you to realize what it was.

a bomb.

the timer was at 31:09

and counting down.

31:08, 31:07, 31:06

you turn to the guy. "it's gonna explode an a half hour."

he laughs. "you think i didn't know that? i can see you know."

you roll your eyes again.

"bitch." you mutter.

"actually, it's riki."

you shake your head. "do i look like i give a shit?"

he laughs, standing from his chair and taking a look at the bomb on the table.

"i like you, you've got energy." he says, poking at a wire.

you don't say anything, just examine the room and try not to stare at riki.

because he had to be cute and an asshole, of course.

"what's your name?" he asks, sitting back down in the chair.

you slump against the wall, sliding down to the ground. "y/n."

"did you see anyone else out there?"

"yeah but..." your voice hitches. "he was eliminated."

"oh." riki's face is somber. "was it 71?" there's an urgency in his expression now.

"no, 99."

"thank god." he grabs his chest, his heart racing. "71's my sister."

your heart sinks. you feel terrible for riki, his own family forced into this stupid game.

you sit in silence, waiting for your death.

it didn't feel real. it was like a dream. how were you and riki supposed to come to terms with the fact that you'd be dead in...

13:42

thirteen minutes.

and then, as you feel tears start to fall from your eyes, there's a long beep from the bomb. you jumped, thinking it was detonating early.

you and riki watch as numbers turn into letters that slowly become words.

𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝙴𝙽 𝙼𝙸𝙽𝚄𝚃𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴. 𝚆𝙴'𝙻𝙻 𝙱𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚃𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶.

you look over at the camera, a red light blinking next to the lens.

perfect.

just fucking great.

riki turns to the camera, staring it down.

"fucking perverts!" he yells at it, and then the bomb beeps again.

𝚂𝙰𝙸𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙷𝙰𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙵𝚄𝙲𝙺 𝙷𝙴𝚁

riki scoffs. "we'll see about that."

he turns to you. you were standing like a post, not fully grasping what was happening.

"let's go." he says, grabbing you by the arm and pullimg you to stand in front of the chair, the backs of your knees just barely grazing the metal.

"take it off." he says, pointing at your jumper.

you don't do anything. you can't move.

riki clenches his fists. "okay, come fucking on. i have less than ten minutes to do this now." he points at the clock, now 9:46.

you blush and unzip your jumper, the white shirt underneath the only thing covering your chest.

riki pushes you to sit on the edge of the chair, with its back digging under your shoulderblades.

he kneels down, and slips a hand under the shirt, squeezing your breast while his free hand pushed your thighs apart.

you whine when his thumb grazes your nipple, and he smirks while pressing kisses up and down your thighs.

he slides a finger down your panties, pulling them down your sensitive legs. a little moan slips from your lips when he presses a finger to your clit.

"sensitive..." he mutters, grinning.

"shut up," you say, breathless. he just laughs.

he pushes a finger between your folds, collecting the slick building up between them and bringing his finger to his lips.

you moan when he sucks on the pad of his finger, and he groans at your taste.

"god, that's good..."

he leans closer to your cunt, blowing a breath of cool air over your wet lips. your hips jerk, chasing him.

he presses his lips against your clit, giving it a faint suck before trailing down and licking between your folds. his tounge felt like fire on you, his fingers digging into your thighs.

you put your hand on the back of his head, stroking his hair while he practically makes out with your pussy. he moans into you, and you push him deeper.

his nose stimulates your clit, just grazing your sensitive nub while his tounge started pushing into your hole.

you look at the clock.

5:31

shit.

you try your hardest to work up an orgasm, to let yourself go, but your efforts were in vain.

riki looks up at you, pulling away from your throbbing pussy.

"you usually this hard to please?"

"i'm nervous."

he pulls you up from the chair by your shoulder, hooking a hand under your arm and dragging you to the table.

"well i'm not dying today." he growls in your ear, bending you over the cold metal and pushing your shirt over your ass

he spreads your legs with his thigh, and you hear the rustle of fabric behint you.

you know what's coming.

you try to prepare yourself, gripping the edge of the table and locking your legs, but nothing could have gotten you ready for riki.

he pushes into your wet hole, and you struggle to take him. he's long, thick, and hard. a strangled scream comes from your mouth when he pushes deeper, his dick pressing against your cervix.

"fuck, you're tight... god damn."

you whine when he starts moving his hips, his pelvis slapping against your ass with loud claps.

his thumb reaches town to your clit, rubbing you, trying to get you to just fucking release already.

2:06

you feel the tears on the table under you, the metal heating under your trembling body.

riki groans, his own release closer than yours.

and then he spills into you. you clench violently around him, feeling his cum fill you up

yeah, some of that definetly took.

thats what has you over the edge. your legs tremble and your eyes roll back, your slick plasterd onto your thighs, dripping down your legs.

"fuck," says riki, still buried deep inside you. he looks at the camera. "stop the fucking timer! she did it, bastards!"

the timer stops.

0:16

fuck yeah.

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a.n- chat i cooked ToT

idk man, im tired. anyways, if you liked this fic, please like/comment/reblog and lmk if you have any ideas for a new one!

masterlist part 2

[whoreforwisp]

𝓐𝓷𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚ ₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

pairing se-mi (player 380) x fem!reader | wc: 901

summary: After being abandoned during a deadly game, Player 280 is saved by a pierced up stranger, Player 380. As the two grow closer in the chaos, love forms where death surrounds them. But when survival forces an impossible choice, one is left to live while the other to let go.

TW: Angst, character deaths, blood, violence, emotional distress, suicide, strong language

A/N: hello! hi this is my FIRST time ever writing something but lemme introduce myself first! i go by the name tracy and please let me know what i could do to make the writing better! i hope you like the story i tried my best!

All you remember from four days ago was being at Yangjae Citizen’s Forest Station, playing ddakji with a random salesman. You woke up in a green tracksuit with the number 280, ended up playing a dangerous game of Red Light, Green Light, and voted X—but O got more votes. Then came the Six-Legged Pentathlon, which you barely survived, crossing the finish line just before the timer ran out.

─────── ─────── ───────

After that, you found yourself in a game of Mingle. Two players per room. Your team had abandoned you. Panic filled you and you froze—until someone grabbed your wrist and dragged you into a room.

“Holy shit, what were you doing standing there? You have a death wish or something?” said the girl. Player 380. She was tall, slim, had piercings and short hair.

You shook your head.

“My team… abandoned me,” you say.

She scoffed.

“Mine too,” she said.

You sighed and held out your hand.

“For saving my life… why don’t we team up? I’ll do anything to make sure you’re safe,” you said, feeling a sudden burst of determination she had just saved your fucking life.

“Anything?” she asked.

You nodded.

“Anything.”

Once Mingle was over, the two of you were stuck together like glue.

“Which one are you going to vote?” you asked.

“X. I wanna get the hell out of here,” she said.

You chuckled. She looked at you, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Nothing. Just… I’m going to vote X too,” you said, thinking, ‘I want to get the hell out of this fucking shithole.’

Fast-forward to after the bathroom fight. The X’s formed a circle. So did the O’s. You stuck around, talking with Gi-hun and his group after they laid out a plan. Later, you walked up to Semi.

“You should… stay under your bed, okay?” you said, a hint of worry in your voice.

She chuckled.

“Why?” She didn’t seem like she took it seriously.

“Semi, I think… Player 124 might have it out for you. You told me earlier he doesn’t like you. And everyone thinks a fight might break out,” you said, serious now.

She nodded.

Once the lights went out, you crawled under your bed. Then it began. Full-on chaos. Screaming, stabbing, crying. Players killing each other.

Then you heard a familiar voice…Semi.

You immediately crawled out and saw her on the floor, Player 124 on top of her, about to stab her with a fork. You kicked him in the head, knocking him back, and shoved Semi out of the way but he stabbed your leg. You screamed in pain, collapsing. Semi got up and smashed his head with broken glass. the same pieces Player 125 had shattered trying to save her.

“Fuck…” you groaned, watching blood pour out of your leg.

Semi ripped a piece of her shirt, lifted your tracksuit, and wrapped the cloth tightly around your leg to stop the bleeding.

After Gi-hun returned and the voting was done, Semi looked at you, brushing your hair back.

“You’ll be fine. I’ll make sure you get out of here alive, okay?” she whispered.

You shook your head.

“I’m a burden to you now, Semi…” you said, feeling weak.

She shook her head.

“Don’t ever say that, okay?” she said. You sighed…

─────── ─────── ───────

The next day was hell.

You stood staring at the blue vest you had to wear. Semi wore red.

“Hey… I’ll find you, okay? You won’t die. I won’t let you,” she said.

You smiled weakly.

“I hope so.”

Your heart pounded as you limped into the game room, blood already seeping through the cloth on your leg. You got chased, escaped… but the pain became unbearable. You sat by the exit, waiting for Semi.

She arrived.

“You haven’t found anyone?” you asked.

She shook her head.

“Me,” you said, looking at her with teary eyes.

“I’m a burden to you, Semi… Get out of here, okay? For me.”

She knelt beside you, tears welling in her eyes as she held your face.

“No. I’m not going to do that.”

“If you don’t, you’ll die,” you said softly.

“Please, Semi. I don’t want you to die…” you cried.

Semi shook her head.

“I don’t want you to die!” she shouted.

You took her knife, holding it to your chest.

“I never knew I liked girls before I met you, you know… I’m glad I met you in this sick, twisted world. I love you, Semi. Get out of here. Please. Make it out of this shithole..for me.”

Semi held the knife, trying to pull it away.

The timer: 3 minutes left.

She sobbed, trembling.

“Fine,” she whispered, voice cracking.

You smiled weakly.

“I’d never fallen in love with a woman before, but when I did, it didn’t feel so strange… Like I said..anything to get you out of here.”

With your help, you plunged the knife into your chest. The kill counted as Semi was holding onto the knife.

Semi screamed, crying, kissing your face, holding you tightly.

“No! Wait… no… stop… I didn’t mean to… I-I didn’t mean to!” she kept repeating, tears pouring down her face.

Your eyes closed as the announcement echoed:

“Player 280, eliminated.”

She held your head in her lap, sobbing. Guards pulled her away, dragging her back into the dorm.

─────── ─────── ───────

The next morning, the players watched the circle-masked guards enter, pushing a box for bodies. They stopped near Semi.

“Player 380, eliminated.”

She had her jacket wrapped around her neck, head down.

She had hung herself.

[object-vault-9]

Week 123

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We talked too much about CoG headaches and passed the curse onto her /j

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Not a permanent accessory but you'll probably see it again for something fun and seasonal ;- )

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[bambambibambambi]

The sunset is beautiful, isn't it?❦

Paring: Robin!Jason x crush!reader

Tw: death, and blood

You looked at him confused as he climbed through your window. "What are you doing?" Robin's eyes widen the shock caused him to freeze in place mid-way. He didn't expect he was gonna get caught that easily. The two of you stared into each other's eyes, but he fell into your room, landing on his face with a loud "THUMP". You winced at the sight, your face scrunched up looking down at the fallen boy.

"I'm fine!"

He yelled getting up and dusting his Robin suit. To the boy, you were the most beautiful being he had ever seen. At this moment looking at you while you stood there in your pj's and the moonlight spilling through the window he came from onto you, it just made you more like a goddess in his eyes. The first time the boy had fallen for anyone was you, his first love. A slight red hue crawled up his cheeks when he realized he was staring for a bit too long.

The boy was Jason, a childhood friend of yours. By now you already knew he was Robin after all he was pretty bad at keeping secrets when it came to you. You were the light in his dark world back then you brought him the little hope he needed to simply...live. How could he ever leave you alone for even a night? He loved you more than words could ever explain, you were his sun...so what if you two were just 14 he'd make sure you two were to get married when you get older.

"When are you just gonna come in like..a normal person?"

"Since when was I normal? That's like saying the world is gonna blow up in 3 seconds"

Robin commented, his eyebrow raised with a dramatically judgemental expression he was just messing around. Jason pulled you into a warm hug, his body cold from being out almost all night. You couldn't help but let out a chuckle while he held you like his life depended on it. Hearing your laughter, his cheeks once more became a slight red hue.

The rest of the night was spent with laughter and nearly getting caught by your parents but somehow managed to not get him killed that night. Little did you know while you had fallen asleep before him he confessed his feelings for you knowing you wouldn't ever hear it. Jason held you close looking at your sleeping face. While he mutters praises about how you were the most amazing person to exist, he places a kiss on your forehead. The crickets could be heard from your window humming a tone that was so familiar it brought him a sense of comfort. It was strange how tonight the sounds were quiet no loud cars or trains, just peace.

In the morning you moved your arm Trying to find him but when you opened your eyes, next to you was nobody the bed had a lingering warmth to it. A soft sigh escaped your mouth as you lay there for a while longer. You groan in annoyance as your timer goes off you reach your hand to grab it only to remember you placed it across the room...what a great idea, turned not so great after waking up so early.

Today felt...off although everything was normal you just felt a strange feeling like something bad was happening. You went about your day not questioning much other than if you'd get to see Jason today.

mysteriously you didn't even get a hello from him as if he disappeared from thin air, your heart felt heavy filled with fear and confusion. Where did he go? Why would he leave?

All the thoughts that filled your mind as the day went on continued to get more concerned.

Days passed, days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Yet Nothing...

One day you overheard Bruce speaking and secretly followed him...the men were too busy to even notice you were following as you watched a building explode, batman holding a dead body close to his chest. You squint your eyes to see who it is, it was Robin.

Oh

Oh God no

No no no no no

Your expression filled with horror looking at the boy you loved barely even recognizable. Back then you didn't think that night was gonna be the last time you'd see him. A hand cupped your mouth as you felt your stomach turning, you wanted to vomit.

This wasn't happening...there's no way...why why why?!

The boy you had wished to confess in the past lay there in Batman’s arms while you hid unable to even breathe anymore, your throat closed up as you tried to hold back the tears flowing down your cheek. Batman had noticed you long ago but had ignored your existence it was a rookie mistake. One he could have stopped, his hands covered in the blood of his Robin filled with sorrow and rage towards The Joker.

A/n:Sorry if it was rushed. I'm not very good at writing angst, and this is my first time (ーー;) sorry for any grammar mistakes! Also I don't really remember what happened after he died sooo..

© 𝔅𝔞𝔪𝔦ℑ (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[tayraedoll]

My Compliments to the Chef

You and Alastor face-off in the kitchen. Who will be crowned the superior chef? And what will the prize be?

TW: Swearing, mentions of death, mention of fire, death by fire, self-loathing, enemies to lovers, SLOW(ish) BURN, mention of drug addiction, mention of dementia, angst, some fluff towards the end.

Word count: 3,721

Salt. Fat. Acid. Heat. These four simple elements were the building blocks to every culinary masterpiece. You lived and breathed by them, working tirelessly until you had perfected each individual component. Thousands of hours spent in the kitchen using every kind of stove, range, and grill; finally, all that hard work had paid off when you opened your own restaurant. The critics raved about your cuisine, you had a full house nearly every single night, and the headlines were calling you the next celebrity chef. Everything had been an absolute dream, until it became your worst nightmare.

You try not to think about the fire, although it was nearly impossible not to. You weren't sure how it started, just that is spread within seconds and engulfed everything in its path. You didn't even have time to run before you the flames completely surrounded you; you can still feel how excruciating the smoke felt in your lungs...and how you burned.

*BEEP BEEP BEEP*

The kitchen timer pulls you from your trance with a gasp. Your eyes quickly dart around as you momentarily struggle to gain your bearings. Right, you were in Charlie's kitchen at the Hazbin Hotel...and your pork chops were burning.

"Shit!", you exclaim as you scramble for your oven mitts. Luckily, you got to the meat just in time and started simmering your green beans and mashing your potatoes as the pork rested. The kitchen was your safe space, something familiar that brought you comfort as you struggled to process your death, how ironic it was that it was the same room you died in. It was more than just the familiarity of the space though, it was also that the kitchen was the only room that did not have any mirrors.

Accepting your demonic body proved a greater struggle than accepting your untimely death. You still looked very human, much more so than most other residents of the hotel, but your skin was littered with angry, red splotches- permanent burn marks. They were not raised and did not hurt, but were certainly unsightly(to you). Your hair was the same color it was when you died, but was singed on the ends and your eyes were now a fiery orange, the amber color far from a natural shade for a human. Most say you were lucky to get such a tame demonic appearance, but it only served as a reminder of how your skin crackled under the flame.

You were just stirring the sour cream and cheddar cheese into your mashed potatoes when the hotel guests started filing into the kitchen for dinner.

"Mmm smells great Y/N!", Charlie smiled at you before taking her seat.

"Yea Toots, I'm starving!", Angel called out as you were chopping the chives to garnish the meal with.

Everyone loved your cooking, immediately digging in as soon as you handed them their plate. Well...almost everyone anyways, there was a certain scarlet cervid demon that you could never get a read on whenever he ate what you prepared. Most of the time he just ate in silence with that spine-chilling smile on his face, not giving you a single clue as to what he was thinking.

Alastor and you were not exactly friends. The kitchen was his sanctuary as well, this particular kitchen in the hotel was his domain long before you ever showed up. But you refused to let him frighten you from the one place you felt at peace; so you struck an agreement that you would rotate meal duties and stay out of each other's way. You two really brought the old "too many cooks in the kitchen" phrase back to life.

The worst part of the whole ordeal for you was that you desperately wanted his approval. Alastor himself was a masterful chef, having a century of experience blending flavors together creating symphonies for the pallet. His creole meals-cooked entirely from just his memory- were absolutely to double-die for and you knew you would never come close to replicating them even with the best ingredients Hell had to offer. You had tried every kind of cuisine you could think of to impress him, from steak to lasagna and enchiladas to scotch eggs. He still gave you nothing- just a quiet meal, but at least he always cleaned his plate so that had to count for something.

But tonight you were hoping for a true reaction. This meal was the house specialty at your restaurant; you were hesitant to make it, there was so much emotional baggage attached so this once beloved dish. You took your time picking out the right pork chops- they had to be of even thickness and trim, as the star of the dish they could not be any less than perfect. You then made sure to get the freshest spices and produce you could find and pulled out every trick you knew from searing the meat in garlic butter to your added secret ingredients to the spuds This meal put you on the map in the living world, you were hoping it would at least put you in Alastor's orbit.

You carefully watched The Radio Demon's reactions as you ate, you were pleased with how it turned out- the pork was juicy and tender with just the right amount of crust seared into the flesh, the green beans had a crispy garlic taste, and there was not a single lump to be found in your potatoes. Everything was perfect, magazine-worthy just like you relentlessly crafted it to be. So why did the crimson asshole look so fucking unimpressed?!

"How's the food Alastor?", you couldn't take this anymore, you needed to know what he thought. His blank and bored expression snapped your very last nerve; you were tired of being patient and waiting for some inkling of sentimentalization to form on his ever-stoic face. If he wasn't going to volunteer it himself, then you would pry it out of him forcefully. You turned toward him expectantly, effectively putting a pause on all dining table chatter.

The demon stilled momentarily, not expecting your abrupt outburst. He eyed you for a second before speaking "It's fine", and resuming his meal, that unimpressed mask back over his face.

You flinched back as if he had slapped you, your jaw nearly dropping to the table and eyes wide in bewilderment. "Fine? That's it?! This very dish was going to win me a Michelin Star and you say it is just FINE?!!", your voice grew louder as you spoke. This was outrageous, the ultimate insult to you as a chef, the AUDACITY of this cherry-colored prick to sum up what you slaved your entire life away on in just a seven-letter synopsis.

Everyone else was staring at the two of you with wide eyes as you bristled, turning your entire body toward Alastor with a white-knuckled grip on your fork like you were preparing to stab him with it.

Alastor's response to your sudden rage was to calmly place his own fork down and fold his fingers together in front of his chin with his elbows on the edge of the table. He closed his eyes for a second before fixing them on you intently, however, his voice was calm when he finally spoke again.

"That is your problem Dear. Yes, the food is fine- it is very good actually- but you cook for praise, for critics, for awards. In doing so your cooking has fallen flat, it lacks originality, heart, dare I even say soul; in all the meals you have made for us I have yet to taste YOU in your own cooking. You have mastered every physical component of the process, but until you learn how to put yourself on a plate I'm afraid each dish will only ever be good- never transcending into great. I suggest you stop cooking for others and begin cooking for yourself Darling."

You gaped at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish as you fumbled over your own thoughts before saying the only thing that came clearly to mind, "Fuck you!!", you stood abruptly, desperate for any sort of upper-hand no matter how delusional that upper-hand really was. To his credit Alastor remained calm, looking like a patient parent waiting for their toddler to cease an illogical tantrum, which only served to piss you off more. "Well if you deem my cooking to be so unworthy of the The Radio Demon's stomach," you spit his self-proclaimed name out like it was a dirty word, "then how about you prove why that is? Face off with me in a blind taste test", you gestured to your audience of hotel guests. "If you are so much better than me then prove it- without magic! Compete with me on completely equal standing, just our own skills in this very kitchen", you cross your arms in front of you and glare down at the deer.

Alastor chuckled at you, "Very well Darling. Pray tell, what does the winner of this little competition receive?"

"Whatever they want."

"Hmm...are you sure that is a wager you want to make with me my dear?", his aura turned slightly green and symbols of his magic began to swirl around him as his eyes flashed to radio dials for a brief moment, the static in his voice getting thicker. But you were not going to let him scare you...you had something to prove.

You raised your chin defiantly at him, "Absolutely certain- who knows?- maybe I will own your soul after I win." You let that idea simmer in the air between you two as you grab your plate to wash it, noting with satisfaction how his smile tightened and posture stiffened slightly.

"Well, as the one challenged it is only fair for me to choose our main dish. I will procure two identical venison steaks for us to prepare in whatever way we best know how in the same exact amount of time. The rest of your dish I will leave up to you. Sound fair enough for you?", he extended his hand toward you to solidify your agreement to the terms.

"Fine", you deadpan back to him as you take his hand in your own briefly before wiping it off on your pants- a show of dominance The Radio Demon often used himself.

His eyes narrowed at you, "Lovely!"

You were the first to leave the kitchen, followed closely by Alastor; leaving the stupefied and unwitting judges of your cook-off to gawk at one another.

"The fuck just happen?!", Angel was the first to break the silence, looking between each of the other residents in confusion.

"We just caught in the middle of a ridiculous, egotistical contest between our two cooks!", Vaggie huffed irritably.

"I wish they could just work together on meals instead of against one another", Charlie sighed. Vaggie gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze in agreement.

"Sooo...this mean we get two dinners tomorrow?"

You looked over your work station, recounting each and every ingredient at least 3 times. You and Alastor agreed 4 hours was enough time to make your very best venison dish. You were pulling out all the stops, deciding to make one of the most difficult dishes to execute correctly- a venison wellington made with homemade puff pastry. Making puff pastry itself was a long and tedious process and your timing had to be perfect or else the venison would be either underdone or overcooked. You knew that if you cooked this dish flawlessly you were sure to win.

Alastor created two identical workplaces, you agreed that he was allowed to use his magic so that you could cook at the exact same time but that is it. He sat at his own station with nothing but the meat set out and a coffee in hand. He looked up at you, "Are you ready to begin?"

Oh, you couldn't wait to wipe that stupid grin off his face, "Ready!"

With that Alastor started a countdown on the wall and nodded at you before opening his newspaper, not moving to prepare any ingredients at all.

You, however, were a flurry of activity; setting your flour in a small pile to meticulously wet bit by bit until you formed your dough which you then folded over a dozen times and flattened out. Once that was in the fridge you set out to beat your butter until you formed a neat 4x4 cube. Before you knew it an hour had passed and Alastor had yet to prepare anything. You narrowed your eyes at him, what the hell was he doing?

You had no time to fret over the deer demon, once your butter was cooled into a solid mass again you diligently folded your dough and butter together forming dozens of butter-pastry layers. Once that was finally finished nearly two hours had ticked off the clock. Alastor was finally chopping potatoes, carrots, and onions- taking his sweet time like he wasn't on a time crunch.

You couldn't help but smile to yourself, you were starting to feel a bit cocky considering your dish seemed to be far more complicated. Next, you worked on cutting up your own produce- onion, garlic, and mushrooms. As you mixed your spices together you melted butter in a cast iron skillet, watching as Alastor cubed his own venison. You seared your whole backstrap steak on all sides until a nice crust formed before wrapping the meat in a blend of your spices and minced produce before finishing it by wrapping it all in bacon. Finally, you wrapped the whole thing in your puff pastry before setting it in the oven to cook.

You peeked up at the clock- 30 minutes left. Glancing over at Alastor, you saw him standing over a large pot, stirring it slowly and humming a jazzy tune to himself. Was he making a soup? Did he really think that would be complicated enough to win a cook-off?

When your venison wellington was done cooking the crust was a gorgeous golden color. You cut into it and let out a breath of relief that the meat was a perfect medium rare. Everything was textbook perfection, you were about to hand The Radio Demon his ass, you bit your bottom lip to keep from giggling at your apparent victory.

As you were setting out the plates of food for the other residents- who were strictly forbidden from entering the dining room until you and Alastor had left so they would have no idea who cooked what- Alastor came in with his own dish.

"What kind of soup did you make?", you asked a bit snobbishly.

"This, My Dear, is my favorite venison stew", he replied merrily, obviously pleased with his dish and showing not an ounce of trepidation for his impending defeat.

"Interesting that you think a stew is worthy of a cook-off victory."

He stopped to fully turn towards you, eyeing you up and down with a look of disapproval, "Darling, the complexity of a dish is not the most important aspect. Sometimes the simplest dishes give us the most satisfaction."

His gaze was intense, he was boring right into your very soul as if he was trying to convey a secret message with just the look in his eyes. You look down "Er...yea okay", you feel your face go beet red, you could almost get lost in those eyes if he weren't such a dick.

The two of you go back to the kitchen to clean up your stations after letting the other residents into the dining room to eat and cast their votes for their favorite dish. You didn't speak, just let the sweet melodious notes of Jazz fill the silence. Just as you were drying your last bowl Charlie walked in with a piece of paper in hand.

"It...was unanimous. Just so you know we all really enjoyed both meals and it was REALLY hard to choose between them! And we by NO means prefer one of your cooking over the other! We all hope you both will continue cooking and not let this competition stop you from doing what you love!", she spoke in a rush. She carefully placed the folded paper down on the counter before taking her leave.

You snatched it up before Alastor could make a move for it; you took a look at the verdict and your heart plummeted into your stomach. There was absolutely no way, this had to be a mistake. You looked up at Alastor and it was clear he already knew the outcome based on the small but smug grin on his face. Grabbing a spoon you rushed over to Alastor's pot and took a bite of his stew permission be damned.

FUCK!

It was good, more than good it was downright sinful. The venison melted in your mouth like butter, the spices in the gravy transported you back to Grandma's house- visions of dinners together as a family came to mind as the nostalgic taste danced on your taste buds. The whole dish filled you with a sense of comfort and tranquility, like being wrapped in your favorite blanket by a fireplace with a book in hand on a cold winter's night. He made a dish that evoked literal emotions in the consumer...how were you ever going to compete with someone who could do that with a simple stew? He was right...your cooking was flat by comparison, like biting into basic sirloin compared to a beautiful wagyu porterhouse.

Tears filled your eyes but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry in defeat. You rushed out of the kitchen as fast as you could not having any particular destination in mind, you just had to get out of the kitchen. You doubted you would ever return to it again.

Your tears steadily streamed down your face as you looked over Pentagram City from the hotel balcony. Questions about your identity plagued for mind- what were you supposed to do now? where did you belong? were you a fraud- an imposter- your whole life? should you just leave the hotel? what will Alastor want for his prize?

The sound of static alerted you to his presence behind you, but like a petulant child you kept staring straight ahead refusing to acknowledge him.

"It was my mother's recipe", he leaned over the railing beside you.

You finally looked over at him,"Huh?"

The deer demon chuckled softly, "The stew, it was my mother's recipe. She taught me everything I know about cooking, most of my happiest childhood memories involve my mother teaching me different techniques and dishes. Perhaps that is why I tend to get a bit possessive of the kitchen and meal prep." He smiled brightly down at you, your face flushed again at this unexpected and rare bit of honesty and vulnerability from The Radio Demon.

"Well you can have it back, I'm done cooking", you respond bitterly, your face hardening in disdain as you stare back out at the pentagram again.

"Well now Darling there is no need to be so dramatic! Why I bet all you need is to go back to your roots, remember why you started cooking in the first place! Now, tell me, what was your inspiration?", he leaned his chin in one hand as he waited for your answer.

You scoffed,"Well, I never knew my father and my mother was a drug addict who left my siblings and I to fend for ourselves most of the time. We went to live with my grandmother when I was eight. She did great raising us at first but then she developed dementia; sometimes she would forget to feed herself, let alone the rest of us. So I guess my inspiration to learn how to cook was the need to not let my family starve."you laugh humorlessly. "Grandma would remember bits and pieces here and there, teaching me certain recipes she enjoyed. Turned out I was pretty good at cooking so I checked out every book in the library on the subject, learning everything I could. I entered a tuition giveaway when I was 18 and earned a free ride to culinary school. It changed my life, I was determined not to let the opportunity go to waste. I swore that I would be the best, always taking my recipes to the next level to prove that I earned the positive turn my life took." You viciously wiped the tears from your eyes as they started up again.

Alastor remained silent during your rant, watching you with a contemplative expression. He understood your demand for approval now, the constant need to show your cooking prowess through complex dishes. You had something to prove, but you didn't realize you were trying to impress yourself more than anyone else.

"What do you want from me"?, you angrily whispered at him, glaring over in his direction. You figured he would ask for your soul, you'd be as unpleasant as you could be to him until you were under his ownership.

The deer hummed, "Join me for dinner."

You bellowed out an incredulous laugh, "We do that quite often Alastor. I told you that you could have your kitchen back, I have no intent on encroaching on your domain anymore."

"No, not at the hotel, there's a restaurant I would like to take you to. I hope you don't mind but I have already taken the liberty of purchasing you something to wear- it is a coat and tie establishment after all!", he twirled his cane in his hand, looking at you expectantly.

"Your kidding me right?", you were stunned.

"Nope! I do not believe I am!"

"You...you want to go on a date?"

"Yes, I suppose that is technically what you could call it. Now, how does tomorrow evening sound? I shall inform Charlie that we will be out, there's plenty of leftovers to keep our residents well-fed in our absence. Meet me in the lobby at 6 PM sharp and not a moment later My Dear!" With that he disappeared into the shadows, leaving you to stare at the spot he just vacated in shock.

You have a date with The Radio Demon...boy does the undead life come at you fast.

To be continued...

[creatie123]

CHOI SU_BONG/THANOS X PREGNANT!READER Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6.1 Part 6.1

TW: manipulation, death, dead dove do not eat, angst, slight themes of miscarriage,

~~~

When I look back over my shoulder I see player 120 and my eyes fill with tears or relief. She stands with players 007, 149, and 095, “we need one more to play with us, will you please?” I nod my head a few tears stream down my cheeks and 149 is quick to come comfort me and wipe away my tears.

When we sit on the ground I find that we are right in front of su-bongs team.

“Girl where the fuck did you go I told you to stay by me.” he whispers in my ear.

I ignore him facing forward while listening to the intercom explain the rules of the next game. My breath quickens as pain shoots through my stomach. I groan bile rising in my throat.

“Sweetheart, are you ok?” 149 asks.

I nod pressing down on my stomach.

“Celina.” su-bongs voice is commanding as he turns me to look at him

His gaze drops to my stomach before looking up at me. “What is going on, what hurts.”

“It's just some cramping, I'm ok.” I whisper “we have to choose what we are doing for the games.” I turn back to my team.

I can hear su-bong whispering with nam gyu, then something clicks open before snapping shut a few seconds later. I recognise the sound as su-bogs damn drug necklace. I'm going to have to hide that from him.

Once the timer goes off for choosing who will do what they call the first team up, I watch intently as anxiety takes over them and they continuously mess up their games. Gun shots ring out as the timer hits zero, and I flinch with each shot.  Our team was next and I trembled, rising to my feet, 149 loops her arm through mine comforting me as we walk to get into the correct line up. Pain begins to flood my stomach again along with a flash of dizziness and I stagger into 120 sides.

“Hey hey we just need to get through this game, please hold it in just that long.” she pleads. 

I nod forcing myself up, we lock arms and begin walking as soon as the gunshot rings. It's all a blur but I can hear 007 give 095 advice and she quickly wins the game, onto the next one, 007 wins after only a few attempts, when it gets to 149, she winds effortlessly which causes us to cheer for her, then it was my turn, my hands tremble as I wrap the rope around the top. Wrapping my hand around it I flick my wrist letting the top spin out and hit the floor it wobbles, and it seems like slow motion as we watch the top stabilize and start spinning. I look at the guard for my game and he makes an O shape with his hands. My teammates all cheer for me or let out a sigh of relief. Finally we get to the last game and 120 asks that everyone turn around. At this point I finally realize that the whole room is towering over us watching intently, I noticed then that they were cheering for us the whole time and my chest bubbles with appreciation. My attention straps back to 120 as she yells at everyone to turn and so we do. It feels like so long before we hear the last hit of the shoe and the guard makes an O. Everyone starts shouting out cheers and encouragement as we rush to the finish line with only a few seconds to spare. Tears stream out of my eyes as I smile in relief. We wait patiently for the guard to unhook our ankles as we start walking out of the room. 

I hear su-bong's name being called and I send him a silent prayer of safety. We make it back to the room and 149, 095, and 120 surround me. They ask me what's wrong, what hurts, how I'm feeling. I ask 149 if she will help me to the bathroom, she immediately says yes, looping her arm in mine and leading me off to the bathroom. When I sit on the toilet I groan sweat beading my forehead and I clutch my stomach with one hand and rest the other against the wall.

“Sweetheart are you ok? What hurts.” her soothing voice asks through the door.

“M-my stomach.” I say heat runs over my arms making the clothes unbearable, while at the same time prickling chills pierce my skin making me thankful for the clothes, dizziness and nausea fill my senses and I quickly get off the toilet only to turn and hurl my guts up.

I barely register the knock on the door, a hand soothingly rubbing my back and whispering in my ear that it will be ok. When I am finally finished I lean against the wall wiping my mouth. “I wish they would give us toothbrushes.” I say 

She chuckles a little bit at my joke. “I have to pee, do you mind just waiting outside the stall?”

She nods, getting up and walking out of the stall closing the door behind her. “Let me know if you need anything dear.” she says.

Pulling my pants down I sit on the toilet letting out a sigh of content at letting out the contents of my bladder. I go to reach for the toilet paper but notice a few spots of blood on my underwear, “149?” I called out.

“Yes dear.” she asks

“I-is it normal to bleed when I'm pregnant?” I ask willing my underwear up to inspect it a little more, immediately gagging at the smell of dizziness taking over my vision again and I lean over to rest my head on the wall to stop myself from passing out.

“How much?” She asks finally.

“Only a few drops.”

“Y-yes it's normal dear, there is no need to worry.”  she says.

I tear some toilet paper off and wipe, and notice my blood on the toilet paper. She said it's normal so I push away the underlying nagging feeling inside. Wiping a few more times, the paper finally shows clean. No more blood. Pulling my pants back up I exit the stall tiredness tugging at my limbs, I go to wash my hands and the old lady leads me back out into the room with the beds. I go to walk to mine but she pulls me with her back to our group from before. She sits me on her bed, and pulls 120 and 095 away to talk to them about something leaving me with her son. 

He merely stares at me not trying to strike up a conversation, which was fine. I was too tired to talk. I watch the women talk  occasionally, looking back at me with worry. Feeling like I could not keep my eyes open anymore I closed my eyes and lay down on the bed. 

It feels like only a few minutes have passed before I'm being shaken awake gently. I open my eyes to see 149 standing over me with a gentle smile. “Your male friend came over while you were sleeping, but we sent him away, it seems he needs to talk to you, but it's time to vote and then have dinner, you can talk to him after ok?” I smile as she reminds me of my mom being stern yet understanding and caring. I nod sitting up.

I get up and follow her to stand by the group of people who made it last round, not many people were eliminated and hope begins to flicker in my chest, maybe we can get out. The voting begins and we start with 456 again. We walked down the aisle, determinately pressing the x immediately. When it gets to su-bong he walks down, pausing for only a minute to look back and lock eyes with me before turning away and pressing the o.

A tang of hurt that he would choose to stay over the safety of others. For me and our child. It then gets to me, and I walk up to the buttons, I press the x like last time and walk over to stand by the old lady 222 coming up to stand by us. After the voting we have the usual 30 minutes before dinner. 

S- Thanos comes up to me his irises look non existent with how huge his pupils are. “You need to stop voting x. We need that money senorita. I need that money.”

“I'm not having this conversation with you. You know why I'm voting x.” I hissed.

“Stop being such a coward, these games aren't even that hard.” he says sighing dramatically. 

“I’m a coward?” something inside me snaps. “No thanos. The only coward I see is the one who is taking pills before every game so he doesn’t see the shit that is actually going on around. The only coward I see is the person who, despite the amount of people who want to get out and actually face the world, wants to stay in this shit hole and put his damn life on the line to  get a 50/50 chance of life and death for some money. Guess what, we are all in debt to Thanos but don't make that everyone else's problem. Youre the fucking coward,” I take a breath and reach out grabbing his neck lace. “ get rid of these and maybe I'll consider speaking to you again.” I say turning on my heels and walking back over to my group.

The whole group no doubt heard that argument and they all cheered for me quietly 149 pulling me into her arms. After meal time I lay down on the bed and let my tired eyes drift close. I fall asleep thinking about my argument with Thanos, cramping in my stomach and the ache in my heart.

~~~

Wohooooo I finally got to write Celina confronting thanos, I sincerely hope everyone enjoyed this chapter only a few more to go, I am having trouble deciding on if I want a happy ending or a sad ending, please let me know you thoughts.

till next time

-creatie

[ofbatsandballads]

Having thoughts about catholic!Jason Todd

tw: mentions of religion, Jay’s death, addiction, and semi-explicit descriptions of murder

How he grew up devout because Catherine was. How he had hazy memories of her dressed in her Sunday best from when he was small. How even in the throes of her addiction she still managed to drag him to mass every Sunday. How after she died and he was left to fend for himself on the streets the local church was one of a handful of places he could seek shelter from the cold.

How when Bruce takes him in he learns about other religions because maybe Bruce has lost all his faith, but Alfred is a sentimental old man and still celebrates Hanukkah in honor of Thomas and Martha. How Jason becomes open to other interpretations of faith, how Bruce supports it even if he thinks it’s a fairytale. How in the final seconds, as the timer of the bomb tick, tick, ticks down to zero, as he drags himself over Sheila’s body to protect her, he finds himself reciting hail Mary’s and hoping he’s done enough good to earn his place among the holy.

How he comes back from the dead and remembers nothing. Black, dark, blank, void. How his faith died with him. How it still haunts him. How the scriptures are burned in his brain, the commandments screaming in his blood. Thou shalt not kill as he puts a bullet in the head of a human trafficker. Thou shalt not kill as he draws a knife across the throat of a drug dealer that was selling to kids. But even God sent a flood to clear the wicked, didn’t He? And isn’t sacrifice for the salvation of others a tenet of faith? Jason decides he’ll be the flood, even as it damns him to Hell.

[nemesis-writer]

Five Minutes (Chapter 6)

Masterlist Silence is torture TW: mentions of blood, mental illness, trauma

People say they have suffered a severe amount of pain, such as losing a loved one, or divorce, or others that fall into this cycle. But if they knew true pain, they would've understand.

They don't know nor care the abuse that I've been living in. The abuse went both mentally and sometimes physically. I had been diagnosed with multiple incapacities, that would both prevent me from feeling empathy and go insane.

Depression is a cancer and with the people I have lived my life for, it proves how un-curable this disease it. I gave them a choice to protect and serve their 'good' purpose, or to suffer the consequences of belittling the people who have experienced worse.

For the games to continue I had to eliminate the weak and incompetent. Tim is the perfect example of this fact, and I did what I had to do.

At the Wayne mansion...

"Tim, you have got to relax." Dick says

"HOW CAN I RELAX WHEN I COULDN"T SAVE A BUILDING FULL OF INNOCENT PEOPLE." Tim yells, still shivering from fear while holding his blanket like it was the only thing that could save him.

"Tim-" Bruce starts.

"Don't Tim me." Tim says with fear and anger coursing through his veins.

"You can't join us anymore." Cassandra said.

"What?"

"I'm sorry but we have to continue and we are afraid you might do something-" Cassandra continues

"Irrational, stupid? I did exactly what they told me to do, but they still detonated the building, why? Because I didn't answer the little girl'd question!" Tim states.

"Yes." Damian states out flatly.

"Listen limp dick she decided to make it easy for your tiny brain to understand." Jason states.

"We cannot fight." Bruce demands, "because that's what she wants."

At the Base...

"That's what she wants."

"Yes Bruce you're right." I then turn off the tv, and approached the team.

"So chief, who's next?"

"Cassandra."

At the Wayne mansion...

"Guys there's a package found in Bludhaven that says Cassandra." Duke reported, still panting, whilst holding it in front of them

As Cassandra carefully opened it, it showed a small little music box inside. When she opened it, she saw a ballerina that turned out deformed whilst holding a note.

'I can be broken without touch, I can be shared without words. I am what you hear in the loudest noise, Yet I am nothing. What am I?'

"Silence." Barbara states immediately.

"But how would that help? Do we go to a quiet place?" Dick wonders.

Until a cryptic gas started to surround them.

"What the?"

Five minutes later...

"Let's play a game, Cassandra."

'To pass this very test, you would have to remain silent, one sound from your mouth is the death of a child.'

The chains from her hands were removed and she had to walk through the floors filled with shattered glass.

Crack

Crack

Crack

But not a peep came out from her mouth. She was to excited as she neared the children, but the worse was yet to come.

'The key to save these kids you so wish to save, comes from you. You were too eager to notice the key disguised behind the glass, the clock is ticking and there is new life on the line.' The recording says.

So Cassandra did what she had to do.

She knelt and crawled on the glass eager to find the key, she tried to avoid the pain because if she screamed the collar would detect it and a child shall be hung.

She searched desperately until she found it, the key. She then rushed to the gates and removed all the collars of her and the children. When she finally reached:

SCREAM!

Her collar detected it and one child, an innocent little girl, has been hung to her death. She tried to save her but then saw the timer and took all the remaining kids out of the place.

BOOM!

It exploded just in time for her escape.

At the Base...

"Two down, a lot more to test. Prepare the next one, let's see if demon spawn can do this."

Taglist

@lunayaps, @not-aya, @iluvcatzz, @vanessa-boo, @ivyrose9194,@thesehandsarerated-e, @eyeless-kun, @errorunfound1, @gwyneveire, @alishii, @cxcilliadf

[no-vara]

Survivors + [Reader ex survivor turning killer] Forsaken! Pt5! (Pt4 and Pt6 right here!)

Tw: Death, small gore, gun, violence, stalkingish, self doubt, kidnapping, swearing, knife + stabbing.

[Reader] gets She/They!

Enjoy! (THANKS FOR ALL THE LIKES! Ps this is personally my favorite part ^^)

Sleeping in a tent wasn’t as bad as you expected. It was rather quite comfortable. The first night was more pleasant than you expected, and the cold breeze didn’t bother you.

Once the sunrose so did everyone else, you found it daunting how people got up so easily. Managing to sit your body up, you rubbed your eyes and yawned. The sun was shining so you decided to sit in your tent, you didn’t think you needed the morning practice anyway.

Closing your eyes you forced yourself back to sleep, your body still ached from yesterday so you deserved the rest.

Though it looked like the others had different plans.

“Wakey, wakey!” A child-like voice called from above you.

It was C00lkidd. He was hovering over you smiling, and yet you weren’t. You turned around grumbling before sighing and sitting upright. Clearly they were impatient because they grabbed your arm and tugged you up. Who would have imagined such a small kid had such brute strength!

You staggered slightly as C00lkidd dragged you up to your feet. Your legs trembled beneath you like you were a new born calf. The ice-skates didn’t make it any easier. Your head was still reeling from the transformation, so much had changed in such a short amount of time. Plus your throat was still aching, you couldn’t even open your mouth.

C00lkidd giggled, as if dragging you around was a fun game. You debated if they truly saw all this as a game of tag. “C’mon, you missed warm-up! Murder waits for no one! And this time, thanks to you we have practice survivors to hunt on!”

Parting your mouth to speak, to groan, to mumble, to try to make any sort of sound as a response, and yet nothing came out. Just a strained breath. Your hand moved to your neck to hold it again as you hissed—at least that was something.

C00lkidd turned to you and frowned as he brought you towards the forest.

“You still can’t speak? Uncle Noli told me you couldn’t but I didn’t believe him…I hope you get better soon!” He exclaimed with empathy.

You didn’t make anymore sounds of protest as he dragged you out—you just couldn’t. Each step you took sounded like crunching ice, which was odd because there was no ice below. Just you.

C00lkidd hummed as the two of you made it to a part of the forest. You could hear talking between the killers—the killers that can speak.

The sun was barely up to light your way, barely shining, you wondered what time it was. Huffing you took your arm back from C00lkidd and skated to the killers the moment you saw them. You didn’t even realize you were skating on grass. Your new ability was the first thing that came to mind.

1x4 looked at you up and down before muttering “finally” clearly displeased on how long you took. You didn’t give him any recognition back, just a glare.

The first thing you noticed was that Elliot and Two Time were not just blindfolded, but their arms were bound together. You opened your mouth to ask what that was for—but atlas no words came out. Instead you just pointed, 1x4 looked at you before bringing his eyes to them—then back to you.

He seemingly understood what you were going to ask but before he could answer your question a timer appeared above your heads and started to tick—a round this early? Jeez that never happened. Why today of all days?

1:10

1:09

1:08

It ticked down every second, and it was such a short amount of time—especially this early. You just knew all the survivors were waking up in a panic. Your body stiffened automatically thinking about it, just a day ago you were in their positions. Now you were about to kill them.

But then again, you were just a useless survivor. Now you were a useful killer—and you would show them.

Lost in your thoughts you didn’t even realize 1x4 was whining to you about how you should have woken up earlier. Apparently the reason they woke up so early was because every time a new killer comes the round starts extra early. You simply just stared in response.

There wasn’t much left to do other then wait anyway, you would just have to learn how to kill on the spot.

3

2

1

…

0

The moment the round started it didn’t announce the killer—just void. It was always like this whenever a new killer was introduced. All the survivors were probably in even more of a panic than before now.

You opened your eyes and were met with the pirate map—alright not the worst first time map. But you still had no idea how to use your abilities. Perhaps it was something like your old abilities, other than the fact you would go from having two to having three.

Oh boy…yeah you weren’t going to be surprised if you lost this round—at all.

You walked for what felt like forever, you needed a kill and soon. Luckily the Specter clearly was playing favorites, you found Noob trying to untie Elliot and Two Time.

Three free kills. Jack-pot.

Since they were all close together, you easily summoned your snakes and held them all down. Noob took Elliot’s blindfold off as the ice snakes stalked up. Elliot saw you before Noob did.

“NOOB LOOK OUT—“ He was cut off by the searing pain of the snakes biting into the three of them.

He let out a deafening cry of pain as you charged at them—with what weapon? You had no idea! You just used your skates to your advantage and kicked at them. Causing more damage than intended.

They spluttered bloods, the snakes holding them disintegrating as you kicked them. Two Time having his hands freed took their blindfold off and took their dagger proceeding to charge, and stab, not caring where they stabbed you.

They missed.

Bingo.

You didn’t know if you suddenly gained years worth of killing experience but you grabbed their head and bashed it into your knee. Proceeding to drop them onto the ground and stab them in the back. Oh how BADLY you wanted to ask them how it felt.

Hatred and revenge wasn’t your thing—and yet this felt so nice. They deserved this anyway. You took your skate out seeing how they went limp within a few seconds.

Bringing your gaze back up you noticed how Noob and Elliot were frozen in fear. It made you feel prideful. Imagine how they felt seeing their friend turn into the one thing they hated the most.

A killer.

Ha, wow, you never thought you would care so much. You winced and blinked a couple times forcing yourself to focus before—a gunshot. And suddenly there was a hole in your chest.

Chance.

That little—.

“Shit—[Reader]? Am I seeing things—?”

“SHE’S A TRAITOR! SHE KIDNAPPED ME AND TWO TIME—RUN NOW!” Elliot yelled.

Chance clearly was taken aback before running as he flipped his coin.

Tails

Tails

Tails

Heads!

Instead of going after the bastard with a gun you assumed Elliot and Noob would be easier to deal with. So you chased them down first.

As they ran, you chased. You didn’t think of stopping even for a moment. Your skates zooming against the grass as if it was the real ice. Then Noob tripped—of course he did. Stumbling on a med kit. Elliot froze wanting to help him—but you were quicker.

Noob turned to you his eyes pleading, you stopped in your tracks and stared. Not killing, not letting him live. Just staring. You lifted your leg up and in one sweep you cut his thigh open. He didn’t even have a moment to react, he just screamed in agony.

You didn’t even care when you heard him scream, you would get used to it. Maybe you could try telling him something? That this wasn’t personal, that it would be okay, that you would kill him in a second and he wouldn’t feel it.

He quickly got up in the moment you froze, why did you hesitate? You immediately chased after him again, he was limping so he couldn’t get far anyway. You out maneuvered him and the exact moment you were about to finish it—

“NOOB MOVE!”

BANG.

You heard the gunshot before you felt it. Searing pain spread throughout your shoulder to the rest of your body. That little gambling prick. Being stunned was a worser pain then you imagined, you started to regret all the times you used your chains on the killer. Speaking of chains and snakes…

Elliot grabbed Noob and ran as he fed him a pizza to heal. Without turning around you re summoned your snakes and held Chance down. He couldn’t grab his coin or his gun. Now this was entertaining.

“Oh, [Reader] please—just a day ago you were fighting with us! What happened?!” Chance was pleading now. Why did him and the others care so much? They clearly didn’t just a day ago.

The snakes didn’t last long but even then Chance didn’t run. He held out his arm for a moment testing his luck—but this time he lost the coin toss.

You grabbed his arm and twisted it, the pure horror on his eyes made something in you grin. This time after having his arm almost torn off he ran. The timer was running out but you didn’t care, you mentally scarred at least half the survivors by now.

You stalked him, your ice skates clicking against the ground. You could hear him flipping his coin again with his uninjured arm.

Tails

Tails

Tails

“Oh c’mon—“ Chance mumbled to himself.

Heads

But this time he wasn’t lucky enough to survive an encounter with you again. With one swoop and a kick he was gurgling his own blood, choking on it.

The timer went up the moment he died, and you immediately skated to find someone else—there had to be—

You felt a sword pierce through your body. It was a sword. Shedletsky.

Want me to write something that YOU can ask for? Just ask me on my page! Make sure to read the pinned rules!

[pvtashby]

Mercy

Pt. 1

[TW for blood, weapons and torture]

Her cell door opened, revealing the interrogator. He towered in the doorway; the lights behind him haloed his body, casting a shadow across the floor and up the wall. “How nice to see you again, Bella,” he said smoothly. 

Bella glared at him silently. He smirked. Bella had a sick feeling he was going to do something horrible—he had this giddy air about him, a manic-evil aura that made Bella want to cringe. 

“I brought you a friend.” His smile widened. He turned to yell down the hall. “Bring her in.”

Bella rose, feeling her breathing quicken. What the hell was he doing? 

Two guards dragged what could have only been Charlotte into the room, stumbling against her dead weight. Bella took in every detail with horror—Charlotte was nearly unrecognizable, blonde hair haphazardly hacked short and matted with blood, face swollen and bruised. Dried blood crusted her nose and lips. Her gray uniform was covered in blood. Bella’s stomach churned at the sight, her mind screaming for her to look away, but she couldn’t. 

They dumped Charlotte at Bella’s feet and she crumpled silently onto the floor, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Bella tried to say something, but the words didn’t come. 

She looked back up at the interrogator, eyes wide, then back to Charlotte, still motionless in front of her. Bella choked, bile rising in her throat. “Is—is she dead?” 

The interrogator laughed. “No, no.” He nudged Charlotte's back with his boot. She flinched, letting out a hoarse whimper. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, not yet. That’s what I’m here to have you decide.”

“What did you do to her?” 

He ignored her question. “I’m going to give you two five minutes alone. Only one of you two will live today. It’s your choice.” 

“What?” Bella mumbled in disbelief. She flinched as the cold cement wall met her shoulders. It took her a moment to realize that she’d backed into it, like a cornered animal.

“If you can’t decide by then, I’ll see to it that both of you die a slow, agonizing death. So you better be quick. Wouldn’t want me to come back early…” The interrogator pushed back his sleeve and tapped on his watch screen. “Your timer starts… now. Choose wisely—or don’t. I’m happy either way,” he added, his smile thin and venomous. He didn’t bother to look back as he turned and stepped out. 

The door shut behind him with a metallic clang, plunging Bella and Charlotte into the oppressive darkness of the cell. No no no, I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t. Bella stood deathly still, mind racing. 

Snap out of it, Bella told herself, shaking her head. Numb, she knelt by Charlotte, hand hovering above Charlotte’s shoulder, then pulled away. She was scared to even touch her, afraid to hurt Charlotte more than she already was. 

“It’s okay,” Charlotte whispered, voice raw. 

Bella leaned closer. “What?” 

“I’m not going to make it out,” Charlotte continued, coughing weakly. “But you can.”

Bella fought the hot tears building behind her eyes. “No. No, I can’t make this decision.”

“Please. Bella. Do you want both of us to die?” Bella had to look away, the pleading expression on Charlotte's ruined face was too much to bear.

“Of course not,” Bella retorted. She didn’t add, but I'd be the one responsible for your death. I can’t live with that.

“Then you know what to choose.”

“No…” she couldn’t lose Charlotte, but how could she…? Her heart pounded as the weight of the impossible decision pressed down on her chest.

“Please. I can’t… Bella, this is too much…” she trailed off into a moan of pain.

Bella tried to reply, but what came out of her mouth was a choked sob. She bit her lip, trying desperately to hide her inner turmoil. She was supposed to be the strong one.

Charlotte reached out, gripping Bella’s uniform shirt with bloodied fingers, gaze imploring. “It would be a mercy,” she urged. 

Bella had no response–it was as if a dam broke loose. Silent tears streamed down Bella’s face, blurring her vision. She didn’t bother wiping them away.

They sat together like that, silence between them heavy, punctuated only by shallow breaths, until the interrogator returned. 

Bella squinted through her tears in the sudden light as the door opened. The blurry form of the interrogator made its way into the cell, grabbing Bella roughly by the shoulders, lifting her to her feet, forcing her to look him in the eye. 

“I hope you’ve chosen.” 

Bella gulped, blinking to focus her vision, glancing back at Charlotte.

He cocked his head. “Well? Who lives?”

Bella couldn’t bring herself to say it, mouth opening and closing uselessly like a fish out of water.

“Her,” Charlotte said weakly, filling in for Bella. 

The interrogator pushed Bella aside, moving so he was standing directly over Charlotte. “I didn’t ask you, you stupid fool.” Before Charlotte or Bella could react, he kicked Charlotte in the face, making an awful, wet crunch and spraying blood from her nose onto the floor. Charlotte cried out, holding her shaking arms up to her head, trying to shield herself.

Bella cringed, the weight of the guilt threatening to bring her to her knees.

The interrogator turned to Bella. “Speak, or I’ll do it again.”

“I—me! Please, don’t.” 

“Good girl.” He smirked, stepping back. Charlotte lowered her arms slightly, gingerly bringing a hand to her face. 

Bella watched, feeling nauseous, unable to tear her gaze from Charlotte. 

“Let’s go then, shall we?” He motioned, and guards came and picked Charlotte off the floor.

Two more took Bella, cuffing her arms behind her back, gripping her upper arms with an unnecessary roughness. Bella felt like she was watching her life through someone else’s eyes as the guards led them both down the bright, sterile hall. 

The interrogator spoke as they walked. “You’re aware of the chip in your arm, yes? It’s a brilliant little piece of technology. It’s revolutionized our prisons. Makes our weapons very… selective.” He smiled, drawing out the word like it was a personal joke. “Nobody gets shot… unless we give the permission.”

“Wh—why are you telling me this?” Bella asked apprehensively as they entered a large, well lit room with a drain in the very center. Every muscle fiber in her body urged her to flee but she was frozen in place, as if her feet were glued to the floor. 

The guards shoved Charlotte to the tiles, in a kneeling position with her hands behind her. Crimson blood dripped onto the floor in front of her, from her broken nose.

Then, the guards took off her own cuffs. Bella rubbed her wrists, staring at the interrogator, waiting in sick anticipation for what he was going to do.

“Because,” he said, putting a hand on his holster, “you’re going to kill her.” 

And then he handed Bella a gun.

Pt. 2

[edwardhartenjoyer]

Let Me Lead You Out Of The Dark

Haru Sagara x Reader

Tw: mentions of depression, feeling alone, thoughts of death,

Haru find you crying out in one of Jabberwock's fields and he does his best to remind you that you have a life to look forward to once you break your curse.

A/N: I haven't written a fic in years so please bear with me 😅 but i just couldn't get this idea out of my head. I have my stuggles and i know i would be so in my own head if i was MC and i just wanted one of my favorite boys to comfort me. I hope he's not too OOC

Two months.

Two months were all the time you had left before you turned into an anomaly and most likely died at the hands of one of the ghouls you had come to befriend, if not being experimented on by the very accademy so promising your cure. Yet with each passing day nobody was any closer to finding out anything and it was draining.

Sitting alone in your room had felt like the worst thing you could do at the moment, the walls seeming to close in on you as your invisible timer ticked ever closer to the end.

With no mission requiring you and classes done for the day you'd gone to the one place you'd hoped could lift your mood, thinking perhaps the sunshine, fresh air, and generally cheery ghouls (Though really just Haru, your heart always soared at the thought of him) could lift your spirits.

When you got to Jabberwock the cheery captain was nowhere to be seen, in fact neither were Ren and Towa. Ren you at least figured was working a shift at the diner, but it surprised you Towa wasn't around, he usually came running to give you a hug the moment you approached the dorms. Though, you were sort of grateful he didn't today, much as you know you needed the company of others to keep your thoughts from spiraling a dark part of you wanted to just be alone, whispered that it was better for you to have nobody, because in the end, what did it matter anyways.

You don't remember sitting down on a hill nearby the dorm house, tears streaming down your face as your head fills with the dreaded thoughts of your own impending doom. For how long you sat there you couldn't say before a cheerful voice breaks through the dark fog in your mind.

"Gyahaha, MC, I didn't know you were coming by today! Just couldn't stay away huh? Well the animals love having you here if you want to help-" Haru cut off as he got close enough to see your face as you looked up at him through the tears in your eyes, the water blurring his shape to little more than the vibrant red of his hair. "H-hey! What's wrong?! None of the animal hurt you did they?!" He panicked, kneeling down in front of you, ready to check for injuries.

You quickly shook your head and tried to wipe away the tears in your eyes. "No nothing like that, i just..." you broke off as another sob broke through you, fresh tears spilling.

"Boo!" Peekabo chirped sadly as he hopped out of his harness Haru used to carry him around and moved to your side "Boo!"

You sniffled and oppened your arms, letting the little one come in close to your chest. You hugged him close while Haru moved to sit down beside you, making more tears fall as you realized how you were interrupting their day with this now.

"I'm s-sorry." You sobbed "Y-you're busy, don't worry about me."

"Nonsense MC! Peekabo's too worried about you and so am I! We won't leave you alone, not like this. You don't have to talk if you don't want to, but you shouldn't be alone."

So you fell into a silence, holding Peekabo close to your chest while you waited for your tears to subside. Haru gently scooted closer and guided you to rest your head against him, and if you'd been in any other state of mind you'd have been blushing like crazy, but as it were, you were just grateful as you cried against his shoulder.

After a while had past and your tears had nearly dried up, you finally found your voice again. "I'm scared Haru. A cure is no closer and i feel like every breath is my last." You whispered softly, keeping your gaze on Peekabo so you don't have to see Haru's expression.

"MC, we'll find you a cure. You still have time and we won't let you lose to this. I won't let you lose to this." Haru comforted, but it was just echos of words you'd been hearing from everybody for months.

"Everyone keeps telling me this, but there's nothing. What if i don't get cured. What if i turn into a monster. I'm so tired, there's no hope anymore. I feel like I'm not even living anymore." You choked out. Haru shifted, pulling away from you and your heart sank, only for him to move so he was in front of you, gently grabbing your chin to tilt your gaze up to meet his.

"I know you keep hearing that a cure will be found, but that's because it's true. I won't let anything happen to you. You're too special to Peekabo." A small laugh found it's way out of your lips at that and Haru grinned. "There's that wonderful laugh. See MC, if you weren't living you wouldn't be able to laugh cutely like that."

"But-" You started but he cut you off

"I don't know how this must be for you, but i do know that you can't just give up on yourself. I will do anything for you to help you see that you are still living, and will keep living as long as i can help it."

"I don't even know what i want from my life anymore. This curse has consumed so much of me over these last months, i haven't even thought about what I'd do if it was broken." You admitted.

"How about a date?" Haru asked, grinning brighter when a blush appeared on your cheeks.

"I mean- with uh- depends who the date was with." You stammered out.

"Well i mean Peekabo already sees you as his mom so why not go on a date with his dad?" Haru winked and your face grew even hotter as Peekabo chirped a "Boo!" of agreement.

"I'd like that." You replied after a moment of composing yourself.

Whether you caught onto it or not, Haru did manage to pull you out of you dark mood, promising dates, before and after breaking your curse, as well as a promise to always be there to help you see that life is worth it and you have a whole lifetime left together.

[object-vault-9]

What are the vault parents like?

Here's some blurbs! They're long so they're under the split

Rake:

Spade and Shovel's father and the primary family they had throughout their life (besides each other). Before election, he was a farmer, but he was very charismatic. He knew what the people of the vault wanted, and he represented that over the competition at the time. He was basically "the man of the people" after a long time of corruption.

The vault terms are until retirement/end of life. As the overseer, he had a generally successful term, though he started to lose touch with the part of himself that made him so relatable, especially with the loss of his spouse. He changed , and became more protective, sometimes sheltering his twin children too much and keeping them involved with his leadership closer than he should have.

His decisions around how to handle the famine caused a split amongst the vault, first his leadership was challenged and then 'war' broke out. By the time the vault regained the control he had almost wasted away, and he left the leadership to his twins. No one was left in the position to challenge the young overseers.

Trowel:

Spade and Shovel's mother. Manager of the farm system. The whole system. Incredibly intelligent, but often more quiet and reserved than their spouse. She preferred to let other people handle the social situations. Fell in love with Rake when he was a farmer and supported him throughout his campaign, though she would often express how she missed when life was simpler.

She passed away from a terminal illness, and around her death came the first domino in the failure of the farm. The person taking over her position struggled, but the agricultural system the vault used was on the verge of collapse even if she was still alive.

They would often joke how it wasn't fair their whole family was so tall.

Shovel takes after her personality a lot.

Egg Timer:

It is really wound up and high strung, and it works itself up a lot. It is very righteous, like Timer, and tends to tick like she does.

It tends to be pretty serious all the time, and it can take a second to get a joke. Prone to yelling at other kitchen staff, but it works as hard as the rest of them and yells at people who mess with the staff even more. It's a feisty little timer.

It's very intense, and is quick to start fights and pick sides.

Light Bulb: 

They aren't very verbose, like Timer, nor are they very physically expressive. They tend to be passive, even to the point they get walked over. Despite how intense Egg Timer is though, she always gives them the space to talk.

They like joking around, especially if they're able to catch Egg Timer off guard. Prone to pranks. Their bulb lights up when they have an idea and Egg Timer knows to look out for that. They're a terrible liar, even with a good poker face.

Their face is basically always :) and :| and they're really mellow

They would spend more time with their daughter Timer with their lower paced job. Timer was bored at the time but she really misses doing the rounds with them.

Corkboard:

This guy has a major RBF, and it's not because of all the pins in his face. He and his wife handle the education in the vault, with Cork being the one to handle the more 'serious' topics like math and history. He has a low tolerance for shenanigans and a very strict, often cold personality.

He loves his son, but Push Pin is such a goofball that he was often getting in trouble with his dad, and used to think he'd just never be able to make him proud. 

Despite being a strait laced, stern faced guy, he did have a secret soft spot for the silly things from time to time. He'd surprise his spouse and son with little silly gestures from time to time, like small pranks or dressing up for a history lesson.

Paint Bucket:

Very artsy, very silly, people don't look at Paint Bucket and it getting along with someone like Corkboard, but it did more than make it work, it was the one that courted him.

Paint Bucket did art, english and music. And for science, she and Corkboard would work together to make hands on small science projects.

The vault was very low on supplies and its library was small so she'd have to be creative to make it work. 

Push Pin takes a lot after them, and it was sometimes a bad influence. When Push Pin would get in trouble for pulling a prank, Paint Bucket might secretly unground him. 

Vault life was very dull, often by design with the walls all looking the same and the life centered around keeping the farm alive, and Paint Bucket thought this was vital to keeping up morale.