#without bleeding to death in my docs

[luvvrgl]

Magically Attached (Please Help)

Pairing: Dante x GN!Reader

Summary: You are a grumpy apothecary who hates loud, flashy hunters like Dante—until he becomes your most frequent (and irritating) customer, constantly busting through your door with injuries.

Authors Notes: This is my first attempt writing, so please bear with me 💔 Please give me some tips and feel free to give some criticism

The apothecary preferred silence. The kind that hummed between glass bottles and bloomed in the scent of crushed sage. So when the front door slammed open with all the grace of a hurricane—nearly snapping off for the third time that week—and a bleeding man staggered in with a shit-eating grin, you were tempted to throw an entire jar of ghost pepper salve at him.

“You again,” you spoke up flatly, not bothering to look up to see who just came in. You already knew who it was with how they opened the damn door.

“Miss me?” Said the injured devil hunter, Dante. His voice rang out through the room, sounding far too casual for someone whose arm was currently bleeding.

You looked up from the potion you were working on, eyes slightly narrowing as your gaze landed on Dante. “That’s the fourth door this week, and I just reinforced it. You owe me a new hinge.”

Dante swaggered in, leaving muddy boot prints all over the carefully swept floor. “I���ll add it to my tab.”

You held your tongue when you saw Dante leave foot prints on the floor that you had just cleaned minutes ago. “You mean the one you haven’t paid in three months?”

He grinned. “That’s the one.”

With a sigh, you motioned him to sit on the exam stool—well, it was originally meant for calm tea-sipping clients, not devil hunters bleeding onto the rug..but this was your life now.

You watched as Dante settled onto the stool with a wince as he dramatically groaned, shrugging his tattered coat off and letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. You winced as the dirty fabric hit the floorboards, unfortunately giving you more to clean up later.

“Bleeding on the rug and shredding like a stray mutt.. You’re really out to test me these days, aren’t you?”

Dante leaned back as he casually rested one boot on the edge of your carefully organized desk with arranged healing salves and herbs, earning a silent death glare from you.

“Come on, Doc.. Don’t act like you never miss me when I’m gone. I bet this place gets real boring without me.

You rolled your eyes as you grabbed a rag and tossed it at Dante’s head, “I make sure to cherish every moment of silence when you’re not here to visit.”

Dante swiftly caught the rag before it could hit his head and pressed the fabric over his wound, letting out a small chuckle at your words. You watched as the white rag got stained red with the hunter’s blood before you went to get some medicine to heal his wounds.

You put on some latex gloves before you walked over to the cabinet from across the room, carefully grabbing a vial there with some sort of magic purple liquid in it. You went to go behind your desk and grab some moonflower dust from the drawer beneath there, sprinkling some of that into the vial.

You then came over to Dante who was still wiping his blood off him and held your hand out. “Give me your arm.”

Dante blinked at you for a moment before he held out his uninjured arm.

“Other arm.”

His lips formed into a small “O” in realization before he held out his injured arm.

Your grip on Dante’s wrist was gentle but firm as you put the vial down onto the table and inspected the wound, “You know, if you didn’t leap face-first into every demon that blinked at you funny, you might actually stay in one piece.”

Dante winced as you prodded at his arm, smirk slightly faltering. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You raised an eyebrow as you reached for the vial. “You call this fun?”

Dante winked, “I call you fun.”

You poured the liquid from the vial into the wound with no warning as you glared down at him.

“Ack— You damn sadist!” Dante hissed, though there was no clear hate in his tone.

“Brat.” You murmured, more to yourself..

The potion fizzed on contact with Dante’s wound, glowing faintly with violet light. It smelled faintly of crushed herbs and something sweet, like sugar. You didn’t flinch at the sound of his pained groan, continuing to pour the liquid onto the wound until the vial was empty.

“You know,” Dante muttered through clenched teeth, “normal doctors use bandages.”

“I am not a doctor,” you replied dryly. “Now stop squirming or I’ll pour some more straight into your mouth.”

Dante dramatically sighed at your words, head falling back as if you had just stabbed him. “You wound me, Y/N. More than a demon does, honestly.”

You rolled your eyes again—it was starting to feel like they’d fall out of your skull if Dante kept this up. “Then maybe next time I’ll just let you bleed out in the alley.”

“Now that’s the grumpy bastard I know and love.” Dante smirked.

You paused, just for a second, before brushing it off like a speck of dust on your apron. “You’re lucky I have a professional obligation to keep you alive..”

“Ah, so it’s just business, then?”

You stayed quiet as usual. You just wrapped a bandage around Dante’s arm a bit too snugly for comfort.

“Ah, there’s the affection.” Dante said as he flexed his fingers. “Tight wrap. You trying to cut my arm off or get me to stay longer?”

“Neither. I’m trying to keep you from bleeding all over my floorboards.”

Dante settled back against the stool as if he owned it. “Y’know, I come here for the customer service.”

“And I keep wondering why you don’t stay dead.” You muttered.

“Maybe I like the company.” Dante spoke, his voice quieter now. Still teasing, but the edges had dulled.

You stepped back, peeling your gloves off. “There. Don’t use that arm for the next two days. Which means no fights, no lifting anything heavy, and absolutely no breaking down any more of my doors.”

“Awh, come on! I just got invited to a big nest-clearing near the city walls. Easy job. Two hours tops.”

You shot him a look sharp enough to curdle blood.

“Okay, okay. No fighting. Just resting.. got it.” Dante said, reaching for his coat, wincing a bit.

“You’re pushing harder than usual.” You suddenly spoke up.

Dante raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, pretending not to understand. “Demons don’t kill themselves, Y/N.”

You paused, not looking up just yet. “They don’t need to. Not when you’re this damn determined to do their job for them.”

For once, Dante didn’t have a snappy comeback.

Silence lingered between them, rare and strangely heavy.

You walked over to a small wooden shelf in the corner. You grabbed a small glass jar with blue powder inside and returned to Dante’s side, unscrewing the lid carefully.

“This will numb the pain and speed up the healing,” you explained, more quietly this time. “It’ll sting like hell for a second.”

“Already stinging, Doc.”

“Not a doctor.” You muttered again, then gently smeared the powder across the wound. A sizzling hiss filled the air, followed by Dante swearing under his breath.

“Yup. Definitely a sadist.”

“Keep talking and I’ll stitch your loudmouth shut with your shoelaces.”

Dante let out a breathless laugh, the tension in his frame easing slightly. “Bet you say that to all your favorite patients.”

“I say that to all the idiots who won’t stop wrecking my door every damn week and staining my floorboards with their blood everyday.” You corrected.

A beat passed.

“Same thing,” Dante said with a half smile, watching you work. “You just don’t wanna admit that you’d miss me if I just suddenly stopped showing up one day.”

You didn’t look at him, sprinkling the last of the powder onto the wound.

“Maybe I would,” you said softly. “But not for the reasons you think.”

Dante blinked.

Then you stood up straight and turned away swiftly, already reaching for your broom to deal with the mess Dante made on the floor. “Now get off my stool before you bleed on something else. And fix the damn door on your way out.”

“..Sure thing, Y/N.” Dante said, a little more quietly this time, his eyes lingering on your back before he slowly pushed himself up.

Dante paused at the threshold of the store, stopping in the middle of the doorway, watching you clean up the remains of yet another chaotic visit. The broom swished rhythmically against the wood, as if you were trying to sweep him out too, like he was some persistent pest who kept bothering you.

“Y’know,” Dante leaned against the doorframe, “for someone who pretends to hate me, you patch me up with a lot of care.”

You didn’t even look up. “That’s because if you die in here, I’ll have to clean that mess too.”

Dante smirked. “You sure it’s not because you like me?”

You paused at the hunter’s words, stopping your sweeping.

You stood there for a moment, broom in one hand, gaze stuck on a spot on the floor like it held the secrets of the universe. Then, very slowly, you looked up until your gaze landed on Dante.

“I like quiet.” You slowly spoke, “I like organized shelves. I like not getting half of my store covered with some guy’s blood mixed with chunks of demon ichor.”

You set the broom aside.

“But..” You crossed your arms and leaned against the counter, tilting your head at Dante, “I don’t hate the way this place doesn’t feel… dead anymore.”

Dante blinked.

“Not dead, huh?”

You shrugged, eyes narrowing just slightly. “It used to be quiet because no one really came in everyday, until you came..”

Dante blinked yet again, watching you like he wasn’t sure if he really heard that last line or if he had imagined it. You, as usual, didn’t wait for him to catch up, you just turned back towards the cabinet, rummaging through a drawer for something as glass and wood gently clattered against each other.

“What about now?” Dante prompted, stepping in again, a hint of curiosity in his usual smirk.

“Now it’s quiet between the noise,” You muttered. You pulled out a wrapped bundle of dried herbs and set them down on the counter, keeping your back turned. “That’s different.”

Dante folded his arms, his teasing grin widening. “Y/N…is that your poetic way of saying you enjoy my company?”

“It’s my very restrained way of saying I’ve gotten used to your stupid face showing up at random times,” You muttered, gently biting your tongue before you spoke any further. There wasn’t any heat in your voice—just that tired fondness that slipped in when you forgot to watch your tone.

Dante chuckled, taking another step inside and letting the door creak shut behind him, gentle this time. “Careful, Y/N. If you get any softer, I might actually think you care.”

You turned around to finally face Dante, gave him a deadpan stare, and shoved a small paper pouch into his chest. “Here, this will help for the fever you’re definitely going to pretend you don’t have in about two hours.”

Dante blinked in surprise.

“Boil them in water. Drink it. Go sleep, maybe somewhere that isn’t my shop.”

Dante looked down at the pouch in surprise, then back up at you. “..You made this already, didn’t you?” His smirk grew.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Of course I did. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re about to be a stubborn idiot.”

Dante held the pouch against his chest like it was something rare and unobtainable. Maybe it was.

“Y/N,” his voice was quieter now, “you’re kind of a miracle, you know that?”

Your mouth stayed shut.

But the tips of your ears turned the faintest shade of red as you grabbed your broom again and muttered, “Get out of my shop, Dante.”

“You’ll miss me tomorrow.”

“I’ll miss the peace.”

Dante opened the door carefully this time, leaning against the frame before leaving. “Try not to miss me too much, Y/N.”

You huffed and turned back to the counter. “Don’t make me to lock you out next time.”

“Like that would stop me.”

You muttered something unintelligible under your breath—but waited until the door shut (gently, for once) before you allowed the faintest smile to pull at your lips.

“Idiot..” you murmured,

“Don’t die out there.”

[cherrywriterrr]

haunted

bodyguard!rafe x reader

this series contains mature + potentially distressing content including: strong language, smut (18+ explicit content), graphic violence, blood/injury, captivity, emotional manipulation, trauma responses, unhealthy relationship dynamics, age gap (consensual, adult) ,mentions of sexual assault (not between main characters), sexual tension (consensual, but intense), dark themes overall.

eight nine ten

you haven’t left your room since you woke up. you’ve done everything but think about him.

but that’s a lie. because even when your eyes are on a book, or your phone, or the ceiling, it’s still rafe. it’s always him.

the way he bled for you.

the way he held you even though he was barely conscious.

the way he whispered “you know i never hated you, right?”

it plays on loop in your head like a sick kind of lullaby. and you—you’re a fucking coward. you haven’t even checked if he’s okay now. not since the doctor left.

because maybe it was all just the adrenaline. the trauma. the near-death mess of it all. maybe if you go see him now, everything will fall back into the roles you hate, the bodyguard and the girl who needs guarding.

you curl up tighter on the bed, eyes closed, trying not to spiral.

the door opens without a knock.

you don’t have to turn to know it’s your dad. only he walks that softly, like he’s trying not to wake the version of you before everything went to hell.

“babygirl,” he says gently, sitting on the edge of your bed.

you blink up at him. his face is tired but kind.

“you have to talk to rafe. y’know that, right?”

you sit up slowly, pressing your lips together.

“you won’t hurt him. he’s fine now. the doc said the bleeding’s stopped. stitches are clean.” he pauses, then adds, “he keeps askin’ if you’re going somewhere. so he can go with you.”

you look down at your lap. heart twisted in guilt and shame and something worse—fear.

you don’t want to be someone he protects just because he’s paid to. you don’t want to feel this pathetic pull toward him when you’re not even sure if it’s real for him.

but he did hold you. and he did say those things.

your dad touches your hand. “he’s not just your bodyguard anymore, honey. not after what you two went through.”

you nod once. too small. barely there. but you know what you have to do.

you’re not gonna hide anymore.

you get up. your hand lingers on the doorknob for a second.

your dad smiles, warm and proud. “that’s my girl.”

you open the door slowly.

the hallway is dim, warm gold from the afternoon sun streaking across the floor. and there he is.

slouched against the wall right outside your room, long legs stretched out in front of him, bruised knuckles resting on his thighs. his shirt is wrinkled, one sleeve rolled up to the elbow like he didn’t have the energy to fix it. his jaw is stitched, bruises blooming down his neck. a bandage wraps around part of his side, peeking from under the hem of his shirt.

he looks wrecked. destroyed. and he’s still doing his job.

your throat goes tight. he’s barely holding himself up. still guarding you. not sleeping. not healing. just there, like some silent promise.

his eyes lift when he hears the door creak. you freeze in the doorway.

for a second, he doesn’t say anything. just looks at you like he can’t believe you’re real. then his jaw clenches and he shifts like he’s about to stand.

you rush forward. “don’t—rafe, don’t move, fuck, sit down.”

he winces but obeys, dropping back against the wall like gravity’s been waiting to reclaim him.

“you’re not supposed to be up,” you whisper, kneeling next to him. “you’re supposed to be in bed. resting. healing.”

he tilts his head toward you, bloodshot eyes scanning your face like he’s checking for damage.

“couldn’t sleep if i didn’t know you were okay,” he mutters, voice rough like gravel.

“you’re literally full of stitches,” you whisper, your voice cracking as you reach for his hand. “you look like you died and got brought back by force.”

his fingers twitch under yours, but he doesn’t pull away. he just watches you.

“you didn’t come see me,” he says quietly. “i thought… maybe it was just the moment. what we said. what we almost did.”

your chest tightens, breath catching in your throat.

“you thought i didn’t mean it?” you ask, just as soft.

rafe shrugs. “people say a lotta shit when they think they’re dying.”

your lip quivers. “well i didn’t.”

his eyes flash up to yours, surprised.

you squeeze his hand harder. “and i don’t care if you’re just my bodyguard. or if it’s ‘your job.’ you saved my life, rafe. and you almost died. for me.”

a beat of silence.

his voice breaks, barely above a whisper. “you weren’t just a job.”

you don’t answer. you just slowly slide your arm under his, hooking your fingers into the crook of his elbow

“c’mon,” you whisper, trying to ignore how hot he feels against your side. “you need to be in bed.”

he exhales shakily but lets you help him up, breath hitching as he rises. his body trembles from the effort, jaw clenched so hard it ticks, but he doesn’t let go of your hand.

you walk him to his room in silence. you know every step is agony. the bruises. the sutures. the way he got beaten for you.

and now here he is, limping next to you like he’d still throw himself in front of a bullet.

you push his door open and ease him down onto the bed. he groans quietly, eyes squeezed shut as he settles into the pillows.

your heart aches so loud you can barely think.

you sit down next to him, curling beside his side, not touching the stitched parts. just being close.

your hand rests on his chest. his hand covers it.

“…look,” you whisper. “we don’t have to talk about what we said. it was scary, and everything felt like it was ending, and I just…”

his head turns toward you. “i meant it.”

your breath catches.

“everything,” he rasps. “i fucking meant all of it.”

you look at him, eyes wide, heart pounding in your chest like a fucking drum. “i—”

“but i’m your bodyguard,” he cuts you off, voice strangled. “we… we can’t. i can’t.”

he’s looking at you like it hurts. like he’d rather stab himself than say that. like he’s tearing off his own skin just trying to do the right thing.

you stare at him, chest tight, the heat behind your eyes rising fast.

the space between you goes so quiet, you can hear his shallow breathing under your hand.

his voice comes again, barely audible. “you’re not a job to me.”

“i don’t care,” you whisper, voice breaking. “i don’t care about that, about your job.”

your hand is still on his chest, fingers trembling now. you swear his heart stutters beneath your palm.

but he shakes his head, sharp and desperate, like he’s trying to stay afloat.

“but we can’t,” rafe says, his voice rising. “we fucking can’t, i’m your bodyguard, for fuck’s sake.”

you flinch. not from fear. from the ache in your chest. from the way his words sound like they’re hurting him more than they’re hurting you.

“your dad would kill me in a second if he knew we— if he knew we almost kissed,” he spits, running a shaky hand through his hair. “he’d end me.”

you blink fast, throat tightening.

“but i thought…” your voice cracks. “i thought we could, rafe.”

he looks at you like you just shattered something in him. like your words are too soft for this fucked up world. like they don’t belong in this room, with bruises and stitches and guilt hanging in the air like smoke.

he doesn’t say anything at first.just stares.

then—“but we can’t,” he says again, quieter this time. like it’s a truth he’s forcing himself to swallow. like he’s trying to convince himself just as much as you.

you don’t know whether to scream or cry. because he’s right.

you don’t argue. even though your heart is tearing itself open in your chest, even though the silence between you both feels louder than screams—

you just sit there. beside him.

his body’s still tense, stitched and broken and bruised, and god, you want to crawl into him, tell him none of it matters, that the world doesn’t matter.

but instead—you reach for his hand.

he doesn’t stop you. he never could.

your fingers wrap around his gently, cradling them like they’re the last fragile thing left in the world. you lift his hand to your lips, kissing his bruised knuckles once. soft. reverent. your mouth lingers there for a second too long, like a prayer you’re afraid to say out loud.

then you whisper, quiet and broken: “i understand, rafe. it’s okay.”

his breath hitches

but you don’t look at him again. you just… let go.

you stand up, legs heavy, chest heavier.

and without another word, you leave his room.

you don’t hear the way he exhales like he’s dying the second you close the door.

you don’t see the way he stares at his own fucking hand like it’s haunted now.

like he just let go of the only thing that ever made him feel whole.

taglist masterlist next>>

tags: 🏷️ @rafesbabygirlx @k4yr14 @iconiccolo @devoutedlover @viqtoria @vaelyann @qversazex @scorpiosolar @hunzzzzz @sc05 @t0x1cfaerie @purplerose291 @mrspuffdriving @sfoiasturn @silkylovey @xoxorafe @cherryhoneybabe @kieeslove @toterry @rcwhore @blissfulbutterfliess

[ddarker-dreams]

a little fluff blurb for bladie from my google docs !! reader here is fem.

Blade almost took it personally when you failed to notice him. 

His presence in your room certainly stands out. Everything about him contradicts the soft pastel colors, abundant flora, and cute finishing touches. Nothing in the universe aside from your kitchenette registers. You hum along with the song playing in your ears, waiting for your tea’s timer to go off. 

He walked in when the countdown read five minutes. Presently, it’s at two. 

You’re wearing dangerously short pajama shorts and an old t-shirt, the band’s logo faded out from years in the wash. He’d considered making himself known, but watching you frolic about proved too tempting. You have your back turned toward him, entirely oblivious, stuck in a little world of your own making. 

Creepy as it may be, Blade considers it soothing to stare at you. Therapeutic, even. A way to unwind from the blood-filled jobs that beckon his mara out to play.

A wicked idea forms in his head. Going without you for so much as a day is enough to seriously dampen his mood. Normally, it’s his enemies that reap the consequences. He’ll miss their vitals just enough that they’re left to go into shock and bleed out, rather than a swift, merciful death. What can he say? It’s their fault for existing and cutting into his time with you. That’s on them.

He stalks over, movements akin to a mountain lion that’s located its unsuspecting prey. 

You’re lifting the teabag out a few moments early. He’s close enough to double as your shadow, the corners of his lips twitching upward from anticipation. 

The second your timer goes off, he strikes, large hands settling on either side of your hips. This unexpected contact earns immediate retaliation. You actually squeak, much to his surprise (and amusement). Your response doesn’t end there. From instinct, you twist your torso around, ready to ward off the threat. 

Maybe it’s because you have an object in your hand, or maybe it’s because your subconscious knows you’re in no real danger, but you don’t materialize your weapon. 

Instead, you try thwacking him with your dripping teabag. 

He easily catches your wrist, thwarting your assault. It takes you all of a millisecond to understand the situation. You use your free hand to slowly remove your in-ears. He can’t help it — your pinched-together eyebrows and scrunched-up nose makes him chuckle. This worsens his crimes from your perspective, which you make evident by a non-threatening glare. 

“Nice weapon,” he drawls. 

“Hey, that’s— that’s unfair,” you complain. “I wasn’t expecting an ambush.” 

Blade raises an eyebrow. “Is it an ambush if you expect it?” 

“Yes? No. Maybe. Quit looking at me like that, I didn’t sleep well last night.” 

“Mhm.” 

He plucks the teabag from your grasp and throws it away. Meanwhile, you remain frozen in time, only moving enough to cross your arms over your chest. The wrath you try directing his way is largely ineffective. Your miffed countenance is akin to a bunny scowling. 

“I was looking forward to your return, but I’ve since changed my mind.” 

“Mm.” 

He hoists you up onto the kitchenette’s countertop. The way the soft flesh of your thighs expands against the marble tempts him, but he knows he won’t be getting anything until your faux frustration is appeased. It won’t take much — or long. He just gazes into your pretty eyes, his bandaged hand cupping your face, the pad of his thumb massaging your cheekbone. You melt for him almost immediately. 

“Everything alright?” You ask, your arms finding their place around his neck. 

To Blade, everything’s more than ‘alright,’ because you’re here. Treating him with care he doesn’t deserve, and love he deserves even less. He used to worry he’d taint you, like clear waters turning opaque from filth. However, it’s as Kafka once said, likely pitying his lovelorn self. 

“Shouldn’t you let her decide that for herself?” 

For reasons genuinely beyond his comprehension, you decided he was worth the trouble. 

His gloved hand settles on your thigh. The irony of how he caresses you with the same hand responsible for hundreds, if not thousands of deaths isn't lost on him. Since regaining a semblance of consciousness, that's all he thought he was good for. Bloodshed and slaughter.

He observes how you shudder through lidded eyes.

You don't look at him as if he's a monster. You should, he often thinks, because he is. There's no sugarcoating the truth. He's become everything he once swore to eradicate. Mad, vengeful, immortal. A product of the Abundance's perversion of the lines separating life and death.

And yet, all those centuries, all that suffering led him to you.

You aren't the light at the end of the tunnel — you're light in its entirety.

Blade is greedy when he slots his lips against yours. He's greedy when he pulls you closer, his bandaged hand tilting your head up, allowing him to devour you with ease. Your scent, your taste, your little laugh at how unabashedly eager he is, everything blurs together and threatens to leave him breathless.

How can he pull away when your legs wrap around his waist? When you thread your hands through his hair, reciprocating his ardor like he's worth even an ounce of your affection? He isn't, he's nothing compared to you, a ghost of a man who can't cross over into the afterlife.

Sometimes, he no longer wants to. Not if you're on this side of eternity.

"Well?" You pull back a few inches from him to ask. As pretty as your smile is, he likes your lips best when they're against his. "You gonna answer my question?"

He furrows his eyebrows together and tries kissing you again. Talking about emotions in any context isn't his forte, you both know that. He's always preferred to express himself through actions than words. However, when you deny him the pleasure of your lips a second time, impatience coils inside his chest.

He huffs.

"The best," he deadpans. You roll your eyes yet laugh anyway.

"You almost pout more than I do," you tease. For this infraction, he gives your thigh a pinch, enjoying the feeling of your soft flesh a little too much. "I just worry, y'know? You become such a sourpuss when we're apart for any length of time."

You aren't wrong, but he'll keep that to himself.

“Okay, okay, stop glaring. C’mere.”

You don’t need to tell him twice. He takes you up on your offer the second you’ve finished making it.

Blade might not know how to tell you how much you mean to him, but that doesn’t mean he can show you.

[thegnomelord]

For the prompt game, maybe 7 with price and m!reader. Price gets pissed off that reader almost got themselves killed on a mission to protect him. Just some lovely old man angst

Tumblr's acting up again and it's deleted my draft like 3 times so fingers crossed this works else I will cry😓 . I saw the old man angst and immediately thought of Rodolfoparras work and this so yeah. Play the game HERE.

Prompt: “Well, I’m sorry I fell in love with you, okay? But it happened and I can’t do shit about it.” “You… What?”

CW: SFW-ish, Omega John Price, Alpha Male reader, mentions of gore, kissing, angst, omegaverse.

When your file had landed on his desk he had contemplated refusing; you were a stereotypical alpha — a loudmouthed meathead with little regard for your own health, headstrong and stupidly stubborn over the dumbest shit, and with a long list of incident reports dating back to the first day you joined the army. TF141 was your last chance before a dishonorable discharge and Price, stupidly, had taken you in like the stray you were.

Safe to say you turned out to be the leading cause of his grey hairs with all the shit you pulled. . . but. . . not to the extent he expected.

Unlike most alphas, you were surprisingly receptive to taking orders from an omega like Price, and carried yourself around the others without attempting to establish the dated hierarchy. After giving you guidance, and learning how you thought, Price had been seeing serious improvement.

'Course, all of that went down the drain when you decided to charge head first into a group of enemies when Price had gotten stabbed.

"What the fuck were you thinking lad?" Price hisses harshly under his breath, eyes boring a hole between your brows. He's standing at the foot of the medical bed, watching your chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. "What the fuck were you thinking?" You better not die so he can kill you himself.

He doesn't expect you to answer, knocked out as you are with your chest wrapped in fresh bandages after the docs fished out who knows how many bullets from your torso— 16, his inner omega reminds him, 16 bullets he took for You.

He sighs, "You're a lucky muppet." Walking around the bed he places a hand on your thigh, slowly inching up to rest on your lower abdomen, dark red spots denoting where bullet wounds lie. "But a stupid alpha." He growls. It's a good thing military alphas are like walking tanks of fat and muscle, you can take a few hits, though the thought does little to soothe his omega when you lay unconscious.

He doesn't even notice he's making a small distressed sound in his chest until your eyes flutter open, squinting from the harshness of artificial lights before you notice him looming over you; something between a guardian angel and death itself.

"Price?" Your nose twitches, lungs expanding despite the ache in your chest to catch his scent, your alpha noticing the sharp acrid taste hiding his usual pine smell. "What happened?" You ask, achy as you are you manage to tilt your head enough to let out a low chest vibrating purr, seeking to calm your omega.

"What happened, it that you dumb muppet almost died!" He hisses, anger making his scent even harsher, hating himself how his omega swoons at the purr, at how you put him before yourself even when you're knocking on death's door. "Were you trying to get killed?"

You hand your head and look away. You can scarcely recall what happened, the drugs and adrenaline muddling your mind so any memory comes out like an abstract painting, but one detail remains — Rage.

A Deep.

—bleeding flesh neath your fingernails, painfilled screams silenced by your snarls—

Dark.

—the 'crack' of bone against stone as the strength behind your hands forced the skull to shatter, blood and brains splashing against your face—

Animalistic.

—desperate hands scrambling against your head, the frantic pulse beneath your tongue rapidly dwindling once your teeth dug deep enough to tear through the jugular—

Rage.

You don't remember ever being as angry as you'd been when you'd seen Price clutching his side, the bloodied blade of a knife clenched between his fingers, unknown hostiles encroaching towards him. Your omega had been injured. Your omega had been injured. And you didn't think twice, vision turned as red as his blood with a singular thought of Kill Kill Kill banging on your skull you didn't even notice you were bleeding.

Like a proper animal. Like something you've been trying to prove you're not.

"I'm-" You swallow, though cleaned, you can still taste the blood of the enemy whose throat you'd torn out, your teeth still stained red. "-sorry. I'm sorry."

"'I'm sorry' he says, is'at the best you've got?" Price presses on, coming closer and bracing a hand on your chest, his limb vibrating from your purr. It's hard to stay mad at you when you're doing this, his omega wanting nothing more but curl next to you, to share warmth and protect you while you recover. "What was going through your thick skull? Wait, let me guess: Nothing." Still he persists, not showing what he's feeling.

You hang your shoulders low and head lower still, chewing on your lip as you listen him chew you out. Something sits heavy in your chest, growing bigger with every word he says like a snowball, his anger leaving your alpha —dumb creature that it is— confused and hurt; why is your omega angry, when you protected him? When you nearly died for him? When you love him—

“Well, I’m sorry I fell in love with you, okay?" You snap, rough and angry, your gaze fixed on his. You stop purring, leaving the room too cold and silent without it. "But it happened and I can’t do shit about it.”

“You… What?”

You flinch and suck in a breath as pain flares across your body. You expected a lot of different responses, from anger to indifference to being told you're out of the taskforce. . . not that.

"Lad." Price's voice is unnervingly calm, one hand on your scruff, the other holding your chin, the sudden contact of his skin on yours fooling your alpha into letting him tilt your head to meet his eyes. "Repeat that. Slowly."

You gaze into his eyes, so many things swirling in the blue yet you're unable to tell any of it. Slowly you breathe in, "I. . . I love you." You say, open and honest and too vulnerable for an old omega like him.

". . .oh, you stupid alpha." Price almost laughs, dimples around his mouth as he smiles. Like puzzle pieces something clicks in his head.

Before his words can feel like a slap to your face he leans in, your foreheads bonking together before you find the right angle for his lips to meet yours. He tastes like his cigars and black coffee and everything you thought he would, your body melting into his, your nose full of his scent, your brain full of him.

"Could have told me without nearly dying." You separate to catch your breaths, foreheads resting against each other, breathing the same air and only now do you notice Price is purring. It's not the same bone rattling purr alphas can produce, but just as soothing, and you can't help but giggle when your own purr causes his to become louder.

You think, maybe, everything will be alright—

"After you get better." He whispers against your lips, soft and sweet, saccharine pine scent sticking to your nose like amber. "You and I will have a long talk about safety."

Maybe not.

[kvntonq]

𖤐 — what’s left of you

pairing - old man logan ft. human!reader

summary - you thought you were done mourning him after everything. you were wrong.

contents - angst!! heavily inspired by “Decode” Paramore (recommended to listen while reading!), post-apocalyptic (inspired by The Walking Dead), violence, emotional trauma, hurt, death, half-based on Logan 2017, few Twilight's dialogues.

zayns note - this is my first time writing angst, thus I am sorry if there’s anything lacking in this fic. I hope you will enjoy this!! Feedbacks are very much appreciated.

words count - 1577 words

The desert wind howled like a mourning woman.

You cinched your pack tighter and stepped out of the old supply tent, your boots crunching on sun-baked dirt. The air smelled of rust and fire—same as always. In this corner of Alexandria, nothing ever changed. Not the heat. Not the silence. Not the way memories stalked you like shadows.

Some days, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Like time gave up trying to move forward, afraid it might step on a grave.

“Movement on the ridge!” someone called out.

You turned toward the voice. A figure stumbled down the path from the north, limping, one hand clutched to his side. His silhouette was broad, familiar. Your breath caught in your throat.

No. It couldn’t be.

But it was.

Logan.

He looked older—more than he already was. More scars. Less soul behind the eyes. Blood trickled from beneath his arm where he pressed too tightly. Still too stubborn to ask for help.

“Someone get the doc,” someone shouted. But you didn’t move. Not yet. You just stared.

You told yourself it wasn’t him. Couldn’t be. That your mind was playing tricks again—pulling a ghost from the heat haze. But ghosts didn’t bleed. And they didn’t look at you like that.

The last time you saw him, you were kneeling in blood and ash, Charles dying in your arms, and Caliban already gone. Logan had walked away from the wreckage without a word. And you had screamed his name into the dust as if that would stop him.

But he didn’t stop. And something in you broke in a way it never healed. You didn’t cry then—not because you were strong, but because grief needs a heartbeat to land on. Yours had been too stunned to give it one.

Now, he stumbled into your camp like a ghost who’d forgotten he was dead.

You didn’t speak to him for two days. He was too weak to leave the cot, and you were too angry to look at him. The doctor patched him up. A few cracked ribs. Puncture wound. Gunshot. Infection setting in.

Typical Logan.

You kept working the perimeter, kept checking supplies, kept pretending his scent wasn’t burning into your nose every time you walked past the medical tent. But you knew. You felt him there.

He was gravity again, dragging your thoughts every time they tried to float away. And even now, after everything, part of you still orbited him—furious at the pull, helpless against it.

On the third night, he broke the silence.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he rasped.

You didn’t turn. You kept your arms folded. Didn’t even know whether you were mad at him because it took three fucking nights for him to reach out or because the wound that you cramped down resurfaced. It never does, always there. Fresh.

“You shouldn’t have.”

He went quiet. Typical.

“You left me,” you said finally. “After everything. After Caliban. After Charles. You just… disappeared.”

“I thought it was for the best.”

“No!” you snapped, turning now, eyes sharp, finger pointed at him. “You thought it was easier.”

He flinched. Just slightly.

There were bruises on your soul where his silence used to sit. And now that he was here—real, breathing, broken—you didn’t know whether to scream or sob or forgive.

“You think I didn’t see it? The way you shut down. The way you looked at me after Charles—like I was just another weight you couldn’t carry.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“By leaving me alone in a world that already took everything from me?!” Your voice cracked. “You left, Logan. You took her away, you took Laura… away and you left me. Logan, we’re supposed to be partners, remember? But you’ve decided this on your own. You’ve decided to leave me. You don’t get to play martyr, Logan. Not after that.”

He looked down. For a moment, just the sound of the wind between you.

Then he whispered, “I failed them.”

You bit your lip. Hard. Because that’s when the memory hit.

FLASHBACK - CALIBAN’S ENDING

The sun had barely risen when the Reavers caught up to you. Sandstorms swept across the plains, but it didn’t matter—tracking mutants was their specialty. And Caliban had been their unwilling compass.

You remembered how they dragged him into the back of a transport, face battered, hands bound. You could still hear his voice, ragged and full of loathing—not at them, but at himself.

“I’m sorry,” he had said to Logan. “They’re using me. Like always.”

They tried to keep him in the dark—literally—but Caliban was never just a passive prisoner. He waited. He watched. And when the chance came, he took it.

You were running—Laura’s hand in yours, Logan limping behind—when the explosion shook the ground. A bloom of fire lit the horizon. Metal shrieked as the truck went up in flames.

Logan stopped dead. You had to drag him away.

“Caliban…” he whispered.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. You just kept moving because stopping meant feeling, and feeling meant breaking.

But in that moment, something inside all of you cracked wide open. He’d died the same way he lived—alone, overlooked, and trying to protect people who would never get the chance to thank him.

FLASHBACK ��� CHARLES' DEATH

The farmhouse had been peaceful that night.

Dinner had been warm. The kind of rare, quiet meal that felt like a memory even as it was happening. Charles was in good spirits—clear-headed for the first time in days. You remembered the way he laughed. The way he looked at Logan and said, “This is what life is supposed to be.”

Later, as you helped clean up in the kitchen, Charles had gone to bed early, muttering something about how the stars were too quiet tonight.

But then the scream tore through the night.

You and Logan sprinted for the stairs. But it wasn’t Logan. Not really. By the time you reached Charles’ room, the door had been shattered. Blood stained the wooden floor. And lying in his bed, clutching his chest, was Charles Xavier.

He looked up—not at you, but at the thing that stood beside him.

X-24. The clone. Identical to Logan. But cold.

Soulless.

Charles reached out, confused. “Logan?” The monster didn't answer. Just pulled its claws free from Charles’ chest and turned to face you.

You screamed.

Logan tackled X-24 moments later, fury in every movement, but it was already too late. You rushed to Charles, dropped to your knees at his bedside. His breathing was shallow. Wet. Painful.

You held his hand. “Charles, I’m here. You’re okay, I’m here—”

His eyes fluttered, distant, flickering between past and present. “I remember now…” he whispered. “I remember what I did…”

And then, silence.

He died thinking it was Logan who had killed him.

And part of Logan never recovered from that.

Back in the present, Logan stared into the firelight.

“I thought if I stayed, you’d die too,” he muttered. “Everything I touch dies.”

You sat across from him, tired beyond anger.

“Maybe,” you said. “Or maybe, we just would’ve been broken together. But at least, we wouldn’t have been alone.”

He looked at you like he didn’t deserve to.

“How did we get here, Logan?” you said softly, voice like a wound reopening. “I used to know you so well.”

His throat bobbed. “You did.”

You looked at him—truly looked. Past the graying beard, the hunched shoulders, the guilt carved into every line of his face.

“Then why do you feel like a stranger now?”

Logan didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t have one.

But you reached for his hand anyway. Tentative. It was a light brush but the gesture itself made you shudder. Memories of him and you, together, were always there.

“Stay. Let me in. I’m not here to fix you. I’m here to understand what broke you.” You plead, begging to any Gods up there silently.

Because part of you was still trying to decode what was left.

And part of you still remembered the man who never let go—until he did.

The next morning, you woke to the fire burning low and Logan gone again.

But this time, he left a note.

“You were the only good thing I had left. I stayed too long in the dark to deserve the light again. But you—you still have a chance. I hope one day the pain stops hurting so much. I hope you forgive me.”

— L

You read it twice. Then again. The corners crumpled where your fingers clenched. Your throat tightened, and before you could stop it, tears slipped down your cheeks—silent, bitter, real.

Because despite everything, some part of you had hoped.

Hoped he might finally stay.

But Logan was always going to be Logan. A man with too much blood on his hands and not enough left to give. Running was his nature. Hurting people to protect them was just who he was.

You wiped your face roughly with your sleeve.

You weren’t surprised.

You were just tired of mourning the same person over and over.

Still, you folded the note and tucked it in your jacket.

The desert wind was quieter today. You rose, slung your rifle across your back, and stepped forward. Toward the ridge. Toward tomorrow.

Because even if he couldn’t stay, you were still here. Still decoding the pieces. Still surviving.

And sometimes, survival was the most defiant kind of love.

and that's all!! i hope you enjoy your reading <3 do let me know your feedback on this! reblogs are appreciated!

divider by @enchanthings-a @elleisdesigning

tags!! @princessanglophile @wchswift @briseroyawritingsblog @howlettsangel @dimlylittorch @themareverine @flowersforbucky @lubdubology @mcrdvcks @xxladymjxx

[starberry-cupcake]

I came back!!! I didn't leave you for 5 months!!! And now I have 3 chapter updates together!!! I'm kissing you all in the brow tenderly like palmolive did to harrow and offering this recap

previously, in harrowcita del 9:

this happened

CHAPTER 34

harrow wakes up in a different spot, with camilla next to her and a shuttle with a design she has never seen before

she confirms that palmolive is indeed in his bachelor apartment in the river

camilla is very glad she doesn't have to go back to sweep the floor of canaan house for more palmolive bits

harrowcita does as palm told her and turns the skull into a hand because cam doesn't want a full skeleton reproduction because "it would get her in trouble"

customs are nasty up there in space

harrow goes to check up the shuttle and finds more old pals!!!

there's judith, remember judith?

in harrow's memory, she was dead from the slasher waker sleeper, but in our memory she was close to dead but not quite

turns out she's alive

not great for anyone other than herself, but anyway

there's also regina george twin

harrow remembers her falling to her death in the hands of mayonnaise uncle, but we remember her from crying in a corner last we saw her

after yandere twin had slurped chad the third and all that

this is again confusing me a bit, because clearly harrow remembers the gideon-less narrative but not!dulcinea is included in her memory, so that's still undetermined for me

there's also a poster of a woman harrow takes quite some time looking at

she: 1) looks intimidating, 2) is dressed in black, 3) has red hair

harrow immediately starts bleeding

"that portrait frightened you more than anything you had seen since becoming a Lyctor; it scared the irresolute piss from your body. Yet you had never seen the face before in your life"

my immediate theory is that maybe she's the leader of BOE who went missing about 20 years ago and that I mentally connect to gideon or gideon's mom

without any evidence other than math and a hunch

we'll see how wrong I am in the following chapters

harrow starts taking out her letters for everyone present

past!harrow wanted present!harrow to silence judith (valid) and protect regina george twin, only silence her if necessary

yandere twin had added some annotations on this about not hurting her sister

these letters were google docs

regina george twin has a ninth house rapier

I WONDER WHAT THAT IS ABOUT

harrow does as told (by herself) but wants to know what is going on so she un-silences judith momentarily and judith is an asshole who wants to rat someone out to the emperor

idk how things are at BOE or what is going on but here we don't stan the emperor so anyone who wants to protect him isn't my friend

camilla gives the ninth pledge to convince her to let them leave and says "we're not on the same side anymore"

PROMISING

when asked who took them from canaan house and who they're with, camilla says "you call them Blood Of Eden"

POSTER THEORY NOT CONFIRMED BUT I WONDER

CHAPTER 35

back in gideon-less universe with ortus and his polycule the fifth

abby thinks the lost chambers of the emperor run sidelong to the facility, which is information I very much would have liked her to elaborate on

but harrowcita is spotted listening in on the private conversation

harrow also keeps wanting ortus to do gideon stuff and show gideon behavior

she doesn't know that's what she wants but we know because she keeps being like "ortus doesn't start immediately doing push ups after almost dying, isn't showing his arms to the young ones and hasn't said a single dirty joke, which isn't ninth behavior but she's somehow expecting it".

canaan house is also growing some body horror stuff

sure, why not

abby says "time was always against us", which is pretty intense, knowing what we know

and then in comes teacher acting like he's drunk out of his ass, but he says he's not

it's great for us because drunk exposition is useful

he calls "the devil" a "her" who "bent for god to put a leash around her neck" and how the "disciples were scared" of her

then the lyctors found out what they had to do and they asked doctor reverend emperor john to kill her

but he "put her in a box"

like this

"you worship a monster in a box" "now we have a monster in a box"

I hadn't thought of those parallels, actually, that's my bad

"once that rock's rolled away, once that tomb's levered open, the Emperor of the Nine Houses will never know peace ever again"

CHAPTER 36

there's a bug in this one, like in the illustration

is this the beast?

harrow prays that not!dulcinea's body is tossed out through the airlock

WHERE HAVE I HEARD THAT BEFORE??????

OH YEAH, I HAVE BEEN ASKING FOR THAT SAME THING

at first I thought harrow didn't remember her meeting the gang because it said "and why now was one of your letters missing and another two freshly opened?"

but she does remember, so narrator (still unknown) is confusing me

playing games with my mind

they have boring code-names that aren't puns or funny nicknames (which I have a predilection for) but their initials and the initial of their cav

dr reverend emperor john has a g, which I know what word it stands for, but I don't know what it means because it showed up in a dashboard spoiler but thankfully it had no context

so there's AA for Augustine Alfred, GP for Gideon (alleged, we're still not saying that one aloud, I'm still betting on it though) Pyrrha, IN for Ianthe Naberius

which is confusing to me because I call him Chad and everyone else calls him Babs but his name is Naberius but I always read it as Nebarius

he's like a puppy that you name one way but everyone calls differently

augustine hesitates on harrow's name and says "Harrow's H"

harrow says HO and everyone's awkward about it

you sure, harrow? you sure it's O?

turns out the beast is here to get doctor reverend emperor john's sorry ass for, according to mercygirl what "you did to its kin" and "it sees my cavalier's mortal soul burning in my chest"

harrow wants to kiss ice cube barbie but she's not having it and goes "i have to go away for a while"

that's rough, buddy

mercygirl proceeds to draw a cylinder with names of layers and explains the very convoluted and not at all certain sounding plan they've got

apparently ulysses threw sexy parties that mercygirl hated

harrowcita does remember seeing regina george twin and is worried that yandere twin is the traitor that judith was taking about

I think harrow is the traitor but she doesn't know it

I think her forgetting stuff is part of a plan to kill the emperor, but my evidence is circumstantial

as long as we kill this dude, it's all good

mercygirl gives a speech about how much she hates everyone and how she wants to torture the emperor

if we are to spare one lyctor from the guillotine, let it be her

everyone has positions to take in this plan (that sounds like it's kinda doomed) and that the emperor isn't paying attention to at all

everyone except for harrow, because they all think she's gonna die

and we get potential foreshadowing?????? about the stoma

which is "hell" and the emperor says it's "where my power and my authority are utterly meaningless"

AND THAT'S WHERE WE ARE NOW, FAM!!! see you next time!!!

[kino-der-joon]

💫 Ultimis Richtofen HC’s !! ✨

✨ In a voice line on Kino Der Toten, Richtofen asks how he can download the hidden song onto his mp3 player. This tells me he’s an old man who struggles with new technology (despite being an advanced scientist and genius.)

“How can I download this to my mp3 player?” - Richtofen, Kino Der Toten.

✨ When trying to download songs onto his mp3 player, he will flag down Dempsey and ask him how to do it.

✨ Fed up with the repetitive back and forth of:

“Dempsey, Dempsey! How do I download this onto mein mp3 player? The Doktor has forgotten again-“

“How the hell am I supposed to know, Doc? Can’t you do anythin’ your damn self?!”

“Ah, helpful as always, danke schön, Dempsey, I will remember this when you are- BLEEDING OUT ON THE FLOOR!”

Takeo memorises how to do it by looking over Dempsey’s shoulder one time and soon he snatches Richtofen’s mp3 player and does it for him instead.

✨ Richtofen has many other voice lines on Kino where he makes jokes and puns! When he has an idea for a joke and he doesn’t yell it out impulsively, he will often nudge Nikolai very roughly and tell the joke to him, then cackle at his own joke. Nikolai is so off-of-his-face drunk that anything is funny, so he laughs until Richtofen gets distracted by something else (which doesn’t take long,) and then goes back to shooting.

✨ Richtofen has ADHD and will always be on the move. Often, the group will have to run to catch up with him and they don’t realise he’s gone until either:

a) Richtofen screams down a stairwell for them to “hurry und regroup! The Doktor cannot deliver death without his human meat shields!”

b) Dempsey stops shooting and pauses, commenting, “Hey, you guys. ‘S’it just me or is it a lot quieter than usual? …Where’s the Doc-?!”

✨ Richtofen will scream and shriek in front of the group, but when he has a genuine mental breakdown, a moment where the voices are too much and he can’t hear himself think, he will seclude himself to wail on his own and get his frustration out. This is usually at the camp fire when the others are all asleep.

✨ The group will drink by the camp fire at night, and when they’re all drunk, Richtofen and Dempsey actually get on shockingly well. Richtofen is a touchy-feely drunk and Dempsey is a space-out-and-laugh-at-everything drunk, so they often end up stuck to each other until they pass out.

✨ Richtofen will sometimes be the one to give Nikolai vodka, and it’s an act of kindness that’s done out of genuine care. Nikolai amuses him and also aids him, as well as entertains his usual bullshit, so it’s genuine care only because Nikolai’s friendship serves Richtofen.

✨ Before the zombie outbreak, Richtofen thought he’d actually get along with Takeo more, but was surprised to see how well he vibed with Nikolai! He always knew he’d be at odds with Dempsey if the test subjects were ever awoken, but didn’t quite realise how much he’d HATE him.

✨ Because of Richtofen’s ADHD, mentioned above, he’s always stimming. He’ll tap on his gun, whistle, drum on surfaces. One time he was tapping on the barrel of his gun so much that Dempsey slowly, irritated, walked over to him and enclosed his hands down over his fingers. The marine then huffed, giving him a pointed look before walking away again.

✨ When chewing gobblegums, Richtofen will blow bubbles a lot- So much so that he’ll sometimes activate a gobblegum’s perk without meaning to. This has led to him almost dropping a death machine on his feet after having the power up spawn right under him, he’s also scared himself and the others half to death by accidentally starting a fire sale.

✨ Richtofen will sometimes go to drop little pieces of info about the group while he was experimenting on them, but has to stop himself before he exposes the truth- They can’t know they were experimented on by him!

✨ In his more lucid moments, Richtofen will think back fondly on his time at Group 935, especially his working relationship with Dr. Schuster! That man was his Man Crush Monday and he often caught himself day dreaming about leaving the Illuminati and Group 935 with Dr. Schuster. However, the pair were way too engrossed in their work, so it never came to be.

✨ When Richtofen’s soulless body showed up in Area 51, Dr. Schuster had to stop himself from running out of his quarters and attempting to shake his body awake. He wasn’t keen on Richtofen being experimented on, but truly hoped he’d wake up soon so they could talk.

✨ NEXT !! > ⭐️

[fluffydeoxys]

The bit you said about how "red in Nevada symbolises life (and death), and the Other Place; and how Zero, Hank and 2BD all have very strong ties to these concepts, so reds are prominently featured in their designs in different ways" got me thinking

Your Doc design mainly has red in the goggles and the patches, which makes me think along the lines of him seeing death all around (goggles) but also stopping it/preserving life (patches) if that makes sense? idk. Can't word too well today. He patches together a lot of things actually now that I think about it. His clothes. Hank. Zero. The world. Himself. Jeb that one time

Also with Doc being the human out of the trio. Something about how he patches the world together even though he's not as powerful as hankzero. He doesn't have the powers of the people around him (Hank, Zero, Maker) but hell if he won't find a way to patch over that too

And for zero the red is the bandana, visible under al the layers. Something something a bleeding heart protected by layers of distancing herself from the world. And the weathered red tassels(???? Is that what they're called?? The ends of the bandana. The internet won't tell me if they have a proper name) unraveling behind her. There's definitely something symbolic there I just can't put my finger on it

Feel free to completely ignore btw 👍 this is just me coming up with random stuff on the spot. I heart symbolism

-💻🌌

Aw don't be silly, I wouldn't ignore it! I'm a very big fan of symbolism (I have a personal list of all the things I have representing Zero, Hank and 2BD) and I try to intertwine it in my designs. Sometimes it helps to convey feelings or a magnitude/scale of something that I couldn't otherwise; especially relevant for Hank and Zero, who really could not be described in "normal" terms or ways.

Thank you for the ask!! I missed answering these, they're fun. I like thinking and questioning and answering. Helps me get those few inches closer to "the answer."

Rest of it under the cut cus it's looooong.

That's a neat idea! Hank is the stronger proponent of this idea, being the true eyes of death, bleeding, swallowing life whole with not even a twinge of "humanity" behind its eyes, though not to imply it is without thought, or without a certain kind of "humanity". Zero kind of also loosely follows this, but it's... different. Her eye is the Maker's star, but it is the blood red of this world. I used to use the line "now Nevada rests in the sole eye in their face", and I think that still holds true. Even in her magic, her fire, Nevada's hues are part of her being, even if she is merely a sort of vessel.

2BD ... he is very deeply entrenched in this world, clearly understanding the nuances and complexities of its literal mechanisms, at times guided by the Maker to do so. Death is a part of him, but in a sense he controls it. He knows how to pull people back, knows how to fix them. I wouldn't say he plays with it, but he's certainly adjacent to that idea.

Yeah, the patching people thing was deliberate in that the idea of patching clothes was an extension of "fixing people", and nicely tied in with Doc striking me as the type wanting to be in control of as many factors/things as possible. Bit of a control freak. But as you say, he's not as 'powerful' as HankZero, but undeniably he keeps their worlds spinning. Not necessarily just pulling them back every time, but his existence ended up bringing them "together", somewhat.

If it was just Hank and Zero, there would be no Nevada.

I like that interpretation of a bleeding heart! In a way, she lives in silent mourning for the way Nevada is. The bandanna over her eyes symbolic of mayhaps ignorance, or innocence. Justice is blind, or something like that.

And yep, I call em tassels! They're direct parallels to Hank. Truthfully I made Zero before I had any true idea of what her story would be, so some elements are yet to have "meaning". Coherently, as a complete design, Zero still holds strong to certain ideas in my mind so I'm not too fussed, but I am definitely trying to interject meaning into each piece of her. (I've used her tassels as representations of "red strings of fate" before, or sometimes "veins" of the world. Red rivers, life flowing back to her.)

As an example, I think its interesting that her clothes are very wanderer-esque, with little cloth, plating or metal-based protection. Someone who looks like she's walked the wastes for a thousand lifetimes. She's very much a "desert wasteland" character, funnily enough. Which makes sense considering her main inspirations. I mean, hell you could say the lacking personal history and details to her design is indicative of how she was "fabricated" into Nevada, much like Hank. They look like certain ideas, but in reality are a lot more than what they let on.

I'm still trying to more confidently and coherently connect all the pieces together, but its slow-going. Zero means a great deal to me, so I want to try my very hardest.

[mytalemyworld]

I must say this scene is such a masterpiece from the beginning to the end: The action, the long dialogues, the conflict, the message and the resolution.

One of my favorites, definitely.

By the way, if she'd driven faster, if he hadn't followed her and warned her by honking the horn, she could have entered the road construction zone and died, because she turned the wheel at the last moment.

Cihan: Your head is bleeding. We should go and see a doctor. Alya: No need. I am okay. Cihan: Your head is bleeding. Your head is bleeding. You're not okay. Let's go to the doctor. Alya: Let me go. It's nothing. Cihan: I must take you to a doctor! Alya: I don't want it! I am a doc! I don't want it. I'm saying there's no need!

The man lost his ability to form a sentence. He just fixed his eyes on her bleeding head and said the same thing again and again.

I can't.

He still brought a first-aid kit.

Cihan: What were you doing? Why did you drive so fast?! Huh, why did you drive so fast? Alya: Be quiet. Cihan: I won't, Alya! I will not! Where were you going like this?! Alya: To the hell! Did you get your answer?! Cihan: If there's a better hell than here, you go first, then send me a nice invitation so I'll go after you, okay?

LMAO.

Alya: Is this the right time to mock? Cihan: I am not mocking, Alya. I'm just trying to make this situation tolerable. (still having a hard time understanding what he is gonna do with the first aid kit) I don't know these things at all. What am I supposed to do? Alya: There's no need. Stop it. Cihan: Are you sure that you are okay? Does it hurt? Are you in pain? Alya: It hurts…it hurts so much. My heart hurts so much. Staying like this is like a death to me. I want to go….to go, to go, to go! Then I want to forget. I want to forget everything, myself as well. But it can't happen. It can not. Cihan: Because you have a son. Alya: Yes, I have a son. My husband condemned me to be by your side for my son. And he condemned you to be by my side too.

Oh my…he was shaking his head as if he was reassuring her this wasn't condemning. That's true, they are not a burden to him. Hell, they are the only thing he is glad he has.

And "Does it hurt? Are you in pain?" part killed me again.

I am not okay.

Alya: How can you accept it? I don't understand how. Cihan: Because it was Boran's will. I had to. I had to protect you two, Alya. Alya: You don't. You didn't. I can protect my son and myself. I do not need anything. Cihan: But I need you two. Alya: Why do you need us? Cihan: I need to protect you two, to keep my promise to Boran.

Fuck, he did it again. Choose what you want to think, does he need them for himself, or does he need them so he can keep his promise to Boran?

Cihan: Look, in the past, I did everything I said I would never do so my family did not get any harm. Everything. Without exception. Don't forgive me but forgive Boran. Alya: No. This isn't something that can be forgiven. Not at all. I won't be able to forgive him. I can't.

She lost Boran because of a suspicious car accident. And she chose to let him go after another car accident.

Just. Like. This.

[the8006files]

THIS POST IS THE FILES FOR SCP-8006-2, ALSO KNOWN AS DOCTOR DOCTOR; DOCTOR; DR; DOC; PARASITE.

THE “DOCTOR” OR “SCP-8006-2” FILES CONTAIN INFORMATION THAT MAY BE SEEN AS DISTURBING TO SOME AUDIENCES.

IF ONE HEAVILY DISTURBED BY DRUGS, PARASITES, VIOLENCE, BODY HORROR, CANNIBALISM (SLIGHT MENTIONS OF, IMPLIED) AND DEATH AS A WHOLE READS PAST, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY DISTRESS. THIS IS A WARNING.

this is an introduction post for my scp oc.

THE DOCTOR FILES

ENTRY ONE. SCP-8006-2; DOCTOR DOCTOR; DOC; PARASITE

Item #: SCP-8006-2

Object Class: Euclid

Containment Procedures: SCP-8006-2 is housed in a cell in Site-19. The cell has to be decorated like a doctor's office.

If it is not in its cell, do not panic. It is likely:

A. Allowed to free roam the facility as long as it is without any items on its person.

Or B. With any of the officers that take care of it.

If it is not either A or B, then it needs to be put back into its cell as soon as possible.

SCP-8006-2 is known to carry around various medical tools. If you are not one of their caretakers, then contact Officer Murphy, Officer Tachyphylaxis, or Officer Pale. If you believe you can fight it yourself, you can't.

If you are their caretaker, then make sure to follow the steps presented:

- Its syringe is (usually) not dangerous.

- Kindly decline any drugs they give you. Even if it says that it's candy. NOTE: Make sure Phylaxis hears this fact. NOTE: fuck you

Description: SCP-8006-2 is a dark navy blue (almost black) immortal parasitic worm that looks like a tapeworm. Its latest victim, named Sunny [REDACTED], was semi-controlled by the parasite. The parasite had made Sunny take various drugs, leading to Sunny committing suicide with said drugs via overdose. This granted SCP-8006-2 full control over the body.

NOTES: it's cool it gives me drugs and stuff even though they're probably laced

ENTRY TWO. OFFICER MURPHY; MURPH; JOSEPH

Officer "Murphy" ██████, also known as Murph, or Joseph(?), is one of the main agents keeping SCP-8006-2 in check.

- Phylaxis has to teach him how to handle SCP-8006-2 correctly.

Injuries due to SCP-8006-2 consist of: A stab to the neck with a syringe. The injury never stopped bleeding until SCP-8006-2 put a bandaid on it. If bandaid is taken off, blood WILL spray all over you; Eye is damaged due to a shot in the eye;

"Diagnoses" consist of: [REDACTED] disorder, its contagious; Cream;

NOTES: I'm so glad Harpy exists, I think I'd be dead if she wasn't here...

MY NAME IS NOT JOSEPH.

ENTRY THREE. OFFICER TACHYPHYLAXIS; OFFICER PHYLAXIS; PHYLAXIS

Officer "Tachyphylaxis" ██████, also known as Phyl, or Phylaxis, is one of the main agents keeping SCP-8006-2 in check.

- Phylaxis is prone to taking the drugs SCP-8006-2 gives him.

- If SCP-8006-2 is biting his arm, it's normal.

Injuries due to SCP-8006-2 consist of: SCP-8006-2 ripping Phylaxis' heart out and biting it, handing it back to him, sticking a needle into his arm and watching the heart regenerate; Ripping his p████ off and regenerating it, somehow grew back bigger?;

"Diagnoses" consist of: [REDACTED] disorder, originated from a place called “muai as hole”; Kill yourself disorder; Stupid coding man disorder; Schizophrenia; hallucinations; Possible Hole disorder; Work disorder; Blind disorder; I need to work bye in all capitals disorder; Good boy disorder, terminal; aindnfnngkfkkdkdk disorder; Coward; Working man disorder; Blue collared man disorder; I hate me too disorder; Blank; Shoplifting disorder; Stupid fucking bitch disorder;

NOTE: Withhold the drugs. oh my GOD WHY ARE YOU SO ADAMANT ON THAT IT WAS ONE TIME (lie)

ENTRY FOUR. OFFICER PALE;

Officer "Pale" ████, is one of the main agents keeping SCP-8006-2 in check.

- Pale is the one most physically hurt by SCP-8006-2.

Injuries due to SCP-8006-2 consist of: SCP-8006-2 ripped out his eye and ate it in front of his face; Foot was cut off without painkillers (not like it uses them anyway) and then regenerated; Was given “CPR” by SCP-8006-2 repeatedly stomping on his ribs, breaking them, and then a shot to fix everything, now has trouble breathing at times; Intestines tied into a bow during “surgery”;

"Diagnoses" consist of: [REDACTED] disorder, its contagious, still; “Every disorder in the book”

NOTES: Doctor Doctor is seriously gonna make me retire

I have no problems with the most dangerous SCPs, but when it comes to it I feel like I'm going to die

Phylaxis said I'll get used to it.

...Where the hell did it get that medical marijuana card anyway?

ENTRY FIVE. THAUMIEL; HARPY

Harpy is SCP-8006-2's so called "mortal enemy". SCP-8006-2 is visibly afraid of her.

Harpy by @cheesefri.

[bucketspammer4life]

random punch out headcanons for the soul because eughhhhhh

i need me some inspo, INSPO!!!

- bald bull actually makes those bull sounds unintentionally, it kinda runs in his family and has been with him since his childhood

- super macho man pretends to be suprised by people telling him he looks old (even though hes dilfbaiting) and acts offended by it when he actually sees it as a good thing

- Glass Joe used to work as a receptionist in a hospital before his boxing career, And by that i mean the kind that just chews gum and wouldnt give a shit if you came in bleeding to death, minus the long nails and dangly earings

- whenever aran sees a Hippo or anything Hippo-themed he just goes "OH MY GOD KING HIPPO İS HERE!" And its become an ongoing joke within the wvba

- von kaiser prefers cold food to warm food, he just kinda likes how it tastes

- Disco kid's voice cracks a lot thanks to him going to concerts often & screaming his soul out, my man changes between 4 pitches while trying to talk to anyone

- mr sandman sometimes casually rips off his locker door when hes pissed, not "im going to murder someone" kind of pissed but "i need to throw something" kind of pissed, his locker door just turns to dust whenever someone breathes too hard on it now

- soda popinski used to make "potions" during his childhood like 99% of us, the only difference is he actually drank those

- Doc Louis once accidentally dated Mac's biology teacher, when Mac found out he lost his shit (in the meaning that hes both mad & finds it funny) but it didnt work out and now biology class for Mac is way more awkward now

- don flamenco once ate a entire pack of strawberry flavored melatonin gummies without realizing it, slept for 1 day and a half

- gabby jay has a basement full of weird stuff, going from vintage record players to an organ with 3 Disco balls for some reason

- heike sends positive good morning messages in any groupchat hes in, with the sparkly effects & flowers and stuff

- hoy quarlow can actually play the piano, he uses it to his advantage to scare people during halloween, imagine this: some sweet old man looking like a fossil is just casually approaching a piano before unleashing so much talent that every composer in their graves start crying

[darkprincerunaway]

After the fight

Happy birthday to Bucky Barnes! Here is my AU Stucky story based on this wonderful art: https://www.tumblr.com/reblog/kaciart/85484606903/YhKPirqc Thanks to my ever-beloved collaborator Yuliya Katsnelson who did the translation.

***

The day was just the pits. Honestly, the pits of hell.

There was no choice whether to fight or not. Nor was there any time to prepare, collect intelligence, put together a plan, inform the team and wait for backup – hell, even to get enough fire power! – not a minute to spare. Without any warning, a ghostly maw of a portal into some clearly hostile reality gaped open – and the only option was to jump into it, even at the risk of a one-way trip. Jump, stand fast, and fight to the death against whatever was trying to invade our good old Earth.

Standing to the death – just the two of us – because there was no one else. The planet had had really good luck (although for them it was possibly the opposite) that right next to the portal, completely by accident, happened to be two super soldiers.

How tired they were! How hesitant initially, before they forced the portal to close; before they traversed the tunnel to the end and ripped the heads off the dirtbags that had opened the portal in the first place; before they made it back, not really knowing how.

The place from which they had left and to which they returned was nice; quiet; peaceful. Green grass, sunny skies. The training course was empty, thankfully; they had come to “play tag”, just the two of them; they booked this time slot so they wouldn’t be distracted by anyone. Those who didn’t get that time slot were truly lucky. The maw-portal would have gobbled up anyone who happened to be nearby. That is, anyone but the two of them. They proved to be too big a bite for it.

Which didn’t stop it from giving it its best shot.

“To the doctors?” lying on his back, arms stretched out wide, staring at the fluffy small clouds asked Steve. He wasn’t worried about himself, although his left cheek was lacerated below the helmet, and his wrist was dislocated: his shield got stuck in the spine of one of the monsters, and he had to knock out the other that got too close with his bare fist.

“The hell with them,” said Bucky, lying next to him. “The hell with the docs. I wanna go home.”

“But Buck…”

“Go… home,” Buck repeated distinctly, his tone implacable.

Grunting like two crotchety old men (who they were, technically), they sat up on the ground. Steve did his best to wipe the slime off his shield with handfuls of grass, while Bucky tied off his bleeding thigh with an equipment belt.

“Home,” Barnes repeated when, holding onto each other, they limped towards the vehicle outside the testing course, like a wounded quadruped. “You drive.” And he closed his eyes, slumping over the front passenger seat like a black-and-red blob.

***

Ouch, it hurt.

“Give me your hand, dammit!” Bucky cursed hoarsely, leaning against the corridor wall. “My stuff is drying up, relax. You go first.”

With joint effort, they managed to pull the jacket sleeve off Rogers’ wrist before taking off the rest of his protective suit. Then they got rid of Bucky’s armor in the same fashion.

“To the shower,” Steve asked, biting his lips.

“Sure. As long as you don’t hit on me,” Barns joked darkly, leaning back against the wall. All holes in their hides should have closed up by now, after all the time that’d passed, but no. Devil knew whether the teeth of the damned monsters sank too deep as they were tearing protective suits to shreds, or the saliva that got into the wounds slowed the effect of the serum. The leg and shoulder began bleeding again, as soon as the tourniquets were removed.

Warm water running over the pair’s head and shoulders, washing away grime and fatigue, and relieving the muscle stiffness just a little. Bucky closed his eyes and leaned his head back on to Steve’s shoulder who, with his inactive hand tucked between his side and Bucky’s bionics, awkwardly moved the sponge over his chest, belly, and battered and bruised ribcage. Barnes also had to wash Steve with one arm: on the other, the monster’s fangs had torn a decent chunk of fresh out of the bicep.

They make their way to the bedroom still supporting one another and use two out of their four hands to get dressed. An overstatement, really: Steve manages to pull on sweats and a T-shirt, while Bucky, mindful of the assortment of dressings we’d need, only puts on his boxer shorts. Stupid all of it, just stupid: as if they are embarrassed of each other; as if they’ve never seen each other naked and just out of the shower and in general… It’s as though they are still out of it after the skirmish and want some illusion of bodily protection.

They put a fresh bandage on Bucky’s shoulder; Bucky sets Steve’s wrist, then puts a Band-Aid over his cheekbone; Rogers gets down on one knee and begins to put a wide dressing on Barnes’ thigh. And that’s where one of Rogers’ quirks kicks in. In a fight, he is cool-headed, decisive, and sharp – but afterwards, when it’s all over, it comes over him. Images of everything that could have happened but didn’t pierce him like dozens of fléchettes, making him shake and tremble from the backlash of the past and avoided danger. And here he goes again, reliving everything they’d been through. As Bucky, sparing with their limited ammo, again and again engages the monsters in close combat; as he, a sniper – more used to providing Steve fire cover from a distance! – attacks the filth advancing on the Captain from the flanks and the back. That’s how he came by the injuries Steve was just dressing…

And, no longer able to hold it in, to restrain himself, Rogers presses his forehead, his cheek – his very self – against Bucky’s hip, and then, still kneeling before him, kisses the dumbfounded Barnes practically into the wound under the dressing.

***

Bucky stares down at Steve.

What is he to do with him like this, huh?

The right thing to do is to let him get it all out of his system, catch his breath; bury his fingers in Steve’s short golden locks at the top of his head and stroke the sculp until he calms down.

The former, long-ago Bucky from Brooklyn would have done something like that.

That former, long-ago Bucky, who was no more, had generally been a man who did the right thing.

The post-Winter Barnes, as he is now, has a far more complex relationship with what is right. And with many other things, too.

And this – what he is feeling now, what flows through his veins and pulsates in his temples and in the back of his head – is one of those things.

James Buchanan Barnes remembers being Winter Soldier. He remembers the fighting and the missions. The tension, the adrenaline in his blood boiled during fighting then as it does now: they hadn’t completely succeeded in making him into a machine, after all. But as for the targets of those missions, he didn’t care at all. When necessary, he would interact with agents or fighters, with those he was supposed to protect or cover, but they held no interest to him as individual; never – neither during missions, nor afterwards – did he care about what happened to them then or later.

But now, it wasn’t like that.

When it is Steve he covers, James feels fire in his belly. Oh yes, of course, Captain America is no less of a super soldier he is, even more perfect than him. Of course, Steven Grant Rogers is good at and is used to fighting; of course, these wounds are mere scratches to this huge war machine, they will heal in a matter of hours. Sometimes, what matters most is what they are fighting for: just like today, no price for stopping the enemy would have been too high to pay.

James Buchanan Barnes understands all this – and he accepts, like he always has, Rogers’ right and duty to go into battle. But “this isn’t a back alley fight, Steve, it’s war!” – and the former Winter Soldier knows everything about war. Sometimes people get killed, even on the verge of victory. And this knowledge drives James berserk. Oh, how he has wished he had one hundred arms, like the Giant Briareus, every one of them holding a weapon or, like Zeus, turn into a lightning cloud and envelop Steve safely inside!

But no, he can only do what he can do.

And therefore, he, too, is overcome after the battle. Not like Steve, with trembling from the backlash. He is overtaken by a powerful need to feel that both of them are alright. That they made it out alive and would live. Right now, in this very moment. And he needs to feel it all, not just know it.

He can keep himself in check, hold the burning need inside, hide it. And it would not be all that difficult: he is so very tired. He is battered, his ribs, shoulders, and legs bruised, his thigh aching, the wound above his elbow throbbing like an impacted tooth. To crawl under the blanket, to close his eyes, and he’d be out like a light…

Bucky falls backwards on the bed, dragging Steve over himself, presses him close, one arm around him. Chest to chest, cheek to cheek, skin to skin. Hearing Steve’s breathing with his ears, his even warmth, his unbroken pulse with his fingers.

And their life – with all of himself.

[no1sexymansimp]

His guardian angel

‘Note to self; Never owe shit to Bain’ you thought to yourself for the seventh time since you grabbed the emergency bag and floored it on your motorbike. Luckily since seemingly the entirety of the police force was at the robbery you didn’t have to avoid any attempt to stop you for the obvious speeding. 

You had owed Bain a favour after he essentially blackmailed you. As a nurse you had taken the hippocratic oath, you had taken the vows to heart; “I will abstain from all intentional wrong-doing and harm”, and you did. You helped the worst of humanity because you had to. You sucked it up, packed it away and ignored the guilt of the job. Of declaring the time of death of a sweet little girl to her family just minutes before having to care fo the intoxicated driver that took her life. God may judge you for what you did to that monster but his sins will far outweigh your own.

You was sloppy in my execution, leaving behind evidence, making you the main suspect and you would’ve been convicted if it wasn’t for him. Bain had made an offer you couldn’t refuse. To clear you of your actions and prove your “innocence” on the condition that you supply medical equipment and help to the Payday gang whenever needed.

That brings us to where you are now, flooring down a highway with Bain yelling the whole way, directing you to a vacant alleyway near the bank before you threw yourself off your bike and ran to the back of the building not even taking the time to remove the your helmet.

“Alright gang, Doc’s here. I’m sending them to the security room. Do not shoot” Bain chimes in after you duck through a broken window. 

Despite Bain’s clear instructions, the moment you entered the security room you immediately get a face, well more like visor, full of pistol and see two of the most goofiest looking masks you’ve ever seen. This barely lasted a few seconds before Bain quickly responses again

“That’s them, Jacket. Do not kill them” The one with the goofiest looking rubber chicken mask you’ve ever seen lowered his gun slightly

You paid no mind to this as you immediately snapped your attention to the one slouched and bleeding heavily, ‘Hoxton’ your mind supplies. You promptly assess his injuries, sliding off the emergency medical bag off your should and unpacking the necessary equipment within minutes. Multiple deep lacerations, 3 gunshot wounds and most likely blunt force trauma to the head judging from the excessive bleeding pouring from under his mask. You reach up to remove the aforementioned mask, being stopped by a hand snatching your wrist and yanking it away. You looked back to see Jacket staring at you, tightening his grip on your wrist and the pistol in his other hand.

“I just need to remove his mask to check for head injuries and for a possible concussion”, he loosened his grip slightly, “You can guard the door to keep everyone else away” and with that he stood guard by the door and you could continue your work.

You resume removing his mask before beginning to attend to his other injures to improve his breathing, as you removed it he groaned and slowly blinked into consciousness. You doused some gauze in rubbing alcohol before pressing it into the gun wound in his leg, you felt slightly bad since you knew this hurts like a motherfucker but you just put that feeling into another box in the back of your mind.

While you continue to clean and wrap his wounds you ask him questions, keeping him awake and checking for a concussion.

“Can you tell me your name hun?” You tightly wrap the wound on his thigh, continuing on to the next injury

“It’s Hoxton- fuck- you’re the Doc Bain mentioned?” He tried to pull himself to a more up right position but you rested your hand on his shoulder lightly pushing him back to his original position without taking your eyes off what you were doing

You continue with the questions as you worked your way through the injuries, “The one and only, what do you remember doing before I got here”

“Fixing that stupid fucking piece of shit drill” He chuckled despite groaning immediately afterwards after aggravating his injuries. 

His speech was slightly slurred although he doesn’t have a concussion, lucky him.

You reached up to tilt his head in order to gain better access to his head injury, softly holding the connecting area of his jaw and his throat. You reach over to grab another alcohol wipe before you notice him nodding off. As soon as you noticed, you softly tap his face until he woke again.

“‘Cmon love, you need to stay awake. We’re almost done alright?” You clean the laceration on his head as gently as you can, “Name something you can see”

He went silent for a moment before laughing to himself, “An angel” 

You’ve been beside enough people on their death bed to recognize the distant and serene expression he had. The same look patients had when they’re beckoned to the afterlife by a guardian angel, a loved one sometimes patients have even mentioned seeing the grim reaper. You weren’t going to let him die, not that easily. You still owe it to Bain and by God were you going to repay it.

In a moment of sheer panic and desperation you roughly grab his jaw and flicked your visor up forcing him to make eye contact with you 

“NO. Do not follow the angel. You are mine. Not theirs. Mine. You don’t get to leave, you are stuck with me and I chose when you die, alright?” You hold Hoxton a bit closer and subconsciously leaned in closer to inspect his expression, watching his expression shift from serene to a look of almost child-like giddiness 

His speech became more slurred as he was fighting to stay conscious, “But they’re soooo preettty n’ waaarrm” 

“I don’t care, they can’t have you. They have no claim over you. Do you understand?”, Words kept falling out of your mouth due to how anxious you were

He said nothing but nodded along anyways, his eyes were dilated, ears bright red and you tuck two fingers underneath his jaw to check his heart rate. It was beginning to spike up, most likely due to adrenaline. 

Hoxton was honesty fucking confused when he first awoke to a stranger in a biker fit and after years of being touch starved, kinda just basked in your undivided attention as you tended to his injuries while he was too out of it to think properly. It was probably the severe blood loss convincing him to shoot his shot while he had the chance since despite Bain mentioning you in passing often you were never seen in the safe house nor had anyone ever met you, well till now at least. 

He had not expected such a visceral reaction when he called you an angel, but he’d be a filthy fucking liar if he said your words didn’t have an affect on him. His words caught in his throat while he stared into your eyes, admiring how your eyes narrow and how your brows and nose scrunched as you stared into his soul. 

While you finished cleaning his wound and wrapping it up while he just listened as your words replay in his head like a loop. It was a constant repeat of you staking your claim on him. He’s probably lost it, with years of bloodshed, stress and head injuries he was probably more fucked in the head then he’d like to admit. At the end of the day was he really that far gone if you’d lay your claim on him first. It was only fair if he was yours then you were rightfully his as well. 

He tuned out his teammates and Bain while you helped transfer him to the escape van when the heist was done. After hauling him into the back, you were about to return back to your bike but was interrupted when he grabbed you again. 

“Everything fuckin hurts” 

“I know, hun. There’s meds at the safehouse and we can properly treat your injuries there”, While you spoke you tried to get out of his hold to get to your bike, but he kept groaning in pain whenever he moved. 

A bleeding heart brought you into this situation, a strong sense of empathy being your achille’s heel. Even though you both were going to the same location, you now felt guilty for “leaving” him. With a sigh you turned around and called to the rest of the gang

“Anyone know how to ride a bike?”

Immediately another heister, ‘Sydney’ from what you overheard, perked up, “Abso-fucking-lutely” and caught the keys you threw in her direction barely giving her a second before pulling your helmet off to toss to her. While Sydney already had a mask, she cant drive around with that shit out unless she wanted to drag the entire police force with her. You return while Hoxton continues to stare at you while you try to keep him conscious during the trip

You settle in the back of the van next to him while he continued to hold onto you. His guardian angel

[lucydixon]

Firestarter, Chapter 19

10k Znation x Original Female Character

Summary: 10k pushes Torch to talk about her past. The gang is on the hunt for Murphy

CW: Swearing, Cannon typical violence, Zombie apocalypse typical weapons, Violence, Death, implied/referenced child abuse

After

Warren, Torch, 10k and Doc walked for a full day.

They all had clothing that they were using as makeshift masks and were alternating turns hauling Doc along until he finally called it quits and threw himself into a pile of rubble to sit.

Torch had yet to say a word since they’d gone into that tunnel and the rest of them had been exchanging worried looks all morning.

“What is it?” Warren asked while 10k unwrapped the wound.

“Bleeding stopped but-”

“Just go.” Doc sighed tiredly “Find me a hole to crawl in. Leave me a weapon and some ammo.”

“Hey,” Warren said, “nobody’s leaving you here to die.”

“Here.” She shrugged off her bag “Take the last of the water.”

“We stay here too long, we might be too weak to go look for help. I’ve only got a day in me without water, if that”

“‘Well, I don’t think I’m goin’ anywhere chief.” Doc looked like he was gonna pass out.

“10k you and Torch stay here with Doc.” She nodded, casting a glance in Torch’s direction, while she stood unmoving, staring off at the distance. “I’ll go see what I can find for food or help while I’ve still got strength.”

10k nodded tightly.

“If I'm not back in 48 hours, you’re on your own.”

“Good luck,” The boy breathed, keeping Doc propped up with one hand.

“Thanks,” Their leader spoke before staggering off to go looking for anything of use.

“You should try and talk to her.” Doc nodded towards Torch, who was still standing fifty yards away, after a bid of tense silence.

“I don’t know how.” 10k looked down at his hands, “she keeps ignoring me and now she won’t even look at me.”

“Why do you think she’s acting like this?” He asked “Because of Cassandra?”

“I don’t think so.” the boy gnawed on his bottom lip before looking up at Doc “I think I saw something she didn’t want me to see and now she doesn’t wanna talk to anyone.”

“I think she just doesn’t know how to talk about whatever’s bugging her.” Doc smiled sympathetically “This is Torch we’re talking about here. You know how she gets all in her head about stuff.”

“Go try.” He told the boy after watching him stare for a full minute.

10k finally nodded and walked over to her, trying to come up with something to say.

“What’s wrong?” Was the best he could come up with and he just blurted it out once she was within earshot.

Torch turned around and blinked at him.

She shrugged, but her gaze dropped down to her boots.

“Please don’t do that.” He grabbed her as gently as he could by the wrist , trying to get her to look at him “You don’t have to tell me, but you’ve gotta talk. You haven’t said anything since the lab and we’re all worried.”

“Y’ain’t gotta worry.” Her voice was scratchy from not using it and a lack of water. She had to clear her throat before continuing “M’fine.”

“You’re not fine.” He insisted, only a little relieved that she was finally speaking “You’re in shut down mode and it’s scaring me”

“Kay,” She frowned, “I ain’t fine.”

10k blinked at her, waiting to see if she’d elaborate.

Torch sighed heavily and leaned up against the closest car, exhausted and unsure how much longer she could stay standing.

“I ain’t normal.” she said finally, eyes back to the floor.

“Okay.” He said slowly, joining her with a furrowed brow “and?”

“I know ya saw.” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“Is that why you’re not talking to me?”

“Wasn’t talkin’ to anyone.”

“Okay fine,” He sighed, trying not to get frustrated. This was a lot further than he’d anticipated getting, “Is that why you’re not talking to any of us?”

She shrugged.

“Who did that to you?”

“It was my Daddy” She said after a good minute, looking anywhere but his eyes. “When my Mama left, he didn’t have nobody to smack around anymore. Guess I was the next best thing.”

“He hit you?” 10k grit his teeth, a part of him unable to fathom how a parent could beat their child when his father had always been so gentle with him. He recalled her having blurted out that she got smacked around as a kid when they’d been in Utah, but this was a hell of a lot worse than getting ‘smacked around’.

“Hit me, burned me, got me with the belt” Torch shrugged “coulda been worse.”

“Could have been worse?” He muttered in disbelief, suddenly every ‘it ain’t that bad’ and ‘I've had worse’ started to make sense “That looks like it hurt really bad.”

“It did.”

“Then what’s worse than that?” 10k frowned “Anything more and he might’ve killed you”

“There are things worse than dyin’.” She shuddered just thinking about it, “Least he wasn’t sick in the head like that. He just liked his drink and bein’ angry.”

“That’s awful.”

“It was a long time ago.” She looked away, going rigid when his hand was on her back and he was pulling her into his chest.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” He muttered into her hair as she finally melted into him.

His lips pressed you against the crown of her head and for a second, she thought she might start crying. The gentleness of the action caught her off guard after spending the last few days thinking of her childhood and all the moments that had led up to the scars on her back.

“I get not wanting to talk about it, but why are you shutting everyone out.” 10k loosened his grip slightly.

He felt her shrug.

“So, there’s something else.” He sighed, “What?”

“You’re too nice to me.” she muttered into his chest, hiding.

“What does that even mean?” He frowned.

“I’m all fucked up and crazy and ya keep pretendin’ I ain’t. Even when I’m bein’ a bitch and ignorin’ ya.”

“Maybe I don’t care that you’re crazy.” 10k muttered to her, joking “And you’re not fucked up, you’re just a little emotionally challenged.”

Torch chuckled, finally pulling back to look at him.

“Maybe I’m a little crazy too.” He shrugged, cracking a smile “You’re not gonna scare me away.”

“Yeah,” she bit back a smile of her own.

He ducked down and planted a kiss on her lips for the first time since the crawlspace, glad when she didn’t push him away and instead pulled him closer.

Doc watched their exchange in the scrapyard with a poorly contained smile on his face, only a little surprised when they started kissing.

“Bout damn time.” He’d muttered to himself.

“Can't believe I’ve only known you for like a year” 10k muttered, laying on the top of an RV next to Torch while Doc slept inside.

“That all it’s been?” She frowned “shit, feels like a lot longer.”

“That’s like a decade in apocalypse time.”

“Now, that feels ‘bout right.” She chuckled, rolling onto her back and using her arm to shield her eyes from the sun.

They heard a scuffle going on nearby, and both wiped their smiles off their faces, looking around for the source.

“Is that?” Torch frowned, squinting at the familiar faces.

“Yep.” 10k smiled as he pulled the trigger, nailing the Z that had been about to take a chunk out of Mack in the forehead.

“Three thousand ninety nine.” 10k announced loudly, waving to Mack and Addy when they looked up.

The older couple exchanged a look and laughed in surprise while Torch hung upside down through the vent of the RV and woke Doc up for the reunion.

“Can’t believe we found your sorry asses again.” Torch chuckled while greeting them “gotta be the luckiest people on earth.”

“Maybe the universe is trying to keep us all together.” Addy shrugged, pulling the girl in for a hug, surprised when she wasn’t pushed away. “How have you been?”

“S’been alright” Torch shrugged, going as far as to squeeze her back before looking over her shoulder at 10k, who was talking to Mack. “Some shit went down.”

Addy could sense a shift in the two youngest group members and chose to convey her suspicion with a questioning look.

“We ain’t havin’ this conversation.” Torch told the girl as seriously as she could, but there was still a glimmer of excitement in her eyes.

“Fine.” she held her hands up in surrender “We won’t talk about it.”

The younger girl rolled her eyes, returning to 10k’s side when they rejoined the boys. Mack looked to Addy with a raised brow when 10k slung an arm over Torch’s shoulders and the girl didn’t shrug him off.

Addy just shot him a shrug and a sly smirk.

“You’re drivin’ slow as fuck.” Torch sighed from the trailer hitched to the back of Mack’s ATV not long after they’d stumbled across Warren on the side of the road. “Just let me drive, come on.”

“Hell no” Mack laughed “I’m never letting you drive anything ever again.”

“That ain’t fair!” She groaned “I didn’t even do nothin’ I just drove a little fast ONE TIME and now I’m banned for life? That just ain’t right”

Doc and 10k exchanged an amused look, glad that the girl was back to herself.

They rode a few hours to Cheyenne, Wyoming, after Addy swore up and down that she could understand the Spanish dialogue crackling through a radio and led them there. Apparently, Citizen Z had made a call out when he realised that Murphy was on his own and put a bounty on him.

Now, the town was crawling with bounty hunters and the group of survivors found themselves on edge, rolling down the street as they took in all the other vehicles and people milling around.

“Folks are friendly here in Cheyenne.” Doc said after getting stared down by a woman in a minivan.

“Friendly ain’t the vibe I’m gettin’.” Torch frowned, her gun clutched tightly in her hand.

“Let’s find Murphy and get the hell out of Dodge.” Warren shook her head

“Cheyanne” Doc corrected.

“Whatever.” She didn’t look amused, but Torch laughed softly.

“Okay,” Warren continued, “We all need to think like Murphy. Get inside his zombified head and I know that’s a scary place to be, but where would you hide if you were Murphy?”

They all scanned the surrounding buildings with thoughtful looks on their faces until Torch held a hand out.

“Hold up.” She told Mack, nodding toward a storefront to their left, “Said think like Murphy, right?”

“Hell,” Doc scoffed, “they might as well have his picture on the sign.”

“Gross.” Torch muttered as she hopped out, following Warren into the strip club with 10k and the others not far behind.

Sure enough, he was sitting at the bar, dressed in a gold suit with three different watches on his wrist. He was wearing a fedora and had it perched on his head like a mobster on TV.

“Hey guys.” He said, not looking away from his drink. “What the hell took ya so long?”

“Am I crazy,” Torch spoke slowly, squinting at him “Or is he blue?”

“Murphy, you son of a bitch.” Warren looked beyond pissed off.

“What she said.” Doc huffed

“Now, now, Roberta,” Murphy pulled himself to his feet and sauntered across the room. “Is that any way to speak to an old friend?”

She grabbed him by the collar and slammed him up against the wall, faltering only when all the Zs in the club rose, snarling at them.

Torch muttered a slew of cursewords under her breath and palmed a knife.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey” Murphy held a hand up and they all froze.

“That hurt.” He told Warren flatly.

“Oh,” she scoffed “I’m just getting started.”

“Now come on chief.” Doc tried to reason with her, but Torch tugged him back a little, shaking her head when he shot her a questioning look. “Don’t forget the mission.”

Warren huffed before letting the man go roughly, taking a single step back while her posture remained aggressive.

“You damn near got us all killed.” She spat “And you did kill millions of other people.”

“Didn’t you get the memo?” Murphy straightened his suit jacket “The apocalypse means never having to say you’re sorry. I was just following the prime directive for this mission. Save Murphy’s ass.”

“Let’s not forget.” He walked further into the room, putting some of the still silent Zs in between him and them “If I die, party’s over for the human race. If you wanna blame somebody, blame that nut-job, Dr. Kurian. Or your little bussy, citizen Z!”

“Maybe we should tie you up, for your own good.” 10k stepped towards him but froze when half-zombie Cassandra lunged out in front of him.

“Cassandra.” He breathed, pulling her into his chest “You’re alive.”

She made a growling sound in the back of her throat and he pulled back, looking down at her with furrowed brows.

“Cassandra?”

“What did you do to her?” He asked Murphy angrily

“Saved her life.” The man shrugged. “What did you do?”

Cassandra shrugged 10k off roughly while he staggered back a few steps in shock. Torch steadied him and stayed close, unable to hide the look of horror on her face.

That wasn’t Cassandra.

Not anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Addy frowned, “But what is she wearing? Isn’t that mildly impractical for the apocalypse?”

Torch looked at her properly for the first time and saw what Addy had meant. She was wearing a pair of gold booty shorts over a pair of fishnet stockings and a white fur coat.

There was a dull ache in her chest. There was nothing Cassandra had hated more than being objectified and here she was, dressed like a post-apocalyptic stripper.

A newfound surge of anger radiated down to her fingertips as she vowed that she’d make him pay for what he’d done to her friend.

“You try dressing a classy lady in Cheyenne Wyoming.” Murphy shrugged while Cassandra backed herself towards him.

Torch scoffed.

“Hey,” Doc interjected, “Is anyone else concerned that there’s all these Zs standing around in here?”

“Don’t worry, they’re friendly.” Murphy rolled his eyes “As long as I’m friendly.”

Warren had to take a breath before speaking.

“Come on Murphy,” She sighed “We got to get you to California.”

“Yeah,” He made a face and propped himself up against the bar “About California. You know, after all the stuff that happened, the nukes and all, I’m not sure I’m down with the whole saving humanity thing.”

“Ya mean the nukes you set off?” Torch huffed loudly.

“I’m not so sure humanity is worth saving.” He ignored the girl.

“You’re going to California.” Warren told him firmly.

“You don’t even know if California is still there.” Murphy scoffed.

“Well, look.” Doc chimed in “If you won’t do it for humanity, do it for yourself, Murphy. You need that Vaccine more than anybody. Have you looked in the mirror lately? You may be stylin’ but you’re turning zombie brother.”

“Brother.” He flung his arm out in frustration “Maybe there are worse things than being a zombie. Maybe, being a starving, fearful, violent, vindictive human is worse.”

“But hey!” He switched up, grinning from ear to ear “It’s the apocalypse. Let’s have some fun! Let me show you what I’ve been working on.”

“Come on,” He marched to the other wall “Grab a seat. You’re gonna love this.”

He turned to look at all they’re annoyed faces and sighed.

“The apocalypse is still gonna be here when we’re done.”

Torch shrugged and hopped over the bar, grabbing a bottle of whiskey before taking a good long pull. She needed something to keep her from strangling the blue man.

“Hey.” Warren pointed at her “Take it easy on that stuff.”

“You’ve got it boss.” Torch hummed, pouring a glass for herself before joining 10k on a barstool. He still looked startled by Cassandra.

After a minute, A spotlight shone on the stage and Murphy stepped out from behind the curtain with a fancy-looking cane in his hands.

“Hey, hey, hey!” He spoke theatrically “Ah, so nice to see so many familiar faces in the audience tonight.”

10k took Torch’s glass right out of her hand and tried to take a swig, but Addy snatched it back, shooting them both a disapproving look.

The girl huffed and turned her attention back to the stage.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Murphy continued “Let’s hear it for the one, the only, Chantrelle!”

Cassandra started the music when he stepped off the stage and a Zombie stripper came stumbling up to the pole.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Oh, my god.”

Addy and Torch muttered at the same time.

“Well,” Doc sighed as they watched the Z grab onto the metal and start turning around it “I hope she ain’t working for tips.”

10k’s eyes were wide and fixated on the show.

As the music tempo increased, the Z started spinning faster and faster until its arm tore off, sending it flying across the room while the undead hand stayed firmly planted on the pole.

“Ta-da!” Murphy hopped back up while everyone processed what they’d just seen. “I know, I know, the finale needs a little work. But hey, let’s hear it for Chantrelle.”

A slow clapping came from a dark corner, startling all of them to their feet as a man in a bulletproof vest stepped out into the light.

“Is this a private show, or can anyone watch?” He asked while they all reached for their weapons.

“Ah, ah, ah” He tsk’d raising his own gun to point it at them. “Leave your weapons where they are.”

10k gave Torch’s hand a soft tug when he realised that she was the closest to the barrel, trying to pull her behind him, but she only moved an inch, glaring at the stranger.

“Don’t make me have to shoot anybody.” The man muttered “There’s enough Zombies in this world already.”

“What do you want?” Murphy asked, still on the stage, frozen.

“Your name wouldn’t happen to be Murphy, would it?”

“Ah, fuck.” Torch breathed.

Of course this was happening.

“Nope.” Murphy shrugged unconvincingly.

“There’s a lot of people looking for you Mr. Murphy.” The man addressed him.

“That so?”

“This man is our prisoner.” Warren stepped out in front of Torch and she took the opportunity to pull the gun from her belt while 10k sighed in relief.

“Well, he’s my prisoner now.”

“Uh, no, sorry” Doc jumped in “She’s right. We’ve got dibs on him.”

“Yeah,” Addy shrugged “We’re taking him to California.”

“No you’re not. He’s coming with me.”

“Where?” Murphy frowned.

“To the highest bidder.” The man scoffed “the CDC in California isn’t the only one willing to pay for his blood.”

“Why does everybody always talk about me like I’m not standing right here?” Murphy grumbled, leaning onto the cane. “You know, there’s only one problem with all of your plans for ‘the Murphy’. I ain’t goin’ anywhere with any of you.”

“Hit it!” he shouted to Cassandra before disappearing into a literal cloud of smoke.

The music started back up, along with some multicolored lights and the groans of every Z in the room as they staggered to their feet.

The room quickly erupted into chaos as they all started shooting.

Torch ducked under a pair of grabbing hands and kicked the Z’s legs out from under it, slamming a blade into the side of its head just in time to notice 10k get grabbed.

She sighed in relief when he managed to shrug it off and take it out in a matter of seconds.

The girl rolled over the pool table and picked up one of the balls, feeling the weight of it in her hand before hurling it at the closest Z. The ball was heavy enough to cave in its skull and send a spray of blood spurting from the wound.

She did it again, and again until 10k joined her and they really started making progress.

“We need to get out of here!” Warren called out, grunting as she decapitated a Z.

“You’re right!” Doc panted, coming up next to her “I can’t stand this music.”

The two of them made a run for the exit, but only Warren made it out.

Doc was tackled by a Z and inched away from getting bitten when its skull exploded thanks to one of Torch’s knives. They’d run out of pool balls to throw just before watching him go down.

10k made it over first and tore the dead Z off of the old man, yanking the blade and handing it to Torch, who promptly slammed it into an approaching zombie while 10k helped Doc to his feet.

They eventually fought their way to the door with Mack and Addy’s help, and ran down the hall where Warren had disappeared only to find her grappling with a massive Z.

“Look out.” 10k shouted, tearing a fire extinguisher from the wall and darting forward and slamming the nozzle into the Z’s gut, giving Warren the opportunity to get out of the way.

When she saw it start to swell, Torch ducked around the corner just in time to evade the explosion of foam and guts.

“That was fuckin’ disgustin’.” She told 10k, trying to make it down the hall without slipping on gore.

They all burst out into the daylight, breathing heavy and wiping the goop off of them, all except for Torch, who was as clean as she’d been when they’d stepped in through the doors.

“Well,” Doc sighed “What now Chief?”

“I made a promise to a little girl.” Warren muttered while they all reloaded their weapons, “We’re gonna find Murphy, get him to California, and they’re gonna make a vaccine to save the world. And I’m gonna kill any bounty hunter that gets in my way.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Addy nodded.

“Any idea which way Murphy went?” 10k asked, standing.

The mini-van from early came screeching down the street at the end of the alley and they all exchanged a look.

“Imma guess he went that way.” Torch pointed before taking off in a dead sprint.

It didn’t take long for them to catch up with Murphy and Cassandra as well as the bounty hunter that had been chasing them.

“Murphy!” Warren screamed as soon as she laid eyes on him, pushing herself to run faster.

Murphy and Cassandra split off in different directions, but they all stayed on Murphy’s tail, diving behind a car when a black SUV rolled by and the man from earlier started to fire at the driver.

“What the fuck?” Torch frowned, wondering why he hadn’t shot at them like that when they’d crossed paths.

The truck smashed into a parked car and the two surviving passengers staggered out only to get shot in the head immediately.

Torch sucked in a breath of air when she saw the skeleton masks they were wearing.

Nobody seemed to notice.

“Oh,” Warren panted “So it’s like that, then?”

They all watched as a red jeep loaded with armed men rolled past the truck, staring them down, but then snapped their heads to the side when the red mini-van stopped in front of them and the woman driving it hung out the window with a shotgun in her hands.

They all scrambled to the other side of the vehicle and in a moment of panic, Torch couldn’t see 10k.

“10k!” Warren shouted and Torch slumped over in relief when she saw him peering around the corner of a nearby building, “Get Murphy.”

His gaze fell onto Torch for a moment of reassurance before he nodded, taking off.

“What is this?” Addy shouted over the gunfire.

“It’s a damn Murphy free-for-all!” Doc exclaimed, shrinking back when a bullet went through the window above his head.

“I think it might be time to-” He stammered when they all watched a z start heading in their direction.

“It’s time to go!” Warren screamed, leading them away from the vehicle.

They sprinted down an alley, doing all they could not to slow down. When they made it a half block. A car they had just passed erupted into flames, grabbing Torch’s attention for a second too long.

“Torch!” Doc screamed at her, stopping to grab her by the arm and drag her along with him. “We gotta keep movin’.”

“If we find the fucker with the grenade launcher,” She breathed, keeping his pace “I call dibs.”

Doc wanted to laugh but couldn’t find the breath.

Torch would have sworn that she saw the top of 10k’s head to her left and veered off just in time to see the top half of an explosion and eventually, 10k, lying face down by a crumbling wall.

“10k!” She shouted, dodging Zs while she sped over, dropping to her knees next to him.

“Hey,” She rolled him over, but his eyes stayed shut. “Wake up! 10k, wake the fuck up!”

She was starting to get frantic, even after he eventually opened his eyes and stared up at her with a look of confusion.

“Tommy!” She used his name for the first time, but he didn’t seem to have heard her, so she put her energy into dragging him to his feet. “Come on, you’ve gotta get up. We need to go!”

She could hear the snarling zs all around her and they were only getting closer. Bullets were flying from every direction and she was trying to make sure neither of them got hit when Doc suddenly popped up at her side and helped her drag him.

Torch felt something tear into her cheek and staggered back a step, almost taking all three of them to the ground as she cried out, clutching her face with one hand.

“Torch!” Doc grabbed her wrist and threw them both behind the vehicle where the rest of the group was hiding.

“You scared the hell outta me kid.” Doc panted, looking down at 10k, who was starting to become aware of his surroundings.

“Where am I?” He shouted.

They all cringed at the volume

“Don’t worry.” Doc told him “We’ve got you now.”

His eyes landed on Torch and the bleeding gash on her cheek before widening. Her hand was still clamped over it, but blood was dripping down her neck

“What happened?” 10k was still shouting, his brows pulling together when he saw her lips moving as she assured him she was fine, but couldn’t hear her.

“I can’t hear you!”

Torch frowned in concern, but had to jerk back when a spray of gunfire came in their direction. She got her gun out in front of her and fired at a couple of bounty hunters who had turned their attention onto the small group.

“This is insane!” She screamed, unable to believe nobody else had been hit yet.

“Why is everybody shooting at everybody?” Addy exclaimed, dropping down to the ground.

“Cause Murphy’s the golden goose!”

“We need to get the fuck outta here!” Torch hollered, “We’re sitting ducks out here, we’re gonna have to slit up!”

“Do it.” Warren nodded “Keep moving. 10k are you alright?”

“What?”

“I think he’s deaf!” Doc shouted, flinching when a bullet his the metal just inches from his head.

“Doc and Torch, you two take him with you. Get to the alley and cut east, then advance north.”

They both nodded, while 10k looked around confused, frustrated and a little afraid that he still couldn’t hear anything but the relentless ringing in his ears.

“Mack and Addy, You guys take the West side. We’ll push ‘em out.”

“What about the bounty hunters?”

“Kill ‘em.” Torch yelled, grabbing 10k’s arm and poising to run “We good?”

Warren nodded before counting down on her fingers and screaming at them to go.

Torch dragged 10k to his feet, grateful that he could run on his own now, and tore down the alley, slowing down a bit to make sure Doc could keep up with them.

“What happened to your face?” 10k shouted when they stopped to duck for cover, grabbing her head and turning it to the side so he could see “It’s bleeding really bad.”

“S’alright.” She told him, wincing every time he shouted “M’fine.”

“What?”

Torch sighed and rested her hands over his, mouthing ‘I’m okay’ as clearly as she could.

He looked unconvinced, but let it go for now, pulling a bandana from his pocket and handing it to her with a stern look. She held her hands up in surrender and dabbed at the blood.

“You two ready?” Doc called over his shoulder “How’s he doing?”

“Still can’t hear for shit.” She grumbled, shuffling towards him “But yeah, we’re ready.”

“Kay,” He breathed, “we’re making a run for the hotel.”

“Got it.” Torch nodded, darting from car to car when he gave the signal, gun in one hand, and the bottom of 10k’s shirt balled up in the other so she didn’t lose him.

He seemed okay for the most part. He was able to move freely and didn’t seem to be in pain, but he couldn’t hear when they were being fired at and that concerned her to no end. She badly wanted to park him somewhere and tell him to stay put, just like he would if it was her in his place, but didn’t, because she knew that she wouldn’t have listened either.

They made it to the car closest to the door without catching a bullet and crouched next to Doc, who was taking the lead on the whole thing.

“The Zs must’ve followed him inside.” Doc shook his head, “I think I might know a back entrance. Might be safer.”

Torch nodded, so he turned to 10k.

“Can you hear anything I’m saying?” Doc asked.

“What?”

A bullet hit the roof of the car and they shrank back.

“Jesus,” Doc breathed “What the hell are we doing here?”

Torch frowned.

“That’s a rhetorical question.” he sighed “Alright. I’ll cover, you two run, got it?”

Torch nodded, grabbing 10k by the hand.

“3,2,1 go!”

As soon as they stood, they had to drop back down to the ground.

“Damn it” She shouted “Somebody’s got us pinned.”

10k held a hubcap over his head and let it clatter to the floor when it was immediately slammed into with a bullet.

“Sniper.”

Torch almost laughed.

“Great.” Doc nodded tightly.

The boy used the hubcap’s reflective surface to pinpoint the sniper’s location, staring intently as he counted how far from the end it was.

“Seventh floor.” He called out “7th window from the right.”

“Think you could take him-” Doc started, popping his head up, but had to stagger back when a Z they’d completely missed lunged out the driver’s side window.

“Run!” Torch screamed since he was already up and fired a few rounds in the sniper’s direction as cover fire.

The old man made a run for the door and made it, disappearing inside.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, baby” She turned to 10k with a smirk.

She’d never have called him anything but his name if he could hear her, but wanted to try it out while she had the chance.

He looked down at her, confused.

“This shit better be temporary.” She muttered before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips and peeking out through the window.

He yanked her down just in time to avoid the spray of bullets fired in her direction.

“Be careful please.” He said a little quieter than he’d been up until that point.

Torch nodded, watching as he returned fire and ducked back down.

“It stopped.” She frowned after a moment, “Maybe you hit ‘em?”

He didn’t even bother asking ‘what’ again.

She grabbed the hubcap and threw it up in the air, tilting her head to the side when nobody shot at it.

“I think we're good,” she shouted and 10k flinched like he could hear her. “Wait, did you hear that?”

“A little.” He told her, looking relieved.

“Thank god,” Torch sighed, resting her forehead on his shoulder for a second before nodding towards the building. “We should get in there and find Doc.”

The place was crawling with Zs and bounty hunters, making their life a hell of a lot harder, but they finally made it to the seventh floor just in time to hear Doc shout.

“Murphy!”

Even 10k could hear it.

They exchanged a look before tearing down the hall.

“What?” 10k exclaimed as they burst into the room “Are you okay?”

Torch crouched down next to him and frowned at the state of him and the dead man on the floor.

“Y’alright?”

“Murphy, he’s here.”

“He’s in the building?” 10k helped Torch haul him to his feet

“He just took off.” Doc breathed raggedly

They both nodded and dragged him towards the door, but had to slam it shut when a group of Zs came barreling towards them.

“Oh, give me a break!” Doc shouted, whipping his head over his shoulder when the beaten man on the floor, who had shot up, went Z.

“Duck!”

Torch and Doc both dropped down as 10k fired, dispatching it before it could even stand.

After giving themselves a minute to breathe, the three of them geared up and slipped out onto the balcony, running a few rooms down and darting through to the hall when they saw an opening. They ran, five or six of the dead on their tail, until they found Warren and the Guy from the strip club running towards them.

“Behind us!” Doc shouted.

“Get down!”

All three of them threw themselves to the floor while the dead dropped.

“Come on.” Warren stepped over them, running back the way they came, “Follow us.”

Torch and 10k brought up the rear as they made their way up a few flights of stairs and out onto the roof.

“Over there.” Warren nodded towards Murphy, who was standing on the edge.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Torch muttered as Warren tried to literally talk him down off the ledge. “We ain’t got time for this. Where the hell are Mack and Addy.”

“Just fuckin’ do it already!” She shouted, rolling her eyes.

She gasped when Murphy actually threw himself over and scrambled to the ledge along with everyone else.

He landed in a pool full of bodies and was already staggering to his feet.

“Back down!” Warren shouted, waving them towards the stairs frantically.

Torch narrowly avoided colliding with Addy, who was shaking. she'd been running a lot faster than the rest of them and was a solid thirty seconds ahead of the rest of her group.

She faltered, looking back at her friend with concern.

“Where’s Mack?” She breathed even though she was pretty sure she already knew.

Addy just shook her head and let out a strangled sob.

Torch looked over her shoulder and saw Warren and the others coming, so she took off running in the direction Murphy had gone, propelled forward by pure rage.

She found him backing a white van out of a garage and ripped her gun from her belt, firing into the window while he was shifting gears.

He screamed, shrinking away from the broken glass, still unsure what had happened while Torch tried the door handle and huffed in frustration when she found it locked. So, she reached in through the window and opened it from the inside.

Torch grabbed him by the collar and tore him out of his seat, throwing him to the ground while he flailed, trying to get away from her.

“Whoa, hey!” He yelped, looking up at her in confusion, “what the hell Torch?”

“Mack’s dead.” She growled, slamming her fist into the side of his face twice “That’s another fuckin’ person, dead ‘cause of your selfish ass. And for what?”

Murphy looked at least a little sorry, but she wasn’t done being angry and she’d been wanting to hit him for as long as she’d known him and just couldn’t stop.

She couldn’t feel her hands, but knew they’d be bleeding, especially after colliding with his teeth.

She pulled a knife and pressed it up against his throat, speaking only inches from his face

“Tell me why I shouldn’t just fuckin’ kill ya right now.” She snarled. “I don’t give a shit ‘bout no cure, so I ain’t pressed on keepin’ ya breathin’.”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, at a loss for words.

She could faintly hear her name being shouted somewhere nearby, but she was barely able to think, let alone process what was going on around her.

Torch felt a hand grab her wrist and force her to let go of the knife. Two more pulled her away from the bleeding man while she kicked and muttered a slew of curse words.

“Torch, calm down” She could hear 10k’s voice so close to her ear that he had to be the one holding her, so she stopped struggling, breathing raggedly. “There you go”

Her hair had come loose during the scuffle and was draped across her face, hiding it from view.

“It ain’t fair.” She breathed, slumping over in his arms while he dragged her over to the back of the van and set her down to sit inside the open door.

“Hey,” He muttered, brushing her hair out of her face as he crouched down to get to eye level. “Are you okay? You’re bleeding.”

She frowned and looked down at her hands, unsurprised to find them already bruised and bloody.

She hadn’t expected to see the gash down the side of her forearm and twisted her arm to stare at it with a furrowed brow while he wrapped it with a bandana and examined her cheek intently. It had stopped bleeding, so he left it.

“Torch.” 10k looked down at her with so much concern in his eyes that she had to look away. “Let’s just get in the van, okay?”

She nodded, climbing into the trunk with him, facing towards the back while everyone else faced the front in their seats, including zombie Cassandra.

It was dead quiet inside the van as it drove off and it stayed that way until 10k felt like it’d be a good idea to try and talk to Torch again.

“You okay?” He asked her softly.

She shrugged before looking up at him.

“Your ears okay?”

“Yeah.” He smiled sadly, “are your hands?”

“Nah,” She scoffed “Couldn’t feel ‘em before. Hurts.”

He found himself surprised that she was admitting that she was in pain without him having to push. Instead of acknowledging it, he figured he’d better just take it as a win and dug the baby wipes out of a bag.

“Let me see?”

Torch sighed, but held the hand closest to him out for him to inspect and wash the blood off.

“Didn’t mean to fly off the handle like that.” The girl muttered “just couldn’t stop puttin’ myself in her place. If you’d-” She had to pause and swallow the lump in her throat “If it was you dead, I’d a killed ‘em and there ain’t nobody that coulda pulled me off.”

“I know.” He took her other hand, caring for it just as tenderly as he had the first “I would do the same. I don’t think anybody’s mad at you right now.”

“Y’ain’t allowed to die.” She looked up at him finally, her eyes pleading “Ever.”

“Neither are you.” 10k couldn’t help but crack a crooked grin, beyond thrilled that Torch was blatantly talking about her feelings.

He slung an arm over her shoulder and she curled into his side, cradling her hands to her chest as she listened to the steady hammering of his heart below his shirt.

Torch hadn’t realised that the bounty hunter from the strip club had been in the van the entire time until they stopped and all spilled out onto the side of the road.

She blinked at him, tilting her head to the side.

“This the asshole from the nudie bar?” She asked Warren, looking confused, “Hell’s he doin' here?”

“He’s gonna come with us.” Warren shrugged, only realizing then that she hadn’t made introductions for anyone but herself. “This is Vasquez.”

“He’s a cop.” Torch frowned. She’d been able to tell immediately when she’d laid eyes on him. “We got a bouncer now?”

“DEA actually”

“Ah,” Her upper lip curled into a snarl “A narc then.”

Doc stifled a laugh from behind her.

“Torch.” Warren’s voice was warning, so she held her hands up in surrender, letting their leader introduce the two youngest members.

“Torch and Ten Thousand?” Vasquez’s brows pulled together, “Are you just letting these kids name themselves whatever they want?”

“It’s how many zombies I'm gonna kill.” 10k said without looking up from his gun, which he was reloading while sitting on the hood.

“And Torch?”

“Best pray ya don’t find out.” The girl smirked, something about her gaze was threatening and he found himself compelled to look away.

[rainysflowers]

Tosses this out into the eather for the most niche audience I could think of. *NYEAH!!*

After seeing the lovely @species-whump-weekly and waiting excitedly for their Demon prompt list for the purposes of using them against my favorite Mazoku, I decided that it would be fun to do something similar. Therefore, I'd like to offer to you, the whump and Slayers community...

Mazoku Whump Week!!

This is the perfect opportunity to take your beloved Mazoku, be them canon or original, and beat them up (maybe comfort them too) for the world to see! What fun ^^ If this does interest you, please look under the cut for more info and prompts!! If not, then have a lovely day!!

CWs/TWS: Themes of Hurt/Pain, Dehumanization of Non-Humans, Neglect, and Similar Content

ALSO I feel that upon farther community interaction that I should mention to PLEASE write out/tag your entries with content & trigger warnings and the characters involved as to not offend/trigger anyone who may come across it without interest in said character/content!!

Personally, I like to give a general overview of what content is in the media much like my CWs/TWs above, then also add on SPESIFIC tags for worse things like Major Character Death, and finally PLEASE SPESIFY which character you'll be hurting in the media!!

Now, I call it a week because that's the way i formatted it, but there's no timeframe and there's no start date. I just made it for fun and my own enjoyment ^^ All I ask is that you please tag me in whatever you choose to create [Writing, art, GIFs, ect]:)) You totally don't have to be a part of either community to participate, I just made this for Slayers fans specifically because I love that anime <3 They are also more so anime-based, than light novel-based, as a side note.

Prompts are formatted as a single master-prompt, something that sets the theme for the sub-prompts under it, and three sub-prompts that you can write one, two, or all three of!! There are also seven alternative prompts that follow the same general theme of the master-prompts (I.E. alternative prompt one (1) has the same theme as master-prompt one (1) and so forth). !!! Two alternative prompts are based on my personal headcannons, but those are labeled as such, and do not have to be used !!!

Here is the prompt list:

01) Summoned.

1] I’ll Treat You Like My Pet/Dehumanization

2] Defiance/Defiant Whumpee* (*Whumpee refers to the character who is in pain, which is in this case the Mazoku of your choice)

3] Terms and Conditions

02) Used.

1] Losing Control

2] Astral Wound/Pain

3] Magical Exhaustion

03) Misunderstood.

1] Kindness Makes the World Go Round

2] Starvation

3] Botched Shapeshifting

04) Betrayed.

1] Backstabbed

2] Found Out

3] Ritual Sacrifice

05) Returned.

1] Uncaring Master

2] Can’t Go Back

3] Demonic Punishment

06) Inherited.

1] Immortality

2] Bleeding Black

3] Ingrained Morality

07) History.

1] Scars

2] War Never Changes

3] Falling Comrades

Alternative Prompts

1] Orihalcon Restraints/Weapons (Based on a headcanon where the metal Orihalcon is able to suppress the Mazoku's ability to either return to the Astral Plane or negates their ability to be impervious to physical wounds in the real world.)

2] Reluctant Caretaker

3] Presumed Dead (Based on a headcanon where if a Mazoku is injured enough, they must ditch their assumed form to return to the Astral Plane, leaving them looking like a corpse in the Human World.)

4] “I can’t believe I trusted you.”

5] Assassination (Attempts)

6] “I thought that you couldn’t love?”

7] Survivor’s Guilt

Here is the Prompt List in a Google Doc:

Thank you so much for checking out this post, sorry for the crappiness lol, I just wanted to share some stuff. Ill be back sooner or later, and if you have any questions, please send them on in ^^ luv yall with the strength of a thousand suns <3 Have a good day, night, and whatever else!!

[michanvalentine]

Things about Vincent Valentine that I read around and piss me off. Vol.3

"Vincent is boring, doesn't talk and does nothing but mope around."

EXCUSE ME?!?! Seriously, I think this is the worst. I understand that not everyone may like a character, and rightly so, but this type of comment often denotes a lack of in-depth analysis of the character. Or even a lack of simple understanding. And since I now feel like Vincent Valentine's defense lawyer, I think I will continue my speech, your honor! Personally I don't find it boring at all, quite the contrary. Vincent Valentine is a mysterious character. Even now, years after the release of DoC, we discuss, question and fantasize about the thousand things that are still unclear about him. And with the release of Rebirth the questions and doubts have only increased, although the character has clearly been expanded in his characterization. The roots of his story run deep into the heart of FFVII's plot, where it all began, and Vincent Valentine boasts strong connections to characters like Hojo, Lucrecia, and Sephiroth himself. Not to mention the Turks and Shinra. This alone should arouse interest, even just to understand how the character of Vincent Valentine can enrich the game's plot and the characters he interacts with. Furthermore, Vincent Valentine has the superpower of being unintentionally comical, starting from his inability with modern technology. His serious, dark, cold and stoic nature sometimes clashes so much with the context or with the characters around him that it almost makes him seem ridiculous. And that's something I find funny. As well as all the interactions he can have with characters who are markedly more exuberant/cheerful than him, such as Yuffie, Cid or Barret. But ok, tastes are tastes, there's no arguing about that. For me Vincent is far from boring, but I can understand that for some he is. What I can't stand is thinking of him as a person who does nothing but "mope around".

Apart from the fact that Vincent Valentine is a righteous person who cares about his friends and is always there to support them in his own way. And as much as he tries to stay away from everything and everyone, he can never resist when it comes to helping someone. We saw this in AC when he promptly saves Cloud from Kadaj, Loz, and Yazoo. We saw him in DoC, when he shielded Reeve or Yuffie on several occasions. We even saw him in Rebirth, when he shielded Tifa or rushed to support Cloud during the Queen Blood quest. Let's say that the role of bodyguard is still powerful in him! But I really can't read that his flaw is being silent. Or that he dwells too much on the past and mopes around. My eyes bleed when I read these comments. I'll make a quick list why Vincent Valentine can't be a cheerful and jovial person who gets along with everyone:

He is heartbroken. The love of his life left him like this, from one moment to the next, and without a valid reason. Not for him, at least.

Lucrecia chose Hojo. Of all people. This is a great blow to his self-esteem, not because Hojo is a toad but because he is a person with an abominable soul.

He's been killed. But then he rose again. And already here there is something very wrong.

The experiments that brought him back to life were not exactly a walk in the park. And if we think of Hojo, only abominable scenarios like him can come to mind.

He is a monster. Inside him he has four uncontrollable and angry entities that he has to live with night and day every day.

The world outside could welcome him with torches and pitchforks.

He lost thirty years of his life and found himself in a world he no longer knows, people, places, technology. Everything changed.

He is immortal. This means that he will see all the people he loves die, one after the other, inevitably. Over and over.

The woman he loves lies in a crystal, eternally unattainable.

One of the entities he harbors within himself is Chaos, a primordial god of death who will cause the end of the world.

His long-term life prospect is to witness the end of all life. Only to be left behind on a dying planet. Alone.

And maybe I even forgot to consider some other aspects! Just to put it all in perspective: we ordinary people complain about our cuticles or because it's raining or because there's a test at school. Or for any other triviality. And we are often in a bad mood simply because we are. Vincent Valentine has been through hell. He literally died and then came back to life. I think this abberation alone would be enough to drive anyone crazy. And then he spent almost thirty years alone in the basement of the Shinra Mansion, when isolation is considered a form of torture for us human beings. And this too would drive anyone mad. Death is a liberation, which was denied to him in exchange for a new, damned existence made of nightmares, demons, regrets, remorse, etc. And in the future for him there is nothing, only death and destruction. No love, no family, only ephemeral bonds, destined to be lost over time. No wonder he's afraid to let people get close. There is no hope for Vincent Valentine, only a dark destiny awaits him. With such a rosy outlook it would almost be unnecessary to remember that people who lose a limb or are disfigured suffer psychological damage that requires years of therapy, so we can only imagine how Vincent Valentine rebuilt his self. Alone, in the dark. After being dissected on an operating table, genetically manipulated and put back together in a way he wasn't. Life, dignity, humanity, all stripped away. Nonetheless, Vincent Valentine got back on his feet. Also thanks to the help of the right people at the right time, of course, but after everything he has been through, reacting is not something to be taken for granted. Indeed, not only did he remain a "functioning" person but he also managed to retain his big heart and his strong sensitivity. Vincent Valentine is a person with incredible resilience, who managed to draw from trauma and suffering the strength necessary to put himself at the service of good. To protect instead of destroy, when he could simply drown his conscience and his pain in the beast's rage and let it be. Only a great man can do this.

So leave him alone. He has every right and reason to be depressed or to remain silent without being judged for it. The guy is already doing a great job.